Marked

"Thanks," Joan murmured, as the slop was put on her plate.

The serving lady grunted and gestured to her to move on, so that she could continue serving slop to the rest of the staff present at the cafeteria. Frowning, Joan moved down the line and picked out a knife and fork. It was slop, but she had to eat it. She was pretty sure that there was a clause in her terms of employment with the Marines that she had to eat, because she had to keep her strength up, to do…something.

There were no happy mediums in life, she reflected, as she took her plate over to one of the tables. The universe, or at least the Sol system, was one of extremes, and not just in terms of temperature. Oh sure, Earth was sizzling thanks to climate change, but it wasn't the heat in of itself that killed you. It was the constant conflict as the human race fought over what resources remained, from water, to oil, to even things as abundant as lithium (had to power the electric cars somehow). On Earth, joining the military ensured that you'd never be short of work, because a country could only continue to exist if it defended its borders. And by "defended its borders" that meant keeping people out of them, defending yourself against other countries that wanted your stuff, and sometimes, attack those other countries to get their stuff. Sound strategy as long as you used terms such as "intervention."

And then there was Mars. The other extreme of this miserable little star system that had given birth to the miserable little species called humanity. Mars, where the temperature was almost universally below freezing point. Mars, where the sole human settlement was called Mars City, a collection of structures that certainly weren't a "city," and didn't do justice to the word "settlement" either. Mars, a planet that was practically owned by the Union Aerospace Corporation, despite the Extra-planetary Colonization Treaty establishing that any party could only lie claim to so much land on an extra-terrestrial world in relation to its point of settlement. It was the reason why the moon was as much a warzone as Earth was. It was the reason why Mars, despite being named after the Roman god of war, was so peaceful. It was also the reason why nothing happened on this dustball.

Its moons were another story, but she'd learned that the UAC would welcome people like her as long as didn't ask too many questions. So when they gave her slop (rice, beans, and beef mashed together), she was expected to eat it, say thank you, and not ask whether she could have another unless that meant being hit with a plate. So gingerly, the slop still in hand, she made it over to the table where her squad was seated.

"Hey guys."

They ignored her. Not out of spite (or so she hoped), but more out of disinterest. Most of them were watching a pair of jarheads arm wrestle. Some were involved in a game of cards. A pair of them were reading a magazine, containing material that Joan knew wasn't designed for her.

"I'll just, er, sit here then."

They still ignored her.

"Fine," she said, taking a seat at the end of the table. "Go fuck yourselves."

No answer but a whoop as Private Tarrant proved to be stronger than Corporal Dwight. Money exchanged hands, and Tarrant awaited his next challenger. Sighing, Joan returned to the slop.

Hate my life.

She was aware of someone sitting down opposite her. She didn't care. She just kept her eyes focused on the food. She knew it was a luxury, really, to have beef, but it was so bereft of flavour, she wondered why the UAC even bothered shipping it to Mars. Thirty years ago, when they'd laid the foundations for Mars City, they'd claimed that it was the first beginnings of permanent settlement on the red planet. Thirty years on, and while Mars City had become larger, the planet itself was no more hospitable. Food still needed to be shipped from Earth. And as silly as it was, she couldn't help but reflect that for every meal she consumed here, someone back on Earth was fated to starve as a result.

"So how's the slop?"

She actually looked at the man who sat down opposite her. Corporal Wu, according to his name tag and chevrons.

"Fine," she lied. She looked at what her fellow marine was eating. "How's the salad?"

"Dunno yet." He took a bite of lettuce.

"Well?" she asked.

"Oh, it's fine."

"Liar." She returned to the slop. It was bereft of taste, but she supposed being bereft of taste was better than something from Mars City's hydroponics bay.

"So," Wu continued, as he continued to eat the salad, his face telling her exactly what she thought of it. "How you finding Mars?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Why do you care?"

"Why shouldn't I care?"

She gestured to the rest of the squad. "They don't."

Wu shrugged. "Give them time."

"Time to do…what?" Joan asked. She pushed some beef and rice into her mouth. "Seriously, what else apart from-"

"Please don't talk with your mouth full."

Seriously? She nonetheless finished chewing. "I mean, what else is there to do bar getting to know each other?"

Wu shrugged. "They're probably just missing Private Watanabi."

"Watanabi? You mean the guy who committed suicide by walking out an airlock?"

"Yeah, that guy." Wu pushed his salad to the side. "That, and other things."

The way he looked at her (or rather, didn't look at her), told Joan that he wasn't going to tell her what those other things were.

It could have ended right there, she reflected. Wu had talked to her. He'd given her more conversation in three minutes than she'd had with the squad in three days. It wasn't as if she was unaware of esprit de corps – she'd transferred plenty of times after all. But there was a wariness in the marines that bothered her. Heck, a wariness in everyone.

