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The Events Area was 200 meters by 200 meters—four hectares. It was used for sports, for plays, for drill and ceremonies and for simulated combat. The Events Area could morph into whatever we needed. At the moment there was a raised stage and seating for all the station's concubines in one area, with sections for most of the station's sponsors. The DECO CMC detachment was in a three-rank formation with Ensign Williams, the detachment commander, in front. The governor, Lilith, was in a box seat flanked by a pair of the Central Command Marines. I was on stage beneath a huge billboard that would display the events on-stage larger than life so that the seated concubines would be able to see every little detail. I wore my black Navy dress uniform but was not under arms. Didn't need weapons for my task.
"Attention, concubines!" I announced, my voice amplified. "Watch the screen above my head."
I'm no Frank Capra. The scene showed one of the DECO Marines, Private Juan Martin, opening a medical tube. The girl inside screamed and attacked the Marine, biting and scratching and kicking and punching. The girl was a fraction of the Marine's size, less than a quarter of his mass, but she laid him out on the deck and was in the process of killing him when a stinger slumped her against her victim.
"Hillary attacked a sponsor." I said. Hell, Hillary all but killed a member of the Confederacy military! "She had just completed her CAP test. If she had attacked Private Martin a mere hour before this video, she would have been in a lot of trouble but she might have been salvaged—Confederacy law is very clear on this: the penalty for a concubine who attacks a sponsor is death."
As I spoke, five people were raised behind me by elevator. Four were the Central Command Marines in their green uniforms. They surrounded little Hillary—totally naked Hillary. She wasn't even wearing chains. I did an about-face and marched to the doomed girl. It was quick—I lashed out with a knife-hand strike and she slumped to the floor, dead-dead-dead. I caught her before she completed her trip down and carried her to a table that raised in position. Carefully I laid out the corpse on the table.
"Concubines," I announced, "all of you will attend training classes in concubine self-defense. You will learn how to prevent yourself from becoming the next Hillary. There are legitimate reasons for a concubine to use force on a sponsor—you'll learn when and how to apply the right amount of force. You'll learn how to surrender and survive when you're forbidden force. Don't become the next Hillary."
The next gruesome duty was supervising the concubines as they filed past the dead Hillary. Several fainted. Many cried. After the final concubine had passed, I picked up the corpse and walked to a recycler. I place Hillary's body inside and shut the lid. In minutes she was component chemicals. The Marines were dismissed behind me. The concubines were herded back to their duties.
After a moment alone, I used a transport pad to Conference Room Four where young Private Martin was being verbally chastised. Present were Private Martin's chain of command—including Georgia, the DECO colonel. I don't understand the breakdown of the chain of command for us but we have both DECO liaison (Georgia) and Central Command (Colonel Johnny Dorman). And then there was the governor (Lilith) and a ship's captain (Colonel Popov). Want to get more complicated? Our official brief was to be a research facility and an educational institution. Just Georgia and her Marine detachment chain of command (Ensign Williams, Staff Sergeant Korbin, Sergeant Chips, Lance Corporal Rhodes) for Private Martin.
"You did pass a mandatory CAP retest," Georgia was telling the young, very frightened private, "and you didn't break any laws."
"Why did a little girl kick your ass?" Sergeant Chips snarled. "You lost an eye, she crushed one of your balls, you had broken ribs—if not for the medical officer's quick action, you might have died."
"Lieutenant," Ensign Williams acknowledged me, "I didn't hear you come in."
The large double doors made noise but not the transporter pad.
"Private Martin, we need you," I said, "but we might have to transfer you to another unit. Here's why we need you."
Juan Martin had been recruited from a New York street by Signifer Tess. He was street-smart and had sustained himself and several other children through prostitution, through shop-lifting, and through other criminal activities. His CAP score wasn't impressive but it was enough—Private Martin had potential but needed education.
As for the DECO Marine detachment, its table of organization was 20 Confederacy Marines organized into 3 six-Marine reconnaissance teams and a reconnaissance headquarters of an ensign and a staff sergeant. Each team consisted of a team leader, assistant leader, two communications and data system operators, a point man and a slack man. Recruiting Private Martin permitted moving Corporal Raven to the headquarters as a communications technician. Fannie Mae, a baboon, filled in as a field medic—there were no qualified humans available. A concubine, Marc, stayed behind to care for the detachment's equipment. I thought that a reconnaissance platoon needed 30 Marines with its own human medical corpsman because it was the eyes and ears on the ground for a Confederacy Marine Corps regiment. I also wanted a recon platoon in every battalion landing team and this platoon would have a pair of dogs in the headquarters. The headquarters needed enough people to man the comms 24 hours a day and to move teams around. My recommendations were making the rounds echelons above reality—but I'm nobody. I wanted the recon platoon to provide a minimum of three teams of four Marines on the ground at all times, and the "extra bodies" were to keep the teams in operation and provide a reserve for immediate commitment.
"We need you," I concluded, "but you need additional training. Georgia will make the final decision to ship you out or keep you. I have additional hand-to-hand combat classes for you. Signifer Tess will be conducting sex education for you—yes, you are no virgin, Private, but you don't know how to take pleasure."
"You're also going to be a training aid," Georgia interrupted. "Tom has a plan for training Earth Force personnel and part of the training support is providing concubines to the trainees so that all they have to do is attend classes, do the homework and exercises, and the concubines take care of the rest. You are going to train the trainers by letting Tess and her girls pleasure you."
"That in no way will excuse you from your training and other duties," Ensign Williams announced. "You can simply quit on me—or you can work harder than ever. Lieutenant Lawrence wrestles with bears and fights with big cats, lions and leopards and tigers. He wins. You watched him play with the new wolves—they are not tamed creatures."
The sales job was making my ears hot—I'll bet that they were red. The animals liked me—except for most of the male baboons in the Bab Lab. I was safe sleeping in their paws. Besides, there were only a few of the big cats—a jaguar, a pair of cheetahs, a young lion and a tiger who had grown up in captivity. The cheetahs were reared in captivity, too. The lion was very young, still a cub. Big Momma was just one bear, even if there was a lot of her. Jaguar Spots was Dawn's child—and Spot's cubs barely had their eyes open. On the other hand, I didn't want to undercut a subordinate.
"Your first class in receiving pleasure is waiting outside, Private Martin," I said. "Go with the concubine outside the door. She's in charge of your training session."
"When you finish, we have a field day in the barracks," Lance Corporal Rhodes reminded him. "Don't be late!"
"Move, Private!" Staff Sergeant Korbin roared.
After Private Martin departed I spent a few moments going over the next operation—a targeted extraction involving just one recon team. Ensign Williams dismissed the other Marines and it was just the three of us: Georgia, Antonio Williams and myself.
"There's a direct action mission," Georgia said, "and I'm afraid that it will have to be another solo operation. Tony, I'll need you to stand by with a recon team. Tom, you'll be infiltrating a secure compound in the middle of a city."
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