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Description
Earth's Atmosphere, Federation Quadrant 1
0816 Hours

Transport vessels have gotten so good that there's barely any turbulence when breaking through Earth's atmosphere. I watch with a knot in my throat as California disappears behind me. When I was little, I always imagined the borders were visible from space. Turns out they're only lines on a map.
I shiver from the cold of space. I despise cold. Cold climate, cold rain, cold temperature, cold tea—you name it; I probably don't like it cold.
That is why I dislike space. I've been up a few times and have never liked it. The air is conditioned up here constantly. It stays around sixty-seven—Federation standard. You have to be high up or rich to have heated rooms since it is so expensive to do in the big space complexes floating above Earth.
There are two complexes, each on opposite sides of Earth. The one positioned over the southern hemisphere is the Federation's space capital, Atlantis. It was built by the first Federation Chancellor, Darius St. Peters, the foundation being the old International Space Station created at the beginning of the century. (His son, Gregor St. Peters, was Chancellor after him, and now his grandson, Lawrence St. Peters, is Chancellor. Some call it St. Peters luck; some call it a St. Peters dictatorship.) Around Atlantis is an artificial atmosphere, created by pumping man-made gasses through the city's fake atmosphere to create a small-scale one similar to Earth's. They don't have weather, but it gets sun like a normal place on Earth, so it's one of the warmest places in space. A whopping seventy-two. The Federation has forgotten what warmth is.
The second Federation space complex (or FSC), the bigger of the two, is the military station Athena. It is heavier fortified than even the capital, and provides training to all those hoping to serve the Federation's military branch—their largest and foremost branch.
Athena is most famous for suit training. Most going to Athena seek a spot in the revered Artillery Suit Battalion (ASB). Only the elite make it through the tests. And that is why I'm being taken to Athena. To train then to serve there.
To protect Earth's atmosphere, they have created an invisible barricade, maintained by small unmanned stations, that protect the precious atmosphere from further harm from rays and pollution—and the occasional asteroid. It's like a filmy coating over Earth; to get through it requires clearance unless you want all of Athena bearing down upon you.
Amador had stuck to his stupid art story all the way until the transport door had shut. He told Mom he was taking me back to the New York Province for art schooling.
Space travel is fastest for getting place to place throughout the Earth now. I suppose he figured he had Mom fooled that we would land in New York, not Athena. I had watched Mom until I couldn't discern her anymore.
I turn away from the window, disgusted with the recent turn of events. It will be some time before we get to Athena; it is the furthest FSC out, since it is the barricade's first line of defense. It also prevents people forced to attend at Athena, like me, from having easy means of escape.
"You didn't have to lie to her," I mutter, sliding further down my seat.
"It's protocol," he replies. Oh, the irony. "Besides, do you think it would have been easier for me to tell her that you're being taken for extensive suit pilot training?"
"I think it would have been easiest if you hadn't forced me to come at all."
"That simply wasn't an option. The Chancellor himself has taken special interest in your family."
"What's left of it," I murmur. I wonder if that's the same thing they told Justin. The Chancellor has taken interest in your family . . . Of course he has. He wouldn't have been taken—I wouldn't have been taken, if the Chancellor wasn't interested.
"What was that?"
"Nothing."
Silence ensues. Officer Amador is reading from a file with a large red stamp spelling CLASSIFIED on it. I peep over and glimpse a picture of me alongside a picture of Justin that looks more like a mug shot, as if he's some sort of high profile criminal. He had been a football player. He had wanted to play professionally. He had hated war.
I look away, unable to bear thinking about what that file must say about Justin and me. We weren't twins, so being valuably similar is out.
"So," said Officer Amador, "do you have any questions about Athena?"
"No."
"None at all? Aren't you interested in where you'll be staying during your tour?"
"Well, there is one thing."
"Yes?"
"When's the next transport leaving for California?"
He glances at me sideways and gives me a condescending look. "Come back to me in three years. Then we'll talk."
"This isn't fair."
"Few things in life are." Great, now he wants to sound like a philosopher and a parent.
"So is it protocol to kidnap teenagers and make them fight your war? You officers are all the same," I scoff. "You find people to fight your wars for you."
"I am an ace of the ASB with two tours. I am currently working on my third."
"Fine, Ace, then riddle me this: Why me and my brother?"
"Since I am to be your commanding officer, I must demand you refer to me in a more respectful manner. I am Lieutenant Colonel Richard Amador. You may refer to me thus, or by 'sir.'" His tone is stern, the charisma gone now.
"All right, Lieutenant Colonel, riddle me this: Why me and my brother?"
He slides his head to look at me and just gives me a look that is meant to be degrading. "That is classified."
