Gladiator (Women of the United Federation Marines Book 1)

by Jonathan P. Brazee

  MALIBU

  Chapter 7

  Tamara stood looking up at the statue of General Ryck Lysander, the very first gladiator, in a sense, and the man who first realized the Klethos propensity for single combat instead of all-out war. The fabrisculpter had done an amazing job of programming, she thought. The general, then a colonel, stood in his PICS, battered and close to death, but victorious. Tamara felt a surge of pride fill her very pores. Gladiators came from every planet, nation, and station, but the first one was a Federation Marine. Tamara felt an added burden of not only making it through the training and genmodding, but to uphold the honor of the Corps in the ring. Tamara was in her civvies, but she came to attention and rendered her best drill field salute.

  The Chicsiss’ “campus,” as they called it, did not look like any military base Tamara had seen. It was more like a well-established university campus. The entrance wasn’t even secured. She walked around General Lysander’s Statue and approached the small white guard shack, reaching into her cargo pocket to pull out her orders.

  “Welcome, Lance Corporal Veal,” the single guard, a portly man who had to be in his eighties.

  “Why thank you,” she said, then added, “How did you know it was me?”

  She looked around for hidden cameras that might be using facial recognition software, but she couldn’t pick anything out.

  “Well, Captain Tolbert and Sergeant Hralto have already checked in, and when I saw you salute Big Ryck there, well, it wasn’t hard to tell that you were our missing third Federation Marine,” he said with a huge smile threatening to crack his face wide open.

  “Missing? Am I late?” she asked in a panic.

  She’d taken a commercial flight to Malibu via Las Vegas, and while she’d enjoyed the day layover in Vegas, she hoped that had not rendered her UA.[11]

  “No, Lance Corporal, no, that’s just a figure of speech. Pardon an old man’s lack of seriousness. No, you are fine. Only about two-thirds of your class have arrived, so you’re fine, fine.”

  Relieved, she started to fish out her PA, saying, “I was worried for a moment there. Here, let me get out my orders.”

  “No need for that, Miss. I know who you are, and that’s good enough.”

  “But, what if someone else tries to get in? What about security?”

  Her sense of military decorum was frankly shocked. This was the heart of keeping the peace within human space, and it seemed to her that just about anyone could wander in. She doubted the security guard could even get out of his chair and leave his shack until long after someone had broken in.

  “And why would anyone try to get in? Oh, yeah, we’ve got the paramours, but they mean no harm and are easily dissuaded. The objects of their affection are, after all, SCSs, and there’s not a man in humanity who is a threat to any of them.”

  SCSs stood for Single Combat Specialists, the official term for gladiators, but what the heck were “paramours,” she wondered. She knew the word, of course, but not how that related to the installation.

  “No, you’re fine. If you can just go up to Building 19, that red-bricked two-story right over there past the pond, and Bandi will take care of you.”

  Tamara followed to where he was pointing and saw the building. Its old architectural style, along with the pond in front with honest-to-goodness swans gliding serenely across the surface, was just one more nail in the coffin that this was not a Marine base. She shrugged, thanked Jasper, as she found out was the man’s name, and stepped into the installation proper.

  “Good luck, young lady!” Jasper called out to her retreating back.

  Three swans came up to her, honking a few times as they followed her expectantly around the pond. She didn’t know if they were looking for her to feed them, but it was a nice touch.

  Bandi was a rather young woman with a very heavy Far Reaches accent. Tamara didn’t pry as to exactly where she was from as she welcomed her aboard, handed her a passkey and a follow me, then told her she was on her own for two more days. Until then, most of the installation was open to her to explore as she willed. Meals for nominees were at Terrance House, and the Area 2 gym and pool were at her disposal. Anything she needed could be drawn from the Area 2 commissary. Tamara was pleasantly surprised to learn that she wouldn’t have to pay for anything she took from there.

