Bringing Stella Home (24 page)

“
Your first lesson,” said
Voche, “is that life is a never-ending struggle. Food, water,
living space, the basic necessities of life—these are things you
must earn. These are things you must fight for.”

He replaced the tray. Several of the
platoon brothers wailed in agony.

“
The enemy will steal your
food and leave you to starve,” Voche shouted, his voice infused
with furious, didactic passion. “He will steal your ship and make
it his own. If you are weak and divided, he will steal everything
from you and throw you out into space!”

The boy shuddered as memories flooded
into his mind—memories of a dead woman’s body, floating naked in
the icy vacuum. He didn’t know where the memory came from, but it
made his hands shake and his knees go weak. Gradually, that feeling
swept through his brethren, resonating into a fear as primal as the
will to live. He gripped his rifle and swallowed, eyes never
leaving Sergeant Voche’s face.

“
So long as man has lived,
there have been those who lead and those who follow. Unity is the
only thing that saves us—perfect, unwavering unity. And to be
united, you must learn your place on this ship.”

He paused and stared into the faces of
each of the platoon-brothers. The boy felt a chill run down his
arms long before his eyes locked with the sergeant’s.

“
Your place is to obey!”
Voche shouted. “Am I understood?”

“
Yes, sir,” a few of the
platoon brothers weakly replied.

“
What kind of pathetic
soldiers are you? Do you want to starve?
Am I understood?
”

The boy felt his heart surge. He
gripped his rifle with white knuckles and shouted in unison with
the others.

“
Yes,
sir!
”

Chapter 11

The gymnasium lights flickered on soon
after the door hissed open. Danica stepped inside and took a deep
breath. The smell of old perspiration and spent ammunition filled
her nostrils like a healing balm. Her old punching bag still
dangled on its chain from the ceiling, while the targets on the far
wall showed bullet holes from the last round of shooting practice.
Wrestling mats covered the floor, while a contraband gravitic
weight machine stood off in the corner. Though it might not have
looked it, everything was in its place, just the way Danica had
designed it.

She turned to James, who glanced
around him like a desert groundhog cautiously poking his head out
of his burrow.

“
This is the physical
training room,” she said. “We do all our exercises and target
practice here. It also serves as the ship’s armory, so if there’s
ever a battle, this is the place we go to get suited
up.”

She walked to a console near the door
and keyed it open. A series of sliding panels retracted vertically
along the entire length of the near wall, revealing weapons and
armored battle-suits, faded and nicked from use.

“
Unfortunately, our battle
armor is too large to fit you and too expensive to cut down, so
you’ll have to go with the lighter field armor. It comes with
bullet-proof, plasma-resistant durasteel plating, but I wouldn’t
rely too heavily on it. The helmet doesn’t include a visor, so
you’ll have to shield your eyes with your hand when we use flash
grenades.”

Danica reached up and pulled out one
of the smaller issues of the field armor. It was brown and black,
the knees and elbows covered in scratches. The patch on the upper
right shoulder indicated where at least one soldier who’d worn it
had taken a hit. As with everything else in the room, it smelled of
old, stale sweat.

“
This should fit,” she
said, handing it to him. “Try it on.”

He took it and stared at her, puzzled.
“How do I put it on?”

The kid’s a total
greenhorn.

“
The arm and leg segments
detach just under the plating,” she said, showing him. “Slip it on
like a vest, then secure these clasps.”

She waited for him to clip the arm
segments to the shoulder nodes, then handed him his assault
rifle.

“
This rifle is standard
Tajji issue,” she said. “It’s a dual action automatic plasma and
projectile gun, with a .56-caliber projectile barrel and a
twenty-five millimeter toroidal plasma launcher. It is your
responsibility to be thoroughly familiar with this weapon. Before
the end of the week, I expect you to be able to take it apart and
put it together again in less than five minutes.
Questions?”

“
Yeah—when are we going to
go over how to do that?”

“
Not during training time,
Ensign,” said Danica. “You can figure it out in your quarters, on
your own time.”

James bit his lip and nodded. Danica
lifted the weapon up in his hands and showed him the switches set
above the trigger.

“
These are the safety, the
trigger, and the alternator,” she said, pointing out each one.
“Reload your projectile ammunition here,” she said, pointing out
the magazine directly in front of the trigger guard, “while your
plasma reloads here,” pointing to a canister chute in the back end
of the stock. “A fully loaded rifle carries five times as many
bullets as plasma, but the plasma can be much more effective in
close range against shielded opponents.”

“
Shielded
opponents?”

“
I’ll explain basic tactics
before we shoot a few practice rounds. Listen
carefully.”

James nodded.

“
Firefights on-ship tend to
be messy,” Danica explained. “They don’t require much skill,
either. Our longest corridors here are less than a hundred yards,
and straight enough that a stray shot could ricochet and kill one
of our own. Remember that when you’re under fire.”

James nodded again, a little more
anxiously than before.

“
We have essentially three
lines of defense against enemy fire.” She pointed to a small box on
his chest. “That’s your high-energy radiation shield. It will
protect you against ship–to-ship antipersonnel gamma ray and
microwave beams. Keep it on at all times during combat.”

She reached down and lifted his hand,
pressing a button on the left wrist of his armor. “This is your
personal RPV shield generator. You have a similar one on your back.
It projects a small force field that instantly vaporizes anything
traveling faster than one hundred feet per second. Use it when
you’re under projectile fire; it is one of the most critical
elements of your armor.”

“
Should I keep it on at all
times, too?”

