There was a constant rumble sound that was very unfamiliar to Barnaby. He would look too see what it was but his eyelids are exceedingly heavy at the moment. He felt terrible. The kind of terrible you would swear to give up all your worldly possessions never to experience again.
"What is that awful rumbling?" Barnaby said rhetorically to himself.
"I was thinking the same thing, Barney," replied Fry.
Very surprised that someone responded, "What are you doing at my house, Fry?"
"Your house, I thought we were at my house. It's not unlike me to wake up on the floor hung over at my house, but I can't remember the last time you even touched a drink."
"Neither of you are at your houses," responded a familiar female voice.
Barnaby and Fry cracked open their eyes just enough to see a familiar face. Just then pain shot thru their entire bodies. They realized they were sleeping against each other and the female voice was Layra.
"Layra, what's going on?" said Fry.
"I'm not surprised you don't remember last night. Being drafted. Passing out at the Draftee going away party and most pathetically being loaded unconsciously onto a rocket ship rumbling through space to an distant outpost in the asteroid belt," responded Layra
"Drafted? I thought that was all a nightmare," said Barnaby as he hiccups. "Were you drafted as well?"
"No, I actually volunteered for military service a few days ago. I've been thinking about it for a long time. I thought it would be an exciting adventure. Working as a medical doctor at home has become repetitive and boring. There was an opening for me to join the expedition as a surgeon at the Marine base camp infirmary."
Not all members of the Royal Marine Mining Corps are draftees. The majority of the mining operations support staff, training division and command staff are under volunteer service as either commissioned officers or enlisted personnel. However, their service is usually considerably longer than the draftees. Some volunteer on their first term, others are former draftees who decided to stay in the service.
"Layra, how noble of you. Our father must be so proud," said Fry.
"He didn't even say goodbye to me. But he couldn't stop fawning over his golden child soon to be a war hero," said Layra.
"War hero. Me? I'm no soldier, Layra. I just play one on TV. At least I did play one on TV. How long is this draft thing anyway, Barney? Fifty years, right?"
"It's three hundred years. They were chanting it all night as we drank pitcher after pitcher of mead," said Barnaby.
"Don't you worry. Father wouldn't pass up this opportunity. Your face will still be all over the tube. Dorn and Frackleberry are in the next section of the rocket with the camera equipment. You're about to star your very own reality TV show," said Layra.
"Damn, remind me of how big the spiders are again," said Fry.
"They're known to be at least five times our size," replied Barnaby.
"Damn, that's big!"
"It isn't their size that's the issue, it's that every female can hatch a litter of around five hundred baby spiders a time. They come at us in massive swarms."
"Damn, that's a lot."
A grizzled veteran walking by checking up on draftees interjected, "don't worry, soldiers. Your mechanical battle armor will protect your life. Now I can't guarantee you won't lose a limb or be burned by arachnid acid. The doctors will patch you up and we'll get you into an L.E.D and regrow those body parts. Combat deaths are rare. Only five to ten per cycle."
He walked off to check up on more draftees.
"Per cycle! How long is that? Is that the three hundred years or is that per mission," asked Fry?
"That's a one point six repeating ad infinitum death percentage at a minimum. Most likely over the three hundred years I surmise. He did say deaths are rare. If it was per mission, I estimate one mission per month lasting up to two weeks with a rest period lasting for the same duration. Twelve missions per year, times three hundred years equals three thousand six hundred missions. Times that by five deaths per mission would result in eighteen thousand deaths per the three hundred years. Which would be a six thousand percent likelihood of death. I don't think it's that number because of that's true we would be having drafts all the time replacing completely killed units," calculated Barnaby.
"Decimated units," said Fry. He gulped out of fear.
"Actually that would be the incorrect word to describe a one hundred percent combat loss. Decimated comes from the old dwarven root word deci. Deci means ten. So decimated is actually only a ten percent combat loss," replied Barnaby.
