\u201cWhat the hell? What are all these colours? Is this a side effect?\u201d he asks. There\u2019s a loud boom to the north of us, and I see the streak of blue across my vision. I watch his eye track it.<\/p>\n
\u201cErm, no Sarge,\u201d I say. \u201cSynesthesia.\u201d It feels like a lie. What I have is not the run-of-the-mill, smells-or-sounds-to-colours kinda thing. Somehow, I\u2019m able to pick up on waves in the air, and my brain neatly colour-codes them for me. You know the electricity I mentioned before that runs through every damn one of us? Well, that gives off waves too, and it changes with emotions. Not exactly something I like to advertise; I\u2019m already a bit of a freak. I wonder with a grimace what Sarge will make of what he sees.<\/p>\n
Needing something to do with my hands, I take the rifle from his lap and begin to strip it down.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s\u2026 beautiful,\u201d he says, gesturing to the air in front of him.<\/p>\n
I grunt a reply and nod, concentrating on the BFG on my knees. The pieces slide into my hands as I hit all the small catches. Though this one is identical to my own, my fingers know it\u2019s a stranger. A ding here, a scratch there; every piece unique.<\/p>\n
\u201cI take it we\u2019re waiting until sundown before heading out to HQ?\u201d he asks, peering at the heat-distorted horizon.<\/p>\n
Another nod from me. The sight on his gun\u2019s a little sticky so I give it a rub with the cloth from my hip and screw it back into place.<\/p>\n
\u201cNot much of a conversationalist are you?\u201d asks Sarge after watching me work for a while.<\/p>\n
\u201cN\u2019sir,\u201d I reply. How can I tell him that every time I open my mouth, I feel like an idiot? I\u2019m not, though. It\u2019s just that I don\u2019t have a way with words like a lot of the other guys do. I\u2019m not funny. I can\u2019t tell a story to save my life. I\u2019m not even especially crass, something that would at least make what I said colourful. Nah, I just leave the talking up to other people. That\u2019s fine with me.<\/p>\n
I finish up with his gun and hand it back to him before starting on my own.<\/p>\n
I can tell that he\u2019s watching me really closely, and it\u2019s making me a little uncomfortable. Not really in a bad way, mind you.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re a bit of a mystery, Murph,\u201d he says to me. \u201cAlways on the fringes when we\u2019re offstage. I see you eating by yourself, head down, reading something on your pad. No one talks to you. But, when the curtain rises, you\u2019ve got everyone\u2019s back, and you fight like Mars himself.\u201d<\/p>\n
I lift my eyes for a sec before looking back down at the gun I\u2019m turning over in my hands. This is the most Sarge has ever said to me. I just hope my brain\u2019s not showing him too much about how thrilled I am; I\u2019m probably lit up like a Christmas tree, and I\u2019m sure that beneath the blood and paint on my face, I\u2019m blushing like a school girl. What would he think about the fact that being around him makes my britches a little tight?<\/p>\n
\u201cSo you like pain, do you?\u201d he says, seemingly out of the blue. For a sickening moment, I think he\u2019s been following my line of thought. Just as he said it, I was thinking that if Sarge asked me to lick the sole of his boot, I\u2019d have a goddamn granite staff in my shorts. But, when I look up, I see that he\u2019s staring at my arms.<\/p>\n
Now, regulation armour has us covered from chin to toe in flexible-nano shielding that even a buzz bullet from a GR-U can\u2019t cut into. Problem is, unless you\u2019re running your cooling unit all the goddamned time, in a day you\u2019ll lose half your body weight in sweat. After five years in this hell of a war with CU\u2019s breaking down only weeks into combat, you see a lot of us grunts using the mech torches to cut loose the moulded carapace pads as soon as we get them. Basically, I look like I\u2019m wearing glorified football shoulder pads with elbow, knee, and ass pads to match.<\/p>\n
The whole thing used to be painted a dark blue, the colour of my unit, but since then I\u2019ve taken a half-hundred hits, and the paint\u2019s mostly flecked off. It\u2019s a dull, dark-grey with hints of gore at the moment. There\u2019s webbing down the front of my chest where there\u2019s a series of compartments to keep my stuff\u2014you\u2019d be amazed how much you can carry when you strip out the plating lining them\u2014but, apart from the shorts and the helmet I mentioned earlier, I\u2019ve got nothing else on. I don\u2019t care; I\u2019d rather get shot than die from dehydration.<\/p>\n
