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Super Perfect; Marek's Origin
Topic Started: Dec 5 2014, 11:03 PM (239 Views)
Marek
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Winter is Coming


Marek inhaled deep and let the pale blue sunlight wash over his skin. Terra didn’t get many sunny days in late Autumn so he had decided to make full use of the day by skipping his classes. He had sent messages to his professors explaining that he was “sick.” Several of them had written back suggesting that sunlight was a good cure all – they were obviously wise to the scheme but were laid back enough not to care.

As Marek strolled down 6th street to get a pint at his favorite pub he closed his eyes for a moment just enjoying the feeling of being alive…

Then he ran into something…or, judging by the familiar softness someone.

As Marek opened his eyes he saw a young girl drop an armful of books to the ground.

He laughed a bit and began to apologize, “Hey, sorry about that I really wasn’t paying atten…”

The female interrupted him, “Watch where you’re going jackass!”

This stopped Marek in his tracks, he looked at the girl more closely, she had crimson red hair, smoldering copper eyes, pale milk white skin dotted with freckles and a certain restlessness about her. She looked pretty good.

Marek bent over to help her pick up her books, “Like I said, I wasn’t paying attention, sorry about bumping into you.” Marek handed her several text books, but held onto one.

The girl scoffed, “Well, pay attention! I’m late for class, so if you’d please!” The female extended her right hand palm up, she was clearly asking for her book back.

Marek looked down at the book he had kept, it was a book about the biology of aquatic mammals.

Marek looked back at the female, she still had her hand out and had a strand of crimson hair in her face, she looked quite irritated.

Marek said, “Well, I’ve always been interested in learning about…” he glanced back at the cover of the book, “sea creatures…aquatic mammals. Can I hang onto this for a bit?”

The girl’s face contorted into a mask of bemusement, utter contempt and rage, “No. Stop fucking around, I have places to be.”

Marek looked up at the sky and back at the girl. He said, “Well, I don’t think you should go to your class. I think you should come have a drink with me and tell me all about these…” he looked at the book again, “sea otters.”

The girl spat, “No, no thanks, I don’t go for douchebags.”

Marek chuckled, “well, that’s too bad. I’ll be at the Spearmint Rhino if you want your book back.”

The girl wilted a bit, “You’re really not gonna give me the book back?”

Marek grinned and said, “Take a look around, the day’s too beautiful to waste in class. I’d like to round out my day with a drink with a beautiful girl.” He handed her the book back, “What do you say?”

The girl’s frosty demeanor melted a bit, “Well, I guess I don’t need to go to my calc class, ya, I’ll have time for one drink before my next class, and I’m late anyway.”

Marek extended his hand, “My name’s Marek, and you are?”

The girl gripped the front fingers of his hand without grasping his palm, an unfortunate habit of the female species, “I’m Ashley, my friends call me Ash.”



***

Several weeks later:

It was snowing outside. As Marek exhaled he could see his breath instantly turned to a moist fog. One of the downsides of being a student was…living like a student, heat was expensive.

“Ugh, why don’t you ever turn the heat on in this place?”

Marek glanced over to look at Ash lying next to him, she was just barely covered by his bed’s comforter, she was shaking a bit.

Marek smiled wide and said, “Well, heat is pretty expensive this year what with the military using so much of our power to go fuck off en masse and explore space. And beer is expensive too. And when push comes to shove I feel confident investing in beer. Plus, if you drink enough of it you’ll feel warm, that’s a fact babe.”

Ash laughed, “How did I fall for such an idiot?”

Marek grinned wider, “Fall for me uh, I’m flattered. But, here’s another thing, I have you to keep me warm.” Marek pulled Ash towards him and wrapped his arms around her, the feel of his flesh on hers was still as electrifying as the first time they had touched. “See, I’m a fucking financial genius.”

Ash squealed a bit as he pulled her close, but she readily settled into his embrace. She turned around to look at Marek in the eyes, she said, “I love it when you do that.”

Marek said, “I love you.”

There was an awkward moment of silence. It was amazing how those three little words could have such an impact.

Marek said, “Whoops, I uh, I meant that I love doing that to you. Ya, that’s what I meant.”

Ash’s eyes smoldered a bit, “I love you too.”

Marek’s heart melted a bit, he had never been so happy to hear those three little words.

***

Four Years Later:

When he had got engaged he had not anticipated the ever persistent hell that was wedding planning. Ash said, “Do you think we should have Darek and Milda sit next to each other? They used to see each other you know.”

Marek quipped back, “Well, if you don’t want to sit Milda next to anyone she’s had a fling with we’re going to need to sit her at a table by herself.”

Ash smacked his shoulder, “Really? I don’t talk shit about your friends!”

Marek replied, “I’m not judging so much as I’m just…stating facts. The same holds true for Darek, he’s done rather well for himself since leaving school.”

Ash sighed, “I suppose it’s best to just leave them at the same table then?”

Marek absentmindedly said yes and took a long sip of his mug of ale.

As he let his mind wander he caught something of interest on the holotube:

Quote:
 


“The war with the Ravagers wages on. Several colonial worlds were attacked this morning in what many analysts are describing as a coordinated strike. Military officials have refused to comment at this time. While we have limited assets on the ground in the colonies news appears to be grim. Reports coming in from first hand survivors indicates that the Ravagers are killing colonists with reckless abandon. At present all attempts made to communicate with the alien menace have not worked.

Now over to Chet to discuss reports off military brass meeting with the Empeor’s board of advisors. Chet.”

The  camera panned over to a tall white guy with impossibly perfect hair.



Marek spoke, “Hun, it seems that every other white guy who worked as a news reporter is named Chet. Were they all born with the name or do they change their name when they get interested in working as a reporter? That’s a story I’m honestly interested in hearing about. Marek picked up the remote to change the channel, but, Ash grabbed his hand to stop him, “Wait, I want to hear this.”

Marek rolled his eyes and set the remote down.