"While that should give me a sense of relief. Your lack of emotion is discomforting, brother. I most definitely feel worse," said Fry.
"Well if no one ever got hurt I would have a very boring tour of duty," said Layra.
Fry and Barnaby looked at Layra with a sense of shock. Layra had always had gallows humor, which they had always appreciated from her, but their perspective changed a bit with the prospect of the noose around their neck.
Layra smiled, "bring the blood, bring the pain, lay your organs before my feet." She winked, "don't worry brothers I'll pick up all your pieces and sow you back together."
Fry and Barnaby still very hungover turned to fall back asleep. If they stayed awake Layra would only further progress their very real concerns about the end of their own existence.
Layra laughed maniacally to herself.
The pilot came over the intercom system, "This is your captain speaking again. We're 20 minutes out from R-M-M-C headquarters which is located on Pinterra Asteroid, one of the largest asteroids in the belt. After a short orientation at the headquarters auditorium, you'll be transported to Camp King Derek which is the Draftee training area. This is surely a pleasure, we have some V-I-Ds on board with us today. The Royal triplets who are among our newest recruits. This should be interesting. After everyone has had their beards and hair trimmed off, I'm sure it will be hard to identify the identical twins Draftees Princes Barnabas and Fryberg Stone from each other. I'm sure you won't have a problem identifying the lovely newly direct commissioned Captain Layretta Stone, the accomplished medical doctor and surgeon. Well look at the time I've just been yammering on for ten minutes because we are ten minutes out. Please secure yourself for landing. I hope you've had a lovely trip aboard the Royal Navigator Corps' transport-six."
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"Barney, now that's a reassuring voice. That man should be an actor!" said Fry.
"Sorry to bother you again folks. Forgot to go over some additional safety information. This is incredibly unheard of, but if we did come into contact with a tiny miniscule asteroid or some other kind of debris, and cabin pressure is lost and the gravity generation system fails, you will likely be sucked into space. It's imperative that you are either securely locked into a seat or grab onto something that is secure. Now space is incredibly cold and there's no air to breathe, so if you aren't wearing your battle armor suit you will likely die unless you move within seconds to an undamaged section of the ship. Again this rarely ever happens and this is more of a regulatory requirement. But folks we do have billions upon billions of rocks randomly floating out there. So anything could happen. I hope you've have a great time on transport-six, this is your captain signing off."
"You know, you're right. That is very scary information, but his voice is just so reassuring," said Layra.
Barnaby opened his mouth to speak.
"He's just so dreamy, I must meet him," said Layra interjecting before Barnaby was able to get out any sounds. Layra started to bite her lip as she thought about how handsome the pilot must be.
The intercom buzzed on, "Oh science save me! That's a huge one. Phew. Near miss. Are you tracking that?"
"Captain the intercom," said the co-pilot.
"Whoops," said the pilot.
The intercom cut off and the ship made a few corrections. Everyone in the cabin looked around to see everyone's non-verbal thoughts.
Fry wanted to reassure everyone, and took this opportunity to show some leadership even though he was internally losing it. He gave everyone a reassuring thumbs up and smile.
It seemed to work.
A couple asteroids whizzed very closely by. Just then the sound of thousands of rocks the size of sand particles pounded against the hull of the ship.
Instinctively everyone looked back to Fry for reassurance. He held up his hands, a signal to wait it out. A few moments later the sand storm passed.
Within a few minutes the ship flipped to retrograde fire it's rockets. The landing was fairly smooth.
The veteran on the ship yelled for everyone to head to the front of the ship to exit. The pilot cockpit door opened and two gnomes walked out. They were both fairly scrawny even for gnome standards.
The cockpit crew began talking to passengers as they exited the rocket. They both had excited high pitch voices.
Layra wanted to see if she could meet the captain. She stepped aside to have a moment to chat.
"I was wondering if I could talk to the captain and thank him for the ride," said Layra.
"That's me! So nice to meet you princess. I mean, Captain Stone. Or, whichever you prefer," said the captain.
