Post by Growly on Jan 7, 2008 9:47:24 GMT -5
Someone expressed an interest in another thread about reading some of my IZ fanfiction, so here's a bit of it.
---
*The Little Things*
(A TTBU Companion Story)
Author's Note: This is set slightly before the events of "The Things
Between Us" and overlaps TTBU in later chapters.
*Prologue: Advisor*
-A week after Operation Impending Doom I-
"What do you have to say for yourself, soldier?" The Tallest's voice
rang out through the chamber, making the shorter Irken standing before
the dais cringe slightly. He was still a mess, even after a week of
recoup time. One antenna hung limply down the side of his face, and
the many gouges scattered over his body had begun to heal over, but
would obviously leave scars. He had the general appearance of one who
has been on the wrong end of a weapon of mass destruction. Were one to
inquire about the matter, that would have been approximately how he
would have summed it up.
'A weapon of mass destruction - that description describes their so
called "Invader Zim" perfectly,' the soldier thought, not without some
anger.
"Well?"
He'd clearly spent too much time thinking about the matter, the
annoyed note in the ruby-eyed Tallest's voice had grown more
pronounced.
Lowering his head, he wiggled his good antenna placatingly. "I only
did as I thought best, my Tallest." His voice was low, humble, as was
proper when addressing the leaders of the empire.
"Oh, c'mon Red," This was quieter, but piercing nonetheless. "Just
throw him out of an airlock and be done with it!"
"After the entire Empire has seen his ugly face in the Broadcastia
reports?" Red hissed back impatiently. The listening Irken thought
they probably intended to keep the conversation between themselves -
private - but it was fairly easy to hear everything, even with one
non-functioning antenna. They weren't exactly subtle, the Tallest.
"It's bad PR, Pur."
"Since when have you cared what anyone else thought?" The violet-eyed
Tallest seemed utterly shocked by the notion. "I mean after that
incident on Devastis..."
"Just shut up! It's a bad idea, got me?"
"...yeah... We're clear." Purple agreed, grudgingly.
"Besides, we still have to do something with him."
"If you can't get rid of him, why not promote him?" Purple yawned,
then immediately winced preemptively as Red whirled to face him with
startling speed. "Wait! Wait! Bad idea! Forget I said anything!"
"Pur... You. Are. A. Genius!" Red breathed, his antennae perked and
his eyes glittering with scarcely concealed enthusiasm. "That's
perfect!"
He turned back to the Irken still waiting below the dais patiently,
although now wearing the expression of one who is facing the gallows.
"You, what's your name? Stork!"
"Crow." The Irken corrected under his breath. As expected, he was not
heard.
"As a result of your... er... actions, we've decided to promote you!
You're now... um... an advisor! Report to the control brain for
reassigning and you can begin your new work immediately!" He waved a
dismissive hand at the newly promoted solder - an 'I've done my good
deed for the day, now get out of my sight' sort of gesture.
The new advisor turned stiffly and began to march away, half limping
the entire distance, but doing his best not to show it. It wasn't the
easiest task, yet he did a better job of concealing the physical
deformities than he did of keeping the bubbling anger under wraps.
The last thing he heard before the doors irised shut was Purple's
voice, high and enthusiastic, asking if Red really meant that about
the "genius", followed by Red's mutter of "lasers", and the expected
scream of pain which was cut-off halfway through.
The door wasn't shut for more than a second or two before the new
advisor started to scream. "Why? Why in Irk's name? Ugh... What did I
do to deserve this!"
A passing service drone hesitated, staring at the distressed advisor
with curiosity gleaming in his red eyes. "What did you do?"
Crow turned with a snarl, striding up to the service drone with only
the barest hint of a limp and kicking it across the corridor where it
slammed into the metal wall with a bone-jarring thump. He cursed
almost immediately at the flare of pain that ran through his gimp leg
at the action. The stunned service drone could only twitch
convulsively as the taller Irken hobbled up to it and bent over.
"You'll keep your mouth shut," He hissed low, his eyes gleaming with
frightening intensity as he towered over the drone. The tiny Irken
nodded frantically, trying to convey approval, but it could see the
spider legs emerging from Crow's pack, rising and spreading in a
mockery of dark wings - the stripped and exposed wires still
sputtering and releasing little showers of electric sparks. "You won't
ask me that again, will you?" His voice had dropped to a low purr,
almost a secretive tone.
The drone nodded again, swallowing nervously.
"Good boy." Crow patted it on the head and watched it relax
marginally, thinking itself safe. Then, without any further warning,
he plunged the ragged tip of one of his spider legs clean through it,
impaling it on the bent and twisted metal. It squealed like a dying
rat as the leg bit deeper - hit the thinner metal of the pak and
sheared through.
