Minutes to Burn

A tear sheet listed the effects of ultraviolet B on organisms-reduced shoot length and average leaf area in plants; decreases in rates of photo-synthesis; structural damages to light-sensitive plankton; corruption of bird, reptile, and insect eggs; reduced proportion of healthy hatchlings. But the reported effects on humans were the most disturbing. The ten percent reduction in equatorial stratospheric ozone had led to a forty percent increase in the incidence of basal cell carcinoma, and a sixty percent increase in squamous cell carcinoma in Ecuador, Colombia, and northern Peru. The study also reported a rise in the number of cataracts, and a condition described cryptically as a general weakening of the immune system.

Cameron looked down and realized she was clutching her belly. She stared at her hand, laid protectively over the greens and grays of her camouflage shirt, tense and spread-fingered. Suddenly feeling lightheaded, she leaned against the elevator doors, holding her stomach. Her eyes caught on a small sign posted among the ozone bulletins that cheerily announced, "We're living in the warmest climate to exist in millions of years!"

A door opened down the hall, and Cameron straightened up quickly when she saw Rex heading her way. She wiped the sweat from her fore-head with the back of a sleeve.

"I love a woman in uniform," Rex said, snapping her a mock salute. A flicker of concern crossed his eyes when he took note of her expression, and she was surprised by it. "Everything all right?"

"Yeah," she said, turning to the stairs. "Swell."

Chapter 8

Cameron had always found the ritual of preparing for a mission comforting. Cleaning and lubing the guns, rolling the socks back into themselves, putting fresh batteries in the weapons lights. One rule was never broken on the teams: Always pack your own gear. That included everything from filling the canteens to jamming the mags.

She shoved down on the kit bag so she could get the zipper closed. When she finished, she was straddling the large olive-drab duffel, her bare feet cold against the floorboards. Pausing, she took in the small living room. One yellow couch sitting at a slight tilt due to the missing leg, an empty gun mag resting atop a TV on the floor, a ripped Kings schedule on the wall-they lived as if they were still in college. Until recently, they had been home so infrequently it never seemed worthwhile to spend the time and effort to get the house more comfortable. That would change when they got back. She'd start looking in some of those catalogs, the ones with lots of beiges and candles, and order a few things to get the place looking like it was inhabited by adults. Once they found regular jobs, maybe they could even have some friends over for dinner. If they made any friends.

Wearing a towel around his waist, his hair still wet from the shower, Justin walked into the room, his handsome, even smile texturing his face with wrinkles. "You ready?"

Cameron shrugged, then patted her stomach. "Not so pleased about bringing a hitchhiker."

Justin crossed the room and stood beside her. She embraced him around the legs, and he hugged her face to his stomach, her cheek warm against his flesh. He lifted her hair up in the back and gently rubbed her neck.

"You know," Cameron said, her voice slightly muffled by his stomach, "we're going to have to be professional on this mission. Like we're nothing more than fellow soldiers." She turned her head slightly and began kissing his stomach. "I don't want our judgment to be impaired by the fact that we're married."

"Mine never is," Justin said. "Ask the mail lady." He crouched and kissed her gently on the forehead, then high on her neck, right where it met the corner of her jaw.

"I'm serious," she said.

"Relax, babe. We're part of the most notoriously casual trained fighting force in the world. I forgot how to salute."

"You didn't have to fight for the right to join the teams," Cameron said. "Not like I did. I'm not gonna fuck this up for other women. So let's remember that it's going to be like we're not married. Rules of conduct are important. We can't show each other any favoritism, can't put the others at risk because of emotional entanglements."

Justin tilted her head back, looking into her eyes. "I hate emotional entanglements," he said. "I'm just looking for a quick lay here, lady."

Cameron pulled him toward her. They kissed, long and slow.

He stood. The towel dropped to the floor.

Tank banged on the front door and Cameron opened it. A cluster of green plastic canteens hung together like grapes from her kit bag, and her M-4 was slung across her shoulders. She'd outfitted the gun with some extras-a night vision scope, a laser designator, and an M203, 40mm grenade launcher. She was dressed in full cammies and black jungle boots. Justin scrambled behind her, grabbing his last few things.