Stone Blade (4 page)

Inside the gate the recruits faced a single sergeant flanked by two medics.

“Well, children, welcome to Hell.” The man spoke cheerfully and smiled all the while, slowly walking down the line. “No doubt you have all heard stories of this place.”

At a gesture the medics began drawing and administering hypos.

“Let me hasten to assure you, children, the worst you have heard is nothing close to your best day here. My name is Sergeant Hile and I think we will all be fabulous friends.”

Hile stopped walking, closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“Ahhh... Smell that FINE air, children. And make no mistake, it will KILL you, deader than dirt. It is neither as fast as a blaster nor as painless.”

Micah heard the hiss of the hypos as the medics worked down the line.

“Ironically,” continued Hile, “your lungs will last the longest. Your eyes will probably go first. The chemicals here, you see, react with bodily fluids most unpleasantly. Some will dissolve your flesh. Once in the bloodstream, others will lodge in your liver and kidneys. If you are lucky they will build up as inert deposits. If you are not: caustic compounds.”

From the edge of his vision Micah saw the medic on the front line administer his hypo. The recruit swayed, bent double and began retching loudly and violently. Hile looked kindly toward him.

“Spew it out, son. Get those evil toxins out of your body. You'll feel better for it.”

Micah tensed as the medic pressed the hypo to his neck. It hissed and a cold wave washed through Micah. His stomach quivered once but held its peace. Before long Micah's lungs stopped burning and his copiously-tearing eyes began to feel better.

“The antidote you are receiving,” continued Hile, “will keep your body flushed of toxins. Your daily dose is good for a day, perhaps two. But don't go longer than that, children, or the air will start killing you all over again.

“Your daily schedules are simple, children. In the morning you will train and you will drill. In the afternoon you will train and you will drill. In the evening you will train and you will drill. At night you may be allowed to sleep, or you may train and drill.”

The medics finished and walked away.

“You will excel, children,” said Hile, “You will come to know the fear and the flame that is the 113th. You will expand yourselves in ways you are sheerly incapable of knowing now. You WILL face and conquer challenges your brains would reject as absurdity, now. Finally, children, you WILL grow into proud soldiers of the 113th! Otherwise... Well, we do not waste antidote on losers.”

Micah felt a chill as Hile's words - and their implication - clashed with the smile on his face. Micah clenched his teeth hard but couldn't stop his rebelling imagination. His stomach twinged once in warning, then bent him over as he vomited. Violently.

***

Micah found morning drill here worse by far. Though the antidote never made him as ill as the first time he still felt it. He never felt his full strength and his stomach always churned. The runs were shorter, at first, but the air was thinner. Breathing too hard tended to outpace the antidote and cause burning throats and excessive thirst. The bellowing sergeants, at least, were something familiar but Hile drilled them as often as not. Then Micah made a discovery. Except for the recruits, all personnel here wore the insigne of the 113th: a stylized spearhead with flames running its length.

The bright spot in Micah's day came with training. All Commonwealth troops received similar basic equipment: uniform, holovisor, hand terminal and skinsuit; but from there the branches diverged. Few Orbital or SDP troopers, 'crunchies' according to Hile, needed training on  hovertanks. Ground Assault had little use for astrogation or linkspace theory. Over the course of training the 113th covered all of those and more.

***

Though his days were hellish Micah began to enjoy them. Though rougher by far this training was much like school. Micah marveled at the sheer amount of knowledge he crammed into his brain. He didn't let his amazement stop him from articulating it back, though. The only thing that puzzled him: combat training. While the recruits did train with several varieties of hand weapons, it seemed pale against their non-combat lessons. Micah had learned not to question, though. Teague, friendless now as much by choice as by circumstance, still had trouble with that.

Refreshed from his morning run and calis, Micah lined up with the others outside the mess hall. Medics waited just inside the building. This puzzled Micah. Though he'd had his antidote for the day he held out his arm. The hypo tingled a bit but had no other obvious effects. Talk over the rations concerned the new hypos. Someone near the middle of the table opined, while shoveling in food, that it was a female substitute.

Another surprise awaited them outside the hall. All the drill sergeants lolled about while one of their number issued goggles and rifles. Hile called them to attention.

“Now, children, we begin your real training.”

