Old Man's War Part 9

There was only one of those. And it wasn't Jesse; it was Maggie, who, as it turned out, had had a thing for me even when I was wrinkled. After our briefing with Higgee, she more or less ambushed me at my door, which made me wonder if this was somehow standard operating procedure for post-change women. Regardless, she was great fun and, in private at least, not in the least retiring. It turned out that she had been a professor at Oberlin College. She taught philosophy of Eastern religions. She wrote six books on the subject. The things you learn about people.

The other Old Farts also stuck to their own. Jesse paired up with Harry after our initial fling, while Alan, Tom and Susan worked out some arrangement with Tom in the center. It was good that Tom liked to eat a lot; he needed his strength.

The ferocity at which the recruits went for s.e.x undoubtedly appears unseemly from the outside, but it made perfect sense from where we stood (or lay, or were bent over upon). Take a group of people who generally have had little s.e.x, due to lack of partners or declining health and libido, stuff them into brand-new young, attractive and highly functional bodies and then hurl them into s.p.a.ce far away from anything they ever knew and everyone they ever loved. The combination of the three was a recipe for s.e.x. We did it because we could, and because it beats being lonely.

It's not the only thing we did, of course. Using these gorgeous new bodies only for s.e.x would be like singing only one note. Our bodies were claimed to be new and improved, and we found it to be true in simple and surprising ways. Harry and I had to call off a Ping-Pong game when it became clear neither of us was going to win-not because we were both incompetent, but because our reflexes and hand-eye coordination made it d.a.m.n near impossible to get the ball past the other guy. We volleyed for thirty minutes and would have gone longer if the Ping-Pong ball we were using hadn't cracked from the force of being hit at such tremendously high speeds. It was ridiculous. It was marvelous.

Other recruits found out the same thing we did in other ways. On the third day, I was in a crowd that watched two recruits engage in what was possibly the most thrilling martial arts battle ever; they did things with their bodies that simply shouldn't have been possible a.s.suming normal human flexibility and standard gravity. At one point, one of the men placed a kick that launched the other halfway across the room; instead of collapsing in a pile of broken bones, as I'm sure I would have, the other guy did a backflip midflight, midflight, righted himself, and launched himself back at his opponent. It looked like a special effect. In a way it was. righted himself, and launched himself back at his opponent. It looked like a special effect. In a way it was.

After the battle, both men breathed deeply and bowed to his opponent. And then both of them collapsed onto each other, simultaneously laughing and sobbing hysterically. It's a weird, wonderful and yet troubling thing to be as good at something as you ever wanted to be, and then to be even better than that.

People went too far, of course. I personally saw one recruit leap off a high landing, either under the a.s.sumption that she could fly or, barring that, at least land without injury. My understanding is that she shattered her right leg, right arm, jaw, and cracked her skull. However, she was still alive after the leap, a state of affairs that probably wouldn't have existed back on Earth. More impressively, however, she was back in action two days later, which obviously spoke more to the Colonial medical technology than this silly woman's recuperative powers. I hope someone told her not to do such a stupid move in the future.

When people weren't playing with their bodies, they were playing with their minds, or with their BrainPals, which was close enough. As I would walk about the s.h.i.+p, I would frequently see recruits simply sitting around, eyes closed, slowly nodding their heads. They were listening to music or watching a movie or something similar, the piece of work called up in their brain for them alone. I'd done it myself; while searching the s.h.i.+p's system, I had come across a compilation of every Looney Tunes cartoon created, both during their cla.s.sic Warner days and then after the characters were put into the public domain. I spent hours one night watching Wile E. Coyote get smashed and blown up; I finally stopped when Maggie demanded I choose between her and Road Runner. I chose her. I could pick Road Runner anytime, after all. I had downloaded all the cartoons into a.s.shole.

