Prologue – I - II – III – IV – V – VI – VII – VIII – IX – X – XI – XII – XIII – Epilogue
Sebastian sat alone in the dropship, making his way to the giant ship that would be his home for the foreseeable future. He rubbed nervously at the interface sockets on his wrists and closed his eyes remembering the start of this journey, six months earlier.
-+-
The agent had cornered him at the arcade in the mall near his home. He’d obviously been watching Sebastian for some time as he moved from booth to booth besting the games one after the other.
“You’re pretty good at these kid. ” He’d said as he approached after Seb had beaten a hand to hand combat simulation into submission. “Want to try something a little more challenging?”
Seb was intrigued and asked for more information. The agent suggested they get a thermobev and have a chat.
“My agency are basically talent scouts,” said the agent as they sat down with their drinks. “We keep our eyes peeled for promising prospects that our clients might be interested in signing up. The first stage is just what we’re doing now; we keep our eyes peeled and have an informal chat with someone like yourself. What I’m offering is an assessment of your abilities, nothing more. There’s no obligation and it doesn’t cost you anything. If we can’t place you we’ll even give you the complete dataset that you can pass around to future employers.”
“What kind of assessment?” Asked Seb, suspicious of anything that sounded even slightly educational. His school, which was incredibly expensive and chosen by his parents, had not thought him capable of much and had passed him out the previous year with a barely adequate grade. Being part of a fairly intellectual set, his parents had been understandably dismayed, and his father had been talking about getting him a job on the janitorial staff at the gallery he ran. If this guy thought that Seb had potential it was maybe worth taking his test.
“We assess everything. Intellectual ability, mental flexibility, physical fitness, the lot. Our clients are a varied bunch who are looking for a whole variety of talented people. Some of their requirements can be quite esoteric. We’re not your average employment agency, if we can’t find a fit for you we won’t just shove you where you don’t belong. No janitors jobs from us.” The agent smiled slyly and Seb’s suspicions were aroused further.
“Did my dad put you up to this?” he asked, frowning. “If he did then I’m not interested, what I want and what my father wants are two different things. He’s spent my entire life trying to shape me into something I’m not and I’m sick of it.”
“Lets just say that you were brought to our attention by an interested party, their request that we assess you is as far as their influence goes. They will have no input into any placement we might make.”
“Can I think about this?” Seb wanted to grill his father about this strange encounter before he made a decision, he wasn’t going to get pressured into something that would make him conform to his father’s idea of who he should be.
“Sure, here’s my card. Give me a call or drop round the office if you have any more questions. I’ll get these.” As the agent stood, he waved his identichip at the terminal on the table, paying for the drinks. Seb raised his mug in thanks and settled down to have a think.
-+-
“You’ve been down at that damn arcade again haven’t you?” were the first words out of his fathers mouth when Seb got home.
“And? What’s it to you?” came the surly reply, more out of habit than any real antagonism. His father sighed.
“I’m not going to rise to that. If you want a fight you’ll have to look elsewhere, I’ve got work to do.”
“Yeah? Well you started it.” Seb retorted, but his heart wasn’t in it. He was still going over the strange encounter at the arcade in his mind, trying to figure out the guy’s angle and whether his father had a hand in it. Dragging the card out of his pocket he threw it onto the low table in front of his father. “You know anything about these guys?”
“What guys?” asked his father, not looking up from his datapad. Seb picked the card back up off the table and dropped it in his fathers eye line.
“That was fast, I wasn’t expecting them to be in touch for a while yet. They must have seen something in you boy.” He handed the card back to Seb. “I hope you don’t mind, I know that you feel you’ve been unfairly pressured by your mother and me to be something you’re not. I got a friend from the gallery to put me in touch with these guys, they’re very good at what they do and can match pretty much anyone with their dream job. Something that they will be good at and that they will enjoy. I know you don’t want to be a janitor, but you don’t really seem to know what you do want. Maybe this’ll help you figure that out.”
“And if its something you don’t agree with?” Seb left the question hanging, he honestly thought he’d have more of a struggle getting anything out of his dad if he’d been involved. This was almost too easy.
“As long as you’re happy and doing right by yourself, that’s fine by me. Your mother might take some talking to but I’ll bring her round.”
“Oh. Right, ok. I think..” Said Seb as he took back the card being held out to him by his father and went up to his room.
He called the agency the next day and made an appointment for later that week.
-+-
Seb sat in the lobby of the agency’s offices waiting for the results of his testing. It had been a hard two days and he was exhausted. He felt like every part of him had been poked and prodded. The tests had ranged from simple mental exercises to gruelling physical ordeals. He’d been scanned and probed, had various bodily fluids drained from him. Every aspect of his being had been subjected to examination, and if he was honest he wanted to hear what the results said.
The agent who had approached him at the arcade entered from the street, saw Seb and came over. “Hey there, decided to give us a shot eh?”