It was over as soon as the Pak was speared, the insides gutted beyond
repair. Quick... but the frozen expression of terror and pain on the
drone's face belied any notion that the swiftness of the drone's
demise had made it an easy one. He stared a moment longer, a smile
lingering on his face, then slowly withdrew the limb, folding it and
pulling it into his pak.
"I'm so glad we see, eye to eye." He told the corpse with a faint
smile before glancing back at the closed door. He laid his good
antennae back for a moment, sharply, before raising it again and
wiggling it in a mockery of the traditional salute.
"Long live my Tallest..."
He continued down the corridor heedlessly, listening to the frantic
scuttling of more drones rushing over, trying to clean up the mess
before the Tallest emerged from their audience chamber.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
*Book One: Trainee*
~01~
-Devastis-
"Awright, you maggots! Listen up!" At these harsh, barking words, the
assembled trainees immediately straightened up and did their best to
appear attentive. For some this was a task far easier said than done,
however. New trainees weren't as rare a commodity now as they had been
before the Vort alliance - borrowed technology made it possible to
disband much of the Irken scientist caste and reassign them -
generally to the military. Grob was not one of those reassignees - in
fact, he'd worked as a drill instructor on Devastis for over two
centuries.
Truth be told, Grob had little faith in the ability of the average
science drone to adapt to the harsher lifestyle of a soldier unit.
They simply didn't have the necessary reflexes and - as most of them
had been working their fields almost as long as he'd been in his -
they were not likely to change easily. 'dang it all... the best use
for most of this lot is cannon fodder'.
He marched slowly up and down the line, wondering if he'd get any use
out of them at all. Weapons designers, spaceship engineers,
bio-mechanics - even a sanitation drone or two that had been left
jobless when the research facilities were shut down. Great... Just
great. Of the actually new trainees - there were about eight out of
the sixty-something that had arrived - only one looked particularly
promising.
"Trainee Tenn!" Grob barked again, pegging out what he regarded as the
best potential soldier in the lot. A moderately-sized female, Tenn
still had an unruffled air that seemed to command a measure of
respect. She drew herself up to her full advantage and saluted
crisply.
"Sir!"
"You'll be the team leader for 'A' Squadron." It was traditional for
the recruits to be divided into groups, to be headed by squadron
leaders. Supposedly it was to increase the functionality and
orderliness of the training process, but that was completely bogus.
Grob knew from experience that it only made things more complicated.
The real advantage was that it allowed him to divide his troops up by
their abilities , as well as using the squadrons as a testing ground
for trainees with leadership potential. For that purpose, the division
worked well.
Grob quickly did the mental calculations. Five teams would be
sufficient for him to cull out the worst of the lot and arrange the
would-be soldiers by likely success rates. "For the others... Spleen!"
The one he addressed was a former scientist, to be sure, but what
bothered the military instructor the most was that spleen was a fourth
of an inch taller than himself - technically his superior if not for
the overhaul. He wasn't eager to deal too closely with the scientist,
but the taller Irken's eyes had a shrewd glint, intelligent glint to
them. "You'll be heading off 'B' Squadron."
This division pulled out the best of the lot, the most likely to
succeed (or at least survive) at the training - and Grob divided them
up nearly equally between the two squadron leaders before getting back
to the business at hand. "Grundy - Squadron 'C' is yours." The Irken
in question was known for his big mouth, but he could also think
quickly. That would likely prove a useful trait in a leader. "And you,
Larb, Squadron 'D'." The lanky newcomer had an easy stance that Grob
approved of. It was probably more cocksure than real, but D was going
to lose trainees - it was inevitable. C Squadron probably would too,
but the odds were a little better there, so of course they got all of
the remaining "good" candidates.
Separating D from E was a trickier task... and for the fiftieth time,
Grob cursed the new reassigning for making his job harder than it
needed to be. At last, he just pointed out the ones he figured were as
good as Blorch food. They were probably going to die anyway, so no
harm done there. The rest of them went to D Squad.
All he needed now was a team leader for the "cannon fodder" squadron.
Not that it was a task that required much deep thought or imagination.
After all, any pathetic loser would do.
"You, um... Skoodge. You'll lead Squadron 'E'." He pointed at the
painfully short and ugly Irken near the end of the line. The Irken
trainee in question shot him a strange look, antennae twitching in a
near-convulsive manner, but he didn't argue. He just saluted, rather
unsteadily.
With that out of the way, Grob could get down to the real work. "Form
up in your Squadrons! Leaders in front! The rest of you maggots better
form up in straight lines behind your commanders! I see any hands,
legs or antennae poking out of line and they'll be makin' friends with
my blaster." The trainees jumped into action instantly, scrambling
into lines with their squadron leaders at their head. Guts were sucked
in, antennae pressed tightly back and limbs pulled firmly against
their bodies. Grob could barely hide a smirk - Scientists! How stupid
could they be?
