“One more piece of advice for you. I know many of you are friends. You’ve gone to school together, grown up together, played together, in Holstonhead, Morrow, Fort Winter, Stonehaven, Charlestown, or wherever.
I want you to forget all that. Forget your hometown and everyone there. Forget your best friend from kindergarten. Forget your boyfriend or girlfriend or whatever. It’s all history, and you are about to be reborn as Janissaries. And let me tell you, a Janissary is sworn to Service. To the State. Not to your pals or your birth family or your town. The State.
“You may at some point find yourselves torn between loyalties, in training or in actual combat. It may be hard to abandon someone you played with as a child, or the person you first kissed, leaving him or her to die in some godforsaken ditch up north. Or to carry out punishment on someone you knew back when you were kids for having disobeyed the tranquility laws. But that’s what it takes to fulfill your obligations—to serve. And I want you to remember this: Many of you will die in the Service. Almost everyone you knew in that place you’ve always called home will die within just a few decades. In fifty years, even that cute little baby next door or little cousin Vinny will be dead. But, if you survive your three years of Service, you may live on for a century, if not more. Should you earn your citizenship, any children you have will automatically be citizens. In addition, you may choose one family member to be given the status of probationary citizen. One. The rest of your family will be well off, but they will still only be able to live until the age of fifty.
“But fifty years from now, when your hometown doesn’t feel like home anymore, you will have new friends. You will have a new family—people who are not subject to the euthanasia laws, who understand what you’ve been through. You will be part of the Covenant, having earned your privileges and your status.” He stood quiet for a moment before leaving through the sliding doors, letting the Initiates absorb what he had told them. Sue and Laurie looked at each other, and Sue felt an urge to protest. But she didn’t.
Instead, she looked at the sheet of paper and started to read. It was all basic instructions: how to salute a superior, a chart for arranging her clothes and personal items in her locker, fire instructions, the different alerts that might occur, and some basic information on what to expect in their first few days at Camp Sharpe.
She didn’t speak to Laurie for the rest of the ride, and she wondered if it was because they were both busy studying the information sheet, or if it was because of what the Janissary had said. She knew Laurie would always be her friend, and wanted to dismiss what the man had said, but somewhere in the back of her mind, she wondered if there wasn’t a lot of truth to it, as well. After all, many of the Initiates right here in this train car would die, and soon. And there was no doubt that the euthanasia laws were merciless. On your fiftieth birthday, you were given the choice of how to go. Most took the pill, and that was that. In a few years, her neighbor, who had shown up for Initiation Day in the town square, would be gone. The baker across the street had taken the pill last year, and next year, it was his wife’s turn.
Sue felt the train decelerate, and as it slowed to a crawl, they entered a tunnel. Seconds turned to minutes, and after what felt like an eternity, the train exited the tunnel and stopped on a platform bathed in light. It was late evening outside, and darkness had descended. Behind the platform stood two black towers with moving flood lights, and as the lights moved around, she saw parts of Camp Sharpe, where she would spend the next several weeks in training. On the platform stood Janissaries, a row of them a few paces apart. From what she had read on the info sheet, these were senior Janissaries, who would each take a small group to their quarters and get them all settled in, let them know how things worked and how to behave, so when basic training began, they would be as ready as they could be. After sticking her head out for Dave, she thought it would be best to be as anonymous as possible and not draw attention to her. She looked up at the Covenant flag flapping in the wind on top of the main house in front of the platform. The white circle with another white round dot just above and to the right, on a black background speckled with small, paler dots. The Earth, the Moon, and the stars. The Moon people had saved them all, and the flag signified how Earth had been reborn in the image of their saviors. Now, it was her turn to serve, to carry on the responsibilities of protecting the Covenant.
DAVE
The train moved quietly through the rolling hills, and the only sound was the low chatter among initiates. The further west they went, the more sparse the habitation. Finally, there was nothing but untouched nature as far as the eye could see. Dave knew he should get some sleep, but he was far too nervous to even try. There weren’t many Warden initiates, and most were from places he’d barely heard of. He didn’t know the others from Charlestown well, and even they mostly kept to themselves. He had no idea what to expect.
One thing he knew was that the Wardens were a mystery in themselves. Another was that no one told him anything, even though he noticed some of the initiates talked to each other as if they knew more than he did. He just sat there by himself, staring out the window as the train sped west through the rolling hills and the valley beyond, which he’d only read about in school textbooks. Soon, he was farther west than he’d ever been, further than anyone was allowed. Obviously, the Wardens were allowed out here, though.
So when the train slowed down and finally came to a stop, he was dead tired and excited all at once. A man in olive fatigues and a shaggy beard ushered them out of the train car and onto a platform where several others were waiting. Most wore the same fatigues, but he noticed that, although they had some resemblance to the militaristic Janissaries, with uniforms and certainly a chain of command of sorts, these looked like they all had adapted their individual styles. There were those with bandanas and hats, but also uncovered heads, shades, electronic tattoos—but very different from the Corpus tattoos, and even a few short sleeves. Off in a corner of the platform, a couple of young men and a woman were smoking, a sickly sweet scent that told him this was definitely an illegal substance. He’d never actually smelled it, let alone smoked it, but he remembered learning about it once, in class. They said it was dangerous and would kill you. When they noticed him staring, they grinned at him and laughed, and he quickly averted his eyes.
