in his lap. His whine was thin and high like a baby with no tit to suck.
I looked up at my rescuer and locked eyes with the coldest stare I’d ever seen. His eyes were so blue you could almost see through them.
The marine. Now I was scared.
The kid on the ground kept crying, with snot hanging out of his nose, as he held his broken arm to his chest. The marine stared at all of us but didn’t say a thing.
Beech cleared his throat. "Hello, Sir. Sir, we were – "
The recruiter thrust his palm at Beech’s face and we all flinched in unison expecting him to get slapped. Then he jabbed a finger at them.
"Leave."
It was Beech’s turn to look like he might cry. "But, Sir, we’re…"
The recruiter directed his stare to Beech then simply uttered, "Now."
They ran away.
He turned back to me and, despite the clench of apprehension in my belly, I pulled my shoulders up and straightened my back.
He loomed a meter above my head and said, "Relax, kid."
So I tried. I dropped my shoulders. My body ached in places that weren’t supposed to hurt and holding myself in an upright posture was exhausting..
"What was that all about?" he asked.
"Dunno."
"You don’t know? And..." his voice trailed off and I crinkled my eyebrows in confusion.
"Address me as Sir." He helped.
"Dunno, Sir."
He gave me the once over again. I fidgeted slightly under his scrutiny, trying not to imagine what he thought of me in my dingy stolen shoes, which were mostly held together with glue, but at least fit me better these days.
"What’s your student number?"
"11982," I replied.
He flipped his arm over and pulled up his sleeve, then punched at the inside of his forearm. A holographic image hovered a centimeter or so above his skin – an image of me, my student records.
He glanced over my file and then turned his hard stare on me once more. That stare said he could kill me as easily as pissing. I didn’t doubt for a second that he could rip out my innards through my nose.
"Family?"
I shook my head.
"Where do you live?"
I remained silent. I didn’t want to be disagreeable, but I also didn’t want the moms receiving unexpected visitors on my account. Military types, especially marines, had a tendency to tear up the decor. So I didn’t say anything. I resigned myself to the fact that my silence would probably piss him off. That he’d wrap that hand around my skinny neck and squeeze. Instead, he smiled. His teeth were big and white, with a little gap in the center..
"You’re ok, kid." He said. "I’m Gunny Ripla. What do you call yourself?"
Automatically, I almost replied with "Boy" but I stopped just in time.
I needed to be someone. I needed to have a name.
So I blurted out the closest thing I could think of. "Roy! My name’s Roy, Sir."
He raised one eyebrow. "Interested in the Marines, Roy?"
"Yes, Sir." I didn’t need time to think, time to process. For a dust eater from the Depot this was the rough equivalent of discovering a wealthy relative. I wasn’t going to let it slip away.
"Good. Anyone you want to say goodbye to?"
I thought about the moms, about Nanette and Sophie, but I shook my head again. I didn’t know what would happen if I went back there and I wasn’t going to endanger my chances of getting out – or their business.
Ripla nodded. Maybe he understood more than I was giving him credit for. "We leave tonight, Roy. I’ve spent too long in this place already."
"So have I, Sir. So have I."
I stepped beside him, in rank. Ripla put his big hand over my shoulder and gave me one pat on the back.
That’s how I joined the Marines – I was ten years old.
CHAPTER THREE
I was good at it. Fighting I mean. I was good in training. I was better when it mattered, in combat.
They tagged me early for Boarding Specialist – the marines who led the way in a ship to ship assault. I loved being on point. I’d eventually grown into my big feet. A late bloomer – that’s what I was. I got so big that I almost didn’t fit
I looked up at my rescuer and locked eyes with the coldest stare I’d ever seen. His eyes were so blue you could almost see through them.
The marine. Now I was scared.
The kid on the ground kept crying, with snot hanging out of his nose, as he held his broken arm to his chest. The marine stared at all of us but didn’t say a thing.
Beech cleared his throat. "Hello, Sir. Sir, we were – "
The recruiter thrust his palm at Beech’s face and we all flinched in unison expecting him to get slapped. Then he jabbed a finger at them.
"Leave."
It was Beech’s turn to look like he might cry. "But, Sir, we’re…"
The recruiter directed his stare to Beech then simply uttered, "Now."
They ran away.
He turned back to me and, despite the clench of apprehension in my belly, I pulled my shoulders up and straightened my back.
He loomed a meter above my head and said, "Relax, kid."
So I tried. I dropped my shoulders. My body ached in places that weren’t supposed to hurt and holding myself in an upright posture was exhausting..
"What was that all about?" he asked.
"Dunno."
"You don’t know? And..." his voice trailed off and I crinkled my eyebrows in confusion.
"Address me as Sir." He helped.
"Dunno, Sir."
He gave me the once over again. I fidgeted slightly under his scrutiny, trying not to imagine what he thought of me in my dingy stolen shoes, which were mostly held together with glue, but at least fit me better these days.
"What’s your student number?"
"11982," I replied.
He flipped his arm over and pulled up his sleeve, then punched at the inside of his forearm. A holographic image hovered a centimeter or so above his skin – an image of me, my student records.
He glanced over my file and then turned his hard stare on me once more. That stare said he could kill me as easily as pissing. I didn’t doubt for a second that he could rip out my innards through my nose.
"Family?"
I shook my head.
"Where do you live?"
I remained silent. I didn’t want to be disagreeable, but I also didn’t want the moms receiving unexpected visitors on my account. Military types, especially marines, had a tendency to tear up the decor. So I didn’t say anything. I resigned myself to the fact that my silence would probably piss him off. That he’d wrap that hand around my skinny neck and squeeze. Instead, he smiled. His teeth were big and white, with a little gap in the center..
"You’re ok, kid." He said. "I’m Gunny Ripla. What do you call yourself?"
Automatically, I almost replied with "Boy" but I stopped just in time.
I needed to be someone. I needed to have a name.
So I blurted out the closest thing I could think of. "Roy! My name’s Roy, Sir."
He raised one eyebrow. "Interested in the Marines, Roy?"
"Yes, Sir." I didn’t need time to think, time to process. For a dust eater from the Depot this was the rough equivalent of discovering a wealthy relative. I wasn’t going to let it slip away.
"Good. Anyone you want to say goodbye to?"
I thought about the moms, about Nanette and Sophie, but I shook my head again. I didn’t know what would happen if I went back there and I wasn’t going to endanger my chances of getting out – or their business.
Ripla nodded. Maybe he understood more than I was giving him credit for. "We leave tonight, Roy. I’ve spent too long in this place already."
"So have I, Sir. So have I."
I stepped beside him, in rank. Ripla put his big hand over my shoulder and gave me one pat on the back.
That’s how I joined the Marines – I was ten years old.
CHAPTER THREE
I was good at it. Fighting I mean. I was good in training. I was better when it mattered, in combat.
They tagged me early for Boarding Specialist – the marines who led the way in a ship to ship assault. I loved being on point. I’d eventually grown into my big feet. A late bloomer – that’s what I was. I got so big that I almost didn’t fit
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