I'm considering slapping him again when I feel the transport slow, coming in to dock at Athena. That went by fast—I must have been caught up in the Lt. Colonel's and mine pleasant conversation so much that I didn't notice that we had gained clearance to pass through the barricade.
Amador stands and I follow, shouldering my duffel bag, trailing him down the ramp into the docking bay of Athena. There are a few more transport ships, all unloading new recruits. I can tell them from their awe- or fear-stricken expressions and civilian clothing.
I'm about ready to join the crowd when Amador's grip, like a vice, steers me in an opposite direction.
"It's your lucky day, Sommers," he says, leading us towards a separate corridor than the rest of the recruits. "You don't have to undergo basic inspection."
"No cavity searches, huh?" I ask. I'm only half sarcastic.
He gives me a wry look. "If there was any suspicion you hid a bomb between your socks, Sommers, you would have been tackled by my personnel already."
His personnel are two large men with dark clothes and sunglasses. Both are bald and have communication devices plugged into their ears.
"You are to undergo a special inspection. We just need to verify some things, and then you will be set up in the cadet barracks."
We come to a door that has the block numbers 071 painted on. Amador swipes a card in front of the monitor to the side, and it lights up green, the door sliding open.
On the other side, a woman in a white coat is waiting for us. I never have trusted white coats. They mean needles and other unmentionables to poke you with. She's holding a handheld monitor and there's another larger one hanging on the opposite wall. There's a chrome counter with a chrome sink inset an inch or two back, and a few feet from that is a chrome-plated slab to serve as an examination table. Chrome, chrome, chrome.
"Is this our special recruit?" asks the female doctor.
"Yes. This is June Sommers."
"Please wait outside, sir," she says to Amador, "this should only take a few moments."
"Of course, doctor," he says, winking at her as he stalks back out the door. I think my stomach does a roll.
The doctor pats the slab. "Up you come," she commands lightly.
I put down my duffel and do as she says. I cringe from the cold as it penetrates my jeans almost instantaneously.
"My name is Dr. Karin Newman. I'll be your attending physician during your tour here."
I nod. "Okay."
"Make no mistake, recruit. I'm not a substitute mother or a shoulder to cry on. I do my job and I respect those who do theirs without needing to whine about it. If you didn't want to be here then you shouldn't have signed up."
I decide to keep my mouth shut. Obviously not everyone here has been clued in. I guess kidnapping would make too much of a sensation with the papers. Everyone knows they're getting radical lately.
Dr. Newman goes through some coordination tests with me; she tests my eyes and my responses; she takes my pulse and blood pressure; she extracts some blood and checks to make sure of the type. AB-. She puts it on file.
"Try not to get too banged up, recruit," says Dr. Newman. "I don't have much AB negative in store."
"I thought you don't like personal relationships with your patients."
"Is that what you got from my spiel?" she asks.
"Pretty much."
"Hm. Well no heart-felt feelings intended. I've never lost a patient and I sure as hell won't be the doctor to lose one because there isn't enough blood on hand. I'd be the laughing stock of my department."
"That'd be a shame," I reply without emotion.
"Try to lose the attitude. Solitary confinement isn't as glamorous as it sounds."
I didn't mean to be giving the doctor an attitude. I am usually pretty cheery, when I wasn't thinking about the past. I am happiest when drawing, but from the looks of things, I won't be doing much of that. I can't help the chip on my shoulder—I've been kidnapped for God's sake! I've been legally kidnapped . . . commandeered. I think I have the right to have a little bit of an attitude.
Dr. Newman doesn't pinch my skin when she gives me a vaccine. I feel the needle fully, but I don't let on. Dad was always saying that you shouldn't show fear to military people. They can sniff it out. And though this woman might not have a title like Sergeant or Captain, she is definitely military issue. I make a mental note to spend as little time in Dr. Newman's infirmary as possible.
When she's done getting my height, weight, and measurements, she walks back to the large monitor on the wall. All the things she's recorded about me appear, and she saves them under a file labeled Sommers, June H. When she saves it, it goes into a list of names and under mine I glimpse Sommers, Justin E. before she exits out and the screen is replaced with a background of the Federation's signature and Athena scrolled underneath.
Dr. Newman walks to the door and presses a button. It slides open and Amador reenters.
"Everything all right, doctor?" he asks. "No deformities or inabilities needing correction?" His joke gets him no reaction, but he doesn't seem to notice. Or care.
Though, he does give me the idea of faking deafness. That would cause a riot with the drill sergeants.
"She's pristine, sir," replies Dr. Newman. "A little low on muscle, but that's nothing basic training won't cure."
