| abstract
| - “Violence, naked force, has settled more issues in history than has any other factor, and the contrary opinion is wishful thinking at its worst. Breeds that forget this basic truth have always paid for it with their lives and dignity." Henzal walked up and down in front of the line of recruits, each of whom was now wearing full body armor and combat gear, with uniformed beret-wearing support staff handing a large assault rifle to each man. Havel, standing in the middle of the line, thankful that his gear warmed him from the cold of the mountain air, took the opportunity to weigh the rifle in his hand as it was handed to him. Yes, this sleek baby truly felt like it could kill someone properly. “You will appreciate this view for the first time properly today.” Continued the sergeant. “Get used to these weapons. What you hold in your hands are NWD-V4 assault rifles—not the most advanced or dangerous standard rifles we have, but what they do, they do well. In this exercise you will now all partake in, you will learn the capabilities of your weapons, as well as your own. You will be strained to the limit, and some of you might not be able to take it. But if you do emerge, you will be stronger, and a step closer to becoming a true bearer of the Necasian cause!” He paused to catch his breath. “Soon, you will proceed down into the nearby gorge, where you will encounter obstacles, target dummies, and other hazards. Your objective will be to reach the end markers. Live ammunition will be used—so don’t think of using the old trick of getting your ankle kriffed by a training round or a blank just so that you can sit your worthless ass out. All of you will strain yourselves to excel. All of you will pass this task and emerge stronger. As before, each one of you is being observed, and I will study and monitor the performance of each and every one of you. If you screw up and die, then that’s the best kriffin’ thing for you. If you screw up and live, I will see to it personally that you be put through hell until you are strong enough to come back and stroll through this. Because this is the least of the challenges that you will face—in training, and in combat! You will pass this, and you will not fail unless I kriffin’ say so! Do I get an oorah?!” “Oorah!” bellowed the troops. “In a few minutes you will all head to your individual starting points.” Continued Henzal, giving each recruit a piercing stare as he strode down the line. “You each have sufficient magazines to pass this, as well as standard combat knives and grenades. By now you should be familiar with most of these basic equipment items—and if you aren’t, believe me, I will know by the end of this day, and then may the gods kriffin’ help you.” He paused again, as if scrutinizing the faces along the line for their reactions. “I trust that you fully understand what you have to do?” “Sir, yes, sir!” shouted the troops. “Proceed down into the gorge to your markers, which will be marked alphabetically. Once you have done that, the exercise will begin. Take yourselves to the limits, and then some more, like real men—real Necasians! Good luck, and dismissed!” As the line dispersed and the men began to filter down towards the rear gates of the camp, Havel clutched his rifle to his stomach and just realized the enormity of what he was about to do. Live ammo? An environment that, if it was anything like what he knew of this region, was a natural deathtrap? He tried not to think of that, hugging his rifle tighter. Damn right he’d get used to this weapon—it would be the only thing keeping him from dying before he even finished standard training. And if he was ever to die, it sure as hell wouldn’t be before he had even officially become combat eligible. The troops chattered among themselves as they spilled out of the back of the camp and began clambering up the slope of rocks behind it. Slinging his rifle over his shoulder, Havel climbed up the mossy stone, letting his mind drift away from the possibilities of how he could gruesomely die soon. Reaching the top, he found himself overlooking a spectacular rocky valley—just like on a postcard. The rock sloped gently for a long distance before him, with jagged boulders protruding here and there, as well as the occasional twisted black skeleton of a tree. Dotted parallel along the upper part of the slope were various markers, with forty meters between each one. Each soldier was inspecting them until they found their names and took position in front of them, some trying their best to strike macho poses there with their weapons with varying success. Within a few minutes, Havel had found his place and stood there, trying not to let his knees shake. Forget the live ammo. Forget the possibility of stray rounds blasting your innards inside out. Forget tripping and falling down the