Road to Abaddon

by Vincent Heeringa

  “Nothing but the best of the old tek for us, eh?” shouted Hugo over the din.

  Jonah laughed. Old tek, new tek, who cares; he was flying and his heart leapt. “One step closer,” he whispered.

  Wisps of cloud passed over the wings and soon the ocean vanished as the plane grumbled into grey mist for what seemed an age and then broke through to a black sky. Pin-pricks of light dotted the empty space above them.

  “Stars,” whispered Hugo and they sat for a long while, awestruck at the sparkling firmament.

  ◆◆◆

  Bad food and even worse sleep made Jonah grumpy. He’d slept fitfully, his stomach churning after a dinner of pale, meat-like steak and unidentifiable mash. He was woken by Hugo’s snoring.

  “Welcome to army life,” he muttered.

  They were descending and the recruits jabbered excitedly. It took a combined effort from Grace and Jonah to wake Hugo, who yawned and stretched like an old cat.

  Daylight flooded through the windows. Far below, the grey ocean stretched to the horizon except for three dots of green – islands, real islands, not man-made floating cities, but genuine terra firma.

  The plane fell fast, drawing a wide arc towards an airstrip that was cut between the towering cliffs of the middle island. Over Grace’s shoulder Jonah saw that the tarmac ended with a short verge of grass and then vanished into a wall of palms and dense, broad-leafed trees. The trees glistened with rainwater and then merged into a lush green carpet that covered the entire island. The chatter in the cabin rose to a cacophony as the teenagers caught a glimpse of wilderness for the first time in their lives. It was one thing to see nature in holovision, but rawness and the scale of the real jungle amazed them.

  They bumped onto the runway, jets shrieking.

  “Honey, we’re home,” chirped Hugo but it didn’t look anything like it to Jonah.

  The plane stopped and the doors opened with a tired hiss. Humidity hit them as they descended a narrow metal stairwell down to the ground. Beads of sweat formed on Hugo’s neck before he even reached the bottom of the stairs.

  The new recruits were ushered like cattle into rows facing a platform where a short man in military regalia was waiting. It took just minutes to empty the plane but already Jonah could feel the heat sapping his energy.

  “Welcome to The Rock!” a reedy voice crackled over the speakers. “I am Commander Grayson Lee, and for the next eight months this is your home. Have a look around you.”

  He paused, waving his decorated arm. “You are standing on one of the last Pacific Islands on Earth! Years ago, the rising sea swallowed most of the islands’ towns. Only the mountains survived. The villages and farms were drowned, Contagion and war wiped out the rest. Not even mutants survived. Not here. There’s nothing but rain and heat and mosquitoes and miles of bug-infested swamps. This is Nature’s revenge, my young recruits. Feel it! Smell it! Breathe the rancid air! That’s what Land tastes like!”

  Jonah swayed in the heat, sweat cascading from his forehead. Ahead of him a boy wobbled and fell onto one knee. A soldier pulled him back up by the scruff of his neck.

  The man spoke again. “You’ve been given to me to do as I please. To shape and to mould, to smash down and rebuild, to train and to twist into the kind of killing machines your mummies hoped you’d never need to be. There’s only two ways to leave this Rock: as soldiers, hardened and ready to defend Metricia against the Land and its filthy rabble. Or you leave like you are now: babies. How you leave this place is up to you!”

  The little man stood down and was a replaced by a woman with a clipboard. She started reading names in an expressionless voice and, one by one, the recruits drifted to the front where seven banners were held aloft. The banners flew the emblems of what must have been teams: a scorpion, a snake rearing, two dragons entangled and four others he couldn’t yet discern. Jonah shook his head to stay awake. Sweat dribbled into his eyes.

  As the woman’s voiced burbled on, he began thinking about the weirdness of the last few weeks: the funeral, the media attention, the party. The feelings came back in a jumbled parade and he was transported back to the dance floor, his arm around Tria’s waist. The tropical air was a lot like the heady atmosphere of the nightclub, with its mix of perfume and sweat.

  What was it about Tria that made him feel so uncomfortable – and thrilled? He recalled the strange thing she’d yelled to him at the leaving party.

