Rayne
She opened the attached file, just for the fun of it. It was at the end of the day and she could use a good laugh anyway. She pulled and opened the series of three-dimensional brain scans and chuckled. At first glance, there was absolutely nothing abnormal or noteworthy about it. She noted a couple of odd spots in several places. Thinking it was an issue with her console, she made some adjustments and looked back to the screen. There was no change. She rotated the image to see if the problem was with the image itself. Perhaps there had been a scanning error from the original subject. The spots turned in motion with the image. She frowned. You would think a person would send good, clear scans if they were going to ask for help in their research, not spotty ones. She nearly deleted the whole thing right there, until something caught her eye. It didn’t look like a scanning error, but something else. What it was she couldn’t tell from this view or this magnification. She pulled the other files containing different views, cross sections and varying magnifications.
Dr. Gault devoured the image before her. These appeared to be artificial structures inside of a human brain. Cybernetics was a progressing field and closely related to her work, but she had no idea what she was looking at for sure. She was fairly certain, based on the scans, that whoever this test subject was had grown artificial structures inside the brain. What they did or what function they performed, or more importantly how they got there, were questions that could occupy her time for many years to come. Cybernetics had made some great advances and she liked to believe those studying in the field were on a parallel course with her as they struggled to find some way to integrate human and machine. Cybernetics sought to put the machine in the human. They could replace legs, arms and nearly all of the human organs. Unfortunately for the field, the human population preferred the human equivalent, not some piece of machinery that would make them less than human. But none of what they’d been able to accomplish had been direct interface with the brain like what she saw before her now. They had tried and continued to try, but for some reason, cybernetic implants just wouldn’t integrate properly with the human brain. There was just too much unknown about how the brain stored information and transferred information and the minute differences in how things worked from brain to brain. But this was incredible-- possibly the missing piece of the puzzle she was trying to solve.
She scanned through the message for any further details but found none other than the initial request for research assistance. She looked up details on Dr. Miller. Nothing spectacular. Pretty average really. Dr. Gault guessed she had become lucky enough to be in the right place at the right time, and stumbled across something she couldn’t explain. As a psychologist, she wouldn’t have the credentials, which was why the doctor had contacted her.
She sat back and tapped her fingers on the chair. Procyon Naval Station. She was not going there. While it was a large station and likely had a fairly decent facility ready to handle most things, it wasn’t going to have what she needed to conduct any decent type of research, and it was cost prohibitive to have her lab moved. Besides, she hated living on space stations and Procyon was too far out of the way. She’d have to find a way to bring the subject to her. Not to mention the fact that going to Procyon would put her in close proximity to her ex, the good Cpt. Jason Gault, Mr. Procedure himself. She could do without that particular headache. While he was a good man and a good captain, his life was so ruled by procedure, he was impossible to live with. Easy to manipulate, yes, but impossible to live with. So, no. There would be no going to Procyon. They were just going to have to come to her.
Dr. Gault had a thought and leaned forward. All the scans should be tagged with the test subject’s data. If she had that, and assuming the test subject was a station crew member or belonged to one of the system’s ships, she could simply make a few well-placed calls and arrange for a change of scenery. She smiled to herself as she searched through the scans, extremely happy with how this was all working out so easily. Her smile slipped and she frowned. The test subject’s data was incomplete. All she got was the test subject’s first name, approximate age, some biological data and ship number. Dr. Gault re-evaluated her first impression of Dr. Miller. She appeared to have purposefully left off the identifying information needed to accomplish a quick and easy transfer. Smart. Very smart. But the doctor wasn’t without options and while having a ship transferred to a different part of space was quite a bit tougher than a person, it was not impossible. Especially for her.
***
“All right, everyone, circle up.” Mike waited for the squad as he reviewed his notes in the far corner of the ship’s weapons bay. Generally speaking, this was their area, though they shared it with the ship’s ordinance crew. The ship was only a small scouting vessel, not a battle carrier or cruiser. As such, the weapons bay was rather small by comparison, though still plenty big enough to house the T80s and various items of ordinance. There were no dedicated facilities for the marines to meet and conduct other business, so when it came to training or meetings, they usually took place in the weapons bay. Most of the ship crew’s work took them elsewhere, so interruptions were not frequent and they could go about their business without having to worry about getting in anyone’s way.
