Empires: Origins-- Kette's Story

[Coyote]

Empires: Kette's Story

CCSV Adoria Sun-- Sector Ithyca

Kette’ watched her home planet decrease in size until it was just another bright light in space, left behind in the ion wake of the Adoria Sun.

Despite the starliner’s rapid acceleration from the high-traffic area around her homeworld, it still took time for Vet’Charek to disappear entirely. When it did, Kette’ felt a mixture of fear and exhileration. I am finally free.

She stepped away from the viewport and into the safe anonymity of the lounge, where she was able to find a table left uncontested by tourists. Unwinding her keylet from her wrist, she began composing her farewell letter to her parents, fighting back the characteristic tightness in her chest.

No tears welled up-- only a sense of finality, a door closed. She hit the SEND button on her keylet without hesitation, barely looking at the hastily composed paragraph that scrolled on her contact lens. They’ve suffered enough, she decided after waiting in orbit for a whole day.

She wound the bracelet keyboard back around her wrist after transmitting an order to the servo’bot at the coffiene bar, past where the rest of her travel companions stood.

They were all zhulescu, like Kette’, except for a lone human female whose name was Leanna. Being the only females in the group, they had been assigned a room together.

It had taken all of five hepts for them to realize that they had little or nothing in common, which only hammered home Kette’s sense of loss.

Kette’s closest friend as she was growing up was human, so Kette’ had liked the idea of having another human girl to talk to.

But Leanna was neither friendly nor outgoing, and Kette’ was not prepared to be the initiator of conversation, so the two had hardly said a word to each other since being assigned together. Kette found the silence awkward, and so excused herself to the lounge-- just in time to watch her home slip away.

Apart from the knot of young zhulescu travelers, aliens were everywhere: thenn and wanni arguing social structure and eco-economics, humans traveling for personal, corporate, or other concerns, even Q'aab pilgrims, silently regarding the masses around them.

Creatures that Kette' had heard of but never seen outside of holoshows drew her stare--tiny squid-like skiatla in their hovering life-support spheres, tall kreen with thin, long legs, and in one corner, a pair of veliscii speaking to each other in low tones.

Other zhulescu were present, as well, but Kette’ was unable to relax. Nearly all the aliens were interacting freely, with little or no awkwardness, or wrapped up in private conversations through lens-trance.

She found it fascinating and unsettling, as if the rules had been re-written when she entered this new world. Everything was both more vivid and at the same time far away from her, abstract and observed rather than experienced.

Kette's mochava arrived, the silent glide of the servo’bot’s approach startling her. The letter to her parents was on a time-delay, it would be in her father’s mail and read by the following morning.

The frantic attempts to contact her through all sorts of agencies would be tried, and it would be confirmed that their daughter, Ketterinna Anorissa Barona, was now out of their grasp. The smile on Kette’s face was bittersweet, at best.

She sat in silence for a long time before uncoiling her keylet again. She wanted to write a letter to Alei, to tell her she was sorry, to apologize for her abrupt departure and any misunderstandings.

But Kette' not sure what to say or if saying anything would even be welcome. Alei herself would be leaving home soon, as frustrated and unhappy as her zhulescu friend.

"Lots of people," a voice said, surprising her. She looked up into the brownish, smooth face of a female veliscii in a dark grey Central Army uniform. Her uniform sported the metallic silver collar tabs of the Infantry. Kette's chosen field.

"Excuse me. . ?" Kette' said clearly, extending a transgreeting through her individual computer. The corporal’s icomp gave very little information in return beyond her name-- CORPORAL NAKHTHA SCHTRRMOVIK. Kette’ could not begin guess how to pronounce it.

Veliscii were rare in the Centrality, and Kette' was unaware that any had been admitted into the Central Army. The alien looked like she couldn’t have been more than twenty years old, according to the Central calendar, but she seemed older, or tired. They regarded each other with curiousity.

"Mind if I sit here?" The corporal asked her. Kette’ looked around the room, realizing that the restaurant part of the lounge was packed with people, and most of the tables were full.

"Go ahead," she said with feigned ease.

"So." the veliscii said in neutral tones, "What's up?"
“Nothing much,” Kette’ replied, trying to sound casual. They sat in silence for awhile, Kette’ sizing the alien up.

Veliscii looked somewhat like a cross between a human and a zhulescu. Both zhul and veliscii had zhikhals, what rude humans collectively called “muzzles”. But there were differences as well, and Kette’ could not help staring.

The veliscii ears were somewhat human-like, instead of the zhanuks, the velvety aural spikes of the zhul, and while veliscii walked on semi-prehensile toes, the zhulescu planted their feet more flatly on the ground.

And, although Kette’ hadn’t seen it, she had heard that veliscii had small tails. She realized that she had been caught staring, and blushed deep red when the alien corporal’s azure eyes stared right back at her.

“Never seen a veliscii before?” she asked with a sigh. Kette’ looked down at the table top.
“No, ma’am,” she murmured, embarrassed. “Just on the holo. I’m sorry.” The corporal grimaced.

“No harm done,” she replied in her too-formal, nearly accentless CommonSpeak. Kette’ had heard the effect before from people who had linguistic biochip implants.

“Actually, I’m getting used to it. If there’s something you want to know, just ask. I don’t bite. Much.”
“Uh, thanks,” Kette’ replied, shifting in her seat. She swirled the glass in her hand and observed the cloudy patterns inside made by her mochava.

"Well, actually, I was just surprised. I didn’t know that there were veliscii in the Central Army," she began, startling herself by speaking up.

"I’m going to Tsonarr for Initial Training. I've been given access to an information account with some of the things we need to know, but I didn’t see anything about it in here," she said, indicating her computer keylet, “Is it a special unit, based in the colonies?" The corporal gave her a stern look.

"Look, let me give you some advice," the veliscii said with a sigh, "I've been traveling into the Centrality since Khezse. A lot of curious people ask me about the situation out there. I'm used to people not knowing certain things, but one thing that is worth knowing is that since the secession, the Free Federation are no longer 'colonies' of the Republic, sig?" Kette' was rattled by the corporal’s sudden forcefulness.

"I’m sorry," she replied, wishing she’d stayed quiet from the beginning-- or better yet, found something else to do. The corporal dismissed the situation with a casual gesture.

“Alright, fine... I guess I shouldn't chew on you like that, but the newsnets are not always the most unbiased sources of information, sig, alright? Now, to answer your question," she said, picking up her sand-colored beret from the end of the table where she’d placed it,

". . . yes. In fact, our regiment is the first all-veliscii unit in the Central Army, The 90th Light Infantry. You know, if we can shake the Repub occupation force off Kalindaa and Tethys, we have a standing application to join the Central Alliance."

Kette' nodded. The news had, in fact, been accurate about that. The corporal changed the subject.

"So you're headed for I.T., huh? What specialty?"

"Infantry," Kette' replied over the rim of her cup. The corporal nodded approvingly, and smiled a wicked smile.

"Good! One of your traveling companions has already introduced himself to me, and it seems that most of these little grubs are going to be tech weenies." The veliscii girl slugged down some of her coffiene.

"Good to see someone's got some goddamn eggs. Don't worry--," she said, appraising Kette', "--they'll put some muscle on you."

The embarrassed Kette' looked at her arms, knowing that she had a ways to go. Even Leanna seemed to have a kind of stringy substance to her that Kette' lacked. Her previous life, already feeling like months ago, was not going to be much help to her now.

“I’m going to Tsonarr myself,” the corporal continued around a mouthful of food, “Anti-tank and demolitions course-- should be fun,” she said with a mean grin and a far-off look.

Schtrrmovik consumed her dinner rapidly, shoveling food down as if under attack. She drank her coffeine more slowly and looked at Kette’ again.

“So,” she asked directly, “what did you do before?” Kette’ looked away.
“Uhh. . . I’m just coming out of school,” she answered. Schtrrmovik looked at her for a moment, then nodded. Another question seemed to flicker in the alien’s eyes, but it went unspoken.

“Well,” she finally said, “we have a few days until we reach Tsonarr. How long have you been traveling?”

“Just boarded today,” Kette’ said, unconsciously noticing the date displayed on her eyelens, “This morning, actually,” she explained. It would now be edging towards midnight again on her little piece of Vet’Charek that had once been home. Schtrrmovik nodded, smiling.

“Well, then,” she said, “We can celebrate your new lifepath. Now, since you’re going Infantry, I’ll tell you a few more things you need to know that I wouldn’t tell just anyone else. But first--” she stopped abruptly and caught the attention of a servo’bot. “--some drinks. My treat. Then you buy the next ones, sig? Or, ah, are you old enough to. . ?”

“I’m nine,” Kette’ stated evenly. The veliscii stared at her strangely. Kette’ blushed again, feeling foolish. “Sorry. I mean, I’m nine years old, Vet’Cherekii years. That’s ahh. . .” she calculated quickly, using the conversion table that appeared on her lens, “. . . eighteen and a half Standard. I’m still getting used to all these conversions.” The corporal shook her head.

“Don’t do that to me. And don’t apologize so much. They’ll tear you a new one if you keep apologizing all the time.”

“Yes’m,” Kette’ replied automatically.
“And don’t call me ma’am,” she scolded, “Don’t call any sergeant or corporal 'sir' or 'ma’am'. Those words are for officers. Call non-commissioned officers by their rank. Thyssa! You need a lot of advice, don’t you. Forget all the crap you ever saw on the holoset, alright? I call you Barona, you call me Corporal.”

“Yes’m--yes, corporal,” Kette’ said, relaxing. “Thank you.” Schtrrmovik waved it aside casually.

“No problem. That’s some more free advice. Don’t worry, Barona,” the corporal said, “You’ll do fine. It’s all mental. Stay awake, pay attention, and you’ll kick ass. This is your first step into real life.” Kette’ smiled, a huge grin for the first time since leaving home. For the first time in weeks.

CCSV Adoria Sun-- Sector Tychos

". . . disembarking for Tsonarr report to bays One through Eight. Have boarding passes ready prior to entering TransMat bays. . . Hezhya ku Tsonarre--"

The general announcement continued in Vharese, Kette's native tongue, but she concentrated only on announcements in CommonSpeak. Schtrrmovik had warned her that all instructions and commands would be handled in CommonSpeak, and many of the alien accents in the made-up language were almost dialects unto themselves. Especially, she had warned, the Q'aab.

The recruits were going to the Reception Station at Fort Bravec, while Schtrrmovik went to the active-duty Transfer Station. She had gone earlier, Kette' thanking her for her help.

The recruits milled together, waiting for clearance to file through the TransMat. Kette' noticed that many of the others were putting on a show of bravado while she and Leanna stood apart from them in silence.

Kette’ had been speaking with her more often after discovering that of all the recruits from Vet’Charek, they were the only two destined for the Infantry.

Taking their cues from Schtrrmovik, they disdained the company of the others-- as corporal Schtrrmovik had said, “desk pilots are not fit company”. Leanna looked at her for a moment.

"Want to make a break for it?" she asked plainly. Kette' shifted her weight from one foot to the other before replying, steadily drinking in the scenes around her with dark eyes.

"No," she said quietly, "Why, do you?" Leanna laughed.
"I was asking you."

Their TransMat announcement was called and the crowd shuffled forward, clearing the shipboard Customs scanners at a slow but steady pace, then proceeding to the ‘mat portal. They stepped through and emerged in the TransGalactic arrivals facility in the city of Tashka.

An automated announcement came on, wishing everyone a safe and memorable trip on TransGalactic. Oh, I’ll remember it, alright, Kette’ told herself as the corporate logo flashed on her eyelens, and the jingle sounded in her earring.

The terminal tourist computer took over the transmission, guiding them through the multispecies throng of tourists to the express baggage pick-up.

Kette’ was amazed at the variety of people visiting the human homeworld, and wondered how many of them were here to visit the Holy Cities history preserve, which Kette’ herself had always wanted to visit. She wondered, fleetingly, if they would be able to take time to do so, perhaps after finishing Initial Training.

Their bags retrieved, they made their way to the military reception desk.

A knot of people stood there, only a handful of which Kette' recognized from the Adoria Sun. Other liners were docking as well, from dozens of other systems. A few grey-uniformed active-duty transfers were there, as was Schtrrmovik and a pair of other veliscii soldiers.

Kette' thought about calling out to the corporal, but decided it would be awkward.

A line of recruits was checking in, while others sat in rows of seats by a hatchway. Most were humans, although there was a small knot of kreen in one corner, their squat bodies atop long, sticklike legs that put them on eye-level with a tall Q'aab female standing quiet and alone in the line. Her hair was as raven-dark as Kette's own, and her skin the same honey-gold hues. Leanna made a rude comment about Kette’s family tree which she chose to ignore as they took their places in line behind her.

There were other groups-- dark-furred wanni, and a few spotty-skinned thenn, their faces as smooth and flat as a human’s.

Kette' noticed that the recruits clustered among their own species, but the uniformed Army personnel had no such boundaries. Kette's curiosity was piqued. She'd mixed well with humans, but had never really known others besides them and her own kind.

"Hello? Anybody in there?" Leanna looked at her strangely. "What's up? You trancing on something? Downloading some porno?" Kette' shook her head.

"Nothing," she replied, brushing her thoughts aside. The line surged forward, and the Q’aab was now at the receptionists' counter.

“Shatir Zahr en-Ajhwik,” she said in husky tones, identicard out and pressing her finger to the DNA reader. The human corporal confirmed her arrival.

“Infantry, huh?” he asked noncommittally. “Not a lot of infantry joining with this group. Alright, you’re accounted for. Have a seat and we’ll be loading up in a few hepts. Next..?”

The Q’aab moved away, and Kette’ and Leanna stepped forward, identicards ready. The corporal did a double-take at the retreating Q’aab, then dismissed the thought as they pressed their fingers on the reader plate and the sergeant scanned them.

“Infantry, also? Good. Alright, Ketterinna Barona and Leanna Sena, you’re in. Have a seat with your buddy and we’ll have you underway in a bit, sig?” Kette’ smiled shyly and Leanna pulled her away, towards the handful of empty seats that remained.

The Q’aab had already sat down, her silky black robe draping over the chair she occupied.

“What’s up?” Leanna asked casually as they plopped down lazily into the seats next to her. The Q’aab nodded in return as everyone exchanged transgreetings.

The Q’aab had bodies built like humans but with a long zhikhal-face and ears much like a zhulescu’s aural spike, except for the thin, silky membrane running along their length.

Kette’ was slightly shocked at her first close-up look at a Q’aab’s eyes-- they had no discernible pupil, but rather just a light blue knot of tissue that looked like a collection of nerve ganglia. She tried not to stare, but as with her first meeting with Schtrrmovik, it was difficult.

“Up?” the Q’aab asked in reply. “Is nothing. So you are infantry ones, yes?” Leanna nodded, hooking a thumb at Kette’.

“Yeah,” she added, “both of us.”
“Finally. I am wondering if I am alone one. Not many infantry joining, is mostly technicians, some tanks, some to fly aircraft. But,” she paused, looking around the room, “I am used to difference by now.”

Kette’ noticed that she was the only Q’aab in the entire group. At least there had been a couple of other veliscii on the Adoria Sun for Schtrrmovik to talk to. She was right about the Q’aab having an accent, Kette’ remembered her warning, but it wasn’t as bad as she’d imagined.

“So, are we the only ones going infantry in this whole group?” Kette’ asked, looking around. Shatir made an open handed gesture.

Anything she was going to say was lost as the desk sergeant walked over to the doorway leading out. Conversation died and the regular soldiers began guzzling down last-minute coffiene and other snacks. The doors hissed open and as they boarded, the sergeant pointing to a row of recruits.

"Alright! First row, on yer feet!” he hollered, “Gimme a single-file line through these doors, enter into the transport, back to front, let's go!" he repeated the routine for each row with the same detached, calm-yet-insistent tone that informed Kette' that he performed this ritual countless times each week.

Some joker in the crowd starting to bleat like a herd animal, which was immediately taken up by several others. The sergeant grinned. The vehicle filled rapidly as Kette' looked outside, noticing that a rainstorm had begun, and another transport behind theirs had turned on its lights. The sky darkened as they began moving.

"Bad omen," Leanna mumbled.
"Good omen," Shatir insisted, a puzzled expression on her face.
"Huh," Leanna sighed, while Kette' nodded understanding, silently licking her lips in nervousness.

The transport ducked into its skyroute, occasionally bucking a sudden turn of wind. The massive buildings, kilometers high, funneled normal winds into rivers of invisible force, sometimes knocking vehicles about on their gravs like toys. Even protected by mountains and reefs, the tropical clime around Tashka could still contain a decent storm, and one was shaping up as they left. Kette’ leaned over to face Shatir.

"This is good omen weather?"
"Indeed," Shatir replied, reclining in her seat and smiling nervously at them. Leanna fidgeted slightly, then looked right at Kette', her face betraying the nervousness that went unspoken. Kette’ nodded her agreement, her lips tightly pressed together.

The small convoy of transports was soon cruising over an arid grassland, outrunning the storm. The shadows of the vehicles danced spasmodically across the irregularities of the terrain. Kette’ clutched her travel bag nervously. A thin dark line ahead began to grow larger, then become more irregular.

"Fort Bravec," she volunteered, gesturing ahead with her zhikhal. Shatir and Leanna leaned over to see as well, and they watched as the buildings grew larger.

As if on cue, the civilian icomp services dissolved into an electronic fuzz, replaced with an authoritarian warning that they were entering a military reservation, and that all interpersonal communication was subject to monitoring. For the recruits, the services of MilNet replaced their usual providers.

At the low-level access provided only to trainee-recruits, the effect was like going blind, deaf and mute all at once. Kette’ absorbed this without any noticeable change, while around them, the buzz of conversation dwindled. They were now entirely cut off from regular services and communications, and for some, it was unnerving.

Soon, the only thing that could be heard was the dull whine of the drives, and the quiet blowing of the cool, too-stale air from the overhead vents.

Passing over the perimeter ramparts, Kette’ looked out at the fort and its environs. Military bases were built low and close to the ground, unlike the massive cities she was used to, where a person could live for years without ever touching, much less seeing, the ground.

She could see uniformed soldiers moved about at various duties-- working on the exposed drive cores of vehicles, cleaning unidentifiable items, marching, inflating tents, enduring inspections. Some areas were obscured by holoflage projectors.

She looked at the time displayed on the upper right corner of her lens--it was late afternoon, about sixteen-twenty. She realized suddenly she was hungry, and wondered if they were going to get dinner soon.

Her thought was interrupted by the subtle change of pitch in the drives. Her stomach tightened, temporarily warding away hunger, and the tension in the transport seemed to magnify ten times.

An ordinary civil transport would be bustling with small talk and people shifting in their seats, but the air around them was so still and quiet it was like being in a burial chamber.

The transport lost altitude, then approached a large, paved area surrounded by low buildings. Grey-uniformed figures in distinctive white kepis-- the Drill Sergeants-- watched as the transports began to land.

Someone in the back of the transport tried unsuccessfully to stifle a sob. Nobody said anything. The transports settled to a stop, and the doors opened, the dry, hot desert instantly taking away the air’s moisture in its greed.

Heavy boots mounted the stairs, and all eyes turned to the front. Nobody moved. A Drill Sergeant stepped into the vehicle, the polished gold insignia of his position gleaming from the front of his spotless white kepi.

He was a human male, short and stocky, with pale skin and a gaze that seemed to be incomplete without laser beams piercing everything he looked at. The scowl on his face was a mask of disgust and contempt.

His uniform was pressed to the point where Kette' felt she could cut a finger on the creases. He silently glared at each and every person on the transport, seeming to take in their life stories with one passing glance, even the ones who would not--or could not--meet his gaze.

Some stared defiantly, some in awe, and no few in fear or intimidation. His icomp gave back only one infopak: DRILL SERGEANT TURNER.

When he reached the rear of the aisle, the sobbing person in the back let out a pathetic, half-stifled wail. The Drill Sergeant seemed not to notice or care. He crossed his arms in front of him, and glared back up the length of the aisle. The vehicle was completely still and silent. Finally, he let out a sigh of impatience, then drew in a calm, relaxing breath.

"What in the hell are you pathetic shitbags waiting for! Get the hell off this goddamn vehicle you--" His voice boomed, the whole vehicle seeming to vibrate with every consonant that echoed through the bus by the power of his own voice, as well as the multiple miniature replays on everyone’s earpieces.

Everywhere people boiled out of their seats, some panicking and bolting from the rear of the bus where the sergeant stood, only to plow into the surging mob climbing out of the front seats. Kette' couldn't make out what else he was saying, but it was loud and he meant it right now.

Like a frightened herd the recruits moved, with little retaliation for the pushing and shoving that was going on. Nobody said a word or lashed out at anybody else for colliding with them.

Shatir stood and moved out into the aisle, immediately taken by the crowd towards the entrance. Leanna and Kette' stood, trying to decide what to do but the Drill Sergeant, steadily moving behind everyone else and keeping up an endless torrent of invectives, saw them.

"I mean you, too, you dumb asses! Get out of this transport or your asses are gonna become a personal project of mine! You better be outta those seats by the time I get there--"

Kette' reacted without thinking. She shoved Leanna into the line, then threw herself in after her. She clutched her bag, surrounded by a crush of bodies. The sergeant continued to holler at the group in general, but the words were indecipherable with the noise of shuffling feet and movement.

Kette’s nerves were further set on edge by, a smallish human male next to her who was crying uncontrollably, his sobs resonating up and down Kette's aural spikes like a harsh file.

She reached the front of the aisle and clumped down the stairs as fast as her feet could keep up, her travel bag clutched before her like a shield. Ahead loomed another recognizable shape, taller, the bill of his own kepi casting a dark shadow over his eyes. DRILL SERGEANT DHASSIR, her icomp informed her calmly.

The gold device on the front of his hat reflected the hot afternoon sun, and it shone like a beacon in Kette's eyes. Tears welled up in reflex, and her mind panicked. Oh God, another one! she almost screamed, but gasped instead as the Drill Sergeant, a Q'aab male, leaned into her face and started his own round of vocal flaying.

"You ain't got the damn time to be crying! Get your sorry ass over there with the rest and get at the position of attention! Move it! What do we have here! Another cryer! Get over there. . .!" he grabbed her shoulder and propelled her in the unmistakable direction of the others from the transport, all standing in rows.

Yet another Drill Sergeant, a stocky human female identified as DRILL SERGEANT FERRIN, intercepted each recruit and placed them in the formation. Kette' could see the same scenario being played out in front of the other transports.

She glanced towards the head of her row-- she was the sixth in her row, Leanna was fourth. A lanky human male stood between them, and Shatir was at the head of the row, standing straight and rock still. The female sergeant placed another arrival to Kette's left--the crying boy-- and immediately filled Kette's vision with her own stern face.

"And just what do you think you're looking at!" she hissed. Kette' snapped her head to face forward and stared at the far wall. "I asked you a question, recruit!" the woman hollered into Kette's face. Kette' tried to remain impassive.

"Nothing, ma'am!" she slipped.
"Ma'am!" the female sergeant said in mock, over-exaggerated surprise.

"Ma'am! Do I look like someone named ma'am to you?! I'm not butt-ugly enough to be a god-damned officer!" she growled. Kette' trembled while the boy next to her continued to sniffle and stifle sobs.

“Get down and show me some excercise!” the sergeant demanded. Kette’ hesitated, confused.

“Push-ups, you useless unformed sack of shit! I want you to do so many push-ups that you leave handprints in the pavement for the next trainee!”

Panicked, Kette’ collapsed to the hot pavement, her hands burning on the black, rough surface. She tried to do a push-up and could not manage a single one.

"Listen up! All of you!" the female Drill Sergeant shouted, walking away from the struggling Kette' and moving to the front of the formation. "I am a Drill Sergeant. You will address me as Drill Sergeant. Anybody wearing this white kepi," she said, taking off her hat and holding up high, "is a Drill Sergeant. Not ma'am, not sir, but Drill Sergeant! Do you stupid herd animals understand that!?"

Silence. The human woman snorted contemptuously. "I said do you under-fucking-stand that, you miserable self-propelled bags of shit!?" Before anybody could react, the Q'aab Drill Sergeant materialized before the person leading the first row.

"Drill Sergeant Ferrin asked you a question—!" he bellowed. From the assembled crowd came a muted, "yes, sergeant," that slowly worked its way around the crowd. The Q'aab and the human female, Ferrin, seemed momentarily stunned.

Kette’ remained on the pavement, hovering millimeters from the surface. Her face and arms burned and tears flowed freely down her cheeks. She grit her teeth and willed herself not to collapse on the hot, hard pavement. Small stones were grinding into her hands. Ferrin shook her head slowly.

"They're hopeless. They'll never be soldiers. We'll send every bawling baby one of 'em home to their mamas and they'll have to tell everyone back home that they failed." She spat on the baking hot asphalt, millimeters from someone's shoe.

Kette’ stole a sideways glance and saw others in the same predicament she was in, hovering just millimeters above failure. It did not make her feel better. She began to tremble. The Q'aab sneered.