“Chet”, if that was his real name, was part way through his report:

Quote:
 


Several high ranking military officials, including the chiefs of staff of the Army and the Imperial Navy were spotted leaving the Emperor’s office today. Several anonymous sources claim that the Interstellar war our society is in the midst of has stretched the armed forces’ manpower reserves to the breaking point.

These sources have reported that the military is floating the idea of a draft by the Emperor’s top advisors. Terra hasn’t had a draft in over five centuries as it was determined that a small technologically superior force was superior to a conscripted one.

Back to you Matt.



Marek turned off the T.V., “I don’t want to hear about that anymore. Let’s concentrate on the wedding.”

Ash smiled, “OK.”

***

One Year Later:

It had come today.

Marek held a crimson envelope in his right hand, gently tapping the bottom of the envelope against the polished wood surface of his kitchen table. He hadn't opened the envelope as he already knew full well what was inside of it.

He felt his eyes watering and fought back the urge to cry, his father had always told him that it was not a man's place to cry. Duty to country, carrying yourself with honor even when no one is looking, providing for one's family; those were a man's responsibilities, crying wouldn't help him do any of those things.

He turned the envelope over in his hands. The front of it was stamped with a seal that had become ubiquitous all over Tera, two golden swords crossed over an evergreen wreath, the emblem for the Guardians of Tera. He had wanted to join the Guardians ever since he was a little boy; but, now he didn't want to go anywhere, he just wanted to stay home. He picked up a picture of a female with piercing green eyes and a tuft of red fire kissed hair. He ran his fingers over the picture in a longing almost mournful manner.

'What would Dad say now? How is a man supposed to choose between family and country?'

He stood up from the kitchen table and walked down the hall to the bathroom, hoping that a cold shower would clear his mind.

***

The shrill sound of exploding ceramic filled the air. A crisp alto voice shouted, "You can't leave me! You can't! You can't! Yo..you can't!" The fire that had been burning behind Ash's eyes melted away as she broke down into tears and crumpled into a heap on the kitchen floor.

Marek was also on the brink of breaking down. As he stepped over the shattered fragments of bowel that Ash had thrown across the room he worked to keep his face stoic, a mask of stone. He crouched down and ran the fingers of his right hand through Ash's crimson hair. He leaned forward and whispered into her ear, "I don't want to leave you. But, I don't have a choice."

His wife looked up into his eyes and said, "You always have a choice. You don't need to fight, we can leave, go to a different world, we can run somewhere were they'll never find us." Marek ran his fingers through her crimson hair, pushing a lock of her curls behind her ear, "Well, what kind of example would that set for him? Do you think Liam would appreciate having a coward for a father?" Marek gently placed his hand on his wife's stomach.

Ash looked away, "Fine, leave us. If you get killed your son will grow up an orphan. Would you rather your son be an orphan or think his father is a coward." There was a bitterness in his wife's words that could have melted steel. Marek stood up, "There's nothing more to say. I don't want to go, I don't want to be away from my family, but I need to do my duty. Please calm down, this is hard enough on me without you acting like I'm never going to be coming home."

He scraped up the fragments of the bowel while Ash cried softly on the floor.

***

Three Months Later

Marek stood at attention in a row of about twenty five over new Terran conscripts. He had made it through his basic training, waking up at the crack ass of dawn and running all over creation and all manner of other busy work that supposedly related to soldiering. The idea was no doubt to break all of the cadets down, to rebuild them from the ground up into warriors. Marek wasn't sure they had any success with him in that regard, oh well.

Sergeant Farro yelled with an annoying amount of enthusiasm, "Cadets! Our colonies have been attacked by the enemy! Several of our outlying territories have been wiped out! You will be the leading edge of our counterstrike, you will be the first hammer fall that heralds the enemy's destruction!"

Marek and the other cadets stood by stoically as the sergeant went through his pep talk, Marek was only half listening.

Farro finally said something worth paying attention to, "Today you will be trained with one of the most ancient weapons of warfare, the sword."

The cadet standing to Marek's immediate left, Bran, spoke, "Why would we bother to fight with swords when we have high powered lasers and automatic projectile weapons?" Farro snapped, "Do not speak unless spoken to Cadet Bran!" Bran replied, "Sorry sir." Farro replied, "While Cadet Bran is impetuous his instincts are sharp." Farro's normally expressionless face cracked into a smug grin, "Know that this is not mere busy work, of the 500 other cadets in your class only the 25 of you have been selected to receive this training. You were selected because your profiles and our observations of you indicate that some of you might have what it takes to become artists with a blade. I can't say anything beyond that, not right now anyway."

Sgt. Farro snapped his fingers. A private opened a steel box and began handing out wooden swords to each of the 25 cadets. Sgt .Farro retrieved a sword for himself from the box. After the private slapped the wood in his hand Marek gave the sword a closer look. The handle was large enough that he could use a two handed grip, but, not so large that he couldn't use a one handed grip if he wanted to. From the stump of the blade at the end of the handle to the tip of the blade the length was about four feet long. The blade was straight tapering down into a point.

Sgt. Farro barked, "This is a wooden sword, we don't want to have you risk killing one another so early in your training. The sword design has been used on our planet for centuries…" Sgt. Farro whipped his sword through the air in a diagonal slash, then just as the blade reached the end of its arc he moved into a one handed grip and thrust the tip of the sword forward, "This is a claymore." The cadets had their eyes glued to the Sgt., Sgt. Faro kept talking, "The Claymore is an incredibly versatile weapon. You can utilize a two handed grip to generate more power behind your strikes and you can also utilize a one handed grip for quicker less predictable movements. When you become adept with the blade you will be able to switch between a two handed grip and a one handed grip in the middle of battle, this will let you bring a broader range of techniques to the battlefield, and it will undoubtedly surprise the enemy. Now, pair up we have some drills to go over."

***

Sometime later that same evening:

Sgt. Farro barked, "I SAID MOVE IT! YOU NEED TO HAVE THE SAME INTENSITY THAT YOU STARTED WITH. FATIGUE IN BATTLE WILL GET YOU KILLED."

