“Turkey, ma’am.”
“Turkey? Tur-key! It’s the name of an avian species, you frakk-head, not a country.”
Rekka limped over to the waste chute, the red and white flag held aloft on the tip of her walking stick. They all heard the grinding noise when the garbage input sensor recognized it had incoming, and begun ripping apart the cloth at the start of its recycling journey.
Arun could feel the heat rise in his face. Osman had been given that flag two years ago. Two years during which Rekka had made no comment. But today, suddenly, it was a heresy to be rooted out and destroyed. Same as Madge’s hair.
As Rekka returned to Osman, her stick once again thumping out her approach, she asked in a sneering tone that made Arun cringe: “Does anyone else know anything about Earth or that flag?”
“Ma’am, the flag was originally made…” Arun couldn’t believe he’d spoken. He felt as if he’d stepped over a cliff and was staring in disbelief at the absence of ground beneath his feet.
All that was left to do now was fall.
“Yes, McEwan?” Rekka was in his face now. She was small and wiry, shorter than Arun. And yet she still managed somehow to loom over him, intimidating him with ease. “Did you forget to finish your sentence?”
“Ma’am. No, ma’am. Cadet Koraltan’s flag was originally made by Sergeant Horden, ma’am.” There, he’d said it! Projectile launched, brace for impact.
Instructor Rekka glowered at Arun for an eternity before spitting out that name. “Sergeant Hor-den. Are you referring to the man who claimed to be a descendant of President Horden?”
“Ma’am. Yes, ma’am.”
Rekka curled her lip into a slow sneer. “According to the story of the Vancouver Accord, President Horden sold a million Earth children to the White Knights. My ancestors, Koraltan’s and yours, all were amongst those children. Today we Marines swear by Horden senior and we swear at him just as often. Horden’s Bones! Horden’s Children! Horden’s Sweet Hairy Fanny. Everyone on this base swears by Horden. Even you, McEwan. Have you sworn by Horden?”
“Ma’am. Yes, ma’am.”
“Yes, ma’am. Of course you frakkin’ have you stupid drent-for-brains. Horden’s like all the devils and gods of every religion wrapped into one convenient package. The story also says that topping the list of slave children selected was his own first-born son. To claim descent from a specific person on Earth is the action of a deluded fantasist. But to claim that mega-veck, President Horden, as your ancestor is the deluded rambling of a truly sick individual, with megalomania only the start of the psychoses infecting their perverted mind.”
Rekka leaned in even closer. “Feel free to disagree at any time, McEwan.”
These past few weeks, Arun had been losing it. Acting wild in those Troggie tunnels, and speaking out of turn to Rekka: they were only today’s disasters. He didn’t know what had gotten into him, but he did know that right now he had to keep his mouth firmly shut.
“Now that we’ve established the nature of Sergeant Horden, this so-called authority, who produced a scrap of cloth purporting to be the flag of a hypothetical country, please explain to me, McEwan, why you saw fit to cite him.”
“Ma’am, Sergeant Horden explained – I mean, claimed – that he had identified genetic markers, clues to our Earth ancestry.” Arun stopped there. Horden had used Osman as an early test case. A successful one too. Either Horden was a fraud or Osman really was Turkish.
Rekka stepped back a few paces. “I know all about Horden’s lies. Haven’t you realized yet that we’re all such a thoroughly jumbled-up mongrel mess that any genetic markers present in our distant ancestors have long since been lost in the homogeneous genetic paste that fills the bones of every Marine. And that’s a good thing! I understand the human need for a tribe to belong to. You already have yours. Have you learned nothing, McEwan? Your nation is the Human Marine Corps. Your clan is the 412th Marines, or the 412th Tactical Marine Regiment for those who enjoy the long-winded version. I don’t hold with all this Earth drent that the Jotuns indulge you in these days. I’ve been out there in the wars, and I can tell you it’s the belief in your unit, and in your comrade standing alongside you that holds Marines together. Not some dumb romantic guff about Earth.”
