Chapter 2: Distance
Dawn was near at hand, and if one were to look out of one of the many apartment complexes situated on the edge of Antiga Prime's capital city, Shad, one would notice a small, insignificant figure in a dark overcoat hurrying towards the city's outskirts. Any ordinary civilian that took notice of this figure would most likely pay him no mind, as citizens were quite used to poor farmer's sons looking to make a name for themselves sneaking away from their homes into the city. Ever since the arrival of the Confederate forces, that number of stray children seemed to have increased tenfold. To some, it seemed as if an endless wave of brainwashed young people had begun pouring into the city, all with the same ideals. "Join the army, raise money for the family," most of the young men would reply if a citizen were to ask them their reason for making the dangerous trip to Shad.
Drake's story was, of course, no different. However, nobody came up to ask him about it, or even seemed to notice him as he passed silently through the outlying neighborhoods of the city. Shad was in the early stages of its morning routine, rearing up and stretching its vast, powerful, intricate network of economic limbs and appendages. The soft whirr of hovercraft could just barely be distinguished from the quite pre-dawn lull, although that same deceptively soft whirr would become a deafening roar by mid-day, the high point in Shad's busy day. As Drake walked through the streets of the vast city, he tried to comprehend all of the wondrous things that he saw before him. Drake had never been anywhere outside of the land owned by his father, and every little detail about Shad astounded him. He distractedly gazed at the intricate network of traffic control systems, and awkwardly gaped inside store windows at the amazing technology that was set on display inside of them.
Realizing that dawn had already come and gone, Drake reminded himself of just why he was in the city and determined to find the Confederate encampment. By this point bafflingly lost by the city's intricate spider web of roads and pathways, Drake decided that it would be best to ask for directions from one of the city's many citizens. Walking determinedly up to a man who had a sharp comb-over in his hair, and what looked like a thousand things to do running through his head, and smartly asked, "Excuse me, sir, but could you please tell me which way I should go in order to find the Confederate base?"
"Oh, you're one of those farm-boy kooks wanting to enlist, eh?" the man replied with decidedly keen distaste. "Well, farm-boy," he sneered." The military base would be North three blocks, and West two more. Have fun getting yourself killed," he laughed as he walked off down the street.
Well, that guy sure was polite, Drake thought. Not bothering to make the man's obviously rude disposition his issue, Drake immediately set out North, trying to figure out exactly how much distance a "block," as the disgruntled businessman had put it, measured out to be. Guessing that going by street intervals was as good a bet as any, Drake walked three street intersections North, and two West, to find that he was now on nearly the other side of the city, in front of a very large, ugly-looking and well-guarded facility.
Feeling slightly dwarfed by the building's vastness, Drake walked timidly up to one of the guards, who gave him a rather annoyed look between puffs of his cigar. "What n' the heck might you be wantin', boy?" he grunted.
"I… uh… I was… Thinking that maybe I was going to… enlist, sir," Drake replied cautiously.
The guard snorted loudly, nearly choking on the fumes from his cigar. "Sir? Boy, I only wish I had a title as pretty-soundin' as 'sir'. Anywho, since yer thinkin' about enlistin', I might as well warn ya while I can: The Confederacy ain't all they make it out to be in them commercials, son. War's a dirty business, n' you can rest assured that if you sign up to work fer us, yer gonna get yer pants dirtied up."
Still trying to decipher the guard's obviously off-world accent, Drake replied hesitantly, "Well, sir… uh… I'm willing to do whatever is necessary to defend my homeworld!"
The guard chuckled again. "Yer really gonna have to cut that 'sir' stuff with me, sonny. I'm just a guard, and pretty soon after you enlist, I'll probably be callin' you sir. The enlistment office is right over there, next to that big Barracks." Drake stared at him blankly. "Y'know, the big box thing!" he emphasized.
Drake finally acknowledged its location, muttered a quick "Thank you," and headed off in the enlistment office's direction. The guard watched him go, turned to his partner, and muttered, "There goes another o' those poor farmer's sons. They all gonna get themselves killed, judgin' by how much they know about war. I don't know, Les. Jus' by lookin' at our new recruits, I say we lose this war."
"Don't be so pessimistic," his partner replied. "They may seem like toddlers in need of a doting mother now, Johnny, but Drill Sergeant Bradley will turn 'em into men, or my name ain't Les."
Johnny, obviously needing a second to delve back into his mental dictionary and pull out the meanings of the words "pessimistic," and "doting," simply stood in silence, staring out at the city.
Meanwhile, Drake had reached the enlistment office. Apparently, Drake realized, he was not the only young person on Antiga Prime who had decided to enlist. Noting rather dejectedly how long the line was, Drake marched to the back and tried to keep as disciplined-looking as possible. The line moved slowly, and Drake had plenty of time to brood over the fact that his family was probably having a fit over him by now. He hadn't realized it when he left, but the fact that he was gone probably had all of them worried sick. Drake had made up his mind, however, and he wasn't about to back down from his decision. As his turn to be called came closer, Drake prepared himself for whatever they were going to do to him.
