by Joseph DeRepentigny
The commander looked over the new recruit with some amazement. He was a squat little guy with orange hair and three eyes. He’d seen this type before in the vids and knew they were a large part of southern society. Mostly farmers and basic laborers, they’d recently won the right to better themselves. The commander didn’t care. He wasn’t a fan of the caste system himself. He was born to the military life and often dreamed of being just a simple merchant; he looked at the recruit with wonder, this was the ﬁrst southerner he’d ever seen up close.
“New to the Martian Defense Fleet?” he asked.
“Yes, sir!” the recruit replied with the typical southern Martian treble.
The commander nodded with approval. Most new recruits, northern or otherwise, gave a less than enthusiastic reply. For them it was mandatory to spend two standard years in the service.
“So, are you ready to become a space hero?”
“I am ready to serve the Martian Empire!”
“Then tell me General Order Number One!”
The recruit opened his mouth and then closed it.
The commander smiled and nodded. “They don’t teach that.”
“They don’t, sir?”
“No, it is something you only learn out here in space.”
The recruit nodded and looked at the commander for the answer.
Grinning, the commander said, “General Order Number One is, ‘When in doubt, kill all humans.’ If you follow that out here you cannot go wrong.”
“Are we at war with them?”
“No, but remember: We may be green but we aren’t Earth friendly.”