Every inch of Marek's body hurt. They had spent the last several hours going through drills designed to teach them the basics of striking and blocking. They had been told to think of the Terran body in four separate parts or quadrants: the upper left quadrant, the upper right quadrant, the lower left quadrant, and the lower right quadrant. The upper and lower quadrants were divided by an imaginary line running across the lower abdomen, right above the waist. The right and left quadrants were divided by an imaginary line running from the center of the top of the head all the way to the ground.

Each pair of cadets took turns striking at each other with long arcing strikes aimed to strike into one and only one of the four quadrants. It was helpful having a limited amount of places a strike could fall in mind when you were blocking. At first Marek was having one hell of a time anticipating where his sparring partner's strike was going to fall, and he had several nasty bruises to prove that fact. But, little by little he had gotten better at predicting where a strike would fall. Of course even when he could tell when and where a strike was going to fall he had only managed to block some of them, he still needed to outspeed his training partner, and Garen was no slouch.

Sgt. Farro barked, "I WANT TO SEE YOU MAGGOTS MOVING!"

Marek gritted his teeth and slammed his training sword down over Garen's clavical. Garen saw where the strike was coming, moved to parry, and then….CRACK!

Marek dropped his sword to the ground, he shouted, "Oh shit! Sorry man." Marek looked around, "Can we get some help here!?" Garen had tried to shove Marek's training sword out of the way but had struck too high on the blade, Marek's wooden Claymore had slid all the way down the length of Garen's sword and smashed into his clavicle. From the looks of thing Marek was willing to bet he had broken something.

Sgt. Farro walked over, he looked at Garen, then at Malek, he shook his head in a clear sign of exasperation, "I told you maggots that fatigue will get you killed. One mistake, one false move, one time where you're too slow on the draw and you won't be walking anymore." He looked at each cadet in turn, then looked into Garen's eyes, "That hurts doesn't it?"

Garen was biting back tears, doing a pretty admirable job at saving face. He grunted back, "Yes."

Sgt. Farro smiled, "Well, just be thankful that wasn't a real sword. Otherwise you'd be dead as a doornail."

Sgt. Farro stood at attention, "Fuck off to your barracks, you're done for today. Garen will be taken to the sick bay."

The cadets shouted, "Yes sir!" and then promptly fucked on off to the barracks.

***

One Week Later

"The ships you will be on have state of the art navigational computers. Just tell them where you want to go and they'll plot a course free of any stars, planets, or black holes...well, that we know of anyway, there's always the off chance that you'll jump straight into one we can't see and then…"

Ensign Charles looked out over the class of twenty-four cadets and then cleared his throat, "Uh...never mind, no use in worrying about that anyway I suppose. Now, what I'm here to teach you is simple but very important. In the event your ship's navigation computer is fried you'll need to plot a course yourself. Thankfully there's a tried and true method to do just that, triangulation."

One of the Cadets, Rauz, interrupted, "Excuse me, sir, why are you telling us this? We're going to be fighting on the ground, won't these ships have...people like you to do this kind of thing?"

Ensign Charles frowned, "Yes, there will be navel officers on board of your ships. But, in the off chance that all of the naval officers are dead, captured, or incapacitated it will be helpful to make sure that there's more than one person who knows how to navigate. The Terran Empire can't afford to lose a cruiser in space when a basic grasp of trigonometry could bring it home."

Rauz replied, "Uh...fair enough. Sorry sir."

The Ensign smiled sheepishly, "Don't worry, perfectly natural question to ask. In fact, before we start with our practice problems do we have any other questions?"

About a dozen questions flew at the Ensign all at once, the ones that stuck out to Marek where:

"Any chance you can tell us where we're going?

"How bout you tell us when we'll be home?"

Ensign Charles sheepishly said, "Uh, I don't know that you have the clearance for some of those. In fact I know you don't because even I don't know precisely where you'll be going. Now...let's get started on those problems."

Marek pulled out a thick workbook full of star charts and scrap paper to make triangulation calculations. If there was one thing he hated more than getting his ass beaten with a training sword it was the classwork, at least the sword work might be of some use to him.

***

They had brought in an expert instructor in hand to hand combat. They had spent an entire week learning to fight and kill with nothing more than their hands and feet. First swords, now this, perhaps they’d be going back to the Stone Age to fight these aliens.

The martial Arts Instructor, Andrea, spoke, “You must train body and mind. When you strike you must do so with conviction. You must have complete and absolute control of your actions.”
Andrea pointed at a Cadet whose name Marek couldn’t recall, Andrea spoke, “You, come here.”

The Cadet got up and walked to the martial arts instructor. Andrea retrieved a board, he said, “Hit this.”

The Cadet looked uneasy, but, he wound up and struck the board with a right haymaker. There was a sickening crunch as the Cadet’s knuckles slammed into the board, the entire room saw him wince in pain.

Andrea shook his head, “You have strength but you lack skill.”

Marek thought that was rather obvious, Andrea was here to train them so they could acquire skill for fuck sake.

Andrea spoke, “I asked him to strike the board, and he did. But he did not try to strike through the board, he did not attempt to destroy the board. When you fight each and every action you take needs to have the strength to kill. A man who lacks conviction in battle, even a strong man, is doomed to die.”

Marek suppressed the urge to roll his eyes, this guy was seeming more and more like a jackass.

Andrea pointed to another cadet, Raph, and asked him to hold a board for him. Raph got up and held a board in front of his chest. Andrea shouted and struck the board with his fist. The board shattered as Andrea’s fist went through the board and struck Raph in the chest hard enough to knock Raph backwards.

Andrea smiled, “Conviction is key. When you do anything in battle conviction is key.”

Andrea then had everyone stand up and start practicing fighting drills.


