Make Mine a Marine by Julie Miller Page B

alone. The image haunted BJ. Growing up, she herself stood alone on playgrounds; she sat alone to study at the library. She watched from the sidelines while other, normal, people interacted with each other in friendly, everyday ways.
    In a surge of protective empathy, BJ linked her arm with Brodie's, drawing him into her circle of acceptance. The curious looks lessened, then ultimately disappeared. After everyone had met Brodie, she led him to an empty research station and let the technicians get back to work.
    BJ plopped down in the only available chair and Brodie sat on the corner of the desk. Hidden from view of the others, she sighed wearily and noticed that Brodie did the same. “Sorry. I didn't realize there would be such a crowd.”
    “No harm done. I wouldn't want to keep you from your friends.”
    BJ absentmindedly turned on the computer in front of her, giving him time to regroup before they ran the gauntlet of small talk again.
    “What's your aversion to those boxes in the middle of the room? They remind me of something out of the Inquisition.”
    She glanced quickly up at Brodie, then across the floor to the steel and glass monstrosities. She measured her answer. “They're Damon's death chambers.”
    “Death chambers?”
    BJ tapped random keys on the computer, uncomfortable with the subject at hand. “They're the only thing Damon and I ever really disagreed on. They're why I left and started my own company.”
    He shifted around the corner so that he faced her. “Tell me about it.”
    BJ punched in an old command and discovered with sickening awareness that the old program hadn't been purged. She tinkered through the system and found that the subroutines she had written were still in place, even the ones she had tried to hide. She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms, warding off the mental chill.
    “Mastery over death,” Damon had called it. Their finest work together. His ideas and her brainpower. She'd never developed his affinity for playing God.
    “Damon runs the Morrisey Institute like a think tank. He gathers groups of researchers and presents each unit with a hypothesis to test. He encourages free thinking, challenging each unit to develop alternative solutions if the original hypothesis proves inaccurate.”
    “Basic scientific theory.” He jerked his chin toward the center of the room. “How do those things fit in?”
    “Four years ago, Damon scored a contract with the penal system to develop more humane ways to execute death row criminals.”
    “My God.”
    “He put me on the team despite the fact I'm not an advocate of capital punishment. He wanted the best, he said. I threatened to leave then, but he convinced me that I had the perfect attitude for the project. Who better to find a kind way to end another person's life?”
    Brodie leaned forward and closed his hand over her shoulder. “I can't imagine you trying to hurt anybody.”
    BJ started to smile. Instead, her gaze lighted on the newest scar near his left elbow. She pushed her chair back and stood, still not trusting her instincts toward blind faith in Brodie.
    “Damon came up with the original design. I refined it. Theoretically, it works by charging the ions in the chamber's atmosphere, overloading the brain with electrical impulses. Eventually it shuts down and you die quietly in your sleep. It's painless.”
    “But the victim still dies.”
    She nodded, hugging herself and staring at the painful memories erected in cold steel and glass. “I couldn't be a part of it. I never wanted my work to be used in that way. I had to leave.”
    “BJ.”
    Suddenly nothing mattered but the need to have Brodie make her feel safe once more. She turned and walked willingly into Brodie's waiting arms. She pressed her face against the warm pulse in his neck, burrowing in the iron strength that protected her.
    BJ wrapped her arms around his waist and linked her fingers behind his back, drawing even closer. “I know it hurt Damon at