Marine Cadet (The Human Legion Book 1)

by Tim C. Taylor

  Tawfiq gave out the day’s assignments. The newcomers were each paired with an experienced Aux, and Arun thought his luck had changed slightly when he realized he was to be paired with Hortez.

  But then Madge thumped him painfully in the ribs as they walked out into the passageway.

  “Thanks for nothing, you dongwit.”

  “What? What did I do?”

  “Monkey-bitch was obviously trying to goad you. Watch me strike this attractive female. How does that make you feel? Well, didn’t take long for us to find out, genius? Did it?”

  “I got it worse than you, didn’t I?”

  Madge grabbed him by the shoulders and span him around, forcing Arun to look into her beautiful, blood-spattered face.

  “Tawfiq wants your ass. You’ve just let her know that beating me is a perfect way to get to you. So guess who’s going to get beaten and humiliated every chance that monkey-bitch gets.”

  “Lay off him,” protested Springer.

  At least someone doesn’t hate me, thought Arun.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, cadet. Did I say something horrible to your boyfriend?”

  Springer stiffened at that but said nothing.

  “What would you know anyway?” Madge snapped. “Monkey-bitch took one look and assumed you were a boy. If you ever wondered about your looks, then wonder no more, sister.”

  Arun watched in horror as his friends squared up to each other, violence in their eyes.

  “Keep your mouth shut, McEwan,” whispered Hortez. “Let them sort it out. I might be down and nearly out, but I still understand women better than you do. Besides, once you’ve finished being Tunnel-Aux scum, Madge will be your cadet NCO again. She needs to remind both of you who’s in charge.”

  Springer and Madge broke contact and stormed off down the corridor so fast that the Aux they were supposed to be following had to run to keep up with their charges.

  Hortez slowed, grabbing Arun’s sleeve to encourage him to do the same. “Let them go,” said Hortez “Try to make things right with them tonight. And don’t be too hard on yourselves. Breaking us is about the only pleasure the Hardits have. They’ve gotten quite good about it.”

  Arun slapped his friend on the back. “I’m thinking,” he hissed.

  It was good to hear his friend talk when he’d pretty much given Hortez up for dead, but Arun wanted quiet to think.

  Most people when they got angry just wanted to hit something, their higher order cognitive functions on temporary leave of absence. Software system architecture design, problem solving, strategic planning – these were off the menu until the fight or flight hormones had been purged from their system.

  Arun was like that too – most of the time. But maybe Arun was an experimental rewiring, a test subject for the human re-engineering program. Because he could take all that anger and shunt the energy into his mind, making it whirl and dance in ways that were normally beyond him.

  And that’s what happened now.

  The Hardits had humiliated the cadets, but had revealed many weaknesses as they did so. Inside his head, Arun pictured a mindscape of possibilities. Opportunities to exploit those Hardit weaknesses were laid out across this mindscape, scores of them. Arun knew better than to box in his thinking with conscious thought, so he unleashed his mind to roam wherever it wanted, testing the strength of those possibilities, rejecting most, promoting some. Extrapolating. Dreaming.

  By the time his mind calmed, its task completed, he’d only progressed ten paces along the corridor. He couldn’t point to any definite plan. Not yet. Nothing like that conviction that had told him to connect to Xin through Scendence. All the same, he was confident that seeds of revenge had been planted in his head, ready to sprout and bloom when the time was right.

  He grinned, even though his mind felt bruised by its effort.

  This was going to be a week the Hardits would never forget.

  —— Chapter 28 ——

  As far as Arun was concerned, when you pooped indoors, you did your business, flushed, and went on with your day. What happened after you flushed had never occurred to him.

  Until now.

  Banishment to the Aux underclass had already opened his eyes to some of the least glamorous aspects of life in Detroit.

  Opened his eyes and made them water with the stench.

  That first morning with Hortez, Arun learned what happened after you flushed.

  Aux Team Beta was based near the regimental school on Level 5. At seven years old, the most promising kids were enrolled in the school as its new intake of novices. There the children fought, trained and competed to graduate as cadets at the age of 17.

