by Peter Telep
He saw Shane take note of the recruit. "He's screwed," she whispered to Nathan.
The bus door opened. A drill instructor's hat, better known for roughly the past two centuries as a "Smokey the Bear campaign cover," appeared at the front of the bus and rose to reveal the man under it. Stocky and mustached, the black man with dark eyes like the muzzle of a shotgun looked more than capable of dealing out enough death to satisfy his superiors. He frowned and shook his head as he eyeballed the recruits. If he had spoken, he would have said, "You are one sorry bunch of cherries."
But he had probably said that to more than enough recruits in his day, Nathan speculated, so perhaps he was keeping his derision to himself.
There would, of course, be plenty of time for that later.
"All right, herd. Listen up," he began without introducing himself and apparently having decided that browbeating could not wait. "You ah now at the United States Marine Corps Space Aviator recruit dee-po', Loxley, Alabam-er. When you left home, you were under Momma and Dadda's care. You are now under mine. From here out, you will NOT speak, eat, sleep, or take a dump until you are told to do so, and the first and last word out of your slimy holes will be sir. Do you maggots understand me?"
Nathan, Shane, and the rest of the recruits answered, "Sir, yes, sir."
"LOUDER!"
Nathan stole a look at the Asian guy, who flinched.
"SIR, YES, SIR!"
"That's good. And here is something else you had better get used to. You are not going to be happy here. You are not going to have fun. Some of you came here to fly. Most of you will never do that. Most of you will flunk out or freak out or slit your throats. It is my job and the job of my fellow D.I.s to reach down into your guts and see what the hell we got there. Do we got Marine Corps Space Aviator or do we got a shivering sack of shit? So far, I see shit." The drill instructor held his nose and marched down the aisle, using his fist to pound any recruit who strayed too far out of his or her seat. After returning to the front, he released his nose and said, "Upon the command you will have approximately thirty seconds to fall out of this bus. Any questions?"
The guy named Pags raised his hand. "Sir, when do we get our planes, sir?"
"EVERYONE OFF THE BUS!" The drill instructor pointed at Pags. "EVERYONE BUT YOU! MOVE! MOVE! MOVE!"
Nathan fell in behind Shane as they hustled toward the front of the bus. The Asian recruit was in front of Shane, and as he crossed from the steps of the bus to the tarmac, he slipped and fell onto Damphousse.
She cocked her head. "Hey, watch it!"
"Uh, sorry."
Outside, two more malicious-looking D.I.s stood and barked, "GO! GO! GO!" at everyone. Nathan observed the painted shoe prints on the tarmac. He found a set and stood at attention next to Shane. Then he remembered his photo tags and tucked them quickly into his shirt. No need having them out to be scrutinized by the D.I.s.
In a minute, Pags assumed a position on the other side of Nathan, having survived his one-on-one ordeal with the drill instructor on the bus. "I don't believe this crap," he said under his breath.
"You're lucky you don't have any bruises," Nathan said, hoping his voice had been muted enough by the shuffle of other recruits so that the D.I.s hadn't heard him.
"Just my ego so far."
Another drill instructor, the fourth, paraded in front of the line of recruits. On the planet for some forty-odd years, the guy had probably spent at least twenty-two of them with the Marine Corps. The scowl he wore looked permanently hatcheted into shape on his face. Nathan tried to find the man's eyes, but all he had were two thin slits of leathery skin. Of course, his uniform looked painted on and perfect, creases so sharp they could cut glass. "I am Gunnery Sergeant Bode-juss. Spell it B-O-U-G-U-S. Spell it wrong on any of your paperwork and lose a day's leave. I will unfortunately be your senior drill instructor. I am here to turn you disgusting feces into United States Marine Corps Space Aviators, capable of invoking bowel-wrenching terror in the hearts of your enemy."
Thus far, the D.I.s had spoken a whole lot about shit, twice labeling the recruits as the smelly, sticky stuff. Training for a colonial expedition had been much more reserved, conducted by soft-spoken geniuses instead of loudmouthed bulldogs.
Bougus moved nose-to-nose with Damphousse, intentionally invading her personal space. She drew back a little. "WHY ARE YOU HERE?" he barked.
"Sir, to find a direction, sir!"
"A direction? Are you lost?"
"Sir. I, uh, I suffer from a sense of disconnection and—"
"ANSWER THE QUESTION!"
