answer.
"You're freaking out about her sig print? I didn't take you for being into the grungy type, but as long as she comes to you and it's consensual-"
"That's not it, damn it," he said. "I think I may be having some residual symptoms." He put his hand to his head. The patch had fallen off while he slept, leaving the wound completely healed. "I'm done for today."
"You're done when the day is over, Captain," she replied.
"Christine, I said-"
"Major Arapo. You can call me Christine when you're being cooperative."
"Are you joking?"
She grabbed his arm and pulled his face close to hers. "Property, Captain. That's what you are. Did you ever bitch at your CO that you couldn't make a drop because you had a headache?"
"That was life or death. This is... this is all bullshit."
"Lower your tone, Captain."
"Or what? What can you do? Lock me up? Court-martial me?"
"We made you. We can break you."
"No. You can't. That's what I'm trying to tell you. I'm already broken." He tapped his skull. "I'm hearing things, seeing things. Something's messed up in there, and it happened after I got shot yesterday. I'm not trying to be a problem, Major, but unless you want to risk me freaking out on World Stream, you need to get me the hell out of here."
She let him go, her face turning rigid. "Okay. I'm bringing you back to Drummond. Whatever happens, whatever he tells you, you're not getting out of the gala. General Cornelius is going to be there to give you the medal himself, and I'll be damned if you're going to miss that."
Cornelius was one of the top ranking officers in the Space Marines and a legend in his own right. The last thing Mitchell wanted was to embarrass himself in front of the man. "Yes, ma'am."
"Wait here. I'll clear the queue. We leave in five minutes."
Mitchell watched her exit the enclosure. He noticed she'd dropped the strip on the floor. He picked it up and looked at it. He could see the sig print clearly now. Why had he seen a message before?
There was something wrong with him, but what?
9
"Mmmhmmm. I don't see anything wrong with your brain, Captain," Dr. Drummond said. "At least, nothing that wasn't there before." He brought a pair of scans up onto the wall behind him. "The one on the left is your gray matter during your last physical, about eight months ago. The one on the right is today."
Mitchell shifted between the two. They were nearly identical, save for a small spot in his prefrontal cortex. "What about that?" he asked, pointing.
Drummond examined the scan. "That's the wire that connects your brain to your implant. It was damaged yesterday, so the techs replaced it. From what I've been told, it's a standard upgrade. All the new recruits are getting fitted with it by default."
"They didn't change anything else, did they?"
"Let me see." His eye fluttered as he read the data projected onto it. "Minor system updates, three percent improvement in CAP-NN routing. Compatibility with the Carrion, whatever that is."
Mitchell knew what it was. A new mech, still in testing phase. If they were adding the compatibility routines to drive it, that meant it was on the verge of being approved for purchase. That wasn't exactly good news. Greylock had been sent a Carrion to test out. It was a small, thirty ton mech, nimble as anything, but also a brittle piece of shit. They'd brought it down to a training ground on Cestus and disabled it inside of five minutes with standard infantry fire.
It was being approved because the cost was as low as its usefulness. Having a hundred of them wandering a theater as peacekeepers would work out just fine, as long as nobody actually attacked it.
"So, nothing that would cause me to be seeing things? Or hearing things?" Mitchell put his hand up to his temple again.
"Nothing obvious. Personally, I think it's just stress. You've been getting run ragged the last couple of months. I submitted a request to have you moved to inactive for a few weeks for some R & R, but it was
"You're freaking out about her sig print? I didn't take you for being into the grungy type, but as long as she comes to you and it's consensual-"
"That's not it, damn it," he said. "I think I may be having some residual symptoms." He put his hand to his head. The patch had fallen off while he slept, leaving the wound completely healed. "I'm done for today."
"You're done when the day is over, Captain," she replied.
"Christine, I said-"
"Major Arapo. You can call me Christine when you're being cooperative."
"Are you joking?"
She grabbed his arm and pulled his face close to hers. "Property, Captain. That's what you are. Did you ever bitch at your CO that you couldn't make a drop because you had a headache?"
"That was life or death. This is... this is all bullshit."
"Lower your tone, Captain."
"Or what? What can you do? Lock me up? Court-martial me?"
"We made you. We can break you."
"No. You can't. That's what I'm trying to tell you. I'm already broken." He tapped his skull. "I'm hearing things, seeing things. Something's messed up in there, and it happened after I got shot yesterday. I'm not trying to be a problem, Major, but unless you want to risk me freaking out on World Stream, you need to get me the hell out of here."
She let him go, her face turning rigid. "Okay. I'm bringing you back to Drummond. Whatever happens, whatever he tells you, you're not getting out of the gala. General Cornelius is going to be there to give you the medal himself, and I'll be damned if you're going to miss that."
Cornelius was one of the top ranking officers in the Space Marines and a legend in his own right. The last thing Mitchell wanted was to embarrass himself in front of the man. "Yes, ma'am."
"Wait here. I'll clear the queue. We leave in five minutes."
Mitchell watched her exit the enclosure. He noticed she'd dropped the strip on the floor. He picked it up and looked at it. He could see the sig print clearly now. Why had he seen a message before?
There was something wrong with him, but what?
9
"Mmmhmmm. I don't see anything wrong with your brain, Captain," Dr. Drummond said. "At least, nothing that wasn't there before." He brought a pair of scans up onto the wall behind him. "The one on the left is your gray matter during your last physical, about eight months ago. The one on the right is today."
Mitchell shifted between the two. They were nearly identical, save for a small spot in his prefrontal cortex. "What about that?" he asked, pointing.
Drummond examined the scan. "That's the wire that connects your brain to your implant. It was damaged yesterday, so the techs replaced it. From what I've been told, it's a standard upgrade. All the new recruits are getting fitted with it by default."
"They didn't change anything else, did they?"
"Let me see." His eye fluttered as he read the data projected onto it. "Minor system updates, three percent improvement in CAP-NN routing. Compatibility with the Carrion, whatever that is."
Mitchell knew what it was. A new mech, still in testing phase. If they were adding the compatibility routines to drive it, that meant it was on the verge of being approved for purchase. That wasn't exactly good news. Greylock had been sent a Carrion to test out. It was a small, thirty ton mech, nimble as anything, but also a brittle piece of shit. They'd brought it down to a training ground on Cestus and disabled it inside of five minutes with standard infantry fire.
It was being approved because the cost was as low as its usefulness. Having a hundred of them wandering a theater as peacekeepers would work out just fine, as long as nobody actually attacked it.
"So, nothing that would cause me to be seeing things? Or hearing things?" Mitchell put his hand up to his temple again.
"Nothing obvious. Personally, I think it's just stress. You've been getting run ragged the last couple of months. I submitted a request to have you moved to inactive for a few weeks for some R & R, but it was
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