The Escape: Chapter Four: The Induction

I left the closet and yanked my shirt up to make it look thrown on. Dim moonlight filtered in and saved me from tripping over one of JJ's toys. I reached the entry where I threw open the door, heart racing. 

A Virtue Squad stood on the porch. The Watchman in charge met my eye. "Sir," he said. "General Moore sent us by to ensure everything is proceeding properly." 

I would have thought it was a terrible joke by one of my brothers if all five of the men in front of me didn't look so serious. I didn't recognize them, so they probably had not caused problems during their training. The youngest one, a fresh Legionary, looked less sure than the others, probably stressed about being assigned a mission by the Grand General himself.

"Everything is fine," I said. The Watchman eyed me. His top had several medals and qualifications.

"The General instructed us to remain in the area. In case there's any concerns." 

Just how well did my father expect me to perform with a handful of men listening from the road? While it was not entirely unbelievable for my father to do this, it did put me in a bad spot. 

"Understood, Watchman. Now if you'll excuse me, I have pressing tasks." 

I closed the door and stared at it for a moment. No doubt the squad leader would report back to my father in the morning, if not sooner. I would need to make sure they reported something acceptable, which made my stomach turn. 

Alaina's eyes locked onto me the moment I got back to our closet. The paper in her hand crinkled. 

"What was that?" 

"The General has ears out." 

"What does that mean for us?" 

"We have to fake it." 

From her expression, she felt the same way I did about that. 

"You go fake it," she said, "and I'll keep practicing with the rifle."

I had a founding-era rifle given to me by my grandfather. I had only fired it a few times, but we planned to bring it, so we made sure we were both capable of putting it together. 

"You want me to go fake us both having intercourse?" 

"Well, they won't be able to see. You just need to make convincing noises." 

If I didn't know she was stressed, I would say she enjoyed that. 

"Okay. Nothing can go wrong with this, I'm sure." 

Two months after my father announced his requirement for more grandsons, I faced a crowd of silent seated teen men. The Guardians charged with their training stood at the ends of the pews with fierce, eager expressions. It was a swearing in, the last I would see.

So many faces stared with a mix of emotions. Some of them were determined and proud. However, a few glanced around, never quite looking at anything.

Traditionally, no one told boys what to expect at training. Allusions to the difficulty and stress, but no outright explanations. They reached thirteen with no true idea of what they were in for. Nothing they imagined, in their games or daydreams, could begin to prepare them.

The big three were present, somehow commanding attention without a word. I stood beside the Grand General, who was next to the High Preacher and Executive Governor. It was rare for all three to be in the same room, but always for inductions. All of us would speak to the newly minted men, amping them up for their training.

Every aspect of training was intentional. It was a process honed over centuries, designed to shape boys into hardened militiamen. They would hear some speeches, then immediately separate into individual cells with only a slat in the door for light, fed once a day, and never spoken to for a week. Guardians patrolled the hall, ensuring none of the Catechumens communicated. They would bang on the doors, scream, and crack lashes until they finally opened the doors and acted as if none of it happened. They would lead their charges to a hot meal and warm shower, show them to their bunks. For a week, there would be gentleness, compliments, and kindness.

At the start of the third week, the real hell began. I still remembered what it was like to go from isolation to warmth to the worst experience of my life in under a month. The Guardian's lashes were the gentlest part of the next six months.

It took all my control to not yell at the anxious lot to run. Run and don't look back. Nothing would come of it, except harm to my wife and son.

Preacher Everett took to the pulpit in his denim jeans and white short sleeved dress shirt. Just as he did every induction, he eyed the crowd with a stern expression. In his deepest preacher voice, he said, "422 years ago, your brave ancestors answered God's call to resist the demon forces spawned by Satan. They came from all corners, right here to New Covenant, and closed that border. They did this for you, so that you could live peacefully, free from the tyranny of alien rule. For generations, your forefathers remained on God's path, fighting for this freedom you enjoy. Now it is your turn. You're here to honor your family, the colony, and your Creator. Let us pray."

I bowed my head during the prayer, but barely heard a word. If everything went to plan, my little family and I would be very far away before the induction next month.

After the bellowed prayer, Everett stepped back. Executive Governor Luke Fox surveyed the audience, sharp in his pressed suit. He had been a Contractor by profession. His skill writing contracts made him very popular among voting men, and he trounced the competition in the election.

A wiry man who could argue a loophole until his opponent just gave up, Fox was ostensibly the intermediary between the Militia and Church. In reality, the both were so entwined, even I could hardly tell the line between them. And I was in line to rule one of them.

Speaking more evenly than Everett, Fox said, "This is your first step into manhood, and the beginning of your journey to a profession. I know each of you will do your family proud, and I look forward to seeing where you end up. Work hard, and you can accomplish so much in the colony. Idle, and you will earn a legacy of shame."

Eyes in the crowd shifted. Some didn't grasp the weight of their training until reality became stunningly clear.

The General strode forward. His uniform was so stiff it looked like stone. I remember when he spoke at my induction. Nine years felt like a lifetime.

Though spoken at a normal volume, his voice carried across the militia chapel. "You're here to become the protectors this colony depends on to keep us safe from the monstrous beings snarling at the gates. You've heard the story, I'm sure. Eight short years ago, Overseer Moore was a mere Legionary, just out of advanced training. On patrol at the border, he slew a massive beast of an alien. That is the sort of men I expect you to become. To stand, literally stand between this colony and the demons who would enslave us. And who better to turn you into that man than Overseer Moore himself?"

It was my cue. I stepped beside him. Hundreds of eyes focused on me. For a moment, my entire body froze. I have no problem with public speaking, but that urge to warn them reared again.

Forcing myself to continue, I said, "The next six months will be the hardest, most rewarding of your life. I will be here every step of the way, keeping you on the path. Your success is my success, and your failure could mean the destruction of the colony." For the record, my father wrote this speech when he was the Overseer in charge of training. "So, be assured, I will do everything in my power to see to your success."

I gestured to the trainers. They had everyone rise and raise their right hands. One inductee whispered, "Oh fuck."

Raising my right hand, I said, "Repeat after me. I, state your name, do solemnly swear before Almighty God to uphold peace and defend New Covenant against all threats, within and without. I will bear true allegiance to militia command, obey all orders without question, and serve with righteousness and resolve. So help me God."

When the last echoes died away, the trainers ordered the newest Catechumens from the chapel. I watched them go and pretended my chest didn't feel like a giant had stomped it flat. I was part of the problem with the colony, and all I could do was leave these young men to their fate. Prioritizing my son felt like a betrayal.

"James. Follow me."

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