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  If she wasn’t accepted, she didn’t know what she and Leticia would do. Possibly the FCDC would still take a look at her, but as far as she knew, the test was the same as for all government jobs.

  The third module, titled “Cognizant Awareness,” had really kicked her butt. She didn’t even know what the title meant. She knew each word, but used together like that almost seemed redundant, and even after finishing the module, she still didn’t know just what was being tested.

  The woman gave her a small follow-me, telling her to go to the waiting room where her uniform would pick her up. Liege thanked her and walked out of the testing center, past where she knew the recruiter offices were, and into a mid-sized waiting room. All the faces of the others in the room looked up as she came in. Liege recognized some of them from the first anteroom, and Evangeline brightened when she came in, waving her over. Liege was tempted to ignore her, but with her suspicious mind thinking the room might be under surveillance, she smiled and walked over to take a seat.

  “Wow, that was hard,” Evangeline said, taking Liege’s hand as if they were sisters. “I mean, like, I guessed on half of the questions.”

  Liege frankly didn’t care how the woman had done, but she did feel a slight bit of relief at her words. If Evangeline was having problems, then Liege wasn’t alone in that.

  Evangeline was a talker, and Liege tuned out 90% of what the woman was saying while she brooded over her scores. The wait was killing her. But bit by bit, Liege was being drawn into the conversation. Liege might consider drudges and suits almost as separate species, but she couldn’t help it if she was a social creature by nature. She started listening to more of what Evangeline was saying, and before long, she was giving her own opinion. Nothing about which they spoke was serious, and that was probably a good thing. It kept their minds off the testing. When they started discussing a vid-novel that had been making the rounds on the under-net, two others, a guy and a girl, scooted over to join them. What Umuyaya was going to do about his lecherous uncle was front and center, and Liege laughingly had to agree with Pop, the guy who had joined them.

  The fact that they all were following an under-net vid-novel surprised Liege. Of course in the favelas, the under-net was popular, but the other three came from much higher positions of society, and they had access to the best that life could offer. Liege wouldn’t have imagined that any of them would follow a poorly-crafted trash under-net vid-novel.

  She was almost sorry when Evangeline was picked up by her uniform. Liege gave her new friend a thumbs up and mouthed “Good luck” as she left.

  With Evangeline gone, some of the energy had left as well, but Liege, Pop, and Gert stayed close together and chatted. Finally, Gert addressed the elephant in the room and asked her about being a gangrat, but Liege didn’t sense any disdain, only curiosity. So for the first time in her life, she spoke frankly with people her age who were not from the favelas. Pop seemed almost fascinated by some of what she told them, particularly when she described her beating in.

  Liege was not one of those gangrats who held her colors paramount and considered her beating in on an almost religious level. For her, it had been something to endure in order to gain the protection of the gang, simple as that. But as she told the two about how she had fought ten of her future sisters and gotten the living shit kicked out of her, she could almost see how alien that must have seemed to them.

  She could also see how Pop reacted. Liege had always been good at reading others, and she knew he was attracted to her and somehow turned on by her describing the beating in. Pop was a good-looking young man, in a pretty-boy sort of way, and Liege had to admit that she was more than a bit interested. But even if neither of them was accepted (she into the Navy and he into the Inspector Corps), she knew nothing would ever—could ever—happen. She couldn’t go over to suitland and just wander around, and he would be easy prey should he set foot into the favelas; but still, the thought intrigued her.

  Those thoughts were interrupted when her uniform stuck his head into the waiting room and asked, “Miss Neves, if you could follow me?”

  Both Pop and Gert wished her good luck as she stood and went out the door that her uniform was holding. She waited for him to take the lead and followed his bouncy jaunt back into the recruiters’ room and into his small private office.

  He sat down, and Liege could see that he was feeling quite full of himself.

  Is that because he’s going to send me back to the favelas? He’s an “I told you so” kind of guy?

  He looked at her for a moment, the smile he was obviously trying to suppress forcing its way out.

