Marek didn't take us far; we turned to the second door down the corridor. The first thought that crossed my mind when I entered the room was that the machine that filled the room was an MRI scanner on steroids. It was huge. On closer inspection, however, it was apparent that the superficial similarities disguised a technology that had very little relation to anything on Earth. There were no apparent controls and absolutely no evidence of any computer screens or anything similar.

"Please remove all your clothing and one at a time lay down on the ledge," Marek instructed.

The three of us looked at each other and then back at Marek. None of us made any move to comply though.

"I am quite aware of your clothing taboos; I am afraid that you will have to overcome that quickly. We have no time for that here."

I decided that I may as well lead the way. I had experienced enough situations where physical modesty was not an issue. The only complication here was the addition of females to the mix. I was a little selfconscious as I stripped down, but pretended that it didn't bother me.

Once I had stripped, I lay down on a ledge that protruded from a tunnel through the 'machine'. As soon as I was settled, the ledge started to move and I decided that it was more of a trolley. It carried me slowly into the tunnel and I found myself drifting off to sleep.

When I opened my eyes again, I found myself lying on a bed in another of the ubiquitous white rooms. I lifted my head to look around and saw that this room was a lot larger than any I had been in up to now. I estimated that there were a hundred beds in the room and each one had a naked person lying on it. That was a bit of a surprise, but of more interest to me was to see if there had been any changes made to my body. My first quick check didn't reveal anything different and I had to struggle to suppress my disappointment.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

Around me the other people on the beds were all starting to stir and look around and I figured that it was deliberate timing.

"Cy!"

I swung my head to see who had called my name and saw Desrae looking at me. I noticed tracks down her face and realised she had been crying.

"Are you alright?" I asked her.

"The pain has gone," Desrae exclaimed, "I can move my hands and legs without it hurting!"

She was clenching and unclenching her hands and rotating her wrists.

"Arthritis?" I guessed.

"Yes. I haven't been able to use my hands properly for years and it has been even longer since I have been able to do it without pain."

"That's wonderful news." I congratulated Desrae, although I found I had to avert my eyes so that I didn't stare at the scar-tissue where her left breast had been.

Desrae had obviously noticed though because she glanced down at her chest and said quietly "I lost that to breast cancer. I know it looks ugly."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to embarrass you." I apologised.

"No need to be sorry. I consider it to be an honourable scar," she smiled calmly at me.

"Alright. Listen up!" a stentorian voice bellowed, cutting across the murmur of voices that had been growing steadily louder.

There was an instant hush. I was sure that I wasn't the only one to recognise a Sgt-Major style authority in that voice. It was obviously something universal to the military experience, irrespective of species because it had issued from the mouth of someone definitely not from my neck of the woods.

"My name is Patlk Ryon. My rank is Fist-Leader. You will call me Fist Ryon. Those of you who do what I say and learn what I have to teach you might become War Brothers. Those who don't will be meat to be fed into the grinder of war.”

It had started.