He marched towards them, making a slow circle. The trainees tensed
visibly when he approached them, a good sign as far as the experienced
soldier was concerned. A little fear would serve to keep them in line
until they forgot all about thinking for themselves and started
obeying orders without feeling a need to question. That was the real
fear - that these scientist-types would actually dare to have ideas.
No use for that here - or ever again, if they were truly going to be
soldiers. Soldiers didn't need to think!
As he passed by the tail end of E Squadron, he was about ready to pick
out someone as a scapegoat. It wouldn't particularly matter if they
were actually doing anything wrong or not - what counted was that
these pathetic would-be soldiers needed to have the point driven home
in some way they would remember. The one he pegged for this necessary
demonstration was an Irken of medium height with a long narrow head
and a jittery air. "You! What's your name soldier?"
"Scientist Jeeg - Navigation Systems Designer, first class, Sir." The
shorter Irken replied with only a moment of hesitation. Grob frowned,
noticing that he'd even remembered to add the "Sir" there at the end,
making it more difficult to find a reason to punish this unfortunate
trainee. The response had been pure protocol, except for... The drill
instructor's eyes narrowed, a smile crossing his lips that boded none
too well for Jeeg.
"Yes, Jeeg..." His voice dropped to a pleasant purr, "State that
again, Trainee. Word for word, if you please." But despite his
phrasing, it was obvious to everyone that his words were a command,
not a request.
Jeeg had certainly caught his mistake, if the expression on his face
was any indication. His antennae twitched ever so slightly, and he
blinked, but he did as Grob commanded without any telltale hesitation,
"Scientist Jeeg - Navigation Systems Designer, first class, Sir."
Grob rounded on him then, his tone scathing, "You think pretty well of
yourself, don't you, Trainee? Tell me 'Scientist Jeeg', just where and
when do you propose to work on designing navigation systems while
we're engaging in hand to hand combat with the adversary?" Jeeg
flinched a little, but didn't actually back down or collapse - a minor
point, but Grob was a bit impressed despite himself. Perhaps these
scientists weren't all the weakling pushovers they appeared to be. He
dismissed the idea fairly quickly - in all likelihood, he'd just
pegged someone too stupid to realize the trouble he was getting
himself into.
"N...nowhere, Sir." The former scientist's voice was a little shaky, a
little faint, but still very much audible. The other trainees were
squirming a little, a few of them were twitching their own antennae in
discomfort. Not sympathy - that would have been unexpected and
unwelcome in a soldier - they were just afraid that they would find
themselves singled out next. Grob knew what they must be thinking -
better him than them. Yeah, they'd make passable soldiers.
"That's right, you miserable little worm," Grob actually sneered this
time. "Nowhere! You know why that is?" The trainee looked like he was
about to answer the question and Grob cut him off, "I didn't tell you
to SPEAK, did I, Trainee?"
Jeeg definitely flinched there, and the instructor smiled to himself
upon seeing it. Things were finally proceeding according to plan. Of
course he was likely to be nervous - he'd just been posed with a
situation where there was nothing he could do that wouldn't be a
punishable offense. He'd been forbidden to speak, and not answering a
direct question would have been a violation of protocol. Grob wondered
which of the two options the former scientist would pick. He couldn't
help a little smirk as the scientist drew himself up with an air of
resignation, "No, you didn't, Sir."
"And the maggot speaks again! Apparently he thinks we still haven't
heard enough of his mewling!" Grob's voice dropped to a facsimile of a
reasonable tone, "Well, Trainee, it seems that you have managed to try
even my infinite patience. Perhaps a few weeks on KP duty will teach
you a bit more respect for the chain of command around here." The
scientist drooped a little at this, and Grob marched back towards the
front of the line. He noticed the rest of the lot straightening up as
he passed them, probably afraid to be singled out next. Good.
As soon as he'd resumed his previous position at the head of the
lines, Grob addressed the entire group. "You've had it easy so far,
but don't think for even a moment that this is going to be a cakewalk.
A soldier's life is a hard life, so you'd better get used to the idea.
No more easy job sitting in front of a computer screen or doodling
schematics - this is actual work!" As he'd suspected, although a
couple of the Irkens in line got distasteful looks on their faces, not
a one of them dared say that science wasn't a cushy job.
"Time for you lot to see your new... accommodations." He reached back
over his shoulder and his pak opened obligingly. From it, he drew an
electrical prod. "Fall in and follow me. A Squadron in front, and E in
the rear." He tapped the prod against his palm and sparks of blue
electricity emerged from its tip. The recruits carefully settled into
a new line, with surprisingly less trouble than than he'd anticipated.
He caught a few of the trainees glancing at the prod in his grasp with
vary expressions of wariness and fear. He doubted there was a one of
them who would deliberately make trouble while he had the item in his
hand and ready for use on any miscreant daring to step out of line.
