From: aubey@GIMLI.ASD.CONTEL.COM (Ken Aubey)
Subject: Time has come today...
Date: 3 Apr 91 13:15:10 GMT

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Dinner. Real meat, vegetables. Good, solid fare. Nourishing. I shake my head.

"Ya' got any spaghetti ? Or noodles or ramen ? Something like that ?" I ask.

"Yeah, in the kitchen. Ramen. Krill, crab or misoshiro. Just nuke a packet for
a couple seconds. How come ? Carbohydrate loading ?" asks Leadfoot, looking up
from the meal.

"Something like that."

<Medicine Hawk finishes off two bowls of noodles in a minute or so, returns to
his battle preparations. The blades are all sharpened, the guns loaded, the
gear fastened down securely. He interfaces with each of the M-89 carbines,
running last-minute diagnostics. He checks out the ChamoCloth coveralls, for
the twelfth time. When every piece of equipment has been examined no less than
three times, he begins to pace, breathing deeply - low-rent pranayama.>

<Nekoko enters the anteroom where the large weapons are piled. She wants some
time alone before the run begins. Medicine Hawk is standing there already,
using a piece of abrasive cloth to clean the contacts on the earpieces of his
glasses. A little gold stud is visible on his skull, behind the right ear,
where the shades had been plugged into his central nervous system.>

<He turns, squints at Nekoko, grins a big grin, whispers conspiratorially,
"Don't tell anybody. I can't see shit without these." He holds up the steel and
chrome sunglasses.  "Variable magnification and light amps." She sees his eyes,
knows the real reason for the silver shades. There is a lot of sadness in those
large brown eyes, a lot of concern, but also a lot of kindness and humor. Deep
laugh lines crinkle at the corners. Without the sunglasses to armor those eyes
from view, no one would ever take this man seriously as a mercenary, a killer.
Last night's teddybear idea comes vididly to mind again.>

<He puts the strip of chrome back onto his face and the eyes are once again
hidden. With a gruff grunt, Medicine Hawk points to the ARES Predator holstered
at her hip. He says, "Lower the butt of that weapon about another two and a
half centimeters and strap it down tighter. It'll cut a tenth of a second off
your draw." He sheathes a foot-long piece of nightblack steel inside his right
boot and goes off into another room to continue his pacing. The grin, though,
is not quite gone.>

            #                         #                        #

<Nekoko brings the helicopter in like a striking falcon, fast and low. Already
hard-to-see in their  camo suits, Running Wolf, Ylse and Medicine Hawk prepare `
to make their exit. Medicine Hawk speaks into an intercom mike, above the noise of the rotors. "Dust us off as soon as we hit the ground. You know the
routine.">

<He closes his eyes behind the shades, hears the synthesized sound of the
warpipes, the trigger that releases his Legion battle conditioning. His lips
move silently, repeating the words that go along with the centuries-old tune. A
song commemorating a lost battle, a lost struggle, it was carried back across
the Border by a Legion musician hundreds of years ago. It was song that gained
the XXIII Legion a new nickname very soon thereafter.>

               "What Force or Guile could not subdue
                Through many warlike ages,
                Is wrought now by a coward few
                For hireling Traitor's wages. "

               "The English Steel we could disdain
                Secure in Valour's station,
                But English Gold has been our bane.
                Such a Parcel of Rogues in a Nation."

<Adrenalin, and other less-common chemicals pour into the bloodstream in
carefully-controlled doses. Heartbeat speeds momentarily, stabilizes. Some
muscles tense, others relax.  Artificial nerve fibers set their transmission
speed up another two notches. Pain receptors have their queueing priorities
lowered. Auxiliary sensors turn up their sensitivity. New targetting and status
data appears on the HUD. Breathing slows and deepens. The grim, martial music
continues to play in his mind's ear. Home again.>

<All of the fear falls away, becomes small and insignificant. It becomes an
intellectual thing, the knowledge that a situation may be dangerous, no longer
a cold-clawed monster coiled in the viscera. The doubts and uncertainties fade
like silly dreams. All of the little things in the mind that constrain the
warrior within dissolve, leaving only the steel-hard will, the hard-won skill.
Compared to that burning kiss and passionate embrace that is true berserker
battle-madness, this is but a chaste brush of the lips, but, sometimes, a
little is better than nothing at all. Medicine Hawk's lips pull back into an
expression that might be called a smile, but only by someone who had never seen
a real one>

<Three figures hit the ground, roll, disappear as the wind whips around them
for just a moment.>

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-- "A Parcel of Rogues" arranged by Steeleye Span -used without permission.
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-- Ken Aubey (aubey@gimli.asd.contel.com)
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