by Trey Deibel
A pain shot up my right side from the impact, and I pushed myself up from the sidewalk with my left hand. I was in an alley with only one exit. I took it and found myself amongst a crowd of people walking up and down the walkway between the many skyscrapers.
“Where to go? Where to go?” I repeated, looking around in desperation.
The blocky skyscrapers around me touched the clouds. Countless levels of cars zoomed by above me, and the midday sun was a ball of fire in the sky.
Dressed in a uniform similar to one that a mentally unstable person in a nuthouse would wear, I must’ve stood out like a police officer in the hood. That did not stop me from jogging up to some random Joe-Shmoe and asking, “How do I leave the city?”
“See that rest stop over there?” The man pointed at a tiny yellow building in the shadow of one of the surrounding skyscrapers. “There’s probably a taxi there.”
“Much thanks,” I told him and made a mad dash to the building, hoping to bail out of the city before any guards made it outside.
Racing toward the building, I spotted many of the same buildings next to almost every skyscraper, but I kept to my instructed path. Parked right next to the building was a taxi. I open the door and jumped in.
“Location, please,” a robotic driver asked me.
“Err…” I thought for a moment. “Stowe… in the Vermont Territory,” I told the driver.
I remembered what my mother told me about her hometown. She said it was a small town near a mountain and forest. I knew it was a place where I could hide, which was just what I needed. The taxi took off not a moment too soon, just as some guards ran out the front doors of the research center. Luck would have that they didn’t discover me.
“That’s for you, Mom.”
I sat back across the leather seat and relaxed. Really though, could it have been that easy to escape the Aegis Research Center this whole time? Or was something else going on?
Chapter 6: Twisted Childhood III - Boot Camp
March 4, 2104 - March 9, 2104
James Stone
A line.
When one thinks of a line, they see only a simple shape, but given context, a line can mean so much. A line of men and women, sorted alphabetically, brave enough to sign over their lives to the military stretched from the back of the recruitment tent all the way up to the recruiters at the front; a line that could very well lead to uncertain death, a line full of people wanting to make a difference, a line in which I stood, waiting for my turn.
“Roger Stevens,” the recruitment officer called the next name on the list. That man stepped up on the scale as the first recruitment officer scanned his medical record. “One hundred and two kilograms, one hundred and eighty centimeters.” A second officer wrote it down as the first officer said it. “Pass.” The second officer stamped on his papers.
Stevens stepped off the scale, and the back tent curtain flapped as he pushed through, disappearing to the other side. Before the recruitment officers called another name, the silence in the room was broken by a storm of coughs. Someone behind me broke the tension, and somehow I felt better about the decision I was about to make. It had been a year since I escaped the Order of Aegis, and in that time I experienced the heart-scratching pain of loneliness. To me, this was a way out.
“James Stone,” the officer called my name.
I stepped up on the scale and awaited inspection. The stares of the individuals in line seemed to strip me down. The tension was back. The officer looked up from my forged medical records. Surprise swept over his face as he read the scale.
“One hundred and fifty-one kilograms?! You don’t look over one twenty. What’s going on?”
“My muscle mass is far above the normal person’s muscle mass, sir,” I answered him. Unease swept over me as I wondered what was going through these people’s minds. Did they see me as a freak?
“Interesting.” He looked back at the sheet. “James Stone...where have I heard that name before?” He thought for a minute. “I remember you on the news… a boy who killed his father. Then nothing, never heard of again… well, until now. Here you are with a completely clean medical sheet, wanting to enlist in the ARW’s military. Tell me, James, why are you here?”
“I think I can help make an impact in the war, sir.” I stood still, not moving a muscle, as I awaited his judgment.
The recruitment officer studied me for a moment. “Maybe what this war needs is a freak like you,” he half-complimented me. Turning to the officer next to him, he said, “Write down one hundred and fifty-one kilograms, one hundred and ninety-one centimeters. Pass.” The officer stamped on my sheets.
“Much thanks, sir.”
I walked toward the curtain and pushed past. A transport vehicle awaited me. I entered.
⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕
Rain flooded the ground and splashed in our faces as we jogged on the dirt and mud course. A gully-washer rainstorm seemed to loom over our boot camp. Every step was met with splats of mud slogging up my legs. We were on the outskirts of the boot camp base. Beside us, our drill sergeant sat in a dirty, maelkii Type-2 Rover as it kept pace with us. Our drill sergeant was taller and had spikes thicker and longer than an average maelkii male which granted him ability to intimidate most people, even other maelkii. Hell, that was probably how he obtained the position of being a professional dick with a fine-grade military whistle at his disposal.
“Keep moving! War doesn’t stop for rain!” the drill sergeant shouted. “Come on, ladies, double time! Hell, I'd settle for single time right now. This is pitiful!”
I couldn’t help grinning. Even the most athletic dor’o were having trouble in the mud, and they’re the species that averages the best endurance in the ARW. During the run, I noticed a tiny man who could barely manage to keep up with the back of the crowd. For the few days I’d been at boot camp, I took a particular interest in him. He couldn’t be more than one hundred and sixty centimeters, and I doubted he weighed more than seventy kilograms. He was a little boy surrounded by grunting, bruting men, at least from the look of his stick figure portrait; he could easily be mistaken as a boy despite not being so. Yet he kept going, even when the sergeant and other soldiers taunted him.