I'm about to tell her where to shove her scalpel when Amador takes me by the elbow and starts ushering us out the other door to the examination room.
"Thank you, Karin. You'll be seeing her soon."
"Hopefully not too soon," Dr. Newman remarks as the door shuts behind us.
"You didn't give Dr. Newman too much trouble I hope," says Amador as he guides us through a labyrinth of metal corridors.
"Of course not. She's a lovely woman," I lie.
He guides us to a large auditorium-like room. We walk through the only doors. All the other recruits are here as well. There are several metal tables set up against the wall, officers sitting behind them. Upon them are large quantities of military-issue clothing. The recruits are ranged around, some having already gotten their things, some waiting, and some in line.
Amador gives me a not-so-gentle nudge towards the line. "Go get your things," he says. "And mingle. You'll be briefed tomorrow. For now, get used to your new home."
He leaves me with a sneer on my face. This place would never be home. It is too cold. There are no pictures of Dad or Justin anywhere. There isn't the smell of home cooking, or a dining room table with Mom's pink-with-strawberries apron anywhere. This definitely isn't home.
I walk slowly to the back of the line. No one has really noticed my arrival and I hope I can just mingle in without detection. The last thing I need is my fellow recruits thinking I'm special or hold favor. I get behind a shorter girl and wait my turn.
She senses my presence and turns. She's got short, thick curls of blonde hair and electric blue eyes. She's very pretty as she smiles kindly at me.
"Examinations are never fun, are they?" she asks, accented.
I shake my head. "Never." I wouldn't know. I've avoided doctors since my last flu shot when I was thirteen.
"So why have you come to Athena?"
"I was commandeered from my home against my will because the Chancellor has a weird 'special interest' in my family," I nearly say. But I don't—I catch myself in time. I'm guessing that will be part of my briefing tomorrow, a strict no-telling policy. Plus being an experiment isn't the most sure-fire way to make friends.
"Suit piloting," I say instead, which is the half-truth. It's what Dad did, and it's what they wanted Justin for. "What about you?"
"Suit maintenance," she replies with a cheery grin.
"You want to be a suit mechanic?" I ask. She nods. "And you're going through officer training?"
"Have to if I want to be top suit mechanic," she answers. She steps up and receives her military issue boots. I step up behind her and get mine in my size. We start to move down the line.
"So you'll be a Colonel Mechanic?" I ask with a grin.
She shakes her head and smiles at me. "No, of course not. Suit mechanics are non-commissioned officers. And if I want to be the head of suit maintenance for a squadron, I have to go through training."
"Ah," I say, giving her a little salute, "so Sergeant Mechanic, yes?"
She laughs. "Staff Sergeant if I have anything to say about it."
I'm taken aback. This girl is really motivated. I'm tempted to ask her why she wants to be so high up, but I get the feeling that it's too soon.
I follow her down the line of metal tables, collecting the clothing I'll be wearing for the next . . . Lord knows how long. As I walk with the girl towards the crowd grouping at the other end of the auditorium, I ask, "So, do you have a name?"
"Yup," she replies, smiling at me. "You?"
"Mm hmm. June Sommers," I say, extending a hand.
She shifts her things to one arm and takes my hand. "Charlotte Armstrong." I can tell that from her grip. A real mechanic's grip. We smile at each other.
"So, June Sommers," she says as we make it to the back of the crowd, "where do you come from?"
"The California Province," I answer. "You?"
"The British Sector. London, to be exact." Ah, a British accent.
I open my mouth but am cut off. That seems to be happening a lot today.
At the front of the crowd are some officers in uniform and one in a gray jumpsuit. The only female of them walks to one side of the room.
"All right, ladies, regroup over here and let's get you sorted!"
The girls in the group move over while the boys shuffle to the right. When we're separated by gender, it's clear to see that the new recruits are predominantly male; around twenty females to at least forty males.
With that sorting done, roll-call went off.
"Armstrong, Charlotte!" calls the woman at the front.
Charlotte gives me a wry smile. "See you in the barracks." She bounces off to her assigned spot.
The woman goes down the list. I'm eleventh in the list and stand at the head of the second line of girls, in the front with Charlotte. The boys take longer to sort, as there are more of them and they seem harder to contain. A drill sergeant is barking at them while another, much smaller officer tries meekly to shout their names over the barking.
Finally, when everyone is in order, a man with the decorations of a brigadier general comes forward to address the crowd. He does a nice little spiel on how this is the toughest training program in the entire Federation and that we shouldn't take it lightly. Do your best, blah, blah, blah.