"Choosing friends" was something I did a lot of. All of the Old Farts knew that our group was temporary at best; we were simply seven people thrown together at random, in a situation that had no hope for permanence. But we became friends, and close friends at that, in the short period of time we had together. It's no exaggeration to say that I became as close to Thomas, Susan, Alan, Harry, Jesse and Maggie as I had to anyone in the last half of my "normal" life. We became a band, and a family, down to the petty digs and squabbles. We gave one another someone to care about, which was something we needed in a universe that didn't know or cared that we existed.

We bonded. And we did it even before we were biologically prodded to do so by the colonies' scientists. And as the Henry Hudson Henry Hudson drew closer to our final destination, I knew I was going to miss them. drew closer to our final destination, I knew I was going to miss them.

"In this room right now are 1,022 recruits," Lieutenant Colonel Higgee said. "Two years from today, 400 of you will be dead."

Higgee stood in the front of the theater, again. This time, he had a backdrop: Beta Pyxis III floated behind him, a ma.s.sive marble streaked with blue, white, green and brown. We were all ignoring it and focusing on Lieutenant Colonel Higgee. His statistic had gotten everyone's attention, a feat considering the time (0600 hours) and the fact that most of us were still staggering from the last night of freedom we a.s.sumed we would have.

"In the third year," he continued, "another 100 of you will die. Another 150 in years four and five. After ten years-and yes, recruits, you will will most likely be required to serve a full ten years-750 of you will have been killed in the line of duty. Three-quarters of you, gone. These have been the survival statistics-not just for the last ten or twenty years, but for the over two hundred years the Colonial Defense Forces have been active." most likely be required to serve a full ten years-750 of you will have been killed in the line of duty. Three-quarters of you, gone. These have been the survival statistics-not just for the last ten or twenty years, but for the over two hundred years the Colonial Defense Forces have been active."

There was dead silence.

"I know what you're thinking right now, because I was thinking it when I was in your place," Lieutenant Colonel Higgee said. "You're thinking-what the h.e.l.l am I doing here? This guy is telling me I'm going to be dead in ten years! But remember that back home, you most likely would have been dead in ten years, too-frail and old, dying a useless death. You may die in the Colonial Defense Forces. You probably will will die in the Colonial Defense Forces. But your death will not be a useless one. You'll have died to keep humanity alive in our universe." die in the Colonial Defense Forces. But your death will not be a useless one. You'll have died to keep humanity alive in our universe."

The screen behind Higgee blanked out, to be replaced with a three-dimensional star field. "Let me explain our position," he said, and as he did, several dozen of the stars burned bright green, randomly distributed across the field. "Here are the systems where humans have colonized-gained a foothold in the galaxy. And these are where alien races of comparable technology and survival requirements are known to exist." This time hundreds of stars blazed up, redly. The human points of light were utterly surrounded. Gasps were heard in the theater.

"Humanity has two problems," Lieutenant Colonel Higgee said. "The first is that it is in a race with other sentient and similar species to colonize. Colonization is the key to our race's survival. It's as simple as that. We must colonize or be closed off and contained by other races. This compet.i.tion is fierce. Humanity has few allies among the sentient races. Very few races are allies with anyone, a situation that existed long before humanity stepped into the stars.

"Whatever your feelings about the possibility for diplomacy in the long run, the reality is that on the ground, we are in fierce and furious compet.i.tion. We cannot hold back our expansion and hope that we can achieve a peaceful solution that allows for colonization by all races. To do so would be to condemn humanity. So we fight to colonize.

"Our second problem is that when we do find planets suitable for colonization, they are often inhabited by intelligent life. When we can, we live with native population and work to achieve harmony. Unfortunately, much of the time, we are not welcome. It is regrettable when this happens, but the needs of humanity are and must be our priority. And so the Civil Defense Forces become an invading force."

The background switched back to Beta Pyxis III. "In a perfect universe, we would not need the Colonial Defense Forces," Higgee said. "But this is not that perfect universe. And so, the Colonial Defense Forces have three mandates. The first is to protect existing human colonies and protect them from attack and invasion. The second is to locate new planets suitable for colonization, and hold them against predation, colonization and invasion from competing races. The third is to prepare planets with native populations for human colonization.