“Heh, yeah and your lot seem to have given me a few in return. I feel like a pincushion and I ache all over. That was some pretty intensive testing.”
“Just wait till you see the results, I’m pretty sure we’ll find something that fits you.”
Just then a technician in light green medical scrubs came in from the deeper recesses of the office. “Mr Duvall? Sebastian?”
Seb stood, wincing slightly and nodded. “Thats me.”
The agent gripped his shoulder. “Good luck kid, and remember if we find you something it will be the best fit for you and your employer, no-one else.”
Seb nodded again “Thanks.”
The technician motioned towards a set of doors on the other side of the room. “This way please Mr. Duvall.”
“Call me Seb, please. Mr Duvall is my father. “ Seb shook hands with the tech and follwed him into his future.
-+-
The next two weeks were a blur as Seb prepared to leave his home, and his planet, for the first time in his life. After the meeting with the technician to discuss his results he’d gone home in a daze. His ideal placement, he’d been told, with a 99.98 percent probability was as a dustbuster. A mercenary soldier who fought under contract to protect the planetary assets of various groups and individuals. Dustbusters were considered the elite of ground troops and as such got access to the best in equipment and technology. This technology extended to a form of cloning and personality transfer similar to that used by the godlike pod pilots. He would technically live forever.
His father had been surprised but supportive, his mother had bawled her eyes out and wondered why her son would want to go off and be a soldier. She calmed down when it was explained to her that her son would not die in the normal sense of the word but was still dismayed that he would, in her eyes, be pursuing a barbaric career.
He spent two weeks distributing his belongings amongst his friends, making his farewells and psyching himself up for a long trip into space. The majority of the next 5 months would be spent in space learning the things that couldn’t be taught planetside. He’d get his Duster’s implants fitted and learn how to jump between clones. He would have to learn not to fear death and was curious as to how they would be teaching that particular skill.
The day came for him to depart. He hugged his parents getting an uncharacteristic squeeze from his father, and a very predictable damp shoulder from his sobbing mother. Promising to write as often as he could he stepped onto the transport to the elevator which would take him to a waiting ship in the heavens above.
-+-
Boot camp was an education. Daily physical exertion and testing that started as soon as the scars from his implant surgery had healed. It was explained to him that they needed his body in the peak of physical fitness in order to get a primary template for his clones. Once he’d reached that peak, his body would basically be copied right down to a molecular level . This required intensive training and a very strict diet. He was reassured that once he was in a clone body he could basically do what he liked to it safe in the knowledge that he had a mint condition spare waiting for him.
During this physical exertion he was also learning a whole slew of knowledge passively via his implants. He surprised himself when he was handed a rifle and was told to strip it, clean it and re-assemble it; and he did, in approximately 3 minutes. He’d never even held a gun before, but he knew almost instinctively what every piece did, where it went and how to repair it if it broke.
It seemed that a lot of the time he was merely teaching his body things his mind already knew. Close combat techniques, infiltration methods, weapon use and maintenance, along with more esoteric and wide ranging subjects were being fed into his brain constantly. Every day it seemed he woke up with some new knowledge.
Three Months into his training, he got a bit of a shock. He’d just finished a taxing session with his close combat instructor, a svelte Intaki woman whose viciousness was hidden quite effectively behind a demure feminine appearance, when he heard the unmistakable click of a pistol being cocked behind him. Twisting the towel in his hands into a short rope, he turned quickly, snapping the towel around his would-be assailant’s wrist and lifting the muzzle ceilingwards. His attacker, who he now saw was masked, brought another pistol around from behind their back. Put the muzzle against his temple and pulled the trigger.
-+-
It was dark. Darker than anything Seb had ever experienced before. He ran over his last memories and remembered being attacked in the locker room and the attacker who had a spare pistol, his last memory was of a deafening bang and the lights going out. There was no pain, which surprised him, but then he remembered that it was highly likely that he was dead even before the bullet pierced his skull. His temporal lobe liquidized by the compression wave.
The darkness was suddenly lit by a bright light, and Seb realised that he’d opened his eyes. He blinked a few time and glanced around. All he could see for the moment was the ceiling of the medical bay, a sight he knew well from his weekly checkups and physio sessions. He tried to get up, but was held in place on the gurney by padded straps.
“Steady there Rookie, let me check you over first. How you feeling?” Said a voice from just out of his view as hands began poking at various pressure points and testing various reflexes.
“A little disoriented, but other than that feel fine. This is a clone isn’t it?”
The straps holding his legs and arms to the gurney were released and he sat up swinging his legs over the side of the trolley “That’s right. We’ve found that the best way to find out if a candidate can handle the transfer is just to do it, without any warning. You seem to have weathered it quite well, I’ve seen people break down as soon as the realise that their old body is dead.”
The medic handed Seb a sweet smelling drink and he downed it in one. “Wow, why am I so thirsty?”
