“No, I would not. As you can see, I’m half your size, and I’d waste more time genmodding. But more to the point, I’ve got a husband and three kids. I couldn’t just abandon them.”
“But you go into battle, ma’am. I can see your Purple Hearts there.”
“Don’t misunderstand me, Tamara. I’ll die for my Federation if it comes to that. When I’ve gone into battle, I’m just taking the risk that soldiers immemorial have taken. I’ve come out alive, even if I’ve had to regen twice. And if I were the last human alive to fight a Klethos queen, I’d do it. But there are far better choices out there for this kind of mission. Not just Marines, not just legionnaires or soldiers, but people from all walks of life who would be better gladiators than I could ever hope to be.”
“I’m not so sure of that, ma’am,” the sergeant major interjected.
“Yeah, I know, I’m a lean, green, fighting machine. But I’m getting older, just like the sergeant major, and my G-rating is only a 52. Good enough for getting cosmetic surgery, maybe, but hardly enough for a real genmod. To be blunt, I’m not the best person for this.
“You, Tamara, you have the intangibles to make it through the course and genmod. But there are millions of others who are suited as well, so don’t put the weight of humanity on your shoulders, OK?”
“I won’t, ma’am,” she answered, but she could feel that weight beginning to grow.
“You’re a good Marine, Lance Corporal Tamara Veal, a good Marine. I think you could have a long and impressive career. Yes, your star would be brighter as a gladiator, but it will burn out far quicker, too. So listen to your brief very carefully. Ask questions. And then get home and see your family. Admin is cutting you emergency leave right now, so you’ll be on your way before evening.”
“Emergency leave?” Tamara asked, wondering for a moment who in her family was sick.
“Yes, emergency leave. So if you decide against the Chicsis, then no one will be the wiser. No one will know that you were offered and turned it down. And there is no shame in that. Turning it down, I mean.”
“Oh, OK. Thank you for that, ma’am.”
“Well, we’ve got a ride for you to your meeting. Take your time and make the decision that is right for you.”
The CO stood up, immediately followed by Tamara. The CO held out her hand, which Tamara took and shook.
“You’ll serve the Corps well, Tamara, no matter what you choose.”
Tamara only hoped that was true.
ORINOCO
Chapter 5
“Are you getting kicked out of the Marines?” Diana asked her.
“What?” Tamara asked, shocked at the question. “Why would you ask me that?”
Tamara’s younger sister shrugged over her pancakes and mango juice.
“Mom and dad think that’s what’s going on with you. No one even knew you were coming, and now you’ve been acting all weird-like.”
“No, I’m not getting kicked out of the Corps, so just put that idea to rest,” she said sourly.
Tamara knew she’d been somewhat withdrawn since arriving the day before as she wrestled with her decision, but it bothered her that her parents, and now Diana, thought she might be getting discharged.
Do they have that little confidence in me?
Tamara took another bite of her own cloudberry pancakes, but her enjoyment of her favorite breakfast had faded away. She’d come no closer to making a decision, and while she knew she should talk to her family, she frankly didn’t know how to start.
Mom, Dad, I’m going to save humanity, and it’s a great honor. You’ll get a real nice payment, too, but, oh, yeah, that payment will because I’ll be dead.
Part of her hoped that her family would help her make a decision, to tell her to turn it down. But another part of her was afraid that they would tell her to accept, to be a gladiator and embrace the sacrifice. Would that be because of patriotism, though, or for the fame and adulation of others, gained at the cost of their oldest daughter? She knew her family loved her, but deep inside, she feared what they would say—and why.
Orinoco was known as a pretty patriotic planet. They’d sided with the old Federation during the Evolution,[8] and ever since, it seemed as if the entire population went out of their way to out-patriot everyone else as if to prove their loyalty. A large percentage of people went into the Navy, Marines, the FCDC,[9] and the newly formed Common Assistance Corps.[10] If word got out that one of her daughters was going to be a gladiator, the planet would probably burst at the seams with pride, and her family would be treated as heroes. Tamara was afraid that the hoopla that would surround such a series of events would color her family’s opinion on what she should do, and they all would get caught up in a tsunami of patriotic fervor that just could not be turned back.
