ã€ŠGeistã€‹


 C1 - Enlistment

    Rain dropped upon many roofs in this area, in rhythm of water striking metal. It was cold but most importantly, the smog was no more. The rain however, was sickly to touch; itchy and sticky. Activities had ceased for inhabitants of these slums sought shelter from the black rain.

    Doom and gloom. Two words that aptly described this place. A place that gathered the dregs and bottom of society. Humanity had long gone to the stars above but some things were hard to change, ever-present. Prosperity coexisted with poverty. The richly privileged and the not.

    A thin man wrapped some stained foil around his body to stave the cold. John Smith was his name and all that he can remember. He had forgotten his parents, his birthplace and his purpose. All he knew that he was John Smith and he called this wretched place, his home.

    Throughout the day John Smith would dive into trash thrown by a nearby city, to salvage anything of value. A man¡¯s trash is another man¡¯s treasure. By night he tried to catch some winks if possible. Life was hard; others competed with him. Criminals and crooks were plenty.

    Today was one of the worst days for him. Rain had fallen again, cutting his daytime treasure hunt short. Anyone knew to stay out of the rain. Ones that didn¡¯t usually didn¡¯t live long, afflicted by various poisons brought down by the rain. He could only curse the rain for falling.

    He stared at collection of objects he dug out from the trash. The first was a cuboid, a broken radio of some kind. Second was a cylinder, filled with some weird chemical. The last was a small fan with heater elements. Using some wires and old batteries, he made the fan work.

    Bang!

    The sound of trouble. John Smith cursed in his mind again. His search was fruitless and thus he had nothing to offer. It looked like another round of beatings would be on par today. He steeled himself, waiting for the kicks to come. He waited and waited but nothing happened.

    John Smith. An orphaned vagrant living in Unauthorized Sector Bee-slash-Nine for period of a decade. Stand up, citizen.

    It was an emotionless robotic voice, clear amongst the falling rain. What is it now? He tried to find the source of the voice but found nothing. An illusion? No, it wasn¡¯t; he felt his legs were no longer touching the ground. He was lifted up against his will, by something stronger.

    ¡°John Smith. Hmph, a name you can find anywhere. Get up, trash.¡±

    A stern but female voice, with power behind it. John Smith had heard his shares of women voices but not as this. This woman sounded like she was eying her prey. A tigress in human form. As far as he was concerned, he had never encountered her before. What¡¯s her deal?!!

    ¡°Trash, are you still sleeping?¡±

    John Smith found his face stinging in acute pain. Why did this woman suddenly hit him? It wasn¡¯t a lash that hit him. It was a blunt object, turning his face numb from pain. The rain only made the stinging worse. Did he offend this woman somehow? He was utterly confused.

    ¡°Sigh, another trash? Proceur, stuff him into the recycler.¡±

    Recycler? Oshit! He bit his tongue and braved himself, ¡°John Smith, Sir! I¡¯ve been living in these slums as far I can remember!¡±

    ¡°Oh, so, this trash can actually talk. Proceur, stuff him into the transport instead.¡±

    Next, blindness had greeted him. He never caught a single glimpse of people that captured him. He was deathly afraid, keeping his gaze low lest they beat him black and blue. He felt a sharp jab on the base of his skull and sounds of falling rain before becoming unconscious.

    Sometime later, new sensations enveloped him. The ¡®floor¡¯ seemed cold, the air was crisp and he was no longer wet. His skin was not itchy as before but it didn¡¯t change the fact that he was still weak. The pain from the back of his head was still going strong, interrupting his mind.

    He tried to find his bearings but his body was aching all over as if a truck had run into him. Where am I? This is definitely isn¡¯t the slums. The man tried all his might to reorganize his thoughts. It felt like an unfamiliar environment, strangely clean and devoid of filth of slums.

    ¡°So, our little man had woken up! Lieutenant, if only you could be less rough on him¡­¡±

    ¡°Hey, once a trash is always a trash, Major. If it wasn¡¯t for the order, I would already tell Proceur to vapourize the entire goddamned slums.¡±

    Unknown voices of man and female. John Smith knew the latter, the one that hit his face and abducted him to this new place. So, she was someone from the Army? Why did the Army abduct me? John Smith became more confused. A slum dweller wasn¡¯t definitely a soldier.

    ¡°Well I believe some introduction is in order. I¡¯m Major Karamazov and she¡¯s Lieutenant Sasha. John Smith, welcome to 141<sup>st</sup> Corps of Interstellar Martial Army!¡±

    John Smith found himself lifted up by a burly man that called himself Karamazov. He was decked in Army attire but his uniform can barely hide his explosive muscles. His chin was cleanly shaved and his black hair was cut short. His face was friendly but his grip was mighty.

    ¡°Umm¡­thank¡­you?¡± The squalid slum dweller tried to eke some words while his head hung low.

    Karamazov slapped John Smith¡¯s shoulders again, almost sending the latter to the floor, ¡°Hahahaha! What nice spirit! Usually slum dwellers like you would be terrified of the Army!¡±

    John Smith turned blank. What Karamazov said was true; cretins of society like him weren¡¯t viewed as humans by most. The Army was infamous for it, occasionally having ¡®accidents¡¯ in the slums. He was utterly at loss of words; he actually responded to this Karamazov dude.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    Was it due to his tolerance from daily beatings of gangs prowling the slums? Or deep down, he wished the Army to just end his life in another unfortunate ¡®accident¡¯? Whatever it was, he cannot pull back his words. He had just irreversibly responded to a person from the Army.

    Wait, did he say welcome to the Army? Shivers ran across his spine. The major clearly had spoken so, turning him as one of countless recruits for the Army. Conscripted recruits, usually shuttled to far flung worlds with little civilization. Life expectancy in matter of weeks at best.

    He tried to shake his head but knew it was pointless. Once the Army had caught on you, the only escape was death. He glanced around, finally catching the figure of the woman that had captured him. She had brunette hair, modest chest but unfortunately bulging muscles as well.

    Why are people from the Army are muscle freaks? Didn¡¯t they use exo-suits or something? This was a revelation for John Smith. What he knew of the Army, Interstellar Martial Army were that they were clad in augmented suits. Heavily armed and armoured, no face visible.

    His thought was broken by the coarse voice of Karamazov, ¡°I¡¯m sure you just thought we¡¯re a bunch of freaks now, hahahaha! But worry not, even you can be like us! Serving the 141<sup>st</sup> Corps is one of the highest honours in the Dynasty!¡±

    ¡°I¡­I can be... healthy? S-s-strong?¡± The slum dweller tried his best to talk again. His head was still pulsing with pain.

    This time, the stern-looking woman, Lieutenant Sasha interjected, ¡°Of course, trash. Why would we bother picking you up otherwise? A sick trash is a burden to all of us. You have a purpose now, and that purpose is serving us, the 141<sup>st</sup> Corps.¡±

    ¡°Lieutenant Sasha is correct. At least in the Army, you get three square meals a day, fresh clothes, warm bed, free testament service and absolutely no rain either! It¡¯s a good deal, don¡¯t you think?¡± Major Karamazov wore a smug expression.

    John Smith already knew the implications of joining the Army, especially for slum dwellers like him. But did he have any choice to begin with? He can only agree to it, ¡°Uh¡­that¡¯s¡­that¡¯s¡­right. Re-re-recruit John Smith re-reporting, Sir.¡±

    ¡°Lieutenant Sasha, I believe you picked a gem this time! Now then, I leave him to you, teach him the ropes. You have my permission to be¡­. a bit rough.¡± The burly man left soon after, leaving John Smith with the tiger woman.

    The lieutenant grumbled but only after the Major had left, ¡°God fucking damnit, now they told me to train this trash?¡±

    ¡°Uh¡­Recruit John Smith re-reporting to Lieutenant S-S-Sasha.¡± He stuttered. It was all too fast.

    Sasha then reverted to her usual stern demeanor, ¡°Huh, at least you know some propriety. Well listen up, maggot. If I tell you to die, you die, got it? But remember, whatever you do will reflect on me so don¡¯t fucking slip up! If you fuck up, we both are going to get the boot. Did I make myself clear, Recruit John Smith?¡±

    ¡°Re-recruit J-John Smith u-u-understands.¡± He tried to nod all his might, despite leaning to the walls.

    Sasha stared at him, ¡°Hmph, all the better. Take this kit and go to your room as listed on it. I expect you to be ready, in full uniform here, at three hundred hours. Don¡¯t disappoint me, maggot. Or into the recycler you go.¡±

    John Smith nodded vigorously as she stomped her way out. He then looked at the briefcase left by the two Army personnel. It was the standard grey-coloured Recruit Kit, emblazoned with logo of 141<sup>st</sup> Corps. He fumbled around and found a room key card with a number on it.

    John Smith glanced his vicinity; so, he was brought to this gray room with tiny window slits. There were a single table with two chairs, one door and a single holographic clock near the ceiling. The time was then eleven in the night. So, I am supposed to be here at three A.M?

    At least the bulky briefcase had some wheels, allowing him to push it around. But it was sure heavy, almost taking his all to tug it. His room key was numbered 325<sup>th</sup>, Wing C. Here was apparently Wing A¡­ well, he did agree being a recruit. He can only preserve to get to his room.

    At first, he didn¡¯t know how to go there but after observing other personnel in the area, he used the key card as his guide. Throughout the way, he went through various corridors and lifts, meeting with various kinds of people. Most were indifferent, others just ignored him.

    Above else however, none tried to kick him or physically hurt him unlike in the slums. Army discipline was surely different. They were like busy bees, not minding him at all. Due to this, he had almost got squashed to death when one of many couriers mistakenly ran into him.

    What are they preparing for? John Smith noticed increased frequencies of such couriers, Army personnel directing wheeled robots loaded with various boxes of some kind. He also spotted others that had same briefcase as him. It seemed the Army had gone into recruiting overdrive.

    He was truly curious but he felt he didn¡¯t have time for it; it was just a few hours before the designated meeting time. Lieutenant Sasha did say his actions will reflect on her too and so he needed to be punctual. He needed to go to his room now and prepare for said meeting.

    Click!

    John Smith had found his room at last. He waved the card in front of the door and it parted in the middle for him. The room was spartan; a single bunk bed, shelving with table, a mini kitchenette and a separate toilet-cum-shower. For him however, this was paradise on earth.

    As he dragged the briefcase inside, the door behind him closed and the lights were switched on. He sat on the bed; it was slightly soft, solid throughout. With the briefcase in front of him, John Smith then opened it by pressing its two buttons on top. What could be inside of this?

    He found there were several pairs of clothes, presumably inner uniform and standard outer service ones. There were also several green matte blocks, labeled as Rations. Three pair of boots, a small communicator and a simple medical kit. Last were some helmets and a knife.

    John Smith spurned his mind; this kit alone could let him live luxuriously for couple of months in the slums if he can smuggle it out of here. Then again, he was dead center in the Army base. Even though the personnel ignore him, that didn¡¯t mean the security cameras would do so.

    For now, he planned to just go with the flow, see where this Army would send him. It was infinitely better than getting beat up every single day. Death risks were real in the Army but it could be instant, sparing him from suffering. He slapped his cheeks and walked around.

    His stomach grumbled so he ripped open one ration, munching on what seemed like a kind of protein block. Finally, some actual food, not some random rat or geckos! Another two blocks were eaten but then he stopped. What if these were all of them now? He would starve then.

    John Smith convinced himself this wasn¡¯t the end of it, there should be more. The Army need healthy people, not famished ones. He proceeded to assemble the attires and associated into the shelving. He didn¡¯t touch the mini kitchenette as he was more interested to wash himself.

    The thin man stared at a mirror; he just noticed he wasn¡¯t wearing his old patched clothes but instead a pair of light gray clothes. Did someone change me when I was out cold? Oh, man, I was seen naked! His face was bit swollen; hair was messy but he didn¡¯t smell of filthy trash.

    There was no use crying over spilt milk so John Smith decided to just prepare himself; shave his excess facial hairs, take a bath, change into new attires and have some rest before going back to the designated meeting point. He had like three hours remaining, more than enough.

 C2 - Assessment

    Now was near the appointed time. John Smith popped out of the bed and clumsily wore his service attire. It was a pair of pale gray clothing with black boots to match. How far was his room to the meeting place? He looked at the clock above, there was no time to spare. He quickly sprinted his way.

    The base, or the section he passed through was even busier than few hours before. There were number of people wearing uniforms like him, shouting and running nearby. Other places had trucks, more than he count, of all shapes and sizes. He felt his legs were heavy as lead but he ran regardless.

    An angry female voice greeted John in front of the meeting room, ¡°You¡¯re late, minus one-point Recruit John Smith.¡±

    ¡°U-u-m?¡± He stammered his reply while panting. The clock was 3 A.M, no doubt. Points? What for?

    A muscled arm emerged from the door and dragged the ex-slum dweller inside, ¡°Get your ass in here, maggot!¡±

    ¡°Wha-?¡± John Smith found himself sprawled on the wall before a whip lashed his face.

    Standing in front of him was Sasha that had abducted him from the slums, ¡°Private John Smith! You¡¯re late by thirty-four milliseconds! Stand up, maggot!¡±

    ¡°Y-y-yes! P-p-private John Smith, Sir!¡± John fumbled his way up and mangled his salute, or what was one.

    The brunette female lieutenant lashed him again, on his right arm. ¡°Louder! This isn¡¯t a daycare, Private!¡±

    ¡°Sir, yes sir!¡± John found courage from nowhere, probably to avoid that nasty electrified whip.

    Sasha snorted in response, ¡°Do you know why I am angry at you, maggot?¡±

    ¡°Umm¡­I am¡­late? But¡­¡± The thin man scrambled his wits out. He wasn¡¯t late, right?

    The female lieutenant pointed her whip to the holographic clock near the ceiling, ¡°No buts! Amateurs talk about tanks, professionals talk about logistics but generals talk about time! Do not be late, ever. Or this whip will be the last thing you see. Do or do not I make myself clear, Private John Smith?¡±

    ¡°Sir, yes sir! I am late and I am sorry!¡± John shouted his answer.

    Sasha coiled her whip and put it away, ¡°Good. There is no next time. Now, follow me. On the double!¡±

    More running?!! John can only curse in his mind. A slum dweller wasn¡¯t an athlete! He wore a pained expression; damned if not, damned if did. Sasha was ready to ¡®encourage¡¯ him, waving the crackling whip near his pants. It was as if a fire was figuratively lit on John¡¯s buttocks as he ran for his dear life.

    Both man and woman, ran in the corridor. One, terrified for his family jewels while another with looks that can eat a man alive. John felt his lungs were burning but Sasha? She didn¡¯t even break a sweat! He cannot imagine if the lieutenant equipped her exo-skeleton. How fast and stronger she would be?

    Along the way, the female soldier lashed a few times but it didn¡¯t hit the ex-slum dweller. Soon, few others joined his desperate run. One guy was as buff as Major Karamazov, another somewhere in the middle. They all ran among the busy area, inviting occasional glances. Eventually they arrived to a hall.

    ¡°Thanks to your shitty member here, that was late for thirty-four milliseconds, you all have your rations this week reduced by thirty-four percent!¡± Sasha boomed over the three unlucky men.

    John Smith found himself locked by three furious gazes, from Sasha and the two men. The buff one had name of Gunther tattooed on his left cheek while the shorter guy had a name plate that read Lucas. Both cracked their arms, as if they wanted to crack his bones. Sasha shouted at their ears next.

    ¡°We will begin our next round of assessments! John Smith failed the first one!¡± Sasha coiled her whip and picked up a rifle on a long table, ¡°Now, maggots! Open this rifle, clean it and re-assemble it under twenty seconds! Every second more means one less ration for all three of you!¡±

    The female lieutenant switched on its safety, removed the magazine, opened the upper receiver and extracted its entrails. She withdrew a thin stick and a fluffy one to clean the barrel. After that was done, she put back the rifle in one piece. All of these moves combined were under twenty seconds.

    All three men found a similar rifle in front of them respectively. John Smith was intrigued; the Army used exo-skeletons, so why did they need these rifles? While he was dazed, the other two men already got to work. Sasha shot him a murderous glare, prompting the ex-slum dweller to get his back on it.

    At first, he struggled to open the rifle and not yet to clean it but after observing other soldiers doing the same, John finally figured it out. He did what Sasha had instructed albeit being man of the streets, he was slower than the other two recruits. He had never held a gun before, let alone reassemble one!

    ¡°Gunther you brute! You used too much strength! Now the springs are all broken! Lucas, you idiot left the safeties off! Do you want to blow your fucking brain off?!!¡± Sasha inspected their work one by one. ¡°And for you, maggot. Again! I said under twenty seconds, not one millisecond more!¡±

    John whimpered, ¡°Ah¡­s-s-orry¡­¡±

    ¡°Hmph. Since it wasn¡¯t exactly twenty seconds, I¡¯ll let it slide. Now tell me, maggots. Why time is important? ¡°Sasha turned around to face all three of them.

    The first one to answer was the blond-haired brute Gunther, ¡°To train my awesome muscles, sir!¡±

    ¡°Wrong, muscle head! Will the enemy wait for you? No! Private Lucas, answer!¡± She screamed her next order.

    The brown-haired Lucas answered, ¡°Sir, yes sir! For my beauty sleep! And hobby.¡±

    ¡°You fuckers! What¡¯s in your fucking brains?!¡± Sasha barely restrained herself from breaking their legs, ¡°Private John, first failure! Answer me! Why?!¡±This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

    ¡°Be-because time¡­waits for no one?¡± John spewed bullshit and hoped it stuck.

    Sasha raised her eyebrows, ¡°Turns out there¡¯s someone smart between you maggots. Private John! You, lead them, now.¡±

    ¡°But this isn¡¯t what the Army promised me!¡± The pompous Lucas was first to voice his discontent.

    Next was the brawny Gunther, ¡°Yeah, what¡¯s a beansprout can do? I bet a little push can beak his bones!¡±

    Both of them got near simultaneous hand chops on their heads, ¡°Shut up! This is the Army, not your pansy noble houses! Your money and influence are worthless here! Either you listen to me, or into the recycler!¡±

    Sasha grabbed John forward, ¡°You see, numbskulls, Private John is smart! He listened to orders! You fuckers didn¡¯t! There are many like you, bravado and shit. What did they get? Fast promotion!¡±

    ¡°Fast promotion? Why can¡¯t I get that, Lieutenant?¡± Gunther rubbed his temples, still stinging from pain.

    Sasha delivered another blow, ¡°Fast promotion in death! Do you want me to stuff you into a cannon, block head? The Army need people that listens! Not people that got their entire company killed!¡±

    ¡°Orders confirmed, Sir.¡± Lucas agreed in a heartbeat. Getting hit again wasn¡¯t wise.

    The fiery lieutenant went to a nearby cabinet, ¡°That¡¯s more like it. Gunther, you listen to Private John. Or else.¡±

    ¡°Umm¡­hi guys?¡± John tried to break the ice as Sasha was seen busy searching something.

    Both men ignored him as Sasha put some items on the table, ¡°Now I¡¯ve seen your ¡®skills¡¯, I want you maggots to understand these and come back to me tomorrow, sharp four hundred hours. If you get even one answer wrong, I will lash you once. For Private John, since he¡¯s your leader¡­two lashes.¡±

    John Smith audibly gulped. Two lashes? Gunther frowned at him and Lucas treated him like air. The stormy lieutenant soon left them to their devices. John found there were three devices, data slate of some kind on the table. He massaged his head; will they ever listen to him? The two men left him next.

    He stared at the black device. It wasn¡¯t that heavy but when he picked it up, he felt it was heavier than a mountain. Can I do this? Numerous questions clouded his vision that he mistakenly bumped into a person after leaving the hall. The other person was like an another Karamazov but had a gentler face.

    ¡°You okay, brother?¡± His deep voice snapped John to reality.

    John sprang into action and gave what seemed to be a salute, ¡°S-sir, yes Sir! Private John is¡­fine!¡±

    ¡°Heard you¡¯re under the Fire Demon eh, Private John? Name¡¯s Glapov. Major Glapov.¡± The bald man saluted in kind, sharper than the nervous recruit.

    John twitched a bit, ¡°Well met, Major Glapov! I am a new recruit, Sir! John Smith, Sir!¡±

    ¡°Be at ease. There¡¯s lot of people in the Army, Private John. Relax.¡± Glapov reached out to the fallen data slate and put it on John¡¯s hands, ¡°Oh¡­she even gives you this. Well, Private. Don¡¯t think too much. Think on how you will survive.¡±

    He looked at the buff bald man in confusion, ¡°Urr¡­okay?¡±

    ¡°Hahaha! Exactly like Karamazov said! Fearless! Or badly¡­informed. I see Lieutenant Sasha already taught you about time. Now you need knowledge. Don¡¯t let her, or rather us, down, Private. Knowledge is power.¡± Glapov patted his shoulder.

    John watched the Major leave in thunderous steps, ¡°Y-yes, Sir. I won¡¯t let the Interstellar Army down!¡±

    Are there anyone not buff in this Army? He made his way to his assigned quarters. The journey return home was uneventful but he knew he was pressed for time. He scavenged a broken data slate in the slums before and it had huge number of movies and stuff. How much more an intact one contained?

    John chucked his boots away and landed on his bunk bed with the data slate in tow. He toyed with it a little bit, unsure on how to activate it. There were no visible buttons, not even a marking or manual. Maybe using a key card will open it? He waved his key card on top of it but there was no response.

    The squalid man left the device on the bed and moved to the kitchenette. His stomach was grumbling in protest. The kitchenette had a flat top with two circles plus a two-doored shelving on top of it. Where¡¯s the rations? John reached up and opened the shelving. True enough, there were the blocks.

    He munched through one whilst keeping his eyes on the data slate. It had been a wild ride so far; previously he eked a pathetic living smack dab in a big trash mountain. Now he was here, with a demon for a superior and had comforts unheard of for slum dwellers. This was just the beginning, he thought.

    After finishing the ration, John attended to the device again. This time he put it flat on the table. Minus his resting time, there were only six hours left for him to learn anything from it. He tried from dancing to licking it but to no avail. The device just didn¡¯t want to budge. As time passes, he became panicked.

    ¡°Why is this so difficult?!! God, or whoever up there, if you¡¯re there, help me!¡± He rubbed his buttocks, scared of what will happen to his ass in a few hours from now.

    Eventually John became desperate and took out the machete from his given kit. If it didn¡¯t want to open, I will just tear it apart! Hands primed, he stabbed the device but it also didn¡¯t work. The blasted thing was too tough, resistant being dunked in water, punched by hands and sliced by a combat knife.

    There were only three hours left! John shuddered at the thought being lashed again for god knew how many times. By coincidence or dumb luck, he held his eyes to the top of the device for several seconds and it finally came alive. A veritable flood of information came into his view, all projected in mid-air.

    There were simply too much that his mind turned blank from viewing them. Sasha expected him to memorize all of it? It was a herculean task, no, an impossible task for a trash scavenger like him. John took a deep breath, reminding his being was at stake. Recycler wasn¡¯t a nice place to end up to.

    Some of the projected data however, was familiar to him. The Nirius Anomaly, made into ancient aliens¡¯ documentary. Rebellion of Di¡¯leka, in form of four seasons of spy drama series. The strangest of all were mathematical equations and theories. Such stuffs were most of the floating holograms.

    John didn¡¯t attend any schools as far as he remembered. He learnt to read and calculate by sheer necessity in the slums. There were always numbers of crooks wanting to cheat and rob him there. Paying low or charging him exorbitant prices. Scums that not only use fists but words and calculations.

    He peered at the hovering data, focusing on the math parts first. Learning history was not his best forte. Learning maths however, once understood can be applied any time. At first, he cannot make heads or tails of whatever mathematical stuff being shown but gradually he came to some realization.

    Jurgelo¡¯s Theorems, D-fold Equations and many others. Turned out that the random math stuff he read in the slums were useful now. Two-thirds of projected mathematical data were too advanced for his understanding. The remaining? John can only use a tiny fraction of it, not understanding why and how.

    Why the Army need math? Don¡¯t they need big muscles? The more he thought about it, the weirder it seemed. To him, some equations wouldn¡¯t do anything to a rebellion for example. Muscles brought power, firepower. A lot of it. Math could be used to find how many firepower to use but that was it.

    Nevertheless, if Lieutenant Sasha asked him about it, he was a bit more confident to answer her. The other two recruits were daft; Gunther was a muscle freak and Lucas, a man that didn¡¯t look like a man. John Smith put the matter aside and concentrated on the equations. A brand-new world for him.

    He located a small shelving near his quarter¡¯s table and retrieved some white papers and a pen. He paused a bit as he ran his fingers on the papers; they were unbelievably smooth and clean, impossible to find in the slums. He slapped his face to break from the trance and began writing a lot of equations.

    Sheets and sheets of papers were crumpled, crossed and thrown away. The data slate also had mathematical problems! For some odd reason, a spark was ignited in his mind that these equations were waiting him to solve them. Time passed like water until he looked at his clock. Oh no! I¡¯m late!

 C3 - Question

    John felt as if his limbs and body were encased in lead. Then came the pain, thousands of needles of worth. Next was eerie silence, as if each and every nerve on his being was snuffed out save for his brain. The last thing he remembered that he wanted to run before a certain Lieutenant toasts his bum.

    ¡°Proceur, what do you think? Should I put his brain in a tin can?¡±

    ¡°Now now, Lieutenant Sasha. A good recruit, conscript as it suggests and entails, is too good to waste.¡±

    ¡°With all due respect, Major Karamazov, didn¡¯t you give me explicit permission or do I hear wrong?¡±

    ¡°You heard it correctly and I still have the authority, my dear Lieutenant. If you know, what I mean.¡±

    John heard some murmurs in the distance, some kind of barely audible whispers and mechanical whirrs. His vision was dark but his ears perked. Am I alive? Still¡­alive? He tried to fight sudden urges to fall asleep. He knew better to never relent, to never give up living. Death favoured ones that didn¡¯t.

    ¡°Are you still with me, Recruit?¡± A familiar male voice somewhat next to him.

    John coughed, ¡°Is¡­is that¡­you, Major?¡±

    ¡°The one and only, Major Karamazov. First, I¡¯d like to apologize on behalf of my subordinate here.¡± Karamazov gave the ailing John a slight bow beyond the glass screen.

