by James Cox
The sound of Micah's cell door opening woke him from a fitful rest. He was cold and sore and he assumed it must be the next day.
“On your feet, prollie. Your solicitor's here.” The constable acted as though speaking to Micah soiled her.
The constable escorted Micah to a room bare of furnishings save a table and two chairs. A rumpled man with a professionally preoccupied expression sat in one of these, attention buried in his terminal. Micah took the other chair uninvited.
“Oliver Crump,” said the man, not looking up, “Stine, is it?”
“Stone, sir. Micah Stone.”
Crump did look up at this and he did not look pleased.
“I don't suppose you want to confess?”
“What?”
Crump handed Micah a bundle of papers.
“This isn't right,” said Micah, after a brief perusal, “They assaulted us! Jenn and I tried to leave but they grabbed us. Adamson was...”
“Mister Adamson,” interrupted Crump, “Or Seigneur Adamson, if you wish to be polite.”
“Adamson,” continued Micah, “was going to force himself on Jenn.”
“They told you this, did they? No?” Crump sighed and entered something on his terminal. “Not guilty, then, but I advise against it. You're in enough trouble already, Stone.”
“But I'm not guilty of anything. I was defending myself! Besides, they were on turbo! They could have...”
Crump snapped shut his terminal.
“Stone, slandering your victims will not help your case. Keep that in mind!”
“But...” Micah felt his heart drop to his feet. He should have known. Did know, in fact, but allowed a stupid hope to cloud it.
Crump rose, his detritus gathered.
“Sir?”
Crump looked at him.
“Can I speak with my parents? Will you call them for me?”
Crump pondered this a moment. Finally he dug out a stylus and pad.
“Nothing to do with your crime, Stone, or I won't be able to pass it.”
Micah wrote a moment, paused to consider something, then wrote again. Crump took the pen and paper and summoned the guard to return Micah to his cell.
***
A time later another guard brought Micah from his cell. Micah shuffled into a line of others, most wearing bleak expressions, and the lot of them lock marched to a small open yard. Under the guards' watchful gaze the prisoners marched around the yard several times. Micah ventured a look up. Almost noon. He and his family should be having a picnic downriver of the billets. With Jennifer! That thought lasted Micah until a cloud smothered the sunlight.
After a few minutes of exercise the guards herded Micah and the rest into a cafeteria of sorts. Each received a small bowl of protein and vitamin paste, two slices of soyabread and a bulb of weak tea. The stuff had no flavor and Micah didn't linger over it. No one spoke.
Around early evening Micah repeated the walk-and-feed. After this meal, though, he and the others marched to a long hallway. The other prisoners removed their wraps. Micah copied them nervously. As the line of men started down the corridor, jets of water sprayed from the ceiling and walls. The streams were freezing cold and scalding hot by turns and alternated with some strong cleanser. After the first of these Micah thought to close and cover his eyes. An automated rack at the end of the hallway dispensed degradable towels. Micah discovered just how quickly they disintegrated. Another rack dispensed wraps.
Back in his cell again Micah tried to sleep. He tried to have some hope, some justice, but none came. What Adamson the father couldn't do Adamson the son had. Micah tried to take some solace in the production Adamson's division would lose but he couldn't. Small though it was, Micah's income helped his family. He supposed they'd survive without it but he'd saved as much as he could to send Deke to an upstatus school. Micah felt that hope fade too. He knew he'd be barred at the very least; never mind his talent, he'd be given a stipe somewhere. If Adamson had any say Micah's stipe would be nothing less than hellish.
The next day, after noon feeding, a scowling guard fetched Micah. Again without words the man escorted Micah to a small booth with a thick pane of glass and a small vox. His parents sat on the other side, both looking worried.
“Son! Micah. We were worried,” said his father. He tried to say more but couldn't.
“I'm all right, father. Bored, though. It's not really that bad.”
The lie curdled Micah's tongue but his parents looked relieved.
“What happened, son,” asked his father.
Micah told them. His mother dabbed her eyes and his father nodded sadly.
“I'm sorry, son. I tried to get you out. No solicitors over the holiday. Certainly none for us.”
“I have one,” said Micah, “I told him what happened.”
Micah's father nodded. “You know you've been charged.”
“Lawrence!”
