If he could come so far in ten months, where might he rank in a year? By then, the entire sector would be engulfed in flames. Men like Connor would be called upon to lead forces into the most daring, devastating battles of the war.
“It’s what they’re grooming us for,” he told Kaz, who polished shoes in the adjacent bunk.
“Talking to yourself, Big C?”
Connor stifled a laugh.
“I always talk to myself. It’s how I keep a clear mind, bruv. Stay focused on the greater purpose.”
Kaz slipped into his shoes.
“I had a cousin who talked to himself. Out loud and nonstop. Apparently knew his purpose, too. In his case, it meant throwing himself out an airlock.”
Kaz didn’t sound like he was joking.
“You imply I’m losing my shit?”
“Nobody on the Wave is in their right mind. That’s the cudfrucking point. So, uh, what are they grooming us for?”
Connor tapped his red bar.
“Leadership. We’ll be the Captains, Generals, Field Marshals. They’ll expect us to make the hardest choices. When war’s done, we’ll enforce the new order. We’ll wash away the filth.”
Kaz nudged Connor away from the mirror and inspected his personal details.
“You’re always thinking big picture.”
“It’s important, Kaz. You have to see beyond the nearest star. I’ve made up my mind. I’m going to have my own planet.”
Kaz stopped what he was doing and hit Connor with a side eye.
“Your own planet? Now you sound like my late cousin.”
OK, so it did come across as a little crazy. He chuckled.
“It’s doable. You, too. Or maybe we share one.”
“Explain.”
“I estimate the war will take two years. We don’t know exactly how much Black Star will throw at us, but it won’t be pretty. Best guess? A billion dead, maybe two. Most of the economies will collapse. That’s where we come in. Martial law, military governors. No more Constitution. No more sovereign rights.”
Kaz nodded.
“Perfect so far.”
“Except it’s going to be hard to hold it all together until we mass produce the Dysons. The conditioning will take years. I’m guessing twenty to thirty before we have a total grip. In the meantime, they’ll need men like us to keep a chokehold.”
Kaz slapped his best friend on the back.
“Hadn’t given the endgame much thought, Big C. I like taking it one mission at a time. But I reckon there’s a nugget of truth in your long view. Teaching humans a better way to live is not a short-term endeavor. Hardest part will be un-teaching.”
Connor watched Kaz slip on his white gloves.
“I was talking to Col. Sukareva last week. She said her team had nearly perfected miniaturized Dyson tech. After the prototypes are tested, they’ll start mass production.”
“Interesting. How fast?”
“Sukareva says they can process fifty million within the year.”
Kaz whistled.
“Call me impressed. Always wondered how they intended to convert billions with those clunky machines. This makes more sense.”
“I like Sukareva. Most of the crew thinks she’s cold. But she also takes the long view. Her dream for the Dysons?” Connor tapped his forehead. “A chip inserted into the cerebral cortex at one year old. Start teaching humans how to live correctly when they begin to develop language skills.”
Kaz showed no particular reaction.
“Not exactly a new idea. The Aeternans have something like that, or so I’ve heard.”
“They do. Can’t remember the name right off, but think about how united they are. The immortals don’t have to deal with the mess we made of the other thirty-nine planets.”
Kaz scoffed.
“Tell me about it. Can’t get Barca out of mind. The stench! If I never see that cudfrucking city again.”
Connor also noticed the city’s pervasive odor. It smelled like a blend of rancid meat, sweet tobacco, and mold.
Were all giant cities like this? He wondered. Prior to the Barca mission, none of Red Team’s attacks took place in an urban setting.
