I am serialising my dystopian/retro-futuristic sci-fi story here. Here is the seventh chapter, titled “The Cadet”.
All chapters can be found here.
I will be adding a new chapter every Friday (when I don’t forget, sorry!).
Chapter 07 – The Cadet
Sylvia stood in her room, playing the violin, looking at herself in the mirror. The room was small, with a narrow bunk on one side and a desk on the other. The walls were decorated with Milpol propaganda posters.
Sylvia was dressed in black breeches, polished boots, and a white tank top.
She played Mozart beautifully, studying herself with a stern expression. When she finished, she paused. A thin, satisfied smile appeared on her face.
She turned, packed the violin away in its case, donned her Milpol officer cadet tunic, and fastened a belt with a sheathed dagger. She checked her appearance in the mirror and left her room.
She was at the officer’s habitat, where she lived with her parents.
“Good morning, dear,” said her mother, sitting at the kitchen table, sipping coffee, and watching a soap opera on the handheld Kantary infotainment system.
“Good morning, mother,” said Sylvia, taking a seat at the table.
An elderly woman, dressed in a drab smock and wearing a collar with a flashing light, placed a beaker of water on the table.
“Thank you, Edith,” said Sylvia.
The elderly woman nodded her head in a bow, then shuffled back to the work surface where she continued to prepare breakfast.
Sylvia’s mother leaned forward and spoke in a quiet voice.
“I have told you before. You shouldn’t be too kind to the undesirables. It encourages them!”
Sylvia’s eyes lifted to Edith, their housekeeper, plucked from the ghetto to serve her grandfather’s household over 50 years before. The collar she wore was to disable her in the event of disobedience or a public order notice.
Sylvia’s hand swiped the beaker full of water off the table, sending it tumbling to the floor.
Edith turned and saw the beaker and water on the floor with tired, obedient eyes. She took a cloth and kneeled, wiping up the mess.
“Get me another water,” snapped Sylvia, her eyes meeting her mother’s.
“Yes, miss,” said Edith.
“You see, mother, I am not too kind.”
Her mother smiled approvingly, then returned her attention to the screen.
Her father appeared, and Sylvia stood, snapping to attention.
“As you were,” said the captain, taking a seat.
His wife looked at him with oddly. He was wearing prairie camuflage fatigues, not his normal black uniform.
“Good morning, Dear. Good morning, Sylvia,” he said, waiting for Edith with his coffee and breakfast.
“Good morning, Daddy,” said Sylvia, taking a seat.
“Why are you dressed like that?” said his wife.
“All in time, dear,” he said as Edith placed his coffee in front of him, and he took a sip.
Edith gave Sylvia another beaker of water, then served breakfast, which consisted of powdered eggs, crackers, and tinned grapefruit.
They ate in silence until the captain coughed exaggeratedly and then spoke.
“I have a surprise to announce,” he said, sounding self-important.
“What is it, Daddy?” said Sylvia.
He coughed again, for effect.
“I am going to purchase a cat!”
There was silence, except for the sounds Edith made cleaning the kitchen.
Sylvia and her mother stared at the captain, their expressions mirroring each other’s stunned surprise. The captain heaped some egg on a cracker, which he bit off and crunched, looking very proud of himself.
“What does this mean? How?” said his wife, her eyes watery.
The captain leaned forward and spoke in a hushed, conspiratorial voice.
“I am working on a very important assignment. I spoke with the colonel, and he said that if this assignment comes off without a hitch, I am going to be recommended for promotion to major.”
“Oh my!” said his wife, a tear running down her shocked face. The captain grinned and filled his mouth with more egg and cracker.
“What kind of cat?” asked Sylvia, her eyes glistening.
“Edith!” snapped the captain. “Get my case.”
Edith shuffled from the kitchen.
“Oh, darling,” said the captain’s wife, wiping her tears from her eyes, now looking at her husband with a glowing admiration. “I am so proud of you!”
She placed a hand tenderly on his arm.
Edith returned, and the captain retrieved the brochure, opening it to the felines section.
“Russian blue,” he said, as Sylvia and his wife cooed. “Genetically modified for improved hardiness and longevity.”
“Oh, Daddy, I am so proud of you!” said Sylvia, kissing his cheek.
“As soon as the assignment is finished, the colonel will put the paperwork in for my promotion to Major. I will probably be stationed at the spaceport,” he continued with a breezy air. “When confirmed, I will requisition the permit and place the order.”
“A Major!” his wife said, looking smug. “We will have a bigger unit. And another servant. And we can enter the cat in the pet competition at the Officers’ Club!”
She sipped her coffee, imagining all of the new social circles she could operate within as the wife of a Major and the owner of a pet. She imagined the envious eyes of her friends who were married to only a captain or a lieutenant, and who didn’t have a pet.
“What is the assignment, Daddy?” asked Sylvia, her voice distracted.
She was still staring at the photo of the genetically engineered feline, running her fingers over the image.
For some reason she didn’t quite understand, she suddenly found herself excited, wondering what the cat would look like skinned. Her cheeks blushed
“Top secret, my dear,” he said, tapping the side of his nose.
“Is the assignment why you are wearing fatigues, darling?” said his wife.
“No, I have another surprise!”
Sylvia clapped her hands together excitedly.
“What is it, Daddy? What could be better than getting a cat?”
“I am taking you hunting today. As a reward for graduating top of your class and getting into the academy,” he said, and Sylvia squealed in delight.
She leapt up and hugged him.
“But…” he added. “I want to make sure I am not distracting you from your studies before you head to the academy.”
“You aren’t. Ask me anything. Please, Daddy, I really, really want to go hunting!”