He was smirking a little and not doing a thing to disguise it as they
marched towards the "A Squadron" barracks. Years of experience had
provided the Irken instructors with a tried and true formula for
training would-be soldiers. Although once they had kept all of their
squadrons in the same large barracks, it had proven to be a method
that was more trouble than help. The better trainees would associate
with those who were worthless, and it would affect their performance.
Some of them did react as expected - taking the opportunity to show up
their weaker peers, but others had slacked off - probably thinking
(and rightly so) that anything they did was going to be better than
what the lesser squadrons could manage anyway. A few of them had even
- Irk forbid - felt sorry for the cannon fodder. It was a weakness
that didn't have to exist, as long as the groups were kept apart.
So A Squadron was put in the best barracks available on Devastis. Of
course, this was purely a matter of parallels. The barracks were
undoubtedly in horrendous condition compared to what the former
scientists were accustomed to. Grob snorted, they could just get used
to it. He wasn't training scientists, by Irk, he was training
soldiers! Soldiers could deal with unsanitary conditions without
whining!
Grob drew the line to a halt in front of the unkempt building. "A
Squadron, this will be your barracks. This is your 'home' for the
duration of your stay on Devastis." He marched to a fifth of the way
down the line, where A Squadron ended and B Squadron began. "You will
be expected to take care of your 'home' during this time. I will be
conducting surprise inspections to make sure everything is in order."
He turned away from the recruits, "Pak - time!"
His pak beeped, and Grob tilted his head slightly to one side. "You
lot have four hours to get this hole cleaned up and livable before we
begin training. And I expect you all to be working! If I find out
anyone is slacking, they'll be doing KP duty for the rest of their
training period. After they dig their head out of their lower pak
compartment, that is!" The A Squadron members winced, but did not
move. "What are you waiting for, maggots? Get your sorry antennae in
gear!"
As A Squadron began moving into their living quarters, Grob wasted no
time in getting the rest of the trainees moving again. A few of them
cast looks back at the scrambling Irkens and their barracks, but a jab
or two from the prod set them straight with astounding speed.
From B through D, this process was repeated - nearly word for word, in
fact. Grob knew the whole spiel like he knew the inner workings of his
pak, and it was the best way of getting the point across in the least
amount of time. 'Leave them room to question and they'll start to get
ideas' was Grob's philosophy.
Once D Squadron was safely assigned to their new barracks and cleaning
like mad to make up for the fact that they had half the amount of time
that A Squadron had been afforded, Grob turned to the remaining
Irkens. E Squadron. He wasn't altogether sure what to do with them,
actually. The last time there'd been an E Squadron on Devastis, it had
been completely obliterated - including the barracks they had been
housed in. He supposed he could have taken them to the ruins of the E
barracks, but it was probably bad enough that they were all going to
die anyway.
Careful. No need to start getting soft - not after all this time. Grob
glowered at the motley group of Irkens, and they stared back at him
with dread reflecting in their eyes. Not a one of them could meet his
gaze for more than a few seconds without flinching away. Once they all
seemed appropriately cowed, including the so-called 'squadron
commander' that he'd assigned, Grob ran over the matter in his mind
again. After all, they needed to be put somewhere, and there was no
reason that it had to be somewhere that was in particularly good
shape...
'Wait.' Grob's antennae perked, an action that drew the attention of
the hapless trainees. Their gazes all turned back to him, their own
antennae twitching hopefully. Grob growled low in his throat and they
immediately went back to staring at the ground. "You're the sorriest
lot of maggots I've ever had the misfortune to train," he began
acerbically, "and I've trained more soldiers than you could even begin
to count. I don't care how you got by before, you're on Devastis now,
and I won't accept any slacking. Now, come on." He turned and started
to march away, leaving the stunned trainees to follow him as quickly
as they could manage and still keep in formation.
Devastis had been a military training planet since the very beginning
of the Irken Empire. It was, of course, divided into sectors - one was
for the new trainees, the other for soldiers requiring advanced
training in their fields. Grob specialized in training the former.
This section of Devastis was the one that was most like the condition
of the planet when they'd arrived. Uneven, rocky ground giving way to
pockets of marshy flatland, and a few areas that contained clumps of
sparsely distributed trees. Not exactly the most welcoming of places -
but they hadn't exactly had to fight hard to take the planet either.
E Squadron's new barracks was in one of the areas that Grob and the
other instructors didn't often bother with anymore. It was based on
the far side of a fairly high ridge, tucked between the side of the
incline and the swampy area just beyond it. It was sticky, humid and
full of numerous vermin. It also hadn't been used for millennia.
Perfect.
And the unsuspecting cannon fodder - otherwise known as E Squadron -
were unable to do little more than stare at this so-called barracks
while Grob told them they had half an hour to get the place in order
before the real training began. There was no way on Irk that they'd
manage it. But it wasn't his job to be fair - just to train soldiers.
