Rebel (The United Federation Marine Corps) Read online

  It was common knowledge that jacks sometimes demanded freebies from the rentboys and girls. Everyone knew it was true—at least people repeated it, so it must be true. Everyone also knew that college kids were in high demand in the trade. So Michi stepped out farther in to the light, so the iridescent Firebird logo on her cozy seemed to take on a life of its own. A jack, walking alone in the Gut. A uni rentgirl. This was a no brainer.

  Only the jack didn’t even slow down. He walked around Michi without saying a word.

  “Uh, excuse me?” she said, afraid to lose the man.

  With a sigh, the jack stopped, and with his body posture screaming resignation, turned around.

  “Yes, miss? Is there something I can do for you?” he asked without enthusiasm.

  Michi had just realized that what they all knew about the Gut may be more rumor than fact, and she immediately changed tack.

  “My friend, he’s, well, his dad’s a VP with the company. We bought some light, but something happened. My friend’s back here, and he’s in trouble.”

  The jack immediately became alert. Light was illegal, and possession carried a stiff punishment. And if the son of a company VP had taken it, well, the ramifications could be severe. As a jack, one of his jobs was to make sure none of the higher ups were ever embarrassed in any way.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he quickly said. “Where is your friend?”

  “Back here,” Michi said, pointing to the back of the alley.

  The jack brushed past Michi, hurrying to find the VP’s son. He got to the end of the alley and looked around in confusion. “Where?” he asked as he started to turn around.

  Michi’s roundhouse kick in her steel-toed Clodder caught the unsuspecting jack right below the chin and alongside the neck. The man fell bonelessly to the trash-laden cement alleyway. Michi followed through, pouncing on the man, giving the back of his head her elbow before she realized the jack was not resisting. Warily, she got up, giving him a nudge with her foot. The jack didn’t react, and it was only then that Michi saw the angle to the jack’s neck. This jack would never be getting up again.

  Michi jumped back, her vision narrowing as she almost lost her balance. She had to take a few deep breaths to gather herself.

  How the hell did that happen?

  During Michi’s short foray into MMA, she had knocked out exactly one person. In her second match, she had taken down her opponent and rained hammer fists down on the poor girl’s head until the ref jumped in to stop the fight. Michi’s other three wins and her one loss came as a result of the judges’ decisions.

  Michi knew how hard it was to get a solid enough strike for a knockout. Yet here, in this unnamed alley in the Gut, she had somehow, against all probability, broken the neck of a trained jack. She couldn’t believe it.

  She moved back to the jack, then reached forward, only hesitating a moment before placing her fingers on the man’s neck, feeling for the carotid. There was nothing. He was dead.

  Michi fell back onto her butt as she stared at the jack. He looked young, only a little older than her. She wondered what his name was. She felt numb, but not sorry, and that surprised her. She was a Clan girl, a First Family girl. She was supposed to go to school, choose a profession. First Family girls did not kill people.

  Yet she felt no remorse. In fact, she felt a sense of pride beginning to build up within her, an ember flaring into life. She recalled how satisfying it felt when her foot connected with the jack’s neck, how solid it felt.

  She reached out with one foot and gave the body a kick. It jerked under her foot’s impact.

  I did that, you glaikit boaby![6] I did it! I took your worthless life! You weren’t worth a hair on Franz’ head, and now you’re less than that!

  She felt a surge of righteousness at what she had done. She knew the odds of what had just happened were infinitesimally small, so she wondered if there hadn’t been something else guiding her, some other higher power at work here.

  Michi wanted to stand up and scream into the night, a lioness celebrating her kill. She didn’t know what kind of sensors the jack had, and she knew she should get out of there before his buddies came to look for him. Despite that, she had to stare at her victim for a few more moments, drinking in the sight and cementing it in her mind.

  She stood back up and went over to the body, reaching across to slide the jack’s Jamison out of its holster. The Jamison was the standard issue sidearm for the Propitious Interstellar jacks. Some companies went on the cheap for their jacks, but not PI. The Jamison was a sweet firearm, able to send out both lethal and non-lethal beams with a high degree of accuracy. It was too bad that this jack wasn’t carrying a rifle, but the Jamison was certainly no slouch as a trophy. Michi slid it in her cozy pouch pocket, and without another glance at the dead jack, left the alley. There were fewer figures—service providers and customers both—still out, but she tried to walk with a purpose that might forestall anyone reaching out to her. It must have worked as no one said a word.

  In a few minutes she was back in the Slab, music still wafting out from various stages. The lights seemed too bright after the dimness of the Gut.

  Two jacks came walking up to her, and for a moment, she wanted to bolt. She kept walking at them, going over the various kicks and strikes she could employ.

  “Evening, miss,” one of the jacks said as the two passed her.

  Her heart pounding, she realized that taking the Jamison had been a stupid act of bravado. The gun bulged in her pocket, and if one of the jacks had seen it and searched her, her little war on the company would be over before it even started.

  She debated tossing the gun, but that might be worse. Instead, she made her way back to the shrine where she had stashed her other clothes.

