Hades- the Diasapora

by Ernest Filak

“What department? What does it deal with?”

  “No way. I’m not telling you anything without my supervisors’ consent. I have already bent the rules of recruitment. Even I can’t do more than that. You will have to wait some time for the final decision.”

  “And in the so called meantime sit in that shithole?” I didn’t hide my repulsion at being isolated.

  “I will apply for your preliminary training. It will last six weeks. It is exactly as much as the length of the journey back in subspace. Of course you don’t have to accept the offer. The five years will pass somehow.”

  It was a tough choice. Prison or service for the glory of Earth. One and the other were repugnant to me.

  “All right,” I said. “But, Theodore, no more lies and surprises.”

  “Sure,” we clinch the deal. “But this goes both ways.”

  “What?” I act the fool again.

  “Ben. The warden who ended up in the looney bin. Do you know what happened to him?”

  He was a fox, already checking me.

  “The guy has been collecting china dolls since childhood. Some of them went missing. Those with the largest emotional value,” I revealed a bit of the mystery.

  “Did you do it?” he can’t fully believe it, although he must be on to something. If Sunshine knows my sweet secret, he will find out sooner or later. Although, not necessarily from this future wife. It was very difficult to pry anything out of Sunshine. Either she decided it was worth saying something, or she kept silent as the grave.

  “I can’t tell you more,” I say being blatantly cheeky. “I have already bent the rules telling you this much. I can’t say more now.”

  He’s a pro. The cell is under constant surveillance. He will not get anything out of me. We’ll be back to this conversation, that’s for sure.

  “All right,” he says.

  Finally, he places a small engraved metal plate on the blanket.

  “What is this?” I ask.

  “Take a look yourself.”

  I pick it up. It’s a badge. On the front covered with black laminated oxide there are three bright red italicized digits saying 666.

  Theodore takes it out of my hands and pins it to the right side of my collar.

  “One of the survivors turned out to be a talented craftsman,” he explains. “He designed and made a badge for all the survivors. The Fleet has come to see it as their own propaganda interest. The chief has agreed to it and officially confirmed it as a legal badge. I wear one myself.”

  Now I notice the same one on his uniform jacket.

  “Wear it with pride, like all the others.”

  I don’t know what to say. I grunt unable to utter a single word.

  “The official ceremony was yesterday. Receiving the badge is often followed by an annulment of all your crimes.”

  “Am I a free man?”

  “I can’t give you a straightforward answer now. The thing is being worked on.” He gets up, walks to the door and knocks. “I’ve got you a transfer to the preliminary course in the Marine Corps.”

  “Thanks,” I mutter.

  “You’ll thank me when you pass it. If you pass it,” he corrects himself. “You’d better do. Without it my hands are tied.”

  A few gendarmes stand in the door.

  “Stand up!”

  Obeying the orders, again I stood against the wall with my legs wide. Skillful hands searched me. Both my hands were handcuffed. They also put shackles on my legs, just to be on the safe side. I could only take very small steps from now on.

  “Good luck,” Theodore said and left the cell.

  I didn’t answer him. You don’t regain trust once lost with one, even a very noble deed. Through all my time in prison I didn’t have much contact with people. That’s why I felt overwhelmed by the outside stimuli. I didn’t remember the last time I had seen so many people in one place. Everything whizzed before my eyes. We left the isolation block to enter a completely different world. My chains were in the way, but given the circumstances I was doing quite well walking.

  Reaching the shuttle and flying to another unit didn’t take us too much time. Even for a moment I didn’t get to see open space. I didn’t know where I was. Did we leave the Hadesian System behind? Fuck, I didn’t know anything. Again it was the outside forces that decided about my life.

  The gendarmes weren’t very talkative. They kept quiet and with professional indifference escorted me to my destination. I was glad they weren’t too eager. I remembered the Uroboros Star Troopers. Those guys were much better at making life difficult for the inmates. Compared to them, these boys were kindergarteners.