"They'll become soldiers or we kill them in training," he growled. "Now we're going to try this again." The Drill Sergeant stood up straight, and looked at the group. "Now, when I ask you if you understand, you say yes Drill Sergeant or no Drill Sergeant, whichever applies to you!" He paused, then shouted mercilessly, "And you better well sound off like you’re alive, or we'll bury your miserable asses! You got that!?"

"Yes, Drill Sergeant!" the crowd hollered. Drill Sergeant Ferrin angrily threw her kepi on the ground. Kette’ was shaking now, her arms shooting with pain. Have I been forgotten?

"What in the hell was that? Are you whimpering 'cause you got taken away from your mama's tit to early!? Well?! Are you?!" This time, the effect was like squeezing a trigger.

"NO DRILL SERGEANT! the group roared. Kette's aural spikes were ringing. She'd yelled so loud that her throat was tingling, adding to her suffering.

A small pool of tears and sweat had formed under her face, and more sweat coursed down her back, racing between her shoulder blades like little wet ants.

Drill Sergeant Ferrin picked up her kepi and smacked it against her thigh with an audible snap! and replaced it on her head. There was not a trace of dust on it.

"It'll do," she said in a monotone. "Now,” she said, seeming to notice Kette’ for the first time, “Get the hell off my ground, trainee! You know who I am. I am Drill Sergeant Ferrin. Who am I?"

"Drill Sergeant Ferrin!" everyone shouted. The woman clenched her teeth, and the Q'aab Drill Sergeant shook his head in disgust. From behind, where Kette' guessed the other Drill Sergeant had gone, was a muttered curse.

"Have you learned nothing?!" Ferrin yelled. “Drop! All of you!" Kette’ almost wailed as she flung herself to the hot pavement again, resuming her torturous hover over the asphalt. Before the formation, the woman yelled again, “Who the hell am I?"

"DRILL SERGEANT FERRIN!" came the immediate, practically ballistic reply from the strained voices around her. Drill Sergeant Ferrin graced them with a flicker of a smile.

"Much better. Recover!” Hastily, the recruits picked themselves up. “Now, listen up," she nodded towards the tall Q'aab sergeant. "This is Drill Sergeant Dhassir. Never mind that his rank bar is different than mine, we'll detail that later! For now, anybody with the white kepi on is a Drill Sergeant! Is that clear!?" The crowd responded immediately.

"YES DRILL SERGEANT!"
"Behind you is Drill Sergeant Turner. He herded your lost souls off the transport. Who in the hell is behind you!?"
"DRILL SERGEANT TURNER!"
"Who in the hell is in front of you!?"
"DRILL SERGEANT DHASSIR!"

By now, Kette's aural spikes were throbbing and her throat was nearly raw. Her arms felt like there were a thousand pins and needles dancing along them. The boy next to her was sobbing pathetically and she felt miserable. The sun baked down on her and sweat poured down her back while her stomach was knotted with both anxiety and hunger. She was too scared to do much more than breathe.

Drill Sergeant Ferrin looked at her watch.
"Not bad. Still need a lot of work, but you're catching on," she criticized. She then turned to Dhassir. "I suppose we have to feed them."

"Not like they've earned it," he grumbled, "But only because regulations say we should. Maybe they'll stuff some food in their heads and get smarter," he said with a wicked grin,

“God knows they don’t have anything else up there.” From behind came a dubious snort.

"Didn't work with that last bunch of miserable failures," reminded Drill Sergeant Turner. "All they understood was exercise. I dunno what you see in them, but from my point of view, all I see's a bunch of assholes."

It took a moment for the comment to sink in, but then Kette' felt her face turn red. A couple of people snickered, but the group silenced itself with a glare from sergeant Dhassir.

"'Fore we send them anywhere," Turner continued, "we better teach 'em some god-damned manners, or they'll be embarrassing the hell out of us." Dhassir scowled.

“They’ll do that anyway,” he insisted as he and Ferrin started towards the three rows, one for each Drill Sergeant. Ferrin took the middle, where Kette' was, and went to Shatir, at the beginning of the row, standing in herblack robe-like garments almost a half-meter taller than the diminutive Drill Sergeant Ferrin.

"Alright, you're the squad leader. You have to set the example, so do everything right the first time, just as I say, sig!?"
"Yes, Drill Sergeant!" Shatir hollered, from the basement of her lungs. Ferrin nodded minutely.

"You're off to a good start. Now I'm going to teach you to stand at attention properly. Put your feet together, side-by-side, toes out at a forty-five degree angle. Keep your heels together. . . excellent." The Drill Sergeant slid the toe of her left boot in between Shatir's feet right where Shatir's arches corresponded.

"Okay. Now, the hands. Make a loose fist. Let your arms hang naturally. . . Good." Drill Sergeant Ferrin stepped back. "Back straight. Like you're standing flat up against a wall. You got it. That is the proper position of attention. It is up to you to make sure everyone in your squad can do this. If you fail, you're fired, you got that?"

"Yes Drill Sergeant!" Shatir responded instantly and clearly. Ferrin nodded her approval.

"Everybody will come to formation and immediately go to the position of attention. Now, you. . ." She moved on to the next person in line, teaching them the same thing she taught Shatir. When she came to Kette', she paused. "What's your name, trainee?"

"Ketterinna Barona, Drill Sergeant!" she yelled, trying to sound at least as impressive as Shatir. Ferrin pursed her lips.

"Squad Leader, you have a zhulescu twin sister here. What are you, the delivery man’s baby?" Shatir stiffened.
"Yes Drill Sergeant!"
"What's your name, Squad Leader?"
"Shatir Zahr en-Ajhwik, Drill Sergeant!"
"Easy for you to say. Private en-Ajhwik, if private Barona here may need your instruction getting the position of attention nailed down. You render assistance to her, or anybody else in your squad if they need it. You got that?"
"Yes, Drill Sergeant!"

Ferrin nodded her approval, then stepped before the next person in the squad, the crying human male. He had stifled most of his sobs. If his cheeks were still wet in the heat, Kette' almost envied him.

The sergeant worked on him for a few minutes, giving him the same treatment that everyone else was getting. He sounded like he was ready to cry at any moment, his voice still choked from tears, and his throat sounding raw, but he was soon screaming to the Drill Sergeant's content.

"All right, then, let's see if you can stand at attention, or if you’re somehow stupider than everyone else. Put your feet here-- okay, now relax your arms. . . good. Okay, you--" Drill Sergeant Ferrin went on to the next person, until the whole row was done.








[to be continued...]

[Coyote]

Empires: Kette's Story, Part II

Reception Station, Fort Bravec-- Tsonarr

The first few days were filled with inoculations and medical tests, and culminated with a trip to the barbershop.

Immediately after that, the itching recruits were herded through a warehouse that smelled of fresh canvas and starch and hastily donned new grey uniforms, packing away another three complete sets of military-issue pants, shirts, and underwear.

They wrapped up their civilian clothes into their travel bags and turned them over to the Drill Sergeants. It was unsettling to Kette', who realized that there was no way to readily recognize anyone anymore.

Shatir stood out by being the only Q'aab in the Company, but the myriad human, zhulescu, thenn and others all seemed to blend together into various masses.

Gone were the recognizable hairstyles, fashionable clothes and jewelry, and other personal accouterments than people had surrounded their lives with to identify themselves to others. Only the wanni and the kreen, their small bodies covered with fur, had escaped the merciless shears.

The days flew by in a confusing blur for Kette’-- up before dawn, and hustled from place to place without ever fully realizing what was going on around her. New smells teased at her nose, and her eyes adjusted to a world of dull greys and earthen colors, and the hues of alien skin around her.

Mealtimes were compacted into five-hept eating contests, with Drill Sergeants bearing down at them even as the last spoonful was entering their mouths. “You’re finished, and you know it!” one screamed at her, his red face glaring pop-eyed at her as he materialized across the table. She left without argument, caught between a laugh and a cry.

Evenings were uneventful; they were on free time but could not leave the warehouse-like bunkrooms they had been assigned to. The males were in one room, the females in another.

They had divided into groups of nine people each, called a squad. Four squads put together made a platoon, and four platoons made a company. The Reception Station currently held four total companies-- a battalion, she’d found out on the trainee database.

There were enough females to form one company, and three companies worth of males. They were told to expect a stay of about six days at the Reception Station, which was more than enough time to observe if anyone was going to have a negative reaction to their new inoculations.

One soldier did collapse, but it was from a lack of water, and from that point on the Drill Sergeants hounded the trainees to drink as much water as possible, and then have more for dessert.

Time went by at a surreal pace; the hours of the day ticked by slowly, but the days themselves seemed to rush by in a flash of awareness. Within a week’s time, Kette and her life had been transformed to a scale she thought impossible.

If I had a year to myself I would not have been able to do this, she realized. Her old life was fading into the distance as she began shedding all the things that had made her what she used to be; shedding them like dead skin and with about as much regret.

I once cared so much, she reflected. Only to find that when things are torn from me, I don’t feel the loss of meaning, only the loss of familiarity.

The whole Reception Station was out on the parade ground on the seventh morning. A battalion's worth of recruits, Kette' noted, impressed, stealing a glance around the courtyard.

Each had at their side the kit they had been issued. Slung over their shoulders were their civilian travel bags containing the articles they had originally brought with them, looking incongruous now on the plain of mostly shaven-headed, grey-uniformed recruits.

It was time to face their real reason for being at Fort Bravec: Initial Training. Sixteen Reception Stations around Fort Bravec were emptying themselves of their charges, after building up enough raw personnel to turn out a whole Division Training Cycle.

"Alright," the harsh voice in her ear growled, "you didn't fuck that up too much, there may be hope for you yet." the Senior Drill Sergeant, whom Kette' did not recognize, was on a stand in the center of the field with the battalion arrayed around him.

His lapel mike instantly broadcast his orders to everyone’s earpieces, leaving his hands free to gesture in any number of proper military hand signals or unofficial and overtly obscene ones. He alternated freely.

"Now I want all the goddamn mechanics, grav-vehicle types, to fall out and form up on Drill Sergeant Juomo, over here! Fall out!" he hollered, and pointed to where a white-kepi'd Drill Sergeant, a thenn male, waited with a look of impatient disgust on his face.

The Senior Drill Sergeant was going from company to company, slowly taking them apart by calling out the specialty fields they signed up for. Alaf Company had been taken completely apart, with the various mechanics, clerks, logistics, communications, and similar recruits going to the Drill Sergeants they were told to report to.

There, the Drill Sergeants formed them into new platoons and squads, now made up of nothing but personnel in the same job field. The technical and support jobs were filling up quite well, while combat arms posts such as armor, artillery, and infantry were woefully under-represented.

Kette' fidgeted. Bata Company was being dismembered right next to them, Dalav was next. By alphabetical order, the job fields were stripped away and sent to their new formations.

"NBC! Nuclear, biological, chemical specialists! Report to Drill Sergeant Killeen! Fall out!" A group of four recruits grabbed their issued gear and ran as fast as they could to a waiting Drill Sergeant, who separated them into the platoons that had already been started--one for males, one for females.

Some job specialties would not be represented by a full company at some Reception Stations, but would be mixed with other under-strength companies from different Stations. Everything was planned to even out once the dust settled at the Initial Training sites, even if it didn't look that way at Reception Station.

"PAO! Public Affairs Office! Recruits for PAO specialties form up on Drill Sergeant Hourock! Fall out!" A large herd of recruits picked up bags and thundered away, leaving the Senior Drill Sergeant to shake his head. The list continued until Bata Company was no more, and the Senior Drill Sergeant turned his attention to the ranks of Dalav. Kette' felt her pulse quicken.

"Now we're gonna see if anyone in Dalav Company has any goddamn pride! Airforce! Any Dalavs going to Airforce training, fall in on Drill Sergeant Lukin! Fall out!" There was no movement from the ranks of Dalav. "Are there any recruits in Dalav going into Airforce!?" the Senior Drill Sergeant asked again. He scowled.

"Alright, fine, then. How about Armor! Anybody in Dalav brave enough to go into Armor, form up on Drill Sergeant Gojin! Fall out!" Kette' was actually relieved to see six recruits grab their bags and run to the waiting Drill Sergeant Gojin.

It was better than nothing at all, and the combat arms ranks were not keeping up. Kette' was actually feeling somewhat disappointed. The list continued through the alphabet. Dalav Company gave up eight people-- the most so far-- to the Field Police, before the Senior Drill Sergeant announced the title she was waiting for.

"Infantry! Anybody taking the challenge from Dalav Company fall in on Drill Sergeant Dhassir! Fall out!" Kette', Leanna, and Shatir grabbed their bags and ran to Drill Sergeant Dhassir, who seemed to be alternating between a smile and a grimace.

Kette' noticed that a large, muscular zhulescu male in a nearby formation-- the one made up of Judge Advocate General desk-pilots-- seemed to look at her with a sense of embarrassment. Kette' still looked slim and soft, despite the painful feeling of steely toning her muscles had started to develop as the result of a week of strenuous exercise.

The three had no female infantry platoon to fall into, so made a squad of their own, where Drill Sergeant Ferrin placed them. First was Shatir, whose desert acclimatization had carried her through the ordeal at Reception Station with relative ease, then Kette' and Leanna. They stood, sweating and breathing heavily under the hot sun with pride, while the other companies were emptied and the ranks filled.

Sand-colored military busses awaited the newly formed platoons. Now, however, the people in those platoons moved with a sense of order and discipline, and the vehicles were boarded in a grim precision. They were quickly filled to standing room only, their narrow bench seats crowded with recruits and their dufflebags.

Kette', Leanna, and Shatir were now surrounded by strangers, and conversation was almost nonexistent. Even among companions, the nervousness felt upon the first day of arrival was returning and the tension stifled half-hearted attempts at talking or joking. Soon, the bus powered up and began to glide forward, exiting the gates of the Reception Station.

The ride was short, and soon a sandy parade ground, surrounded by two-story concrete buildings, appeared before them. Other Drill Sergeants waited, much like the first day at Reception Station.

The infantry compounds all faced each other, gigantic sand fields connected together into one huge arena baking under the sun, while outside the windowless back walls created a fortress effect. The middle sandfield was lined with a series of towers, each topped with a powerful array of lights to allow for night training.

Each company's individual training area was also ringed by lights, mounted on the roof of each barracks. Neither Kette' nor anybody else had time to enjoy the architecture. The Drill Sergeants were upon them.

"Get the hell off the bus! Now! Moovt! What the hell you waitinfor—!" just like the first day, the Drill Sergeants were immediately hemming the trainees on all sides, a select few mingling into the middle of the crowds as they jumped off the busses and yelling in their faces.

Female Drill Sergeants herded the female trainees into their new platoons. Kette' noticed that several other busses had joined their convoy sometime during their brief ride across the post, and there would be at least a full company of females in the immediate Battalion. Around the fields, in front of the other barracks, the male trainees were undergoing the same treatment.

"What the fuck you think your looking at! You ain't got the goddamn time to be fucking gawking! Get in your formation—!" a harsh voice grated on Kette's aural spike.

She was gripped on the shoulder by a small but firm hand, and Drill Sergeant Ferrin materialized from nowhere to propel her bodily towards a rank of females. Disoriented, Kette' staggered with the weight of her bags and moved towards the platoon, wondering where Leanna and Shatir had gotten to.

Another human female with dark skin intercepted her. She wore the glaring white kepi of a Drill Sergeant and carried a keylet on a small rigid board. Kette' snapped to the position of 'at ease' as she’d been taught, her icomp informing her that this new threat was known as Drill Sergeant LaGuerre.

"Barona!?" the dark woman snapped, glancing first at Kette's nametape and then focusing momentarily on something on her eyelens as she read Kette’s profile.

"Alright, get your ass over to Second Platoon! Move!" Kette' looked towards where the sergeant pointed, and grabbed her gear. A tall figure stood at the head of the squad, which was just beginning to form up--Shatir.

Kette' jogged over, struggling under he weight of her bags while other Drill Sergeants directed trainees towards various platoons. A thin, blond-stubbled figure bumped into her, lurching uncoordinated with the heavy dufflebag pulling at her smaller frame. Kette' recognized Leanna immediately and latched on to her.

"C'mon," she muttered, pulling her towards the platoon. They were directed into the ranks of Shatir's squad by a thenn Drill Sergeant, placed at attention, and left there. The other platoons filled quickly and the busses, from the corner of Kette's eye, were getting ready to leave.

Heat shimmers danced across the sandfield while sweat began to trickle down her face and shirt. The immediate stress over with, her body was beginning to take in the surroundings and react to them.

The hot noon sun of the desert hit everyone like hammer blows while Drill Sergeants moved through the lines of recruits, performing spot-checks on uniforms and position of attention. Each correction came with its own customized chewing-out, which Kette' was fortunate to escape. Sweat continued to pour from her body, soaking her uniform shirt like every other recruit she could see.

The sounds of motion calmed, and soon only the roving Drill Sergeants were left wandering. The recruits stood, facing forward, at rigid attention. The sergeants, seemingly unaffected by the heat, continued to make corrections while Drill Sergeant Ferrin dragged a garbage barrel to the front of the company.

She was joined by a tall, coal-black Q'aab female with hair equally dark, her face lined and the knot of ganglia in her eyes a dark purple. She gazed at the Company as a whole, seeming to appraise each of them individually, as if memorizing each name that popped up on her eyelens as she swept the crowd.

Her bearing was regal and she carried with her the invisible yet distinct mantle of someone In Charge. The diagonal rank bar on her left shoulder was broken by three diamonds, and her icomp identified herself only as Senior Drill Sergeant Ejjanni. Drill Sergeant Ferrin stood next to the trash barrel. The black Q'aab spoke, a rich alto with an equally rich accent.

"Yoo trainees come here, with zometimes contraband itemsz. Drink, drug, pornografvy, vweaponsz, szoforth. Here isz amneszty barrel. Yoo hafs fife heptsz to turn in szuch itemsz, no quesztion aszked, no reportsz taken, total amneszty." she paused, as if waiting for a reaction, again looking at the mass of assembled females from nearly every sentient species in the Centrality.

"Conditionsz isz, if contraband itemsz found upon yoo from here on out, yoo will be proszecuted under Czentral Code ofv Military Juszticze, Article Ten, Szection Six." she paused again, letting her words sink in.

"Yoo facez szix monthsz impriszonment, fine of fifteen-hundred leszatsz, posszible diszhonorable diszcharge. Do not do that to yoor-szelves. Five heptsz beginsz. . . now," she walked away from the amnesty barrel, Drill Sergeant Ferrin following. Neither looked back. The other Drill Sergeants faded from the crowd.

For a moment, nothing happened. A few people cast glances from side to side, and one human girl in the front of Kette's platoon broke ranks and dumped something in the barrel.

Two others came from first platoon, then dull thumps and clunks resonated from the barrel as more and more people ran forward to rid themselves of anything they didn’t want to be caught with.

Kette' thought about her own items, but couldn't think of anything that would count as contraband. She was startled by Leanna, who strode forward purposefully, dropped something in, and returned unhurried, a blank expression on her face. Soon, the silent procession ended. The recruits stood, again like statues in the hot pre-noon sun.

"Your five hepts are up!" Drill Sergeant Ferrin's voice called from the rear of the formation. She strode forward with the black Q'aab, while other Drill Sergeants took up positions in front of each platoon-- two sergeants per.

The steely, older q'alyeh stood behind Ferrin, arms crossed, white kepi pulled low over her eyes. The human sergeant was joined by a zhulescu female with pale skin and short golden hair poking out from under her kepi.

"I am Drill Sergeant Ferrin. Behind me--" she indicated the Q'aab--" is Senior Drill Sergeant Ejjanni. You will not, repeat, will not speak with the Senior Drill Sergeant at any time. If you must speak with a Drill Sergeant, you will see your platoon Drill Sergeants, standing before you now. Are there any questions? The only stupid question is the one that isn't asked."

Nobody said anything. Ferrin spun around to face Senior Drill Sergeant Ejjanni. "Dalav Company, Tenth Battalion, Second Infantry Training Brigade reporting, ready to commence training," she said briskly, saluting. Expressionless, the tall Q'aab returned her salute.

"Exczellent," she replied, "Platoon Drill Szergeantsz take over and begin asszigning barracksz." The Senior Drill Sergeant stalked away and, once she was out of peripheral vision, sergeant Ferrin spun around and immediately began issuing orders.

"First Platoon to building one! Second Platoon to building two! Third Platoon to building three! Forth Platoon to building four! You ain't figgered it out yet!? Move yer sorry asses!"

The parade ground was a flurry of sand, kicked up by the running feet of over a hundred females of various species somehow avoiding collisions with each other. Kette', Shatir and Leanna headed straight for building two, highlighted on their lenses, and piling into the collected bodies of the other members of their platoon.

Everyone had come to a complete stop, and Leanna and Kette' were straining to see why. The center of the room was made up of a long hallway, but instead of walls running down either side there were rows of bunk beds.

Lockers were lined against the walls. There was no privacy to be expected at all. In the center of the room stood the dark-skinned human female Kette' had seen earlier. She combed the crowd and was reading off names from her eyelens display.

"Alkhasi!" she hollered, scanning the collected faces. A thenn raised her arm tentatively. The Drill Sergeant scowled. "When I call your name you sound off loud and clear, you got that!? Alkhasi!"

"Here, Drill Sergeant!" the thenn hollered, her voice almost slipping into the ultrasonic. Kette's aural spikes picked up every nuance of the thenn's high voice and shivers ran down her spine. The Drill Sergeant indicated a set of bunks.

"Lower bunk! Gear in your locker! Knock out twenty pushups then stand at ease by your bunk once you've secured your gear! Atavia!"

"Here, Drill Sergeant!" shouted an olive-skinned human with black stubble on her scalp. She looked young. The Drill Sergeant indicated the same set of bunks as she had for the thenn, who was already beginning her exercises.
"Top bunk! Stow your gear then stand at ease by your bunk! Move! Barona!"

"Here Drill Sergeant!" Kette' hollered, heading towards the next set of bunks as the Drill Sergeant indicated them. She quickly threw her gear in her locker and stood at ease by the bunk she'd been assigned. Who am I going to get teamed with? she wondered. Her question was answered quickly.

"Birijivka!" A zhulescu, slightly older than Kette’, threw her gear into the locker next to hers. Large, pale, with blonde stubble on her head, there would be no mistaking them for each other. From the corner of her eye, Kette’ also noticed another thing about her new-assigned companion: she was already a Senior Private.

The bunk assignments continued that way until all the bunks were filled, upstairs and down. Shatir was in the same row as Barona, but Leanna had wound up in the upstairs. The dark-skinned human Drill Sergeant paced the center of the floor in the silent barracks.

"You now live in these assigned bunks until further notice. You will be assigned bedding and shown how to make your beds properly. You will keep every item you have in these lockers according to the stowage plan. The stowage plan is the picture you see inside the right door of the locker.” She looked around the room as if daring anybody to speak.

There was not a sound in the room besides her own voice and boots. Even the breathing of the female trainees seemed muted. “Your civilian bags will be inventoried and turned in to the Drill Sergeants’s office upstairs. You will receive a receipt for the items inside. You will not be allowed access to your civilian bags until after you have graduated. Or if you are miserable failure, your ass will be out-processed and you’ll receive your precious bag then. Any questions!?”

“NO, DRILL SERGEANT!”

“Good. I am Drill Sergeant LaGuerre. When I give the command, you will have five hepts to place your gear in your lockers in accordance to the stowage plan. Then the beds will be made to specification. Move it!”

Activity erupted all over the barracks. Doors on lockers were opened, and the stowage plan hastily examined. Socks, shirts, underwear, battle gear, uniforms: all had a place and direction they had to face.

Some of them began picking through their duffel bags, others, Kette’ and her new partner included, dumped them out and rapidly placed the items near where they needed to be. The bag-dumpers were nearly finished when the other Drill Sergeant that had stood before the platoon, the pale zhulescu, entered.

“At ease!” she called. Activity ceased. A few of the females were still disorganized. Kette’ had barely enough time to kick her boots under her bunk. The two Drill Sergeants talked for a moment.

They congratulated the trainees that were finished, or nearly so, and “rewarded” them with push-ups for not helping the others. They exercised until the rest of the squads were finished packing, and then the pale zhulescu Drill Sergeant spoke up.

“Alright, for those of you who do not know, I am Drill Sergeant Valdonna. I am the senior Drill Sergeant for this barracks. Drill Sergeant LaGuerre is your primary instructor, she handles first and second squads. Drill Sergeant Ferrin is the primary trainer for third and forth. You will follow all of our instructions equally. Like now,” she picked up a pair of sheets and a pair of blankets, and a pillowcase.

She quickly made up one of the bunks; it was as much a work of art as a made bunk could be expected. The corners were taught and squared off so that not a bit of cloth was left loose. She quickly unmade the bunk, much to the disappointment of the trainee assigned to it.

“Now,” she instructed, “you will all do it.” It took almost half an hour to finally get everyone to standard, and she was still not satisfied. Loose corners and wrinkles were being problematic to everyone, and some of the lockers were still not completely finished. Drill Sergeant Valdonna shook her head.

“Pitiful,” she muttered. “You are without a doubt off to the worst start I have ever seen from any platoon. Every previous training cycle had all this shit nailed down by now. You’ve got a long way to go,” she said, eyeing each of them.