  Until a few weeks earlier, Hortez and the rest of Blue Squad had still been novices, sleeping in a 50-bed dorm not five minutes’ walk from Team Beta’s base. Now, for his first assignment as an Aux, Arun was back, helping Hortez to transfer novices’ rotting excrement from the collection vats into wheeled storage tanks. It had been one of these slurry carts that Hortez had been pushing when Arun had first chanced across him on his bike.

  Tawfiq had tasked them with clearing out one latrine block in the morning and another in the afternoon. That hadn’t sounded too hard, but then Arun had assumed they would be cleaning out a single day’s filth.

  They weren’t.

  Underneath the latrines were collection vats where the output of several hundred novice backsides accumulated for 2-3 weeks before the Aux emptied them. The putrid stench hit Arun the moment he opened the door to the access passageway.

  The vats were primed with an automated suffusion of bacteria, engineered to rapidly transform the dung into fertilizer, readily digestible by both the crops grown topside by human Agri-Aux, and the Troggie fungus farms in dark underground caverns.

  For the first few trips, Arun and Hortez fitted hoses to drainage taps and allowed the lumpy liquid to drain into the tanks of their dung carts. The foul slurry stank and splashed but they wiped themselves off as best they could, and pushed the carts up the long looping main ramp of Helix 1, and then out past the watching Marines of Gate 5 to a topside facility. There they emptied their contents into wagons with sprayer attachments that would be towed by the Agri-Aux to their fields.

  Arun had been grateful for the fresh air once they reached the surface, but Hortez had picked up pace, eager to get under cover. He’d already explained that without the protective spray of the shower block oils, Tranquility’s sun burned.

  Arun thought his friend was making a drama out of all this sun-worry, especially after they emerged into a topside deeply shadowed by the mountains. Even in half-light, the peeling skin and weeping sore on Hortez’s cheek were now more obvious, more than enough to convince Arun to follow his friend’s example by pulling his hat low and keeping to the deepest shadows. He prayed they never sent him out beyond the protective shield of the mountains.

  After their third trip, the latrine slurry stopped flowing and there was no choice but to open the hatch. They got in and shoveled, the brown goop slapping around their calves and sucking at their every step. The sight of endless gallons of semi-putrefied dung churned Arun’s stomach so much that he vomited the contents of his stomach into the vat. The wet slurping noise as they dug out another shovel-full was merely disgusting; far more sickening was the toxic stench. In the end, they took it in turns, one spending five minutes shoveling while the other recovered, breathing the air outside. The same putrid access passageway air that had so horrified Arun at the beginning was now sweet-smelling relief, compared with the miasma inside the vat.

  A couple more trips later and Arun’s sense of smell had been so violated that it finally shut down in protest.

  He might not be able to smell his own stench any longer, but it became clear that other people could. They chanced across two novice boys skulking in the passageway outside at the end of a return trip back to the vats. The lads – Arun put them at about 14 – made a show of wrinkling their noses in disgust.

  One of the boys p
laced himself in the middle of the tunnel, barring their way. “Apologize,” he ordered.

  His friend joined him. “Yeah, say sorry for offending decent people with your Aux stink.”

  Arun and Hortez halted their carts a short distance away from the roadblock.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” said Hortez. “Please let us pass.”

  Arun looked in horror at his friend. Then he turned his attention to the boys. Could he pick up these novices and shove them into the vat of dung? Probably. He started thinking through the consequences.

  “You!” The first boy pointed at Arun. “You have to apologize too.”

  Arun scowled back.

  “C’mon, man,” Hortez whispered to him. “We’ve got more to worry about than your stupid pride.”

  “Sometimes it is only pride that keeps us fighting through adversity.”

  “You can cut that Marine Corps drent out right away,” hissed Hortez. “That doesn’t apply to me anymore, or had you forgotten?”

  “We’re waiting,” said the second boy. “Do we have to report you?”

  “Do it for my sake,” Hortez insisted.

