Tombstone (4 page)

“Interesting name.  I’ve seen a lot of guys come through
here, but you’re the first Darius.  Persian king, right?”

I had no idea what he was talking about.  My education at
the time was almost non-existent.  The government didn’t waste resources
educating Cogs and Croppers.  I’d had an hour a day of online classes at the
farm, but it was nothing but basics.  I wasn’t entirely illiterate, but ancient
history was well beyond my knowledge base.  I didn’t even know what a Persian
was.  Years later, at the Academy, I was finally able to answer his question. 
Two famous Persian kings, actually, the second enjoying the dubious privilege
of facing off against Alexander the Great.

When I didn’t answer he just continued.  “Doesn’t matter. 
Let me get right to the point.”  He straightened up slightly in the chair. 
“I’m here to offer you a chance to join the Corps.”

“What?”  The word just blurted out.  I hadn't been sure what
he was going to say, but that was certainly not what I was expecting.

“You heard me, Darius.”  There was a smile on his face – he
was enjoying this, the SOB.  “I’d like to make a Marine out of you.”

“Why would you want me?”  About half a dozen responses came
to my mind, but that’s the one that came out.  I couldn't imagine why they'd be
after me.  The entire thing seemed ridiculous.

He let out a short breath.  “Darius, the Corps is unlike any
other military organization.  We are looking for a certain type of recruit.” 
He stopped for a few seconds as he put together what he wanted to say.  “Most
of us have pasts like yours…”  He looked me right in the eye.  “…or worse.”  He
emphasized that last part and let it sink in before he continued.  “Some a lot
worse.  I’m from the LA Metroplex myself.  The Valley.”

The Valley was one of the most notorious slums in the U.S. 
I didn’t know much about other places, but I’d heard of the Valley.  If this
guy grew up there it was no joke.  “So you guys need a thief?  What, did your
budgets get cut and you're looking for new income?”

He smiled and snorted slightly, not quite a laugh.  “No,
Darius, we need independent thinkers.  We need doers.  Not easy to find.”

I laughed.  “And you think that’s me?  What makes you think
I’m what you’re looking for?”

“Well, for one, you obviously cut out your own implant,
which suggests that you have the toughness you will need to make it through our
program.  A sloppy surgeon to be sure, but it takes a certain grit to do what
you did.”

“Big deal, you want tough you should head up to Louisville
and hit up some of the Gangers there.”

He held in a small laugh.  “I said tough, not crazy.  We
aren’t looking for psychopaths, Darius.  Look at you…you are very measured in
how you do things.  You haven’t been terribly forthcoming with me, but you
haven’t been overtly hostile either.  Measured.”

“So the fact that I didn’t tell you to fuck off makes me
Marine material?”  The whole thing still seemed crazy to me.

“It’s more than what you say or don’t say.  Look at how you
ran your little gang.  You robbed us three times – we were watching you after
the first, by the way – and didn’t kill or seriously injure anyone.  You did
what you needed to do to survive, but you didn’t escalate the situation past
what was required.  It is very clear you are deliberative, brave but cautious. 
Just what we want.”

 Still on my mind:  “You were watching us?”  I hadn’t had a
clue.  “Why didn’t you stop us sooner?”

“Why do you think?  He had an annoying smirk on his face. 
He clearly enjoyed these head games.

“My God, you’re fucking kidding me.”  This was getting more
and more bizarre.  “You were watching to see if you wanted to recruit us?”

“Very good.”  He leaned forward over the back of the chair. 
“You are starting to understand.  It was pretty clear from your first robbery
that you knew what you were doing.  You even watched the convoys, and you hit
the specific cargo that was easiest for you to move.”  He paused slightly. 
"Unless that was a coincidence."

"It was no coincidence."  I felt a little naked;
they had us completely figured out.  "I wasn't looking for the kind of
attention stealing weapons or high tech stuff would bring."

 "Look, Darius, trust me."  His voice changed
slightly, less casual, more serious.  "You are the kind of recruit you're
looking for.  You’re clearly intelligent, despite your lack of
education."  He smiled again.  "And your robberies displayed some
first rate small unit tactics."

