John felt as if his limbs and body were encased in lead. Then came the pain, thousands of needles of worth. Next was eerie silence, as if each and every nerve on his being was snuffed out save for his brain. The last thing he remembered that he wanted to run before a certain Lieutenant toasts his bum.
“Proceur, what do you think? Should I put his brain in a tin can?”
“Now now, Lieutenant Sasha. A good recruit, conscript as it suggests and entails, is too good to waste.”
“With all due respect, Major Karamazov, didn’t you give me explicit permission or do I hear wrong?”
“You heard it correctly and I still have the authority, my dear Lieutenant. If you know, what I mean.”
John heard some murmurs in the distance, some kind of barely audible whispers and mechanical whirrs. His vision was dark but his ears perked. Am I alive? Still…alive? He tried to fight sudden urges to fall asleep. He knew better to never relent, to never give up living. Death favoured ones that didn’t.
“Are you still with me, Recruit?” A familiar male voice somewhat next to him.
John coughed, “Is…is that…you, Major?”
“The one and only, Major Karamazov. First, I’d like to apologize on behalf of my subordinate here.” Karamazov gave the ailing John a slight bow beyond the glass screen.
The ex-slum dweller gradually recovered his mental faculties, “A..apologize?”
“Stay down, Recruit and that’s an order.” The Major sounded stern, “Yes. I should’ve known that slum dwellers won’t make a soldier, of any kind.”
“Hey, not my fau-“
“You, outside, Lieutenant Sasha. Now.” The buff military man dismissed Sasha and then faced John again, “Worry not, Recruit John Smith. My original offer still stands! But I can’t have you die too soon, so we had to take some…measures.”
John knew it from the start that a scrawny man like him wouldn’t even feed some of the big dogs kept by nobles in the city yet he entered the Army anyway, “M-m…measures?”
“Well let’s say we took some liberty in your being. It’s an anomaly that you managed to live a decade in the worst kind of wastes imaginable. I wouldn’t for a second, even if given the best suits available.” Karamazov tried to assuage the trembling man.
The ex-slum dweller tried to move his body again but to no avail, “W…why keep me…alive?”
“Because you’re interesting, Recruit. A working and listening mind is hard to get nowadays.” Karamazov was serious first and then laughed, “Though I admit, waving your dick in front of the data slate? Gahahaha!”
If John could only move, he would bury himself out of embarrassment! “Uh…s-s-sorry.”
“Pfft, this's way better than I imagined.” The Major suppressed his laughter and then continued, “Do you want to know why we still pick you instead of others? You’ve met Recruit Gunther and Lucas, right? There are way more people qualified than you. Bigger. Stronger.”
“S-sir. I do…not, k-know, Sir.” John spoke with great difficulty.
The muscled man tapped his own clean-shaven head, “This, my recruit, is the answer. Of all thousand new recruits we get so far, not many wanted to deal with that sadistic Jurgelo’s ramblings. Or deal with Mth Series Equations.”
“Uh…m-math?” John expected to be thrown into the recycler by now.
“Yes. Math! The bane of all vainglorious soldiers. We didn’t conquer the stars with just brawns, you know.” Karamazov took a deep sigh, “Behind every soldier is hundred support men or more. And shitloads of math, to make it all work. I personally shove anyone that don’t respect math into the recycler. See how they like the recycler methodically strip them down, molecule by molecule using the Density Theorem.”
“S-s-so….” A new revelation to John. He never expected the 141st Martial Army Corps valued math above all else.
“You survived in the slums because of your wits. And you’ll survive in our Army because of your math skills.” The Major threw both encouragement and discouragement, “That being said…Lieutenant Sasha got a point. An Army isn’t a daycare so, we need you to rebuild your health, fast. We want our investment to be worth it.”
“W-w-hy? R-r-rebellion?” John questioned. The Army only recruited en masse if something bad had happened.
“I can’t talk about that, my little Recruit or I need to stuff you into the recycler for knowing. Anyway, rest up. You’ve much work to do. Like build your muscles, or stamina.” The buff Army Major exited his chair and moved toward the exit of the isolation ward.