She paused to stare at each cadet in turn, daring them to so much as breathe in a manner that she could construe as backchat. She stretched that moment of tension to her satisfaction before continuing. “Last I heard, Sergeant Horden was en route to the Akinschet system. I expect when he gets there that he’ll change his tune pretty damned sharpish.”
Rekka rocked back on the heels of her prosthetic legs. They were her everyday pair, encased in gleaming black plastic and silvered metal, except for the rubbery sole to the built-in feet. She lifted her stick and used it to poke Arun in the chest.
“I’ve warned you before about speaking out of turn, McEwan. Give me twenty squat jumps.”
“Ma’am. Yes, ma’am.”
Arun’s anger returned in ever-increasing waves. Arun tried to suck it back in but today his self-control was shot to hell.
The instructors claimed that many of the rituals of training and command had been gleaned from practices used centuries before on Earth. The Jotuns reasoned that military training evolved over centuries to match the human psyche would be a better starting point than anything they could devise.
And so punishment for minor infractions often meant press ups, digging and filling in fighting holes, or similar pointless physical activity, even though in comparison with the original humans of Earth, the Marine cadets possessed immense physical strength and endurance. Wetware augmentation and genetic manipulation meant Marines were different mentally too. When not succumbing to a tendency toward ill-disciplined rage, they took an iron will for granted.
All of that meant punishment exercise was easy. Normally. But not today.
The anger in Arun’s breast tempted him to glance meaningfully at his rack where he’d placed the walking stick the medics had given him.
He didn’t. Rekka knew perfectly well that he’d suffered a leg wound. Drawing attention to his stick would be weak, and achieve nothing but win contempt from everyone in the room. Instead, he drew upon his mental strength and gingerly crouched down into a squat position. His wounded leg felt stiff, but only when he got into the deepest position of the crouch did his left knee grind as if his joints were made from rusting steel that hadn’t seen oil for decades. With a supreme effort, he managed to cap his scream of agony. He looked down at his limb, expecting to see the blood seeping out the wound opened up by the Troggie guardian’s claw.
There was no blood, no bone shards poking through the skin over his knee.
“Begin!” Rekka ordered.
Arun jumped as high as he could, flinging his arms up as he leaped. He knew that if she decided he’d made a halfhearted jump, she would make him start again at the beginning.
At the top of his jump, Arun pointed his toes down and lifted his head high, as per the prescribed form. The jump was easy. The descent was not.
When he landed and his legs took his weight it felt as if hot blades were plunging into his injuries. Arun grunted but did not cry out. At the deepest point, when his legs changed from slowing his fall into beginning his ascent, those blades grew jagged edges and jerked around in his wound. Arun gasped before executing a perfect jump.
Determined not to give Rekka the satisfaction of hearing him scream, Arun willed his jaw to clamp firmly shut and stay closed.
I will not scream. I will NOT scream.
The second landing was even worse. The imaginary blades stabbing into his leg grew red hot.
I will not scream. I… I will not scream.
The blades exuded agonizing venom, which spread to his right leg.
I will not scream!
Arun’s world became a foggy battlefield where pain fought against Arun’s iron will for control of his body. He could even imagine the crump, crump, crump from a far-o
ff artillery battery.
Then he realized that what he thought was incoming shellfire was actually the sound of Instructor Rekka’s walking stick thumping the deck in front of him.
“I said stop!” She was shouting. “You’ve made 24 jumps. I only wanted 20. Can’t you count?”
Arun decided he’d better not answer.
She narrowed her eyes. “I suppose there’s something you want to ask me?”
“Yes, ma’am. This cadet requests permission to seek medical attention.”
Rekka made a point of chewing over his request before replying. “Yes, I noticed your leg looks sore. You may get it patched after inspection.”
Not bothering to inspect Zug or Cristina, Rekka turned and walked away. When she reached the door, she looked back at the cadets. “I’m disappointed in you. You were not fit for inspection and your performance in the tunnels today has made us the laughing stock of Detroit. The handover to your veteran NCOs began this week and already you have let us down. Badly. McEwan with his lewd display worst of all. Do not expect this to be the end of the matter. There will be repercussions. Mark my words.”