"Say, Wu," she asked. "How long have you been here?"

"Five months. Why?"

"Have you ever…I dunno, done something?"

"Done something?"

"Like, has there ever been a moment when the few and the proud have been called on to do something that might warrant their presence here?"

Wu didn't say anything. But the look in his eyes told Joan that for him, the question wasn't one that he hadn't considered before.

"Like, I get it," Joan said. "This is a research base millions of miles from Earth. UAC's got hundreds of staff clustered together breathing recycled air, so it makes sense to have some security." She leant forward. "But why marines? What do they need jarheads for to guard against? Martians?"

"Not Martians," Wu murmured. "Just…people."

"People."

"People. Like, y'know, brawls, assaults…attempted suicides…attempted…" He averted her gaze. "Point is, we've had some things to do."

"Space crazies."

"What?"

"Space crazies. That what they call it isn't it? People losing their marbles due to the effects of long term isolation in deep space?" She took her last bite of slop. "Read about it before. The space colonies around Earth, the moon – mental illness is far more common there than on the surface."

"Guess that's it," Wu murmured.

"You guess?"

He shrugged. "Just figured that the UAC would employ more stable people."

"Yeah, well, the people here haven't been very friendly either, so why should I care if they're stable or not?"

He gestured to a space below her neck. "Maybe it's that."

"What? My dog tags?"

"No. That."

Oh.

She knew that Wu was referring to the cross that hung around her neck, its chain intermingling with her dog tags. One was a set of information, stamped with the logo of the UAC – they might only recruit from the "best of the best" on Earth, but out here, the Marines were expected to only have one loyalty. The other was something she'd worn for much longer, indeed, as long as she could remember. A simple iron cross painted gold.

"Why would they have a problem with it?" she asked.

Wu didn't say anything.

"Seriously, why? Like, what? God wasn't found in space so we shouldn't believe in him?"

"You asking me, or asking the UAC?" Wu asked. "Because if the former, I really don't care what people do or don't believe."

"And if the latter?"

He looked around – there was a look in his eyes that Joan didn't like. It wasn't fear, but it was too close for comfort. Not that there was anything wrong with fear in of itself, but to be afraid on Mars, a planet where the best way to pass the time was arm wrestle or read porno mags…

"There's whispers," he said eventually. "About what's going up on the moons."

"What? The teleportation experiments?"

"Trust me, if that's all they were doing I wouldn't mind, but…"

"But?"

"You'll hear them eventually."

"What? Whispers?"

"People whispering in the corridors. And the whispers when you try to sleep."

She leant back in her chair, smirking. "Come on man, I know I'm the FNG here, but I can take hazing far worse than campfire stories."

"These aren't campfire stories, these are…" He swallowed. "Some of the rumours…they're crazy, y'know? Like, occult stuff. Witchcraft, sacrifice, Satanism and all that shit." He gestured back to the cross. "You think devil worshippers are going to want someone wearing that?"

Joan burst out laughing.

"It isn't funny," Wu said.

"Oh come on," she said. "Satanism. Witchcraft. I mean, come on man, you could at least go with aliens. They at least might make a lick of sense."

"I'm telling you, it's-"

"What are you telling her?"

Wu stood up. So did Joan, as they saw a marine walk over to them. A sergeant specifically, given the arrows on his jumpsuit.

"Sergeant," Wu said. "I was informing Private Dark here about the rumours going around Mars City."

"Really," the sergeant said. "And you're of course putting them to rest of course. We won't want our girl here to get any ideas in her pretty head, would we?"

Go fuck yourself.

"Of course not sergeant."

"Good." The sergeant turned his gaze to Joan. "Though word of advice private, I'd be careful about showing the cross here."

"Why?" she asked. "By the terms of employment with the UAC, I'm well within my rights to."

"You are well within your rights to. Just like I'm well within my rights to be careful."

She folded her arms. "You saying that Private Wu's got a point sergeant?"

"What I'm saying is that the eggheads here might think religious displays are unwanted in an environment such as this. And Private Wu's headed back to Earth in a month, so I wouldn't worry too much about what he has to say."

"Sergeant, I-"

"You won't give me any worries, will you private?"

"No, sergeant."

"Good."

Joan watched him walk off. She frowned – she knew a liar when she saw one. It was the reason that she knew the sergeant's excuse was a load of B.S. And Wu…she wasn't sure what to make of Wu.

"Be careful," he murmured, before getting to his feet. "I've got one month left here. You've got six."

She didn't say anything. She just watched him go. Watched him throw glances at the scientists sitting throughout the room.

Subconsciously, she fingered the cross.