"That was two hundred years ago!" Lailani said. "That's like saying Greece makes the best tanks because once they had the best chariots."
"Greece makes best tanks?!" Beast's face twisted with fury. "You obviously never saw Medvedov tank in action. Now that is tank. Smashes Greece like grape."
Lailani did not glance at Marco again, but that one look had been enough. Lailani understood, and Marco's heart sank. He didn't want to deal with this now. He was blasting toward the fringe of the galaxy to face bloodthirsty aliens in battle. Didn't he have enough to worry about?
"Hey, Poet." Elvis moved to sit beside him and elbowed him in the ribs.
"Why does everyone keep doing that?" Marco grimaced and rubbed his side.
Elvis ignored him and gestured with a jerk of his head. "Psst. Look. That table beside ours." He whistled softly. "Check out the ice queen. Hot as hell!"
Marco looked. Nearby was a table of STC officers, all in navy blue uniforms, golden insignias sewn onto their sleeves. At the end of the table sat a tall woman that Marco had to admit was indeed beautiful—achingly so. She had alabaster skin, a platinum bob cut, and features that could convince Marco that God existed and was a sculptor. Yet there was something indeed icy about her too. Something eerie. She wore no insignia, and she ate nothing, didn't even sit in front of a plate.
The woman seemed to feel them staring. She turned her head, and she stared right at Marco. Her eyes were lavender, the color of scum miasma, and seemed to penetrate Marco.
He and Elvis quickly looked away.
"Oh shit," Elvis whispered under his breath. "Why did you stare? Just glance, never stare." He gulped. "She's coming over. Oh God, she's coming over." He passed his hand through his hair. "How do I look? I stand a chance with her, right, Poet? I—"
The woman came to stand by their table. She leaned down. She stared at Marco, then at Elvis. Her skin was perfectly smooth, almost waxy, deathlike. Her eyes were almost luminous, almost inhuman.
"You stink of scum," she said, voice emotionless.
Elvis cleared his throat and rose to his feet. "Um, it's actually Hammer body spray. Do you like it? The commercials promised me that women would chase me, and—"
The woman's hand lashed out. She grabbed Elvis by the throat and squeezed.
"Section Three, article four, Enlisted Soldier's Handbook," the woman said, voice monotone. "Soldiers of the HDF may not wear perfumes, and all soaps and aftershaves must be odorless."
"Whoa, hold on!" Addy said, leaping to her feet, and tried to pull the woman back. Elvis was gasping for breath, trying to pull the woman's hand off his throat, but seemed powerless to stop her. When Marco grabbed the woman, she lashed her free hand against him. She was amazingly strong, knocking Marco onto the table. Plastic plates clattered to the floor. When Addy attempted to pull Elvis free, she too was knocked down. Soon their entire squad was on their feet, then the entire mess.
One voice, louder than the others, tore across the hall.
"Osiris! Release him!"
Instantly the tall woman with platinum hair opened her hand. Elvis fell to the floor, gasping for air.
"So," Elvis managed to croak, "does that mean you'll date me?"
They all turned toward the doorway; the voice had come from there. Across the mess hall, the soldiers rose and stood at attention.
Captain Petty walked through the hall, approaching Marco's table.
"Who antagonized Osiris?" Petty said, then turned toward Marco. "Was it you?"
Marco shook his head. "No, ma'am. She just grabbed him. She—"
"I didn't ask you what happened, soldier." Petty looked across their squad's table. "You're all assigned to kitchen duty for the duration of our flight. If you ever misuse STC equipment again, you'll be dropped off at the nearest penal asteroid. Is that understood?"
Marco glanced toward Osiris. STC equipment? The tall, platinum-haired woman gazed at him, and now there was no mistaking the glow in her purple eyes. The eyes weren't just reflecting the overhead lights. They emitted their own glow.
My God, Marco thought. She's an android.
He had heard of androids before—in old books from before the Cataclysm, mostly. Such high technology was largely gone from Earth now. Some on Earth claimed that they still existed, but Marco had never seen one until now.