***

Andrea had taught them several “forms” that each incorporated a range of movements. He had told the cadets to pick a favorite and master it. This week Andrea was individually evaluating each of the cadets’ respective hand to hand combat prowess, and today he was reviewing the forms that he had told the cadets to practice.

Marek entered the training room; the only other people there were Andrea and Sgt. Farrow.

Sgt. Farrow drawled, “Well, let’s see if you managed to learn anything.” Andrea sat stoically, he didn’t say anything.

Marek walked to the center of the room and shouted, “Unsu!”, announcing the name of his form. He bowed to Andrea, as was customary, and then began by holding each of his arms at forty five degree angles to his body, hands balled into fists.

He exploded outward scooping his hands down and then back up to perform a block with the tops of his wrists. In the same motion he sank down into a deep stance resting nearly all of his weight on his back left leg, his right leg was extended forward about five inches but only the ball of the foot was touching the ground. A split second later Marek’s right hand shot forward in a simulated strike to a groin. He wasn’t quite sure that the alien’s he would be fighting would have groins or would care if they were struck there, but, the martial arts had been developed with human anatomy in mind, he could always find a weak point on these aliens and apply the same principles Andrea had been beating into his head and muscle memory.

As Marek pulled his right hand back he slid his left leg forward in a semicircular crescent like motion and came to rest in the same stance as he had started in, this time all of his weight was on his right leg and his left leg was extended, Andrea had called this a cat stance. Marek slammed his left hand forward in another simulated shot to the groin. Sgt. Farrow coughed a bit.

Marek retracted his hand and repeated the movement once more. Then he quick pivoted on his left foot twisting his body 90 degrees, using his momentum to perform a sweeping chop block with his left arm. His left hip was forward, with his hips at a roughly 45 degree angle to his imaginary attacker. The moment he was set in the block he corkscrewed his hips to shoot his right hip forward while pulling his left hip backwards, throughout the corkscrew motion his hips stayed level. The momentum he was able to generate with such a simple movement was astonishing, and Andrea had taught him how to put it to use. As he rotated Marek slammed his right hand forward to deliver a devastating straight punch to his imaginary foe. Marek shouted as he completed the movement. Andrea had told him that each of his movements needed to have the power to kill, and Marek had taken the mantra to heart, he had broken dozens of boards and the ribs of several unfortunate sparring partners with that very move.

Marek repeated the action another three times, turning behind himself 180 degrees, turning 90 degrees to the left and then turning 180 degrees behind him again. Each block and each punch was its own unique action, eight actions in total. Marek performed them all in less than two seconds.

He jolted forward and down onto the ground, the action was meant to be an evasive maneuver designed to dodge an incoming mid level strike to the sternum. In the same action Marek darted to the ground he lashed out with his left leg in a roundhouse kick to his imaginary assailant’s groin. It was an exceedingly awkward maneuver; what’s more, it seemed rather impractical to actually use this technique in battle. But, Andrea had said that the movement itself was useful to practice because it gave a nice shock to several typically underutilized muscle groups. Marek stood up, fired off a flurry of punches and then flipped around to perform the same ducking evasive kick maneuver that he had done with his left leg. No matter how many times he had done this he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was making himself look ridiculous. Then again, Andrea seemed to really know his stuff.

Marek rose up from the ground coming to a fully erect standing position. He pulled both of his hands in close to his body, holding them underneath his chin for a long moment. Then he slowly stretched outward sliding his right foot over out and away from his left foot. As he stretched out he sank down into a horse riding stance. Both of his arms were now perpenidicular to the floor.


***

They were in the last month of their training now. One month before he left Terra to fight some race he had never even seen before. Ash was due to give birth at about the same time. He tightened his grip on his Claymore, and focused his attention on Rauz. They were down to 19 cadets now, six of his comrades had died in training in various ways, a couple had met their end sparring when they had moved on to using edged weapons. As much as he missed Ash and was worrying about Liam he couldn't afford to think about them right now.

Sgt. Farro stood in the middle of the dueling ring, the 17 other cadets who had managed to live through training stood around the edge of the circular arena. The ring was about 50 feet in circumference, large enough to maneuver in and put some tactics requiring distance to use, but absolutely no room to run.

Sgt. Farro looked at Rauz, then over to Marek, he spoke, "You're going to graduate soon. Soon you'll be on alien worlds. There won't be rings there, the entire planet will be a battlefield. In here we have rules, not to finish off an opponent once you've won, to fight with honor, to hold back a bit if you outclass someone. Out there, out in the battlefield, there are no rules. No rules except one, survive. I want you two to fight each other as hard as you can. You're some of the best swordsman in the cadet class, but you both need to find your limits and push past them if you want to have a hope in hell of making it back to Terra in one piece. FIGHT!"

Rauz moved into a high guard position, his blade angled straight down towards the ground. Marek instantly recognized the stance, it was from the balanced school of fighting that they had been taught, it emphasized wearing an opponent out and countering when they made a mistake. Marek scowled and got into his own stance, holding his Claymore in a two handed grip high above his head with the blade perpendicular to the ground and trailing behind his right shoulder. Off all the styles he had learned he favored the aggressive style, it placed an emphasis on bringing raw strength to bear to knock an opponent off balance in order to create openings to finish the fight.

Marek shuffle stepped towards Rauz, taking care to stay light on his feet in the event that Rauz charged at him. Rauz, to his credit, remained absolutely still, his face was an emotionaless mask, he didn't show any fear or excitement. Marek would give him something to be afraid about. He stepped forward with his right leg and slammed his sword down in an overhead strike aimed at the crown of Rauz's head. The aggressive style was built around these powerful overhead slam attacks, sometimes called a falling avalanche. Rauz met him blade on blade, in a flash of steel Rauz's blade was pushed to the side. Marek shouted as he followed up with another overhead slam.