The ex-slum dweller shot a question, “Um…Major?”
“Yes, what’s it? Anything isn’t classified, of course.” The Major turned back in the last second.
Finally, John managed to open his eyes. “But…robots are better….at math…”
“I knew you would say that, haha! But what if that robot breaks down? What if you don’t have a robot? Think about this, Recruit. I’m sure you had gone through some of the history stuff in the data slate. Now, rest up. That’s an order. You have one week, young man.” Karamazov said before completely leaving.
Just like that, John was left alone in the isolation room. No one else bothered him afterwards except occasional patrols of robots of some kind. He focused his eyes around his entire being; he would be completely naked if not for a block of metal on his crotch. There were mazes of tubes all over his body.
The next day, a full-suited personnel and robot came to visit him. John saw tubes on his body started to eject dark red fluids and returned a bit lighter colour. What are they…doing? Most of his senses were dull. He could speak, see and hear but he kept his mouth shut. Such routine continued for days.
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Gunther visited him for few minutes. The muscled recruit didn’t seem too happy, evident by frown crested on his face. Lucas was next but only threw him a single glance before leaving. On the third day, he was no longer lied flat down in bed; the top of his bed had moved and put him on a gentle slope.
The fourth day, John found some courage to speak to the visiting personnel, “Uh…I have a question, Sir.”
“Oh, so you can actually talk! Well, carry on.” The personnel didn’t sound either male or female.
Right now, John had some clothes. Much better dignity than before. “So…what’s happening?”
“Hm, let’s say previous decon was too harsh on you, Recruit. We’re seeing the aftereffects.” The suited personnel answered.
It took half a minute for John to reply, “De-decon? Am I?”
“Yes, thank your lucky stars that Major Karamazov intervened just in time. I don’t get why the brass wanted you alive though.” There was some disdain in the answer.
John took a light sigh and made a demand, “Um…can I…get a pen?”
“Pen? No! I’ll give you some data slate.” Said personnel produced such device with a giggle, “And no waving your itty-bitty pecker in front of it this time.”
“Thanks.” The ex-slum dweller replied after an awkward silence.
A hand wave later, they left him alone. “Don’t thank me, thank the Major. Don’t die too soon, okay? We need every body we can get.”
John wanted to handshake whoever this guy was for their triage but they just left. Their last sentence piqued him; this sounded big. Seriously big that the Army was forced to dig at the bottom of the barrel. If his suspicions were true, then fights in the front lines were disasters of gargantuan proportions.
Only a few events in history he knew where mankind or a part he lived in, took to such lengths. Uprising of Neven. Ghul-Tark War. Sventk Schism. Most of them involved mankind to mankind action, either due to religious strife, competition for resources or struggles of independence. What about now?
John still held to the idea that robots should’ve solved everything; Uprising of Neven was one such example but for the rest? He had no idea on how and why this line of thinking didn’t apply. He recalled what Major Karamazov said. If the robots were damaged beyond repair, then who else should fight?
From the outset, 141st Martial Army Corps used a mix of men like him and robots. And probably for good reason too; John had watched movies where fantastical weapons torched both men and metal alike. Equal death for all, even though he knew it was fictious. The real world probably had something similar.
He stared at the data slate next to his medical bed. There were still bundles of tubes attached to his being, and he was still immobilized from top to down. Damn, it’s too far. The white data slate was laid flat the other way, denying him any chance to open its lock with a retinal scan let alone operate it.
On the fifth day, the triage personnel came over and stripped John off his tubes, “Now Recruit, let’s stretch your legs a little.”
“Umm…the data slate?” He mumbled.
The personnel companion, a man-sized robot grabbed Recruit John’s legs, “Please cooperate, Recruit John Smith.”
“Ouch! Okay, okay! I will!” John wasn’t sure to either break in joy or tears. His sense of pain had returned.
The suited personnel chuckled in their visor, “Now that’s more like it, Recruit. So, why do you want the slate anyway?”
“I want to read.” He grimaced in pain. His legs were pretty wooden.
