Read Online The Other Eight by Joseph R. Lallo - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Joseph R. Lallo
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correct, Phosphor, thank you. Now
please listen up, everyone. If you are still standing here, you are
among the final selections for the second stage of recruitment.
There are only eight spots available on the army team. Today we
will be taking sixteen of you to the boot camp to see just what you
can do.”
“Sixteen of us?” remarked FM after a quick
tally. “But there’s nineteen of us here.”
“Yes, I’m afraid that’s true. Please step
forward when I call your name: Litmus.” A woman, dressed rather
plainly aside from alternating red and blue fingernails, moved up.
“I’m sorry, but your ability to tell an acid from a base by dipping
your finger into it, while impressive, hasn’t been found to have a
place in an active-duty combat unit.”
“Fair enough,” she said with a shrug.
“Next: Herbivore.” A bleary-eyed young man
with ratty hair and a distinctive odor about him, after some
prodding, stepped forward. “Herbivore, while it is unquestionable
that being able to lift three times your own weight is useful, the
fact that you must be under the influence of marijuana in order to
do it—in addition to being illegal—violates the substance abuse
policies of the US military.”
“Whatever, dude,” he said, waving off Aiken
and wandering vaguely away.
“Cactus Commando—”
“ You’ve got to be kidding me!” objected a man near the back of the group whose hair was literally
spiked.
“Your—”
“No! You know what? I don’t care. This is a
worthless team anyway. Everyone knows the marines are the real team
to be on. This was a waste of my valuable time, and the rest of you
losers can just bite me,” he ranted. “The army. HA!”
“What a prick,” Chloroplast observed.
“As for the rest of you, I would like to
congratulate you for making it this far. If you’ll please line up
by the troop carrier, once your bags have been screened for
anything deemed too dangerous to bring along, we’ll head off to
boot camp. Once there we can discuss what arrangements need to be
made. Welcome to the finals.”
A cheer went up from the crowd, the
excitement of advancing momentarily wiping away any perceived
slights against their powers. High fives were exchanged, and some
of the more enthusiastic of the group hugged.
“I realize that, as you were interviewed
separately, you may not have been introduced to your fellow
finalists, so I encourage you to acquaint yourselves with one
another during the trip. Once you are there, you will be split into
pairs, and the tests will begin.”
“Oh, and one or two more things,” Private
Summers added, glancing at St. John’s packet. “From this point
forward, we would appreciate it if you referred to each other
exclusively by your codenames. Also, though you may find that you
get along with or do not get along with certain members of the
group, please keep in mind that when teams are formed you will not
be able to choose your partner, so don’t get your hopes up.
Finally, the camera and sound technicians will be accompanying you,
and they will be present every step of the way. Please ignore them,
and behave as though they are not there, thank you.”
The lucky finalists subjected their bags to
the screeners and climbed onto the troop transport. Once it was
fully loaded, it pulled away. Private Summers and Dr. Aiken
remained behind, checking the time every few minutes. Finally Dr.
Aiken scribbled something on the remaining envelope and pinned it
to the door of what remained of the temporary structure. With that,
they left. A full hour later, a taxi arrived, and out stumbled a
man in a brown sweat suit with the letter B emblazoned on
the front.
“I’m here, I’m here!” he cried desperately.
He looked around to find no one but workers on hand. “ Every time!”
He marched up to the envelope pinned to the
door.
“Inside is your assessment. I’m afraid your
power is Class H, Handicap. You have not moved to the next round of
screening,” he read
please listen up, everyone. If you are still standing here, you are
among the final selections for the second stage of recruitment.
There are only eight spots available on the army team. Today we
will be taking sixteen of you to the boot camp to see just what you
can do.”
“Sixteen of us?” remarked FM after a quick
tally. “But there’s nineteen of us here.”
“Yes, I’m afraid that’s true. Please step
forward when I call your name: Litmus.” A woman, dressed rather
plainly aside from alternating red and blue fingernails, moved up.
“I’m sorry, but your ability to tell an acid from a base by dipping
your finger into it, while impressive, hasn’t been found to have a
place in an active-duty combat unit.”
“Fair enough,” she said with a shrug.
“Next: Herbivore.” A bleary-eyed young man
with ratty hair and a distinctive odor about him, after some
prodding, stepped forward. “Herbivore, while it is unquestionable
that being able to lift three times your own weight is useful, the
fact that you must be under the influence of marijuana in order to
do it—in addition to being illegal—violates the substance abuse
policies of the US military.”
“Whatever, dude,” he said, waving off Aiken
and wandering vaguely away.
“Cactus Commando—”
“ You’ve got to be kidding me!” objected a man near the back of the group whose hair was literally
spiked.
“Your—”
“No! You know what? I don’t care. This is a
worthless team anyway. Everyone knows the marines are the real team
to be on. This was a waste of my valuable time, and the rest of you
losers can just bite me,” he ranted. “The army. HA!”
“What a prick,” Chloroplast observed.
“As for the rest of you, I would like to
congratulate you for making it this far. If you’ll please line up
by the troop carrier, once your bags have been screened for
anything deemed too dangerous to bring along, we’ll head off to
boot camp. Once there we can discuss what arrangements need to be
made. Welcome to the finals.”
A cheer went up from the crowd, the
excitement of advancing momentarily wiping away any perceived
slights against their powers. High fives were exchanged, and some
of the more enthusiastic of the group hugged.
“I realize that, as you were interviewed
separately, you may not have been introduced to your fellow
finalists, so I encourage you to acquaint yourselves with one
another during the trip. Once you are there, you will be split into
pairs, and the tests will begin.”
“Oh, and one or two more things,” Private
Summers added, glancing at St. John’s packet. “From this point
forward, we would appreciate it if you referred to each other
exclusively by your codenames. Also, though you may find that you
get along with or do not get along with certain members of the
group, please keep in mind that when teams are formed you will not
be able to choose your partner, so don’t get your hopes up.
Finally, the camera and sound technicians will be accompanying you,
and they will be present every step of the way. Please ignore them,
and behave as though they are not there, thank you.”
The lucky finalists subjected their bags to
the screeners and climbed onto the troop transport. Once it was
fully loaded, it pulled away. Private Summers and Dr. Aiken
remained behind, checking the time every few minutes. Finally Dr.
Aiken scribbled something on the remaining envelope and pinned it
to the door of what remained of the temporary structure. With that,
they left. A full hour later, a taxi arrived, and out stumbled a
man in a brown sweat suit with the letter B emblazoned on
the front.
“I’m here, I’m here!” he cried desperately.
He looked around to find no one but workers on hand. “ Every time!”
He marched up to the envelope pinned to the
door.
“Inside is your assessment. I’m afraid your
power is Class H, Handicap. You have not moved to the next round of
screening,” he read
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