“Theoretically,” she continued, “it’s lunchtime. But you won’t get so much as a plate of shit until you have your bunks squared away,” she said. At the mention of lunch, many of the recruits stirred, and a couple of concerned glances were exchanged.

“If you have all this crap in order within two hepts, we might be able to make it to the chow hall before they close. Those of you who finish first,” she looked sternly at Kette’ and Birijivka, “maybe you can help your buddies. I know that would mean teamwork, which is a new concept for you, but see if you can try it without fucking up too badly. Get to work,” she said, and walked away towards the stairs. Drill Sergeant LaGuerre stayed, scanning the room and helping recruits with problems. Kette’s bunkmate, Birijivka, looked at her.

“I can start from the front, and you from the back. Let’s wrap this up so we can eat,” she advised. Kette’ agreed and went to the end of the row, where Shatir was struggling with her bunk. Her locker seemed to be in order, but the bedsheets were a mess.

“We do not use such things at home,” Shatir explained. “Large heaps of cushions, pillows, the like, all arranged as most comfortable. Most aggravating this is,” she said. “And is not comfortable, either,” Kette’ smiled. Together they were able to come to terms with the blankets, then they helped one of Shatir’s bunkmates, a nervous-looking human girl with a redhead’s stubble on her scalp.

Kette’ wondered how Leanna was doing, which made her think about Alei. She realized she hadn’t checked her messages for some time. She made a mental note to do that before lights-out. Gradually all the bunks were taken care of, along both squad rows. The Drill Sergeants seemed pleased.

“Not bad,” Valdonna said, “Not bad. There may be hope for you yet. We’ll see. For now. . . fall out! I want a platoon formation in front of the building five hepts ago! Move!”

The call was repeated upstairs amid the crashing and thumping of booted feet rushing across the floor. A rough parody of their earlier platoon formation was made outside, and they were marched to the cafeteria. They stood at ease in a silent line, waiting for the opportunity to enter and sit down for a few minutes.

“You all wearing your IC’s, right?” Ferrin growled. Up and down the line, recruits displayed their keylets or pointed towards their eyes.

“Yes, Drill Sergeant!” the recruits answered in unison. Scowling beneath the bill of her white kepi, she suggested that they log on and begin studying the information from the trainee database.

The Drill Sergeants stalked up and down the line, occasionally tapping into different recruits’ downloads to make sure people were studying instead of reading messages from home, playing games, or other time-wasting.

One tough-looking human girl from Kette’s squad, caught reading mail, had to do push-ups until the rest of the platoon had cycled through the front door. She was served last.

Mess hall food was the same bland fare they had gotten used to in the Reception Station, but after the earlier stress the opportunity to sit down and eat made it a welcome sight. Consumed with haste, the small portions were eagerly shoveled down the recruits’ throats while Drill Sergeants exhorted them to eat faster and taste it later.

It took fifteen hepts for the platoon to get through the mess hall, and as they prepared to leave the doors were being locked and the kitchen shut down for cleaning. They’d barely made it.

Back at the barracks, most of the trainees’ lockers were dumped out by the Drill Sergeants, who told their confused and dismayed victims to repack, only better. Beds were torn apart and re-made.

Field gear was given another inventory inspection, and the barracks were cleaned, or so the recruits thought, until Drill Sergeant Valdonna found a one-lesat coin she had planted on top of a rafter during lunch, so it was done again.

Outside, rocks were picked up out of the sand and placed in a barrel and the sand was raked smooth for tomorrow morning’s physical fitness training.

It was soon time for evening meal, and again the recruits had worked up an appetite. More bland food was washed down by water-- in the desert climate of Fort Bravec, the Drill Sergeants made it policy that trainees were to drink at least a full liter of water with each meal.

The evening culminated with a full inspection of uniforms, and instructions on the best way to get, and keep, an inspection-ready shine on boots. A boot party followed, and they all sat in a circle and polished every pair of boots they had.

It was the first time during the day that they had a chance to sit while doing something relatively easy. Kette’ took stock of the squad she had fallen into.

Four of the nine females in second squad were humans-- two pale, one olive-skinned, one dark brown. Kette’ and her bunkmate, Colessi Birijivka, were the only zhulescu. Shatir was the only Q’aab trainee in the entire company of females.

The last two were both thenn, one of whom was blonde. Kette’ was taken aback by this, she had never heard of a blonde thenn. She suspected hair coloring, but it looked natural.

“So,” the olive-skinned human girl said, “our big adventure, huh?” Nervous smiles were exchanged. The girl, who’s name on Kette’ eyelens was displayed as ATAVIA, continued. “And to think I was joining the Army to get away from housework.” Knowing smiles and nods of agreement were exchanged.

“I am so goddamn tired,” said the redheaded human girl, Tiara Dar, to the mutual sympathy of the others. Kette’ herself felt as if her muscles were just stringy rags draped over her skeleton.

Alkhasi, the thenn that Kette’ though of as the “normal” one, put down her boot and looked evenly at the rest of them.

“I conceptualize heavy work,” she said, “but this more than just work. Physical heavy work is one problem. This is mental-hard. Acts as force-multiplier, increase base heaviness of physical work.” It took a moment to digest, but once figured out, everyone agreed.

Kette’ had been worried that her CommonSpeak was not going to keep up with others, but so far she seemed to have little difficulty compared to some of the others.

Footsteps made their way across the floor, Kette’ almost jumped to “at ease” but caught herself-- it was first squad, re-entering the main room from the latrine/showers.

“Showers are all yours,” said a thenn female who had ended up as their unofficial leader. There were just enough shower heads for one squad at a time, and it had been easily agreed upon to cycle through by squad order.

Kette’s companions set their boots aside and got their towels, peeling off clothing at the same time. The water was a welcome relief after the day’s stress and sweat. By now, the awkward stares had become a thing of the past-- at Reception Station, those who had never seen such a variety of unclothed, alien bodies had adjusted themselves to it.

Soon, they had showered and Drill Sergeant LaGuerre had shouted them to bed with the unmistakable call of “Lights Out!” The exhausted, disoriented, and cowed recruits lay in their bunks for awhile, many still too stunned by the days’ events to sleep.

From somewhere in the room, Kette’ heard a stifled sob, and then a sniff. It was repeated by others elsewhere. Kette’ just stared at the bunk above hers, where Birijivka’s soundless form lay prone. Someone across the room cried into their pillow and Kette’ actually felt empty inside, since she could not find anything worth crying over.








[to be continued...]

[Coyote]

Empires: Kette's Story-- Part III

Fort Bravec, Tsonarr: Initial Training Day One

The lights simply came on, and Kette’s eyes opened automatically. She was surprised to find herself wide awake. Her eyelens informed her that she’d had maybe five and a half hours of sleep. There had to be some mistake.

She looked around and noticed others glancing around with half-lidded eyes. Boots tromped into the room.

“What the fuck do you think you’re waiting for!? Breakfast in bed!?” Kette’ sat bolt upright in her bed, dashing her head against the bottom of Birijivka’s bunk.

Drill Sergeant LaGuerre stormed into the room, Valdonna close on her heels. Recruits started to get out of bed, wearily, and look around.

One of first squad’s human girls tried to bury her head back into her pillow, as if wishing the scene were a bad dream. Valdonna saw her and strode towards her like Death’s personal messenger, which under the circumstances was close enough.

Valdonna grabbed the mattress the girl laid on and tugged, hard. The girl was on the top bunk-- and now sailing rapidly for the floor. To her credit she did not call out, but the effect on the rest of the trainees was electric.

Instantly, people jumped from their beds and hastened to make them. Kette’ was one of them, narrowly avoiding collision with Birijivka.

“You have all of five hepts to get in your PT gear and fall out! Move! Move! Move! Your hepts are going, going, gone!” Drill Sergeant LaGuerre was calling out, hollering into the ears of passing trainees as they ran outside.

Kette’ slammed her locker shut and joined the panicked throng. The whole Company was formed up, the Senior Drill Sergeant loudly counting down the seconds. Neither Kette’ nor half the other females were going to make it.

“. . . three. . . too. . .un! All off yoo, drop where yoo are! Drop! Drop! Drop! “ Senior Drill Sergeant Ejjanni had no difficulty at all with that word, Kette’ correctly guessing that she’d had a lot of practice with it. The late runners, herself included, dropped to the ground and began doing pushups.

The Senior Drill Sergeant turned to the others. “Thisz teachesz yoo all te value of teamwvork! They were late and price to pay! Why yoo stand there while team-matesz szuffer!? Yoo not help team-matesz getsz ready? Efverybody drop! Drop! All of te team helpsz each othersz, or all of te team failsz! Yoo want be failuresz?” The rest of the Company dropped to the ground and began doing pushups. Most of the trainees were drained after barely a dozen.

“Weak! Weak! All of you!” Drill Sergeant Ferrin hollered at them. “Look at you! Pathetic! Miserable! You’ve barely started the day and you’re already tired! You better wake the hell up! Push ‘em out! Backs straight! Knees off the ground! Get your butts out of the air, we ain’t parking bicycles!”

She walked up and down rows of gasping recruits, trying their best to do pushups. Some with red faces lay on the ground, their arms and shoulders trembling, their eyes running with tears as they tried to push themselves up one more time.

A handful of recruits were cranking out pushups as if there was nothing unusual about the situation at all. The Drill Sergeants rode them all equally.

A mind game, Kette’ reasoned around the pain of her arms. They’re dogging everyone. It’s mental. She lowered herself unsteadily to the ground and her arms and shoulders collapsed.

She tried to push up again, but her bones felt like limp noodles. She kept trying. Drill Sergeant Valdonna materialized before her and dropped to the ground, looking Kette’ straight in the eye.

“Sergeant Ferrin told me we may have to make a personal project of you,” she hissed. “She may be right. Is that what you want, Barona? You want me up your ass with a miner’s helmet? I’ll have you pushing them out ‘till graduation, if that’s what it takes!”

Kette’ was terrified. A surge of adrenaline gushed through her and she made a clawing, feeble effort to rise again. Her blood thundered in her aural spikes and her vision danced with lights at the strain, but she managed another push-up. Valdonna smiled a mean, cold smile. “You just keep knocking ‘em out, Barona! Don’t stop until I get tired!”

She got up and walked over to another recruit and gave her a similar treatment. Kette’ tried to lower herself back down but couldn’t, she collapsed again. Valdonna saw her and yelled again.

“Don’t make me come back over there, Barona!” she warned. “I’m not forgetting you over here!” Kette’ kept trying, but was unable to lift herself again. At best, she hovered a few centimeters above the ground. Valdonna walked by on her way to another trainee, telling Kette’, “Keep at it!”

Soon, most of the trainees were on the ground, even the tough-looking human girl in Kette’s squad. Many were groaning in pain. All across the compound, over in the male trainees’ sections, similar scenes were being played out. Kette’ wondered what she’d done to herself with that simple original signature.

“Get up! On yer feet! Now!” Another of the Drill Sergeants called out. The recruits were barely able to lift themselves up. “When I say get on your feet, I mean it right now! We’ll try it again! Drop!” They did. “On yer feet!” They sprang up.

“Slower than a slug race,” Drill Sergeant Ferrin said. “Drop!” The whole Company flung themselves at the ground, desperately trying to gain favor and end the torment. “On yer feet!”

As quickly, they sprang up. Heaving, gasping, breathless, but standing as best they could-- which was not so well for some of them. “Probably the best we can expect from them,” Ferrin growled, “Worthless bitches. Alright! Form up in your platoons! Moovit! You have five. . . four. . .three. . .” With lightning speed, the remaining recruits ran towards their positions on the field.

“Two. . . one! Stop where you are!” she ordered. A handful of trainees were still not in position. “All of you not in position I want ten pushups, and I want them now!”

The rest of the company stood at attention-- Kette’ had made it this time-- waiting while the last few recruits fulfilled their obligations as best they could, which was not much. Finally, Ferrin called a halt, and told them to join their squads.

“They need a lot of PT, looks like,” LaGuerre said loudly.

“Definitely,” agreed Senior Drill Sergeant Ejjanni. The Drill Sergeants took their places at their platoons, the platoon senior Drill Sergeants at the front, the two section trainers at the back. “Fall in!” Ejjanni called. Everyone came to attention.

“Reczeive the reportsz!” The platoon leaders each about-faced and took the reports from the trainee squad leaders-- who was missing, who was present. Everyone, of course, was present. This was reported to Ejjanni, who then proceeded to lead the company through morning Physical Training.

Warm-up exercises were followed by orderly repetitions of push-ups, sit-ups, and other calisthenics. More stretches were performed, allowing the tired trainees a chance to catch their breath.

By now, even the ones who had been cranking out push-ups earlier were heaving and puffing.

The platoons were called to attention and faced to the right, forming a long column. They started marching, in order, out the main gates of the Infantry training compound and onto a smooth, dirt track that surrounded it.

The compound was about a kilometer along each outside, a full revolution around the compound was four kilometers. Once on the track, the Senior Drill Sergeant called “Double-time!” A ragged cheer went up from the company as they started to run in step.

Drill Sergeants called cadences while the trainees struggled to keep up. Kette’ ran until she felt her lungs would explode, but dared not drop out. Some fell to the side of the road, gasping for air.

Most of them, Kette’ noted, were the ones not acclimatized fully to the desert. She was one of the fortunate ones that came from a warmer climate and felt able to hold her own, however, the whole company was practically at walking speed by the time the run was over and were placed again in their formations.

“Platoon szergeantsz, get them cleaned for breakfaszt,” Senior Drill Sergeant Ejjanni instructed, “Nexzt formation at szero-fifve hundred.” The Drill Sergeants saluted, Ejjanni returned the salute and strode away. Drill Sergeant Valdonna spun to face the platoon.

“Not too good, today, people,” she said in normal tones. She was not even breathing hard and had barely broken a sweat. “You get in the barracks, shower and clean up. Be ready for formation at zero-five. Polished boots, dammit! Dismissed!”

The platoon broke up and ran into the barracks, shirts coming off before most of them were even inside. Kette’ had never been in such a hurry to eat such bland food and coffiene. Sweat rolling down her back, sand worked into her very skin, she waited anxiously at her chance in the shower.

Initial Training: First Week

The days continued in a fairly reliable pattern. Up by four-thirty in the morning, with one hour for PT and a half-hour for showering and getting dressed.

Breakfast lasted until six-thirty, and then the company would be marched to any one of a number of classrooms surrounding the battalion barracks area.

Most of the classes were located within three or four kilometers of the fortress-like compound. By now fully awake, cadences were called and the voices responded with unity and boldness.

After the first week, Kette’ had figured that as many as three people had washed out of their platoon alone. She was fairly conservative with her ideas of “washed out”, however-- only one was truly a failure, she figured.

One of the furry little wanni girls from third squad had been reduced to tears and rendered unable to perform. She cried to be let out, and her wish was granted.

Another, a human girl in first squad, had tripped on a flight of stairs and broken her ankle. She would be healed and recycled back to another training battalion as soon as one became available.

A thenn from upstairs had received word that her mother had been killed in a subway cave-in, she was given emergency leave and would also return later to another training cycle. Kette’ wondered how the other companies were doing.

The first weekend in Initial Training brought little change. Lastday and Freeday were treated as normal duty days, but Communionday was greeted with an hour’s worth of sleeping-in, much to the relief of the trainees.

Up at five-thirty, with a regular Physical Training regimen and shower time, followed by a later breakfast. Drill Sergeant LaGuerre entered as the trainees were herded back into the barracks.

Once everyone was standing at ease, she addressed them from the center of the room.

“Lissen up,” she drawled. “The Army understands that many of you observe religious rites on this particular day. Fine. For those of you who wish to participate, there is a temple nearby that we will march you to. Volunteer basis only,” she added.

“Those of you who stay here will be kept in the barracks. No going outside. You will study quietly among yourselves, polish boots, square away uniforms, lockers, what have you. Drill Sergeant Valdonna will remain here. Services take, on the average, about an hour. With marching time, a total of an hour and a half. Does anybody here wish to participate in these services?” A few hands went up, then a few more.

Private Tiara Dar, the slim redhead bunked near Shatir, asked a question.

“Drill Sergeant? What type of services. . . I meant, what kind of temple. . .?” she stuttered. Next to her, the other pale human girl, the tough-looking one who Kette’ only knew as Sharrileagh, snorted in contempt. Shatir en-Ajwik glared at Sharrileagh, who seemed not to notice. The Drill Sergeant grimaced.

“General interfaith,” she said, “and sound off like you have something to say, dammit! Let’s see you pound out twenty-five,” she ordered calmly. Dar started doing push-ups while LaGuerre continued.

“For those of you from more active religions, it may seem a bit watered-down. But the Army isn’t here to cater to you. You make do. Besides,” she added, somewhat sternly, “according to the theories I’ve heard, that’s something you carry around inside yourself anyway, sig?” Nobody argued.

Drill Sergeant LaGuerre assembled the volunteers outside. Out of the whole company, there were slightly less than two platoons worth. About half, Kette’ reasoned.

She pondered going herself, but had not really put a lot of thought into her religion. I’d feel like I was intruding, she reasoned. Her identity tags had “Thyssan” plainly stamped on them, but she had filled out that line mostly by reflex.

Most of the humans had gone, in fact Sharrileagh was the only one that did not. The blonde thenn, who’s name was Carro, had gone also. Alkhasi, the “normal” thenn, was talking to Sharrileagh, while Birijivka silently straightened out her locker.

Shatir-- the people she knew personally were the only ones she didn’t automatically call by their last names-- was at her bunk. She went to see if her friend wanted to study together.

Shatir sat cross-legged on the floor in her silky black robe, her hands folded on her lap. A book on a small wooden holder sat before her, but her eyes were closed as she mumbled something softly to herself in a quiet, quick monotone.

Kette’ hesitated, not sure what to do, then returned to her bunk. She activated her icomp account and sat, trancing vacantly at the lens display long after it had come on. Finally, she focused on it and read the words a couple of times before realizing what they meant.

“MAIL RECIEVED.” The simple words stirred a well of anxiety. Hastily, she accessed her personal mail program. There were two messages.

One was marked “Alei Soller”. The other was from “Selway Barona”. The sub-headers indicated that the message from Alei had been sent directly to her, but six days ago.

The message from her father had reached her by way of a general name search, and had been written seven days ago, shortly after she’d left Reception Station.

She hesitated, her hands trembling and her vision cloudy. From her keylet she highlighted the message from her father, reading the title.

“Contact us, Please!” She gazed at it for a long time before hitting “Delete”, but it seemed as though her icomp wasn’t going to let her off so easily. “DELETE MESSAGE: SELWAY BARONA: CONTACT US PLEASE: YES/NO?”

She keyed “yes” quickly. The “MESSAGE DELETED” acknowledgment flashed. She sat, staring at it. No turning back, she reminded herself.

“At ease!” Kette’ jumped up, hastily turning off the program. Drill Sergeant Valdonna stalked into the room, her eyes tracing over the recruits like a targeting laser.

“So,” she said evenly, “You are the heathen trainees. No problem. Your time better be spent studying. You’ll be that much ahead of the ones going to services. But you’d better study hard, ‘cause they’ll have some of that divine help guiding them along.” She grinned without humor, stating, “Should come out about even."

She looked at Kette’s keylet lying on the bunk and scanned Kette’ for transmissions, but the icomp would show only that it was not in use.

“Every Lastday the mail hits your individual computers. Trainee mail is delayed once a week so you can stay focused on what’s going on here instead of back home. Lastday afternoons we knock off training after dinner, that is your best time to read and answer mail."

"If we catch you reading mail at any other unapproved time,” she hesitated, seeing that she had everyone’s attention, ”we set the defaults on your icomps to accept messages only once a month, or not at all if it becomes a serious problem.” Nervous glances were exchanged.

Drill Sergeant Valdonna graced everyone with another unfriendly smile. “So. Back to studying,” she said, and went upstairs to the Drill Sergeant offices. Kette’ sat down and breathed a sigh of relief.

Shatir appeared and sat down next to Kette’ on her bunk. Birijivka had finished straightening her locker and was now joining Alkhasi and Sharrileagh. They were alone. Kette’ looked apologetic at her friend.

“I’m sorry if I disturbed you, a moment ago. I really am. I didn’t know. . .”

“I was praying, yes,” she said openly. Kette’ was puzzled.
“But why didn’t you go to--”

“--I do not observe in the same way as the Thyssan,” Shatir explained. “A mostly human religion, note who most go to the services.” Kette’ remembered a lot of humans and zhulescu in the temple-going platoon.

“So what is your religion?” Kette’ asked tentatively, “I mean, if that isn’t too personal,” she added. Shatir smiled.
“Ashanzja,” she replied, “literally, it means the act of reverent obedience, but this translation is not one completly flattering. Tyrr-ikata, the prophet one who was the writing one of our passages, tried to tell of a lifepath for all that could happen. People, business, government. . .”

She paused for a moment, then added, “Actually, I am poor person to speak of this to you. It is wrong idea I present.” Kette’ was more confused now, and must have shown it.

“I am, honestly, breaking the way of things. By becoming fighting one, I am in the male-responsibility. I can only hope that I will be judged not too harsh when end time comes.”

Kette’ wondered about that. Most of the Tyrrists she’d seen presented on the WorldNet were reactionaries and radicals, and very extreme in their viewpoints. She opted not to share this. They sat in silence for a while.

“I was about to read mail when Drill Sergeant Valdonna came in,” Kette’ said, smiling. “I think she knew it and gave us that speech.” Shatir agreed.

“They are here not to make us fail,” she observed, “but to try to make us to succeed. That was warning to us all, and we would be good to pass it on to our others when they return.” Kette’ nodded, about to agree when Leanna Sena appeared at the side of her bunk.

“Hiya,” she said, smiling, “What do you think? A day without push-ups?”

“There were exercises this morning,” Shatir reminded her, “Many push-ups.”
“Doesn’t count,” Leanna countered, “That’s normal exercise. I’m talking about random malicious push-ups.”

They sat together and talked, linking their icomps on the trainee database to bring up a section on military rank and grade structure-- something they all knew well, so if quizzed they would look like they were indeed studying. Kette’ filled in Leanna on the mail situation. She shrugged in reply she had no one back home she wanted to talk with.

“There are people I wish to communicate with,” Shatir said quietly, “but they are not receptive to my company now. My brother is in Army, in reconnaissance platoon, but I cannot get reply from him. I think he would understand. Maybe.” She sat silent for a moment.

“The first night,” Kette’ said, “a lot of the others were crying. They had something or someone to miss. I kinda do, but. . . not really.” Shatir nodded in understanding, while Leanna just grimaced.

“I have nothing but here,” she said, “And I dunno which of us is better off,” she changed the subject, looking at Shatir.

“You’re brother’s in the army too?”
“Indeed,” Shatir sighed, “he has been very much of the open mind with me, when my family is not. But he is on many missions, and cannot to write with me. I know not where he is now.”

Leanna frowned slightly, realizing that the change from one subject to another had not done what she had hoped. They talked for awhile about nothing in particular, pointedly avoiding the past, families, and home life.

After awhile, the cadence of the temple-going platoon members began to sound in the distance. Leanna got up to return to her upstairs bunk but stopped suddenly. The others looked at her, curious.

“When we graduate, do you suppose we’ll get some leave?” she asked, “One of the girls upstairs said that when her cousin joined the army, there was a delay of about a week and a half or so after he graduated before he had to be anywhere. So if we get lucky, want to go somewhere?”

Kette’ thought for a moment, then a sudden, half-buried thought came to her mind.

“Want to visit the Old Cities?” she asked. The others gazed at her, questioning. “The Holy Cities history preserve,” Kette’ clarified, “here on Tsonarr. I mean, sure, they’re all full of religious history and all,” she explained, looking at Shatir, “but it’s not just that. I mean, supposedly there’s places that are historical zones, and the people there all live like it is still the Thyssaic times-- ox carts, cooking over fires, all that.” She looked thoughtfully at her companions, who returned her stare.

They looked at each other as if communicating telepathically for a moment. Kette’s smile began to grow, then fade.

“Would I be. . . ahhh. . .” Shatir hesitated, “invited in?” Kette’ suppressed a grin.

“Of course,” she assured, “it’s open to everyone. It’s supposed to be a look at the historical times of Thyssa. Sure, I mean, there’ll be a lot of religious stuff all around, but there are, you know, other areas devoted more for the, I guess, casual tourist,” she tried to explain.

“Secular,” Shatir stated simply. Kette’ nodded.
“I suppose that’s the word. It is not intended to be preachy-- just historical. What do you say? Even if you’re not into the religious stuff, it’s supposed to be real interesting just to see and experience the old ways.” She said this last part looking at Leanna.

“Uh-huh,” the human replied. “Old ways. Ox carts and open fires. Uhhh. . .” she looked around, as if trying to see any other option that sounded better. Outside, the cadences of the temple-goers became louder, almost entering the platoon parade ground.

“Sure,” she said, “what the hell. Oh.” she hesitated. “I guess I shouldn’t say that there. Whatever. It’s a deal.” She smiled. Shatir looked dubious.

“I will go,” the Q’aab agreed. “I trust your judgement on this.” Kette’ grinned.

