Rayne picked up the second baton in her left hand and turned, shading her eyes from the glare of the light. The good Dr. Alan was still standing in his original position, apparently too shocked to do anything else. His mouth opened and closed like a pudgy blowfish as he tried to find the right words.
"Now that is just about enough of that,” he blustered. “You will put those sticks down and come with..."
Rayne's right hand snaked out and tapped him in the temple with the tip of the baton. There was a small electric snap and the doctor's eyes rolled up into the back of his head and he melted into a fat puddle on the floor. Rayne held the baton up to her face, peering down its length as she cocked her head to the side. She smiled slightly and gave a brief nod of approval. Rayne lightly stepped over the still form of the doctor, her clean white med tech dress billowing around her knees. Her feet made no sound on the cool, smooth floor as she walked out the door, humming a simple tune she remembered from childhood to drown out the sound of static hissing in her head.
***
Mike sat reclined in an overstuffed chair in the corner of the rec room, a large cold pack resting on his temple. The two pain killers he'd been given hadn't kicked in yet and he hoped the cold pack would freeze his head so he couldn't feel the pain anymore. Medical staff said he'd suffered a mild concussion, but would otherwise be fine. The ache in his head and groin begged to differ. Both of them throbbed in time to the beat of his heart, and he wished, not for the first time, he could just pass out. While his head and sensitive parts hurt, the biggest blow was to his ego. He'd walked into that med tech room thinking he'd rule the day and calm the storm with the power of his awesomeness, only to have a little girl wipe the floor with him. He dreaded the ribbing he'd take from the squad when they found out.
Fortunately, he wasn't alone in his suffering, as both Jackson and Lena had been beaten up by the same little girl. Lena had gotten off pretty easy with a black eye and split lip she'd suffered when she'd taken a few kicks and an elbow to the face. Jackson wasn't so lucky. Med tech had to set and fuse his nose bones back together. His nose had been twisted sideways from the repeated strikes and looked like a really ugly letter "S". If that wasn't enough, a knee to the face had done more than loosen a tooth, it had actually cracked and fallen out. Lena had laughed that not only did he sound stupid now, he also looked it. Jackson's reply was a nonsensical mumble neither one of them could understand, which made both of them laugh and Jackson scowl as he mumbled something else and turned away. Lena had stayed behind with Jackson in med tech to sooth his injured pride and giggle when he wasn't looking.
Procyon Naval Station was a stop for many sailors and marines throughout this part of the system. Recreational fighting was part of the entertainment. The med tech facilities were used to such injuries and had them patched up and out the door in fairly short order.
Mike gave a sigh as the pain killers began to give him some measure of relief. Jackson and Lena walked in laughing and sat down in the chairs opposite.
"Hey, Sarge. We found your balls. They were rolling down the hallway. The left one is a little squished though.” Lena joked. They chuckled and asked how he was doing.
"A little better now that the drugs are kicking in." He pulled the cold pack off his head, sat up and grimaced. "How're you two doing? Looks like they got your nose mostly straight." He squinted through the pain in his head at Jackson.
"Yeah, thtill thwollen though. The tech thed no fighting for at leatht anoda week." He ran a hand through his short curly hair. "Can I borrow your cold pack?" Mike handed it over and Jackson leaned back and rested it on the bridge of his nose.
"How you doing?" He turned to Lena.
She waved him off.
"I'm good. Jackson caught most of that tornado. Man, can that girl fight or what? I've never seen anyone move so fast."
"And throng too. Can you believe how throng she wath? It took everything I had to keep her down." Jackson repositioned the cold pack on his nose. "I gueth we found out why thee hath thuch a high kill count. Damn. Thath's all I gotta thay. Damn."
Lena nodded in agreement.
At that moment, the other members of the squad walked into the rec room. They'd gone as a group to play soccer against the fleet sailors in one of the large, mostly empty, cargo bays. The sailors generally won the matches, but the marines enjoyed making them pay for it.
"What happened to you guys?" Four asked. The others started taking seats around the three waiting to hear why their sergeant and two squad mates looked like they'd been fed through a metal recycler. Four, or Davis, was the leader of the group when neither One, Two, or Three were around. At one hundred eighty-four centimeters, he was the tallest member in the group. He was hard and lean and bore numerous scars from his previous combat tours. His darkly tanned skin was otherwise smooth and unadorned, unlike most marines who boasted at least half a dozen tattoos. Davis was always calm, even in combat. Nothing seemed to affect him and he was one of the rocks of Mike's team.
Before Mike or Jackson could think up a suitable lie worthy of the marine tradition, Lena spouted the truth. To her, getting beat up by another female wasn't such a big deal and she knew everyone would enjoy giving the guys a hard time.
"They just got their asses handed to them by that girl we rescued." She barked a laugh, but then cringed in pain as her cut lip began to bleed.
"Thut up Lena. She kicked your ath too." Jackson had pulled the cold pack off to reveal his still swollen nose. The squad laughed.
