Marine Cadet (The Human Legion Book 1)

by Tim C. Taylor

  “Unter of bells. Ten of leaves.”

  “Hey stop that!”

  “King of leaves.”

  “That’s frakking cheating.”

  “No, this is using my natural frakking advantages. I can smell your hormones the way you can see words in a book. Shall we ask the referee to adjudicate?”

  Have you ever had the sense that you’ve snatched defeat from the jaws of victory? No? If you could only see Stadeker’s face you would understand exactly what it must feel like. Only moments before he was certain of easy victory. Now he’s so confused that he isn’t certain of anything. If you told Stadeker that his name was Merry Madge, he’d probably believe you.

  Mind you, your host on Radio Hortez can hardly believe what he’s seeing either. I’ve watched this scene five, maybe six, times now and it still makes my eyes pop. The competitors are sitting at a small circular table covered in a black velvet cloth. Well, I say sitting, but our insect – who goes by the name of Pedro – is resting its seven-foot-long bulk on a kind of bench that leaves its back two pairs of legs free to wiggle along with its feelers. Its front pair of limbs holds a hand of cards. Its drab thorax – the middle segment of its body – is coated in fine rust-colored hairs, neatly brushed for the big occasion. Its abdomen – the lower and largest part of the Trog – is mottled in shades of brown and gray and coated in semi-transparent carapace armor that gleams like highly polished lacquer. He looks like the kind of ultimate monster. If you met our Pedro in your dreams you’d wet yourself in fright, but our insect hero is calmly lying there, holding a hand of playing cards. It’s simply bizarre, my friends. Unbelievable.

  Tell you what, though. Our big ant is built for these bluffing card games. It’s staring at Stadeker through twin pairs of eyes like glossy black glass bowls, making absolutely no facial expressions at all. And it’s speaking through a thought-to-speech device. No giveaway tells there, folks.

  I’ll hand you back to Pedro…

  “I insist we consult the referee, because I play not only for victory but to uphold the good name of my nest.”

  “Your nest doesn’t have a name, insect. Just a smell. A bad one too, I expect.”

  “On the contrary, we do have a human name. We are Nest Clubhouse.”

  Yeah! Let’s hear it for Nest Clubhouse. Just remember who’s made all this possible today. I can’t name names without risking getting our benefactor into trouble. Let’s just say this Scendence match had us hanging on a Cliff-edge, eh?

  Back to the match. The ref confirms that trash talking to your opponent is all part of the game. As for Stadeker – get this! – now he’s shielding his face, hiding it behind his hands.

  “Unter of leaves. Nine of bells.”

  “You can cut that out. I’m not talking to you.”

  “Well, that’s a relief. I don’t want you to. I don’t need to see your face either. I can smell your reaction as I name each possible card you might hold. Seven of bells. Seven of acorns.”

  “Damn you, skangat insect.”

  “You smell upset. If I were you, I’d play my first card ASAP. The longer you delay, the more of your hand I will uncover.”

  Stadeker makes his play. It’s the ten of bells, the trump suit.

  “A safe play. Very sensible under the circumstances, Stadeker. After all, I will soon know your entire hand and you have no idea what I’ve been dealt. That gives me a crushing advantage, don’t you think? Only a miracle of good fortune can save you from defeat.

  Our bug-ugly friend, Pedro, was right. He won that hand. And the next. And every hand after that until he played the winning card and claimed a stunning victory for Team Ultimate Victory, standing in for Arun McEwan who was too busy with his vacation to make it to the match today.

  They say a great Scendence player is crushing in victory and stoic in defeat. Was Kadian Stadeker calm? Was he heck! Let’s fast forward to my favorite part of the match. Pedro has just won, and Stadeker is on his feet, thumping the table and hurling abuse at the big insect. Looks to me like there’s going to be a fight.

  “You’re a skangat cheat!”

  “The referee disagrees.”

  “The referee can go vulley herself. I’m talking about all the cadets watching this. In their eyes you’re a cheat. Maybe you don’t care, but the human players in your team are cheats too by association. A stench of dishonor will hang around them for the rest of their lives.”