slope, breaking all your bones or getting impaled on a rock. Everything would be all right. The hubbub faded away to silence within a few moments as the warning lights on the markers turned to amber. Cocking their rifles, some trying to coax as much sound out of them as they could, the men tensed in their positions. Havel noticed barely discernable black dots moving around in the overcast white sky above; camera drones, no doubt relaying feed to the sergeant, sitting on his ass in a tent. He would keep an eye of his own on those things; no sense in drawing unneeded attention to himself if he didn’t fulfill the expectations of that hammy nutbuster back in the camp. Several moments passed. He felt his heart pounding like hell—damn it, everything was gonna be fine, he reminded himself. He glanced from side to side, trying to make out the reactions on the faces of the men near him—but each soldier was spaced out too far from one another for him to make out their faces, let along their expressions. Casting his eyes down onto the valley before him, he scanned for any potential obstacles—was that a sentry gun down there? A mortar launcher? Gods, were they deliberately trying to kill him before he left camp? No—no bullet will hit me, he told himself. Not one single damn one. Just head down as quickly as possible, and all would turn out good. The marker light turned green. Seconds passed before Havel could register this, and then he braced himself as the other troops began charging downwards, some of them screaming like crazed Acklays. Taking a deep breath, he began running down, slipping along rocks and keeping his feet landing in the spaces between the rocks. He could hear the clattering of weaponry down below, and glimpsed some soldiers diving behind the larger boulders and returning fire at something. An explosion erupted several hundred meters down as someone let off a grenade. Havel’s heart suddenly leapt and adrenaline poured through his blood as he stumbled over a rock, almost falling right onto his face, and then splinters of stone flew near him as rounds were sprayed in his direction from somewhere. Throwing himself down, he lay prone behind a rock, and readied his rifle. He no longer thought rationally at the danger before him as instinct and hormone took over; peering from behind it, he scanned the area directly before him through the scope of his rifle, switching to infra-red with a touch just as the manuals they had given out said. A sentry gun placed among a cluster of rocks stood out almost immediately as it sprayed randomly; jerking up, he aimed and let off a burst. Most of the rounds peppered around it, but one clearly struck home as the gun buckled and then folded in on itself. Feelings of satisfaction were brief as he leapt out of cover and continued running down the slope, with dozens of pebbles tumbling down along with the men. A target dummy suddenly appeared from behind a large boulder on a hydraulic gear and sprayed bullets in an arc; Havel blew it down with a brief squeeze of the trigger, barely thinking as he did so. Stumbling onwards as the terrain got rougher, Havel suddenly fell down on his chest as something detonated a few meters away, throwing up earth and pieces of rock. The effect of the adrenaline wore off as pain throbbed in his chest, and he suddenly realized just what was happening. Panicking, he jerked his head from side to side, trying to identify just what was firing at him this time. Sweat was pouring down his neck and back, and the hot body armor and uniform he was wearing wasn’t helping. Some men nearby shouted and pointed at a barely visible object hidden about a hundred meters away among some lichen-covered stones—a damn mortar. Trying to twist his face into one of grim determination, Havel and the other soldiers let off a volley of rounds at the thing, smashing it against the rock. Pausing to reload, he carried on down, trying to let the epinephrine take hold of him again. He found himself bounding over the body of another recruit—unconscious, judging by his heaving body. Whether one of the targets had got him or if he had just tripped and fell down onto his head wasn’t clear. Pausing to scan the area around him through the scope of his rifle again, he stood for a few moments to catch his breath, glimpsing some troops far down in the distance reaching markers at the valley bottom and cheering. He wondered if he could make a straight charge for the bottom, and get it over with—but then he had no idea just what things he’d fall into the range of. Bullets suddenly impacted into the rock he was standing on and he jerked in shock, before carrying on down the rocky incline, stumbling along as fatigue began to reach his tired legs. A blast came from nearby as bursts of dust were blown into the air nearby—mines, of some kind. As he turned his