"Listen up, soldiers!" Captain Petty said, marching toward the back of the mess hall. "In less than two hours, we activate our warp drives. The journey to the frontier will take twenty days. STC soldiers may spend their time in the entertainment lounge, the commissary, the mess, and the gym." She looked at Marco's table. "Earth Territorial Command soldiers will spend the journey confined to their bunks, except for chow time and morning inspections in the corridor." She glanced toward the officers' table. "That includes officers and cadets too. Once we reach Nightwall, they'll decide what to do with you. Until then you are cargo, nothing more. Perhaps a few of you will end up wearing the blue. If the rest of you are ejected into space, try to be eaten quickly. I like keeping space clean." She pointed toward her staff sergeants. "The twins will show you to your bunks."
With that, the captain turned and left the mess.
Addy leaned toward Marco. "I told you," she whispered. "Chihuahua."
He nodded. "I just heard lots of yapping."
The officers left the mess first—and with them walked Kemi. She wasn't an officer yet, wouldn't be one for a couple years, but even as a cadet, she apparently would eat and sleep separately from the enlisted troops. As she walked out the door, Kemi turned toward Marco, smiled, and waved. Then she quickly hurried after the officers.
The STC soldiers left next. As they passed by Marco's platoon, they snorted and muttered under their breath about the "land-leggers" and "dirty earthlings." Addy growled and seemed ready to leap up and fight, and Marco and Elvis had to hold her back. Finally the Ravens Platoon left their tables, still in their dusty green fatigues from Earth, their heavy guns clattering across their backs. They followed an STC sergeant through a narrow corridor, passing by viewports showing the stars. Marco saw Saturn in the distance, the ring just vaguely visible. It seemed almost like a toy from here, as if he could reach out and grab it like a Christmas ornament.
"Will you buy me that ring?" Addy said.
"I'm not buying you a ring."
The sergeant led them to a corridor lined with small rooms. Each room included three bunk beds. Marco found himself bunking with his closest friends: Addy, Lailani, Beast, and Elvis. They all quickly claimed beds. Marco was too slow and missed the chance at a top one. He resigned himself to a low bunk by the door, but at least he could see the room's single viewport from here. He looked forward to seeing the starlight bend once the warp engine kicked in.
"Hey, six beds, five soldiers!" Addy said. "Sweet, room for my stuff." She dumped her duffel bag onto the free bed, and the others followed. They piled up their weapons by the duffel bags.
"So, do you think I still stand a chance with Blondie?" Elvis said.
Lailani groaned. "Elvis, she's an android."
Elvis's eyes widened. "Fuck me! Really?" He frowned. "So, do you think I stand a chance?"
Beast muttered something about how robots in Russia were built big, metallic, and intimidating, not these weak, girly American robots.
"Maybe you should date Captain Chihuahua, Elvis," Addy said, then gave her best impression of a yapping Chihuahua.
"It sounds more like this," Lailani said, adding her own yapping to the chorus.
"What about that cadet who showed up last moment?" Elvis said. "She was pretty. God, all those black curls, those big eyes. Maybe—"
"No." Addy stopped barking and shook her head. "That's Kemi. Kemi Abasi. She's from Toronto too. She's Marco's—" She hesitated, glanced at Lailani, then back at Elvis. "His friend."
Elvis tilted his head for a moment, and then his eyes widened. "Hang on!" He gasped. "No way. No way!" He spun toward Marco. "Hey, Poet, show me that photo again. The one you alway
s carry in your pocket."
"I don't carry a photo in my pocket," Marco said.
"Sure you do." Elvis leaped forward, and before Marco could stop him, he grabbed the book from Marco's pocket and pulled out the photo. "Yes! It's her. The famous Kemi! The one you kept talking about at boot camp. Your girlfriend from back home. Fuck me, how did she end up here?"
Marco was silent for a moment, not sure what to say, not sure how to avoid hurting Lailani.
But it was Lailani who answered. "She came here to be close to him. To be with him again." She nodded. "She's a lucky girl." With that, Lailani climbed onto her bunk, lay down, and rolled toward the wall.
Awkward silence filled the bunk. Elvis blinked and stared around, mouth wide, looking utterly confused.
The silence died as the door banged open.
"Speak of the devil," Addy said as Kemi raced into the room, curls bouncing.