"Ladies," the general says once his speech is over with, extending an arm towards us, "please follow Major Davidson to your barracks. Men, follow the Sarge. Your training starts the day after next at oh-six-hundred-hours, so relax and hammer out any concerns. I extend this warning—once this training starts, it doesn't stop. Relax while you can. The test of your life is right around the corner."
With that we are brought to attention by Major Davidson, who has us filing silently back out the door we came through and down the corridor. The boys behind us divert to another corridor a ways down while we continue on until coming to a large door reading BARRACK 14. It slides open and the twenty of us enter.
The door reveals the long room with two-bed bunks lining each side. There are two doors at the end that probably lead to the bathrooms.
"Go pick a bunk, ladies, and don't dawdle. Once you've chosen there's no changing so be smart about it!" Major Davidson barks.
Charlotte's small hand wraps around my wrist. I look over at her and she grins.
"C'mon," she urges excitedly and we dash to the back of the room and get the bunks in the back right corner. It feels like we're at summer camp, choosing the best bunks.
"You want top or bottom?" I ask.
She heaves her duffel onto the top bunk and smiles. "I promise I don't bounce."
"I'll hold you to that," I laugh, plopping my duffel onto my bed.
A whistle sounds shrilly and all the girls look to the front of the room where the Major is standing.
"Now that you've had your fun, line up." We take a step away from our bunks and stand with backs straight. Justin and I used to play soldiers when we were little, so the routine feels similar. I suppose it helped us feel closer to Dad.
The Major does another headcount, professing that more than once a girl had "strayed" and gone with the boys. Looking at the Major, I have my bet placed that she might have been the one. The tight uniform only accents her feminine qualities.
Once the Major's done, she looks up from her clipboard and surveys the room. Her dark blonde hair is pulled back tightly in a French braid. It only makes her face look sharper.
"I've got some rules that need to be followed, ladies. First, I want this room to be spotless whenever I enter—and that doesn't mean shoveling things underneath your bunks when you hear me coming. Maintain it; tidiness is the basic skill of a soldier.
"Second, you are to address me as Major, Major Davidson, or ma'am. I want this to be clear: I am not your friend; I am your commanding officer and demand respect. Respect me, and I will respect you in turn."
Lord almighty this speech is getting so old! Respect, respect, respect.
"Third, Federation-issued clothes are to be worn at all times out of this barrack. The gray jumpsuit you have been issued is to be worn for regular training and walking around the base, which will bring me to my fourth rule in a moment. The white one is for later battle- and combat-training. Shirts are to be worn under jumpsuits at all times. I don't tolerate depravity, so if I see any unnatural cleavage, your suit with be zipped up so high people will wonder if there's a face attached to your body, are we clear?"
"Yes, ma'am," some ring.
"Fourth, there is to be no unauthorized wandering of the base. You are new recruits, greenhorns, and yes, newbs. You have little to no authority here. You go where I say, you do what I say, and you go and do it quickly.
"Fifth, your fellow trainees who have been here longer will find every excuse to taunt, badger, and berate you. Let it get the best of you and you will be on a transport ship back to Earth so fast your head will spin. If you want revenge, be better than them at training. And you'd better do it fairly. I don't tolerate cheating."
She puts the clipboard with her hands behind her back and surveys us with a measuring look one last time. A few women come in the barrack door.
"You are being addressed by the Chancellor tomorrow. These women will be getting your measurements and your formal uniforms will be sent to you tomorrow morning before the ceremony. If I ever see a spec on your uniforms, there will be hell to pay, mark my words. Now, get settled in. The bathrooms are through the door on the right, and the door to the left leads to a common room shared by all the recruits in this company. If I ever hear of misbehavior or fraternizing, punishment will be in order. I will be back at eleven-hundred-hours to lead you to the cafeteria where you'll get lunch. Memorize the way there because it's the only time I'm escorting you."
With those as her departing words, Major Davidson exits the barrack and leaves us to the mercy of the seamstresses. They are nice women and take our measurements without poking us with their needles—such an improvement over the white coats.
When they are about halfway done, some female corporals enter and start issuing us pairs of underwear and bras. The underwear are like tight shorts. I examine one of the issued bras and roll my eyes. Even this has the Federation emblem on it. I don't know how Dad stood it. They give us sweatpants and one baggy, and one tight sweatshirt, saying that they are to be worn during downtime only. The last thing to be passed out is our dog-tags.
Charlotte does a low whistle. "That was quick," she remarks.
I examine mine. They read something like this:

SOMMERS
JUNE HELENA
62246
AB-
SECT 12 PROV 204

ISSUED 05.14.2095
ATHENA FSC 2
FEDERATION CERTIFIED

My entire existence is summed up on two thin plates of metal. My name, my new ID number, blood type, my home sector and province. It's all there.

