I wake up slowly. The bed under me is soft. It's Janus's. I reach over to her, but she's gone. I open my eyes. The walls are covered with pictures of the war. Stories. Reports. Graphs. I might have learned a lot just by sleeping beneath them. Not that we slept a lot. We didn't even make ramen in the end.
I smell bacon. My stomach rumbles.
Janus walks in with a plate of eggs and bacon. She's already dressed.
I frown. "Last night was—"
"It's nearly eight. When's your appointment?" she asks, passing me the plate.
"Shit!"
I leap from the bed as if I've been hit by electricity. Bacon goes flying everywhere. I'm going to be late. I get dressed in a rush. Janus wipes the bacon off the bed.
I lean in to kiss her before I go. She turns her face so I can only kiss her cheek.
"Good luck!" she calls after me.
I jump into a transport pod and order it to take me to the recruitment center downtown. I pull my card out. The numbers flash red. Seven minutes left. The trip takes up five. The pod doors open, and I race down the street. I pass a few holograms and real people walking side by side. They must think I'm mad. I run until my lungs burn. I see the recruitment center and manage a final sprint. Sam is waiting for me, my luggage beside him. He hugs me tightly.
"I wasn't going to let you go without a final farewell," he says.
I smile, glad he's here.
"Now go!" he says.
I enter the recruitment center. My luggage rolls itself after me. The center is a large, airy room filled with holocasters. Some show aerial images of the aftermath of the Ouranos's attacks, others are portraits of survivors and refugees. They're stark, horrifying reminders of our vulnerability. I walk past. I've seen it all before. Everyone has.
There are five sign-in desks in the room. A human sits behind each one. I walk to the nearest and sit. The recruiter is a bald man. Skinny, tall, disinterested. He doesn't look up but waves to the iris scanner on the desk. I place my eye in front of it. It flickers once. My details appear on the recruiter's holocaster.
"You're late," the recruiter says.
He still doesn't look up. The moment stretches out, each second impossibly long. I dare not breathe. I'm only a minute or two late. Will he hold that against me?
"Joining instructions," he says at last.
I breathe again, hand him my instructions.
"Qualifications."
I pass him details of my degree in health analytics. A university education is compulsory for people living in my city. Health analytics was the most challenging course I could get into. I thought it would help my application. The recruiter checks it, hands it back. This is all a formality, of course; they already have every document and detail about my life from when I first applied.
We progress to the next stage. My contract appears on the holocaster. I've read it before, many times. This time it matters. The recruiter clears his throat.
"I will now read your contract. Say 'I understand' in a clear voice to confirm you understand each section. A verbal agreement is binding. You're free to ask questions or cancel your application at any point," the recruiter says. "Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"Say 'I understand' in a clear voice to confirm you—"
"Oh! I understand."
"Page one. You are applying for a combat posting in the Interstellar Infantry. There are no non‑combat positions in the infantry."
"I understand."
"Initial testing will take place off world. This will take three months of subjective Earth time. At any time during this testing, either you or your training supervisors may terminate your contract. If this occurs, you will be returned to Earth at the end of the three months."
"I understand."
"If you pass the training, your term of service will be four subjective Earth years. After this time, you will be returned to Earth."
"I understand."
"Page two. Approximately zero point three percent of soldiers do not survive their combat terms."
"I understand."
"Page three of the contract shows pay rates by level. Page four of the contract shows bonuses granted on re joining at the end of your contract, by level. You may examine it now. When you want to proceed, say 'I understand'."
I'm familiar with the rates of pay. They aren't what I'm here for.
"I understand."
We continue like this for a while. The recruiter speaks in a bored monotone as if he's given this exact speech a thousand times before. Maybe he has. I don't interrupt. I have no questions.
"Final page. A requirement of service is sharing your combat body with an artificial semi intelligence."
This wasn't in the initial contract.
"What's a semi intelligence?" I ask.
"I'm not authorized to tell you that. Accepting this condition is a requirement to continue. Do you understand and wish to continue?"
"Yes. I mean, I understand."
"Good. Sign here. Fingerprint here. Do you have any luggage?" the agent asks.
"Yes, I have—"
"It will have to stay on Earth."
"Oh, but my joining instructions said—"
"I'm telling you something different. Is that a problem?"
I glance at my bags. They're full of trinkets and mementos. Things to remember Earth by. Nothing I need. The recruiter finally looks up from his desk to stare at me. He has bright blue eyes. He says nothing.
"No problem," I say.
He stands, motions for me to follow. He takes me to a tiny change room. The only thing in it is a box.
"Your uniform is in the box. Once that's on, put everything you brought with you in the box. I'll be waiting outside."
The box contains a white shirt, white pants, and a pair of white slippers. The name 'Troy' is written on every piece of clothing. I don't take long to change. I step outside, and the recruiter takes the box from me. We walk through a doorway scanner. It beeps once. He nods in approval.
"A lot of people try to sneak personal belongings through," he explains.
We enter a transfer lounge. I recognize it from photos. It looks like a hospital ward, except the beds are in pairs, head to head. One bed of each pair holds a bulky blue combat body. Type Ones. "Golems", the soldiers call them. They don't have arms or legs. Just heads and trunks, both strapped to the beds. A technician in a pale gray jumpsuit is waiting for me. She nods at the recruiter. He takes a seat in the corner of the ward and waits.
"I'm Corporal Charon, your current supervisor," the technician says.
"Pleased to meet you, I'm—"
"A recruit. That's all I care to know. Welcome to the bodyworks. Lie on the bed."
I lie down. I make fists with my hands. My heartbeat is booming in my ears. The head of the bed is dominated by a large, domed device. It doesn't look too different from the scanners I've seen at hospitals. Makes sense. We bought a lot of technology from the Avari.
"What's a bodyworks?" I ask.
"Transfer lounge. Now be quiet."
Charon takes her time fitting the dome to my head. It's cold on my skin.
"Can we hurry this up?" the recruiter calls out.
Corporal Charon ignores him.
"I don't think he likes me," I say.
"Don't worry about him, he's only a civilian. It's time for the transfer. We need to know if your mindstate can be stored and transferred. Ninety three percent of people are fine. Those who aren't don't leave Earth. The only way to know is to send you down the tube."
"The tube?"
"I mean make the transfer. We call it sending people down the tube."
The technician uses thick straps attached to the bed to hold my body in place. She pulls them so tight I can't move. I really want to move. The scanner squeezes my head. I have a sudden fear it will keep closing in on me, that it will crush my skull. It begins to hum.
"Will this hurt?" I ask.
"Like being slapped by God. Here we go!"
Fire fills my skull. My body convulses against the straps. A loud buzzing assaults my ears, resonating through my head. Painful. This can't be right. I must have failed. I'll have to stay on Earth …
My mind reels. I close my eyes, and when I open them, I've moved. My vision is sharper, clearer. Inhumanly good. Charon is bending over another body. My human body.
I have a sudden feeling of vertigo.
I'm in the combat body.
Corporal Charon turns to me.
"Good, you made the transfer."
Intense relief floods through me. Too soon.
"We're going to kill you now," the technician says. "To see if you can take it. If you can, we'll knock you out and ship you off today."
"Wait, what—"
There's sharp pain on the side of my neck.
Earth fades away.