"Marco!" She hugged him, then turned toward Addy. "Addy!" She looked around, beaming. "Lieutenant Ben-Ari said I can live with the enlisted soldiers." She tapped her cheek, smile faltering. "To be honest, I don't think the officers want a cadet in their bunk anyway. I won't be one of them for a while, not until I graduate and earn my commission." Her smile returned. "But that means we can be together! For twenty days!"
Elvis sketched an elaborate bow. "Your highness, you are most welcome to sleep here in the hut of the peasants. You'll find us rude, crude, a bit stinky in Beast's case, but far more pleasant company than Captain Chihuahua."
Kemi gasped and covered her mouth. "You thought she looks like a Chihuahua too?"
"I told you, Marco!" Addy said. "It's obvious." Soon she was yapping again.
Beast grumbled. "Chihuahuas are useless dogs. In Russia we have real dogs. Big like wolf. Bite your head off."
A monotone voice emerged from hidden speakers, interrupting the conversation. "One minute to warp jump. All troops, remain in your bunks. Less than one minute to warp jump."
Marco walked toward the viewport and stared outside, his mundane troubles momentarily forgotten as he gazed at the stars and floating Saturn. The others crowded around him, gazing out the small window. All but Lailani. She remained in her bed, facing the wall, sending another pang of guilt through Marco.
"Three," spoke the voice from the speakers. "Two. One. Azoth engines engaging."
At first nothing happened. Saturn still floated outside. The stars still shone as usual. The only difference was blue light glistening against the solar panels circling the starship, perhaps emitted from the engines. Marco didn't remember the solar panels being that close to the viewport. They seemed to be shifting, moving faster, widening, pulling backward. He blinked as the viewport stretched before him, growing more and more distant, and he reached out, trying to touch the silica pane, unable to grasp it. It felt like trying to perform surgery in a mirror. And suddenly Saturn was floating right by the ship, closer than the ring of solar panels, and then it floated inside the ship, right beside Marco, hovering like a lantern. He was outside. He was actually outside—in space, unable to breathe, but finally he touched the viewport, felt the cold surface, and the walls stretched out. The stars moved. The stars bent. All the fabric of the cosmos, rippling, coiling, forming fold after fold like flowing linen. The stars formed waves of light, and they were beautiful. They were so beautiful that tears filled Marco's eyes. Everything was light. Everything was emptiness. And then Saturn was gone, Earth was gone, the sun was gone, and they hovered through a sea of starlight, rising and falling on the waves until the surface smoothed out, and they sailed over a shimmering ocean of silver and blue.
Marco stepped back from the viewport, blinking, and it was a moment before his head stopped spinning.
"So, just like a folded tablecloth, see?" he said.
"That was amazing!" Kemi breathed, eyes alight.
"I think I'm going to throw up," Addy said, turning green.
Beast shrugged. "That nothing. In Russia we—" He groaned as Elvis punched him.
The robotic voice emerged again from the speakers. "Jump to hyperspace complete. Time to frontier: twenty Earth days. Lights out in thirty minutes. Morning inspection at 6:00 a.m. standard HDF time."
Last year, Marco would have cringed to wake up that early. But after ten weeks of 4:30 a.m. freezing boot camp mornings, it seemed a luxury. He had walls and a roof around him here, not just a tent. Pinky was millions of kilometers away. His friends were with him. This wasn't too bad. It really wasn't.
Yet that night, when Marco lay in the dark bunk, the memories resurfaced. He saw the scum again, swarming over the sides of his armored vehicle. He saw the giant centipedes stabbing Caveman, ripping the legs off Pinky, tearing Corporal Webb apart. Those memories morphed in the darkness of the ship, becoming visions of a distant, rocky world, the scum emerging from canyons and caves, thousands of them drawing nearer, killing his friends, reaching toward him.
CHAPTER FIVE
Lieutenant Einav Ben-Ari tried to steel herself as she walked down the corridor of the Miyari.
I faced scum in battle, she thought. I'm descended of a long dynasty of warriors. I can certainly face her.
And yet, as Ben-Ari walked toward her commanding officer's cabin, the fear wouldn't leave her. It felt like walking toward Abaddon itself, homeworld of the scum.
