Now was near the appointed time. John Smith popped out of the bed and clumsily wore his service attire. It was a pair of pale gray clothing with black boots to match. How far was his room to the meeting place? He looked at the clock above, there was no time to spare. He quickly sprinted his way.

The base, or the section he passed through was even busier than few hours before. There were number of people wearing uniforms like him, shouting and running nearby. Other places had trucks, more than he count, of all shapes and sizes. He felt his legs were heavy as lead but he ran regardless.

An angry female voice greeted John in front of the meeting room, “You’re late, minus one-point Recruit John Smith.”

“U-u-m?” He stammered his reply while panting. The clock was 3 A.M, no doubt. Points? What for?

A muscled arm emerged from the door and dragged the ex-slum dweller inside, “Get your ass in here, maggot!”

“Wha-?” John Smith found himself sprawled on the wall before a whip lashed his face.

Standing in front of him was Sasha that had abducted him from the slums, “Private John Smith! You’re late by thirty-four milliseconds! Stand up, maggot!”

“Y-y-yes! P-p-private John Smith, Sir!” John fumbled his way up and mangled his salute, or what was one.

The brunette female lieutenant lashed him again, on his right arm. “Louder! This isn’t a daycare, Private!”

“Sir, yes sir!” John found courage from nowhere, probably to avoid that nasty electrified whip.

Sasha snorted in response, “Do you know why I am angry at you, maggot?”

“Umm…I am…late? But…” The thin man scrambled his wits out. He wasn’t late, right?

The female lieutenant pointed her whip to the holographic clock near the ceiling, “No buts! Amateurs talk about tanks, professionals talk about logistics but generals talk about time! Do not be late, ever. Or this whip will be the last thing you see. Do or do not I make myself clear, Private John Smith?”

“Sir, yes sir! I am late and I am sorry!” John shouted his answer.

Sasha coiled her whip and put it away, “Good. There is no next time. Now, follow me. On the double!”

More running?!! John can only curse in his mind. A slum dweller wasn’t an athlete! He wore a pained expression; damned if not, damned if did. Sasha was ready to ‘encourage’ him, waving the crackling whip near his pants. It was as if a fire was figuratively lit on John’s buttocks as he ran for his dear life.

Both man and woman, ran in the corridor. One, terrified for his family jewels while another with looks that can eat a man alive. John felt his lungs were burning but Sasha? She didn’t even break a sweat! He cannot imagine if the lieutenant equipped her exo-skeleton. How fast and stronger she would be?

Along the way, the female soldier lashed a few times but it didn’t hit the ex-slum dweller. Soon, few others joined his desperate run. One guy was as buff as Major Karamazov, another somewhere in the middle. They all ran among the busy area, inviting occasional glances. Eventually they arrived to a hall.

“Thanks to your shitty member here, that was late for thirty-four milliseconds, you all have your rations this week reduced by thirty-four percent!” Sasha boomed over the three unlucky men.

John Smith found himself locked by three furious gazes, from Sasha and the two men. The buff one had name of Gunther tattooed on his left cheek while the shorter guy had a name plate that read Lucas. Both cracked their arms, as if they wanted to crack his bones. Sasha shouted at their ears next.

“We will begin our next round of assessments! John Smith failed the first one!” Sasha coiled her whip and picked up a rifle on a long table, “Now, maggots! Open this rifle, clean it and re-assemble it under twenty seconds! Every second more means one less ration for all three of you!”

The female lieutenant switched on its safety, removed the magazine, opened the upper receiver and extracted its entrails. She withdrew a thin stick and a fluffy one to clean the barrel. After that was done, she put back the rifle in one piece. All of these moves combined were under twenty seconds.

All three men found a similar rifle in front of them respectively. John Smith was intrigued; the Army used exo-skeletons, so why did they need these rifles? While he was dazed, the other two men already got to work. Sasha shot him a murderous glare, prompting the ex-slum dweller to get his back on it.

At first, he struggled to open the rifle and not yet to clean it but after observing other soldiers doing the same, John finally figured it out. He did what Sasha had instructed albeit being man of the streets, he was slower than the other two recruits. He had never held a gun before, let alone reassemble one!