"As Colonial Defense Forces soldiers, you will be required to uphold all three mandates. This is not easy work, nor is it simple work, nor is it clean work, in any number of ways. But it must be done. The survival of humanity demands it-and we will demand it of you.

"Three-quarters of you will die in ten years. Despite improvements to soldiers' bodies, weapons and technology, this is a constant. But in your wake, you leave the universe as a place where your children, their children, and all the children of humanity can grow and thrive. It's a high cost, and one worth paying.

"Some of you may wonder what you'll get personally from your service. What you'll get after your term of service is another new life. You will be able to colonize and to start again, on a new world. The Colonial Defense Forces will back your claim and provide you with everything you'll need. We can't promise you success in your new life-that's up to you. But you'll have an excellent start, and you'll have the grat.i.tude of your fellow colonists for your time of service to them and theirs. Or you can do as I have, and reenlist. You might be surprised at how many do."

Beta Pyxis III flickered momentarily and then disappeared, leaving Higgee as the sole focus of attention. "I hope you all took my advice to have fun in this last week," he said. "Now your work begins. In one hour, you will be transported off the Henry Hudson Henry Hudson to begin your training. There are several training bases here; your a.s.signments are being transmitted to your BrainPals. You may return to your rooms to pack your personal belongings; don't bother with clothing, it will be provided on base. Your BrainPal will inform you where to a.s.semble for transport. to begin your training. There are several training bases here; your a.s.signments are being transmitted to your BrainPals. You may return to your rooms to pack your personal belongings; don't bother with clothing, it will be provided on base. Your BrainPal will inform you where to a.s.semble for transport.

"Good luck, recruits. May G.o.d protect you, and may you serve humanity with distinction, and with pride."

And then Lieutenant Colonel Higgee saluted us. I didn't know what to do. Neither did anyone else.

"You have your orders," Lieutenant Colonel Higgee said. "You are dismissed."

The seven of us stood together, crowding around the seats in which we just sat.

"They certainly don't leave much time for good-byes," Jesse said.

"Check your computers," Harry said. "Maybe some of us are going to the same bases."

We checked. Harry and Susan were reporting to Alpha Base; Jesse to Beta. Maggie and Thomas were Gamma; Alan and I were Delta.

"They're breaking up the Old Farts," Thomas said.

"Don't get all misty," Susan said. "You knew it was coming."

"I'll get misty if I want," Thomas said. "I don't know anyone else. I'll even miss you, you old bag."

"We're forgetting something," Harry said. "We may not be together, but we can still keep in touch. We have our BrainPals. All we have to do is create a mailbox for each other. The 'Old Farts' clubhouse."

"That works here," Jesse said. "But I don't know about when we're in active duty. We could be on the other side of the galaxy from each other."

"The s.h.i.+ps still communicate with each other through Phoenix," Alan said. "Each s.h.i.+p has skip drones that go to Phoenix to pick up orders and to communicate s.h.i.+p status. They carry mail, too. It might take a while for our news to reach each other, but it'll still reach us."

"Like sending messages in bottles," Maggie said. "Bottles with superior firepower."

"Let's do it," Harry said. "Let's be our own little family. Let's look out for each other, no matter where we are."

"Now you're getting misty, too," Susan said.

"I'm not worried about missing you, you, Susan," Harry said. "I'm taking you with me. It's the rest of these guys I'll miss." Susan," Harry said. "I'm taking you with me. It's the rest of these guys I'll miss."

"A pact, then," I said. "To stay the Old Farts, through thick and thin. Look out, universe." I held out my hand. One by one, each of the Old Farts put their hand on mine.

"Christ," Susan said as she put her hand on the pile. "Now I'm I'm misty." misty."

"It'll pa.s.s," Alan said. Susan hit him lightly with her other hand.

We stayed that way as long as we could.

PART II.

SEVEN.

