by Jean Johnson
More gunfire erupted, though Kaimong’s efforts at shooting the now bobbing and weaving hovercameras only dented one of them, sending it wobbling through the canopy for a few meters before it righted itself. Crawling past the twisted metal and plexi of the downed camera, she reached the edge of another ragged slope, one of several terraces separating the uplands from the swamp flats in the local stretch of bush. A twist pulled her own rifle into position, a flick warmed it up, and a crank of the nozzle and dial made sure it was on its tightest, highest setting. Ia knew she would only have a couple chances at taking him down, shots that would have to take place a lot closer on her end than his own weapon’s range.
There. Movement from two directions alerted her to his position. One from Kaimong himself, a blur of brown dodging between two trees, and the other from one of the two new hovercameras, angling through the canopy as it followed him. Humming from her right warned her that the third camera had oriented on her own position.
“Recruit Ia—”
“Keep him occupied, Sergeant!” Ia hissed, flicking the safety on her gun so that it wouldn’t fire accidentally. Not because it would bother her if she accidentally shot herself in the leg with the stunner rifle, but because part of her was operating via the habits instilled in the future, where the soldier she would become would always flick the safety on her gun so that no one else could be stunned. She slung it down under her shoulder, out of the way, and lifted her chin at the trees below. “I think I can get a shot down there.”
“Recruit, this is not your jurisdiction. You are out of range, and out—”
Ia dove into the dirt as gunfire exploded again, this time with several pow-BANGs from the explosive bullets hitting the hillside right below her position. The stench of explosive stung her nose and watered her eyes, mixing with the earthy scent of the dirt-covered rock giving her a modicum of shelter from below.
“Distract him!” she hissed at the hovercamera, tugging her hat lower on her head. “He knows I’m up here, and that makes me a target either way! Get him to look the other way, and I’ll take him down. You can’t do that just yet.”
The camera swerved away after a moment and soared out over the next broad ledge of land. Scrambling back, Ia gauged herself in the timestreams. A deep breath calmed her mind and steadied her nerves, allowing her enough mental room to connect with the successful path for what she wanted to do. Ready, she scrambled to her feet and sprinted off the edge of the sloping cliff, leaping as hard as she could for the trees below her.
Ia fell both out and down in the light gravity. She ignored the scratch and scrape of passing foliage, focused firmly on her landing. Using the tree limbs’ suppleness to slow her crackling, bush-crashing fall, Ia dropped the last twenty feet without any support from the surrounding bush.
She did so just as Kaimong stopped shooting at the battered cameras buzzing him. Clearly aware of her descent, he twisted to fire in her direction instead. Hitting the muddy ground by the bank of the stream, Ia rolled in a controlled, compact tumble to absorb the impact.
Pulling her rifle up into position the moment she uncurled, Ia flicked the safety and sighted down the barrel, popping up less than five meters from his position. Her trust in her precognition kept her rock-steady as he fired once, twice, banging shots which went just wild from the poor aim of his haste to avoid her—in fact, if she had moved out of their way in the attempt to dodge, she would have moved into their way, as each cartridge whizzed past on either side of her. Without flinching, she pulled the trigger. So did he.
Zzzzzzt—Bang-POW!
Gunpowder stung her eyes, blurring her vision. She couldn’t see Kaimong, only hear him faintly over the pounding of her heart as he thumped to the forest floor. He had missed again, the third miniature grenade cartridge hitting the bushes somewhere beyond her in a spray of exploding leaves and dirt.
Freed from the press of Time to pay attention to the little things, Ia sagged to the ground much more slowly than Kaimong did. He flopped onto his side with a sigh; she sagged to her knees with a groan. Heart pounding, lungs heaving, she carefully switched off the stunner rifle in her arms. The last thing she wanted to do was accidentally stun herself, now that the post-combat shakes were setting in.
Not that she would fall unconscious, but she really didn’t need to add any more energy to her already buzzing nerves. And I can blame my father for that lovely fact . . .
One of the cameras swooped over the clearing, recording and cataloguing the damage caused by the brief fight. The other glided up to Ia. The tiny image of the sergeant spoke again.