  The only areas that were off-limits were Areas 5-7. Tamara knew that these areas were for genmodded candidates and full-fledged gladiators. Bandi hadn’t actually used the term off-limits; she only remarked that it would be “appreciated” if she stayed clear of those areas.

  Tamara left Building 19, which seemed to be a general admin building despite a lack of personnel manning it at the moment, and with her follow me in hand, walked past a seemingly deserted campus. She caught a glimpse of someone in what looked to be work-out clothes, and she saw a man working on one of the landscaping bots, but that was about it as she made her way to Leung Village, her home for the next nine months.

  Leung Village, named for Gasper Leung, the first gladiator to notch up three victories, was as non-military as it could be. It looked like a quiet resort village somewhere. Small houses lined winding streets. Each house had a yard full of flowers and shrubs. Looming over each house was a tree in what had to be back yards.

  The follow me guided Tamara to a white house with brown trim. She pushed open the low gate and up the flower-lined walk to the front door. Raising her passkey, she activated the lock. She chose her thumbprint and a combination, and the passkey programmed the lock. When the cycling LEDs hit a steady green, she put her thumb to the pad, and the door silently swung open.

  The front entrance was nicely decorated, nothing too busy, but with a homey feel. She could see a cozy front room and a kitchen area, then a large glass expanse that opened up to a beautifully landscaped back yard the simply oozed peace and relaxation. She wanted to check out that lovely back yard, but first, she wanted to shower and change. Her suite was to the right, so she tried the thumbprint access again. The programming worked, and her door opened to a bedroom. Her luggage had already been delivered from the spaceport and was waiting for her.

  I could get used to this, she thought as she took in the big, comfortable-looking bed.

  One thing was for sure, this wasn’t a Marine Corps barracks.

  “Hi!” a cheery voice said from behind her.

  Tamara, still standing in the open door, turned to see a tall, willowy blonde girl standing in the common area.

  “I’m Johanna Sirén, but most of my friends call me Jonna,” the girl said with an accent Tamara couldn’t place. “I guess we’re roomies.”

  They weren’t really roomies, Tamara knew. Each had their own bedroom, but they shared the common area.

  “Tamara Veal,” she said, holding out her hand.

  Johanna happily took it, pumping it up and down vigorously.

  “I’ve been here five days already, and I’m about to crawl out of my skin just waiting. So I’m so glad you’re here. I was just about to go for a swim, but if you’d like me to hang out so we can get to know each other, that’s cool, too.”

  Tamara had planned on just chilling until dinner, which Bandi had said started at 1700, but Johanna had such a hopeful look on her face that she didn’t have the heart. Besides, if they were going to be housemates, it wouldn’t hurt to get things started off on the right foot.

  “Well, why don’t you come on inside and give me the gouge on what’s going on. Let me change, and I’ll go for that swim with you.”

  Chapter 8

  Tamara and Jonna stood together in their fluorescent orange running suits, waiting for their PF[12] team. Over the last two days, the two housemates had become quite close, finding each other to be kindred spirits. They’d met others in the incoming class, of course, but the two had already formed a bond, and in the nervous excitement of actually kicking off their journey, they were subconsciously leaning emotionally on each other for support.

  The real welcome and st
art of instruction were to begin later in the morning, but it seemed appropriate that their first formal function as a class was to be a group run. Jonna was not military, so Tamara had filled her in on the chaos and yelling that took place at boot camps throughout the galaxy. It was all part of the tried and true method of breaking down a person’s norms and then building that person back up into the mold desired. Jonna was hoping she’d be able to handle it. She’d admitted to Tamara that she’d once choked out an assistant coach, and she wasn’t sure how she’d react to authority. Tamara had vowed to stick by her side and not let her do anything stupid.

  She took in the gathered candidates: 100 women from 55 different governmental bodies, 100 women from which the next class of gladiators would form. Tamara had met the other two Marines, and there were four other Federation citizens (two from the Navy, one from the FCDC, and an MMA fighter of note). Surprisingly to her, only 53 her fellow candidates came from a military background.