  “Miss Neves, have you ever considered being a navigator?” he asked, the smile making a full appearance.

  “A navigator? Like on a ship?” she asked.

  Despite wanting to join the Navy, Liege wasn’t really up too much on what the Navy actually did. But she’d seen enough flicks and holos to know that the navigators were the bald freaks with the contraption bolted to the backs of their skulls and who controlled the ships in bubble space. In the flicks, they tended to be portrayed as aloof and rather weird.

  “Of course on a ship. They’re the most important people on the ship. Without them, the ship goes nowhere. If you become a navigator, you’ll be promoted to E5 right out of Level Three School, and you’ll be in line for warrant officer.”

  He continued on telling her what a great deal it would be for her when she started making sense out of what he was saying.

  “So I did OK on the testing?” she interrupted.

  “OK?” he asked, pausing to take a breath. “Yes, Miss Neves, you can say that. You did OK. Now, that’s only the preliminary testing, but based on that, if you want, we can start the Navigation Test Protocol. Of course, it looks like all NPSs—uh, that is Naval Positional Specialties—would be open to you. Navigation, propulsion, corpsman, whatever you want, but if you ask me, navigation is where it’s at.”

  This was going too fast for her. Did she want to become a freak? For all she knew, once you had the nav thingy put in your skull, it was permanent.

  The uniform was going on again about extra pay, the prestige, the ability to quickly gain rank, and the huge salaries that could be commanded from the civilian side after getting out of the Navy. That last one caught her attention. Liege was poor, dirt poor. She didn’t feel there was any honor in being poor, and with money, she could give Avó the best care available.

  And looking at the uniform—Petty Officer Russell, she reminded herself, not “uniform”—she realized that the petty officer no longer saw her as a gangrat. He saw beyond the colors, the hair, the wild expression of her life to date. He saw her as a commodity, one that the Navy wanted. She appreciated that. It felt good to know that beyond the NE38559453, beyond Leticia and Avó, the “real world” wanted her for something, too.

  She held up her hand, palm out, and stopped him mid-sentence.

  “If you think I should do that, sir, then I will. I’m ready to serve the best I can.”

  DUGGEN

  Chapter 2

  Hospitalman Recruit Liege Neves rushed down the corridor to Classroom 105. She was late, just having gotten off the commercial comms with Leticia. An E1’s salary was more than she’d ever legally earned before, but it was not enough for more than short once-every-two-week calls back home. Those calls were important, though, enough so that she risked being late today, of all days, so as not to miss her call slot.

  She’d have more money if she’d qualified for navigator training, of course. She’d passed all the written and verbal tests, but failed the physical. Two of her readings had come in below the required minimums to undergo the transformation. She still didn’t know if she was sad about that or not. She’d have liked the increased rank and money, to be sure, but at least now, she was still Liege and not some half-cyborg creature.

  With navigator out the window, she’d had all the other NPSs open to her, and she’d chosen to become a corpsman. It was one of
the largest NPSs in the Navy, and the chances to specialize were pretty broad. Many of the sub-specialties were in high demand in the civilian side of the Federation, and she’d be able to bring Leticia and Avó with her wherever and whenever she went. All she had to do was keep her nose clean and do a good job in her first duty station, and she’d have her pick of specialties. It might take a bit longer than had she become a navigator, but her plan was still in place.

  The hatch to Classroom 105 was still open, thank goodness, and she slipped in, grabbing a seat in the back row.

  “Glad to see you could join us,” Frank Ferrere whispered as she slid down beside him. “It’s not like, you know, anything important’s going on.”

  “Oh, really? Like what?” she asked innocently.

  Frank just rolled his eyes. He and Liege had battled to be the class honor man, both falling just short. Frank was number three while Liege was number four. Out of 115 who had started Basic Fleet Corpsman School, BFCS, that wasn’t bad, but not good enough. Only the top two graduates got their pick of duty stations. For the rest, they entered three choices, but the needs of the Navy took precedence.

