Gabriel's Redemption by Steve Umstead Page A

Communication Systems from Sao Paulo, Masters in quantum computing from UCF. Also put in a year after graduation at Apple, but my father, uh, strongly recommended I join up to continue the Navy tradition.” He held up a hand. “Not that I’m complaining, I love the Navy, and this is my third off-world mission. Some people get the wrong idea when I give them the full history.”
    “No worries, Mister Sowers. As long as you’re one hundred percent committed, I won’t have any issues at all. So you’re the low man on the totem pole here?”
    Sowers chuckled. “Close, but that honor goes to Arturo.” He waved his hand in the direction of the other man who had been watching baseball.  
    “Petty Officer Third Class Arturo Jimenez, Commander,” the man said with a smile as he put an emphasis on his lower rank.  
    Gabriel took his proffered hand and gave it a shake. Jimenez was tall and wiry, a hair taller than Gabriel, dark skinned, with a slight hint of Mayan in his facial features. Very odd combination, Jimenez’s height and his Yucatan heritage. “Weapons and demo?” he asked.
    “Uh, yes sir…how did you…”
    “Scarred fingers on your left hand indicate close-in use of Geltex explosive, probably from a premature flash burn. Slight incision near your right eye is evidence of a sloppy NAF weapon targeting retina implant job. And honestly, you smell of tactite projectile propellant. No offense.”
    Jimenez was taken aback for a second, then recovered. “Got me pegged, sir.” He glanced down at his left hand. “Didn’t have the money to get this fixed. Plus chicks tend to dig scars.”
    Gabriel absently rubbed his right leg, the dead, ruined skin underneath his pants scratching at the fabric. “Not all the scars, Mister Jimenez. And certainly not all the chicks.”
    Jimenez nodded. “Right sir. Looking forward to working with you. And I’ll shower before launch.”
    Gabriel looked at the other pool player, who was wearing a t-shirt with a patch showing his rank. Same one who had coughed earlier. “Ensign…?”
    “Lamber, sir. Ensign Marco Lamber,” he said quietly. Gabriel noticed his dark hooded eyes first, which gave him a brooding appearance, almost scary. He had a Latino look, mustache and goatee, and his crinkled leathery skin showed he obviously had spent many a hard day in the sun. “Former Marine ground pounder, sir, looking to see some other worlds before my time’s up.”
    Gabriel nodded. “Understand. Hope you don’t think the Navy is an easy gig?” He picked up a ball from the table, the eight, rolling it around in his hand.
    Lamber smirked, reminding Gabriel of Gesselli’s look. “No sir, but I’m tired of humping through jungles and across deserts. Ready for a new challenge.”
    “You may get your wish, Ensign. And it certainly won’t be a jungle or desert.”
    “Good afternoon, Commander, I’m Chief Warrant Officer Teresita St. Laurent,” the woman who was watching baseball said, offering her hand. “Medic and shooter, at your service. Everyone calls me Tee.”
    “Nice to meet you, Chief,” Gabriel said, setting the eight ball down and shaking her hand. Very small in stature, St. Laurent had tiny features, but piercing blue eyes, sparkling with some hidden knowledge. Gabriel could almost feel her brain running overtime behind those eyes. “Canadian?”
    “Mostly. Father is Canadian, mother is Cuban. Makes for interesting holidays at our house,” she replied.
    “I’ll bet,” Gabriel said. “Medic or shooter primarily?”
    “Medic by trade, shooter at heart,” she said with a smile.
    “Excellent, my favorite type.” Gabriel noticed the armored lieutenant hadn’t said a word. He walked up to him and extended his hand, looking slightly up into his eyes. “Okay, big guy, tell me about yourself.”
    The large man returned his look, then glanced down at his hand. Several seconds went by, then he took the hand and squeezed. Hard.  
    Oh boy , Gabriel thought. Here we