Doc’s trick was working just fine, most Sergeants agreed.

“Like they wanna hump the synths’ turrets,” said Baator from the Raven Talons. “My boys were all over them like flies over shit before I had time to say ‘Charge!’, and chewed synth shield like it was Kooks’ pasta.”

“Yeah,” agreed Tejaru from the Azure Magpies. “I still had a couple of virgins in my squad yesterday; didn’t want to rush things with them…”

“You’re too gentle, Tej.”

“You know me,” said Tejaru, “I like to work them softly before it’s time to play hard. Anyway: virgins launched themselves in front, squad’s spear-point. They were still going forward as synth fire grinded them into bloody hamburgers.”

“Now that’s some meatshield!” laughed Baator.

“Boys do come back with a smile and a vengeance,” agreed Ayelen from the Jay Eyes, “and begging me to take them back to the field ASAP.”

“Doc should throw a Jack for us, too…” Tejaru said.

“Yeah!” said Ayelen. "I mean, we girls die as much as the next guy! How come we get no candy stick?”

“You talked to him, right?” Tejaru asked Gonzal. “Doc said anything about that?”

Gonzal stared at the small clear stream in front of them, the early afternoon sun glittering bright over the ripples. Water, like sunsets, seemed to flow exactly the same way in every world. He took a handful of warm sand in his right hand.

“Gonzie…”

Gonzal looked at her, lying on her side with one elbow lifting her head above the ground. Sarge Tejaru had a great body, all the easier to appreciate when, like now, she was sunbathing in her dark swimsuit and not clad in her azure combat armor—the physique of the quick, agile fighter, wiry and tough, sculpted by the battlefields of planet after planet and moon after…

No, Gonzal thought, only this one world. She was shot a few weeks after we hit dirt here; her mind remembers all those other planets, but her current body knows no other sun than Dari Cal’s.

Tejaru playfully tossed some sand at Gonzal’s chest.

“Plexshot!” cried Ayelen.

“You lost your man, Bats,” Tejaru said.

Baator’s huge hand squeezed Gonzal’s shoulder. “Sorry, buddy,” he said, “guess yet again the meatshield forgot to stand between the enemy and our sniper.”

Ayelen threw a handful of sand at Baator—the Clypeus’ huge frame was impossible to miss.

“Both sticks down!” chuckled Tejaru. “Slit team wins!”

Laughing, she and Ayelen high-fived.

“Gotta re-think our strat, bro,” Baator said to Gonzal.

“I think our Wing leader here has it all planned out, cold-blooded sniper style,” said Ayelen, poking Gonzal’s leg with her toe. “Vat trip for both sticks, right?”

“Oooh,” said Tejaru, “now I see it! Gonzie went down first, so he gets dibs on Doc’s sweets!”

“Hey!"” said Baator to Gonzal, “that’s meatshield privilege, bro! We always go down first!”

Ayelen smirked. “You should’ve know better before picking up a team, Bats. Such are the Crow’s ways: always stealing other birds’ candy.”

“Well…” Baator said, “but my man and me, we are taking a trip to the sweet store. Guess that’s why Doc has no candy stick for you, girls; you are just too damn smart to know better.”

“I know, right?” said Ayelen. “I mean, how the heck is that fair? We won! How come losers get rewarded for getting their asses kicked?”

Tejaru glanced at Gonzal, then at Ayelen, then at Gonzal again.

“So!” Ayelen said. “Let’s go for a rematch.” She stood up, like a cat lazily waking up from her nap.

Had she been a Sap, and judging by her paper-like yellow skin covered by rugged brown stains, you’d say she was in her mid-sixties; by the smooth precision with which she moved, you’d guess that in her youth she had been a Cluster-class gymnast who still religiously stuck to her gruesome training regime, and that Life had rewarded her discipline by allowing her to age well.

And yet there was something…

… something about how her muscles pulled while she languidly stretched her arms above her head, and the way her torso expanded while she yawned—as if her ribcage was a single, solid piece of chest armor—that hinted at genetic engineering.