“
No,” said Danica. “When
the unit overheats, it becomes explosive. The shield’s only
tactical function is to give you time to get to cover—don’t rely
too heavily on it, or it’ll blow your arm clean off.”

James’s eyes widened. “How will I know
when it’s about to overheat?”

“
This indicator will tell
you. If it blinks for more than five seconds, unstrap your RPV unit
and get rid of it.”

“
But—but what if the back
unit goes unstable too?”

“
Then you’re already dead.
If you’re the heroic type, you could try a kamikaze run for good
measure.”

James nodded, his face more than a
little pale. Danica had his complete attention.

“
Your RPV shield won’t work
for plasma bursts. That’s where your armor comes in; it’s specially
constructed to diffuse the heat and rebind once the plasma cools.
However, on this light armor, three successive hits in the same
spot will burn an irreparable hole. If you’re hit, get low and seek
cover.”

“
How long does the armor
take to harden and cool?”

“
About a minute. Again,
unless you want to become a well-done corpse, don’t rely on it too
heavily.”

James bit his lip and nodded. His
knuckles turned white as he gripped the rifle.

“
In combat,” she continued,
“we typically open with plasma fire and switch to projectile
weapons as we advance.”

She reached down and picked up a black
half-sphere about twice the diameter of her hand. “This is a larger
version of the RPV shield on your wrist. When blasting our way
through a sealed door, we lay this shield down about two yards
behind to give us projectile cover. Once the door is open, we
typically stay behind the shield and suppress the enemy with plasma
fire before advancing.”

She reached to her belt and pulled out
a grenade a little smaller than her fist. “This is a flash grenade.
They’re useful for blinding the enemy before making a charge. Take
care when using them, though—they can permanently damage your eyes
if you don’t cover them. Understand?”

“
Yes.”

“
Good. For ship-wide
training exercises, we use paintballs and lasers to simulate our
real weapons. The first session starts in less than an hour. I’ll
put you with Mikhail’s unit—”

“
Wait, we’re starting
already?”

“
That’s right,” said
Danica. “From here on out, we’ll be conducting twelve hours of
training per day.”

“
Twelve hours?” said James,
incredulous. “That’s—”

“
That’s what,
Ensign?”

James swallowed. “That’s great, ma’am.
I’m looking forward to it.”

Danica inwardly
smiled.
He’s learning.

“
Before training exercises
begin,” she said, “let’s put in some targeting practice. Show me
what you’ve got.”

James nodded and lifted his gun,
pointing it at the targets across the room. He held the rifle
awkwardly in his hands, and fired without pressing the butt of his
gun against his shoulder. As a result, the recoil threw him back a
good half meter, and the shots went wild, ricocheting toward the
ceiling where they vaporized with a muted sizzle.

“
Ow!” he shouted, his face
immediately turning beet red.

Danica drew in a silent
breath and shook her head.
This is going
to take a lot of work.

* * * * *

Few things gave the boy without a name
more pleasure than the feel of a warm, smoking gun in his
hands.

He ducked behind two parallel rows of
old, corroded barrels, keeping to the left as he ran through the
training course with the four platoon brothers in his squad. At the
first gap, he stopped, crouched, and spun around the corner, eyes
immediately locking onto the target. In less time than it took to
think, he fired. Bullet holes peppered the human-shaped silhouette,
all falling within the third ring from the center.

We are getting
better,
he thought to himself. A smile came
to his lips.

His squadmates had caught up with him,
ducking below the long parallel rows of barrels as they ran. Alarms
blared above them, and a digital clock ticked down the seconds in
the corner of his visor display. The boy scurried ahead to the next
gap, blasting three more targets. One of them shone a laser at him,
but the beam passed well over his head.

Adrenaline surged through the boy’s
veins, rousing him to action. Blood flowed to his groin as he
gasped for breath. He shuddered in rapture as the gun recoiled
against his shoulder, bullets screaming in sweet, explosive
release.

About halfway through the training
course, those of the Many always felt it—a sexual impulse that
transformed their exercise from rote action into pure ecstasy. The
boy didn’t know what it was or where it came from, but that hardly
mattered. All he knew was that whatever it was, he wanted more of
it.

An unbidden memory flashed into his
mind, pulling him out of the training for a split second. A
spaceport, orbiting a rocky gray moon. Old, water-stained
corridors, dimly lit. The pungent smell of incense. A voluptuous
woman in a dark red dress, leading him through a dingy bead
curtain. A dark room, empty except for a queen-sized bed and a
three legged table. Stains on the sheets, cash on the
table.

More than any particular impression,
however, he remembered a feeling of deep shame. A forgotten face
came to his mind: old and stern, with a neatly trimmed beard.
Though the man radiated harshness and discipline, something about
his face screamed of familiarity. The boy ducked behind an obstacle
and tried to recall the man’s name, but no matter how hard he
tried, he couldn’t quite remember.

Lasers flew over his head; the targets
were rolling out from the gaps into the main corridor, firing at
them. The boy dropped to his stomach and brought his gun to bear,
making himself as small as possible. With rapid precision, he
picked out the targets to the left, focusing on the ones that were
armed. As his squadmates joined him, the targets went down two and
three at a time, lasers swinging wide.

Their teamwork was flawless. Within
less than fifteen seconds, the remaining thirty-seven targets were
all down. The right side of his visor display showed that his
squadmates had received only a handful of glancing blows on their
arms. In real combat, the wounds would not be critical. With their
RPV shields active, the shots wouldn’t have even gotten
through.