  “If I were you, young human, I would sit down. It is you who risk dishonoring yourself. In your human translation of the Jotun bifurcated-noun, the game we have just played is called Deception-Planning, is it not?”

  “It is. Notice the word ‘cheat’ doesn’t appear there.”

  “Indeed not. To win by cheating would be vile. And since you are a much more experienced skat player than me, I planned to win by deception instead. I convinced you that I could smell your reaction when I named each card. I can’t. That was a lie.”

  Dear, Radio Hortez fans. I’d give anything to swap places with each and every one of you right now, so you can see with your own eyes the expression on Kadian Stadeker’s face.

  To begin with, his face is bloated with disgust and envy. To get the idea, picture a ripe cabbage in place of his head, a vegetable bursting with greenness. Now imagine filming that cabbage being cooked for an hour in a steam bath, until it is the color of bleached bone. Finally, speed up the cabbage-cooking footage a thousand-fold.

  There.

  Now you know how Stadeker’s expression changed as he realized how he’d been artfully played by the latest Scendence sporting sensation.

  Okay, let’s move on. Pedro gave an interview after the match. I warn you, do not drive, operate machinery or fire tripod-mounted weapons while listening to this interview. It is so hilarious it will have you in fits of hysteria.

  Belay that! We’ll come back to that laughter-fest in a moment. There’s a live interview with Xin Lee just starting. I’ll patch you through to the feed now.

  “… whose crazy idea was it to field a Trog substitute?”

  “A team effort. Everything about today has been one huge team effort. Sometimes, it seems the whole of Detroit and beyond is backing us.”

  “I think you’re right. Team Ultimate Victory is the comeback team of this year’s Scendence season. Your Trog is filling in for your previous super-sub, Arun McEwan. Was it strange to play without McEwan?”

  “Not really. Arun was with us more than you realize. If you’re listening, Cadet Prong, I have a hug and more waiting for you. Oh, and tell your little girlfriend, Madge, hi from me. She sent me such a sweet message telling me all about your predicament.”

  “Do I detect a hint of team romance, Xin?”

  “I don’t think so. Anyway, nice talking with you. We’ve won two of our four matches today, which means there are still two more to win. I’m heading over to the Gunnery arena now.”

  Well, what can I say? You heard it first on Radio Hortez. Arun McEwan has a little girlfriend called Madge. She sounds a sweet thing. If anyone can see Arun’s girlfriend right now, please radio in a description of her face. C’mon, it’s only fair. I described Stadeker for you!

  While we wait for that, stick around, sports fans. Let’s not forget that there are sixteen teams still in the competition and all are playing today. We’ve just got time to hear that interview with Pedro before the Endurance-Stoicism game between two teams from the 101st Assault Marines, Nevergation and Bluffmore Stags. Don’t go away.

  ——

  “Don’t anyone say a word.” Madge spoke with slow menace.

  There was silence in the clubhouse for about a second before Arun couldn’t help himself.

  “That goes for me too,” he announced. “If anyone upsets my little girlfriend, I’ll be really, really cross.”

  Madge’s punch came quicker than he’d expected, catching him a glancing blow even though he was already rolling off his lounger constructed from half-filled grain sacks. He fell onto the floor
of Alabama Depot, surrounded by billows of laughter echoing from the roof high above.

  —— Chapter 45 ——

  “We are winning the battle, mistress. We will overcome the fire or… or…” Adrienne had to stop a moment. Otherwise she would burst out laughing and even Tawfiq might grow suspicious “Or we will die in the attempt.”

  “Make sure you do one or the other,” commanded Tawfiq over the handheld communicator. “The food stocks are far more valuable than your lives. Are you sure you cannot simply move the food sacks out of danger? I do not understand why you say this is impossible.”

  Aware of her human audience, Adrienne made a show of looking around the loading bay of the depot. Most of the food stores were safely stacked on pallets to one side, but smaller sacks had been arranged into crude tables and chairs that held food, water, or lazing Tunnel-Aux gesturing for Adrienne to hurry up so they could turn the radios back on and listen to the game.