Description
Earth's Atmosphere, Federation Quadrant 1
0816 Hours

Transport vessels have gotten so good that there's barely any turbulence when breaking through Earth's atmosphere. I watch with a knot in my throat as California disappears behind me. When I was little, I always imagined the borders were visible from space. Turns out they're only lines on a map.
I shiver from the cold of space. I despise cold. Cold climate, cold rain, cold temperature, cold tea—you name it; I probably don't like it cold.
That is why I dislike space. I've been up a few times and have never liked it. The air is conditioned up here constantly. It stays around sixty-seven—Federation standard. You have to be high up or rich to have heated rooms since it is so expensive to do in the big space complexes floating above Earth.
There are two complexes, each on opposite sides of Earth. The one positioned over the southern hemisphere is the Federation's space capital, Atlantis. It was built by the first Federation Chancellor, Darius St. Peters, the foundation being the old International Space Station created at the beginning of the century. (His son, Gregor St. Peters, was Chancellor after him, and now his grandson, Lawrence St. Peters, is Chancellor. Some call it St. Peters luck; some call it a St. Peters dictatorship.) Around Atlantis is an artificial atmosphere, created by pumping man-made gasses through the city's fake atmosphere to create a small-scale one similar to Earth's. They don't have weather, but it gets sun like a normal place on Earth, so it's one of the warmest places in space. A whopping seventy-two. The Federation has forgotten what warmth is.
The second Federation space complex (or FSC), the bigger of the two, is the military station Athena. It is heavier fortified than even the capital, and provides training to all those hoping to serve the Federation's military branch—their largest and foremost branch.
Athena is most famous for suit training. Most going to Athena seek a spot in the revered Artillery Suit Battalion (ASB). Only the elite make it through the tests. And that is why I'm being taken to Athena. To train then to serve there.
To protect Earth's atmosphere, they have created an invisible barricade, maintained by small unmanned stations, that protect the precious atmosphere from further harm from rays and pollution—and the occasional asteroid. It's like a filmy coating over Earth; to get through it requires clearance unless you want all of Athena bearing down upon you.
Amador had stuck to his stupid art story all the way until the transport door had shut. He told Mom he was taking me back to the New York Province for art schooling.
Space travel is fastest for getting place to place throughout the Earth now. I suppose he figured he had Mom fooled that we would land in New York, not Athena. I had watched Mom until I couldn't discern her anymore.
I turn away from the window, disgusted with the recent turn of events. It will be some time before we get to Athena; it is the furthest FSC out, since it is the barricade's first line of defense. It also prevents people forced to attend at Athena, like me, from having easy means of escape.
"You didn't have to lie to her," I mutter, sliding further down my seat.
"It's protocol," he replies. Oh, the irony. "Besides, do you think it would have been easier for me to tell her that you're being taken for extensive suit pilot training?"
"I think it would have been easiest if you hadn't forced me to come at all."
"That simply wasn't an option. The Chancellor himself has taken special interest in your family."
"What's left of it," I murmur. I wonder if that's the same thing they told Justin. The Chancellor has taken interest in your family . . . Of course he has. He wouldn't have been taken—I wouldn't have been taken, if the Chancellor wasn't interested.
"What was that?"
"Nothing."
Silence ensues. Officer Amador is reading from a file with a large red stamp spelling CLASSIFIED on it. I peep over and glimpse a picture of me alongside a picture of Justin that looks more like a mug shot, as if he's some sort of high profile criminal. He had been a football player. He had wanted to play professionally. He had hated war.
I look away, unable to bear thinking about what that file must say about Justin and me. We weren't twins, so being valuably similar is out.
"So," said Officer Amador, "do you have any questions about Athena?"
"No."
"None at all? Aren't you interested in where you'll be staying during your tour?"
"Well, there is one thing."
"Yes?"
"When's the next transport leaving for California?"
He glances at me sideways and gives me a condescending look. "Come back to me in three years. Then we'll talk."
"This isn't fair."
"Few things in life are." Great, now he wants to sound like a philosopher and a parent.
"So is it protocol to kidnap teenagers and make them fight your war? You officers are all the same," I scoff. "You find people to fight your wars for you."
"I am an ace of the ASB with two tours. I am currently working on my third."
"Fine, Ace, then riddle me this: Why me and my brother?"
"Since I am to be your commanding officer, I must demand you refer to me in a more respectful manner. I am Lieutenant Colonel Richard Amador. You may refer to me thus, or by 'sir.'" His tone is stern, the charisma gone now.
"All right, Lieutenant Colonel, riddle me this: Why me and my brother?"
He slides his head to look at me and just gives me a look that is meant to be degrading. "That is classified."
