Genius Loci by Ben Aaronovitch

Author:Ben Aaronovitch [Aaronovitch, Ben]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Book, Prose, Novel
ISBN: 9781844352395
Publisher: Big Finish
Published: 2006-05-31T22:00:00+00:00

07: Crystal Peak

She woke up in a hotel room in Rembrandt with the last of the daylight blinding the windows. She was sporting medical patches and clean underwear that she had no memory of putting on. Next to her, Shawnee was still asleep, one leg flung out of the covers, face buried in the pillow.

Louder, drunker, braver and more loving, she thought. Let us start at the beginning.

Benny’s carryall was waiting on the bureau – she put on a change of clothes and ventured out in search of alcohol.

The hotel was full of soldiers, including a guard on her door. She didn’t know anybody by sight but it was obvious that there was major confusion in the ranks as to whether she was to be saluted or not. A corporal did manage to resolve his dilemma long enough to point Benny towards the bar.

Where she found Chay and Simone poring over a schematic of the complex. They were both in uniform – army-issue static DPM casuals she noticed, the kind to be worn on deployment, not around a safe base. Both were wearing sidearms.

Chay saw her and practically vaulted a table in his hurry to hug her – uniform or not. She hugged him back, his uniform blouse crisp and scratchy against her face. When he let her go, Benny realised that the insignia on his sleeves was wrong.

‘You’ve been promoted?’ she said.

‘Skipped a rank,’ said Chay. ‘Warrant Officer One, better known as Master Digger. But I get the regimental sergeant major’s bonus because I have the colours, if he had colours, which we haven’t had time to sort out yet.’

‘Master Digger?’ said Benny. ‘There’s no such appointment.’

‘There is now,’ said Simone. ‘We’re making up are own traditions.’

Benny checked the tabs on Simone’s shoulders. ‘And you’re a captain now?’

‘Yeah,’ said Simone. ‘But an infantry captain, so it doesn’t count.’

‘If everyone got promoted that means Heidi is a –’

‘Major,’ said a voice behind her. ‘Major Maputo, Commanding Officer First Regiment Combat Archaeologists, Corp of Colonial Engineers.’

Heidi was in the doorway in the same static DPM casuals. They must have machine tailoring for uniforms because there was no way one-size-fits-all would have fitted Heidi.

‘Combat archaeologists,’ said Benny.

‘Get this woman a drink, Chay,’ said Heidi. ‘She’s going to need it.’

They’d got as far as the dispersal depot on one of the icy moons of the system’s second smallest gas giant. The depot, nicknamed ‘purgatory’, was essentially a series of warehouses for troops and their materiel. Soldiers sat in lounges waiting for their numbers to be called, gossiping, catching up with old friends and, if they were really desperate, availing themselves of the ‘authorised entertainment facility’ attached to each lounge. There were dormitories in case your deployment was delayed and several square kilometres of shower facilities. It was rumoured that some people spent their whole careers being transferred from one dispersal depot to the next, never catching up with their unit and finally being discharged – with suitable campaign medals – when their enlistment expired.

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