by J. N. Chaney
His fist exploded in pain, but he stood over the inert man for a moment, shocked, his heart thudding in his chest. He didn’t know whether to shout out in victory or an apology.
“Run!” Witter yelled.
Rev didn’t want to run. He needed to fix this with the guy who was slumped over, his legs crumbled beneath him. He was barely aware that the jackheads had unjacked and were now yelling and running toward them.
Mia’s arm yanking on his broke his reverie, and suddenly reality came crashing down on him. He turned and ran after Witter and Laney, Mia at his side. The other two ran to the steps into the parking lot, but with a shout, Rev jumped the fence and vaulted down onto the lot.
“Power up!” he yelled, and his stepdad’s Gazelle hummed to life.
Rev dove into the driver’s seat, then stuck his head out the window to yell at the others to hurry. Laney and Witter piled in, followed by Mia, who hadn’t been willing to vault the fence.
“Go, go, go!” Witter yelled as Rev took the controls and spun out of the parking lot, overriding the Gazelle’s safe driving warnings.
“Are they coming?” he asked as he clipped a trash can at the lot’s entrance.
“Don’t see them,” Laney said.
“They won’t come,” Mia said. “Not unless they want to get drafted. They’re just as guilty as we are.”
“Guilty hell. That bastard started it,” Witter said. “But holy shit, Rev! You decked that guy!” He leaned forward and clapped Rev on the shoulder. “Pow. Just like that.”
Mia reached over to give his bicep a squeeze as the adrenaline started to dissipate, leaving him feeling hollow. What he’d done began to sink in.
Off the ballfield, Rev had never hit someone in anger, and amidst the guilt was the thrill of knocking the guy out, but the ramifications of what he’d done . . . he started to tremble.
Fighting was a sure way to get conscripted. It wouldn’t matter if the other guy started it—if he even did start it. A judge would order the secdrones to release the visuals, and Rev didn’t know what they would show.
Did Mia slip? Did the guy shove her?
Rev slowed down the Gazelle and took ten deep breaths while Witter went on and on about how he’d taken down the guy. Witter was reveling in it all.
“You sure they won’t press charges?” Rev quietly asked Mia.
“Not unless they want to go down with you,” she said confidently.
Maybe she’s right.
He stayed below the speed limit as they made their way through the Gray Creek neighborhood. It wasn’t midnight yet, so their transponder wouldn’t call in a cop to find out why they were there, but there was no reason to attract any attention to themselves.
Rev finally began to relax. He’d been stupid, yes. Drinking underage, then fighting. But nothing was going to come of it—that is, nothing bad. Rev knew he was in the wrong here, but part of him felt a renewed sense of confidence. He’d taken down someone bigger than him, fitter than him, and older than him, and he’d always remember the feeling of victory, even mixed with the shame he felt as he stood over the guy.
I’ll sure remember him as long as my fist hurts, he mused, flexing his aching hand. A small laugh escaped him, unplanned and giddy.
“What’s so funny?” Mia asked.
“Nothing. Just glad we got away.”
As if on cue, the blue lights of a cop appeared behind him, and Rev’s heart almost jumped into his throat.
Witter stopped his retelling of how Rev had won what had somehow grown into a huge battle to simply say, “Oh, shit.”
“You said they weren’t going to report us,” Rev whined to Mia.
“They wouldn’t,” she said, suddenly sounding unsure of herself. “They couldn’t have already. It’s only been, what, two minutes? Three minutes? There hasn’t been enough time.”
“What do I do?” Rev asked.
“Stop. Maybe they got you for clipping that trash can. Yeah, that’s probably it.”
Asking what he should do was stupid. If he didn’t stop, the cop would shut the car down. Whether the jackheads reported the fight or not, Rev had no choice. He pulled over to the side of the street. Three blocks ahead, he could see the Taylor Expressway. If he could have made it that far, he would have been only eight minutes from Beakerville and home.
“Woulda, coulda,” he muttered as he rolled down the window.
“Don’t say anything,” Mia told the three others as the cop rolled up.
