by Helix Parker
The corridors of the ship were cramped and the air was re-ventilated and stunk of human sweat. The hallways were lined with cargo boxes filled with uniforms, weapons, and spare parts. I made my way down to the hangar deck where a predator class A-6 transport ship waited for me. It only seated four people and was meant for reconnaissance missions, but also had one of the longest lasting hyperspace drives in the entire fleet. FTL travel was common enough—traveling a light year in seconds by warping space-time and folding it like paper—but the problem was hyperspace cores melted over time due to implications of dark energy warping with space-time. But the A-6 was good for over a thousand jumps. It was routinely used to transport bureaucrats from one place to another.
I climbed aboard and strapped into one of the seats, the safety belts buckling over my chest and waist. A pilot climbed in, only taking a cursory glance at me before buckling himself in and waiting for the green light from the flight deck.
The command was given and the A-6 turned and began down the long corridor before hooking into the main track. The ship stalled a few seconds, and then the track shot it forward with such force that I was pressed into my seat, my cheeks nearly tearing from my face. The periphery of my vision blurred into nothing and then … there was the blackness of space, filled with the distant sparkle of stars.
We received clearance to jump into hyperspace and within a few seconds the pilot blacked out. Hyperspace travel dropped the blood pressure so low that few people could see what occurred during the actual jump. Trackers, the highest level of law enforcement in the People’s Republic, were the only ones trained to stay awake. Trackers … and hunters.
But if you were one of the few who could stay awake, intense euphoria and even carnal pleasure would radiate through your body. For me, it was always pleasurable. And for some, it could become an addiction.
When we jumped out of hyperspace I saw that the pilot was still out and the ship was hovering above a gleaming blue planet. I could see only one small land mass: an island.
The pilot came to and stretched his neck from side-to-side. He looked back to make sure I was awake but didn’t say anything. He messaged the command center on the planet and then took the A-6 into orbit.
The closer we got, the more the planet gleamed. Four suns were in the solar system and light reflected off the water so brightly I had to look away as we entered the atmosphere. The ship nose-dived, and it only took a few seconds, but the heat jumped to nearly three hundred degrees Kelvin. Usually it caused instant migraines, but the pilot didn’t seem to notice.
We flew in quickly and he brought the ship over the water and skimmed the surface. I could see waves of foaming white all around us as we jettisoned toward the island. It was off in the distance but we were traveling so fast that it grew larger every moment until the ship suddenly jerked to a slower speed and we rose in the air enough to have a clear picture of the flight deck. We landed with a thud that would have thrown me out of my seat if I wasn’t strapped in. The A-6’s auto brakes slammed and I was flung forward as we came to a stop.
When the ship stilled, I looked out. There were buildings around us. Not built high in the air, probably no more than a three or four stories, but seemingly going on for great lengths. They appeared to have been made by hand out of the surrounding wood and bush of the island.
The cockpit opened and I unstrapped myself.
Two men awaited me as I stepped off. Before my feet even touched the ground, one of the men had a holopad in front of me. The document was a waiver releasing the military of any liability in case of my death. I handprinted it and gave it back to him.
“Lieutenant Story,” the other man said, “I’m Colonel Cole Caleb. Welcome to Silore.”
5
I was taken in a transport vessel that fit exactly four and we headed out over the terrain. We sped past the buildings and into the interior of the island. The surface was sand and trees as far as I could tell. Occasionally there were rocky shores of black or gray stones, but for the most part there was nothing but sandy beaches and thick forests.
I looked to the colonel but he didn’t look back. His eyes were forward and his back perfectly straight. A scar ran along the base of his throat and I saw that he was missing two fingers on his right hand. I had the same scar.
We rode for nearly a whole SGH before we came to what I thought were a series of tents. As we drifted to a stop, I saw that outside the tents soldiers were showering with little more than hoses hung on trees, and playing cards with holovids and using the toilets which were out in the open for everyone to see.
The colonel stepped out, as did the pilot. The pilot spoke to him quietly a few moments, nodded, and then got back into the vessel before speeding off back the way we came.
“This way, Lieutenant,” the colonel said.
I followed him past the tents. It was co-ed and the men and women stared at me as I passed. Many were laughing or playing and they would stop when they saw me and just stare. We got to a gray tent and the colonel stepped inside. There were two chairs and he motioned to the one across from him. I sat down and he sat across from me and pulled out a holovid. He watched the three-dimensional screen a long time and I could hear much of it: it was my service record.
“Impressive,” he said when it was done, “but it doesn’t mean anything here.” He threw the holovid on a table. “Every person you saw has the same record as you. They’re all hotshots and looking to make a name for themselves. Not all of them are like us … with our genetic advantages, but they all want glory.”
“I’m not looking for that.”
“Then what the hell are you doing here?”
“I got nowhere else.”
Colonel Caleb broke into laughter. “You kiddin’ me? Lieutenant, there’s a lot better ways to die than comin’ here. Now get your ass up and go set up your bunk. There’s no night here because of the suns so we sleep in four-hour shifts. Got it?”
