Recruitment

"I'm doing it.  I'm joining up."

"But, you'll be thirty soon, doesn't that matter?"

"Nope, not to them."

Lindsay was concerned, it was something she never expected.  Pete had talked about this before, but never in her wildest dreams did she think it could actually happen.

"Look Linds," Pete smiled at her, "when I was a teenager, joining the service was being manipulated by the government to die for oil.  Even Desert Storm was just kind of a joke with no danger.  I even got the trading cards & toys for my 8th birthday."

"Yeah, so? I got my little ponies, you don't see me trying out for the Mounties.

"They're Canadian."

"Not the point Peter."

"Anyways,  then this new war starts up during college, and I'm still just a kid.  I have no concept of duty or being part of something bigger than myself. And then it turns out to be even more about oil, and I have friends guarding poppy fields.  What kind of war is that? "

"Right, I understand that, so what are you expecting to get from this?"

The conversation didn't go well.  Pete really thought Lindsay would get it.  The lights of the recruiting station shone down, glowing bright whitish blue.  Like a bug zapper thought Pete.

Lindsay looked at her hands.  They weren't old.  She moisturized every day.  Not working outside all year long definitely made her hands softer than her mother's.   Why do I obsess over these. Lindsay saw her hands as tools.  Capable and versatile.  Maybe if she thought of them as instruments or dainty Pet wouldn't.  No, that is not it. She loved Pete, and she supported Pete, but how do you support someone when their choices lead them away from you.  Not emotionally, but physically.  Hands that are capable and versatile. . .

MALE

29 SOLAR REVOLUTIONS OF AGE

HIGH BLOOD PRESSURE

OVER 20% BODY FAT

CAPABLE INTELLIGENCE

PATERNAL HISTORY OF CARDIAC DISEASE, ALCOHOLISM, HIGH CHOLESTEROL

MATERNAL HISTORY OF CANCER, DIABETES, EMOTIONAL INSTABILITY. . .

. . .

. . .

REPAIRABLE

STATUS. . .

ACCEPTABLE  75 PERCENTILE

I knew it thought Pete.  He wasn't sure what repairable meant, but he felt confident that it had something to do with the medical tech that they had given in good faith.  Pete followed the flashing white lights on the floor out into the corridor.  At the same time, a sandy haired dude about his age, but a bit mousier in his features.

"Isn't this great!?"

"Great?"

"Yeah, fixing our health problems and sending us out there!  That's great!"

"What makes you think they are going to fix them?  Would you operate on your dog before you put it down?"

"What? No, we're helping, we've been accepted.  We're a part of something! Why are you here?"

"Seemed preferable to prison."  said the sandy haired man blankly. "Guess we're just lambs for the slaughter."

Pete stared at the man.  He thought he was joining a brotherhood.  Doing his duty, not just for his Country, but his entire Planet, the entire Universe!   The walls opened and a strange pale green light emitted.  He couldn't move.  The floor turned into a conveyor belt.  In the next room his body was augmented with machine parts.  The green glow help him in place.  He couldn't scream.  A chip was put into his brain.  He was going to fight.  On the front lines. He was designed to be part of the first wave. NO! Pete's brain railed against the machines assaulting him.  I'm still me!  I am Pete!  I am human!

He began to feel again.  He could rotate his eye.  He saw the final vestige of the sandy haired man as a tight fitting metal helmet was sealed around his blonde skull. Pete turned his vision to the small window, he could see the earth, he could see the door to the recruitment center, he could see. . . Lindsay? NO!

Lindsay had made up her mind.  If Pete was joining up, she would too.  She could be with the man she loved.  She could put her hands to use.