On a far plain on Beta Pyxis III, Beta Pyxis, the local sun, was just beginning its eastward journey up the sky; the composition of the atmosphere gave the sky an aqua tint, greener than Earth's but still nominally blue. On the rolling plain, gra.s.ses waved purple and orange in the morning breeze; birdlike animals with two sets of wings could be seen playing the sky, testing out the currents and eddies with wild, chaotic swoops and dives. This was our first morning on a new world, the first I or any of my former s.h.i.+pmates had ever set upon. It was beautiful. If there hadn't been a large, angry master sergeant on it, bellowing in my ear, it would have been just about perfect.

Alas, there was.

"Christ on a Popsicle stick," Master Sergeant Antonio Ruiz declared after he had glared at the sixty of us in his recruit platoon, standing (we hoped) more or less at attention on the tarmac of Delta Base's shuttleport. "We have clearly just lost the battle for the G.o.dd.a.m.n universe. I look at you people and the words 'tremendously f.u.c.ked' leap right out of my G.o.dd.a.m.ned skull. If you're the best that the Earth has got to offer, it's time we bend over and get a tentacle right up the a.s.s."

This got an involuntary chuckle from several recruits. Master Sergeant Antonio Ruiz could have come from central casting. He was exactly what you expected from a drill instructor-large, angry and colorfully abusive right from the get-go. No doubt in the next few seconds, he would get into one of the amused recruit's faces, hurl obscenities and demand one hundred push-ups. This is what you get from watching seventy-five years' worth of war dramas.

"Ha, ha, ha," Master Sergeant Antonio Ruiz said, back at us. "Don't think I don't know what you're thinking, you dumb s.h.i.+ts. I know you're enjoying my performance at the moment. How delightful! I'm just like all those drill instructors you've seen in the movies! Aren't I just the f.u.c.king quaint one!"

The amused chuckles had come to a stop. That last bit was not in the script.

"You don't understand, understand," Master Sergeant Antonio Ruiz said. "You're under the impression that I'm talking like this because this is just something drill instructors are supposed supposed to do. You're under the impression that after a few weeks of training, my gruff but fair facade will begin to slip and I will show some inkling of being impressed with the lot of you, and that at the end of your training, you'll have earned my grudging respect. You're under the impression I'll think fondly of you while you're off making the universe safe for humanity, secure in the knowledge I've made you better fighting men and women. Your to do. You're under the impression that after a few weeks of training, my gruff but fair facade will begin to slip and I will show some inkling of being impressed with the lot of you, and that at the end of your training, you'll have earned my grudging respect. You're under the impression I'll think fondly of you while you're off making the universe safe for humanity, secure in the knowledge I've made you better fighting men and women. Your impression, impression, ladies and gentlemen, is completely and irrevocably f.u.c.ked." ladies and gentlemen, is completely and irrevocably f.u.c.ked."

Master Sergeant Antonio Ruiz stepped forward and paced down the line. "Your impression is f.u.c.ked, because unlike you, I have actually been out in the universe. I have seen what we're up against. I have seen men and women that I knew personally turned into hot f.u.c.king chunks of meat that could still manage to scream. On my first tour of duty, my commanding officer was turned into a G.o.dd.a.m.n alien lunch buffet. I watched as the f.u.c.kers grabbed him, pinned him to the ground, sliced out his internal organs, pa.s.sed them out and gobbled them down-and slid back under the ground before any of us could do a G.o.dd.a.m.ned thing."

A stifled giggle from somewhere behind me. Master Sergeant Antonio Ruiz stopped and c.o.c.ked his head. "Oh. One of you thinks I'm kidding kidding. One of you dumb motherf.u.c.kers always does. That's why I keep this this around. Activate now," he said, and suddenly in front of each of us a video screen appeared; it took me a disorienting second before I realized Ruiz had somehow managed to activate my BrainPal remotely, switching on a video feed. The feed appeared to be taken from a small helmet camera. We saw several soldiers hunkered down in a foxhole, discussing plans for the next day's travel. Then one of the soldiers stopped talking for a second and slammed a palm down onto the dirt. He glanced up fearfully and yelled "incoming" a split second before the ground erupted beneath him. around. Activate now," he said, and suddenly in front of each of us a video screen appeared; it took me a disorienting second before I realized Ruiz had somehow managed to activate my BrainPal remotely, switching on a video feed. The feed appeared to be taken from a small helmet camera. We saw several soldiers hunkered down in a foxhole, discussing plans for the next day's travel. Then one of the soldiers stopped talking for a second and slammed a palm down onto the dirt. He glanced up fearfully and yelled "incoming" a split second before the ground erupted beneath him.