After fixing them all with her baleful stare, Rekka dismissed them and stalked out.
Arun looked down at his leg. His fatigue pants were glued to his leg with sticky blood, but the blood flow had slowed or stopped.
“Hey, hero,” said Osman. “Do you want me to help you get to the medical room?”
Arun grabbed his stick and took a few test paces. “No, I’m good. Thanks, man.”
He wasn’t, but he didn’t want to get his comrades into trouble. In theory they all had until First Sleep at 25:00 hours to do what they liked – training usually – but Arun knew he was toxic right now. He wanted his buddies to keep a safe distance.
As he limped out of the dorm, he was met by a variety of reactions from his squadmates. Pity he’d expected, and the concern he saw on Springer’s face, but he also saw contempt and even anger from Brandt and Madge. He only half-cared, though. As he hobbled away to the med-center he kept thinking about what Rekka had said.
There will be repercussions.
—— Chapter 06 ——
“Rekka is purest evil,” said Arun. “Just because she got her legs blown off, she’s jealous of anyone still whole. What kind of instructor makes their cadets jump up and down on a wounded leg? Those squat jumps she made me do earlier – she could have saved us all the bother and just shot me in the leg. End result would’ve been the same.”
“Too right, man,” said Osman. “She was just worried about looking bad in front of Shlappo. And the senior instructor’s no better. She made Brandt section leader and chose Alistair LaSalle to lead the company against the Trogs. What a pair of dwonks!”
Arun, Osman and Zug were sitting around the dorm room table. Zug was listening but saying nothing, as normal.
Cristina and Madge came over to join them. “Are you badmouthing Senior Instructor Nhlappo again?” asked Cristina.
“Osman’s just speaking the truth,” replied Arun, “because this is the only place we can say it. They’re not supposed to listen in on us in the dorm room. I bet they are, though. In fact, I’m counting on it.”
Madge shook her head in exaggerated disdain, flinging her long hair out behind her. “It’s no use, Cris, he can’t help it. It’s because Instructor Rekka and Senior Instructor Nhlappo are both women.” She leaned over the table, shoving her face against Arun’s. “Admit it, you can’t handle being given orders by a woman.”
“Yes, I can.”
“There’s nothing to be ashamed of.” She settled back in her chair and grinned at Cristina. “Boys of your age are emotionally immature. It’s a proven scientific fact. You can’t think too well because you’ve only one thing on your mind.”
“Him more than most,” added Springer, joining the group.
“Hey, that’s not fair,” Arun protested.
“Isn’t it?” answered Madge. “How would you feel if I had led Delta Section instead of Brandt? Could you handle that?”
“Well, yes. Why wouldn’t I?” It was true. Madge was a natural NCO, at least when she dropped the vampish act.
“You hesitated!”
“Leave him alone,” said Osman. “I can’t believe you’re defending what Rekka did.”
“We’re not, turkey-man,” said Cristina. “Rekka was cruel tonight, but we’ve all of us had that kind of drent in the past and we don’t start crying every time an instructor says something to hurt our little-widdle feelings. At least, we women don’t.”
Springer joined in. “You know, if there’s one thing useful I’ve learned from ancient Earth history, it’s that they used to have all-male combat units. If our masters thought of the Human Marine Corps as a serious military force, rather than breeding stock, I reckon we’d have single-sex units. Anyway, lover boy here is always griping about Rekka or Nhlappo. Aren’t you, Arun?”
Arun threw his hands in the air in frustration. “Oh, come on, guys. Rekka’s given me a hard time, and Shlappo will tomorrow, or I’m a Hardit. And you,” he pointed at Springer, “are supposed to be on my side.”
Springer gave a curt laugh. “Rekka’s giving you a hard time, eh? You seem to be having a lot of those recently. When you had your hard time with that alien scribe, were you thinking of our instructor? Did you imagine Rekka’s sweet face on that Troggie body? Is that why you… oh, how did your alien friend describe it? … activated your mating prong?”