The reason Sarge is staring at my arms is because of the colourful tattoos that cover me from shoulder to knuckle; you can see them clear as day between the straps that hold the moulded pads of my armour in place. They\u2019re a combination of\u00a0Irezumi<\/em>\u00a0and laser-etching\u2014something the kids these days call \u201cslash and burn\u201d\u2014and are taken from the margins of an illustrated book of poetry my mum used to read to me as a kid. They\u2019re what you\u2019d call \u201cfanciful\u201d if you were the type to use that kind of word. Song birds, dragons, butterflies, insects; it\u2019s like my skin is the sky, and it\u2019s filled with colourful things in flight. I feel silly just thinking that, but hell, I like the way they look.<\/p>\n Sarge hasn\u2019t said anything to merit a gruff\u00a0thanks<\/em>\u00a0from me; I can\u2019t tell if he actually likes them or if he\u2019s just going to leave it at the question about pain. I\u2019m about to shrug my shoulders and go back to putting the BFG back together when he looks into my eyes.<\/p>\n He\u2019s curious. He\u2019s also impressed.<\/p>\n There\u2019s a little dry spot at the back of my throat, so I swallow hard and end up coughing into my fist. I realize then that maybe the question wasn\u2019t rhetorical like I figured; what if he wanted an honest-to-goodness answer from me? On a crazy impulse, I decide to give him one.<\/p>\n \u201cY\u2019sir,\u201d I manage to mumble, my voice in the basement again. I look down and realize I\u2019m thumbing the tit of the power switch like I\u2019m trying to get it hard, and my cheeks get hot again.<\/p>\n To distract myself, I pick up the little collapsible pot from the lip of the trench and gently slide the circle of nano-plastic from the top of it. After I fold away the water-harvester into quarters to stow away, I feel a little reckless and take out a metal thimble. Sarge watches me quietly as I float it in the piss-warm water that collected in the pot. I slap the side of my gun to release the coolant pod and, with a practiced hand, I pop open the side and let a single drop fall into the thimble. Instantly, ice crackles over the surface of the water, and I lift the thimble out. I look up, slightly shamefaced for showing off now, and offer the water to Sarge. He accepts it with a wry grin.<\/p>\n Using coolant from a CP to make water cold is completely illegal for two reasons: one, the stuff is completely poisonous; so much as a drop gets into a gallon of water, and you\u2019ll be shitting your brains out and sweating like a pig for hours. Second, taking coolant out of your gun is considered a criminal waste of resources. That one makes no fucking sense anymore; I\u2019m literally sitting in a trench full of dead guys, and every single one of them has a gun with a CP in it. It\u2019s not like I\u2019m going to hump them all back to HQ with me. Sarge, of course, knows all this, and I can\u2019t believe I just had the stones to flaunt it in his fucking face. He takes a sip and hands it back to me. However, I don\u2019t see anything but amusement from him; my stupid party trick\u2019s not going to land me in the stockade this time. I breathe easier, though I feel little sheepish.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat were you before the war, son?\u201d he asks, leaning back against the wall of the dig-in; he knows we\u2019ve got at least another hour to wait before the massive red sun dips below the horizon, so he\u2019s making conversation.<\/p>\n For a second, I\u2019m a little disappointed. If he\u2019d taken a look at my sheet, he would\u2019ve known that about me; I\u2019m embarrassed by the number of times I\u2019ve looked at his. I take a deep breath and stare down at my boots. I\u2019m ankle deep in slime and, for a split second, I\u2019m struck by how so sick and tired of the fucking war I am. It passes.<\/p>\n \u201cStudyin\u2019, Sarge,\u201d I reply after a thought.<\/p>\n \u201cIn what?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNeuroscience.\u201d The word barely makes it out of my mouth before I quickly take another sip of water and roll it over my tongue. The startled silence is one that I\u2019m really fucking familiar with.<\/p>\n Sarge sees my discomfort; maybe it\u2019s the relay showing him, or maybe he\u2019s just observant, but he lets out a small laugh. He takes the pot out of my hand, and his fingers graze mine. I feel a little weird. Maybe the relay\u2019s doing something to my brain after all. Maybe it\u2019s just my fucking nerves.