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Authors: Jean Johnson

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BOOK: Theirs Not To Reason Why: A Soldier's Duty
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Ia shook her head. There was a reason why she had listed her priestess status on her application form, but not for that one. “I’m a priestess for personal reasons, not professional ones, sir. I’ll be better used in fighting to save lives, not souls.”
“. . . Right. There is a twenty credit nonrefundable processing fee, whether or not you pass recruitment standards, Meioa Ia,” Lieutenant Major Kirkins-Baij told her, his tone just flat enough to reassure her he had said this part to a hundred recruits before her, and would recite it to a hundred more once she had gone. “On the plus side, your MAT scores are transferrable when applying for a government job, should you choose to look elsewhere.”
The look he slanted her said he thought she would be smarter to look elsewhere, being a strange, one-named woman who probably wouldn’t fit into the orderly categories of military life. But he didn’t actively try to dissuade her. Instead, he typed in a few more commands, accepted the two orange credit chits she dug out of her pocket and handed over, then rose from his seat.
“The testing booth is this way.” A gesture of his hand showed her which way to turn as they left the small room that served as his office. “I’ll be placing that call to your government while you are undergoing evaluation. If you need to visit the bathroom, now is the time to go. Be advised that you
will
be tested for illegal substances from this point forward.”
“I understand.” She followed as he showed her to the facilities, leaving her alone for a few moments.
If I didn’t have to go to a specific Camp at a specific point in time, I would’ve picked a more congenial recruiter . . . but this one needs to fill his recruitment quota. If I can antagonize him just enough, prick his pride, push the right buttons, he’ll not try to push me into a different path, based on my testing. The last thing I need is to be thrown into an officers’ academy right now.
Using the facilities, she scrubbed her hands at the sink, knowing they would be subjected to sensors determining her stress and reflex responses via her sweat glands, impulse-twitches, blood pressure, heart rate, and other detection means.
A more congenial soul would be eager to help me, ruining everything I have planned.
I cannot let him get in my way.
That was an old mantra. A familiar one, if not necessarily a comfortable one for her conscience to bear. To it, she added a new, fresh thought.
I cannot let these tests place me in the wrong Service path, either. That would be a disaster of unforgivable proportions.
Not that it would be an easy thing. She had practiced at home with a makeshift testing center, thanks to the help of her brothers and the local chapter of the Witan Order. But the Kinetic Inergy machines the Witans had loaned her were old and most likely less sensitive than whatever the military could afford; at least, the military here on the Human Motherworld. She would have to rely mostly on rote memorization to pass if she didn’t want to trigger the wrong sensors.
Squaring her shoulders, she emerged from the refreshing room and followed the lieutenant major to the testing booths. There were three of them, hatchway-sealed rooms with their doors standing open, each one looking in on a bulky, sensor-riddled chair ringed by view screens and the like. Outside each door, a quartet of helmets hung on a hook.
“Please pick the headset size which fits most comfortably on your head, and seat yourself in the chair inside this room,” he instructed her, his tone reverting to that bored, done-it-a-thousand-times tone he had used before. “Follow the instructions you are given at all times to the best of your ability. You are expected to be proficient at reading and listening to Terranglo; if you are unable to do so, you must indicate which languages you are proficient at on the tertiary second screen. Inability to follow orders in Terranglo both written and verbal will affect your placement scores.
“You will be subjected to audio, text, and spatial questioning, your reflexes and strength tested, your ethics probed, your mind monitored for KI strength and other hallmarks of psychic ability, and you will even undergo timed testing at certain steps along the way. The entire testing session will last between two and a half to three hours, depending upon the untimed portions. If you are thirsty, you may access bottled water from the dispensary, but otherwise you will not be allowed a break from the testing procedure.
“If you have any questions about the equipment, the tertiary fifth screen, the one on the lower far right, contains a diagram of what to touch and when to touch it. The pertinent equipment on the diagram will light up with arrows when you are to touch it.” Gesturing, the lieutenant major pointed at the screens. “These vidscreens are arranged in the standard Terran pattern: primary is in the center, flanked to either side by secondary left and secondary right. Below them from left to right are the tertiary first through fifth screens. Please remember their positions, as they will be critical for some of your testing.
“You will also be subjected to pain threshold tests, and gravity stress tests. Please do not exit the booth during the gravity stress tests, as the gravity shear forces may cause undue injury. If you wish to end the testing at any time, simply repeat three times in a row, ‘End the test, end the test, end the test,’ and wait for the screens to fall dark and the door to open before exiting the equipment. Your twenty-credit fee is nonrefundable, and incomplete MAT scores are not admissible for military, civilian, or government jobs. Do you understand these things as I have explained them to you?”
Plucking one of the helmets from the rack lining the outer edge of the alcove, Ia nodded. “Yes, sir, I understand them.”
“Your placement in the Service, if any, will depend almost entirely upon the machine’s evaluation of your performance coupled with the current needs of the military. Some of the questions you answer may direct your career path, but placement is not guaranteed. I myself can make certain recommendations if an ambiguity shows up in your testing profile, but the Space Force has invested a lot of effort and experience in these testing centers to gauge your abilities with great accuracy. If there are no true ambiguities, I cannot sway the testing center’s decisions for you. Good luck,” he wished her, “and don’t hold your breath. Unless the test asks for it, of course.”