And it was as soon as she yelled, “Hand to hand!” and leaped like a feline over Baator that there was no doubt left that she was a Pernix, down to her last chromosome, and probably the youngest of the Sergeants.

Baator must have been expecting such a sneak attack. He accepted Ayelen’s weight without offering resistance, rolled over his back, and using his both legs to increase the Pernix’s own momentum threw her several yards away.

She twisted in the air as if Gravity treated her with special care, landing over the sand on her feet and without sound.

Baator was already up and charging. He lunged for a double leg takedown, a fraction of a second too slow: like a spring made of bone and muscle, Ayelen sprawled backwards and Baator’s face was sandpapered against the ground. That didn’t make any of them to break stride: a moment later Baator was with his back on the ground, pulling guard as Ayelen failed by a hair’s breadth to get him into side control.

“She shouldn’t go for a fight on the floor,” Tejaru said to Gonzal. “Baats’ much heavier, and a bit stronger.”

Gonzal nodded, half there half not there. She snapped her fingers in front of his face; Gonzal blinked a look of surprise.

“Where on Dari Cal are you, Gonzie?”

He managed a smirk.

She said, “Lemme guess: you are not on Dari Cal. Cheruvian frontline?”

He shrugged.

She smiled warmly. “I could always go to Doc Kourailen and ask him what’s eating you, you know? Rifle through your memories, see what’s riding you on top?”

Pink. Her hair was furiously bright pink, and waist long.

Ayelen’s kiai echoed across the canyon: she had switched to stand-up striking, and Baator was taking the worst part by far. The Clypeus’ strength and reach had nothing on her speed; her low kicks were lightning fast and surgically precise, each landing over Baator’s thighs with a solid, painful *thuck*. As obvious as it was that she was just sparring lightly, it was very clear that the Clypeus felt every blow.

Baator receded towards the river under her relentless flurry, shin-blocking whenever he could, grimacing and grunting when he couldn’t.

“Ah, now that’s smart,” Tejaru said, approvingly. “He is big, but he only looks dumb.”

Always recoiling from Ayelen’s assault, Baator lured her into ankle-deep water; over the smooth, uneven carpet of rolling stones, her speed and mobility decreased noticeably.

A few grunts from the Azure, Talon and Eye squads gathered around the beach, not yet sure who to cheer for.

“I still don’t know where you are, Gonzie,” Tejaru said. “Now that’s one cold-hearted trick you’ve mastered: girl tries to catch boy’s attention, fails miserably… what can girl do but try harder?”

Gonzal kneeled, and rubbed his elbows clean of dry sand.

“Is it Doc’s toys?” she said. He stared at her. She said, “You’ve been awfully quiet since Doc brought you guys all that candy. I mean, it could be Kooks’ shit, too… but it ain’t. Am I right?”

“No,” Gonzal said. “It’s not that.”

“I’m a big tough girl,” she said. “I know we are no match for gengineered dolls like those Jills. Heck; you look at my Azure boys, they die with a smile so big you’d say those angels can turn turdstew into gregol pie; it’s like Kooks’ won’t ever need his food reps again.”

Ayelen half squealed, half laughed. Now knee-deep in the stream, Baator had managed to arm-drag her, caught her back, and encircled his huge arms around her waist.

“Oh, this is gonna hurt…” Tejaru chuckled.

Baator lifted Ayelen over his head while she wailed and, arching himself backwards, smashed her into the water with a brutal suplé that could have broken a Sap’s spine.

The Azure and Eye grunts went, “Ooohh!” while the Talons cheered and clapped.

Soaking wet, laughing delightedly, Ayelen stood to her feet. Pointing to her Eyes, she yelled, “As I was telling you, guys… don’t you ever, ever mess with a Talon!”

The Talons yelled, “Yeah!” and hailed their Sarge, while the other grunts clapped and congratulated him.

“Why didn’t you bring your Wings, Gonzie?” asked Tejaru.

“I’d rather be alone.”