  “Don’t you die, Salvatore!” she shouted over the throbbing beat. “I have something I need to tell you. But not here. Not now. When the time is right there’s something you need to know.”

  He had smirked, mistaking her words for affection and had tried to kiss her. But she pulled back, angry, and held him at arms-length. “I’m serious. There’s more to this than you know. When you’re ready to hear, come to see me.” Then she yanked herself from his arms and walked out of the party. He hadn’t seen her again, and if he was honest, hadn’t thought of her until now.

  Then a woman’s voice interrupted his thoughts: “Salvatore, Jonah! Scorpio Squad!”

  Jonah pushed Tria from his thoughts. He made his way through the crowd to a banner with a scorpion emblem and was relieved to see Hugo and Grace.

  “Well, well, here comes our hero,” said Hugo and gave Jonah a slap on the shoulder. Grace scowled.

  Soon the recruits were herded onto a small train that slid away from the airfield on a monorail track. Outside, the trees shimmered and Scorpio Squad settled down to a quiet chatter as the train snaked through the vegetation and up a steep mountain.

  Before long, the Academy emerged, like a spaceship rising out of an ancient swamp. White legs stuck out from the tangle of vines and palms to hold up a gargantuan structure with a round base and a transparent roof that curved away like an egg. Dotted around the lower parts were porthole windows and, from its side, a see-through tube joined a second, even larger ball-like building. The tube must have been a bridge because Jonah saw a woman walking through it, as if suspended in mid-air. Some of the recruits pointed and exclaimed like they’d never seen a person walking before. Grace sniffed, though Jonah noticed just how much she paid attention.

  As they neared the second building, the jungle cleared somewhat and they saw that the structures were just two of a series of round buildings that cascaded down the mountain, like an atomic structure. The train continued upwards and then turned towards the closest ball and slid through a hole in its side, plunging into darkness before emerging into artificial light. The train glided to a halt at the platform of a gleaming subway station.

  Everything was quiet for a moment and they looked at each other expectantly.

  “All recruits are to disembark and report to their stations, immediately!” a voice barked over the speakers.

  “And so it begins,” said Hugo and the doors opened with a clunk.

  Chapter 6 - Rushball

  Military school in twenty-second century Metricia promised plenty of thrills, such as laser weapons and Genetic Enhancement Therapy (just swallow this and your hair will turn pink!). There were hologames and hover simulators and, rumour had it, a live mutant firing range. Not that Jonah had seen any of that. In the first weeks it seemed that the TS Academy was no different from all army schools before it: the sergeants growled, the beds were hard, the food was awful and the prospect of free time was about zero.

  The recruits had been divided into seven squads and each morning they left the cliff-top space-ships to scramble down the slippery, jungle track to a rocky shoreline and then clamber back up again, filthy with mud and sweat. Following cold showers and then breakfast in the mess, the recruits attended the dreaded drill classes which seemed to consist of instructions about folding trousers followed by countless hours spent practicing how to walk bot-like, around the fields.

  When they weren’t labouring over their books in class or staggering around in the tropical heat, the new recruits were cleaning, cleaning and cleaning. Jonah, and every surface around him, had never
looked so well-scrubbed. “We’ll get those terrorists alright! Just after we’ve done these loos,” Hugo laughed.

  Hugo had become a friend. On arrival, each squad had been assigned a dormitory wing: a building with multiple bunk-rooms off a circular corridor. Jonah and Hugo shared a bunk, with Jonah below and the Maori above. Hugo helped Jonah lift his mood. It was especially good having such a large and intimidating friend when everyone knew about Jonah’s family. Jonah’s fame singled him out, and not in a good way. Some recruits took pity and tried to offer Jonah encouragement (“we’ll help you find those scum who killed your dad”). Other kids stared and whispered as he walked past. Occasionally, someone would bump into him in a hallway or elbow him out of the food queue. Jonah gave them all the cold shoulder. Just leave me alone, his body language seemed to say.