The squad moved in and took their places on whatever they could find to sit on. Some on the floor, others on weapons crates, while others stood. Even though they were on “shore leave” there was still training to be done and equipment to maintain and repair. Ship and station captains found that marines without tasks often found something of their own, which usually involved alcoholic beverages, fighting, and things getting broken. To keep them from spreading mayhem, continuing training and maintenance were near daily chores assigned by the squad leader.
Mike counted to make sure everyone was present, and then launched into the items of business for the day.
“First things first, training and maintenance assignments.” Even though everyone knew it was coming, they all still let out groans and complaints. Mike let them finish with their token complaints and continued. “Some of you looked a little bored, so the captain has come up with a few odds and ends to add to the list we already had. First, everyone is required to re-cert on the emergency ship evacuation and rescue procedures.” Everyone groaned again, but this time not in token complaint. The pain, or prospective pain, was real. The class was required once per year by all space-assigned personnel. It was so painful to watch, it was sometimes used as punishment to misbehaving sailors or marines. The training involved a four hour block of holo vid, followed by a written test. No one was allowed to skip and the test was pass/fail. Fleet command seemed to have gone to great pains to make the training as painfully boring as possible. There were no flashy graphics or music and no attractive looking presenters to keep your attention. There was just one bald, non-descript man speaking in a monotone while he pointed out locations on black and white schematics and repeated back dry statistics on every useless fact known to man regarding space flight and survival.
“Do I have to take it, Sarge?” Taft whined. “I just did it three months ago before I transferred.” He looked at Mike with pleading eyes. Everyone watched in anticipation to see if his plea was successful, preparing to give their own excuses if it was.
“Shut up, Taft, or I’ll make you take it twice.” Everyone kept quiet. “Next on the list. The captain wants the weapons bay inventoried after the last mission. We’ve been assigned to assist the weapons crew with that task and we’ll be at their disposal during the last quarter of our cycle until we’re finished.”
Taft’s hand shot up.
“Ooh, ooh, Sarge. Can you assign me to work with that hot chick with the red hair? I think she likes me.”
“Isn’t that the one that told you to blow yourself out the air lock?” Jackson asked.
“She’s just playin’ hard to get. I’ll win her over with my superior charm.” Taft stood and struck w
hat he thought was a handsome pose while the rest of the squad snickered.
“The weapon’s crew gunny will be making the assignments, Taft. If you’re lucky, maybe he’ll team you up with the one with the mustache.” The comment drew open laughter and Taft returned to his seat.
“After that’s complete, we will be cleaning and organizing the weapons bay, along with our crew quarters.”
“Hey, Taft, maybe you can clean the women’s head. Probably the closest you’ll get to a real woman in this life time.” Lena joked, making the rest of the squad laugh again.
“Bite me, Lena.”
Mike cut off any retort.
“The captain has ordered inspections five days from today, so we don’t have much time to get all of this done. Jackson and Lena, make assignments to your teams and report back by tonight.” He looked up to make sure they’d both been paying attention. They nodded in acknowledgement and he continued. “Today’s schedule is as follows, squad PT, hand to hand drills, re-cert, and then chow. The remainder of our cycle is equipment maintenance on the T80s followed by weapons inventory until we’re released.”
Mike set his data pad down and folded his arms.
“Last thing before we get started. You’ve all met Rayne. She is going to be working with us for a while.” He looked around the group to gauge their reactions. He’d already briefed Jackson and Lena, but no one else knew what was coming. They had both expressed their reservations, having both been on the receiving end of one Rayne’s melt downs, but were willing to follow his lead. They hadn’t really been given much of a choice anyway, but it helped to have them on board and devoted to the cause. Tasks were always easier when you had buy in. No one voiced any protests, but you could see the doubt reflected in their eyes. While they respected the kill count, they also knew she wasn’t a marine and was dealing with some serious psych issues.