    The ex-slum dweller gradually recovered his mental faculties, ¡°A..apologize?¡±

    ¡°Stay down, Recruit and that¡¯s an order.¡± The Major sounded stern, ¡°Yes. I should¡¯ve known that slum dwellers won¡¯t make a soldier, of any kind.¡±

    ¡°Hey, not my fau-¡°

    ¡°You, outside, Lieutenant Sasha. Now.¡± The buff military man dismissed Sasha and then faced John again, ¡°Worry not, Recruit John Smith. My original offer still stands! But I can¡¯t have you die too soon, so we had to take some¡­measures.¡±

    John knew it from the start that a scrawny man like him wouldn¡¯t even feed some of the big dogs kept by nobles in the city yet he entered the Army anyway, ¡°M-m¡­measures?¡±

    ¡°Well let¡¯s say we took some liberty in your being. It¡¯s an anomaly that you managed to live a decade in the worst kind of wastes imaginable. I wouldn¡¯t for a second, even if given the best suits available.¡± Karamazov tried to assuage the trembling man.

    The ex-slum dweller tried to move his body again but to no avail, ¡°W¡­why keep me¡­alive?¡±

    ¡°Because you¡¯re interesting, Recruit. A working and listening mind is hard to get nowadays.¡± Karamazov was serious first and then laughed, ¡°Though I admit, waving your dick in front of the data slate? Gahahaha!¡±

    If John could only move, he would bury himself out of embarrassment! ¡°Uh¡­s-s-sorry.¡±

    ¡°Pfft, this''s way better than I imagined.¡± The Major suppressed his laughter and then continued, ¡°Do you want to know why we still pick you instead of others? You¡¯ve met Recruit Gunther and Lucas, right? There are way more people qualified than you. Bigger. Stronger.¡±

    ¡°S-sir. I do¡­not, k-know, Sir.¡± John spoke with great difficulty.

    The muscled man tapped his own clean-shaven head, ¡°This, my recruit, is the answer. Of all thousand new recruits we get so far, not many wanted to deal with that sadistic Jurgelo¡¯s ramblings. Or deal with M<sup>th</sup> Series Equations.¡±

    ¡°Uh¡­m-math?¡± John expected to be thrown into the recycler by now.

    ¡°Yes. Math! The bane of all vainglorious soldiers. We didn¡¯t conquer the stars with just brawns, you know.¡± Karamazov took a deep sigh, ¡°Behind every soldier is hundred support men or more. And shitloads of math, to make it all work. I personally shove anyone that don¡¯t respect math into the recycler. See how they like the recycler methodically strip them down, molecule by molecule using the Density Theorem.¡±

    ¡°S-s-so¡­.¡± A new revelation to John. He never expected the 141<sup>st</sup> Martial Army Corps valued math above all else.

    ¡°You survived in the slums because of your wits. And you¡¯ll survive in our Army because of your math skills.¡± The Major threw both encouragement and discouragement, ¡°That being said¡­Lieutenant Sasha got a point. An Army isn¡¯t a daycare so, we need you to rebuild your health, fast. We want our investment to be worth it.¡±

    ¡°W-w-hy? R-r-rebellion?¡± John questioned. The Army only recruited en masse if something bad had happened.

    ¡°I can¡¯t talk about that, my little Recruit or I need to stuff you into the recycler for knowing. Anyway, rest up. You¡¯ve much work to do. Like build your muscles, or stamina.¡± The buff Army Major exited his chair and moved toward the exit of the isolation ward.

    The ex-slum dweller shot a question, ¡°Um¡­Major?¡±

    ¡°Yes, what¡¯s it? Anything isn¡¯t classified, of course.¡± The Major turned back in the last second.

    Finally, John managed to open his eyes. ¡°But¡­robots are better¡­.at math¡­¡±

    ¡°I knew you would say that, haha! But what if that robot breaks down? What if you don¡¯t have a robot? Think about this, Recruit. I¡¯m sure you had gone through some of the history stuff in the data slate. Now, rest up. That¡¯s an order. You have one week, young man.¡± Karamazov said before completely leaving.

    Just like that, John was left alone in the isolation room. No one else bothered him afterwards except occasional patrols of robots of some kind. He focused his eyes around his entire being; he would be completely naked if not for a block of metal on his crotch. There were mazes of tubes all over his body.

    The next day, a full-suited personnel and robot came to visit him. John saw tubes on his body started to eject dark red fluids and returned a bit lighter colour. What are they¡­doing? Most of his senses were dull. He could speak, see and hear but he kept his mouth shut. Such routine continued for days.If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    Gunther visited him for few minutes. The muscled recruit didn¡¯t seem too happy, evident by frown crested on his face. Lucas was next but only threw him a single glance before leaving. On the third day, he was no longer lied flat down in bed; the top of his bed had moved and put him on a gentle slope.

    The fourth day, John found some courage to speak to the visiting personnel, ¡°Uh¡­I have a question, Sir.¡±

    ¡°Oh, so you can actually talk! Well, carry on.¡± The personnel didn¡¯t sound either male or female.

    Right now, John had some clothes. Much better dignity than before. ¡°So¡­what¡¯s happening?¡±

    ¡°Hm, let¡¯s say previous decon was too harsh on you, Recruit. We¡¯re seeing the aftereffects.¡± The suited personnel answered.

    It took half a minute for John to reply, ¡°De-decon? Am I?¡±

    ¡°Yes, thank your lucky stars that Major Karamazov intervened just in time. I don¡¯t get why the brass wanted you alive though.¡± There was some disdain in the answer.

    John took a light sigh and made a demand, ¡°Um¡­can I¡­get a pen?¡±

    ¡°Pen? No! I¡¯ll give you some data slate.¡± Said personnel produced such device with a giggle, ¡°And no waving your itty-bitty pecker in front of it this time.¡±

    ¡°Thanks.¡± The ex-slum dweller replied after an awkward silence.

    A hand wave later, they left him alone. ¡°Don¡¯t thank me, thank the Major. Don¡¯t die too soon, okay? We need every body we can get.¡±

    John wanted to handshake whoever this guy was for their triage but they just left. Their last sentence piqued him; this sounded big. Seriously big that the Army was forced to dig at the bottom of the barrel. If his suspicions were true, then fights in the front lines were disasters of gargantuan proportions.

    Only a few events in history he knew where mankind or a part he lived in, took to such lengths. Uprising of Neven. Ghul-Tark War. Sventk Schism. Most of them involved mankind to mankind action, either due to religious strife, competition for resources or struggles of independence. What about now?

    John still held to the idea that robots should¡¯ve solved everything; Uprising of Neven was one such example but for the rest? He had no idea on how and why this line of thinking didn¡¯t apply. He recalled what Major Karamazov said. If the robots were damaged beyond repair, then who else should fight?

    From the outset, 141<sup>st</sup> Martial Army Corps used a mix of men like him and robots. And probably for good reason too; John had watched movies where fantastical weapons torched both men and metal alike. Equal death for all, even though he knew it was fictious. The real world probably had something similar.

    He stared at the data slate next to his medical bed. There were still bundles of tubes attached to his being, and he was still immobilized from top to down. Damn, it¡¯s too far. The white data slate was laid flat the other way, denying him any chance to open its lock with a retinal scan let alone operate it.

    On the fifth day, the triage personnel came over and stripped John off his tubes, ¡°Now Recruit, let¡¯s stretch your legs a little.¡±

    ¡°Umm¡­the data slate?¡± He mumbled.

    The personnel companion, a man-sized robot grabbed Recruit John¡¯s legs, ¡°Please cooperate, Recruit John Smith.¡±

    ¡°Ouch! Okay, okay! I will!¡± John wasn¡¯t sure to either break in joy or tears. His sense of pain had returned.

    The suited personnel chuckled in their visor, ¡°Now that¡¯s more like it, Recruit. So, why do you want the slate anyway?¡±

    ¡°I want to read.¡± He grimaced in pain. His legs were pretty wooden.

    The personnel and robot got to work, ¡°Read? Oh! Why didn¡¯t you tell me sooner, Recruit?¡±

    ¡°D-d-decon. Didn¡¯t Sir tell me that? Problems with¡­my body?¡± He shuddered a little as bare metal met some of his skin.

    By now the triage personnel had finished strapping him to an exo-skeleton, ¡°Oh sorry Recruit John Smith. You see, I¡¯m pretty busy these days. Lots of recruits entering the triage station but none as bad as you though. Sure, they have broken bones and all but you? I don¡¯t get why you¡¯re still alive, haha!¡±

    ¡°Oh¡­.so what is this for?¡± He felt uncomfortable being caged by the bare exo-suit as it was just metallic bones over his main limbs.

    The personnel raised their left hand, ¡°To walk, Recruit. Staying in bed for too long isn¡¯t healthy. You¡¯ll get cramps and stuff. Nasties.¡±

    ¡°Uh¡­if I can walk¡­can I read?¡± He bit his tongue; the faster he recovers, the faster he can access the data slate even if the first few steps were painful.

    Said personnel moved to the side, ¡°Sure! I got to hand it to you though; I never met a new Recruit that wanted to walk, just to read!¡±

    ¡°No, not reading, Sir. I mean, calculate?¡± John fixed his statement.

    He can¡¯t see the personnel face but their tone was clear, ¡°Calculate? Boy, you¡¯re a box of wonders, aren¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°Math calms me down, Sir.¡± He stopped stuttering after gaining more confidence. It didn¡¯t hurt to walk now.

    The triage personnel gave him a nod and handed a data slate over, ¡°No problem. As long you promise me to move your legs once every hour. Anything else?¡±

    ¡°Umm¡­can I eat rations? I¡¯m...starving.¡± John¡¯s stomach growled at the same time.

    Both triage personnel and their robot attendant waved at him, ¡°Ah, okay. Now, follow me. You look good enough to be discharged into the normal ward.¡±

    ¡°So, Sir¡­what¡¯s next?¡± Along the way, he saw others laid on bed like him. Some were bandaged, some not. Not many were located in the isolation ward like him though.

    The personnel directed him into a room, ¡°Well for starters, no pens. Second, keep wearing this exo-skeleton until you feel you can stand without it. Third, don¡¯t wander around. Focus on recovering.¡±

    ¡°No pens? Why?¡± He took a quick look at the room. There was a single bed and enclosed water closet to the side plus a small table and its matching chair.

    The triage person left some parting words, ¡°To prevent accidents. Pens are sharp and stuff, Recruit. I don¡¯t want to extract the pen out of your eyes or butt, haha.¡±

    He wanted to talk more with the personnel but they were gone like the wind. While the medical wards were largely silent, there were quite number of people going to and fro. What intrigued himself was not about this situation but the fact he just walked his way to this new room. Quite a distance at that.

    Did Major Karamazov did something to him? John swayed his arms and legs with the exo-skeleton. He was still feeling feeble and moved slow but it didn¡¯t hurt at all. Perhaps it was due to adrenaline or anesthesia of some kind? He pinched his right arm and felt the pain. No, it wasn¡¯t. If not, then what?

    His line of thought was disrupted by growls from his stomach. He was famished and felt he could eat a bull whole. He wondered on why he wasn¡¯t hungry for five days being strapped to jungle of tubes. Judging on how busy the wards were and the fact he could walk, there should be a mini-pantry here.

    Finally, crunchy bliss. It wasn¡¯t that tasty but fulfilling. With the half-eaten ration block in one hand, John moved to the table in the room and made himself comfy on its chair. This new data slate should be unlocked with retinal scan, just like the black one he got from Lieutenant Sasha. Now¡­here goes!

    Success! The data slate opened up albeit John almost threw it away; he held it wrong and caused it to beam floating images straight into his eyes. It wasn¡¯t a pleasant experience being directly shone by few candelas worth of light. His vision was filled with flash of stars, forcing him to wipe his teary eyes.

    Argh, why can¡¯t things be normal in the Army?!! No more shining! John was tempted to smash it but he knew how futile it was. The previous black one was such example and seen his less-than-impressive member. He carefully put the device away as who knows who were watching him from the other side.

    Several seconds later, John¡¯s vision turned normal again. He gave the white data slate another look; can¡¯t I make it not project image or something? He fumbled with it, care to not direct its emission to his face. If it continued to do so, it would be a chore to use it. John willed it to not, and it did, somehow.

 C4 - Energy

    John was hungry, incredibly hungry as if he hadn¡¯t eaten for decades. Twenty or so blocks of rations in his ward? All gone, including their matte green wrappings. He bit everything in the room but evidently metals weren¡¯t tasty or edible. The data slate gave him a toothache. Cloths? He would be naked then.

    The only way he could and had stave this unnatural hunger was to mentally calculate whatever equations given by the data slate. With no pen to write, he was forced to remember everything lest he forgot everything. He was battered by hunger at one side and plagued with numbers on other side.

    The door to his room clacked open, ¡°Well met, Recruit. You¡¯ve recovered faster than I expected!¡±

    ¡°S¡­sir? Do you have, uh, more rations?¡± John was clutching his head.

    The voice continued, ¡°Hmm, no surprise here. Rations?¡±

    ¡°Y-yes. Rations. I¡¯m starving, Sir. Please, please give me more.¡± He began to rock back and forth on his bed.

    Said voice came closer, ¡°Well¡­¡±

    ¡°Sir? Please, Sir. Plea- ¡°John felt a cold prick on his neck.

    Within seconds, John drifted into dreamland and collapsed on the bed. The visiting person took away his bare exo-skeleton and the data slate. Several hours passed until he was in possession of his senses again. What¡­what¡¯s happening? He felt that he forgotten something but he didn¡¯t know what was it.

    When he opened his eyes, a familiar figure entered his vision. ¡°Rise and shine, Recruit. It had been seven days.¡±

    ¡°Major? Uh¡­¡± John glanced at Karamazov, seated close to his bed.

    ¡°How many fingers is this?¡± The Major raised some of his fingers.

    John was still groggy, ¡°Er¡­three. Three fingers.¡±

    ¡°Three huh. Feeling great, young man?¡± The buff military man smiled at him.

    He rubbed his eyes, ¡°I¡­I think so? About the dicot thing¡­¡±

    ¡°Decon, Recruit. Decon-tami-nation.¡± Karamazov stared at John, ¡°Like I said before, I saw potential in you, young man. But there¡¯s a tiny problem with you.¡±

    John¡¯s stomach roared as the Major paused, ¡°Because¡­where I lived, Major?¡±

    ¡°Exactly. Lieutenant Sasha broke some protocols-¡± Karamazov opened a ration bar and gave it to him, ¡°by using what was for vehicles, on you. So, I reprimanded her and fixed you up. Feeling better?¡±

    ¡°Famished-¡± He ravished the bar and continued, ¡°Uh¡­what¡¯s important is¡­I am alive, right?¡±

    ¡°I like your optimism, Recruit John Smith. Thought you¡¯ll be in lalaland or something.¡± The Major laughed.

    He swallowed the last bit of the ration bar, ¡°Uh Major¡­it doesn¡¯t like I have any choice¡­am I? But it doesn¡¯t change the fact that Lieutenant Sasha and¡­Major, saved my life.¡±

    ¡°Well let¡¯s put it that way. Still, we¡¯re in the Army, you¡¯re in the Army, and you need to be prepared.¡± Karamazov leaned back on his chair.

    John looked at the tough man, ¡°Can¡¯t I know¡­why? Why me? Why recruit?¡±

    ¡°The fact that you¡¯re good at math skills is good enough for a reason.¡± Karamazov gave John a slight nod before turning serious, ¡°As for why, why we¡¯re recruiting¡­I can¡¯t divulge that, Recruit. Orders from the top. Not until you meet our standards.¡±

    ¡°Umm¡­okay. So¡­what should I do now?¡± John glanced around, trying to look for the white data slate.

    Karamazov stood up, ¡°Same as before; build up your stamina and muscles. Can you stand up, Recruit? Still hungry?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not as hungry anymore, Major.¡± John complied and stood next to the Major, ¡°What about my friends?¡±

    ¡°Friends? Oh, you mean Recruit Gunther and Lucas? They¡¯re fine, just some bruises and two.¡± The Major left the room, ¡°Nothing our triage can¡¯t fix, haha.¡±

    ¡°Okay, Sir. Should I visit them? Lieutenant Sasha said¡­¡± John followed the bulky man.

    ¡°You can, if you want. But I want you to build your muscles, or at least stamina.¡± Karamazov lead John out of the triage station, ¡°If you can¡¯t run, you¡¯re dead. Ought to have some stamina, young man.¡±

    The ex-slum dweller was more confused, ¡°Run, Sir? Why run? We, uh, have exo-skeletons, right?¡±

    ¡°So, you can escape better. Like you said, what¡¯s important is that you¡¯re alive and you stay alive.¡± The Major stopped in front of an electric cab.

    John sat behind him in the cab, ¡°Major, why am I hungry? Too hungry before?¡±

    ¡°Humm, how do I put this-¡± Karamazov scratched his non-existent beard, ¡°As I said before, we had some liberty with you. As it was, a single punch will send you to the E.R. So, we did something to help you.¡±

    He swayed his arms and legs but there was nothing different about them, ¡°Am I a robot now?¡±

    ¡°Close, but not close.¡± The Major nodded at passing personnel, ¡°You¡¯ll find out soon. Right now, focus on bulking those scrawny muscles.¡±

    ¡°Why can¡¯t I know now, Major?¡± John exited the transport with Karamazov, ¡°Uh¡­somehow, you made me able to make a data slate do stuff, is it? Remotely?¡±

    ¡°One of its perks.¡± The Major stood in front of John¡¯s quarters, ¡°But knowing too much, too soon is also not good. Build up yourself first, physically. I¡¯ll double your rations too, so don¡¯t worry about that part.¡±

    ¡°I am being tested, am I?¡± The ex-slum dweller entered his quarters at Karamazov¡¯s gesture.

    The Major smiled at his question, ¡°Always, young man, since you¡¯re a special case. What allowed you to be here is your math skills. Whether you last or not, depends on you. Or, your muscles.¡±

    ¡°Sir said I am conscripted?¡± John asked and stopped Karamazov from leaving.A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    The buff man had another chuckle, ¡°Yes, conscripted. Make full use of this chance, Recruit John. Usually we use guys like you as target practice.¡±

    ¡°I... I will do my best, Sir.¡± He said after the departing figure of Karamazov.

    John took a deep breath; there was again something different about himself but he can¡¯t point what was it. He was still feeling hungry, feeling pain from his empty stomach and can walk just fine. Oh, this hunger, twisting hunger. He quickly ran into his kitchenette and saw Major Karamazov did upheld his promise.

    There were forty ration blocks now, all lined neat and clean in the shelving. Propelled by his hunger, John ate four blocks until he choked on the fifth one. Keuk! Where¡¯s water?!! It took two glasses of water to stop the coughing. With that done, he put the half-eaten fifth ration down as he was satiated.

    ¡°A new data slate?¡± John saw a purple object on his table, ¡°Uh¡­no. Better if I leave it alone. How can I build my muscles?¡±

    Apart from the kitchenette¡¯s pantry and the new data slate, there was no other visible changes. Wait. Major said I¡¯m still being tested. John opened his personal closet and found there was a new addition of stuff, a set of exercise devices next to his Recruit Kit. His bathroom had more towels than before.

    ¡°Should I run...or lift weights?¡± He stared at the exercise device and then the data slate, ¡°Or learn? Why with this secrecy?¡±

    His door ringed, ¡°Private Gunther requests da-permission to enter.¡±

    ¡°Wait a moment-¡± John moved closer to the door and it opened automatically, ¡°Uh, never mind. Well met, Private¡­Gun-ter?¡±

    ¡°Oi! Lucky you! You got your own dumbbell set huh?!!¡± The blond Gunther forced his way in and grabbed some of the dumbbells.

    John slowly backed away, ¡°Well uh¡­yeah? So¡­why are you here, Sir?¡±

    ¡°Gunther¡¯s fine.¡± Gunther began to flex his muscles with it, ¡°Lieutenant Sasha told me to check you.¡±

    ¡°Oh¡­well, I¡¯m fine as a horse! Ha-ha¡­sort of.¡± Sasha did? John found it hard to believe.

    The blond muscle man put down the dumbbell, ¡°Me under you now, Boss. Heard Major Karamazov like you. Lucky man.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure about that, Sir. Major gave me a mission-¡± John replied.

    Gunther interrupted, ¡°Gunther, Boss. No need for Sir this, Sir that.¡±

    ¡°Okay? So¡­why boss?¡± John watched him putting the dumbbell back down.

    Gunther tilted his head upwards, ¡°Cause that¡¯s what da-Army said, Boss. You¡¯re da-boss.¡±

    ¡°Uh, okay. So¡­where¡¯s Lucas?¡± John asked in return.

    The muscled recruit sat on John¡¯s chair. It creaked. ¡°That sissy boy? Stuck in his quarters, saying this and that. He¡¯s angry, Boss.¡±

    ¡°He wanted to be the leader?¡± John raised his eyebrows, ¡°He can be one, if he wants-¡±

    ¡°Yeah no, Boss. Army rules¡¯s rules. Nuthin¡¯ that sissy can do, ha!¡± Gunther interjected again.

    John facepalmed, ¡°Right¡­the Army. We¡¯re in the Army. So¡­what¡¯s next?¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s next? Aren¡¯t you da-leader or sumthin, Boss?¡± Gunther flexed his biceps at him, ¡°Train muscles, Boss? Be like me!¡±

    ¡°Err¡­Major Karamazov did say I need to have some muscles. What do you think, Si-, I mean, Gun-ter?¡± The ex-slum dweller glanced at Gunther¡¯s bulging muscles.

    For some reason, he continued to flex despite being seated. ¡°Esy-pisi, Boss. You got da-communicator, right? And da-slate.¡±

    ¡°Yes, I do.¡± John rummaged his closet and found it, ¡°But¡­. I have a question.¡±

    ¡°Shoot. Anythin¡¯ I know, Boss.¡± Gunther stood up as the chair was dangerously bent.

    John focused his mind and the new data slate lit up, ¡°You see?¡±

    ¡°See what?¡± Gunther looked at him with confusion.

    He sighed, ¡°The data slate lit up when I think about it.¡±

    ¡°OH! That¡¯s what you want to know, Boss?¡± Gunther wore a sagely expression, ¡°It¡¯s nothin¡¯ big. Standard issue too!¡±

    ¡°Standard issue¡­. what?¡± This time it was John¡¯s turn to be perplexed.

    Gunther tapped his own head, ¡°Standard issue noggin. What, you didn¡¯t read about it? It¡¯s in da-black slate.¡±

    ¡°Major Karamazov didn¡¯t tell me. Lieutenant Sasha neither-¡± John frowned, ¡°They only gave me missions.¡±

    ¡°Ugh, where do me start-¡± Gunther crossed his arms, ¡°Boss, think it as remote in your brain, like, open da-slate.¡±

    ¡°Okay. Then what?¡± The ex-slum dweller became more confused.

    His guest shrugged his shoulder, ¡°That¡¯s it. That¡¯s what I know, Boss. Anything else, they told us to train first. Build muscles. I already have them muscles, so they told me.¡±

    ¡°Really? Why can¡¯t they tell it from the beginning?¡± John shook his head in disbelief.

    Gunther shook his head too, ¡°Compatibility they said. Not everyone makes the cut, Boss. And then stuff like oposux, opesec or sumthin-¡±

    ¡°What happens to them that faile-wait, I don¡¯t want to know.¡± John then changed the subject, ¡°Are you okay with me being the leader, Gun-ter?¡±

    ¡°Hey, rules¡¯s rules. Me thinks I¡¯m one but if da-Army said so, that¡¯s it.¡± Gunther pointed at himself and then pointed at John.

    After an awkward pause, John replied. ¡°Er¡­. okay? So¡­err¡­training?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, boss. Big and strong. Bigger, stronger, faster. Like me!¡± For some reason, Gunther slammed the floor and began posing in all sorts of styles.

    John backed away again. What¡¯s the deal with this muscle freak? ¡°Your¡­. recommendation? Oh wai-¡±

    ¡°Glad you asked, Boss! One hundred sit ups, one hundred crunches and one hundred paces!¡± Gunther switched from doing sit-ups to running in place.

    John facepalmed again, ¡°Uhh¡­okay. If you look at the time, it¡¯s curfew time Gun-ter!¡±

    ¡°Really? Tally ho then, boss! Look at da-communicator later!¡± Gunther left as fast as he came.

    What a weird guy. It wasn¡¯t even the designated curfew time and yet Gunther believed him. John felt better that he¡¯s smarter than the muscle brain but at the same time he feared for the future. Lieutenant Sasha said Gunther was from a noble house and that left it wanting; he was too gullible.

    When he thought what Gunther had said, goosebumps were raised on his skin. A chip in the brain and you didn¡¯t even know or ask for it? This wasn¡¯t what he expected, no, not at all. He washed his face for a refresher as things were hard to accept. Were the Army recruiting for soldiers or test subjects?

    Words from Major Glapov came into view; he should think on how he would survive this. Major Karamazov had hinted that if he managed to achieve the Major¡¯s expectations, perhaps he could learn more. He looked at the so-called communicator, some sort of black box no larger than his own palm.

    With a click sound, the box revealed a platinum-coloured, one-eyed piece. This certainly looked different from the fin-like thing he found in the slums, that was some kind of communicator albeit broken. He put it on his left ear and it projected a holographic visor and extended a microphone tip.

    ¡°I see you know how to use the communicator.¡±

    John felt his heart jump, ¡°Major?!¡±

    ¡°Yes, one and only, Major Karamazov. Next time, read the operations¡¯ manual, young man.¡± The Major chided him.

    The ex-slum dweller looked to the side, ¡°Uh¡­okay. Wait, I have a question, Sir.¡±

    ¡°Tell me, Recruit. About your training routine? It¡¯s in your new data slate.¡±

    ¡°Um no. Just now, Gun-ter visited me and said-¡± He looked at the slate and found said information, ¡°That I have a ¡®noggin¡¯ in my head? A chip?¡±

    ¡°He did?¡± The voice paused a bit, ¡°About the ¡®noggin¡¯, don¡¯t worry about it, Recruit. Build up your muscles and stamina first. That¡¯s an order. I expect you to finish what¡¯s listed. You have one month.¡±

    ¡°Yes¡­yes, Sir.¡± John replied before the connection was cut off from the other side.

