I didn’t die on the instant. A fellow officer shot me full of Suspend. I’m sure you’ve heard how the Highborn are very careful to….” He laughed in that weird way again. “They call it revive, but really it’s resurrection from the dead. They fixed my brain as best as possible, restarted my body and—” He leered at them, his grin transfixed. “Here I am, alive again so I may fight again and possibly die again. My reflexes and thinking aren’t quite what they used to be, but who am I to complain? I assure you I’m not that sort of ingrate. Yes, I can still train. Thus, I am proficient at something. Thus, the superiors still give me rank as well as life. You too can gain rank by excellence. Now, an example is in order.”
Captain Sigmir put the cap back on and began to strut down the line of recruits. Most averted their gaze. A few dared look into his strange eyes, Marten being one of them. One fellow shivered in dreadful fear. The captain stopped in front of him.
“Show me your hand,” the captain said softly.
Trembling, the lad did. He was skinny and shallow-faced, with rounded shoulders.
“A nine,” said the captain. He tugged the lad with him into the center of the parade ground. Every eye was riveted upon them. The two armored Highborn clanked to the opposite end of the field as the squad of normal soldiers.
Captain Sigmir let go of the lad’s hand and took several steps away from him. “What is your name?”
“Logan,” whispered the lad.
“Say it louder!”
“L-Logan.”
Captain Sigmir nodded as he scanned the throng around him. The twitchy smile was now firmly in place. “Logan, do you know how to fight?”
The lad looked up at that. He was red-faced and obviously scared. “Yeah, I guess.”
“Good. I want you to defend yourself.”
“What?”
Captain Sigmir tossed his hat aside and unbuckled his belt, dropping his pistol and knife. “I said defend yourself.” He stepped toward the boy, towering over him.
Logan backed up, confused and more scared than ever, although he lifted his fists. Against the huge captain, it was a pitiful gesture.
“In this army, Logan, if you can’t fight then you’re worth nothing at all.”
Logan shook his head.
The captain shouted and kicked. His booted foot swept through Logan’s two fists to strike the center of his chest. Logan crashed to the ground. Captain Sigmir calmly walked to him and proceeded to kick young Logan to death. The boy tried to knock the iron-toed boots aside, until several of his teeth went flying. Then small Logan curled up into a fetal ball, whimpering and pleading through bloodied lips. Sweat glistened on Captain Sigmir’s face. His scar shone bright red, his strange eyes gleamed and a smile jumped into place every time his boot connected.
During the beating, several men in line grew very tense. One of them finally roared with rage and sprinted at Captain Sigmir, who had his back to the man while he kicked Logan across the side of the head. One of the Earth soldiers smoothly bent to one knee, lifted his carbine and fired a single shot. The enraged man grunted and slammed onto his back, his chest exploding in gore and blood.
Captain Sigmir didn’t bother turning around. Instead, he gave Logan a few more kicks until the frail boy relaxed onto his back, dead.
Two soldiers handed their carbines to another in the armed squad. Then they jogged to Captain Sigmir and saluted crisply. The captain nodded as he dabbed his face with a rag. He lifted an eyebrow as he saw the other dead man, but he made no comment. Each soldier grabbed a dead man by the feet and dragged them away.
The recruits, the majority of whom had grown tense, were clearly terrified of huge Captain Sigmir. They whispered their fear, eyeing the two armored Highborn and the watchful soldiers.
“He’s insane,” Stick hissed to Marten.
“Poor Logan,” whispered Turbo.
Marten noticed that Omi and Kang seemed unconcerned, almost as if they understood what had happened. A few others like them, hard-faced recruits, also watched impassively. Marten wondered if they too had once been gunmen like Omi. He shook his head. Here was the primary lesson. Killers ruled among the Highborn. Become excellent killers and they’d pat you on the back. Suddenly he wanted to be far away from here. But that wasn’t an option. He was trapped again. He felt that turmoil in his gut again. He could sure use a bottle of synthahol.
Captain Sigmir tucked away his rag. “It may interest you to know that I originated from Lot Six. I was one of the experimental firsts. They called us
“Now, let me assure you that poor young Logan would never have made a good soldier. His hand had been stamped a nine, the only nine among you, I might add. It meant that he was extremely passive with little to no cunning.” The captain shrugged. “What kind of soldier is passive and without cunning? A soon to be dead soldier. So you see that Logan would have been useless in combat terms. But he still provided use as an example. As such, let us remember Logan. Uselessness brings death. Excellence, well, it provides rank and higher training. Your training here will be hard. Many of you will die, never to rise again. My advice is to make certain you don’t become a useless Logan—or don’t lose your balance and attack a superior officer. That isn’t merely useless, that is rank insubordination. Death is the only reward for that sort of lunacy.
“Also, I wish to address one more issue before you’re assigned barracks. Each of you volunteered to the Free Earth Corps. Second thoughts are bad thoughts. The reason why, is that all volunteer lists are sent to the other side. Unfortunately for you, the leaders of Social Unity consider you traitors. The reason that is unfortunate is that should you be captured….” Captain Sigmir grinned. “Don’t allow yourself to be captured and don’t run to the other side. Torture is what you’ll receive. Believe me, I know, for I’ve seen what they did to my comrades. We overran the enemy holding pens where a few betas had been captured.” The captain shook his head.
“Ripped out balls was the least of it. So! Here you are. Here, as Free Earth Corps, you will live or die. Only victory brings rewards. Defeat…. That brings hideous death, if you’re not already dead by then. Thus, you must learn to fight. Fight, fight, fight, nothing else matters, men. You must learn to fight.”
11.
Marten knew this kind of exhaustion too well. It reminded him of the water tank in the Reform through Labor Auditorium. Pump, pump, pump or you die. But here they switched tasks on you with bewildering rapidity. Knife combat, running, rifle range firing, running, plasma cannon sighting, running, map reading, running, squad tactics to take a hill, running, squad tactics to take a trench line, running, squad tactics to breach a pillbox, running. Day or night, it didn’t matter. Stim-shots came constantly. And they ran and ran and ran.
True, he’d never eaten better than here. Muscles on his legs swelled, his already narrow waist became leaner. Run here, run there, it was endless. He sweated almost every minute of the day and drank water like an auto-digger after a long day of drilling. They never let you sleep long enough, either. Bugles blared you to the parade ground. A kick in the side brought you alert on a desert trek stop. More stims, more food, more training, on and on it went. He climbed ropes, rocks and trees and jumped out of buildings, choppers and moving tanks. He dug trenches, used grenades to blast holes into rock, bayoneted dummies and karate kicked three men into the infirmary. What made it worse was that glaring number two tattooed onto the back of his hand. They sweated him harder than most of the other recruits. They demanded he remember tactics, ploys, tricks and how to call down mortar, artillery and orbital fighter strikes. He could set a bone, start a fire with sticks, and poke out a man’s eye with a stiffened finger. Run, run, run, crawl under barbed wire, zigzag across a field as shock grenades blew. He didn’t dream anymore. The instant his head lay on anything he snored in a coma-like sleep. Catnaps became a