“It's all right, mother. I know. Mr. Crump explained it to me.”
“Time,” said the guard.
“Mother, Father, I love you. Tell Deke too.”
“We will, son.”
“Come on, prollie. I don't have all day!”
Micah's last glimpse was of his mother holding back tears. And his father.
***
Micah saw Crump again the next morning. He missed early feed but that didn't bother him. Crump had a largish parcel that turned into a coverall and a pair of scuff shoes.
“You're being arraigned today. Hurry up and change. The ombudsman doesn't like to be kept waiting.”
The ombudsman might not like to wait, thought Micah, but he didn't mind if his cases did. Some long time after noon found Micah still in the waiting cell. Finally a bailiff came for him.
Micah hoped to see his family but the gallery held only a few disinterested folks. The bailiff sat Micah none too gently next to Crump to await the ombudsman's attention.
“40435-16,” called the clerk, “Commonwealth vs. Stone. Assault, multiple counts. Armed assault, multiple counts. Battery, multiple counts. What say ye?”
Crump stood and motioned Micah to do likewise.
“Honorable and esteemed sir, Mister Stone wishes to place himself at the mercy of the Commonwealth. He is remorseful for his actions and he wishes...”
“No!” said Micah, “I'm not guilty! I...”
Rough hands grabbed Micah and he felt a hypo against his neck. His arms went flaccid and suddenly it took all of his concentration not to fall to the floor. He made his chair. Barely.
“Honorable and esteemed sir,” said Crump, “Mister Stone spoke with the regrets of his actions clouding his judgment. I implore you toward lenience.”
The ombudsman looked at his terminal and then the prosecution.
“Honorable prosecution?”
One of the men rose.
“Most honorable and esteemed sir, we, the humble representatives of the persons and aggrieved families of Francis Adamson, Lom Michaels and Fred Karris do wish to see justice done. These victims were maliciously used by this common hoodlum and we beseech you to confer upon him a punishment equal to the pain and suffering he so wrongly inflicted. We urge the maximum sentence, sir, and request that it be on the equatorial band.”
Micah wanted to weep. Detoxifying the equatorial regions wasn't strictly necessary but the Commonwealth kept the program active for capital crimes and as stipes worthy of such.
Micah waited for the ombudsman to pronounce sentence. He'd receive equatorial, of course. Micah had no idea what maximum sentence would be; but whether one year or ten it would be for life. Modern medicine could cure most of the equatorial toxins but they required lengthy and expensive treatment. Treatment Micah had no delusions of affording.
“Hear then our sentence,” said the ombudsman, “Having reviewed the pertinent facts and taking cognizance of the perpetrator's plea we are inclined toward mercy. The perpetrator is hereby sentenced to three years' equatorial labor per offense. Half of the perpetrator's earnin
gs shall be garnished to recompense our honorable citizens who were harmed by his actions. Upon completion of his sentence the perpetrator is barred from service for a period of not less than ten years.” The ombudsman seemed bored. “In addition, for untimely and unwarranted disruption of our court the perpetrator is fined one thousand credits. So let the record show.”
Numbness suffused Micah as the bailiff escorted him away. Equatorial. Micah knew he'd die there but for the ombudsman to fine him most of his savings... No doubt his life geld would go to Adamson and Deke would never afford a better school.
Crump glared coldly at Micah until the sedative wore off.
“You didn't help, Stone. I could have gotten you off with ten plus ten, max, but you had to disrupt the court. Ombudsmen don't like their courts disrupted.”
“But I'm not...”
“Be quiet, Stone. None of you are guilty. None of you are ever guilty. I've tried to arrange a meeting with your family but I doubt that will happen now.”
Crump fiddled with his terminal.
“Sir,” said Micah, quieter now, “Is there anything else to do?”
Crump looked disgruntled at this.
“If his honorable and esteemed sir is free at the end of the day and if he is still inclined toward mercy I may be able to sway your sentence to enlistment.”
That comforted Micah very little. He'd toyed with the idea of enlisting after he graduated school. Military service elevated Status and had other benefits. But Mister Carruthers stopped him. Rather, his stories had. Carruthers himself volunteered early and lived most of his life in service to the Commonwealth. And, being of low Status, had given most of his life to the Commonwealth. Both legs, an arm, both eyes and most of his skin were artificial. Still, thought Micah, better than slow poisoning. He nodded.