head in that direction in a single moment of distraction, Havel felt something graze his leg. He looked down, and saw a gash in his trousers, with blood already seeping out. Then the pain hit. Paralyzing, unbearable pain that instantly immobilized him. Shouting out loud in agony, Havel fell over and tumbled down the last few meters of rocks to the bottom, finally coming to rest on soft grass. His uniform was covered in dirt, and he felt like every square inch of his torso was radiating pain. Closing his eyes and twisting his face in agony, he felt a prick in his shoulder, before serenity rushed back to him, as if something was cleansing the pain from his body. Opening his eyes, he saw a medic standing over him with a syringe, shouting to someone. “Just hit you with painkillers.” He smiled, as all background noise became more slurred and quiet. “I guess you just got chipped by a training round. Won’t look good on your record, won’t it?” “Training rounds?” said Havel though gritted teeth. “Sure.” Said the medic nonchalantly, crouching down and lowering his voice. “Just between you and me, all that live ammo stuff is bull. Just to keep the newbies on their toes. If it were true, half the camp would be dead by now. Now, the pain might be gone, but your body is in no state to move, what with all that muscular paralysis. Hold here while a stretcher comes. I’ll give you another jab if it makes you feel good.” He stuck another syringe into Havel’s shoulder—no discomfort from the prick this time. The noises of shouting and gunfire gradually faded away into muffled nothingness as Havel felt tranquil ecstasy sweep over him. Damn, whatever crap that medboy was packing sure as hell felt good. Lying tense on the ground, he let his mind drift as he devoted all his thought to embracing the high that was flowing through him. He continued to remain like this as someone heaved him onto a stretcher and carried him into someplace dark and smelling of unrefined fuel.
*
* The vast Voshko industrial complex was not what Oskana had expected. She had been an expecting clean, efficient production line, with friendly, satisfied faces to all sides and supervisors who knew what they were doing. She had initially developed the nagging feeling that something was not right when she had first arrived at the complex—it had certainly looked impressive; massive factories and refineries as far as the eye could see, countless chimneys rising into the sky, with monorails and skyroads connecting all this. The fact that said sky was a little dark for what one would normally expect bothered her a little, but nonetheless she was directed to the appropriate sector, and this was when she realized that in this place it was impossible to escape that awful smell of factory fumes, vehicle fuel, and other odors she didn’t even knew existed. Even the deodorant available from the amenity store did little to cover up the stench. Then, after officially signing down as a worker for a plant in sector 45-K, she had been forced to put on a bright jumpsuit that did not fit her and quite frankly looked awful against the rusty-bronze surroundings. The man who had met here there, and who was supposedly to be her supervisor, was fat, smelly, unshaven man called Jehrzy, who had greeted her by giving her bosom and backside a good squeeze at the same time. Too shocked to react, she had just stood there as he revealed his awful teeth in a grin and said: “My, you’re ample.” The interior of sector 45-K was a vast cavernous space filled with conveyor belts, machinery, mechanical arms and appendages spitting sparks as they poked and jabbed, with gears the size of houses turning against each other in the background. She was assigned to one of the lower levels, sewing insignias and badges onto uniforms and hats on a slow-moving belt—such skills needed she had already acquired back home, so she had skipped the tutorials. Working alongside her were other girls that were frankly not her type—pretty, but all they wanted to talk about was sex, the attractiveness of some of the male workers, and bad k-pop music from Corellia or Coruscant and other planets whose names she had difficulty remembering. When she had tried to ask them about important subjects, such as culture, art, or even what life was like under the greens, they had just fixed her with hard stares before continuing to jabber on. “Hey, Oskana, you’re a real hit with Jehrzy. I’ll bet that if you do him, he might just promote you up from here.” That pig. She’d stay right away from him, even if ‘doing him’ would earn her a promotion. But sewing and making uniforms here, being forced to listen to the never-ending din of the machinery above, and the jabbering of these uncultured sluts, was getting monotonous and tiresome. She would put that down as a possibility. She wondered how Lexi was