I'm considering slapping him again when I feel the transport slow, coming in to dock at Athena. That went by fast—I must have been caught up in the Lt. Colonel's and mine pleasant conversation so much that I didn't notice that we had gained clearance to pass through the barricade.
Amador stands and I follow, shouldering my duffel bag, trailing him down the ramp into the docking bay of Athena. There are a few more transport ships, all unloading new recruits. I can tell them from their awe- or fear-stricken expressions and civilian clothing.
I'm about ready to join the crowd when Amador's grip, like a vice, steers me in an opposite direction.
"It's your lucky day, Sommers," he says, leading us towards a separate corridor than the rest of the recruits. "You don't have to undergo basic inspection."
"No cavity searches, huh?" I ask. I'm only half sarcastic.
He gives me a wry look. "If there was any suspicion you hid a bomb between your socks, Sommers, you would have been tackled by my personnel already."
His personnel are two large men with dark clothes and sunglasses. Both are bald and have communication devices plugged into their ears.
"You are to undergo a special inspection. We just need to verify some things, and then you will be set up in the cadet barracks."
We come to a door that has the block numbers 071 painted on. Amador swipes a card in front of the monitor to the side, and it lights up green, the door sliding open.
On the other side, a woman in a white coat is waiting for us. I never have trusted white coats. They mean needles and other unmentionables to poke you with. She's holding a handheld monitor and there's another larger one hanging on the opposite wall. There's a chrome counter with a chrome sink inset an inch or two back, and a few feet from that is a chrome-plated slab to serve as an examination table. Chrome, chrome, chrome.
"Is this our special recruit?" asks the female doctor.
"Yes. This is June Sommers."
"Please wait outside, sir," she says to Amador, "this should only take a few moments."
"Of course, doctor," he says, winking at her as he stalks back out the door. I think my stomach does a roll.
The doctor pats the slab. "Up you come," she commands lightly.
I put down my duffel and do as she says. I cringe from the cold as it penetrates my jeans almost instantaneously.
"My name is Dr. Karin Newman. I'll be your attending physician during your tour here."
I nod. "Okay."
"Make no mistake, recruit. I'm not a substitute mother or a shoulder to cry on. I do my job and I respect those who do theirs without needing to whine about it. If you didn't want to be here then you shouldn't have signed up."
I decide to keep my mouth shut. Obviously not everyone here has been clued in. I guess kidnapping would make too much of a sensation with the papers. Everyone knows they're getting radical lately.
Dr. Newman goes through some coordination tests with me; she tests my eyes and my responses; she takes my pulse and blood pressure; she extracts some blood and checks to make sure of the type. AB-. She puts it on file.
"Try not to get too banged up, recruit," says Dr. Newman. "I don't have much AB negative in store."
"I thought you don't like personal relationships with your patients."
"Is that what you got from my spiel?" she asks.
"Pretty much."
"Hm. Well no heart-felt feelings intended. I've never lost a patient and I sure as hell won't be the doctor to lose one because there isn't enough blood on hand. I'd be the laughing stock of my department."
"That'd be a shame," I reply without emotion.
"Try to lose the attitude. Solitary confinement isn't as glamorous as it sounds."
I didn't mean to be giving the doctor an attitude. I am usually pretty cheery, when I wasn't thinking about the past. I am happiest when drawing, but from the looks of things, I won't be doing much of that. I can't help the chip on my shoulder—I've been kidnapped for God's sake! I've been legally kidnapped . . . commandeered. I think I have the right to have a little bit of an attitude.
Dr. Newman doesn't pinch my skin when she gives me a vaccine. I feel the needle fully, but I don't let on. Dad was always saying that you shouldn't show fear to military people. They can sniff it out. And though this woman might not have a title like Sergeant or Captain, she is definitely military issue. I make a mental note to spend as little time in Dr. Newman's infirmary as possible.
When she's done getting my height, weight, and measurements, she walks back to the large monitor on the wall. All the things she's recorded about me appear, and she saves them under a file labeled Sommers, June H. When she saves it, it goes into a list of names and under mine I glimpse Sommers, Justin E. before she exits out and the screen is replaced with a background of the Federation's signature and Athena scrolled underneath.
Dr. Newman walks to the door and presses a button. It slides open and Amador reenters.
"Everything all right, doctor?" he asks. "No deformities or inabilities needing correction?" His joke gets him no reaction, but he doesn't seem to notice. Or care.
Though, he does give me the idea of faking deafness. That would cause a riot with the drill sergeants.
"She's pristine, sir," replies Dr. Newman. "A little low on muscle, but that's nothing basic training won't cure."