"How troublesome! So many titles. How about Captain Stone. I guess it's the only one I ever earned. So you're the captain, the one making the announcements? You sound a bit different in person. "
"Oh yes! The voice modulator. Your brother created it for us."
Barnaby was listening in and smiled once his little secret had been realized.
"Layra, you see the navigator corps was having trouble with passengers panicking during flights. I conducted research trials. My findings were conclusive. Deeper and slower voices with a constant rhythm caused trial participants to feel reassured and calm even when given overwhelming news. While higher pitched, faster choices with erratic rhythm caused anxiety even in the absence of any kind of negative information. To resolve the issue I created a device which I installed into the cockpit that modulated all voices to the same pitch. It also records the voice and replays it at a particular speed that is under an even rhythm," said Barnaby.
Layra felt like she had been deceived. The captain of the ship wasn't who she wanted him to be and it was all worse because her brother was directly responsible. Why is Barnaby involved in everything.
"Why didn't you mention something earlier," asked Layra.
"That really would have ruined all my fun," said Barnaby. He grinned very devilishly.
"Well it certainly wasn't fun for me on all those trips. It's really hard to fly through an asteroid belt with the entire ship screaming," said the captain.
Talking about the old days triggered the captain and he walked back into the cabin to perform post-flight checks.
The veteran that was checking up on everyone during the flight approached Barnaby and Fry.
"Gentlemen, before we attend the orientation the general would like to speak with you. Please follow me."
Fry and Barnaby were escorted through the combat mining operations headquarters to the command wing. Staff officers stopped for a moment to watch as they walked by. Several officers whispered back and forth about how they felt like they knew Fry personally from all his roles on television. Many were shocked because they had never seen a member of the royal family in the belt before. A large set of double doors laid before them. A plaque beside the set of doors read, task force - obsidian commanding general's office.
The veteran opened the door and waved them through. No newly drafted dwarf would ever be invited to the commanding general's office, and in the hypothetical universe where it would be possible it most definitely would be an overwhelming and daunting situation. Marine draftees don't go to see the general and the general doesn't come to see draftees, except for in large groups during orientation and graduation.
Fry and Barnaby were no run of the mill dwarfs. Obviously their father was the king. They grew up meeting all kinds of leaders of industry, government and academia. The general in this office was no different. In fact this is where they felt most comfortable. Those in control. Those with power. Those with influence.
"Fry! Barnaby! It's been far too long since I've seen you last."
"General Nebo! I know I can speak for my brother and I when I say we've missed you. Your presence has been missed at the lodge. We couldn't believe that you took another tour for task force - obsidian," said Fry.
"Sometimes for me it's like your father and you and never gone. There isn't a show on television that you aren't on, " said Nebo was he smiled warmly. "Boys I'm afraid my schedule is very booked today so this must be a short conversation for today."
"We understand Nebo. I'm sure we are the only Marine draftees ever in your office, " said Barnaby.
"Yes, that's exactly why I called you in. You have a place here, but it's not to be a Marine private. First you must earn the title Marine, but once you graduate from basic combat and mining training you both will be officer candidates. It wouldn't be right not to exploit this opportunity to have Dwarfs of your caliber leading Marines down the hole, " said Nebo, continuing to smile. "All the details will come shortly. You training starts immediately. Let Gunnery Sergeant Warcry take personal interest in your development. Welcome to the corps."
The general walked towards the auditorium to start his welcome speech.
Barnaby and Fry looked at Warcry and Warcry looked back at them.
Warcry opened his mouth wide and screamed, "You heard the general! Your training starts now you worthless spiderlings! Let's go, I'm waiting on you. You're mine until you graduate or die. Move. Move. Move."
Fry and Barnaby jumped. They had never been spoken too like this before. It was a little exciting and a little fearful.
As they ran down the hallway with Warcry at their heels Fry and Barnaby began to whisper together, "Welcome to the corps."