Dispatched

[Cassie Granger 0]

Dispatched

A Silver-Granger Log

 

Gage was popular. He just couldn’t help it. The charm, the physique, the boyish grin he deployed all too easily and, from conversations overheard in the chow hall, his animal magnetism had way too many females distracted and flocking around him. Like groupies to a rock star, paparazzi to a model, flies to a.…

 

Wait. That’s not exactly the image we want here. Or maybe we do.

 

Anyway, he was popular. And because of it he never got much rest, which explained the rings around his eyes as he inspected the kit in the FORECON OPS armory set aside for the upcoming mission.

 

But at second glance there weren’t any shadows beneath his eyes. In fact, he looked surprisingly rested for someone who appeared like he hadn’t slept in months a couple days ago. Left corner of his mouth unconsciously turned up, he lifted an upper receiver and squeezed an eye shut, peering at the mirror shine of the lightweight barrel.

 

Cass did her best to ignore him, but ignoring just didn’t work with Silver.

 

“How now, Maid Jean? What news have you from the Black Fox?” he quipped flatly.

 

Contact left. Attack pattern Delta. Execute... execute... execute.

 

“Black Fox sends his regards, Sir. Waiting at rendezvous point alpha,” she replied, a droll expression half-hidden by the locker door until she closed it with a muffled thud and leaned one hand against it, facing him. A leather satchel slung across the front of her suede tunic from shoulder to hip, tailored buckskin breeches fit snugly into leather hunting boots, and a Tatang hung sheathed on her right hip. “Chosen your haute couture, Lieutenant? I figured you for the jaunty feather-in-the-hat and tights type.” A wide-eyed grin followed on the heels of the remark.

 

He slid a reassembled bolt carrier group into place, eyes remaining on the task in front of him. “You got some twisted fantasies, Cass.”

 

“You look rested, Sir. Mission ready,” she continued, strolling down the length of the table towards him. The impressive assortment of antique and modified weapons had drawn everyone’s attention. It took quite a bit of warrant glare to convince the rest of the team to take a number. “You get first choice, Sir. We’ll take what’s left.”

 

He stared at her for a moment before returning to the rifle. Resetting the takedown pin, he pulled the charging handle and function checked the rifle through several clicks of the selector and trigger. He then set it on the table and straightened from the stool on which he’d been leaning.

 

“Take what you want. Don’t worry ‘bout me,” he flatly remarked and walked aside the table toward the exit.

 

Cass stepped to the table and hefted the M21 SWS.* Thorough examination and action check showed it close enough in weild and appearance to pass muster for a hunting rifle while doubling for overwatch if needed. It blended well with her outfit and would be a good complement to the 9mm hidden by the loose fit of her tunic. An extra magazine and box of cartridges, and she was out the door.

 

Not far ahead in the corridor, Gage glanced up at the door as he conversed casually with Lieutenant Shavra. Dressed in a black and bright red corseted piece that looked more like gothic, Victorian underwear, black jodhpurs and deep brown boots, the deck officer obviously planned to accompany the away team. But her appearance had Gage rubbing the back of his head and a bemused ‘where do they keep all this stuff?’ clearly written on his face.

 

Reacting to something she’d said, he put a hand to her back, guiding her into the armory. They stopped at the lockers and racks and Gage surveyed the selection. “You ever shot a firearm before?” he asked.

 

“I haven’t,” Shavra replied with a bit of chagrin.

 

Gage let out a sound of amusement and a smile. “Have to stick to what you know,” he remarked, pulling a small type 1 phaser out and passing it to her.

 

“I can’t take that,” Shavra objected. “It could contaminate their natural development as a civilization.”

 

“Don’t show it to them.”

 

“But what if I’m forced to use it, Gage?”

 

Gage started at her for a beat. “Don’t tell them it came from space,” he said, tucking it into a small pocket in her corset. Shavra gave him a disapproving look and not necessarily for what he’d done, but what he’d said.

 

“Look,” he deflected, signing the sheet for the phaser. “We could debate the non-interference stuff all week. But weapons are do-or-die tools, not share-’n’-tell. If we have to shoot, it means somethin’ went sideways and it’s all over but the cryin’.”

 

By the end, Shavra’s head had subtly listed to the side and she fixed him with an appeased intrigue.

 

“What?”

 

“It’s fascinating the way you construct your arguments. You have me - almost - convinced.”

 

Gage blinked and glanced at the others in the compartment. “Okay. Let’s go,” he said, ushering her back through the door and into the corridor.

 

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*SWS - Sniper Weapon System