“First chance I get I’ll look up all the information I can,” she said. Leanna smiled at her, then at Shatir, and disappeared upstairs before the rest of the platoon came in.

Communionday Evening

To: Ketterinna Barona
From: Alei Soller
Re.: About time!
DTG: 1504250C1210
Msg. Orig. via: CENTCOMNET sta. 112A (Try) 786C (Tyc)
Origin/TrnsGlctc node900876/ CCTV Regency
Destin/CntrlMltry node202348/ Fort Bravec
Finder: Direct Name Access (no exceptions)

About time you mailed me! I was wondering if you’d been swallowed whole. I left a week after you did and I’ve been having a BLAST.

The whole training program is wonderful. Naturally, my parents were total assholes about the whole thing but what the hell, I have my sister out there who can conquer any opposition.

So, the deal is, I am on the CCTV Regency. It is an older ship, making the run between Lakit and the Uperior Belt. A big run for gamblers, since the Belt is nothing but a million and one casinos all spread out among these asteroids that were hollowed out.

Big money customers coming from Lakit, which I guess is home to a lot of hedonistic pleasure palaces and the like, you know, for the rich. They tip a lot and they’ve all made the run a hundred times and are used to being served by clucks-- sorry-- that’s TransGal slang for a new person. They are patient and tip big, and very friendly.

So what are you up to? Charging machine gun nests yet? I’m sure you look good in your uniform, you’d bust a gut laughing at the thing I wear, I’m sure. Black body hugger with a silky white skirt.

That’s not all-- there’s a little powerpack under the skirt, yeah, right where it is real uncomfortable, that has this shimmering star pattern dancing around all over the suit. I look like the galaxy, for Thyssa’s sake. It makes me wonder if my ass is fat enough to see the whole Kuji Trinary System.

So dammit, write to me again! Tell me more! I want to hear what kind of adventures you’re having. Is it as bad as the holovids? When can we get together? Hope to hear from you soon. Please be careful.

Your sister,
Alei

Kette’ sat back in her bunk and smiled, and laughed, and cried a little. She keyed a long reply to Alei, describing her journey and her new friends, Shatir and Leanna.

What had happened. What she hoped. And when she expected to be out of training. Their planned expedition to the Old Cities. Maybe she could join them? She typed and thought and remembered old times until the call came for lights out.










[To be Continued..]

[Coyote]

Empires: Origins-- Kette's Story- Part III

Beginning of Week Two

The next day brought two surprises for her. After breakfast they found themselves formed up in front of a windowless building at the far end of the compound from the main gate.

There, trainees filtered in-- and came out again a few minutes later, carrying rifles.

Once fully armed, the whole company moved back towards their barracks. In the main room, all the squads gathered around on the floor. Cloth mats were laid neatly on the floor, and each trainee’s rifle sat on one in front of them.

Drill Sergeant Ferrin went over the rifle, piece by piece, explaining how it worked, what it was for, and the importance of keeping it clean while animated diagrams danced across their eyelenses, reinforcing everything Ferrin said.

She set the trainees to disassembling and reassembling the weapons, over and over again, naming each part as they did so in cadence. Finally, she let them clean the already spotless weapons and taught them how to stand at attention, salute, and carry them properly.

They were going through these drills when Kette’ received her second surprise.

“Barona!” came a shout from upstairs-- Drill Sergeant Valdonna’s shout. For some reason, shouting from the slight and pale Valdonna brought an icy chill that neither Ferrin nor LaGuerre could produce. Kette’ jumped to her feet and looked inquisitively at Drill Sergeant Ferrin.

“Go,” Ferrin ordered. “And get your ass back here fast!” Kette’ needed no further urging. She sprinted up the stairs and reported, with her rifle, exactly as she’d been taught a hept before.

“Private Barona reporting as ordered, Drill Sergeant!” she yelled forcefully. LaGuerre smiled appraisingly. She was standing behind Valdonna, who was seated at her desk.

“At ease,” Valdonna ordered. She reached into her desk and pulled out a cloth patch. “Put this on, Private,” she growled. “Above your nametag”

Kette’ looked down. It was a square of adhesive cloth. After peeling off the backing and sticking it to any other cloth, it was on there for good until a solvent was applied.

The solvent itself would not damage cloth, so that when a person got promoted, they could apply the new rank to their old uniform. Like now. It was a set of dress-silver squad sergeant’s stripes.

“We’re making you a trainee squad leader,” Valdonna said, “of second squad. You are to choose two team leaders from within your squad. Let us know your decision by lunchtime, and by dinner we’ll have sergeant’s insignia for them.”

Kette’s brain locked up. What could she say? What could she do? Squad leader? What did that entail? What was her authority? What did she do? I barely know how to make friends, for Thyssa’s sake, and now I have to tell people what to do?

Speechless, she reached across and picked up the cloth, peeled back the adhesive covering and smoothly applied it to her uniform. It fit perfectly, as if mocking her doubts. She wondered if the Drill Sergeants could see her trembling. She looked back at them, not seeing them. Not seeing anything. She snapped to a perfect at-ease.

“Thank you, Drill Sergeant!” she said with an authority she did not feel. Valdonna looked surprised at this, then her away as if ridding herself of an annoying insect.

“Return to your squad. Dismissed.” Kette’ ran downstairs, then stopped at the bottom. Her knees were weak. She did not feel confident even talking to people on a regular basis, much less. . .

“Barona!” Ferrin called. Kette’ looked up and saw Drill Sergeant Ferrin glaring down the hall at her. Every trainee’s eye was on her as well. “Get the hell back over here!” Ferrin ordered.

Kette’ swallowed and turned, facing everyone. Might as well put on the best face possible, she figured, and strode towards the waiting group. Eyes opened wide-- especially Shatir’s. She had been acting the part of Squad Leader ever since Drill Sergeant Ferrin had bestowed that position on her at Reception Station.

Kette’ looked apologetically at her and sat at her original place. Ferrin leveled a critical gaze at her.

“So,” she said evenly, “a squad leader. We’ll expect a hell of a lot more from you now, Barona. That means better goddamn PT scores,” she warned.

“And you better pay close attention now. All of you better pay attention,” Ferrin continued, taking them all in. “Because here’s the deal. You’ll soon be entering the BRQ phase. That’s Basic Rifle Qualification. There are two things that your graduation here hinges on. Physical Training,” she said, looking around the room at some of the more disappointing individuals in that area,

“. . .and Basic Rifle Qualification. If you can’t carry a pack or run, you’re worthless to us. If you can’t shoot, you are worse than useless, you are a burden to the Army and to your buddies. Those of you who fail BRQ and PT by the end of the cycle,” she paused dramatically, “are out. Finished. Washed-out failures. And you can go home and let everyone know that you were too fucked up to make it in the Army.”

She let this hang in the air for awhile before continuing with her lecture on target acquisition.

Kette suddenly felt as if the rifle in her hands was
suddenly twice as heavy. She tried not to think about it, and act like everything was normal.

Eventually three other trainees were called up and made squad leaders for the platoon. Another was chosen from first squad to act as overall platoon leader-- the human girl that had taken the mattress plunge on their first morning of IT, who Kette’ learned was named Hoffritz.

Other trainees looked upon them with curiosity, admiration, or some jealousy. A few of them had already assumed that they would be made leaders, and also assumed that they were ideal for such roles.

Even Kette’ knew that many times, such people were usually the ones least qualified for command positions. Later, she approached Shatir during evening free time, with a pair of sergeant’s silver dress stripes.

“En-Ajwik. Uhh. . . here,” she said, handing her friend one of the stripes. All her carefully laid words were failing her. The Q’aab looked at her strangely.

“What for is this?” she asked, looking at the stripe. Kette’ fidgeted.
“Well, I didn’t know they were going to do this, you know?” she stammered, “I mean, squad leaders being official. I don’t know why they did this to me, I think it’s a big mistake,” she rushed out her words.

Nearby, Sharrileagh snorted and nudged Dar, who edged away from her. Kette’ ignored both of them.

“Anyhow, they want me to pick team leaders. I chose you. It’s not like being squad leader, but I know you can do it. I want you to be one of my team leaders,” she finished up, hoping she didn’t sound too pleading. The Q’aab smiled.

“I hold this not against you,” she said quietly. “In fact, I hold nothing against anyone. I learned from being leader of squad, even for short while. Now is your turn. You learn. I will help you, for I am here only to learn as well.” She took the adhesive backing off the stripe and smoothed it on.

“In fact,” she continued after a moment’s pause, “I had wanted to be unknown. Anonymous. Quiet, in Army, not draw attention. At home, I draw attention by being different.” Kette’ nodded understanding. Sharrileagh walked over to the two of them.

“So, squad leader, who are you giving that other stripe to, huh?” she asked in a nasal tone. She faced Kette’ squarely. Kette’ hadn’t noticed how husky she was. She had big shoulders and a stocky frame, and looked like she’d been raised lifting heavy objects. Kette’ had been slowly building dislike for her, now it was building more rapidly.

“Birijivka,” she said steadily. Sharrileagh’s face twisted in contempt.

“Birijivka?” she said, “A conscript? Wasted space,” she said. Kette’ was confused.

Conscription? She hadn’t thought of that. Some worlds demanded that their citizens spend a certain amount of time in some form of government service, usually military. The Central Worlds Pact was written so that many conscripts could serve out their time in the Centrality, then return home.

Kette’ had not thought about the conscripts in the company. But she also felt that she couldn’t back down now-- especially not to Sharrileagh.

“Yes,” she repeated. “Birijivka. She is already a Senior Private. She had to have earned it somehow. She is the only one in the squad with any real rank. I don’t care if she is a conscript or not,” Kette’ explained, “she’s one of us now. She shouldn’t be treated any different.” Sharrileagh shook her head in resignation.

“Fine. Waste a stripe. You’ll see soon enough, sig? When you fuck up, I’ll be squad leader, eventually. Then there’ll be some learning going on.”

“Uh-huh,” Kette’ said, hoping she didn’t sound indecisive. She looked at her friend, who stood right beside her, arms folded, glaring at Sharrileagh, who seemed not to notice, or pretended not to. Reassured, Kette’ excused herself to find Birijivka sitting on the edge of her bunk, trancing on her icomp.

“Here,” she said, and handed out the remaining stripe. “I want you to be one of my team leaders,” she said matter-of-factly. Birijivka looked at it, and her, with a confused expression.

“Me? Uh. Thanks,” she said, looking both pleased and concerned. She peeled off the backing and applied it on the spot above her senior private rank. “Uh, why me? I mean, what made you decide that I needed this?”

“Well, the army decided that you deserved senior private rank before being in Initial Training, so I figured you must have your shit wired down tight somehow,” she explained. “I decided to give it to you. Also, you seem a bit, well, older. More grounded, if you know what I mean. Most of us here are fresh out of school.” Like me, Kette’ didn’t add. Birijivka smiled.

“I had university. Four years of it. Got a degree in history,” the older zhulaak explained. “After college, the Applied Universal Service program caught up with me and told me I had to put on a uniform and pay my debt to society for four years,” she finished. Kette’ raised an eye-whisker.

“But you ended up in the Central Army,” she stated.
“I had to go into service. But the Centrality representative called me once my name was entered in the computer. He said that if I opted for Centrality service and shipped offworld for five years instead of four, I’d have all my college bills paid. Since I had to serve anyway, I figured I’d go for paid bills, a tour of the galaxy, and better food.” Kette’ laughed.

“Better food? My god, were you eating tree bark? So you’re not from Vet’Charek, then?” she asked, trying to find out about her bunkmate, but not wanting to pry.

“No,” she shook her head. “Irada. Frontier world, Raumsfeldt Sector. They don’t really want people to leave the planet for civil service, they try to encourage people to stay with the local Frontier Commission and help settle the planet. But I wanted to get away for awhile.” She sighed.

“Didn’t feel like you owed anything to someone who conscripts you?” she ventured. Birijivka appraised her with a glance before continuing.

“Partly,” she admitted. “Also I needed some time away from my husband. Things are not as good as they used to be,” she stated simply, and Kette’ felt as if she’d stepped in someone’s back yard.

“Sorry,” she apologized. Birijivka shook her head.
“Not necessary. I had enough clues ahead of time. Actually, this is the first I’ve talked about it, so it’s probably good for me. You mind?”

“Hey,” Kette’ replied with an inviting gesture, “talk to me. If it makes you feel better. Hell, we’ll be working together a lot and besides, I like hearing about something that has nothing to do with the army for a change.” She sat back, resting her weight on her arms. Birijivka did the same.

“Well, to start with, it’s a mixed marriage. He’s human. There’s a lot of mixed dating and co-habing on frontier worlds, but when it gets time to settle down, people go with their own species. Makes sense,” she said, “After all, mixed marriages don’t produce children. Mathi-- that’s his name-- and I chose to settle down together. All our friends and family said it’d fall apart after a few years.”

“And, uh, has it?” Kette’ asked, still feeling like a trespasser.

“Kinda. Lots of arguments, not seeing eye to eye. We were raised according to the norms of our people, and nobody realizes how different the species are until you have to live intimately with them for a long time,” her team leader said. “Like here,” she added, almost as a whisper. Kette’ leaned forward a bit.

“Pardon?”
“The people here. I notice,” she indicated the end of the room where Kette’ had just come from, “Like Sharrileagh. She’s used to getting her way. She’ll make friends with someone just to help them alienate someone else. Typical bully sort of thing.”

Kette’ thought about that. It sounded too insightful to have been figured by passive observation.

“Such as. . .” she opened, indicating to Birijivka.
“Like that blonde thenn. Velan Ki Carro, her name is. The other thenn doesn’t like her. Sharrileagh picked up on that and since Carro is sorta the quiet, withdrawn type, Sharrileagh sides with Alkhasi. Together they give Carro hell, even though Sharrileagh doesn’t know a damn thing about her.” Kette’ nodded her head even before she’d finished.

“Yes,” she agreed. “Same thing with Dar, the girl at the end. Sharrileagh picks on her a lot, too, ‘cause she also seems kind of insecure.”

Kette’ silently was thankful that she had not ended up in close proximity to the bullying girl. It could have easily been me, she realized.

“So,” Kette’ continued, “she was messing with Dar and then wanted to know if she was going to be the other team leader. I gave the other stripe to the Q’aab, En-Ajwik.” Kette’ wondered for a moment.

“You know, I understand picking on someone smaller and quiet,” she explained, “I don’t like it, but I understand it. But what does Alkhasi have against Carro?”

“Something racial,” Birijivka muttered. “Carro is blonde and has brownish spots instead of black hair, black spots. I guess her people lived closer to the surface or something. Makes her inferior to Alkhasi’s people, the way they look at things.”

“Huh. I thought they were communistic,” Kette’ wondered aloud. Birijivka flashed her a “you’ll understand it someday” kind of smile.

“What they say and what they do are often two different things,” she observed, and Kette’ was finding that to be true of a great many things as time went by.

Week Two

The second week of training focused on the handling and maintenance of their weapons at a nearby range. Each trainee was issued a new helmet, and a tough cargo belt with a canteen of water each, which the Drill Sergeants told them they should be drinking completely every two hours.

The trainees sat on a set of bleachers at one end of the target range, with only a holoflage projector’s subtle energy field to provide weak shade. Valdonna stood before them, introducing them to their first taste of weapons firing.

The Assault Rifle-71, as Drill Sergant Valdonna pointed out, was an energy weapon, and would be referred to as “weapon”, rather than rifle.

“A rifle,” she said clearly through the helmet radios, “is something you hunt animals with. The AR-71 is what you hunt the enemy with. For the sake of your miserable lives, do not call it a gun. That is something males are equipped with, and you have better things to think about.” The trainees smiled as Valdonna’s straight-faced instruction continued.

The other two Drill Sergeants were unpacking small, red plastic boxes-- energy-cells-- and setting them out on a table before the bleachers the trainees sat on.

“You will line up by squads and file past the table behind me. Keeping your weapons pointed in the air at a forty-five degree angle, and facing towards the target area at all times, you will each pick up one cell from Drill Sergeants Ferrin or LaGuerre. Are there any questions?” There were none.

Drill Sergeant Valdonna challenged the trainees to do it right the first time, which they did.

Kette’ was handed one of the small, boxlike cells and placed it in a uniform jacket pocket designed for just that purpose. She noticed that the red plastic had raised letters on it that said “TRAINING TYPE 1”.

The line of trainees stood on the firing line, behind a row of cement-lined holes in the ground, facing the targets which Kette’ was surprised to see were holoscreen targets, only twenty-five meters away. In the center of each target was a tiny silhouette, vaguely shaped like an average sized person of indiscernible species.

“Alright,” Valdonna called out, her voice continued through their helmet earpieces from her lapel microphone. “Place your weapons in the holding racks beside the fighting positions, and lower yourselves into those positions. Do not touch your weapons again until told to do so.”

Within seconds, the trainees had complied. “Fine. Now, take your weapon and hold it the way you have been instructed. Take up a good firing position in your foxhole. Lean forward and—Goddammit! Private Dar! Who said anything about loading a cell!”

Kette’s head jerked up and she looked down her squad’s row, towards the end where Tiara Dar stood bolt upright in her foxhole, eyes wide with fear. Her left hand clasped the energy cell she’d been given, and Drill Sergeant Ferrin was striding towards her quickly.

Dar hastily placed the red box on the rim of the foxhole as if it were something distasteful. It dropped into the foxhole and she dove down to retrieve it, still holding her weapon in her right hand. The barrel pointed straight up into the air and Drill Sergeant Ferrin knelt at the side of the human girl’s foxhole, grabbing the barrel and jerking the weapon out of her hand.

Dar resurfaced with the cell and Ferrin leaned forward and said something that nobody else could hear. Kette’ could see Dar mouthing the words “yes, Drill Sergeant,” several times before Ferrin returned her weapon and stood up again, the magazine returned to its proper place in Dar’s pocket.

Dar, almost in tears, re-shouldered her weapon and caught up with the rest of the company. In the next foxhole, Sharrileagh said something that Kette’ couldn’t hear, but drew a scowl from Shatir. Dar rubbed her eyes but ignored Sharrileagh. Kette’ sighed with resignation.

“Are we all on the same frequency now?” Valdonna asked venomously. Ferrin nodded, throwing another look over her shoulder. Shatir glared at Sharrileagh, who was glaring at Dar, who was trying to focus on the task at hand and not cry. Realizing that they were being watched, the husky human and wiry Q’aab reacquired their downrange targets.

“If second squad needs some remedial training,” Valdonna said, looking at Kette’s back, “I’m sure I can arrange something.”

Kette’s face turned hot and she tried to concentrate only on her target, but felt the eyes of every other member of the platoon on her.

“Well, Squad Leader?” the Drill Sergeant asked, her words laid open like a steel trap. Kette’ would love to turn the situation over to the Drill Sergeants, but that would mean admitting that she couldn’t handle her own people. They would take away her stripe—would that be so bad? she wondered briefly.

But who would they make Squad Leader then? And how could she face them, the bullying Sharrileagh and her friend Alkhasi? The withdrawn Carro? Dar? The other two human girls were still unknown quantities. Kette’ didn’t like being in charge-- it terrified her-- but she couldn’t see any way to make the situation better by giving up.

“Not neccessary, Drill Sergeant!” she stated with a resolve she did not feel inside. At the end of the squad line, from the corner of her eye, Kette’ could see Dar, Sharrileagh, and Shatir perk up and look at her more closely. Each had a different look in their eyes: trust, mockery, respect. Kette’s stomach churned and a wave of nausea washed over her for a split second.

“Are you sure, Squad Leader Barona? I’m sure I can find a way to motivate them if you are having trouble. You want to keep trying to work with them yourself?” Kette’ swallowed, fidgeting nervously.

“Yes Drill Sergeant!” she answered firmly. The nausea in the pit of her stomach briefly reasserted itself. But there was nothing she could do about it now, so she fought the feeling down. Valdonna, unseen behind her, nodded with satisfaction.

“Alright, then” she called out through her lapel mike, “let’s get moving. We’re burning daylight! Now-- once you have assumed a good, comfortable firing position, concentrate your aim on the center mass of the silhouette. Now, without breaking your aim, remove the cell from your pocket and place it in the magazine well of your weapon.”

Kette’ slid the cell in after locating a notch in the plastic that let her know which part of the cell was the front. It clicked in place and a sense of calm eased through her.

“Private Sharrileagh!” Drill Sergeant Ferrin’s voice carried out over the firing line. “You will find that it helps to have the cell turned towards the front like it is supposed to. Always pay attention to details!”

Kette’ smiled a bit in reflected revenge. She relaxed further, realizing for the first time that she’d been holding her weapon in a white-knuckled grip. Drill Sergeant Valdonna continued as if nothing had happened.

“You will now charge your weapons. In the upper right hand corner of your box sights, you see a digital display. The little dot should be glowing green. Does anybody not have a glowing green dot?”

Kette’ resisted the urge to look around and concentrated on the superimposed animated image of what she was supposed to see. Her weapon matched perfectly.

“You will now line up the red digital targeting reticle with the center of the target. Place your weapons on single fire but do not, do not fire your weapons! Look instead at the dot in the upper right. It should be glowing red. Does anybody not have a single glowing red dot in the upper right hand display of their box sight?” Kette’ glanced out the corners of her eyes. Nobody had moved.

“If you have three red dots or a solid red line, you are wrong. When I give the command to fire-- which I have not given yet-- you will fire at the exact center of the target. You will continue to fire until I give the command to cease fire. Is the line ready on the left? Ready on the right?”

From the corner of Kette’s vision, she could see the other Drill Sergeants wave acknowledgements to Valdonna. “Firing range is clear. Firers take aim and. . . open fire!”

Kette’ tensed, aligning her weapon on the center of the target. She squeezed the trigger, tighter-- and was surprised when a tinny zing came from her weapon. A pale red beam of light shot from the barrel and impacted perfectly on the target’s center.

That can’t be right, she wondered in surprise. She paused, her aural spikes twisting minutely, listening for the sounds of the other trainees’ weapons. Similar anemic bolts of energy spat from the ends of weapons all up and down the firing line. Some of the other recruits, she could see, were also hesistating, dismayed at the pathetic display of firepower.

A crunch of gravel sounded behind her, and a shadow loomed at the side of her foxhole.

“You better start firing that weapon, Squad Leader,” Drill Sergeant LaGuerre hissed. “You’ve only scored one hit.” Kette’ looked at the target and saw a number “1" diplayed at the top.

She realized suddenly that the red training magazines were not fully-charged, but low power cells for targeting practice. Relieved, she reaquired her target and fired again. Another hit.

“Good,” murmered LaGuerre. “Keep at it. Remember, you’re the one that’s supposed to set the example for the whole squad.” She got up and started to walk off. “No pressure,” she added after a moment. Kette’ missed the next three shots.





[To be Continued...]

[Coyote]

Empires: Origins-- Kette's Story-- Part IV

Second Weekend

The second week passed and the trainees had used all of their time cleaning and drilling with their weapons.

Two days were spent on the practice range firing without the computerized box sights, which was harder than it sounded. After just six days, the weapons had been so thoroughly handled and cleaned that the novelty of them had worn off.

Communionday morning started much like the previous week’s, with the same people participating in services as the week before, except for the dark-skinned human girl from Kette’s squad.

Kette’ smiled and nodded to her as she walked past, and the girl-- whose name was CENEVEU, according to Kette’s icomp--nodded before going back to her icomp trance.

Kette’ wanted to talk with the girl, who had hardly said a word the whole time she had been with the squad. But for now the zhulaak intended to talk with Birijivka and Shatir, who sat on Shatir’s bunk-- while Sharrileagh was at the other end of the barracks, talking to Alkhasi.

“Has anyone talked to Ceneveu since we’ve been here?” Kette’ opened, looking at her team leaders, the girl’s prescence fresh in her mind. Shatir nodded, curious.

“She is friend of Dar, it is seeming. They talk to each other when Sharrileagh is away. Both very quiet,” she added, with a knowing look to Kette’.

“Sharrileagh,” said Birijivka matter-of-factly, “and Alkhasi. That’s the problem, I suppose. Actually, Sharrileagh, since Alkhasi doesn’t seem to really bother anyone but the other thenn, Carro. God,” she swore, leaning back against a bedpost. “What children.” Shatir grimaced in agreement.

“The Drill Sergeants know of situation,” the Q’aab stated, “but clearly leave it to us to handle. I understand reasoning, but cannot tell our boundaries. How much can we do before we are in trouble as well?” Kette’ looked at Birijivka, as if the older zhulaak might have some hint, but she could only shrug.

“Supposedly there are things that can be done,” Birijivka said, “but I don’t know. It’s called a new-year’s party. I’ve heard about it, it was something they did during the time around the Enaaka Incursions.”

She picked up Shatir’s pillow and took off the pillowcase. “You’ve got some shithead causing problems. You get a bunch of people together and put your soap bars in your pillowcases. One person sneaks up on the shithead while they’re asleep-- it’s called a new-year’s party ‘cause it happens at midnight.” she continued, putting her arm in the pillowcase and making a fist.

“Anyhow, the first person covers them with a blanket and holds them down. Then everyone else walks by their bunk and takes a swing at them with the pillowcases,” she explained, swinging her pillowcase-covered fist at the pillow.

