Unity by Elly Bangs (free e reader txt) 📕

“Disabuse yourselves of any preconceptions about armed conflict you’ve gleaned from twenty-first-century cinema. There is no legitimate military on Earth which still depends mainly on projectile weaponry. Modern arms are more effective. The soldier of the past was enslaved by his supply lines and his access to an array of specific chemical and metallurgical resources. Today’s soldier needs only one form of ammunition: electrical energy. He can always acquire this resource, wherever he finds himself, whatever his circumstances. There is always a way.

“That is the first advantage of electromagnetic weaponry. The second advantage is accuracy. What happens to a bullet after it leaves the barrel of a projectile weapon, Alexei?”

“It falls as it flies,” I said. “And it blows on the wind, sir.”

“Precisely. A bullet follows a parabolic path relative to the ground. At a distance it is also deflected by air currents, and even the Coriolis force. These do not concern you. A coherent burst of electromagnetic energy will follow a perfectly straight course over any practical distance. Furthermore, since there is no recoil, the accurate range of a waver is limited only by the discipline and acuity of the soldier who operates it.

“The third advantage is stealth. A projectile weapon produces a propellant explosion that readily reveals the position of its user. Modern weapons emit no visible light and relatively little noise.

“Your collective failure to memorize this information will be punished by reduced rations tonight. Rations will be further reduced tomorrow, unless by then every one of you is prepared to recite for me the three advantages of modern arms over antique ones, and demonstrate a proper firing stance. Dismissed.”

All the other children formed a weary line to turn in their arms and head to the mess. I kept my eyes off them, but I could feel their cold stares—colder every day since my promotion.

The Major motioned for me to follow him back to his office. When the door was shut, he told me, “The others aren’t yet ready to hear it, but there’s a fourth advantage you should understand.”

“Yes, sir.”

“The fourth advantage of modern weapons is that they kill without mangling. They don’t break skin or release blood. They only scorch, and cleanly. Do you understand why that is a benefit, Alexei?”

“No, sir.”

“It’s easier on the soldier’s mind, his emotions. A proper headshot renders the enemy’s face peaceful in death, hidden by a mask of ash, so there is no empathy. The truth is that the other benefits of the wave rifle, all of them combined, have not done as much as that to advance the art of war.”

He knelt down, so that we were eye to eye. He said, “Crutches like that are necessary for weaker men than you and me. Like your comrades, out there. That’s how you know you’re stronger, and you’ll always be stronger. You were made to lead them. Never forget that. Never allow them to forget it. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” I lied.

He smiled, for the first time and last time I would ever see.

“Very good, son,” he said. “Very good, my boy. You are dismissed.”

It was a strange warmth that washed through my small body as I left his office and headed for the mess hall. I wondered if this was what it felt like to have a father; to have always had a father.

The others didn’t even wait to finish their meager rations before pulling me out of line. Six of them dragged me to the dusty space behind the stairs.

“My name is Wilson,” said one, “but he only calls me Cadet 282. You’re the only one that gets a human name. What’s your number, shithead?”

“One.”

They pinned me on the ground and kicked me in the face, shouting their given names, until my young blood puddled on the floor.

I awoke on a bed in the medic’s office. There were no medics. Major Standard stood over me.

“I’m not going to ask who did this to you,” he said, with perfect dispassion. “I have made you their superior. As their superior, it’s your duty to instill and maintain discipline, and to enforce the laws by administering the appropriate penalties. The penalty for mutiny is death.”

I felt a hard weight on my chest. It was a small wave pistol.

He said nothing more about it.

Every night for the week that followed, Wilson and the other numbered cadets took me behind the same stairs and left me there with new wounds. Each attack was more vicious than the last. The Major never spoke about these; he treated my injuries as invisible or irrelevant. If I leaned, he ordered me to straighten up. If I limped, he ordered me to hurry. Through six of these beatings, I always kept the pistol hidden in my jacket, tucked against my stomach with the safety on.

The seventh beating was the last.

“This is an aim-assist implant,” the Major told us. He pointed out various features projected on the pane behind him: the hair-thin wires trailing down the neck from the occipital lobe of the brain, down into the arm. He faced us, hands clasped behind his back, and demanded, “Who can tell me its function?”

Cadet 180 stood up and shouted, “Sir. The implant reads the point of intended aim directly from the visual cortex and delivers the appropriate electrical signals to the relevant muscle groups to force them to conform. Sir.”

Nearly verbatim. Cadet 180 was improving.

The image twitched slightly. The Major turned to the man who lay bound and gagged under the scanner. A deserter. He was trying to wriggle free again. Standard rolled up his sleeve and delivered a short, sharp blow to the forehead with the heel of his hand. The wriggling stopped.

“Nearly every martial force on Earth employs this technology, including the forces of your Republic,” the Major said. “Who can tell me why none of you will ever receive such an implant?”

This wasn’t a question whose answer we’d been