Ian Douglas - The Complete Legacy Trilogy - Star Corps, Battlespace, Star Marines

“Sir, yes, sir!” was the response, somewhat ragged and quavering.

“No! No! No!” Sewicki’s eyes bulged, his face reddened, and for an instant John wondered if the man was going to have a stroke. “ What do you people think this is, the goddamn Army? When I ask if you understand me, when I give you an order, the correct and proper response is, ‘Sir, aye aye, sir!’ Do you understand me?”

“Sir, aye aye, sir!”

“‘Aye, aye’ means ‘ I understand and I will obey!’ Do you understand me?”

“Sir, aye aye, sir!”

“What? I can’t hear you!”

“Sir, aye aye, sir!”

“Again! Louder!”

“Sir, aye aye, sir!”

He cupped a hand to his ear. “What?”

“Sir, aye aye, sir!”

“You!” He spun suddenly, face and forefinger inches from the face of a terrified recruit three men to John’s right. “What is your name?”

“Sir! H-Hollingwood, sir!”

“Hollywood! What kind of a name is that?”

“Sir—”

“Let me see your war face!”

“S-Sir! Aye … what?”

“Let me see your goddamn war face! Do you know how to make a war face? This is a war face! Arrrr! Now you do it!”

With his eyes rigidly front, John could only imagine what was going on, but he heard the recruit give a terrified yelp.

“That is pathetic! You do not frighten me, Hollywood! Hit the deck! Ten push-ups!”

The recruit dropped.

“ On your goddamn feet, Hollywood! What did I just tell you?”

“Sir, I—”

“ When I give you an order, you will respond with ‘Sir, aye aye, sir!’ Do you understand me?”

“Sir, aye aye, sir!”

“What was that? I can’t hear you!”

“Sir, aye aye, sir!”

“Now hit the deck and give me twenty push-ups!”

“Sir, aye aye, sir!”

As the recruit began grunting through his push-ups, attended closely by the other sergeant who was shouting out the cadence, Sewicki continued his prowl in front down the ranks.

“I am an easy man to get along with. All you need to do to get along with me is to obey my commands instantly, without hesitation, without argument, do you understand me?”

“Sir, aye aye, sir!” the ranks chorused.

“You!” Sewicki moved so fast he appeared to dematerialize, rematerializing in front of a recruit in the front rank four to John’s left, face glowering, finger pointing. “What’s your name?”

“Sir! Garvey! Sir!”

“Gravy, is that gum you have in your mouth?”

“Uh, sir, I mean, it’s—”

“Is that or is that not gum you have in your maggot mouth?”

“It’s—It’s counterhum, sir.”

“Remove it.”

Garvey spat the offending wad into his hand.

“Place it on your nose.”

“S-Sir …?”

“On your nose, recruit.”

“Sir! Aye aye, sir!”

“And it had better stay there until I tell you to get rid of it!” He spun, addressing them all. “As for the rest of you, we are going to march—or perform the best simulation of a march that you yahoos are capable of performing—into that building behind you, and there you will deposit in a bin that we will provide any and all contraband you may have on your persons, including guns, knives, weapons of any kind, cigs, lighters, candy, food, soda, liquids of any type, gum, stims, all drugs including analgesics, mem boosters, and sleepers, nano dispensers of any kind including hummers and joggers, game players, personal communications and recording devices, personal entertainment systems, neural plug-ins, pornographic material of all types—including naked holopics of your girlfriends, boyfriends, and/or parents— do you understand me?”

“Sir! Aye aye, sir!”

“I don’t care what you used, smoked, tapped, smacked, licked, drank, charged, plugged, or popped back in the World. You people with electronic enhancements will be losing them tomorrow. While you are in my Corps and on my island, you will be clean. ”

John blinked. He couldn’t mean all electronics, could he?

Sergeant Sewicki’s face suddenly filled his vision, glowering down at him, a mask of red fury. “ You! What’s your name?”

“Sir! Garroway! Sir!”

Sewicki’s war face softened a bit with surprise … but only a bit. “That name has a special meaning around here, recruit,” he growled. “You big enough to carry it?”

“Sir, I hope so, sir.”

“There’s no hope for you here, recruit. And in the future, you will not refer to yourself as ‘I’ or ‘me’ or ‘my.’ You will refer to yourself as ‘this recruit.’ Now, do you know who Sands of Mars Garroway was?”

“Sir, he was one of my … uh, one of this recruit’s ancestors, sir.”

Sewicki’s eyes glazed over for a moment, as though he was studying something within, an implant download, perhaps. “Says here on my roll that your name is Esteban.”

So the bit with Sewicki demanding the names of individual recruits had been simple theater.

“Sir, I had—”

“What did you say?”

“Uh, sir, I—”

“You are not an I ! None of you maggots rates an I! The only first person on this deck is me! The only time you maggots say the word ‘I’ is when you declare that you understand and will obey an order, and you will do so by saying ‘aye aye’! Do you understand me?”

“Sir! Aye aye, sir!”

“ Every time you wish to refer to yourselves, you will do so in the third person! You will say ‘this recruit’ and you will not say the word ‘I’! When you refer to yourselves, you will do so as ‘recruit,’ followed by your last name. Do I make myself clear?”

“Sir, aye aye, sir!”

“Jesus, Quan Yin, and Buddha , are you that stupid , maggot? You say ‘aye aye’ when you understand and will obey an order! If I ask a question requiring of you a simple yes or no answer, you will reply with the appropriate yes or no! Do you understand?”

“Uh … Sir, yes, sir!”

“What was that? I heard some static in your reply!”

“Sir! Yes, sir!”

“Now, what is it you had to say to me?”

John had to grope for what it was Sewicki had originally asked him. Exhaustion and disorientation were beginning to take their toll, and his mind was fuzzy.

“Sir! This recruit had a naming last week. I … uh … this recruit took his mother’s name. Sir.”

“You’re a little old for that, aren’t you, son?”

Save for the members of a handful of conservative religious groups, women rarely took the names of the men they married anymore, which meant that a person’s last name was now a matter of conscious choice. Throughout most of western culture, for at least the past fifty years, boys took their father’s last name, girls their mother’s, until about the age of fourteen, when the child formally chose which name he or she would carry into adulthood. John originally had his naming ceremony on his fourteenth birthday at his father’s church in Guaymas.

There was nothing in the rules, though, that said he couldn’t have a second naming and change his last name from Esteban to Garroway. He’d gone to a notary in San Diego with his mother as soon as they’d left Sonora, paid the twenty-newdollar fee, and thumbed the e-file records to make it official. He would never be John Esteban again.