<\/p>\n \u201cMurph, you gotta admit that you don\u2019t seem the type,\u201d he chides me.<\/p>\n See, I\u2019m a big guy. I\u2019m just about 6\u20198 in my boots. A slab of muscle on a frame that\u2019s almost comically large. Pair that with the fact that I don\u2019t say much, and you\u2019ve got people thinking I\u2019m none-too-bright. The big dumdum that can tear the arm off an enemy soldier if he\u2019s in the right mood. I shrug. I\u2019m good at shrugging.<\/p>\n \u201cSo, you\u2019re smart. I\u2019m actually not that surprised actually, given your idea with the neuro-relays. Got a girl back home, Murphy? A wife?\u201d he asks. When I shake my head no, he gives another little laugh. A pause. \u201cA\u00a0man<\/em>, then?\u201d Another shake of my head, but this time my face is so hot you could cook a fucking egg on it. \u201cWhat? Single? A good-looking guy like you? I find that hard to believe, son.\u201d<\/p>\n The way he calls me\u00a0son<\/em>\u00a0does something to me. Everyone always thinks that because I look like a big, mean bastard, I\u2019m the dominant type. I can\u2019t count the number of times that I\u2019ve disappointed guys.<\/p>\n When I look up again, I see that his one eye is narrowed at me in amusement. And something\u2026 else. Without an ounce of diffidence, he casually asks me another question.<\/p>\n \u201cSo, are you completely proportionate?\u201d<\/p>\n It takes me a second, maybe two, before I realize that he\u2019s asking whether I\u2019m packing a peashooter or a rocket launcher in my shorts. We\u2019re out hiding from enemy soldiers, buried ankle-deep in the guts of our unit and burning under an alien sun, him missing an eye, and he\u2019s asking about my fucking cock. Sarge is\u00a0hitting on me<\/em>. There\u2019s no mistaking the gleam in his eye, and I can see it coming off of him in waves.<\/p>\n You could not have painted me more shocked. He gives this little laugh and adds \u201cWell?\u201d when I don\u2019t reply right away.<\/p>\n I turn away to stare at the horizon, a huge shit-eating grin on my face that won\u2019t budge. After a sec, I just give a little nod. I know I\u2019ll be crushed if he wants to call me \u201cDaddy\u201d or some shit, but at least for now, I couldn\u2019t be happier. However, a second later he removes any of my doubts.<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019re a good boy, Murph,\u201d he says softly to me. \u201cYou get me home, get me patched up, and you\u2019ll see what good boys get.\u201d<\/p>\n I swear to god, I have never made a sound like it before; half-whimper, half-gasp, it\u2019s past my lips before I can stop it. Sarge sees the effect his words have on me, and he smiles. It takes me a few loud beats of my heart to realize he\u2019s waiting for me to answer. I let my own grin drop, digging around in my skull for my usual serious sense of duty. I give a nod, swivelling the scope from my gun between my fingers.<\/p>\n \u201cY\u2019sir,\u201d I rumble, and his grin widens.<\/p>\n With a new sense of purpose, I turn to the horizon, and I drop the sun shielding over the gun\u2019s sight so I won\u2019t blind myself. I squint and peer. The coast is clear, as far as I can tell. Maybe we don\u2019t need to wait until after sunset after all.<\/p>\n Without glancing back, I know that Sarge is thinking the same thing.<\/p>\n \n This short\u00a0story became the first chapter of the novelette of the same name:<\/p>\n Buy it now: Download a 30% excerpt:\u00a0epub<\/a>\u00a0or\u00a0mobi<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Down on my knees in mud made from equal parts dirt and blood, I survey the damage done to Sarge. His left eye\u2019s completely gone; it\u2019s just a big, wet red hole where the charge went in. Thankfully, it\u2019s cauterized some, so the bleeding is minimal. There\u2019s nothing I can really do about it; he\u2019ll have to get it replaced at the chop n\u2019 change at HQ, and that\u2019s a half-hour hike that might as well be on the other side of the planet as long as the sun\u2019s still up. I pop open a compartment in my hip and … <\/p>\n
\n![\"sarge-final-200x300\"](\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.beydeckard.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2014\/05\/sarge-final-200x3001.jpg\")
<\/a><\/p>\nSarge<\/h4>\n
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