  For her first choice, Liege had chosen Naval Hospital First Station, in deep orbit around Earth herself. First Station was the headquarters of the Federation Navy, and the hospital there was the most prestigious naval hospital, if not the best. Her second choice was simply “naval hospital,” leaving it to the Navy to choose which one. By being in a hospital, she figured she’d be able to observe all of the corpsman specialties and choose which one to pursue after her tour was up.

  Her third choice was the FS Admiral San Denee, the newest dreadnaught in the fleet. If she was going to be in space, she wanted it to be on a ship that had more than the basics in health care. The Admiral San Denee had what was essentially a small hospital on board.

  With her wide-open second choice, coupled with her high class standing, Liege was pretty sure she’d get one of her choices. Still, she was as nervous as the other HRs as they waited for Senior Chief.

  The last seven months had been a sea change for Liege, but one to which she’d readily taken. Two weeks after being recruited, she’d said goodbye to Leticia and Avó and left Nova Esperança for Duggen and the 12-week long recruit training. Unlike most of the other recruits, she’d never felt homesick. Other than her sister and grandfather, she didn’t miss anyone, even her irmãs. Boot camp had been easy, much easier than she’d expected. The DIs had tried to make it a personal hell, but for a daughter of the favelas, for a gangrat, it was a cake-walk. She learned to act concerned, but her most difficult task was to keep the smile off her face.

  Out of 525 recruits in her class, 498 graduated, and Liege graduated number nine, and only 0.15 points out of honor grad. The BFCS A-School was on Duggen as well, so three days after graduation, Liege started learning the basics of being a corpsman. Now, on the last day of the class, as a newly minted HM-0000, or a “Quad-Zero,” she was about to learn her fate for the next three years.

  The division officer, Lieutenant Commander Parsons, and Master Chief Hospital Corpsman Meung entered the classroom as someone shouted out “Attention on Deck!”

  The class rose en masse, along with their instructors, until the two worthies reached the stage and took their seats. The class sat back down and eagerly—or nervously—awaited their assignments.

  HMCM Meung didn’t waste time nor formalities. He stood at the podium and called out the honor graduate’s name.

  “HR Castro, the FS Pronghorn.”

  Liege knew that Sybil Castro was selecting a small mover, but she didn’t know why. She could have any duty station, and she chose a ship too small for a medical officer. The corpsman running the sickbay would be an independent duty corpsman, probably an HM2 or HM1. When Liege applied to a specialist C-School, she wanted a medical officer’s recommendation, not that of a mid-level enlisted corpsman.

  “HR Sukarna, FS Admiral San Denee.”

  Well, hell. No way I’m getting the San Denee now, Liege thought.

  Still, any hospital or dreadnaught would do.

  “HR Ferrere,” the master chief said as Liege felt Frank tense up. “Fleet Marine Force.”

  “Oh, man, it sucks to be you,” Liege whispered.

  Most corpsmen stayed with the Navy, but still, the Marines required large numbers of them. Liege knew that maybe 25% of the class would be assigned to the Marines, but she was surprised that Frank, at number three in the class, would be assigned to the Corps. Now he had the 18-week, intensive Field Medical Traning Course on Tarawa staring him in the face.

  Unless he asked for it? she wondered, looking at him.

  She was on good terms with him, but she’d never asked him what he had requested. Quite a few corpsmen wanted to serve with the Marines, so maybe he was one of them.

  Wondering about Frank, she almost missed her own assignment.

  “HR Neves, Fleet Marine Force.”

  What?

  Numb, Liege thought she must have misheard the master chief. She’d hadn’t requested the Marines. Far from it. She felt the stirrings of panic rise within her.

  Some of the instructors had related horror stories of the FMTC, of how it kicked their asses. True, HM2 Pagnotti had spoken of how serving with the Marines was the best thing that had happened to him, but some people liked to be tied up and pissed on, too, so just because one person liked it didn’t mean Liege would. What he had described didn’t sound very enjoyable, that was for sure.