He let me think for a minute.  Why would I want to be a
Marine anyway?  Just because they invited me?  "Look, I appreciate the
offer, but why would I want to join up anyway?  So I can go get my ass shot
off...what?  In space?"  He nodded.  "You figure I'll join up so you
don't turn me in.  Because it's better to take your deal than end up getting
sent to the lunar mines for stealing?"

"Or sentenced to gas by the megafarm magistrate back
home?"  He had a self-satisfied smile on his face.  "Of course we
know who you are, Darius.  We're not imbeciles."  He paused, clearly
enjoying my dumbstruck silence.  "But to answer your question, no, if you
so no to us we won't turn you in.  Not for your robberies and certainly not to
the megacorp that runs that farm."

"You'll just let me go?"  I looked at him
quizzically.  "Just walk out the door?"

"Yes.  With a stern warning never to steal from us
again."  He looked at me and his eyes were deadly serious.  "A very
stern warning."

I was quiet for maybe half a minute, trying to process
everything he said.  Free to go?  I could just walk out?  "So if that's
true, why would I ever agree to sign up?  If you're not blackmailing me with
prosecution why shouldn't I just leave now?"

He let out a deep breath.  "Well, Darius, the first
part of that answer is the fact that you're asking the question at all.  I just
told you that you could leave any time you want to.  Why are you asking me
questions at all?"  He paused for an instant, but continued before I could
answer.  "It depends on what you really want, Darius.  You're smart enough
to get by as a thief for a while, at least until you step on someone else's
toes and you end up mining meteor fragments on the moon.  Or more likely
dead."

He rolled up his sleeve.  "You see this arm?"  I
looked at him, confused.  "I got this blown off as a private.  My first
battle." 

I thought to myself, this guy needs work on his sales pitch
if that is his idea of an inducement.  But I kept listening anyway.  I was
curious where he was going with this.

"This is a new one.  A perfect regeneration.  You'd
have to be a member of the political class here for that kind of medical
priority.  But in the Corps all you have to be is a Marine.  What was your
medical priority rating before you ran?  Zero?"

I frowned.  "So you're saying if you get my arm shot
off you'll grow me a new one?  You’re a lousy salesman."

"No."  He looked at me with the first hint of
impatience I'd seen from him.  "I'm saying that the Corps is someplace
that respects all of its members.  We don't prioritize our people and throw
most of them away because it's expedient.  An injured Marine gets the care he
needs, whatever that is.  Private, general…it doesn’t matter.  A Marine in trouble
gets the support he needs."  He stared right at me, his eyes boring into
mine.  "Haven't you ever wanted to belong somewhere?  To be part of a team
where everyone has your back?"

"So it's that simple?  I say yes, and you make me part
of this team you're talking about?"  I had to admit to myself, the
prospect of not feeling totally on my own every second was appealing.  I also
thought it had to be bullshit.

He laughed.  "Far from.  If you say yes, I will give
you a chance to make it.  If you sign on you will do six years of
training."  He paused, smiling wickedly at the blank expression on my
face.  "Yes, that's right.  Six years.  You'll get the education you never
got before, and you'll learn how to really use that reasonably effective brain
I think you have.  You'll also work like a dog; like nothing you have ever
experienced.  You think they worked people hard on that farm?"  The wicked
grin widened, becoming downright maniacal.  "You'll end up face down in
the mud puking your guts up from physical training you can't imagine now.  Our
program is serious."  He paused, and the grin slowly vanished.  "It's
dangerous too.  People die in training.  You may die in training."

"So you sell the Corps hard and then try to scare me
away?"  My head was spinning.  I didn't know what to think.  "So if I
make it through your training, then what happens?"

"Then you graduate as a private."  His voice was
serious now.  All the earlier informality was gone.  "And when you make
your first drop you're one of us."  Long pause.  "For the rest of
your life."

"After my first drop?"

"Graduating from training gives you the right to drop
with a Marine unit.  Completing the drop makes you a Marine.  We're combat
veterans, every one of us.  You may end up being a mechanic or a computer tech
in the Corps, but the first time out you're a private and a combat soldier. 
Even our medical staff starts out fighting."