doing. No doubt the army would knock some manliness into him—although she’d miss him as the airheaded little boy she knew and loved. Still, time for the kid to notice that his balls had dropped. Soon as she got time, she’d try and contact him and see just how much they were toughening him up. Unless the little guy couldn’t take it, which was possible considering he liked to come crying up to her every time someone knocked into him back home. “Hello there, ladies!” she recognized that horrible voice—clearly affected by either cigarettes or breathing in too many fumes from the machinery. Turning her head, she could see that fat bastard Jehrzy coming down the line, slapping a girl on the bottom, who shrieked playfully. “Your shift’s over—get down to the lockers and relax.” As they dispersed and walked off, he suddenly pushed right up to her. Trying not to flinch or push him away, Oskana held her breath as he suddenly grabbed her by the waist. “Sweet thing, you shouldn’t be down here with these dumb little wrenches. Come with me, and I guarantee that you’ll be somewhere were someone of your type should belong…” He then pushed his face into her chest, and with that she gave him a nice, satisfying slap on the face. Damn perverted pig—who the hell did he think he was? He wasn’t fit to lick her feet! “My my, you’re a little nexu, aren’t you?” he chuckled, stepping back. “Very well, so be it. If you ever change your mind, call.” No chance of that, thought Oskana angrily as she walked off in a huff. First to change out of this abomination of an outfit, and then write to Lexi. Hopefully the guy hadn’t gotten himself killed yet.
*
* “I’m afraid that’s what you get with comrade colonel Jalenko.” Sighed the nurse as she applied cream to Lexi’s scarred back. “So it wasn’t your fault?” “No…well…I don’t know…” wheezed Lexi, sitting on the side of a bed within the medical section as she continued rubbing on his naked back. The scars still ached pain, though not as much as before. His head felt dizzy and his muscles weak, but at least the ordeal was over. He hoped that this would be the first and last time something like this ever happened—all he needed to do now was to avoid attracting too much attention from the colonel and all would go fine. “Can I come in?” came a familiar voice from the entrance to the sickbay. “Certainly.” Grigor stepped in, looking apologetic. As the nurse got up and walked over to a drugs cabinet, he spoke. “Listen, I’m…I’m sorry about what happened there. You’re nicer guy than most of the others in this camp. Very rare, that I ever get another comrade willing to help me.” “Ahh…thanks. Why didn’t you try explaining to the colonel about…” “Damn it, Lexi, I’m a combat engineer, not a confrontationist!” He paused, and took in a deep breath. “Sorry. Just you’re the only person I’ve ever felt comfortable raising my voice to. So, tell me, why are you here?” “I…to see things, I guess. So that I can mean something.” “Good reasons as any. But, uh, let me put it this way to you, kid. You see, from what I’ve seen, you’re, uh, not exactly, erm…” “Are you trying to say that I’m just some idiot kid who’s going to get himself killed?” snapped Lexi angrily. Back home in the valley, many others had said similar things to him. He had just ignored them—but now he just felt sick of it. Who the hell was this guy, parroting the same damn things he had already got at home? “Well, perhaps in not such harsh language. But trust me, comrade, just…don’t try anything stupid. That’s all I can say to you.” Don’t try anything stupid. Huh. How very specific. Lexi opened his mouth to reply, when one of the other soldiers entered. “Comrade Jalenko would like to report that he feels that the soldier here has had enough recovery time, and requests that he return to the barracks.” He said stiffly. “Well, you can tell that…person that I am still in the process of treating him, and that he needs more rest.” Snapped the nurse, not turning her back from rummaging in a cabinet. “The colonel said you might say something like that. He said if that be the case, then I am authorized to remove him as I see fit with no interference from you.” The nurse sighed. “Very well. Lexi, I’m sorry, but as you have probably realized, you must leave now.” Lexi slowly got out of the bed and put his vest and trousers back on. The scars were aching less now, but he could still feel them. He fixed his thoughts on that colonel—he’d punch that bastard in the face, shoot him, smash him in with a wrench, if he ever got a good opportunity. Perhaps this whole experience was going to be harder than he expected—but at home they’d only praise him more for going through it. And at least he had found someone here that he might just be able to share his thoughts with. “So, Grigor,” he said as he stiffly walked down to the door, “please tell me more about what you do…”