  We moored within a huge ship. I could guess it from all the activity around and the size of the place. Whereas in the previous unit the dominating color was white, everything was gray here. The gendarmes slowed down. The personnel we met on the way weren’t giving us a warm welcome. Sometimes they commented rudely, addressing out escorts.

  At checkpoints the guards took their time, as much as they could, testing the gendarmes’ patience to the limits. I couldn’t care less. I didn’t really understand what was going on. The documents opened up all gates for us.

  Finally, we ended up on deck H, where we were led to a zone marked Red7. We were already expected. I wasn’t the only newcomer in shackles. There was another man with the stature of a bear. He was huge like a wardrobe, seven feet tall, with hands like loaves of bread.

  “Unchain them,” the officer receiving us ordered.

  The gendarmes did so rather unwillingly. They weren’t used to letting their wards go free, especially not in a situation where they couldn’t control our movements anymore. It was connected with some small, though not negligible risk. But nothing unexpected happened. Both me and the other guy just stood there rubbing out wrists.

  The gendarmes left with visible relief, getting rid of a problem. The Marine officer walked around us, running his own preliminary assessment. We can’t have done very well, because he cursed and spit under his feet.

  “You’re late,” he said.

  We remained quiet. Corporal Kowalsky taught me that it was not worth opening your mouth unasked. I knew it and the big guy must have known it too. The officer now stood in front of him.

  “You applied for this course three times and finally made it.”

  The guy nodded. Well, I decided he was green after all. But it didn’t cause a negative reaction. Neither Kowalsky nor Sergeant Louis would ever let such a liberty slide.

  “Was it bad in supplies?” the Marine asked.

  “Bad it wasn’t,” the giant answered, “just boring.”

  “What did you do to finally be granted permission?”

  “I asked the boss the third time. When he refused and said a few unkind words about my mother’s conduct, I grabbed him by the neck and lifted up.”

  The guy definitely looked like he was capable of such a thing. Then the officer turned to my humble self. I instinctively straightened up and looked ahead, my hands clinging to my sides. Nobody said “attention” but it was just not a place to stoop or scratch your ass.

  “And you? Why did they lock you up?” he asked.

  “For being innocent, Sir,” I answered quickly. In Kappa 12 we were all sentenced unjustly. This was the automatic answer we would always give.

  “And the cross on your head and the number are also for being innocent?” he asked sarcastically.

  “I didn’t like Uroboros politics,” I answered enigmatically. This was not a time or place to go into detail.

  The officer didn’t ask further. The most important information was all in the files and I bet he knew more about me than myself. Now he was just probing us and forming his own opinion. An experienced soldier would always put his instincts first over what somebody else had written.

  “All right. Come on then,” he turned and led us inside the complex.

  And thus I became a recruit. I got between the blades of a meat grinder. And a well-oiled one at that. Be
fore I knew it, we went through a medical check-up, we got vaccinated and bathed. The warehouse man gave us lots of equipment saying that in case we lost it, the cost would be subtracted from our pay. What a beautiful word. I savored it in my mouth. Pay. Money! I was back in the saddle. Again I had the right to own something for myself. I was flat broke, but this was about to change very soon. For the time being I owned the engraved bit of metal in my collar. Just a little thing, but it gave me joy.

  We finally stood dressed in field clothes in front of a room marked with a huge letter H and number 2. On both sides of it there were other rooms. There were rooms below us as well and we were standing on a steel ramp running around a circular hall.

  “Get inside and choose a place to sleep,” the officer said and walked away.

  Inside we met a few other frightened recruits, who looked quite like us. They had already taken the beds inside the room. What remained unoccupied was a bunk bed right next to the door.

  “Which do you prefer?” I asked the bear-man.

  He only shook the frame, which rattled dangerously.

  “Do you want me to land on your head?” he asked.

  Sure not. I threw my stuff onto the upper cot. I wanted to jump up as well, but he dragged me down.

  “Where are you going? It seems kind to introduce ourselves first.”

