Gupta continued in a slightly softer tone. “Anyone who thinks I can’t add up hasn’t been listening properly. So, now, Caccamo. Instead of repeating what Majanita just said, use that withered lump between your ears to think. Why did I pick the example of the Czech Legion?”
“I don’t know, sergeant.” Arun was impressed at Laban Caccamo for keeping as cool as a cryo box under Gupta’s glare.
“Don’t know?” bellowed the sergeant. “You’re no use to me, Caccamo. Sit down.”
Caccamo obeyed.
“Anyone?”
Majanita had a reply. “The Czech unit structure was crushed. Rendered obsolete. Their army no longer existed. Even their country no longer existed. They had only themselves. Maybe…” She clammed up.
“Complete what you started, cadet. A Marine never starts anything they don’t intend to see through to completion. You should know that.”
“Sorry, sergeant. Maybe the parable’s lesson is that the legion re-framed their world. They formed a new unit from the wreckage of the old. New buddies. New loyalties. A new team. They set themselves a new goal and set about achieving it by any means available. By teaming up with cadets outside of Blue Squad, has McEwan forged a new unit for the benefit of the battalion?”
“I don’t think we know the answer to that, Majanita. Not yet. Maybe Cadet McEwan is a visionary, reacting to circumstances by creating a Marine Legion to get us out of the Cull. Or perhaps he’s nothing more than a teenage boy who couldn’t refuse an offer from a pretty girl. I don’t care about the answer. I do care that instead of thinking through the possibilities, you all picked the lazy choice by blaming McEwan for disloyalty.”
Gupta tapped at his head. “Up here! This is where you’re failing me. Being able to see the same situation as everyone else, but see new possibilities within it is what makes the difference between a good Marine and the kind of half-evolved plasma fodder those other races think we are. Do you want to prove them right?”
“No sergeant!” replied both squads, Arun right up there with the rest.
The sergeant studied his cadets for a few moments. Arun wasn’t sure whether the sergeant had just stood up for him. He sure felt inadequate, though.
“I can see from your faces that I’ve confused the hell out of you.” Gupta’s scowl lightened. “That’s a good thing because your brains need shaking up. You’re too robotic. If Blue and Gold Squads were stranded in the midst of a civil war, I would expect you to turn the situation to your advantage, same as the Czech Legion did. That’s all for today. Dismissed.”
As soon as Gupta had left through the door at the back of the stage, Arun made for Springer.
“What happened?” he asked her. “What was in your vision? Did you have two?”
Springer closed her eyes and shook her head. Her eyelids were brutally red, her eyes bloodshot and watering. “It isn’t clear, Arun, more a vague feeling, triggered by certain words.”
Majanita put a supportive arm around Springer. “Leave her alone, McEwan.”
Osman stood beside her, glaring at Arun. The rest of the section waited nearby.
“No, he needs to know,” said Springer. She sounded exhausted. “Arun, you and the Czech Legion are connected. I think… I think that one day you will create a–”
Majanita slapped her hand over Springer’s mouth. “Shut up! Don’t even think about how that sentence ends.”
She doesn’t need to, thought Arun. I help to create a Human Legion. That’s what she thinks. Gupta was practically spelling it out. It fits with what everyone has been hinting at all along.
“Go away,” Osman told Arun.
“No,” said Arun. “Springer, can I please ask you something? I’ve never wanted to ask until this moment.”
“I said, go away.” Osman was shoving him now.
“Let him ask,” sighed Springer. “What is it?”
“Your visions of the future,” said Arun, grimacing uncomfortably because he didn’t know how to put this without insulting Springer. “Have any come true?”
“No.”
Arun relaxed. He let Osman give him a last shove and then watched his friends move away without him.
Springer paused and turned around. “But that’s the thing about the future,” she said to Arun. “It hasn’t happened yet. But it will.”
She wanted to say more but she choked back and kept silent, as if suddenly noticing the verbal minefield all around her.
The passageway crackled with tension like a G-Max cannon before an x-ray burst.