Rauz flicked his blade upwards in a parry, this time he impacted the base of Marek's blade at an angle that redirected his strike instead of trying to block it straight up. Marek growled and launched a flurry of attacks into Rauz. Rauz redirected them all, and, as Marek was finishing his last strike, Rauz thrust his sword forward in a counter attack aimed to impale Marek through the center of his chest. With no time to block Marek twisted his body towards Rauz, moving his right shoulder forward while rotating his left shoulder backwards, kind of like a top spinning counterclockwise. He had still been offbalance from Rauz's last parry and he hand't managed to move quite fast enough. There was a bright flash of pain as Rauz's blade ripped through the flesh over his left shoulder.

He felt his arm go numb and heard Sgt. Farrow shout, "ENOUGH!"

Rauz stood down, adopting a resting position with his blade. Sgt. Farrow came and stood in front of Marek, inspecting the wound on his arm. The Sgt. Barked, "Well, at least you manage to put enough daylight between your heart and the end of Rauz's blade to avoid becoming another deader. You need to evaluate why you lost while you're getting that arm stitched up, you and Rauz used completely different styles, and right after your first blow Rauz put his style to work to counter yours. Your good with the aggressive style but you need to actually THINK during battle. If you had altered your strategy to match what Rauz was doing you might have been able to win, instead you fought a losing battle from the start."

Marek growled back, "Lost? I haven't lost yet. Get out of my way so we can finish this fight."

Rauz smirked ever so slightly.

Sgt. Farrow looked at the river of blood flowing from the open wound in his left shoulder. Sgt. Farrow said in the most sarcastic tone Marek had ever heard, "Well, master duelist, excuse me. Please, by all means, continue. It looks like you have this in the bag. Are you fucking insane!? If I let you continue fighting there's a decent chance you'll lose that arm. And I'm not interested in explaining the worth of one armed warriors to my Lieutenant. Head to the sick bay, NOW! That's an order!"

Marek let his sword fall to the ground and made his way to the sick bay to get stitched up.

***

It had taken something on the order of seventy five stitches to get his arm back together. Amazing that his society had figured out interstellar travel but hadn't managed to move past a needle and tread to treat a wound, oh well. The doctor had also told him he would need to stay off of his feet for at least a day to let the muscle and skin pull itself back together, Terran's were made of tough stuff but the doc wanted to keep an eye on his recovery to make sure everything went OK.

The prospect of skipping out on a day of life and death training with the Claymore sounded just fine to Marek so he didn't protest the doctor's orders. Unfortunately he got a double helping of classwork to get through. As Marek powered on the personal computer built into his hospital bed the thought occurred to him that he might prefer getting stabbed to reading up on more military theory and survival training.

That’s when he noticed something odd. This terminal had a link to personal communications. The terminals in the barracks and in the mess hell didn’t allow personal communications. There was a message from Ash:

“Marek, the doctor tells me that there are some pregnancy complications. He tells me that there’s an issue with Liam’s placenta being too thin which gives a very high chance of a fatal rupture in the third trimester.

We're going to go induce labor today and speed Liam's growth with hormone therapy to get him to a normal birth weight. I love you, Ash."

Marek felt like a ton of bricks had just been dropped on his chest. He checked the timestamp on the message, it was sent yesterday. Yesterday!

Marek ripped the cords off of him that were monitoring his vitals and grabbed the bloodied training armor he had been wearing earlier. A nurse came in to his room to see why all of his vitals had flat lined; she admonished Marek to get back into bed. Marek walked by her and made his way to the motor pool. War or no war he was going to go see his wife and son.


***

Marek raced into the hospital panting as he came to rest outside of Ash’s room. The receptionist downstairs had probably thought that he was a raving lunatic…whatever. He walked into Ash’s room, still covered in blood. She looked like she had been to hell and back, hair a mess, no make up, but the woman lying on the bed in front of him was definitely his wife.

“Hi.” Was all that Marek managed to say.

Ash looked up at him and started crying hysterically. Marek sat down on the bed and hugged her. After a long moment he whispered into her ear, “Where’s the little man? How’s he doing?”

Ash spoke, “He’s doing fine. He’s sleeping in the nursery now. Hold on and I can have them bring him here.” Ash hit a button on the side of her bed. “It’s so good to see you! I’ve missed you so much. What…what is wrong with your arm?”

Marek glanced at his left arm, it was covered in blood still as he hadn’t been able to wear anything out besides his training gear. He replied, “Oh, had a little training mishap with a sword. All stitched up though, no big deal.”

There was a knock on the door, “Mr. and Mrs. Marek?”

Ash said, “Come in! My husband finally going to get to meet his baby today!”

Two military police officers stepped inside of the room, guns drawn. They looked at Marek, “Sir, you need to come with us. Abandoning your post is a serious crime.”

Marek felt a rage build up in him like he had never experienced before, he snarled, “I’m not going anywhere until I see my son.”

One of the MPs said, “Sir, we were given strict orders to bring you directly back to base and bring you before Colonel Gavin. I’m sorry but we don’t have a choice.” The MPs began walking forward.

Marek stood up, “You can try.”

A nurse walked into the room, “I hear dad’s hear!” She then saw the two military police officers with their guns drawn and Marek’s blood soaked attire and she squealed in terror. Marek said, “It’s fine, it’s fine, please bring the baby to his mother.”

The nurse still looked quite frightened, but, she did what she was told and gave Liam to Ash.

Marek took a single long look at his son. His eyes were closed and he was breathing gently. His nose and mouth looked a lot like Marek’s; but, his eyes and hair were 100 percent Ash. He was so small.

“OK, let’s go.”

Marek kissed his wife and son goodbye and walked out of the hospital with the MPs.

***

30 Minutes later:

“So, you decided to go AWOL?” An old gruff voiced accused.

Marek sat in thought, the more he thought about it the more he was thinking that Ash was right all those months ago. This wasn’t his war, he didn’t want to fight and possibly die so the Terran emperor could lay claim to another handful of planets. All he wanted was to be with his family.

Marek cleared his throat and brushed a small tear from the corner of his left eye, “Yes, yes I did.”