Tamara was no different. She bled Federation black and gold, and now the Marine Corps scarlet and gold. She felt a deep need to serve the Federation, and by extension, humanity. The honor was one thing, but the knowledge that she would be making a difference far outweighed anything else.
The thought of death in gladiatorial combat was a concern, but not a major one. She’d accepted the possibility of death in combat when she joined the Marines. And while death fighting a Klethos queen might be a more personal one, it was still combat. You rolled your dice and took your chances, counting on training, skill, and luck to pull you through. But the thought of the Brick scared the living shit out of her.
Tamara might not be the belle of anyone’s ball, but she was proud of her physical capabilities. Her achievement in sports had defined her to a large degree. And physical fitness was a religion in the Corps, one to which she worshipped at the altar of the gym. The thought of wasting away as her body fell apart filled her with dread.
During her briefings back on Tarawa, she had paid particular attention to the genmod process. When a starlet underwent genmodding for larger eyes or a wasp waist, the modifications to her DNA were minor, and the body would grow into those modifications within months. The changes programmed into a gladiator were so severe, though, that it might take 15 years or more for the gladiator to grow into the larger, more powerful body. And with the practical aspects of the war with the Klethos, that was just too long. So genmodded gladiators underwent boosted regen, which shortened the time from 15 years to about six months.
Regeneration changes regular body cells into stem cells though the process of epithelial-to-mesenchymal transition, or EMT, thereby allowing them to grow into whatever the programming instructs. However, it also changes cancer cells into stem cells, and that is what results in BRC. BRC can never be cured, only managed. But the combination of extreme genmodding and boosted regen was just too much of an insult to the body, and the rapid degeneration of gladiators kept the cancers too far ahead of medical treatment. Gladiators who survived combat had their bodies simply deteriorate into total system failure. It was a slow and painful process, and Tamara was terrified of it.
The rest of her briefing had been easier to take. She learned that the first six months of training would take place before genmodding. This was both part of the selection process as well as putting as much training as possible while in their normal bodies to not waste time with the basics as a genmodded gladiator. Both made sense to Tamara. If a person could not master hand-to-hand combat, then it would be foolish to genmod her, both to her and to the CHSCC. The Chicsis had to send only its best to meet a d’relle.
At one point in the brief, they’d focused a scanner on her head, then showed her a holo of a fight, one in which a gladiator had been torn apart by her Klethos opponent. It was a graphic death, but to her surprise, Tamara had not felt overly bothered by it. She didn’t know if that was good or bad, but the technician took his scanner and left the briefing room.
From Tamara’s point of view, the briefing boiled down to a few basics: being nominated did not assure her of being selected, being selected for the SCTC, the Single Combat Training Course, did not mean she would even
tually become a gladiator, and if she did become a gladiator, she would either die in the ring or from the Brick.
Oh, yeah. There was also the small matter that she would be keeping all-out war with the Klethos at bay.
Tamara knew that she should accept. No matter what Lieutenant Colonel Rhonendren had said to her, someone had to accept the mantle for the sake of humanity, and if she really was qualified, then why not her? How could she refuse and then make someone else, someone possibly not as well qualified, take her place?
She realized this was a heavy dose of hubris. She’d been selected because of the incident on Wyxy, and then she’d met the prerequisites. Out of 400 billion people, there had to be other women who would make a better gladiator than she would, but the fact was that she had gotten the call, not them. Right in the here and now, it was her decision to make, no one else’s.
Diana was studiously staring at her pancakes, but Tamara knew she was waiting for something more from her. And Tamara wanted to talk about it. She just didn’t know how to start.