    Another grumble from his stomach. John put the device back to its box and perused the pantry. It took two more ration blocks to quell the protest. How will I train if I keep eating? Yet another conundrum as when he put two by two together, he would spend more time to eat rather than training muscles.

    John looked at the data slate again and reviewed what he should do; there were five regimens being listed. One item caught his attention, fasting. One of the training regimens apparently included fasting for some reason he cannot fathom. He ignored that first and decided to lift some weights, half a kilo dumbbell.

    Evidently it wasn¡¯t the best of ideas; the dumbbell slipped his hands and nearly flattened his foot. He picked a lighter one this time, half the previous weight. It took some effort to start but gradually he became accustomed to it. He worked this out for an hour before taking a break as sweat had built up.

    A quick shower later and a change of clothes, John paused the training regimen; if he blindly followed it, it will make him a muscle freak like Gunther. No. I still like math more but¡­A tough decision. After several minutes, he threw all caution to the wind, to do both at once. And this prompted a new plan of training.

 C5 - Specialisation

    The plan had utterly failed as the pantry was wiped clean. John felt like there was a micro blackhole in his stomach, eating everything and anything. Any vestiges of his sanity had long gone save hunger. He did try to distract himself with math but it was like trying to plug a broken dam. A doomed effort.

    A door chime recalled a bit of his mind back, ¡°Boss? You¡¯re in? This is da-Gunther.¡±

    ¡°Y¡­yeah. I¡¯m, uhh¡­¡± John laid flat on the floor, ¡°Gun¡­Gun-ter? Do you have, rations?¡±

    ¡°Boss! What happened to you?!!¡± As the door opened, Gunther rapidly propped him up.

    John clutched his aching stomach, ¡°Urgh, hungry, Gun-ter. Very¡­¡±

    ¡°Wait a-sec, you ate all da-rations?¡± Gunther carried him to the bed and then accessed his kitchenette, ¡°All of it, Boss?!¡±

    John can only give an awkward smile, ¡°Yeah. All forty¡­of them. Can you give me¡­rations?¡±

    ¡°Hol¡¯up, I¡¯ll bring boss to da-mess hall.¡± Gunther frowned and offered a shoulder to him, ¡°Can you stand up, Boss? I will carry you there.¡±

    ¡°No¡­. just give me something to eat, please. Uh-¡± John replied before a terrible headache hit him, flooring him cold. He heard Gunther panicking before all turned silent.

    John lost track of time and awakened by a baritone male voice sometime later, ¡°Hmm¡­this is worse than I expected. How do you feel, Recruit John Smith?¡±

    ¡°M... major. I¡¯m¡­hungry. Very¡­hungry.¡± He knew that voice, Karamazov. Am I in the triage wards again? Where¡¯s¡­Gun-ter?

    There¡¯s another person next to the Major, ¡°Well Major, at least he¡¯s spiffy and up! Do you want to continue with the tests?¡±

    ¡°No. Too risky.¡± The Major replied to the side and then turned to face John, ¡°Recruit, listen to me.¡±

    ¡°Umm¡­yeah?¡± John suppressed his stomach from rumbling.

    Karamazov put his burly hands on John¡¯s left hand, ¡°I want you to focus, on controlling your hunger.¡±

    ¡°How¡­how, Major?¡± John shuddered, ¡°I am too hungry.¡±

    ¡°Orderlies, do it. Give him the serum.¡± The Major grimaced, ¡°Take a deep breath, Recruit.¡± He shook his head, ¡°Then think how would you solve the tenth chain of M<sup>th</sup>-Series Equation after you wake up.¡±

    ¡°Ye-yes, Major. I will do eet-¡± John replied before fainting.

    Karamazov then dismissed the triage personnel, ¡°Thanks for your work. You¡¯re right. He¡¯s a box of wonders all right.¡±

    It took five days for John to wake up from the induced slumber. Again...? What¡¯s wrong with me? At this moment, he felt like he was living in a nightmare as he was tormented by endless hunger and lapses in memories. Nevertheless, a few pats revealed his stomach was no longer voracious, for now.

    ¡°Major.¡± John noticed Karamazov was at the entrance of the triage ward.

    His superior nodded at him, ¡°No need to salute me, Recruit John Smith.¡±

    ¡°Am I¡­okay? Really okay?¡± John had weary eyes.

    Karamazov lightly sighed in return, ¡°You should, five days ago. But¡­we fixed you now, I think. I hope.¡±

    ¡°Is this due to the ¡®noggin¡¯-thing, Majo-¡±

    ¡°Yes and no. Well, you¡¯ll be given new orders instead, Recruit John.¡±

    ¡°New orders, Sir?¡± He raised his eyebrows at Karamazov, ¡°But you said I should train my muscles, Sir.¡±

    ¡°Yes, I did but, change of plans, Recruit.¡± The Major soured at his gaze, ¡°That¡¯s all what you need to know, for now.¡±

    ¡°Okay¡­. your orders¡­., Sir?¡± As he saw the Major¡¯s frown, John didn¡¯t press the issue further.

    Karamazov answered after a slight pause, ¡°Take this day off. Tomorrow, go visit the Specialisation Station. Details in your comms and slate.¡±

    ¡°As ordered, Sir.¡± The thin man nodded at Karamazov.

    The burly Army Major then left John in haste, ¡°Choose wisely. Take care of yourself, young man.¡±

    John wanted to ask more but refrained; Karamazov looked quite busy himself. Therefore, he placed his attention about the ¡®chip¡¯ in his brain. Perhaps extreme hunger was one of the side-effects? Will there be additional terrible consequences? His mind was swaying between curiosity and incuriosity.

    ¡°Huh, you okay, Boss?¡± A few hours of silence later, Gunther greeted John in person.

    He half-smiled at the burly guy, ¡°I think? I¡¯m not in the recycler, at least.¡±

    ¡°You look okay to me, Boss.¡± Gunther leaned closer and whispered to him, ¡°We¡¯re going to get ano-da partner in our team, Boss. A Specialist.¡±

    ¡°Specialist? Who, with us?¡± He slowly moved his head backwards since Gunther was too close. Too close!

    The blond-haired man faked a cough and moved the opposite of his bed, ¡°Yup. Specialist. We¡¯re supposed be da-four men team. Specialist Larial. Major Karamazov told me to tell boss.¡±

    ¡°Uh¡­okay. Then?¡± John scratched his nose.

    Gunther repeatedly shook John¡¯s shoulders, ¡°A specialist, Boss! Hard to find! Gold from moon!¡±

    ¡°Okay, okay. Please, uh, stop shaking me, uh, Gun-ter.¡± He tried to push the brawny man away.

    ¡°Let I explain, Boss. Usually we recruit are like me noble-thinga-majit and, boss conscriptet. Then-¡± Gunther complied, ¡°da-specialist allow our team to specialise!¡±

    ¡°You mean, we can pick what we want to do?¡± He tried to figure out what was Gunther was getting at.

    Gunther fisted the air, ¡°That¡¯s it, Boss! We¡¯re special, Boss! We can be da-pilots, stuff and more!¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s the catch?¡± He had some suspicions; it sounded too good to be true.

    His burly friend pouted, ¡°About that¡­. yeah. More difficult. Practices and tests are more difficult. Service records too, da-bar¡¯s higher.¡±

    ¡°I see. So, what are you doing now, Gun-ter?¡± John copied the same face expression.

    Gunther gave the air some short jabs and punches, ¡°Heh, heh, heh. Da-Great Tandar, Gunther, is doing three-dee maneuver! Got me in da-top two hundredth placing, Boss!¡±

    ¡°Wauu, top two hundred out of thousand?¡± John was somewhat envious. He read about the challenging discipline. Tens of recruits taking it had broken bones for first few days of trials.

    Hearing his praise made Gunther even prouder, ¡°That¡¯s right, Boss! I was like, pew, then pew-pew- pew! Da-competitors had no chance against da-Great Tandar!!!!¡±

    ¡°Shh! Not too loud! We¡¯re in the wards.¡± John shot him a glare and then continued, ¡°About the specialisation thing. Major Karamazov told me to go to Specialisation Station tomorrow.¡±

    ¡°Tomorrow? Great, I wait Boss there. Use da-communicator.¡± Gunther pointed at his left ear that had a platinum-coloured device.

    John agreed, ¡°Okay. The communicator, right? I¡¯ll call you then, Gun-ter.¡±

    As a parting gift, Gunther left him a couple of ration blocks. The first challenge had come; he pinched his stomach lest he began eating too much and end in the triage wards again. In a way, he perceived Major Karamazov thought he was a failure. And failures usually don¡¯t last long in the Army, any Army.

    Thus, John asked a nearby triage personnel to whisk the rations away and permission to return to his quarters. It took tens of minutes of convincing until he was released; he did a battery of physio tests and even a weird dance before allowed to be discharged. He suspected the last part was unnecessary.

    Right, the bevy of chuckles from nearby personnel were totally his figment of imagination. Upon reaching his quarters, John rapidly slotted a training rod on his pantry shelving to block its access. Next came tens of papers, written furiously with scribbles from the tenth chain of M<sup>th</sup>-Series Equations.

    The mind was willing but the body was left wanting; John eventually dozed on stacks of papers. As the next day descended, he got a rude awakening from his pen that somehow entered his left nostril. Ouch! Six A.M already? He liberated himself from his mess and began preparing. Gunther was waiting.

    Indeed, Gunther was just outside of his quarters. ¡°Boss! Ready yet?¡± He pressed the door chime again, ¡°Boss didn¡¯t call me!¡±

    ¡°Ready!¡± Ten minutes passed before he replied to Gunther. The chimes were deafening.

    The muscled recruit extended his right arm to stop John from slamming into him, ¡°Boss, you okay? What¡¯s da-rush?¡±

    ¡°Uh, time management?¡± John found purchase and managed to stand on his two feet. ¡°Sorry for forgetting to call you.¡±

    Gunther threw his arms upwards, ¡°Eh, no biggie. But, no rush. Eat da-breakfast?¡±

    ¡°Later, Gun-ter. I don¡¯t want to end in the ward again.¡± John looked left and right, ¡°So, who else coming with us?¡±

    ¡°Lucas, and da-specialist.¡± His partner, the burly man led the way to a nearby electric four-wheeler.

    John entered the vehicle after Gunther, ¡°Lucas? Isn¡¯t he¡­reluctant?¡±

    ¡°Orders from da-top. We¡¯re in the Army, Boss! Orders¡¯ orders.¡± Gunther tapped his own broad chest in response.

    ¡°Uh, okay. So¡­. I hope we can get along, Gun-ter. Oh, who¡¯s Specialist Larial?¡±

    ¡°Pew-pew Specialist. She¡¯s good. Beaten me bum, Boss.¡± Gunther snarled when he remembered about it. Larial completely demolished him in a simulated training before. ¡°Da-best in her field. Specialist!¡±

    John shrugged in response, ¡°Er¡­okay? How long will a specialisation take?¡±

    ¡°Two week to a month for da-cert, Boss.¡± Gunther crossed his arms, ¡°Wait, don¡¯t tell me Boss didn¡¯t read da-info? Again?¡±

    ¡°Ahaha-ha¡­I was doing some math¡­¡± John shrunk his neck. This was awkward.

    Some minutes later, they had arrived. The burly man exited the transport first. ¡°Huh, what if da-order came suddenly?¡± He pointed at his head, ¡°You da-leader and do most of da-thinking. Be alert, Boss!¡±

    ¡°Okay, I am sorry Gun-ter.¡± John nodded at him, with shame.

    Gunther replied, ¡°Yeah, Boss. Let¡¯s go.¡±

    Even in the far off Specialisation Station, the 141<sup>st</sup> Martial Army¡¯s base remained in clockwork motion. Recruits and veterans bumped shoulders here, to train and refresh their expertise. Barbed walls abound, paired with armed robots and soldiers. Buildings were blocky, modular and functional to a T.

    Even here there were trucks of all kinds, bringing and whisking materiel, men and god knows what. One passing truck paused John in his steps; the ten-wheeler was unloading some power armours. They were tad larger than normal exo-skeletons but with tank-grade defenses and city-destroying firepower.

    The humanoid machines were one-storey high, equipped with a tower shield of some kind and a large caliber weapon that looked like an oversized, drum-fed light machine gun respectively. John peered at one such weapon; it had a bore the size of his head, or larger. Behind each respective power armour was several linear aerospike nozzles. These...machines can fly?!!If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    A stone-throw away were oodles of tanks and number of wheeled vehicles. These death machines were smaller than power armours yet they remained just as deadly. The tanks had just a single blocky barrel and a smaller co-axial. John suspected the long boxes on the armoured vehicles were missiles. The wheeled ones on other hand were more diverse.

    A few had similar weapons as the tanks but more compact. Several were almost under-armed, presumably just a troop transport. Some carried an impressive cannon, hinting at their usage to hunt tanks and power armour. Curiously, John didn¡¯t see any spacecraft here, presumably because this was an Army base and not Deep-Spatial Forces.

    ¡°Seen enough, Recruit?¡± Someone tapped John¡¯s left flank.

    His salute was everywhere but concise, ¡°Uh, yes, Sir! Recruit John Smith greets Major...¡±

    ¡°Glapov, Boss. Major Glapov Vilmich.¡± Gunther whispered to his right ear.

    The bald Major didn¡¯t mind John¡¯s mistake, ¡°Well met, Recruit. Now, why are you here?¡± His eyes were on his data slate, ¡°To hit the sims?¡±

    ¡°Uh, Recruit Gunther greet da-Major Glapov too.¡± Gunther also threw a salute, ¡°For da-specialisation, Major.¡±

    ¡°Oh, I see. At ease, Recruits.¡± Glapov gave them a brief glance before leaving, ¡°I heard what happened from Major Karamazov, Recruit John. Take it easy.¡±

    ¡°Yes¡­yes, Sir.¡± Contrary to Gunther, John kept his salute until the Major had left.

    Gunther elbowed him after Glapov shifted his attention somewhere else, ¡°Boss, da-salute finished. Come on, Boss. Our team are waiting inside.¡±

    ¡°Err¡­okay.¡± John followed Gunther since he was new to this place. He pointed out to a large object, ¡°Gun-ter, do you think I can pilot that power armour? The red one?¡±

    ¡°Da-power armour, Boss? No offense but¡­Boss need strong muscles. Boss wouldn¡¯t last a second in it.¡± Gunther shook his head as both made their way to a rectangular building.

    Their conversation was joined by a female voice, ¡°The brute¡¯s right. I don¡¯t see how ya can, Leader?¡±

    ¡°Um, well met¡­Specialist Larial?¡± John turned around and found a black-haired woman that was five meters away from him.

    This woman, somewhere between Gunther and John in size eyed the ex-slum dweller with her brown irises, ¡°That¡¯s me, represent. To pilot one, ya need to take Three-Dee Maneuver cert and others. Couple of months¡¯ worth of bojos.¡±

    ¡°I got that cert. How do you like that, girl?!¡± Gunther flexed a bit until he was lectured by other personnel for blocking their way.

    Larial stuck out her tongue at the muscle brain, ¡°Yet I whooped yer ass in Three-Dee Combat. Ha, me, meh.¡±

    ¡°Uh, okay. So¡­. where¡¯s Lucas?¡± John felt the woman was more approachable than Gunther if not sharp-tongued. At least she wasn¡¯t as bulky as that demon Lieutenant Sasha. ¡°I don¡¯t see him anywhere.¡±

    ¡°That guy?¡± Larial had a condescending tone, ¡°Ran away into the sims. I beat him too.¡±

    ¡°Uh yeah, Lucas at it again. Now we here, let¡¯s look around, Boss.¡± Gunther pointed John to lines of people.

    He agreed and moved closer, to the lounge area. In front was number of counters and flanked by meeting rooms. Soldiers of all stripes and ranks purchased the front, some were jubilant, some were despairing. No less were some shown the door or escorted to it. Recruits outnumbered the veterans.

    ¡°Recruit John Smith?¡±

    John¡¯s communicator flared to life, ¡°Yes¡­uh, well met Major Karamazov?¡±

    ¡°Well met. This¡¯s brief. You¡¯re forbidden from taking any suit pilot courses. The rest, up to your abilities.¡±

    The link ended abruptly, ¡°Major, wai-¡±

    ¡°Boss?¡± Gunther waved his right hand at him.

    It took John a few seconds to notice it, ¡°Uh, Major Karamazov contacted me.¡±

    ¡°What did he say?¡± Larial eventually joined both men sitting at the side chairs.

    John was slightly surprised. When did she get here from there? ¡°No suit pilot courses.¡±

    ¡°For ya, Leader.¡± Larial¡¯s face morphed, ¡°I¡¯m taking it.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, Boss. But we have others in here.¡± Gunther continued, ¡°Not everything in da-Army are about da-suit piloting.¡±

    John looked down for a second, ¡°Then¡­but we have a specialist, right? And I need to pick specialisation for our, uh¡­what do they call it, flame-squad?¡±

    ¡°Fireteam, Leader.¡± Larial was nonplussed at his ignorance. ¡°Don¡¯t tell me ya dunno this, huh.¡±

    Gunther ignored her jab and pointed John at the lines of people yet again, ¡°Boss, there¡¯s da-trial and test from them. Auto-assess and interview.¡±

    ¡°Can I really pick for you guys?¡± John was a bit hesitant, ¡°What about Lucas?¡±

    ¡°Make up yer mind, Leader. I don¡¯t have all day, yanno.¡± Larial twirled her hair.

    The squalid man looked at them and then at the counters, ¡°Umm¡­Gun-ter. What do you think?¡±

    ¡°Remote Ops? Or Analytics?¡± Larial answered in Gunther¡¯s place. She wasn¡¯t convinced John can do physical labour. ¡°Or Mess. But probably not Mess duty.¡±

    In a rare occasion, Gunther agreed with some of her points. ¡°Boss seems smart. Da-analytics?¡±

    ¡°Uh, okay. I¡¯ll go see both then. Who¡¯s coming with me?¡± John nodded at the answer. He was still green at this stuff.

    Gunther rose, ¡°I go with you, Boss. Specialist Larial go until da-counter.¡±

    With that said, the trio alighted at the first line of people that led to the commons counter. When it was their turn, Larial gave her working card which led the trio to a meeting room. Three of them had talks with the interviewer and it had been established that John¡¯s specialisation took higher priority.

    True enough, the specialist left both men and hit the simulators again. Therefore, John and Gunther followed the focal person, a male training sergeant that went with the name Kalos. Much to John¡¯s dismay, Kalos upheld Major Karamazov¡¯s directive that he was to be barred from suit pilot simulations.

    Their first stop was an enclosed shooting range where Kalos told John to shoot any firearm for a few times. There were three weapons available; an automatic pistol, a bullpup assault rifle and a cylindrical-fed light machine gun. Further out were steel targets, moving overhead by ceiling¡¯s railings.

    The mustached sergeant pointed at a nearby steel locker with said weapons. ¡°Recruit John, pick one of these and shoot.¡±

    ¡°Um¡­here goes.¡± John picked up the pistol and shot. Two of five hit the target plate that was ten meters away albeit off-center.

    Gunther wanted to do the same, ¡°Boss sergeant Kalos, can I shoot?¡±

    ¡°Okay, a bit¡­lower than average.¡± Kalos commented at John and then raised his eyebrows at Gunther, ¡°You already did the last time, Recruit. Pick a slot later.¡± He added another comment, ¡°And it¡¯s Sergeant, not Boss Sergeant. Don¡¯t get it wrong.¡±

    ¡°Urgh, okay¡­¡± Gunther grunted and negotiated said time.

    John was still reeling from the shock, ¡°So¡­did I pass?¡± His hand was trembling, ¡°Should I shoot with the other two?¡±

    ¡°Pass? Nah, just letting you have the feel.¡± The sergeant put a stop to it with a hand wave. ¡°We¡¯ve wasted enough time, let¡¯s go.¡±

    The next stop was a hall full of boxy simulators, ones used to emulate operation of some of Army¡¯s ground vehicles. They were assault tank, support tank and infantry fighting vehicles¡¯ simulations. The hall was more popular than the firearms gallery, perhaps due to the recruits being familiar with similar games.

    ¡°Is this perhaps, a vee-arr, Sergeant?¡± It was all too familiar to John. He scavenged one before!

    Kalos was swiping his data slate left and right, ¡°Almost. But in real ops, you¡¯re shooting someone else. Someone breathing.¡± He urged John to pick any of them, ¡°Have ten minutes in it and then tell me how do you feel.¡± Kalos gave Gunther a measured nod, ¡°Yeah, you go too, Recruit Gunther. Team up with John.¡±

    ¡°Awesome! Thanks, Sergeant!¡± Gunther was jumping in joy. ¡°Let¡¯s try da-tank, Boss. Ops A.¡±

    ¡°Okay. Ten minutes, right?¡± John entered the simulator pod.

    With a clunk sound, the two person-wide pod closed off. Displays took real estate, followed by a center seat that resembled the real thing. There were sure lot of buttons that even John didn¡¯t know which was which. The steering wheel however was familiar, a broad U-shaped thing with number of buttons.

    ¡°Boss? Did you de-link da-communicator from sims?¡±

    ¡°Gun-ter, is that you? How do I do it?¡± Images came alive in front of John. ¡°I should turn it off, is it?¡±

    ¡°Yeah. Ops A don¡¯t allow use of da-communicator. Press yours for three seconds. Use da-pod comms, da-blue radio button.¡±

    ¡°Okay.¡± John did so. The mission was starting.

    The scenario was that enemy armour had moved into City A and he was tasked to destroy them. A simple mission in theory but he needed to do it all by himself; there were no friendly recon and he was required to cooperate with Gunther. Screens beyond him suggested he was placed under a bridge.

    ¡°Hmm, which button do the shooting?¡± John was familiar enough to move around as the controls were intuitive. ¡°Gun-ter, which button for shooting?¡±

    ¡°Eh boss! Don¡¯t call me up, we can get shot! See surroundings!¡±

    Gunther jinxed it; John heard a shell whizzed his left side. He didn¡¯t know what was that but it detonated a small house ten meters away. Oh no! Move, move, move! He pressed the pedal in panic, sending his view into clouds of dust. More shells came after him, that seemingly knew where he was.

    ¡°Gun-ter?! What should I do?!¡± John mashed the blue radio button regardless. ¡°Gun-ter? Where are you?!¡±

    ¡°Hol¡¯up, keep pedalin¡¯! Break LOS! Break LOS!¡±

    His speed meter was now fifty kilometer per hour and rising. A lucky shot disabled some of his sensory feeds. John wrestled with the controls, barging through numerous walls and car wrecks. It was like driving a big lorry without brakes. Worse, the enemies were still shooting and he cannot return fire.

    In his panic, John mashed all the buttons with mixed results; one button opened a cup holder and another deployed smokes. He was blinded as combat damage had disabled much of his alternate modes of vision. By chance, one of the buttons caused his pod to shake. Finally, a button for shooting!

    ¡°Boss-bzzt-move out-bzzt-of da-ece-em-bzzt-cloud!¡±

    ¡°What?¡± John managed to exclaim before his screens turned black. He was terminated!

    The simulator pod then turned level and displayed his performance. Mission failure at two minutes and forty seconds. The cause of death? Hostile railgun shot from his left flank. His heart almost leaped out of his throat throughout the ordeal; it was too fast, too chaotic. Death when he least expected it.

    His pod died down and automatically opened its door. Kalos greeted him, ¡°Hmm, not bad for a novice. Come on, come out.¡±

    ¡°I¡­uh¡­what about Gun-ter?¡± John wasn¡¯t happy in the slightest. If it was the real world, he would be dead.

    Gunther didn¡¯t fare any better, terminated a few seconds later. ¡°Aw, Boss. I died too!¡± He was a little furious, ¡°Me shot one enemy tee-dee though! Nasty buggers!¡±

    ¡°Yeah, yeah. Now, you want to go to Analytics, Recruit John?¡± Kalos beckoned Gunther to come out, ¡°Which Section?¡± he perused his data slate again, ¡°Signals? Logistics or something else?¡±

    ¡°Me have an idea, Boss.¡± Gunther met with the duo on the sidelines, ¡°see what were wrong in tank pew-pew?¡± the burly man turned to face Kalos with exaggerated hands motion, ¡°tank sim pod too small, Sergeant. Tin can! I no sardine in a can!¡±

    ¡°Standard issue, Recruit. I can¡¯t do anything about it.¡± Kalos shrugged at Gunther before glancing at John, ¡°Well? Thought about it yet?¡±

    John answered after Gunther gave him a slight nudge. He was thinking too long. ¡°Uh, I¡¯ll go what Gun-ter suggested, Sir.¡±

    ¡°You want to do a combat review of your sims?¡± Kalos rubbed his chin with left hand while the other held his data slate, ¡°Are you sure about it, Recruit? I doubt there¡¯s much to find out.¡±

    ¡°I¡­I will do it, Sir. Math is my strong suit.¡± John said.

    The Sergeant led them both out of the simulation section, ¡°Hmm, box of wonders indeed.¡±

    ¡°Sir?¡± John asked in confusion.

    Kalos shook his head, ¡°Nothing, just mumbling.¡± He looked at his data slate again, ¡°I can only give you ten minutes, Recruit. There¡¯s lot more Recruits waiting for me.¡± He then stared at Gunther, ¡°Do you want to join him, Recruit Gunther?¡±

    ¡°Uh, I don¡¯t get math but where Boss go, I go too.¡± Gunther didn¡¯t feel like it but he was worried about John, ¡°How hard can it be?¡±

    ¡°First time I heard about that!¡± Kalos snickered, ¡°Anyhow, I¡¯ll lend you a room here and I want you to compile a report about what went wrong,¡± he paused for emphasis, ¡°and ways to counter it. No pens for you though, Recruit John. We don¡¯t have much time.¡±

    ¡°Uhm, okay. Ten minutes was it? I¡¯ll do it, Sir.¡± John agreed to Kalos¡¯s proposal.

