Titan’s voice remained low, but it carried an undercurrent of distaste. It was distaste for how most of humanity, the majority of the people on Earth, felt about aggression and fighting. He sometimes heard the same tone in his father’s voice when he talked about Earth’s citizenry. “If it weren’t for those few, like your father, who understand that war is sometimes the only pathway to peace, we’d still be slaves, getting crunched into the dirt under a Minith boot. That’s why ninety percent of the Alliance’s current fighters are Minith. Even now, a dozen years after the war ended, Earth still can’t supply enough recruits who are able and willing to pick up a weapon to defend its freedom. Instead, we have to rely on the Minith culture-ism that requires them to bow down before a conqueror.”
Titan’s words struck a chord with Eli. He thought back to what he knew of the Minith. One of their binding culture principles was the requirement to cede supremacy to anyone who defeated them in battle. It was why they now served under the flag of the human-led Shiale Alliance. They had been beaten by humanity, therefore humanity had won their subordination. He wondered for a moment how long that subordination could last, but then immediately thought of something else.
Like a cloud parting before the sun, the shadow of confusion lifted and Eli suddenly realized why Sergeant Twigg had spoken out on his behalf. Eli and his team had defeated the Minith at the tower. Eli had shot Twigg and dropped him to the ground in the process. By Minith standards, that meant Twigg had to cede supremacy to Eli.
Things suddenly made sense, at least when considered from the Minith perspective.
“That would explain why Twigg spoke up on my behalf, wouldn’t it?” he asked Titan, anxious to gain his insight.
“Try to keep up, Eli. Of course that’s why he spoke for you,” Titan confirmed, albeit in a not-too-sympathetic manner. That’s one of the things Eli liked about the giant. He said what he felt and thought with few filters. “The point I’m trying to make is that Free and I are both outsiders, who are more at home with each other than with our own kind. And, here’s the important thing: so are you. Even if you don’t know it yet. You’re human, but you’re not an Earthlike human. Most of those peace-loving citizens wouldn’t know how to act around you, and definitely wouldn’t want you hanging around. No. They want you exactly where you are. They want me where I am, and they damn sure want your father where he is. On a far-away planet, doing the work they’re too scared to do themselves.”
Eli thought about it for a moment and had to agree. Despite the ambassador’s assertion to the contrary, he remembered what it had been like before he left Earth. Even living on a military compound as they did, it was impossible to ignore the fear and uncertainty that surrounded their existence. Not everyone, obviously. Many were fighters who were training to fight the Minith. But those in support roles—the cooks, supply personnel, drivers, and the like—they spoke little and kept to themselves, and Eli recognized it as fear that drove them. Beyond the limits of the training base, it had to have been ten times worse.
“So, what do you suggest?”
“I’m not suggesting anything,” Titan replied. He put a large hand on Eli’s shoulder and squeezed. It didn’t hurt too much. “We just keep on doing what we’re doing and hope things work out.”
Keep doing what we’re doing, Eli thought. It sounded so easy, and he supposed it was. After all, what else could they do but give their best despite what came their way?
“Is it done?” Free asked from behind in Telgoran. He had walked to within a meter without Eli noticing. “I can fight now? Like Eli?”
Eli looked at Titan with a questioning frown.
“I told you. He wants to join the Defense Force.”
“Well, good luck with that,” Eli replied with a shrug. He liked Free and wished he could help, but he was just a lowly private. “Maybe Treel or . . . my dad can help. Either way, I have to get back to my barracks before Colonel Drah sends out a search party.”
“I wouldn’t worry too much about Drah, Eli,” Titan stated. “Twigg’s speaking up on your behalf pretty much assures there will be no consequences. Plus, I’m a voting member of the panel, and I possess a significant amount of sway. Despite Drah’s personal preferences on this issue, I don’t envision any problems.”
“I can fight now? Yes?”
Eli looked at Free, then back to Titan. He reached out and shook his hero’s hand, then turned to leave.
“I think your problem might be standing right there, Ambassador.”
“Good luck, my friend,” he offered to Free as he passed.
* * *
Eli was allowed to stew for twenty-four hours before being summoned back before the panel. Despite the assurances that he received from his peers as they passed his bunk, or the parting comments that Titan had made regarding his not needing to worry, all he could do was wonder what he would do if the review didn’t go in his favor. He had prepared for a life in the Defense Force. It was his entire life, and he couldn’t imagine doing anything else. If relieved from duty, how would his father react? How would Arok or Treel treat him going forward? For the first time, he felt a sliver of doubt over his decision to enter training as someone other than Eli Justice, his father’s only son. It was a fleeting thought, though. Even if the decision came back as the worst case, he wouldn’t have done anything differently. Failing on his own merit was preferable to succeeding on his father’s reputation.
Now, once again, he sat alone, facing the long table where the review panel was just being seated. Eli noted with surprise that neither Titan nor the Telgoran representative were present—only the Minith and human military representatives. Except for Sergeant Twigg, who had accompanied him from the barracks, the rows of seats behind him were empty. Visitors had been prohibited from this portion of the proceedings by an unexpected decree from Colonel Drah.