“Eat your breakfast, Di. I’m not in any trouble with the Marines, or anyone for that matter. I’ve been offered an opportunity, a big one, really, and I’m just a bit preoccupied.”
“An opportunity? What kind?”
“It’s, uh, well, it’s big. What say we go down to Franklin’s. I really need a workout, and you could afford to put a little meat on your bones,” she said, reaching over to feel her sister’s biceps as if evaluating them.
“Not all of us are freaks of nature, Tamtam,” Diana said, part of their timeworn banter. “I’ll lift with you only if you agree on say, ten klicks? Down along the river?”
Diana was a good 30kgs smaller than Tamara, and while she was nowhere near as strong, she’d always been a better runner. Tamara thought her little sister might be in for a surprise, though. As a Marine, she’d become a better runner, too, possibly not enough to beat her, but enough to give her a run for the money.
“You’re on, Di.”
As they stood up from the table, Diana placed a hand on Tamara’s arm and said, “And when you’re ready to let me know what’s going on, I’m here, and I’m a good ear.”
Tears almost formed in Tamara’s eyes, but she fought them back. She knew her family had her back, and they would be there for her no matter what.
“I know you do, Di. And yeah, maybe I’ll bounce a few things off you during the run.”
TARAWA
Chapter 6
Tamara sat nervously in the Sergeant Major of the Marine Corps’ outer office. She was in rarified atmosphere where lance corporals simply did not tread. Soon, too soon, she’d be escorted in to see the commandant himself to tell him her decision.
Since getting back to Tarawa, no one had asked the big question of her. By the stares and sideways glances, she knew that more than a few people knew why she was there, and while they wanted to know her decision, but no one was going to usurp the commandant’s prerogative.
Sergeant Major Çağlar stepped through the hatch as Tamara jumped to her feet. The sergeant major was Marine Corps history. He’d been at the side of General Ryck Lysander for most of his career and had been an instrumental cog in the Evolution. He’d even been at the general’s side when as a colonel, he’d been the first to not only fight a queen, but defeat her, saving an entire world. Tamara would love to sit down and pick his brain about that first fight, but she was frankly in awe of him.
“Thanks for waiting, Lance Corporal Veal,” the sergeant major said, holding out his hand.
Tamara took it, her hand disappearing in the man’s massive paw.
I never realized he was so big, Tamara thought as she looked up what had to be at least 25 centimeters into the sergeant major’s eyes. He could almost have fought a queen without genmodding.
That was an exaggeration, she knew. Sergeant Major Çağlar probably topped 2.3 meters and massed 130 hard-as-rocks kilos, but that was a far cry from a four-meter, 400 kg d’relle. Still, the sergeant major was one big man.
“Please, take a seat,” he continued, “while we wait for the commandant. Would you like something to drink while we wait?”
“No, sergeant major. I’m fine,” she answered.
Two times I’ve been in a sergeant major’s office, and two times offered a drink, she mused. I wonder if that’s part of the training?
That thought, as light and whimsical as it was, helped to calm her nerves. He may be the Sergeant Major of the Marine Corps and about the size of a T-Rex, but he sure seemed nice enough.
“So, how was your leave? Were you able to spend time with your family?” he asked.
“Yes, Sergeant Major.”
She didn’t know if he wanted more information, so she said nothing more than that. He seemed to be a bit at loss for words as well.
Finally, he cleared his throat and said, “I’m going back into my office and check on some messages. I’ll come out and get you as soon as the commandant is back. Make yourself at home, and if you need anything, just ask Clarissa—that’s the blue-haired lady at the big desk who keeps me on the straight and narrow—and she’ll get it for you. And don’t worry, she’s not as tough as she looks.”
“I am too, Sergeant Major. Don’t you be spreading lies about me,” a disembodied voice filled the outer office.
“That’s right, Clarissa, tough as nails,” said while catching Tamara’s eyes and shaking his head in mock denial.
