Chapter 2

I had been warned many times by Grandad Tivey that ‘basic’ was designed to break you down then build you up into something Ground Force could use. That started from the very second the shuttle touched down with a fully armoured Monitor ordering us off with various threats and imprecations and made us stand at attention, still holding our travel bags, to the side of the landing pad in a bit of a downpour. We were then left to stew as the Monitor ignored us to chat to the pilot. The one attempt by one of the Cadets to ask a question had ended with a punishment pulse and the Monitor telling us in no uncertain terms that we were to stand there and shut up. Also our open com channel was closed down, or unavailable.

Finally, after a hundred rotations (just under an hour), the shuttle took off and the Monitor deigned to give us his undivided attention. We were all pretty much soaked to the skin by then, some were shivering from the cool air and not really having been out in ‘weather’ and all of us were feeling damned uncomfortable.

“My name is Monitor Hakk,” he began, his voice carrying easily due to the speaker built into his opaque helmet. “You will address me at all times with Monitor. You will obey my commands at all times, otherwise you will be punished thusly...”

We then were dropped by a neural punishment pulse that seemed to go on for an age but was probably less than a tenth of a rotation (2 seconds), if that. Despite kind of expecting it, I still skinned my hands and knees as I fell gasping out silently in my agony. About the only good thing about it was that I knew the base AI monitored my vitals through my identi-bracelet and wouldn’t kill me.

“On your feet, Cadets!” Hakk ordered us when the pulse ended.

I quickly scrambled up, which was a good thing, as anyone the Monitor regarded as being tardy received another short pulse.

“You are Cadets, which, despite the fact that you outrank me, means you are the lowest of the low. Nor, as Cadets, can you give me orders. Is this understood?”

“Yes, Monitor!” I yelled out.

“Only one of you?” he asked sarcastically as the rest were pulsed again whilst he approached me.

I stared directly ahead, not focussing on Hakk, as my fallen comrades struggled swiftly to their feet ... again.

“Cadet Kiria,” he stated coldly.

“Monitor?” I nervously replied.

“What brings you here? You’re rich, upper level and should be in Fleet with the rest of those preening rimphoks. Did you think Ground Force would be easier or that we’d go easier on you?”

“No, Monitor. My family serves. I came to serve!”

“I think you’re lying,” he replied and I could hear the sneer in his tone. “But you may think it’s the truth. One lap of the pad perimeter whilst I think about what punishment to give a posh little liar.”

“Monitor!” I yelled out my reply and set off at a fast jog towards a distant marker fence, realising I had picked up a shadow from one of two Junior Monitors who had approached silently and unnoticed by the rest of the Cadets.

“Faster Cadet!” she commanded and used some sort of flexible rod to swat my behind, painfully, making me yelp in surprise as I broke out into a run, easily being paced by the JM in her powered armour.

Fortunately I was quite fit due to the training regime I’d been put through, first by Janilla and Rigg, followed up by Truvia after they left to sort out family matters. Unfortunately, the JM knew, using AI monitoring, how fit I was and proceeded to push me to my limits with a swat on my behind every so often as I ended up racing around the perimeter rather than jogging. Hence I found myself back in front of Monitor Hakk, out of breath, muscles trembling and soaked to the skin from the rain and my own sweat.

Grandad Tivey had warned me only to speak when spoken to unless you wanted to take another punishment. I had noticed one of my colleagues missing and presumably was running around the perimeter.

“Well?” he asked sarcastically.

“Well what, Monitor?” I replied confused.

“Are you a liar, Cadet Kiria?”

“I never lie, Monitor.”

“You will, if I order you to, so that does make you a liar, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, Monitor!” I replied nervously.

The pulse was only a mild one and only dropped me to my knees as Hakk then ignored me to move on to another Cadet.

The entire point of the demonstration by Hakk, was not to abuse the Cadets. I knew this, but it was to demonstrate just who was in charge and to put the fear of the gods into anyone who thought differently. Hence, until he decided we understood, he verbally abused us and punished any dissent (no matter how minor) with physical exercise. The only physical abuse though came from the JMs and that was only a swat to the backside, painful but not debilitating. Neural pulses were used with abandon, but nothing like the first one we all received. He then took us through a few basic instructions on standing in line, attention and rest positions.

Finally though, it was over, and the JMs escorted us to our barracks and told us to find the bunk with our name on it. I soon found mine, and placed my bag at the foot of it, then approached the JMs.

“JM?” I asked.

“Yes, Cadet?”

“Permission to dry off.”

“Granted. Shower and dryer are through the far door. You have ten rotations,” the female replied. I still wasn’t sure of the gender of the other.

It was a communal sonic shower, and toilet area, not even a privacy door on the toilet cubicles, something I had been warned about. There was also a sonic-grav drying area which rapidly removed all the excess moisture on my travelling outfit. I wasn’t worried about my bag as it was waterproof. Other Cadets wandered in behind me after the first to follow got zapped and they realised permission needed to be granted.

Outside, I simply stood by my bed and waited, happy at least to be dry.

“Attention!” the second JM began, proving he was a male at least. “I am Junior Monitor Kilto, this is Junior Monitor Valla,” he indicated his colleague. “Our job is to take you useless shleckers and turn you into something Ground Force might find useful. Is this understood?”

“Yes, JM!” I barked out, along with a few others, those that didn’t or were tardy getting a zap.

“The system is simple and works on a reward and punishment system. You do as you’re told and you don’t get a punishment pulse. You ask permission to do something or you get a punishment pulse. Only your thoughts are sacrosanct and only then if you do not voice them. Is this clear?”

