Jordan

Sarka swings his giant fist toward Rowlf's head. Instead of hearing the crunch of bone and flesh like Sarka and I are both expecting something extraordinary happens. Sarka's fist goes straight through the man's head and he staggers forward from the momentum.

Rowlf keeps that calm smile plastered on his face, hands still folded under his bowling ball stomach. "This isn't our first time recruiting unknown species. We find it easier to process your intake remotely."

Sarka's breathing so loud it's drowning out Rowlf who is taking way too much pleasure in this. He must encounter men like Sarka a lot. Big burly military men who are full of anger, frustration and uncontrolled aggression. I put a hand on his arm to calm him down. He's looking around like he might find the source, or some escape hatch. I know there won't be any. They've been fighting this war for hundreds of years. They've perfected their MO. Like a serial killer getting into his groove.

I personally don't care if Sarka hyperventilates to death but I'm not going to make us look like idiots. "Slow and steady wins the race," I say.

His eyes, so blue they look like two crystals sitting on his pale face, turn to me in an instant. He looks ready to beat me. His fists are still clenched and he sounds like a lion huffing paint. Slow and steady wins the race. It's something he used to tell me. It's from a book my grandmother used to read him as a kid. He didn't have the book to read to me but it's something about a rabbit and a turtle racing. The turtle, which shouldn't win because he's much slower than the rabbit does, only because the rabbit gets cocky. The turtle wins because he keeps going, slow and steady, never giving up.

There's a spark of recognition and he visibly cools. And just like that, the arrogant veneer is back in place.

"Shall I repeat the procedure?" Rowlf asks.

Sarka folds his arms. "No we heard you the first time. What's the option if we refuse?"

Rowlf smiles, showing a line of gums where teeth would usually sit. He must eat a lot of soup. "We didn't give you an option. This tracker is for your protection. It let's us know if you're in trouble. It can monitor your vital signs and dietary requirements. Since we began using the Isims we have cut down on our fatality rate by twenty per cent."

If it was possible to eye roll with your whole body, Sarka would have been the first person to achieve it. His fingers dig into his arms and his eyes dart around the room. There is no way to escape. I checked as soon as we walked in. There are only two doors one on each side of the room and there aren't any handles which is just one of the reasons I suspect they lock from the outside.

We're not going to find a way out of here. If Sarka refuses this won't end badly for him, it'll be bad for both of us.

"Suck it up, buttercup. Let them inject it and we can remove it later."

He leans over and with a venom I've never seen points to the back of his neck and whispers. "Oh yeah? The last time someone 'injected' me with something for my own good it programmed me to kill and as you're probably aware, they only come out of corpses." The large pink scar on the back of his neck isn't from when the military inserted the mind knot it's from trying to remove it.

A few months ago they implanted one in Ash and Dr. Prashad said there was no way of her surviving its removal. The mind knot, which was created to help control soldiers, entangles itself in a person's central nervous system. Removing it would be like detaching their spinal cord from their brainstem and severing all functions.

"You have no idea what they're going to put in us. It could very well be benign."

"Exactly, we have no idea what they're going to put in us!"

"What do you think's going to happen? If we refuse, they'll pump some sort of knock out gas in here, put it in anyway, along with who knows what and now all of a sudden we're labelled trouble makers."

"Oh, boo-fucking-hoo to that. Who gives a shit."

I'm astounded this man has evaded the Union fleet for as long as he has. "Do you want to spend the rest of your life fighting other people's wars?" He doesn't answer but at least he's quiet. "We want to get out of here and the only way to do that is staying on their good side. If we cause problems, we'll never get out of here. I for one want to get back to my ship." And Ash.

"I..." He looks over at Rowlf who's been watching this entire hushed exchange with that same creepy toothless smile from before. "What if whatever they put inside me reacts badly with the mind knot?"

"Your mind knot's still active?"

"Of course it's still active. It'll always be, until the host dies. Only it's dormant because it's not within range of any central computer."

Rowlf waves a small tablet at us. "How's it coming? We need this room for a decontamination in half an hour."

I nudge Sarka toward Rowlf. "Okay," he says. He gives me a death look but still manages, "We're ready when you are."

"Good. Please step over to the station in front of you." From the ground, two metallic pedestals, rise. "Please place your bare arms, wrist down on the top."

I roll up my sleeve and rest my wrist on the cold metal.

"Thank-you. This will hurt."

Holy mother of christ! I pull my wrist away. There's a crescent shaped scar on the underside. Below it is a faint purple glow. Sarka rolls down his sleeve and gives me another death stare.

"When this goes tits up, I'm blaming you."

I do my own fair impression of a full body eye roll.

"This way please." Rowlf is nothing but sunshine now as he motions us to step through the opposite door of the room.

We spend the rest of the morning? Afternoon? Several hours at least making our way through what everyone calls intake. It's basically where the new recruits are implanted with their tracker, which also reminds me of branding a little. We used to do it to our cattle on Delta to make sure no one stole any of our herd. I'd like to think we were a little more humane about it, after all Kate always said they didn't feel a thing. Now I'm not so sure.

After the branding, we were separated in order to go through what I can only compare to twentieth century delousing. First they make you strip down to nothing. A strange robotic arm extends what looks like a pair of orange coloured thongs. My modesty is an odd thing for slave masters to be concerned about. After I decline the thongs they paint me in this foul smelling purple stuff which burns away after a few minutes. I'm guessing it's supposed to kill anything living on me. Incidentally, it also removes my body hair. People pay good money for this service on Alpha. The experience is better I'm sure than what I've been subjected to.

