Imminent Destruction

Ration tubes flopped before the men of the 111th Infiltration Company as Ace made his rounds through the mess hall to distribute the tubes from a pouch in his apron with one hand while pouring government surplus coffee with the other. The coffee smelt like sewage and gave a bitter burn to the tongue. Some of the men mixed their rations with it, others avoided it completely.

They were a shaven, clean-cut group of young men. Most had crew cuts; a few had the privilege of a hair style, but nobody had long hair, with the exception of Private Nicholson, who managed to keep a neck length pony tail. Jobelsoni, a heavy-set man with dark black hair took a pack of bologna, contraband among fleet soldiers, out of his pocket, ate it, then dropped the packaging and the ration tube in his coffee.

Jenson sat with his fists clenched. He had been released by Lieutenant Soel with a probationary warning. He squeezed his tube with overpowering force, crumpling it into a stick. Much of the contents became stuck in the furrows beneath his lower lip. He sat next to Private Nicholson, whose smooth skin aggravated him. Jenson speculated that the minimum age for voluntary service in the Lieutenant’s platoons was twenty-one, yet this boy looked as if he had just turned seventeen. Nick pursed lips together as the blond officer brooded and nervously watched the stocky soldiers finish their food until Jenson exploded.

“You probably think your big stuff. A real hero, ehh Private!”

“Come on, Jenson,” came from the opposite end of the table, “Cut the kid some slack. He was only trying to keep you under control.”

“Stay out of it!” Jenson yelled, refocusing his fury. “Do you think you can do my job!? Hey, look at me when I talk to you private. Do you think you can do my job!? Is that what you’re trying to prove!?”

Jenson banged the table, the echo ended conversations throughout the entire cafeteria. Everyone focused on the head table, waiting for Lieutenant Soel to make a move. The lieutenant stared at his men with demeaning silence yet refused to intervene. The general atmosphere soon restored itself, so Jenson continued his verbal assault.

“Then prove it. Hit me right here, right now. Prove to me you’re a man.”

“I apologize sir. I did what I had to do.”

“You’re no man, you don’t even look like a man. You’re nothin’ but a worthless rat out for recognition; even from mercenary scum. You’re an embarrassment to my squad.”

Fade had recommended Nick for a valor award. According to Fade’s report, Nick had saved everybody’s life. Jenson put his arms on the table and resumed conversation with the others in a somewhat more subdued, yet grumbling tone.

"I’m sick of goofing off in this mercenary wreck. When are we going to see some action?”

“Enjoy the down time while you can,” said Jobelsoni, the heavyset navigator who had downed the bologna.

“I wonder what we’re doing this time?” Nick asked.

“Shut it baby face. No one wants to hear from you.”

Nick had enough and went to stand up but Jobelsoni and another private held the shoulders down, bringing the conversation to its conclusion.

Lieutenant Soel ate with his officers; he had been offered the same fare as everyone else. Two empty white tubes lay on top of Soel’s napkin. The officer next to him forced down the coffee, one tilt and one gulp to finish it; then an unsatisfactory grimace. The chemicals in the hot black water would do their job, that was all that mattered. The junior lieutenant to his left slowly sipped his coffee between sucking the contents of his tube. The other officers had finished the rations, but the mud like coffee was another matter. Everyone expected more.

“I have a few packs of mint flavored N-rations,” Soel said, “I think the flavor supplement would be well worth it at this moment. Does anybody care for them?”

Two men took him up on the offer.

“I had my own food,” said the staff lieutenant, finishing a peanut butter sandwich.

“Sir, do you think we should file a complaint to fleet headquarters?” asked the officer to Soel’s right.

“I think I’ll have a talk with the captain first.”

“Yes sir.” said the staff lieutenant, standing.

“Stay here, Lieutenant Forgisom.”

“Yes sir,” he said, sitting down.

Lieutenant Soel found Ace leaning against the cutlery table when he entered the kitchen.

“Where’s the captain,” he demanded. “This is outrageous. I can’t expect my men to remain fit on tube rations. What is the meaning of this? Why is the Imminent Destruction not stocked with real food?”

“The captain isn’t in any condition to prepare us a feast,” Ace said, “I think we can make do with what has been provided. If you want to complain, at least wait until he’s healed.”