“I’m attaching her to Lena’s team. As far as you’re concerned she’s part of the squad. She’ll eat with us, sleep with us, and train with us when possible. There will be some things she’ll likely not be able to do, but as much as possible, we’ll work her into the team.” Before anyone could make comment or complaint, Dr. Little walked in with Rayne. She still wore her white gown which contrasted sharply against her dark, obsidian skin. She carried her batons loosely in one hand and her eyes darted back and forth as if expecting attack at any moment. Not afraid, just ready and tense; prepared to spring into action at the least provocation. Mike noted her hair had started to come in, though it was hard to tell against the back drop of her black skin.
“Rayne. Let me introduce you to the team.” He motioned her over. She stopped short of the group and scanned them for a moment, obviously checking for weapons and any sign of aggression. “You’ve already met Lena and Jackson.”
They both gave short waves and a “Hey, Rayne.” Jackson’s nose was still swollen, but he could at least talk normally again.
“Next to him is Davis, Henderson, and Taft. Sit down Taft. She’s not shaking hands with you, and while I’m on the topic, don’t touch Rayne unless directed or given permission by Rayne herself. Got it?” Everyone nodded their assent. Mike continued, hoping the point wouldn’t need to be covered again. “Good. Okay, over here are Abena, Callaghan, and then Jefferson.” The last three nodded or gave a short wave in greeting. “Rayne, I’m going to attach you to Lena’s fire team.” Her gaze flicked to Lena’s and held it. “If you have questions, go to her. If you have problems, go to her. If you need anything at all, go to her.”
Mike had chosen Lena for a couple of reasons. Even though Lena was as hard and tough as any women he’d ever met, he hoped the female component would allow them to establish trust and friendship a little more quickly. There was about a fifty-fifty chance of it working. He’d found women thrown together either liked each other or hated each other without much in between. She was also one of the better fighters he’d known, and he hoped if Rayne went psychotic on them, Lena could at least slow her down until he could get more bodies on the problem. He hoped that wouldn’t be necessary.
“Lena. Get Rayne some real clothes while the rest of us get busy with PT.” Mike shouted orders for everyone to fall in as Lena lead Rayne out the door to the ship’s quartermaster.
Lena chatted companionably as they walked down the corridors, identifying different parts of the ship and crew members.
“You’ll be glad to miss the PT.” She said as they walked. “Sarge is on this 21st century workout kick and has been pulling up all kinds of weird stuff. He’s got us running through this one called P90X right now developed by some priest named Horton or something from old earth.” Rayne didn’t say a word as they ducked through the narrow ship passages. Lena kept a close eye on her. The girl was wired tight and looked on the verge of snapping. She hoped the non-stop chatter would distract her.
Without a doubt, Rayne was on edge but also eager to get out of the gown she wore. The novelty of having the circulating air caress her legs and arms had turned into an irritation she was anxious to be rid of. She was cold and still felt exposed, and hoped the extra material of normal clothes might protect from the temperature extremes that seemed to exist on the station. It always seemed to be either too hot or too cold, with no middle ground.
She hadn’t been to this part of the ship and everything was dark and sparsely lighted. It was a blessing not to have to squint against the lights, but the grates on the floor hurt her bare, sensitive feet and the gloominess added to her agitation. The hum of machinery and electronics was louder here and they were obviously passing through a maintenance access rather than one of the main corridors. Lena’s constant dialog reminded her of flyers, insects, and animals chattering in the jungle and she felt herself falling into familiar patterns as she checked and scanned her surroundings.