Tamara had not expected the Sergeant Major of the Marine Corps, the famous Sergeant Major Hans Çağlar, to be bantering with his executive assistant, but it sure made him seem human. Tamara thought he’d be a good listener, someone who might even listen to a lowly lance corporal.
“We’ve got hundreds of years of Leatherneck on that library tablet there, all the way back to the old United States Marine Corps. If you’re interested, take a gander at them while you wait.”
“Thank you, Sergeant Major. I’ll take a look.”
Tamara only said she’d take a look to be polite, but after pulling up a 200-year-old copy and breezing through it, she got hooked. The cartoons might have been old, but the humor was still valid. Centuries might pass, but Marines evidently were the same over the years. She was deep into an account of the Janson Intervention when the Sergeant Major came back into the outer office.
“The commandant is ready, Lance Corporal Veal.”
She followed the sergeant major out though his suite offices. The blue-haired Clarissa, sitting as the gatekeeper, smiled and gave Tamara a thumbs up.
The commandant’s office was 20 meters down the passage.
“The commandant is waiting for you, Sergeant Major,” a woman who was probably the commandant’s version of the sergeant major’s Clarissa said as the two Marines entered the outer office.
Tamara followed Sergeant Major Çağlar through two more offices and up to an open hatch.
“Sir, Lance Corporal Veal is here for you,” the sergeant major said, standing aside and holding out one arm, indicating that Tamara should enter.
She tried to stand taller as she marched in, centered herself on the desk, and said, “Lance Corporal Tamara Veal, reporting to the Commandant of the Marine Corps as ordered, sir!”
Standing behind his desk, General Joab Ling stood, looking at her. Tamara tried to focus on the bulkhead behind him, about a meter over his head, but the black-with-white-stars Federation Nova on his chest kept drawing her attention.
“Lance Corporal Veal, thank you for coming,” the commandant said, his voice surprisingly even and almost quiet.
She hadn’t expected that the commandant, one of the most decorated combat Marines in the history of the Federation, to be so low-key, and that almost threw her off stride. But there was a warmth to his voice that was welcoming.
“Please, take a seat,” the commandant said as he came out from around his desk.
Tamara dutifully took the proffered seat, sitting at the edge, her hands evenly on her upper thighs, feet planted
together and flat on the deck.
“And Sergeant Major, I know you want to hear this, so quit skulking out there and join us.”
Tamara felt more than saw the sergeant major enter the office, but when the big man sat down on the couch beside her, is was as if a small earthquake hit her. She thought her seat rose a couple of centimeters as the sergeant major sunk into his side of the couch.
“Well, Lance Corporal Veal, we all know why you’re here. You’ve been offered a unique opportunity, but one with a heavy cost. This is one mission that I would not give to someone, even if UAM regulations didn’t prevent me from doing that.
“But I want you to know, that whatever your decision, we will abide by it. If you accept the nomination, we will support you in everything. Colonel Covnington said you seemed worried about your status as a Marine. Rest assured that is not a concern. You are a Marine now, and you will be a Marine while with CHSCC. And to be blunt, you will be buried as a Marine.
“But if you decide to turn down the mission, you will not be blamed, nor will anything be entered into your records. You can go back to the Fuzos and join your squad again, picking up where you left off. No one will think less of you.”
No one but me, she thought.
“So, without further adieu, have you made your decision?”
“Yes, sir. I have.”
“And that is?” he prompted when she added nothing else.
My decision? Give up my squad, my platoon, my friends? Give up marriage and kids, give up a family of my own? Give up my life? Or give up a chance to do something good, something great for humanity. A chance to make my mark in history? What is worth more, a long, happy and fulfilling life or a short falling star, brightening up the heavens as it burns out?
“Sir, I’ve thought about this a lot, and I’ve gone back and forth, but for me, there really isn’t any choice. I accept the nomination to be a gladiator!”
Gladiator (Women of the United Federation Marines Book 1) Page 5