"SIR, YES I AM, SIR. LOST, SIR."
Bougus took a step back, then raised a thumb and stuck it to his chest. "Do I look like a road map to you?"
"SIR, NO, SIR!"
"WELL, I AM A ROAD MAP!"
Turning away from Damphousse, Bougus continued to move down the line. "I will guide you and you will learn. If you pukes manage by some miracle to leave my academy, you will be weapons, focused and full of purpose. You will pray for war. You will be proud, hot-rod rocket jocks of precision and strength, tear-assing across the cosmos, huntin' for heaven."
Nathan saw the young Asian recruit stiffen as Bougus passed in front of him. The D.I. moved on, and the recruit emitted a sigh of relief.
Bougus stopped, spun and rushed into the Asian recruit's face. "WHAT'S YER NAME?"
For a moment it seemed the young man had forgotten. Then, in a squeaky voice, he managed, "Wang, Paul Wang, Officer."
Bougus drew back as if Wang had a disease. "OFFICER? I AM NOT AN OFFICER! I WORK FOR A LIVING." Suddenly, Bougus swiped his "campaign cover" from his head and slapped it down hard onto Wang's. "Son. Do you have a cranial-rectal inversion?"
"Uh, a what, sir?"
"A CRANIAL-RECTAL INVERSION. I THINK YOU DO. I THINK YOU'RE SHITTING IN MY HAT RIGHT NOW. IS THAT RIGHT, SON?"
"SIR, NO, SIR!"
Bougus ripped his hat from Wang and replaced it on his own head, pulling the brim down to eyebrow level. Wang made a tiny sound, a remote, high-pitched and extremely short squeal that betrayed his fear.
"Did I hear a sound outta you, Wang?" Hyperventilating, Wang vehemently shook his head no.
"I did. I heard a sound outta you." Bougus put his lips only inches away from the young man's ear. "I bet it was your war cry. Lemme hear your war cry, Private."
"Ahhhhhh..."
Half of the recruits, including Nathan and Shane, broke into laughter.
"SHUT YOUR HOLES!" Bougus directed his attention to the black D.I. from the bus. "Sergeant Maxwell. Let this pantywaist hear a Marine Corps war cry."
Maxwell, who stood at parade rest some half-dozen meters away from the recruits, suddenly charged wild-eyed at Wang. "AHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
Wang closed his eyes. The sergeant stopped short before running him over. Maxwell took a step back. "OPEN YOUR EYES!"
Bougus crossed to face Wang. "NOW LEMME HEAR YOUR WAR CRY!"
Wang was in hell. "Ahhhhhh..."
Then Bougus and Maxwell added their voices to Wang's. Wang reacted to this, intensifying his scream to the volume and pitch of the D.I.s. Finally, the trio broke off.
Nathan looked at Shane, who rolled her eyes.
Bougus gave Wang his deadpan. "In space, no one can hear you scream, unless it's the war cry of a United States Marine."
Shane shook her head slightly.
Bougus moved to her. "Why'd you join my Corps?" "Sir, to defend my country, sir."
Bougus actually smiled, and his teeth were actually white. '"To defend my country?' Are you crazy? We have no enemies. YOU'VE MADE A TERRIBLE MISTAKE!"
To Nathan's surprise, Shane held her ground, undaunted. "Sir, no, sir."
"ARE YOU CALLING ME A LIAR?"
"Sir, the best way to maintain peace is to maintain a strong defense, sir."
"Are you running for office?"
Nathan blurted out a snicker, then quickly composed himself.
Too late.
Bougus regar
ded him. "You think that's funny?"
"SIR, NO, SIR."
"Why not?"
"SIR, I DON'T KNOW, SIR."
"DO YOU BELIEVE IF YOU SAY IT IS FUNNY YOU WILL OFFEND ME?"
"SIR, YES, SIR."
"YOUR PRESENCE HAS ALREADY OFFENDED ME. AND NOW YOU HAVE TOLD ME THAT MY WIT IS NO GOOD. I THOUGHT I AMUSED YOU." He softened. "Come on, tell Uncle Frank the truth. I'm funny, ain't I?"
Nathan knew Bougus was baiting him. But any answer at this point would be wrong. "SIR, YES, SIR."
"Well I don't want YOU to be the only one laughing. Amuse ME with twenty-five!"