He sat straight and unmoving as the four officers arranged themselves before him. Colonel Drah did not speak, but stared coldly in his direction.
“Private Jayson,” one of the human majors read from a single page that he held before him. “The review panel has weighed the testimony put before us and has unanimously agreed that the charges levied against you as a result of your actions during the tower exercise were without merit. To the contrary, this panel believes that your actions demonstrated exemplary leadership skills and remarkable problem-solving abilities. Upon the recommendation of your training leader, Sergeant Twigg, you will be entered into the Sift where you will have additional opportunity to demonstrate and develop these attributes.”
The major paused and looked down at Eli. Eli struggled to keep his seat. He felt like shouting out his excitement, but knew it wouldn’t be tolerated, so he bit down on his tongue and fought to keep his face as passive as possible. Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t hold back the grin that insisted on making an extended and gleeful appearance.
“Private, do you have any questions to ask, or comments you’d like to make, before we close this case and adjourn?”
“No, sir,” Eli replied. He shouldn’t have been surprised. He knew he was on solid ground, and the assurances from Titan seemed sincere. Still, the relief at finally hearing the verdict being granted in his favor was a sweet, sweet feeling.
“Very well. You are dismissed, and we wish you the best.”
Without another word, the four officers stood and made their way to the door behind the long table. Drah paused before walking out and turned back. He glared for a moment at Twigg, then turned an indignant gaze toward Eli.
The young private translated the unspoken look without difficulty.
As unlikely at it might have seemed a few days earlier, he and the sergeant now shared a common enemy.
Chapter 11
Grant received word of Eli’s entry into the Sift and felt a surge of paternal pride. He settled back into his seat and turned to view the city skyline outside his office window.
He was getting old; there was no denying the hands of the
clock. Even the oldest and strongest soldier couldn’t defeat that particular march. But the knowledge didn’t alarm or concern him. His son was growing into a man, and that pleased him. The passing of the torch always took place; the old always gave way to the young. It was nature at its most basic, and he welcomed the eventuality.
Creating an army on a world where peace was cherished above all other things was one of Grant Justice’s major accomplishments. Second to using that army to defeat the Minith, it was also his greatest challenge. When Grant began his work, Earth had no experienced cadre of soldiers standing ready to train new recruits. There was no preexisting corps of officers, commissioned or otherwise, to lead those few who volunteered to exchange their lives of peace for the burden of defending their world. There was no military defense industry cranking out tanks, planes, or rifles.
With humanity’s existence in the balance, Grant was handed a void and was asked to fill it. In hindsight, his success at being able to meet the challenge with which he had been presented was both monumental and historic. At the time, however, the work seemed impossible and nearly crushed him under an inescapable weight of obligation and responsibility.
In addition to committing every fiber of his being to his task, Grant had the backing of Earth’s Leadership Council. As a result, all the resources of the planet were at his disposal, including the brightest human thinkers, scientists, and builders. He was supported by a small, but dedicated core of believers—those humans who staunchly believed that preparing for battle was the only way they could survive and defeat the aliens who had enslaved their world. He also had the love and support of his wife, Avery, who bore him a son and helped him persevere when the dark weight of his burden threatened to overwhelm his being. Together, over a span of only six short years, they built, equipped, and trained an army. From nothing, a force capable of defending humanity and eventually defeating the Minith was created.
One of the more important systems Grant implemented was the method by which officers and NCOs were chosen. Without an existing hierarchy in place, the need to identify and promote individuals into key leadership roles was imperative. With no other alternative for filling the ranks, Grant developed a competition-based process that was built on peer evaluation, willingness to fight, and demonstrated ability. In short, leaders were selected based on a competition that pitted the highest-performing recruits against one another in a series of tests and trials.
In the early days, Grant selected the candidates, and the competitions—which had been collectively named “the Sift”—commenced.
Now, more than a dozen years later, the Sift still existed, but with a few modifications. The training sergeants now selected those recruits they felt had performed best throughout the training cycle and entered their names for sifting. In addition, each training platoon selected candidates from within their ranks who they felt could best lead them. Allowing the recruits to put forth their own candidates was critical to the process. With few exceptions, units of the Shiale Defense Force remained intact upon completion of basic training. This meant leaders were selected from within each unit and elevated to leadership positions. A person who was your peer today could be your sergeant or your lieutenant tomorrow if they did well in the competition.
Finally, the Sift was open to all on a self-selection basis. Individuals not selected by their sergeants or by their units, but who felt they could lead, could nominate themselves for a place to compete.
The system wasn’t without problems or shortcomings, but it filled the leadership vacancies in an objective manner that offered everyone a chance, and rewarded good performance.
Grant turned away from the window and settled back into his work. He tried to put Eli and the Sift out of his mind for now, telling himself there was nothing he could do for his son. It helped, though, knowing that the good ones always did well in the trials.