***
The next day Micah's parents visited again.
“We heard, son.” Clearly Lawrence Stone remembered Carruthers' stories too.
“It was that or equatorial, father.” Micah shrugged. His parents nodded.
“Young Jennifer called on us yesterday,” said his mother.
That brightened Micah.
“How is she?”
“Doing well. She says you still owe her some data.”
Micah smiled, which puzzled his mother.
“Adamson wasn't really interested in her,” said his father, “Just had her demoted to the port labor pool. We may share shifts, sometime.”
“She does seem nice,” smiled his mother.
“She is. Will you see she's well?”
“Of course, son. I'll tell her you asked. I think she'd have come if they'd let her.”
Micah nodded.
“Time,” said the guard.
Chapter 2. Enlisted
Micah's trip to boot camp was a long ride in a hot, uncomfortable, crowded hoverbus. Several of the young men and women at the front talked with excitement but most of the others kept quiet. Micah sat at the back with another lowcarder who had a vacant stare and an impressive collection of recently-healed scars. Disinterestedly Micah watched what terrain he could see passing.
“FALL IN, YOU WORMS!!”
The voice broke through the milling mass of people the hover disgorged.
“I SAID FALL IN, YOU WORMS!! PUT YOUR WORTHLESS WORM FEET ON THE WHITE LINE, YOU WORMS!!”
Micah and the others hurried to comply. The source of the voice, an elemental force clad in an immaculate uniform, dogged the heels of the slowest ones.
“LISTEN UP, YOU WORMS! I AM SERGEANT WILLIAMS, YOU WORMS! I AM YOUR MOTHER, YOUR FATHER AND YOUR WHOLE SWINE-RAPING FAMILY NOW!! DO YOU UNDERSTAND, YOU WORMS?!”
“Yes sir,” spatted an anemic chorus.
“SAY WHAT? I CAN'T HEAR YOU!!”
“YES SIR.” Louder this time and closer to unison.
“DID YOU WORMS SAY SOMETHING?”
“YES SIR!!”
“DO NOT SIR ME, WORMS! I WORK FOR THE COMMONWEALTH, MAY LIBERTY REIGN!!”
“YES SIR!” vied with “YES SERGEANT!” this time.
Williams strode up and down the line looking at each person like the worms he'd named them.
“I want you to KNOW. I have NEVER in my LIFE seen such a WORTHLESS collection of WORMS, MAGGOTS and SEWAGE-SUCKING VERMIN! DO YOU HEAR ME?!”
“YES SERGEANT!!”
Williams gazed upon them a moment longer.
“IF YOU'RE THE BEST THIS GENERATION CAN DO I FEEL SORRY FOR YOUR MOMMIES. I FEEL SORRY FOR YOUR DADDIES! I FEEL SORRY FOR ALL THE WORMS YOU USED TO CRAWL AROUND WITH, DO YOU HEAR ME?!”
“YES SERGEANT!!”
Micah almost grinned. This was straight off the holovee and nothing he hadn't expected. Perhaps, he thought, he'd not made a bad choice after all.
“FALL OUT, YOU WORMS! HAUL YOUR WORTHLESS WORM ASSES TO THE ORIENTATION CENTER. THAT IS THE BUILDING RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOUR WORTHLESS WORM FACES!!”
Williams perused them a second more.
“I SAID MOVE! MOVE, MOVE, MOVE, MOVE...”
Micah and the others MOVED!
***
Micah lay back on his bunk, not wanting to chat with his erstwhile roommates but not particularly avoiding it. Orientation was an ordeal of filling out forms, being inspected, being examined, being measured, getting uniforms and constantly being barraged by Williams or one of his ilk. When they moved they moved double-time and when they didn't move they stood at attention. The training staff had small yet stiff crops and they used them eagerly. More recruits than Micah bore small bruises.
“Vacuum city,” groaned Terry McRiddle from the upper bunk, “Coming down.”
McRiddle sat on his footlocker and faced Micah.
“I know that motherless bottomfeeder said we don't have a past but nulling our Status? That reeks to orbit!”
