Homeworld: A Military Science Fiction Novel (39 page)

“Really? They don’t question orders. They’re just pointed in a direction, and they achieve the objective. Then they’re rounded up and returned to await the next combat scenario.”

Peter was becoming frustrated with her line of questioning. “Yes, but they can’t think.”

“Ah-ha. So there is a difference. You, Peter, can think. I want you to remember that, not just during the training exercises, but when you unleash the ID out on the world that you are supposedly protecting.”

Peter’s brain hurt. It must have been evident by the expression on his face.

“Look, Peter. It is my job to make sure that you keep your head on straight during this whole thing. Working with the ID can be dangerous, not just physically but psychologically. You can lose your humanity after a while. And once you lose yourself, your judgment follows and people can get hurt.”

“Oh, for a minute I thought you actually cared about me.”

“I do, Peter. But remember, these sessions are not just about you.”

He remembered…Apone.

Captain London shifted topics. “So, how’s your scruffy little brother? Does he still want to be all he can be?”

Peter laughed. “It’s quieted down for now. My mother must’ve gotten to him.”

“Oh, that’s a shame. He would’ve made an excellent soldier.”

“My brother? Really? Why’s that?”

“Well, he’s intelligent, brave…”

“Brave?”

“He approached me in a bar and struck up a conversation out of thin air, clumsily but effectively. You just stammered when I approached you.”

Peter was embarrassed. His face felt hot, and he again began to stammer. He never stammered when talking to women. “I-I-I was just surprised to see you there. That’s all.”

“He also seems to feel that he doesn’t fit in anywhere.”

“Well, that’s always been true.”

“He’s looking to belong. With his intellect, I think he’s definitely officer material.”

Peter’s face was so hot, you could’ve fried an egg on it. She definitely triggered his competitive nature, but was he…jealous? And if so, of what?

“Well, if you talk to him, tell him I said hi.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Same time next week?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“See you then. Call me if you need me.”

“Will do.”

Peter was thankful to end the session at that point and did not hesitate to leave Captain London’s office.

***

Peter was lying in his bunk reading the manual that Lockwood had given him. He flipped through the various chapters on hand-to-hand defense, ID battle formations, roundup and cleanup.

This whole thing was so surreal. Apone would’ve shit his pants from laughter if he found out about any of this. Or would he have been horrified?

As a matter of fact, Peter was hit with all of this so quickly, he was not sure about his own feelings. The idea of being around even one of those ID gave him the willies, particularly after his experience with the one in the Labyrinth. He pitied anyone designated as a target.

But he and his men would supposedly be protected. There were the suits, the guns, and the MRI devices. It all seemed to make sense. Plus, the idea of getting those chicken-shit terrorists hiding in those caves made him salivate. He mused that maybe he wasn’t so different from the ID after all.

The Navajas had something wicked coming their way. They were in for a rude awakening, and he would be leading the charge.

Just then the monitor of his communicator was flashing. It was a call from home. He accepted.

His father and mother’s faces popped up on the LED screen.

“Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad.”

“Hi, Pete.”

“Is everything okay?”

“Yes, everything’s fine,” Peter’s father said.

“We talked Carl out of enlisting,” his mother beamed.

“Well, that’s great, Mom.”

“Yes, I’ve managed to get him a job in the mall at the coffee boutique.”

“And he’s okay with that, Dad?”

“No, you know your brother. But maybe if he can prove himself, corporate will notice and he can move up.”

The notion was ridiculous. The job market was flooded with college graduates who couldn’t find work. He would just get lost in the white noise.

“That’s great, Dad. I’m sure he will. He’s smart, smarter than me.”

His father waved a dismissive hand. “We’re very proud of you, son.”

But his mother was frowning, voting against her husband’s remark with her silence.

“Thanks, Dad.”

He heard Carl’s voice in the background.

“Oh, yes,” his father added. “Carl wants to know if Captain London asked about him.”

“What? Dad, I have to go.”

His father nodded his understanding, and Peter heard Carl’s protests in the background as he terminated the call.

He picked the manual back up and read on about dividing platoons into four squads of ten, using two SWEEPERS (field engineers) with portable Magnetic Resonance Imaging (dubbed MR.UD) and coordinating sixty Insidious Drones.

He imagined sixty of those things lumbering around in all directions as his platoon herded them along. Kluver-Bucy, his ass. He had never heard of such a thing. And where did they get sixty zombies from? Were there more? There had to be.

Peter put down the book, his head spinning, and got ready to go to the mess hall. His stomach was rumbling terribly, and as he got up to leave, he wondered if the ID felt hunger the way he did.

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