Binary Contact

The barracks reeked of sweat, cheap liquor, and victory. Someone had hauled the mess tables into a crooked circle, bottles passing hand to hand while standard issue boots stomped out a ragged rhythm on the floor. A marching song, half-shouted and half-slurred, rattled the steel walls. The Conglomerate didn’t hand out parties. They expected recruits to graduate, deploy, and die without fuss. But tonight, no one gave a damn about the Conglomerate’s expectations. They had survived training, earned the insignia, and stepped up from recruits to soldiers, at least until the grinder chewed them up.

Riker shoved a dented flask into Eileen’s hand, his grin lopsided and eyes already blurry. “Drink, Hale. You’re wound tighter than my rifle strap. Loosen up before they bolt you into armor and forget you’re human.”

She tipped the flask at him like a toast. “If you’re still standing when I finish this, I’ll be impressed.”

The squad roared, pounding the tables. Riker clutched his chest like she’d shot him and stumbled backward, landing half in Vernon’s lap. Vernon shoved him off with a grunt.

Eileen drank, one swallow, then capped the flask. The burn was sharp, cutting down her throat, but she didn’t wince. She’d had worse. And what mattered wasn’t the drink, what mattered was tomorrow. Finally, after two years of drills, bruises, and bone-deep exhaustion, they would be sent into the field. Real rifles. Real enemies. Real Fractals.

Her blood thrummed just thinking about it. She wasn’t here to sit behind Conglomerate walls or cower in barracks. She was here to fight, to serve, to keep Haven safe. Tomorrow she’d finally prove she could do it.

The noise swelled again as dice rolled across the table and another round of bets lit the air. Riker recovered fast, he always did, already back on his feet with his meaty arm slung around another soldier’s shoulders. Someone had a deck of cards and a stack of contraband cigarettes. Somebody else strummed at a half-broken guitar. Every corner of the barracks buzzed with energy, the kind of manic release that came before the unknown of their first official mission.

Eileen dropped down next to Vernon and leaned back on the bench as she let it all wash over her. This was what survival looked like; laughter that was too loud and fights that ended with bruises instead of body bags. For tonight, at least, they could pretend the world wasn’t waiting to tear them apart.

Vernon leaned closer. “You didn’t even flinch,” he said, his voice pitched low under the racket.

She flicked him a sidelong glance. “What, at the drink?”

“At the burn. You swallowed Riker’s special brew like it was water.”

“It might as well be. You want to see me choke on a flask after we’ve been choking on dust, sweat, and blood for two years?” She held up the drink container, mimicking that same little salute she’d given the other man. “Not happening.”

He huffed a laugh. “Remind me never to try and out-drink you.”

“You couldn’t if you tried,” she replied, “You shouldn’t waste your time trying to keep up with me though. You should focus on keeping up out there tomorrow.”

That got a more thoughtful look from him, one that made her turn away before it got heavy. Across the room, a cheer went up as two of the bigger recruits squared off, shirts stripped, fists raised. The crowd circled, jeering and whooping with each landed punch.

Eileen scoffed. “You’d think they’d had enough of that in training.”

A wry smile curved Vernon’s lips. “Not feeling the action tonight? You’d rather relax in bed?”

Eileen clucked her tongue. “No thanks.”

The barracks themselves were nothing to look at. Steel bunks lined the walls, three high, with lockers dented and scarred from decades of use. The beds were rock hard. The floor was cracked concrete. The Conglomerate didn’t waste money on comfort. Everything was functional, replaceable, like the soldiers.

Another flask clinked down on the table in front of her, interrupting her thoughts. Riker, again, with that sloppy grin.

“Another round,” he announced loud enough for half the room to hear. “Hale needs to loosen up before she cracks herself in half.”

Eileen snorted. “Riker, you’re about to crack yourself in half, and I’m not carrying you to your bunk.” She added the flask in her hand to the table and pushed them both in his direction. “I’ll keep my edge for tomorrow. You can keep your hangover.”

Riker gaped at her with mock indignation. “What’s this nonsense about not coming to my bed, Hale? You seemed to enjoy it last week.”

Eileen’s eyebrow lifted. She tapped the table with a rough chewed nail. “That was a mercy mission. Consider yourself decorated.” She picked an imaginary piece of dirt off her uniform. “Tonight you get promoted to sleeping alone.”

The table broke into laughter, followed by a wave of boots hammering the floor.

“Decorated, hell.” Riker only grinned wider. He raised the flask, this time saluting her. “I flew with the barracks’ angel. Not many here can say they’ve gotten their wings.”

The squad roared, pounding the tables and howling like wolves. Someone picked up the chant Wings! Wings! Wings! until the whole room shook with it. Riker straightened with the smug look of a man who’d just won a medal, soaking up every slap on the back like he’d earned them on the field instead of in her bunk.