    Kalos opened an empty room for both, ¡°Do your best, Recruit.¡±

    After the door closed, John and Gunther found themselves in a well-lit room. There were two tables here, ringed by four chairs. One data slate on one of the tables and a drinks¡¯ dispenser on the far side. How will I review it? John thought. Gunther on the other hand visited the dispenser for refreshment.

    ¡°How about this, Boss.¡± Gunther chugged a glass of drink down, ¡°See from eye bird view, then find out.¡±

    ¡°Good idea, Gun-ter. Sergeant Kalos said we need to find out what went wrong, right?¡± John willed the data slate to project floating holograms.

    Gunther got himself another glass of beverage, ¡°Don¡¯t be angry, Boss but first fault was, Boss too hasty.¡± He spitted it back since it was plain bizarre, ¡°Important to know rue, rie or thinga-majig.¡±

    ¡°Uh, yeah¡­sorry Gun-ter.¡± John stuck out his fingers in the holograms, drawing some red lines in mid-air. He was guessing where the shots were coming from, ¡°I got a bit, uh, nervous. Rule of Engagement, Gun-ter?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s it, Boss. Rules of Engagement. What, where, how.¡± Gunther nodded at him. ¡°Found anything yet?¡±

    ¡°Well,¡± John drew some more lines and began doing some mental calculations, ¡°It seems there was three or four enemies in previous sims.¡±

    ¡°Oh, how do you know, Boss?¡± The burly man was surprised, ¡°I thought there were ten or sumtin¡¯!¡±

    ¡°From what I see here, they were shooting at long range and used the environment,¡± John stopped his fingers in disbelief, ¡°to¡­.bounce their shots around. They also probably set up some traps and decoys.¡±

    ¡°Right, I thought there were two of em when me shoot that itty tee-dee,¡± Gunther said while being confused what was drawn by John, ¡°so they fooled me, the Great Tandar!¡±

    ¡°Yeah, we got our asses handed to us.¡± The ex-slum dweller perused some more mathematical equations. How could they avoid such failures in the future? It would be a matter of life and death in the real battlefield.

    ¡°Uh, I don¡¯t know Boss. All this are complicated.¡± Gunther shrugged and sat on the side. ¡°My brain not da-smartest in math.¡±

    John was fully focused on his task, ¡°You said I am the leader, right? I will try to do all these number crunching at least.¡±

    ¡°Uh-huh, Boss. We got like, three minutes left. Better wrap it up.¡± Gunther nodded twice at him.

    Three minutes passed like three seconds; Kalos had arrived, ¡°Well boys, time to go out. Leave the data slate behind.¡±

    ¡°Ah! But I!¡± John almost jumped when the Sergeant suddenly appeared in front of his face.

    The mustached sergeant was amused, ¡°Hey boys, orders are orders. Come on, let¡¯s go.¡±

    ¡°Yeah Boss. Time¡¯s up.¡± Gunther didn¡¯t feel like leaving as well; the blue beverage was too tasty. But what can he do?

    Kalos stared at them, ¡°Don¡¯t think too much, Recruit. We¡¯re done here, are we clear?¡±

    ¡°Yes, Sergeant.¡± Both replied albeit reluctant for differing reasons; John felt he could do more while Gunther liked the free-flow drinks.

    The sergeant led them to the lounge area again, ¡°Keep in mind to follow orders, Recruits. We¡¯re not a daycare but an Army. Remember that.¡±

    ¡°When we can know the results, Sergeant?¡± Gunther asked.

    Kalos gave them a business smile, ¡°Two or three days, on your slate and communicator. Now then, run along. I have more work to do.¡±

    A full minute passed before John spoke up, ¡°Was it always this way, Gun-ter?¡±

    ¡°Oh yeah? Yeah. This base alone test thousand like us.¡± Gunther pointed one finger, ¡°Me thinks there are more out there, in other Army bases.¡±

    John¡¯s stomach rumbled at this point, ¡°I¡­uh, let¡¯s go back.¡±

    His burly companion agreed as it had been a long day. John didn¡¯t see either Larial or Lucas anywhere and presumed they were deep in their trainings. I am hungry again, hopefully nothing goes wrong. His mind was heavy. He broke into harsh Army reality, was a frequent visitor of triage wards and uncertain of his future.

 C6 - Talk

    While he was mentally drained, hunger drove John to stay and converse. Both new bloods and old guards were asked the same, where can I eat? Veterans showed him the way but he didn¡¯t understand their cyphers. Recruits gave diverse outputs from ignoring to disdain but none knew their way around.

    He didn¡¯t contact any of his assigned companions due to some concerns; Gunther was preparing for his second test while Larial and Lucas were still at the simulators. Wandering only netted him ire from the guards and oh, this hunger. Thus, John went to Archives as they weren¡¯t kicking him out, just yet.

    If not for constant influx in the base, John would¡¯ve solved his problem. Force allocations and materiel kept coming, changing most of the signs and landscape. The Archives however, remained unchanged among this sea of changes. He hoped that the books and data slates can distract him from his hunger.

    John found himself among rows of tall shelves that carried both physical books and data slates. To the left side was series of virtual reality devices and right, the reception area. He placed his hands on one of the books; it was cold to the touch and two fingers thick. A rarity as it was made from natural paper.

    All papers he had seen prior were faux-papers, made from plastics and god knows what. The book in his hand had yellowish pages and smelt of grass and vanilla. All of these suggested it was an off-world item, an anachronism in age where data slates and virtual reality devices dominate the modern life.

    From this John had an inkling that the Dynasty or this Army was rich indeed, able to import such tomes versus pursuing the modern ideal of cheap, effective and mass manufactured data devices. He looked at the book again; it wasn¡¯t about military tactics. It wasn¡¯t about weapons but a story. A story book.

    The book was titled as Aevulum Fublat and had an abstruse cover. From its synopsis, it recited a fantastical myth of a half-god named as Aevulum that leapt through time. Who would read this kind of thing? The more John read, the more confused he became. At least the pictures were pretty to see.

    Someone called out to him, ¡°Young man, why are you here? I can hear your stomach way over here.¡± The person noticed the book in his hand, ¡°Oh? You read Aevulum?¡±

    ¡°Uh, sorry, Sir.¡± John turned around to see a grey-haired man, ¡°I didn¡¯t know where the mess hall is, so I thought maybe reading some books can, uh, help?¡±

    The grey-haired man had finely sculpted body, barely hidden by his uniform. ¡°I see. Surely that isn¡¯t working well, does it?¡± He introduced himself to John, ¡°Pleased to meet you, young man. I¡¯m Gerasimov and you are?¡±

    ¡°John. John Smith, Sir.¡± John nodded at the bearded Gerasimov, ¡°Sir Gerasimov, I am sorry if I disturbed your reading, Sir. But I am just¡­a bit hungry.¡±

    ¡°Oh? You didn¡¯t find the mess hall, John?¡± Gerasimov put away his round eyeglasses and rose from his chair, ¡°No one told you where is it?¡±

    ¡°Uh¡­I did ask around¡­but I didn¡¯t get what they were saying, Sir.¡± The ex-slum dweller hung his head low.

    Gerasimov was quite an imposing figure. He was one and half tall of John. ¡°Ho-hum, you¡¯re new, is it?¡± He continued after sizing John up and down, ¡°Or was it due to something else? It had been roughly a month after the recruitment. Most people would know this base at the back of their hands.¡±

    ¡°Yes, Sir. I was bedridden a few times.¡± John raised three of his fingers. ¡°I don¡¯t know why but I think it was due to ¡®noggin¡¯ in my head, Sir.¡±

    ¡°Huu, yet you¡¯re here?¡± Gerasimov arched his eyebrows, ¡°Why do the Army still keep you around, John? To me, you¡¯re not fit for service. Not at all. You¡¯re too thin to begin with!¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know either. My team mates said I¡¯m conscripted?¡± John¡¯s face was mix of disbelief and frown, ¡°My superior said it was due to my math skills.¡±

    ¡°I see. If you don¡¯t mind me asking, who¡¯s your superior? Where are you from?¡± The old man shot two questions.

    ¡°My superior is Lieutenant Sash-I mean, probably Major Karamazov by now.¡± John¡¯s voice turned silent, ¡°I am from the, uh, outskirts of Valengir, Sir.¡± He stammered, ¡°And uh, Sir¡­can I know what Sir does? Sir looks like a person that knows this base¡­¡±

    ¡°Outskirts of Valengir, eh. Well,¡± Gerasimov paused, ¡°You can assume me as a book keeper around here of sorts.¡± He glanced at the book read by John before, ¡°By the way, what do you think of Aevulum?¡±

    ¡°This book? I am not sure if my answer will satisfy you, Sir.¡± John hesitated.

    Gerasimov gave him a smirk, ¡°Oh, don¡¯t worry. Just say what¡¯s in your mind. I am a book keeper, after all.¡±

    ¡°Uh, here goes, Sir.¡± Despite being nervous, he continued, ¡°From what I read, the half-god is only trying to save himself, so-¡±

    ¡°Hm, what makes you think that, John?¡± The old man interrupted him.

    John stared at the ceiling, ¡°Uh, Sir, I think because he didn¡¯t use his time powers correctly. He could¡¯ve saved the town but he didn¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°So, you¡¯re saying he should¡¯ve saved everyone regardless of who are they?¡± Doubt rose from Gerasimov.

    The ex-slum dweller found it awkward, ¡°Well, uh¡­he is a half-god so¡­. he should do it, Sir? He has all that power but he didn¡¯t. There¡¯s also a part of him letting the uh, the villain go?¡±

    ¡°Hm, an interesting answer, John.¡± Gerasimov scratched his beard, ¡°Your opinion wasn¡¯t wrong. He was indeed powerful but he didn¡¯t use the full extent of his powers. Do you know why?¡±

    ¡°I¡­don¡¯t know, Sir. The words are too difficult for me.¡± John frowned.

    ¡°Checks and balances, John.¡± The old man answered for him, ¡°Yes, he has all that power but you know, absolute power corrupts. Absolutely.¡± Gerasimov paused for emphasis. ¡°The part where he left the town to die was unfortunate but again, he is only a half-god. God do play dice. If you read until the end, you¡¯ll find out why he didn¡¯t save the town.¡±

    ¡°Okay, Sir.¡± John¡¯s stomach growled yet again. ¡°Uh¡­sorry. I am just a little¡­uh, hungry, Sir. I haven¡¯t eaten from uh, morning. Hahaha¡­ha.¡±Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    ¡°Welp, let this old man treat you to something fulfilling.¡± Gerasimov beckoned John to follow him, ¡°Make sure to remember this route.¡± He turned around to face the thin man, ¡°If you have time, come to the Archives sometimes. I could use someone to talk to, about books.¡±

    ¡°Okay, Sir. Why not with the communicator? I mean, to talk, Sir?¡± John agreed after putting back the book to its shelf.

    The old man waved his right hand, ¡°Hm, if you¡¯re using the communicator, wouldn¡¯t that mean you¡¯re busy at that time? So, if you can come in person, that means you¡¯re free.¡± He argued further, ¡°And if you¡¯re free, you can have a conversation without worries. Communicator doesn¡¯t fill in the need to meet people; we¡¯re social beings. I¡¯d hate to become like one of those young¡¯uns, slaved to their devices day and night.¡±

    ¡°I admit you¡¯re right, Sir.¡± John followed Gerasimov a few steps behind, ¡°I also seen how others are glued to their data slates and stuff. I think it is not exactly good, especially when we¡¯re in the Army. Like my team mate had said, be alert¡­as orders can come any time.¡±

    ¡°A good attitude to have.¡± Gerasimov led him to a hallway, ¡°Young people these days¡­they think this Army is a walk in the park. Wait until they see their first tour!¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re right, Sir. Just that¡­I am not sure if I can.¡± John wasn¡¯t feeling positive.

    The bearded man patted John¡¯s shoulders, ¡°Well, as they say in the Army, the first thing is the mindset. You have the correct mindset, so keep at it.¡±

    ¡°Okay, Sir.¡±

    Small talks occurred as they made their way to the mess hall through number of turns. Throughout the way, there were number of people greeting Gerasimov. He¡¯s well known. John¡¯s thoughts were dashed when his nose smelt something. He didn¡¯t know what were they but they made him salivate.

    As they got closer, there were more and more people on the path. Some carried boxes with alluring smell, others were just as hungry as John. None had their stomach rumbling like him, putting him in an awkward position; people were staring at him. Gerasimov gave them a slight nod, dispersing their gazes.

    John started to incoherently mumble of which when heard by outsiders, sounded like he was spewing litany of curses. The old man besides him heard it differently; John was chanting math for some reason. He brought John to some of many bain-marie islands lining the hall and gave the thin man a plate.

    John was salivating but he kept his stance like a dog told to sit in front of a treat, ¡°Uh¡­Sir? Can I¡­eat them? Which one?¡±

    ¡°Haha, young man. You can pick any of them,¡± Gerasimov took a plate for himself too, ¡°But if you want to truly taste the Dynasty cuisines, I suggest going for Section ai-four, bee-six and el-one.¡±

    The thin man looked at the two nearby sections pointed out by the old man. ¡°Uh, some kind of dark protein block and black protein paste?¡± He then glanced at the far section, ¡°Oh, I know about this one. It¡¯s called as ¡®vegetables¡¯, right? I saw them in the books once! So green and red!¡±

    ¡°Sir Gerasimov,¡± One of the patrons of the bain-marie wanted to give the old man a salute but stopped by him, ¡°A new recruit perhaps?¡± The bespectacled man gave John a calculating gaze, ¡°Is he from the lowlands?¡±

    ¡°He is. He¡¯s somewhere close to it, yeah. Valengir.¡± Gerasimov turned to face the man, ¡°How¡¯s things in your end, Luther?¡±

    Luther responded, ¡°Mostly fine, Sir.¡± He was ladling an oily, steaming stew, ¡°Though I had to dismiss a few due to some disciplinary issues.¡±

    ¡°Ohoho-ho.¡± The old man played with his beard, ¡°Their sponsors and houses won¡¯t like it.¡±

    A low growl interjected their conversation, ¡°I¡­uh¡­sorry Sirs¡­¡±

    ¡°Why are you not eating yet, Recruit?¡± Luther faced John, with ladle in hand. Why is he so thin? ¡°Go on, take anything you like. It¡¯s your duty to eat!¡±

    ¡°Still on-duty mode despite this being your break time, Luther?¡± Gerasimov joked with the brunet man, ¡°You won¡¯t get a girl if you¡¯re like that, you know.¡±

    ¡°My word. My apologies, Sir Gerasimov.¡± Luther faced to the side, ¡°Recruit? Why are you not eating? Go eat!¡±

    ¡°Hush, don¡¯t be too harsh on him.¡± The bearded man whispered to Luther, ¡°He told me that he got into triage for three times.¡± Gerasimov lamented, ¡°I¡¯m not sure if I should happy or not. Oh, how the standards had fallen.¡±

    ¡°Sir Gerasimov, this isn¡¯t the place to talk about that.¡± Luther brought his bowl away, ¡°Anyway, how did this young man fancied your attention?¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s a good partner to talk with, Luther.¡± Gerasimov selected some appetisers, ¡°He read Aevulum. However how short, he debated with me too. A rare thing nowadays, considered how young¡¯uns are these days.¡±

    ¡°Um¡­Sirs? I am sorry to interrupt but¡­¡± John shown them a full plate, ¡°How do I eat, uh, these?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t tell me he even didn¡¯t know how to eat those?¡± Luther was a bit surprised, ¡°How did he get admitted here, Sir Gerasimov?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s what I want to know as well,¡± The old man whispered back, ¡°John, you eat them with a fork and knife.¡± He filled the rest of his plate with same food shown by John, ¡°Come, let¡¯s sit together. I¡¯ll show you how to eat it.¡±

    ¡°Mind if I join you, Sir Gerasimov?¡± Luther brought his tray, ¡°I want to talk a little with him, if you don¡¯t mind.¡±

    ¡°Oh, sure. The more, the merrier.¡± Gerasimov chuckled, ¡°Well John, look closely. This is how you eat the cuisine.¡±

    ¡°I see but uh, this is hard,¡± the knife kept slipping from his hands, ¡°Uh¡­sorry Sir, uh¡­¡±

    ¡°Luther. Don¡¯t sweat it, Recruit.¡± Luther wiped his face with a napkin. The sauce on John''s plate got to his face. ¡°Just¡­be careful, next time.¡±

    ¡°See? He¡¯s interesting. At least we won¡¯t get bored.¡± Gerasimov grinned at the spectacle. He continued to lecture John, ¡°There¡¯s a trick to it. Pay attention, John. You held the knife wrong.¡±

    ¡°Oh. Like this, Sir Gerasimov?¡±

    ¡°Yes, like that.¡± The old man smiled at John. Although this young man is stupid, he sure learns fast.

    ¡°So, Recruit John, right?¡± Luther chewed a piece of meat from his stew, ¡°How do you end up here?¡± He glanced at John¡¯s thin muscles, ¡°The Army is pretty harsh. We need to be fit at any time.¡±

    ¡°I, uh,¡± John coughed, ¡°-recruited from the outskirts of Valengir, Sir Luther.¡± He felt uncomfortable from Luther¡¯s gaze, ¡°My superior said I am admitted due to my math skills?¡±

    ¡°Really? That¡¯s it?¡± Luther didn¡¯t believe it. He activated his communicator.

    John nodded, ¡°Yes¡­Sir. Because of my math skills. I think.¡±

    ¡°Hard to believe but that¡¯s what I found as well, Luther.¡± Gerasimov spoke lightly to Luther, ¡°Though I found it a little baffling.¡±

    ¡°Weird.¡± Luther put down his bowl ladle, ¡°Hm, I see you¡¯ll fit fine in Analytics, Recruit.¡±

    ¡°Uh¡­thanks, Sir.¡± John burped, ¡°Sorry.¡± He continued, ¡°I am waiting for my results.¡±

    ¡°No need for that,¡± Luther waved his hand, ¡°The Analytics branch will gladly receive you, Recruit.¡± He smiled at John, ¡°Just, be mindful. You only live once, after all.¡±

    ¡°I passed?¡± John almost choked his drink, ¡°How, how do Sir Luther knew?¡±

    ¡°Luther is from the Personnel Department, John.¡± Gerasimov chided the bespectacled man, ¡°He¡¯s still single though, all these years.¡±

    ¡°Oh! Recruit John Smi-¡±

    ¡°Stop. We¡¯re off-duty at the moment, Recruit.¡± Luther opened his right palm, ¡°Take it easy. Now, eat! Eat more! It¡¯s your duty to become healthy!¡±

    ¡°Okay, Sir.¡± John returned to the bain-marie again, ¡°Is¡­Sir Gerasimov someone¡­uh, important too?¡±

    ¡°Ohoho-ho, I¡¯m just your friendly book keeper!¡± Gerasimov smirked, ¡°Go on, go eat some more, young man.¡±

    After John left, Luther spoke. ¡°Still with your games, Sir Gerasimov? Please, don¡¯t give me any more headaches.¡± He sighed, ¡°Think of those Recruits suddenly getting panic attacks.¡±

    ¡°That John had poor social skills, being too gullible.¡± Gerasimov wasn''t smiling. ¡°His life must''ve been hard. I pity him.¡± The old man ate his appetisers next, ¡°What a couple new troubles worth? We¡¯re in the Army and we solve troubles. Isn¡¯t that right, ¡®Sir Luther¡¯?¡±

    ¡°I got to hand it to you, you and that hobby of yours, Sir Gerasimov.¡± Luther sighed again, ¡°I fear for my heart. And sanity! Enough with the complaint reports!¡±

 C7 - Exposure

    A door of exciting deliciousness had opened to John; he had tried the hearty Vshyi Dynasty¡¯s dishes, gallivanting Neven Federation¡¯s stew and elegant Sa¡¯lusha Concordat desserts upon guidance (and urging) from Gerasimov and Luther. The real experience was way better than just reading about them.

    The Dynasty dish that he ate as demonstrated by Gerasimov featured a prime beef cut marinated with complex umami spices and accompanied by visually vibrant vegetables. All in all, it was aptly named as Vshyian Slice, representing the Dynasty¡¯s enduring culture hailing from the start of interstellar age.

    Next was Nivisiac¡¯s Triumph, a punchy stew recommended by Luther that highlighted the boldness of Neven Federation¡¯s founding members in hard-fought revolution against their now-dead oppressors. The stew consisted of three types of meat paired with crunchy vegetables inside a strong-tasting soup.

    The desserts at the end? They were literally works of art which caused John¡¯s heart to ache when Gerasimov told him to eat it. Such cuisines indicated Sa¡¯lusha Concordat¡¯s twin beliefs in form of majestic phoenix and watchful owl, made with sculpted fructose, premium chocolate and edible gold.

    There were more cuisines to be had but this was cut short as the Mess Hall was nearing its closing hours. John had some minor talks with Gerasimov and Luther, further priming his confidence. He got to admit however, his ignorance on how this new world worked will eventually bite his arse in return.

    Thankfully Luther was understanding but John detected his subtle irritation to green sprouts like the ex-slum dweller. On Gerasimov, even with John¡¯s misgivings, he felt the old guy was someone really important and cannot be offended in any way. Was it a blessing or a curse to meet him? Time will tell.

    The trip was filling in various ways despite his stomach asking for more. There was another task at hand; Luther contacted him and told he needed to report for duty at Analytics eight hundred hours sharp with the rest of his team. Can John do it? He didn¡¯t know but there¡¯s a first time for everything.

    He felt a headache coming; he supposed the Analytics valued mathematical skills. He didn¡¯t believe the rest of his mates were up to par. Numbers did not involve brute strength or bravado. Gunther was brawn. Larial was misplaced confidence. Lucas? A narcissist and worse. A strange crack team indeed.

    The order from above was more explicit as Karamazov called him a few hours afterwards, ¡°Well met, Recruit John. I didn¡¯t know you have friends in high places.¡±

    ¡°Uh-oh? Well met, Majo-¡± John had returned to his quarters but Karamazov sudden call surprised him.

    ¡°You okay, Recruit? I heard a loud crash over there. Did I call in a bad time?¡±

    A pot of water nearly hit the thin man, ¡°Oh, no! Just that I got a little¡­spooked.¡± It was a mess. ¡°I am, fine, Major Karamazov. Sort¡­. of?¡±

    ¡°If that what¡¯s you say, okay. Just be careful, all right?¡± The voice continued as John scrambled for a wiping cloth, ¡°I want to ask you about something, Recruit John. Can you talk now?¡±

    ¡°Give me ten seconds, Major.¡± John wiped the splash of bullion on his kitchenette. Unfortunately, the stain was stubborn, ¡°Okay, what is it, Sir?¡±

    ¡°Well, couple of questions actually.¡± Karamazov sounded quite amused over the communicator, ¡°Do you really have the time to cook?¡±

    ¡°How-how did Major know?¡± John panicked. He remembered on how the triage personnel made fun of his little brother down there. ¡°Did Major gasp, spy people changing too?!¡±

    ¡°Just for you to know, it¡¯s not my hobby to spy on men or women. I have better things to do, Recruit.¡± Karamazov was stern ¡°Now, Lieutenant Colonel Luther instructed me to guide you to the Analytics branch ASAP.¡±

    ¡°Asap, Sir? Is it¡­some kind of weapon or food?¡± He was confused. What was it?

    ¡°Sigh¡­Recruit John. As Soon As Possible. Not a weapon, not a food. An acronym, so, get used to it.¡± Karamazov wasn¡¯t bemused.  ¡°Do you have a time in mind?¡±

    At this point John had cleaned his spill. He stared at a nearby clock, ¡°Seven A.M, Major? Sir Luthe-, I mean, Lieutenant Colonel told me on my communicator that, I need to get there at least eight in the morning tomorrow.¡±

    There was a slight pause in his communicator, ¡°He did? Well, that settles it then. How¡¯s your condition, Recruit? Anything?¡±

    John patted his stomach. It wasn¡¯t growling at least. ¡°Uh, I am not as hungry as before, Sir.¡± He counted his culinary experience, ¡°I found the Mess Hall and ate a lot!¡± John began to salivate when he thought of it, ¡°Vshyian Slice was it? Major, you¡¯re not telling me I can get good food.¡±

    ¡°Well, you weren¡¯t asking.¡± Karamazov chuckled a little, ¡°Let me guess, you¡¯re trying to make some of them yourself?¡± He continued over the call, ¡°I don¡¯t really bar you from doing it but be careful. It would be a shame if you get injured before getting any medals.¡±

    ¡°Con-confirmed, Sir.¡± The thin man deflated. He asked more as the Major did say he have other questions. ¡°Uh, Sir, what do Sir wanted to know more?¡±

    ¡°Hm, I read your review after Ops A sims. I want you to do better when you¡¯re in the Analytics. We¡¯re not only dealing with numbers but people. Real people, lives and credits. Do you understand, Recruit?¡±

    ¡°Credits, Sir? Why, uh, credits?¡± John expected the part about life but not the latter.

    ¡°Who do you think pays for the food you eat and the gear you use? Although our Vshyi Dynasty has reached the stars, there is a limit in everything. We need to demonstrate our worth for every credit going to our cards.¡±

    ¡°Okay Sir. But¡­¡± John was uncertain, ¡°I am conscripted?¡±

    ¡°Conscripted or not, the rule of the game is the same. Either we perform or we get the boot. Me, included. Anyway, just be ready. And read properly, this time.¡±

    John answered as the link was terminated, ¡°Yes¡­yes, Sir. Recruit John understands.¡±

    As his communicator died down, he looked at the mess on his kitchenette. Will his future be like it? John was weighing his options. Back in the slums, he was a punching bag, a filth diver and waste eater. Now, he was an Army recruit with his talents recognized. But of course, the Dynasty chained him now.

    He kept reminding himself of Glapov¡¯s words; he shouldn¡¯t think too much and instead focus on surviving. By following orders, he survives. By doing missions, he survives for another day. It wasn¡¯t that different in the slums, just packaged in other form. A form of efficient, institutionalised violence.

    John finally cleaned the mess although the stain looked impossible to remove. He made a mental note to access Base Exchange and go get something to erase the godawful puke-coloured stain. Evidently adding too much of a certain spice wasn¡¯t the wisest of ideas. The next day couldn¡¯t come any faster.