“The soap is supposed to hurt like hell, and then everyone goes back to their own bunks and insists nothing happened. If the shithead goes to the Drill Sergeants and have any marks to show them, on her body, everyone else says they saw her slip in the shower, or fall down the stairs, or whatever.” Kette’ and Shatir looked at each other.

“A little harsh,” Kette’ said quietly. Shatir raised an eyebrow.
“And Sharrileagh is not harsh already, on those she is supposed to be working with as team?” Kette’ grimaced, then took a breath.

“I agree that something needs to be done,” she said, looking at her two team leaders. “But that is the sort of thing that might get us all in trouble. Then who’s left to get these stripes? Can you see Dar or Carro trying to deal with them? And if they can’t, then who gets put in charge? Sharrileagh and Alkhasi?” She levelled challenging gazes at the both of them. Shatir leaned back, sighing.

“Atavia and Ceneveu could try,” Birijivka said, “but I don’t know. They don’t mix with the others. Actually, I see Atavia getting along with just about everyone, but she doesn’t really seem to sit and talk to anyone in particular.”

“Yes,” Kette’ agreed, “There are people in this squad who aren’t even really a part of the squad, if you know what I mean. Carro and Dar keep to themselves, and Alkhasi and Sharrileagh give them trouble. Ceneveau and Atavia try to stay out of it.” The others nodded.

“So?” Birijivka asked plainly. “What gets done about it?”
“That’s just it,” Kette’ replied, shaking her head, “I don’t know.”

“If we do not want to have party on new years,” Shatir stated, “then we need different plan. We are leaders of squad, we should talk to them plainly, in open.” Birijivka nodded agreement.

“Alkhasi’s in my team. You’ve got Sharrileagh. We should talk to them, individually. Barona, as squad leader, you should be there each time, sig?” Kette’ thought about what the older zhul had said.

“Yeah, sounds good,” she agreed. “Maybe you could talk to Alkhasi after lunch, and, ahh, en-Ajhwik, I’ll be here with you to talk to with Sharrilegh after dinner. Would that work?” They both agreed, and outlined what they wanted to say.

Kette’ just listened, feeling she should be taking a more active role. What is a squad leader supposed to do in a situation like this? She asked herself. Is this delegating authority? Or passing responsibility onto someone else? Am I the one that should be talking to Sharrileagh and Alkhasi? Her teeth clenched as she listened and forced herself to remain calm.

The cadence of the trainees returning from religious services sounded in the courtyard, and the three of them hastily adjourned their meeting. The two zhulescu returned to their bunk space as the religious platoon members filed back into the barracks.

Sharrileagh made a crack about Dar praying for better marksmanship-- or a blind shooting grader. Dar, to her credit, ignored the larger girl and went to her bunk. Kette’ and Birijivka shared a look, then got out their uniform jackets and prepared for the inevitable formation.

The rest of the morning was spent on a locker and uniform inspection during which the Drill Sergeants found something wrong with everyone. Fortunately, the deficiencies were fairly minor and the company was soon lined up outside the dining facility, sweating in the hot sun.

Of all the companies in the infantry training battalion, the lone company of females had scored the highest that week on the target range. They got to eat before the males, who stood outside in the hot sun and listened to their Drill Sergeants berate them, punctuating their displeasure with several sets of push-ups.

Lunch was consumed with usual lightning efficiency, and Kette’ made her way back to the barracks, trying to find Birijivka. She saw Ceneveu and Dar walking together, talking in low tones.

They glanced at Kette’ but their expressions were unreadable, she nodded at them and looked away, seeing that Birijivka was already waiting in the doorway to the barracks.

“They’re not back yet,” the older zhulaak said after the two human women passed. Kette’ joined her by the door and straightened up subconsciously as Sharrileagh and Alkhasi appeared, laughing at something between themselves. Their eyes met Kette’s and Birijivka’s and they stopped, a few steps away.

“Yes? Squad Leader?” Sharrileagh challenged dryly.
“Alkhasi,” Birijivka said coolly, “you’re leaning on Carro. There’s no reason for it,” she paused, adding, “lay off a bit. It’s taking her a bit longer to adjust to the training and we need to help her as a team.”

Kette’ felt paralyzed, like she should say something, but didn’t know what. Sharrileagh looked at them, while Alkhasi muttered something under her breath. “Something you’d like to say, Alkhasi?” Birijivka demanded. The thenn put up her hands in a defensive gesture.

“Is not thing to say. Carro damnfool. You want to keep her active here, is no dirt on my head. But you think she come to being good digger soon enough? Pft!” the thenn spat. “Carro useless. She fungus food. I am making favor to all, drive her out before she make cave-in for whole company.”

“You’ll lay off her. If she fucks up, she’ll be out of here. The army will take care of it. But she doesn’t need you to push her, sig?” Birijivka said, crossing her arms and looking down at the diminutive thenn.

Alkhasi’s expression was unreadable behind her thick, dark sunglasses. She clicked her teeth loudly at Birijivka.

“No problem,” she said in neutral tones. “You see soon. No positive return, when you stick up for lichen-brain.” Sharrileagh shook her head in mock dismay.

“Is this an order from our squad leader?” Sharrileagh asked, staring at Kette’. Birijivka started to say something but Kette’ spoke first.

“Yeah,” she said quietly, unable to stand idly by without feeling guilty. “It’s from the squad leader.” The large human stepped forward and Kette’ shifted her weight. Sharrileagh’s eyes narrowed.

“Really? You don’t seem too sure, there, squad leader,” she teased. Behind her, Alkhasi grinned and clicked her teeth rapidly.

Kette’ suddenly grew hot. She could feel herself blushing, and she became angrier, her vision narrowing. Growing up, she’d always been the one to apologize and back down, even if she hadn’t done anything wrong. Now, she hoped that her eyes wouldn’t start to mist up.

Sharrileagh turned to share a smile with Alkhasi. Birijivka, realizing that the whole issue had suddenly ended up in Kette’s lap, looked at her squad leader expectantly. Why me? Kette’ thought to herself, her throat tight.

“Shut up, Sharrileagh,” she said in a conversational tone. Kette’ hoped her voice didn’t actually sound as shaky as she thought. Sharrileagh was still leaning close, glaring at her, when Kette’ saw Shatir en-Ajhwik and Leanna Sena approaching together.

Shatir started walking quickly towards the crowded doorway, Leanna trotting alongside to keep up with the tall desert dweller.

“Barona,” the Q’aab said, “I thought you were to wait for me to start talking.” Sharrileagh turned and looked at the two of them, then looked back at Kette’.

“Oh? Get all your buddies together to talk to us, I see. Can’t handle it yourself? This is good teamwork, I suppose, huh?” Kette’ couldn’t think of anything to say. The tension was broken by Leanna Sena.

“Hey, Fatass!” she said, tapping Sharrileagh on the shoulder. Leanna had half the body mass of Sharrileagh, who turned and stared at her slim, pale challenger. “I got shit to do inside. So haul it.” She slipped past the startled Sharrileagh and stopped by Kette’.

“Remember back at the Reception Station when we were talking about meeting our share of assholes?” She then clapped Kette’ on the shoulder and walked inside as if nothing had happened.

Sharrileagh fumed. Shatir stepped forward, purposefully putting herself in Sharrileagh’s peripheral vision. The human spun to face her.

“Since this has started already,” the Q’aab said sternly, “I say my piece. You are part of the squad. You are not fitting within, not trying to become part of team. Private Dar part of team too-- you need to treat her as equal from now on.” Sharrileagh glared.

“Or?” she demanded. Shatir stepped close and locked her eyes on Sharrileagh’s.

“We can take this to platoon leader if you can not to respect integrity of squad. Why involve others in this? You succeed only in making squad look bad.” The human drew herself up.

“The platoon leader? Hoffritz? What the hell is she going to do? Look--” she said, spinning to face Kette’ again. “--that dumb bitch Dar doesn’t know what the fuck she’s doing. You saw her on the firing range! Waving her weapon around in the air like that! She’s a dumbass! And you’re sticking up for her! You wanna see someone making the squad look bad, look at her!” she faced Shatir again, levelling an accusing finger.

“And by standing up for her, you’re telling her it’s alright to be stupid ‘cause her squad leaders will cover her ass!” She stopped, glaring at Kette’, then shouldered her aside roughly on her way into the barracks.

Alkhasi, after a moment’s hesitation, followed, her impassive thenn face unreadable. Kette’, Birijivka, and Shatir looked at each other, trying to make sense of the whole episode.

“What a bitch,” Birijivka said. Nobody argued. They stepped inside, walking past Alkhasi’s bunk and pointedly ignoring her and Sharrileagh, who sat there together, talking in harsh whispers. They sat silently while the three trainee leaders passed by, and Kette’ could feel the hostile stare at her back.

“We’ll be discussing this some more, squad leader,” Sharrileagh warned. Kette’s resolve to avoid conflict crumbled.

“Yeah,” she shot back, letting the anger at her near-humiliation creep into her voice. “Any time, bitch.” She hoped to sound tough, maybe to make Sharrileagh back down. The stocky human sat up and looked at her.

“I’ll keep that in mind, squad leader!”

Kette’ seethed. As she walked down the hall made up of bunks and wall lockers, other members of the squad looked at her. The members of first squad, across the open bay, also looked at her. She wanted to shrink down to a centimeter tall and escape during the night, unseen and unknown to all.

They went to Shatir’s bunk, passing by the bunk space shared by Carro and Ceneveu. They sat on their bunks, talking excitedly and in low tones with Dar, who sat against a wall locker. Atavia was on the end of a bunk, listening to their conversation and trance-reading her icomp. She looked uncomfortable.

As they walked by, conversation stilled again, and nobody looked at them. The whispers resumed after they’d passed by. Kette’ frowned. Gosh, thanks, squad leader, she thought bitterly, Why, no problem, friends. Don’t mention it.She sat down on Shatir’s bunk and let out a sigh.
“Don’t we have enough to worry about without this shit?” She asked rhetorically.

Week Three

Firstday morning, as far as Kette’ was concerned, started as she was doing pushups. Sweat rolled down her face and pooled on the sand that was just coming into focus. She tried to remember how she’d gotten there and could not.

Every morning started out like every other morning. Moving on automatic, she’d jumped from her bunk and put on her running shoes.

Almost everyone in the platoon had developed the habit of sleeping in their PT clothes, on top of their bedcovers. From the time the lights came on in the morning, first formation could be held within two and a half hepts.

And now they were so used to the routine after just two weeks that they were able to do it while only half awake, coming to full consciousness after a few hepts of stretching and working out. Kette’ found it interesting that she could be in such a state of mind.

Kette’ raised herself up from the ground and distinctly heard the call of Drill Sergeant Valdonna-- the thirtieth pushup of the morning, and Kette’s muscles were only now starting to feel fatigued. She felt pride, and it fueled her.

She felt her face split into a grin. As she lowered herself for pushup number thirty-one, she let the tip of her nose hit the ground. Sand clung to her zhikhal and she reveled in its gritty texture. She flicked her tongue out and wiped sand from her lips, rolling the tiny grains around in her mouth, then spitting them out.

She thought of her friend Alei, now a hostess on a TransGalactic starliner, and felt glad that she had, in her own way, broken out of her old life as well.

Another push-up was completed: Thirty-two. She thought her school peers. . . Thirty-three, and how she never felt comfortable around them. . . Thirty-four. All the time she spent in her own mental world. . . Thirty-five. Avoiding her family. . . Thirty-six.

But here, nobody knew who she was. . . Thirty-seven. She could be anything. . . Thirty-eight. A quiver. No one knew her breaking points. . . Thirty-nine. Not even herself. . . Forty. She gasped for air.

Her muscles ached now, her arms trembled. A month ago she would have laughed if someone had told her she could do this. She would have laughed if someone had told her that she would fire a weapon.

Drill Sergeant Valdonna, not even winded, held herself up, looking out at the crowd of female trainees. Kette’ grit her teeth and grinned wildly, sand still crusted to her face. The Drill Sergeant returned her look with a iron glare of her own.

“Position of attention. . .move!” As one, the trainees sprang to their feet and let out a booming cheer that echoed off the walls of their enclosed PT area.

Kette’ felt the brief disorientation of leaping to one’s feet after a workout, and the cheer roused her to wakefulness even more. The platoon formed up with the rest of the company and together all four platoons marched out to the track.

Kette’ looked at the backs of the trainees ahead, in first platoon. They were coated with sand, exposed skin glowing with sweat under the lights. Kette’ knew that she must have looked much the same, and wondered what her mother would think.

She wished she could transport herself home right this minute, just for a moment, to watch her mother’s face, to see her father’s shock and disbelief. When the call came to double time, her cheer seemed louder than all the rest.

At the head of her squad, Kette’ ran, keeping time with the cadence, enjoying the feel of the wind past her body and over the dark stubble of her scalp. She returned the cadence of the Drill Sergeants and kept picking up and putting down her feet. . .

“. . . runnin’ through the jungle, lookin’ for me. . . comes the Konny in-fan-try. . .
. . .squee-zin’ the trigger of my seventy-one. . . I pop their heads off, havin’ some fun. . .”

It was hard-- very hard-- like the pushups had been. But it was slowly getting easier for her. Her body felt alive and awake, and when they marched back into the battalion area, the slower cadence felt almost disappointing.

She hurt everywhere, in places she didn’t even know could hurt a month ago. She was more aware of herself and felt no hesitation stripping off her sandy shirt even before she got fully through the barracks door.

Second squad laid out their uniforms for the day and put finishing touches on their boots while waiting for the shower. First squad charged out, still toweling off as they started getting dressed. Second squad was in the shower so fast it wasn’t even necessary to turn off the faucets.

Kette’ had just grabbed the shower head to wash soap out of her eyes when she was suddenly shoved, hard, against the wall.

“Goddammit!” she cursed, holding herself up by the showerhead so she could regain her feet. Water coursed over her face and she was not in the slightest bit surprised to see Sharrileagh standing beside her.

“Careful, squad leader,” she said quietly, “You don’t want to slip and fall. Lots of soap lying around here, you know.” She leveled a gaze at her. Kette’ was more disappointed than intimidated.

“You are so fucking juvenile,” she said. “Grow up. This isn’t a school locker room.” She continued to shower, ignoring Sharrileagh’s glare. Walking back to her bunk, she noticed Atavia, already showered, getting dressed. She nodded at the olive-skinned human girl, who put out a hand to stop her.

“Hey. Barona. I. . .” she hesitated, and Kette’ looked at her, curious. Atavia looked back at the shower room before continuing. “I think you’re doing a good job,” she said quietly, smiling. Kette’ looked her in the eyes for a moment before replying.

“Thanks,” she said simply, moving on before Sharrileagh came out and saw them talking-- Kette’ didn’t want the larger woman, or her friend Alkhasi, to have a reason to harrass Atavia. Great, Kette’ thought wryly. I can’t be seen talking to members of my squad for their own protection. She ground her teeth in irritation.

Her wide-awake good feeling from the run was fading into the past already, replaced by a wariness that was getting old quickly. She didn’t even look when Sharrileagh tromped by, but just ground her teeth some more. Bitterness now fueled her, especially bitterness for Sharrileagh ruining her Army experience. This was supposed to be my chance.

“Barona.” Birijivka put a hand on her shoulder, and the two zhulescu paused for a moment. “Don’t let her get to you like that. She’s a childish bitch, is all. Don’t let her ruin your concentration-- you need it for other things.”

“Yeah, well,” Kette’ countered, “I’ve never had to do anything like this before. I’ve never been in charge of anything. I’ve never been responsible for people, you know? I want to do my best.” The older zhulaak smiled.

“You’ve been doing really well,” she argued. “Everybody who matters knows that Sharrileagh is a flaming bitch. You can’t do anything about it. Those people are everywhere. And the others,” she said, pulling on her boots, “can look after themselves. You don’t have to be responsible for them.”

“Isn’t that what a squad leader is supposed to do?” Kette’ countered.

“In the real army, yes. We’re all still trainees. If she gets to be too much of a problem, the Drill Sergeants will take care of it.” Birijivka’s reasoning made sense, but Kette’ still shook her head.

“If the Drill Sergeants have to deal with it, then it means I couldn’t. This is my first chance to be in a position of responsibility, right? I don’t want to fuck it up.” Kette’ pulled her own boots on and closed her locker, then checked her bed. Everything was in order.

Outside, the company marched the usual route to the dining facility. The usual breakfast was washed down with the usual coffiene, and shortly afterward was another formation. The company marched to the arms room, checking out weapons, and re-forming again outside.

The routine was beginning to lull Kette’s mind back into neutral, and she started to put her body on automatic pilot. They would either march to a classroom, or busses would arrive to take them to a firing range.

Senior Drill Sergeant Ejjanni showed up and took command of the formation. A classroom, Kette’ deduced. When going to ranges, Ejjanni drove a truck loaded with bottles of ice water, and they would have taken helmets and canteens.

The company marched to the thickly accented cadence of the Senior Drill Sergeant, whose slurring of CommonSpeak sometimes made her cadences incoherent except for those marching alongside her. Many of the trainees just mumbled their way through, or made up interesting lyrics of their own.

The Senior Drill Sergeant, hearing only those trainees next to her, did not seem to notice. Sometimes the lyrics were displayed on the eyelenses, and sometimes not-- the computer never seemed to know which marches Ejjanni recited, but they were certainly colorful.

But instead of the usual classroom, the trainee formation took a different route. They marched down a service road and continued as grav vehicles slid by overhead. The base began to look more functional and bland, and Kette’ began to notice that most of the area was made up of nothing but warehouses.

Finally they were called to a halt in front of one of the larger structures and filed inside, to a large room full of grey polyfiber crates. There was no place to sit down, and the trainees stood, confused, until Hoffritz took charge and started lining them up in platoon formation, the other trainee leaders copied her.

As the last of the company entered and regained formation, Senior Drill Sergeant Ejjanni strode in but stayed to the rear of the room. Kette’ looked for the other Drill Sergeants, but they were nowhere to be found. Someone started to mutter-- she couldn’t tell who-- when the wide doors at the front of the room opened, revealing Drill Sergeant Ferrin-- covered completely in segmented body armor.

“You’ve survived this far,” she stated, ignoring the stares, “so perhaps you are the ones that are going to make it. If that is so, then I am going to introduce you to a faithful companion.”

She stepped into the center of the room. “The M151 Personal Armor System is the second skin of every infantry soldier. You wear it and care for it, and it saves your ass. It is that simple-- a true symbiotic relationship.” She turned around slowly, letting everyone get a good look.

The armor was a solid grey color, and was made up of a variety of curved plates that were partially molded to fit the contours of an average person. The plates were held together by a series of straps that could adjust to fit a wide variety of body types.

The armor did not completely cover the body, in fact there were many wide spots left open-- but the vital areas, the torso and abdomen, were quite well protected. Only the arms and legs were given partial cover, enough to allow complete freedom of movement.

“It is not powered armor,” Ferrin clarified, “despite persistent rumors on the holovids. There are, however, terminals built into the suit that enhance your IC-systems, as well as camouflage enhancers such as the Enviroflector. Communications and navigation is significantly enhanced, and you can store, send and receive picture images, call up maps, and so forth, which will be displayed on the helmet visors.”

That said, she put on the helmet and Drill Sergeant Ferrin became an armored combat machine. The sight was impressive, and more than a little intimidating. The expressionless facemask of the helmet gave no clue to the person inside, and Kette’ found the effect to be somewhat powerful.

“But the true heart of the Personal Armor System is not the armor, but what is underneath it. The soldier--and the body glove.”

Drill Sergeant Valdonna then appeared, wearing only the close-fitting, skintight grey-green body suit. Kette’ blushed slightly as she found herself admiring the Drill Sergeant’s impressively built physique.

The graceful Valdonna glided to the center of the room like a ghost, every recruit’s attention riveted to her. Another Drill Sergant grabbed a recruit to pick up a pile of armor, which was placed at Valdonna’s feet.

Then, as Ferrin explained each part and how to apply it, Valdonna displayed the armor and put it on within a hept. Soon, both armored, helmet figures stood side by side, only their names and ranks indicating any difference between them.

The recruits were then hurried through the warehouse, each picking up two custom-made body gloves apiece, and one set of each type of armor plate. They then changed out of their uniforms and slipped into the gloves.

With their cloth uniforms folded neatly before them, they applied each piece of armor as the Drill Sergeants instructed. After a few hepts, everyone in the company stood back and looked at each other.

Kette’ felt untouchable. Powerful, armored, insulated from harm. A world stood between her and reality. There was nothing she could not do, no test too great for her to take.

The armor added bulk to her that felt right. She was assertive and ready, and a warm flush of satisfaction flowed through her. She stood straighter and looked at the world around her through the polarized lenses of the helmet. I am a living tank, she thought to herself.

A sudden crackling in her ear flooded her silence with the chaos of the company and its chatter. Overriding them all came Drill Sergeant Valdonna’s businesslike voice.

“Alright, now pay attention,” she ordered, and the voices fell silent. “This is the company all-call frequency. You can talk among yourselves like normal. In your ears you can all chatter away at each other, but to people around you, they hear nothing. A switch to public address will enable you to talk out loud with people not wearing armor.”

She explained how to switch through a variety of channels-- squad, platoon, company and other frequencies. Volume control for radio and public communications. Print-only communications, displayed on the visor, and other options.

The body glove was climate-controllable, and could keep them comfortable from extreme desert to arctic conditions. It cycled away body oils, sweat, and waste, and disposed of the useless matter in the forms of small pellets from a dispenser on the back of the right leg.

The armor could call up a variety of stored camouflage programs and display them, blending with nearly any environment or terrain. The helmet visor could switch to infrared viewing, motion-enhancement, or be used as binoculars.

Belt packs carried cable, first-aid kits and a three-liter water supply that connected to a tube in the helmet. Kette’ was overwhelmed.

“From now on,” came Drill Sergeant Ferrin’s voice over the helmet, “you will wear this armor unless specifically instructed not to. Every formation except for PT will be in armor. The water supply will be kept filled and the armor will be clean. Frequencies will be kept on all-call unless specified otherwise. Any questions?” There were none.

Kette’ was surprised to find that she could recognize nearly everyone by their walk, stance, or body structure. With all the old styles and haircuts gone, we’ve gotten used to each other, she noted.

They folded their uniforms into their newly-issued, rigid armored packs and brought their weapons up again. This time, they marched and sang cadence through the suit helmets, and Kette’ could imagine the eerie silence they must have presented to any outside observer-- beetle-like armored creatures, marching together in effortless unison, with only the tramp of their boots to be heard.

The company marched away from the base and towards a series of structures that reminded Kette’ of the playground equipment she used to play on in her early childhood.

An entire course was set up, full of various obstacles for testing climbing and agility. The company was halted and their weapons stored where a Drill Sergeant would watch over them, and their armored packs were dropped off as well. The trainees, unencumbered, looked up at the various towers and walls that they would have to climb in their newly issued armor.

“Now,” Ferrin’s voice informed them through the helmets, “you will learn to use the full range of motion and ability that your armor affords you. You will also appreciate the fact,” she added with a note of amusement, “...that these suits are impact-resistant.

"Starting from station one, you will balance across a single beam over a sand pile. From there you will go on to station two, the mud pit. And so on. The final station,” she said, gesturing dramatically towards the oversize, two-story tall ladder like tower, “...is station sixteen, the climb to heaven. Once completed, you will have lunch. By that time, you will have worked up such an appetite that you would be willing to eat baked turd. That is not on the menu today,” she informed them, “but we have a suitable replacement.”

The formalities over, the platoons were divided into squads and sent through the obstacle course.

Kette’ could tell immediately that the armor was going to take getting used to. There now existed a barrier of up to two centimeters between her and the rest of the world, with only the armor’s gloved hands giving her any satisfying tactile response.

Her center of gravity had raised, and she felt like she had to control a body that was now both taller and thicker. Her feeling of invincibility quickly gave way to one of absolute humility as she lurched onto a simple balance beam and tumbled over into a pit of mud. The only way out was to climb up a rope net, which was harder than it looked.

She swung hand-over-hand over more mud pits, climbed walls of various heights, crawled through tunnels and then balanced across more crooked beams, at awkward angles, to a rope bridge.

From the rope bridge the trainees-- slipping, sliding, disoriented and tired, and nearly every one of them covered in mud and sand-- had to line up and swing across a watery pool.

Below, Kette’ could see Leanna Sena crawling out of the pool, helped by private Calan, whose clean armor indicated that she, too, had been dunked. Kette’ contemplated dropping off the rope just for the thrill of plunging into the water, but decided against it when she noticed the Drill Sergeants screaming at Leanna and Calan. After a number push-ups, the two trainees were back in line.

The line to the rope swing was crowded and disorganized, and Kette’ thought she spotted Sharrileagh’s stocky, armored form. Her suspicions were confirmed when she saw another armored body, the nameplate DAR enhanced by the suit’s icomp interface, being shoved sideways by the other.

Tiara Dar had only one hand on the rope that had just swung across to her, and Sharrileagh’s push sent her flying.

The smaller girl awkwardly swung back and forth, too scared to let go of the rope. Finally, she realized she would not get anywhere and let go, to the laughter of the rest of the company on the all-call frequency.