“Oh…”

Realizing immediately how that had sounded, Gonzal said, “Sorry, Tej. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I’m a big tough girl, remember?” She looked at her hands, balled them into a fist, then slowly extended her fingers. She smiled at him. “I know what I’m made of, and I know what I’m made for.”

Ayelen and Baator approached, both of them laughing and dripping wet.

“You Clyps sure like it rough, eh?” Tej said.

Baator shrugged. “We were just brewed that way, I guess.”

“You almost had him, girl,” she said to Ayelen.

“Whadda ya mean, almost?” Ayelen said.

“That was one vicious crash landing, sister…”

“Water crash, actually,” corrected Baator.

“You know I could’ve kicked his sorry ass…” said Ayelen to Tej.

“Yeah… sure!”

“I could have kicked his sorry Clypie ass all the way back to Doc’s vats.” Ayelen turned around and poked Baator in his huge chest. “But then he’ll have his big Clypie hand stuck inside Doc’s candy jar, gorging on Doc’s candy right now. But since he won… to the victor go the spoils, right?” Her fingertips caressed Baator’s stomach.

“Right of conquest, I’m afraid,” said Tej.

“Mind if we go AWOL on you guys?”

Tej looked at Gonzal. “No,” she said with a smile, “we don’t mind.”

“Meatshield’s going down, bro,” said Baator to Gonzal. “Watch out for close quarter combat.”

As they were going away, Ayelen looked back and said, “Take care of our grunts for us, will you?” She led Baator further downstream, where the river and the canyon walls made a sharp bend, and soon they were out of sight.

“I’m gonna be a good Magpie mommy myself and check on my Azures, Gonzie,” said Tej. “Don’t want them messing with a bunch of un-baatored Talons. You know how they are: they see fight, they want fight.”

She stood up: sharp warrior muscles, eager to kill, rippling under her taut tanned skin. “Don’t be here all night, Gonzie,” she said, and went towards where some Magpies, Eyes and Talons were revisiting their Sarges’ moves.

Gonzal watched her go as she strolled upstream along the beach.

***

Squirrel loved spending their day off in a wind-swept clearing, surrounded by a grove of huge trees no different from the one he called home back in the Nest. There he would roast his morning catch, a large birdlike critter called…

… well, whatever it was called; Squirrel was not a man that needed to deal with his food on a first name basis. With a few sharpened branches as skewers and a circle of small stones as makeshift stove, the whatever birdie was soon drizzling fat over the fire beneath.

“You are usually as noisy as a cow, Sarge,” Squirrel said aloud, as if he was talking to his roasting prey. “But today you are as heavy-footed as a big, fat, pregnant cow.”

A few twigs broke under Gonzal’s feet as the Sergeant stepped into the clearing.

“How would you know, Squilly? You’ve never seen one.”

“True enough; but I’m sure cows make as much racket as you do, Sarge, and I’ve heard you, so…”

Gonzal approached the warm, rocky fireplace. “Looking good, Squilly.”

“Smelling even better, Sarge.”

“Sure beats Kooks’ shit by knockout.”

Squirrel laughed. “That a compliment, Sir? Because sounds almost like an insult… what could possibly be worse than that shit?”

“No offense, Squilly.”

“None taken.” He made a gesture towards the soft grass. “Take a sit, Sarge. Plenty of room, and whatsisname birdie here is almost ready.”

“Thanks, Squilly, but I’m OK. Maybe we’ll get pasta tonight, who knows?”

Squirrel raised his eyes at him.

Gonzal felt the bright day get a bit darker. “Didn’t we get spare parts yesterday?”

“We did… now we have ammo plexers to shoot down the whole Nemurastii fleet. But guess how many food plexers we’ve got?”

Gonzal shook his head. “Sheesh…” he sighed. “Anyway, not hungry right now. I think I’ll take my chances with Kooks tonight.”