  In the center of the warehouse was a stepped pyramid with a flat top. One of the two young Agri-Aux who had remained behind to greet the Tunnel-Aux had explained this this pyramid was the dance stage.

  ”I regret, mistress,” said Adrienne with great solemnity, “the sacks are underneath immovable objects but they are not in immediate danger of burning.”

  “Talk with you wastes my time,” said Tawfiq. Arun tried to imagine her jumping up and down in frustration. “Do not report in again until you have defeated the fire.”

  “If you insist mistress. I return to my endeavors. Number 87 out.” Adrienne switched off her communicator to the cheers of her audience. Within moments, the commentary from Radio Hortez blared out once more from a dozen crude portable radio receivers.

  “Is the monkey still buying it?” asked Springer, leaving wet footprints on the floor as she padded over from the shower.

  “Yup. She’s even more stupid than we thought.” Arun glanced up at the roof where the young Agri-Aux had climbed the hanging rope ladders and were leaning out of a hatch to smear Pedro’s fire gel onto the roof. “Reckon we’ve got a few hours of firefighting left.”

  The military-grade satellites orbiting Tranquility would spot the deception in an instant, but the Jotuns controlled those. Whatever system had told the Hardits of the fire was much cruder, possibly thousands of years older too.

  For once, everything was going to plan. Arun felt invincible, or would have done if every muscle in his body wasn’t still groaning under the abuse heaped on him by the Hardit torture. Even his knee was playing up again, the one he’d damaged firing grenades point blank into a Troggie horde. Setting his pains aside, he opened his arm, inviting Springer in for a cuddle.

  “Oh, no,” she teased. “Not with someone who hasn’t washed.”

  Arun laughed. “How was the shower?”

  Springer laughed too. “Strangely good. Here…” She threw him the sacking material she’d been using to dry her hair. “Your turn.”

  “I can take a hint,” he said cheerfully, winking at Springer as he walked off to the fab shop.

  In theory there were no showers at the depot. Why would any expense be allocated to the comfort of human slaves? But what the fab shop did have was a small degreasing booth intended to prepare metals and other materials before powder coating them with paint and other protective outer layers.

  The Agri-Aux had modified the booth for the occasion.

  How bad could it be?

  Arun stripped off the baggy white undergarments of his borrowed protective suit, punched the on/off button and jumped onto the conveyor belt. As the belt pushed him toward the heavy plastic strips that marked the entrance to the booth, Arun sat down, the hollow diamond pattern of the belt cutting painfully into his butt. He brought his knees up and head down; the entrance didn’t look designed for comfort.

  As the plastic strips parted and lukewarm water began squirting at him, he relaxed and uncurled. It wasn’t as bad as he’d thought. He could almost stand up if he wanted.

  Then choking clouds of de-greasing agent filled the booth, rubbed in by flailing fabric fingers. His eyes stung. So did every inch of his skin. He yelped when his brutalized muscles screamed in protest.

  He was the last one through. All the Tunnel-Aux had experienced this and come out with gleaming smiles to match their grease-free hair. He’d never seen such a transformation in morale.

  He squealed in protest when scalding hot water suddenly jetted up from below.

  “Are you okay?” came a voice from outside the booth.

  Springer’s face poked through the strips on the far side of the booth. “Oh, it’s you Arun. I could have sworn I heard a little girl screaming in there.”

  “Very funny.”

  “Yes, I thought so.” She threw him a cheeky grin. “Don’t forget to clean behind your ears, Arun. I’ll be waiting for you on the outside.” Her head disappeared.

  Before Arun could reply, he was drenched in a sudden outpouring of cold water. The groan of a motor started up as hot air began to blast him.

  He shouted into the wind: “You’d better make it worth my while, Phaedra Tremayne.”

  Arun smiled.

  She already had.

  ——

  Springer reached over and caressed Arun’s furrowed brow. “Loosen up,” she said. “Enjoy. You’ve earned it.”

  She snuggled beside him as they relaxed with a few other members of Team Beta in a nest of hay in the loading bay. “Stop worrying,” she whispered.