“Good job, Recruit. Unorthodox, but effective. You should have waited for the MPs to take care of the problem, however.”
Lifting her hand, Ia gestured at Kaimong’s quiescent form. “I had the shot, Sergeant, so I took it. If I hadn’t, he would have gone on shooting at Space Force equipment, and probably at the MPs once they arrived. I’ll point out, he did fire at my own location at the top of the cliff just now.” Bracing her hand on her thigh, she looked into the vidscreen’s pickups. “I’ve shot him at full stunner strength, so he should be out for an hour. Would you like me to secure his weapons, Sergeant, just in case he’s faking?”
The sound of a hover vehicle approached from behind her, more of a deep thrum than a hum. The sergeant on the camera screen negated her offer. “MPs are arriving on the scene, ETA 40 seconds. We will secure the weaponry. Unclip and surrender your weapon, Recruit Ia. Technically, neither of you are fully authorized to wield a weapon for combat at this point in your training.”
“Sergeant, yes, Sergeant.” Pulling the e-clip from the butt of the rifle, she waited while the Peacekeeper craft settled into a stationary hover over the tangle of bushes and trees.
There wasn’t enough room for the sturdy, brown-mottled craft to land, but there was enough room for two soldiers to lower a basket stretcher out of the vehicle, then rappel down to the ground beside it. As they fell, so did several drops of rain from the approaching storm. The humidity thickened palpably, while the temperature dropped a few degrees.
Glad that the first half of this incident was over, Ia surrendered her weapon without complaint and followed the MPs’ order to climb on up while they hauled Kaimong’s limp, slumbering body into the basket.
General Tackett finished his circling visual inspection of the young woman standing at attention in his office. “Recruit Ia. Why did you choose to go after Recruit Kaimong?”
She kept her shoulders back and her gaze forward, her words crisp and her tone respectful. “General, upon realizing that Recruit Kaimong had taken the HK-70 and the JL-39, this recruit feared for the safety of any unwitting personnel, civilian or military, who might cross paths with the AWOL recruit, sir. This recruit knew that without his military ident, Recruit Kaimong would be difficult to track from the air, and feared that it was possible for Recruit Kaimong to get farther than anticipated, a fear which proved true. This recruit had the skills and the immediate proximity to track his progress through the bush, assisting in the rapid recovery of the AWOL recruit, sir.
“There was even a possibility that the AWOL Recruit Kaimong would be able to evade pursuit long enough to leave the Camp grounds. This recruit felt that the risk to other, unsuspecting lives was unacceptable, while the risk to this own recruit’s prepared-in-advance person was proportionately small and thus negligible in the face of all the greater risks to potential others, sir.”
“You are barely past your second week of training, Recruit Ia. What made you think you were ‘prepared in advance’ for whatever your fellow recruit might do?” the Camp commander inquired.
“General, sir, preparedness in advance meant that this recruit already knew her fellow recruit was armed and therefore dangerous. This recruit knew the general direction her fellow recruit had fled. This recruit has studied Northern Territories flora and fauna in advance of enlistment, to be prepared to deal with said local flora and fauna, sir. Knowledge, skills, proximity, and heavy
worlder abilities all combined to give this recruit a clear and undeniable advantage for locating and securing the AWOL recruit for neutralization as swiftly as possible, sir.”
Tackett started circling her again. Ia resisted the urge to follow him as he moved. Instead, she kept her gaze on the blue and gold seal of the Terran United Planets, depicting the main continents of the Motherworld on a grid-divided, elongated, oval map. Instead of being surrounded by the laurel wreath of peace, the Robinson projection of the Earth’s surface was mounted over the crossed, curve-bladed sabers of the Marines. He seemed to be waiting for more information, so she gave it to him, eyes fixed on the golden star representing the capital of the Terran United Planets, Aloha City.
“General, this recruit was trained thoroughly in the basics of colonyworld survival principles, which are applicable to a number of other relevant, inhabitable M-class planets, sir, and which include movement through inimical surroundings of uncertain terrain features and foliage. This recruit also paid careful attention to our given instructions on how to handle and wield the 40-MA stunner rifle, and was prepared to wield it appropriately, sir. Which this recruit did, sir.”
