WHAT REMAINS Chapter 8: The Circle
Back to Table of Contents
Using the daily schedules delivered to their tablets, Sora and Novak navigated to one of the rooms facing the outside world, aptly named “Group Sessions 1.” The sight of the interior made Sora’s stomach sink: a circle of hard-backed institutional chairs on thin gray carpet, illuminated by narrow high slits for windows, letting in natural light without giving any kind of distracting view. Not a tree in sight, even while she had her feet on the ground for a month. Goddamn this place, seriously.
Each chair sported a label on the back with a patient’s first name, and Sora noted that she and Novak had assigned seats directly opposed and facing one another, probably done pointedly. On Sora’s right stood a chair labeled “Crane,” and on her left, a chair labeled “Sei.” She didn’t know who these chairs belonged to, though she had a nagging worry that she’d seen “Crane” on the nametag of the idiot jarhead the previous night, who’d nearly gotten himself liquidated by Novak. Of course they’d put her next to the marine.
“I’m starting to think we might be uncool or something, constantly getting everywhere on time,” Sora mused, flumping down into her assigned chair in the near-empty room. “Even the doctors aren’t here yet, man.”
“I like having the space to myself first.” Novak slowly lowered himself into his seat across from her. “I hate walking into a room full of NCOs and hearing the conversation just fucking die because I’m there. Might as well command the room already. Besides, it’s what they expect from us.”
“The Fenris NCOs expect me to keep their asses alive and beat them senseless at drinking games and strip poker.” Sora tipped way back in her hard chair to study the ceiling.
Novak rested his elbows on his knees, and the serious lean in made Sora look at him. “Kuromoto. You play strip poker with your NCOs?”
Sora quirked an eyebrow and gave him a rakish half smile, seeing the corner of his mouth twitch. “What, and you don’t? I know that swimmer’s bod of yours, Novak. You’ve been holding out on people.”
He flushed and looked away; the blush made his neck and facial scars pop. “Yeah, well, maybe a couple years ago, I still had something to show off—but Jesus, Kuromoto. You’re a commissioned officer. What’re you doing?”
“Well, that’s what Jarhead Central on the Fenris does, so… when in Rome.” Sora shrugged her bio shoulder; she’d been past propriety for so long now that she could barely see the line anymore. Novak blinked, glancing at her with a frown.
“What are you doing hanging out in the marines’ bunkroom, anyways?”
Sora looked back at the ceiling as she rocked her chair, using her heels in the damn slipper socks. “I used to sleep there, hot bunking with them and some of the pilots. I’ve been catching sleep over the past week wherever I could get away with it. Mostly Hayden’s floor and dry goods storage. Slept in the back of an Apex once, but when I woke up in the middle of a CAP, I figured I’d better knock it off.”
Novak fell silent for nearly a full minute. “You’re hoboing around the Fenris so you don’t have to sleep in the ensign bunkroom, aren’t you? Jesus Christ, Sora.” Another pause, while she refused to look him in the eye.” So why did you leave Jarhead Central? Dorian bust your balls?”
Sora said nothing; she just stared at the ceiling, not sure how to answer. Novak didn’t press her, just filling her silence gently.
“It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me. I think I can guess.”
“Oh yeah?” Sora tried not to sound outright challenging. Even past all the wild pops of crazy he threw, she still liked him just as much as she ever did, honestly. She didn’t want to come out swinging against Novak when he asked some perfectly reasonable questions.
“Based on the fact that marines on different ships are talking about you and what they’re saying, I’m guessing you had a fling with one of them—that’s probably why they let you stay with them.” He paused, and she felt his eyes. “That and… well, I doubt they’d say no to you.”
“I put the ‘hot’ in hot bunking, yo,” Sora joked to the ceiling.
Novak might have cracked a smile, but his voice remained deep and serious.
“Then something happened with your marine—or marines. Don’t want to assume you were seeing only one of them.”
“You calling me a slut, Novak?” Sora looked at him, grinning again.
“I think you’d be insulted if I argued that you weren’t a slut.” Novak’s eyes twinkled a little when she met his eyes approvingly. “Maybe less of a slut than you used to be back in school. Managed to hide that from Barca, or is he getting suspicious?”
“He’s too busy being in a committed long-distance relationship to wonder if I’ve lost my slutty touch over the years,” Sora said. “Making me crazy. He keeps going on about leaving to teach at Academy, like he’s forgotten the goddamn point of all this. Hasn’t even made CO yet or hit thirty, and he’s already thinking housing blocks and throwing in the towel.”
