Postal Marine 1: Bellicose by Ben Wilson

encounter?” Litovio looked at the guard patiently and unwaivering.
    The guard spoke, “Sir, my task is to ensure you are on that shuttle before the cycle lapses.”
    “No chance I can desert?” Litovio smiled, hoping the guard would catch the humor.
    There was no way Litovio would know if the guard beyond was caught off guard. The guard replied simply, “No.” The guard tried to be distracting as he unshouldered his rifle. He remained by the door and put the rifle in rest position. The blatant, albeit calm, show of force persuaded Litovio that desertion was not an option—not that he ever considered it. The guard's reaction led Litovio to smile.
    “Okay, I guess we should load the bag on the shuttle. I'll be along shortly.” Litovio watched his servant carry the bag out of his room. The guard seemed to maintain his focus on Litovio, but his position was such that any threat from the servant would be easily countered.
There's an efficiency to an Infantry Marine.
    After the servant disappeared, Litovio poured himself a glass of ziemann juice. He drank it like a shot, not caring that the servants properly salted it. He held the glass to the guard, who shook his head.
    Litovio walked down the stairs. The two guards in the reception room continued to keep his father in control. For his part, Marsileno knew rather than try to resist. Part of Litovio relished his father's submission. He walked over to his father. “Sir, I'm sorry for the disquiet brought to your house. I know you dismiss us as pirates, but I'm a Postal Marine. Maybe one day you'll accept me.”
    He turned and walked out the entry. Litovio continued to the shuttle and boarded. Khaooldro sat waiting for him. The excitement of being essentially abducted from his home would have made him giddy ten years before.
    “Can you tell me now what's going on?”
    She smiled. “All I can tell you is you're being sent to Guna to escort an admiral.”
    Me escort an admiral?
“Admirals are for fleet actions. The Postal Marines don't have that rank.”
    “A sign of the times, perhaps.”
    Khaooldro Gojoneddus, that's what she said her name was. Isn't that an ancient way of saying glorious revolution?
“Your name isn't Khaooldro, is it? Who are you, anyway?”
    “A concerned citizen,” she said.
----
Bophendze - Temask System
    Bophendze awoke. He tried to lift his head, but winced at the pain. He could not turn his head. He reached up and felt a rigid collar on his neck that was keeping him from turning his head. Within the limited range of his vision, he thought he was on a shuttle.
    “Hello?” he said. His voice cracked, barely more than a whisper. He breathed deep then let out a loud moan.
    “He lives. Give me a beat, Bophendze.”
    Soon after, Angel stood over Bophendze, looking straight down at him. “You can still see, right?”
    “Barely. Where am I?”
    “We're about two cycles out from the orbital. You took one hell of a beating. I'm surprised you're still alive.”
    That makes two of us. Why not just throw me out of the ship?
“What happened?”
    “Somebody is trying to tell you they don't like you. The ship has basic medical facilities, but the doctor there thought you should be taken to the orbital. You're going to need a little re-constructive surgery.”
    Re-constructive surgery? Were they wearing their battle armor when they beat me?
“I know who did it. They put a sack over my head, but I know—”
    “Too late. Chrachen 's finished the investigation. The official report finds that there is no conclusive evidence of the identity of any of the perpetrators.”
    “No! Corporal Makaan spoke to me after they beat me. I know it was him.”
    “During the time of the beating, Chrachen said Makaan was with him. They were in a staff meeting with all the team leads. It would be your word against that of every non-commissioned officer and Chrachen himself. Had you fought back, you might have hurt somebody enough to leave evidence. But nobody even