  After the stunt they’d played today, there probably wasn’t going to be any future. But Arun had spent a lifetime worrying about tomorrow and the habit was too strong to break now.

  “I’ve done something for the first time today,” he said. “I’ve gambled with other people’s lives. And…” He took a deep breath. “I think I like it.”

  “I know. I’m surprised at you, McEwan. You told me once that you would hate to be a leader, because you would be paralyzed by thoughts of what would happen if your plans went wrong.”

  “Exactly. Look around at all these happy faces. I feel so proud to see them, but then I wonder whether it was worth the risks I took on their behalf just to plant those smiles there? Even if that transmitter I planted on Cliffie puts the blame on him, we could all be executed before nightfall. At least we’ve a chance. Hortez hasn’t. He volunteered for a suicide mission. And all that for such a gamble. It was only a guess that the Hardits would send us here because they would be scared that more official help would reveal their gun running.”

  “Stop it. You’re beginning to sound sorry for yourself. There’s nothing more pathetic than sad-mouthing, especially when you start to bend the facts to match your sob story. Coming here to the clubhouse wasn’t really essential. Aux have been hiding themselves all over Detroit today, listening in on secret radios. This–” she waved around the room, at the smiling Tunnel-Aux staining their borrowed white clothes in their rush to cram food into hungry mouths – “has been brilliant, but we could still have listened in on Radio Hortez if we’d had to stay in Detroit.”

  Arun wasn’t listening. Springer waited for him as he floundered in his thoughts, trying to turn them into words that would make sense.

  “You know me better than I know myself,” he told her. “The way I’ve used other people… have I become so cynical, or was I driven by desperation? Hortez will die, maybe others. I ought to feel guilty but I only feel stoked because I put one over on Cliffie and on the Hardits. What’s happening to me, Springer?”

  “Dear Arun. It’s your true nature emerging. I don’t think you’ll like what you’re becoming.”

  “I don’t follow.”

  Springer kissed him. Arun noticed nearby Aux point and smile. Madge looked over from the bowl of stew she was eating and gave Arun a dirty look.

  “You’re fighting a losing battle against overwhelming odds,” Springer told him. “Generations of selective breeding and indoctrination have brought you to this point. You can’t fight such powerful forces, Aru
n. You’re growing into a Marine.”

  ——

  Soon after, the main body of Agri-Aux returned, their skin hot and raw from the merciless sun.

  As they made their way to the water canisters, to slake their first and pour cool water over hot bodies, the Tunnel-Aux smiles became guarded. The volume was turned down on Radio Hortez.

  Water beaker in her hand, Esther emerged from the milling crowd of Agri-Aux. Arun rose to meet her, his own beaker raised high in salute.

  “Here’s to being human,” he announced in a voice loud enough to carry through the crowd.

  “To being human,” echoed Springer, Madge and many of the Beta Aux.

  Some of the Agri-Aux joined in with the toast too, but Esther waved them into silence.

  Tunnel-Aux edged closer together for mutual protection.

  Arun had missed something. What?

  “My people will join your toast,” announced Esther, “but not until we have something proper to toast with.”

  “Like what?” asked Arun.

  Esther snapped her fingers. On the other side of the bay from the food, a cover was pulled away from a table to reveal a row of 5 gallon canisters with taps fixed at their bases.

  “Like that!” said Esther.

  “What is it?” asked Madge. “More water?”

  “We work with the grain. We know how to extract its fruit.” Esther’s explanation was lost on Arun and the others.

  “It’s beer, man,” called out one of the Aux in a peal of laughter.

  “What is beer?” asked Arun, but that only provoked more gales of laughter. He looked to Madge and Springer for help, but they looked as puzzled as him.

  Esther put an arm over Arun’s shoulder. “My friend, this is a party you’ll never forget.”

  “More likely it’s a party he won’t be able to remember,” someone called out.

  Esther ignored the heckle and steered her ally toward the beer.

  ——

  “Remind me again,” Arun asked Springer when the light coming through the doors to the hardened area outside was beginning to fade and redden. “What’re we supposed to be doing here?”