“This is what happens when you rely on mercenaries. They’re sloppy, or in this case, downright treasonous. I hope you’re not going soft Captain Herr.”

Lieutenant Soel stood by the door with posture like a redwood, “The ability of foreign agents to infiltrate this vessel will be investigated. We can’t allow this independent battle corp. to continue undercutting the authority of the imperial military.”

“The Independent Battle Corp. is the Imperial Military right now,” Ace said.

“No, they are contractors, but not much longer, hopefully.”

Back in the cafeteria, the men stood at attention by their seats until the lieutenant marched them out, single file.

-----

Karen paced across the bridge. The body of Carlos stared at the ceiling with a gaping mouth as a puddle of cold blood congealed under its back. Karen turned pale every time she glanced at him, yet every few minutes she would glance again, then turn her head as if ready to vomit. Luckily there was no odor yet. She wanted to leave the bridge long ago, but she couldn’t bring herself to go past the bloody corpse. Bert checked the software that guided the Imminent Destruction’s destination, pushing Horace to give more energy for propulsion.

“Will he receive a decent burial?” Karen asked.

“He’ll be put to pasture. Look, I can’t get the droids working, and messin’ with corpses is not in my job description. If you don’t like him there, pick him up and put him somewhere else.”

She sat down and stared blankly at the control panel. Bert found her behavior a little odd for a front line reporter.

“What ya usually report on?” he asked, “Kindergarten festivities?”

“I don’t have to take this from you. I’m a rising star in the world of journalism. Everyone in the galaxy is going to know my name.”

“Then get used to the blood. You’ll be seeing a lot more.”

“If the captain was awake, he’d make you clean him.”

“You just keep on tellin’ yourself that. I’m a mechanic, not a grave robber.”

Karen shivered, she didn’t know where to look, or where to go.

“Why don’t ya calm down and have a cigarette?” Bert asked.

A little drawer popped open, he took two cigarettes out and threw one to her. She accepted reluctantly.

“I really prefer not to.”

“Suit yourself,” Bert twisted the filter on his cigarette slightly; it lit with a dull, smoking glow. “To light these ya just squeeze the filter and twist a bit.”

She did as instructed, coughing, gagging and choking before inhaling too deeply. She threw the burning cigarette on the floor, smashing it under her heel.

“That’s a Selfish Man Cigarette ya just wasted, they cost me twelve Haricons a piece. Is that the thanks I get for tryin’ to be nice?”

“You really ought to quit. Those things aren’t good for you anyway. I don’t think they’ve changed the ingredients for thousands of years.”

“Why fix it if ain’t broken. I was kinda hoping you’d give it back. I can smoke two at once, specially when I’m stealin’ a kiss.”

“Some people have advanced beyond using chemicals to alter their mind. And smoking a cigarette I had in my mouth is unsanitary, though I wouldn’t hesitate to say it’s more sanitary than smoking one that came from yours.”

“I’d pay you to put them between your lips before I smoked’em.” Bert chuckled, “Listen, everything ya put in your mouth is a chemical, and they all alter you in some way or other. Horace, can you watch this girl while I see if I can’t get the casualty disposal units workin’ before she hurls?”

“Maybe you actually can make yourself useful,” Karen said snidely.

With Bert gone she put her head back and fell into a light sleep until a large, spider-like, machine crawled into the room. It had red eyes, and eight gleaming metal legs like scythes that tapped as it moved. It crawled over Carlos, whirring as it sucked and scraped at the sticky corpse. Straps fell, hooking the body to the robot’s metallic belly. The droid banged its front leg twice when it finished securing the corpse. Karen looked back and screamed, jumping to the pilot’s seat. The machine whined as it cleaned the blood, sucking up the cleaning solution before leaving. Bert entered later, all smiles.

“I bet I’m your hero now,” he said.

Three smacks and a knee to the groin sat him down, but he found himself having to slide to his knees and lean against the console.

“How dare you scare me like that,” Karen yelled, “I could have had a heart attack, you stupid ape!”

She left, leaving Bert to nurse his manhood until the pain subsided.

“Females, they’re so damn pointless,”

Since he was on the floor anyway, he decided to lay down and take a quick nap.