*
* The sun was setting over the horizon, casting long shadows over the ground, as the troops jogged around the camp for their evening run. Apart from that dumb little Kolkhoz boy—that bitch nurse had insisted he stay out, and he wasn’t going to risk her crying back to Sviat. Looking over the camp from his dim room in the central administrative building—such a fancy name for a pile of bolted-together corrugated scrap metal with some banners draped from it—Andrei Jalenko stood behind his desk, gazing out of the window absently in thought. He cast his mind back to the days of the Rakata rule, which everyone now seemed to be pretending never happened—no, these days it was all about working for future glory, for the next generation, and other such similar crap. The guards who had watched over him were as brutal as any other—he had worked building their machines, digging their pits, and what he got one day was one of them smashing into his face an electro-baton, for no apparent reason. That was how he got the scars that disfigured his face, how every woman would refuse him just by taking a glance at him. His work had strained his body, built up his physique—he would perform sabotage jobs for the resistance, murder guards that wandered away from their patrol areas; and finally, when the green-skinned bastards left and the new government was established, when the formation of a proper army was announced, when it was revealed that he had been selected for a high-ranking task, he had been dumped with teaching these worms how to aim a gun and how to do press-ups, on this dusty backwater crapball of a planet, light-years from Sviat. All that work, all that pain—for this. For forcing himself to go near stupid little children like that Kolkhoz kid. The flatscreen monitor on his desk behind up lit up and the com-cam built on top of it beeped. A communication from home, no doubt. Exhaling, he sat down at his desk and activated it. A few moments past as static appeared on the monitor and a grainy, badly colored image of some officer appeared—it was that deskboy Lyubuv. And of course the picture was awful—the techs would bleat that the quality of light-year-spanning comms distances wasn’t high, but he knew it was an excuse for them not to clean the sand from the comms array. “Comrade.” He grunted, saluting stiffly. “At ease.” Said Lyubuv softly. “I have received a disconcerting report, comrade colonel—supposedly, earlier today, a tactical nuclear weapon was accidentally detonated at your camp. Is this…?” “Yes, but…it was detonated a long distance away, and the radiation and fallout was blown in an opposing direction…” “What was the cause?” “Supposedly, an accident during maintenance of a Yukel fighter kept here. I have punished one of those responsible.” “Well, from this, it seems that it is clear that you must take more watch over what goes on at your camp, Jalenko. Another little…mishap…of that sort, and I may need to ask the security bureau to station someone to keep an eye out for you…and on you yourself. Don’t let this sort of thing happen again. I shall expect a detailed report on the incident. Lyubuv out.” The screen flickered into blackness. Jalenko clenched his fists. He felt like smashing all the objects on his desk—but then the stupid pencil-counters would subtract the cost of that from his pay, and probably throw him into an even worse dump than this. Damn idiot kid, and that spineless insect of a combat engineer—he would see to it that both those pea-brained bastards would find things even harder. Probably do good for them too—let them taste the reality of this galaxy. After all, if they couldn’t even handle training camp, then they’d have no use on the battlefield other than to use up enemy ammunition—which was more than what the stupid little lumps of snot deserved. Now, that whining little moron back at Sviat wanted a report—a draft first. Grabbing a sheet of paper, he reached for a pencil, only for it to snap as soon as he grabbed it in his enormous fists. “Argh!” he shouted aloud, smashing down on the table. “Nothing works! Not even a sharp pencil!” “Is everything alright, comrade colonel?” The door opened and his subordinate Vakouski stepped in, looking worried. “I’m fine, I’m fine.” Grunted Jalenko, seething. “Just…under some stress lately.” “I see, comrade. Call me if you need anything.” As Vakouski stepped back out, Jalenko slumped back into his chair. Stuck here, in a cycle of making sure little idiots knew how to run and shoot—it would be enough to drive anyone into a rage. Thankfully, there was no shortage of people for him to take this out on. Now, as the sun began to vanish beneath the horizon behind him, it was time for him to write that damned report, explaining why two idiots had managed to set off a nuclear weapon near his camp.
