by Eric Thomson
“I’m surprised that I’ve been turned into a silahdar so quickly,” he said settling back in the hard wooden chair after finishing off the last bite.
“You made it to the juluk punishment a lot faster than anyone expected. The few times we’ve had to tame feral former soldiers, the process was quite lengthy. The Atabek expects a contract soon where your skills would make a difference and ordered that you be pushed to the limits of endurance. He was impressed by the amount it took to make you break.”
Decker smiled. They had no idea that he’d figured out their game early enough and that he hadn’t quite reached his limits at that point. So much the better. Yet his earlier reaction, when he felt part of a military unit again, had disturbed him. It wouldn’t do to develop loyalties that might stay his hand at the wrong time, or even anchor him here.
He had no one to return to, so the temptation could be great, especially if he made some close friends, he thought, admiring Daran’s muscular shape across the table from him. He could get used to bald women with body art on their scalps. They had a certain barbaric something that stirred feelings he’d thought dead since the fateful pirate attack.
Zack was amused to find Daran examining him with a knowing look in her eyes as if she could read his mind. Considering his eyes probably betrayed his interest, that wouldn’t be too far from the truth.
“So now what?” He asked.
“Now you learn Danjori quickly. Trainees usually absorb it while in the school, but since you’ll not have that luxury,” he smiled at her use of the word, “we’re to help you along, and you’re to study every evening after your day’s work is done.”
“I’m realizing just now that I don’t know a lot of the basics. I guess Danjori is native to this planet, but no one’s ever told me its name.”
“Keeping new slaves in ignorance is normal, Zack. It helps create the disorientation needed to bring them under effective control. This planet is called Danjor by its natives and Danjori is the primary language spoken by Danjorans like the Atabek. Don’t ask me about its galactic coordinates. I have no idea where this system lies in relation to any other.”
She clapped her hands once and stood with a graceful fluidity Decker found fascinating.
“Enough lounging about.”
They took their trays to the cleaning station and left the dining hall with the last of the stragglers.
The day had grown hot and humid while the sun still valiantly tried to pierce the ever-present veil of clouds, yet the garrison looked more cheerful than the last time he’d walked its paths. Or it could just be that his future was that much clearer.
“You still haven’t told me what my day’s work will be.”
“Patience. The commander of the Fifth Orta, the battalion now forming here, wishes to evaluate your suitability as a member of the staff.”
Decker snorted loudly.
“You put me through hell, beat the living crap out of me, test me on just about every weapon you have in your armory, and you’re going to make me a staff officer? You people are insane.”
“It is the Atabek’s wish that we use all of your skills to the utmost. He paid a good price for you and intends to make an even better profit.”
“You’re in the boss’ confidence?” He glanced at her skeptically.
“But of course. I was chosen to serve the Atabek personally. You’ll see that this is a better life than many. Our ‘boss’ as you call him – never do that to his face, by the way – is a decent being who takes good care of his slave soldiers. We’re more than just an investment for him. He considers us almost like his children.”
Zack shook his head.
“I’ve got to get myself a cup of whatever you’re drinking, lady. Parents don’t let their kids get overrun by fat caterpillars with an attitude problem and the venom to prove it.”
“Do parents not punish their children?” She asked mischievously. “Perhaps this way is normal for the people of Danjor. You look at things through your own cultural prejudices.”
“Bull.” He shook his head with amused resignation. “Wrong is wrong, no matter where you are. But that’s beside the point, right? If the boss tells me to put on a tutu and dance the rumba while reciting Sanjay Peters’ Ode to the Void, I have no choice but to do it.”
“Though I don’t understand your words, I think I get your meaning. Know that the Atabek will never issue an order that isn’t for the greater good of the Kashdushiya and its missions.”
“That I can relate to,” he replied, thinking back at past commanding officers who’d been in the habit of issuing dumb orders that didn’t do squat for the outfit. Like the captain who got him pensioned off early even though Decker had been right all along. On the other hand, he had to admit to himself that clocking him in front of the squadron had probably been the final straw in a long career of arguing with incompetent officers.
“Let me reframe,” she said, stopping. When Decker turned to face her, she touched his arm with a hard, calloused hand that had seen a lot of harsh training. “How do you feel, I mean physically?”
He considered her question and was surprised by the answer.
“I feel pretty good, actually.”
“Then reflect on the skill of the medical staff that treated you and the efforts they took to heal you so quickly. Does this not indicate that the Atabek is genuinely concerned about the welfare of his soldiers?”
Decker laughed bitterly.
“He bought a new toy, almost broke it and then fixed it. All I see is someone taking care of his investment.”
“Fine,” she scowled at him, though he got the feeling it was more in jest than meant seriously. “There’s no convincing you right now. You’ll learn in time.”
“Still,” he shook his head, “a damned staff officer.”
“The Atabek bought you for your mind, Zack. He has leaders of scout units, weapons specialists, even pilots, but he has few who combine many talents, especially from the human Marine Corps.”
“I combine squat,” Decker replied. “I’m just a washed-up airborne grunt who knows his guns.”