"Everybody starts as a private?"  I was
intrigued.  This was very different from the society I'd seen my whole life,
where birth and connections were everything.  It amused me to think of a
Senator starting out as a field hand on the farm.

"Everybody.  You may be a general someday, but until
then you'll always know that whoever ordered you into battle has been there
himself."  He was exaggerating to make a point, but it turns out he was
right...I would become a general one day, and I would never ever forget what it
felt like to climb into that first lander.

"So fine, the Corps takes care of its own.  That's all
great, but it still sounds like going out there and getting all shot up for the
politicians who sit behind desks and tell everyone else what to do.  The
Marines may have a different attitude, but they still fight for the system that
worked my father to death on that farm."

"I knew you were smart."  His grin was back. 
"Most recruits aren't this much of a pain in the ass."  He hesitated,
as if he was trying to decide how to discuss delicate matters.  "Darius,
the system is what it is.  I'm not here to defend it or even worry about it. 
But if you become one of us you will see a whole universe you can't imagine
now.  The colony worlds are nothing like Earth.  I'm posted here, but this
isn't my home any more.  When I retire it will be to Atlantia or Arcadia or one
of the other frontier planets.  Earth is dying, choking to death on corruption
and repression, but not mankind.  The future isn’t here; it’s out there." 
He pointed upwards.

He got up and spun the chair around facing the right way. 
"We're not offering you a job, Darius.  We're offering you a home.  One
you need to prove yourself worthy for.  When you hit the dirt on that first
drop you are reborn; your sins are washed away.  It's in the Marine Charter...a
full legal pardon.  If you want, you can come back to Earth when your ten years
is up.  You can walk right onto that farm and tell the administrator you killed
one of his supervisors a few years back.  You can tell him to eat shit if you
want.  They can't arrest you, and if they tried they'd have a Marine strike
force showing up to get you out."

He sat back in the chair, sitting closer, looking right at
me.  "When you muster out, if you want to settle on a colony world, you'll
get a land grant or resource allotment.  We take care of our own, and once
you're one of us, you're always one of us."  He slapped me on the knee and
got up again.  "Think about it, Darius.  I'll have some dinner sent in
here.  Then sleep on it.  We'll talk in the morning."  He turned and
walked out without another word, and the door slid shut behind him.

I sat for a long while just thinking about everything he had
said.  My first reaction was to tell him to forget about it.  I was only
sixteen - six years of training seemed like an eternity.  And leave Earth? 
Fight on other worlds?  It was just too much.

But then a lot of what he said came back to me, and I
started to think about it.  I had grown up on the lowest rung of the system. 
My parents were penniless Cogs with no prospects to improve their lives or
mine.  I got only a rudimentary education, little or no access to medical care,
and barely enough food to survive.  At the time, that just seemed to be the way
of things.  A Cog’s life is ruled by necessity, by the daily struggle to get
by.  There wasn’t time to think about anything else or to contemplate the
inequities of the system or the failings of the government.  The utter
powerlessness and vulnerability made all that seem very far away.  A Cog
worries about getting food today, not a better life tomorrow.

When I ran from the farm, I started to become someone else,
but only to a limited extent.  My horizons had expanded, but not all that
much.  I stole because I didn’t have what I needed to survive, and later
because I got better at it and could live a more tolerable life, albeit at the
expense of my victims.  I had my crew, but we were drawn together by necessity
and opportunity, not by any great commitment to each other. 

I tried to imagine what it would be like to be part of a
group like he'd described, but it was just too much to deal with.  I put it out
of my mind and drifted off to sleep determined to turn Captain Jackson down, to
go back to my hideout and lay low and be more careful about picking my
targets.  For some reason, I believed him when he said they would let us go. 
But I thrashed around all night, my decision made consciously but still
conflicted somewhere deeper inside myself.  Something he said got to me on a
level I couldn't entirely understand or control.  When he came back the next
morning I tried to say no, but all that came out of my mouth was, "Yes,
I'm in."  I was on my way.