The Fresh Meat

David strolled down the narrow hallway toward the Blue 3 common area with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jumper. All the passages at Ravenwood were these weird octagonal shaped affairs that he hadn't yet been able to put a practical use to. Architecture on a military base rarely inclined to the artistic, so there must have been so functional purpose to it, but he couldn't imagine what that might be. Regardless, it did tend to discourage loitering -- no decent place to lean one's back against was a remarkably effective deterrent -- and it was very good at making sure there were nearly no shadows anywhere even with the minimal lighting provided. The upper left and right angles were nothing but solid blocks of light diffusing plastic, behind which were intensely bright low-power light emitting diodes.

The only down-side to the LED lighting, in David's opinion, was the barely-perceptible flickering with the cycle time of the electricity powering it. They said you couldn't see it, that it was too rapid for human senses to detect. They said it was purely . . . what was the word? In your head, anyway, is what it boiled down to. It's just part of adapting to a new environment, Pagano, the doctors had said. What the hell did they know anyway?

Still, tonight David Pagano was in the best spirits he had been since he had transferred to Ravenwood from Mille Roches. He took his time heading over to Blue 3 but it took an effort of will to avoid actually humming or, gods forbid, singing to himself on the way. He'd been here for six months now, played countless hands of Contact with the rest of the security team, drank far more shine than could possibly be healthy and smoked more Moulinette cigars than he'd even seen in all his days before drawing the Ravenwood post. Thursday nights were Contact Night now and he'd come to see it as the highlight of the week. Notwithstanding that more often than not he would return to his bunk in Grey 1 with far lighter pockets than when he had left. It really didn't matter anyway, they all got isolation pay way out here at the edge of the empire. Even pissing away half his weekly pay in an evening here still left him with enough to be able to buy himself a nice, three-story block when he got back to civilization. Maybe not in The Roches, but he didn't like big cities like that anyway. Something smaller, Souris maybe. Or Courcelles.

That wasn't what put him in such a good mood tonight, though. All the crews were on different rotations, probably something concocted by the head shrinks back at The Roches with the intent of making everyone's stay seem shorter by having things changing all the time. At the start of this week Maint-1 had rotated out and been replaced by a new group. That was what had put David in such a good mood. Fresh meat at the table always meant easy pickings for the first few weeks.

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"Y're late, Pagano," Randash called from the far side of the Contact table, a small rain of ash falling from the cigar already clenched between his teeth.

"Fuck you," David laughed as he took up his usual seat with his back to the eastern window. "Not my fault you always finish early, y'know."

The other men at the table laughed at the tired joke. The exchange was almost rote now between Sergi Randash and David Pagano, but everyone acted like it was new. This week maybe for the benefit of the newcomers.

"Watch your mouth, Grey," Randash came back, flicking a burnt-out matchstick at David. The nickname for security staff, Greys, came from them all being housed in Grey dorm and it certainly wasn't a secret, but something about it always had a vaguely offensive feel to it and it never made an appearance at the Contact table.

"What the hell?" David asked defensively, sounding annoyed but actually feeling a little hurt for being singled out like this. Greys never showed up at these games, they were technically against regulations, after all, but no one had ever objected to David playing before. He was about to up the ante in this unexpected confrontation with Randash when everything suddenly became clear.

"Why don't you tell me who this new person is, Sergi," an impossibly sweet, almost girlish voice came from the far end of the room. David craned his neck to look over Randash's shoulder and heard himself actually gasp at the raven-haired woman approaching the table.

She had long hair that looked to David like it was molded pitch covered in a sheen of water, so black and so shiny was it. It appeared to be cut in long layers and the right half of her face was hidden completely behind her bangs. That isn't even close to a regulation cut, David thought distantly. The one eye he could see was a brilliant green that seemed to glow in the weird, not-flickering lighting of the common area and for a moment she seemed to look right into his eyes, sending an icy chill down his spine. A slightly up-turned nose and full lips above a narrow, slightly pointed chin completed the picture for him. Somewhere he registered that she was wearing the yellow coveralls of maintenance staff, tied at her waist to reveal a plain white t-shirt covering her chest, but this was a distant observation at best. He found himself almost incapable of tearing his attention away from that one, at once innocent and sensual eye.

"... Pagano," Randash was saying, with a slightly irritated note in his tone. "He's our token security guy to keep things nice and legal." Scattered laughter around the table, most of it still apparently uncertain about how they should react to this subtle hostility directed toward David.

"What?" David asked, suddenly feeling ike he had been caught napping in class. "Wh-what? Huh?" He shook the confusion off as Hurt, sitting on his right, hit him in the shoulder and said something about laying off the private shine stash. "Ye-yeah, well, y'know. We spend most of our time boozing it up in the security office. What else're we gonna do sitting on our butts in a room full of guns, right?"

Relieved laughter passed around the table but was almost instantly cut short by the woman's soft tones trying out the feel of the new arrival's name. "David Pagano," another chill raced down David's spine. "What does that mean, David? Your name."

David smiled uncertainly, in a heartbeat he was again feeling like he'd been caught sleeping in class, "It, what?"

She was walking around the table now and he had to fight down an irrational urge to run as she approached. "Your name, David. What does 'David Pagano' mean?" She reached him as she said this and was now resting her hand lightly on his shoulder. The contact sent a thrill through him and in the first moment after she had touched him all he could think about was taking her back to his bunk and to Kur with Randash. Somewhere in the back of his mind he recalled hearing her name seconds ago. Aaren. He wondered what kind of name that was, but he couldn't manage to organize his thoughts enough right now to turn the tables on this strangely exciting woman.

"It--it doesn't mean anything," he stammered, feeling his cheeks flush and wondering how much abuse he was going to take from the other guys for this display later. "It's just my name."

"Oh that's not true, David," she purred. "Names mean everything. Names are power."

Silence.

David tried to say something but his throat had gone so completely dry he couldn't even manage to swallow to try to get a whisper out. He was starting to feel like he might not even be able to breathe, but he couldn't tell for sure.

Silence.

"We playin' or what?" Hurt finally asked and David felt his abdominal muscles relax. He hadn't been aware he'd been clenching them.

"Yeah, c'mon, deal," Gabriel thumped his hand lightly on the table. Out of the corner of his eye David saw Randash start to shuffle the cards with all the ethusiasm of an automaton. The woman named Aaren finally stepped away, trailing her fingers along David's shoulder for a long moment before finding a spot on a sofa away from the Contact table and picking up a magazine.