  Jonah suspected that behind much of the attention was Tyrone Grainger, the bully on the transporter. Solidly built with a wide face and mean, narrow eyes, Tyrone had the swagger of privilege, as if success had been with him most of his life. The girls in the Academy cooed about him; boys were in awe. By the end of the first month, Tyrone had established hegemony over Viper Squad: they’d appointed him captain and he’d collected a close group of obliging thugs. It was Viper boys who would jostle Jonah in the corridors and nudge him in the food queue. One time, a Viper boy stuck out his foot and tripped Jonah, his food-tray spilling onto the floor. As Jonah was on his hands and knees cleaning up, he noticed the smug smile of Tyrone at a nearby table.

  Jonah knew that conflict was inevitable. It was just a question of when.

  Day after day the same routine repeated: running, studying, cleaning, marching. After a month Jonah wondered if he’d ever join the Terror Squad. One evening, Scorpio’s leader, Sergeant Clunes, called a special meeting in the common room. Warm rain poured over the curved ceiling and mist settled on the jungle outside as the squad sat on their bean-bags waiting for the news. In the weeks at the Academy only two special meetings had been called. The first was to announce the suspension of two boys for disobedience. The second was this.

  “What d’ya reckon; someone’s been killed?” asked one bright-eyed boy.

  “What, by inhaling too much detergent? It’ll be someone thieving,” replied another.

  Grace called them all to attention as Clunes entered the room.

  Jonah liked Sergeant Clunes. He had a relaxed style, trusting the squad to turn off their lights at night and do their cleaning without the usual moronic shouting. Where other sergeants demeaned their young charges, Clunes spoke kindly, in a low American drawl.

  Grace, by contrast, considered Clunes weak; Jonah could see the disdain in her face. As Scorpio Leader, she’d appointed herself the squad disciplinarian. “The only reason he can be kind is because I’m being cruel,” she told Jonah and Hugo one night. Hugo laughed but Jonah etched it up as one more reason to be wary of Grace King.

  “At ease,” commanded Clunes with a wave of the hand. He stood with hands behind his back, as if ready to give a long talk. “You’ve been here a month now and you’ve learned some of the basics of military life...”

  A quiet groan rose up in response. Grace glared.

  “... but it’s time for us to up the ante. War, and especially the kind of war we wage, is a complex mix of high-level strategy and on-field tactics; it’s dirty and hard and dangerous and unkind. And no matter how hard you fight, there’s no guarantee of success – nor any thanks.”

  The squad was quiet. War, actual war, seemed like such a distant reality in this remote island.

  “You’ve learned the disciplines of being in an army. You’re learning the basics of the enemy and the history of our war. In time you’ll learn the skills for weapon-tek and pod-flight. But right now it’s time for you to learn how to fight. You need to harden up, to experience the crush of battle. You need to smell the sweat of your enemy and taste his blood on your lips.”

  He paused, eyeing them with a fierce stare.

  “You need to play rushball.”

  Suddenly the squad erupted. Kids jumped up and high-fived. Others punched the air and shouted. Rushball! It was like hearing the word ‘drink’ in a desert. Rushball! Where had it been all these months! Back home, no one could imagine a day without rushball. But a whole month? Not only had there been no games, there’d been no news from the outside world either. No one had any idea how the League was unfolding this season. Inside the Academy, the disturbing lack of fields or practice gear got many speculating that rushball had been banned. There weren’t even hoops in the gymnasium.

  But at the sound of Clunes’ words the squad went nuts.

  “Pick me!”

  “I’ll be captain!”

  “I’m the best mid-fielder in Francisco!”

  The shouting turned to arguing and lasted a few minutes, much to Grace’s annoyance. Clunes smiled. The sergeant knew they were kids. Eventually he lifted his hand in a silent but effective command.

  “You will need to choose your team of seven, including a captain, a negotiator plus five reserves. The team will compete in a round-robin against the other squads to defend the Cup,” and from behind his chair Clunes pulled out a large silver trophy and held it aloft.

  “Fifteen squads have won this trophy. Their names are written here,” and he pointed to a small engraving. “Can anyone tell me how many times Scorpio Squad’s name is on here?”

  “Five?” asked a blonde hair girl.

  “Ten?” said Hugo.

  “Fourteen,” replied Clunes. “Scorpio have won the first fourteen tournaments, until last year when Viper beat us in the final. They cheated, but there you go.”