I'm about to tell her where to shove her scalpel when Amador takes me by the elbow and starts ushering us out the other door to the examination room.
"Thank you, Karin. You'll be seeing her soon."
"Hopefully not too soon," Dr. Newman remarks as the door shuts behind us.
"You didn't give Dr. Newman too much trouble I hope," says Amador as he guides us through a labyrinth of metal corridors.
"Of course not. She's a lovely woman," I lie.
He guides us to a large auditorium-like room. We walk through the only doors. All the other recruits are here as well. There are several metal tables set up against the wall, officers sitting behind them. Upon them are large quantities of military-issue clothing. The recruits are ranged around, some having already gotten their things, some waiting, and some in line.
Amador gives me a not-so-gentle nudge towards the line. "Go get your things," he says. "And mingle. You'll be briefed tomorrow. For now, get used to your new home."
He leaves me with a sneer on my face. This place would never be home. It is too cold. There are no pictures of Dad or Justin anywhere. There isn't the smell of home cooking, or a dining room table with Mom's pink-with-strawberries apron anywhere. This definitely isn't home.
I walk slowly to the back of the line. No one has really noticed my arrival and I hope I can just mingle in without detection. The last thing I need is my fellow recruits thinking I'm special or hold favor. I get behind a shorter girl and wait my turn.
She senses my presence and turns. She's got short, thick curls of blonde hair and electric blue eyes. She's very pretty as she smiles kindly at me.
"Examinations are never fun, are they?" she asks, accented.
I shake my head. "Never." I wouldn't know. I've avoided doctors since my last flu shot when I was thirteen.
"So why have you come to Athena?"
"I was commandeered from my home against my will because the Chancellor has a weird 'special interest' in my family," I nearly say. But I don't—I catch myself in time. I'm guessing that will be part of my briefing tomorrow, a strict no-telling policy. Plus being an experiment isn't the most sure-fire way to make friends.
"Suit piloting," I say instead, which is the half-truth. It's what Dad did, and it's what they wanted Justin for. "What about you?"
"Suit maintenance," she replies with a cheery grin.
"You want to be a suit mechanic?" I ask. She nods. "And you're going through officer training?"
"Have to if I want to be top suit mechanic," she answers. She steps up and receives her military issue boots. I step up behind her and get mine in my size. We start to move down the line.
"So you'll be a Colonel Mechanic?" I ask with a grin.
She shakes her head and smiles at me. "No, of course not. Suit mechanics are non-commissioned officers. And if I want to be the head of suit maintenance for a squadron, I have to go through training."
"Ah," I say, giving her a little salute, "so Sergeant Mechanic, yes?"
She laughs. "Staff Sergeant if I have anything to say about it."
I'm taken aback. This girl is really motivated. I'm tempted to ask her why she wants to be so high up, but I get the feeling that it's too soon.
I follow her down the line of metal tables, collecting the clothing I'll be wearing for the next . . . Lord knows how long. As I walk with the girl towards the crowd grouping at the other end of the auditorium, I ask, "So, do you have a name?"
"Yup," she replies, smiling at me. "You?"
"Mm hmm. June Sommers," I say, extending a hand.
She shifts her things to one arm and takes my hand. "Charlotte Armstrong." I can tell that from her grip. A real mechanic's grip. We smile at each other.
"So, June Sommers," she says as we make it to the back of the crowd, "where do you come from?"
"The California Province," I answer. "You?"
"The British Sector. London, to be exact." Ah, a British accent.
I open my mouth but am cut off. That seems to be happening a lot today.
At the front of the crowd are some officers in uniform and one in a gray jumpsuit. The only female of them walks to one side of the room.
"All right, ladies, regroup over here and let's get you sorted!"
The girls in the group move over while the boys shuffle to the right. When we're separated by gender, it's clear to see that the new recruits are predominantly male; around twenty females to at least forty males.
With that sorting done, roll-call went off.
"Armstrong, Charlotte!" calls the woman at the front.
Charlotte gives me a wry smile. "See you in the barracks." She bounces off to her assigned spot.
The woman goes down the list. I'm eleventh in the list and stand at the head of the second line of girls, in the front with Charlotte. The boys take longer to sort, as there are more of them and they seem harder to contain. A drill sergeant is barking at them while another, much smaller officer tries meekly to shout their names over the barking.
Finally, when everyone is in order, a man with the decorations of a brigadier general comes forward to address the crowd. He does a nice little spiel on how this is the toughest training program in the entire Federation and that we shouldn't take it lightly. Do your best, blah, blah, blah.