Ice in Hile's voice? Ridiculous, thought Micah. Imagination! Still... Micah felt a strange quiver of anxiety at the man's words.

“Some of you are, no doubt, wondering what we gave you with breakfast.”

Hile's usual cheer now seemed sinister.

“In brief, children, it is your worst nightmare realized.”

No doubt now! Micah felt a nibble of fear gnawing down his spine.

“It is time for you to enter the fear and the flame. By now you will feel it starting, children. A touch of apprehension, perhaps a bit of dread. Within the next few minutes, though, you will know fear stronger than you have ever known it before. We brew it that way especially for you. Your first assignment is to complete the obstacle course.”

“MOVE!!” shouted one of the others.

Micah jumped, startled totally out of proportion. As they began moving he examined the weapon. It was a paint: a harmless weapon that sent out a pulse of light and a neural jolt meant to tingle and announce a hit.

Then Micah wondered. Some of the weapons looked different. Some looked like real blasters. Then he saw the sergeants under arms. They'd not taken theirs from the racks!

As soon as the obstacle course came into view the sergeants ran ahead. By the time the recruits arrived the others had vanished! Micah looked around nervously. The fear nibbling his spine grew fangs!

“By the numbers, children,” said Hile, “You may return fire.”

The first three recruits had just entered the course when the simulated artillery started.

***

Micah scaled the wall as quickly as he could; totally exposed with no help for it. He hit the other side hard, rolled and came up with his paint aimed. Clouds of dust and smoke hung over the course but the artillery had stopped. For now. Well did Micah know it could start without warning.

Movement!

In one fluid motion Micah crouched, aimed and fired. A grunt and a fusillade of return fire meant he'd hit or closely missed. Micah dove for better cover.

No! Obstacle course! He had to finish the course. Creeping, trying to watch every possible direction, Micah moved forward.

Micah didn't see the shot that hit him but he knew its approximate area. Rolling again, this time through something sharp, he returned fire.

There! A brief flash of light. Micah targeted the area.

PAIN! Micah looked at his shoulder fully expecting to see it seared away. The cloth showed nary a mark. Paint. These were paints.

The course! If Micah didn't finish, what might Hile do to him? He'd had his antidote for today but what of tomorrow. Or had he? Might Hile not have dosed him with colored water?

Summoning will from he knew not where Micah continued forward. He could barely see the end of the course. Plenty of cover.

No! Not this easily! Something was wrong. It must be a trap. No one stood there. None completed and waiting. No recruits, no others. If he could just pass the line...

Micah absorbed himself into every bit of cover he saw. Slowly. So slowly the blessed line crept closer.

BOOM!

The artillery sim actually tossed Micah out into the open. Fear washed through him! Teeth clenched, Micah crawled for the line.

“WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU'RE GOING, SLUG?”

Micah rolled and fired in one motion. Sergeant Starling cursed and struck Micah with his nerve lash. Fire and pain crawled across Micah's back as he rolled away from Starling and the line.

“WRONG WAY, SLUG! YOU MOVE FOR THAT LINE NOW!!”

Micah made a dash but found Starling in his way again. The pain drove him back but the man goaded him forward. No longer rational and no longer truly conscious of himself Micah charged for the line again. When Starling appeared before him Micah swung the butt of his rifle hard into Starling's stomach. Starling grunted and fell and Micah thought about crushing his skull but the line beckoned.

Micah dove across the line with a half-gasp, half-terror-sound.

Still nothing! Micah rolled to cover and began scanning the area. The fear within him built anew.

“THIS AIN'T NO VACATION, SLUG! UN-ASS THAT GROUND! TEN-HUP!!”

Micah tried for a shot or a swing but lost his weapon when the lash struck his arm. Then his legs. Then... The hiss of a hypo.

“Not good enough, slug! GO BACK AND DO IT AGAIN!!”

Micah's mind gibbered as it digested the words. He tried. He tried to make his legs work. He tried to walk around the absolute and total horror welling up inside him. Instead he found himself curled on the ground, retching and shaking. Then the nerve lash struck. And again. And again, and again...

