CHARLIE COMPANY: SELECTION PART 2
Porter
This blows, Casey thought as she stood in line outside the Career Development office. She was about halfway through, but it took over an hour to get that far. Boredom was beginning to set in. She reached in her jacket pocket but found it empty.
“Shit!”
That ear sets at the bottom of a septic tank, she thought. She noticed the boy standing in front of her was wearing a set.
“Excuse me…” She said, tapping the boy on the shoulder. He turned, looked her up and down. Casey noticed his clothes were low quality. She’d often see field workers wearing clothes like that. Field Workers receive the lowest rations, so the boy’s clothes were probably handed down from his father – or perhaps an uncle, or older brother. “Can you take out one of your buds?” she asked, pointing at her own ear so he’d hopefully understand what she was saying.
“Don’t need to,” he said. “Power cells died an hour ago”
“So, why keep them in?”
“Good question,” he said, removing the buds. “Guess I just forgot to take them out. He held out his hand. I’m Jose, Jose Marquez.”
“Casey Porter,” she said, shaking his hand. “Nice to meet…” Just then, Casey saw a man in Ministry uniform walking the line, counting off people. When he reached her, he tapped her shoulder and said, “47”, then continued up the line. “I wonder what that’s about.”
“Dunno,” Jose said. “But I bet it’s not good. Hope they’re not running out of positions already.
Casey felt her stomach tighten. If that happens, she thought, I’m finished.
After the people-counter was finished counting, he went to the exact middle of the line, then turned to face the candidates.
“Attention!” He yelled.
Everyone just stared at him.
“I said attention, idiots!” He screamed. “That means, stand up perfectly straight and get your fucking backs against the wall!”
The whole line jumped at once and scrambled around each other. They had to push down the length of the wall to get enough room between them. The people counter paced back and forth until they finished. Once they were all standing at attention, the man looked right, then left, then pulled out a small piece of paper.
“Draft Protocol initiated,” the man announced. “You’ll all report to selection immediately.” Most of the candidates moaned out loud. A few began to cry.
“What’s that mean?” Casey whispered, when the people counter was busy looking down the line.
“It means we’re fucked,” Jose whispered back. “Now shush.”
“As you were!” the uniformed man called out. Then, he executed an abrupt right face and marched off.
Kraven
“Congratulations,” the selection administrator, a tall woman, even when sitting down said. “You made it.”
Alex let out the long breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in.
“Was I close?”
“You actually did very well, but we can’t give out exact numbers. It’s against the rules,” she said, nodding her head towards a camera mounted in the corner.
“Oh,” Alex whispered back. “Got it.” The woman handed him a folder. Alex opened it, tried to read it, but it was just a series of numbers.
“Your transporter departs at exactly thirteen hundred hours in front of the building,” the woman said. Don’t be late.”
“Thank you,” Alex said, closing the folder and standing. “I won’t be.” As he left the office, the woman called the next candidate in. When he walked out, Alex was more than a little taken aback by the sight of the hallway. Candidates lined each side of the hall – all the way down to the main entrance. He’d never thought so many people would want to go through Selection. A man holding a clipboard approached as Alex was making his way past the other candidates.
“You make it?” The man asked when he got close.
“Yes sir!” Alex said.
The man stopped, grabbed Alex’s hand, shook it. “Good job, son,” he said. Now you just have to make it through camp.” Then he continued on his way, yelling back, “That’s the hard part!” as he went.
Alex still had a few hours to kill before the transporter arrived. He decided to spend them in the cafeteria – maybe get something to eat. He had a few bills in his pocket, courtesy of his father, but that didn’t matter. His food was the government’s problem now. All he had to do is flash a copy of his orders and they’ll give him whatever he asked for. It’s one of the privileges of service. He decided on a warm ham sandwich, a cookie, and a glass of milk. Then he found an empty booth by a large window overlooking the courtyard and sat down. While he ate, he looked down at the hundred or so people scattered here and there on the grass. Some reading tablets, some walking around. The sight of them struck a nerve. These people know who they are – what they are, he thought. He didn’t know who, or what he’d become in the months ahead. But he did know one thing – he wouldn’t be anything like the useless bags of meat in the courtyard. He wanted to be more – so much more
Marquez
Jose was irritated.