  Making new social contacts was at the far end on the list of my priorities. But something in his voice told me that it was better not to say no.

  “Hello everyone,” he said and was greeted with a few grunts. “How many of you are here to avoid your sentence?”

  Almost everybody raised their hands.

  “That’s what I thought. And how many know what we can expect here and is capable of watching his and others’ butts.”

  Nobody reacted.

  “My name won’t tell you anything. My friends call me Bear, and Angry Bear when I’m pissed off. I put a bloody lot of effort into getting here.” The man could talk. His forward and confident tone was very convincing and everybody listened attentively to what he was saying. “Marines often recruit in conflict areas. They choose experienced people, often with combat skills, rather than total rookies from the Core. People living in Borderland are tougher and used to discomforts. The rate of people passing the unitarian course is higher among them. During the course we will be assessed, we’ll go through a series of tests after which we will be assigned to particular formations. Some of us will be sent to further specialist training. The losers, those who fail, will go back to the cells. Simple?”

  “Yes,” the voices sounded more confident this time.

  “The section in which the number of recruits falls below 50% of the original state gets dissolved. The lucky ones who pull though will have to start from scratch. That’s why let me warn you – I’m not going to put up with fucking around. I know a lot about this system. It cost me a sea of beer to get here and I will help anyone who needs help if they deserve it. Big fakers and crawlers had better get the fuck out of here now. It’s gonna be better for everyone in the long run.”

  Nobody said anything. Everyone seemed to be digesting the information.

  “Find yourself a buddy and take one bed together. This will help your cooperation. There should be sixteen of us. Is that so?”

  After a quick count it turned out that Bear was right. He had done his homework very well. The chances of this course surviving went up. People didn’t protest. Some of them switched their cots, and that was it. It was clear that in the future there would be more changes once people got to know each other better and change their buddies. We were no longer a herd of sheep. We had our bellwether. It was time for the wolves to arrive.

  Chapter XVII

  Training deck. Unitarian course. Day three.

  Laser beams flashed right over the barbed wire.

  “Lower your heads!” the drill instructor yells at the top of his voice. I quickly press the visor of my helmet into the mud. The hapless guy on my right does the same thing.

  Over the last two days we learnt one thing: immediately follow orders. No matter how stupid they were.

  “Hurry up! No dilly-dallying! Shrapnel coming our way!”

  The gunner is already waiting for it. The break in the barrage lasts a second, not more. But you can do so much in a second. I blindly slosh aside the mud, moving as quickly as I can to the end of the line of fire. I can hear the rattle of the machine gun. The bullets start bursting over our heads, sending shards all around. My protective armor obviously prevents more serious injury but it feels like somebody touches a hot poker against your ass. Sprinklers that are supposed to guard the place against fire flood the ground with extra torrents of water. Now we have to make sure we don’t drown. Still, we can consider ourselves lucky. The pair crawling behind us is in a much worse situation. Before we get to the end of the obstacle course, there is no trace of any water. Everything gets wiped out by the bodies of the recruits. I wouldn’t even be surprised if the instructors turned on hot air blowers to imitate desert climate. Yes. Whatever they do, the drill instructors always make sure we don’t get bored.

  I crawl behind a concrete wall. I help my partner to get there, pulling him by the arms.

  “Snails are faster than you two,” the instructor leans over us and can’t stop himself from commenting, “You made the worst time so far. If nobody beats you to it, you’ll get an extra round.”

  And he loses interest in us. I help my partner to sit. The hundred pound backpack tips him back. Unless… I wipe the mud off the visor. Just like I thought – a girl. No wonder she stayed behind. She’s new. She joined us during the morning call. She never had the time to tune in to the rest of the team.

  The instructors give us a hard time. It would be better for everybody if the weak ones were eliminated at the very beginning. I have already got six penalty points. It takes twenty-one to be removed from the course.

  “Are you holding up?” I ask. She doesn’t have the energy to answer and only nods.

  I unclasp my backpack. It feels so much better, as if somebody gave me wings. From the beginning of the training I have had maybe three hours sleep, and all of that in between classes, not in bed.