The Colonel snorted, “Well, given the circumstances I suppose I can see why. You do realize I would be well within my authority to execute you for this?”

Marek quipped back, “Could I talk you down to a dishonorable discharge? Maybe even an honorable discharge if it creates less paperwork for you?”

The Colonel frowned, “I sincerely hope you are not taking this lightly.”

Marek frowned, “No sir.”

The Colonel replied, “Well, there’s really little use in executing you, not after we took the time to train you how to use a sword. Sgt. Farrow tells me you’re one of the better cadets we have. Let me be clear, had the empire not invested so heavily in you, you would be dead on the spot.”

Marek swallowed hard, “Yes sir.”

The Colonel stood p and straightened his uniform, “Now, go to your barracks and retrieve your personal effects. Your entire cadet class has been graduated; you will finish the remainder of our combat training en route to one of the enemy’s planets. Dismissed, Private Marek.”

***

On an alien planet Marek stood fast with his sword in his hands. He had cleaved through dozens of alien soldiers, and now he had met a worthy foe in battle, this thing could keep pace with him, moved like him, truth be told Marek was a bit scared.

Without speaking the alien thrust its hands forward, fingers splayed out in all directions. Marek’s built in sensor registered an increase in the alien’s energy output. Moving with blinding speed Marek’s right hand found the hilt of his Claymore, he loosed the blade from its sheathe just in time to wrap himself in a veil of protective energy powered by the blade. Dozens, no, hundreds of small blasts of energy slammed into his shield. A lesser man may have felt fear. Marek didn’t feel fear, not in battle anyway. He sent a jolt of his own own into the Claymore, transforming it into a lightningrod for the uncountable fragments of energy racing by him. He absorbed every last drop of energy into his blade and then willed the energy to flow into his own body, making the alien’s energy his own.

Before he could renew his assault the alien spoke, he tried to listen but all he heard was a bunch of unintelligible gibberish.

Marek wordlessly ignited his blade by willing every single bit of the energy he had just absorbed to coat his Claymore with a flame like aura. He then shot through the air aiming a powerful downward slash at the alien’s left arm, right at the shoulder. As the tip of his blade reached the lowest point from the follow through of the last attack Marek reversed his grip and twisted his hips around to generate a tremendous amount of upwards momentum to deliver a vertical slash to the alien’s right armpit. As that blow finished Marek let the momentum from his last strike spin him around counter clockwise, as he spun he adopted a two handed grip on his blade and slashed the alien across its legs aiming to cleave the appendages from the alien’s body.

The alien danced between his blade and struck him in the head with a bone wrenching haymaker. As Marek stumbled back he saw a bright flash of green energy wash over him, a searing pain, and then.

“AH!” Marek sat up in a start, he was covered in sweat. Just a dream. He grumbled as he tried to fall back asleep, the Imperial Army already controlled all of his waking hours, he would be damned if he was going to spend his time asleep thinking about swordplay and alien. As he forced himself to close his eyes he thought of Ash and Liam. He missed them more than he could really express with words.

***
Two Days Later, on the Bridge of The Liberator:

Sgt. Farrow looked over the surviving cadets, now privates in the Terran Empire’s army. He spoke up, “When we began training several of you asked me why we had bothered to train you to do battle with swords. I couldn’t tell you at the time, but I can now.”

Several of the Privates exchanged looks with one another.

Sgt. Farrow continued talking, “As you no doubt know our armed forces use highly developed projectile based weaponry. They function by taking a tiny speck of matter and accelerating it to near relativistic speeds to create an enormous kinetic impact. Our enemy utilizes a very similar weapons system. We have discovered technology that will make this tech obsolete. You see, you weren’t necessarily selected because the data we had on you indicated that you’d be good with a sword. No, that was a consideration but it wasn’t the primary factor in pulling you lot from the rest of the cannon fodder…sorry, I meant conscripts. No, you were selected primarily because your physiology shows a very high threshold for….adaptability. You know how to fight now, you know how to survive. When we’re done with you, you will become gods among men.”

There were murmurs of uneasiness throughout the ranks, Marek didn’t really like where the Sgt. Was going with this.

Sgt. Farrow continued, “The trip to the target will take approximately two weeks. We will be making a series of jumps at faster than light speed so the enemy will be unable to trace our path back to Terra. During the first week you will all be augmented: your bones will be tempered to be harder than steel, your immune system and natural healing abilities will be amped up to the point that you can regenerate from wounds that would kill you now, your muscles will be empowered increasing your strength and speed to mythical levels, and you will gain new and terrifying abilities that I can barely even begin to comprehend; you will be made into more than mere men. “
Sgt. Farrow stopped talking for a moment to let the gravity of what he had just said sink in.

He cleared his throat and continued talking, “Then, in the second week you’ll have some time to get used to your new abilities before we throw you into battle. Any questions?”
Marek said, “Augment? What in the hell are you talking about Sgt.?”

Sgt. Farrow replied, “Private, that’s really not my area of expertise. All I know is that when you are done you are going to be faster, stronger, smarter, and have abilities that boggle my mind.”


Marek spat, “Why did you put us through training that got several of us killed? Why not wait to do it until after we’re, what did you say, ‘gods among men’?”

Sgt. Farrow replied, “ Because we frankly aren’t sure how strong you’re going to become. You might well reach the point where you’re un trainable because you’re on such a different level. We thought it best to train you before hand.”

Rauz spoke up now, frustration apparent in his voice, “OK, ya, that’s well and good, but, why are we bothering with learning martial arts and sword skills? Doesn’t the enemy use projectile weapons and energy weapons? Won’t they just fucking shoot us? Sorry, Sgt. Won’t they just shoot us though?”

Sgt. Farrow grinned, “Well, if the results are even half as good as we expect that won’t be an issue. Your reaction times should increase by an exponential order of magnitude. So its frankly doubtful that anyone will be able to hit you with a fist, sword a bullet or a laser. And, even if you are hit you should be able to keep fighting strong.”