“Got it.”
“Good. And one more thing: some of the recruits have … disfavorable views of clones. The less they know, the better. Understood?”
“Understood, sir.”
He looked me over. “Get goin’.”
He reached over to a pile of sacks and threw one to me. They were filled with a sonic brush for my teeth, a few changes of clothes, a blanket and small pillow, some rations, and a homing transmitter. As I stepped out of the tent the colonel pointed in the general direction of the bunks and I began to walk.
No one said anything to me as I passed. It was odd; it wasn’t just that they weren’t curious or wary, they didn’t want me here. The scar on my neck was prominent and I had no doubt they knew its origins.
I got to a large tent and looked inside. There were bunks stacked five high. The pack had a number on it and the bunks had numbers on them and I assumed they matched. I found my bunk near the back and there were some drawers next to it and I began to unpack.
“Wouldn’t put anything worth a damn in there.”
I looked to the top bunk above mine and a woman was lying there reading a holopad. She was covered in tattoos and wearing a tank-top with the thick, green pants that each of us was issued.
“People steal anything they can use or trade,” she said. “If you catch ’em though, the penalty is fifty lashes.”
“Where should I put it?”
“If I told you, how do you know I wouldn’t steal it?”
“Just have a trusting nature I guess.”
“That’ll get you killed out here.”
I stepped closer to the bunk. She was reading some sort of text on the screen; it was a religious text. She turned it off and placed it down as I approached.
“I’m Calista.” I saw something carved on her bunk. “Karma. Is that your name?”
“That’s just what everyone calls me.”
“Why?”
“Because if you screw me I’ll always get you back.”
“Hey, Karma,” a man shouted from behind us. I tu
rned to see a group of them walking by with what looked like a thick steel ball with a handle on it. “You ready?”
Karma sat up and jumped off the bunk. She walked over to them and one of the men said, “Who’s that?”
Karma looked to me. “She’s a rookie. Come with us, rook. Let’s see what you’re made of.”
I put the rest of my things in the drawer and followed them. They didn’t wait for me and I walked behind, listening to their conversation. They spoke about some of the training that was going on and rumors that were going around.
One of the men said, “I heard a clone killed the administrator on Helron 5 and escaped.”
“Bullshit,” Karma said. “I used to work with clones, they don’t have the balls.” She glanced back to me. “No offense.”
“Work?” one of the men said. “You mean you did some time with them.”
“What can I say? Trouble seems to come to me.”
We went outside and walked through the jungle of trees and brush. I felt the heat in my arms and head, running down over my body. It was more intense than I thought it would be and I guessed that Silore had a weak atmosphere which allowed the intense radiation of the suns to pound us.
We came to a clearing in the jungle and one of the men laid two small discs out, one on either end of the clearing. A small micro-gravity field projected upward about a meter.
“You ever played, Buz-Kashi, rook?” Karma said.
“No.”
“Simple. Take that ball and put it in your goal over there. The other team can stop you any way they can, and you can stop them any way you can.”
We split into two teams and began in the center of the clearing. Two of the men stood there and stared at each other.
A buzzer sounded from one of the goals and the ball was thrown in the air. As it fell back one of the men grabbed it and the other elbowed him in the face and ripped it out of his arms. He went back with the ball as his teammates blocked for him. There was a path around the main force and he ran for it, the ball held firmly against his chest.
Karma jumped for him and the man rose up with a knee, bashed her in the face and sent her sprawling to the ground. I was the last person standing between him and the goal.
He was rushing me with a grin on his face and was sprinting so fast I could only guess that he wanted to barrel right through me.
“Get him, rook!” Karma shouted.
I lowered my center of gravity and stood still. I watched his eyes; his feet could lie but his eyes couldn’t. But they didn’t move; his plan was to run through me.
As he approached I heard a low growl from him and he lowered his shoulder to impact against my face. I jumped and spun my hips and my leg thrust out, smashing my heel in to his jaw, shattering it and sending him on his back unconscious. I could hear him snoring.
I looked up and everyone on the field was staring at me. I grabbed the ball, which was made of steel and far heavier than I thought, and began running toward the goal on the other side of the field.
The other team snapped to attention and rushed to me. My own team didn’t move to help.
Two men sprinted at me from the right and left, and as they neared one dove for my knees, the other for a straight tackle. I leapt and spun over them and heard a crack as they collided. When I landed, another man was already on top of me and I fell to my back and caught him with my heels, sending him flying over me. I was up and running again.
There was one more male. He stood calmly at the end of the clearing near my goal. He snorted mucus out of his nose and kept his hands on his hips as I neared. I could see he was the biggest in the group and his muscles bulged and rippled. A scar ran along the base of his throat.
He stood right in front of the goal, staring at me, unblinking. I stopped as I got near him, the ball held low.
“Move,” I said.
“Make me.”