“We both know it will happen,” she said, sounding as if the words were being forced out of her at gunpoint.
Arun didn’t say a word. He scarcely dared to breathe. Microphones in in the walls, nano-spies floating in the air. No one knew what form the surveillance systems took, but everyone agreed that they were everywhere, feeding through any signs of disloyalty to the Jotuns.
Springer spoke the three words she shouldn’t, the name that meant Arun’s life could never return to normal. “The Human Legion,” she said.
Arun froze, expecting hidden beams of death to strike him down at any moment. There was no cover to shield him, nowhere to run. If the Jotuns decided he should die then his existence would end as surely as night extinguishes day.
But death, if it were coming, was not immediate.
By the time he unclenched, the rest of the squad had ushered Springer out of sight, on their way to the orbital elevator and dropboat training.
Arun raced after them, desperate not to be left alone.
—— Chapter 22 ——
The trips to see Pedro were worse than useless: they consumed valuable time that Arun could never get back. With graduation to qualify for, and his battalion in the Cull Zone – not to mention the Scendence commitments that were causing so much annoyance – every hour spent away from training was painful.
But Instructor Rekka had taught them that so long as your position was secure from immediate assault, if you were given a task then you should put everything else out of your mind and do that task to the best of your ability.
Sometimes that required an iron will, but Rekka was right.
Out in the field, if you were assigned to dig fox holes or latrines, then you let the perimeter guard worry about intruders and you concentrated on your digging.
And if you were tasked with a friendly afternoon chat with a seven-foot insect, then you put away thoughts of culls and graduation, you put on your most companionable smile, and you talked with the alien.
If he could, Arun would cancel his chats in an instant. Since he couldn’t, he took pleasure in this excuse to roam the bustling underground labyrinth that was the Detroit base.
Pedro encouraged Arun to explore, because that way he could ask endless questions about the human levels.
Arun’s hab-disk was on Level 6, near Corridor 622 that ran between Helix 62 and Helix 6, which was the main spiraling ramp in his regiment’s portion of Detroit. Today, on his meandering route to Pedro, he cycled up the Helix 6 ramp to Level 3. This was a level of barracks and defensive positions. The topology of the base was the same on all levels: Corridor 622 always connected Helix 62 with Helix 6, whatever level you were on. But the route Corridor 622 took to get there was different on every level. Here on Level 3, the corridors zigzagged to prevent a single blast of firepower sweeping the entire corridor of defenders. In the hab-disks you talked of walls and ceilings, but here the tunnel structures were hardened and you had bulkheads and overheads instead. If not for the gravity keeping Arun’s bike firmly on the deck, Level 3 could easily be mistaken for a warboat interior.
Level 3 was deserted. That’s why Arun loved it here. There were plenty of Marines to fill the barracks and man the hardened alcoves peppering the corridor. But they were deep down in Level 10 or below, stored in cryogenic iceboxes.
Arun peddled on around Helix 64, crossed the regimental boundary and on to Helix 72. From there he took Corridor 712, which passed by the southern edge of Detroit.
<
br /> He’d passed by a huddle of Hardit engineers arguing over something in their growling speech, flicking their long tails at each other aggressively. It was unusual to see them so active. When he passed the monkey-like creatures on his travels, they were more often slumped against the wall, apparently asleep.
He pushed on into a long, south-running corridor where the wall glowed red as he passed. It didn’t look welcoming but there wasn’t a sign or order to turn back. Up ahead should be hangars for shuttles and ground attack flyers. He doubted he’d get close enough to see them but he carried on, wanting to see how far he could get.
The answer came in the form of four Marines who came out of the distance at the double. They wore full combat armor decorated in the gold-and-black diamond pattern of the 101st Assault Marines, specialists in ground assault. They were supposed to have the thickest skulls and smallest brains, the better to survive the frantic descent from orbit to ground. Some said Neanderthal DNA had been used in their breeding program to toughen them up.
