Burnt Ice Read Online Free PDF Page A

set of tentacles folded out from the largest tentacle
closest to him, caressing his bald scalp before gently sliding across his ears
then showing particular interest in his neck shunts and those over his heart.
He felt a series of tiny pricks on his chest before the tentacles withdrew.
Another burst of colours issued from the squid’s body, as it sucked in a large
amount of water and jetted away with graceful speed, its companion close
behind. Marko consciously slowed his racing heartrate and, deciding that he had
had enough of this ocean and its occupants for one day, swam quickly to shore.
As he stood up he looked down at his chest where the pinpricks had occurred,
but saw nothing. He queried his biomed tech to run a full system check to find
if anything had been injected into him but ten minutes later it showed nothing.
He turned and looked back out to sea, gathered his clothes from the locker,
dressed and bought a cold grapefruit juice, finally allowing himself to relax.
He decided that the creature must have been taking a sample from him to decide
if he was edible or not. He smiled, thinking that he must have tasted bad, and
heaved another sigh of relief.
     
    As he walked up the beach he
nodded and smiled to his fellow military types, noting that some had their
shunts positioned on different parts of their bodies and playing the mental
game he always did: identifying the different specialities among his fellows by
their body shapes and, in some cases, the more extreme augmentations. After a
long shower he went back to the sergeants’ mess for his evening meal. As he
walked up the path towards the mess he mused on the reality that they were
looked after by Type S humans — and real human chefs. The food was always much
better than at the officers’ mess too, because the sergeants got to choose the
chefs and the staff for both messes. One of the better perks of the job, he
decided.
     
    ‘Evening, sergeant. Are you
accompanied or dining with your fellows?’
     
    ‘I am on my own thanks, corporal.
Can I have a table out on the deck please?’
     
    ‘Yes, there’s one available. One
second and I’ll flash the menu across.’
     
    ‘No, please don’t bother. My
compliments to the chef. I’ll gladly partake of his or her offerings for the
entire meal.’
     
    ‘Excellent choice, Sergeant
Spitz. You won’t be disappointed.’
     
    Over the next few hours the
waiters brought him out tiny, delicious offerings, each one with a small glass
of some wine or tea or fruit juice that complemented it perfectly, and with
little sorbets between each course. It was all delicious; his only sadness was
that he was not sharing it. He reverently finished the last morsel of dessert
with an excellent port. He gladly credited the mess with the meal fee, which he
thought ridiculously cheap for what he had just had.
     
    ‘Did the sergeant enjoy his meal?’
     
    He looked up at a tall, strikingly
good-looking woman and read the name tag over her amply filled blouse as he
stood to extend his hand.
     
    ‘Sergeant Reymand. That was
excellent. In fact, I would have to say that it was extraordinary. Are you
responsible?’
     
    She shook his hand. ‘Yes. It’s
Helena, please, and now you have to pay the price, sergeant.’
     
    ‘Really? Marko, please. I believe
that you are now going to spend some time grilling me on what was the best, the
worst, and what could be improved, maybe.’
     
    ‘Ha, an intelligent male. A rare
find. Yes, they were all experimental dishes due to the excellent fresh
ingredients that we have here. It’s rare that I get the request that I had from
you.’
     
    The next few hours were spent
going through each recipe, with Helena taking notes and plying Marko with even
more delicious dessert wines and cheeses, to such a degree that he activated
his bioware to start shunting all the alcohol directly to his bladder, as he
had no desire to become drunk.
     
    They both needed to clear their
heads, so a walk