“Yes, JM!”

“JM?” one of the Cadets asked.

“Yes, Cadet?”

“Um ... what’s the reward?”

“You don’t get pulsed. The best reward ever. Got it?” he replied sarcastically.

“Yes, JM!”

“Now, fall in outside and let’s get you kitted for basic.”

We swiftly moved outside and lined up, some getting a swat on the backside for not getting the line straight.

“Tenshun!” JM Valla ordered and we all snapped to attention. “Right turn, quick march. Follow JM Kilto to the stores!”

Yes, Ground Force still did stuff like marching in time and parades as well. It was all about teaching us to be soldiers and to follow orders automatically and unthinkingly. That we were officer candidates made no difference other than actually being harder than the basic that the ordinary troopers got. The reasoning behind this being that we were expected to be better than them as well as an example ... well, according to Grandad that is. He had retired as a Monitor. Ranks were simple: they went up from Trooper, to Specialist, Junior Monitor, Monitor and then Senior Monitor, for the enlisted ranks. Officers began as Cadets (who were not allowed to order anyone around, not even a Trooper) then, after basic, progressed as Tribunes, Optios, Prefects, sub-Commanders (the rank where specialists usually resided), Commanders, Senior Commanders, Marshalls and High Marshall. Imperial Ground Forces tended to have the Junior Monitors and Monitors do a lot of the work and kept the Officer Class to a minimum. Hence it was rare for ordinary Troopers to run into officers or be commanded by them. This gave the Officer Class somewhat of an air of mystery and fear about them, as generally it meant an individual Trooper was in trouble if they were summoned to face one.

At the stores we were fitted and kitted with various items including clothing (day wear and gym), mess kit, boots (indoor and gym) along with various other items whose use wasn’t obvious as yet. We were then marched back to our barracks and shown how the JMs had arranged their kit in the lockers beside their bed (a real bed, not a grav-bed).

“This is how you stow your gear,” Valla explained. “A place for everything and everything in its place. You will stow it this way and only this way. Understood?”

“Yes, JM,” we all barked out and headed off to our bunks to start putting our stuff away.

“Private bags are to be marked with a tag and can be collected again after basic. Personal items can be stowed in the footlocker. Ensure that your thumbprint is acknowledged by the barrack AI.” Valla informed us as Kilto walked up and down the bunks and corrected placements of various items.

Finally we had it done to his satisfaction and we were ordered to change into our fatigue uniform and assemble outside.

Once outside we were made to run in formation to the opposite end of the base and line up for a medical inspection where we were given a full genetic scan and all our medical details were registered and one or two defects for some were corrected. Once outside we were faced with Monitor Hakk again and received the ‘talk’.

“Cadets, you are now enlisted as Officers in Ground Force. At the moment this simply makes you slightly superior to a squashed pile of shleck. Everyone else at Stendoor Base is over and above you. Hence, if you step out of line, you will receive a punishment pulse; if you fail at a task, you will receive a punishment pulse; if anyone thinks you are slacking, you will receive a punishment pulse. Is this understood?

“Yes, Monitor!”

“At any time you can simply approach your Junior Monitors and ask to walk. The exit is over there and you will be escorted off base, which, having checked over your personal dossiers, is something I’d recommend for most of you as you have to be the sorriest bunch of Cadets it has ever been my misfortune to run across! Is this understood?”

“Yes, Monitor!”

“JM Kilto, run them once around the perimeter. Anyone who fails to manage this simple task is to be escorted off base. I will not abide physical failures on this base and in my presence.”

“Yes, Monitor!” Kilto replied to him. “Cadets, at the run, follow me!”

What the Monitor and JMs had failed to mention was that our new boots had been deliberately designed to be made as uncomfortable as possible, hence within the first steps I realised that the JMs had requested the Base AI to make the boots both heavier and tighter around my feet. What should have been a long but easy(ish) run for me now became a nightmare struggle to keep up with the JMs. You could almost feel the pall of fear extending around our group as we tried our best to keep going after the JMs with some of the females actually in tears after a while as they fell behind. It then occurred to me that I could take the boots off. After all, I had not been forbidden to and I quickly sat and touched the unlock tabs and dragged them and the undersocks off and got to my feet and began to run again, feeling far happier.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Cadet?” Kilto yelled at me.

“Adapting and overcoming, JM!”

“Carry on!”

It was soon noticeable that others, having seen no punishment coming my way (as yet) rapidly pulled their boots off and the rest of the run was completed in more or less comfort. Back at the start point, I rapidly pulled my undersocks and boots back on before we got the order to line up. We were then marched back to the mess hall for our first meal of the day.

“Hi, I’m Caffa,” one of the girls said as she plonked herself down next to me, her dinner plate full of some sort of savoury protein cubes mixed in a sauce.

“Kiria,” I acknowledged.

“How did you know you could take your boots off?”

“I didn’t. But it wasn’t expressly forbidden though, plus, as officers we’re expected to overcome problems,” I replied. “Worst that could happen was a zap anyway.”

“That’s bad enough,” she sighed. “But it won’t kill us.”

“True,” I nodded. “What made you join up, Caffa?”

“Family tradition, at least one per generation in the main line. You?”

“The same, though neither Mum nor Dad served ... well Dad didn’t serve in the Imperial Forces.”

“Where did he serve?” she asked with a puzzled frown.

“Not sure. He’s a Cure and gets rejuve.”

“A Cure? Wow!”

“Your Dad’s a Cure?” one of the guys asked. “Name’s Wahh, by the way.”

“Kiria, and yes, he is.”

“I didn’t think any of them acknowledged their kids.”