As that man of interest lagged behind in the group, the sergeant positioned his vehicle right next to him. “At what point did I tell you to slow your maggot-ass down?”
“Sorry, s-si-sir,” he stuttered and shivered under the icy rain. Even though he was weak, I admired his spirit.
“Don’t be sorry. Tired is slow… slow is dead. Now get a move on before I put my foot up your ass and wear you like an autistic flip flop!” the sergeant yelled, insulting the poor kid in any way he could think of.
Apparently, the insults worked, as the guy pushed himself harder. His round face turned red from exhaustion, while his lips remained a dark blue from the freezing cold. Soon, he was finally able to catch up to me.
My favorite place to be is at the back of the group. Nobody really notices you unless you lag behind, which was never a problem for me. Another perk to this spot was, nobody expected anything from you. I often thought of surprising people with what I’m capable of, but I wasn’t ever ready to do so. I knew if I decided to show off a bit, I wouldn’t want the popularity and attention from it; instead, I’d use it to gain respect from the soldiers.
Now we were crossing the thirty-second mile mark, which meant the end of the track was seconds away. As usual, everybody trudged to the water pump at the end of the course. Once satisfied with their fill, they’d flop over for some much needed rest. I, on the other hand, made my way to the pump and drank after everyone had finished. Unlike them, I could wait. The officers have yet to find out about me, so I just followed along with their routine without drawing special attention to myself, yet at this moment I had one thought: I want them to know my potential. I couldn’t explain why I felt like now was the moment to show myself; nonetheless, the feeling tugged at me like an invisible weight.
; Maybe I can use this to do some good, I thought.
After my drink, instead of resting, I decided I wanted to run the track a second time. To my understanding, the record for this track was supposed to be unbeatable. Today, I decided I wanted to beat the longstanding record.
“Sergeant, what’s the current record for the fastest time on this track, sir?” I walked up to him and asked.
“Two hours and fourteen minutes,” he replied with a growl, his voice sounding like he had rocks bouncing around in his throat, as always.
“Permission to challenge that, sir.” I smiled.
“On what terms?” He leaned in from his seat.
“If I beat that record, you pull whatever strings you have to get everyone here a couple of beers,” I suggested.
“And if you fail?” he challenged.
“I’ll leave that up to your discretion.”
Smiling, he said, “Granted.” He then pulled out a timer and yelled, “Begin!”
Seconds before taking off, I looked back to see a few people interested in my actions. Good, it’s time for some kick-ass inspiration, I thought.
I sprinted full speed in the mud and rain. As I rounded the first turn, I found out the hard way I didn’t have enough traction to make turns at my speed. The first turn sent me barreling into a tree. I willed myself up and rubbed off some mud. The second turn came, and I decided to try something different. As I rounded it, I slid to my side in an attempt to change directions. It worked! For the majority of the track, I was able to maintain full speed. Even though I lost some oomph in my steps by the end of the track, I still obliterated the record. I was back in just over an hour and greeted with cheers and dropped jaws. Up until that point, nobody knew just how different I was.
Cruising over to the crowd, the sergeant announced, “Because of a bet this man made with me,” he pointed at me, “I owe each and every one of you some beers. Tomorrow night, I’ll have them sent down to your barracks.” There was distaste in his voice.
After his announcement, I become one of the most popular men in our barracks, but I didn’t care for the popularity; I only needed it to fix a wrong I’d seen going on in this camp for a bit too long. After I was done being swarmed by my fellow soldiers, I made my way over to the tiny man from earlier and caught him right before he entered the food court.
“Sir.” I pulled on his shoulder.
He turned around. “Whacha want?”
“I’ve only been here for a short load of time, so would you mind explaining the Cliff’s Notes on something?”
He shook his head. “What do you want to know?”
“Just one thing: What does everyone have against you?” Come to think of it, that may have come out wrong.
He stepped away from me and crossed his arms. “Hey man, you’ll soon learn I’m not the person you want to hang with.”
Before I could respond, a boot camp soldier came up to me and said, “James, the sergeant wants to speak with you.”
I looked back to see that the tiny man had already disappeared into the food court. “Damnit.” I headed over to the sergeant and came to attention. “Sir?”
“At nine o’clock tonight, I want you to meet me in the officers’ barracks for a debriefing.”
I found this strange but didn’t question it. “Will do, sir.”
⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕
Tonight, there was a full moon. Crickets chirped and trees rustled in the wind as I made my way over to the officers’ barracks. Mother Nature’s night wind had a crisp touch, as if she was breathing down your neck. Most of the soldiers were in their designated barracks, socializing and playing cards before turning in. The metal door creaked as I pushed it. My drill sergeant was waiting.
“Follow me,” he said.
I didn’t hesitate. He led me into a meeting room. A single military officer waited behind a long wooden stand. In the middle of the room stood a wooden chair.
“Sit,” the sergeant said, gesturing to the chair.