    It began without much fanfare but a baritone voice, ¡°Recruit John? Are you ready?¡±

    ¡°Major? Yes, yes I am ready.¡± John was curious on why Karamazov came to pick him. He peered at the intercom and sure it was, the Major was waiting for him. He opened the door, ¡°Well met, Sir.¡±

    ¡°No need to salute, Recruit.¡± Major nodded at him, ¡°Or should I say, Private John?¡± The burly man gestured John to follow him, ¡°I want to get you a DSO to fit in Analytics but that can wait.¡± He sighed, ¡°For now, you need to have something under your name. Call it as exposure-training, Private.¡±

    ¡°A DSO, Sir?¡± John rubbed his eyes. ¡°You want me¡­to be a cadet, Sir?¡± His face flickered, ¡°But¡­I am conscripted. Uh¡­others won¡¯t like it, Sir.¡±

    ¡°Others? They need to respect the chain of command first.¡± Karamazov instructed John to take a seat in an electric cab, ¡°Analytics need people like you due to your math skills.¡± The major continued after setting the destination, ¡°Since you¡¯re still green, I have to take certain measures. Besides, you have support from top brass, what¡¯s there to be afraid of?¡±

    ¡°Okay, Sir.¡± The thin man tried to hide his frown. This won¡¯t be easy. He asked next, ¡°Uh¡­there¡¯s nothing wrong with me, right?¡± He pointed at his head, ¡°And about this¡­¡¯noggin¡¯ in my head?¡±

    ¡°I suppose it¡¯s about time to tell you since you passed the tests.¡± The Major glanced at him, ¡°You¡¯ve guessed correctly, it¡¯s a bona fide chip in your brain.¡± He stopped John from speaking by raising his right hand, ¡°And no, it wasn¡¯t about mind controlling people. It¡¯s a neural terminal, used to interface with our Army stuff.¡±

    ¡°Does this relate to needing to build muscles and stamina, Sir?¡± John replied.

    The Major gave a nod to passing personnel, ¡°Yes and no. For certain specialisations such as Field Operatives, they need muscles since they strain their bodies to the limit to maneuver in three-dee.¡± He swiped his data slate, ¡°For us, the chip is used for syt-integration and secure coms. Though, it isn¡¯t without side-effects.¡±

    ¡°Uh, like my hunger, Sir?¡±

    ¡°One of it, Private John. Now, let¡¯s disembark.¡± Karamazov confirmed. ¡°We need to get you up to speed on how things work in Analytics.¡± He led John to a large octagonal building, ¡°You work directly under me now, with the rest of your mates.¡±

    ¡°Yes¡­Sir. About, uh¡­¡±

    ¡°Lieutenant Sasha? Don¡¯t worry, she will be put in a different site.¡± Karamazov could sense John was daunted, ¡°She was on the edge ever since she lost her team.¡± The Major sighed, ¡°Still, that didn¡¯t excuse her behaviour and so, I put her under triage observation.¡±

    ¡°Oh, uh¡­Sir?¡± John tried to piece on what was said.

    ¡°I¡¯m saying I made a mistake, Private John.¡± The burly man beckoned John, ¡°Anyhow, let¡¯s get you up to speed on what work we do around here.¡±

    ¡°I understand, Sir.¡± John wanted to ask more but he didn¡¯t want to press his luck. Karamazov ushered him to the reception desk.

    A uniformed woman was in charge of it. Her blue eyes focused on John, ¡°Well met, Major Karamazov. This is the new guy you¡¯re talking about?¡± She gazed at the Major next, ¡°Isn¡¯t he¡­a little thin?¡±

    ¡°Well met. Lieutenant Colonel Luther vouched for his abilities, Ilyin.¡± Karamazov gave his card to her, ¡°This is his first day here so I¡¯m going to show him around.¡± He took back the card after Ilyin scanned it, ¡°Where¡¯s the rest of his squad members?¡±

    ¡°In Meeting Room C3 as you ordered, Major.¡± The female military personnel responded. She glanced at John again, ¡°Private John? Private John, please follow the Major.¡±

    ¡°Uh, okay.¡± John snapped out of his daze. The aquarium in the reception area was entrancing. ¡°So, uh, Major, what¡¯s next?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll meet the rest of your team.¡± Karamazov gestured John to follow after him, ¡°I believe you¡¯ve met them and thought they are unconventional, right?¡± He walked down the corridor with John in tow, ¡°It¡¯s intended as the works we do are quite, how do I say this, diverse, Private John.¡±

    ¡°Is that why¡­Major is a bit, ummm, muscular, Sir?¡± John said. The hallway was full of people.

    Karamazov replied, ¡°Yeah. I was once a Field Operative.¡± He reminisced. ¡°A suit pilot in most of my off-world tours.¡± His eyes glazed over, ¡°Braving new worlds, meeting not so, compliant natives and so on. Back-breaking work, literally.¡±

    ¡°Do you, uh, hate it, Sir?¡± John talked after some silence.

    The Major waved his keycard and opened the meeting room, ¡°You¡¯ll know once you get to it.¡± He turned his attention to the people in front, ¡°Well met, Private Gunther and Lucas, plus Specialist Larial.¡± He told them to follow him, ¡°Now we¡¯re all assembled, let¡¯s go for a short walk.¡±

    ¡°Yes, Major.¡± Gunther and Larial replied the same.

    Lucas said differently, ¡°Major Karamazov, this isn¡¯t what you promised I.¡±

    ¡°Yes, yes. Your objection is noted and summarily put into review.¡± Karamazov gave a business smile. ¡°Private Lucas, you¡¯re ordered to follow your orders, here and now.¡±

    ¡°Why can¡¯t I be the leader?¡± The effeminate guy, Lucas twirled his short brown hair, ¡°After all what I did for the Army, no less!¡±

    ¡°First, the decision is final, from Lieutenant Colonel Luther himself.¡± The Major had a measured response, ¡°Second, it isn¡¯t you, but your House.¡± He smiled, ¡°Third, this is the Army and we have our own rules. Only skills and merits are accepted here.¡± The buff man towered over Lucas. ¡°Do, or do I not make myself clear, Private Lucas?¡±

    ¡°Umm¡­okay.¡± Lucas shirked back. Karamazov was a head taller than him. He knew better to adapt to the situation. The stares from the rest of his team was the last push, ¡°Okay¡­I will follow what you said, Major.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m pleased to have your understanding, Private Lucas.¡± Karamazov smiled again. He whispered to John, ¡°I selected you to be a team leader for your math skills. Prove I¡¯m right, Private.¡±

    John¡¯s heart was heavy. Impossible task! He decided to shift the topic, ¡°So¡­uh, Major. What are the works of Analytics?¡±

    ¡°A bit of everything, Private. Come, let¡¯s go.¡± The Major said short.

    The four men and one young woman got into an electric jeep. Karamazov was the driver while John on his left as the Major intended John to look around. Behind them were Gunther and Lucas. Lastly was Larial, claiming the backseat all for herself. She was quite smug about it but the rest ignored her.

    Their first stop wasn¡¯t the rest of Analytics facilities in the vicinity; Karamazov drove them to one of many Army Depots in the base. John was elated as he saw the red power armour again. It was seated to a sturdy wall with a large clamping crane to the right. The left side was littered with Army engineers.

    The unit¡¯s square back had numerous cables attached to it while its right arm was missing its armour plates. A small crane with various tools hovered on the left arm, presumably fixing whatever went wrong. A distance away was its weapon, an oversized machine gun. Or more apt, an automatic cannon.

    Yes, Major Karamazov whisked them to one of few Army Depots that serviced these war machines. Said building looked more like a big concrete tent, filled with men, materiel and humongous trucks. Several Army engineers saw Karamazov and nodded at him, giving him and John¡¯s team a closer look.

    ¡°As you saw back in Specialisation Station, we use PAs in some of our exo-world tours.¡± Karamazov began to explain after gesturing his guests to leave the jeep, ¡°Twenty-tonne of steel thereabouts, worth the same in credits. Firepower a little bit low compared to our tanks and air units but mobile in its domain.¡±

    One of the Army engineers next to the big power armour got into the conversation, ¡°Fresh recruits eh, Major?¡± He spoke next to the Major¡¯s ears, ¡°Why do you have an odd one out?¡± The oil-stained engineer discreetly glanced at John, ¡°Can he do basic MPT, even?¡±

    ¡°I know what I¡¯m doing, Luke.¡± Karamazov hushed, ¡°I¡¯ve been searching for someone that can read between the numbers.¡± He gazed at John. ¡°Lieutenant Colonel endorsed him.¡±

    ¡°What?!¡± Luke almost exclaimed but kept his cool. ¡°Lieu-Col did?¡±

    ¡°Music to my ears, Luke. Watch over them, will you?¡± Karamazov smiled, ¡°I¡¯ll bring you to a nice place I know later.¡± The muscled Major turned to face the rest of John¡¯s squad, ¡°So, any questions, guys? If you want to know more, you can ask our in-house Army engineer here, Luke Kiridov here.¡±

    Gunther was the first one to ask, ¡°Can-can me pilot this red one? It¡¯s big and powerful. Perfect for da-great Tandar ova¡¯ here!¡±

    ¡°Pfft, tandar?¡± Luke chuckled. ¡°If you have stellar track record, you¡¯ll get your PA painted red. Or any colour you want.¡± He patted one of large tools he used to service the machine, ¡°It¡¯s just for flavour. Everything under the hood isn¡¯t that different from others.¡±

    ¡°Red? Mine is cooler.¡± Larial interjected. ¡°Valiant blue, custom bang-bang and will floor this red one without breaking a servo.¡±

    Karamazov¡¯s ears perked up, ¡°Yes, yes, we heard how Neven Federation¡¯s PAs are better armed.¡± He smirked, ¡°But our Dynasty¡¯s have next to zero casualties.¡±If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    ¡°Major, I have a question.¡± John said before Larial could speak. She was furious thus; his question was timely. ¡°Why do we, uh, use PAs?¡± His statement invited weird stares from the rest of the Army engineers. ¡°I had seen some of the tanks our Army used.¡± John gulped a little, ¡°A tank is¡­uh, more stable and can mount a bigger gun?¡±

    ¡°Ha! I heard that all the time, Private.¡± Luke answered, ¡°It¡¯s a matter of doctrine; look around you.¡± He pointed to a large city in the distance, ¡°In this day and age, we have lots of big cities. Things that aren¡¯t that great for tanks or any vehicles to that matter.¡± The engineer gestured with his dirty gloves, ¡°The best compromise is this bad boy here. Scales rubble and barriers like nothing. Like how we walk.¡±

    ¡°Luke¡¯s right. It¡¯s a compromise and is still debated until today.¡± Karamazov agreed. ¡°For one PA, you can buy like, five of our standard tanks. But can five tanks fight well in a collapsed city where debris are everywhere?¡± He added more argument. ¡°The power armour can simply step over it.¡±

    ¡°A right tool for the right job.¡± Lucas commented. He felt being left out.

    Larial harrumphed, ¡°And we Federals pioneered it first!¡± She had an aura of ¡®praise me¡¯, ¡°I know we¡¯re right!¡±

    ¡°Specialist Larial, I understand you like your homelands very much.¡± Karamazov had a cold smile, ¡°But as the saying goes, a wise person submits to the circumstances.¡±

    ¡°Hmph.¡± She grunted, stopping short of insulting the Major. There were a lot of unfriendly gazes here and she didn¡¯t want to prompt more trouble.

    ¡°Engineer Luke, Sir?¡± John asked next to break the ice. ¡°Major told me about how we have this, uh, neural links in our brains.¡± He stared at the one-storey high machine. ¡°And suit pilots can control the PA with it? Can you demonstrate?¡±

    ¡°Why not?¡± Luke nodded and shouted next, ¡°Guys, stand clear! Arms test!¡±

    The engineer grabbed a rectangular helmet and put it on. Two short antennas sprung from it as he flexed his arms. The power armour in the background followed his arm movements, moving left and right. Opening and closing its armoured fingers. It was as if this metallic giant was a super-sized human.

    He pushed a button on the side of his helmet and it parted open in the middle, ¡°Basically that¡¯s it. All motions trackers, can pick weapons, clear rubbles and smash your face in.¡±

    ¡°Can me try, Engineer Luke?¡± Gunther was starry-eyed.

    Luke removed his helmet and pushed several more buttons on it before handing the helmet over, ¡°Yeah, go ahead. Only to move the arms though.¡±

    ¡°Wow! It¡¯s working¡­working!¡± Gunther wore the helmet. The power armour¡¯s arms moved as he wished albeit slower than its usual speed. ¡°Major, when can great me pilot one of these?!¡±

    ¡°When you finish all the necessary certs, Private Gunther.¡± Karamazov explained and then urged him to remove the helmet, ¡°Okay, that¡¯s enough. Engineer Luke and his friends have more works to do on that power armour.¡±

    ¡°So, Major¡­¡± John looked at Gunther¡¯s attempts to remove the helmet, ¡°What Analytics have to do with, uh, these power armour units?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m glad you asked, Private John.¡± Karamazov faced the squad as Luke moved on to his pending duties, ¡°These units are complex machines and give out complex data.¡± He pointed his hand at the arm of the gigantic unit, ¡°For example, arm movement. What we do are to crunch the data from it and find out how to make it better. Faster, safer, etcetera.¡± He beckoned them to enter the jeep again, ¡°In a bigger picture, we assess how effective the power armour is and whether it¡¯s worth it to keep them running.¡±

    ¡°So, to say-¡± John looked at the machine before entering the jeep with the rest of his squad, ¡°to find out whether it¡¯s worth the credits when we have other options?¡± He peered at some trucks in the distance, ¡°Versus tanks and other vehicles?¡±

    ¡°You Dynastians are slow.¡± Larial snorted. ¡°We had it from the very beginning. We use them as force amplifiers.¡± Unexpectedly she agreed with Luke and Lucas, ¡°A right tool for a given job. Combined arms.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s right, Specialist Larial.¡± The Major agreed with her as he drove the jeep to the next stop, ¡°I admit, we¡¯re a little slow in these matters but things are turning better.¡± He gave a short nod to nearby personnel, ¡°A decade ago, we don¡¯t have as much. Now, you can see it pretty much everywhere in the Dynasty.¡±

    The Major drove them to an aerodrome next to the power armour¡¯s depot. Numerous drones and manned helicopters can be seen landing and departing from it. It was a curious contrast; on the side, a building sized mechanized unit. The other side, aircraft that disobeyed the usual aerodynamic rules.

    John saw three helicopters, a bit shorter than the power armour, flying in a formation up above. They looked as heavy as the latter yet they¡¯re flying with the grace of a ballet dancer. Up and down, forward and backwards. Their five-bladed coaxial rotors defied gravity and their missile stores were menacing.

    Karamazov opened the jeep¡¯s side windows, ¡°Greetings, Ensign Drukov. Mind giving me a pass today?¡± He gestured his head to John and the rest, ¡°New guys. Twenty or so minutes will do.¡±

    A burly Ensign that was happened to be next to the aerodrome¡¯s guard¡¯s building replied, ¡°Oh, it¡¯s you, Major Karamazov. Well met.¡± He took a brief view at the Major and his entourages, ¡°I can only give you ten minutes as we¡¯re halfway in the cycle, Sir.¡±

    ¡°I appreciate it, Ensign.¡± Karamazov said and drove the jeep to an empty parking lot, ¡°How¡¯s things?¡±

    Drukov which had a square black hair and beard guided them after they alighted, ¡°Busy as you can see, Major. Our tops are instructing the new guys right now.¡± He muttered in his communicator before continuing, ¡°Would you guys join them?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, go ahead.¡± The Major agreed to his proposal. He didn¡¯t want to impose any more than necessary. ¡°Remind me to get you a bottle of Lirekuk later.¡±

    ¡°Major, this and that are two separate matters.¡± Drukov laughed, ¡°Well, let¡¯s take a look at an ongoing class.¡±

    ¡°What class, Sir?¡± John asked.

    The Ensign responded, ¡°Ops Theory. I suppose it¡¯s of interest for you guys in the Analytics too.¡± He added more, ¡°Next, we¡¯re going to the machine shop. Get to know a bit or two what we use here.¡±

    Drukov motioned them to enter a large room after passing several walkways filled with men and robots that worked like ants. The room had a nondescript title as Study Section but was almost full. Said Ensign gave some gestures to the lecturer as the group entered and stayed at the farthest back.

    The lecturer wasn¡¯t as muscled as Karamazov but his age was showing in his graying hairs. His eyes remained sharp, indicating wealth of experience. His oratory skill aroused interest in what initially perceived as an utterly boring course. There were some questions and answers, making the room lively.

    The Ensign gestured again after few minutes had passed. This was just a short visit and more people were coming to the class, ¡°Okay, let¡¯s go.¡± He waved his hand at the lecturing veteran, ¡°Thanks, Sir! New guys, Analytics.¡±

    Lucas voiced out after exiting the busy class, ¡°Who¡¯s lecturing, Ensign Drukov? I feel like I¡¯ve seen him somewhere.¡±

    ¡°Him? Oh, it¡¯s Senior Warrant Officer Tyunan.¡± The Ensign guided them to their next destination, ¡°I believe he¡¯s around during your Specialisation test? Yeah, at one of the sims. Probably you saw him then.¡±

    ¡°Anything you want to ask, Private John?¡± Karamazov glanced at John. He looked like he has some questions.

    John was a little surprised but managed to keep calm, ¡°So uh¡­I guess part of the stuff Senior Warrant Officer lectured also draws heavily from us Analytics?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s right. Numbers, mostly. Numbers and models.¡± Drukov led them to somewhat chaotic area, ¡°From models developed by Analytics, we put new tactics into practice.¡± He slapped a tool shelf, ¡°And you know, find out how we can make our stuff better.¡± The Ensign glanced at the direction of the power armour depot, ¡°And of course, to support our PA or hunt other PAs. Your work is actually very important to us.¡±

    ¡°Yup. Now you see why getting into Analytics is a good thing?¡± Karamazov smirked at the pouty Larial, ¡°We basically do everything.¡± The burly Army Major faced John next, ¡°That said, this is just the beginning. Some of you already have the foundation but not John.¡± He turned stern, ¡°I hope you guys can get along.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re brave, Major.¡± Drukov whispered to Karamazov, ¡°Never thought I¡¯d see this unbalanced squad before.¡±

    ¡°Hey, I¡¯m willing to buy you a Lirekuk.¡± Karamazov said in a light tone. ¡°Besides, approved by brass.¡±

    ¡°Oh well, if that¡¯s what the brass said, so be it.¡± Drukov shrugged. ¡°Okay guys, we¡¯re at our second machine shop in this aerodrome.¡± He pointed at the work being done, ¡°We do everything here. Servicing, fitting, you name it. Anything that flies in 141<sup>st</sup> Army, we know and worked on it.¡±

    ¡°How¡¯s this different from PAs, Ensign?¡± Gunther stared at some of the partially disassembled helicopter. To him, power armours were superior. ¡°Why use these when we have big guns on PAs and tanks?¡±

    Larial answered for Drukov, ¡°Combined arms, you idiot.¡± She continued, ¡°Who¡¯s protecting the grunts from PAs when tanks are not around?¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s right, Private Gunther.¡± The Ensign agreed before whispering to Karamazov, ¡°What, you even have a Federal suit pilot? How do you get her?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a long story, Ensign.¡± Karamazov answered and then attended to Gunther¡¯s question. ¡°A war isn¡¯t just about PAs, Private Gunther. There¡¯s no one-to-one. Things don¡¯t exist in a vacuum.¡± He glanced at some of the munition stores here. ¡°Each tool has its specific job. This missile for example, can down a PA with a good hit.¡±

    ¡°Helicopters huh.¡± Lucas mumbled. ¡°My House made some of the parts.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s right. Alcavel Munitions. Though we have other suppliers too.¡± Drukov commented.

    John asked next, ¡°So¡­this helicopter can deal with PAs? But¡­¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s fragile?¡± Drukov interrupted him, ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s right. But we can¡¯t have the cake and eat it too.¡± He gave a slight nod to working personnel in the area, ¡°There¡¯s always tradeoffs involved.¡± He pointed at John, ¡°And that¡¯s where you guys come in. Calculate us new stuff so we can respond better to our current and future duties.¡±

    ¡°Can me control this helicopter with my ¡®noggin¡¯ too, Ensign?¡± Gunther was rubbing his hands together. He liked practical the best.

    Ensign Drukov however, shot down his request. ¡°No can do, Private Gunther. You need specific qualifications for it.¡±

    ¡°Uh, not even a little? Just¡­a tiny little bit? Me promise not to break anything!¡±

    ¡°Sorry, order¡¯s orders.¡±

    ¡°Now now, Private Gunther.¡± Karamazov intervened. ¡°We took enough of Ensign Drukov¡¯s time already. Let¡¯s go to our next stop.¡±

    Gunther was dejected but when Karamazov told him he can do some demonstration at their second last destination, he brightened yet again. Ensign Drukov gave them a weird gaze but guided them back to the parking lot regardless. As they entered their jeep again, the Ensign got back to his current duties.

    John stole a last glance at helicopters and drones on the tarmac before leaving. Their aggressive lines were visible; they had a squarish chin gun of some kind, two packs of dozen missile canisters and several small ball turrets spread across their hull. It was hard to imagine they can hunt power armours.

    There must be more underneath all that metal and composites; back in the machine shop, he saw some curious components jutting out from a helicopter being serviced. The drones were a bit smaller as they didn¡¯t need a human cockpit by design but they seemed to carry just as many weapons as former.

    Karamazov drove them to southwest of the base with wide open spaces and tall walls. In contrast of previous two places, this new area had more people than materiel. John caught a glimpse of someone running on such walls and then jumped with a cable from his arm. He landed, rolled and shot his rifle.

    Gunther was beyond excited, ¡°Major, three-dee Maneuver course?¡±

    ¡°Yes, that¡¯s right. The one you¡¯re certing into.¡± Karamazov replied simply. ¡°Come, let¡¯s introduce ourselves.¡± He led them to meet the person in charge, ¡°Well met Sergeant Stanilov.¡±

    ¡°Well met, Major Karamazov.¡± The black-haired man greeted the Major, ¡°New guys?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, particularly this Private John. The rest? Nah.¡± The burly Army Major nodded at Sergeant Stanilov¡¯s salute. ¡°Can you free a slot for Private Gunther? I believe seeing is better than explaining.¡±

    ¡°Okay, Major.¡± The sergeant agreed and brought them to a long building, ¡°Private Gunther only, right? You have five minutes max on the clock. No guns, just roll up there.¡±

    ¡°Aw, no guns?¡±

    ¡°Private Gunther, I didn¡¯t say you can shoot any.¡± Karamazov lightly scolded the burly Private. He ushered him to wear the training exo-skeleton, ¡°Off you, go, Private.¡± Next, he talked to Stanilov, ¡°Appreciate the help, Sergeant. Let me know if you need anything.¡±

    ¡°Thanks, Major. Well, get the new guy up to speed-¡± Stanilov looked at John, ¡°and we will put some request.¡±

    ¡°The usual?¡± Karamazov asked as Gunther was fully suited. The rest of the squad was sitting aside.

    Stanilov stopped Gunther for a moment and tightened some loose components with a wrench, ¡°A bit lighter, I think? Don¡¯t want to burden your new guy, despite brass¡¯s stamp of approval.¡±

    ¡°That settles it then.¡± The Major complied and then said to the waiting John, Larial and Lucas, ¡°So, our Private Gunther will demonstrate what this exo-skeleton gear can do.¡± He waved at John, ¡°Especially to you, John. While you cannot use these gears now, you need to see how they work.¡± The Major gazed at Gunther next, ¡°Private Gunther, do the usual exercise. Make sure Private John can see it.¡±

    Gunther nodded vigourously and began priming his legs after standing clear of anyone nearby. It was an explosive jump; the muscled man hurled through the air like a cannonball. He didn¡¯t lack any finesse as he effortlessly grappled a tall pole and swung around. Gunther killed his momentum by rolling over.

    He ran again, this time sideways on a five-meter high wall. Next came an arching somersault as Gunther dashed back to his starting position. He threw out more cables and used them as fulcrums, to avoid slamming to a nearby wall. Overall, it was energetic acrobatics that was settled in two short minutes.

    The muscle brain didn¡¯t even break a sweat, ¡°How do you like me, the great Tandar?¡±

    ¡°I could do better.¡± Larial puffed her modest chest upwards.

    Sergeant Stanilov shrugged, ¡°Just about average, Private Gunther.¡± He helped Gunther to get out of the suit, ¡°Well, you¡¯re still new so, you can improve.¡±

    ¡°So? What do you think, Private John?¡± Karamazov glanced at the wide-eyed ex-slum dweller, ¡°This is the reason why muscles and stamina are important in this line of work.¡± He gave the data slate from the Sergeant to John, ¡°See these numbers. See how much energy and strain Gunther went through.¡±

    John had his mouth agape. The numbers were scary to look at. ¡°Uh¡­okay. I¡­understand, Major.¡± He thanked Gunther next for his performance and then asked, ¡°Specialist Larial and uh, Private Lucas can do it too, right?¡±

    ¡°Of course, I can. Hmph.¡± Larial responded with a haughty tone.

    Lucas on other hand shook his shoulders, ¡°No big deal. Even I can do it, better than this brute.¡±

    ¡°Well, sorry to break to you guys but the time¡¯s up.¡± Stanilov received back his data slate, ¡°Anyway, thanks for your exercise Private Gunther.¡± He gazed at some people nearby Gunther¡¯s training area, ¡°Showing is indeed better than telling, Major.¡±

    ¡°Glad to be of service.¡± The Major nodded at the people¡¯s salutes. He invited the squad to their last stop after dispensing pleasantries. ¡°I¡¯m bringing you guys to see the HQ. While the rest of you guys did, John didn¡¯t.¡± Karamazov spoke to Stanilov next, ¡°Keep up the good work, Sergeant.¡±

    The group returned to their jeep and made way to their starting position, the Analytics Section. There were less people around as the twin stars above were sinking below horizon. The Army base lit up, dispelling the coming darkness. Of course, with two megacities nearby, the skies weren¡¯t truly dark.

