-3-
“Are you sure you want to do it this way?” Omi whispered.
Marten wore a black uniform with silver stripes and tabs. Omi was similarly dressed. They stood in the spacious promenade deck of the
“No,” Marten whispered. “I’m not sure. If you know of a better way of choosing space marines, let me know now.”
Grim-faced ship-guardians standing at attention and in their blue uniforms, complete with medals and battle ribbons, filled the promenade deck. There were too many ship-guardians to take in the two meteor-ships. The guardian-class Jovians stood ready, awaiting inspection.
“I know of a better way,” Osadar said.
She stood behind them, the focus of many staring eyes, as the three of them stood before the crowd of ship- guardians.
Marten and Omi turned to her.
“Check their records,” she said.
“They’re peacetime soldiers,” Omi said with distain.
“Do peacetime records lie?” the cyborg asked.
“It isn’t that,” Marten said. “During war, officers look for fighters. During peace, they look for yes-men, for those who don’t make waves. We want fighters. We want soldiers who will stick it out when cyborgs swarm them.”
“Sift carefully through their records,” Osadar said.
“We don’t have time for that,” Marten said.
“Is that why you have lined them up?” Osadar asked. “Can shock troopers tell a fighter at a glance?”
“No,” Marten said, “not at a glance.”
“Then why have you staged this?” she asked.
“You didn’t tell her?” Omi asked.
“Tell me what?” asked Osadar.
“The Highborn are bastards,” Marten said. “We know that. But they’re also betters soldiers, better fighters. They had a way to find the tough ones, the battlers.”
“What way?” asked Osadar.
Marten cracked his knuckles as he stared at the ranks of ship-guardians. “We know the ones we choose are going to be fodder for the cyborgs. That’s the truth of this war. It will be a quick trip to Carme, two or three weeks. There isn’t much I can teach them in that time. But I can make sure I take the tough ones along. I can increase our odds a few percentages. Why is it then that I feel like such a bastard doing this?”
“The answer’s simple,” Omi said. “You’re choosing those who are going to die.”
“Yeah,” said Marten. He set his features. “You tell her what’s going on, okay?”
“Sure,” Omi said.
“Tell me what?” asked Osadar.
“Okay,” said Marten. “Here we go.” He left them and strode alone toward the ranks of waiting ship-guardians. Those who had been staring at Osadar now looked at him. It was an animal response to glance at things that moved.
Marten adjusted his collar as he halted before them. He switched on an amplifier there, which would help project his voice.
“So you’re the sorry rejects they’re giving me to destroy the cyborgs,” Marten said, letting contempt fill his voice.
Ship-guardians blinked at him. Many scowled. More than a few stirred.
Marten shook his head. “I fought in the Inner System, both on Earth and in space, capturing an experimental beamship near Mercury. Highborn trained me because they discovered I have an innate ability to kill. I also survive where others die, and I accomplish the missions given me.” He pointed at Omi. “We’re shock troopers, which means we’re the best soldiers in the Solar System, at least the best among humans. You ship-guardians—” Marten laughed with contempt.
More angry scowls appeared in the ranks.
“Some of you are going to have a chance to prove your worth,” Marten said. “You’re going to prove if Jovian space training is anything like Highborn training. I doubt it, frankly, but you’ll have the chance to show me.”
“Yeah!” a blue-uniformed guardian shouted. “And who the heck are you anyway?”
Marten stared at the guardian, a blocky individual. “I’m going to choose who goes and dies and who stays to live under the coming cyborg domination.”
“Are all shock troopers arrogant pricks like you?” the guardian asked.
“Ask me an hour from now,” Marten said.
“I’m asking you now!” the angry guardian shouted.
Marten drew his needler and fired, making crackling sounds. Guardians shouted in surprise. Many hit the deck. A few screamed as the bulky guardian flopped onto the floor.
“Stay where you are!” shouted Marten.
Pelias from the
“I shot him with drugged ice-needles,” Marten said. “He’s still alive, but his mouth isn’t flapping anymore. And that’s my first lesson. I know many of you were expecting me to challenge him to a fistfight, to prove how superior my fighting technique was against his. A shock trooper uses overwhelming force when it’s at his disposal. You’ll do the same, or you’ll die to the cyborgs.”
Many guardians glared at him. Others stared at the fallen man.
“I will begin the interviews in three minutes,” Marten said. “Guardian Pelias will now instruct you.”
As Pelias stepped forward and began to shout orders, Marten moved to where Omi and Osadar watched. Omi had been whispering to Osadar.
“Are you ready?” Marten asked her.
“I will interview all of them?” she asked.
“Can you do it?” Marten said.
Osadar raised a reinforced hand and then slowly nodded.
The first guardian entered the room. He was a short man with scarred features and a watery left eye. He stopped at seeing Osadar sitting behind a small table. He glanced around at the otherwise empty room.
“Where’s the shock trooper?” he asked.
Marten stood in the next room, watching the proceedings with Omi. They watched on a vidscreen.
“It’s different this way,” Omi muttered.
Marten nodded.
On the screen, Osadar arose without a word. She came around the table, approaching the short guardian.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
Osadar slapped him across the face, whipping his head to one side.
Marten winced. “She isn’t supposed to main him.”
“I told her,” Omi said.
The short guardian clutched his face, backing away from Osadar. “Why did you do that?” he whined.
Osadar stared at him. Cowed, the man looked down. Osadar turned her back on him, returning to her chair. The guardian glanced up slyly.