“Good evening, sir. I am secbot four-three-four-seven-six, Thirteenth Precinct.”
The cop’s voice was calm and pleasant, as if that could take away from the fact that it looked like a toilet plunger riding a unicycle.
“Are you Maximillan Throndson, sir?”
“No,” Rev answered. “I’m his step . . . I’m his son. Reverent Pelletier.”
“Reverent?” Witter said from the back seat. “Are you kidding me?”
A glare that could kill shut him up.
The cop stood there for a moment, then said, “Very well. Mr. Pelletier, you are being cited for Civil Code Fourteen-dot-six.”
A surge of panic swept over Rev before confusion set in. He wasn’t up on the civil codes, but a fourteen? A fight couldn’t be a fourteen.
“Uh . . . sir? What is a fourteen-dot-six?”
“Driving a vehicle under manual control in an autonomous zone.”
“What?” Rev and Mia asked in unison.
“This district is limited to autonomous driving between the hours of twenty-hundred and zero-six hundred. There are children and families here.”
Rev tried to gain control over his jumbled thoughts. He’d driven to the park in manual mode, but what time was that? Seven? Eight?
He looked down at the screen, where the red warning light was still flashing. He touched the screen, and several warnings popped up for excessive speed, irregular steering . . . and that he was in manual mode in an autonomous zone. When he’d taken off, he’d overridden the warnings.
“Shit,” he said in a hushed voice.
“If you will step out of your vehicle, sir, I have summoned transportation to take you to processing.”
“Processing? What? I’m getting arrested?”
“You are being cited. But as a minor, you cannot be released unless into the custody of a parent or guardian.”
“I’ll be eighteen in three weeks,” Rev said without conviction.
“As I stated, you are a minor. Will you please exit the vehicle?”
Rev slowly got out of the Gazelle. He was in big trouble. Maybe not with the law, but Max was going to kill him if his mother didn’t do it first.
“Mia, can you drive the Gazelle to my house? Tell my . . . uh, better ask my stepdad to come get me. Not my mom.”
“That will not be allowed,” the cop said.
“But you said I need a guardian. My stepdad is my legal guardian.”
The cop went on as if it hadn’t heard him. “Your vehicle is being impounded. It will be towed and then stored until disposition of your case.”
There were cries of protest from the other three, but Rev wasn’t listening by this point. There was a hum, and a small strip of plastic emerged from a slot on the cop.
“Please attach this to your wrist.”
Rev had seen enough holovids to know that while the cop might look like a plunger, there were arms hidden within it. If he resisted, the cop would have no problem subduing him.
With a sigh, Rev slapped the plastic on his wrist, where it formed into a bracelet, before he sat on the curb, head in his hands, as he waited for transport.
Life sucked.
2
“Remember, no arguing. I don’t care what the judge gives you. Just shut up.”
“You don’t think the judge will give me jail time?” Rev asked his stepdad.
“Serve you right if he does.”
“Really?” Rev asked, a touch of panic in his voice. “But what about the guild? I can’t mi
ss my swearing-in.”
“Relax. It’s a traffic violation. A fine—which you’re going to pay me back—and a loss of your license. You’ve never been arrested, and you’ve got your volunteer work with the Youth Corps. That should make a difference. Come here,” his stepdad said, straightening out the cravat around his neck. “Try and look civilized.” It was a small gesture, but important. Max didn’t have to be a father to Rev, but he’d taken on the job without complaint. Sometimes, in little ways, his caring shone through. Like now.
Rev scowled, but he left the bright blue cravat in place. He hadn’t worn one since his primary school graduation, but it made sense to put out a good impression.
“Let’s go in, son.”
Max had been surprisingly understanding—unlike Rev’s mom, who had railed against Rev’s “untamed ways.” With the Gazelle impounded, he’d driven a rentsled to take custody of Rev that night, and he hadn’t said a word on the ride home. It wasn’t until the next day that he asked what happened.