It was a lot easier to remember that fact when he'd left the group
behind, and he didn't have to think about the disbelieving looks on
their faces as they began to clean.
---
---
*The Little Things*
(A TTBU Companion Story)
Author's Note: This is set slightly before the events of "The Things
Between Us" and overlaps TTBU in later chapters.
*Prologue: Advisor*
-A week after Operation Impending Doom I-
"What do you have to say for yourself, soldier?" The Tallest's voice
rang out through the chamber, making the shorter Irken standing before
the dais cringe slightly. He was still a mess, even after a week of
recoup time. One antenna hung limply down the side of his face, and
the many gouges scattered over his body had begun to heal over, but
would obviously leave scars. He had the general appearance of one who
has been on the wrong end of a weapon of mass destruction. Were one to
inquire about the matter, that would have been approximately how he
would have summed it up.
'A weapon of mass destruction - that description describes their so
called "Invader Zim" perfectly,' the soldier thought, not without some
anger.
"Well?"
He'd clearly spent too much time thinking about the matter, the
annoyed note in the ruby-eyed Tallest's voice had grown more
pronounced.
Lowering his head, he wiggled his good antenna placatingly. "I only
did as I thought best, my Tallest." His voice was low, humble, as was
proper when addressing the leaders of the empire.
"Oh, c'mon Red," This was quieter, but piercing nonetheless. "Just
throw him out of an airlock and be done with it!"
"After the entire Empire has seen his ugly face in the Broadcastia
reports?" Red hissed back impatiently. The listening Irken thought
they probably intended to keep the conversation between themselves -
private - but it was fairly easy to hear everything, even with one
non-functioning antenna. They weren't exactly subtle, the Tallest.
"It's bad PR, Pur."
"Since when have you cared what anyone else thought?" The violet-eyed
Tallest seemed utterly shocked by the notion. "I mean after that
incident on Devastis..."
"Just shut up! It's a bad idea, got me?"
"...yeah... We're clear." Purple agreed, grudgingly.
"Besides, we still have to do something with him."
"If you can't get rid of him, why not promote him?" Purple yawned,
then immediately winced preemptively as Red whirled to face him with
startling speed. "Wait! Wait! Bad idea! Forget I said anything!"
"Pur... You. Are. A. Genius!" Red breathed, his antennae perked and
his eyes glittering with scarcely concealed enthusiasm. "That's
perfect!"
He turned back to the Irken still waiting below the dais patiently,
although now wearing the expression of one who is facing the gallows.
"You, what's your name? Stork!"
"Crow." The Irken corrected under his breath. As expected, he was not
heard.
"As a result of your... er... actions, we've decided to promote you!
You're now... um... an advisor! Report to the control brain for
reassigning and you can begin your new work immediately!" He waved a
dismissive hand at the newly promoted solder - an 'I've done my good
deed for the day, now get out of my sight' sort of gesture.
The new advisor turned stiffly and began to march away, half limping
the entire distance, but doing his best not to show it. It wasn't the
easiest task, yet he did a better job of concealing the physical
deformities than he did of keeping the bubbling anger under wraps.
The last thing he heard before the doors irised shut was Purple's
voice, high and enthusiastic, asking if Red really meant that about
the "genius", followed by Red's mutter of "lasers", and the expected
scream of pain which was cut-off halfway through.
The door wasn't shut for more than a second or two before the new
advisor started to scream. "Why? Why in Irk's name? Ugh... What did I
do to deserve this!"
A passing service drone hesitated, staring at the distressed advisor
with curiosity gleaming in his red eyes. "What did you do?"
Crow turned with a snarl, striding up to the service drone with only
the barest hint of a limp and kicking it across the corridor where it
slammed into the metal wall with a bone-jarring thump. He cursed
almost immediately at the flare of pain that ran through his gimp leg
at the action. The stunned service drone could only twitch
convulsively as the taller Irken hobbled up to it and bent over.
"You'll keep your mouth shut," He hissed low, his eyes gleaming with
frightening intensity as he towered over the drone. The tiny Irken
nodded frantically, trying to convey approval, but it could see the
spider legs emerging from Crow's pack, rising and spreading in a
mockery of dark wings - the stripped and exposed wires still
sputtering and releasing little showers of electric sparks. "You won't
ask me that again, will you?" His voice had dropped to a low purr,
almost a secretive tone.
The drone nodded again, swallowing nervously.
"Good boy." Crow patted it on the head and watched it relax
marginally, thinking itself safe. Then, without any further warning,
he plunged the ragged tip of one of his spider legs clean through it,
impaling it on the bent and twisted metal. It squealed like a dying
rat as the leg bit deeper - hit the thinner metal of the pak and
sheared through.
It was over as soon as the Pak was speared, the insides gutted beyond
repair. Quick... but the frozen expression of terror and pain on the
drone's face belied any notion that the swiftness of the drone's
demise had made it an easy one. He stared a moment longer, a smile
lingering on his face, then slowly withdrew the limb, folding it and
pulling it into his pak.