Cristina dug an elbow into Springer’s side. “Lighten up on him will you? Arun’s right. He’s our squad mate. We should–”
“I know. Sorry.” Springer looked serious. “I apologize for my inexcusable behavior… Cadet Prong.” Laughter bubbled out of her. “Sorry, Arun. Frakk it, I couldn’t resist.”
Arun replayed Sergeant Gupta’s words in his mind. He wouldn’t crumble. He would get through this. “Guys,” he pleaded, “get off my back. Please.”
Springer studied him for a while before arriving at a conclusion. “Look, I tell you what, Arun. I won’t call you Cadet Prong again if you promise not to call us ‘guys’. I can’t stand it when people talk to me as if I’m neuter, or a man. I’m a woman.”
Cristina snorted. “Speak for yourself, grandma. I’m only in class G-2.”
“Okay,” admitted Springer, “girl or woman at your discretion, and then only until we’re in graduation year. Deal?”
Springer extended her hand. Arun shook it.
“Thank goodness for that,” said Madge. “Springer’s been spouting drivel about you ever since we saw your mating prong performance. I think she’s jealous.” She winked at Arun and whispered to him loudly enough for all to hear: “You do realize she dreams about you?”
Arun laughed the same as everyone else.
But, no, he hadn’t.
—— Chapter 07 ——
After all the excitement and pain of the day, Arun decided to turn in early, drifting toward sleep as soon as he closed his eyes. On the cusp of dreams, he imagined a familiar and comforting feminine scent.
“I’m sorry about before,” said his dream girl.
He opened his eyes and discovered that, for once, reality was better than his dreams. Springer was crouching on the floor by his rack, with her hand on his shoulder. “I thought you could do with some company,” she said. “Will you let me make it up to you?”
Arun grinned. “You’re the best, Springer, but please don’t put any weight on my left leg. Did I mention? I had a Troggie claw go through earlier today.”
Cadet Phaedra Tremayne – named Springer by her friends due to her boundless optimism – grinned back and carefully clambered in beside him.
Springer was a squad mate, which meant they’d gown up together, shared the same school dorm for the past few years before making cadet, and then moving to the Charlie Company’s underground hab-disk. That made his feelings toward her somehow both complicated and simple at the same time, but always strong. She was more than the
comrade he was often buddied with in combat drills. She was a good friend, and several times recently she had kept him company in his rack, as she liked to call it. He tried hard not to think what that meant for their friendship.
Later, when they lay together in comfortable silence with Springer idly running her fingers through his hair, she suddenly blurted out: “I bet you’re thinking of her right now.”
“Her?”
“Yes, her. Xin Lee or is it Lee Xin? She can’t seem to make up her mind.”
Arun fumbled for a denial. He couldn’t find one, though, because Springer was right. He’d been drifting into a heavenly dream existence filled with Xin’s essence.
“Shhh, it’s okay,” she said. “More than okay. I think you having a crush on her is kinda cute.” She kissed him tenderly on his forehead. “I was only thinking aloud. Xin is class G-1. At the end of next year, assuming she graduates as a Marine, they’ll remove her contraceptive implant. She could have kids. You could have kids with her.”
“Me? But I don’t want to. I mean, I’m only 17. You and I are both only 17.”
“Yes, but you could. I have to wait another two years and only then if I measure up to someone else’s definition of what makes a good Marine.”
“What’s this all of a sudden about kids? Do you want to get pregnant?” Arun sat bolt upright. “Do you want my kids, Phaedra?”
Springer narrowed her eyes. There weren't many people she allowed to use her real name and get away without violence. “No and no. Not right now, and anyway, that’s not the point. I don’t get a choice. That’s what gets me. I have to win someone else’s approval to use my own body.” She gave her head an angry shake. “You don’t have the same implant. I guess you don’t understand it. Not being a girl.”
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