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deserted planet to garrison within the

abandoned academy and spend a

few weeks playing war games in the abandoned skyscrapers and

broken storefronts. Bayton

had been delighted to find an actual opportunity for war.

The marines were green recruits, but the suits were heavily

armored, equipped with headsup displays that handled targeting

and threat detection, and did most of the aiming. The pirates

had never had a chance.

"We are goddamn warrior kings," declared Private Hanna Saul, slapping the side of the door

as she came in.

"Queen in your case," Berry said cheerfully. He was the youngest of them all, and a former

xenobiology major, of all things. He'd entered the Corps to pay for the rest of his schooling.

"Thank you," Hanna said, lighting a foul cigar. "I forgot until you reminded me."

"No smoking in the damn mess hall!" Vallen roared from behind the steaming pot.

"Hold on," Kell said, as Hanna stalked back the way she came, and insolently held her cigar

out the doorway while staring wide-eyed at Vallen. "I'm worried we're wandering from the

topic at hand."

Fingers around the barrel of a Bosun FN92 rifle sniper rifle,

Caston glared up at Kell.

"We kicked the hell out of those pirates," Kell said innocently, and then mouthed "What?"

at Caston.

"Suits did most of the work," Private Dax Damen said, ducking under Hanna's cigar. The

pirates' inept tinkering and Berry's grenade had ravaged two of

the three lifts. Dax had spent 5

the last six hours restarting the generators, repairing the electrical systems, and trying to unlock

the academy's tangled security network.

"These suits are junk," Vallen said. "The 5-4 Armored Infantry model my family modified

is—"

"Whoa, hang on," Kell said. "Your family is the Wolfe in Wolfe Industries? Did you know

that, Hanna?"

"Oh, yeah," Hanna said. "I think I remember hearing that the other five hundred times he

brought it up."

"Ha," said Vallen, but he was smiling.

"I've never heard this," Caston said, relieved that the currents of mockery had parted

around him.

"Probably because you were busy throwing up," Kell said.

"Vallen so admires Mengsk—" Hanna began.

"Emperor Mengsk," Dax corrected from the corner.

"—His Grace, His Lordship, the Eternal Emperor Mengsk the

First," Hanna said, genuflecting,

"that he's decided to likewise abandon his wealth and join the common men—"

"And women," Berry said helpfully.

"Thank you, Berry," Hanna said. "I forgot again. Common men and women, all right, and

make a name for himself on the field of battle. Next, if he's done

his homework, he'll sacrifice

an entire planet so that he can rise... to... Hi, Sarge!"

"Don't stop talking treason on my account, Private Saul,"

Sergeant Bayton said as entered

the circle of light from the shadows in the long depths of the mess hall. Even out of his suit, he

was a big man, with a scar splitting the stubble over his scalp.

"She was just making a joke, Sarge," Kell said, the smile wiped off his face.

"Don't you think you've defended enough people today?" Bayton said, raising an eyebrow.

"And hell, what do I care? She's a lifer, same as me. That earns her some grumbling privileges,

so long as she exercises some damn restraint about where she

uses them."

He held her eyes for a long, grim moment. She nodded. Bayton

sniffed the air.

"Smells right glorious in here. You're an angel of mercy, Private Wolfe. Where are our medic

and Private Drumar?" A horrified expression crossed his face.

"Not together, I hope."

"No," Caston said. "I saw Private Drumar heading up to the observation deck. I think

Corporal Sawn is in her room."

"I don't like her," said Dax, and the marines turned in surprised unison. Dax rarely voiced

opinions. He'd been resoced for some unspecified crime after his

conscription, and it was

generally accepted that there wasn't much Dax left in there. "She talks to us like we're already

dead."

"If I were her, I wouldn't like you either," Bayton said, recovering first. "Flying recruits

around. Being woken up every time one of you delicate lilies

bangs an elbow. Private Gage, go

check on our wayward marine. No skipping meals in this outfit!"

Reflecting that speaking to Bayton about anything was a good

way to get volunteered,

Caston went, shouldering his FN92 along the way.

* * *6

Caston closed his eyes as the lift rose, putting one hand against

the humming wall. He'd

smiled at all the right times, reacted in all the right ways. None of them had seen.

Screaming in the soundproof box, he punched the wall over and

over and over, wil ing the

weakness to leave with each shuddering strike.

* * *

Caston exited the lift, carefully composed and smiling faintly. He

needn't have bothered.

Private Marc Drumar was staring out the nearest window into the

dark of the ruined cityscape,

where broken skyscrapers rose like tombstones in the faint

moonlight.

"Marc. Sarge says you have to come down for dinner."

"I'm not hungry," Marc said.

"Yeah, well, he says that doesn't matter," Caston said heartily.

"You know how he is."

"I don't like it," Marc said quickly.

"He's all right," Caston said, puzzled.

"No," Marc said, turning to face him. "I mean today. The kil ing. I thought I was ready, but I

shot that woman. I saw her fall in pieces."

A cold well opened in Caston's chest. His hands trembled. He

needed to say something. To

disarm this conversation before it went somewhere dangerous.

"She was scum," he said. Shit.

"What?" Marc said, wrinkling his brow.

"She would have killed you. She tried to kill you, man," Caston said, trying to bring it back to

safety.

"Yeah, I know," Marc said, and Caston relaxed.

"But I was looking out at this city..." Marc continued. "And I was thinking. We spend all our

time fighting rebels, pirates, zerg, protoss. And our worlds are

ruined, and we keep killing each

other. And for what?"

Caston exhaled in an explosive rush. "What should we do? Talk to them? They want to

exterminate us, idiot."

Marc blinked once. "After what happened to you today, I thought you'd understand."

"I'm not a coward."

"Neither am I," Marc said, meeting Caston's anger calmly, and a little sadly. "I just don't

want to do this anymore."

Caston turned from him, and went to the glassless window, balling

his fist into a bloodless

rock. The wind smelled of rust and decay, and he breathed it in.

He breathed out.

"Our enemies aren't reasonable," he said. "Look at this place, Marc. You want to lay down

your gun, but they'll kill you armed or unarmed. They'l b-burn

your home down