He’d shaken his head and called Rev stupid, but he immediately got on the quantphone. Probably to one of the guild lawyers. The lawyer called back a few minutes later, and Max sighed in relief.
“All they have you for is the driving on manual after hours. You dodged a big one there, Rev. Nothing about fighting.”
Rev had somehow forgotten about that.
“You see the judge on Monday, and we’ll get this taken care of.”
“Thanks, Dad,” Rev said as he started to leave the room.
“Oh, and you’re grounded until graduation.”
Rev immediately started to protest, but he bit it back. He deserved it, and more importantly, he couldn’t let anything get in the way of his guild swearing-in. Once that was done, he was golden.
And now, Monday morning, he and Max were climbing the steps into the county courthouse. Rev was just anxious to get it over with. He hoped the fine wouldn’t put Max back too much, but he was resigned to losing a couple months of an apprentice’s meager salary to pay him back.
He still had the bracelet attached to his wrist. That wouldn’t come off until his judgment. It beeped to life as he passed the scanner, giving him his room assignment. There had to be a hundred people in the big hallway, going this way and that, but Max got the two of them oriented, and like salmon going upstream, they made their way.
He’d expected dozens of people in a grand courtroom, but Room 1304 was barely a cubical. He sat before an inert screen, and Max took one of the two small chairs behind him.
“What now?” he asked Max.
“Now we wait.”
And wait they did. For the next forty minutes, Rev sat there, cracking his knuckles while getting more and more nervous. He just wanted to get it over with. Finally, with a flicker, the screen came to life.
A bored-looking woman in an old-fashioned judicial robe was studying something before her. Rev turned to look at Max in confusion, but his stepdad motioned for him to turn back to the judge.
It didn’t take long. Maybe twenty seconds after she appeared on the screen, she looked up and asked, “Are you Reverent R. Pelletier, Bravo-Echo-Six-six-three-two-nine-six-six-three-one-oh.”
The courtroom wouldn’t have opened for him if he wasn’t who he was, but mindful of what Max had told him, he just leaned forward and said, “Yes.”
“Please look to your left.”
He turned to the optical scanner, which was stupid, he thought. The damned police bracelet identified him when he came in. And if they needed an eye scan, then why the hell did she bother asking?
The scan flashed green, and Rev looked back at the judge.
“You are charged with violation of Civil Code Fourteen-dot-six, driving a passenger vehicle in manual mode in an autonomous area. How do you plead, young man?”
Rev cast another quick glance at Max, but they’d already discussed this. They had Rev dead to rights. Rev could plead not guilty, as was his right, but a trial might not be slated until after his swearing in to the guild, and while a Class Fourteen violation probably wouldn’t keep him out, the guild might push back his entry until after the case was adjudicated.
“Guilty, ma’am. I mean, your honor,” he said.
“Good. Smart young man.” She took a moment to look down again, then said, “I see nothing in the report that should raise any issues. It’s pretty cut-and-dry.”
Please, don’t make the fine too big, Rev prayed.
“Reverent Pelletier, I sentence you to a single term of service in the Pegasus Union Marine Corps.”
What?
“Military service? The Marines?” Rev shouted, standing up, his hands on the small ledge in front of the screen.
“Ma’am,” Max said, one hand on Rev’s shoulder, pushing him hard back into his seat. “Our lawyer confirmed that a Class Fourteen offense is not subject to conscription.”
The judge gave a wry laugh and said, “Then you better get a new lawyer. Class Thirteen and Fourteen offenses joined the list as of”—she made a show as if looking up a date—"three days ago.”
That petty, sarcastic act incensed Rev, and he fought off Max’s hand on his shoulder and stood again. “For a fucking traffic ticket? That’s just unbelievable. I didn’t murder anybody!” he screamed, leaning into the screen until his face was only centimeters away.
The judge’s eyes hardened. “I think I’d watch my temper if I were you, young man.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” Max said, pulling Rev back down and hissing at him. “Can it, Rev! You’re only making it worse.”