Novak’s eyes flashed. “Barca wants to give up being XO of the Fenris to go teach? That’s a hell of a thing.” His eyes flashed and his mouth twisted bitterly. “Must be nice, having all those options and merrily strutting around between them.”
Sora resonated with the thought, much as it made her stomach twist with dislike of her own disloyalty. “Yeah. Every time he talks about it, I get so angry I have to change the topic.”
Novak’s voice turned opaque, flat and neutral, difficult to read. “I guess you’d miss the hell out of him if he left the ship.”
His tone made Sora frown, never sure why he felt the need to probe and what he might be looking for. “I mean, sure, but that would make me, like… sad, right? And it does. I’m not so much of a meathead jock that I don’t know the difference between sad and angry.” She considered carefully. “It’s just… every time Hayden brings up going off to teach distracted cadets, who barely know what a pulse cannon is… all to do the one fucking thing he’s the best at actually doing, instead of doing it himself, I hear him out and change the subject, before I—”
Deck him. Sora hushed abruptly, acutely aware that Hayden would deck her for talking to Novak about this. He smiled, seeing her mouth clap shut.
“Before you what? Punch him? No one could blame you.” He settled back, gazing around the room. “He’s the grandson of Hamilton Barca, and he’s been lucky so far. If he doesn’t take some shit injury or get himself killed, he could make Captain and have a storied career. Seeing him talk about walking away from it ‘just cuz’… after what we’ve both given up for the job… yeah, it’s enraging. He doesn’t get it.” He shrugged. “If he did, he’d be like us, right? Can’t want that for the guy.”
Silence descended again. At last, the door opened, and the doctors entered first with several of the enlisted patients chattering in a group behind them. A couple laughed when they set eyes on Sora and Novak, being typical officers already in possession of the space. To Sora, the laughter sounded nervous.
Novak stared at the group as they came in, fixing them with a challenging sort of neutral, hardened glare, eyes sliding over them as they entered like he itched to give out NJP. This guy.
The idiot jarhead from the night before, now accurately identified as “Crane,” sat down on Sora’s right, grinning as he did so. He’d hit his late twenties hard, rugged but good-looking, about 60% more handsome when smiling than scowling. Mid-height for a marine—maybe just south of 180 centimeters—with a marine’s close cut of light-brown hair, approximately European heritage, with eyes of dark, oceanic blue and a fantastic scar, slanting from the left side of his forehead down onto his right cheek. It paused as it passed over the bridge of his nose, which Indoc had probably reconstructed entirely. He had a bit of a babyface, rather than the frowning crags of most marines… and he even had dimples, which Sora found very compelling. His arms bulged inside his thermal shirt, and the scrubs fit tight on him, like he spent his whole damn life in the training room or running across the ship.
A slab of marine Sora would have jumped in a former life, cut and hard and obviously ready to go at every moment. Including this one.
“Great.” Sora kept her chair slanted back and her face pointed toward the ceiling, surveying him from the side. “Meat’s back on the menu.”
“Didn’t see you at breakfast,” Crane said to her, a little too warmly. Fucking hell, here we go. “Already find something you liked?”
“What? How would I do that, with so much sausage on the menu?” Sora found this far too easy.
“And plenty to go around,” Crane said with a grin, glad she caught his drift. “Your roommate join you for an early breakfast?”
“Why? Jealous?” Sora asked. “Wanted me to back up in your direction, sit somewhere else? Had a spot in mind?”
Crane’s grin and regard didn’t waver—he remained perfectly serious, very encouraged, never once breaking off into tension-popping laughter. Sometimes guys backed off when she pushed them toward explicitness, but not Crane. He’d probably do her right in the middle of Session, if she let him.
He lowered his voice. “I’ve got a perfect place for you to sit. Satisfaction guaranteed and return diners welcome. Promise to fill you up.”
Sora really couldn’t help but keep exchanging double entendre at this point. She adored the Star Navy marines and their honesty, their boldness, the way they just went after what they wanted, the way they loved life and threw caution to the winds with a smile or a laugh. Crazy bastards.
“With lots of deep conversation, I’m guessing?” She went on grinning. Nice to make “friends,” ha.
“And full-throated agreement.” He leaned in close to say it, making her laugh out loud.
“Good God, Crane.” A female jarhead sat down on Sora’s other side, at the seat labeled “Sei.” She had dark hair in a marine’s short cut and beautiful muscular arms, kind almond eyes the color of honey, and a female marine’s build on a strong, generous body and a heart-stoppingly beautiful face, with smooth skin of medium brown. She looked like she came from both Caribbean and Asian heritage, Sora guessed, with a broad and generous nose, lovely wide lips, smiling eyes, a heart-shaped face and a strong cut jaw with high cheekbones.
