No sooner had he left his body — or so it seemed — then Pedro leaped off him and the sights and sounds of the chamber colored and flavored once more.
“All done,” reported Pedro.
“All of what done?”
“I have implanted a pheromone amplifier-emitter under your sternum.”
“What the…? I mean, what makes you…” Arun sighed. Every word he spoke cost its weight in agony. “Why?
“For a start, you can throw this away.” Pedro snapped off the pheromone identifier around Arun’s neck. “Your new implant identifies you as a nest brother. Its scent charge should be good for about 160 years.”
“For a start. You said, for a start.” A wave of pain consumed Arun. They both waited until it ebbed sufficiently for Arun to speak. “What else have you done?”
“It is not only a dumb scent emitter. It is connected to your endocrine system.”
“My what? My hormones? Are you telling me you’ve turned my hormones into scent signals?” The idea was hilarious. Arun vaguely noticed that the pain had gone, replaced with such giddy good cheer that the room was spinning,
“Essentially, yes. In theory you could learn to control this. You could learn the rudiments of my language.”
Look, pal. I’m seventeen. In a couple years, maybe five at most, I expect they’ll ship me out on a troop ship. I don’t expect to return. I’m not some kind of scribe. You’re confusing me with another species. I’m a human. We shoot at people or we clean out the head. That’s about the range of our career options.”
“It seems that way now. Perhaps one day you could command whole legions of nest warriors with that device in your chest.”
Arun stared. He waited for his friend’s antennae to twist in amusement. When they didn’t, he burst out in laughter that brought the pain crashing back over him.
Those visions everyone else kept having about him weren’t right, after all. Arun wasn’t going to become a great human freedom fighter, leader of the all-conquering Human Legion. Nope. Future annals of military history would record him as the great ant queen.
Arun the Ant Queen.
Frakk!
He was still laughing on his way back home when he was arrested on Level 7 on suspicion of taking narcotics.
He laughed all through the night in the detention cube. He laughed so much that each motion became agony, the muscles deep inside his chest bruised beyond purple and into ultra-violet.
He was still laughing as he cursed Pedro
In the end the medics took him for an exploratory poke around in his chest to find out what the alien had done. He was still laughing as the anesthetic took him under.
He awoke with a head that felt like auto-cannons were laying down rapid fire inside. After a quick feel of his chest confirmed that Pedro’s gift was still there, he groaned from something other than the pain. He was going to be a Troggie nest brother for the rest of his life.
What the hell would Xin make of that?
—— Chapter 53 ——
Arun kept his buoyant mood all the way back from the Scendence team training session until the moment he turned off Corridor 622 and into the passageway to his hab-disk. Being this close to his home soured things. He tried to wrest back his cheerfulness, but it was like grappling a cloud of smoke.
An alert in his head warned him that inspection was in only ten minutes. He stepped up his pace. Every night he practiced with Xin’s Scendence team, and every time he stayed away later. Guess he was cutting it a little too fine.
He started to run.
Physical exertion usually made him feel good. So did Team Ultimate Victory. As the 8th battalion’s only remaining entry in the championship, Xin and Arun’s team were beginning to attract a fringe of supporters, helpers and wannabe coaches. For the first time this week, final year cadets had joined in. The next night even a few veterans had turned up to lend their support.
Despite these newcomers’ seniority, no one questioned Xin’s place as unofficial team leader. Arun might be the expert planner and strategist, but that was not the same thing at all as leadership. Xin took charge as naturally as breathing, and she insisted that all team members trained together, despite their different game roles.
Now that he was back in the team — Pedro having declared his appearance was a one-off — Xin had relaxed around Arun, even giving a few rare words of praise.
Arun remembered every glowing word.
And when her tight lips softened into a dimpling smile, all the threat and hardship of his life sloughed away. To catch fleeting glimpses of happiness — was that what the free people of Earth felt?
On the threshold of his dorm, with 130 seconds before inspection, Arun came to a halt. He took a deep breath. Xin might have softened, but his squadmates’ coldness had solidified into ice, blaming him for all their troubles.
