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Authors: Jean Johnson
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there for most of her spiel.
“When you have changed, you will pack up all your nonallotted personal belongings in the transport boxes provided, located to the left as you enter the changing room, and label them with the address of their return destination. If you have any questions regarding what you are permitted to keep, you will refer to the charts posted on the walls regarding allotted goods. Anything nonregulation which is found left in your possession at the end of this day or which was incorrectly labeled for shipping will be sent to the recyclers, so make sure you send it where you want it to go in the next few minutes. Once you have showered and dressed, all regulation and allotted items will be packed in your kitbag. You four will now move inside.
“ You two will stay. I am Staff Sergeant Linley. I will be your Regimen Trainer while you are here at Camp Nallibong . . .”
CHAPTER 3
The first few days of any boot camp are always the toughest—not physically, since that actually happens a bit later—but emotionally and mentally. The recruits have to readjust their thinking, from “civilian” to “military.” From “whatever” and “whenever” to “obedience” and “discipline.” From “me” to “us.”
Some would-be wit once suggested that shaving off everyone’s hair isn’t so much a matter of efficiency and uniformity as it is a way to give the new recruits a common traumatic experience over which to bind them together as a family. I can’t say if it worked or not. I was too busy trying to get things right the first time around, so I wouldn’t have to waste my time on trivial repeats.
~Ia
Ia nudged Kumanei and Forenze, getting them moving. At least they didn’t seem to be required to respond to the Regimen Trainer’s orders. Yet. Following behind Ia and the other woman, the dark-skinned male whistled softly as they entered the changing room. “V’ dayamn . She’s as cold as a comet!”
“Watch your language,” Forenze warned him, tugging her suitcase around the end of a gear-crowded bench. “I’m half V’Dan on my mother’s side. Don’t be taking the Empire’s name in vain around me.”
“Then what the junk are you doin’ in the Terran military?” one of the other men in the room asked. From his damp hair and half-clad state, he had already taken his appointed shower. The room smelled of soap, steam, and freshly manufactured plexi, the ubiquitous, recyclable material that had long ago replaced less environmentally friendly substances. Bunching up a sock, the recruit slipped it onto his foot. “Me? I say, if you’re in the Terran military, you shouldn’t give a V’ damn about the V’Dan.”
“You tell ’em, Akhma!” someone else called out. “We’re in the Ma- reens now, sojers ! Hoo-rah, eyah !”
“You’re locosh’ta , meioa,” Kumanei retorted, giving the speaker a dubious look as she dumped her things on the empty end of one of the occupied benches. “You’ve seen too many episodes of Space Patrol .”
“Not to mention ‘ eyah ’ is a V’Dan word,” Forenze pointed out tartly. She found an empty bench and dumped her things on one end of it, leaving room for Ia and the man who had followed them to the changing room. “And it’s ‘ eyah , Hoo-rah,’ in that order. It comes from when the Terrans and the V’Dan hooked up and fought together during the Salik War two centuries ago. Try to get it right.”
The recruit who had joined them gave the women in the changing room a wary, wide-eyed look. “Are we really supposed to . . . change . . . in front of women?”
“Don’t worry, Lackland,” Forenze reassured him. “We won’t bite.”
“’Scuse me? Speak for yourself. I certainly bite,” Kumanei shot back, before eyeing the men with a smirk. Laughter echoed off the plexcrete walls. “. . . But not during Basic, so you can relax, meioa-o. At least until we graduate.”
Half of her attention on the others, Ia unpacked
“When you have changed, you will pack up all your nonallotted personal belongings in the transport boxes provided, located to the left as you enter the changing room, and label them with the address of their return destination. If you have any questions regarding what you are permitted to keep, you will refer to the charts posted on the walls regarding allotted goods. Anything nonregulation which is found left in your possession at the end of this day or which was incorrectly labeled for shipping will be sent to the recyclers, so make sure you send it where you want it to go in the next few minutes. Once you have showered and dressed, all regulation and allotted items will be packed in your kitbag. You four will now move inside.
“ You two will stay. I am Staff Sergeant Linley. I will be your Regimen Trainer while you are here at Camp Nallibong . . .”
CHAPTER 3
The first few days of any boot camp are always the toughest—not physically, since that actually happens a bit later—but emotionally and mentally. The recruits have to readjust their thinking, from “civilian” to “military.” From “whatever” and “whenever” to “obedience” and “discipline.” From “me” to “us.”
Some would-be wit once suggested that shaving off everyone’s hair isn’t so much a matter of efficiency and uniformity as it is a way to give the new recruits a common traumatic experience over which to bind them together as a family. I can’t say if it worked or not. I was too busy trying to get things right the first time around, so I wouldn’t have to waste my time on trivial repeats.
~Ia
Ia nudged Kumanei and Forenze, getting them moving. At least they didn’t seem to be required to respond to the Regimen Trainer’s orders. Yet. Following behind Ia and the other woman, the dark-skinned male whistled softly as they entered the changing room. “V’ dayamn . She’s as cold as a comet!”
“Watch your language,” Forenze warned him, tugging her suitcase around the end of a gear-crowded bench. “I’m half V’Dan on my mother’s side. Don’t be taking the Empire’s name in vain around me.”
“Then what the junk are you doin’ in the Terran military?” one of the other men in the room asked. From his damp hair and half-clad state, he had already taken his appointed shower. The room smelled of soap, steam, and freshly manufactured plexi, the ubiquitous, recyclable material that had long ago replaced less environmentally friendly substances. Bunching up a sock, the recruit slipped it onto his foot. “Me? I say, if you’re in the Terran military, you shouldn’t give a V’ damn about the V’Dan.”
“You tell ’em, Akhma!” someone else called out. “We’re in the Ma- reens now, sojers ! Hoo-rah, eyah !”
“You’re locosh’ta , meioa,” Kumanei retorted, giving the speaker a dubious look as she dumped her things on the empty end of one of the occupied benches. “You’ve seen too many episodes of Space Patrol .”
“Not to mention ‘ eyah ’ is a V’Dan word,” Forenze pointed out tartly. She found an empty bench and dumped her things on one end of it, leaving room for Ia and the man who had followed them to the changing room. “And it’s ‘ eyah , Hoo-rah,’ in that order. It comes from when the Terrans and the V’Dan hooked up and fought together during the Salik War two centuries ago. Try to get it right.”
The recruit who had joined them gave the women in the changing room a wary, wide-eyed look. “Are we really supposed to . . . change . . . in front of women?”
“Don’t worry, Lackland,” Forenze reassured him. “We won’t bite.”
“’Scuse me? Speak for yourself. I certainly bite,” Kumanei shot back, before eyeing the men with a smirk. Laughter echoed off the plexcrete walls. “. . . But not during Basic, so you can relax, meioa-o. At least until we graduate.”
Half of her attention on the others, Ia unpacked
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