"Damn Jackson. She messed you up." Taft looked him over and Jackson gave him a one fingered gesture, suggesting he keep his opinion to himself.
"You shoulda seen her take out Sarge." Lena said. She was on a roll now and it was useless for Mike to try and stop her. She was having too much fun.
"What? No way," said Davis with surprise. They'd been in a number of fights during their time together and he'd never seen Mike go down.
"Like a tornado full of angry cats. Kicked his nads across the room, then knocked him cold with an elbow to the head. Laid him out flat." Lena was practically beaming. The men in the room were cringing and unconsciously moving their hands to protect their valuables.
"Tornado full of cats it is right." Mike agreed. The pounding in his head and groin had reduced to a dull ache and he attempted to salvage some pride. "Once I pulled myself off the floor, it took all three of us to take her down."
"All three of us my ass." Lena countered. "Was me and Jackson that took her down. You busy puking your guts out." The squad laughed.
"You mean it took both of you?" Davis asked. The whole squad was surprised and amused at the same time, not completely sure if they were joking or not. Jackson and Lena were a formidable force in a fight, to which they could all attest.
"You've never seen someone hit as fast and hard as this girl." Lena continued. "She cleared nearly the whole med tech staff in just a couple of seconds and then laid into the Sarge. That reminds me. You think Corporal Patterson can walk upright yet? I think I heard one of the techs saying she totally crushed his left nut."
"What happened to him?" The group sat forward in their chairs, eager to hear what had happened to security's corporal. They all hated him and openly wished for bad things to happen to him.
Lena continued her story with an evil glint in her eyes.
"He walks in all big and bad like he always does and tells us to let her up. So I let her go, knowing what would happen and sure enough, she catches him square in the nads. Last time I saw him he was curled up on a gurney, throwing up in a bucket." The squad all broke into loud laughter that continued for several minutes.
They all turned as shouts and running feet sounded from the corridor outside.
***
Rayne was tired of staying in her room and didn't want to go back. Especially under the hostile care of the station’s security team and doctors. She ref
used to be imprisoned again; she refused to be caged. Three years in the T80 had left her no desire to be confined ever again, although she had to admit she felt naked without its armor and weapons systems, like a soldier who’d lost a limb. She was aware they weren’t ‘the enemy’, which is why she hadn’t killed any of them yet. But she wouldn’t let herself be hurt or handled either.
She strolled down the halls aimlessly, simply enjoying the feel of her own body as her feet touched the floor and the fabric of her dress brushed her skin. The lights still hurt her eyes and made her squint, and the constant hiss of static in her head was annoying but she hummed a happy tune as she walked, occasionally twirling in a circle like a dancer on stage. A twirling dancer with two stun batons in her hands.
Rayne kept a loose relaxed hold on them as she walked, hummed and twirled down the hall. She knew they'd come for her eventually and try and put her back in her cage. She wouldn't go though. She was out and would stay that way.
Rayne idly wondered if they had any kind of natural habitat on the station. She'd been disappointed when she'd looked out the viewport windows to find she was in space, not planet side. She wanted to be outside and feel everything with her own skin and see everything with her own eyes. She wanted to walk on grass and feel the sun and wind on her face. And she wanted to chase butterflies. Yes, blue ones.
Rayne turned a corner into the next corridor. She had no idea where she was or where she was going and her brain reflexively stretched out to search the space around her, but found only static. Frustrated, she determined to ask the next person she saw if they had a natural habitat and where she could find it. A med tech in white overalls emerged from a side door and started walking her direction. He held a data pad in his hands and wasn't paying attention as he scanned the screen. Rayne stopped, hoping to ask for directions.
"Hello?" She said softly.
The med tech looked up distractedly with a smile. Rayne could see he had a fresh bruise on a puffy cheek and a split lip. The smile he had been wearing melted from his face and his eyes turned wide with fear. He dropped the data pad with a clatter, turned and ran down the hall screaming at the top of his lungs for security.
Rayne frowned. That hadn't gone at all like she had hoped. She looked down at the stun batons held loosely in her hands. Maybe she should hide them behind her back next time. Yeah, that was probably it; she'd scared him with the batons. She made a mental note and continued down the hall.
***
Captain Gault sat reading “The Art of War by Sun Tzu.” It was an old, battered, paper edition his ex had given him for one of his birthdays. Besides its obvious military applications, he found it gave him significant insight into the tactics she’d used during their brief marriage. Although he didn’t like dwelling on the past, he believed in being prepared for the future, and while currently divorced, their interactions were by no means finished and he intended to be ready.
He reclined easily on the bright alloy park bench. This was his favorite spot and time of day to be here. The nature habitat was a popular destination for many of the station’s crew during their free time and you could usually find it busy with an assortment of people engaged in different forms of leisurely pursuits. He’d found that if you timed it just right, you could have the place nearly to yourself for the space of an hour during shift changes. As ship’s captain, he wasn’t strictly bound to schedule and could take his leisure when he saw fit, barring emergency.
