The Cadet (LitRPG. Squadcom-13. Book:1), Page 2

  But he merely waved his hand, “They’ll grow back! And don’t look so surprised; it’s what you were after. Anyway, option number two; you agree to a series of medical experiments aiming to study the alien phenomenon. Don’t worry, they’re not deadly, at least not for your new body.”

  I frowned; that didn’t sound too inspiring. And neither did 20 years of military service. No, my dream was to enroll in the air force, to become a military pilot, and to cleave the skies in a fifth-generation fighter jet. But there was no way they would let me do that. They would make me some kind of diversionist, or a rescuer capable of surviving in a reactor core for 15 minutes. Scary stuff…

  “And the third option,” the investigator gave me a carnivorous smile, making me feel sick in the stomach, “the main prize, the time you have earned in a special zone. I will say this now; it will not save you from the medical experiments. I don’t need a crystal ball to tell you that within the first month, you will get tuberculosis. By the time you recover from it, you will have breathed in too much mercury fumes, or whatever the second most popular substance among our scientists is.”

  “This is illegal,” I breathed hopelessly.

  The investigator's attitude instantly changed. Sharply leaning in, he hissed right into my face, “You should’ve thought about that before you broke the law and told your Motherland to go fuck herself! Think using a crystal once is okay? Do you have any idea what kind of people are currently dying without this magic artifact? You’re not worth their pinkie! The info on what they’ve done for their country will have to stay hidden in the secret archives for the next half a century!”

  I took offense, obstinately gritting my teeth. I wasn’t sure about the distinguished seniors, but that mutilated girl back on the roof most certainly deserved to be happy.

  The investigator looked me in the eyes intently, then softened a little, “I realize that you’re a decent fellow. You’re a former athlete and geologist, and you have my respect for that. You don’t smoke, you’re smart, you’ve been working on your aviation academy application. That’s exactly why I’m the one talking to you right now. Believe me, this night will spawn several legends about the murderous KGB. The highest authorities have authorized a zero-tolerance policy for those who hide alien artifacts or keep them for private use. You would have been better off trying to sell it; at least that way, we would’ve caught you immediately.”

  I sighed heavily, then asked without much hope, “Will my personal career preferences be considered at all?”

  He winked at me cheerfully, “Of course they will, of course! We’ll consider everything down to your teen sex fantasies. Have no fear, young man! We’ll send you on a space mission if you want.”

  A damn oracle, he was. Who could have known back then that I would fly to space a lot sooner than the mighty bureau had predicted?

  Chapter Two

  Bang! Bang!

  I heard two simultaneous shots and the sounds of bullets ripping through flesh.

  A déjà vu? I wondered, stirring sluggishly as I tried to regain control of my body. I felt like I lay in a boxing ring after a heavy knock-out punch. My numb limbs would not obey. All I could do was toss my head.

  Dear God, please, not this! raced through my mind. Am I paralyzed again? I knew I could not go through that hell again; I would bite my tongue off like a samurai and bleed to death, swallowing my own blood so that my enemies would not notice my suicide attempt.

  Hmm, enemies? What’s this hustle and bustle around me?

  Someone roughly turned me over, pulling me out of some narrow space filled with sharp corners and blocks of heated electronic equipment. Then, they easily took me by the arms, dragged me for about 30 feet, and threw me on the cold floor. Their steel grip left me hurting. The pain increased when my lips smashed on the floor. This cleared my mind a bit.

  Sniffling, I drew air into my lungs. Whatever this place was, it smelled of ozone, slaughterhouse, and fresh blood. The ringing in my ears ceased, allowing to me to hear what was going on around me; the droning and trembling of various mechanisms, the weary sighing of pneumatic machinery, and the strained puffing of servo drives. I also discerned the echo of multiple footsteps; some were heavy, making the floor shake, others were light, audible only thanks to their rustling.

  A beautiful female voice spoke monotonously somewhere far away: “Loot number 13-733. Female, biological age – 57. Low reproductive value. Combat potential – 11 points. Genome rarity is questionable as there are multiple faults in the DNA chains.”