"Next!" one of the desk clerks called. Drake, still slightly distracted, didn't respond immediately. "Hey, pal! You're next! Get up here!" the desk clerk shouted.
Finally snapping to attention, Drake walked confidently over to the enlistment desk. "Hello," he said brightly.
"Quiet, soldier," the clerk said. "Well, I'm getting a bit ahead of myself. You're not a soldier…yet. Tell me, son. Why do you want to enlist with the Confederate Alpha Squadron? What makes you think you're good enough to serve under General Duke himself?" The desk clerk smirked, because he knew that this was the point where most of the farmer's son walk-in's froze up and suddenly became unsure. Drake, however, stayed cool and collected.
"Well, sir, I want to make something of myself, and I want to help my family to have a better life," he responded crisply.
"Your family farms, then, son? Well, then, I can certainly see your incentive for joining. The pay for soldiers in the Alpha Squadron is by all means no meager sum. But you still haven't explained to me why a mere farmer's son, who has never operated high-tech machinery in his life, is going to make it in the most highly trained and efficient army in the galaxy."
Drake took a deep breath and tried to formulate his thoughts. "Well, sir, I'm good with heavy machinery, I was thinking I'd be useful as some sort of transport driver."
The desk clerk snorted. "Son, you have to have some of the best reflexes in the Confederacy to become a pilot! No, I think you're more cut out for grunt work. You've got heart, though, so here are your papers. Fill 'em out, return 'em to me, and then head out the back there to begin your service as a Confederate Marine."
Drake took the rather large stack of forms and began filling them out. The forms quizzed him on information ranging from the information of his mother's maiden name to his in-seam. After writing for a solid hour and developing a severe cramp in his hand, Drake got up and wearily returned his papers to the desk clerk. The clerk afforded him a quick smile, and then Drake was hurrying off to the back of the small building, eager to see what awaited him next.
"Drake?" James called. "Drake, where are you?" His voice echoed metallically outside of the Space Construction Vehicle as it was projected across the fields by a microphone built into the suit. "Drake, please come home! I need you helping me out in the fields! Mom needs you helping to make dinner! Dad needs, you Drake! As angry as he may have acted recently, dad really does love you, Drake! He's worried sick over you, bro! Please, Drake, if you leave, we'll be devastated!"
James's voice echoed hollowly over Antiga's vast, mountainous landscape. Reverberating echoes of his plea came racing back to him through the many winding canyons, haunting him and increasing his worry for his brother. "Drake!" he called again. If James couldn't find Drake, he knew that the family would have a hard time making a living. But that wasn't the half of it, and James knew it. If James didn't return to his house with Drake, he knew that his father would be crushed. James had been around his father long enough to know that he would immediately blame himself for Drake's leaving, and that he would never be able to forgive himself. James didn't want to see his father in that kind of pain, and he determined to do everything in his power to find his brother.
As James wandered in and out of the various canyons and ravines that criss-crossed Antiga's landscape, he wondered to himself where Drake could have possibly gone overnight. In the middle of climbing a steep ridge, the answer, along with something else, hit him at the same time.
Of course, he thought to himself. Drake wanted to enli-. That was as far as he got before the other thing that hit him knocked him off of his precarious perch and sent his SCV tumbling down the slope and back to the base of the plateau. Looking up, James saw a strange, dog-like creature with what seemed like dozens of sharp appendages protruding from it at every possible angle. Emitting a strange, blood-curdling snarl, the creature began to bound down the slope at a speed that didn't seem possible. Quickly realizing the danger he was in, James gunned the thrusters on the back of the SCV and set off away from the monster as quickly as he possibly could. Hoping that, if he could outrun it, it would give up its chase, he made for the rockiest terrain possible. He figured that, since SCV's could hover ever so slightly above the ground, the rough terrain would give him a speed advantage.
James was about to have a lesson in the tactics of the Zerg. As he raced towards a sharp outcropping of rock, another of the small monsters popped up in front of him. Veering sharply to the left, James narrowly avoided being tackled by the new abomination. Now being dogged by two of the miniature devils, James began to sweat profusely. Instead of trying to outsmart the creatures, James now decided that it was best to simply make for home. Slamming on the thrusters as fast as they would go, James accelerated and pulled slightly away from the two creatures. A third creature erupted in front of him, but James was traveling too quickly to avoid it, and it splattered on the hardened titanium armor of the SCV. The other two creatures, now seemingly unsure that their plan would succeed, halted in their pursuit, turned, and loped off into the distance. James, the adrenaline still flowing through his veins, kept going at full throttle for a good minute or two before calming down enough to notice that he was losing feul fast and killed the engine.
Standing in the SCV, breathing hard, James wondered what had just happened to him, and what in the world those creatures had been. Deciding it was best to get as far away from that area as possible and ask questions later, he started up the engine again and made for his home. James had no idea that he had just witnessed the very first creeping tendrils of a strangling Zerg infestation.