“Right. Now, explain how you ended up unaffected by the effects of fully charged stunner fire, Recruit Ia,” the general directed, stopping behind her.
“General, as this recruit explained to First Sergeant Tae, this recruit is a second-generation native of the heavyworld Sanctuary. The planet Sanctuary has an iron–gold core, which creates a natural electrosphere as well as a magnetosphere. The constant high presence of static energy in the Sanctuarian atmosphere has begun to confer a certain resistance to electrical discharges in some of its native-born residents. Stunner rifles fire an electrosonic shock pulse . . . most of which was apparently absorbed by this recruit’s natural high tolerance for static energy, sir.”
“Yet that is not what you told the MP when you reported Recruit Kaimong’s actions. You said you must have been shielded by the bodies of the others during his attack,” he pointed out. “Did you lie to a superior officer, Recruit?”
Ah, yes, that. Ia nodded. “General, no, sir. This recruit was indeed partially protected by a few of her fellow recruits during Recruit Kaimong’s initial stunner attack. However, this recruit felt that explaining the peculiar atmospheric nature of her homeworld to the MPs would have wasted too much time, sir. It was felt that tracking down the identless Recruit Kaimong before the approaching storm obliterated his tracks was more important, sir.”
“Sergeant Tae is right. You are too perfect.” Returning to the front of his desk, General Tackett folded his arms across his chest and studied her.
Ia remained standing At Attention in a clean set of brown recruit clothes, her gaze on what portion she could see of the stylized map behind him.
“Why are you in the military, Recruit Ia? Feel free to speak frankly and directly.”
Finally meeting his gaze, Ia gave him the part of the truth he could swallow. “I realized a few years ago, sir, that I seem to have an aptitude for the military. I found where I was needed. And rather than sitting on my asteroid, dithering about it—if you’ll pardon my frankness—I decided I would study everything I could about that military, so that I could be a productive, useful, effective member once I joined it. I passed the MAT successfully, met all of the standards set for entry into the Marines, and joined up. Sir.”
“You met the standards well enough, you could have entered an Academy as a commissioned officer, rather than a raw recruit,” Tackett pointed out. “Even without a college degree.”
“With due respect, General, most officers-in-training are expected to enter an Academy with a reasonable amount of real-world experience. I know I lack that real-world experience,” Ia stated bluntly. “I also don’t know if I have what it takes to lead. The best place to find out is here, among my fellow enlisted.”
“Do you think we’ll just hand you a higher rank and pay grade if you perform exceptionally well in Basic, Recruit?” the general challenged her. “Is that why you pulled that stunt today? So you could ask for an elevation in rank?”
“No, sir. I will not ask for an elevation in rank, nor expect one to be handed to me on a platter,” Ia stated, lifting her chin slightly. “If I gain a rank, it will be because I have earned that rank at the instigation of my superiors and the oversight of the Department of Innovations. I do not believe in nepotism or any of its corollaries.”
“What do you want, then? A medal?” he asked, flicking one of his hands carelessly before returning it to its place across his chest. “You could ask for one, you know. You did pick up some scratches and bruises on your little jaunt through the bush. Surely that’s worth a Purple Heart at the very least?”
Ia narrowed her eyes. Of all the things he could have asked her, he had to ask her that question.
“I will never ask for a medal, General. If my superiors feel it is appropriate to recognize my efforts and bestow upon me some commendation, that is their prerogative. I am not in the Space Force to accumulate ranks and medals like they were collectible toys. I am here to serve. To place my body, my weapons, my skills, and if necessary, my life between the citizens of these Terran United Planets and all that may threaten them. General.”
Tackett narrowed his hazel green eyes. “But you were injured during your pursuit of Recruit Kaimong. Surely your suffering deserves recognition?”
Ia glanced down at the scrapes on her arms, mostly the scratches which she had gained on her controlled fall through the trees. “Technically, sir, these were gained before combat was fully engaged on my part, and were therefore not combat related.”