After delousing, I'm taken to a stall for lack of a better descriptor. The back slides closed and a dark green beam scans my body. After a few minutes a small slot near the front slides open and I'm presented with a new uniform. It's a variation on Tup's. It's darker than any material I've ever seen, hard in all the right places. I suspect it doubles as armour. When it shifts between my fingers it almost shimmers. I wonder what other capabilities it has. Hartley would kill to get ahold of this stuff. When I slide it on, the fabric fits like a second skin and breathes surprisingly well.

After I'm clothed again, Sarka and I are reunited in a small room with two desks facing a large screen. His new uniform is an improvement of the ragtag outfit he'd been sporting before. This one doesn't have any patches, nor does it smell like cabbage and dust. His face is even more taut than usual, which isn't a good sign. It means he's stressed and a stressed Sarka is a dangerous Sarka.

"Calm down."

"What?" His voice is gruff and hard. "These people are...strange."

"I know. Very contradictory."

"Yeah. Like why bother with all the pleasantries. It's not like they're asking our permission."

"I was thinking more about the orange thong."

"I figured that was to protect your junk."

"Huh," I say. "It didn't seem like enough fabric to offer protection." I'm now wishing I hadn't refused the thong. Who knows what that purple stuff actually was.

"How much fabric do you need?"

The screen in front of us lights up and a small, and I mean tiny—like the size of a teapot—woman flashes on screen. She has big green hair swept into a bun on top of her head and pale white skin. Her teeth, there are only four that I can see, are sharpened to a point. It makes her smile, which has most of the real estate on her face, appear sinister.

I lean over to Sarka and whisper, "Why do I keep feeling like I'm Alice in Wonderland."

"Did you think all aliens would look like you?"

"No."

He points to the screen. "At least they're not flesh eating octopuses."

"Gee, thanks for that nightmare."

"Please be seated." The tiny woman says. She introduces herself as Veera and directs us to turn on the tablet sitting at each desk."

A logo pulses blue and then fades. I think we're about to be indoctrinated.

"Welcome to basic training," says Veera.

My screen glows blue for a moment, and then the number one in a diamond blinks on and off followed by a short diagram of how to sit in a chair and pull it up to a desk. When they say basic, they mean it.

Sarka points to his tablet. "That was helpful. I was worried I was doing it wrong."

"Over the next few days you will both be assessed and placed in the division best suited to your talents. In order to make this process as smooth as possible we request that when asked questions, you answer as truthfully as possible. We understand how disorienting this can be, but for the good of everyone it's in your best interest to cooperate."

"Where have I heard that before." Sarka pushes his tablet on his desk and leans back in his chair folding his arms over his chest.

"For thousands of years the Illya have pouched this system, taking what isn't theres. The Varbaja have dedicated themselves and their resources to purge this system of the Illya for good."

The screen fades to white and a diorama appears. Over the next forty minutes the history of this war unfolds. It's not pretty. And it isn't going to end well. Our lives will be sacrificed for a war that will likely go on for another couple of centuries. Basically, the gist is that the Illya harvest stem cells. A disease centuries ago made them sterile and in order to carry on, they developed techniques to harvest another species stem cells and implant their own building blocks to create their offspring. They're not exactly sure how the gestation process works. All they really know is that they use others to procreate and that they are a completely engineered society.

They invade colonies and attack ships, taking prisoners. No one knows where their home world is, or if they even have one. Nor do they know how many are left. But they are deadly and they won't stop coming until they're wiped out.

As much as that sounds awful, I can't really say I'm moved to help fight the Illya for the Varbaja. I need to get back to my ship and help our own people.

By the end of the ordeal I feel like I've just been purchased by a new farm on Delta. The system is set up to process many bodies at once. My mind swims with images of the Persephone's crew filtering through here, terrified, angry, confused. How many ships have been conscripted to this army? Thousands? Millions?

This question is somewhat answered when we're brought to the mess. The room is gigantic and must feed over a thousand people at once. This isn't the only one on the ship either. There are several more scattered throughout.

We're greeted by the familiar face of Tup as we exit the indoctrination room. He waves us to follow and we set off down white sterile halls. This area is like being on a different ship it's so clean. Our reflections follow us down the corridor matching our stride. I don't recognize myself. I look like I'm playing soldier. Sarka, of course, is at home in the menacing uniform. I don't think it's my imagination that he's walking with his chest puffed out slightly, and every so often he checks himself out in the wall reflection. Yeah, they probably wet themselves over people like Sarka. He's ten times the soldier I'll ever be.

Despite what some people think, Union fleet is not a space version of the army. We aren't military. We're more like officers of a corporation. Our first mission is to protect the Belt's assets, only if it's absolutely necessary will we take up arms. I was trained for combat at the Delta Academy but it never came naturally to me.

Not like Sarka who's been a soldier since he was a teenager. When he holds a weapon it's more than natural. It's expected.

Tup takes us in through a door that brings us to a meandering line of soldiers queuing for food. He takes a tray and begins pointing out stuff we should try and what to avoid.

He places a plate of what looks like mouldy rocks on my tray. "These are cornu. A specialty from my planet. We grow them here in huge tubs of sea water, but they're originally from home."

"What are they?"

"They're very good."

I decide to let that one go.

He puts what looks like black spaghetti on Sarka's plate. And some brown peas on mine. He loads himself up with leafy greens and dishes with different coloured sauces. As we reach the end of the line everyone is given plates with a heap of brown meat.

We find a free spot near the back just as a siren goes off.

"What's that?"

"New recruits," says Tup as he slathers his meat in an orange sauce and shoves it in his mouth.

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