I kicked out toward his groin and he twisted his knee and blocked my foot. I spun and thrust at him with another kick and he smashed his elbow into my shin and sent pain rocketing up my leg. I began jabbing at him with my free hand and then jumped into the air, smashing my two knees against his chin, which didn’t even faze him. He responded with a punch to my midsection that sent me flying to my back, to the cheers of his teammates.
He came near me and I rolled to my feet. I dashed for him and could see his hands curl to fists and his head lower. He swung, and just before impact I fell to my back. I slid in between his legs and flipped up, my legs slamming in to his back and throwing him forward onto his stomach as I tossed the ball over the goal and it hovered, glowed, and recorded a point.
Karma came over as the man got to his feet.
“That there was a dangerous move,” she said. “This is Sy Caleb. As in: the colonel’s son.”
He walked over to me, rubbing his back. “Interesting move.”
“Thanks,” I said, pulling the ball out of the gravity field and tossing it to him.
“What’s your name?”
“Calista.”
“Well,” he said, holding the ball up, “it’s your ball.” He threw the ball to me and we walked again to the center of the field.
We played another hour and a half. It was something I had grown accustomed to. Soldiers, no matter where they were, used sports as a release. It was something that could put a smile on your face and make you forget where you were for a short time.
I learned names and backgrounds in between points. Karma and Sy were fighter pilots. In the People’s Republic of America, as the sole government on Earth, they had few needs for delineation. All branches of the military served under the discretion of the People’s Army; fighter pilots trained and worked alongside special ops and Navy and mechanics and assassins.
Big Hank was there as well and introduced himself. He was an engineer and focused on weapons systems and propulsion—the two most important aspects of a starship, as he happened to mention.
“What about life support?” I said.
“If you can’t go nowhere or defend yourself you won’t live long anyway.”
There was also Ro. I never learned her last name and didn’t know if she had one. She was more reserved than Karma and only said what was necessary. She took the game seriously and would only talk to those who asked her a direct question. When I asked her what her position was, she replied that it was none of my business.
When the game was over we went back to the residency tents and I gathered a few things for a shower as Karma climbed to the top bunk and kicked off her boots.
“No real point to showers here,” she said, going back to her holopad. “The humidity will have you sweating again in no time.”
“Why cut your hair, it’ll just grow back.”
She shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
I went to the showers and undressed. Several men were around and they looked over as I turned on the water and stepped in, but they didn’t stare long and soon turned away. When I was finished I headed back to my bunk and lay down. I stared at the bottom of Karma’s bunk and listened to the conversations around me. Two young men were talking about a recent clone attack on the colony of Nasteta 2. They were a colony of excavators, sent there to drill for natural resources, most notably copper. They were peaceful and unarmed and the clones had supposedly attacked with a biological weapon that had wiped out the entire colony.
“That’s just rumors,” one of them said. “We woulda heard about it down here.”
“I’m telling you, it’s what my brother told me. The clones are rebelling, they’re attacking with everything they can get their hands on.”
“So what? I can take a bunch of cappin’ whore clones.”
Cap. I hadn’t heard that slur in a long time. As I listened to other conversations, they all revolved around a supposed attack in this or that location by rebel clones. Clones were primarily used as whores or cannon fodder or servants. I had learned in my time at the People’s Military Academy that they had been designed to be do
cile. Most of them couldn’t rebel if they wanted to.
Then again, there were those rare ones who would break their genetic heritage and fight. And then there were those who were sent after them….
“Hey, rook?”
“Yeah?”
Karma leaned down. “I told you what I did before coming here, right?”
“Yeah, fighter pilot.”
“So what’d you do?”
I hesitated. “Mechanic.”
“I don’t think you were a mechanic.”
“Well I was.”
“What’d you repair?”
“Ship engine cores.”
“You’re lying your ass off right now.” She climbed back up. “Doesn’t matter though. Out here, we’re all just meat for them to do what they want.”
6
The next morning we were abruptly woken up. Each tent was a different platoon and each slept for four hours, had four hours of training, four hours of rec time, slept another four hours, four hours of training and so on. My head throbbed as I woke from lack of sleep but it wasn’t because of the four hour shifts. I hadn’t slept well for months.
After dressing in the standard green uniform, we were all brought out and stood in line as a headcount was taken. The colonel came and looked us over and said a few words to the drill sergeant before the training shift officially began.
We were taken through the jungle to another clearing and I realized these were man-made. At the other end of the clearing were targets, and before us rifles. We were ordered to the ground in teams of two, one navigator and one sniper. My nav was Karma. She pulled out the ocular enhancers and clipped them on over her face. I peered through the Keeler 41-A Sniper Rifle.
“You ever fired one of these things, rook?”
“Yes.”
“And where’d a mechanic fire a rifle worth more than a ship?”
I didn’t reply and she looked back to the target. She began directing me to the target which was more than five kilometers away. Wearing the ocular enhancers and firing the 41-A were mutually exclusive. The rifle was meant to shoot small ships out of the sky and it took total effort to not rip your arms out of your sockets.