Two of these bone heads from the 101st had SA-71 carbines, one carried a plasma gun, and the other a flame thrower. They held their weapons as if they would open fire at the merest provocation. Debating their ancestry might not be a good plan.
“Beat it, kid!”
Arun hated to take that kind of drent from anyone, especially from Marines who weren’t even in his regiment, and boneheads at that. Then one of them raised his carbine, and Arun hurriedly made up his mind that staying alive was the best course of action. He turned and pedaled away.
By the time he’d returned to the main ramp at Helix 6, he’d used up any spare time to go wandering, but there was still plenty to see on the ramp as he descended toward Level 9 and the tunnel that connected with the Troggie nest.
Just past Level 4, an electric truck was towing a heavy weapon strapped onto a trolley. What was that? A Fermi cannon perhaps? It was big enough. Probably something for use in the orbital defense platforms.
Between 5 and 6, Arun passed an Aux – a human manual worker – pushing a wheeled trolley down the ramp. The Aux was struggling a little. If Arun had more time – and if the Aux hadn’t stank so much – he would have stopped to help.
Up ahead he could hear the sound of running. He listened closer and made out three pairs of boots thumping along the ramp. Most likely they were novices or cadets on a punishment run. He’d had plenty himself at school. If you merely looked at an instructor in a way they didn’t care for then you’d be off on a thirty-mile run. The instructors didn’t mind where you went so long as you did your thirty. Woe betide anyone who didn’t.
The Aux…!
With a squeal of brakes, Arun came to a sudden halt. He looked back at the Aux he’d just passed.
Surely not?
He shifted gears and pedaled back up the ramp.
The Aux slunk against the wall. He seemed to know that Arun was interested in him, but instead of acknowledging the cadet politely – as Arun would expect any Aux to do –he turned to face the wall. Like many Aux, he wore a woven hat with a stiffened peak that shadowed the eyes. Arun leaned his bike against the wall and took off the Aux’s hat.
Despite Arun’s attempt to be gentle, the Aux flinched as if pained.
Hortez!
This was the novice Arun had admired and envied throughout school.
And it had been Arun with his escapades in the Troggie tunnels who’d taken that shining success of a cadet squad leader and turned him into … into this!
“Man, you look terrible.” It was all Arun could think to say.
Hortez finally looked up, straight into Arun’s face. Under his scruffy beard, the outer reaches of his face were a mix of black from deeply ingrained grime, and the angry red of flesh peeling after being burned.
Hortez stank.
The Aux who cleaned, washed, and cooked in the hab-disks were expected to be clean themselves, but Hortez didn’t look as if he’d had a proper wash since that moment in Little Scar’s office when Hortez’s star had plummeted to these depths.
Arun looked again into his old friend’s face and saw that under the grime there was another pattern, one painted in deep blues and yellows.
“Do they beat you?” he asked.
Hortez nodded.
Rage bubble up within Arun. He kept it in check, for now. “Look, pal, I know that from where you’ve ended up, my words are worth as much as an ice cube in the backdraft from a fusion engine, but for what it’s worth … I am sorry.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“I guess not but… but you’re here and I’m not and that’s kinda hard. I’m sorry about that.”
“You’re sorry? How do you think I feel?”
It took a moment before Arun realized that Hortez was trying to be funny. He’d always had a wicked sense of humor and had laid down a constant barrage of practical jokes throughout their years together at novice school. Some of that spark was still there. Not much though. Frakk! It was only a few weeks since Hortez had been his squad leader. What had they done to him?
“What are you doing here, anyway?” asked Hortez. Then he frowned and shook his head. “Forget it! You’ll have to keep your mysteries, McEwan. I can’t talk. Gotta go. Tell Brandt I wish him luck.”
“Don’t leave. Your face… This isn’t right, we need to do something to fix this.”
“You can’t, McEwan. Don’t make it worse for me.”
“Why because they’ll beat you? I can’t stand for that. I need to let the authorities know.”
After a bitter laugh that led into a hacking cough, Hortez replied: “I admire your naivety, pal. As if anyone who can make a difference would care.”
