Not every day was horrible. Every Tenth day, after they passed another life-or-death training run, they got the rest of the day off.

Some of the others set up a drinking area on top of one of their small barracks hut. Just a short ladder climb and some ad hoc chairs and crates for tables awaited you. There was always plenty of Barracks Grog, even if it was shit.

They'd introduced that the first day; they could have as much as they wanted. The pseudo-alcohol could give you a little buzz, but it never built up in your system enough to make you truly stupid. He'd drank beer before, but this was new, and they had all taken to it.

It was strange to feel up high on the barracks; they never were up high, only in the buildings or underground. The gravity on this world was heavy; Lukis did not know the name of it, they just called it Boot Camp. The muscle stims and barracks grog had helped them adjust quickly.

Surely the whole planet wasn't just used for training, right? But maybe it was. He'd caught a glimpse of it from orbit; the land largely barren, the seas a deep, ugly blue, almost black. It seemed to look like a habitable world while lacking everything that made a habitable world seem nice.

Someone told him that the place hadn't had any native life. "Means we seeded it by coming here. Every germ we shed is gonna make life here. We're ancestors!" Later on, Lukis saw that in the Injection Learning.

From the tops of their huts, they could see all the way out of the camp, to neighboring camps, that seemed to exist at specific intervals. One was slightly up a cliff side.

"They can see all the other camps really well," one of his companions said. Among themselves the use of their names or nicknames were discouraged. After the fifth day they didn't even hear their names from the speakers anymore; just their number.

09 was the speaker. "I bet they can see into the women's camp. I bet they get a great view."

"Women's camp? There are no women in the combat corps!" 80, his other companion, said. The highest-number man to be alive in the unit, which he insisted made him the senior.

"There are women Dreadnoughts," 09 replied mockingly. "And they have to go through training like we do. I heard from a guy that one of the camps nearby is for women. So put two and two together . . ."

Lukis watched the two argue it back and forth. He doubted that there was a women's camp nearby. He didn't know enough about Dreadnoughts to weigh in, though.

The punishment for leaving camp without permission was execution, so it wasn't like they were going to find out.

The argument died off, settling nothing. They drank again for a few more minutes.

"Twenty days until we're through," 09 finally said.

"Yeah," Lukis said. "Just twenty days."

"Feels like it's been forever," 80 said.

09 snorted. "Yeah, you don't take to it like I do."

80 didn't rise to the bait, though, as they all thought on what would happen once they completed their training. In just the one month all of their lives changed drastically, and in twenty days it would do so again.

Lukis had no idea what would happen. None of them did. There was little concept given of what service was like, other than serving Gloria and doing what you were told, sometimes dying.

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They didn't even know where they'd be. Sent off to serve as the Conscript Infantry in the Glorian Empire, but where? A backwater planet, a space station?

All he knew was the most basic; serve out your time, then go back home until they needed you again.

Or make a career of it, if you took to it. Lukis did not feel like he wanted to do this, even if he seemed to be okay at a lot of it. He'd gotten an AI-generated kudos after starting the chant of 'hold' during their Holding Sit.

"Where do you wanna go?" 09 asked, glancing at him.

"I guess wherever they send me," Lukis said. Home, he wished.

80 slapped him on the arm. "21's just happy as long as he gets enough Barracks Grog!"

"That's it," Lukis said, taking a deep swig of his drink.

"I wanna go to Gloria," 09 said. "They say it's the most beautiful planet in the universe."

"Hey, don't go getting sentimental," 80 said. "Look, we got new conscripts over there."

Lukis sat up, looking out. A whole line of a hundred people were walking into the Welcome Center. It was not another structure, only half of one; a massive protrusion of mechanical parts projecting out of a wall that the conscripts had to go under.

The new unit of conscripts were herded forward, under the massive machinery, and sat down in chairs. The chairs grabbed onto them, and a few screamed, until they were silenced by a shock stick or slap from an officer.

"Calm down!" a voice drifted over from the group. "This is just for preparatory work. Sit still and it will be fine."

Next to Lukis, 09 laughed. "Hard to believe we were ever shitters like that."

Lukis could not help but to look at him in shock. It had only been three weeks since they'd been the ones in those chairs.

"Oh, here it comes," 80 said, pointing. His Barracks Grog sloshed in his glass, out onto his hand.

A massive machine was slowly moving down the line. It hung down from giant arms above, with meters of machinery built in. Large cupolas in its underside and it would move over the heads of a row and then dip down, covering them almost to the chin. There were uncomfortable sounds under there; discomfort and surprise that always culminated in a shriek of pain. Strapped in their chairs, they could not escape the machine as it crawled towards them.

Lukis still remembered sitting down there when the machine came at them. The shock block wasn't enough to make the memory neutral in his mind.

When the machine lifted to go to the next row, you could see that it had shaved the heads of the conscripts, and burned a code onto the back of their heads.

The worst part was the least visible; the metal disc on the sides of each conscript's head. He'd focused on the forced cutting of his hair, the fear of a brand, not even noticed the implant.

The memory of the drill that had cut into his head, implanted the device through his skull was one he could not shake.

A quick injection after that, and a little spray of Flesh-Metal Conjoiner, and then it moved on.

A medic had given them all a quick check-over. One simply looked into his eyes with a scanner.

"21 is fine," he had said, moving onto the next immediately.

The headaches for the rest of that first day, and through the night, had been agonizing. He'd gotten a fever, and the others in his barracks banged on the doors until someone came. A Medic gave him another injection.

"Now go to sleep!" the man had barked afterward. "Don't bother me again, if he dies he dies!"

By morning he'd been still alive, and feeling better. But his mechanical port remained swollen and inflamed for the rest of the week.

The machine dipped on the second-to-last row. The screams of pain were louder than usual, and as the machine lifted, one young man was thrashing.

Lukis leaned forward, his heartbeat picking up. The machinery stopped, lifting higher so the officers and medics could step in.

Blood was splashing out of the man's head. It went down his side, onto the man next to him. Red splattered the white pants of the medics.

Something had gone wrong with his implant; it had not gotten a hold and fallen out under the blood pressure.

One of the officers took out his gun, put it on the young man's head, and fired.

The ringing blast of the gun fell away, and no other sound replaced it.

Lukis sat still, as did everyone.

"It was a mercy," 80 said softly.