She panicked in the water until realizing it was only chest-deep on her. She fumbled her way out and the Drill Sergeants began working on her with pushups. Sharrileagh swung by overhead.

“Hey everyone,” she said, “Dar finally took a bath!” Dar, below, hung her armored head and jogged back to the line, her defeated body posture emhpasized by the armor.

Kette’ shook her head, trying to will away the furious anger she felt towards Sharrileagh, and the small grain of patronizing pity she felt simultaneously for Dar. Alkhasi caught up with her human companion and the two ran off together, Kette’ not far behind.

Part of her wanted to run past them both, leave them in her dust, and yet another part of her just wanted to get through one day without any more problems.

The armor’s weight, while negligable, was still something they were unaccustomed too. They wore out quickly, the heavy sand and mud also clung to them, adding to their burden.

Arms and legs, still getting in shape with their newly-active lifestyle, weighed more, and simple movements became efforts. As the trainees reached the Climb to Heaven, it looked twice as tall as it really did, and the thought of climbing up one side and down the other was not the best way to end the morning.

To make matters worse, the Drill Sergeants were plainly visible on the other side, at the field where they had started from, with a table of food and coffiene set up. Kette’s stomach growled and threatened harsh punishment if not placated soon.

With only a moment’s hesitation, the trainees raced to the giant ladder, wide enough for eight people to climb side-by-side, and started climbing.

For some it was a free-for-all, for others there was no question about the principles of teamwork. People helped anyone near them or stuck to small groups, and the biggest challenge came at the very top, where it was necessary to swing over the top rung and start lowering oneself down the other side.

Tiara Dar was stuck at the top, breathing heavily, with Atavia-- already on the other side-- trying to coax her down. Dar was not yet panicking, but her fear was evident as Kette’ came up alongside her and saw the girl’s eyes, round and wide, through her visor.

“C’mon, Dar,” Kette’ said easily, “I don’t like heights either, so let’s just get this done with and get on the ground, okay?”

The redhead’s armored head nodded minutely, and her breathing came back to a more reasonable pace. She started reaching her way over when a sudden hand appeared on her shoulder and shook her, hard.

“Hey, don’t faalllll!” Sharrileagh hollered at her, bringing her visored face swimming into Dar’s vision. “Unless you wanna find out just how impact resistant this armor really is! Whoooeee!” she yelled.

Dar grabbed the rung like glue, a faint sob escaping from her over the platoon frequency. She looked down at the mud pit on the other side and refused to budge, despite Atavia’s pleas. Kette’ swung up to face Sharrileagh, who waited until Alkhasi was on the other side before straddling the rung herself.

“What did you do that for!” Kette’ demanded. Sharrileagh shrugged.

“Why not? It’s fun. Either she gets her ass in line or she goddamn fails!” she yelled the last part at the still figure of Dar, still positioned to the rung where she had been. Around them, other recruits swung by on their way down.

One—is that Hoffritz? Kette’ wondered absently-- climbed halfway down and vaulted from the ladder, purposefully diving into the water pool below. She then climbed out and began performing the forty pushups demanded of her from the Drill Sergeants. Kette’ climbed down, bringing herself even with Dar.

“Hey, Dar, you can jump to the pool. Only forty pushups and you’re home free,” she tried to reason with her. Beside her, Sharrileagh interposed herself.

“Forgot one thing, there,squad leader,” she mocked, “Dar can’t do ten pushups without crying.” Kette’s temper flared.

“Well then why don’t you show her how to, then!”
“You show her. You’re the squad leader, aren’t you?” The larger girl reached out and batted Kette’ on the shoulder. Without armor, it would have hurt. With armor, it just made Kette’ angrier.

“Better idea,” Kette’ said, “we’ll both show her.” Before Sharrileagh could react, Kette’ lunged and grabbed onto her larger tormentor, who was still hanging on by only one hand.

The two of them immediately fell from the ladder and Kette’ had a split-second’s satisfaction of seeing fear in Sharrileagh’s eyes before hitting the water.








[To be Continued....]

[Coyote]

Empires: Origins-- Kette's Story-- Part V

Initial Training, Weekend Five

To: Ketterinna Barona
From: Alei Soller
Re.: What’s up.
DTG: 0805250C1657
Msg. Orig. Via: CENTCOMNET sta. 112A (Try) 786C (Tyc)
Origin/TrnsGlctc node900876/ CCTV Regency
Destin/CntrlMltry node202348/ Fort Bravec
Finder: Direct Name Access (no exceptions)

Sorry it’s taken so long to reply. Things are getting really hectic. People go on vacations to relax but then they have all this nervous energy they just have to burn off.

Fun is hard work. I met a nice guy (surprise, surprise) so my off time has been spent chasing around with him. He’s one of the ship’s shuttle crewers, a co-pilot, and of course he’s zhulescu. I’m sure my parents would disapprove but it’s my life and besides, with human guys I have to worry about birth control and all that messy stuff. Forget it.

How about you? Initial Training’s got to be full of guys but I hear that females and males are trained separate. What’s that all about? How are you supposed to have any fun or anything, huh?

Your friends sound real interesting. I’d never heard of Leanna before, but of course Maldenaara is several million people. And Shatir.

A Q’aab? Thyssa, we had some Q’aab on my first run, they really just stuck to themselves the whole way. Kind of a weird group, I thought, but I’d like to meet this girl. She sounds pretty relaxed.

Oh, yeah, I finished my first run. We had a three-day liberty in port at the Uperior Belt and we just left this morning. Bradon-- that’s they guy I mentioned-- and I spent most of it in casinos, spending way too much money and having way too much sex and booze.

I hear we’re going on another run to the Belt and back, then we’re supposed to be docking for a three-week retrofit. It should be about the same time you get out of training so yeah, I’d love to go to the Old Cities with you!

Well, let me know what the schedule looks like on your end. I have to wrap this up and catch up on some of the sleep I missed during liberty. Did you know that sex burns off over 500 calories? If liberty had gone on for another day, I’d be a skeleton. Hope to hear from you soon!
Your sister,
Alei

Initial Training, Week Six

Kette’ stood at attention in the cool morning air, a fine layer of sweat reflecting the bright lights of the training yard. The sun wouldn’t be up for another half-hour, but the females of Dalav Company were already wide-awake from the morning’s run.

Only a few of them were breathing heavily, and Kette’s arms no longer ached from her sixty pushups. Her body was developing some tone and she sometimes caught herself admiring her own reflection in the mirror of the latrine. The silence was broken by the thundering cadence of the male soldiers of Alaf Company as they marched past, just returning from their own run.

The male companies always tried to sound more impressive when the females were around. Kette’ noticed herself and nearly everyone else in Dalav turning their heads slightly and following the males with their eyes. The males were appraising them as well, and Kette’ grimaced with the memories of desires forcibly set aside for six weeks.

Drill Sergeant Valdonna strode to the front of the formation.
“There’s easily a kilometer and a half worth of dick over there,” she said casually, then wheeled to face the group with a savage glare.“And you ain’t gettin’ any of it! Drop! Drop! Drop!” The ranks of females dropped to the ground and began knocking out exhausted repetitions of pushups.

From stolen glances, however, Kette’ could see many of her companions smiling devilishly to themselves despite the exercises. It had been a rare moment of humor for the usually distant Valdonna, and in fact Kette’ had been noticing that the overall attitude of the Drill Sergeants had relaxed a little bit as the weeks dragged by.

Most of the slackers had either motivated themselves or been dropped out, and the remaining trainees were fairly dependable. Kette’ was pleased that no one in her squad had dropped out, although she did have her darker desires. But ever since the obstacle course incident three weeks earlier Sharrileagh had been only a minor annoyance, sticking mostly to her usual harrassment of Dar.

Kette’ was convinced that the tough human would seek revenge, so she had been passive during Sharrileagh’s reign of terror, trying to avoid a flare-up. But Dar-- according to Shatir-- had cried herself to sleep the last two nights, and Atavia and Ceneveu had been distinctly cool towards their squad leader for her selfish indifference.

Birijivka had said nothing, but was becoming impatient handling the hazing that Alkhasi inflicted on Carro. Kette’ knew that something, soon, would come unraveled.

The rest of morning PT was wrapped up with the usual series of stretches, then showers. Breakfast was shoveled down in hurried silence, the routine so well practiced by now that the entire company could be filtered through the dining facility within ten minutes. The remaining time was usually spent cleaning, polishing boots, and wondering what lay in store for them that training day.

Kette’s questions were answered in the usual Army way-- they just ended up in a cleared away section of sand between the two buildings that housed third and fourth platoons. Drill Sergeant Ferrin took charge and had the recruits remove their helmets and armor.

They stood in the hot sun, cooled by their thermal body gloves. Kette’ felt naked without her armor, but almost relished the idea that she could show off her newly-shaped body. Two other Drill Sergeants stepped out from a nearby barracks, each carrying a full-face mask under one arm, and they moved to the center of the cleared area. Drill Sergeant LaGuerre presented them each with a set of large sticks that were padded on both ends.

“Today we introduce you to an old friend of mine,” Ferrin stated with a growl in her voice. “The pugil stick. Of course this is not a practical battlefield weapon. But it does teach you a few key things you need to know-- like pain, and what it feels like. Some of you soft little pretties have spent your formative years wrapped up in ribbons and lace.”

Kette’ caught a sneer from Sharrileagh and opted to ignore it. “Some of you popped out of your mommas too early and your spines are still unformed cartilage. That all changes today. The pugil stick is a weapon of aggressiveness! Courage! Attack! It is not for the weak or the faint. You use it to make a point. And you will all be making a point of one kind or anther today. But first, a few lessons on the effective use of the pugil stick. Never use it as a bat or club . . . “

Ferrin went on to explain the finer points of pugil stick warfare, most of which fascinated Kette’ while losing her at the same time. She glanced around while the two Drill Sergeants demonstrated parries, hits, and other techniques. Some, like Dar, seemed to shrink at the challenge. Kette’ felt contempt for the slight human girl before catching Sharrileagh’s out-thrust jaw and nod of confidence. She pondered some of the ways the day could end up going.

The demonstration ended and the company was again broken down into platoons. Two trainees were chosen at random from first squad and squared off in the sand where Kette’s platoon had been taken. A quick fight left one human girl the winner, and a thenn on the ground.

The human girl was challenged and defeated by another human girl with dark skin, who remained undefeated during the rest of the match. First squad’s squad leader endured a lot of joking about being defeated, but in the back of her eyes Kette’ could see the apprehension. Was she going to lose her position because of this?

Kette’ thought it would be petty of the Drill Sergeants to do such a thing, but it would also increase the psychological stress of everyone around to see prestige gained and lost so easily.

Second Squad was called up next. Ceneveau briefly fought Atavia, who ended up on the ground almost immediately. Ceneveau was then put on the ground by Birijivka, who was also able to overcome Carro before being challenged by Sharrileagh.

The husky human girl kept wanting to use her pugil stick as a bat, despite Drill Sergeants Ferrin’s shouts. Kette’ watched and understood why the stick was so limited in such a role-- it was too long and unwieldy, and required too much strength from the person wielding it to build up enough momentum to deliver a good hit.

The problem was, Sharrileagh had the strength to do it. Her stocky frame was not agile enough to dodge the older zhulescu’s in-and-out attacks, so she just absorbed the blows and relied on her outstretched pugil stick to keep her foe back. A well-placed blow finally knocked Birijivka, now fairly winded, on the ground, where she stayed. Sharrileagh shuffled confidently to the center of the ring.

“Anyone in particular you’d like to bring in the ring with you,” Ferrin asked innocently, “. . . or shall I chose one at random?” Not surprisingly, Sharrileagh picked Dar. The slim redhead was pale and licked her lips nervously as she hefted the now-sweaty handle of the pugil stick.

Sharrileagh wandered around the ring casually, pugil stick slung over her shoulders. Her calm demeanor further served to rattle Dar and irritate Kette’. When they finally squared off, it was as expected a very brief and one-sided affair.

Still, Dar did better than expected, in that she managed to stay in the ring for over a minute by blocking Sharrileagh’s clumsy, slow attacks. But she did not try to attack herself, and let herself be pushed around the ring, despite the shouts of encouragement from the other trainees and the Drill Sergeants. Finally, Dar collapsed, her will sapped as much as her energy, and Sharrileagh, barely breathing hard, stared at Kette’.

“How ‘bout it, squad leader?” mocked. Kette’ stood slowly, helping Dar out of the circle. The girl was tremblng and would not bring her eyes up. Kette’ murmured to her that she’d done well, but there was no acknowledgement. Kette’ grabbed the pugil stick from the ground where Dar had left it, and she heard Atavia whisper with a surprisingly feral snarl,

“Kick the fucking bitch’s ass, Barona!” She nodded in response and walked into the ring with what she hoped was a confident air.

“Ready!” Hollered Ferrin. ght!”m the corner of her eye, Kette’ noticed the three Drill Sergeants of the platoon watching intently. From the other corner of her eye she saw a brief flicker of movement and placed her pugil stick at an angle in an attempt at blocking.

Sharrileagh’s stick didn’t stop but slowed down as it slid up the length of Kette’s own stick. The padded end hit Kette’s safety helmet with a heavy thump but with nowhere near as much force as the blow originally had. Kette’ braced for the next hit which took several seconds to come. She blocked it much more easily that time.

Again she waited for Sharrileagh’s strike, which hit forcefully enough to make Kette’s arms buckle. She barely caught her balance in time for Sharrileagh’s next hit. She was pleased to note that she had blocked or withstood every strike Sharrileagh had dealt, and without losing any ground. But she still had not made contact of her own with her rival.

Sharrileagh was beginning to wear down. The next strike took longer for her to make and by then Kette’ had made her decision. Between hits, she was going to jab at the human’s stomach. If she could knock the wind out of her . . .

Sharrileagh swung her arms back for another pounding strike when Kette’ took her chance and placed a glancing blow to Sharrilegh’s stomach that felt weak. Still, it caught the human girl by surprise and her swing was left incomplete.

She tried, too late, to block while Kette’ made another quick but momentumless jab at Sharrileagh’s stomach. Sharrilegh changed tactics and raised the stick over hear head to bring it down on Kette’s back. Kette’ hesistated-- go for Sharrileagh, now that she was fully exposed? Or block what looked like was going to be a nasty hit?

She decided she wanted to hit her squad’s tormentor more than anything, and swung again, hitting squarely on Sharrileagh’s ribcage. The wind was forced from her target, who’s pugil stick now crashed into Kette’ from above. Both backed away from each other, taking stock of the situation, each surprised by Kette’s combativeness.

Shouts and cheers swirled around Kette’, but they seemed far away, and hollow, like a small group of people shouting in a large room. Sharrileagh lunged forward, an intimidating but desperate attack that caught Kette’ off guard. The stick hit her left arm and caused it to go numb, shooting hot pain up and down its length.

Sharrileagh used the distraction to hit her again, and as Kette’ stood helplessly the human regained her confidence. Kette’ could see another one of Sharrileagh’s slow club-strikes being swung, but her numb arm would not move quickly enough.

A hard smack on the shoulder caused Kette’ to drop her pugil stick, which was as good a being floored, as far as the Drill Sergeants were concerned. They stopped the contest and allowed Kette’ to get out, humiliated.

Kette’ held out the stick to the first pair of hands that reached for it, and those hands were Shatir Zahr En-Ajwik’s. Kette’ wondered how her friend was going to do, coming from a world where females were not allowed to fight. She tried to ask something but could not make words come between her tired breaths.

Shatir waved her off. A last glance back at Sharrileagh revealed a look of wary concern. Kette’ smiled with satisfaction.

Yhhvikh-huk!”tir challenged in her native toungue, “You ready now, girl?” Sharrileagh stepped forward, holding the stick in front of her as a shield. She’d learned something from Kette’s brief show of force.

Shatir stood sideways with her feet spread out and faced her opponent calmly, waiting for her to come forward. When Sharrileagh saw that the Q’aab was intending to defend, not attack, she stepped forward and swung like she had for Dar and Kette’.

She aimed high, again seeking to knock the wind out of the taller female’s ribcage, but the stick passed harmlessly through the air as Shatir ducked. Sharrileagh, continued to spin and had to spread her own feet wide to keep from losing her balance.

The Q’aab’s pugil stick slid between the human girl’s knees and Shatir wrenched hard. Sharrileagh tumbled over, arms flailing, her pugil stick dropped. Shatir stood calmly, watching her fall as if she were an innocent observer to the stocky girl’s clumsiness.

"Hold!”Ferrin shouted over cheers and laughter. “Only one left. Alkhasi! Step into the ring!” The dark-haired thenn moved to give Sharrileagh a hand up while Birijivka stood beside Kette’.

“Well, that was a nice way to start the day,sig?” the older zhulaak asked rhetorically. Kette’ nodded in acknowledgement but her face was set in a frown.

“I should have been the one to beat her,” she admonished herself. Birijivka grabbed her arm-- hard.

“Don’t go starting with that. You did your best. What did you do before you came here? You sure as hell weren’t a fighter. You were way too soft to have seen much. You did well-- get that through your goddamn stubborn head!” They paused and watched while Shatir easily dispatched Alkhasi after a minute.

“That Sharrileagh is a babyish little fuck. But she’s strong, and she’s probably knocked a few heads before. You stopped her and got a few hits in of your own-- so quit goddamn crying! You can’t be everything.”

“A leader--”
“--Knows how to recognize her own limitations,” Birijivka interrupted. “And use other resources at her disposal to overcome those shortcomings. Like En-Ajwik.” She pointed to the ring, where the tall Q’aab now faced off against First Squad’s champion from earlier.

The dark skinned human girl moved like she’d had experience, while Shatir moved like she’d had good training. They clashed and parried while Birijivka hammered at Kette’s stubbornness.

“I need to try harder,” Kette’ reasoned.
“You’ll burn yourself up. This is only training, Barona. Save it for when it matters, when you know the handholds. You can’t lead until you learn,” she explained, absently running her fingers through the blond bristles on her head.

Seeing that made Kette’s head itch as well. Sand fell away from her head into her eyes. Somewhere between blinks, Shatir finally downed her opponent. The Drill Sergeants brought forward the victor from Third and Fourth Squads-- Leanna Sena.

The thin, pale girl was almost a human version of Drill Sergeant Valdonna, and while small, she had a wiry toughness to her. The two hit and parried for some time, testing each other out.

“I have to try harder. Or someone else should be squad leader,” Kette’ continued. Birijivka snorted derisively.

“Nobody can be everything at all times,” she replied. “You’ve done well at the range, you’ve improved your PT by quite a bit, and you do really well at the books. You’re the only one in the platoon that can tell the difference between the early and late model battlecars that the ‘Kons use.”

“That’s easy. And it’s not that big a deal compared to the rest of this stuff. I’ve got to try for expert on the range.” They watched Shatir and Leanna battle back and forth across the sand in what looked like, for the most part, a fairly even match. Kette’ was intrigued.

“No one else can identify Republic vehicles like you can,” Birijivka reminded her. “Sharrileagh couldn’t see a ‘Kon landcruiser if it shot her in the ass.”

“A target no one could miss,” Kette’ joked. She glanced over at Sharrileagh, who was glaring right back at her.

“I heard that,” she growled. Kette’ was surprised to find herself not in the slightest bit concerned.

“Already?” she shot back, “It usually takes forever to reverberate through that armored skull.” Sharrileagh was momentarily surprised but quickly regained her momentum.

“Oh? You wanna step back into the ring, there, ad leader?” she mocked “Another ass-kicking and maybe the Drill Sergeants will give me those stripes.” Kette’ opened her mouth to reply when she was interrupted from a surprise source.

Atavia leaned forward from out of nowhere and put her face right in Sharrileagh’s field of vision.
“Will you shut the fuck up? Nobody cares what you think, sig? Anyone who gives a shit has already heard it from you, okay?”

Sharrileagh backed up, taken off guard by the sudden temper of the usually complacent Atavia. Kette’ could not suppress a wicked grin as she watched the larger girl step back.

“Allright, that’s enough!” The stern voice of Drill Sergeant Valdonna cut across the assembled crowd. Kette’, Sharrileagh, Atavia and Birijivka snapped their heads around to look at the Drill Sergeants but everyone else’s attention was focused on the ring.

Leanna and Shatir were leaning on their pugil sticks, covered in sweat and breathing in rapid gasps. “You’ve had your fun. Sena, you’re about out on your feet. En-Ajwik, you’re used to this climate. Both of you get some water. In fact,” she looked around at the collection of hot, sweaty, sandy trainees. “Unless there’s some problem that I should be made aware of. . . ?” She leveled her gaze at Kette’ and Sharrileagh. Everyone looked at them, and Kette’ felt her face go hot.

“No, Drill Sergeant!” she hollered.
“Are you sure there’s no other personal challenges before we wrap this up?” Valdonna baited. Kette’ looked at Sharrileagh, who was still surprised by the sudden turn of events with Atavia.

“None that I am aware of, Drill Sergeant,” Kette’ answered, looking steadily at Sharrileagh. Valdonna focused on the stocky human girl.

“Well?”
“N-no, Drill Sergeant,” Sharrileagh backed down. Valdonna looked at them for a moment before turning nonchalantly towards the rest of the platoon.

“Alright, then. Since there are no further challenges, everyone has one minute to drink one full liter of water! Now! Moovit! You should be pissing it already!” Everyone scrambled for their canteens. Kette’, however, smiled first at Atavia and raised her canteen in salute.

[b]Week Eight[/b]

More weeks passed. The trainees fired anti-tank rockets, endured chemical attack drills in their armor, fired on the rifle range, and practiced setting up mines, tripwires and booby traps. Patrols were conducted, and PT scores improved. Kette’ was now performing pushups into the mid-eighties, and a hundred sit-ups were normal.

Road marches were conducted with increasing regularity on Endweeks afternoons-- long hikes along roads and trails into the desert that often did not end until well into the evening. A night would be spent out in the sandy nothingness, sleeping in their armor.

Then, after a day of training on any one of a number of subjects, a long march back took them to their barracks.

The next morning, Lastday, was greeted with the hour of extra sleep and religious services, for those who wished. Kette’ never went to any of the services.

Only two weeks of Initial Training remained, and rifle qualifications were the first test to pass. They were now using fully charged energy cells, combat cells, not the under-powered training cells from the first weeks.

Kette’ stood in her foxhole, trying to ward off nervousness by concentrating on the target range. A series of holographic targets would appear, usually one at a time but sometimes simultaneously. Moving targets were also common. Kette’ twitched in anticipation, sweat rolling down her face, neck and back. She felt sure that she was sweating too much for the body glove to keep up, even though she had it cooled lower than usual.

“Firers-- watch your lanes!” the controller commanded. The first target appeared as an unidentified Irrykanoi soldier getting up from a foxhole, two hundred meters downrange. Kette’ swivelled her body towards it and fired a too-hasty shot. The burst impacted at the ground two meters from the target. Goddammit! She reprimanded herself, teeth grinding in her skull.

The next target appeared at one hundred meters as the other one vanished. Easy hit. She lined up the sight reticle with the target and squeezed the trigger. A hot blue bolt of energy lanced from her weapon and hit squarely on the target, which glowed briefly and then vanished.

Confidence restored, she scanned the range again for the next target. A two-hundred-fifty meter target rose, and Kette’ relaxed and took more careful aim. Another hit. Three hundred meters. A miss.

Undaunted, she scanned the range and zeroed on a one hundred and fifty meter target just as it appeared. Another hit. She shrugged off the nervousness and felt herself going into a disconnected state-- the whole world was just the tunnel of vision and energy, directed by her eye and the weapon’s sights, toward the targets. Misses were unfortunate but no cause for alarm. Hits were good, but no reason to exult.

She kept firing, one, two, three, until no more targets appeared and the controller called for a cease fire. She waited for the command to switch to burst-shot and eagerly anticipated going back into that simple, focused existence she’d found in the sight of her weapon.

Midway Through Week Eight

“Not too bad, people,” Drill Sergeant Ferrin appraised. Most of the Company had passed BRQ the first time, only a handful of trainees had failed. They would have more opportunities to re-fire during Mission Specific Training phase, before the finalization of their scores, so they still had hope.

Those that failed completely would be recycled to another Initial Training cycle. Kette’ looked around at the rest of the platoon. Only one person in her squad had failed BRQ, and that was Private Tiara Dar, who seemed shocked and dazed. Sharrileagh had started to hound her about her inabilities, but a cruel glare from Shatir had silenced the larger girl. Drill Sergeant Ferrin continued.

“You’re closer to graduation. You should be able to taste it by now. You’re over halfway there, and these next two weeks will determine how much you need to improve before we finalize your scores at the end of MST.”

The Drill Sergeant gazed around the room where the platoon had been assembled that evening, cleaning weapons. They had just finished the night-fire phase of qualifications.

“Don’t get complacent. You still have plenty of leeway to fuck up. Forth Squad Leader failed BRQ, she’s fired, and now I’m breaking in a newbie.” Kette’ exchaged glances with Private Calan, the human girl who ended up as First Squad Leader. They were the only two Squad Leaders left of the original batch picked in the entire Company.

“Finish up with these weapons and get them turned in. Late wake up tomorrow. We’re going to start the next test, the PT test, this weekend. Any questions?” Carro boldly raised her hand. The thenn in the Company, adapted to darker environments, had all aced the night-fire qualification.

