The voices of marines rattled and echoed through the cafeteria. One of the few places the military allowed for recreation, they spared a little cash to install a couple of vid-sets and gaming tables. Jack was pretty well known around the place for being seen around one of the 12-ball tables, but today he was at the old-fashioned dartboard, taking aim.

Jack always kept his hands moving. He’d twirl, balance or spin anything he could get his hands on. Kept his fingers nimble and soft; made him a better medic. Lot of other med-heads in the company got small nerve cords and servomotors slipped into their arms and let the computers do the work. Jack preferred to keep everything under his control. No sense letting a marine die if an EMP took out his computer systems.

There were a coupe of guys around him, looking bleak. Their money was slowly going into Jack’s pocket, as dart after dart put them to shame. He was spinning one now, sliding it between his fingers and twirling it past his thumb, before he snapped his wrist and it arced into a clean black 20. The electronic readout blinked and the other guys groaned. Their accounts were automatically deducted.

The Marines were officially forbidden from any sort of monetary gambling. It caused dissention in the ranks and ill-will towards fellow soldiers. But because so many troops did it otherwise, the Marines instituted a fake ‘chit’ policy that Marines could gamble with. It wasn’t worth anything but it gave bragging rights and refilled every month. The Marines didn’t realize the soldiers only used the chits to make it convenient, and then collected their real money afterwards.

“What’s the matter, boys, don’t want another round?” Jack laughed, running a hand self-consciously through his freshly cut hair. He missed the long bangs in his eyes, and the way the women looked at him. Now his face bulged out, square and hard, topped by a squarer, harder crew cut. The men shook their heads and walked off towards the food line.

“Come on, any takers? I’ll give you two to one if you beat me!” A couple of guys in the crowd laughed, but none stepped forward. Jack tossed another dart near-center. “Look, I missed!”

“Hey, Jackie-boy, isn’t that your squad leader?” one of the guys said. Jack put down his hand, ready to toss another dart.

“Where?”

“That guy, Letrevi, right? He’s got his suit on.”

“Shit! Yeah, that’s him, I’m out, fellas.” He tossed the darts on the ground and jogged off toward the lieutenant, snapping a salute when he got there. Jack, unlike a lot of the others guys that did the under the table gambling and dealing, knew how to respect authority. As much as he liked having fun, he wanted to be known for something. He wanted to be with the best, and to be the best, you had to respect the best.

“McGuane, reporting.”