ayeâ! Do you understand me?â
âSir! Aye aye, sir!â
â Every time you wish to refer to yourselves, you will do so in the third person! You will say âthis recruitâ and you will not say the word âIâ! When you refer to yourselves, you will do so as ârecruit,â followed by your last name. Do I make myself clear?â
âSir, aye aye, sir!â
âJesus, Quan Yin, and Buddha , are you that stupid , maggot? You say âaye ayeâ when you understand and will obey an order! If I ask a question requiring of you a simple yes or no answer, you will reply with the appropriate yes or no! Do you understand?â
âUhâ¦Sir, yes, sir!â
âWhat was that? I heard some static in your reply!â
âSir! Yes, sir!â
âNow, what is it you had to say to me?â
John had to grope for what it was Sewicki had originally asked him. Exhaustion and disorientation were beginning to take their toll, and his mind was fuzzy.
âSir! This recruit had a naming last week. Iâ¦uhâ¦this recruit took his motherâs name. Sir.â
âYouâre a little old for that, arenât you, son?â
Save for the members of a handful of conservative religious groups, women rarely took the names of the men they married anymore, which meant that a personâs last name was now a matter of conscious choice. Throughout most of western culture, for at least the past fifty years, boys took their fatherâs last name, girls their motherâs, until about the age of fourteen, when the child formally chose which name he or she would carry into adulthood. John originally had his naming ceremony on his fourteenth birthday at his fatherâs church in Guaymas.
There was nothing in the rules, though, that said he couldnât have a second naming and change his last name from Esteban to Garroway. Heâd gone to a notary in SanDiego with his mother as soon as theyâd left Sonora, paid the twenty-newdollar fee, and thumbed the e-file records to make it official. He would never be John Esteban again.
âSirââ he began, wondering how to explain.
âI think youâre a goddamn Aztie secessionist, maggot, trying to hide your Latino name.â
The sheer unfairness of the charge surged up in his throat and mind like an unfolding blossom. âSirââ
âI think youâre trying to be something youâre not. I think youâre an Aztie trying to infiltrate my Corpsââ
âThatâs not true!â
âHit the deck, maggot!â Sewicki exploded. âFifty push-ups!â
âSir! Aye aye, sir!â
Face burning, John dropped to hands and toes and began chugging off the repetitions. As Sewicki pounced on another victim farther down the line, the other sergeant loomed over him, counting him down. His Marine career, he decided, was off to a very rocky start. It wasnât that he thought the Garroway name would buy him any favors, exactly, but he sure hadnât figured on it buying him any trouble.
Heâd only reached fifteen, arms trembling, when Sergeant Heller swatted him on the back of his head and barked, âOn your feet, recruit!â Sewicki was leading the rest of the group off to a building behind the paved area at a dead run, and he had to scramble to catch up, jogging through the humid night.
By now he was beginning to wonder if he would ever catch up.
The building was a featureless gray cinder-block structure, unadorned and almost unfurnished, save for a desk with a nano labeler operated by a bored-looking civilian. As the recruits filed in, the civilian touched each on the back of the left hand with the wand. Within seconds the numeral 1099 began gleaming from each recruitâs hand in self-luminous neon-orange light.
âThat,â Sewicki told them, âis the number of your recruittraining company, Company 1099. It is your address. It is who you are
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