"Do I look like I'm doing great, kid?" Tychus handed Raynor his ID card and chip. "I lost my gear on the way here. They told me to come here and pick up some new equipment."
Raynor took the chip and slid it into the scanner. Then, after glancing at the wrinkles creasing Tychus's face, he looked at the screen. "According to the regulations, you're entitled to a new issue."
"Since the latest shipment of supply crates is piled up in the storage unit, we're taking inventory and sorting everything into categories. It'll take some time. Please come back to this counter at 1400 hours, and then—"
"You sure you're not jerking me around?" Tychus raised an eyebrow, cutting Raynor off. "I came all the way from the death desert of Reading III to this frozen wasteland, and all I've got on is a pair of underwear."
"Actually, the temperature indoors has been kept at a steady twenty degrees Celsius." Raynor took the chip out and set it back on the counter.
"Listen, maybe you don't understand what those words mean, or maybe I was too polite and you took that as permission to get cheeky, you blond punk." Tychus planted one hand firmly on the counter and leaned in. With his other hand, he grabbed Raynor by the collar and pulled his face close, glaring into his dark brown eyes.
That trick had never failed Tychus. He was a big man with a menacing face. Usually, when dealing with green recruits, all he had to do was lock eyes with them and the cowards would wet themselves. And Tychus could tell at a glance that Raynor had served for no more than two years.
Maybe the private's rank gave him a few points, but Raynor's build was no match for a seasoned veteran like Tychus.
"Maybe you and your little sidekicks should get my gear ready right now. I don't have time to stand here staring at shelves."
"Sorry, I don't understand what you mean." Raynor looked at Tychus calmly. "Because I don't know if what's coming out of your mouth is shit."
Tychus seemed to freeze for a moment. He probably hadn't expected Raynor not to be intimidated at all.
"If I haven't made myself clear enough..." Tychus had been put on the spot. Grabbing Raynor's collar with both hands, he hauled him up from his chair, determined to teach the recruit a lesson. "Find my gear, or I'll break every bone in your body and twist your head off to use as a piss pot!"
"Before that, I'll rip that lump off your neck and kick it around like a ball." Raynor had never backed down in his life. He grabbed Tychus by the wrist and, with strength that surprised the older man, slowly pried his hand from his collar.
Tychus realized he'd have to fight today. That was fine; he usually knew how to keep things under control. He'd make Raynor feel humiliated and wish he were dead, while the marine medic wouldn't find a single wound—or even a particularly large bruise—that could get Tychus in trouble.
"Today, you'll regret pissing off Tychus Findlay. I'll break every one of your knuckles, then glue them back together." Tychus was tired of the pointless game of trading threats with some country boy. When nothing but fists could settle things, he had to show the other guy whose fists hit hardest.
Fresh out of prison, Tychus Findlay had an angry lion caged inside him, and—
"Put him down, you lunatic." Just as Tychus was about to lift Raynor over his head and toss him behind the counter like a piece of trash, a cold gun barrel pressed against his temple. A sharp male voice followed in his ear. It reminded him of the thugs and bikers he'd run into in some colonial towns: flippant and cocky, always convinced they sounded tough.
"I'm counting to three. One, two—"
But the faint click of the safety being released made Tychus reconsider his contempt. He immediately lowered Raynor, setting him back in his chair like a doll being put into a basket. Raynor straightened his rumpled collar, leaned back, and watched Tychus in silence.
"Hands up. Get down on your knees against the wall," the voice continued.
Tychus turned and saw a young soldier aiming a shotgun at him. The soldier had a messy mop of red hair, freckles across his nose, and a nearly spent cigarette hanging from his mouth.
"Didn't you hear me?" The red-haired soldier spat the cigarette butt onto the floor and stamped it out. "Hands up, turn around, and get down. I'm sick of looking at your face."
Tychus looked at the soldier calmly, unmoved. He was certain the kid wouldn't dare shoot. "You'd better lower your gun so we can settle what happened earlier. It'll be better for both of us before the MPs get here."
"What's going on over there, Harnack?" Another voice carried across the supply station's cavernous hall. Tychus turned toward it and saw a sergeant in a crisp brown uniform walking over with three soldiers dressed the same way.
One of the three was chewing gum and lazily blowing bubbles, with his hands in his pockets. Of all the ways to walk, he'd picked the most unusual one. That was Josephine.
Another carried a pen and a receipt list, jotting something down as he walked. That was Lee Pachinyang. Amy Brandon walked to the sergeant's right, carrying an E-7 Gauss Rifle. Her bright blue eyes were like the sea under the sun.
The soldiers all wore flat-topped caps with wolf-head insignias. Their uniforms were dusty; they'd been hauling cargo at the other end of the warehouse, while Tychus had kept his attention fixed on Raynor.
The sergeant in front was a handsome man with cool gray eyes. His once-crisp uniform was dusty and wrinkled from hauling cargo, and there was black grease smeared across his face. But the rifle insignia on his shoulder, marking him as part of a combat unit, showed that his squad wasn't made up of recruits doing busywork in military logistics.
The sergeant came to a stop beside Tychus and Harnack, just a step away. Then he looked at Tychus. "All right. What's going on here?"
"Sir, this is—" The only thing that could make Tychus drop his arrogant act was the sergeant's insignia. One of the rules of survival for a marine was to always show respect to anyone with more stripes—or anything else—on their shoulder. The corporal at the dispatch hall had only been a desk clerk. He wasn't important enough to make Tychus fall in line.
"I didn't ask you." The sergeant cut Tychus off, his voice calm. "Let me make this clear: I don't take kindly to people coming into my territory and causing trouble. If my men confirm you're here to stir things up, I'll hand you over to the MPs."
"You could lick my boots ten thousand times, and my decision still wouldn't change."
Tychus immediately understood. The sergeant was young, but he was clearly the kind of man who meant what he said.
"Boss, this guy grabbed Jim and was about to beat the hell out of him. Good thing I stepped in, or that kid would've had his pants pulled down and his ass whipped." Harnack chuckled.
"Hey, I was about to knock him flat. You're the one who butted in." Raynor laughed, too.
"See?" Augustus turned to Tychus and shrugged.
"I don't think there's anything more to say."
Before you continue