Read Online Theirs Not To Reason Why: A Soldier's Duty by Jean Johnson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jean Johnson
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her kitbag to lay out the required change of plain brown clothes and boots, and fished out the necessary toiletries. She repacked everything else swiftly, neatly, and started removing her civilian clothes. Changing in front of mixed company had never bothered her; Ia had always shared a bedroom with her two brothers, back home. With the military’s strict views against unwanted copulation, she had no worries that anything would happen.
Someone let out a low whistle right after she pulled her lightweight, long-sleeved blouse over her head. It turned out to be Spyder. “. . . Sweet Jovian rings! Lookit th’ muscles on ’er! Ey! Ia! Whatchoo do onna colonyworld all day, practice ferra bodybuildin’ show?”
Ia looked down at her arms, which looked like they always had. She glanced up at Forenze, whose own arms were somewhat muscled, but not like her own. Craning her neck, she looked back at the green-haired colonist and shrugged.
“I’m a heavyworlder. Where I come from, everyone grows up looking like this.” She paused, considered her words, then added lightly, honestly, “Well . . . most of them are shorter than me. But they’re all just as muscular, if not more so.”
“How much shorter?” one of the other recruits asked. Mendez, that was his name. Ia knew him from the timestreams.
She held up her hand at bra-level. “Most of ’em are about this tall, on average. Very few ever reach as tall as my shoulder.”
Mendez held up his own hand at about the same level, eyed it, then lifted it to the top of her head, eyeing her dubiously. “. . . That much difference? If everyone on your homeworld is so short, heavyworlder or not, how come you’re so tall?”
She shrugged, turning away so she could have room to shuck off her flats and remove her pants. “Good genetics, I guess.”
“Whoa, looka’ that! Choo an Afaso?” Spyder asked, pointing at her other arm. “F’real?”
Ia glanced down at the tattoos on her right deltoid. They were so new, they still stung a little if she flexed her arm the wrong way, but not so much that she noticed it. “Yeah, they’re real.”
The spiral galaxy was the symbol of the Unigalactan movement; the sword piercing it, point-down, was the symbol of the Afaso Order. Below and to the left of the sword edge were two humanoid figures. One represented the mark of the Junior Master, the other the mark of the Full Master. To the right were spaces left for Senior Mastery and Elder Mastery, and above that would go the tattooed representation of High Mastery, the highest rank anyone could attain outside of the Grandmastery of the whole Order. She might one day attain Senior Mastery rank—and thus be eligible to teach all the martial arts that she knew—but she would never attain High Mastery. Not in this life.
She could, but she wouldn’t. Ia didn’t have Time for it. The best she could do was learn just enough to keep herself and those around her alive. Nor did she have the time to fuss with Order politics.
Her tattoos were plain black line art, lacking the full color found in the tattoos of someone who was a fully Vowed Afaso monk. That kept her out of the hierarchy of the Order, which would give her the freedom to give orders to the Afaso in the future, without having to take them, too. Grandmaster Ssarra would help see to that. He had helped her improve herself to the point where she had earned the second rank of Afaso Mastery, and he would help her to preserve and pass out her instructions for the future.
Without him and his successors, her plan wouldn’t work.
“So, what kind of genetics?” Mendez persisted, sitting down so he could unlace his own footwear. “I’m Hispanic, from a longstanding military family, but you . . . You got white hair, but you also got light brown eyebrows. And I never saw an albino with brown eyes , never mind brown hair elsewhere. You also look kinda Asian, but not really.”
“Sanctuary’s a new colonyworld,” Ia hedged, stripping
Someone let out a low whistle right after she pulled her lightweight, long-sleeved blouse over her head. It turned out to be Spyder. “. . . Sweet Jovian rings! Lookit th’ muscles on ’er! Ey! Ia! Whatchoo do onna colonyworld all day, practice ferra bodybuildin’ show?”
Ia looked down at her arms, which looked like they always had. She glanced up at Forenze, whose own arms were somewhat muscled, but not like her own. Craning her neck, she looked back at the green-haired colonist and shrugged.
“I’m a heavyworlder. Where I come from, everyone grows up looking like this.” She paused, considered her words, then added lightly, honestly, “Well . . . most of them are shorter than me. But they’re all just as muscular, if not more so.”
“How much shorter?” one of the other recruits asked. Mendez, that was his name. Ia knew him from the timestreams.
She held up her hand at bra-level. “Most of ’em are about this tall, on average. Very few ever reach as tall as my shoulder.”
Mendez held up his own hand at about the same level, eyed it, then lifted it to the top of her head, eyeing her dubiously. “. . . That much difference? If everyone on your homeworld is so short, heavyworlder or not, how come you’re so tall?”
She shrugged, turning away so she could have room to shuck off her flats and remove her pants. “Good genetics, I guess.”
“Whoa, looka’ that! Choo an Afaso?” Spyder asked, pointing at her other arm. “F’real?”
Ia glanced down at the tattoos on her right deltoid. They were so new, they still stung a little if she flexed her arm the wrong way, but not so much that she noticed it. “Yeah, they’re real.”
The spiral galaxy was the symbol of the Unigalactan movement; the sword piercing it, point-down, was the symbol of the Afaso Order. Below and to the left of the sword edge were two humanoid figures. One represented the mark of the Junior Master, the other the mark of the Full Master. To the right were spaces left for Senior Mastery and Elder Mastery, and above that would go the tattooed representation of High Mastery, the highest rank anyone could attain outside of the Grandmastery of the whole Order. She might one day attain Senior Mastery rank—and thus be eligible to teach all the martial arts that she knew—but she would never attain High Mastery. Not in this life.
She could, but she wouldn’t. Ia didn’t have Time for it. The best she could do was learn just enough to keep herself and those around her alive. Nor did she have the time to fuss with Order politics.
Her tattoos were plain black line art, lacking the full color found in the tattoos of someone who was a fully Vowed Afaso monk. That kept her out of the hierarchy of the Order, which would give her the freedom to give orders to the Afaso in the future, without having to take them, too. Grandmaster Ssarra would help see to that. He had helped her improve herself to the point where she had earned the second rank of Afaso Mastery, and he would help her to preserve and pass out her instructions for the future.
Without him and his successors, her plan wouldn’t work.
“So, what kind of genetics?” Mendez persisted, sitting down so he could unlace his own footwear. “I’m Hispanic, from a longstanding military family, but you . . . You got white hair, but you also got light brown eyebrows. And I never saw an albino with brown eyes , never mind brown hair elsewhere. You also look kinda Asian, but not really.”
“Sanctuary’s a new colonyworld,” Ia hedged, stripping
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