Page 3 of Shared Omega

A snicker runs through the other soldiers.

It’s the same shit day in, day out. They haze me mercilessly for being a helpless little princess. Then, when I prove them wrong and stand up for myself, they chalk it up to PMS or call me a “dyke”—their words, not mine.

They say a woman can’t be a warrior.

I’m going to prove them wrong, one day at a frigging time.

I know better than to let my guard down and show even the slightest sign of weakness. It’s a lesson I learned as a little girl when I was still stuck in that dirty orphanage.

“Look, Sloane,” Donovitch says, gesturing toward the crotch of his black combat pants. “I need some extra room to let my balls dangle, ya understand?”

I fold my arms and quirk one incredulous eyebrow at him.

“I’ve seen you in the locker room, Donovitch. Trust me, you don’t need that much room.”

At that, all of the marines erupt into howls of laughter. All of them except Donovitch, who just scowls at me, his pitted face darkening until it’s brick red.

“Quiet!” a baritone voice booms, cutting through the laughter. “Enough of this horseshit.”

The pungent stink of tobacco smoke fills my nostrils as Colonel Fulgore steps to the front of the room. He is a square-shouldered brick of a man with a severe, snow white flat-top haircut. His jaw works as he gnaws on the fat stub of his ever-present cigar.

“All right, listen up, ladies,” Colonel Fulgore begins in his deep, gravelly voice.

He pauses, and his eyes flick toward me momentarily.

His little introduction was meant as an insult to the half-dozen or so male troopers gathered in this room. However, the colonel seems to have suddenly remembered that there is an actual female present today.

Me.

Lance Corporal Jessica Sloane.

The first and only female grunt in the entire SynerGen corporate marine corp.

However, Fulgore’s use of “ladies” as a casual insult doesn’t bother me one bit. Yes, I’m a woman, but I’m no frigging lady.

I may not be as big and brutish as the males, but I’m still tough and hardened from training. Plus, my smaller stature and flexibility gives me an advantage when it comes to stealth and infiltration.

I run one gloved palm over my extra-short buzz-cut hair. Maybe it’s an unconscious reminder to myself and to the colonel that I’m a marine first, and a woman second.

Fulgore gives me a look of naked disgust before continuing.

“Listen up, grunts.” He paces in front of the screen, his cigar trailing wisps of pale blue smoke over his shoulder. “This little soiree is considered Dominion Level clearance. That means it is strictly confidential. We are not here right now. This briefing is not taking place.”

He halts and peers out over the small audience of marines, letting that statement sink in.

“Understood?”

A half-dozen voices boom in unison.

“Yes sir!”

Colonel Fulgore nods and gestures toward the side of the room.

“Good,” he says curtly. “Now, Dr. Frostgrave here is going to fill you grunts in on the details of the mission. Doctor…”

From the darkness comes a voice as soft and cold as windblown snow.

“Thank you, Colonel,”