  Arun clenched his jaw in fury. He was going to do it. He really was…

  Gazing blankly into the middle distance he said vaguely: “I’m sorry.”

  “Not good enough,” said the first boy.

  “Yeah, like that would convince anyone,” said his friend. “Kneel down and kiss my boots. No, you stink too much. Kneel down five paces in front of me and… and lick the floor.” He laughed. So did his little veck of a friend.

  That was too much! The stupid skangat was going headfirst into the collection vat and damn the consequences.

  Arun had only taken one step toward the nearest boy when they were interrupted by the sound of laughter. Another two novices emerged from farther up the corridor, a boy and a girl, also about 14. When they saw what was happening, the laughter stopped. The new boy shook his head sadly and put his hands on his hips. “What do you think you’re up to, Rammy?”

  The two bullies looked crestfallen as they glanced at each other, trying to work out how to play the situation. They withered under the disapproving glare of the other novices.

  Arun was convinced he knew what he was seeing now. These kids had arranged to meet up for a little privacy. A double date during a gap between classes.

  “Well?” demanded the girl. “Why are you causing trouble, Stephan? You know you’re already on a warning.”

  “We’re punishing these Aux,” replied Stephan without conviction.

  “They deserve it,” said the other boy, Rammy. “For olfactory offenses.” He couldn’t help laughing.

  “It’s not funny,” said the unnamed boy. “Leave them alone. They can’t help being Aux.”

  “Can’t they?” said Stephan. “I reckon they can. You’re not born an Aux. You become one because you’re a loser.” He addressed Hortez and Arun. “You are losers, aren’t you?”

  Hortez answered without hesitation. “Yes, sir.”

  “Why’re you a loser?” Rammy asked him. “What didja do?”

  “No, don’t answer that,” the girl told Hortez.

  “Why shouldn’t he, Ibri?” asked Rammy.

  “Because I don’t want to hear any of the ways in which we could end up like them. Besides, you’re an utter skangat, Ramdas Tammaro. I expect Stephan put you up to this and you were too pussy to stand up to him. You’re better than this.”

  “I don’t plan on being a loser,” said Ramdas. There was steel in his voice. Arun reckoned he’d already worked out that his date was a wash out. Tough luck, you veck.

  “Yeah? Well, I don’t expect those two did either,” said his date, “but look where they ended up all the same.”

  “I still say they’re frakking losers,” said Ramdas.

  His date glared back, daring him to retract.

  Then the other boy upped the stakes. “Apologize to those poor guys,” he demanded.

  Arun glanced at Hortez. His friend was wearing a glazed expression as if he weren’t entirely there. Arun was beginning to see how that worked. Here was an argument going on right in front of their faces. On the surface, at least, the argument was about the two Aux, but the truth was that they weren’t really part of the exchange. As Aux, they were expected to wait there in silence until their betters permitted them to go about their business.

  Only yesterday, if he’d come here wearing his cadet’s fatigues, the novices would have stepped politely aside out of his way. Well, he decided, he was still the same person as the day before. And so he spoke up.

  “There’s no harm done,” Arun said. “Let us go on our way.”

  “Stay where you are,” ordered the girl. She redirected her glare at Arun, if anything, intensifying it. “You’re not going anywhere until these two idiots say sorry.”

  Eventually, after much sighing and rolling of eyes, Stephan and Ramdas made grunting sounds that their dates decided to interpret as apologies. Hortez and Arun were allowed to get back to the collection vat.

  They didn’t speak for a long time, the only sound the squeak of the dung cart wheels and the slurp and plop of shoveling slurry.

  “At first I didn’t know what was worse,” said Hortez eventually, “the novices who try to grind our face in the dirt, or the ones who pity us. Now? There’s no contest. The ones who pity us sometimes throw us scraps to eat. I gulp down every morsel and thank them with every mouthful.”

  Arun couldn’t think of a reply. He wasn’t a hero. He wasn’t special. It was only the hope that they would let him back into the hab-disks in a few days that separated Arun from Hortez. If he had to stay here forever, he had no doubt he would soon be begging for scraps himself.