Being pulled away from the Career Development office and told that he was a volunteer for selection was bad enough but being paired with this Casey girl wasn’t cool at all. He thought (maybe) she was a little cool, but damn… she never shut up! Even after another hour in line, she was still droning on – now about how unfair this draft protocol thing was. At least they were getting close to the front of the line. Suddenly, the door to the selection office swung open. A tall woman with a stern expression marched out, followed close by the man who was counting shoulders an hour earlier. The man was still holding his clipboard. The woman carried a large stack of folders. Two other ministry workers followed them out of the office, one carrying a table, the other, a chair. They set up the table and chair at the end of the hall. Once the woman sat down at the table, she sorted the folders into a few different stacks, completely ignoring the remaining candidates. Only after she finished did she acknowledge their presence.
“Does anyone here have any medical problems?” She asked. A few candidates raised their hands. “Very good,” she said. “Please follow Mr. Clark to the medical offices.” When the candidates didn’t immediately move, Mr. Clark (the counter man) stepped in front of the table.
“Move your fucking asses!” He screamed. They moved then, bolting from the line and forming another line of their own, in front of Mr. Clark. “Right,” Mr. Clark said. “You better fucking move when you’re told, maggots!” He spun left, yelled at them to march, and chased them down the hall. Once Mr. Clark was well out of range, Jose turned to Casey.
“Kind of an asshole, huh?”
For once, Casey didn’t say anything. She just nodded.
“You should show more respect,” the boy behind Jose said. Jose turned.
“And why’s that?” Jose asked. He towered over the boy, but the boy wasn’t intimidated. He smiled up at Jose, then said, “Well, for starters, he’s a Brother.” Jose looked down the hall, at the feeble, middle-aged herding the broken candidates to medical.
“That guy?” He said, shaking his head. “No freaking way”
“It’s true,” The boy (Brooks, according to his nametape) said. “I mean he’s not active anymore, obviously. But he’s a Brother. A brother is always a brother, right?”
“That certainly explains why he’s such a dick.” Jose said, and turned back to face the Ministry woman, who was staring back at him, her eyebrows furrowed. She pulled a file from the first stack, opened it.
“When I call your name, line up in front of the desk,” she said. One by one, she called up the remaining candidates – handed them their orders, shook their hands. “Congratulations on being selected,” She said – to each one of them. Then, “Your transport will depart from the front of the building at thirteen hundred hours. Do not be late.”
Master Sergeant Evans
Master Sergeant Evans stood at the window of his office, surveying the camp down the hill. From his perch, he could see the entire perimeter of the training site.
“Sheila,” he said, “How many cadets enroute?”
A panel at the center of the desk slid open. A large, bright-lit monitor rose. Once erected, the monitor spun slowly at its base until the screen faced the Master Sergeant.
“A full complement,” a feminine voice announced. “One-hundred-fifty recruits.”
“ETA?”
“Precisely seventeen hundred hours.”
Master Sergeant Evans looked at his communicator. Less than fifteen minutes to go. He pressed a switch on the side and began to bark out orders to his cadre. “Alert all group leaders,” he shouted. “I want them in position in five minutes”
“Roger, Master Sergeant,” a shaky voice responded.
“Oh – and contact the dining facility manager! Make sure evening chow is ready when they arrive. They’ll probably be hungry.”
“Roger, Master Sergeant!” Master Sergeant Evans lowered the communicator and, still staring out the window, he pulled a dusty black cap from his cargo pocket, placed it on his head. “This meal will probably be their last bit of peace for quite a while,” he said. It was time to get busy.
To be continued…