Only Springer backed him, although sometimes with lukewarm support from Madge.
This was an asymmetric cold war. Arun couldn’t fight back because they were right to blame him.
Reluctantly, he entered his home.
“Here he is, McEwan the Maverick. Tell me, pal, is Team Ultimate Victory going to live up to its name?”
What the…? Arun took a moment to work out why his brain was buzzing in confusion. The question had come from a figure lying in Brandt’s rack. But this wasn’t the cadet lance sergeant. The voice was too rough, his body too slender. A novice? And why was no one ready for inspection?
The impostor sat up. His head was shaved, revealing a lateral scar burning a zigzag path across the top of his skull. He was small, but that face was too weathered to be a novice’s.
“Who the hell are you?” asked Arun.
Anger lit up the newcomer’s eyes momentarily, rapidly fading into a look of resignation. “Man, I’m whacked. I’ve been asleep for ninety years, which works out well for you, pal, ’cos I’m too tired to beat the crap out of you.”
Arun looked to his comrades who were watching in silence. Hoping I’ll trip up again.
The newcomer continued. “Name’s Umarov. I’m Blue-6’s replacement for the guy who got himself promoted out into command section.”
“Arun,” said Springer, “Umarov is a veteran.”
Umarov snorted. “Hardly. A few days after making Marine, they shoved me into the ice store. According to my body clock’s reckoning, I was iced only yesterday. You could say I’ve been a Marine for five days, or ninety years, depending on how you count it. Either way, you lizards are still cadets, which means I outrank all of you. For now. That’s why inspection is canceled permanently. Sergeant Gupta says it’s a waste of his valuable time to schedule nursemaiding you like kids, now that I’m here. If you fall out of line, he’ll kick my butt into the next star system. Simple. I like him.”
None of the other cadets disputed this. Zug gave a tiny shrug. It was all true, then.
Arun saluted. “Congratulations, Marine. Days or decades makes no difference. Graduation is a proud achievement.”
A frown came over Umarov. He hesitated, chewing over his next move. “You have no idea how much has changed. But this gung-ho attitude is worst of all. The others told me you don’t fit in, McEwan, but you’re just like the rest of them, acting as if you’re proud to be in the Marines. Do you really believe it is an honor to serve in the Corps family?”
“Of course, Marine Umarov.”
“No, don’t call me that. And don’t even think of calling me sir. That’s for instructors and officers – collaborators and murderers, mostly. You call me by the rank I earned. Carabinier. It’s the basic rank — was — and it’s called that because our primary weapon is the SA-71 carbine. It’s a title that makes sense, unlike your crap. I mean… he glanced at Madge… corporal. And — he gestured at Del-Marie — Lance corporal. Where the hell did those names come from? And lance! In the name of Horden’s Hairy Hindquarters what is a fragging lance? Can any of you filthy skangats tell me that?”
No one answered.
“Didn’t think so. Morons and lizards, the lot of you. Seems like while I was on ice they discovered the off switch for the human brain. So long as I’m still your superior, you will address me as Carabinier. Understand?”
“Yes, Carabinier,” said Arun.
“As I was saying, we obeyed orders because my generation was too cowardly to face the consequences of disobedience. To be born in a Marine farm was to be sentenced to a hellish servitude. Are you not slaves?”
“Wait,” said Madge. “You were raised on the farms? You grew wheat and barley and all that drent?”
Umarov’s eyes narrowed. “It’s been nine decades since I walked these passageways. I expected a few words to change. I didn’t expect you to butcher the entire English language.”
“With respect, Carabinier,” said Madge, “we speak Human, not English.”
“Jeez.” He grimaced. “This is a prime slice of awkwardness. You’ll be my NCO sooner than you expect, but for a little while you’re just a spotty little kid who doesn’t know shit. Let me tell you for a fact, you’re speaking English. Badly. If you don’t know that, it’s because of the Jotuns’ eternal messing with our heads. They probably want to stamp out any sense of loyalty to the various groupings of old Earth. They didn’t bother in my day. All we knew of Earth were fairy tales so corrupted in the retelling that they no longer made any sense. To us, English was just the name of a language. I’m guessing it means something more, now that you can read the history books.”