Sora dimly wondered for a second if this was supposed to be paradise or eternal torment; she really wasn’t sure at this point, finding herself in the middle of a smorgasbord of attractive marines, right when she still felt fatally guilty over her relationship with the last one.
She glanced at Novak reflexively, the way she might look at Hayden in these moments, as if to ask with her eyes, Can you believe this shit right now? But she found him glaring at Crane with open disgust and disdain, so intense that it took her aback. What, did gross him out to see some red-blooded marine flirting with her? He didn’t look jealous or hostile, just completely repulsed.
Novak’s eyes flickered to Sora’s, and his face cleared instantly, switching to steady blankness.
“Alright, everybody,” Dr. Wang said, sitting down at her labeled chair, wearing her doctor’s lab coat and a pale blue pantsuit, being tall for a woman and a bit like an egret—graceful and long, with dark hair in a short, straight, and smooth cut around her shoulders and largely East Asian features.
Dr. Kalgari took up a position well behind her, against a wall, where he could observe and take notes on his work tablet. They had both brought cups of coffee with them from the ward mess. “How are we doing this morning? Sleep was difficult last night, I’m guessing.” Kalgari couldn’t seem to help a smirk.
Groans of agreement drifted around the circle.
“I’d like to know where the fucking sound recordings came from,” Crane mused under his breath. “I could swear I was on a Destroyer the whole night, back in the early days of the wars. You trying to make us crazier than we already are?”
“Those were all collected for the Star Navy Academy simulators,” Dr. Wang explained. “Most of the recordings have never been used for anything, but they’re valuable time capsules. We have them from multiple ships at various points, all filed in the archives.” She took a sip of coffee and primed her stylus. “Why don’t we go around the circle and introduce everyone?”
They went around the room. First to introduce himself was the stringy bastard with a repair arm that Sora clocked as an engineer, named Remy, his hair dark and graying, mostly of European ancestry with a Marser accent and chip on his shoulder. Beside him sat a jittery strung-out young woman named Ruoxian who looked like she was itching for stims, around Sora’s height and largely East Asian, with bleached and dyed streaks in her black hair of bright cherry red and tired eyes of dark coffee; she sat with her knees jittering and her feet perched on the chair, like a teenager.
After Ruoxian sat another gritty-looking engineer, plainly from Mars based on her accent, named Jaqi. She volunteered the fact that she was thirty-three, all the lines of her body thin, angled, and hard, with dirty-blonde hair streaked with caramel and light brown skin the color of caramel. Beside her sat Novak (who quietly introduced himself as just Jase), and then a little nervous woman called Chana who might have been a Med Tech. She was maybe twenty-four, probably a combination of South Asian and European, with large glassy eyes and a mid-length fall of thick, mahogany hair, golden-hued skin and a doll-like prettiness that annoyed Sora, given the way she looked around with a sort of babyish, put-upon pout, wondering why she was here with all these crazy people.
On Chana’s left side sat a calm, nerdy-looking guy in his early forties, named Viorel; he had long and spindly limbs, almost hitting Jase’s height—maybe 185 centimeters. He had a thin, sharp, bony sort of frame, a strong nose, and long, elegant black hair, sporting white streaks at the temples, and dark eyes that watched the room with steady, unblinking regard. Viorel wore his sweater, having asked for a large one, and he held it to him almost like a lab coat, making Sora think he had to be a scientist. Crane sat on Sora’s right side, introducing himself with another dimpled grin.
“I’m Crane. Twenty-seven, Star Navy Marine Corps.” He looked over at her at Sora, eyes twinkling. “Go ahead, gorgeous.”
Sora kept her arms folded. “Yeah, hi. I’m Sora—”
“Kuromoto,” nearly everyone in the room said, except Novak and the scientists. Sora rolled her eyes.
“Fucking hell. Why am I even here?”
Dr. Wang looked around with a tight, stern set to her mouth, forehead creasing. “This is Sora. She’s a soldier with extensive cybernetics, just like yourselves. You will please refer to her as Sora, and refrain from making any references to her family members or their actions. If Sora wishes to bring them up in the course of her therapy, that’s her choice and prerogative. Otherwise, it’s irrelevant.”
A chorus of acquiescent mutters rose and fell around the circle. Dr. Wang fixed her eyes on Sora.
“You’re here because it was evident to the ship’s counselor and to your CO that you’re suffering—just like everyone else in this room.”