“Hey! Watch where you’re going,” one of the other initiates, a girl, said. She smiled as he fumbled and almost lost his footing. She was lean and looked fit, with full lips and auburn, close-cropped hair. He’d noticed her boarding the train at one of the last stops, and she was one of those initiates who already seemed to know her way around. She offered her hand.
“Liz.” He took her hand and shook it.
“Dave.”
“I guess you haven’t tried kissweed before, have you?” she said. He shook his head. She chuckled, but didn’t say anything. A grey-bearded fellow who stood out, not just because of his multi-colored shirt, but also because he was obviously an authority here, walked across the platform and stood in front of them.
“All right, Initiates, listen up,” he said loud enough for everyone to hear.
“I’ll make no speeches, I promise. I just want you to know that you are welcome, and that I hope you will settle in here. In the next few weeks, you will learn more of the Wardens, and our role in the Covenant.” He paused, a knowing smile breaking through the thick beard.
“Trust me; you don’t know half of it.” And with that, he turned and left, leaving the initiates standing idly.
“Well, that was brief,” Liz said. Dave wondered what would happen next, and he didn’t have to wait for long. A lanky fellow, around twenty-five, with sand-colored hair and sunburned skin, with those strange-looking tattoos snaking up his neck, came up to them, carrying an infopad. He wore a nametag that said “Searles.”
“Names,” he said, sounding almost bored. They gave him their names, and he found them on his list.
“Wagner, you’re in B-house. It’s the first one
on the left. Sidnell, follow that chubby fellow, and he’ll take you to your house. You’re in A,” he said. They both nodded, and Searles walked over to another group of initiates.
“I guess we’ll see each other around then,” Liz said.
“Sure. Nice to meet you.”
Dave watched her walk away, and turned to see who else was there. One of the initiates from Charlestown, Brian something, was lingering, and Dave walked over to him. They nodded at each other, and Dave thought he remembered where he’d seen him before.
“Did you compete in the math fair last year?” he asked. Brian nodded and grinned.
“Yeah. No idea why I even made it to the finals; never been any good at it before or since, but my teacher thought I had a head for it. No match for you though.” Dave remembered. He’d ended up second, beaten only by Chas. Brian, from a different school, had been pretty good, but nothing like Chas or himself. Smart, but poorly educated.
“So, what do you think all this is? I mean, no one ever told us what the Wardens actually do,” Brian said. Dave just shrugged.
“No idea. But it must have something to do with our location. We are pretty far west, probably deep into forbidden territory. And from what I can tell, most initiates seem smart. Not Student smart, perhaps, but intelligence seems to be a criteria. And independence perhaps? They don’t look very disciplined,” he said, gesturing at the kissweed smokers. Brian nodded.
“I guess we’ll know soon enough. It’s just that I hate being kept in the dark.” Dave smiled.
“Maybe that’s another criterion? Curiosity?”
It turned out Brian was also to be living in B-house, so they walked together. It was nice to have a familiar face around, with everything else new and unknown. Dave realized he’d made two new friends in just a short while. Usually, he wasn’t the type to make friends easily, so this was something new for him. He figured he might fit in just fine here.
Chapter 3
SUE
“Move, you lazy bastards!” the tacticus yelled. Sue gritted her teeth and kept running, despite the metallic taste of blood in her mouth, her lungs screaming for air and her muscles begging for just a brief respite. She kept moving, because whatever she did, she would not be among the washouts. After just three weeks, many had already gone south, kicked out for failing to meet the rigorous standards of the Janissaries.
Basic training was by far the toughest challenge she’d ever faced, except for dealing with the death of her father, of course. The tacticus in charge of her team of initiates was an imposing figure, a suntanned face with blue eyes and hard angular features, hair and mustache the color of sand. His name was Hordvik. She had begun to notice most of the officers were Moon people, and although tacticus wasn’t strictly an officer rank, she hadn’t seen too many English ranking above senior Janissary. Hordvik behaved as if used to command, even though he couldn’t be more than a few years older than she was. And indeed, those of Moon blood she had encountered so far all seemed bred to command, bred for war. She wondered if there were any English at all ranked above tacticus. It was difficult to think that way, without wondering how many of the initiates would last through basic, but as soon as the thought hit her, she forced it away. No use thinking about it. If it happened, it happened.
“What the hell are you doing, Atlas? Move it!” she heard Tac Hordvik yelling. She picked up her pace, just to avoid being singled out. The punishment for not giving your everything was harsh enough, but finding yourself the mark of a bullying tacticus could break you. No more thinking now, she thought. Just keep moving.
She was all spent when Tac Hordvik ordered them to halt. She had to exert herself just to keep standing, but through the fog of exhaustion, she saw another officer walking up to the tacticus.
