Chapter Twelve
John Shepard sleeps.
"Whatsa matter, fag? You wanna play with the real men?"
"Parker, our mum says-"
The boy turns. "Stuff your mum, Wilkins," he says with a sneer. "Well, 's that what you want, Shepard? You wanna play with us so you c'n touch our asses." The boy shakes his head, trying to look disgusted and superior. "Cor, you make me sick, you know that? You're even worse'n your dad."
The smaller boy's features change imperceptibly, a narrowing of his eyes, coming up only to the other's chest. "Don't talk about my dad, Parker," he says in a small voice.
"Yeah?" leers Parker. "What're you gonna do about it? I oughta get my dad down here, kick yer faggot ass. He's a real man, not like-"
Rage. Jphn feels it, and it fills him, and it's rushing up through his eyes and arms, and he sees the tooth describe a gentle arc through the air, trailed by blood and spit and his fist as he follows through, and time is slow as Parker falls, and the other fist comes around and John hears the boy's jaw snap and there is joy in the sound.
…
"Ma'am, your son's test results are in... understand the significance of... speed and endurance... off the charts..."
"Ma'am, there are a variety of programs... we think he would be best suited... this is sergeant O'Brien from..."
"Ma'am, please sign here... sole guardian? Yes?..."
"Ma'am, on behalf... systems alliance... assurance that... offworld... present any problems? No?"
"Say goodbye to your mother, son."
"Mum?"
…
"Line up you maggot-eaten sons of bitches! Let's see what we have here! Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, they gave me worms, I asked for men! There's not a man among the stinking lot of you!"
John shivers, shifts his weight from one bare foot to another. The steel floor is cold.
"Fine! I've been cursed with this festering shit heap, and by God I'll see you leave here as men, no matter how long it takes!"
…
"It's a nasty break dear, but we'll have it set up and back together in a few days." The woman purses her lips. "They push you boys too hard."
"I'm fifteen, doctor."
She smiles and stands up, giving him a gentle pat on the arm. "Of course you are, dear. Silly me."
John tries to sit up, looking around the small med bay. Something grates together in his leg and he gasps in pain.
The doctor whips around. "Lay back down this instant! I don't know where you think you're going with a broken tibia, but you can just forget about it!"
John settles back into the bed, cowed slightly by the woman's outburst. "Sorry, doctor, I was-"
The doctor's eyes soften. "You stay still," she says, not unkindly. "I'll just put on some tea. And enough of that 'doctor' nonsense. The name's Alice Chakwas."
…
"The ability to increase adrenaline flow through the bloodstream is at the heart of your skill set as a soldier. When you learn to control it, regulate it, focus it, then you will find that you can bend the battlefield to your will. Ordinary soldiers will be no match for you. We are not ordinary men."
There is a cough from the back of the room.
"Shut up, McGuire. This is the Army! You're a man until I say so."
…
"Chauvinist dickhead." Lauren pokes at the food with her fork, scrunching up her face in imitation of the sergeant. "This is the Army. You're a man until I say so. Hurrr, I'm so great 'cause I have a penis!"
John laughs, taking a swig of the alliance-brand energy drink. He coughs, almost spitting out the foul-tasting beverage. "Blegh. He's just lucky you didn't decide to use your feminine guiles on him."
"Traitor!" cries Lauren in mock outrage, flinging a chunk of wafer bread at him. "I didn't see you turning any feminine guiles on the sarge!"
They share a moment picturing their gruff sergeant and 'feminine guiles' in the same sentence, then her straight face cracks and they both burst out laughing.
…
"Yeah, Sarah Shepard, innit? No, ain't seen 'er in, oh, four years or so. Right quiet woman, stayed in th' house mosta th' time. Why, you a friend a hers or something?"
"What? Sarah Shepard, yeah, she lived 'ere with 'er lad John, but 'e's long gone, Alliance recruitment or sommat. Strange fing, never saw 'er much aft' 'e left. She was a widow, y'know, an' I won' pass judgement ona neighbor, but I reckon she was a bit ofa drinker, too. No, no, she don't live 'ere no more.
"Where? Up at Saint somebody's cemetery in th' next town. 'Ere, you didn't know 'er, did you?"
…
The brown liquid stares back at him, sloshing around in the bottom of the mug. The wooden counter digs into his elbows, but he doesn't really feel it. He tips his head back, draining the cup without tasting it, and wordlessly shoves it back across the counter.
The bartender fills the mug and clunks it back down in front of the man. The bartender's been in the business for decades, and after that time he's seen most types of patrons. This man is familiar to him; not the man himself, but he's seen many like him. Unshaven face and dark eyes that seem to look more inwards than out. He drinks, but shows no sign of pleasure. The other customers almost unconsciously avoid him, except for the ones too intoxicated or self-absorbed to notice him.
One of those sits down heavily next to him now. The newcomer wears long sleeves even in the warm pub, and has the twitchy demeanor of a needle junky. The bartender quietly slides the glass bowl of nuts away from the two. He doesn't think they should be near breakable items, and besides their kind are never hungry anyway.
John looks up briefly as the other man sits down next to him. The addict's wild eyes roam over John's face, then looks away quickly and scoots to the next stool. "You look like death itself, mister," he mumbles.
…
"Someday, we'll realize there's no point to this," says Sam, and his green eyes twinkle in the starlight. "Someday, the politicians will realize war's not just a game to keep them fat and happy. There's gonna be some sense in the world, John. We're gonna find it."
John clasps his hands behind his head and leans back in the grass. The night sky of Akuze sparkles brightly overhead.
…
Names. They're just names. Not people, just a list that goes on and on and on, a tally, a receipt for another purchase made by a faceless government.
Eric Montreas. Andrea Ceres. Marcus Delacruz.
Just names. No indication of who they might have been.
Jacob Eisner. Antonio Ferra. Jocelyn Gable.
Why even read the list? Nobody here cares. The soldiers at attention. The civilians watching quietly.. The officer reading the names, spine straight and eyes blank.
Alyssa Grant
Kyle Tilden
Samuel Turner
And he turns away, choking down the tears, and walks away from the uncaring soldiers and the unknowing civilians and the unfeeling world.