What happened next happened so quickly that not even the instinctive, panicked turn of the camera's owner was fast enough to miss it all. It was not pleasant. In the real world, someone was vomiting, ironically matching the action of the camera's owner. Blessedly, the video feed switched off right after that.

"I'm not so funny now, am I?" Master Sergeant Antonio Ruiz said, mockingly. "I'm not that happy f.u.c.king stereotypical drill instructor anymore, am I? You're not in a military comedy anymore, are you? Welcome to the f.u.c.king universe! The universe is a f.u.c.ked-up place, my friends. And I'm not talking to you like this because I'm putting on some amusing little drill instructor routine. That man who was sliced and diced was among the best fighting men I have ever had the privilege of knowing. None of you are his equal. And yet you see what happened to him him. Think what will happen to you you. I'm talking to you like this because I sincerely believe, from the bottom of my heart, that if you're the best humanity can do, we are magnificently and totally f.u.c.ked. Do you believe me?"

Some of our number managed to mumble a "Yes, sir" or something close to it. The rest of us were still replaying the evisceration in our heads, without the benefit of the BrainPal.

"Sir? Sir?!? I am a f.u.c.king master sergeant, you s.h.i.+theads. I work for a living! You will answer with 'Yes, Master Sergeant' when you need to answer in the affirmative, and 'No, Master Sergeant' when you answer in the negative. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Master Sergeant!" we replied.

"You can do better than that! Say it again!"

"Yes, Master Sergeant!" we screamed. Some of us were clearly on the verge of tears by the sound of that last bellow.

"For the next twelve weeks, my job is to attempt to train you to be soldiers, and by G.o.d, I am going to do it, and I'm going to do it despite the fact that I can already tell that none of you motherf.u.c.kers is up to the challenge. I want each of you to think about what I'm saying here. This isn't the old-time Earth military, where drill sergeants had to tone up the fat, bulk up the weak, or educate the stupid-each of you comes with a lifetime of experience and a new body that is in peak physical condition. You would think that would make my job easier. It. Does. Not.

"Each of you has seventy-five years of bad habits and personal feelings of ent.i.tlement that I have to purge in three G.o.dd.a.m.n months. And each of you thinks your new body is some kind of s.h.i.+ny new toy. Yeah, I know what you've been doing for the last week. You've been f.u.c.king like rabid monkeys. Guess what? Playtime is over over. For the next twelve weeks, you'll be lucky if you have time to jerk off in the shower. Your s.h.i.+ny new toy is going to be put to work, my pretties. Because I have to make you into soldiers. And that that is going to be a full-time job." is going to be a full-time job."

Ruiz resumed his pacing in front of the recruits. "I want to make one thing clear. I do not like, nor will I ever like, any one of you. Why? Because I know that despite the fine work of myself and my staff, you will inevitably make all of us look bad. It pains pains me. It keeps me awake at night knowing that no matter how much I teach you, you will inevitably fail those who fight with you. The best I can do is make sure that when you go, you don't take your whole f.u.c.king platoon down with you. That's right-if you only get me. It keeps me awake at night knowing that no matter how much I teach you, you will inevitably fail those who fight with you. The best I can do is make sure that when you go, you don't take your whole f.u.c.king platoon down with you. That's right-if you only get yourself yourself killed, I count that as a success! killed, I count that as a success!

"Now, you may think that this is some sort of generalized hatred that I will carry for the lot of you. Let me a.s.sure you that this is not the case. Each of you will fail, but you will fail in your own unique way, and therefore I will dislike each of you on an individual basis. Why, even now, each of you has qualities that irritate the living f.u.c.k out of me. Do you believe me?"

