Terms of Enlistment 01.2: Measures of Absolution Read Online Free Page B
Author: Marko Kloos
Tags: Science-Fiction
got out of the military."
Jackson pulls out her PDP and transcribes the node address into the notepad.
"Thank you."
"You may want to be careful with that," he says. "If there's something going on the government wants to keep a lid on, they'll sic military intel on you if they notice you poking around."
She shrugs noncommittally and slips the PDP back into my pocket.
"I'm just a corporal on leave," she says. "With thirty-four months left to go on my contract. They own me one way or the other, right?"
Mr. McKenney closes his little notebook again and puts it next to his daughter's dog tag on the dining room table.
"Yes, they do. But if you're not careful, you'll get to spend those thirty-odd months in the brig, and you won't get that bank account in the end. Imagine, all that sweating and bleeding and killing for absolutely nothing."
It's a short walk from the front door to the curb of the public road. Mr. McKenney escorts her across his front yard, as if he wants to make sure she’s really leaving.
When they reach the curb, Jackson turns around. Mr. McKenney has his hands tucked into the pockets of his trousers. Now that he's standing in front of her in bright daylight, she notices a bit of a belly overlapping his belt.
"Thanks for your time," she says, and now he's the one shrugging noncommittally.
"I'm retired. I have all day to waste."
Last chance, she thinks to herself. Last chance to come clean and confess to this man that you killed his daughter, shot her through the chest with a salvo of flechette rounds, and put another burst right into her face for good measure. Last chance to save this man from getting increasingly worried in the next weeks and months because his only child isn't calling him anymore. Last chance to save yourself from adding just another missed opportunity to the list of regrets that will hang around your neck for the rest of your life.
She wants to extend her hand to say good-bye, but she doesn't want to give him the chance to refuse it. Instead, she just nods and turns to walk away.
"Do me a favor, corporal,” he says, and she turns around again.
"If you get to talk to Annie, tell her to give her mother a call when she gets a chance."
"I'll let her know," Jackson says, and the shame of the lie tastes like bile in her mouth.
On her way back to the transit station, she stops at the library and claims a data terminal once more. She takes out her PDP and enters the node number for Anna McKenney into a directory search to do a reverse lookup.
Anna McKenney's last Net node number is not on a private network, and it doesn't resolve to a physical address, just a unified pool of communication nodes. All of them belong to a single party--the Greater Detroit Metropolitan Civil Administration.
Chapter Five
Taps
Jackson hasn’t taken a leave in almost two years. She has no family left to visit, and even if she did, they’d be in Atlanta-Macon, and she has no desire to return to that place in this lifetime. So she takes the maglev back to the Burlington base, which has a rec facility on the lakeshore. She spends two days eating, sleeping, and using the entertainment suites. By Day Three of her five-day leave, she is bored out of her mind, so she takes a shuttle back to Shughart. Better to report to duty early, even if it means having to count towels and clean optical sight modules, than to spend another day drinking shitty soy beer in front of a holoscreen.
When she walks back into the squad room, Priest and Baker are there, playing cards at the table.
“You two okay?” she asks.
“Yeah,” Priest says. He runs his finger across his forehead, where a thin, pale line marks a fused laceration. “Few dings here and there. Grayson and the Sarge got the worst of it.”
“Stratton and Paterson got the worst of it,” Jackson says. “What about Hansen?”
“Her shoulder joint is blown,” Baker says. “Three weeks
Jackson pulls out her PDP and transcribes the node address into the notepad.
"Thank you."
"You may want to be careful with that," he says. "If there's something going on the government wants to keep a lid on, they'll sic military intel on you if they notice you poking around."
She shrugs noncommittally and slips the PDP back into my pocket.
"I'm just a corporal on leave," she says. "With thirty-four months left to go on my contract. They own me one way or the other, right?"
Mr. McKenney closes his little notebook again and puts it next to his daughter's dog tag on the dining room table.
"Yes, they do. But if you're not careful, you'll get to spend those thirty-odd months in the brig, and you won't get that bank account in the end. Imagine, all that sweating and bleeding and killing for absolutely nothing."
It's a short walk from the front door to the curb of the public road. Mr. McKenney escorts her across his front yard, as if he wants to make sure she’s really leaving.
When they reach the curb, Jackson turns around. Mr. McKenney has his hands tucked into the pockets of his trousers. Now that he's standing in front of her in bright daylight, she notices a bit of a belly overlapping his belt.
"Thanks for your time," she says, and now he's the one shrugging noncommittally.
"I'm retired. I have all day to waste."
Last chance, she thinks to herself. Last chance to come clean and confess to this man that you killed his daughter, shot her through the chest with a salvo of flechette rounds, and put another burst right into her face for good measure. Last chance to save this man from getting increasingly worried in the next weeks and months because his only child isn't calling him anymore. Last chance to save yourself from adding just another missed opportunity to the list of regrets that will hang around your neck for the rest of your life.
She wants to extend her hand to say good-bye, but she doesn't want to give him the chance to refuse it. Instead, she just nods and turns to walk away.
"Do me a favor, corporal,” he says, and she turns around again.
"If you get to talk to Annie, tell her to give her mother a call when she gets a chance."
"I'll let her know," Jackson says, and the shame of the lie tastes like bile in her mouth.
On her way back to the transit station, she stops at the library and claims a data terminal once more. She takes out her PDP and enters the node number for Anna McKenney into a directory search to do a reverse lookup.
Anna McKenney's last Net node number is not on a private network, and it doesn't resolve to a physical address, just a unified pool of communication nodes. All of them belong to a single party--the Greater Detroit Metropolitan Civil Administration.
Chapter Five
Taps
Jackson hasn’t taken a leave in almost two years. She has no family left to visit, and even if she did, they’d be in Atlanta-Macon, and she has no desire to return to that place in this lifetime. So she takes the maglev back to the Burlington base, which has a rec facility on the lakeshore. She spends two days eating, sleeping, and using the entertainment suites. By Day Three of her five-day leave, she is bored out of her mind, so she takes a shuttle back to Shughart. Better to report to duty early, even if it means having to count towels and clean optical sight modules, than to spend another day drinking shitty soy beer in front of a holoscreen.
When she walks back into the squad room, Priest and Baker are there, playing cards at the table.
“You two okay?” she asks.
“Yeah,” Priest says. He runs his finger across his forehead, where a thin, pale line marks a fused laceration. “Few dings here and there. Grayson and the Sarge got the worst of it.”
“Stratton and Paterson got the worst of it,” Jackson says. “What about Hansen?”
“Her shoulder joint is blown,” Baker says. “Three weeks
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