    Karamazov led them to a different building in Analytics. It was more like a huge storehouse versus typical Army buildings. Even at this time of the day, activities never ceased in here. Jeeps and electric cabs outnumbered men. There should be more men inside, doing tasks assigned by the Service branch.

    The Major and the rest passed a number of automated gates, ¡°This is our last stop. Due to security reasons, I can¡¯t show you all of it.¡± He mulled for a bit, ¡°Private John, I will try to get you a station here ASAP.¡± Karamazov stood at the last automated door, ¡°The rest of your squad did. It¡¯s just a matter of formality.¡±

    ¡°Okay, Sir.¡± John looked left and right. The environment was full of holograms, stacks of unwashed caffeine-laden beverage cups and people, ¡°So, uh¡­what do they do here?¡±

    ¡°Studies.¡± Karamazov paused a bit as he greeted random personnel, ¡°Basically anything you seen before, are collected here and calculated upon.¡± He brought John to the sidelines. ¡°Some say, we¡¯re the Logistics Section worst nightmare, haha.¡±

    ¡°Uh¡­me don¡¯t like math¡­¡± Gunther complained. The sheer amount of work here soured his face.

    Karamazov chuckled, ¡°Hey, not every one of you need to do this kind of work everyday.¡± He looked at the men here, whizzing back and forth. ¡°But of course, every one of you need to know about this work.¡±

    ¡°Can Private John do all of it?¡± Lucas was bored out of his mind.

    Larial continued, ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m a suit pilot, not a calculator, Major.¡±

    ¡°Hey now, everyone has their own responsibilities, Private.¡± The Major lectured them, ¡°Even though I was a suit pilot, I did this kind of work too. Everyone needs to go through it.¡± He stopped Lucas from objecting, ¡°And I mean, everyone. You¡¯re dealing with multi-million credits worth of gear. Are you sure you can pay the Dynasty back if you broke it?¡±

    ¡°My House can, Major.¡± Lucas was dissatisfied. He found the previewed work was unbefitting for him.

    It was as if Karamazov was waiting for him to say it. The Major argued, ¡°It¡¯s not just about paying the costs. We¡¯re in the Army, guys. We have our own courts.¡± He smiled, ¡°Do you really want to try getting into our military tribunal?¡±

    ¡°Uh¡­so, Major¡­what kind of work they actually do here? I am sorry that I don¡¯t really understand it.¡± John interjected before the matter got worse.

    Karamazov asked for a data slate from a nearby personnel, ¡°Well, if I want to explain it in detail, we probably need to get a class and a few days so I will be brief.¡± He brought them to an empty meeting room, ¡°We collect data, process them and calibrate models.¡± The data slate began to emit some holograms, ¡°It¡¯s not only that. We¡¯re talking about a big scale here. We¡¯re working with our Dynasty doctrines and see where our means fit in grander scheme of things.¡±

    ¡°Does Major mean, from our soldiers to, uh, Dynasty spacecraft up there?¡± John asked.

    Lucas was feeling chatty at this point of time, ¡°You forgot about economics, Private John. My House paid a bit for these stuffs too. We want the best value out of our credits.¡±

    Karamazov raised his eyebrows. Lucas was almost right. ¡°Half of the story, Private Lucas. We compute the trends. Economics, politics and military.¡± He changed the holograms to series of graphs, ¡°Being an Army, we need to know what we can and cannot do. That takes serious number crunching.¡±

    ¡°Humph, you and your outdated methods.¡± Larial grumbled to the side.

    The Major glanced at her, ¡°Did you say something, Specialist Larial?¡± He clapped his hands, ¡°That¡¯s right, how about we hear on how the Neven Federation do things?¡±

    ¡°Uh, I don¡¯t know, Major.¡± Larial refused. ¡°Never been my line of work. It¡¯s above my paygrade to discuss.¡±

    ¡°Oh well, if that¡¯s it, that¡¯s it.¡± Karamazov looked at the time, ¡°Well, you guys are dismissed.¡± He pointed at the ex-slum dweller, ¡°Except you, Private John. I have some words for you.¡±

    ¡°Yes, Sir?¡± John stayed behind as per the Major¡¯s instruction.

    Karamazov waited until the rest of the squad left, ¡°I want to ask; how do you meet Lieutenant Colonel Luther?¡±

    ¡°Well¡­¡± John was trying to recall his memories. It had been a hectic day. ¡°After I left the Specialisation Station, I went to the Archives.¡± For some reason, John omitted the part where he met Gerasimov, ¡°After reading and asking around, I went to the Mess Hall.¡±

    ¡°And that¡¯s where you meet Lieutenant Colonel?¡± The muscled Major was trying to make sense of the situation. ¡°By chance, over dinner?¡±

    ¡°Yes, Major.¡± John nodded. ¡°That¡¯s it.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s it?¡± Karamazov didn¡¯t buy it. He knew how hard was it to get personal audience with Luther, ¡°Are you pulling a fast one on me, Private?¡±

    ¡°Uh, Major. That¡¯s it. Fingers¡¯ crossed.¡± John shrugged. He didn¡¯t know how to further convince Karamazov.

    Karamazov was silent a bit and then talked. ¡°Er¡­okay.¡± He gestured John to leave and the mumbled to himself. ¡°I should watch for my own hide, is it?¡±

    ¡°Major?¡± The ex-slum dweller looked at him with a strange gaze, ¡°Are Sir worried about something?¡±

    ¡°Nothing.¡± Karamazov dissipated his ridiculous thoughts. ¡°Well, as I promised, I will get you a station here, so, you can do a little bit of work under me.¡±

    ¡°Okay Sir. When should I begin?¡± John paused his paces.

    The burly Major consulted the data slate, ¡°Perhaps...a few days from now. I¡¯ll tell you over the communicator. Take a good rest, Private.¡±

    ¡°Acknowledged, Sir. Until then.¡± John saluted at the Major and then left.

    Thankfully, Gunther insisted the rest of his squad to stay and wait for John as the former knew the latter wasn''t familiar in this part of the base. John felt a little guilty about making them wait but his muscled companion dismissed it as nothing important. They took another jeep and came back to their respective quarters.

    Throughout the way, John recalled on how Karamazov twitched a bit when he explained the bit about Luther. Am I imagining things? He removed such thoughts as he had other things to worry about. There were much to digest and process from this long day. His future might hang in the balance relative to what he had seen.

 C8 - Interaction

    John Smith waited for quite a long time yet the call from Major Karamazov did not materialise. Is it that hard to get a station in Annalytics? He stared at his kitchenette¡¯s tabletop, a utilitarian design coloured basalt and controls in ivory white. The stubborn stain was still on it, a vomit-coloured splat.

    ¡°Hmm, since Major did not call me yet, maybe it¡¯s time to go to BX?¡± John talked to himself. When he looked at the stain, it reminded him of the slums. Not a good memory. His stomach rumbled. ¡°Perhaps some food too. I wonder if I have any credits.¡±

    He perused his Recruit Kit again; due to unavoidable circumstances, he didn¡¯t really take a closer look on the hefty silver-coloured case. The internals were all black, made from tough plastics and synthetic foam. Oh? There were two small tabs on the inner left side. He pulled the top one and found another card.

    He recalled his prior conversation with Gerasimov; every soldier in 141<sup>st</sup> Martial Army Corps was given at least three cards. The first, a keycard to access personal quarters and certain areas. Next was a debit card, preloaded with some credits. The last one was about the user¡¯s profile and established records.

    John judged the card in his right arm must be the said debit card, based on its wordings and colour. He tapped it to his given data slate and sure enough, the device revealed he had some hundred credits in it. How long will this last me? Back in the slums, he never had to worry about running out of credits.

    It was a miserable life yet almost everything was free, as free one wanted if they discounted the crooks and mooks plying the routes. From the Archives and his data slate, he read about on how everything above the slums had a price. Big and small. Ludicrous and bargain. Nothing was truly free in a society.

    Credits got added to his laundry list of problems although his grumbling stomach begged to differ. John browsed his data slate and queried what he can buy from the Base Exchange. Should he try to cook again? No, that will take too much time and credits. Thus, he decided to buy some ready meals or something similar.

    Standard military rations were tasteless enough and John had vague indications that they only made his hunger problems worse. Post-Mess Hall visit, he wasn¡¯t feeling as bad as before. John also reminded himself that he needed to wash this vomit-palette stain. So much to buy, so little credits.

    When he was preparing to go outside, his communicator rang. Gunther was on the line, ¡°Boss, up yet?¡±

    ¡°Hello Gun-ter. Yes, I am¡­up?¡± John put on his communicator over his left ear, ¡°So, uh¡­why do you call me, Gun-ter?¡±

    ¡°Just feelin¡¯ it, Boss. Boss¡¯s hungry right? Me can hear it here!¡± Gunther exclaimed over the call. John¡¯s grumbling stomach made him chuckle.

    ¡°Oh, sorry. I was just browsing the BX¡¯s feed so, uh¡­¡± With a tinge of embarrassment, John put down the data slate to his table.

    Gunther continued, ¡°Me see. Planning to buy stuff at da-BX? How bout we go together?¡±

    ¡°Together? Didn¡¯t you say you have some sort of test coming?¡± The thin man began wearing his boots, ¡°Or some training, Gun-ter?¡±

    ¡°Bout that? Da-test been postponed. Me heard someone important coming to da-base. Also, I need to buy some stuff for me train, Boss.¡± Gunther replied.

    ¡°Okay, let¡¯s meet up outside of BX.¡± With boots fixed, John answered after some consideration. He stared at the debit card on his right hand, ¡°But, uh, Gun-ter¡­I don¡¯t have much credits so, uh¡­¡±

    ¡°Not much credits, Boss? Don¡¯t worry! Boss have me! Me rich! Me can sponsor!¡±

    ¡°Is¡­it, really, really okay? But it¡¯s your monies!¡± Even with his burly friend¡¯s assurance, John still felt it was wrong to use his money for free.

    Gunther simply laughed it off as if the matter was of no consequence, ¡°Hahaha! Didn¡¯t Boss know me? Me from one of Dynasty¡¯s super Houses! Little credit is little problem!¡±

    ¡°Uh, if you say so, Gun-ter. I will arrive in, uh, seven minutes?¡± After Gunther¡¯s reply, John had exited his quarters and summoned a robot cab.

    ¡°Sure, Boss. Boss know how to use da-robocab, right? Right...?¡± An affirmative and a playful tone. Gunther wasn¡¯t convinced John knew the method.

    This time, the thin man laughed. He knew Gunther was only joking with him. ¡°Yes, Gun-ter. After reading and watching it, it would be strange if I don¡¯t know it.¡±

    ¡°Okay, Boss!¡± Gunther replied simply before the connection was cut.

    John walked to a robot cab stop and sat to one of its side benches. There were other people here, three men and a woman. John glanced at them; two men wore field caps. To his surprise, one of the men happened to be Army engineer Luke. They were talking to themselves until the engineer noticed John.

    Now he took a second look, Luke was like a completely different person. The engineer called out to him, ¡°Hey Private John, come here, let¡¯s sit with us!¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s him?¡± A well-built lean man with a clean chin whispered to the engineer.

    Next was a brunette woman, staring at John with her blue eyes. ¡°You¡¯re joking, right, Luke? How did he get in?¡±

    ¡°Top brass-approved, man. He has some biiiiig cables, I told you.¡± The last man in the group gave John a sagely nod. His short dreadlocks shook up and down.

    John tripped on his legs as he rose and gave a hasty salute. ¡°Oh, uh¡­Well met¡­Sirs? And Ma¡¯am?¡±

    ¡°Oh you, don¡¯t be so stiff! We¡¯re all friends, here!¡± Luke propped him up. He gestured with his hands, ¡°Well Private! Here¡¯s Matthew, Jamien and Alisa.¡±

    ¡°Grats for making this far, Private John. Nice to meet you. I¡¯m Matthew.¡± The lean man gave John a shallow nod.

    Next was the tan-skinned guy with dreadlocks, ¡°Brave little guy, ain¡¯t cha? Name¡¯s Jamien, as in Jah-Mi-Aen.¡±

    ¡°Well hello, John? John Smith?¡± Lastly was Alisa. She whispered to Matthew, ¡°Did I get his name right?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s him.¡± Luke said. The stout engineer continued, ¡°Brave guy indeed, Jamien. He asked why we use PAs. Right in me and my boys¡¯ face in the depot.¡±

    ¡°What?¡± All three namely, Matthew, Jamien and Alisa had the same reaction.

    John already sat at this time, keeping his gaze low. This is¡­awkward. ¡°Uh¡­yeah? I am¡­just a little¡­curious. No, uh, no offense¡­¡±

    ¡°Where are you from, John?¡± The woman looked at John as she tried to figure him out.

    The ex-slum dweller spoke with a mute tone, ¡°Uh¡­outskirts¡­outskirts of Valengir.¡±

    ¡°I told you, man. Now, pay up, Matthew!¡± Jamien chuckled at Matthew as he had won the bet with the latter.

    The lean and muscular man laughed in return as he tapped his debit card to Jamien¡¯s, ¡°You win this round. I¡¯ll get you next time, you hear?¡±

    ¡°Guys, now¡¯s not the time to swag your wagers.¡± Alisa shook her head in disapproval. She turned to Luke, ¡°I think you should¡¯ve worded it better, Luke. Look at the hapless chap! The poor thing¡¯s all terrified!¡±

    ¡°Hey, I have no problems with it, you know me, Alisa.¡± The engineer answered her. He put a thinking expression next, ¡°But you know, everyone¡¯s not the same. Just saying, he needs to be mindful.¡±

    ¡°Luke¡¯s right, Alisa. There are some things you don¡¯t ask bluntly.¡± Matthew agreed with the engineer. He glanced at her and talked in a lowered tone, ¡°What will you think if someone else ask if you¡¯re at that time of the month or not?¡±

    ¡°This and that are two different things.¡± Alisa soured. She almost slapped Matthew, ¡°Pervert.¡±

    ¡°Spare me the talk, man.¡± The dreadlocks guy waved his hands dismissively. He asked John, ¡°So, new guy. Where are you going?¡±

    ¡°B-, B-X Sir?¡± It took some courage to answer. John was still jumpy, ¡°To¡­get supplies. Cleaning supplies.¡±

    ¡°You want to buy cleaning supplies, John?¡± This time Alisa questioned John.

    The thin man nodded, ¡°Umm¡­yeah, Ma¡¯am. To wash a stain I made from¡­cooking.¡±

    ¡°Oh, you can cook by yourself?¡± Alisa smiled and grabbed his hands, ¡°Poor you, it must¡¯ve been harsh in the Army, right?¡±

    ¡°Wow, wow, wow, Alisa. He¡¯s not your pet. Let him go, haha.¡± Luke laughed at the scene. ¡°He¡¯s a soldier now.¡± The engineer patted John¡¯s shoulders, ¡°Well Private. Don¡¯t let it get to your head. She¡¯s a bit, how do you say this¡­unique.¡±

    John was beet red. He had never been hugged by the opposite sex as far as he can remember. ¡°Umm¡­okay, Sir Luke.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, don¡¯t worry about it. She¡¯s always like that, man.¡± Jamien chimed in.

    Matthew nodded in agreement, ¡°She¡¯s just a tiny bit friendly. Yeah, that¡¯s it. But when she¡¯s in her mod-¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re saying?¡± Alisa stared daggers at Matthew. The lean muscular man tacitly shut up. She ignored him and talked to John again, ¡°Ignore those brutes, John. Are you okay? I heard you¡¯re admitted to triage for more than three times?¡± Her eyes lighted up with concern, ¡°Are you eating properly? Do you want me to come over and make you some meals?¡±

    ¡°Hey, now you sounded like his mom, haha.¡± Luke chuckled again, only to be met with a slap from her. He intercepted it, ¡°Uh, Alisa?¡±

    ¡°Luke, he¡¯s an orphan. Don¡¯t be so crude.¡± Alisa retracted her hand and spoke to John again, ¡°Don¡¯t listen to him, he¡¯s an insensitive idiot.¡±

    ¡°No, it¡¯s okay. I am used to it, Ma¡¯am.¡± John¡¯s eyes glazed over. He never had warmth of family. As the mood was turning heavy, John shifted the topic. ¡°Umm¡­where are Sirs and, Ma¡¯am going?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m heading out to Maneuver Station with Jamien fella here. Ought to practice a bit, stuff.¡± Matthew was the first to answer.

    Jamien did a follow up, ¡°Yeah, man. I¡¯m gonna cap yo ass and set a new record, man.¡±

    His words in return was retorted by Matthew, ¡°We¡¯ll see, Jamien. I¡¯m still faster than you, haha!¡±

    ¡°Is it too hard for you guys to stop betting for once?¡± Alisa gave them a side-eye. She was the third to reply, ¡°I¡¯m heading to the BX too, John.¡± She gave the engineer a smile that wasn¡¯t a smile, ¡°A coincidence, Luke.¡±

    The engineer sighed in his heart, ¡°Okay, okay. I won¡¯t comment. Anyhow©¤when will you start, Private?¡±

    ¡°Uh Sir, I am still waiting words from Major Karamazov.¡± John shook his head, ¡°It had been three days now. So¡­uh¡­¡±

    ¡°Did you try to call him?¡± Matthew got into the conversation.

    ¡°I did, Sir Matthew. He had his communicator, uh, blocked?¡± The ex-slum dweller had a puzzled expression.

    Alisa at this point clapped her gloved hands together, ¡°Oh, that must¡¯ve something to do with Grand Marshal Fedor and someone from Royal Family coming. Didn¡¯t you hear about it, John?¡±

    ¡°Uh¡­yeah, yes Ma¡¯am. Is Major Karamazov involved in it?¡± John asked in return.

    Luke answered before she could, ¡°That¡¯s right, Private. Well, most of the brass starting from Major and up. They need to accommodate the delegation.¡±

    ¡°I see¡­so that¡¯s why I cannot contact Sir Luther.¡± John muttered to himself.

    His statement didn¡¯t pass unnoticed as Matthew and Jamien both shot him with the same query in amazement, ¡°How did you do it?¡±

    ¡°I¡­uh¡­met Lieutenant Colonel over a dinner, Sirs.¡± John said. He felt they weren¡¯t convinced however. ¡°Honest¡­Sirs. Fingers¡­crossed.¡±

    ¡°Well if he knows about you, that¡¯s great, John.¡± Alisa spoke. Her eyes were starry while her hands were clasped together, ¡°Oh Lieutenant Colonel, so near, yet so far!¡±

    ¡°Alisa, I would like to remind you that we¡¯re all professionals here.¡± Luke reminded her. What a change in personality.

    What Luke said had fallen on deaf ears as Alisa held John¡¯s hands again, ¡°Private John, I have a private request to make¡­can you set me a meeting with¡­Lieutenant Colonel? Please?¡±

    ¡°Umm¡­okay Ma¡¯am?¡± John was a little creeped by her. He recalled something, ¡°Oh, I met Sir Gerasimov too, would Ma¡¯am like to meet him?¡±

    To John¡¯s surprise, Alisa backed off voluntarily. ¡°Err¡­forget what I¡¯ve said, Private John.¡± She was avoiding his gaze for some reason. ¡°It¡¯s just a slip-up, yeah.¡± The woman, in fact ran away a few seconds later, ¡°Forget about it, please!¡±

    ¡°Uh Sirs, did I say something wrong?¡± John was confused. Why would she run away?

    His question was met with a thumbs up from Jamien, ¡°Little man, you¡¯ve huge guts. Biiiiggg cables, man.¡±

    ¡°Yeah. You¡¯ll make yourself a new name at this rate.¡± Matthew nodded alongside with the dreadlock-haired guy.

    Luke on other hand was opening a door to a robotic cab, ¡°Eh, don¡¯t worry about it, Private. Well guys, I¡¯m off to the Supply Section.¡±

    ¡°Uh Sir¡­can you tell me why?¡± John was still perplexed.

    Matthew too got his ride, ¡°What¡¯s Luke said. Don¡¯t worry about Alisa, she¡¯ll be fine.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, man. See you around, little man. If you have time, visit the Maneuver Section sometime.¡± Jamien said and shared the vehicle with Matthew.

    This interaction gave more questions than answers. Should John be relieved or frightened that he met Gerasimov? The old man wasn¡¯t that scary but inquisitive. He found him to be more amicable than Lieutenant Sasha. John put the matter on the backburner and waved his keycard to a knee-high pillar.

    After watching other soldiers doing it so many times, John knew how to summon a robotic cab and get to his destination. He was still squeamish about the chip-in-a-brain deal and thus he opted to use holographic display and item selection with eye movements. A few seconds later, his ride had arrived.

    It was a two-seater vehicle as he was traveling alone. The cab was dark-grey on both outside and inside. Despite automation in this new age, the vehicle still retained a steering wheel as it bellied Army iron-clad philosophy of redundancies. John made himself comfortable as it started to make its way.

    The vehicle was cruising more or less ten times the marching pace. Plenty of time to see around albeit his communicator suddenly nagged him, ¡°Well met Private John. Where are you right now?¡±

    ¡°Major?!¡± John almost fell head first to the dashboard. He coughed, ¡°Well met Major Karamazov. I am currently travelling to, uh, BX, Sir.¡±

    ¡°I see. How¡¯s your condition? Nothing¡¯s out of ordinary, right?¡± Karamazov had some concern in his voice.

    The vehicle John rode arrived to its stand and thus he exited it and sat on the side waiting bench. ¡°Fine, I guess? By the way, Major is busy with, uh, reherzel?¡±

    ¡°Rehearsal, Private.¡± The Major corrected him. He continued, ¡°It¡¯s great you¡¯re fine, Private John. I¡¯m pretty sure you heard of what¡¯s happening, right?¡±

    ¡°Yes¡­yes, Sir. Grand Marshal Fedor and His Highness from the Royal Family are visiting the 141<sup>st</sup> Martial Army Corps?¡± The ex-slum dweller said.

    ¡°Her Highness. Third Princess of our Vshyi Dynasty, Nina Vyshia.¡± The Major calmly explained things to him, ¡°Since this visit is what you can call a bit, sudden, your posting unfortunately will be delayed by a week.¡±

    ¡°A week, Sir? What should I do in the mean time?¡± John raised his eyebrows. Third Princess? I hope this doesn¡¯t mean trouble.

    There was a slight pause in the reply, ¡°There are major changes in the plans, Private John. Due to Her Highness visitation, top brass decided they will hold a parade one week from now. All of us are required to join.¡±

    ¡°Okay, Major. Now I thought about it, is that why Sir didn¡¯t bring me to see the ground forces, Sir?¡± John queried.

    ¡°Yes, that¡¯s the reason. They were busy preparing for the planned parade.¡±

    ¡°Uh¡­Sir, may I ask another question?¡±

    ¡°If it¡¯s not about classified information, go ahead.¡±

    ¡°Okay¡­¡± John swallowed his saliva. He switched on the communicator¡¯s sub-vocal mode, ¡°Is it really fine to hold this parade when we should be¡­uh, preparing for the enemy at all times?¡±

    ¡°Well, even I thought it was ¡®redundant¡¯ if we want to put a word to it, but-¡± The Major also adopted a soft tone, ¡°ultimately we need to obey the Crown as it¡¯s Vyshi Dynasty that sponsored us.¡±

    ¡°Really, ¡­Sir?¡± John can¡¯t help to question more. ¡°But¡­uh¡­¡±

    The Major however wasn¡¯t willing to discuss further, ¡°Private John, please remember Major Glapov¡¯s words. Words to live by. Anyway, I¡¯ll call you again regarding the rehearsal.¡±

    ¡°Yes¡­yes, Sir.¡± John replied before the connection was cut.

    A cheerful voice could be heard from afar. It was Gunther. ¡°Oi Boss, what took you so long?¡±

    ¡°I, uh, met some people on the way here, Gun-ter.¡± John felt his ribcage was being squeezed. Gunther was simply too strong. ¡°Gun-ter? Can you, uh, let me, uh, go?¡±

    ¡°What? Boss, dese just a small hug!¡± The burly Private loosened up. He patted John¡¯s shoulders next, ¡°See, no harm, right?¡±

    ¡°Y-y-eah.¡± John stammered as Gunther was a bit too forceful. He pointed his finger out front to divert the attention of the big guy, ¡°Gun-ter, that is the B-X, right?¡±

    ¡°Right Boss, da-BX. Now, let¡¯s go.¡± The burly man walked first, ¡°What do Boss want to buy in da-BX?¡±

    ¡°Clean¡­cleaning supplies. I¡¯ve messed up. A little.¡± John said.

    Gunther stopped in front of a large rectangular building, ¡°Cleaning? Why not call da-quarters cleaning service?¡±

    ¡°Cleaning service, Gun-ter?¡± John asked as many people went pass his right side.

    Gunther replied next, ¡°What, Boss didn¡¯t know?¡±

    ¡°I¡­don¡¯t. Yeah, I don¡¯t know, Gun-ter.¡± The thin man can only shake his head in embarrassment.

    ¡°Oh. Don¡¯t worry, Boss. Then we can get nice stuff in here.¡± The burly man had looks of pity. He changed his tune as a result, ¡°Good stuff! Like Concordat¡¯s chocolates, Boss!¡±

    The two men made some light talks as they entered the Base Exchange. From outside, the Base Exchange building looked like a large slab of grey rock was slapped on the ground but the inside was a different world of its own. It reminded John of the Archives, with neat rows of racks and the like.

    But that was where the similarities ended; the racks were white in colour and most items on them were varied products, not books or data slates. And of course, visitors to this place were quadruple if not ninety percent more than in the Archives. John glanced at them, wearing various attires and ranks.