Sora had slouched low in her chair, arms folded over her chest, cybernetic hand hidden; when she felt like she and Dr. Wang had locked eyes for too long, she looked away toward the opposite wall, longing to put a hole through it and bust out of this joint at a flying leap.
“Goddamn traitors,” she muttered to herself, not really meaning it; saying so made her feel a little better anyways. She knew there was no way Nell Dorian would sign off on sending her here if the captain had actually laid eyes on the place and knew what it would be like.
“I guess all of our COs signed off on sending us here?” Crane asked. He sat in marine resting position, legs splayed and knees bent, resting his elbows on them, eyes fixed on the floor. Sora could see the outline of his armored plating across his chest and shoulder blades under his scrubs. Probably got a sucking chest wound on an away mission, bled out, lost structural integrity completely, with his thorax caving in on slagged organs, before some buddy of his dumped him into cryo on a prayer. She’d seen it happen before, and people were lucky to come out alive on the other end… if you could call this chrome shit “luck.”
Dr. Wang said nothing—just prompted Sei to introduce herself, but the silence might as well have contained a whole briefing book. On Sei’s other side sat a slight, quiet guy named Aki, probably in his early thirties, with a giant plate on the right side of his chestnut head of hair and a synthetic eye full of fiber-optics. He was thin—very thin, like he hadn’t been eating well—and of mixed descent, looking East Asian and Middle Eastern. His light brown skin made him look a little wan and pale, almost sick, and he had large wells of bright, observant brown eyes. Aki wore his scrubs as though he felt at home in them, and Sora thought he might be a ship’s doctor or at least a member of the Medical Corps.
And that was everyone, all ten of them.
“Let me just say I’m so happy to see each of you here.” Dr. Wang spoke pleasantly, her tone setting Sora’s teeth on edge. She so far avoided extreme expressions, being instead consistently inoffensive, professional, composed. “We’re going to get very well acquainted over the next four weeks, so look around at each other. This is your new support network, your new brotherhood. It’s a sacred space, and everything you hear in this room must be considered a deep and unbreakable confidence.”
Kalgari spoke, voice lower and more forbidding. “Speaking practically, nothing you hear in this room should be used as a weapon, nor reported up the chain, nor written down in a report or briefing. This is a military program, a joint operation between Science Directorate and the Star Navy. If you break the confidence of your fellows here, not only will you be violating a sacred trust, but you can be charged for insubordination and disorderly conduct—or Conduct Unbecoming an Officer, as the case may be.” He looked at Sora when he mentioned Conduct Unbecoming, a reminder explicitly for her and Novak. They both nodded in understanding.
Dr. Wang seemed satisfied by the room’s general lack of argument, so she went on. “Alright—let’s go around the circle again. Why do you think you were sent here to this pilot program at Murphy-Meilin? Something happened to each of you just before you were recommended for the program. I’m not asking how you got your cybernetics. I want you to tell us what you think landed you in this pilot. What was the triggering incident or final straw, from your point of view?”
She looked at Remy. He swallowed and glared at the floor with a grim face.
“Took a swing at an officer. With a really big wrench.”
A bunch of the NCOs laughed quietly at this, careful not to get carried away. Dr. Wang didn’t ask Remy why he’d done this; she just nodded and looked at Ruoxian.
“Do I have to?” Ruoxian sounded quiet, whiny in an adolescent manner, before clearing her throat and shaking one leg. No one said anything, and she took this as a yes. “Fine. I stole a shitload of Methyltonin, got bombed out of my mind, and jumped someone while I was working the chow line. I thought they knew where I’d hidden my stash… but they were just asking for some hashbrowns.”
Sora kicked back laughing, as did Crane and Sei beside her.
“You laughing at me, ma’am?” Ruoxian sounded strung out and a little thready, leaning forward with dangerous, glinting eyes.
Sora piped down, still smiling. “Okay, Ace, don’t get uppity at me. Someone said hashbrowns, and you heard ‘stash’. That’s fucking funny, and you know it.”
“How’d you know I’m a pilot?” Ruoxian sounded taken aback.
“I dunno. Must be a fucking psychic,” Sora shot back sarcastically. “Or maybe I spend most of my time with jarheads and flyboys and know what they look like.” She paused, seeing Ruoxian wasn’t satisfied, and rolled her eyes, staring at the ceiling as she responded. “Fine. You said it was Methyltonin. It improves response time, and since I’m a helmsman, I know there’re only two kinds of people on the ship who prefer Methyltonin to other stims, despite the fact that it makes your heart fucking explode: shield-helm techs, and pilots. You’re too young to be a graduated console jockey with enough trauma to land you here, so you’re a pilot. Happy?”