  “Here they come,” Elei Tuputala, a huge woman from the one of the Oceania Association worlds, said from behind Tamara.

  Tamara turned around to see four people, two men and two women, in matching blue running tights and shirts, walking up the group.

  “Stand by,” Tamara whispered to Jonna as she gathered herself for the expected eruption from their instructors.

  But there wasn’t any such explosion as one of the men pleasantly said, “Hello, ladies. I’m Derrick, and these are Gaylor, Reba, and Liang. If you would, please join me on a little jog.”

  As simple as that, the four instructors took off at a quick, but not too fast, pace. A few of Tamara’s fellow candidate took off immediately, but the bulk of the women, Tamara included, seem to take a few moments for everything to register. It took Jonna pulling on her arm for Tamara to start moving, and then it took another minute or so of a muddled mess, with elbows knocking into each other, before the class seemed to settle down into something that worked. This was a far cray from the formation runs Tamara was used to in the Marines; it was more of a mob than anything else.

  The pace was bearable, but the run went on for over an hour as the group wended its way off the main campus and into the forested hills that surrounded it. By the time they made their way back to the starting point, Tamara was a little winded, but pleasantly so. She looked around at the 80 or so candidates who had finished with the group, glad she hadn’t fallen behind to straggle in as they could.

  Jonna was not even breathing hard, but her pale skin had turned red around her face and throat. She had a big smile plastered across her face.

  “Nice little jog,” she said in her accent, what Tamara now knew was Finnish, or more specifically, Mannerhein Finnish.

  Jonna was Karjala, or what the rest of humanity knew as Karelian, even if she was born and raised on Pohnjanmaa. Tamara had already learned more about the Karjala, Lappis, Pohjanmaas, and Savos, the four ethnic groups that made up the three planets and one moon that made up the Mannerheim Covenant, over the last few days than she had even known to ask before. She had learned in school that the Mannerheim Covenant was part of the Association of Free States, and that they raised reindeer, but that had been about the extent of her knowledge before Jonna had happily filled her in on more.

  “If you say so,” Tamara responded.

  “You don’t think? You didn’t have problems on the run, no?”

  “No, I’m just kidding. Good run.”

  “And not the boot camp harassment you told me about.”

  “No, it wasn’t. I can’t say I’m disappointed.”

  But Tamara was a little disappointed—not that she hadn’t had someone yelling in her face and getting physically harassed, but that she had expected it and it hadn’t occurred. If this was not going to be like boot camp, she was unsure of how things would work. Tamara liked things in a certain order, and not knowing made her uncomfortable.

  The last of the candidates stumbled in to the finish. Elei, the Samoan woman who’d alerted them to the instructor’s arrival, was second-to-last, breathing heavily as she lumbered up, all what had to be at least 135 kg of her.

  “I’m glad I’m not her,” Tamara whispered to Jonna. “I can’t think she’s long for the course.”

  “Don’t tell her that,” Jonna whispered back with a suppressed giggle. “As big as you are, I think she could tear you apart, no? She can probably be a gladiator without even genmodding.”

  Tamara laughed and punched Jonna in the arm, before pulling her in and whispering, “Don’t let her hear you! She’ll probably want you as her new girlfriend, and then what will you do?”

  Tamara knew that was catty, but she wasn’t serious, and if she couldn’t joke with her new best friend and confidant, then who could she joke with?

  “Ladies, if you can gather around me,” Derrick shouted out, cutting off Jonna’s response.

  Tamara and Jonna joined the rest of the candidates as they surrounded the four instructors.

  “Welcome to Chicsis and the SCS course. You’ll be formally welcomed this afternoon by Warden Mantou, Ambassador San Dolomite and the rest of the staff, but we wanted to personally welcome you this morning. You’ll be spending more time with the four of us during Module 1 than you think, and you’ll be plenty sick of us before we’re done with you.