Micah crawled into his bunk wishing with all the passion left in him to die then and there. After the obstacle course and their second dose of Fear they'd done elementary drill and questions. Micah knew he knew the drills. He knew he knew the answers. He dismally failed to bring either forth. None of the others did better. Several talked in muted whispers but most simply crawled into their bunks and sought the oblivion of sleep. Micah wanted to cry but he had no tears left in him. At least one of the others did and Micah shared them, in spirit.

***

Assembly came the next morning as if nothing had happened. Hile stood before them with his smile unwavering.

“Well, children. You've had your first taste and you all performed most unsatisfactorily. Today you will repeat the drill and you will improve.”

As expected the medics waited with antidote. Hile recited their orders for the day. Again in the mess hall more injections waited. Micah managed to choke down his breakfast but he didn't even register its usual lack of taste. Before long he felt the fear growing.

Micah flitted from cover to cover. The fear, much stronger than before, tried to twist him and paralyze him. He managed most of the course with few stops. The knowledge that more than one of the recruits faced the day without antidote gnawed at him and added to the fear that he'd not receive his. Soon.

Micah fired at some movement but now knew it for one of his fellows, forced backward through the course after failing it. This knowledge warred with the fear-driven kill-reflex with the latter winning more often than not. Micah faced return fire, of course, but managed to keep a small part of his mind focused on finishing the course.

None of this helped when the sergeant at the end of the course began lashing him.

Once again a second injection waited with lunch. Though his plate held far less than its normal ration Micah couldn't finish it. The fear hadn't really ebbed from the first dose and the second only made it worse. Per Hile's repeated orders Micah headed for the gym.

The interior of the gym had changed radically from Micah's last visit. Had he not been terrified Micah would have examined it more closely. The light was dim and some music played, almost inaudibly. Several stands held cubes of incense that filled the air with a sickly sweetness.

“Places, hai!”

Micah didn't register the man until he moved. Previously Master Ko supervised their unarmed training.

“First, you will learn to breathe.” Ko moved to a slightly raised and better-lit area in the center of the room. “In slow. Out slow. Stand perfectly still.”

When Micah's turn came he found Ko's eyes frightening even past the drug. Ko focused the entirety of himself on Micah; his attitude one of finding an insect with one leg trapped beneath a pebble. An insect he might watch but with which he was not concerned enough to release or to squash.

Nor was he satisfied with breathing alone. Ko forced Micah through several strange steps and postures. He jabbed Micah or slapped him with a short rod. Though not a nerve lash it hurt worse than one! Soon merely standing had Micah breathing in short, sharp gasps. Just when he was ready to collapse Ko moved to the next recruit.

Left to himself Micah tried to relax. He heard Ko nearby but that troubled him the least. Darkness enfolded most of the room and Micah absolutely knew he saw things moving through it. Evil and hostile things!

Dinner that evening held an unwelcome surprise. A third dose of Fear waited but with no vigorous exercise afterward to wear it away.

Micah drifted in and out of nightmares. He woke, sweat-drenched and trembling, tired past any rationality. Then he fought sleep only to lose, drifting off again to the place the terror waited. While awake he heard the others moaning, doubtless fighting their own dreams.

***

The next morning a haggard line of recruits faced Sergeant Hile. He smiled, cheerful and sinister as ever. As the medics moved down the line they skipped several people. Hile began reciting their orders but a voice interrupted him.

“You missed me!” The voice belonged to Teague. “Give me my shot! You skipped me, you prollie!”

Micah braced himself for a torrent of profanity but such was not Hile.

“Well, children. It seems we have a problem. Stand at rest.”

Micah and the others turned to watch as Hile walked to Teague. Teague looked awful, skeletal and gaunt.

“Do you have a problem, Mister Slug?” Hile's voice hardened.

“Yeah! This slaggie didn't give me my antidote!”

“Why, Mister Slug, do you think that is?” Hile moved his face barely an inch from Teague's. “Why, Mister Slug, do you think this fine Commonwealth soldier would not give you your antidote? Your performance, Mister Slug, is well below what it should be. You are not learning, Mister Slug, and you are a slacking lazy goldchit. I hear you are concerned about your Status. You have none, Mister Slug. You did not receive your antidote because you are not WORTH your antidote. You are a worthless waste of Commonwealth resources, Mister Slug, and the Commonwealth is not served by dumping its dear credits into your sorry hide.”