  A commander's voice easily drowned her out. It was a steel female voice reminiscent of the low rumble of a sleeping volcano, “Junk! Disassemble and to the bioreactor!”

  Bang-bang! came the sound of an unknown firearm again.

  I heard the rustling of feet again, this time closer.

  “Loot number 13-734. Male, biological age – 74. No reproductive value. Genome purity – 91 percent. Combat potential – 5 points.”

  “Trash! To the reactor!”

  An old male voice replied: “Wait! I’m a valuable specialist, I’m skilled in—”

  Bang-bang! the gunfire cut him off mid-sentence.

  The beautiful voice confirmed, “Long-term memory and muscle operation dumps have been extracted from all delivered sentients. Uniqueness of knowledge – one to the negative fourteenth.”

  “An old liar,” the commander woman stated with pleasure.

  The footsteps drew closer.

  I made every effort to fight paralysis. I did not want to die like this – a flaccid corpse, face-down in a pool of my own blood. My father, who had been a follower of General Margelov to his dying day, taught me: “If you fall, keep fighting on your knees.”

  Oddly enough, my legs responded first. My real legs, made of flesh and blood; I could easily distinguish the sensation of numb muscles from the sluggish reaction of an optical fiber. Had the damn artifact actually made my legs grow back?

  I could not remember anything. With an effort, I rolled over onto my side, brought my knees to my stomach, and froze in the in the posture of an embryo for a minute. Endorphins and serotonin pulsed through my veins, clashing with cortisol and adrenaline. The happiness over my newly acquired health conflicted with the uneasiness of the situation.

  My sense of danger became more and more overwhelming as the heavy footsteps drew closer. Get up, I must get up!

  “Loot number 13-735. Male, biological age – 34, peak reproductive value. Genome purity – 98.4 percent. Combat potential – 29 points.”

  “Finally, something of value. We’ve received a truly pathetic batch this time. No wonder, it’s the thirteenth one. Complete crap, just like this whole idiotic time experiment… Put him in the pilot group! And give him no quarter! He's a hairy one, with a big dick. The gals in the training unit will be happy. Did you double-check the apparatus settings? Are you absolutely certain that we did not send a dozen leather punches to the australopithecines?”

  “Hey, gorgeous, why hurt me, huh? I can get up myself.”

  “Shut up, cannon fodder!”

  Bang-bang! the unknown gun fired again, and something heavy fell on the floor.

  I finally managed to open my eyes. My heart was racing, pumping blood through my veins insanely fast. Everything swam before my eyes. My mucous membranes had dried out, and I had to blink like a shell-shocked gunman.

  My head was facing the right way, and I was able to make out the eccentric group as it slowly passed by, continuing their strange conversation.

  It consisted of a young female lab assistant in a scanty nurse uniform like in pornos. She was missing the right half of her skull, and had an intricate metal design in its place. It could have been an ornament, or some device, or some fancy interfaces. She had a vacant gaze. Her plump lips kept moving as she monotonously read something visible to her alone.

  The other was a gigantic female warrior with hypertrophied proportions. She was clad in a futuristic-looking exoskeleton-like-armor w
hich made her 6-foot-something frame truly intimidating. Her armor was dotted with external weapon modules; a double barrel on her back and a tiny satellite spinning around her head. The latter resembled a miniature Death Star. It all looked very impressive and dangerous.

  There were two female bodyguards accompanying her. They wore black spacesuits with reflective surfaces. Their helmets were open, revealing somewhat coarse yet feminine faces. They held odd-looking weapons; unknown short-barreled machine guns with active force fields and covered with a multitude of devices.

  Overall, the entire interior looked like a sci-fi movie set. There were tight rows of sleek capsules everywhere. The people bustling around the equipment were opening these capsules one by one, extracting helpless earthmen from within. I saw big guys also clad in exoskeleton armor unceremoniously dragging the humans away to be sorted. They tossed the sluggishly stirring bodies in a giant line on the floor.

  The fatal four walked along that line, passing and executing sentences:

  “Deformation of identity during transfer.”

  Bang-bang!