"I'm so glad we see, eye to eye." He told the corpse with a faint
smile before glancing back at the closed door. He laid his good
antennae back for a moment, sharply, before raising it again and
wiggling it in a mockery of the traditional salute.
"Long live my Tallest..."
He continued down the corridor heedlessly, listening to the frantic
scuttling of more drones rushing over, trying to clean up the mess
before the Tallest emerged from their audience chamber.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
*Book One: Trainee*
~01~
-Devastis-
"Awright, you maggots! Listen up!" At these harsh, barking words, the
assembled trainees immediately straightened up and did their best to
appear attentive. For some this was a task far easier said than done,
however. New trainees weren't as rare a commodity now as they had been
before the Vort alliance - borrowed technology made it possible to
disband much of the Irken scientist caste and reassign them -
generally to the military. Grob was not one of those reassignees - in
fact, he'd worked as a drill instructor on Devastis for over two
centuries.
Truth be told, Grob had little faith in the ability of the average
science drone to adapt to the harsher lifestyle of a soldier unit.
They simply didn't have the necessary reflexes and - as most of them
had been working their fields almost as long as he'd been in his -
they were not likely to change easily. 'dang it all... the best use
for most of this lot is cannon fodder'.
He marched slowly up and down the line, wondering if he'd get any use
out of them at all. Weapons designers, spaceship engineers,
bio-mechanics - even a sanitation drone or two that had been left
jobless when the research facilities were shut down. Great... Just
great. Of the actually new trainees - there were about eight out of
the sixty-something that had arrived - only one looked particularly
promising.
"Trainee Tenn!" Grob barked again, pegging out what he regarded as the
best potential soldier in the lot. A moderately-sized female, Tenn
still had an unruffled air that seemed to command a measure of
respect. She drew herself up to her full advantage and saluted
crisply.
"Sir!"
"You'll be the team leader for 'A' Squadron." It was traditional for
the recruits to be divided into groups, to be headed by squadron
leaders. Supposedly it was to increase the functionality and
orderliness of the training process, but that was completely bogus.
Grob knew from experience that it only made things more complicated.
The real advantage was that it allowed him to divide his troops up by
their abilities , as well as using the squadrons as a testing ground
for trainees with leadership potential. For that purpose, the division
worked well.
Grob quickly did the mental calculations. Five teams would be
sufficient for him to cull out the worst of the lot and arrange the
would-be soldiers by likely success rates. "For the others... Spleen!"
The one he addressed was a former scientist, to be sure, but what
bothered the military instructor the most was that spleen was a fourth
of an inch taller than himself - technically his superior if not for
the overhaul. He wasn't eager to deal too closely with the scientist,
but the taller Irken's eyes had a shrewd glint, intelligent glint to
them. "You'll be heading off 'B' Squadron."
This division pulled out the best of the lot, the most likely to
succeed (or at least survive) at the training - and Grob divided them
up nearly equally between the two squadron leaders before getting back
to the business at hand. "Grundy - Squadron 'C' is yours." The Irken
in question was known for his big mouth, but he could also think
quickly. That would likely prove a useful trait in a leader. "And you,
Larb, Squadron 'D'." The lanky newcomer had an easy stance that Grob
approved of. It was probably more cocksure than real, but D was going
to lose trainees - it was inevitable. C Squadron probably would too,
but the odds were a little better there, so of course they got all of
the remaining "good" candidates.
Separating D from E was a trickier task... and for the fiftieth time,
Grob cursed the new reassigning for making his job harder than it
needed to be. At last, he just pointed out the ones he figured were as
good as Blorch food. They were probably going to die anyway, so no
harm done there. The rest of them went to D Squad.
All he needed now was a team leader for the "cannon fodder" squadron.
Not that it was a task that required much deep thought or imagination.
After all, any pathetic loser would do.
"You, um... Skoodge. You'll lead Squadron 'E'." He pointed at the
painfully short and ugly Irken near the end of the line. The Irken
trainee in question shot him a strange look, antennae twitching in a
near-convulsive manner, but he didn't argue. He just saluted, rather
unsteadily.
With that out of the way, Grob could get down to the real work. "Form
up in your Squadrons! Leaders in front! The rest of you maggots better
form up in straight lines behind your commanders! I see any hands,
legs or antennae poking out of line and they'll be makin' friends with
my blaster." The trainees jumped into action instantly, scrambling
into lines with their squadron leaders at their head. Guts were sucked
in, antennae pressed tightly back and limbs pulled firmly against
their bodies. Grob could barely hide a smirk - Scientists! How stupid
could they be?
He marched towards them, making a slow circle. The trainees tensed
visibly when he approached them, a good sign as far as the experienced
soldier was concerned. A little fear would serve to keep them in line
until they forgot all about thinking for themselves and started
obeying orders without feeling a need to question. That was the real
fear - that these scientist-types would actually dare to have ideas.