The personnel and robot got to work, “Read? Oh! Why didn’t you tell me sooner, Recruit?”
“D-d-decon. Didn’t Sir tell me that? Problems with…my body?” He shuddered a little as bare metal met some of his skin.
By now the triage personnel had finished strapping him to an exo-skeleton, “Oh sorry Recruit John Smith. You see, I’m pretty busy these days. Lots of recruits entering the triage station but none as bad as you though. Sure, they have broken bones and all but you? I don’t get why you’re still alive, haha!”
“Oh….so what is this for?” He felt uncomfortable being caged by the bare exo-suit as it was just metallic bones over his main limbs.
The personnel raised their left hand, “To walk, Recruit. Staying in bed for too long isn’t healthy. You’ll get cramps and stuff. Nasties.”
“Uh…if I can walk…can I read?” He bit his tongue; the faster he recovers, the faster he can access the data slate even if the first few steps were painful.
Said personnel moved to the side, “Sure! I got to hand it to you though; I never met a new Recruit that wanted to walk, just to read!”
“No, not reading, Sir. I mean, calculate?” John fixed his statement.
He can’t see the personnel face but their tone was clear, “Calculate? Boy, you’re a box of wonders, aren’t you?”
“Math calms me down, Sir.” He stopped stuttering after gaining more confidence. It didn’t hurt to walk now.
The triage personnel gave him a nod and handed a data slate over, “No problem. As long you promise me to move your legs once every hour. Anything else?”
“Umm…can I eat rations? I’m...starving.” John’s stomach growled at the same time.
Both triage personnel and their robot attendant waved at him, “Ah, okay. Now, follow me. You look good enough to be discharged into the normal ward.”
“So, Sir…what’s next?” Along the way, he saw others laid on bed like him. Some were bandaged, some not. Not many were located in the isolation ward like him though.
The personnel directed him into a room, “Well for starters, no pens. Second, keep wearing this exo-skeleton until you feel you can stand without it. Third, don’t wander around. Focus on recovering.”
“No pens? Why?” He took a quick look at the room. There was a single bed and enclosed water closet to the side plus a small table and its matching chair.
The triage person left some parting words, “To prevent accidents. Pens are sharp and stuff, Recruit. I don’t want to extract the pen out of your eyes or butt, haha.”
He wanted to talk more with the personnel but they were gone like the wind. While the medical wards were largely silent, there were quite number of people going to and fro. What intrigued himself was not about this situation but the fact he just walked his way to this new room. Quite a distance at that.
Did Major Karamazov did something to him? John swayed his arms and legs with the exo-skeleton. He was still feeling feeble and moved slow but it didn’t hurt at all. Perhaps it was due to adrenaline or anesthesia of some kind? He pinched his right arm and felt the pain. No, it wasn’t. If not, then what?
His line of thought was disrupted by growls from his stomach. He was famished and felt he could eat a bull whole. He wondered on why he wasn’t hungry for five days being strapped to jungle of tubes. Judging on how busy the wards were and the fact he could walk, there should be a mini-pantry here.
Finally, crunchy bliss. It wasn’t that tasty but fulfilling. With the half-eaten ration block in one hand, John moved to the table in the room and made himself comfy on its chair. This new data slate should be unlocked with retinal scan, just like the black one he got from Lieutenant Sasha. Now…here goes!
Success! The data slate opened up albeit John almost threw it away; he held it wrong and caused it to beam floating images straight into his eyes. It wasn’t a pleasant experience being directly shone by few candelas worth of light. His vision was filled with flash of stars, forcing him to wipe his teary eyes.
Argh, why can’t things be normal in the Army?!! No more shining! John was tempted to smash it but he knew how futile it was. The previous black one was such example and seen his less-than-impressive member. He carefully put the device away as who knows who were watching him from the other side.
Several seconds later, John’s vision turned normal again. He gave the white data slate another look; can’t I make it not project image or something? He fumbled with it, care to not direct its emission to his face. If it continued to do so, it would be a chore to use it. John willed it to not, and it did, somehow.