  “Male, ideal genome, mutation of sexual orientation, atrophied reproductive functions. Ha, just like our aristo boys!”

  “Compulsory hormonotherapy course, then to the milking. Once the resources are all used up – to the bioreactor. Next!”

  Automated carts moved to and fro, transporting the corpses and the few lucky survivors. A disk-shaped vacuum cleaner greedily slurped up the blood, clearly glad to get its fill of free organic matter.

  Get up… I must get up…

  Pain twisted my limbs as my nerve endings slowly returned to action, recovering from shock and sending loads of signals to my brain. God, it hurt so much.

  I was very familiar with phantom limb pain from personal experience; my missing legs had often itched and ached. Yet now, I was going through all sorts of awful sensations in my newly grown knees and feet, from the Spanish boot experience to the feeling that someone was driving needles underneath my toenails.

  A nearly inaudible groan came from nearby. It instantly jogged my memory; the dirty roof, the slender figure on the wet concrete, and the huge drunk guy mercilessly stomping on it.

  I looked to the side. A gorgeous girl lay at an arm’s length distance from me. She was biting her lip so hard that blood stood out on it, convulsions shaking her. She was naked like the rest of us, but there was no room for erotic feelings; in the face of death by gunfire, everyone was sexless, and womanizers did not exist.

  The girl was arching her back, but swiftly touched her face, finding no traces of the familiar chemical burn scars.

  “Lina?” I asked hoarsely, as if my vocal cords had atrophied after a thousand years of silence.

  She opened her long lashes glistening with teardrops, and I looked into her eyes clouded with pain.

  There was a whole world in her gaze, evoking a poem in my memory, Oh, depth, I am not yours…

  She squinted, and her chapped lips moved, “Paul?”

  I smiled the best I could, She recognized me! Judging by the puddle of blood growing beneath my face, I was not an attractive sight. But I tried to look as reassuring as I could.

  “Yes, it’s me,” I replied. “How are you feeling?”

  Lina closed her eyes for a second, then wet her dry lips, “Pretty bad… But my face is restored. Pure magic! Where are we?”

  I was slowly regaining myself and started acting all macho. I could no longer ignore her full, firm breasts. And that cheerful tattoo of hers in such an interesting spot…

  “You look great!” I said. “The artifact clearly did you good!”

  The girl glanced down at her body, then brought her perfect knees up to her stomach with difficulty, and snapped with irritation: “Men! You only want one thing. I hate you creatures!”

  Anger gave her strength; Lina swiftly rolled over onto her other side, and I got a good view of the curves of her waist and her velvety neck.

  I must have bumped a really big skeleton in her closet. Who would burn the face of such a pretty girl and whatever for? And why does she hate the opposite sex so much?

  Clearly, someone had broken this girl’s psyche, and now, some guy was in for a surprise; he would discover a practitioner of punitive psychiatry beneath the looks of Ms. Fitness.

  The footsteps drew closer. The floor trembled beneath that mastodon of a woman. Her armor must have weighed over 200 pounds. I could hear the steel clanging on the concrete. The measured, dominant stride signaled for everyone to fear and tremble at the approach of the alpha female.

  I wheezed as I forced myself to move. If a girl can do it, so can I! My joints creaked as I tried to bring my chaotic neural impulses under control; I had always trained hard and had a strong willpower because of it. Slowly, one inch at a time, I turned over onto my stomach. I tucked my legs up to my chest and straightened my back. I’m sitting! I was half-blind because of the burning pain in my spine, but still, I managed to sit up.

  The stern voice kept stating verdicts nearby, “Satisfactory. To the Zed group, heavy infantry! Additional mark – class B donor… To the furnace! Total crap!”

  Bang-bang!

  “Rotten meat! How did these old farts manage to get their hands on the precious carbon crystals? According to our calculations, the strongest members of the species should have acquired the crystals. A gross error in choosing a chronoflow. The species is too well-developed; social status means more than individual strength in their time. To the bioreactor!”

  Bang-bang!