No use for that here - or ever again, if they were truly going to be
soldiers. Soldiers didn't need to think!
As he passed by the tail end of E Squadron, he was about ready to pick
out someone as a scapegoat. It wouldn't particularly matter if they
were actually doing anything wrong or not - what counted was that
these pathetic would-be soldiers needed to have the point driven home
in some way they would remember. The one he pegged for this necessary
demonstration was an Irken of medium height with a long narrow head
and a jittery air. "You! What's your name soldier?"
"Scientist Jeeg - Navigation Systems Designer, first class, Sir." The
shorter Irken replied with only a moment of hesitation. Grob frowned,
noticing that he'd even remembered to add the "Sir" there at the end,
making it more difficult to find a reason to punish this unfortunate
trainee. The response had been pure protocol, except for... The drill
instructor's eyes narrowed, a smile crossing his lips that boded none
too well for Jeeg.
"Yes, Jeeg..." His voice dropped to a pleasant purr, "State that
again, Trainee. Word for word, if you please." But despite his
phrasing, it was obvious to everyone that his words were a command,
not a request.
Jeeg had certainly caught his mistake, if the expression on his face
was any indication. His antennae twitched ever so slightly, and he
blinked, but he did as Grob commanded without any telltale hesitation,
"Scientist Jeeg - Navigation Systems Designer, first class, Sir."
Grob rounded on him then, his tone scathing, "You think pretty well of
yourself, don't you, Trainee? Tell me 'Scientist Jeeg', just where and
when do you propose to work on designing navigation systems while
we're engaging in hand to hand combat with the adversary?" Jeeg
flinched a little, but didn't actually back down or collapse - a minor
point, but Grob was a bit impressed despite himself. Perhaps these
scientists weren't all the weakling pushovers they appeared to be. He
dismissed the idea fairly quickly - in all likelihood, he'd just
pegged someone too stupid to realize the trouble he was getting
himself into.
"N...nowhere, Sir." The former scientist's voice was a little shaky, a
little faint, but still very much audible. The other trainees were
squirming a little, a few of them were twitching their own antennae in
discomfort. Not sympathy - that would have been unexpected and
unwelcome in a soldier - they were just afraid that they would find
themselves singled out next. Grob knew what they must be thinking -
better him than them. Yeah, they'd make passable soldiers.
"That's right, you miserable little worm," Grob actually sneered this
time. "Nowhere! You know why that is?" The trainee looked like he was
about to answer the question and Grob cut him off, "I didn't tell you
to SPEAK, did I, Trainee?"
Jeeg definitely flinched there, and the instructor smiled to himself
upon seeing it. Things were finally proceeding according to plan. Of
course he was likely to be nervous - he'd just been posed with a
situation where there was nothing he could do that wouldn't be a
punishable offense. He'd been forbidden to speak, and not answering a
direct question would have been a violation of protocol. Grob wondered
which of the two options the former scientist would pick. He couldn't
help a little smirk as the scientist drew himself up with an air of
resignation, "No, you didn't, Sir."
"And the maggot speaks again! Apparently he thinks we still haven't
heard enough of his mewling!" Grob's voice dropped to a facsimile of a
reasonable tone, "Well, Trainee, it seems that you have managed to try
even my infinite patience. Perhaps a few weeks on KP duty will teach
you a bit more respect for the chain of command around here." The
scientist drooped a little at this, and Grob marched back towards the
front of the line. He noticed the rest of the lot straightening up as
he passed them, probably afraid to be singled out next. Good.
As soon as he'd resumed his previous position at the head of the
lines, Grob addressed the entire group. "You've had it easy so far,
but don't think for even a moment that this is going to be a cakewalk.
A soldier's life is a hard life, so you'd better get used to the idea.
No more easy job sitting in front of a computer screen or doodling
schematics - this is actual work!" As he'd suspected, although a
couple of the Irkens in line got distasteful looks on their faces, not
a one of them dared say that science wasn't a cushy job.
"Time for you lot to see your new... accommodations." He reached back
over his shoulder and his pak opened obligingly. From it, he drew an
electrical prod. "Fall in and follow me. A Squadron in front, and E in
the rear." He tapped the prod against his palm and sparks of blue
electricity emerged from its tip. The recruits carefully settled into
a new line, with surprisingly less trouble than than he'd anticipated.
He caught a few of the trainees glancing at the prod in his grasp with
vary expressions of wariness and fear. He doubted there was a one of
them who would deliberately make trouble while he had the item in his
hand and ready for use on any miscreant daring to step out of line.
He was smirking a little and not doing a thing to disguise it as they
marched towards the "A Squadron" barracks. Years of experience had
provided the Irken instructors with a tried and true formula for
training would-be soldiers. Although once they had kept all of their
squadrons in the same large barracks, it had proven to be a method
that was more trouble than help. The better trainees would associate
with those who were worthless, and it would affect their performance.