"Ladies," the general says once his speech is over with, extending an arm towards us, "please follow Major Davidson to your barracks. Men, follow the Sarge. Your training starts the day after next at oh-six-hundred-hours, so relax and hammer out any concerns. I extend this warning—once this training starts, it doesn't stop. Relax while you can. The test of your life is right around the corner."
With that we are brought to attention by Major Davidson, who has us filing silently back out the door we came through and down the corridor. The boys behind us divert to another corridor a ways down while we continue on until coming to a large door reading BARRACK 14. It slides open and the twenty of us enter.
The door reveals the long room with two-bed bunks lining each side. There are two doors at the end that probably lead to the bathrooms.
"Go pick a bunk, ladies, and don't dawdle. Once you've chosen there's no changing so be smart about it!" Major Davidson barks.
Charlotte's small hand wraps around my wrist. I look over at her and she grins.
"C'mon," she urges excitedly and we dash to the back of the room and get the bunks in the back right corner. It feels like we're at summer camp, choosing the best bunks.
"You want top or bottom?" I ask.
She heaves her duffel onto the top bunk and smiles. "I promise I don't bounce."
"I'll hold you to that," I laugh, plopping my duffel onto my bed.
A whistle sounds shrilly and all the girls look to the front of the room where the Major is standing.
"Now that you've had your fun, line up." We take a step away from our bunks and stand with backs straight. Justin and I used to play soldiers when we were little, so the routine feels similar. I suppose it helped us feel closer to Dad.
The Major does another headcount, professing that more than once a girl had "strayed" and gone with the boys. Looking at the Major, I have my bet placed that she might have been the one. The tight uniform only accents her feminine qualities.
Once the Major's done, she looks up from her clipboard and surveys the room. Her dark blonde hair is pulled back tightly in a French braid. It only makes her face look sharper.
"I've got some rules that need to be followed, ladies. First, I want this room to be spotless whenever I enter—and that doesn't mean shoveling things underneath your bunks when you hear me coming. Maintain it; tidiness is the basic skill of a soldier.
"Second, you are to address me as Major, Major Davidson, or ma'am. I want this to be clear: I am not your friend; I am your commanding officer and demand respect. Respect me, and I will respect you in turn."
Lord almighty this speech is getting so old! Respect, respect, respect.
"Third, Federation-issued clothes are to be worn at all times out of this barrack. The gray jumpsuit you have been issued is to be worn for regular training and walking around the base, which will bring me to my fourth rule in a moment. The white one is for later battle- and combat-training. Shirts are to be worn under jumpsuits at all times. I don't tolerate depravity, so if I see any unnatural cleavage, your suit with be zipped up so high people will wonder if there's a face attached to your body, are we clear?"
"Yes, ma'am," some ring.
"Fourth, there is to be no unauthorized wandering of the base. You are new recruits, greenhorns, and yes, newbs. You have little to no authority here. You go where I say, you do what I say, and you go and do it quickly.
"Fifth, your fellow trainees who have been here longer will find every excuse to taunt, badger, and berate you. Let it get the best of you and you will be on a transport ship back to Earth so fast your head will spin. If you want revenge, be better than them at training. And you'd better do it fairly. I don't tolerate cheating."
She puts the clipboard with her hands behind her back and surveys us with a measuring look one last time. A few women come in the barrack door.
"You are being addressed by the Chancellor tomorrow. These women will be getting your measurements and your formal uniforms will be sent to you tomorrow morning before the ceremony. If I ever see a spec on your uniforms, there will be hell to pay, mark my words. Now, get settled in. The bathrooms are through the door on the right, and the door to the left leads to a common room shared by all the recruits in this company. If I ever hear of misbehavior or fraternizing, punishment will be in order. I will be back at eleven-hundred-hours to lead you to the cafeteria where you'll get lunch. Memorize the way there because it's the only time I'm escorting you."
With those as her departing words, Major Davidson exits the barrack and leaves us to the mercy of the seamstresses. They are nice women and take our measurements without poking us with their needles—such an improvement over the white coats.
When they are about halfway done, some female corporals enter and start issuing us pairs of underwear and bras. The underwear are like tight shorts. I examine one of the issued bras and roll my eyes. Even this has the Federation emblem on it. I don't know how Dad stood it. They give us sweatpants and one baggy, and one tight sweatshirt, saying that they are to be worn during downtime only. The last thing to be passed out is our dog-tags.
Charlotte does a low whistle. "That was quick," she remarks.
I examine mine. They read something like this:

SOMMERS
JUNE HELENA
62246
AB-
SECT 12 PROV 204

ISSUED 05.14.2095
ATHENA FSC 2
FEDERATION CERTIFIED

My entire existence is summed up on two thin plates of metal. My name, my new ID number, blood type, my home sector and province. It's all there.