[Author's rating: R, violence/language]

Mustang

Meny.  905 S.D.

          He heard the footsteps, one pair of standard issue and one pair of high-heels.  He also heard the Private murmur to her a confirmation at his door.  He didn’t look around when it opened, and the quiet lasted a few awkward moments.

          “Good afternoon, Sergeant.”

          Michael Botswick glanced over his shoulder, bit down in his cigarette, and made sure his visitor saw his eyes roll.  “About fifteen years too late, sweetheart.  Tell me your dossier isn’t that far out of date.”

          A pause.  Maybe even a let-down sigh.  “The intent was to remind you of your roots, Delegator Botswick, SCL 4.1A, trained for Strike or Death squad, current Delegator First Class of Meny training facility No. 256,” came the distant, formal reply.  Apparently he’d gotten under the skin a little bit right off the bat.  It was a bonus.

          “Ain’t no ‘or’ about it, lady.  But it’s close enough.  Though spelling it out for me like that kind of loses the effect.”

          “It was lost already.  You refused to feel it.”  The tone got a little colder still. Perfectly polite, but cold.

          Botswick smiled, a cigarette still bobbing at the corner of his mouth, as he finally turned around from gazing out through his office window at the jungle forests beyond the compound.  “Glad to hear you got the idea that quick.  What can I do for you, Miz…?”  He looked for a badge.  She was unmarked.

          “Aurora.”

          He studied the Ebon woman; her posture, deeper voice, and mature, silvery eyes made him think she was maybe close to him in age, except she didn’t have the crow’s feet or silver temples he had.  No, no she had perfect pale skin, probably softer than a baby’s behind, and hair that couldn’t be colored that particular shade of burgundy because chemicals didn’t produce cherry highlights like that.  She was dressed in a well-cut, expensive business suit, hair swept up perfectly to lure many man in touch with his Johnson forward to attempt to sniff the perfume at her neck.  She might as well have held a sign saying, “Hello, Down There,” that he would be invited to read with a pair of binoculars. 

          Her choice of greeting had been below the belt, and the arrogance that followed it—reciting a list of qualifications that any lawyer could look up and then presuming he’d respond to them from a Civie— pretty much guaranteed that she wouldn’t leave with what she came for.

          “Ms. Aurora,” he finished, some grey ash drifting from the end of his smoke onto his desk.

          She coughed delicately.  “I’m here on behalf of Mr. and Mrs. Jentrianne.  They want their daughter, Amber, pulled from Operative training and discharged.  They want her sent home.  We’re prepared to sue if SLA Industries doesn’t follow through on her scholarship to Seritia University as detailed in her contract.”

          Botswick stared at her for several long moments with ice blue eyes that weren’t distant as the lawyer’s but just as hard and calculating.  He only knew Seritia U was in Uptown, and it was expensive, but it was enough to pretend he knew exactly which student they were talking about.  He pursed his lips, reaching up to take a draw before removing the cigarette from his mouth.  “Okay…I’m going to ask, ‘Why?’, and now you answer.  Go.”

          Her brow creased slightly, but she moved ahead.  “Her parents are worried something happened recently.  Their last video conversation with her—one allowed each week, remember?—she wouldn’t say why but she began crying.”

          Botswick shrugged, putting the short stub back in his mouth.  “It can be tough.  A lot of new recruits cry, Ms. Aurora, the training’s a bit of a shock when you come from Uptown.  It doesn’t mean something happened beyond the norm.”

          “I’m also here to see her medical records.”

          The gruff man shook his head, chewing on his butt a bit.  “Out of the question. Those records aren’t accessible to civilians.”

          “Have you looked at them, Delegator?  Can you guarantee me that if I get a subpoena to open her file, I won’t see preventative measures prescribed for VD or pregnancy?”

          He let out a long sigh, pinched his cigarette butt and squashed it in his nearly-full ash tray with a little more force than necessary.  “Number one, you can’t get a subpoena without probable cause and a signature both from Central and from someone at Meny high enough to give me the order.  And number two, if it’ll make you feel better, every female here has those measures documented in their file when they first arrive and tests—plus treatments where applicable—performed every two months thereafter while they’re here. Same with the males, except for the pregnancy.  It’s a goddamn revolving door at the medical facilities; we have a whole staff of over ten thousand who do nothing else twenty-four seven.”  Looking at Ms. Aurora, he could see she was absorbing the scope of what he was talking about and the expression was comical.  He laughed, “What, you think all the recruits are either celibate goodie-goods or always use the free condoms?  Come on, lady, everyone needs a little stress relief sometimes.”