A prim looking blonde woman in a white lab coat approached, her heels clicking all the way. Sgt. Farrow nodded towards the woman, he said, “This is Dr. Patricia Anders, she’ll be taking care of you from here on out. Good luck men.”

***

22 Hours later:

Sgt. Farrow came and stood next to the doctor, “So, how many made it through?”

Dr. Anders softly said, “Thirteen, thirteen soldiers lived through the procedure. Of those thirteen only nine are suitable for combat deployment, the rest have been crippled either physically or mentally.”

Sgt. Farrow exhaled slowly, “Will it really be worth it? These were some of the best soldiers I’ve ever trained. We started with twenty five of them and we only have nine left. Those sixteen men, they could have made a difference too. “

D. Anders replied, “Sgt. We can drop one of these nine soldiers into a battle and trust that he will single handedly change the tide for us. If we have them work together they will be an unbeatable, unbreakable corps of shock troops. “

Sgt. Farrow replied, “I hope you’re right.” He walked away, leaving Dr. Anders to her thoughts.

***

Marek had never felt such excruciating pain. It felt like every bone in his body had been shattered and had the fragments fused back together. His muscles had swelled to the point where his skin had to stretch to accommodate the sudden increase in size, he itched all over and no matter how he scratched it didn’t get any better.

He was only intermittently conscious at this point, the pain from the procedures he had endured had put his body into shock and he would wake for five or ten minutes and then succumb to the pain again.

All he wanted was to be with Ash and his son, and the Terran Army had seen fit to take him away from them, to turn him into a lab rat. Bastards.

***

One Week Later:

Sgt. Farrow spoke, “We have a large contingent of men, something on the order of 200,000, dug into trenches on a planet we think the enemy was using to launch raids into our territory. They’ve been pinned down and surrounded by nearly half a million enemy soldiers. We’re having trouble resupplying them. If we don’t break the siege 200,000 of Terra’s best will die.”

Sgt. Farrow looked out over the nine super soldiers that had lived through training and the subsequent “augmentation” process. He continued speaking, “You are going to drop down onto the planet’s surface and break the siege. You are going to use your superior fighting ability to fracture the enemy’s lines! You are going to be the cutting edge of our counter offensive and you will cut through the enemy like a knife cuts through space butter!”

Marek spoke up, “Sir, are we going to be dropping onto the planet with jumpships, pods, HALO deployment? What are we looking at here?”

Sgt. Farrow smiled, “We’re going to get the ship in the right place and then you’re going to jump out of one of the ship’s air locks.”

Marek’s eyes got a bit wider, “Uh, sir, I don’t think that’s a great idea…”
Sgt. Farrow replied, “Why not, my report indicates that all of you can survive a fall at the velocity we predict you to be falling. Plus you’ll be given some suits that will slow you down with some retro grade thrusters. When you hit the ground it might give you a brief shock to the senses, but, you should be just fine. Plus, if we do it like this there’s no way the enemy will pick you up on their scanners. If we used a jumpship or pods there would be enough raw matter there to show up on a scan. And if we inserted for a traditional HALO jump we’d be putting a ship – and all of you – at serious risk of loss. Now, if there’s no further questions head to the airlocks in two hours, we’ll have suits fitted and ready for you.”

***

Two Hours Later:

The suit fit snug and covered him from head to toe. When he had asked the tech assigned to the gear about how to use the suit the tech had told him that there was nothing to learn, just think of what you want to happen and it will happen.

He had tried thinking about teleporting back to Terra to see his wife and son, it hadn’t worked. Consequently, he really wasn’t too confident about the suit doing whatever he asked of it.

A red light in front of the airlock turned green and Marek was shoved off of the Liberator and into free fall. He could see the curvature of the alien’s planet from this altitude, in fact, he could see the inky blackness of space on either side of the planet’s surface. But not for long.

Within a couple of seconds of being shoved out of the Liberator he had crossed into the planet’s atmosphere. And now he saw one thing and one thing only, the ground rushing up at him. He screamed into his suit in sheer terror. No matter how strong he had become, no matter what the scientists had done to his blood, flesh and bone he wasn’t going to survive slamming into the ground at well over terminal velocity for normal humanoids.

As he broke the cloud cover he saw them, a sea of aliens, the Terrans had taken to calling them Ravagers. He couldn’t count how many there were, he couldn’t even see the ground, they were so thick in their swarm that they blocked it from view. As Marek plummeted to the ground he tried to think about how he was going to avoid being crushed to bits by the impact.

Now just a couple hundred feet from the ground he lost it, in a panick his mind was taken over by the urge to STOP! Amazingly enough that’s just what happened. He stopped in mid air. He wasn’t falling, he wasn’t moving, he was just floating.

‘What the…’

Sgt. Farrow’s voice squaked over a com built into the head set of the suit, “Son, I told you if you think of something the suit will do it for ya. Now, I’ve always wondered this myself, so please let me know. How does it feel to fly?”

Marek didn’t respond, a single thought raced through his mind, “HOLY SHIT I CAN FLY!”

Sgt. Farrow barked at him, “Well, I suppose it is a bit awe inspiring, but, we didn’t empty the Terran treasury just so you could get some kicks. Now, when you were in surgery we implanted a little…hypnotice suggestion.”

Marek replied, “What! What did you do to my head?!”

Sgt. Farrow chuckled a bit, “Well, nothing serious, it’ll make your job a whole hell of a lot easier. Give you some bloodlust and rage so you don’t feel so bad about slaughtering the Ravagers. I personally advised against doing this, but, some of the higher ups thought you lot might get squeamish what with having no actual combat experience where you are trying to kill or be killed.”

Marek growled, “You self righteous asshole, you better wish I don’t make it back up to the shi…”

Sgt. Farrow interrupted, “The blades of grass are gently pulled by the low autumn sun.”

Something in Marek’s head simply…snapped.

His whole world went red, he was vagely aware of landing in the middle of a sea of aliens. Their ugly foreign faces leered at him. He drew his sword, and he went to work.