* * *
Two weeks after Eli received the all-clear from the review panel, elections for the Sift were formally announced by Twigg. The announcements were made, without preamble, at the first formation of the day, and took Eli by surprise. They were coming up on the final weeks of training, so it shouldn’t have been unexpected, but he had been so engaged with the panel inquiry, and the training that followed, that he hadn’t given the process a moment’s thought. He also hadn’t made any peer selections. He could only assume that they had all been made while he was sitting in the review chamber. Not that one vote would have made much of a difference when all was said and done, but still . . . he felt as though he had missed an opportunity. There were several of his platoon-mates that he would have selected for the honor.
Although the announcement was nice to hear, he wasn’t completely surprised when his name was the first to be called by Sergeant Twigg. The panel’s commendation at the end of the hearing—barring the unspoken condemnation of Drah—had been an indicator that the Sift was in his future. Eli also had no disillusion regarding his performance over the past months. The last ten years of his life had been preparing him for the life of a soldier. He had performed well in nearly every aspect of their training. He would never say it to those around him, but in many ways, the training he did here on Telgora was less grueling than what his tutors on Waa subjected him to.
As instructed, Eli fell out of formation and ran to the front where he stood next to the Minith sergeant.
“Private Jayson is both a selection of the cadre and of his peers,” Twigg announced to the platoon in the low, gravelly voice that was common to his race. There was a brief scattering of applause and a few hoots that immediately ceased when Twigg stepped menacingly toward the group, curled his upper lip into a sneer, and issued a single, threatening growl. The message was clear. Despite the platoon’s approval of the selection, the recruits were still standing in formation and were expected to act like it. Though properly chastised by their sergeant, the smiles that dotted the faces in front of Eli showed that few, if any, seemed truly cowed by the Minith. It was a telling sign that the platoon had matured since they arrived on Telgora. On day one, the unspoken threat by Twigg would have had many of his peers quaking in their boots. In recognition of their metamorphosis, Eli offered his own smile and a quick nod of acknowledgment to the men and women standing before him.
Having restored a semblance of order, Twigg promptly announced the next Sift candidate for Second Platoon.
“Private Ellison is a selection of his peers,” the sergeant rumbled. He took half a step toward the platoon and curled his lip. The slight movement was a silent warning to the assembled recruits that another outburst would not be tolerated. It had the desired effect. None of the humans called out or clapped. The smiles on their faces told Eli all he needed to know, though. It was a good selection. If Eli had voted, Ellison would have been his choice as well. He was popular and had proved he could handle whatever task he was given. The diversion he created by moving the PEACE suits across the plain while Eli and the rest of the team attacked the tower had been instrumental in their success.
Ellison joined Eli and Sergeant Twigg at the front of the formation and Eli clapped him on the shoulder.
Out of the corner of his right eye, Eli noticed Private Tenney running to the front of Third Platoon, where a similar process was taking place. She glanced in his direction as she made her way to the front, and they shared a silent nod of encouragement. He had known the girl from his past life was destined to make the Sift. She was simply too good not to get selected. She took her place next to—surprise—Private Sims, the recruit Eli had saved from the pacer on the second forced march. Apparently, the man had done well in the rest of their training, and Eli felt pleased that he had helped in his small way to keep the soldier from washing out.
Eli glanced to his left at First Platoon. As expected, Private Johnson was standing in front of his peers. Another recruit, whose name Eli couldn’t remember stood next to him.
When the cadre and peer selections for all three platoons were complete, th
ere were six candidates for the Sift standing in front, next to their sergeants. Sergeant Twigg nodded to his fellow Minith Sergeants, Beck and Krrp. The sergeants said something to their candidates that Eli couldn’t make out, but the four immediately left their platoons and made their way to the center of the company to join Eli and Ellison. The six shared nods and smiles as they lined up behind Sergeant Twigg.
“Recruits,” Twigg called out, his gravel-filled voice straining to be heard by the entire company. “These six have been selected by the training cadre and by their peers as the candidates to represent your unit in the Sift.”
A single individual in Third Platoon clapped, and the action was quickly followed by other claps. Then more. Cheers quickly followed until the entire company joined into the congratulatory movement. Second Platoon, having been previously chastised, was hesitant to join in at first, but soon joined the fray. Twigg stood resolute and unmoving, apparently resigned to the humans having their moment to celebrate their own. Eli took the opportunity to congratulate the five recruits standing with him. It was a great moment, and he could tell the others were just as proud as he was to be standing there. The thought that they were reaching the end of their time in training struck him like a hammer, and he mentally reeled at the fact that this phase of his life was almost at an end. It hadn’t been easy, despite his life-long preparations. In fact, he thought his path might have been made more difficult as a result of them.
The applause died down, and Twigg raised his hands to bring the noise to a halt. When silence was restored, he continued.
“In addition to these selections, the Sift is open to any recruit who wishes to join the competition,” he rasped. “Is there anyone who wants to be entered into the Sift? If so, please step forward and join these six.”
“Here we go,” Tenney muttered just loudly enough for Eli to hear. He wondered what she meant, but did not have time to dwell. A series of groans echoed from the direction of Third Platoon and Eli looked over to see Crimsa stepping out of the formation. The man who had showed his experience in the sparring ring weeks earlier was making his way forward. From the groans and looks being shared by the men and women in his platoon, Eli surmised the man’s decision to join the Sift was not a popular one among his peers.
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