"Yes, Master Sergeant!"

"Bulls.h.i.+t! Some of you are still thinking that I'm just going to hate the other guy." Ruiz shot out an arm and pointed out toward the plain and the rising sun. "Use your pretty new eyes to focus on that transmission tower out there; you can just barely see it. It is ten klicks away, ladies and gentlemen. I'm going to find something about each of you that will p.i.s.s me off, and when I do, you will sprint sprint to that f.u.c.king tower. If you are not back in an hour, this entire platoon will run it again tomorrow morning. Do you understand?" to that f.u.c.king tower. If you are not back in an hour, this entire platoon will run it again tomorrow morning. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Master Sergeant!" I could see people trying to do the math in their heads; he was telling us to run five-minute miles all the way there and all the way back. I strongly suspected we'd be running it again tomorrow.

"Which of you was in the military back on Earth? Step up, now," Ruiz asked. Seven recruits stepped forward.

"G.o.d d.a.m.n d.a.m.n it," Ruiz said. "There is nothing I hate more in the entire f.u.c.king universe than a veteran recruit. We have to spend extra time and effort on you b.a.s.t.a.r.ds, making you unlearn every single f.u.c.king thing you learned back home. All you sons of b.i.t.c.hes had to do was fight humans! And even that you did badly! Oh, yes, we it," Ruiz said. "There is nothing I hate more in the entire f.u.c.king universe than a veteran recruit. We have to spend extra time and effort on you b.a.s.t.a.r.ds, making you unlearn every single f.u.c.king thing you learned back home. All you sons of b.i.t.c.hes had to do was fight humans! And even that you did badly! Oh, yes, we saw saw that whole Subcontinental War of yours. s.h.i.+t. Six f.u.c.king years to beat an enemy that barely had firearms, and you had to cheat to win. Nukes are for p.u.s.s.ies. that whole Subcontinental War of yours. s.h.i.+t. Six f.u.c.king years to beat an enemy that barely had firearms, and you had to cheat to win. Nukes are for p.u.s.s.ies. p.u.s.s.ies p.u.s.s.ies. If the CDF fought like the U.S. forces fought, you know where humanity would be today? On an asteroid, sc.r.a.ping algae off the f.u.c.king tunnel walls walls. And which ones of you a.s.sholes are Marines?"

Two recruits stepped forward. "You f.u.c.kers are the worst, worst," Ruiz said, getting right in their faces. "You smug b.a.s.t.a.r.ds have killed more CDF soldiers than any alien species-doing things that Marine f.u.c.king way instead of the way they're supposed supposed to be done. You probably had 'Semper Fi' tattoos somewhere on your old body, didn't you? Didn't you?" to be done. You probably had 'Semper Fi' tattoos somewhere on your old body, didn't you? Didn't you?"

"Yes, Master Sergeant!" they both replied.

"You are so f.u.c.king lucky they were left behind, because I swear swear I would have held you down and sliced them off myself. Oh, and you don't think I wouldn't? Well, unlike your precious f.u.c.king Marines, or any other military branch down there, up here the drill instructor I would have held you down and sliced them off myself. Oh, and you don't think I wouldn't? Well, unlike your precious f.u.c.king Marines, or any other military branch down there, up here the drill instructor is is G.o.d. I could turn your f.u.c.king intestines into a sausage pie and all that would happen to me is they'd tell me to get one of the other recruits to mop up the mess." Ruiz stepped back to glare at all the veteran recruits. "This is the G.o.d. I could turn your f.u.c.king intestines into a sausage pie and all that would happen to me is they'd tell me to get one of the other recruits to mop up the mess." Ruiz stepped back to glare at all the veteran recruits. "This is the real real military, ladies and gentlemen. You're not in the army, navy, air force, or Marines now. You're one of us. And every time you forget it, I'm going to be there to step on your f.u.c.king head. Now start running!" military, ladies and gentlemen. You're not in the army, navy, air force, or Marines now. You're one of us. And every time you forget it, I'm going to be there to step on your f.u.c.king head. Now start running!"