Eileen smirked and let it roll off her. In the co-ed Conglomerate barracks, sex was just another drill, one of the only semi-sanctioned ways to blow off steam without getting a black eye. Command allowed up to three times with the same partner before shutting it down, a rule to prevent deep attachments. No one forced anything and no one shamed anyone. Some women cycled through half the squad before deployment but that wasn’t Eileen’s style.

Last week, after an especially brutal mental drill, she’d needed someone big enough to toss her around and Riker hadn’t disappointed. There had been a few others during training, but more often than not she went to Vernon. Steady, careful, smoking hot Vernon, who always made it worth her while. A lot of men in the barracks didn’t bother to get a girl off. Vernon always did. They’d long since burned past their three-time quota without anyone calling it.

She leaned forward, her smile sharp. “Enjoy your wings, Riker. Tomorrow I’ll be the one flying and you’ll still be drooling in your pillow.”

The chant died down only when one of the corporals shoved his way through to the center of tables, barking at them to shut their mouths before Command heard the racket. That earned a few groans, a few snickers, but the volume dropped to a simmer instead of a roar.

Vernon stayed pressed close beside her, his knee brushing hers under the table. He hadn’t joined the chanting, hadn’t laughed as hard as the others. His eyes kept drifting to the insignia freshly stitched onto her shoulder like he was having trouble believing their time in training was over.

Two years ago, when they’d both walked in at seventeen, he’d been lanky and boyish. Now, at nineteen, he’d filled out, shoulders broad enough that the patch seemed to belong there. The sight gave her a small, unexpected flutter. She’d always had a weakness for a man in uniform and Vernon had indeed become a man.

“You gonna sleep at all?” he asked finally.

“Is that an invitation?” she asked bluntly, enjoying the slight blush that crept above Vernon’s collar.

“That’s not what I meant.”

She snorted and nodded to a trio of bodies across the room. “Not likely with these boys’ revelry.”

Vernon followed her gaze to view one of them passed out on the floor, mouth open, face slack. Two others were drawing crude designs across his cheeks in charcoal, laughing so hard they could barely keep the lines straight.

“That’s also not what I meant.”

Eileen tilted her head, studying him. “You think I’m too wound up to sleep?”

“I think you’ll be staring at the ceiling till dawn.”

She gave a quick grin. “Maybe. But not because I’m dreading it. I’m fired up. I’ve bled for this, Vernon. Every blister, every bruise was for tomorrow. Finally, we get to kill some Fractals.”

Vernon’s mouth tugged into something between a smile and a wince. “You make it sound like a celebration.”

“Isn’t it?” She leaned back, arms folded, gaze fixed on the animated circle of dice and cards. “We trained to fight. Now we get to fight. That’s the whole damned point.”

He drummed his fingers on the table. “The whole damned point is survival.”

Eileen’s grin widened, sharp enough to show teeth. “Just keep up with me, and maybe you will.”

That earned her a sidelong look. “You’re so confident. You really think we’re ready?”

She tipped her chin toward the insignia gleaming on his shoulder. “We wouldn’t be wearing these if we weren’t.”

Vernon let out an almost laugh. “Guess you’re right.”

“You’re such a worrywart. They’ll only assign us some low-level work for the first mission anyway.”

He nodded but any reply was cut off by the barracks’ door slamming open. The metal door banged against the wall and every head in the room snapped toward it. An unfamiliar corporal stepped through carrying the stiff authority of someone sent straight from Command.

The raucous noise bled into silence as their own corporal rushed to attention. “On your feet soldiers!” he commanded.

Chairs scraped back in a rough chorus as they scrambled up. Some stood too straight, too eager; others still reeked of liquor but did their best to mimic parade rest. The two comrades who had been illustrating their comatose friend’s face now supported him in an upright position as best they could.

The corporal didn’t wait long. His eyes swept the room once before he activated a holopad to present a flickering blue display of the city boundary. “Troupe 670, new orders. Fractal activity has been reported along the western perimeter. You will deploy at oh-six-hundred for a sweep-and-clear. Light resistance is expected up to level two.”

A ripple of excitement rolled through the barracks. Riker muttered, “Level two’s child’s play. Light resistance, my ass,” earning a few hushed snickers before someone elbowed him into silence.

“Full briefing at dawn.” The corporal’s eyes narrowed as he disengaged and tucked the holopad under his arm. “Until then, clear your heads. Ingest dishibitor to burn off the alcohol I know I don’t smell in here. Dismissed.”

Just like that, the corporal turned and left, the door clanging shut behind him. For a beat, the troupe stayed hushed. Then noise rushed back as the soldiers set about straightening the barracks. Tables scraped across the concrete floor and orders shouted above the rabble. Someone ripped open a packet of dishibitor and began doling it out. The revelry dissolved into the efficient chaos of soldiers snapping back to duty.

Eileen stayed standing a moment longer, pulse hammering, before she dropped back onto the bench.

Beside her, Vernon leaned close, his voice pitched low. “Guess you’ll get what you wanted.”

Her smile curved. “I always do.”