“Carabinier,” interrupted Del-Marie, but Umarov cut him dead with a cut of his hand.
“No, Sandure. Don’t tell me your history lessons. I don’t want to know. Not tonight.”
“I wasn’t. I was going to warn you. Your words could be considered… verging on disloyal.”
“Good for you, kid. You might be a lizard, but at least lizards have backbone. The rest of you sorry lot are just worms.”
Del-Marie brightened under the praise.
“But you score zero for intelligence.” Arun nearly laughed at the look of disappointment on Del-Marie’s face. “In my day the regime was so tough you had to think carefully before taking each breath. You could even be punished if you didn’t go to sleep lying in your bed according to regulations; on your back, dead center, head pointing up with arms by your side palms down. For those of us who survived that crap, they loosened up a few months before graduation. They gave you back a little of your humanity to make you a better soldier, just in time for you to use it on the front line. It’s obvious that hasn’t changed.”
“But, Carabinier,” said Madge. “We aren’t nearing graduation. Your words could be dangerous for us to hear.”
Umarov shrugged. “Another fair point, but still wrong. I’m not the only one to get thawed out. I just got the short straw and ended up with you freaks. There’s whole companies of my class forming up. Don’t you get it? They’re calling up the reserves. I don’t think you gotta worry about being years off graduation.
“Anyway. Crap! Give a guy a chance to think, why don’t you? I only started thawing out this morning. Brain’s still running on anti-freeze. Keeps getting distracted. Farms. Did I plow fields of dirt or something? No, I did not! I was raised on a Marine farm. They tell me this place is called Detroit now. Before that it was Alpha Base. Can’t have been that very long ’cos in my day this stinking hole was called Marine Farm #3 and I was crop 167. If you come from the persuasion that the simplest explanation is the one that’s most likely to let you survive one more day, then you’d interpret that as meaning we’d been farmed for 166 years before my crop. Me? I’m cursed by a sprinkling of intelligence. Enough to see this world of lies for what it is, but not clever enough to do squat about it.” He looked across all the cadets in the room before sniffing with disdain. “So they’ve prettied the words and now you love the Marine Corps. I hope there’s more to this change than bullshit because from where I’m sitting, you look a right bunch of prize chumps.”
Confused looks passed between the cadets.
“Chumps! Sheesh! I mean you’re idiots. Fools. You’ve all got a vacancy between your ears. They’ve gilded your cage and suddenly the Human Marine Corps isn’t your sentence, it’s your proud family! Jeez!”
“I don’t think so, Carabinier,” said Zug, trying to put deference into his voice.
Umarov nodded at him to go on.
“I am sure you are correct that our officers have realized that fear and brutality are neither the best ways to instill fighting spirit, nor to train Marines who act intelligently. But I believe there is more to it than that. Our veterans and instructors give us such different explanations about our place in the galaxy. I guess it depends on when they were raised and where they have been stationed. But I do see a pattern. The more recently they have fought, the more likely they are to believe that we are fighting for a worthwhile cause. We fight for Earth’s dignity. For humanity’s right to be taken seriously by a hostile galaxy that regards us as the ultimate underclass. And it isn’t just the fighting. If I were called on to carry out the Cull on my comrades, I would do so without complaint because that is just as much a part of fighting for our dignity as rushing an enemy strong point.”
Umarov shook his head. “Just nine decades ago, we were farmed. I like to think we were a more specialist crop than wheat, for instance, but still a crop to be grown, harvested and shipped out to meet demand. Does a blade of wheat have dignity? Eh? Even if it did, would it make a blind bit of difference to its fate?”
Del-Marie gave his most expressive Gallic shrug. “Perhaps, Carabinier, the truth does not matter. If we act as if we have a purpose, if we pretend that we have dignity, then our lives as soldier-slaves are more bearable. Perhaps we are living a lie, perhaps we are… chumps, but surely that is better than the truth if that truth is unbearably hellish?”