Squirrel carefully tore one of the bird’s wing-looking appendages and took a bite. He smiled as in bliss. “Aw, godsss…” He chewed, fat dripping down his chin. “It’s good to be alive!” He swallowed. “Sure you don’t want some, Sarge? Tastes like heaven, lemme tell you. Or maybe just chicken, which is probably the same.”

Gonzal shook his head again.

Squirrel finished cleaning the whatsisname bone, chucked it overhead, tore himself another clump of meat.

“I need your nose, Squilly. What’s your take on our context?”

The little Pernix munched slowly. “Out here? In the open air, far from the Nest? Everything looking solid, Sarge. We’re pushing back the synths, which is what UGC pays us for; sooner or later Ordie will get the correct spare parts and Kooks will feed us right again.” He removed with his tongue a bit of meat stuck between his teeth. “But back in there?” He sniffed, nose up in the air. “Back in the Nest, you can smell those dolls everywhere. It’s in the air, their pheromones.” He nibbled a bit of roasted skin. “Clinging in the air, and stuck on the skin of every grunt that comes back from the vats smiling.” He looked at Gonzal. “And it looks like the synths have taken a crash-course on head-shooting, because every day we have more smiling dorks.”

“You don’t seem much affected yourself…”

Squirrel lifted his hands, one palm in front of the other as if they were the opposing walls of a corridor; then he put his head between those walls and shivered. “I can’t stand narrow spaces myself, Sarge,” he said. “Those Jills are as much walking wet dreams for me as they are for any guy or gal who’s into girls. Sex-On-A-Stick, they are. But having to wake up trapped in a vat is kind of a deal breaker for me.” He tossed the clean whatsisname bone, prodded the meat on the skewer with his knife, saw it was not well done yet. “If you don’t mind me asking, Sir… what’s your take?”

“Wish I had one, Squilly. Everybody in the Nest seems happy. Baator says his boys are running smooth like silk; Ayelen and Tejaru, they both agree; from other Sarges I’ve heard no complaints. And you’ve seen Wolf, Stoic and the Clyps yesterday: now that was some fighting spirit.”

Squirrel poked at the fire with a thick, charred branch. “Like they were dying to die?” A plume of sparks lifted from the fire as the Pernix broke some embers. "I dunno, Sarge. I was dead wrong, and you were damn right: there were no angels or chubby cherubs lurking in the vats. It was just Doc and his new gengineered dolls; I made up and entire angelic host out of a couple of vat-brewed broads. So… I dunno…”

He lifted a skewer with a big chunk of perfectly roasted birdie meat.

“All I’m saying,” Squirrel said, “is that those dolls are pure, undiluted Sex-On-a-Stick, that’s for sure. And I know all the Jill jokes, about how they can single-handedly raise a whole squad’s morale, but can they?” He looked at Gonzal. “Doc’s letting clones run around clean of happy dope, so those two dolls are all the happiness that clones can get. And there are a lot of sticks in our Nest, Sarge. That’s all I’m saying.”

The sun, still high, was leaving the clearing in shadows. The breeze ruffled the thick foliage and filled the branches with a low murmur.

“Sure you don’t want bite the bird, Sarge? You know I can’t bring the meat back to the Nest; Luthz’s rules and all. I could smuggle some if I wanted to, but then you’d had to report my sorry Pernix ass, now wouldn’t you?”

Gonzal squatted across the fire. “What the heck, Squilly; gimme one of those skewers, will you?” As the Pernix handed a glistening portion of meat to him, Gonzal said: “Off the record, Squilly… I’m fed up with always being damn right. Sometimes I wish I had the chance to be absolutely, completely and totally fucking wrong for once, just for a change. Must be a wonderful feeling.”

“I’m afraid that’s not your job, Sarge. The right to be always wrong is a privilege for ranks above Captain.”

“That’s seditious talk, Corporal.” He took a mouthful and sighed with relish. “But what the hell, I think I’ll let that pass.”

***

Next day it was business more or less as usual: kick the shit outta the synths, eat Kooks’ shit as reward.

So was the next day.