  “Check your gun,” I say and give her a sideways look. I can see no signs of breakdown, which is good. She takes out the magazine, checks the content, knocks it against her helmet and slides it back in. These guns are good weapons, although they are very sensitive to dirt, which gets to the needles quickly. Those we use for shooting practice are made of artificial plastic material and they attract dust like a magnet. A moment of neglect and they get jammed. And this is one of the mortal sins here.

  I follow her lead. A speck of soil falls out of my gun. It was a close shave. If I hadn’t noticed, I would definitely get another penalty point. I take a clean magazine out of my pocket, replace it and slide the dirty one into its place. The weapon light? Doesn’t work either. The wire disconnected from the collimator. I try to stick it back into the slot with my numb fingers but I can’t seem to manage. I’m too tired. There is still a red light over the door to the shooting range. We still have a few minutes.

  “Give it to me,” the girl quickly pushes the wire into its rightful place with her slender fingers. Through my sights I can now see the wall and the bright green point. Everything is ok now.

  “Thanks.”

  Sitting close, I can see that she is wearing the 666 badge, which means she is one of us. Unwritten law says that we need to help each other. Thanks to this, the percentage of drop-outs among Hadesians is the lowest.

  “Where are you from?” I ask her leaning against a concrete wall.

  “Don’t you remember?” she asks surprised. “I’m Martha. We fought together in the new shipyard and then they sent us to Fury. I recognized you immediately.”

  “Martha?” I try hard to make my tired brain work. “Sunshine claimed that a Martha had the hots for me.”

  “I never had the hots for you,” she protests. “
You’d better tell me what you got your penalty points for,” she quickly changes the subject.

  “I wanted to get the champion’s badge in shooting,” I admit. “I heard people say that once somebody gets it, things become easier for them.”

  “And what happened?”

  Of course Ingrid was supposed to help me in it. Everything was going smoothly until a dummy of the drill sergeant emerged next to the last target, a dummy of a terrorist. Instead of kneeling and shooting in a controlled way I decided to beat the record. To make the best time possible I had to shoot running. The terrorist had a bomb and the sergeant was a hostage. I was tired, I tripped and fired a shot from my hip. The plastic bullet must have been faulty because it whizzed giving a funny sound. Of course it turned the terrorist to dust, but a completely unnecessary hole appeared on the sergeant’s forehead.

  I made record time but I hit a neutral target. The boys were shrieking with laughter. I had no reason to laugh, because the sergeant took it all personally. He wouldn’t listen to my explanations. He punished me for any misconduct on my side. He would have made my life totally miserable if I hadn’t been moved to a different unit. I was really lucky. My desire to get any other badges is gone. I knew Martha wanted to get as much detail as possible but fortunately a yellow light flashed over the door.

  We took our positions. The pair wallowing in the mud behind us was now sliding down a ramp. Well, it looked like we wouldn’t be the ones to have the worst crawling time. I felt sorry for these guys. Green light. We storm though the door. The terrain is twelve yards wide and very long. It is covered with nice looking artificial grass. Farther down there is sand straight from the beach and at the end of the stretch a bunker.

  “Hide!” I yell to Martha. Fortunately, her reactions are proper. “Covering fire!”

  I send short controlled series across the observation slot. The girl jumps over the next few yards and falls into a trench. Now she is opening fire to allow me to find some shelter. But in that moment an observer reacts quickly. Plastic bullets are fired at the imitation of a stone that I’m trying to hide behind. When you are shot with a bullet like that you get a huge bruise and long minutes of the instructor’s yelling. Luckily, my partner is not a bumpkin. Those never made it off the flag ship. She must be talented if she carried her head off Fury. Now I know why she swears like a sailor when emptying a full magazine at the mock up figures of the bunker staff. Cardboard flies into the air everywhere. I throw myself into the trench next to her. It’s high time because the figure of a hunched sniper appears in a side passage. I send him three bullets. It’s enough.