Umarov closed his eyes. “You’re no longer human, are you? I mean, you’re probably right, Sandure, but God help me, you’ve moved on and left humanity behind. You’re all built like the back end of a destroyer, and other than you, Sandure, with your silly shrug, there’s barely a hint of expression on any of you except…”
Umarov pointed at Arun. Except that one. He thinks too deeply. And she…” He pointed at Springer. “She cares too much. Thinks she’s the great Earth Mother. And the rest of you? It’s like they cloned the most unimaginative drones of my generation, fed them super growth hormone, and have been interbreeding them ever since. What’s wrong with you? We’re in our dorm! Hello? It’s where you let off steam? I expect a little stupid banter, the stronger reminding the weaker ones who’s in charge, and I expect grumbling. A lot of grumbling. Soldiers should always grumble. It’s one of the basic laws of the universe.”
“Les grognards, Carabinier,” said Zug.
“Laygronyards? That’s the modern word for grumbling is it? What kind of dumbass word is that? One you never use, I’ll bet, because you’re all like machines on standby mode, waiting to be fully activated in the morning.” He shook his head. “Laygronyards? Shit! You fragging scare me more than the Jotuns.”
What was Zug playing at? He’d talked of these grognards before. It was a French word — meaning grumblers — that had been the nickname for a corps of elite French soldiers. Arun liked the name, though. It sounded very human.
Umarov grabbed a softscreen and started to figure out the controls. The rest of the room remained silent and motionless.
“What? Oh, for crying out loud,” groaned Umarov. “You’re dismissed. Go do whatever robots do in their free time. Just leave me the hell alone.”
Arun considered helping the Carabinier struggling with his softscreen, but decided to wait a while. He grinned. Like him, Umarov was an outsider, and one who saw immediately that there was something screwy about the attitude of the cadets.
Arun thanked Fate for bringing him a natural ally. Change was in the air, and that meant the next time he left his Scendence training, he might have something worth coming home to.
—— Chapter 54 ——
Striding along the curved corridor of sector F7 on his way to the shower tunnel, Arun grinned when he thought back to how Umarov’s arrival last night had shaken up the frigid atmosphere in his dorm.
Ever since that stupid tunnel exercise, his life had gone from drent to drenter. Zug and the guys could go vulley themselves for thinking Arun had brought it all on himself. So what if all their cold-shoulder drent was due to them being drugged? That wasn’t a good enough excuse.
Arun had made his choices but he stood up for them. Why shouldn’t he? He wasn’t a loser. It was just the universe trying to make him look bad by conspiring to trip him up all the time.
Well, nuts to the universe too, because he was feeling good right now. It was 06:42 and he’d just finished his solo morning workout: three circuits of Ring 7 – the second-longest ring in the hab-disk – followed by a half hour pushing and pulling against resistance channels in the gym.
Even being an engineered freak, courtesy of centuries of White Knight tinkering, had its plus points. Did the humans on Earth feel such a flare of unquenchable energy first thing in the morning? From what he’d heard, they mostly fell reluctantly out of bed in a semi-torpor that would hold them for hours. Whereas, thanks to his augmented body, Arun felt not just that he could climb a mountain before breakfast, but that he needed to, or else his body would explode from all the pent up energy inside his muscles.
He walked into the F7 shower room, giving a vague wave of greeting to the other cadets stripping off on their way in, or on their way out, putting on fresh underwear and fatigues from the bins provided by the Aux.
Arun had his shirt off and was about to tug down his gym pants when he saw Zug and Osman up ahead, naked and about to enter the shower tunnel. When they spotted Arun, they glanced at each other and then grabbed gym pants from the bin and put them on.
“What’s up?” asked Arun. He spoke carefully, not wishing to antagonize them.
Zug and Osman faced off against him.
Marine Cadet (The Human Legion Book 1) Page 34
