Blood Impulse

Part 24.4 - SABRE DUEL

Polaris Sector, Battleship Singularity

The aftermath of combat was always unpleasant. The blood had to be scrubbed off the bulkheads, and dead had to be disposed of or moved to cold storage – depending on if they'd been friend or foe. The acrid scent of burnt wiring, coupled with the hearty smell of smoke choked the air on many decks. The air, while safe to breathe, was pungent.

Sergeant Alise Cortana wanted no part of any of it. The way she saw it, she'd engaged the boarders, defended the ship, and her responsibilities ended there. The other Marines, after finishing their grueling security sweep, had jumped headlong into helping with damage control.

Honestly, she didn't know where they got the energy. She felt dead on her feet, and had zero interest in not only additional work, but additional maintenance work. No, she just wanted some well-deserved rack time, but instead found herself trudging toward the training room, as the Admiral had ordered.

She didn't know what that was about, and she didn't truly care as long as it was over with quickly. Careful to be punctual, she arrived and was surprised by the amount of people in the room. There seemed to be a few representatives from every department on the ship: a few Marines, a few yeomen, a few engineers and a speckling of officers among them. Still, the room wasn't crowded. It was decently large, a few punching bags hung, and two of the corners were padded for martial arts sparring. The other walls and even parts of the ceiling were plastered in posters of celebrities, propaganda and entertainment from every era of the last half century.

It was an obvious fire hazard, but clearly, no one had bothered to crack down on such regulations. The Admiral himself was present, in conversation with the largest Marine in the room, who towered over him.

She made her way in that direction, suddenly cautious of the way the others parted before her. She'd hadn't been nervous until she felt the weight of their gazes. Their interest made her uneasy. She could just feel that they were waiting for her, waiting to watch her like an exhibit on display.

When she was close enough, the Admiral turned to her. "Welcome, Sergeant. How are your comrades?"

She furrowed her brow, "I don't know, sir."

Behind him, Johnston shifted, trying desperately to cover his disgust as the Admiral maintained his perfect neutral. "You did not check on them after the battle, Sergeant?"

"No, sir." They'd been strangers to her. She had no real attachment or concern for any of the soldiers here. As Marines, they should be able to handle themselves.

He'd been right to deal with this now, despite the post-battle issues that should have consumed his attention. Even Johnston's patience was being tested by the Sergeant, and he was one of the most tolerant soldiers the Admiral had ever met. Beyond that, he could feel the air of emotion in the room. It was a rare day that his presence was not the cause of the room's unease, but today, it seemed Cortana had that honor.

"Why was I ordered here, sir?" she asked, eager to get whatever this was over with.

"Do you have somewhere else to be, Sergeant?" he countered, "It was my understanding that you had no interest in pitching in on repairs."

She tried not to grimace, well aware how the wrong answer would sound here. "It's not my area of expertise, sir." She was a Marine. She'd done her job and fought off the boarders. Maintenance and repairs were the responsibilities of the ship's engineers.

The answer was fine enough he supposed, but the Admiral knew very well what she didn't say. Repair work was below a soldier of her caliber. It was the engineers' job to slave over the machine, to stain their hands with grease and earn sore feet and aching backs. A soldier like her, complete with fine decorum and the best training the worlds could offer, was better than that, better than them. As if.