Some of them did react as expected - taking the opportunity to show up
their weaker peers, but others had slacked off - probably thinking
(and rightly so) that anything they did was going to be better than
what the lesser squadrons could manage anyway. A few of them had even
- Irk forbid - felt sorry for the cannon fodder. It was a weakness
that didn't have to exist, as long as the groups were kept apart.
So A Squadron was put in the best barracks available on Devastis. Of
course, this was purely a matter of parallels. The barracks were
undoubtedly in horrendous condition compared to what the former
scientists were accustomed to. Grob snorted, they could just get used
to it. He wasn't training scientists, by Irk, he was training
soldiers! Soldiers could deal with unsanitary conditions without
whining!
Grob drew the line to a halt in front of the unkempt building. "A
Squadron, this will be your barracks. This is your 'home' for the
duration of your stay on Devastis." He marched to a fifth of the way
down the line, where A Squadron ended and B Squadron began. "You will
be expected to take care of your 'home' during this time. I will be
conducting surprise inspections to make sure everything is in order."
He turned away from the recruits, "Pak - time!"
His pak beeped, and Grob tilted his head slightly to one side. "You
lot have four hours to get this hole cleaned up and livable before we
begin training. And I expect you all to be working! If I find out
anyone is slacking, they'll be doing KP duty for the rest of their
training period. After they dig their head out of their lower pak
compartment, that is!" The A Squadron members winced, but did not
move. "What are you waiting for, maggots? Get your sorry antennae in
gear!"
As A Squadron began moving into their living quarters, Grob wasted no
time in getting the rest of the trainees moving again. A few of them
cast looks back at the scrambling Irkens and their barracks, but a jab
or two from the prod set them straight with astounding speed.
From B through D, this process was repeated - nearly word for word, in
fact. Grob knew the whole spiel like he knew the inner workings of his
pak, and it was the best way of getting the point across in the least
amount of time. 'Leave them room to question and they'll start to get
ideas' was Grob's philosophy.
Once D Squadron was safely assigned to their new barracks and cleaning
like mad to make up for the fact that they had half the amount of time
that A Squadron had been afforded, Grob turned to the remaining
Irkens. E Squadron. He wasn't altogether sure what to do with them,
actually. The last time there'd been an E Squadron on Devastis, it had
been completely obliterated - including the barracks they had been
housed in. He supposed he could have taken them to the ruins of the E
barracks, but it was probably bad enough that they were all going to
die anyway.
Careful. No need to start getting soft - not after all this time. Grob
glowered at the motley group of Irkens, and they stared back at him
with dread reflecting in their eyes. Not a one of them could meet his
gaze for more than a few seconds without flinching away. Once they all
seemed appropriately cowed, including the so-called 'squadron
commander' that he'd assigned, Grob ran over the matter in his mind
again. After all, they needed to be put somewhere, and there was no
reason that it had to be somewhere that was in particularly good
shape...
'Wait.' Grob's antennae perked, an action that drew the attention of
the hapless trainees. Their gazes all turned back to him, their own
antennae twitching hopefully. Grob growled low in his throat and they
immediately went back to staring at the ground. "You're the sorriest
lot of maggots I've ever had the misfortune to train," he began
acerbically, "and I've trained more soldiers than you could even begin
to count. I don't care how you got by before, you're on Devastis now,
and I won't accept any slacking. Now, come on." He turned and started
to march away, leaving the stunned trainees to follow him as quickly
as they could manage and still keep in formation.
Devastis had been a military training planet since the very beginning
of the Irken Empire. It was, of course, divided into sectors - one was
for the new trainees, the other for soldiers requiring advanced
training in their fields. Grob specialized in training the former.
This section of Devastis was the one that was most like the condition
of the planet when they'd arrived. Uneven, rocky ground giving way to
pockets of marshy flatland, and a few areas that contained clumps of
sparsely distributed trees. Not exactly the most welcoming of places -
but they hadn't exactly had to fight hard to take the planet either.
E Squadron's new barracks was in one of the areas that Grob and the
other instructors didn't often bother with anymore. It was based on
the far side of a fairly high ridge, tucked between the side of the
incline and the swampy area just beyond it. It was sticky, humid and
full of numerous vermin. It also hadn't been used for millennia.
Perfect.
And the unsuspecting cannon fodder - otherwise known as E Squadron -
were unable to do little more than stare at this so-called barracks
while Grob told them they had half an hour to get the place in order
before the real training began. There was no way on Irk that they'd
manage it. But it wasn't his job to be fair - just to train soldiers.
It was a lot easier to remember that fact when he'd left the group
behind, and he didn't have to think about the disbelieving looks on
their faces as they began to clean.
---