“Well the body you’re in has never had a drink, has it?” Asked the medic, smiling. “Don’t worry about it too much, but don’t go nuts either. It wouldn’t do to overload. You’ll be feeling hungry too, head off to the mess once we’re done here, there’s a meal waiting for you.”
The next half an hour was spent testing various bodily functions, reactions and mental processes. When they were done Seb was starving and was grateful to get to the mess for a hot meal. Once he had sated his seemingly bottomless appetite he went back to his bunk and started on a letter home.
“Well, I died earlier on today. It wasn’t half as bad as I was expecting.” he began.
-+-
He was brought out of his reverie by a thud as the dropship docked with his new platoon’s orbital command vessel. He had 5 months of intensive training under his belt and 5 deaths, but this did nothing to relieve his nervousness as the rear door swung open.
Revealed beyond was a large hangar space filled with the noise and bustle of a busy military installation. Troops jogged past and loading bots hefted supplies and ammunition into dropships. Looming over them all were a series of giant atmospheric command stations, huge airborne fortresses which acted as command stations and resupply co-ordinators during planetside operations.
Grabbing his gear from the empty row of seats across from him and running his hand through his clone length hair, he stepped down from the dropship and took a deep breath of recycled air laced with hints of oil and machinery.
“Rookie!” A voice boomed across the hangar “Front und center! Hup to eet!”
Seb jogged in the direction of the voice and snapped to attention in front of a haggard looking veteran in a grey vest and combat fatigues. “Seb Duvall, reporting for duty sir!” He shouted, snapping off a crisp salute.
The soldier looked him up and down “Gellente hey? Well , I never remember your name. I call you Rookie, yes? Stow stuff in locker, thet wey.” He pointed. “We ship out in 10, you get gear at dropship. End, you see this stripes?” He pointed at his bare arm “Well no you don’t, but will soon. I am sergeant, you not salute, yes?”
“Sarge! Yes.. I mean no! Sarge!” Seb stammered.
The sergeant smiled “Right. You green, but seem ok. I look out for you for now. Bay 13 in 10. Hup to eet!”
Seb ran over to the lockers indicated. Only one was free and had already been marked with the name “Rookie” and a single letter i. He stashed his gear and jacket and was grateful he hadn’t travelled in civvies. Grabbing a tech with a clipboard he asked directions to bay 13 and jogged off in that direction.
As he left the tech shouted after him “Unlucky for some, eh?” Seb gave it no thought as he headed for his first drop.
-+-
He found bay 13 and was greeted once more by the sergeant, this time displaying his stripes on a weathered combat jacket.
“Ah Rookie, there you are. What take you so long? We waiting on you, you hold everyone up.” The sergeant grinned at the rest of the platoon who were already seated in the back of the craft. “Take seat, gear underneath. Weapons in rack on wall. Don’t put helmet on yet, you’ll know when. Go.”
Seb made his way past the rest of the platoon, getting nods and smiles from many and only being tripped twice. “Hey, let up boys, not schoolyard, yes? You were all Rookie once.” Boomed the sergeant from the rear door.
As he sat in the seat furthest from the door, the soldier next to him looked up and offered his hand. “Flashbang, and the dour looking one over there is Bullseye.” Seb took the offered hand and smiled at them both, Bullseye glowered but nodded acknowledgement. “Seb… I mean Rookie. Does the sergeant give everyone their handle?”
“Yes he does.” said the decidedly unhappy looking Amarrian that was Bullseye “His memory for names is fried, took an EMP grenade in the implants.”
Flashbang was a stocky Minmatar whose face was covered in an intricate tribal tattoo and his combat webbing was hung with grenades. He was deftly servicing a heavy launcher on his knee as he chattered amiably to Seb. “Don’t mind Bullseye there, he might be a sour looking fellow but he has the soul of an artist, he does my tattoos you know. Not that they’re really tattoos, hardly worth getting them on these bodies, they generally don’t last. Know what I mean? Well he does them for me before each op, and they’re different every time. An artist I tell you.”
Bullseye rolled his eyes at Seb as the rear door swung closed and the dropship lifted with a jerk from the bay floor. The sergeant appeared at the door to the forward compartment a sheaf of datapads in his hand. Tapping Seb on the shoulder he indicated the gear under the seat. “Gear up Rookie, Don’t let thees blabbery mout deestrect you, yes?” Flashbang grinned, as the sergeant clipped him playfully round the ear.
Looking up at the rest of the platoon he raised his voice. “Right my leetle dustbunnies, this one straight out of tixtbook. We go in, we blow sheet up, we get out. Simples, no?”
-+-
It would seem that my muse is still with me after all. You can see that I plan for my dalliance with her to extend for the next 13 weeks or so. Will she stay till I get this finished? Or will she tire of me and seek a finer scribe to spend her efforts on? As they say on TV: Tune in next week, same bat time, same bat channel.
M out