“Drill Sergeant? What is Mission Specific Training going to be for us?”

“More of the same,” Ferrin replied, “More shooting, more marching, rockets, automatic weapons, mines, patrolling, all that. You’ll also receive training on armored personnel transports, crew-served weapons, and other infantry tasks.”

She looked around the room to make sure everyone was listening as they reassembled weapons and packed away cleaning supplies. “You’ll culminate with a two-week field exercize. Most other trainees get a five-day field training, but infantry and other combat arms gets a two-week course where you damn well better show us that you’ve learned something here. Otherwise, it’s recycle time for you. Is that clear!?”

“Yes, Drill Sergeant!” the trainees thundered in unison. Drill Sergeant Ferrin smiled without humor and walked out of the room.

Week Twelve

Kette’ did not march so much as simply stagger forward, almost falling, and let her feet catch her. The soles of her feet were raw and sore, her toes beyond numb. Her legs tingled and her back ached.

The armor draped over her shoulders felt like it was cutting off circulation to her arms. When she readjusted the plates, they ended up on the bones of her shoulders with their crushing weight.

She faced a small dilemma. To cradle her rifle in her arms, or to tuck the pistol grip in her equipment belt and carry it that way? Her arms were numb and needed a rest from the weight of the weapon, but resting its weight in her belt only increased the load carried on her shoulders-- and thus increasing the numbness of her arms.

A blister popped in her right boot, her socks, drenched in sweat that the glove had not processed yet, made it sting. But the worst, the absolute worst thing about the whole road march was the sand.

It was not that the sand was loose enough for her boots to sink into with each plodding step. It was not that the sand clutched her boots and pulled them down every time she lifted her feet to fall forward yet again. It wasn’t that the sand coated her, kicked up by the feet of all the other trainees in the Company ahead of her.

The worst part about the sand was the grating, chafing, scratching feeling it made as it had seeped into her underwear, making each step a flame of misery, a feeling of sitting in a pile of broken glass. She had already vowed before Thyssa herself that she would never wear underwear again, and even gone on to say that if the pain would stop, she would sit through services at least once.

But as the marching continued the pain increased, mixed with the salty sweat and the friction of the tiny granules she endured.

She gave up with the weapon and tucked the pistol grip in her belt. She didn’t care if her arms went numb, at least they would join her toes in being something she could no longer feel and care about. Her helmet visor was opened, despite orders to the contrary, allowing some of the cool morning air across her bristly scalp.

They had been marching through the night, for almost six hours. A brief midnight rainstorm had dampened them, and as the bodies of the trainees reheated themselves with their exertion, Kette’ could see steam rising from the junctures between the armor plates in wisps, as if their very essence were being slowly bled from them.

She wondered how much a soul weighed, and was glad that hers was leaving for a while, temporarily relieving her of its weight.

The road march ended at dawn, as the trainees staggered into the Company area. Reinvigorated by their return, they managed to come to a disciplined formation and called out loudly--through the helmet comms-- when brought to attention, and turned in their weapons in an orderly fashion after a hasty cleaning. They were then dismissed to their barracks.

It was Freeday morning, but there was not going to be much in the way of training until after wake-up, sometime before lunch. Kette’ dragged herself in, peeling off her armor and body glove as she did. She barely had the presence of mind to place her sweat-stained clothes in her laundry bag before flopping down on the bed.

She examined her feet, raw and swollen, and at the blisters they bore, both popped and unpopped. She stood back up--her feet practically screamed in agony-- and limped to the shower, where she washed the sand from her body. A few others were doing the same thing, but most of the trainees were already going to sleep.

She could barely keep her eyes open on the trip back to her bunk, and could feel herself slipping back into the plodding, dulled pace of her recently finished march.

Her feet and arms went numb again, and she marveled for a split-second at the powers of the mind and its ability to suggest things to the body. She could still feel her pack and belt, and when she fell over on her bed she crashed as if she were, indeed, still fully-laden.

The Drill Sergeants had been right. There was no real change in the pace of training from Initial Training to Mission Specific Training. They had all managed to pass their PT tests and were now into the second week of MST.

There were many things that they had to learn, and the road march was one of the many tests the trainees had to accomplish to be deemed worthy. They had succeeded, covering thirty-five kilometers somewhere between midnight and dawn.

Kette’s mind whirled with pain and relief, and the cool air over her body made her tingle as the water evaporated from her bare skin-- she had not the time or energy to towel off. She reveled in the feeling of having her feet off the ground, of not moving, of being cool, and finally, of sleep.








[To be Continued....]

[Coyote]

Empires: Origins-- Kette's Story-- Part VI

Week Fourteen

The vehicle sat on its antigravity cushion, hovering about half a meter from the ground. The underside was black, the topside painted a sand color with some sage-green splotches on it.

The trainees were clustered around it, watching as one of the instructors placed a heavy blaster on a swivel-ring mount in a sponson at the vehicle’s right rear. A similar sponson on the left rear already had a grenade launcher mounted to it.

The heavy weapons were items that the trainees had just recently trained on the week before, and all had been impressed with their destructive power. Now, things were getting even more interesting.

“There it is,” the instructor said as he locked the weapon in place on the pintle mount of the swivel-ring. The instructor, a large, armor-clad Q’aab named Sergeant Annekht, took his place before the Company.

“The M-440A3 Armored Personnel Carrier. On the left sponson is the M-88 automatic grenade launcher. On the right, the M-1080 Repeating Energy Cannon. All together, with an Infantry squad, a damn powerful fighing team.” He went around the sides of the vehicle pointing out various features in his accentless CommonSpeak, the first time Kette’ had heard a Q’aab speak the language with such ease.

“The cannon fires line-of-sight energy pulses on a scale a thousand gigatherms more powerful than your hand-held blasters. If the enemy is hiding behind a hill and the cannon cannot reach them,” he strode towards the other sponson and affectionately patted the grenade launcher.

“That’s what this is for-- to cover that pesky dead space behind hills. With this, you can fire high explosive, chemical, smoke, incendiary, antipersonnel air bursters or para-dropping armor-piercing grenades.”

He continued, covering the maximum height the vehicle could travel safely on its antigravity field-- thirty-five meters-- and how fast it could go at maximum speed-- three hundred kilometers an hour. What kind of range it had-- six months in combat operations, twelve in peacetime, for each individual fuel rod. The vehicle, he pointed out, could carry up to four such fuel rods.

“The cannon can be fed either from a standard energy cell, or hooked up directly to the powerpack and fed from the drive core. That way, it has an unlimited supply of ammunition as long as the core is running. Inside,” he pointed to the dark interior, revealed through the rear doors,

“there are recharge slots where you can hook up your expended energy cells from your rifles. It takes about forty-five seconds to completely recharge an empty 400-round cell.”

The trainees whispered to each other through their platoon frequency for a few seconds while Sergeant Annekht moved to the front of the vehicle, by the driver’s hatch mounted in the center of the well-sloped bow.

“Driver has passive and active night enhancement if needed. The monitors in here can zoom in and act as binoculars out to two thousand meters. It’s got heating and air conditioning as long as all the hatches are closed, and it’s sealed against NBC contamination. Are there any questions?” He looked around, as did the trainees.

There were lots of questions, but most of them would be answered as they were each familiarized with the vehicle and allowed to drive it. He looked around to see if the trainees were soaking it up. He seemed satisfied.

“Alright, then. There are enough vehicles for two platoons. The other platoons will be going through maintenance classes. At lunch, we switch. Tomorrow we go into greater detail on capabilities of the vehicles and by Midweek’s we’ll be conducting actual tactical exercises-- if you can show me that you’re proficient enough with them today! The guys from your Alaf and Bata Companies went through this course the last couple weeks and they were some sorry bastards! I don’t have a lot of faith in the tenth battalion so far, so it’s up to you to try to restore some of that faith. Think you’re capable of that?”
“Yes, Sergeant!”

“Good. Now get your sorry asses down here.”
The Drill Sergeants immediately interceded, directing each squad to a separate waiting vehicle. Second Platoon, including Kette’s squad, was herded to one of the armored carriers. Her heart raced.

“Give me a Squad Leader,” sergeant Annekht ordered. Kette’ stepped forward without hesitation, her gold stripe reflecting in the sun, her look of pride contained within her helmet.

“Alright,” he said gruffly, “You’re our first vehicle commander. You stand back here--” he motioned her towards the right rear sponson, where the energy cannon was mounted “-- and I’ll drive us around the course and let you see what we’re going to be doing. The rest of you,” he turned towards the remaining squad members, “will ride in the vehicle with the hatches open. You will have your weapons out and you will ride along, keeping watch over all three-hundred-sixty degrees. That is what you would do in a combat situation, so that is what you will do on my course. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Sergeant!”

“Get inside.” The trainees hauled themselves up and through the open rear doors, then popped open the crew hatches on top. The hatches were two large accordion-style doors that, when folded and locked open, formed low shields along the sides of the open hatch.

Rifles bristled in all directions as the two Team Leaders organized their teams along each side of the opening. Annekht nodded in admiration. “Congratulations,” he said, smiling,

“You’re the first crew to get that right. By Thyssa, your Team Leaders deserve extra scoops of ice cream tonight.” Shatir looked over at Sergeant Annekht, her eyes wide through her visors. Kette’ guessed it was the first time she had ever heard a Q’aab swear by Thyssa. The instructor seemed not to notice.

Kette’ climbed in at the rear sponson and switched on the small transmitter in her helmet. Sergeant Annekht put on his own helmet and did the same. His voice crackled by her aural spikes. She looked down, inside the lip of the ring mount and found the communications control box. She switched it to intercom and noticed a flashing red light. Next to it was a red switch marked RING LOCK. She tapped the switch and freed the cannon to swing on its mount.

Traversing the cannon effortlessly on its electrograv mount, she felt a surge of exhilarating power. She fought down the urge to play with the destructive toy.

“Commo check,” Annekht said clearly through the comm.
“I have it on Intercom, Sergeant,” she replied.
“Right where it should be. Okay, Squad Leader, what’s your name?”

“Private Barona, Sergeant,” she replied without thinking. She swiveled the gun again, training it outwards at a forty-five degree angle from the vehicle and up slightly. Ahead, Sergeant Annekht turned around in the driver’s seat to see her through the open hatch.

“Alright, Private Barona, you’ve found the ring lock. Good initiative, but don’t anticipate my instructions. Keep the cannon pointed out and up at all times. Never fire across the vehicle. Here’s the deal,” he said, easing the vehicle forward. It took a moment for Kette’ to realize the vehicle was moving.

“On intercom, only the driver and the commander and the other sponson gunner can hear each other. On all-call the whole crew can hear, and on any other frequency you can talk to the platoon leaders, company, or battalion and so on. Got it?”

“Uh, Yes Sergeant,” she acknowledged. Communications operations had been one of the areas she was having trouble with. It was so . . . technical.

The vehicle glided over a bumpy, rocky old service road that had not seen wheeled traffic for ages. It was little more than weed-infested ruts wedged in between anemic looking desert trees. Everyone in the vehicle enjoyed a last rush of air across their faces before lowering their facemasks.

“The course is about twenty klicks long,” Annekht explained, “and we’ll provide training for just about every aspect of normal operations. This first part is fairly even, to get used to the vehicle’s responsiveness. We then go through some twists and turns, and then some hilly terrain.”

He switched the communications to all-call. “When going over hilly terrain, it is tempting to increase grav effect and just fly over hills comfortably. That will get you killed in combat.

"Things that fly are easy to see and easy to bring down. The operator wants to be no more than a meter from the ground at all times. Hug the terrain. Stay low and unseen-- think of flowing like water, always seeking the lowest point. Roads are still handy because you can go faster on flat surfaces. Hills make you slow down.”

As he explained, the road began to curve and twist around sand dunes, knots of trees, and down into a dry streambed. They drove up the streambed, which became more twisted and rocky.

“Don’t expose the belly of the vehicle by climbing it up a rise,” Annekht continued while Kette’ clutched the spade grips of the energy cannon to stabilize herself. In the open hatch next to her, the rest of the crew held on steadily while being shaken back and forth.

“Ease up the whole vehicle-- use those grav controls! Commander, it is best if you tell the driver to stop raising the vehicle as soon as you can see over the rise. If it is safe, then let the driver continue.”

“Uh, driver, halt,” she said over the comm. Sergeant Annekht stopped the vehicle and everyone looked at her. In her slightly raised position in the commander’s sponson, they had to turn their faces upward to see her. Her facemask was down, and no one could see the wave of awe that washed over her as the whole vehicle sat, its ten-ton weight idling in midair, every eye turned to her and awaiting her instructions.

“What do you see, Private Barona?” Sergeant Annekht asked calmly over the comm. From the sound of his voice, he understood the wave of emotion and realization that she felt. She gazed out across the plain. There were targets set up out there, faint images shimmering about two kilometers away.

“Targets, Sergeant,” she said calmly, amazed at the calm flow of her own voice. She powered up the sight of the cannon and increased the magnification. The holographic targets resembled three battlecars of the Irrykanoi Republic Army.

“I have three enemy vehicles,” she reported, “A-210-A series.” From her position, she could see Sergeant Annekht nod his head in approval.

“Excellent,” he praised, “You’re the first person to get that right throughout all of tenth battalion,” he said. The rest of the squad looked at her in admiration. She realized that Annekht still had the comm system on all-call. She flushed slightly, basking in the feeling.

“Now, what are you going to do about it, squad leader Barona?” he prompted. Kette’s eyes caught sight of Sharrileagh, who looked away after their visors briefly locked on each other. That’s how it’s supposed to be said, Kette’ said with her unseen glare. With something vaguely resembling respect. Sharrileagh looked at her only companion, Alkhasi, but the dark-haired thenn pretended not to see her.

“I’d call in a report and either use air, space, or artillery assets to destroy the enemy,” she said with assurance.

“That’s the book answer,” Annekht corrected her. “Those assets are not available right now. So what are you going to do?” Kette’ licked her lips and gauged the distance to the targets. One seemed closer than the others.

“I’d engage the targets from my station, Sergeant. Nearest target first, then . . . “ she trailed off and examined the situation. One of the holographic vehicles faced towards them, one was facing to the side. “Then I’d engage the one that is facing us, then the last target. Sergeant,” she decided.

“Exactly. Use your laser rangefinder, lase to targets and engage.” Kette’ flicked on the laser and let the invisible beam line up with the nearest target. The reticle lit up with a target lock. Her hands tightened on the grips of the cannon and the weapon stabilized on the target.

She fired a burst into the image, the cannon thundering at her touch. Beams flickered across the transport, which glowed briefly and vanished. She switched fire to the next one and let the blue darts slice across it. It too vanished.

Without hesitating Kette’ aligned on the last and squeezed again. She was too hasty-- the energy lances missed. She stopped, re-aligned on her target, and lased the distance. The reticle lit up and she again unleashed the cannon’s power.

The final target vanished and Kette’ released her death grip on the weapon’s handles. A wave of triumph seared through her and before she realized it, her whole sense of herself changed. My God, I think I just had an orgasm. She turned to face her squad and straightened in the hatch.

“Targets destroyed. Continue mission. Driver,” she directed with authority, “Maintain course, set speed at six-zero klicks per. Keep one meter ground clearance and proceed to nav point two, please,” she studied the mapboard in the front of the commander’s sponson, steadying her hands on the ring mount. Saying it, doing it, she marveled, it is all so easy. Sergeant Annekht’s voice answered her over the all-call.

“Not so hard, now, is it?” he said with unconcealed mirth. “You’re a natural at this, Private Barona.”

After a moment’s hesitation, he spoke again, this time with a neutral tone that was all business. “Six-zero klicks, one meter clearance, aye,” he acknowledged. “Nav point two, ETA ten hepts.” The vehicle shot forward again and the wind and dust caressed Kette’ armor. She cooled rapidly as she turned up the cooling system of the body glove.

“Now,” Sergeant Annekht said, “I hope you are all paying attention to Private Barona. So far she’s done this just the way it should be. But . . . “ he hesitated, with a note of warning in his voice, “you still have plenty of opportunity to fuck it up. Don’t let an initial success cloud your judgment. Overconfidence can be just as deadly as indecision,” he reminded them. Kette’ nodded absently. “You hear me, Private Barona?”

“Yes, Sergeant,” she replied automatically. On the mapboard, the icon representing their vehicle rapidly approached the second navigation point.

“Here’s another obstacle for you, Barona,” their instructor challenged. A series of twists and turns shook the squad up a bit as the vehicle drove into a narrowing series of dry canyons. Finally they came to a dead end, faced with a sheer cliff face. Kette’ scanned the rock with her and noticed a narrow trail winding up the side of one of the valley edges.

“That road,” Kette’ pointed out to Sergeant Annekht. “It should take us up to the plateau.” She shielded her eyes from the sun and looked at it more intensely. Yes, that should be wide enough for the gravs to stabilize on, she estimated.

“Yeah, it should,” Annekht replied. “But don’t you dare disappoint me now, Barona. You’re not in a civilian situation anymore. Now think. There’s two things you should be considering here, sig?”

Kette’ was confused. She looked around the canyon walls, surrounded by smooth, reddish brown rock. There were no slides to drive up. The road was the only obvious answer.
“The road--” she stopped herself.

She looked at the road, and at the cliffs, and realized that everyone in the squad was looking at her again. Sergeant Annekht turned his head so she could see his facemask in profile. “--The road is the most obvious path,” she continued. “So it’s the route the enemy would probably target mines on.” The sergeant nodded his head, his expression unreadable.

“Or set up an ambush. Good. So, then, Barona, your driver is waiting for instructions. What do we do?” She considered it.

“Bring us to the base of the cliff in front of us, please, Sergeant,” she said, remembering who she was in relation to the instructor. She briefly felt a wave of embarrassment-- and some fear-- at the way she had issued orders to him at the first nav point.

The armored personnel carrier sidled up alongside the rock wall, not quite touching it. She wondered how high the cliff was, remembering that the vehicle could only climb up to thirty-five meters.

She was about to say that they should ease up the side of the cliff face when she leaned against the cannon’s ring mount. One of the grips poked her in the back between the armor plates and she went to move the weapon aside so she could lean back and look.

“How high is it, Private Barona?” Annekht asked. A sudden idea struck her. She spun the cannon around and lined up the sight reticle with the edge of the cliff.

“Just a second, please, Sergeant,” she replied. She lased to the top of the cliff with the range finder. Minus the width of the vehicle . . . “Thirty-two meters, Sergeant. Increase grav until I give the signal to stop, please, Sergeant.” The Q’aab’s laughter startled them all.

“You were raised with some manners, weren’t you, Barona! Okay,” he agreed, and the vehicle shifted and began to rise slowly. Kette’ felt like she was in an elevator.

“No problem. You let me know when you can see over the edge. Of course, in reality, you would simply ask your reconnaissance elements what lay over the crest of this cliff, or use sensor drones. But we don’t have that available right now. You’re doing fine, Barona. You almost disappointed me, there, but you’ve done alright. Now,” he said, slowing. “Let the driver know what you want.” Kette’ watched with anticipation as the cliff top approached.

“Driver, stop,” she said, quickly adding, “Thank you, Sergeant,” as the vehicle hovered just at the edge of the drop. She wheeled the cannon around, waving for the rest of the squad to move aside as she scanned the top with the sights. Nothing stirred.

“You were doing just perfect up to now, Barona,” Sergeant Annekht said, with a dispirited tone. “But what was the major fuck-up you just did?” Confused, she looked through the sights again. What had she missed? Then she realized it.

“Oh, shit!” She raised the cannon’s barrel up and swung it back to the outside of the vehicle.

“Uh huh. Never lay the barrel across your vehicle. That’s what your other gunner is for-- to watch the far side. We don’t have anyone in the left sponson, so it becomes the responsibility of one of your soldiers on that side of the crew hatch to scan with their personal weapon sights. Got it?” he reprimanded. Kette’ swallowed, chagrined that she’d done something so basically wrong after doing everything else right.

“Yes, Sergeant,” she replied quietly.
“Don’t go feeling goddamn sorry for yourself,” Annekht scolded. “Just like you shouldn’t get all full of yourself for doing some shit right, you should’nt let one fuck-up kick your ass. Take what comes and learn from it while you’re still young and stupid. By the time you soldiers earn some real stripes of your own, you’ll have had plenty of time to learn.”

He sighed, then added, “Which will probably be in about twenty years. So. Are we clear to top the rise, vehicle commander?” Kette’ snapped back into reality.

“Yes, Sergeant. Plateau is clear. Bring vehicle up and face us south-west, bearing two-hundred-sixty-five degrees. Continue on to nav point three, please,” she replied, confidence seeping back into her. Still, she was left a bit chagrined. No wonder they stress paying attention to every little detail, she reasoned.

The vehicle sped to its next destination, nav point three. They were near the turning point of the entire course, most of the distance eaten up by their quick bursts of speed across the desert.

A series of surprise pop-up targets began appearing, some of them directly in front of the speeding vehicle. Kette’ gasped audibly and began to call out evasive maneuvers which had the whole vehicle pitching back and forth wildly.

She tried spinning the cannon around to engage them, but many of her shots went wild, carving small gullies into the sand or lashing out wildly at empty air. The trainees were tossed around in the crew hatch as the amazingly nimble armored personnel carrier darted back and forth on its gravs, guided by the professional hand of Sergeant Annekht, who seemed amused by the whole thing.

Kette’ cursed as the vehicle went up on one side, then another, as visions of Irrykanoi troops and warbots appeared from out of nowhere. The surprise attack was over as fast as it started, leaving Kette’ gasping and sweaty in the commander’s hatch, her hands white-knuckled on the grips of the M-1080 cannon.

“Good, good!” Sergeant Annekht announced as he stood in the driver’s hatch and turned to face Kette’. “Out of twelve attacking vehicles, you managed to shoot two.”

Kette’ hung her head, not wanting to face her squad as they sought to recover their positions after the wild ride. “Bear in mind,” Annekht added sternly, “that you are only trainees, and are not expected to be able to survive that course just yet. The best score so far has been four targets by one of the guys from Bata Company. Most of the gunners get about one or two,” he said. Kette’ looked up again, regaining some composure.

The squad looked around at each other, smiling and laughing with one another at helmets and other equipment knocked askew. No one seemed to be particularly concerned with Kette’s dismal gunnery. She relaxed a little. Sergeant Annekht returned to his driver’s position and started driving again.

“Okay, commander,” he said, “That gives you an idea how fast things move on the battlefield. No more hints from me. You’re on your own initiative now.” Kette’ acknowledged his words and steeled herself behind the bulk of the cannon.

The power-assisted swivel mount turned with ease and she cranked the magnification up to match the maximum range of the weapon. “Okay, one hint,” Annekht interrupted.

“More like a reminder. Bear in mind, Barona, that this is an armored personnel carrier. There is one more dimension to all this that we haven’t yet explored.” Kette’ looked at her assembled squad in the crew hatch. Shatir looked up at her and breathed one word through the squad frequency: cells.

“Second squad,” she ordered over the all-call, “take out your red practice target cells and place weapons on single-fire mode.” The magazines they had been issued to practice with came out of their pockets. The harmless bolt of light would not hurt a person, but could score a hit against a holographic target. Almost in unison, the cells were clapped into place.

Over the headset, she heard a faint crackle as the weapons were powered up, then silence reigned again on the comm. Earnestly, they scanned the area around them.

“Movement to front right!” Sharrileagh shrieked in surprise. Everyone turned to face a pair of holographic images of Republic soldiers, just one hundred meters away. Kette’ swivelled her cannon in their direction while small-arms fire bursts from the weapons in the hands of her squad.

“Alaf team! Stay on the left side of the vehicle and watch for targets! Driver! Slow to four-zero klicks and stay down between the dunes!” Kette’ fired a burst from the cannon towards the images, but they winked out just before her shots could connect. Shatir and Atavia smiled at each other, enjoying the excitement.

“Driver! Stop!” She called out, and then added belatedly, “Please, Sergeant.” The vehicle stopped. “Lower the ramp! Everybody out! Go! Go! Go!” The ramp dropped from the rear of the carrier and the clamshell crew doors opened automatically and the two teams rushed out.

“Alaf team, take the left! Bata to the right! Bata bound forward to the top of this dune!” She pointed just ahead. Shatir, Dar, Sharrileagh and Ceneveau ran at a crouch towards the top of the hill. They fell to the ground and crawled the rest of the way.

“You’re bunched up!” Kette’ hollered in the comm. “Get at least five meter intervals between you!” They began to crawl away from each other.

“Artillery will sight on us if we stay here too long, commander,” Sergeant Annekht’s voice floated to her, a raft of calm in a sea of adrenaline. Kette’ nodded her head vigorously in understanding.

“Yes, Sergeant. Driver!” she barked, slipping back into her role, “back us behind this last sand dune to the left rear. Keep low. Alaf team--!” she called out, motioning Birijivka ahead, “--bound to the next dune. Keep your intervals! I want people to tell me when they have targets!” A voice crackled through the line almost immediately.