“You are clean, I’ll grant you,” she replied, laughing softly, “but you underestimate how valuable your experience and learning is to an army that fills its ranks with slaves.”
“Then it should try an all-volunteer system. That’s what we do, and we tend to attract a better sort of recruit.”
She had no answer to his bitter retort, and they resumed walking in silence, the tenuous bond momentarily broken.
“So when do I get to meet the great commanding officer of the Fifth Orta?”
“You’ve already met her.” She stopped again and smiled wanly. “I’ve asked the Atabek for permission to evaluate your tactical skills. If you show that you can help me train and fight the orta skillfully, I’ll be able to keep you as my orta sanjaqui.”
“Battalion standard-bearer?” Zack translated the Danjori words. “Sounds suspiciously like an adjutant’s job to me. Does that mean I get a captain’s pay?”
She laughed at his mock-greedy leer.
“I’ve told you, we are slaves and have no rank, only responsibilities. You would be equal to the balukbashis, the company commanders, and receive the same stipend.”
Decker grunted.
“I’m not going to ask what the stipend is. I suspect that it doesn’t matter. Property cannot own property, right?”
“Wait before you pass judgment, Zack. Our lives aren’t all that bad, and we get to kill people,” she added with a wicked grin.
“You take pleasure in killing?” He asked skeptically. The Marines he’d known who enjoyed it were all nuts to some degree or other, just not crazy enough to get discharged on psychiatric grounds.
“It’s the only freedom a slave can exercise,” Daran replied, shrugging. “And we in the Kashdushiya are superb fighters. That’s why our Atabek sells many excellent soldiers and gets many contracts for our services.”
“Like the one that�
�ll see you take a battalion, with me along as adjutant.”
“Precisely.”
“And you guys trust me to be a battalion adjutant so quickly after buying me off the slavers?”
“No one who’s been through the juluk punishment has ever failed to serve with the utmost of their being,” she replied as if it were the most natural thing in her world.
The ugly thought that the venom had some ability to condition his brain came back to haunt Zack as she guided him to the headquarters building.
They entered a sparsely furnished office on the ground floor, and though he couldn’t yet read the alphabet, he had no doubt the sign on the door probably said something resembling ‘Fifth Orta – Commanding Slave.’ Pleased with his own wit, he smiled as he took one of the hard chairs set around a small table.
“I’m going to take a wild guess that we’re not here to play whizzbang,” he said.
“Since I don’t know what this whizzbang is, your guess is correct.” Daran settled down across from him. “What I would like to do is discuss tactics with you, to get a sense of your experience and knowledge. Feel free to elaborate as you wish. I’ve had a fair amount of experience in combat myself, else the Atabek would not be charging me with the command of this unit and the ensuing mission.”
“How does that work anyways?” Decker asked. “You form a battalion, sell it off and bang, you’re gone?”
“Not always. Some units are sold to new owners, sometimes with a contract to provide replacements, but often, the Atabek contracts to provide military forces for a given mission or a specified period of time or both.”
“You’re going to have to enlighten me as to why slave soldiers instead of outright mercenaries. It can’t just be lowering the cost of your input.”
She smiled.
“Mercenaries have been known to abandon their contracts when their lives are at risk. Slaves either fight on as ordered or they’re executed. That makes us more valuable to potential clients and thus the Atabek can command a higher price.”
“You’ve never had a whole unit sit down and say ‘enough’? I find that hard to believe.”
“I’m surprised that you cannot accept as true that we train dependable soldiers. If one-fifth of the battalion is ready to complete the mission because they know it’s the closest thing to a guarantee for survival, the other four-fifths will go along or suffer the consequences at the hands of their comrades.”
“Peer pressure.” Zack grimaced. “I suppose there are enough historical examples that could apply. Juluk pressure works as well, I’ll bet.”
“Some of our most loyal silahdars have undergone the juluk punishment, and many consider it a mark of courage.”
“You’re all demented.” He shook his head. But he did understand. Good military training conditioned humans to be loyal to their comrades, to show courage and resilience in the ranks and to value unit cohesion and honor. All he had to do was think back at that feeling of belonging he got when he entered the mess hall, with its banners, while wearing the silahdar uniform for the first time.
“As I may have mentioned before: you’ll see in due course.” Her smile was all the more dazzling for the genuine feeling it expressed, and Decker noticed that even with the bald head and the intricate scalp tattooing, she was a rather attractive woman, in a muscular, warrior-queen sort of way. He forcefully quashed that line of thinking before it could go any further; having impure intentions for your commanding officer never ended well, though he was happy that the juluk venom hadn’t affected that part of him.
“Tell me about your last command,” she said, leaning forward. “Something must have gone wrong, since you’re here instead of with your Corps, even though you’re no older than I am.”
“Do you know what pathfinders are?”
“Elite shock troops that are sent into action first so they may find and hold the enemy until the main body arrives.”
“Pretty close. We have something called Fleet Pathfinders and their primary job isn’t reconnaissance. They’re a rapid-reaction strike force, and the squadrons are permanently stationed aboard patrol frigates. For instance, intelligence gets word of a pirate nest on a given planet or asteroid and HQ will send the nearest Pathfinder squadron to wipe it out in a shock and awe kind of raid.”