“Gunther you brute! You used too much strength! Now the springs are all broken! Lucas, you idiot left the safeties off! Do you want to blow your fucking brain off?!!” Sasha inspected their work one by one. “And for you, maggot. Again! I said under twenty seconds, not one millisecond more!”

John whimpered, “Ah…s-s-orry…”

“Hmph. Since it wasn’t exactly twenty seconds, I’ll let it slide. Now tell me, maggots. Why time is important? “Sasha turned around to face all three of them.

The first one to answer was the blond-haired brute Gunther, “To train my awesome muscles, sir!”

“Wrong, muscle head! Will the enemy wait for you? No! Private Lucas, answer!” She screamed her next order.

The brown-haired Lucas answered, “Sir, yes sir! For my beauty sleep! And hobby.”

“You fuckers! What’s in your fucking brains?!” Sasha barely restrained herself from breaking their legs, “Private John, first failure! Answer me! Why?!”

Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

“Be-because time…waits for no one?” John spewed bullshit and hoped it stuck.

Sasha raised her eyebrows, “Turns out there’s someone smart between you maggots. Private John! You, lead them, now.”

“But this isn’t what the Army promised me!” The pompous Lucas was first to voice his discontent.

Next was the brawny Gunther, “Yeah, what’s a beansprout can do? I bet a little push can beak his bones!”

Both of them got near simultaneous hand chops on their heads, “Shut up! This is the Army, not your pansy noble houses! Your money and influence are worthless here! Either you listen to me, or into the recycler!”

Sasha grabbed John forward, “You see, numbskulls, Private John is smart! He listened to orders! You fuckers didn’t! There are many like you, bravado and shit. What did they get? Fast promotion!”

“Fast promotion? Why can’t I get that, Lieutenant?” Gunther rubbed his temples, still stinging from pain.

Sasha delivered another blow, “Fast promotion in death! Do you want me to stuff you into a cannon, block head? The Army need people that listens! Not people that got their entire company killed!”

“Orders confirmed, Sir.” Lucas agreed in a heartbeat. Getting hit again wasn’t wise.

The fiery lieutenant went to a nearby cabinet, “That’s more like it. Gunther, you listen to Private John. Or else.”

“Umm…hi guys?” John tried to break the ice as Sasha was seen busy searching something.

Both men ignored him as Sasha put some items on the table, “Now I’ve seen your ‘skills’, I want you maggots to understand these and come back to me tomorrow, sharp four hundred hours. If you get even one answer wrong, I will lash you once. For Private John, since he’s your leader…two lashes.”

John Smith audibly gulped. Two lashes? Gunther frowned at him and Lucas treated him like air. The stormy lieutenant soon left them to their devices. John found there were three devices, data slate of some kind on the table. He massaged his head; will they ever listen to him? The two men left him next.

He stared at the black device. It wasn’t that heavy but when he picked it up, he felt it was heavier than a mountain. Can I do this? Numerous questions clouded his vision that he mistakenly bumped into a person after leaving the hall. The other person was like an another Karamazov but had a gentler face.

“You okay, brother?” His deep voice snapped John to reality.

John sprang into action and gave what seemed to be a salute, “S-sir, yes Sir! Private John is…fine!”

“Heard you’re under the Fire Demon eh, Private John? Name’s Glapov. Major Glapov.” The bald man saluted in kind, sharper than the nervous recruit.

John twitched a bit, “Well met, Major Glapov! I am a new recruit, Sir! John Smith, Sir!”

“Be at ease. There’s lot of people in the Army, Private John. Relax.” Glapov reached out to the fallen data slate and put it on John’s hands, “Oh…she even gives you this. Well, Private. Don’t think too much. Think on how you will survive.”

He looked at the buff bald man in confusion, “Urr…okay?”

“Hahaha! Exactly like Karamazov said! Fearless! Or badly…informed. I see Lieutenant Sasha already taught you about time. Now you need knowledge. Don’t let her, or rather us, down, Private. Knowledge is power.” Glapov patted his shoulder.