And the next, except that the synths had upgraded their tower formations by erecting a fourth turret somewhat behind their usual line of three, to provide some fire support. Didn’t matter much: the four towers became smoking piles of rubble in record time. Haiks, Bigfoot, Stoic and Wolf had gone to the vats this time; Chinkx, Minds and Squirrel had bitched all the way back, complaining that they were not pack mules that always had to haul the other dumbasses’ weapons and armor back to the Nest. Noui had also carried her share of recovered gear, but walked rather silent.

Turdstew stench was a permanent resident of the Mess Hall by now, and it stuck to walls, tables and ceilings, yet even the Talons were grinning and saying, “Heyya, Kooks! Thanks!” as the chubby chef served them ladle after ladle of reeking goo. None was more surprised than Kooks himself; you’d think Doc had jury-rigged every new clone’s taste buds and short-circuited their sense of smell.

Which is exactly what he has done, Gonzal thought. But if everybody’s happy, what’s the problem?

By this time it was generally understood that Doc’s dolls were vox populi and completely outside the coverage of cloning NDA. Chinkx hadn’t had the pleasure of meeting the Jills yet, and could talk of nothing else.

“Julie’s… wow, dude, wow!” said Stoic, and looking at his face you would have wondered if his callsign was ironic.

“You mean Julia?”

“I mean the blonde one!”

Haiko dreamily said, "Oooh yeah. Like a river of soft, warm gold taking you straight to heaven.”

“Told you, rookie!” bellowed Bigfoot to Wolf. “You would learn to like the cloning part!”

“You think that they…?” wondered Wolf. “Y’ know… right now, our next batch of flesh suits, being grown in there… y’ know?” He pointed towards Cloning.

Haiko playfully slammed his palm over Wolf’s back. “Spit it out, rookie! What’s eatin’ ya?”

“Well… they are there right now, right? I mean our clones? All floating in the vats, like full-grown babies?” Wolf smiled timidly. “Like, floating all naked? You think… y’ know… them Jills, I mean. D’ you think they, like… check us out while we float in there and, well… compare?”

All the guys save Gonzal and Minds roared in laughter.

“Got nothing to be ashamed of yourself, rookie!”

“At least for a Sap, that is!”

“And whatever measures the Jills may by taking…” Haiko pointed at the rest of the buzzing, smile-starred Mess Hall, “boy oh boy are they dire!”

“That’s it!” shouted Chinkx, ramming his fist against the table and making all the trays rattle. “That’s fucking it, I’m dying to meet them. Sarge, with your permission, I request to be assigned meatshield duties for tomorrow.”

“You can’t tank for shit, Chinkx!”

“That was kinda my point, Haiks! Sir? Pretty please? I promise to run in a straight dumb line, no zig-zag, just like the Clyps do!”

“Hey! Sprinting straight at the enemy is a fine art you Saps just don’t grasp!”

Bigfoot chuckled and said to Haiko, “Just let the Sap try, bro, if that’s his wish. He’ll last… what? All three seconds?”

Chinkx turned to Gonzal. “Sarge? Please? Let the Clyps do the sniping, just for once?”

“Clones are not T-shirts, Chinkx,” Gonzal said. “And snipers are not close combat specialists.”

Chinkx grumbled something about pack mules and fairness and injustice, and how it was no fucking fair that the survivors got no rewards.

Gonzal looked at Noui: although quiet, the Field Med was in no better mood than Chinkx. “Hey, Noui,” said the Sergeant, “something wrong?”

“Gotta admit it’s not fair,” smirked Stoic.

“Yeah,” said Bigfoot, “but I’ve heard Doc has budgeted a Jack, too, since these first trials are going so well. That’d put a smile on everybody’s faces, I’d say.”

“I’d say our Med should give Julia a chance to take dare measures with her…” said Stoic.

“That’s the blonde one?”

“No, dude! The brunette!”

Noui stood up.

“Aw, c’mon, lil’ sister!” said Haiko. “We were just fooling around!”

Without a word, Noui glanced at Gonzal, turned, and went for the door.