“Sir, Team One Three Charlie ready, sir!” Hordvik said, standing at attention. She saw the two silver stars of the other officer. Sub meridian, she rehearsed quietly. She still didn’t have the ranks all sorted out. She did know a sub meridian outranked the tacticus, though. She tried reciting the ranks. The initiates were the lowest of the low, at the bottom of the ladder, barely worth their boots. Then came the junior Janissaries. Nobody used the junior prefix, though, except a senior, if he meant to put down the former. Junior Janissaries were those who had passed basic, weapons, and tactical training. Once you gained the single JJ bar, you were deemed combat ready, if only for gunner duty. Meaning cannon fodder. For more skilled tasks, there were senior Janissaries, who had at least three months of JJ duty behind them. Next came the sub tacticus and the tacticus, team ranks still, but the only commanding ranks open to the English, it seemed.
“I see you are driving them hard, Tac Hordvik,” the sub meridian stated. The tacticus puffed out his chest.
“I do my best, sir,” he answered. The officer clearly liked the response, short and without any fluff, as he nodded.
“Well, Tac, I see that. Keep doing what you’re doing, and you might actually make Janissaries out of this lot after all,” he said. Sue thought the two looked alike, but it was the same with so many of the Moon people. They even had similar names.
They were given a short break, to hydrate and check for blisters on their feet. Five minutes later, they were up and running again, and Sue wondered if the break had actually made them more tired. She certainly felt that way. She began rehearsing the ranks system again.
The teams were the smallest unit in the Janissaries, except for patrols, which were units put together for a specific mission, and didn’t have permanent members. Each team was usually headed by either a tacticus or a head tacticus, which was the lowest official officer rank. Three or four teams made up a squadron, which was led by a sub meridian or a meridian. Three or four squadrons made a battalion, usually led by a meridian or sometimes a head meridian. Altogether, the initiates in basic training had made up a battalion when they began, but now, just three weeks into it, she guessed there couldn’t be more than two squadrons left, tops.
Once they finished their training, they would be assigned to one of the brigades, which were self-contained fighting units holding their particular sectors along with air or, in the far eastern sectors, sea support. Brigades were commanded by a sub strategos. And then there were the battle groups, which included at least two Janissary brigades, and commanded their own air and sea support. The battle group was commanded by a strategos, the highest rank found in the Janissaries, except for the First Janissary.
She had wondered at first, whether she would be able to try out for Air or Sea Service, but quickly learned that these units were made up of pure Moon people only, and all their training was kept separate from the Janissaries. Air and Sea only submitted to Janissary command when part of a battle group, which meant that even the lowest airman never took orders from Janissaries below the rank of strategos. She found that curious, but after what happened to one of the initiates who asked too many questions, she had learned to keep her mouth shut. Albert she thought his name was, from Holstonhead. One day, he was gone, washed out, she heard someone say. Another said she heard one of the officers talking about this kid from Holstonhead, who was transferred to the Corpus. From that moment on, she made it a point not to get singled out, and so far so good.
She had found, in the few spare moments between rigorous training sessions meant to harden them physically and mentally, that she was forming bonds with her teammates. None of her friends from Charlestown were on her team. She had seen Laurie once, while she was standing in line for breakfast, and he had seemed sullen and depressed. When she asked him, he told her of his sister, who had died in combat just a few weeks before their arrival. Sue knew he had hoped to connect with her, and she worried that the loss might hurt his morale enough to get him kicked out. There was nothing she could do for him, though, since the teams were generally kept separated. Sue hadn’t seen Laurie since, which was almost a week ago. She hoped he’d be able to pull himself together, or else he might end up in the Corpus.
Still,
there was Brad from Morrow, Keisha from Fort Winter, just southwest of here, and Julian from Bunkerville. All friends, growing tighter with every trial they faced together.
On the opposite end, there was Quinn, a volunteer from Hodgeton who seemed to find great joy in the fact that Keisha struggled with keeping up from time to time. Also, she had learned that Julian had difficulty reading, and Quinn seemed to enjoy taunting him for it, telling him how difficult a time he would face, once they moved on to weapons training, and how much they were required to read in order to make it through.
Still, even with the hardships, and despite scumbags such as Quinn, Sue found herself becoming part of something, and she was beginning to think that the Janissaries might, in time, become her family, as well.
~
A mannequin stood before the initiates, empty eyes staring straight through them, arms hanging motionless. The black suit covering it from neck to toes was unlike anything Sue had ever seen. It was a Janissary battle dress. Unlike the formal parade uniform she had seen so many times, which was tight-fitting and made of some shiny fabric, this one seemed bulky. It was matte, and the black looked almost gray because of thousands of tiny sensors covering its entire surface. Beside the mannequin lay a visored helmet, with tubes and wires obviously meant to connect it to the suit when worn.
“Looks impressive, doesn’t it?” Tac Hordvik said, grinning. “Not some parade uniform, but the real thing, built for fighting.” Sue looked at the tacticus. He was of the Moon people, with distinct, angular features and the bearing of a man whose heritage was something he always measured himself up against.
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