The fire returned to Hortez’s spirit. Arun could see it in his eyes. His spine uncurved somewhat. “They do more than beat us, McEwan. They kill us. A third of final year novices fail graduation. That’s several hundred kids suddenly stuck without a role, all at the same time. There’s only so much laundry work needed, man. Do you know we sleep in groups back to back because there’s no space to lie down? We have to fight each other for food. It’s all clean and civilized for those lucky enough to be your servants in the hab-disks, but not for us. We’re excess population and the Hardits, who own and run us, take every pleasure they can in reducing our numbers. They’re gonna pick one from my team tonight and kill them. Sometimes they tell us that just to enjoy our fear, but don’t follow through with their threat. At other times, they killed two, just to keep the rest of us guessing. And I’m almost beginning to believe them when they say that they’re only being kind. Starving to death is a tough way to go.”
“What can I do to help, Hortez?”
“Stay out of it, McEwan. Don’t draw attention to me and maybe I’ll get lucky.”
Arun took a deep breath. “Fine. I’ll do as you say. Just one thing.”
Hortez had already turned around and was bracing against his heavy trolley, ready to push it down the gently sloping ramp. “What?” he called over his shoulder.
“How is Alistair?”
Worse than all the horrors he’d ever seen was the deathly look in Hortez’s eye when he glanced back at Arun.
“Last I heard, worse than me,” said Hortez. “He’s out on the surface without adequate protection against the sun’s radiation. He’s going to…” He shut up suddenly, his eyes widening in horror.
Arun looked behind and stared into the face of a Hardit.
If you looked past the fur and gripping tail that earned them the nickname of monkeys, and the three eyes set in a triangle high above the snout, the Hardits were approximately the size and shape of small humans, much more so than the massive hexaped Jotuns or the insectoid Trogs. Their attitude was what marked them apart from the other species. When they weren’t snarling through their teeth-filled snouts, Hardits could often be found snoring, slumped against a corridor wall for one of their many naps. There wasn’t a particular enmity between humans and Hardits, but it was a given that if a Hardit wer
e awake, then it would be angry.
“What occurs here?” The Hardit wore a speaker on the collar of its grimy blue overalls. The synthetic voice was that of a human male, but the alien could be female for all Arun knew. If it possessed gender characteristics analogous to humans, they were completely obscured under its scruffy fur and clothing. It looked scarcely cleaner than Hortez. The difference was that it looked healthy. Arrogant too.
“Do you understand question? What occurs here? Answer!”
“It’s my fault,” blurted Arun. “I asked this Aux for directions. I am lost.”
One of the things Arun hated most about aliens is that their faces either did not move or else their facial expressions were unintelligible. Possibly at some level – scent maybe? – the Hardit was sneering, laughing, or fuming with rage. All that Arun could tell was that three cold, yellow-flecked eyes stared at him down that long snout. It looked about to bite him
Then the Hardit addressed Hortez. “Verify!”
“Yes, Mistress Tawfiq Woomer-Calix. I answered the request for help as swiftly as possible so that I might return my worthless attention to my duties.”
This monkey-frakker, Tawfiq, snapped her attention back to Arun. “You wear a scent identifier for insect nest,” she said her artificial male voice. “That makes you even more lost than you realize. You must descend four more levels before come to nest. Insects use you for unknown purposes. You human too stupid to understand. Insects very cunning, very manipulative. They have a purpose for you that will not end well when they realize human is worthless species. Better for all of us if humans wiped from galaxy. Go away!”
Arun bowed. “Yes, ma’am. Please forgive me, Mistress Tallfat Woomer-Cat-Licks.”
The Hardit growled. “It is Mistress Tawfiq Woomer-Calix. No, do not attempt to correct your speaking. Do not speak at all. Your voice irritates me. I do not forgive you. I want you go away.”
Arun nodded with as much deference as he could muster. With a last glance at the pitiful figure that had been his squad leader so recently, he grabbed his bike and set off for the lower levels.
Marine Cadet (The Human Legion Book 1) Page 16