Her brain reached for infrared scans and found itself blocked. It tried several other scan layers, but the corridor remained dark as it struggled to make connections with pathways and sensors that were now missing. It fought to bypass old connections and establish new ones with any peripheral sensors available. Unable to find a connection quick enough, her brain put itself in an auto connect sequence in the background and tried a low powered radar burst to map her immediate surroundings. It found itself unable to locate the primary transmitter and looked for a secondary, found the vocal chords and connected. The inaudible burst of sound passed through Rayne’s lips without notice and bounced its way through the corridors before being reflected back. The waves of sound returned almost instantly where the signal was picked up by what looked like stubble growing from her nearly bald head. The signal was then translated as a first person, three dimensional map for her optic nerve. The picture was extremely grainy and nowhere near what she was used to in the T80 because of the short antenna length, but the short burst had allowed her to see movement coming her way. She grabbed Lena’s arm and pulled her to a stop.
“Someone’s coming,” she whispered, crouching back into a control panel recess. Her brain reached for a weapons that were no longer there. Rayne growled in frustration and hefted her batons. She felt naked and helpless and it made her angry.
Lena patted the hand on her arm with a worried glance.
“It just one of the crew, Rayne. I’ll go talk to them. Wait here for a second.” She disengaged from Rayne’s arm and walked quietly down the corridor and out of sight. Rayne crouched in the darkness, her whole body tensed for violence. She clenched her teeth. Her hands flexed on the grips of her batons. Her breath hissed in and out in a low rasping growl. She heard mumbled conversation from the hallway where Lena had disappeared. She caught only part of the conversation as her brain failed to connect to the hardware needed to enhance her hearing.
“…best if you took another route.” A confused reply from a male voice.
“Sure, thing Lena.” Footsteps echoed away down the corridor, followed by
soft footsteps returning. Rayne tensed.
“Rayne?” Lena called casually. “Rayne? You there? It’s cool. It was just one of the guys from engineering. I asked him to take another way.” Lena peaked her head cautiously from the corridor and saw Rayne still crouched in the control panel recess with a wild look in her eyes. She cursed quietly and approached like someone would a wounded animal. “Rayne? It’s okay. There’s no enemy here.” Rayne’s breath still came in low hissing growls. Lena kept speaking in calm, reassuring tones and gently laid a hand on her hot forearm. She was taking a huge chance, but she needed to do something before anyone else came along. This particular corridor wasn’t well traveled which was why she’d chosen it over the more direct and busy routes, but if anyone came along now, someone would get hurt.
Rayne’s eyes flicked to Lena’s contact with her arm. Lena’s words worked their way to her through the murky distance. When no attack came, Lena took it as a positive sign and took a knee and faced her. She put another hand on Rayne’s trembling left arm and looked into her sunglass-covered eyes.
“Rayne. I need you to get control and calm down. Breathe easy.” The tension in Rayne’s body relaxed somewhat as she struggled for control. “That’s it. Breathe in, breathe out.” Several minutes passed as Rayne focused to slow her breathing and calm the murderous rage inside. Finally, while not relaxed, Lena felt Rayne had enough control to continue. “If you’re ready, let’s go.” They stood up together, Lena still holding gently to her arms. “It’s time we got you out of that ugly white gown and into some cool kick-ass marine wear.” They moved forward through the corridor, Lena with one arm hooked in Rayne’s.
They returned from the quartermaster an hour later. Lena commented that she now looked appropriately bad ass, but Rayne missed the light touch of the gown on her skin and walking in bare feet, despite her earlier opinion to the contrary. She still wore the sunglasses and carried her batons, but now wore the marine battle dress uniform. The camouflaged pattern and cut of the uniform hadn’t changed significantly in over a hundred years, but the technology had. Instead of a single color or pattern, the current BDU was capable of adopting several, depending on conditions. When not in combat, a solid olive drab was regulation, which was the color Rayne wore now. Everything itched and chaffed. Lena had assured her they’d break in with time, but Rayne worried she’d lose several layers of skin before then. The boots were probably the worst, and the best she could say about them was that they kept her feet warm and protected her soft soles from the hard edges of the ship’s floors. They fit, she supposed, but they were far from comfortable. She was inclined to take them off at the first opportunity. Aside from her obsidian colored skin and youthful appearance, she fit right in with the rest of the squad with her stubbled head and lean muscular figure.