Chapter 8: Days of Innocence

Monday, 08:00. Samantha stood at ease at the corner of the parade square. Across the parade square, two distinct sets of ranks of Marines faced the Old Man: three rows of the by-now well-disciplined first draft in front, and the three ranks of the less-well-disciplined second draft behind. Two thousand men and women, most patiently waiting for the next order from Colonel Michael Deschenes.

Some of the men and women were newly-promoted NCO's from the first draft to arrive at Thule, including her father, Bob Redburn. She proudly looked upon him, standing there with newly-fitted corporal's stripes. His concubines – her mother Monica and aunt Alice – sat in the stands proudly watching the Monday morning inspection parade and rubbing their so-far-minuscule baby bumps. Ensign Barker's heavily pregnant concubine Mandy was also present. Silent since the parade started, she had earlier been asking Monica a thousand questions about pregnancy, and childbirth, and raising kids to be sponsors rather than concubines.

As she too was part of Camp Shackleton, Samantha felt she should be here, in her full dress greys, shiny black Sam Browne belt and boots, and grey wedge cap, her dark brown hair in a long braid hanging stiffly down her back. After Morning Inspection she'd head back to the pod she shared with her father and change into her daily uniform of grey jacket, shirt, pants, and kepi, with shiny black boots. The Colonel had actually left it to her discretion whether she should attend or not, but she felt she owed a duty to honour the man as well as the rank.

Finally, the Colonel ended his part of the parade, handing it over to the battalion commanders. As far as Samantha was concerned, this was her cue to go. As he passed by her position on his way to his office in the Art Deco/Streamline Moderne style headquarters building, he surprised her by stopping – after previous parades he'd just simply returned her salute and carried on.

"Optio Redburn," he said shortly. She stared stiffly ahead, as a soldier should when being inspected by a superior officer. "Very good. I have a question. What are your plans for the concubines in the unassigned pool?"

"Sir, first thing this morning Sir, register their school-age children and get them into class. Then, Sir, a CAP retest of the concubines to see if any are sponsor grade and to see if they've picked up any useful skills or aptitudes since their last test. Sir, then assuming they do not have a CAP score high enough to be a volunteer, then to review them for potential cosmetic enhancements to make them more appealing. Finally, Sir, we will be using them as hostesses either at lunch or supper or both. Sir, I am certain some of them may have sufficient nurturing scores to be useful for a parent-and-child drop-in centre or two, I intend to investigate that option."

"You have thought this out, Optio."

"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir."

"Your plan meets with my approval. Proceed."

"Aye aye, Sir."

His eyes grew vacant for a second. Samantha recognized the signs of subvocal communications. "I've just ordered the AI to proceed with the cosmetic changes for the four concubines you've got, based on your instructions. Good luck, Optio."

"Thank you, Sir." She saluted again, he returned the gesture, and they went their separate ways. She hadn't realized she'd been holding her breath. It felt good to breathe again. It felt good to be complimented again, too.

Each of the platoons of Marines had been advised of their schedules and were being marched off to start their day's drills and training. She realized she had to be on her way to stick to her ambitious schedule.

She turned to her mother and Mandy.

The tiny cubbyhole was the official office of Camp Shackleton's senior ranking CS officer. As Samantha was the only CS officer, even if she was only a cadet, that made her by default the senior ranking CS officer, and that little fact meant she was the only 13-year-old on all of Thule with her own office.

Her mother and aunt were with her, babysitting the unassigned concubines' children while the mothers were undergoing CAP retesting. Even 5-year-old Bonnie understood that what her mother was going through was important and was more solemn and quieter than a child her age would normally have been; only the baby was behaving normally, quietly sleeping in the experienced comfort of Monica's arms.

Samantha noted Monica's look of maternal satisfaction as the baby slept, securely unconcerned. "Looking forward to my little brother or sister, Mom?" she gently teased.

Monica looked up from the sleeping babe and happily took in her firstborn. "When you were born, I remember feeling just like this," she remembered, her voice quiet so as to not disturb the infant. "I was so filled with joy. Joy – and awe, looking at you and your ten perfect tiny toes and ten perfect tiny fingers, and tiny perfect nose, and tiny perfect ears..."

Samantha giggled – quietly. "I get the idea. And now I'm almost an adult. Where did the years go?"

"The day when you become an adult is coming far sooner than I expected back on that day when I first held you – and not because the years are flying by more quickly, either. When you were born, it took eighteen years before you'd be considered an adult, not fourteen. I was talking to some of the more experienced concubines – what they told me they did on their children's fourteenth birthdays is startling and," she grimaced, "a bit horrifying."