  “Today was an easy introduction to physical training. It will get harder as we go on. But I want to make one thing clear to you. We will not be pushing you. We are not your coaches, we are not your cheerleaders, we are not your motivators. All of you are the cream of humanity, and if you are not already motivated, then you do not belong here. If you are not already 100% dedicated to the cause, then you do not belong here. If you do not have the self-discipline to push yourself to get better, then you do not belong here. So we will guide you, we will set up the training cycle, but if you want a cheerleader, then once again, you do not belong here.

  “We are a resource for you. You can come to any of us for assistance, you can ask us anything. We are here for you.

  “And with that, we’ll take our leave. The formal welcome brief will be in Conference Room 110 at 1300. We will be there, even if we won’t speak. There will be a reception immediately following the brief, and please feel free to come up to us then. We know all about each one of you, but it would be nice to get to know the real you, not just what is written in each of your packages.”

  With that, the four instructors came to an odd position of attention ending with a half nod, half bow, and then turned to walk off.

  The candidates broke out into talk, discussing what had just been said.

  “I guess that’s why no boot camp harassment,” Tamara said to Jonna, but also just to voice her thoughts aloud.

  “I can’t say I’m disappointed, no?” Jonna said. “I think I’ll like things this way. This is much better than what you led me to expect. My own roomie, giving me bad scoop!”

  “And you can expect more bad scoop from me. I’m a fighter, not a brainiac.”

  “Well, then my fighter-roomie, what say we get back to the Hilton,” as they were calling their quarters, “and shower before lunch. You’re kind of reeking right now, and I don’t want to lose my appetite.”

  “Me reeking? I think you might want to get a whiff of yourself before you start blaming others. But yeah, let’s get back and cleaned up.”

  As Tamara and Jonna broke free from the rest to head back, Tamara was happy she had lucked out with such a good housemate. She was both excited and apprehensive about the course, and it felt comforting to know she had someone with her who she could count on for support.

  Chapter 9

  Tamara sat with Jonna, Beth Hralto (it was still difficult for Tamara to refer to the sergeant as Beth—and it was almost impossible for her to call Captain Tolbert Kyra), and Oda Steinbrugger waiting for their first class. The classroom was set up arena-style. There were six tables/desks across, seven rows deep. Each table had four chairs. The four women were in the middle, two rows up.

/>   Tamara still hadn’t met many of her fellow candidates. During their welcome brief the day before, Warden Mantou had suggested that they get out to know the rest and throw away national identity. They were representing humanity, not the Brotherhood, the Confederation, the Federation, and the rest. Still, it was easier to stick with Jonna, and while Beth was a sergeant, she was still a Marine. Oda, who was from the Brotherhood, was Beth’s housemate, so the four had taken the easy way out and sat together instead of following the Warden’s suggestion. There was still plenty of time, Tamara knew, to get to know the others.

  The welcome brief had been moderately interesting, but Tamara had thought it more aimed at observers than to the candidates. Warden Mantou was the director of CHCSS, and her selection to the position had more to do with being from the independent world of Pollux and not from one of the major governments. Even Ambassador San Dolomite, the official representative from the UAM, was from the relatively minor world of Vesuvius. The entire feel of the brief was that CHCSS represented mankind, not any particular government, and the candidates would leave behind all their nationalistic feelings when they became gladiators.

  Tamara had listened to that with only half an ear. Saving mankind was all well and good, but she was an Orinoco girl, a Federation citizen, and a United Federation Marine. None of that was going away.

  Still, she understood that they were all in this together, and despite her problems with meeting new people, she knew she had to make the effort.

  Sitting next to her at the adjoining table was Elei, the woman from one of the Oceania worlds. Tamara was familiar with the Kingdom of Hiapo, of course. Their economic might and no fewer than four Federation chairmen were well known. But the Oceania Association went across governmental boundaries, and Jonna had said that she heard Elei was from one of the Samoan worlds within the association, but not in the Federation. How that worked in practice was beyond Tamara, but it really didn’t make any difference, especially here at CHCSS.