Kepler One - The Choosing

Chapter 5

"MORNING, MAGGOTS!"

The voice was loud, male, and made my spine snap to attention instantly. I leapt up from the floor, my fists clenched and ready for the fight I was expecting; a matter of reflex more than anything. But there was no fight to avoid.

Instead, a man wearing the same black uniform as the Tierless, save for a gold stripe over one shoulder, glared at the cadets still cowering below their blankets; all save me, Tristan, and Nathan.

The man's accent was similar to Tristan's, but far stronger. He was elderly, perhaps mid-fifties, and his frame was solid and imposing. His gunmetal-grey hair was neatly shorn on both sides, and stood to attention on the top of his head. He struck me as a man not accustomed to emotions or compassion.

It wasn't often I saw someone with as many wrinkles as he had, and I could only presume that this was General Stonewall. The most peculiar thing about his appearance, however, was the fact that his eyes were milky white. He was blind, or almost blind.

Disabled people never faired out too well on my tier. Any disfigurement, or mutation from the radiation, usually ended in a mercy killing . . . if anyone cared enough. So I was surprised to see someone like him in charge.

Standing behind the imperious general was a younger man with a nose and forehead that seemed too large for the rest of his face. His curly, brown hair swayed as he darted his narrowed eyes between us all. The smaller man whispered into the ear of the general. His stare lingered on me, and the general nodded.

"My name is General Cormac Stonewall and this is Captain Michael Stansfield. It appears that we got off on the wrong foot, so allow me to be clear. When I say, morning maggots, it ain't a code to fix your hair or do your nails, you shower of snivelling, pathetic ingrates. It means get your asses outta bed, NOW!"

The room, or perhaps just my ears, rang with the cadence of the general's bellow. Bed clothes were flung into the air and boots scrabbled and squeaked on the cement floor as the others clambered to stand to attention.

"Do you know why I called y'all maggots?" the general asked amidst the commotion.

"Yes, Sir," Nathan and Tristan answered in unison.

The general walked down the centre of the room with a confidence that belied his disability. He stopped in front of Tristan, then turned and faced him as though he could see.

"Well, Lieutenant Grayson, why don't you enlighten me and tell me why y'all are maggots?" he asked.

Tristan's eyes remained fixed on the general's forehead. He tensed his fists and clenched his jaw muscles. Swallowing slowly, he had the look of a man who was incredibly incensed.

"Because that's what we are, Sir," he shouted. "We're the lowest of the low, the bottom of the food chain. Nothing more than the maggots that feed off the discarded leftovers of society."

"That's right, Tristan," the general said, continuing his walk down the centre aisle toward me. "Only something so pathetic would cower the way y'all did. Of course, I expected more from the two Tierless, but I was hoping there'd be a few of you long enough off their momma's teat that y'all would have some kinda backbone. It seems, however, there ain't none but one."

General Stonewall, hands clasped behind his back, took long strides in my direction and stopped an inch short of head-butting me.

"What's your name and what tier did you come from?"

"Zoe Ruthland," I replied, my fists still clenched. "Tier Five."

I could feel everyone's eyes on me. Over the general's shoulder Nathan glared, his eyes burgeoning some kind of renewed hatred for me. Tristan, on the other hand, kept his focus on the wall opposite him and ignored the inquest.