“I have three enemy!” panted Tiara Dar, her voice high with stress. “Three soldiers-- one tank! I mean-- correction! One landcruiser! Ahead of me--uhh--bearing, uhh. . .” She was interrupted by Shatir.

“Bearing zero-one-six,” she said calmly. “Laying down suppressive fire.”

“Good,” Kette’ agreed, thinking aloud. “Driver! Bring us up to the dune just ahead and to the left of Bata team. Uh. . . bearing zero-one-five point four!” The weapons of Shatir’s team fired their anemic red bolts, not making a sound against even the quiet gravs of the carrier.

Kette’s blood pounded in her aural spikes but she could hear and see with a clarity that astonished her. Time seemed to be moving slowly, but she made decisions without even thinking about them. She noticed Alaf team watching the action to their far right and ignoring what lay in front of them.

“Alaf team! Birijivka! Keep their attention focused on your sector of fire! Suppress if possible!” She paused, then added, “Maneuver on your initiative! Stay in sight of the vehicle!” Kette’ looked at Sergeant Annekht for any hints, but she could only see the top of his closed hatch as they rose up the gentle slope of the sand dune.

“Driver stop!” she yelled, surging with emotion. She scanned the area with her sights and finally saw where Bata team’s energy bolts were landing. Only one soldier hologram still stood, an enemy warbot was untouched. She leveled the cannon at the Republic warbot and fired a burst.

Sand erupted in a traceable path along the desert floor. She’d forgotten to confirm the target lock with the gun’s reticle. She re-acquired the target and lase to target. The reticle lit up. She fired, dispersing the hologram with a tight burst of blue.

A sudden twitch of feeling caused her to look to the left. “Driver, back up!” she hollered. Sergeant Annekht complied without hesitation. “Bata team bound to the next dune! Alaf team, cover for them!”

“We have contact!” Birijivka yelled, forcing calm into her voice. Kette’ looked over to where her team was, where she’d felt something a moment before. A squad of Republic holograms rose from the sand, with a massive battlecar behind them.

“Suppressive fire!” Kette’ ordered. “Driver, bring the vehicle over to three-fifty-eight! Creep up this dune-- stop!” She scanned the horizon. The holograms were below her line of sight.

“Damn! Driver forward--slowly!” Kette’s eyes darted across the dunes, but the enemy holograms were still undetectable. “Alright. . . computer! Last known position of enemy targets!” Two red spots appeared on the map screen. “Time elapsed since initial spotting!” she demanded. In the crew monitor, she could see Sergeant Annekht turning slightly to peer back at her.

“Private Barona, artillery--”
“Yes, Sergeant, evasives on your initiative. Stay low!” She returned her attention to the screen. “Computer?”

“Fifty-one segments elapsed since initial contact,” the vehicle’s artificial intelligence intoned flatly. Fifty-one segs? Is that all? She braced herself as Sergeant Annekht took the carrier through evasive maneuvers among the dunes.Shatir, meanwhile, began to move into a supporting position to help Alaf team.

“Project probable routes since initial contact,” she commanded. The dots expanded-- slightly for the infantry squad, substantially for the battlecar. That’s way too much distance to cover. . . “Sergeant Annekht! Bring us to the top of this dune!”

“We’ll be visible to any enemy out here,” he reminded her.
“Yes, Sergeant!” she replied. The vehicle surged forward. They crested the rise as Kette’ scanned for any movement at all in the area where the enemy infantry squad could have gone. At least we can get rid of that problem, she rationalized.

The enemy holograms appeared, just four dunes away and advancing towards her squad’s position. She lased to one of the targets, a soldier-image about in the center of the mass of targets. The reticle lit up with a lock confirmation and she fired.

Sand erupted all around the targets and she played the destructive bursts all around the mass of images. They dissipated abruptly and vanished, and she looked around for her squad. She couldn’t find them-- but she did see a dark movement between a pair of nearby dunes.

The cannon swiveled on its power-assisted ring as Kette’ pulled the weapon around to face the threat, timing its movement to match another break in the dunes. She saw the image as it crept through a depression, its back to her.

She lined up the reticle and squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened. She broke lock and re-aligned, cursing under her breath. The reticle locked, but again, no bolts shot from the end of the barrel. She checked the safety-- it was off.

“Sergeant?” She asked, fearful that she had broken it. She heard Sergeant Annekht chuckle on the intercom. She looked forward, towards the driver’s seat, only to see the Q’aab rise from the hatch and turn around to sit on its rim, facing her. He took his helmet off, and motioned for her to do the same.

“We’re dead,” he informed her. “The satellite that controls the targets for this range figured that you’d exposed us on the hill for too long. So it commanded the vehicle AI to shut down. We got hit by artillery.”

Kette’ drooped back in her turret, stunned. She looked across the sand and saw her squad walking back, dejected. The enemy vehicle was nowhere in sight.

“But what . . . I mean . . .?” she stammered. Annekht held up his hand.

“Wait until the others arrive, and we’ll have an after-actions review,” he said politely. Kette’ buried her face in her hands for a moment, trying to assimilate what she had experienced. The rest of the squad walked up to the vehicle and climbed in, some talking excitedly, others in contemplation.

“Come on in,” Sergeant Annekht instructed. As soon as they were seated on the narrow crew benches, he closed the rear doors. “Close up the hatches,” he said, and they sat inside the now darkened vehicle. He switched on the interior lights and the air conditioning, motioning for everyone to remove their helmets. They did so with moans of delight.

“Okay. Your squad leader knows what she did wrong. Does anybody else know?” He looked around the cramped vehicle at the faces of Kette’s squad.

“The vehicle was exposed to the firing of the enemy,” Shatir said rationally. Others nodded in agreement, including Annekht.

“Up until that point, how was the engagement conducted?” he asked, leveling a gaze at each of them. The others looked at each other. A sergeant was asking their opinions?

“Speak up, now,” he chided, “This is what’s called an AAR-- an after action review. Here’s where we all share our perceptions of what happened and try to learn. You--” he pointed at Dar “--what was your impression? You were the first to make contact with the enemy, right?” Dar looked around nervously. Sharrileagh’s lip curled in annoyance.

“Y-yes, Sergeant,” she acknowledged, “uhh. . . I think Private Barona did really good, I mean, driving around and firing at the enemy, Sergeant,” she gestured back towards where the rest of the squad had been clustered, a few dunes back. “Up until, uhh, the last bit, where the vehicle got destroyed.” She looked apologetic at Kette’, who smiled sheepishly at her.

“Team leader for Bata? Your team held the initial contact. How did it go? How was coordination with the squad leader and Alaf team?” Shatir shifted uncomfortably in his gaze, and would not look at the other Q’aab directly.

“Coordination was at first good,” she said carefully, “I give information to squad leader, she bring vehicle forward to meet enemy.”

“And good information, too,” Annekht said supportively. “Excellent situation report, Private Dar. Detailed but uncluttered-- try to work on your sense of direction. Your team leader shouldn’t have to do that for you, not with the readout in your helmet visor. You did have your helmet visor down, right?” Dar’s redhead scalp shook back and forth.

“I forgot, Sergeant,” she murmured apologetically. Annekht grimaced.

“When riding in a vehicle, always have your visors down. Protects your eyes. We can issue you new eyes, but it hurts like hell breaking them in,” he joked, easing Dar’s tension.

“From the top,” he said, leaning forward from his space in the driver’s compartment. “You all started looking towards where Private Sharrileagh made contact,” he reminded them.

“It is important that all sides of the vehicle be covered. Barona, you needed to be reminded to move the vehicle to avoid artillery-- understandable, you’re new to this. But the best thing about vehicles, any vehicle, is that they can move around. That is better than armor. Artillery can’t adjust that quickly.” He looked at her sternly, and she nodded her agreement.

“So . . . you moved out Alaf team into a supporting position, but would not let them leave sight of the vehicle. Let your team leaders have some initiative and freedom,” he instructed.

“I wanted to keep accountability of the squad,” she explained.

“Yes, that’s what a good leader does. But you’ve got things to help you with that. Trust the sensors on your vehicle. Trust the other squad members to keep an eye out for each other. With the commo, you can instruct, advise, and get information from someone who’s fifty, a hundred klicks away. Half a continent away, if you’ve got satellites.” Kette’ looked down at the floor.

“I’m sorry, Sergeant,” she said, finally looking up at him. To her surprise, Sergeant Annekht laughed.

“Sorry, hell!” he said, “You know, half the trainees that go through this course freeze up at the first enemy contact. Artillery hits us before I even have the chance to drop the ramp! Computer-- how long did the vehicle last for this engagement?”

“Four hepts and thirty-one point eight segments,” replied the emotionless voice of the vehicle’s central computer. “Average standard trainee engagement lasts one hept and forty segments,” it added. Annekht gestured towards Kette’, smiling.

“See? Most trainees get their asses blown away in under two hepts. Usually the only reason they last that long is because they panic and have us running around in circles out here at top speed until the computer kills us with a mine or something. The fact of the matter is,” he assured her, “was that you did something. Showed some initiative. Now, there’ve been trainees who won, sure-- usually because they’re really lucky or really good. But many don’t make it,” he reminded them, gazing intently at each of them.

“So. Congratulations. You’re in the high end of average. Any questions?” There were none. “Alright. Now, let’s pop the hatches and resume our positions. Next we’ll come to a simulated gas attack--” the trainees groaned involuntarily “--but there’s a gas range warning sign at least a hundred meters away, and if one of us sees it in time we can just button up the hatches and turn on the filtration system and ride in here without having to use personal armor filters. So keep your eyes open!”

The squad popped back out of the hatches and got back in place, each one now intently scanning for any sort of activity through their sights. Kette’ put the comm back on all-call.
“When we’re done, let’s remember to charge our cells back up, okay?”

“Now you’re thinking,” Annekht said warmly. “Just remember, when we go around this course again in a few minutes, someone else will be in the captain’s chair back there, and you’ll be the one driving!”

“I can’t wait,” she replied weakly. Sergeant Annekht laughed as the vehicle shot forward once again.









[To be Continued....]

[Coyote]

Empires: Origins-- Kette's Story-- Part VII

Week Sixteen-- Final Qualifications

Kette’ waited her turn, no longer feeling the armor on her as anything but an extension of her own skin, as natural to her now as if she had hatched as a chitin-covered animal.

Her mind focused only on the disappearing back of the last human girl from first squad, now going over the rise almost two hundred meters ahead of her—two hundred and eight point six meters, according to the rangefinder.

Now in the last week, the Company was preparing for their final tests for graduation. Today’s was one of the most important-- the Qualification Course, which neatly tied together a series of events that, supposedly, they all knew inside out by now.

Kette’ was already breathing deeply in anticipation, that nervous-yet-calm detachment that had become all too familiar to her over the last few months.

“Are you ready to go, Barona?” Valdonna hissed through Kette’s earpiece. Kette’ grit her teeth.
“Yes, Drill Sergeant,” she said evenly, without looking at her, “I am.”

“Well, then” Valdonna grinned without humor, “you better— go!”

Kette’ took off like a coiled spring finally released. She bounded across the field and into the desert, noiseless except for her breathing and the thud of her boots against the packed earth. She topped the same hill the human girl had ascended earlier and looked below her, not hesitating to take in the view.

A series of canyon lands stretched out before her, remnants of an ancient river system. Above, steel gray clouds threatened to overtake the sky-- winter was approaching the desert region, and rains came more often. The path was easy to follow until the first station, in the floor of the canyon.

From there, the route was mostly rock, and no trail existed to betray the next station-- one of many navigation tests involved in the Qual Course. Kette’ wondered if she would meet any trainees along the way, wandering, lost, failed. A small folding table sat, incongruous among the rocky terrain. Kette’ approached and shouted her identification number, as she had been instructed. The Drill Sergeant used a keylet laid out on the table.

“Welcome to station one,” said a Drill Sergeant from one of the other platoons. Before her on the table were three paper maps. “Your suit and icomp navigation aids are not working,so you will use these maps to find the following half-dozen terrain features,” the Drill Sergeant said, handing her a paper.

Terrain feature identification—easy. Hills, valleys, draws. . . Kette’ could never figure out why anyone else had a problem with them. They were very distinctly represented on contour maps, but few people could make the mental leap from a three-dimensional holographic map.

She pointed them out almost as fast as she read them. The Drill Sergeant entered some information in her computer.

“You have passed, Private. Your success has been entered. I believe the next station is somewhere in that direction. Move out!” she ordered. Kette’ did so without hesitation, checking her helmet navigation readout. She jogged to the next nav point easily. Drill Sergeant LaGuerre was waiting on a campstool, keylet in hand.

“Welcome to my station, private Barona. Let’s see if you’ve learned anything. Down in the valley below are three colored panels. Look at the yellow one.” Kette’ did as she was told.

“Now, zoom in with your visor and tell me what you see.” A platoon of Irrykanoi battlecars-- holograms, of course-- idled in place while troops sat around, eating rations.

“Heavy armored platoon, Drill Sergeant. Republic, T-190 ‘B’ series battlecars. Troops are relaxing, eating.” LaGuerre nodded.

“Uh-huh. Now how would you recommend an artillery crew to deal with this situation?” Kette’ thought about it and gave a call-for-fire report-- one for ground based artillery, and one for orbiting Navy ships. LaGuerre entered her into the computer. “Good. Let the artillery know that the tanks are in a canyon land so they can set the seeker heads next time. You passed. Barely. Get moving!” she yelled, startling Kette’ from her silent self-criticism. Kette’ sprang to the next station, paying attention to the navigation system in her visor.

Pop!

Kette’ almost stumbled, the familiar sound bringing an instant of panic to her nervous system. She dropped behind some rocks for cover and clawed desperately at her helmet’s pressurization controls, by now an instinctive gesture. She checked the seals on her helmet. A Drill Sergeant appeared from nowhere, her face obscured by her own helmet.

“You’re under attack, trainee! What the hell do you do?” Kette’ hollered the alarm in case there were any friendly troops in the area and brought her weapon up, searching for a target. The red practice cell was already in place.

Vapor billowed all around, Kette’ could not tell if it was tear gas or just smoke. It did not matter. Three holograms of Republic soldiers materialized at one hundred, one-fifty, and two hundred meters away. She hit the first one, shot twice at the second before it went down, and aligned on the third. She forced herself to calm down before squeezing off a single shot that dissipated the final target.

“All right, all right, good job! What’s your name, number and battalion, trainee?” the Drill Sergeant yelled. Kette’ hollered back, even though it was unnecessary through the helmet comms. The Drill Sergeant punched the data in her computer. “You pass! Go straight ahead, that way, until you come to a green sign that says ‘all clear’! You got that?”
“Yes, Drill Sergeant!”
“Move!”

Kette’ moved, now winded from the restrictive airflow of the gas filters. She reached the green sign and shut off the air filter, then took her bearings from the navigation readout on her visor. She sucked at her canteen straw and drank half its contents, then kept running.

At the next station, Drill Sergeant Ferrin handed her four grenade simulators, with red powder that would simulate a real grenade blast. Drill Sergeant Ferrin pointed out four bunkers with enemy holograms in them.

Kette’ low-crawled out of the line of fire provided by the bunkers’ gun slits and threw the grenades into each one. Ferrin noted her success and waved her on to the next station. Almost immediately another Drill Sergeant demanding her identification number met her. Ahead was a series of trenches, each with an Irrykanoi soldier figure in it-- life-size androids with rubber torsos.

“Alright, trainee! Fix bayonet and show me how you’d charge up lane one! Go!” Kette’ whisked the handle from its belt sheath and attached it to the end of her weapon, the laser blade crackling to life with its characteristic blue glow.

She jumped into the trench marked as lane one, running towards the enemy ‘bots. Each ‘bot held his weapon in a different attack position, and activated itself when Kette’ came within a meter and a half of it. Kette’ blocked and parried each different attack, then slashed, stabbed, or clubbed each in return, screaming a bloody war cry with each hit. The Drill Sergeant grinned in feral admiration.

“That’s the best yet, private! Go on to the next station!” Kette’ smiled at her around puffs of breath as she lifted herself out of the trench. Her arms were sore from running with the weapon at the ready, and the vigorous workout she had just given the half-dozen enemy ‘bots.

She speed-walked down the trail, slowing to drink from her canteen again, turning up her suit coolant as well. She followed the nav computer to the next station, remembering to put away her bayonet before being arriving at the next station.

Every instructor would ask her name, number, and sometimes other questions to see if she could keep her mind focused on information. It also served to keep the trainees out of breath, and she reached the next station-- medical testing-- at a slight jog.

A medical android dressed in armor, his faceplate open, lay on a stretcher, moaning, fake blood seeping from a leg wound. A medic sat at a table, unconcerned with the sounds of agony coming from the artificial person.

“Patient has a leg wound,” the medic said with an air of indifference, “Bind his wound properly within one minute.” Kette’ ran to the android, announcing her identification number as she did. Every time she touched the android, it moaned and cried in pain, and the face contorted in realistic agony. The medic examined her work.

“Patient required a pressure dressing, you have applied a direct pressure dressing. He will live, but probably lose his leg. He will curse your name as he spends weeks in rehab, adjusting to his replacement. Redeem yourself, private-- the patient is suffering from gas attack.”

Her face flushing with the sting of failure, she plugged a diagnostic reader in the android’s armor, checking to make sure no seals were broken around the helmet area. It was intact, so she closed the faceplate and sealed it, then pulled from his belt pack the injector that would carry a chemical antitoxin.

She found it and slammed it into the thigh muscle of the android’s uninjured leg, allowing the antitoxin five segments to inject itself fully. She then withdrew the injector, ignoring the robot’s howl of agony, and wrote a “circle-x” on the robot’s armored breastplate with a marker, alerting other personnel that the victim had already been injected once.

“Good, private, good. Your fast action with the injector has saved the patient’s life despite his grievous disfigurement. You pass. Barely.” She took off at a sprint, escaping the wails of the robot. Damn, those simulators are good, she thought, shaking her head to clear the vision from her mind.

She breezed through most of the stations with little difficulty. At various points along the way, the trainees had to cross obstacles; rickety wooden bridges, rock walls, rope bridges, as well as rappelling down sheer cliff faces. Kette’ jogged, drank from her canteen, and went through station after station.

She endured shoot-or-don’t-shoot drills with enemy soldiers and terrorists mixed among civilian holograms, and room clearing on a small urban site. It was almost beginning to get tedious when she finally reached the end-- a large table and tent set up with ice water dispensers.

Drill Sergeants and other instructors milled about, comparing trainees’ scores with each other. She greedily gulped down several cupfuls of ice water before joining the other trainees resting in the shade of the tent.

“We did it!” said a familiar, tired voice. Shatir En-Ajhwik walked towards her, water cup in hand. She sat next to her friend and watched quietly for some time while the rest of the platoon slowly filtered in, each sweating, tired, and caked with sand and dust. Sharrileagh and Alkhasi came in, talking quietly. Seeing Kette’ and the others, they walked over.

Kette’ shifted her weight, ready to stand and see what new belligerence the stocky human girl had for her now.

“Well, squad leader Barona,” Sharrilegh said in an almost conversational tone, “looks like you managed to keep your stripes through the whole cycle. Good for you.” Kette’ studied her face for a moment.

“Thank you,” she answered slowly. “So,” she continued, trying to fill the empty space between them, “How do you think you did?” Sharrileagh smiled faintly.

“I think I did rather well, squad leader,” she said confidently. “In fact, I think I would like to bet fifty push-ups on it.”

“A hundred,” Kette’ replied without hesistation. Many of the trainees around them fell silent and looked at the two rivals. Sharrileagh thought for a moment, realizing that she’d suddenly had the tables turned on her.

“Okay,” she agreed, “A hundred it is.” She raised her cup of ice water in salute to Kette’, who did the same. Drill Sergeant Valdonna looked at them both and grimaced slightly, then walked off to watch the rest of the trainees file in.

By evening, the last private, a slightly overweight wanni from Fourth Platoon, wandered into the camp. Tired and panting, she nearly collapsed in a heap at the entrance to the tent. She’d had six minutes to spare, the Drill Sergeants reminded her. They checked to make sure she wasn’t suffering from injury before having her do twenty push-ups for taking her time.

Then, sand-colored busses came to take them all back to the barracks. Weapons and training cells were quickly turned in, and then they were all marched to the dining facility. An unusually large and well-prepared meal filled them up, and for once the Drill Sergeants didn’t hurry them through their food.

As the trainees left, Drill Sergeants would stop them outside the barracks and give them their scores for the Qual Course. Many smiled. Some did not. Kette’ walked back with Shatir and Leanna, only to be stopped at the door by Drill Sergeant Valdonna. Sharrileagh was already there, waiting.

“Sena,” the pale Valdonna read casually from her computer screen, “The grading scale was the standard one to one hundred. You scored a ninety-two for your end-of-cycle test. Congratulations. En-Ajhwik,” Valdonna continued, “You scored exactly one hundred,” she looked up appreciatively at the taller Q’aab.

“Excellent. Only eighteen people in the whole battalion scored a hundred, and of those eighteen, only four were females. Very good,” she praised. She turned to Kette’.

“Ah, private Barona. Your score is not in yet. Wait here with Sharrileagh. You two,” she said to Kette’s friends, “get on inside. You’re off for the rest of the night, just staying in the barracks. If you’re interested,” she said, pausing momentarily, “There is a large cooler in there. Someone filled it full of beer. Since trainees are not allowed to have beer, I suggest you get everyone together and make it disappear before any officers show up.” Sena and En-Ajhwik raced inside.

Several minutes passed by as the rest of the trainees walked past and Valdonna read them their scores as well. Kette’ was pleased to notice that everyone in her squad had passed, even Tiara Dar, who got a seventy-three. Kette’ was pleasantly surprised at that, she figured Dar would squeak by at seventy exactly. Finally, Drill Sergeant Valdonna faced them.

“Now. Private Barona and Private Sharrileagh,” she started slowly. The trainees nervously exchanged glances. “You two have been nipping at each others heels since you got here. I don’t know why. All I know is that this little competition seems to have gotten both of you to try harder, reach a little deeper for that extra effort to beat the other. You--” she pointed to Kette’,

“--physically pushed yourself to the limit, and the emotional strain on you was pretty hard. But you put up with it. And you,” she indicated towards Sharrileagh, “pushed yourself mentally and exerted a lot of self-control in the end. Both of you came out ahead for it. In doing this neither of you endangered anyone’s training, caused any grievous injuries or broke any rules. Until this evening.”

Kette’ felt herself flinch. Broken rules? What broken rules?

“If you remember your codes of conduct,” Valdonna continued, looking at them both individually, “You will remember that gambling in any form is not permitted. Your wager tonight on the outcome of the Qual Course is technically a violation of the rules. Of course, since money was not involved, it is a minor issue, but one that cannot go unnoticed. Both of you-- drop and knock out fifty each.”

Kette’ blinked, assimilating what the Drill Sergeant said, then dropped to the ground and began doing push-ups. Fifty, while attainable, was not fun, especially after the Qual Course and the subsequent tub of water she’d consumed. She watched Sharrileagh from the corner of her eye. Even now, she wanted to do her fifty push-ups before her rival did hers. Kette’ finished first and asked permission to recover.

“Wait,” the Drill Sergeant ordered. Breathing heavily, Sharrilegh knocked out the last of her push-ups and also asked permission to recover. “Both of you, position of attention, move!”

They sprang to their feet. Valdonna sighed deeply and looked at them. “Even now, one of you still has to be the first. Well, this will settle it once and for all,” she said, bringing up her keylet.

“Sharrileagh, you did damn good. Your final score for the end of cycle test was a ninety-eight. Only fifty people in the battalion scored that high. What are you kids coming to these days? Worthless, each of you. Of that fifty, nineteen were females. A good percentile.” She stopped and looked at Kette’.

“Barona, I almost hate to do this. Almost. But not quite. You are also one out of fifty in the battalion. With a score of ninety-nine. Congratulations, private Barona.”

For a second, Kette’ hung on Drill Sergeant Valdonna’s set-up. Only ninety-nine? Her mind screamed, I’m doomed! Suddenly, a wave of relief swept over her as her mind processed what she had been told. Ninety-nine beats ninety-eight, she remembered, feeling foolish. She blushed bright red at her initial shock.

“So,” Valdonna continued, “now this is settled. Tomorrow will be a big clean-up day, then a dress uniform inspection. The next few days you will turn in all your issued gear and then we have our big graduation ceremony. Are your families going to be here?” Sharrileagh smiled at the thought-- her parents, brothers, and sisters would be there. Kette’ just shook her head.

“I, ah, don’t really have any family,” she said quietly, which seemed to shock the human girl. Valdonna locked eyes on Kette’ and stared at her for a long moment.

“Yes, you do,” she said evenly, and turned to leave. She stopped before she had taken one full step.

“By the way,” she reminded them, “I believe the bet was one hundred push-ups?” She grinned at Sharrileagh.

“Knock ‘em out, private.” As Sharrileagh dropped to the ground and began exercising, Drill Sergeant Valdonna had Kette’ fetch beers for each of them.









[...End]

[Sparkticus]

That is a kick ass story. Brilliant depection of how people are broken down and rebuilt with the skills they need to survive. I loved it!

[ISD Peacekeeper]

All i can say is wow! It was brilliant. It was was well written and rivetting. Well Done!:D