Ben-Ari paused for a moment in the hallway and turned toward a viewport. The lights in the corridor cast her reflection back at her. She wore her drab uniform from Earth, its hems threadbare, its pockets frayed, the knees torn. If not for the insignia on her shoulders, denoting her an officer, she would look like any other private crawling out of basic training. Here in this fine, expensive starship, she felt out of place like a donkey among prized racehorses. She placed her fingertips on the viewport, touching her reflection's fingers. She was young, barely into her twenties, and could still pass for a teenager. She had the curse of the baby face, her cheeks too round, too soft. But her eyes were old. From those eyes gazed the souls of the generations, of all those in her family who had fought, who had died.
She let her eyes focus past her reflection, to gaze into the vastness beyond, the streaming lights of stars stretched across warped spacetime. Despite her father's illustrious career in space, Ben-Ari had never left Earth's orbit before. To her soldiers, to her dear platoon, she tried to appear wise, experienced, an officer who had fought many battles, who had been to the edge of the galaxy and back. In truth, she was scared. In truth, she had never fought before Fort Djemila. Sergeant Singh, her own soldier, a man she commanded, was older, stronger, had killed far more scum. Only a year ago Ben-Ari had been a mere cadet, and not even at a fancy academy like Julius. She had attended a simple Officer Candidate School. Her family, despite their long history of service, was too poor, too unconnected, too ethnic to afford an education at Julius.
But I have to be strong for my soldiers, Ben-Ari thought. For Marco. For Addy. For all the rest of them. They are my soldiers. They are my children. They will never know how much I love them. I will fight for them—against the scum and against her.
She turned away from the window and walked onward.
She reached the door of Captain Petty's quarters. Again Ben-Ari hesitated. Her own family was esteemed in the military, for their ranks if not their wealth and connections. Her father had been a colonel, her grandfather too, and for two hundred years the Ben-Aris had commanded troops. But Captain Petty's own father was a general in Space Territorial Command, outranking anyone even in the Ben-Ari military dynasty.
And Ben-Ari knew what the dynastic military families, especially those in the STC, thought about her people. Oh, they all pretended that religion and ethnicity didn't matter in the HDF, that humanity had moved beyond that. But Ben-Ari saw the looks, heard the murmurs, the jokes. She saw others receive scholarships to Julius while she was passed over. Fifty years ago, Israel—a tiny country, barely larger than a city—had been obliterated in the Cataclysm, completely lost in the scum assault. The survivi
ng soldiers of that nation, with no more land to call their own, had integrated into the fledgling Human Defense Force. Many had risen high in the ranks, had distinguished themselves in battles . . . and yet were still considered nomads. Still looked down upon by the great American and European military families, those who owned land and manors and wealth, who exuded influence even in civilian life.
To somebody like Petty, Ben-Ari thought, my family is just a group of vagabond commoners. She shuddered. And if I know people like Petty, she cares deeply about dynastic lines, even more than rank, certainly more than character. I might be an officer, but to her I'm a peasant.
But there was no use stalling. Captain Petty was her commanding officer aboard this ship, and without Petty's help, the Ravens Platoon would not thrive. Ben-Ari knocked on the door.
A long pause.
Finally from inside: "Enter!"
Ben-Ari opened the door and stepped into a large chamber, more like a command center than an officer's quarters. Captain Petty sat behind a heavy oak desk. It looked like real wood. A handful of other soldiers stood with her. Ben-Ari recognized Major Sefu Mwarabu, the tall and stern commander of HDFS Miyari, as well as a pair of young helmsmen. The twin staff sergeants were here too, along with a navigator. They were busy at a handful of terminals on the walls, but they all turned toward Ben-Ari as she entered.
Ben-Ari took a deep breath. She had hoped to speak to Captain Petty alone, but it seemed she would have an audience—including Major Mwarabu, who outranked them both, yet who had little authority over the infantry company he was transporting.
Ben-Ari stood at attention halfway toward the desk and saluted.
"Ma'am, Lieutenant Ben-Ari reporting," she said, not sure about protocol on the Miyari. Back on Fort Djemila, she had been on a first-name basis with her company's commander, at least when away from the recruits. She had a feeling that Petty was a stickler for protocol.
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