Ia knew he was expecting her to laugh. Most applicants did. She also knew he was serious. Settling the helmet on her head, she fastened the chin strap and climbed into the testing chair. The primary and tertiary fifth screens lit up, the former with a greeting and a list of instructions on how to strap into the equipment, and the latter with sections of the depicted chair displayed, lighting up as each point scrolled up the screen. Once her legs and right arm were strapped in, she inserted her left arm with its ident bracelet into its slot as directed, and waited while the machine pulled up her information file.
It recorded her homeworld of Sanctuary without commentary, unlike the recruitment officer. It also revved up the gravity weave built into the alcove with the warning message, “Adjusting gravity to native homeworld standards of 3.21gs for physical stress test. Please stand by, and do not exit the testing chair during the enhanced gravity phase.”
It’d be rather hard for me to “stand” by and
not
exit the chair,
Ia thought, letting her rare sense of humor surface for a moment. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled, accompanying a faint hum from a new machine.
Damn. They’ve turned on the KI sensors sooner than I expected.
Clamping down on her mind, she blanked it of all stray thoughts, and all stray abilities. Now was
not
the time to go off into an involuntary temporal fit. Not with the machine off to her left ready to record just how much Kinetic Inergy she might use, and what kinds.
Now is
not
the time for the military to find out I’m a psychic. Not for a long, long time, if I can help it.
“Meioa Ia. Are you ready to begin the Military Aptitude Test?” the pleasant audio voice of the testing unit asked.
“I am. Begin,” she instructed it.
“Section One: Physical Aptitude. Grasp the blue handles and pull them down as fast as you can,” the recorded voice instructed. On the secondary left screen, a question flashed in white text. “Section Two: Military Knowledge. 1) When was the Space Force founded?”
Grasping the overhead handles, Ia yanked them down, pulling hard and fast despite their pneumatic resistance. “April 14th, 2113 Terran Standard, by order of the newly formed Terran United Planets Council.”
“Place both feet on the green pedals and push them far away from you,” the voice instructed, while the secondary left screen printed another question. “What is the primary difference between the Space Force and planetary Peacekeeper forces?”
This one, she also knew. “Peacekeepers are civilian organizations with jurisdictions limited to a specific city, region, province, space station, and/or planet. The Space Force is a military organization with a jurisdiction limited only by the interstellar boundaries of the Terran United Planets, its sovereign territories, and its duly authorized activities.”
Text and voice switched, with the voice asking the next question and the text directing her to grasp the orange handles and twist from side to side. She complied, glad she had practiced taking verbal and written directions at the same time. The cuffs on her right arm and legs measured her physiological responses to the efforts, recording without surprise her overall strength and speed. Those two things were key to survival on a heavyworld, where bodies fell faster than expected and landed harder than preferred.
Those were qualities the military liked to see, both V’Dan and Terran. Strength and reflexes were bred into the survivors of heavyworld acclimatization. For as long as she could remember, Ia had seen recruiters from both the Terran Space Force and the V’Dan Imperial Military visiting her homeworld, most with their lightworlder bodies wrapped in gravity weaves so that they could withstand the pressure of being planet-side long enough to try and encourage her fellow colonists to join the military of either government. Sanctuary was more than twice as far from the V’Dan worlds than the rest of Terran space, but the First Human Empire still sent their recruiters each year, scouting for the most physically impressive soldiers they could find. Heavyworlder soldiers, preferably from the heaviest gravitied world.
Strength and speed weren’t enough, though. They helped, but they weren’t enough. It would take far more to make a civilian into a competent, disciplined warrior. For the sake of everyone else, Ia had to try.
 
Lieutenant Major Kirkins-Baij studied the datapad Ia had just signed. He glanced up at her twice, each time returning his gaze to the results of her tests, then sighed and set the pad on his desk. “Well. Congratulations, Recruit. You have just signed up for a three-year attempt at becoming a Marine.
If
your test scores translate into the real world, and
if
you can pass the training, you’ll make a good soldier. But only
if
.
“There is a mandatory twenty-four-hour Terran Standard cooling period. If at any time in the next twenty-four hours you wish to change your mind, you may contact me and sign the appropriate release forms.” Tapping his military-issue wrist unit, he nodded at her civilian one, which chirped. “I’ve beamed you my contact information if you wish to do so. If you do not change your mind immediately, be advised that changing your mind after the twenty-four-hour grace period will require you to reimburse the Space Force for any and all expenses incurred for your processing, transportation, training, housing, and so forth, up until the point of your discharge, as well as being liable for any other potential legal ramifications.
“Forty-two hours from now, if you have not changed your mind, you have an obligation to be on the suborbital commuter shuttle to Darwin, on the north side of the continent. Your ticket will be downloaded to your ident half an hour before boarding begins—you will, of course, have the costs of the ticket and all other transportation, housing, equipping, and other sundry needs deduced from your recruit pay, starting twenty-four hours from now. The Space Force doesn’t give free rides; we even charge the Premiere of the Terran United Planets. She gets a discount,” the lieutenant major allowed, “but she still gets a bill.
“In Darwin, you will be met at the terminal by one of the instructors from Camp Nallibong. He or she will be clad in the brown uniform of the Marines, and will be easy to spot. Do not delay in looking for him or her. Once you have reported in, you will then be given transportation to the base, where you will begin your training.” Rising, he offered her his hand. “Good luck, Recruit. You’ll need it.”
BOOK: Theirs Not To Reason Why: A Soldier's Duty
10.11Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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