John watched the Major leave in thunderous steps, “Y-yes, Sir. I won’t let the Interstellar Army down!”

Are there anyone not buff in this Army? He made his way to his assigned quarters. The journey return home was uneventful but he knew he was pressed for time. He scavenged a broken data slate in the slums before and it had huge number of movies and stuff. How much more an intact one contained?

John chucked his boots away and landed on his bunk bed with the data slate in tow. He toyed with it a little bit, unsure on how to activate it. There were no visible buttons, not even a marking or manual. Maybe using a key card will open it? He waved his key card on top of it but there was no response.

The squalid man left the device on the bed and moved to the kitchenette. His stomach was grumbling in protest. The kitchenette had a flat top with two circles plus a two-doored shelving on top of it. Where’s the rations? John reached up and opened the shelving. True enough, there were the blocks.

He munched through one whilst keeping his eyes on the data slate. It had been a wild ride so far; previously he eked a pathetic living smack dab in a big trash mountain. Now he was here, with a demon for a superior and had comforts unheard of for slum dwellers. This was just the beginning, he thought.

After finishing the ration, John attended to the device again. This time he put it flat on the table. Minus his resting time, there were only six hours left for him to learn anything from it. He tried from dancing to licking it but to no avail. The device just didn’t want to budge. As time passes, he became panicked.

“Why is this so difficult?!! God, or whoever up there, if you’re there, help me!” He rubbed his buttocks, scared of what will happen to his ass in a few hours from now.

Eventually John became desperate and took out the machete from his given kit. If it didn’t want to open, I will just tear it apart! Hands primed, he stabbed the device but it also didn’t work. The blasted thing was too tough, resistant being dunked in water, punched by hands and sliced by a combat knife.

There were only three hours left! John shuddered at the thought being lashed again for god knew how many times. By coincidence or dumb luck, he held his eyes to the top of the device for several seconds and it finally came alive. A veritable flood of information came into his view, all projected in mid-air.

There were simply too much that his mind turned blank from viewing them. Sasha expected him to memorize all of it? It was a herculean task, no, an impossible task for a trash scavenger like him. John took a deep breath, reminding his being was at stake. Recycler wasn’t a nice place to end up to.

Some of the projected data however, was familiar to him. The Nirius Anomaly, made into ancient aliens’ documentary. Rebellion of Di’leka, in form of four seasons of spy drama series. The strangest of all were mathematical equations and theories. Such stuffs were most of the floating holograms.

John didn’t attend any schools as far as he remembered. He learnt to read and calculate by sheer necessity in the slums. There were always numbers of crooks wanting to cheat and rob him there. Paying low or charging him exorbitant prices. Scums that not only use fists but words and calculations.

He peered at the hovering data, focusing on the math parts first. Learning history was not his best forte. Learning maths however, once understood can be applied any time. At first, he cannot make heads or tails of whatever mathematical stuff being shown but gradually he came to some realization.

Jurgelo’s Theorems, D-fold Equations and many others. Turned out that the random math stuff he read in the slums were useful now. Two-thirds of projected mathematical data were too advanced for his understanding. The remaining? John can only use a tiny fraction of it, not understanding why and how.

Why the Army need math? Don’t they need big muscles? The more he thought about it, the weirder it seemed. To him, some equations wouldn’t do anything to a rebellion for example. Muscles brought power, firepower. A lot of it. Math could be used to find how many firepower to use but that was it.

Nevertheless, if Lieutenant Sasha asked him about it, he was a bit more confident to answer her. The other two recruits were daft; Gunther was a muscle freak and Lucas, a man that didn’t look like a man. John Smith put the matter aside and concentrated on the equations. A brand-new world for him.

He located a small shelving near his quarter’s table and retrieved some white papers and a pen. He paused a bit as he ran his fingers on the papers; they were unbelievably smooth and clean, impossible to find in the slums. He slapped his face to break from the trance and began writing a lot of equations.

Sheets and sheets of papers were crumpled, crossed and thrown away. The data slate also had mathematical problems! For some odd reason, a spark was ignited in his mind that these equations were waiting him to solve them. Time passed like water until he looked at his clock. Oh no! I’m late!