They ran.

"Who's h.o.m.os.e.xual?" Ruiz said. Four recruits stepped forward, including Alan, who was standing next to me. I saw his eyebrows arch as he stepped up.

"Some of the finest soldiers in history were h.o.m.os.e.xual," Ruiz said. "Alexander the Great. Richard the Lionhearted. The Spartans had a special platoon of soldiers who were gay lovers, on the idea that a man would fight harder to protect his lover than he would for just another soldier. Some of the best fighters I ever knew personally were as queer as a three-dollar bill. d.a.m.n fine soldiers, all of them.

"But I will tell you the one thing that p.i.s.ses me off about you all: You pick the wrong f.u.c.king moments to get confessional. Three separate times Three separate times I've been fighting alongside a gay man when things have gone sour, and each f.u.c.king time he chooses I've been fighting alongside a gay man when things have gone sour, and each f.u.c.king time he chooses that that moment to tell me how he's always loved me. G.o.d moment to tell me how he's always loved me. G.o.dd.a.m.n, that's inappropriate. Some alien is trying to suck out my f.u.c.king brains, and my squadmate wants to talk about our relations.h.i.+p! As if I wasn't already that's inappropriate. Some alien is trying to suck out my f.u.c.king brains, and my squadmate wants to talk about our relations.h.i.+p! As if I wasn't already busy busy. Do your squadmates a f.u.c.king favor. You got the hots, deal with it on leave, not when some creature is trying to rip out your G.o.dd.a.m.n heart. Now run!" Off they went.

"Who's a minority?" Ten recruits stepped forward. "Bulls.h.i.+t. Look around you, you a.s.sholes. Up here, everyone is green. There are no minorities. You want to be in a f.u.c.king minority? Fine. There are twenty billion humans in the universe. There are four trillion trillion members of other sentient species, and they members of other sentient species, and they all all want to turn you into a midday snack. And those are only the ones we know about! The first one of you who b.i.t.c.hes about being a minority up here will get my green Latino foot squarely up your whiny a.s.s. Move!" They heaved out toward the plain. want to turn you into a midday snack. And those are only the ones we know about! The first one of you who b.i.t.c.hes about being a minority up here will get my green Latino foot squarely up your whiny a.s.s. Move!" They heaved out toward the plain.

On it went. Ruiz had specific complaints against Christians, Jews, Muslims and atheists, government workers, doctors, lawyers, teachers, blue-collar joes, pet owners, gun owners, pract.i.tioners of martial arts, wrestling fans and, weirdly (both for the fact it bothered him and the fact that there was someone in the platoon who fit the category), clog dancers. In groups, pairs, and singly, recruits were peeled off and forced to run.

Eventually, I became aware that Ruiz was looking directly at me. I remained at attention.

"I will be G.o.dd.a.m.ned," Ruiz said. "One of you s.h.i.+theads is left!"

"Yes, Master Sergeant!" I yelled as loudly as I could.

"I find it somewhat difficult to believe that you do not fit into any of the categories I have railed against!" Ruiz said. "I suspect that you are attempting to avoid a pleasant morning jog!"

"No, Master Sergeant!" I bellowed.

"I simply refuse to acknowledge that there is not something about you I despise," Ruiz said. "Where are you from?"

"Ohio, Master Sergeant!"

Ruiz grimaced. Nothing there. Ohio's utter inoffensiveness had finally worked to my advantage. "What did you do for a living, recruit?"

"I was self-employed, Master Sergeant!"

"As what?"

"I was a writer, Master Sergeant!"

Ruiz's feral grin was back; obviously he had it in for those who worked with words. "Tell me you wrote fiction, recruit," he said. "I have a bone to pick with novelists."

"No, Master Sergeant!"

"Christ, man! What did you write?"

"I wrote advertising copy, Master Sergeant!"