He sipped his coffee and thought for a moment, then spoke.
“What is the first operational Milpol doctrine?”
Sylvia snapped to attention, staring forward.
“The first operational doctrine is absolute obedience to command, for only through obedience can Milpol uphold the rule of law,” she stated verbatim from the Milpol operational handbook.
“And what is the first operational command for a Milpol officer?”
“The first operational command is to ensure the rule of law is applied, swiftly and without exception,” replied Sylvia.
“And who is Milpol subordinate to?”
“Milpol is subordinate to the Terra Space Directorate Military High Command.”
“And how is the Terra Space Directorate Military High Command organised?”
“The Terra Space Directorate Military High Command is organised as follows: Expeditionary force tasked with the colonisation and pacification of new planets; Military Police tasked with providing security for Terra Space Directorate interests on colonised planets; Security police tasked with providing security and counter intelligence services for Terra Space Directorate; And the guards division, tasked with providing close personal protection and facility security.”
The captain smiled and sipped his coffee.
“Get changed, cadet,” he said, and Sylvia hurried from the room.
* * *
The copter flew low across the grassy landscape. It came into land where the captain and Sylvia alighted, and a speeder was unloaded from the cargo hold.
Both the captain and Sylvia were dressed in prairie camouflage, with long rifles slung over their shoulders.
When the speeder was ready, the captain told the pilot to wait for them while they headed out to the hunting ground. They climbed onto the speeder and then shot off.
After travelling for about 20 minutes, they stopped and dismounted. The captain lit a cigar, and they wandered together up to a ridgeline.
“What is it like, Daddy?” said Sylvia as they walked.
“The academy?” he said.
“No, the ghetto.”
The captain puffed his cigar and considered this.
“It is a sewer,” he finally said. “You shall be educated more on this when you are at the academy, but the short answer is, it is a sewer.”
“Why?”
They arrived at the crest of the hill, and before them was yellow grassland as far as the eye could see, but scattered with humps of dirt. Sylvia extended the bipod of her rifle, laid it on the ground, and attached a scope.
The captain laid his rifle down and set up a sighting scope. The pair of them lay down, turning their caps to the rear.
The captain peered through the scope, making adjustments to dials on the side.
“Many years ago, the worst people from across the galaxy were rounded up, and they were brought here in hibernation.”
He moved the scope laterally across the horizon.
“Wind speed 18 clicks from the north to south,” he said.
“Copy,” said Sylvia, now looking through her scope, getting herself comfortable with the rifle in her shoulder. She adjusted a dial on the side of the scope.
“What was I saying?” said the captain.
“The worst people across the galaxy were brought here in hibernation.”
“Oh yes, the worst people across the galaxy were brought here in hibernation. Now, these were truly the worst people: murderers and villains and people with dangerous ideologies, and genetic abnormalities.
“These people were given a second chance here on this planet to have a life working in the quarry. The people who live in the ghetto now are the descendants of those truly worst people. And over the years, the place stewed and rotted, as scum bred with scum, turning it into the sewer it is today…Target sighted. 1,200 meters, 1 o’clock.”
They fell silent. Sylvia looked through her scope until she saw it—a large isopod animal, like a giant woodlouse, that had emerged from its underground burrow. A red dot appeared on the side of the animal.
“Target acquired,” she said.
She adjusted a dial on the scope, pulled the rifle tighter to her body, clicked the safety off, exhaled, then fired.
A blue bolt of light shot across the grass, striking the isopod that exploded.
“Nice shot,” said the captain, looking through the scope and puffing his cigar.
Sylvia smiled and clicked the safety on.
“Have you met the people who live in the ghetto?” she asked.
The captain chuckled.
“I am a section security head for the ghetto, Sylvia. I have interrogated many, many of these people.”
“But what are they like?”
The captain puffed his cigar, staring through the scope.
“They are scum, Sylvia,” he said. “Milpol’s job here is to provide security for Gravitite extraction by eliminating disruption of Kantary operations and suppressing social disorder.
“We are not a moral police force. Left to their own devices, the inhabitants of the ghetto have turned it into a den of iniquity.”
“Target sighted. 10 o’clock,” said Sylvia.
The captain turned the scope.
“Good eyes, cadet. Wind speed 16 clicks from north to south. 1,180 meters.”
Sylvia adjusted the dial on the side of the scope, and a red dot appeared on the side of the bug. She clicked the safety off and fired. A bolt flew across the grass and struck the bug, exploding it.
“Two for two,” said the captain. “Impressive.”
Sylvia clicked the safety on.
“At the academy, they will give you the full indoctrination, but trust me, as someone who knows intimately about these people, everyone who lives in the ghetto is scum, and the only thing keeping them in is plaswire and Milpol.”
“Have you ever killed one of them?” said Sylvia suddenly.
The captain looked uncomfortable for a moment, puffing his cigar, then spoke.
“A few,” he said.
“Tell me about it,” demanded Sylvia.
“When I was younger, I worked out at the quarry supervising the security detail. Mostly, it was escapees who fled the quarry out onto the prairies. The prairies are off-limits without a permit. That’s where I became a bit of a sharpshooter. Also, to stop an attack on Kantary staff or sabotage of company equipment.”
“Target!” said Sylvia. “12 o’clock.”
She didn’t wait for her father to give her the wind speed or distance. She clicked the safety off and fired, exploding the bug.
“If they ever try to get out, Sylvia,” said the captain, puffing his cigar. “It will be our job to take them down…like those bugs out on the prairie.”
Sylvia looked through the scope, watching the twitching remains of the isopod. “Like bugs,” she whispered and smiled.