Major (The United Federation Marine Corps Book 5) Read Free

were all his enemies, in a way.  They were all maneuvering against each other in the never-ending attempt to gather that elusive piece of Intel that would put their government on top.  Liquor and smooth talking were their weapons.  And Ryck’s most valuable personal weapon might be the Sober Up pills he took to keep his buzz at a minimum.
    Ryck suddenly couldn’t take it anymore.  He needed a hard session at the gym to clear his mind—and take out some pent-up aggression.  He stood up and waved his PA over the terminal to pay his bill.  Micah, still in conversation with Maj Lim, gave him a wave as Ryck turned to walk out.
    New Mumbai’s sun was still up as Ryck left the pub, but it was not as blindingly hot as it had been a few hours before.  Ryck ignored the waiting autocabs, deciding that a walk would do him some good.  After Captain Franks had warned him during his initial brief that all autocabs were bugged, he had initially avoided them.  Now he knew that almost everywhere was under surveillance, and taking a cab was fine.  If nothing of import was said in one, then no harm, no foul.  But Ryck still liked to walk.  Titus had tried to walk with him once, but Ryck’s pace had been brisk, and his shadow had never attempted that again.  So walking gave Ryck a feeling of security, even if that feeling was misplaced.
    He turned to his left and started out at even a quicker pace than usual.  He would be back at his apartment in 20, then after changing into his workout clothes, he could start his first set by 1830.  Two hours of exercise, then a shower, then maybe a visit to The Fresh Solution, a salad bar restaurant a block over from his apartment—yes, that sounded good.  Hannah would be proud of him. 
    He patted his belly, which had grown four centimeters since his arrival.  He was in his Charlies, the short-sleeved khaki shirt and dark green trousers that made up his daily uniform, and he’d already let out the waistband on the trou once.  His blues, though, which he wore to formal functions, were getting rather tight.  The never-ending receptions and dinners, coupled with not enough exercise, were taking their toll.
    The streets in Vishnu didn’t make too much sense to Ryck.  The blocks tended to be rather long with few connecting streets.  Traffic could get bad at times despite huge cryocomputers that monitored the flow and made recommendations to vehicles.  The Confederation citizens, though, had a rather ornery streak that had most of them ignoring autodrive and keeping in manual control of their hovers.
    About 250 meters from The Alibi, however, a small alley cut through the block, and Ryck could take this to connect to Robinson Avenue, saving several minutes of walking.  He reached the alley and turned in—colliding with a man coming out and knocking him down. 
    “Oh, sorry, sir,” Ryck said, reaching down to help the older man up.
    As the man took Ryck’s hand, Ryck felt something small and hard against his palm, something that remained after the man was back on his feet.  Ryck’s training kicked in, and he closed his hand, not looking.
    “Watch it,” the man scolded before stepping around Ryck and continuing on his way.
    Whatever was in Ryck’s hand was crying out for attention, almost as if it was burning him. 
    Is this it? he wondered excitedly.  Was this a brush pass?
    He longed to look in his hand to see what was there, but the hours of training walking the streets of Brussels had made their mark, and he studiously ignored his hand.  He was probably going overboard, he realized.  He was acting too nonchalant, and that was just as bad as acting suspiciously.  Ryck knew that the city surveillance had him in its databases, and it supposedly could identify when he was acting differently.  It could flag him for someone in the counterintelligence branch of the FSSC, the Free State Security Commission, to take a look.
    Grubbing hell, he thought.  I’m a Marine, not a