  The group mumbled curses about Viper but soon returned to excited chatter.

  “I will let you decide how to choose your team. Over the next week each squad will be allocated two hours per day in the gymnasium and provided the gear you need for everyone to be given a shot. Be careful, this is not a beauty contest. It’s war! The two losing squads will be sent home immediately. The middle and third-place getters play off for the last remaining slot. Individuals who catch the eye of the Commander may be invited to stay. But I repeat, we are now playing high stakes. We have our squad’s reputation to uphold. But more importantly, your future is in your hands. Dismissed!”

  Clunes left and the squad was silent. The idea came as a shock. They needed to be good, really good, if they were to survive. Rushball was a test of character: not just of physical strength but also of mental nous. It emerged from the Third War when the young Metrician army threw together sports-lovers of every colour and creed. Some played soccer or American football. Others preferred basketball, rugby or Aussie Rules. The Metrician army was like the Tower of Babel and rushball became the lingua franca.

  The game incorporated the small ball from handball, goal posts from ice hockey and a hoop like basketball. Players could throw or kick the ball in any direction like Aussie Rules and tackle the ball-carrier like rugby. Blockers could use their bodies like American football (but with no arms, just shoulders) and soccer players were especially valued for being able to punt the ball across a field.

  And there was an additional twist. Determined to leave behind the ignorance and stupidity of the past, the early Metricians wanted a game that rewarded intellectual prowess, so they added a third team and made the field triangular, with goals in each corner. In addition to the physical contest, teams competed politically, as they conspired to form and break alliances.

  By Jonah’s time the sport had established itself across Metricia and been endorsed by the Council. Within in each city, teams competed at school and regional level. General Kenrick was a fan, as was the Lord President. The sport was organised, televised, commercialised and intellectualised by the best tacticians in the Republic.

  What better sport, then, for young recruits to practice slaughtering themselves.

  The battle began with a vote: Grace was named captain, Hugo, given the privileged position of negotiator. Training
started the next afternoon and Jonah proved his prowess in the gym, slipping through the defences with a mixture of soccer skills and a deft rugby sidestep. On his first touch he’d passed the ball to a striker who netted a goal. On his second, he ducked through the bustling defenders and used his broad shoulders to power a shot at the hoop.

  “Gooooooooaaaaaaaal!” shouted Hugo, whose grin gave Jonah a thrill. It felt good to be back on court.

  Grace barely acknowledged him and when she posted the call sheet on the bunkroom door his name was there – in the reserves. Jonah thought about complaining, but decided that was what Grace wanted – she was on a power trip. So he let it go and sat through most of the first game, watching Scorpio take on the Sharks and Condors in the first round-robin matches. Sweating in the bleaches, he watched Grace order her team with supreme authority and quiet anger, saving her energy for critical moments and scoring twice before the end of the first quarter.

  “Condor’s a bunch of losers,” a girl laughed as Scorpio and Sharks swapped the lead.

  “Don’t speak too soon,” Jonah cautioned. He’d been watching Grace’s tactics and noticed the gaps she left in the flanks, so eager was she to push up through the middle of the field. Condor had noticed too and by the third quarter, they began to drive to the wings, stealing a march on Sharks and by the beginning of the fourth were dead-even with Scorpio.

  Jonah sat in reserve, his fingers tapping on knees. Condor’s tactics were working. He needed to get on the field to stop them. In the dying moments his chance came when Scorpio’s left wing, Ronnie Smeltz, ‘accidentally’ kicked the Sharks goalie in the teeth. The keeper was carried from the field with blood gushing from his mouth and Smeltz ordered off. Grace turned to the reserves. There was only one left.

  Jonah ran on to applause from the Scorpio supporters and stretched his hamstrings to warm-up. It gave him time to think. He’d already seen how the Condor winger used a clever, left-handed faint to sidestep the Scorpio defenders. What were the chances of it happening again, wondered Jonah. The ball was in mid-field, but a smart tackle by a Condor defender soon meant it was now firing its way up the centre. The Condor winger was screaming for the ball, and sure enough, it flew over the heads of the bunched players and into the hands of the side-stepping maestro.