Beside him, Nathan heard Shane stifle a giggle, then, from the corner of his eye, he saw her cringe.
Sergeant Bougus, still wielding a near-full stockpile of verbal missiles, aimed his gaze at Shane. "I'm glad we're having such a fun time! You too, on your face. ONE... TWO... THREE... FOUR... I LOVE THE MARINE CORPS."
As Nathan did his push-ups with Shane, the two of them counting in unison, he listened to Bougus and Maxwell.
"Are all these worms accounted for?" Bougus asked.
"Short one guy. The tank."
Nathan hesitated, then resumed his punishment. Just what he needed, a tank. He had joined the Corps on the possibility that somehow, sometime, he would get to Tellus and see Kylen again. Now he would have to serve with a living reminder of why he wasn't with Kylen in the first place.
He hadn't even met the tank. Already he hated him. "Twenty-two... twenty-three... twenty-four... twenty-five." Nathan rested his stomach on the warm tarmac a moment before hauling himself to his feet. His arms and shoulders were sore, his palms full of grit. Wiping sweat from his temple, he turned to Shane. They both were breathing too heavily to speak, not that they would've wanted to with the D.I.s hovering nearby.
A military jeep came from around the corner of the main complex and pulled up to the line of recruits. The MP driving got out and shuffled to the passenger's side to let out a lanky man with chestnut-colored hair. The prisoner's hands were locked behind his back. After withdrawing a remote from his belt, the MP aimed it at the young man's hands. Freed, the prisoner slipped the magnetic ringlets from his wrists and tossed them back to the MP.
"All yours," the MP told Bougus, then laughed over some private joke as he headed back to the jeep.
Bougus glared at the MP, then craned his head slowly, dramatically, to regard the prisoner, who remained standing where the MP had left him.
Nathan was not a great judge of character, but based on the new arrival's escort, his appearance, the smirk on his face, he looked like an edge-walker who projected a serious air of rebellion.
Bougus approached the prisoner, then stood shoulder-to-shoulder with him, staring at the horizon. "I know all about you, Mr, Cooper Hawkes. The judge thought it would be—cute—to sentence a tank to the military.
Hawkes bowed his head.
"I want you to know," Bougus continued, "that I fought alongside your people. So I know."
Nathan couldn't believe what he was hearing. It sounded as if Bougus had suddenly found a kindred spirit in the tank. Hawkes's people were veterans, so now the recruit, would share that special relationship, one reserved only for veterans, with the D.I. It was bad enough serving with a tank. But to serve with a tank who was teacher's pet?
"Yeah, I know all about tanks," Bougus restated. "They're lazy and they don't care about anyone or anything."
Nathan could not repress his grin. Bougus sounded wonderfully malevolent. And then the D.I. crossed in front of Hawkes, challenging the tank to respond.
"I won't let you down," Hawkes said.
Were he not in uniform, not a D.I., not standing on the tarmac of a Marine Corps base, the proximity of Bougus's face to Hawkes's could have been taken for the prelude to a kiss. "The only thing you're gonna let down is your face on the deck. Gimme fifty, right now!" Bougus swung away, and the other D.I.s swarmed around the tank to back up Bougus's order. Hawkes dropped to his hands and knees and began.
Without warning, Bougus steered straight for Nathan. "What are you doing standing up?"
"SIR, I HAVE COMPLETED THE TWENTY-FIVE PUSH-UPS, SIR."
"I DIDN'T SEE NO TWENTY-FIVE FROM YOU OR HER. GET YOUR SNOT HOLE BACK DOWN ON THIS DECK."
"SIR, PERHAPS ONE OF THE OTHER DRILL INSTRUCTORS SAW, SIR." Nathan looked to them; they shook their heads negatively.
"DOWN!"
Nathan and Shane complied, and as they counted off, Nathan saw Hawkes look up at Shane and wink. She reacted with disgust. Nathan stared at the tank, kindling the fire in his gaze.
seven
Kylen lay on her bunk, staring across the tiny cabin at Yolanda. Her friend took a seat on the floor near the wall, pulled her knees up into her chest, then hugged her legs.
Yolanda lowered her head slightly and formed an exaggerated pout. "This is my impression of you for the past six weeks."
"When they create a law against sulking then maybe I'll stop."
"I've been trying—and it's gonna happen now."