          The Ebon shook her head.  “You’re trying to distract me.  I’ll say it plain, then.  Mr. and Mrs. Jentrianne believe Amber is being abused, raped“

          “Mr. and Mrs. Jentrianne fear that,” he interrupted, “like any parent, trust me, they ain’t unique just because they’re from Uptown.  I bet they’ve feared it ever since their daughter first said she wanted to go to Meny.”

          “She’s a slight girl and can’t defend herself.” 

          “I’ll agree she’s slight but I resent that second bullshit statement.  What the fuck do you think she’s here for, anyway?  To learn to knit?”

          Aurora narrowed her eyes and her tastefully painted lips became thinner at his profanity.  “If you have something to hide, Delegator Botswick, that you won’t assuage the Jentrianne’s fears, then I will make sure there is an investigation.  We’ve got connections.” 

          Fuck me running…  Last thing he needed was Third Eye listening to these panic-ridden parents whose fears eclipsed any faith in their little girl to take the consequences of her own decisions and come out the stronger for it.

          The unfortunate thing was that in reality, shit happened.  It wasn’t his job to prevent someone from breaking their leg in training or meeting up with the wrong person in the bathroom on Saturday night.  It was his job to make sure a person had the training to still function on their own when that shit happened.  In cases where he could help, he did, but he couldn’t ferret out or prevent every rape and fight and overdose at Meny, nor would he want to if he could.  He’d have a bunch of soft, worthless recruits who’d have their first taste of fear in Downtown.  They’d be real effective then!  Best he could do is keep the admins under his watch from abusing their positions with the recruits.  Everything else going on between the students…?  Shit.  They had to get either caught or reported first andpush it to the point where intervention was necessary.  A lot of it worked itself out after the pecking order was established and the bruises faded. 

          Botswick hated Uptown suits; they thought their ideal could be reality when they tried to make it law with their little sheets of paper.  As if that paper would stop a bullet or a fist when the fight that was coming was simply going to happen, one way or the other. No understanding of human nature, Ebon nature, any nature!

          “Nothing to hide, Ms. Aurora,” he responded, pulling out another cigarette and lighting it.  He could talk shop when he needed to.  “But you’re still not going to go snooping through a recruit’s files looking for anything to justify yanking someone prematurely out of Meny.  She signed a contract with SLA Industries; that contract has not been honored to the standards of either party as of yet, nor has either side been in breech of that contract.  Check it more closely sometime, lady, nowhere does it claim protection from forced sex, in fact that’s one of the explicit risks of the job, and it does say SLA Industries at large and Meny in particular doesn’t assume responsibility for conflicts kept private but will investigate all formal complaints on SLA property.  Basically, if Miss Jentrianne doesn’t cry rape, then there ain’t no rape and we can’t do shit about what we don’t hear.” 

          “You think that’s good enough?” Aurora suddenly spouted back, her face flushing and her composure cracking by about twenty-five percent by Botswick’s estimate.  “What if the victim is too afraid to speak up?  What if someone above her rank orders to her keep quiet?”

          “I’m not going to discuss ‘what ifs,’ Ms. Aurora.  That’s exactly what got you sent here on a wild Carrien chase in the first place.  You’ve got one recruit among a million others just like her, crying to her parents over the channel.  That’s not enough to push me to consider early discharge and termination of her contract and I think she would be mortified if I did.” 

          “I will speak with her myself, then.”

          “Negative.  You have no right.  Read the contract again, sweetheart.  Her body is SLA property and will be trained to our needs.  That means no unauthorized interactions with civilians for the first twelve weeks of basic training.  And I ain’t authorizing, so don’t ask.” 

          The Ebon woman finally scowled at him.  She was used to getting her way and wasn’t getting it now.  “I can only presume you have something to hide, Botswick.”

          “Delegator, madam lawyer.  And that’s your problem.  You obviously have no idea what goes on here and are only a fetch for wealthy, over-anxious parents that wouldn’t come themselves to get in the way of their daughter’s progress.  Accept an escort to show you off the compound.  That’s not a request.” 

                                                ^^^^^^^^^^