  Liege wanted to ask if her assignment was a mistake, but when seven of the next ten of them were assigned to the Marines as well, the reality of what had happened began to sink in.

  “I guess it sucks to be you, too,” Frank whispered. “See you on Tarawa.”

  TARAWA

  Chapter 3

  “You coming, Doc?” Jessie Wythe asked, poking his head through the hatch.

  Liege looked up from the small field desk where she was entering bio-stats into her M-PA. It was a mindless, time-consuming task, one that Liege thought was ridiculous. In today’s age of data integration, she didn’t understand why her “Private Doc” couldn’t simply take the data from the log net. But instead of making it simple and easy, she had to download each Marine’s bio-stats onto a stylus and then upload them—after converting the data—into her M-PA.

  “Sorry, Jessie. Chief wants this done before COB.”

  “It is COB, in case you didn’t notice.”

  “Your COB, maybe, but I guess not mine. You guys go ahead. I’ll meet you there.”

  “How late you going to be, you think?”

  Liege scrolled down the log repeater for a moment and then told him, “At least an hour.”

  “An hour?” Wythe asked. “No big deal. I’ll tell the rest to warm up at the E-Club. You come and get us, then we’ll head to the Down ’N Out together.”

  “No, you don’t have to do that.”

  “Bullshit, Doc. We’re going to get the two newbies drunk, and you got to be there, too. ’Sides, I’m feeling peckish, and you know what that means. Iffen anyone gives me some lip, I’m gonna lay ’em out, and I’ll need you to doc them up.”

  “Peckish?”

  “Yeah, peckish. It means. . .hell, I’m not sure what it means. Killer said it, so I’ll ask him.”

  “OK, Lance Corporal Peckish, you go ask Corporal Wheng what it means. But for now, let me get back and finish this. I’ll meet you all at the E-Club.”

  She had to smile at Wythe’s retreating back. He was a character, for sure. And he’d been very protective of her since the Imperial Stabiae—all the more so since the chief officially assigned her to Golf Company for the upcoming deployment. Like most of the battalion corpsmen, she was a member of H&S Company, but she was now attached to First Squad, Second Platoon, Golf Company, for the duration of the deployment.

  She also knew that Wythe fancied her. Oh, he’d never said as much, but it wasn’t hard to read him. Given other circumstances, she might even give hi
m a rodeo to see how he bucked, but as a squad, he was family, and you didn’t mess around with family. She knew enough not to give him an opening, and she knew he wouldn’t press.

  Gangrats back home usually didn’t know how to accept a “no,” which was a major reason she had blooded with the Commando Meninas. Liege was grateful to know that in the Marines, which was in many ways just a bigger, more powerful gang, “no” was understood.

  She also liked the fact that so many Marines were prime beef on the hoof, and Liege was not a blushing schoolgirl. She had and would continue to socialize, but as far as romance, it wasn’t going to happen within the squad—heck, not even within the battalion.

  She shook off that train of thought and buckled down to get the biostats on her M-PA. Forty-five minutes later, she was able to log off. Closing the hatch to the tiny platoon office behind her, she took the ladder two steps at a time to the third deck, then ran down to her room. Fanny had already left, as she’d expected, so she stripped off her utilities, jumped into the shower, and scrubbed off the day’s grime. Within a minute, she was out and dried and opening her locker.

  Her turquoise camisole top and bright yellow snake-pants were on a hanger on the backside of the locker door. A piece of paper with “Wear this!” written on it was pinned to the hanger.

  Leave it to Fanny, she thought, taking the outfit and holding it up to the mirror-screen.

  With her red hair, which was finally reaching almost to her collar after being shaved at boot camp, and light skin, she wasn’t sure the colors really complimented her, but she’d take her roomie’s advice. Another minute—which had to be a record for her—and she was out the hatch and taking three steps at a time back down the ladder.

  The Area 5 E-Club was only about 200 meters from the barracks, so she still beat the hour she’d told Wythe.