She nodded.
“We’ve heard about them but only at several removes, and that likely from victims of your squadrons, so it’s been difficult to form a clear picture.”
“On my last mission in the Corps, my CO had been temporarily replaced by another from outside the squadron while he was in medical treatment. This officer was looking for a tour with my unit to polish his performance evaluation for the next promotion board. Serving with pathfinders looks good on an infantry officer’s record. The problem was, he didn’t know how to command something like a fleet squadron, but since we weren’t expected to see hard combat, the commander of my regiment was persuaded to let him try. We were alerted for a raid on a suspected reiver base shortly after his arrival, and that’s when he and I butted heads on just about everything.”
Decker shook his head, grimacing.
“The idiot’s plan showed his ignorance of reiver tricks, his ignorance of how to deploy pathfinders from high-flying assault boats and a lot more besides. We argued about his plan, and when he refused to listen to experience, I simply took my troop down where I thought it made the most sense. Turned out the drop zone he’d assigned me was an ambush. Heck, the whole reiver base was an ambush. We were lucky that the casualties were light, but those we got were pretty much all my folks. When we got back to the ship, I disagreed with his after action report and used my fists to make my point. Of course, I was arrested. They gave me the option between early retirement and a trial. If I’d chosen the trial and the judge had found me guilty, I’d be in a similar situation to what I’m in now, except we call it a penal battalion and eventually I’d have been released.”
“You struck your commanding officer?”
Decker nodded.
“I should have let the regimental commander sort him out when we got back to our home station. No way would the colonel have let his file go in front of a promotion board after that, but I have a bit of an anger problem, and that bastard’s pig-headed ignorance got to me.”
“Do keep in mind that striking me or any other silahdar set above you means a return visit to the juluk pit.”
“I get that.” Decker’s wince was only partly exaggerated.
“Your Corps’ loss is our gain, then. Or at least I hope it will be our gain.” She pointed at the smooth white wall behind her. “Please draw and explain the operation to me.”
For the next three hours, Decker went through half a dozen Pathfinder missions under Daran’s detailed interrogation. She had a sharp tactical mind and plenty of combat experience, judging by her probing questions. When Zack finally fell silent, she rose and stretched.
“You know what you’re doing, Decker. I can see that. Since it’s the latter part of the afternoon, we shall go for a run around the perimeter, and I’ll be asking you more questions. After the evening meal, we’ll come back here, and I shall have you work out some tactical problems involving a silahdar orta.”
Decker snorted softly.
“You do understand that I’ve never commanded anything bigger than a Pathfinder troop, so battalion tactics are a bit over my pay grade – or would be if I had a pay grade. By the way, if we’re to go running, do I get a change of clothes or am I expected to live in this snazzy uniform until it rots off my body?”
“I shall bring you to the barracks. You’ll find your basic issue waiting for you.” As he followed her out and down one of the well-tended paths, he couldn’t help but notice again the way she moved. The juluk definitely hadn’t broken that part of him.
Seven
Decker’s first glimpse of the silahdar quarters surprised him. He had imagined something less austere than the trainee barracks, but there wasn’t much differenc
e between them. They’d assigned him a cot in an open room big enough to house around thirty soldiers, which, as Daran indicated, was where her HQ platoon would lodge. She pointed out her own cot in the corner.
“As I said, slaves have no rank and those with command responsibilities live just as ordinary silahdars would. You will find all you need in the box under your cot.”
With that, she went over to hers and stripped out of her uniform in favor of a singlet and light shoes. Decker tried not to admire her hard, if scarred body but failed. The tattoos weren’t confined to her skull. Neither was the hairlessness.
As they finished changing and headed for the door, others began to drift in, nodding politely at Daran but looking curiously at Decker. He saw no hostility in their eyes. In fact, he thought he might have glimpsed a sliver of respect from some. Perhaps his new commanding officer wasn’t blowing smoke when she called surviving the juluk pit a mark of courage.
The run nearly killed him. After the first two kilometers, it became apparent that the last few weeks had sapped his energy and stamina. Daran was forced to relax her pace so he could keep up. Meanwhile, conversation was reduced to a bare minimum, and when they’d completed one loop, she stopped and looked him over critically.
“We shall have to place you on a special training regimen. I can’t say I’m surprised that you’re not in as good a shape as you initially appeared to be, but it won’t do for a silahdar preparing to deploy. I think a good cool down period is advised.”
She took him through a series of extended stretching exercises, some of them bringing the two in close contact, and he remembered that strenuous exercise had a tendency to release his endorphins. Hopefully, the showers wouldn’t be co-ed.
They were.
Daran’s examination of his equally scarred but as of yet unadorned body under the cascade of warm water caused him momentary embarrassment, but her amused smile soon set him at ease. He’d simply have to get used to a life where privacy was non-existent and where his battalion commander shared the barracks room and showers with her staff. As they got dressed again, he wondered how the slaves worked out that messy sex thing humans liked to practice regularly, but he wasn’t about to ask Daran. She might take the question the wrong way.