Sgt. Farrow came through on his headset, “Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds.”

Marek blinked, the sea of alien flesh that had threatened to crash down on him was gone. The sea of aliens had been replaced by a sea of red blood, the occasional limb floating by like an island of flesh.

Sgt. Farrow said, “Congratulations, it looks like all that time and money we spent on you wasn’t wasted after all.

After the shock of what he was seeing had settled in Marek threw up in his spacesuit. Breathing heavily he wondered just what in the hell had just happened. Was this another dream? A searing pain shot up through his left elbow. He looked down to see a stump.

Marek blinked, closed his eyes, and then looked back at his arm.

Marek keyed his com, “Sgt. What…what in the fuck. I’m surrounded by an…an incomprehensible amount of dead people and my fucking arm is missing and it hurts like hell.”

Sgt. Farrow replied, “All according to plan Marek. You and your eight brothers are now officially the most effective tools of the Terran empire. When we get you back to the ship we’ll get you a new arm fitted. Need to keep you in working order after all.”

***

Marek didn’t recall losing the arm, but, he doubted he’d ever forget regrowing it. They had fitted him with a kind of metal frame and slipped it inside of a pouch filled with some kind of fluid. That’s when he started to regrow his arm, one cell at a time. The pain was indescribable.

Marek hadn’t left his room or taken any food, other than from whatever was being pumped into his veins through an IV, in over three days.

His door beeped as it swung open, Sgt. Farrow stepped inside.

Marek glared at the man, “I’m in no mood to talk to anyone right now, least of all you.”

Sgt. Farrow nodded grimly, “I figured as much, but, I think I may have something for you. Something that will dull this pain you’re feeling.”

Marek snarled, “If it’s another one of your mind games, another hypnotic suggestion to make me feel happy or forget what you turned me into, forget it. You made me a tool, you made me into a robot that you can control on a whim.” Marek stood up and stared right into the Sgt’s steely blue eyes, “Once we get back to Terra I’m taking my wife and child and I’m leaving the empire, if you or anyone else try to stop me… I’ll do whatever is necessary.”

Sgt. Farrow took half a step backwards. He cleared his throat and said, “Well, that sentiment is…understandable. I’ll just cut to the chase here. I’ve come to offer you an opportunity for revenge, revenge against the Ravagers.”

Marek sat back down on his bunk, “Revenge against the Ravagers? Perhaps you misheard me just now, I don’t care about the Ravagers, I don’t care about Terra or duty to country anymore, I just want to have as normal a life as I can with my family.”

Sgt. Farrow spoke, “We’ve discovered the location of their home planet, we can get to it, we can go to their home planet and wipe out every single last piece of alien scum that threatens the lives of our people.”

Marek scoffed, “So go do it, but leave me out of it.”

Sgt. Farrow took another step backwards, “Well, the thing is, you don’t exactly get a choice in the matter.”

Marek stood up, his half-grown arm dangling grotesquely at his side, “Say that again, I don’t think I heard you Sgt. What don’t I get?”

Sgt. Farrow said, “You don’t get a say, the empire dumped too much money in you to just let you walk away. Now, according to our battle plans the most you’ll be kept in service is the next 10 years... we can cut that time down substantially if we move now to strike at the enemy’s home plane…”

Marek grabbed the Sgt. by the throat and squeezed gently. Marek’s eyes narrowed to slits, “I told you I would do whatever is necessary to get back to my family. I’m not waiting 10 years to go back to them.”

Sgt. Farrow tried to speak, but, the best he could do was gargle incoherently.

Marek squeezed the Sgt.’s neck, it crumbled under his iron grip. As Marek let the Sgt.’s corpse drop to the floor he spoke, “I warned you.”

Marek strode out of his room and made his way to the ship’s hanger bay. He’d grab something, a troop transport or a fighter that was capable of faster than light travel, and he’d make his way back to Ash and his son.
As Marek made his way through the ship he caught the occasional stare as people gawked at his deformed limb. Other than that nobody gave him a second look.

Warning klaxons suddenly blarred throughout the halls of the ship:

“WARNING! WARNING! ENGAGING LOCKDOWN PROTOCAL GAMMA! ENGAGING LOCKDOWN PROTOCOL GAMMA! ALL CREW ARE TO IMMEADIETLY RETURN TO THEIR QUARTERS! ALL CREW ARE TO IMMEADIETLY RETURN TO THEIR QUARTERS!”

The message played on loop as steel bulkheads began to close off every part of the ship that wasn’t a bunk.

Marek abandoned all pretext of moving normally and sprinted at lightning speed to the hanger bay. He could just see a set of blast doors closing in the distance. He wasn’t going to make it in time. He ran at the door anyway, as he neared the wall of steel he closed his eyes and lowered his head, crashing through the barricade.

He was amazed to see that he hadn’t even needed to slow down.

A group of soldiers was waiting for him. Marek scowled, he shouted, “If you know anything about me, you should know that you don’t stand a chance. I have no quarrel with you. Flee and live, or fight and die, the choice is yours.”

Not a single one of the soldiers budged. One of them yelled, “FIRE!” A hailstorm of bullets shot forth.

Marek flinched a bit, and…that’s when it happened. His whole world seemed to move slower. He could see each bullet slowly moving towards him. Astounded he walked forward and around the soldiers. When he struck one in the head time seemed to move at a normal speed, but, in a matter of seconds he had dealt with all of them.

As he was prepping a fighter for flight a new message came over the loud speaker:

Sing to me of the man, Muse, the man of twists and turns
driven time and again off course, once he had plundered
the hallowed heights of Troy.


His mind went blank.

****

Five years later:

Marek stood on an alien planet, doing battle with a horde of aliens. These were not the Ravagers of years past, a new foe that threatened the life of his people had arisen, these were called the Tuffles. As he had sustained injuries throughout the years various parts of him had been replaced, he was now an amalgamation of man and machine.

WC: 10,151
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