Chapter 6

I’d been eating MRE’s for a year now, not only when I was in the field and hot meals couldn’t be brought up, but also when I didn’t feel like leaving my hootch between missions. Stacks of the meals-ready-to-eat waited in the bottom of my wall locker, along with several bottles of Tabasco; I might run out of MRE’s, but I wasn’t going to run out of Tabasco! If you’ve eaten MRE’s, you’ll understand why. But I didn’t want an MRE this morning.

The dining facility served good food, even if it was a touch bland. I suppose it doesn’t matter; most of us were going to bitch anyway. The food would never be good enough, even if we were served cordon-bleu entrees every day. But that’s not why I often stayed away after a mission, I just couldn’t face people. Maybe it’s part of that social avoidance disorder I’ve heard about.

But I needed the extra calories this morning; I’d burned off a lot of energy during the night patrol, even though nothing significant had happened, so I headed out.

There was no one around when I closed the door behind me. I stood near the corner of the block of CHU’s and just waited for a while, listening and sensing. Sounds, off in the distance; a helicopter was coming in to land, probably one of the courier flights, and tracks sqeaked meaning that someone was moving a Bradley infantry fighting vehicle from its parking spot. But then again, it might be a bulldozer or one of the other engineer vehicles. There might be a convoy forming up, or perhaps the track was going into one of the shops for maintenance.

Good machines, the tracked vehicles, but they do need to be kept up. Hulls and power packs are reliable, unless the engines have been exposed to excessive dust, but the Brads and Abrams are also stuffed full of electronics. The electronic modules are protected from the worst of the thumping, but connectors shake loose and sometimes circuit boards crack. Vibration is not a friend to electronic components. The noise was nothing to worry about, so I walked over to the dining facility.

Army food provides the energy needed by people who carry heavy loads and occasionally find themselves running on adrenaline. It’s also a morale issue. The dining facility had formerly been open 24-7, but they’d cut back the hours recently. Even so, except for the period between 2100 and 0430, the serving lines would be open. Whenever possible, the Army tries to have a hot meal ready for soldiers. Troops departing on a mission could eat before they left, and those coming back inside the wire could get a hot meal before they crashed.

A few people were having breakfast when I arrived. I had become convinced that the implant was where Surfer said it was. I wanted to rub my neck, see if I could feel anything, but the device would be implanted too deep. From now on, I’d be watching the people around me and also the guys serving food.

Silly, really; the danger would come from someone with a transmitter, not from servers with ladles in their hands, but I wasn’t thinking very clearly. The headache was back, this time from tension. I couldn’t pick up thoughts, but I could feel emotion. Nothing felt threatening. That would have to do. Despite my reasoning, I tried to read the guys on the serving line as I went through.

Nothing seemed suspicious; my food came from the same pan the servers had used for people ahead of me. Nothing unusual had been added to my tray, and the serving people were tired but not tense. This was paranoia, I knew it, but I had to be paranoid because any other mind-set could blow my mind! Literally!

I got my food and took my tray to an empty table in back. I kept an eye on the tray while filling the coffee mug, and almost burned my hand. The mug was too full by the time I released the spigot handle so I drank a bit of the coffee, enough that it wouldn’t slosh on the way back to the table. No one appeared to be paying attention. Yesterday, I had been one among many who were, if not friends, at least allies. No longer; the people around me might be fellow soldiers I could depend on, or they might be someone waiting to fire the explosive in my neck. There had been other Talents I could contact, or thought I could. Now, only Surfer remained, and once I met her there would be the Shezzie woman he’d mentioned.

I had the urge again to run my fingers down my neck, see if I could feel a bump or a scar. But no; that thing had been there for more than a year, and I’d washed and combed my hair and moved my head around. If there was any external sign of the implant, I’d have felt it, and maybe wondered. Death waited inside my neck! It was almost impossible to believe, in the same way that people who are told they have terminal cancer can’t immediately accept the diagnosis. They have to think about it for a while before they understand life is almost over. My life might end too, just not with the certainty that those with last-stage cancer have. I dared not let my suspicions reveal themselves. What if someone was watching? Had the other graduates been killed in order to get rid of them, or had they become aware of the control? Had someone pressed a button before the implant could be removed?

My perception might save my life if that someone was watching me for any change in behavior. Fortunately, I could keep my eyes on my food, while still continuing to scan around. A few seconds warning from my PreCog Talent might be enough. I kept my expression bland, mind and Talents working overtime even as I ate.

I finished my breakfast and drank a second cup of coffee while I watched the people in the dining facility. Two caught my attention; everyone else had their own interests, or they were busy talking with the others at their tables. One was a captain two tables away from me, nattily dressed for a dining facility that served mostly combat types. Except for his clothing, there was nothing to set him apart, but something about him seemed different.

I noticed a woman too. She was petite, not much obvious shape under the uniform, pretty nondescript all in all. She was an officer, that much I could tell, but I couldn’t see her insignia. She seemed to be paying me an unusual amount of attention. I returned the attention, but couldn’t read much. They appeared to be just two ordinary people that had somehow attracted my notice. I wished for a fleeting moment that I had Surfer’s Talent, but I don’t and there was no use thinking about it.

I didn’t know why those two were interested in me, but I’d learned to trust my feelings so I finished my coffee and headed for the door. I had to pass the captain on my way out. He kept his attention on his food, and it was a good thing; as paranoid as I was, if he’d reached into his pocket I might have killed him. But nothing happened, so I exited the door and put distance between us. He remained in the DF, apparently in no hurry to finish his meal. False alarm, I decided.

Like the terminal cancer patient, my mind searched for alternatives. Anything, any way out ... I understood now why such people will try any far-fetched quack cure, spend any amount of money! They were looking for a tiny shred of hope.

The decision had been made without my realizing it. The first thing I needed to do was get out of this dustbowl! An enemy had too much control here, and my circumstance as a junior officer left me with very little wiggle room. I needed someplace to hide, someplace I wasn’t under military control.