UNIVERSAL TURBULENT

XIV - PLANET EARTH

The officer left the relative coolness of a well-shadowed passageway, turned a corner, and heard voices released in anger. He raised his hand. Sparrow stopped and motioned for the porters to do likewise. They obeyed.

There was a commotion, followed by rapid-fire Arabic and the whine of servos.

The officer peered around the corner of a stall and watched a pair of Trooper IIs swagger down the street. Shops lined the both sides of the thoroughfare, each with its own sun-faded awning. Long, flimsy poles held them out and away from the buildings they served.

One of the cyborgs extended an armlike laser cannon. The support sticks crackled as they shattered. Awnings fluttered and floated to the ground. The voice was amplified and echoed off the surrounding storefronts. "We want cash, and we want it on time. We'll be back tomorrow, so don't make the same mistake twice".

Marco retreated to the shadows and motioned for the others to do likewise. The officer caught a whiff of ozone as the machines lurched past. "Corporal Sparrow..."

"Sir?"

"Take their numbers".

The legionnaire looked at the officer, realized he was serious, and reached for the data pad buttoned into his left shirt pocket. "Sir, yes, sir".

The journey resumed once the cyborgs were gone, and Marco was pleased to note that the fort was closer now. It loomed over them as they entered the maze of passageways collectively known as Can Town.

Here were the brothels, eateries, as yes, if Marco's nose was any guide, the bars typical of most fortress towns. All of which was fine, except for the fact that alcohol was offensive to the local population and should have been banned.

As if to emphasize the point, a legionnaire stumbled out of a doorway with a scantily clad woman under each arm, saw Marco, and struggled to disengage. His salute would have been more convincing had the bill of his kepi been toward the front instead of the back. He swayed alarmingly, tried to say something, and collapsed facedown. The w****s looked amused and made no attempt to help.

Marco didn't have to ask this time. Marco rolled the legionnaire over, winced at the smell of his breath, and it was some of the latter who manged to grab Marco's attention.

Sparrow watched amusedly as the unpredictable officer stepped into a brothel, haggled with the khat-chewing madam, and gave her some money.

Then, just when the NCO expected to see the officer enter one of the curtained booths, he was joined by four heavily painted female prostitutes, along with an equal number of joy boys. Two of them shared the weight of a cooler. A handful of words was sufficient to send the whole lot scrambling up the trail.

Marco saw the corporal's expression and laughed. "Enemy infiltrators, Sparrow, and heavily armed at that. Come on, let's check our security".

Sparrow took note of the word "our", realized that the Colonel had already assumed responsibility for the fort, and felt sorry for the unsuspecting sentries.

The trail switchbacked up the side of hill, and Marco, his uniform dark with sweat, still managed to whistle. And he was still whistling, still grinning, when they arrived at the first checkpoint, heard some rather curious sounds emanating from the vicinity of a machine g*n emplacement, caught a whiff of cheap perfume, and confinued on their way.

They encountered two additional guard stations, both of which were deserted, before arriving at the foot of the fort's thirty-foot-high Whitewashed wall. This particular sentry had at least taken the precaution of locking the durasteel side gate prior to abandoning his or her post. Marco tried the handle, but to no avail.

Sparrow, who was rather enjoying himself by this time, stepped forward. The pick, which appeared to be little more than a silver of steel, gleamed between his fingers. "Sir? Would you care to enter?"

Marco remembered the vanishing handcuffs and understood why. "Why yes, Corporal, if you please".

Sparrow grinned, fed the specially programmed strip of "live" metal into the appropriate slot, and waited for the device to figure out which of the more than one hundred thousand possible shapes programmed into its memory would handle this particular lock. He had won the tool in a poker game, and used it ever since. Less than three seconds had elapsed when Marco heard a decisive click, saw the noncom turn the handle, and watched the door swing open.

The sentry, plus a couple of her buddies, were seated around the cooler sipping from cold bottles of beer. She went for her rifle, but Marco was quicker. "Sorry", the officer said, "but I'll take that. Finish the beer and report to the sergeant at arms when you're done".

The legionnaire were still sitting there, staring at the place where the officer had been, when the porters marched by. "Who the hell was that?" Private Joelle asked of no one in particular.

"That was your new commanding officer", Private Parson replied. "You heard the Colonel... Let's finish the beer. I've got a feeling it'll be a long time before we have another".

A set of spiral stairs carried Marco up and into a heavily shadowed alcove. It looked out into the sun-baked parade ground. It was deserted except for the orderly waves of heat. "Time for our big entrance, Corporal... Are you ready?"

"Ready when you are, sir".

"Good. Let's go".

Marco, with Sparrows at his side, marched to the center of the fort's parade ground, stopped, levered a round into the sentry's assault rifle, released the safety, and pointed the weapon out toward the gulf. The weapon chattered, brass arced through the air, and a pair of doves fluttered out of hiding.

Heads appeared first, quickly followed by bodies and a broadside of orders. "Place the weapon on the ground! Put your hands on your head! Now! Now! Now!"

Marco complied, as did Sparrow. The posters, both of whom had developed a seemingly miraculous understanding of standard, dropped the duffel bags and placed their hands on their heads.

The first legionnaires on the scene saw that Marco was a colonel, or was dressed in a colonel's uniform, and sent for higher authority. It took the better part of five minutes for Major Daniell to get off the commode, pull up his pants, and arrive on the parade ground. He blinked into the harsh sunlight and frowned. "What the hell is going on? Who are these people?"

Corporal Sparrow have himself permission to speak. "Begging the major's pardon, but it's my pleasure to introduce Colonel Dooley 'Bay' Marco, the newly arrived commanding officer, 17th DBLE. May we lower our hands?"