  “It would be a shame to lose this one on the second flight. A bear of a man! Put him in the Lupanar for the tribe’s enjoyment. Let the free townswomen have fun with this elite man meat.”

  Clap-clap!

  “Hmm, a double dose of drugs, yet he’s still moving!”

  Clap!

  “Conveniently satisfactory. To heavy infantry!”

  Clap-clap!

  I tensed up. As something stirred on the outskirts of my consciousness, I realized with surprise that the storm of emotions swirling around inside of me wasn’t even mine. My inner compass pointed to Lina.

  Somehow, I knew where she was and what she was feeling: pain coursing through her body and willingness to fight to the end, to dig her fingernails into the enemies’ flesh. There was also a little bit of happiness and a trace of the universal melancholy; her newly acquired vision pumped her veins full of hormones, and her dead mask of scars was gone. She thirsted for life.

  I shuddered. Even twins did not have such a connection. My soul was filled with the sensation of something awfully familiar and intimate. I felt as if I was a part of an ideal couple. The man is like a vessel which the woman fills with herself. The vessel’s exterior is the notorious stone walls that shield the other half from trouble. Within these walls is the fluffy, purring kitten who grants happiness and comfort.

  To protect what was my own, I would tear anyone apart with my bare hands: a tank, or a pseudo-woman in a cocoon of steel armor.

  My legs straightened, and I stood up to my full height. I felt goosebumps as the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. My upper lip reflexively lifted up to reveal my non-existent fangs. My cramping muscles twitched as if I were on stage at a bodybuilding show. The alien artifact had not only fixed my body, but helped it achieve an ideal state. All my fat had been melted off, revealing washboard abs and huge pectoral muscles which safely shielded the vulnerable heart.

  The four masters of destinies stopped in front of Lina. The leader stole an approving, greasy glance at me, but still continued to examine the humans in order.

  The scantily-clad lab girl focused her gaze on some invisible interfaces again and started reading the data: “Loot number 13-776. Female, biological age – 22. Peak reproductive value. Genome purity – 99.9 percent. Combat potential – wow! – 40 points. Plenty enough to independently enroll in the colonial army, and with adequate preparation, she could win a seat in the Imperial Planetary!”

  Th
e leader woman pensively shifted her weight from toes to heels. The concrete creaked beneath her steel soles which crushed it like a tank chain. “And where can we put a pretty girl like you? In the infantry? Or in the breeding unit? You can bear boys for us every seven months since your genome hasn’t gotten ruined by chemical weapons, damn them to hell!”

  Seeing how I flared my nostrils in rage, she smiled understandingly and announced vindictively, “Put her in the Incubator, for the whole tribe.”

  Lina and I charged at the same time. We did not have to think to synchronize our motions; we felt each other like Siamese twins. Lina dealt a blow to the throat of the nearest bodyguard with her left hand while seizing the gun in the bodyguard’s open holster with her right.

  I went for the leader. Dealing a shattering right hook in the jaw, I rammed my shoulder into her, hoping to knock the mastodon off her feet.

  Our plan proved pathetic, its realization comical at best.

  Lina got hit with a soundless paralyzing beam in midair. Instead of pouncing on the adversary, she fell on the floor like a tiny doubled up carcass, her eyes blazing with hatred.

  The giantess caught my fist in her palm and crushed it, breaking my fingers. She didn’t bother to block my other blow. A force field appeared in front of her face for a second, and my fist bounced off it. My hand went numb with pain, my knuckles warping and twisting as if I had just punched a tank tower.

  The leader seized me by the throat with her free hand and lifted me off the floor, appraising me as if I were a pure-bred birthday present kitten. Then, she whispered tenderly, “You’re a vicious one, 13-777. Like to show his claws. I’ll call you Lucky! Julia Minor, read the cover page.”

  The lab girl nodded, savagely flaring her nostrils as she was forced to tear her hungry gaze away from my manhood, and stared into space again as she read, “Loot number 13-777. Male, biological age – 24, peak reproductive value with an extra bonus due to prolonged sexual continence. Genome purity – 99,7 percent. Combat potential – 62 points! Tactical AI recommends putting him in the pilot squad.”