He was currently reading chapter eight, “The Nine Variations.” He’d read the book many times as evidenced by the dog eared and heavily marked pages. Chapter eight spoke of the need for flexibility in responding to situations in a shifting environment. He shook his head and snorted, not for the first time. Like most men involved in relationships, he had failed to recognize the woman in his life as an ever changing, incomprehensible being and failed to respond accordingly. He’d assumed what worked last time would work the next time as well. What a stupid thought. He’d never make that assumption in combat.
Captain Gault heard humming coming from the clearing on the other side of the trees. It was a light, happy tune he recognized as a folk song from the Epsilon Indi system. He heard movement through the habitat’s undergrowth and looked up to see a young girl chasing butterflies. She appeared to be sixteen or seventeen and moved with the fluid grace of a dancer. The white med tech dress she wore and bare feet added to the illusion. She chased the butterflies through the small clearing where he sat, oblivious to his presence. Her most notable feature was her jet black skin and total lack of hair. The additional lack of eyebrows or eyelashes gave her a truly alien look. Even without hair; however, she was very pretty and the captain stopped and watched as she chased the dancing butterflies through the air. The other feature that could hardly be missed was the two stun batons she held in her left hand as she reached out to grab the butterflies with her right.
Why on earth would she have those? He thought to himself. He watched quietly for several moments, not wanting to disturb the young girl’s entertainment. She was obviously enjoying herself and he didn’t want to spoil the moment.
The girl made an inhumanly high jump for the butterflies and caught one with her outstretched hand. She landed lightly and crouched on the ground with her hand cupped protectively around it. The batons remained in her left hand as she crouched and a quiet laugh escaped her lips. The captain imagined a daughter he might have had if life had worked out differently.
She opened her hand and the butterfly gently fluttered away. The girl stood and watched it float into the high recesses of the habitat’s dome. She turned and stopped, blue eyes locking on the captain. The hand holding the batons slowly slid behind her back, concealed by the folds of her white gown. She was tense. Not like a bird ready for flight in fear, but like a jungle cat making a cautious evaluation of someone she knew neither as friend or foe.
Sensing the tension, Captain Gault spoke first.
“Hello.”
Intense blue eyes evaluated him and then checked the surroundings as if expecting attack and then shifted back to him.
“Hello.” She replied. Her voice was a soft whisper almost too quiet to hear. She didn’t shift or relax her stance.
The captain was intrigued and decided to see if she would engage him in conversation. “My name’s Jason. What’s yours?”
Her expression flickered as if she was trying to remember. Her eyes cast about briefly and then returned to his.
“Rayne,” she replied in the same quiet whisper.
Not being much of a conversationalist, the captain thought quickly for something to continue the conversation since it was obvious she wouldn’t. She hadn’t left yet though, so maybe that was something.
“So you like butterflies?”
Her eyes flickered to the expansive dome above her and then looked back.
“Yes.” Her feet shifted in the short grass and she darted a quick look at her surroundings again.
“Would you like to sit down? It’s very peaceful here and you can watch the butterflies.” The captain indicated a spot on the bench next to him. She glanced at the spot and then again to him. Her feet shifted again on the soft grass. She went completely still like a predator ready to strike. The captain held his breath and waited. “It’s okay. I won’t hurt you.”
Several moments passed and then the girl put one hesitant foot forward. Her eyes glanced down to his hands and then back to his eyes. She had just begun another hesitant step forward when they heard the sound of shouting and running footsteps.
The girl whirled at the sound and dropped into a defensive crouch. The two stun batons, previously hidden from sight, sprung to both hands. She held them in a relaxed grip and stepped forward to meet two running security guards who were armed after the same fashion, stun batons in their meaty hands.
The captain noted Rayne didn’t wait for the security guards to reach her,
but ran forward with an easy graceful step. The first security guard swung his baton in a high overhead arc while the second moved in with a strike to the girl’s midsection. Rayne didn’t pause, but spun to the left with equal amounts of grace and mechanical precision. She batted the baton aimed for her head to the side, spun again and cracked the security guard on the back of the head. He fell in a tumbled heap as his companion’s baton struck at nothing. Rayne had reversed direction, stepped inside his swing before he could recover and jabbed the stun baton into the brachial nerve on the side of his neck. He crumpled immediately onto the prostrate form of his companion.
Rayne turned back to the captain, who was still seated on the bench with his book in hand. She gave a slight shrug and a half smile, and then frowned in annoyance at the sound of more shouting and running feet. She turned and ran with light feet in the opposite direction, the white gown fluttering around her knees. Moments later a group of ten security guards flashed past.
Captain Gault quietly closed his book, got up and walked after them.
***
Rayne glided smoothly down the corridors. She had no idea where she was going, but it was obvious she had left the medical deck behind. The white walls had given way to dull gray and while they were still clean, lacked the overly sterile, antiseptic smell. Still, one jungle was pretty much like any other. Just because there weren’t any trees, hanging vines or other vegetation, didn’t mean the rules of engagement were any different.