  And worst of all, it had been him who had gotten Hortez kicked out of the battalion in the first place.

  He wracked his mind, trying to think of a way to help out his old friend, hoping his subconscious had worked its planning magic.

  But he couldn’t. Hortez’s plight was hopeless.

  The only question was whether Arun and the girls would be joining him.

  —— Chapter 29 ——

  That evening, Arun, Springer and Madge joined the roll call of 52 Aux workers, lined up in the back row. They were short one worker, Number 47 having gone off to the kitchen to fetch the evening meal.

  Instead of Tawfiq, another Hardit took the roll call. From the faded blue dye in her mane, Arun identified her as Hen Beddes-Stolarz. Hortez had explained before Hen came in that she was as bored by dealing with the human workers as Tawfiq was thirsty for cruelty.

  No words were spoken. The Hardit simply stood in front of the lineup, sniffing the scent markers smeared onto the breasts of the humans, and glancing from time to time at the softscreen she was holding.

  All of them, Hen included, waited in silence for Number 47, who eventually returned wheeling a catering trolley bearing two metal buckets. One contained stale bread, the other held scraps left behind by the novices from their evening meal.

  It wasn’t much for 53 people. It wouldn’t even feed 10.

  Springer cleared her throat. “Mistress, I beg permission to speak.”

  Hen flicked her ears. Whether that meant interest or anger was something Arun had yet to learn. But when the Hardit walked over to Springer and gave her a sniff, she said in her artificial voice of a human male: “114. A new one. Yes, human, you may speak.”

  “Forgive my ignorance,” said Springer, “but that food is insufficient nutrition for 50 humans, and by adding our mouths to your team, it is even less adequate. I can see that the workers of Auxiliary Team Beta are malnourished. May we please have more food rations so that we may work harder for you?”

  Hen closed her eyes but said nothing.

  What was Springer playing at? They’d agreed not to wind up the Hardits, to get out of here in one piece. Arun couldn’t help admiring Springer, though, even if she was one stupid shunter.

  If Tawfiq had been here, Arun
had no doubt that she would have activated the pain function in Springer’s suit. But Hen Beddes-Stolarz was different. She opened her eyes and waved her ears from side to side in a motion Hortez had told him indicated pleasure.

  “You ask a valid question,” Hen replied through her voice box, the artificial voice sounding so reasonable. “You argue that we overseers provide ineffective care for our work team. Your reasoning is not at fault, but your error is to start with the assumption that Work Team Beta consists of 53 individuals.”

  “Mistress, I do not understand.”

  “That is obvious, 114. Obvious and to be expected. It is your ignorance and stupidity that makes humans inferior. Team Beta’s workforce consists of 22 humans. And yet I see 53 bodies when I include you new ones. What we have here is not an insufficient supply of food but an over-supply of workers. No, that is not quite right. You are suffering from oversupply. Team Beta has work for 22 individuals. We have accommodation and food for 22. The law of supply and demand is universal. Demand is fixed and so eventually supply must reduce to match demand.”

  “We don’t even have food for 22, mistress,” said 47 angrily. “Five thugs from Team Gamma – Cliffie’s team – were waiting for me on the way back from the kitchens. They stole four of our food buckets.”

  “Excellent.” Hen wiggled her ears. “Number 47 adds a well-timed additional dimension to this matter. We prefer our work teams to have the strongest individuals. Transferring workers between teams is simple. If you want the food back then prove you are strong enough to deserve it. Steal it back.”

  Springer didn’t hesitate. “Team Beta!” she yelled. “Who’s with me?”

  To hear such fire in a human belly sent a jolt of surprise shooting through the Aux.

  Arun and Madge were by Springer’s side in an instant. Hortez hesitated for a moment before joining them.

  A flicker of fire lit up the eyes of the other Aux.

  “Don’t forget, they’ll be gone in a week,” sneered Number 87 – the worker who’d stolen their clothes.