*
* “Increased neural activity detected in subject’s brain. The antherglycaride appears to be having an effect. Applying second dose.” Mikhail Borsk gasped in pain as the needle of a syringe was stuck into his right shoulder. Strapped half naked to a chair, with no light in the room save the one beaming onto his face, with electrodes fixed to every section of exposed flesh, his brain was urging him to cry out—but he suppressed it. It would do no good, and the two people in the room with him would simply inflict more pain on him than they already had. “Relax, comrade. Just focus your mind, and tell us what you see.” The soft female voice came from somewhere in front of him—it sounded soothing, almost comforting. Mikhail knew the speaker only too well to be swayed, though. “Comrade Taika. Appropriate brain patterns have been detected. Subject should be entering his…trance…imminently.” “Excellent. Don’t worry, little Mikhail. You really should co-operate, if you want to spare yourself more pain.” Mikhail closed his eyes and tried to shut out that bitch’s words. But he’d be damned if he was going to give her the pleasure of practicing her ‘techniques’ on him. As the chemicals from the injection began to take hold, he found himself feeling increasingly detached—almost dazed. The stark blackness of his vision began to morph into coherent shapes as the sounds of beeping instrument and pacing footsteps faded into silence. Here it came—the visions. The damned reason he was in this place. Each glimpse lasted only for a moment, but enough for him to determine what it was. He saw a man with what looked like a metallic jaw on the bridge of some kind of ship, giving orders, before the planet visible through the viewports of said bridge was suddenly peppered with flashes. He saw legions of skeletal, metallic warriors marching through green planes, engaging strange creatures armed with what looked like blue spheres. He saw two vast armies clashing in a red desert plain, fielding vehicles and soldiers he wouldn’t even begin to describe on paper. He glimpsed what looked like a spherical space station of immense size lashing out at a planet with a pulsing green ray of some kind, shattering the planet like it was nothing. He saw a frightening black figure standing in some chamber as a hooded man nearby lashed out at a writhing young man with lightning from his fingers. The visions came faster—countless images of ships, events, people; they all just boggled his mind. Then, as unexpectedly as they had come, they faded away as his normal vision and hearing returned. The woman was leering over him, flashing some sort of red strobe in his face. “Brain activity went off the sensors.” The man was saying. “Analysis of blood sample has produced…anomalous results.” “I see, comrade.” Said the woman. “Well, Mikhail, it appears that you do indeed have a most…unusual gift. And, of course, in our society, it is only a given that you should share the benefits of it. There is, of course, the matter of properly honing and exploiting it, but I believe we can properly arrange that here. Given that we cannot take the risk of you being used by those who would destroy all that we work for, or for you to be corrupted by ideologies not compatible with our own, we must keep you incarcerated here—for your own good, you must understand—and do whatever it takes to help you focus it. Do you understand?” Mikhail nodded. “Good. Now, I’m afraid that this particular session is not yet over, as uncomfortable as it may be for you. I cannot stress enough that we are only trying to help you. Comrade, if you please…” Mikhail’s body jerked spasmodically as electrical charges were pulsed into his body via the electrodes. That bitch, and all who worked here—they would soon all have to reckon with him, once he worked out how. This damned ‘gift’—he had no idea why he had it, how it was to be used—but if there were gods out there, they were surely spiteful ones. “Please relax.” Breathed the woman as the pain hit. “Remember, just sit back, empty your head, and think of the future.”
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