The officer watched in interest as I sat. The sergeant joined the female dor’o; her face was bright, and she seemed to add light to the room.
“Greetings to you. I’m Day-Bringer, manager of the legionnaire program,” she introduced herself. “James Stone. After close examination of the medical sheet you handed in during recruitment, I have confirmation that it was forged. Not only that, every record of your existence has been wiped. The only known information dug up on you was a news reel that claimed you killed your father in self-defense. I’m sure that was a traumatic event to go through.” I dreaded those repressed memories as they flooded back into my mind. “When I got the word from the sergeant here,” Day-Bringer glanced at the sergeant, then back at me, “about your recent feat, I wanted to find out who you were. To my disappointment, we have almost nothing. All that said, what you did opened some interesting doors for you.”
“What kind of doors are you talking about?” I asked.
“James, have you ever heard of the legionnaire program?”
“Nope.” I moved forward to the edge of my seat. She had my curiosity.
“I thought not, so let me fill you in. During this war, the Alliance of Republic Worlds has come to the consensus that our separate militaries need more integration. Ever since our alliance made contact with humans back in 2081, we saw humans’ potential to act as a middle ground for the alliance. Years later, qwayks, humans, and dor’o live fully integrated in each other’s worlds. This was part of the reason the ARW senate has decided to integrate our militaries. As we speak, this is happening. Our new integrated military will set up specialized units able to perform different tasks in war. This is where the legionnaire program comes into play. The legionnaire program will consist of 1112 six-man squads, specializing in accomplishing small but crucial missions during wartime operations. Do you follow me so far?”
“I do, ma’am.”
“Pleasant. The point to all of this, James, is, we feel you have the potential to make an impact in a specialized squad such as this. The problem is, we have already started training handpicked, proven soldiers for the legionnaire program. So, if you are interested, we need to know immediately. If you join the program, you will be the only soldier there with no prior training. So, my question to you is: Are you interested in proving yourself?”
“May I be honest with you, ma’am?”
“You may speak freely.”
“When I initially walked by the fine-glowing recruitment tent, my first thought wasn’t about serving the ARW or proving myself. See, when I walked by the recruitment tent that was damn near supported by the load of advertisements glued to the fabric, I saw an escape. It was a means out of a world that swallows you whole and shivfs you out on the other side. That’s all I cared about. The next day, I found someone who could forge a medical sheet, which I used to get recruited. Ever since I’ve been here, I find myself only wanting to find a place I can call my own. So tell me, ma’am, can this legionnaire program fulfill that for me? Can it give me a purpose and home?”
Day-Bringer shot the sergeant a baffled expression, which he shared, indicating they probably thought my values were odd. She then answered, “I can speak on behalf of the officers in charge of training soldiers for the legionnaire program. Our observations suggest that squads could develop a powerful, family-level bond between the soldiers. So yes, the squad you end up in could grow to be your home… as you put it.”
Her words were exactly what I wanted to hear. “I’m in.”
“Pleasant. In a week, you will be picked up and sent to the training camp. In the meantime, you are free to leave.” A smile covered Day-Bringer’s face; clearly, she was happy with my decision.
After leaving the meeting, I came within earshot of a dispute going on outside my barracks. I kept out of sight by hugging the edge of the barracks and listened to the words being thrown around.
“It was you, wasn’t it, you li’l creep?” one voice yelled, definitely riled up.
“No, ma
n, I didn’t steal your uniform… honestly,” another voice claimed. I recognized that voice. It was from the tiny man I tried to speak with earlier.
After that response, someone thudded against the dirt. “Then why are you sneakin’ off at night?” To be honest, I could never sleep very well, so I saw the tiny man sneaking out every night, too. I never really cared why, but I was sure he wasn’t stealing uniforms.
“That’s none’ya damn business,” the tiny man retorted.
The man dragged him off the ground and yelled, “If you don’t give me answers, I’m gonna--”
“What?” I finished his sentence for him and appeared from the shadows. “You’re gonna what?” I repeated the question. Since I couldn’t really make out the antagonizer’s face, I knew he couldn’t make out mine either.
He turned toward me. “Get the hell out of here. This isn’t your concern.”
“You made it my concern when you started screwing around with a fellow soldier,” I replied.
Dropping the tiny man, he came up to me. “So you’re with him?” Now that he was closer, I could tell he was around my height, with less build.
“I guess you can say that.”
“Then maybe you can tell me where my uniform is.” He poked my chest multiple times.
“Nope. But I can tell you that man over there didn’t do it.” I pointed to him as he still lay on the ground.
“Liar! Where’s your proof?”
“Myself, sock-breath,” I insulted him. “I see him leave every night, and he never once came near anyone’s quarters, let alone someone’s damn uniform.”
“With his scrawny ass, you can never be sure. Now, if you don’t start talkin’, I’m gonna beat it out of you,” he threatened me.
“Knock yourself out,” I mocked, rolling my eyes.
Here we go.
Winding up, he launched a haymaker hook at my jaw. Seeing this coming from a kilometer away, I reached up and caught his fist a few inches from my jaw and held it there.