Ruoxian exhaled an impatient breath and looked away, the classic symptom of someone who didn’t want to admit that Sora was smarter than she looked. It was a good way to spy and catch people off-guard, acting like a slutty, brotastic himbo in a girl suit, so it worked for her.
Jaqi’s turn arrived, with her Martian accent and the duskiness across her bruised and scarred hand. Sora tried not to focus on the shiny red scarring across her face and forehead, a line of missing hair all the way across the left side of her scalp, the metal plate shining in the daylight. Jaqi had a repair arm, or a repair wrist and hand, really, the chrome replacement stopping mid-forearm. The bone attachment probably caused her constant pain; Sora preferred attachment at the joint.
Jaqi fixed her eyes on the floor. “Yeah, I… uh. Also attacked someone with a wrench.”
Sora immediately clocked that as a lie, and Dr. Wang cleared her throat, beginning to do something on her tablet.
Dr. Kalgari asked from the back of the room, a little ominously. “Is that your final answer?”
Jaqi swallowed. “Christ, you fucking people. I don’t want to talk about this. Okay?”
“Everyone is sharing equally. We should start the way we mean to go on,” Dr. Wang told her, slowly and patiently. “Let’s try again. Why do you think you’re here?”
Jaqi muttered something into her hands, half covering her face. Sora’s side of the room couldn’t hear it, but Novak and a couple others shifted suddenly in discomfort.
“Louder, please.” Dr. Wang used a firm tone, like she had a toddler at home. Maybe she did.
“She said it,” Novak interjected with his XO voice, deep and commanding. “Leave her alone.”
“You don’t give the orders here, Jaesan,” Kalgari told him, eyes sharp and dark, unwavering. “Much as you wish you did.”
Novak shot the doctor a venomous look, just this side of shouting Fuck you at him with his eyes.
Maybe the conflict did it, or the fact that Dr. Wang didn’t move on, but Jaqi dragged her hands away from her face.
“I jacked the reactor up and tried to irradiate myself to death.” Her voice sounded tired, ragged… exhausted with herself. “Okay? Satisfied? Got your sob story and your pound of fucking flesh? Goddamn salvage rats….”
Sora still had no idea what a salvage rat was, but she’d heard Mom and her maternal grandparents say it. Marser thing.
“Thank you for entrusting us with that part of your story, Jaqi.” Dr. Wang nodded, making a satisfied note. She looked up squarely at Novak. “And how about you, Jase?”
He stared at Sora now, looking pale and tight-lipped; she he realized he didn’t want to say what he’d done in front of her.
“Um—is there a head nearby?” Sora asked Dr. Wang, who blinked at her in surprise. “Too much coffee, know what I’m saying?”
Kalgari chuckled knowingly. Sora stood up, but Dr. Wang made a motion back toward her seat, totally clocking her shit.
“Sit down, please. You’re not rescuing Jaesan from this. I’m surprised you want to.”
“Officers always fucking protect each other.” Remy eyed Sora with a hard expression. “Wanna hear all our dirt, right? But you can’t stand to find out your Academy chum’s a piece of shit who abuses his power.”
“Man, go take an acid bath, you nasty little sack of crap,” Sora snapped at the engineer. “You got a chip on your shoulder bigger than most commanders’ egos, you know that?”
“Go get fucked, Princess,” Remy said readily, all his insults hot on his tongue. “Prissy Earther girl, with your admiral daddy and your captain sister fluffing the fucking Skelow, while we were dying back here at home!”
Sora glared, unblinking, the servos in her arm whirring dangerously. She wanted to lift Remy up by the throat and ask him how the fuck he thought she got her arm blasted away, or how he thought Novak got his legs smashed and toasted off… but then she just thought about the Fenris and Nell and Hayden and Wyn, still out in the Machine Sector, and she strained to get her crazy skull back under control.
“Take a break, Sora,” Dr. Kalgari interjected, tone illegible and quiet. Maybe he could see she teetered on the edge of losing her cool. “The hall’s fine for a minute.”
Sora went. She didn’t say anything else—just kicked her chair out of her way with more power than she thought she had in her expensive augmented spine, and walked out. People made little noises of shock and fear when the chair hit the wall with a sickening bone-like crunch.
She couldn’t help but think of Wyn… the looks on the Wolfpack’s faces, Stevens shouting at her, calling her a crazy bitch. Fuck.
---