“You may not have considered yourself fully engaged in combat, Recruit Ia, but Recruit Kaimong apparently did. He was already shooting in your direction, placing you squarely in the aegis of combat before you launched your little counteroffensive,” he pointed out.
“If I may again be frank, General, they’re just scratches. To award me a Purple Heart for tiny little scratches when so many other soldiers have literally lost their arms and legs in combat would insult that award. These aren’t combat-gained wounds,” she argued. “Don’t cheapen the sacrifices fully trained soldiers have made. With respect, sir.”
“I studied the vids of your descent through the trees. Inventive, effective, and even enviable, given your heavyworlder reflexes,” General Tackett told her, changing the subject. “I could use a hundred recruits like you, easily. Yet, historically, getting anyone to join either the Terran or the V’Dan militaries from your particular pocket of independence has been notoriously difficult. Nobody wants to leave your homeworld, unless they suffer irreversibly from gravity sickness, in which case the Space Force can’t use them until their bodies have adapted to life in a lighter gravity . . . which makes them only as good as anyone else in the galaxy. So. Why you? Why here, and why now?”
She carefully did not mention the main reason why so many were reluctant to leave such a difficult world: the excess of gold, which was so rare elsewhere on many worlds, but which was plentiful on her homeworld. “As I told you, sir, I found the place where I am most needed. Everyone else back home feels like they’re needed there. It is a new colonyworld, after all. There are too many unknown locations to explore, too many dangerous life-forms to fight and tame, and too many Firstworlder Family lands to stake and claim, to spare anyone else right now, General.”
General Tackett snorted. “ ‘Dangerous life-forms’ on Sanctuary ? Try the other card trick, Recruit. Parker’s World has far more ‘dangerous life-forms’—more than ten times its fair share for any planet.”
“Compared to Parker’s World, that may be true, sir . . . but until you’ve had to face down a rampaging leafer beast, I wouldn’t laugh, either.”
“Leafer beast?” he asked her skeptically. “That doesn’t sound very intimidating.”
“It’s a creature the size of a small hill, General. Average adult size ranges anywhere from fifty meters to five hundred, sir . .
. with rumors of leafer beasts that are even bigger. They can lie dormant for months at a time, even years—long enough to acquire a patina of dirt and bushes, just one more hill-shaped lump in the terrain—then awaken and go on a feeding frenzy. They eat the local tree and bush variants like you or I would eat our way through a bowl of salad after a twenty-klick hike, at a speed of about one hundred meters per hour, on average. They do so in a swath ten to thirty meters wide, depending on the size of the beast and the number of its mouths.”
General Tackett wrinkled his nose. “That fast?”
“Yes, sir,” she asserted soberly. “There were some early attempts to tame them, sir, since they literally clear roads through the forests in an easy, swift, and ecologically friendly manner. Unfortunately, the leafers discovered that plexi was just as tasty as the local trees. Most of the buildings on Sanctuary are still prefab plexi units extruded off-world and assembled on site. Anyone who can afford to encase their home or business in stone or brick has scrambled to do so since then. But the leafers sometimes still attack, and they will destroy anything caught in their path. What they don’t eat, they can still crush.”
He considered her words for a few moments, then unfolded his arms. “Right. So you entered the Space Force to serve. And you don’t expect or demand any elevations or commendations, just whatever your superiors believe of their own volition you should be awarded. So. What do you expect, Recruit?”
She lifted her chin and focused her gaze once more on the wall. “General, this recruit expects to be trained to the exacting standards of the SF-Marines, sir. Nothing more and nothing less, sir.”
“And your ambitions?” he asked.
“General, this recruit intends to serve to the best of her ability, wherever her ability may take her, sir.”
“. . . Right.” Moving around to the far side of his desk, the Camp commander faced her. “I might wonder if you’re a starry-eyed real-estater, but only time will tell if you truly are. Time, and your own funeral. Kindly do not go running off to the rescue if you are not the closest and best-trained personnel for that job while you are here at Camp Nallibong. You may be good even in these early days, but you still have a very long way to go. Recruit.”