  Michi almost trashed the Firebird cozy, but then thought better of it. The less evidence of her passing, the better. The redhead wig came off and was thrust into the pocket with the Jamison. She pulled on the other cozy and the sweat pants, and then slowly strolled out onto G Ave.

  An hour later, she slipped back into her house and up to her room. She stripped down, hiding both the Firebird cozy and the Jamison in the back of the bottom drawer of her wardrobe.

  Michi didn’t even shower, but simply slipped between her sheets. Within moments, she was out, and for the first time since Franz had been killed, had an uninterrupted and deep sleep.

  Chapter 4

  “Do you have something to tell us?” Michi’s father asked as she came in the door.

  “No,” she responded in a surly tone as she dumped her backpack on the couch.

  What do they know?

  She made as if to go to the kitchen anxious to get out of her parents’ piercing stares.

  “I think you do,” he said, stopping Michi in her tracks.

  “We got a call today, from the uni, asking if you were OK. They said you haven’t been to class since, well, you know since when,” her mother spoke up.

  Relief swept through her. This wasn’t good, but at least no one knew what had happened in the Gut last week, at least as far as her participation in it.

  The murder of the jack wasn’t a secret. It had hit all the news feeds, and scores of women had been gathered for questioning, most from Lipper U. There hadn’t been a surveillance photo released, but the fact that it was mostly Lipper girls was pretty darn indicative that there was some sort of evidence of her with the Firebird cozy out there.

  The jack’s name was Gerile Fountainhead. He was 23 and a Navy vet who had been working for the company for only three months. A native of RKR, he left behind parents and a fiancé. Blah, blah, blah. Michi didn’t care. He was not a person to her, just a slab of cold meat.

  That surprised her, when she was honest with herself. She had always considered herself to be kind and caring, a good person. But some of that inherent goodness had vanished at the rally. She wasn’t even sure she felt a twinge of remorse for killing the jack. For killing Gerile, she had to remind herself. He did have a n
ame.

  She turned back towards her parents, put on a melancholy face, then said, “I . . . I just have not been able to concentrate since Franz was killed. My mind is not working right. I think I need time.”

  She saw her father’s face soften. Bingo! She was going to get out of this.

  Then she noticed her mother’s eyes narrow. “And where have you been going every day, then?”

  Michi wondered if she could bluff it out, then decided it was too likely that someone would have seen her, so she decided it was better to admit to something.

  “I’ve been down at the WRP. They knew Franz, and they are working on getting the results of the investigation. I just feel better there.”

  That seemed to put a stop to her father’s understanding.

  “Michi, I hate to put my foot down, but you are going to have to stop going there. It was bad enough when you were dating Franz . . .”

  “Not dating. We were engaged,” she muttered under her breath.

  “. . . but what with everything that’s happened, you need to divorce yourself from that group.”

  “But—”

  “But nothing! I know you were all hot and bothered when your firebrand was up there, all moral-like. But his cause is not our cause. His fight is not our fight.”

  “So you are going to ignore all the injustice that is going on?” she shouted at her father.

  “Injustice? Is it injustice that Propitious Interstellar pays our bills? That they pay for this house? For yours and Yuzuki’s education? For that Sullivan you got for your birthday last year? Is that injustice?” he thundered back.

  This was an old argument. Most of the First Families made their livelihoods in service or selling to Propitious Interstellar. Some people, especially from the Yamaguchis, went on to join the company itself in the management ranks. The First Families, comfortable in their lives, liked the status quo and were afraid of anything upsetting the apple cart.

  “And the indentureds? What about them?” she asked.

  “What about them? They signed contracts to escape whatever shite-hole they came from. The company is supposed to rescue them, then let them walk? That’s ridiculous, girl. And what are the Class Fours? Twenty-five percent of the workforce? Maybe 15 % of the planet’s population? No lassie, this is not our fight. And with all the attention on your rabble-rousing friends, we don’t need pressure being put on the family because your latest cause has you fomenting trouble.”

  Michi just stared at her father, trying to form a response.

  “Listen to him, Michi,” her mother said. “Think of the family. We do not need the attention, especially with contract renewals coming up.”

  “You two just don’t get it, do you? All you think about is your bank accounts, and to get that, you bow down to the almighty Propitious Interstellar and let them stick it up your arses. There is such a thing as justice, as human rights, even if you’re too fat and happy to realize it,” she told her parents with conviction.

  With that, she walked past her parents, opened the front door, and stormed off into the evening.

  Chapter 5

  Michi looked at Prosperity Square. This was the first time she’d been back since Franz had been killed. It looked different, peaceful, and that pissed her off. The stands were down and the trash gathered, as if the company thought they could simply clean away the fact that her fiancé had died at that spot.

  People moved through the square, going about their business. Several were sitting on benches, eating their lunches or going online. Some just sat, eyes closed and faces up, enjoying the spring sun.

  Was she the only person to be angry? Was she the only one who had taken any steps in revenge?

