Breaking Ranks

Samantha: Take the Shot

The wailing of the tortured man drifted up, carried toward the ridgeline where we sat concealed in wait, amplified by the enhanced hearing of our combat suits. Truth be told, it wasn't the most pleasant noise I'd ever heard, but I kept my mouth shut. So in the end it was Potter who mentioned the man first, right as Sergeant Gunnarson was beginning another patrol.

"Kaltran with me; Henderson on drone overwatch."

"Think I can shut him up, Sergeant?" Potter asked over the squad comms. "They already know we're here."

"They don't know we're here here," Sergeant Gunnarson replied. "We doubled back after supervising the corpse exchange."

In the distance, the carts still trundled along, horse-drawn rickety things loaded down with corpses bound for the elevator. The trader was one of the precious few authorized to transport goods outside the Agricultural Section; and had a data slate that mapped the minefield. I squinted, the helmet's enhanced vision zooming even farther in a way that was still unfamiliar to me.

She was a female trader too. It was a shame, but you didn't see too many women in charge down here. It was like a different place entirely down here; as if a thousand years of human progress had been lost. I may be one of only a few female Seraphim but that was a different matter—and besides, most of our senators and half of Bridge Security are women.

"You kill the prisoner and they'll just think us soft," Henderson offered in his laconic 14th Floor drawl. Ever since they'd been cut off during the First Mutiny, the 14th Floor had developed its own particular way of talking, even when a few decades later Bridge Security had fought their way back down and welcomed them back into the fold.

Potter shook his head. "It'll strike the fear of the Twelve in them. You know how scared they are of 'magic.' Sergeant, what do you think?"

The sergeant grunted. We could hear a slapping sound over the distance and the prisoner's wailing somehow increased.

"Fucking passengers," Kaltran muttered behind me, his deep voice resonating even without the use of the squad comm. "What a bunch of savages."

Kaltran, I knew, had executed many a passenger over his years in the Seraphim Suppression Squad. But that was different. Breaking Regulations by endangering the Tranquility earned a quick death sentence—or a slow one if it set a more public example. And most of these passengers were so stupid and ignorant that they didn't even understand they're on a spaceship. They just see a patch of ground with more shiny stuff than what they have and pretty soon they'll kill and torture to get it. The only thing these passengers understand is brutality.

This fighting is all against Regulations, of course, but since the Mutinies we're overstretched as it is. We pick our battles. Warfare is tolerated as long as it doesn't endanger the ship. We have enough to worry about in the upper decks, and at the end of the cycle, as long as they grow our food we don't much care what goes on down here.

"Fine," the sergeant said, waving his hand in dismissal. "One shot. Don't hit anyone else. Kaltran, with me."

Potter busied about with his rifle, but I didn't quite see what he was doing. Seemed like he was ready enough, so why was he wasting time?

He jerked his head over to me once the others had padded away and pulled his helmet off. He had curly light brown hair, a bit longer than Security Regulations allowed, but he somehow seemed to get away with it. Twelve, it wasn't much longer than mine!

"You want to take the shot?" Potter asked, his voice light and quiet, eyes shining as if we shared some secret joke.

I scoffed. "Sergeant said you'd take it."