"What?"
"We're going to talk about—"
"No, we're—"
"Yes, we are. We're going to talk about him."
Kylen asked herself why it had to be Yolanda's business. Yes, she knew her friend was trying to help her get over the grief of saying good-bye—perhaps forever—to Nathan, but to force her to speak about him would only make things worse.
She voiced that sentiment. "Don't make me. I think that if I just don't talk, just don't think, then this thing I have in me will wash away."
Yolanda's brow rose. "Girlfriend, you're fooling yourself. In a little while we're going to make wormhole insertion. Now's the time to let go... leave it all back here—in this part of space. You'll come out on the other side renewed."
Kylen threw an arm over her eyes. "I'll never let him go."
Yolanda tsked. "You don't have to forget him. Just get him out of your heart."
"What if I don't want to?"
"Then you're going to waste what will be the most exciting time of your life. You're starting a new existence on a new planet. And you're going to mope around, looking back instead of forward?"
"It would've been more exciting with him."
Yolanda sighed deeply. "Girlfriend, let me put this into perspective for you. We all said good-bye to a lot of people, people we may never see again for the rest of our lives. Do you know what it was like for me to leave behind my parents and sister?"
Kylen stiffened. She jerked her arm off her eyes and sat up. "I know all about that," she began, feeling her chest warm. "It's not the same. I said good-bye to my parents, too. But we both knew that signing a colonial contract meant I would be traveling light-years away. We had time to think about that. We had time to prepare for it. Nathan and I got a few lousy hours."
Her friend unclasped her anus and pushed herself to her feet. "All the time in the world is not enough to prepare for a good-bye. One hour... a millennium... there's no difference."
"But they threw it at us—just before launch! There is a difference."
Yolanda shook her head negatively. "How the pain comes doesn't matter; it is... always the same."
Kylen reached back and seized her pillow, then threw it against the cabin wall.
Yolanda crossed to the bunk and sat at its foot. "Easy."
Kylen beat her fists on her thighs. "Oh, I could choke those senators and every governor—Overmeyer included."
"I guess they were smart to seat you away from the In Vitroes. You probably want to choke them, too. And they're as innocent as you."
Kylen massaged her eyelids, realizing that Yolanda had tricked her into a conversation about Nathan. She felt the growing soreness of tears. "I told you that I didn't want to talk about this."
"It's gotta come out. We gotta get it out." Yolanda sounded serious, and a trace desperate.
"Why do you care? Why do you have to keep doing this to me?"
"Your parents aren't here.
And you'd do this for me. I can't tell you how many times my heart was broken and my mom and sister comforted me. Heartbreak and solitude don't mix. I'm in your face—and I'm here to stay."
Kylen flashed a wan smile. "Should I thank you or kill you?"
Yolanda lifted an index finger and placed it on her chin, thinking it over with mock seriousness. Then she brightened. "You can buy me lunch on Tellus. Now. Tell me everything you hated about Nathan."
Frowning, Kylen looked away. "Hated? Why?"
Yolanda tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "The idea here is that I ask you to do something and you do it—for your own good. You keep questioning the process instead of riding the wave. All that does is get me frustrated and you pissed off because I'm not supplying answers to questions about the process." Yolanda huffed. "All right?"
"He's got a temper. He's got some nervous habits, I guess—don't we all—like when he hasn't shaved for a day or two he'll constantly rub at his beard."
"Good. What else?"
"He drifts off a lot... you'll be talking to him and he's gone, not even listening. I used to tell him that he was already on Tellus."
"Do his feet smell?"
Kylen felt her lips curl into a full grin. "Yolanda!"
"Really. I dated a guy once—whew! Got him right the hell outta my bed."
Kylen cringed.
"Weh?"
"No. His feet do not smell. I can't believe we're talking about this. We're on a colonial cutter bound for an alien planet and the topic of conversation is foot odor."
"You think you guys would've married?"
That one hit Kylen in the back. "I thought we were talking about—"
"Process again."
She let her mind drift into a place that she had, for the past six weeks, forbidden it to go. It was the vision she had of her life on Tellus with Nathan, of their home, their garden, of when she carried their first child and they stayed up on cool, dry nights smelling the cinnamon in the air and watching her belly twitch with life. They would be a family and teach their children about Earth and create a world that was even better. And all of it would come to pass because they believed in each other.