    By coincidence an old man he was familiar with, called out to him, ¡°Hey John! Fancy meeting you here!¡±

    ¡°Hello Sir Gerasimov.¡± John gave him a polite nod and asked, ¡°Uh¡­Sir. What¡¯s with the¡­uh, disguise?¡±

    The old man was wearing a grey-collared shirt, a broad cowboy hat and dark sunglasses. He replied, ¡°I have my reasons.¡± Gerasimov continued after eying Gunther, ¡°A new friend, John?¡± He gave the burly man some acknowledgement, ¡°Ho-hum, this is what a real soldier should look like.¡±

    ¡°Oh? Thanks, Boss Gerasimov.¡± Gunther smiled and began flexing his biceps and triceps. He glanced at Gerasimov, ¡°But Boss Gerasimov looks strong as me too! Wow!¡±

    ¡°Haha, it¡¯s nothing much, young man!¡± Gerasimov too, mimicked his actions, ¡°Even if I¡¯m old, I still have it! Muscular power! Like this and this!¡±A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    Oh no, what¡¯s this hell? John pulled over Gunther¡¯s left arm but it didn¡¯t budge at all. ¡°Gun-ter, stop it! People are watching us!¡±

    ¡°Haha, just pandering to kindred spirit, young man.¡± Gerasimov chuckled and then turned his gaze to John, ¡°So, you guys are buying stuff?¡±

    Gunther answered for John, ¡°Yah, Boss Gerasimov. Boss John is new so da-Gunther shows Boss around.¡±

    ¡°Yes¡­yes, Sir Gerasimov. I heard the higher-ups, uh, planned a parade?¡± John was unsure. He tried to explain as best as he could, ¡°So¡­I think, I should buy stuff now.¡±

    ¡°Hm, I see.¡± Gerasimov stopped and pointed to nearby rack, ¡°Now you¡¯re here, how about you buy some protein supplements, John?¡± The old man lifted a small green box from the shelf, ¡°Like this one here. You could use some muscles.¡±

    ¡°Oh, Boss Gerasimov is smart!¡± Gunther praised the old man for his selection.

    You mean, to become a macho freak? John paused a little, ¡°Uh¡­I will think about it, Sir Gerasimov¡­¡±

    ¡°I feel like you¡¯re thinking something rude just now, John.¡± Gerasimov put back the small box while suppressing his laughter. He didn¡¯t mind it, ¡°Well John, please visit the Archives after the parade. It¡¯s a bit of boring there.¡±

    ¡°Okay, Sir.¡± John replied as the old man left like a passing storm. He glanced at Gunther, ¡°Gun-ter?¡±

    ¡°Boss¡­do you think me can spar with him?¡± His burly friend narrowed his eyes. "He looked strong! Powerful! Like me!"

    John shrugged, ¡°I¡­uh, don¡¯t know? But if you want to meet with Sir Gerasimov, he¡¯s usually at the Archives.¡±

    ¡°Archives? Me like no books.¡± Gunther felt repulsed but his competitive spirit was ignited, ¡°But if me can meet Boss Gerasimov there¡­¡±

    ¡°Uh, Gun-ter. Let¡¯s think about that later.¡± John tried his best to pull Gunther out of his daze. He asked, ¡°So¡­what are you going to show me again?¡±

    ¡°OH! Da-chocolates, Boss!¡± Gunther started to walk faster, ¡°Sa¡¯lushan Sculptures! Limited!¡±

    ¡°Gun-ter©¤¡± John said within earshot, ¡°why is it called as a sculpture?¡±

    ¡°Ah Boss, you¡¯ll see when we get there. Come on!¡± Gunther urged him to move faster, ¡°If we late, we don¡¯t have da-seats!¡±

    John and Gunther made their way through the aisles among clusters of people. There were many that headed to the same direction but they weren¡¯t particularly rushing. The sight of Gunther¡¯s running, all eighty kilogram of explosive muscle power also played a part where most subconsciously avoided him.

    The ex-slum dweller wasn¡¯t that impressive and was left behind for a moment before he caught up with his burly companion. Gunther noticed there were several men staring at him and thus he consciously slowed down. As both men made a right turn, someone crashed into John from behind.

    ¡°Ow!¡± John made a single comment before Gunther caught him in time from slamming into a tall white rack in front.

    The burly man put John aside and looked at the perpetrator, ¡°Oi! Why run into me Boss?!¡±

    ¡°I¡­I¡¯m fine Gun-ter. Wha?!¡± John jolted up. What is this person doing?!

    The new person was about the height of John albeit not as thin. John wasn¡¯t initially sure whether this person a male or a female due to cloaked appearance but the answer was telling; the person''s voice was female. ¡°Umm? You¡¯re not Uncle Gerasi-mov.¡±

    ¡°Oi you! Stop touching me friend bum-bum!¡± Gunther tried to slap her gloved hands away.

    Why do people in the Army have weird habits? John felt goosebumps rose all over him. ¡°Uh¡­Ma¡¯am? Please let go?¡± He signaled with his eyes at Gunther, ¡°Shhs! Don¡¯t attract attention, Gun-ter!¡±

    ¡°Munya¡­twenty points.¡± The guilty party said this with eloquence as if she was a connoisseur of sorts. She separated herself from John, ¡°Big Brother isn¡¯t well trained and have no beard!¡± This girl held John¡¯s hands next, ¡°Is Big Brother a man? Or woman?¡±

    ¡°Oi yo-¡±

    ¡°Wait, Gun-ter. Let me handle this.¡± John raised his hands. He turned to look at her. Her hair was tucked tight in her cap but some spilled over, platinum ones. Her eyes shifted between purple and blue while her face was slightly oval with fair skin. If not for her voice, John wouldn¡¯t know she was a girl. He continued after several seconds, ¡°Umm Ma¡¯am. It¡¯s not good to go¡­¡± He cleared his throat, ¡°-fondling people when you meet them, please?¡±

    ¡°Ah? No, no!¡± The girl was flush red as a tomato, ¡°Anna is sorry! Anna is looking for Uncle Gerasi-mov!¡±

    Uncle¡­Gerasimov? More questions than answers. John felt he should be more embarrassed than this girl. He said, ¡°Okay, Anna. Why are you looking for¡­Sir Gerasimov?¡±

    ¡°Big Brother know Uncle? Anna wa-¡±

    ¡°You, apologise to Boss John. Now.¡± Gunther was ready to charge at her. He cracked his knuckles together as added intimidation.

    The ex-slum dweller spoke next to the burly man¡¯s right ear. ¡°Gun-ter, stop. Let me do this, please?¡± As Gunther had simmered down, John continued, ¡°Well Ma¡¯am Anna. My friend Gun-ter is right. Please apologise, please?¡±

    ¡°Uh¡­okay¡­Anna is sowwy¡­.¡± The girl was clearly terrified at the burly man and thus played along. However, it only lasted a few seconds. ¡°Big Brother know Uncle Gerasi-mov?¡±

    ¡°Uh¡­yeah? I¡¯ve met him in the Archives, Ma¡¯am.¡± John remained respectful. He said more, ¡°In fact¡­I¡¯ve just met him several minutes earlier in here, Ma¡¯am Anna.¡±

    ¡°Really, Big Brother?¡±

    ¡°Really. Fingers crossed, Ma¡¯am.¡±

    ¡°Okay then! Thank you, Big Brother!¡± The girl then left like a hurricane, leaving both John and Gunther perplexed.

    Gunther asked John, ¡°Am me dreaming, Boss? Please pinch me, ow! Okay!¡±

    ¡°Err¡­let¡¯s forget about this?¡± John took the lead, ¡°So uh, Gun-ter, you¡¯re saying about Sa¡¯lushan Sculptures?¡±

    ¡°Oi¡¯right! Da-Sculptures! We don¡¯t wanna be late!¡± Gunther pointed out on where to go.

    The brawny man led John to a relatively isolated aisle surrounded by clusters of uniformed and non-uniformed personnel. Standing in the center of their attention were two men clad in white and mushroom-looking hats. One of them brought out a tall chocolate pillar and another held a thin knife.

    The fatter of the two instructed people to back away a little bit. After that was done, his partner began his work. He sliced and diced, leading to ribbons and fragments of chocolates to fly and hit the installed clear screens around their domain. Bit by bit, the chocolate pillar was being shaped by numerous cuts.

    At first it was a rough shape but ten seconds later an outline emerged from it. A big bird around the size of an average adult¡¯s head. The knife expert switched with his fat partner that began to withdraw some sticks. He dipped them into some containers and splatter of molten glass, no, fructose flew out.

    The crowd applause at the end of their performance as the confectionary sculpt was finally complete. It was one of the iconic twin symbols of Sa¡¯lusha Concordat, the Phoenix. John was speechless at the sight as these guys worked not like chefs but more like master craftsmen, with attention to fine details.

    A line immediately formed as most of the people here wanted to buy some of the displayed desserts. John caught on a familiar hair-do. ¡°Well met, Sir Luther?¡±

    ¡°Oh, it¡¯s you Private John.¡± Luther glanced at him and whispered a little to his colleague in the front. He got out of the line and went to John, ¡°Are you looking to buy them too?¡±

    ¡°Well met Sir¡­Luther?¡± Gunther gave a salute like John. He didn¡¯t know what rank Luther was, and thus sounded unsteady.

    Luther didn¡¯t mind it and gestured them to the side with less people, ¡°Sir Luther is fine.¡± He directed his gaze at John, ¡°How¡¯s your new work been treating you, Private John?¡±

    ¡°Uh¡­about that¡­¡± John wasn¡¯t feeling confident. He told the truth anyway, ¡°Major Karamazov said my posting will be delayed? Delayed by, uh, one week, Sir.¡±

    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s right.¡± Luther recalled something. He nodded, ¡°The parade, right? No wonder.¡± The serious man placed his gaze at Gunther next, ¡°Hmm, Private Gunther, right?¡±

    ¡°Yes Bos-me mean, Sir.¡± Gunther had a verbal slip. For some reason he felt this Luther wasn¡¯t someone to be trifled with. He carefully introduced himself, ¡°Me is Private Gunther, Maneuver trainee, Sir.¡±

    ¡°Maneuver trainee eh?¡± Luther was checking his own communicator a little bit before replying, ¡°Well, it¡¯s not in my power to say what and what cannot be done.¡± He asked John, ¡°Did you meet Sir Gerasimov here?¡±

    John answered, ¡°Yes Sir. I¡¯ve met Sir Gerasimov ten minutes before. And¡­¡±

    ¡°What is it? Speak your mind, Private.¡± Luther questioned. He noticed the change of tone in John¡¯s voice.

    Gunther answered first, ¡°Oh Sir, me and Bo-, me mean, Private John met a girl.¡± He exaggerated his arms movements, ¡°She rude, Sir. Rubbed Private John¡¯s bum-bum.¡±

    ¡°Gun-ter!¡± John exclaimed in the burly man¡¯s ear, ¡°Don¡¯t tell Sir Luther about that!¡±

    But it was too late as Luther managed to hear it, ¡°A girl?¡± His face scrunched, ¡°That¡­touched inappropriately? What?¡± The brunet man stared at John. He isn¡¯t that special. ¡°Can you tell me what happened?¡± Sternness can be heard in his voice.

    Seeing no other choice, John spilled the beans. ¡°Um¡­we¡¯re in haste to see these sculptures. She ran into me, Sir. From behind.¡± The ex-slum dweller continued in a hushed tone, ¡°Then uh¡­this girl started to do things.¡±

    ¡°My word.¡± Luther snorted in light anger. ¡°We don¡¯t tolerate sexual harassment here, no matter who they are.¡± He faced both of them, ¡°Can you tell me about this offender?¡±

    ¡°A girl tall as Private John, Sir.¡± Gunther explained in John¡¯s place. ¡°Petite, metal hair and gloved. She wears da-military fatigues and cap.¡±

    ¡°And her eyes, uh¡­ shifted between blue and purple, Sir.¡± John added.

    Luther thought a bit but it didn¡¯t ring any bells, ¡°Hmm, I never heard of someone like that in this Corps.¡± He said to John one last time before departing, ¡°I¡¯ll look into it, Private. Thank you for telling me. Report to me if you¡¯re still being harassed. Be safe, young man.¡±

    ¡°Gun-ter. Is this happening?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know, Boss.¡±

    ¡°Pinch me please, Gun-ter. Ow, okay¡­this definitely¡­happened.¡±

    ¡°So¡­Boss? Buy chocolates?¡±

    ¡°Yea. Buy chocolates, Gun-ter.¡±

    The two of them decided to leave it as such matter was out of their controls now. Instead they focused their energies on browsing and getting desserts that fancied their eyes. Gunther was quite direct; he audibly gulped when he saw them one by one. John was more reserved but not his growling stomach.

    This invited some chuckles from the two expert chocolatiers and they conversed with both John and Gunther. The two chefs decided to give them hand crafted desserts for free; John was given an edible gold-covered chocolate hourglass while the brawny guy got a clear candy in the shape of a small owl.

    In response, John gave them a simple bow while Gunther gave out his personal card. The burly man then bought several palm-sized desserts as form of gratitude despite their busyness on handling current customers. The thin and, burly men soon left the confectionary artisans to their pending work.

    John asked again as they both walked to robotic cab stand outside of the BX, ¡°Um¡­are you sure to give me this, Gun-ter?¡±

    ¡°Yeah Boss.¡± Gunther gestured with his free hand, ¡°Oh, can Boss deliver one to da-specialist?¡±

    ¡°Which chocolate?¡± John peered at the synthetic paper bag. There were three small boxes in it, excluding his free gift from the chocolatiers.

    The burly man put his synthetic paper bag to the side and propped his own chin, ¡°Huh. Specialist Larial like white chocolate, Boss. So, da-second one?¡±

    ¡°Okay then.¡± John nodded. ¡°Where can¡­I find her?¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s usually at da-sims. Wait-¡± Gunther checked his own communicator, ¡°Me give this location to Boss. She¡¯s there.¡±

    ¡°5<sup>th</sup> Depot? What is she doing there?¡± John asked after reviewing the information.

    Gunther answered him, ¡°Specialist Larial not only do da-sims. She likes to talk to Army Engineers, Boss.¡±

    ¡°Oh, I see.¡± John slowly pieced it together. Now he thought about it, Larial seemed to have such inclinations. He asked again, ¡°Will you go with me, Gun-ter?¡±

    ¡°Me? Sorry Boss. Me have training with Warrant Officer Jamien.¡± Gunther refused him. A robotic cab had arrived and stopped in front of the burly guy, ¡°Me need to go now, Boss.¡±

    ¡°Wait, what should I tell her, Gun-ter?¡±

    ¡°Tell her it was a gift from Boss! Da-specialist will like it!¡±

    ¡°Gun-ter? Wait!¡± His voice didn¡¯t reach his muscular friend as he had long gone from sight. John rubbed his temples, ¡°One thing to another¡­sigh. Might as well go. Maybe I can talk to Engineer Luke?¡±

    ¡°Oh John? I happened to hear your conversation with your burly friend.¡± A friendly voice came from his side. It was Alisa, ¡°For your girlfriend?¡±

    ¡°Uh, no, no, Ma¡¯am.¡± John shook his head. He tried to explain it, ¡°She¡¯s¡­special?¡±

    ¡°Special? Hmm, okay.¡± Alisa definitely misunderstood but John didn¡¯t have the energy to correct her. She sat next to him, ¡°By the way, I saw you meeting with Sir Luther back in the BX.¡± Alisa was excited, ¡°Did you arrange my meeting with him?¡±

    ¡°Uh, Ma¡¯am? Can¡­you, uh, let my hands go?¡± John recoiled backwards. Does she know about personal space?

    Alisa faked a cough, ¡°Eh¡­ehem. May I know what did you talk with Sir Luther? Please?¡±

    ¡°Umm¡­¡± John scratched the back of his head. He glanced at the side, ¡°It¡¯s¡­nothing¡­important. Yeah.¡±

    ¡°Aww, why the gloomy face?¡± The woman had pity in her eyes. ¡°Do you need a hug, John?¡±

    He was holding it in, trying to hide his flushed face from Alisa. There was definitely no need to tell her that a random girl had just casually grabbed his butt before. ¡°No, uh, really, it¡¯s nothing, Ma¡¯am.¡± John immediately talked about something else, ¡°Uh, Sir Luther asked how I am doing, Ma¡¯am.¡±

    ¡°Is that it?¡±

    ¡°Yes¡­yes, Ma¡¯am. That¡¯s it.¡±

    Alisa stopped pursuing the matter as John wasn¡¯t willing to elaborate. She asked in a different tune, ¡°So, where are you going, John?¡± The woman then noticed the twin symbols of graceful phoenix and vigilant owl on his synthetic paper bag, ¡°Going to give a chocolate to your female friend? I bet she¡¯ll be very happy with it.¡±

    ¡°Um¡­yeah, Ma¡¯am.¡± John agreed. He continued, ¡°My other friend, Gun-ter just now told me to give the chocolate to her.¡±

    ¡°Oh, I see.¡± Alisa was a little suspicious, ¡°So, it¡¯s just a gift from your other friend to her?¡± She tilted her head to the side, ¡°May I ask, what for? Usually, John, you give such chocolate to your significant other. Are you...¡±

    ¡°It is? Uh, I don¡¯t know, Ma¡¯am.¡± John¡¯s face was blank. He wasn¡¯t familiar with such customs. He replied, ¡°I think, uh, it¡¯s a friend¡¯s gift?¡±

    ¡°I see. Friend¡¯s gift.¡± Alisa was a little dejected as the situation was not as she previously thoughted. She crossed her arms together below her chest, ¡°When are you going to give it?¡±

    ¡°Uh, right now, Ma¡¯am? 5<sup>th</sup> Depot.¡± John answered.

    Alisa was in deep thought for a few seconds before she talked again, ¡°Oh, that¡¯s where Luke went. Is your friend an engineer too, John?¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s a specialist, Ma¡¯am. A suit pilot perhaps? I don¡¯t uh, know much.¡± The thin man shook his head. He truly didn¡¯t know much about Larial.

    Alisa asked another question, ¡°What¡¯s her name? If you don¡¯t mind me asking, John?¡±

    ¡°Larial. Specialist Larial, Ma¡¯am?¡±

    ¡°Larial? Is that right?¡±

    ¡°Yes, Ma¡¯am. That¡¯s her name.¡±

    The woman ruminated the conversation for a bit and mumbled to herself, ¡°So¡­her name is Larial. That haughty Federal suit pilot.¡±

    ¡°Ma¡¯am?¡± John asked with a concerning tone. Alisa¡¯s face was cold beyond measure.

    The fair-skinned woman laughed it off, ¡°Oh, it¡¯s nothing! Just talking to myself, haha.¡± An idea popped in her mind, ¡°Say, John? Can I go with you?¡±

    ¡°Uh¡­sure? It¡¯s not like¡­I have other things to do.¡± The ex-slum dweller agreed with caution.

    When she saw his reaction, the blue-eyed woman tried to reassure him, ¡°Don¡¯t worry John. I have some business there too.¡±

    ¡°Business, Ma¡¯am?¡± John was curious.

    Alisa made a thinking pose and then said, ¡°Yes John. I¡¯m what you can say, tech director.¡±

    ¡°Uh, well met, Ma¡¯am!¡± John hastily stood up to give her a salute but she waved her hands to indicate it wasn¡¯t necessary.

    She giggled a little, ¡°Don¡¯t be too stiff, John. You need to be more flexible!¡±

    ¡°Yes¡­yes, Ma¡¯am.¡± John instinctively tried to avoid her hug but it would be rude otherwise. He let it happen.

    Alisa can¡¯t help than to eventually comment after a brief contemplation, ¡°You¡¯re so thin, John! Are you sure you¡¯re eating properly?¡±

    ¡°Yes, yes I am¡­Ma¡¯am.¡± John looked away. He pointed his fingers next, ¡°Uh, Ma¡¯am? The cab had arrived. Ma¡¯am can go first.¡±

    ¡°Oh you! No, let¡¯s go together!¡± The woman dragged John along. Even though she was almost as thin as him, he felt powerless against her.

    Alisa took control of the vehicle while John was convinced by her to sit on her left side. Throughout the journey, her voice dominated as he gave short or sometimes, no answer at all. She¡¯s¡­uh, unique? John held on that thought and wished this will finish. Most of the time, Alisa only talked about Luther.

    It was ten agonising minutes as John forced himself to at least entertain her lest she asked too much. Unfortunately, that gave him little solace as Alisa questioned even more. His liberation came at hand when they eventually arrived at the 5<sup>th</sup> Depot. From afar, Luke noticed them and began his approach.

    If the engineer wasn¡¯t sharply dressed, he would be decked in oil-stained attire. Indeed, his clothes had seen better times, ¡°Hey Alisa! Why are you here?¡±

    ¡°Just visiting my office and,¡± Alisa paused as she and John left the vehicle to its designated stand, ¡°delivering this John here.¡±

    ¡°Hm? Him? What for?¡± Luke queried. There was a trace of annoyance in his face.

    John stepped out and gave him a simple salute, ¡°Well met, Sir Luke. I am delivering something to my friend, Larial. I heard she is here?¡±

    ¡°That girl?¡± Luke frowned, ¡°Yeah, she¡¯s here. In that.¡± The engineer pointed at a bunch of arguing people in the foreground, ¡°Can you, like, bring her away, John? She¡¯s messing things up.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s the matter, Luke?¡± Alisa was as surprised as John. She glanced at the crowd, ¡°What did she do this time?¡±

    ¡°Urgh, just look at that, Alisa.¡± Luke grunted. Obviously, he wasn¡¯t happy. He continued with tinge of anger, ¡°Still saying this and that, saying we¡¯re backwards and shit.¡± The engineer firmly grabbed his wrench and stopped short of insulting Larial, ¡°John, please, for the love of all machines, take her away!¡±

    ¡°Maybe we can hear what she has to say, Luke?¡± Alisa suggested. She spoke in a rational manner, ¡°Look, arguing isn¡¯t going to solve anything. How about you leave it to me?¡±

    The stout engineer was silent for seven seconds and then nodded, ¡°Okay. Since you¡¯re our tek-dev, you¡¯re better to solve it. Let¡¯s go.¡±

    The trio walked among the forest of machines, spilled lubricants and random stuff. Clearly something went wrong in here sometime earlier. Thankfully there were no further damage as most equipment in view were largely intact. John felt his stomach sunk however, as if it indicated a bad premonition.

    ¡°Well met. I presume you¡¯re Specialist Larial?¡± Alisa broke into the furious discussion. She clapped her hands, dismissing most of the people here, ¡°Okay, okay. You guys can leave now. I will talk with her.¡±

    There were numerous indignations but the personnel in the depot knew better. They left Alisa to take control as her voice sounded in their ears, ¡°So, Specialist Larial, what¡¯s the matter if I may ask? I¡¯m one of this Corps¡¯ technological directors by the way.¡±

    ¡°Well¡­met. Director Alisa.¡± Larial begrudgingly gave Alisa a salute as the latter outranked the former by several times in these kinds of situations. The specialist was still furious from previous debacle.

    John peered at both woman from a distance. He decided to voice up, ¡°Uh¡­Specialist Larial? I have, uh¡­a chocolate for you.¡±

    ¡°Really?¡± Larial stared at him as if he was an oddball that didn¡¯t know how to read the mood. Why is he here now?

    Alisa gestured for John to keep his silence. She looked at the pouting Larial, ¡°I heard you had heated discussion with our personnel? Do you mind telling me what it is?¡±

    ¡°Uh, Ma¡¯am. They¡¯re doing power distribution and algorithms in this PA all wrong.¡± Larial began retelling her part of the story, ¡°At some point, it will create dangerous resonance and all sort of bad things.¡± The short black-haired woman continued, ¡°I told them my solutions but they kept saying it was impossible-¡±

    Alisa got the gist of it and interrupted her, ¡°So, you take the matters to your own hands?¡± She sighed at this reckless girl, ¡°You know, you could get serious injuries if you did that. Or worse, Specialist Larial. Dishonourable discharge and a black record.¡± Alisa explained further, ¡°There¡¯s a reason why we have safeguards, Specialist. It¡¯s not like raw performance is everything.¡±

    ¡°Yes, yes, it is, Ma¡¯am.¡± Larial strongly rejected the other woman¡¯s notion. Her face soured, ¡°It¡¯s just that¡­I don¡¯t want to see what happened there, happen here. I¡­I just wanted to prevent that.¡±

    ¡°Still, that didn¡¯t excuse your behaviour, young girl.¡± Alisa was stern. She touched at some of the broken equipment in vicinity, ¡°I know you have the best of intentions, but we have different ways of doing things in our Dynasty.¡± Her voice turned soft at the end, ¡°Progress shouldn¡¯t be rushed.¡± Alisa whispered at John next, ¡°I think it¡¯s better if you give her the chocolate now?¡±

    ¡°Oh!¡± It took several seconds for John to process it. He clumsily walked forward and handed Larial a small white and black-coloured box, ¡°Specialist Larial, this is for you. Please don¡¯t be angry¡­okay?¡±

    When Larial eventually calmed down, Alisa spoke up, ¡°Since you¡¯re new, I¡¯ll let you off this time, Specialist. You¡¯re still young and have lots of potential in you, so, please, be careful next time.¡±

    ¡°Umm¡­. okay¡­¡± Larial sounded reluctant. Of course, she knew the stakes involved. It was Alisa¡¯s mercy that she won¡¯t get thrown into the brig for multiple grave offenses she had committed just now.

    Seeing her remorse, Alisa spoke to John, ¡°Hmm, now I think about it, John, you¡¯re good at math, right?¡± The woman perused her communicator, ¡°Oh yes, you¡¯re! How about you work out something with Luke and¡­Larial here for a bit?¡± She suggested some sort of parley, ¡°Maybe you can find out what¡¯s wrong? I think it¡¯s the best compromise for this¡­little incident.¡±

    ¡°But-¡±

    ¡°No exceptions, Larial. You started this mess; you better finish it.¡± Alisa used a commanding tone, ¡°My grace can only go so far. I want results, not excuses.¡±

    ¡°Yes. Yes Ma¡¯am. I will do it to the best of my abilities.¡± Larial accepted it with face of defeat. Alisa was dead right.

    Alisa spoke next to John¡¯s ears, ¡°I know I¡¯m asking much from you, John. But please mend the situation. Since you know both of them, I think you can handle it.¡±

    ¡°Uh, Ma¡¯am?¡± John was a bit startled. He spoke in earshot range, ¡°Why uh¡­Ma¡¯am didn¡¯t uh, do¡­something?¡±

    ¡°I could do that but the animosity will remain.¡± Alisa answered. She facepalmed her head, ¡°I would like to prevent resorting to that degree if possible. You¡¯re the best compromise that I can see now, John.¡±

    ¡°Can I, Ma¡¯am?¡± John was still doubtful.