“Only if you got some to lose,” said Bill Teague from the bunk next to Micah, “Some of us don't have but four or five levels. Hades, we may even have a lowcarder or two here. They probably think this is a posh.”
Micah yawned a real one and rolled over.
“Hmmf,” said McRiddle, “G'night, Micah. Sweet dreams. Yeah, I will too.”
Micah lay in the darkness and mulled his situation. McRiddle and Teague obviously didn't know he was a lowcarder. He didn't see fit to enlighten them. They didn't necessarily speak with malice but they might...
“ATTEN-HUT, YOU LAZY WORMS!! I SAID GET OUTTA BED, YOU LAZY WORMS!! THIS AIN'T YOUR HOUSE AND I AIN'T YOUR BABY-SITTER!! I SAID GET YOUR LAZY WORM ASSES OUTTA BED NOW, YOU LAZY WORMS!!”
Micah, barely asleep after Lights Out, stumbled groggily from his bunk. McRiddle thumped to the floor beside him and they both snapped to attention. They tried to snap to attention; they very loudly and with profanity did not impress Williams.
After bare minutes to pull on their boots and whatever else they thought to snatch from their kits the recruits went for a night run. Williams felt the urge to run some of the foul taste out of his mouth. They ran.
***
Micah's second day at boot camp gnawed at his conviction that he made the right choice. He thought himself in decent shape but Williams quickly disabused him of this. Supple rather than muscular, Micah ached in more places than he knew he had. They started the morning with calisthenics, then a run, then a battery of tests. Then came breakfast and more tests. Then indoctrination, which Williams called instruction. He informed them that during the next few weeks the recruits would be departing for their respective services as indicated by their tests. But not until he whipped them into something besides worthless, bottom-feeding, slime-sucking, etc. WORMS!!
***
By his third week Micah had adjusted to his schedule. Mostly. The morning run didn't wind him any longer, just warm him up for what came afterward. He could on command deliver the General Orders and Chain of Command as well as the recruits' general directives. After a trip past the posting board he could recite his orders for the day. He did well on the computer tests and felt sure he'd
receive a post to Orbital or System Defense and Protection. After the fourth week the line of recruits attending the morning rituals shrank. Most of the recruits received postings. Williams called them by name, lined them up before the rest of the recruits and treated them to a long farewell insult. The others simply hadn't made the grade. Not an option for Micah, but volunteers were acerbically encouraged to show their soft yellow livers and leave when they wanted their mommies.
Micah stood with the rest of his class, ranks dressed and at rest, waiting for Williams to finish this morning's list. Most of the recruits had learned the fine art of listening with half of their attention and resting themselves with the remainder of it.
“... Simpson, Slater, Stone, Teague ...”
Micah snapped from his reverie, snapped to attention and snapped himself into William's line. He felt a tingle of anticipation! The recruits for SDP hadn't left and this seemed likely! Micah noticed the last person called: his companion from the back of the hover, Neal Yarwulf. That was all Micah knew of him. Neal kept to himself. Period.
“These WORMS,” bellowed Williams, “have the UNDESERVED honor and distinction to be assigned to one of the Commonwealth's most ELITE units!”
SDP! thought Micah, struggling to contain himself.
“These UNWORTHY SLIME SUCKERS will be joining the PROUD ranks of the 113th Tactical Assault Squadron!! They are not WORTHY of such...”
“What?!?” snapped Teague, “What the flaming hades did you say?”
Micah felt his heart drop both for his friend and for himself. He tried to shush Bill but Williams turned like a magturret. Before Micah could blink Williams was in Teague's face and a dark shade of purple.
“DID WORDS COME OUT OF YOUR MOUTH, WORM? DID YOU FORM WORDS INSIDE YOUR WORTHLESS WORM BRAIN, WORM?!? DID YOU INTRUDE YOUR WORTHLESS WORM YAP ON ME, WORM?!?”
“Y-yes...”
“I HEARD YOU, WORM! WHAT GAVE YOU THE AUDACITY TO CRACK YOUR FACE AT ME, WORM? DO YOU THINK I NEED TO HEAR YOUR WORTHLESS WORM TONGUE FLAPPING, WORM? DID YOUR WORM BRAIN COME OUT OF YOUR WORM ASS WITH BREAKFAST, WORM?”
“No, ser...”
