Chapter 5
I verified my transformation was believable about ten more times as I made my way to the municipal building’s recruiting office, where I was immediately lead into a classroom full of new draftees.
Some may have been voluntary signups, but judging by the looks on everyone’s faces—not to mention the fitness levels that were more suited to reading text books than the frontlines of a war—I doubted many were entering the military with enthusiastic consent.
Mandatory training or not, we weren’t exactly a Protectorate full of fighters. Not everyone took the weekly training days seriously. And hell, not even I took the Nutritionally Complete diet plan seriously.
I sat down among a couple hundred men from the Protectorate between the ages of eighteen and thirty-five.
The draft was being issued in batches, so it was pure luck that Vann’s name made the first round.
Though depending on how the conflict escalated, they’d likely continue to pull more and more people from that age pool.
Our colony had existed long before the Star Crossed Conflict, so there were still plenty of men outside the age range who would remain at the station, but this was still going to turn into a huge portion of the working men.
How exactly were we supposed to operate with so much of our workforce being sent away?
Would Mictlan relax some of their laws that restricted half the population to keep us afloat?
Who knew how long this war would last. I hoped that when I did return home afterwards, I wouldn’t be coming back to a society in shambles.
I didn’t want to acknowledge that this was precisely why Mictlan had such a focus on repopulation. I certainly wouldn’t acknowledge that, technically, having children was required to keep the world running beyond my lifetime.
But knowing that didn’t change my lack of desire to participate. Joining the war effort and preventing the deaths of the people who were already here was just as important.
I glanced about the room, taking in the rest of the men who would, theoretically, be helping this side of the cause.
On one side of me, there was a spindly guy who must have been at least eight or nine inches taller than me—it was difficult to discern exactly how big our height difference was with the way he was hunched over and hugging himself to slow his own quivering.
On the other side was a stout guy with a boyish face and hair as white as mine. He looked strong enough under his school uniform, but the way he was chewing his lip, tapping his foot, and flicking his gaze all over the room led me to believe he wasn’t any more thrilled to be here.
The row in front had a wide range of men of different sizes and body types, with varying shades of white and grey and silver.
Though even just with everyone sitting down, height might be a problem in this little scheme.
I’d not been classified as truly short since I hit five-foot-six in my early-teens, but considering I hadn’t grown since then, I already felt like I was completely out of place and obviously a fraud.
My only respite was that, fortunately, I didn’t recognize any of these guys, and they didn’t seem to recognize me.
Most of my classmates had died or been hospitalized, so it made it somewhat easier to blend in and stay under the radar among my own former alumni.
As far as anyone here knew, I could have been any of the several hundred platinum-haired medical students.
As long as no one called me out, I’d be fine.
My new haircut likely helped for anyone who may have noticed me in passing.
Even if anyone here had paid attention to Fianna Callan for some misguided reason—hell, even if they’d also started their matchmaking, and I’d been on their list of potential matches—they would never make the connection now.
I’d hidden my body, my long hair, and any other vaguely discernable features.
They’d be used to an image of a stone faced girl painted in makeup, not a frail looking boy in a suit.
Though that guy who I accidentally (on purpose) knocked into the fountain for asking me to a dance in high school might remember me if he looked close enough.
I glanced subtly over my shoulder. Gregory the Wet was fidgeting nervously in his seat and paying me zero mind. I wasn’t terribly worried about him. Fortunately, I left great first impressions.
Constant failure and social awkwardness was a gift when you wanted to stay single forever.
My dating prospects certainly wouldn’t be improving with my current life choices, and if all went well, I’d make it to the other side of this war having evaded my reproductive obligations for long enough to avoid them forever.
The plan was to simply earn my place in a Shinka Unit, hope my brain synced instead of melted when I did, win the war, then go home safe and happy with no one the wiser, where everyone would give my brother pats on the back for his brave, valiant fighting.
I wouldn’t have minded staying in this form forever and having the glory myself, but it wasn’t like I had the luxury of inventing someone new without raising suspicion.
The last thing the military would be accepting right now was an unregistered person who could be a spy.
Being Vann, who already had citizenship on file and a draft notice, was much simpler.
I didn’t care who got the credit for whatever I might accomplish here, really. Keeping him safe would be enough reward.
When the last of the desks were filled, we were all given test tablets and a two hour timer.
Some sort of placement exam, by the looks of it.
Most of the questions dealt with simple patterns like a low rate IQ test, followed by a couple strategy and logic based simulation games that were laughably simple.
I’d worked out more complex problems as a child when I built my first CHRONO game.
I suppose they couldn’t make any of it too complicated. They weren’t exactly looking to disqualify anyone. I assumed it would be more about starting position: maybe deciding who was best as cannon fodder versus who would be better in the control rooms and the like.
There weren’t any questions pertaining to actual mathematics or medical training or technical aptitude though.
I swiped my way through cute war games, and was done within the first half hour.
I was the first into the waiting room, where I sat bouncing my knee nervously until the rest of the class was finished.
It was nearly an hour before the next recruit joined me.
Then they started filtering in at somewhat regular intervals.
Once the waiting room was full, we were met by a new evaluator who called people, one at a time, into some other room.
When my name was called, I was ushered into a sterile, white chamber that was little bigger than a holding cell, centering a chair with a massive entanglement of technology and wires overhead.
I hoped with every fiber of my being that this wasn’t some sort of body scan that would give them a clear image of my actual shape.
Getting caught at this stage, after I’d already been declared dead, wouldn’t reflect well.
I wasn’t certain how severe the punishment might be for this crime, but I doubted it was small.
Even female prisoners were still expected to reproduce.
They just got even less choice in the matter.
“Take a seat,” a distinctly feminine, disembodied voice echoed through the room, playing through a hidden speaker.
“Close your eyes and relax to the best of your ability.” The voice was a familiar tone, being the generic, artificially-generated lilt that was used in every application or automated process on the station.
It was said to naturally relax the mind, being a result of some pseudo-science that said a woman’s voice was more soothing to the ear than a man’s.
I was quite certain they’d spent more time studying the exact sound wave frequency and cadence needed to come up with this stupid voice, than they did studying the physiology of real life women.
But I digress.
Not certain what exactly this voice was coaxing me into today, I swallowed, then I climbed into the reclined chair.
My whole body prickled with tension as the octopus of wires lowered slowly over my head.
A clamshell closed around my face, sealing around my neck with a loud click, engulfing me in darkness.
My heart raced, a surge of uncharacteristic claustrophobia suddenly taking over my mind. My head was trapped in a dark ball, and I had to tell myself, firmly, that everything was fine.
“Please remain still and empty your mind. The scan will be over shortly.” The voice said, demanding the impossible.
I’d never had a quiet mind in my life. I wouldn’t be surprised if I’d already been thinking about what my life might be like while I was still in the womb.
There were days where a wayward thought had kept me up at night, hours past the point of exhaustion, just because I couldn’t get my head to shut up.
So now I was supposed to just draw a blank out of nowhere?
If I could silence my brain on command, I actually would have fucking loved that.
That wasn’t a man thing was it? Men didn’t have a brain on and off switch somewhere, surely.
No, that was impossible.
It better be impossible. I would actually be jealous if they did.
Cold air started blowing against both cheeks, and in an instant, I was completely out. In what felt like a single blink, I was waking up in the chair with the enclosure no longer wrapped around my head.
Some sort of sleeping gas? Safe to say I wasn’t the only one with an overactive imagination.