    Alisa refrained from coming close to John. There were many watching eyes, ¡°Yes, you can, John. I believe in you. You¡¯re kind.¡±

    ¡°Um¡­okay, Ma¡¯am. I¡¯ll try my best, haha.¡± The ex-slum dweller gulped and lamented about his fate in his mind. Impossible task!

    If was as if the blue-eyed woman knew what John was thinking and thus, she gave some encouragement to him, ¡°Don¡¯t worry. If you¡¯re not successful, there¡¯s no penalty for you. But if you are, I will add good words for you, in your records, John.¡±

    ¡°If I may, Director Alisa?¡± Surprisingly, Luke adopted a formal tone, ¡°I would like to report in my capacity as 141<sup>st</sup> Martial Army¡¯s Weaponry Engineer II that I am unable to work with Specialist Larial in most capacities except for emergencies. Please see the enclosed message in your communicator, Director.¡±

    ¡°Now, now, Luke, don¡¯t be hasty.¡± Alisa felt another headache was coming. She tried to coax the engineer, ¡°Why not? It¡¯s a good chance to learn together.¡±

    ¡°I am sorry to say this but the rest didn¡¯t feel the same.¡± Luke refused. He elaborated further, ¡°Yes, a compromise was reached but a wrong is still a wrong. I shall not aid Specialist Larial in her blunder.¡±

    ¡°So, to say, you¡¯re suggesting she would work with just Private John as the punishment, Engineer Luke?¡± Alisa changed her tone as she knew not everything will go as planned.

    The engineer was silent for nine seconds and then talked, ¡°It is as you said, Director. Not to worry, I shall supervise them of their work when necessary.¡± He added another reason, ¡°And as a form of test for Private John.¡±

    ¡°Him?¡± Alisa asked.

    Luke turned his communicator and spoke using sub-vocal transmission with her, ¡°Yes, Director. Some personnel were suspecting Private John¡¯s sudden election to Analytics. Since Grand Marshal is coming here soon¡­give a way out for Lieu-col. We don¡¯t want Grand Marshal to hear some unsavoury things.¡±

    ¡°So, you want to use this chance to convince them and cover for Lieutenant Colonel Luther?¡± Alisa responded in the secret channel.

    The engineer gave an affirmative nod, ¡°Yes, Director. Please grant my request.¡±

    ¡°Very well.¡± She talked in the channel. Alisa then spoke up with her actual voice, ¡°We have achieved an agreement here. Specialist Larial, as for your assigned punishment, you will work with Private John,¡± She glanced at both of them, ¡°to bring this wrecked PA to its operational status. Engineer Luke shall aid you if and only if necessary.¡±

    ¡°Yes¡­Ma¡¯am.¡± Both agreed. Larial was frustrated while John was nervous at the prospect. How would two people fix a building-sized machine that took at least three experts or five non-experienced people to do so?

    John raised a question, stopping Alisa from leaving, ¡°Uh, Ma¡¯am? Only to operational status, right? What if the fix did not match the initial¡­specifications of the PA?¡±

    ¡°Yes, only to that. As long this machine can work again.¡± Alisa nodded at him, ¡°Specialist Larial as you know, was a former suit pilot from Neven Federation.¡± She praised Larial a little, ¡°She knows more than enough what are she doing. It would take more work, sure but that¡¯s what she¡¯s for, John. Work together, as a team.¡±

    ¡°Umm¡­are you really sure, Director¡­Alisa?¡± John spoke where only Alisa could hear him amidst the chaotic background, ¡°I mean, I am not sure if the machine¡­can be restored to its¡­prior status.¡±

    ¡°Oh you! Do you forget who I am? I¡¯m the tech director!¡± Alisa shot her whisper to him. She voiced a little higher next, ¡°Do not worry of not meeting its original specifications. My order to you two is to simply, get this PA up and running. It had seen better days. Compared to now.¡±

    ¡°Okay¡­okay, Ma¡¯am.¡± John agreed in a nod that wasn¡¯t a nod. It was a daunting task no doubt. He only knew math, not how these death machines work.

    Alisa gave a satisfied nod and left a short while later, ¡°Good. This incident is now, resolved. Specialist Larial¡¯s punishment is to start immediately and will end in forty-eight hours. Fellow engineers, please return to your posts.¡±

    The crowd dispersed without much satisfaction but orders were orders. There were still some tension lingering in the air and thus, the disgruntled personnel placed their attention to other tasks. At this section of Depot, there were only three people left after Alisa excused herself. John was a little scared.

    In front was a badly damaged power armour; its back was all but toasted. The left arm was in several pieces while the right had its hydraulics busted for good. If not for its armouring scheme and safety devices, the depot would be in flames right now. The only saving grace was its weapon was not here.

    All one hundred, twenty-kilogram shells in its automatic handheld cannon were enough to blow this Depot to kingdom¡¯s come. Luke in his hindsight had prevented the worst disaster but yet many works left wanting. John looked at the area for the second time. He shook his head multiple times but he had his orders.

    As he was surveying the disaster scene, someone called out to him from afar. ¡°Big Brother! Why are you here? Anna looked everywhere for Big Brother!¡±

    ¡°Ya have a little sister, John?¡± Larial looked at the direction of said voice. She stared at the incoming girl for a few seconds and then patted her own chest. She was¡­devastated. How come she¡¯s bigger than me!

    John was kinda mute until Larial tapped his left arm, ¡°Oh! No, no, no!¡± He hid his face from both, ¡°I don¡¯t know her, no, never!¡± John moved around and hid behind Larial, ¡°Please, uh¡­tell her to go away!¡±

    ¡°Why are ya like this, leader?¡± Larial was curiouser by the second. What¡¯s her deal with this scrawny guy?

    John splattered his words, ¡°Uh¡­she is¡­she is¡­¡± He whispered to Larial, ¡°A pervert!¡±

 C9 - Issue

    While John was hiding somewhere, Larial kept her eyes on the approaching girl. At first Larial thought it was Lucas but the bulge on the incoming girl¡¯s upper body was unmistakable despite her loose jacketed appearance. Then there was the part about her silver hair and her ever-shifting eye colours.

    Larial felt a little dizzy when she stared at the running girl¡¯s eyes and so, she watched the intruder''s footwork. Twenty¡­ten¡­one meter...she¡¯s fast! The specialist immediately assumed a defensive stance as she thought Anna would charge straight at her. Contrary to Larial¡¯s expectations, the girl easily slipped past her.

    ¡°Hey, what are ya doing here-¡± Larial launched both of her arms like spears in order to catch this fleeting invader. She didn¡¯t succeed for several times. Hae-Vyul-Do Turn?! Idystema Dance?! Who''s this bitch?!

    The girl was like a slippery loach, deflecting every Larial¡¯s attempt to grab her. On top of that, she even had the luxury to shout, ¡°Big Brother? Where are you? Anna want to meet Big Brother!¡±

    ¡°Oh, fuk-ya. I¡¯ll cave ya face in!¡± The specialist became enraged. It¡¯s one thing to deflect her attacks, it was another thing entirely to literally ignore her. Larial balled her fists and adopted an aggressive stance. She punched more than seven times in rapid succession.

    Anna didn¡¯t even glance at Larial as she danced as graceful as a swan among broken machinery parts in the area, ¡°Big Brother! Anna knows Big Brother is here! Anna can sense you!¡±

    ¡°Oh man, oh man!¡± John was scared beyond belief. The knocking and rumbling sounds out there only added to his terror. ¡°Why is she here?!¡±

    ¡°Oi! This is a restricted area!¡± Luke finally reacted after he managed to track the girls¡¯ movements. He used simple approach of a full-on body tackle, all seventy-two kilograms of it.

    The intruder spun on her feet, avoiding Luke by a hair-breadth. However, her legs were tangled a second next, ¡°Ouch!¡± Anna stopped on where she stood. With a coy tone, she extended her right arm on an intercept course, ¡°Um...Sister? Anna didn¡¯t know Sister have such wants!¡±

    ¡°What?¡± Larial exclaimed. Then she opened and closed her left hand a few times. What''s this soft and springy thing? The specialist immediately blushed, ¡°Uh, no! It¡¯s an accident!¡± She withdrew her hand in haste. The warmth was still lingering in her fingers, ¡°I¡­I¡­didn¡¯t mean to grab ya chest! Honest!¡±

    At this point, Luke finally caught upon them after lifting himself out from a broken piece of man-sized machinery, ¡°Hey you! Why you trespass my depot?!¡±

    ¡°Aha, Sister©¤¡± Anna avoided the furious engineer again and, strongly pulled one of Larial¡¯s hand, ¡°if Sister want to, Sister just need to ask!¡±

    Her sudden action caused Larial¡¯s guts to feel funny, ¡°What! Why are ya pulling me, ya brute?! Let go!¡±

    ¡°Hm? The dwi-colour chocolate?¡± The offending girl spotted a curious object in the background. She stopped pulling, ¡°Sister! How come you have Big Brother¡¯s chocolate?¡±

    However once in motion, a large momentum wasn¡¯t easily negated. Larial collided with the girl, ¡°Wargh!¡± Her face was buried between two well-endowed mounds that were like large puddings packaged in soft plastic, ¡°Urgh, sorry!¡± Larial struggled to get up next but this girl didn¡¯t let her. ¡°Hey?! Let me go! Leader?! Leader, help me! Gahk!¡±

    ¡°Oh Sister, so bold!¡± The intruding girl hugged Larial tighter like a power claw, ¡°Sister want hug? Anna gives hug!¡±

    Out of curiosity, John went out of his hiding place after hearing all sorts of bangs and crashes, ¡°Ma¡¯am Anna? Wait! Let go of the specialist!¡± The thin man ran helter-skelter at both girls, ¡°Her face is blue! Please, release her!¡±

    ¡°Big Brother!¡± Anna did as John said. She simply chucked Larial to the side, ¡°Why is Big Brother here? Anna didn¡¯t find Uncle Gerasi-mov!¡±

    ¡°Ge-Gerasimov?!¡± The engineer, Luke, halted when he was a few meters away from the pouting girl. His nose smelt trouble. He quickly made himself scarce, ¡°Uh¡­guys? I¡­I have an emergency. That¡¯s right. I will come back later! Take care, John!¡±

    ¡°Gahk!¡± Larial finally gained her bearings with a loud cough. She wanted to shout but only whimpers came out, ¡°Why¡­ya¡­wear an exo¡­that¡¯s¡­cheating¡­urgh.¡± The specialist puked on the spot and fainted not long after.

    John flinched; he saw how Anna knocked out Larial with a hug. She¡¯s wearing¡­an exo? He slowly retreated backwards, ¡°Umm¡­Ma¡¯am? Please, uh¡­stay there? I¡­I¡¯ll listen what you want to say, from, uh, here¡­no offense¡­¡±

    ¡°Big Brother?¡± The platinum hair-coloured girl advanced forward at the same time, ¡°Why Big Brother is backing away?¡± She was puzzled on John¡¯s action.

    She¡¯s coming closer! Come on, John, think! The thin man began to sweat inside. That girl was definitely bad news. ¡°Uh¡­my stomach doesn¡¯t feel well so, uh©¤¡± By coincidence John¡¯s stomach growled, ¡°Yeah! I don¡¯t feel so good, Ma¡¯am!¡±

    ¡°Uhm, do Big Brother want Anna to bring Big Brother to triage?¡± The girl asked innocently. John suspected her methods were all but wanting. Indeed, as she moved closer, the faint sounds of servos emanating from her became clearer.

    As John backed himself to a dead corner, an idea hit him at this moment. ¡°Anna! If you behave, I will give you a Sa''lushan chocolate!¡± He slipped his hand into his nearby synthetic paper bag, ¡°See, this one! Ma¡¯am just need¡­to stay there!¡±

    ¡°Wah, a chocolate?¡± The girl was elated beyond mention. In her excitement, she repeatedly punched a nearby piece of armour that was as tall as her, ¡°Do you really mean it, Big Brother?!¡±

    John saw how the poor thing was absolutely battered, dented and twisted from multiple truck-level impacts. Okay, she definitely wears an exo¡­He steeled himself, ¡°Yes Ma¡¯am! Just¡­stay there. I will give this limited-edition chocolate to you, by¡­myself!¡±

    ¡°Wow, this is Anna¡¯s luckiest day!¡± She jumped up and down. John wasn¡¯t wrong; the chocolate he shown to Anna cannot be purchased and only gifted by Sa¡¯lushan dessert meisters. The girl restrained her excitement lest John ran away, ¡°Anna is waiting here! Big Brother, please give Anna the chocolate!¡±

    John was pained for giving the chocolate hourglass dessert away but he didn¡¯t have much of a choice to calm this tiny tempest in front of him, ¡°Umm¡­open your hands and close your eyes. I will give you the chocolate, Ma¡¯am.¡±

    ¡°Is that it? Okay!¡± She did as what John instructed. Sometime later, she definitely felt something was deposited on her open hands. Anna was so happy that she lunged at John, ¡°Oh Big Brother, thank you, thank you! Anna will give a hug!¡±

    ¡°Ma¡¯am?! No, you will crush the chocolate!¡± Thankfully, John requested her to close her eyes and thus managed to avoid her charge in time. Otherwise, he would end up as Larial. He tried to reason with her, ¡°One of its kind, Ma¡¯am! The hourglass! No replacement!¡±

    ¡°What?¡± Anna stopped just in time and shielded the dessert box from being crushed. She felt a sharp pain at her scalp next, ¡°Ow! Who dares to hit Anna?! Anna will get angry!¡±

    ¡°Ehem. P-I mean, Anna¡­? What are you doing here?¡± John knew this voice. It was Gerasimov, still with his disguise.

    ¡°Oh, thank you, Sir Gerasimov!¡± John was moved beyond tears for Gerasimov¡¯s unexpected aid. He gave a hasty salute, ¡°Well met, Sir!¡±

    Gerasimov was still clamping his left hand on Anna¡¯s head, ¡°If it isn¡¯t John! Well met! I see Anna had caused you much trouble.¡± The old man let go of her head after she stopped resisting, ¡°Nice job of pacifying this troublesome squirt, haha.¡± A few moments later, he took what was in her hands, ¡°Oh, I will compensate you for this chocolate, so don¡¯t worry about that, John.¡± Gerasimov surveyed the area afterwards, ¡°Did something blew up in here, John? Did this naughty Anna did it?¡±

    ¡°Hey Uncle! Anna did not-thing wrong! This place already like this!¡± The girl voiced her protest. She eyed the chocolate like a hawk.The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

    John backed her up, despite still being terrified by the feisty girl. ¡°Yeah, Sir Gerasimov. This¡­isn¡¯t her handiwork.¡± He pointed at the fainted Larial a few meters away, ¡°I and¡­uh, my specialist did something wrong.¡± John continued, ¡°So¡­Director Alisa came here and told us¡­to fix this power armour as punishment.¡±

    Him? I don¡¯t see how he made this thing all banged up in the first place. Gerasimov didn¡¯t buy it but decided to go with the flow, ¡°You¡¯re brave, aren¡¯t you John?¡± The old man laughed, ¡°You remind me of the good old days, tinkering stuff and getting things blowing up in our faces, haha.¡± He smiled next, ¡°It¡¯s¡­good to be young, but remember the first rule in our Dynasty; safety first.¡±

    ¡°Uh¡­okay Sir. So, uh¡­who is Anna?¡± John was a little relieved that Gerasimov seemed to eat his lie. He moved in to check Larial, ¡°Specialist? Wake up. Wake up please.¡±

    ¡°Anna is th-!¡±

    ¡°Anna? Did you forgot what I said earlier?¡± Gerasimov shifted backwards and clamped Anna¡¯s mouth shut. He gave a sinister smile, ¡°Do not¡­run around or I would be forced to take some measures. Like¡­taking this chocolate from you. Forever!¡±

    ¡°Mmm-mm! Mmm!!!¡± Anna shook her head with all of her might. The exoskeleton underneath her outer attire creaked from the immense external strain. She quickly kowtowed when Gerasimov released her. ¡°Okay, okay! Anna is sowwy, Uncle!¡±

    ¡°Really now, Anna?¡±

    ¡°Really sowwy! Promise, Uncle!¡±

    ¡°I hope you behave this time, Anna.¡± Gerasimov gave back the confiscated chocolate to the pouting girl. He turned to face John next, ¡°Anna is¡­my friend¡¯s, hm, daughter, John.¡±

    ¡°Daugh-ter?¡± John queried. He heard differently when the old man was addressing her for the first time. John brushed it aside, ¡°Uh, if that¡¯s what you say, Sir. What brings Sir here?¡±

    ¡°Well¡­¡± The old man shifted his gaze to Anna, ¡°Some little bird told me that you¡¯re being¡­harassed, John?¡± As the girl shrunk away her neck, Gerasimov glanced at the busted power armour again, ¡°How did you make this standard model¡­blow up?¡±

    ¡°Gahk!¡± Larial forced herself to stand. She beckoned John to prop her up, ¡°It¡­it is¡­my¡­fault. Positive¡­feedback.¡±

    ¡°Overload? Hm¡­¡± Gerasimov gave Anna an intense glare, making her to stay seated. Then he approached the power armour¡¯s backside or what was once one, ¡°A high level routing.¡± He gasped a little, ¡°Wait¡­all safeties failed?¡±

    ¡°I¡­I told Specialist Larial to uh¡­¡± John tried to cover up for his squad member. He cooked up an excuse, ¡°change some of the power settings for uh¡­burst power? Yeah, burst power!¡±

    Gerasimov saw through it right away, ¡°It isn¡¯t good to lie, John. Our power armour didn¡¯t have the required banks to store all that excess energy.¡± He explained further as he looked at the left arm of the machine, ¡°nor the generator for it. We don¡¯t use classical fission to power ours.¡±

    ¡°Umm¡­Sir¡­sorry for lying¡­to you¡­¡± John hid his head out of shame. Gerasimov was right. The thin man continued, ¡°It¡¯s just that¡­¡±

    ¡°I know what you¡¯re thinking, John.¡± Gerasimov stopped him from talking. The old man tapped his head, ¡°I lived long enough and know what you¡¯re getting at.¡± He immediately snapped his gaze at Anna, ¡°Young girl, did I say you could leave?¡±

    ¡°Opps...busted¡­¡± The girl faked a laugh. She turned as docile as a kitten. ¡°Sowwy Uncle¡­Anna will listen to Uncle now¡­¡±

    Gerasimov scratched his grey beard, ¡°You know what?¡± He had a mysterious grin, ¡°Anna, you work with them.¡±

    ¡°What? Why should Anna do all the heavy work?¡± The girl wasn¡¯t happy in the slightest. Cleaning all of surrounding debris will take so much time. She hid her chocolate lest the old man snatched it again, ¡°Anna want to eat chocolate!¡±

    ¡°Didn¡¯t you say that one day, you¡¯ll help Uncle?¡± Gerasimov reasoned, ¡°Help Uncle with PAs?¡± He threw a bait, ¡°If Anna did well¡­Uncle might buy Anna more chocolates. And that thing you wanted from Neven? That only one hundred people can get in this star system?¡±

    John was amazed; this old man was an expert in handling the troublesome girl. Nevertheless, he cannot help than to voice up, ¡°Uh, Sir? But this is¡­an official punishment for me and¡­Larial. Director Alisa said so, Sir.¡±

    ¡°Hah!¡± Gerasimov snorted, ¡°The way I see it, you need at least three people! Where¡¯s that Army Engineer ran off to?¡± The old man was slightly angry, ¡°What¡¯s his name, Luke Kiri-dov?¡±

    Oh no, no trouble please. John said, ¡°Sir is correct. Engineer Luke is just¡­uh¡­going to the Maintenance¡­to order parts for us.¡±

    ¡°Really, John? Are you¡­really sure?¡± Gerasimov had an amused tone. He knew this young man was still lying right in front of his face.

    John wanted to cry but he resisted Gerasimov¡¯s ferocious gaze, ¡°Yes¡­yes, Sir. Finger¡¯s crossed. As it happened on¡­Engineer Luke¡¯s watch, it¡­stands to reason that¡­¡± The thin man tried to hide his tremble, ¡°he was also responsible, Sir. He is personally watching our¡­work. It is also a test for me, Sir.¡±

    The old man looked at John up and down. Why is he willing to go so far for people he barely knew? He sighed, ¡°Well¡­if that¡¯s what you say, so be it. What is the time frame given to you, John?¡±

    ¡°Forty-eight hou-¡±

    ¡°Kuhk! Forty¡­seven and¡­two thirds hours now¡­J-J-John¡­¡±

    ¡°Larial? Stop talking! Take a rest!¡±

    ¡°Anna did not-thing wrong, Uncle Gerasi-mov! Hon-hon-honest!¡±

    This girl¡­Gerasimov facepalmed. He commanded the errant girl, ¡°Anna¡­? Help them.¡±

    ¡°But¡­Anna wa-¡±

    ¡°Help them.¡± Gerasimov repeated the same sentence with a deeper tone. The girl was still reluctant. He intensified his insistence. ¡°Help them.¡±

    ¡°Uuuh¡­. okay¡­sowwy¡­¡± The girl simply cannot win against the burly old man. She lightly bowed to both John and the barely standing Larial, ¡°Anna¡­will help¡­Big Brother and¡­Sister. As Uncle¡­said.¡±

    ¡°I hope this will be a lesson for you, young girl.¡± Gerasimov harrumphed. He changed his tone, ¡°I will tell Director Alisa of your new assistant, John.¡± The old man glanced at Larial next, ¡°and maybe you need to get your specialist decked out in the wards.¡±

    ¡°I¡­I¡­I¡¯m fine, Sir.¡± Larial left the surface she was leaning on and tried to act tough, ¡°Nothing, gahk! Nothing¡­can pin me¡­down.¡±

    ¡°Umm¡­Anna¡­Anna¡­Anna is sowwy...really sowwy¡­¡± The platinum-haired girl profusely apologised. She almost gravely injured Larial.

    The old man stared at Anna and made her to silently back off. He talked to Larial next, ¡°My dear, at this moment, you¡¯re not fit to lift anything let alone walk! I¡¯ve called the triage to pick you up.¡± Gerasimov then faced the still nervous John, ¡°Eh, don¡¯t worry too much John. My friend''s daughter might have a few screws loose in her head but I guarantee her strength. Verily so.¡± He rubbed his chin, ¡°If I want to put it¡­it¡¯s almost as the same as your brawny Gunther friend.¡±

    ¡°But Sir? Specialist Larial¡­uh, know a lot about¡­PAs?¡± John wasn¡¯t convinced. An emergency vehicle can be seen in the far horizon. He tried to argue with Gerasimov, ¡°I am not sure¡­if Anna knows about PA? And¡­I will be breaking¡­Director Alisa¡¯s directive, Sir.¡±

    ¡°Oh, that can be arranged, John.¡± Gerasimov tapped on his communicator that sat above his left ear, ¡°Just use conproj mode.¡± He stared at the unruly Anna next, ¡°Besides, you¡¯ll be doing me a favour, John. I can¡¯t be everywhere all at once.¡±

    ¡°You mean, to¡­supervise her, Sir?¡± John audibly gulped. He knew how strong Anna was when she was boosted by her exoskeleton. The medevac vehicle came closer, causing sense of urgency in John, ¡°This is way above my¡­uh, work-scope, Sir.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s that word used by Engineer Luke?¡± Gerasimov hinted otherwise, ¡°A test? Let¡¯s imagine this a test for you, John.¡± He waved his hand at the incoming medevac, signaling on where to stop, ¡°You¡¯re in the Army for so long, so it¡¯s about time you do something.¡±

    ¡°Sir¡­I can still wor-¡± Larial spoke a few words before she fell into deep sleep. Two triage personnel had come to get her and sedated her for easier transport.

    ¡°Thanks guys. Classify it under Unexpected Incidents IV section. Faulty gauges or something, you know.¡± Gerasimov whispered at the third triage personnel that was inquiring about the situation. He sternly instructed Anna next, ¡°Do as you¡¯re told, little girl.¡± The old man then faced John, ¡°I take it you agree with the terms?¡±

    ¡°Uh, I don¡¯t have much of a choice, is it¡­Sir?¡± John tried to run away but his conscience said no. ¡°That¡­every soldier needs to operate on any¡­given order?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s right, John. You¡¯re a quick learner.¡± Gerasimov chuckled, ¡°I meant that as a compliment, by the way.¡±

    ¡°Sir, before you leave?¡± John watched the medevac team whisked Larial away, ¡°Is Sir¡­someone important in the top brass?¡±

    ¡°Pfft!¡± Gerasimov patted John¡¯s shoulders for multiple times, ¡°Hahaha©¤my sides!¡± It took several seconds before the old man caught his breath again, ¡°Oh John, you little rascal! Well¡­let¡¯s leave it as that. Yeah, I¡¯m someone important in the top brass, pfft, haha.¡±

    ¡°Uhm¡­okay Sir. Orders¡­received?¡± John gave him one final salute.

    The old man tried to restrain his unending laughter, ¡°John oh John. Sometimes you¡¯re not the brightest tool in the shed!¡± He finally stopped laughing, ¡°But I like that about you. Do your best, John.¡± The old man turned once more before leaving completely, ¡°Don¡¯t forget to visit the Archives, John. And you, Anna. I¡¯ll watch your work.¡±

    ¡°Yes¡­yes, Sir.¡± The thin man nodded at the departing figure. Anna was tugging at his left side, prompting him to look at her, ¡°So¡­Ma¡¯am Anna, what is it?¡±

    ¡°Umm¡­did Big Brother¡­forgive Anna?¡± She was half kneeling on the charred ground.

    For some odd reason, John extended his right hand and gently patted her head, ¡°Uh¡­yes. I forgive you, Ma¡¯am Anna. Let¡¯s¡­uh¡­get to work, before your Uncle comes again.¡±

    ¡°Okay! Anna will do her best! Just tell Anna what to do, Anna will lift it!¡± The girl quickly gained her spirit.

    John mumbled to himself as he watched the girl started to clear a portion of the area, ¡°What did I do to deserve¡­this¡­?¡±

    Everything happened too fast for John to make heads or tails from. He looked at Anna; that girl was cheerfully raising several hundreds of kilogram-worth of stuff with ease. What a¡­monster! John fortified himself for there were much more to be done. The time was ticking and waited for no one.