weapon thundered next to his.
The bush disintegrated in a hail of shredded leaves. Dark armor glinted inside. It sparked and jumped in the hail of depleted uranium. Then it stopped firing. A puff of smoke curled from it, like the last exhalation of a dying man.
“Yeah!” Matt yelled, but he couldn’t even hear his own voice.
Michelle said something. Her words were softer than a whisper, unintelligible. She tapped on the side of his gun, where the LCD readout showed 023.
He had only twenty-three rounds left. Twenty-three rounds, and a hundred yards to go.
He nodded. “Guess we’ll have to make a run for it!” Without waiting for Michelle, Matt charged out into the swamp once again.
And through the splash of water, he saw something incredible : Kyle running full-bore ahead of him. He’d taken the opening that Matt and Michelle had created. Matt bit his lip, thinking how unfair it was.
As if to rub it in, Michelle flashed past Matt as if he were standing still. Her speed left him dazed. She closed the gap with Kyle. Matt struggled to get his burning legs to move faster.
Every moment, he expected a bullet to find his back, but the sentries were silent. He came close enough to see a doctor standing cross-armed in front of the tent.
Michelle sprinted past Kyle, who had started to limp as if with a strained muscle. His face contorted in pain, but he kept running ahead of Matt.
Matt reached the gravel walkway leading from the edge of the swamp to the tents, as Michelle ran past the doctor. The doctor called out in a loud, clear voice: “First!”
Matt slowed to a fast walk. First? She was first? It seemed like an eternity he’d been in the swamp. How could they not be last?
Kyle ran into the tent.
“Second,” the doctor said.
Matt sped up and ran through the flaps, finishing strong.
“Third,” he heard, behind him.
3
TESTS
The medical tents were huge, obsessively clean, and lit with the kind of actinic, perfectly white medical lamps that made everyone look sickly and pale. White-suited doctors stood at the sides of the tent, poking disinterestedly at slates or watching a tremendous wall screen playing Union Broadcasting Corporation news.
The main story was about an abortive Corsair attack on Portal, the newest Union world. Diagrams showed the Union Displacement Drive warship UUS Ulysses in orbit around the planet, as well as a dozen Rhinos and a smattering of Cheetahs. Talking heads yammered unintelligibly, but the upshot seemed to be that nobody had been hurt. There were no pictures of smoking cities, and no Mecha had been deployed. Below the main news streamed additional headlines: GEOTECH INDUSTRIES TERRAFORMING PRACTICES IN REVIEW BY UNION GOVERNMENT; ERIDANI FARMING YIELDS FALL—IMPORTS NECESSARY FOR CURRENT YEAR; ANNO SERVICES STOCK SPIKES ON NEWS OF MERGER.
“Congratulations!” said one of the doctors, stepping forward to grin at Matt, Kyle, and Michelle. He was a slight, dark-haired man in his early forties who would have been pale-skinned even if he weren’t under the medical lamps. His name badge read: E. PECHTER, M.D.
Pechter continued before any of the three could talk. “If there were medals, you’d be wearing them.” He shook his head sadly and gestured at a row of gurneys. “Unfortunately, all we have are these beds. Why don’t you take a seat and let us have a look?”
“I’m not injured,” Michelle told him.
Pechter nodded. “Well, don’t you earn the gold star? You still need a physical. Up on the bed.”
Michelle frowned and sat on the closest gurney. Kyle limped to the one next to hers.
Matt didn’t want to move. After the surreal fight through the swamp, he felt floaty and strange, as if his brain had been disconnected from his body. They’d shot at him. Like some expendable army grunt. Why was he here? Was this really the highest honor in the Union, or was it all just a con job?
Matt gritted his teeth. He couldn’t just up and leave. There was too much at
The bush disintegrated in a hail of shredded leaves. Dark armor glinted inside. It sparked and jumped in the hail of depleted uranium. Then it stopped firing. A puff of smoke curled from it, like the last exhalation of a dying man.
“Yeah!” Matt yelled, but he couldn’t even hear his own voice.
Michelle said something. Her words were softer than a whisper, unintelligible. She tapped on the side of his gun, where the LCD readout showed 023.
He had only twenty-three rounds left. Twenty-three rounds, and a hundred yards to go.
He nodded. “Guess we’ll have to make a run for it!” Without waiting for Michelle, Matt charged out into the swamp once again.
And through the splash of water, he saw something incredible : Kyle running full-bore ahead of him. He’d taken the opening that Matt and Michelle had created. Matt bit his lip, thinking how unfair it was.
As if to rub it in, Michelle flashed past Matt as if he were standing still. Her speed left him dazed. She closed the gap with Kyle. Matt struggled to get his burning legs to move faster.
Every moment, he expected a bullet to find his back, but the sentries were silent. He came close enough to see a doctor standing cross-armed in front of the tent.
Michelle sprinted past Kyle, who had started to limp as if with a strained muscle. His face contorted in pain, but he kept running ahead of Matt.
Matt reached the gravel walkway leading from the edge of the swamp to the tents, as Michelle ran past the doctor. The doctor called out in a loud, clear voice: “First!”
Matt slowed to a fast walk. First? She was first? It seemed like an eternity he’d been in the swamp. How could they not be last?
Kyle ran into the tent.
“Second,” the doctor said.
Matt sped up and ran through the flaps, finishing strong.
“Third,” he heard, behind him.
3
TESTS
The medical tents were huge, obsessively clean, and lit with the kind of actinic, perfectly white medical lamps that made everyone look sickly and pale. White-suited doctors stood at the sides of the tent, poking disinterestedly at slates or watching a tremendous wall screen playing Union Broadcasting Corporation news.
The main story was about an abortive Corsair attack on Portal, the newest Union world. Diagrams showed the Union Displacement Drive warship UUS Ulysses in orbit around the planet, as well as a dozen Rhinos and a smattering of Cheetahs. Talking heads yammered unintelligibly, but the upshot seemed to be that nobody had been hurt. There were no pictures of smoking cities, and no Mecha had been deployed. Below the main news streamed additional headlines: GEOTECH INDUSTRIES TERRAFORMING PRACTICES IN REVIEW BY UNION GOVERNMENT; ERIDANI FARMING YIELDS FALL—IMPORTS NECESSARY FOR CURRENT YEAR; ANNO SERVICES STOCK SPIKES ON NEWS OF MERGER.
“Congratulations!” said one of the doctors, stepping forward to grin at Matt, Kyle, and Michelle. He was a slight, dark-haired man in his early forties who would have been pale-skinned even if he weren’t under the medical lamps. His name badge read: E. PECHTER, M.D.
Pechter continued before any of the three could talk. “If there were medals, you’d be wearing them.” He shook his head sadly and gestured at a row of gurneys. “Unfortunately, all we have are these beds. Why don’t you take a seat and let us have a look?”
“I’m not injured,” Michelle told him.
Pechter nodded. “Well, don’t you earn the gold star? You still need a physical. Up on the bed.”
Michelle frowned and sat on the closest gurney. Kyle limped to the one next to hers.
Matt didn’t want to move. After the surreal fight through the swamp, he felt floaty and strange, as if his brain had been disconnected from his body. They’d shot at him. Like some expendable army grunt. Why was he here? Was this really the highest honor in the Union, or was it all just a con job?
Matt gritted his teeth. He couldn’t just up and leave. There was too much at
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