  Even at the WRP, it seemed to be business as usual. Michi had just left the office. Cheri had expressed her regret, and it seemed real. Hokkam actually had tears in his eyes as he hugged her. He offered his support in anything she needed. But what he couldn’t offer was answers. The chapter was waiting for the company report on the incident.

  As if that would be worth anything! The company would whitewash everything. Franz’ death would an “unfortunate accident" caused by the protestors themselves. No one would be held accountable.

  Michi shook her head in disgust.

  Her dance gear kit hung from her shoulder. She had intended to try to hit the studio, where she would normally go to work off the stress, but as she stood in the square, the mood just wasn’t in her. She sighed and walked over to one of the benches close to the spot where Franz had been killed. Nodding to the elderly lady sitting there sipping a tea, she sat down on the other end of the bench, facing the spot where the stage had been set up.

  Right there, ten meters away, was the last spot where she had spoken with Franz, laughed with him, held his murdered body. She didn’t know if there was anything, any essence of him left there, but she closed her eyes and forgot about the world. If any part of Franz was still there, she hoped she could somehow sense him for one last goodbye.

  Chapter 6

  Michi had to park in the street in front of the house. She recognized Reverend Calhoun’s black Hyundai in the driveway and briefly wondered if her parents were getting another of their marriage “tune-ups,” as her mother called them.

  As soon as she walked through the door, though, all thoughts of parental discord faded. Not only was Reverend Calhoun sitting on the couch, but the Right Reverend Duncan, the moderator for the Kakurega presbytery, was there as well. Both honored men were sitting, sipping tea, and looking straight at her. Her mother was sitting to their side, while her father was standing with his back toward her.

  He slowly turned around, his face blank. Taking a step forward, he reached down to the coffee table and picked up the Jamison Michi had taken from the dead jack.

  “And what is this?” he asked calmly.

  Michi’s heart fell, and she almost stumbled.

  “It’s mine. I bought it. For self protection,” she babbled.

  “Self protection, lassie?” he asked as the other three looked on silently.

  “Yes. There have been attacks on girls at school. Just last week, a girl was assaulted on the quad. I wanted protection, so I bought it.”

  “And this?” he asked, using the muzzle of the Jamison to lift a piece of grey clothing.

  Half of a red firebird could be seen as the cozy hung in the air.

  “It’s a cozy, what of it?” she tried to bluster, but her heart wasn’t in it.

  “A Tipper University cozy and a sidearm issued to the company security forces. You needed both of these to protect yourself?” he asked, his voice even-toned, sounding calm.

  Michi tried to raise the fire of anger. “And you’re searching my things? How dare you!” she shouted.

  “When it’s to protect the family, damn right I do, young lady. And when you endanger us all, I will!” he shouted, throwing the Jamison to the side where it crashed into the big stone fireplace.

  “Now Malcom,” the Right Reverend said, standing up and taking a step toward him. “We spoke about this. Let’s hear what Michiko has to say, how she obtained these. It might not be as you feert. We dinnae know all the facts, either with that sad story or with your lassie here.”

  He turned to Michi and said, “Now Michiko, please, come sit here. Tell us what happened, child. Did this weapon belong to Mr. Fountainhead? Did he do something to you? Don’t be afraid, child. You can tell us.”

  Michi stared at the Right Reverend. He had only just started his one-year term as moderator, but Michi knew him as a church elder. He always seemed like a nice, righteous man. For a moment, she almost gave in, almost rushed to the couch beside him to pour out her story. She had been keeping it bottled in, and now she realized it was gnawing at her, making her into something of a bitch. She wanted to get it all out in the open.

  She actually took a step before her rage, her Scottish radge, came flowing back, filling her arteries, taking over again. The Right Reverend didn’t give a flying fuck f
or her. He was worried about fallout on the Clan and the rest of the First Families. He was hoping that the jack had assaulted her, that she had somehow killed the jack in self-defense.

  “Yes, he assaulted me! Is that what you want to hear? He assaulted me, and I fucking killed him for that. And you know what? I’d do it again, I would!”

  Michi knew that the jack, that Gerile Fountainhead had personally done no such thing. She was not that lost in her rage. But the jacks had assaulted her by taking her Franz. And Gerile was a jack. He’d probably been there that day at the rally. Maybe he’d taken the shot himself. That was good enough for her.

  She was not going to sit there and kowtow to her parents, to the church leaders. She was not going to apologize. At least she had the balls to do something about injustice, and she was not going to meekly try to deny the righteousness of her actions.

  She spun around, too incensed to speak and bolted for the door.

  “If you leave now, dinnae come back!” her father shouted out as she ran outside.

  Michi hit the unlock for the Sullivan, but the door would not open. She tried it again, but the door remained locked. Turning back, she couldn’t see anyone. But she knew they were watching, and they had disabled her hover.

  She leveled a kick that did nothing to the hover’s side panel, then stalked around it to head into town. One thing was now obvious: she was on her own.

  Chapter 7

  “Cheri,” Michi whispered into her PA.

  She breathed a sigh of relief as the number connected. At least her parents hadn’t cut off her comms, too.