Bigfoot rammed his massive elbow against Stoic’s ribs. "You went a bit too far, bro," he whispered.

Gonzal glanced at Noui pulling open the huge metal doors towards the courtyard, then coughed his enough-of-this-bullshit hawk.

Utter silence was made among the Wings.

“Now, gentlemen…” Gonzal said, “chew your food slowly. That’s an order; thoroughly, carefully, and above all slowly.” He stood up. “And be sure to stay in this wonderfully refreshing atmosphere for a really long while before going out. That clear?”

“Crystal, Sir!” they choired.

Gonzal followed Noui outside.

***

He found Noui and Squirrel whispering to each other below Squirrel’s tree. The little Pernix nodded as Gonzal approached them.

“Sarge…” said Noui. “May I speak freely?”

“Sure. Those jokes were a bit out of place.”

“Naah…” She waived her hand dismissively. “Boys will be boys. Dumb jokes are part of being a family: I’m their little sister, and they are my big dumb brothers. Except you, Squilly; you’re little like me.”

“That’s a compliment, I guess?”

Noui patted him in the back.

Gonzal said, “You wanted to speak freely?”

The Field Med nodded.

“I’m all ears.”

“All right… Rumors, you know how that is. Anyway: Naiq Il, from the Azures, was saying that four Magpies…”

“Azures, from Tejaru’s squad?"

"No; Blacks, apparently. So: synths send four Black Magpies for a swim. Jills are taking care of two of them, other two are waiting. Then a batch of incoming Talons shows up; you know, Sarge Baator’s boys?"

“Aha…”

“Magpies make Talons wait too long; or maybe the Talons were in a hurry. Anyway; things get a bit ugly among the boys… y’ know, coming in berserk, plus all the pheromones hanging in there. Whatever. Doc makes the Talons leave, without they taking their time with the Jills. So the non-Jilled Talons, they come out of Cloning, and they bump into Shayla… you know her?”

“Of course I do; she handles all the human resources paperwork.”

“Well… word is the non-Jilled Talons had her cornered and were all over her when Sarge Baator shows up and drags them away. The Talons said it was all a joke. Maybe, maybe not; Shayla was pretty shocked, so Sarge Tejaru then tries to take her to see Doc Kourailen, to give her something to calm her down, but Shayla started screaming, ‘I’m not a Jill! I’m not a Jill!’ and wouldn’t go even near Cloning. So Sergeant Baator calls Sergeant Tejaru, and she gave Shayla some of our field quick-fixes so she would chillax."

The little Pernix shrugged. “A couple sticks too many…”

Noui frowned. “What’s that?”

Gonzal shook his head and didn’t answer.

“I mean… no offense, Sarge, but aren’t Doc’s dolls supposed to calm you guys down?"

“It’s just the novelty, Noui. Give us boys a new toy, we’ll be delighted for all about five minutes. Then the novelty wears off and it’s back to normal.”

“Yeah… maybe it’s like that,” Noui said. She didn’t seem convinced. “I don’t know. Sarge Ayelen was complaining her Eyes were unruly like hell today. I mean… no disrespect to your colleague.”

“We are under free talk protocol, Noui. Don’t you worry.”

Noui nodded. “Well… that’s about it. You’ve just heard it from Chinkx, and that was no joke: most boys are dying to go play with dolls. I know a bit of berserking is needed to pull us through our ops; heaven knows I’m sure glad when our two Big Brothers charge forward and keep synth fire away from me. And I’ll give it to Doc, I can’t remember my brothers ever being more battle-ready than now, but still…”

Noui shrugged.

Squirrel shook his head, but said nothing.

“You’re sure those Talons were coming back from Cloning?” Gonzal asked. “Perhaps they were coming straight back from the field, all boosted and buffed up?”

“Right off the vat, sir. That’s what I’ve heard.”

“You may need a nap, Sarge,” said Squirrel. “Being right all the time must be exhausting.”

Gonzal sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Damn,” he said. “What a job.”

###