Rev fought him for a moment before flopping back down in his seat. This was all going too fast for him, and his life was crashing in flames. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t considered the military before he got accepted into the guild. As a possible back up, he’d even planned on going down to the recruiting office to at least find out more about enlisting after he turned eighteen . . .
Rev smiled and leaned forward, his face centimeters from the pick-up. “You can’t conscript me,” he said.
“I most certainly can, young man, and the sooner you accept that, the better.”
“No, you can’t. I’m still seventeen.”
Rev leaned back, hands clasped behind his neck, a smug look on his face.
Her expression changed, and she looked down again, studying the case. “You’re right,” she said, nodding her head. “I’m not sure why that wasn’t noted on the case data. And if I’d submitted this as is, well, I think even your lawyer might have been able to invalidate the sentence.”
She reached down and made a couple of entries. “Luckily, you stopped me from that, so thank you,” she said, a fake smile on her face. “I’ve corrected it so that you are now to report to military processing on June 21st.”
The day after his eighteenth birthday.
She looked back up, and her fake smile shifted to a real one as she stared Rev down.
Rev exploded and started to shout, when Max shoved him back down with a hand clamped over his mouth.
“Ma’am, please excuse his outburst. But he’s been accepted into the Benevolent Order of Crystal Technicians, and his swearing-in is July 1st. That’s a war-priority industry. Doesn’t that change anything? Can’t you . . .?”
The judge gave Rev a long, hard look as he struggled in his stepdad’s iron grip.
“I do have that discretion, and if he was already sworn in to the guild, I might not have that choice at all. But as of this moment, he isn’t protected. And to be honest, I think the Marines might do him some good. And with his obvious fighting spirit, he might do humanity some good,” she said, this time in a slightly more reflective voice. “My sentence stands.”
The screen went dark, and a copy of the sentence popped out of the printer.
It was done.
3
The bus came to a stop outside the camp and settled down on its skirts. There was no mistaking the stark walls and shimmering fields above for anything other than a military base, bu
t the trees that peeked from over the wall slightly lessened the impact.
An image of a matronly woman appeared on the screen at the front of the bus. “Welcome to Camp Alissa Nguyen, where you will embark on your journey of service to humanity. We are proud of you for making this commitment to our species’ very survival.”
“I didn’t make the commitment. The judge did,” the guy sitting in front of Rev muttered, just loud enough for him to hear.
Rev snorted but didn’t say anything. He’d seen all the holovids of bootcamp, read the same books, and he was waiting for hell to be unleashed. The Recruit Training Center, Camp Alissa Nguyen website was full of images of good-looking people going about their training with dedicated looks on their faces. The recruits were referred to as “our greatest asset,” and there were assurances that those assets were treasured and cared for.
Rev had talked to a few elderly vets, way past the age when the younger vets were being recalled, and that wasn’t quite how they described their experiences.
“Please debark the bus and line up at Gate C to your left.”
Rev looked out the window. The main gate was a massive affair, done in a retro-style red brick. Vehicles were passing through going in and out of the base. About twenty-meters to the left of the gate was a smaller entrance, a simple “Gate C” printed on a sign over it.
One after the other, the poolees—the term the processing sergeant called them and what they would remain until they were sworn in as recruits—got up and made their way to the door. Rev kept expecting a DI—Drill Instructor—to jump out at them in their shark attack, unleashing their fury, but it was calm. A few of the others chatted softly, but for the most part, it was quiet, just as it has been ever since the fifty or so of them had boarded back at the processing station. Rev figured that like him, most were lost in their thoughts.
Rev had swung back and forth from anger at his situation to nervousness at what was coming. Not all of his anger was at the judge or the system. It had taken him some time, but he knew this was his fault. He’d deviated from his upbringing to try and impress Mia by being a bad boy, so while he still railed against the fairness of the system, he knew he was at fault, too. Whether aimed at himself or the legal system, his anger hadn’t died off. Over time, however, it had dampened to banked coals, not the raging flames of before, but ready to return at the right spark. Nervousness had taken over, and he wiped his palms, which were slick with sweat.