Those push ups in the school gym on her knees with ankles crossed seemed a lifetime ago, and in some ways they were. Her sixteen birthday candles had barely gone cold before there was a sharp wrap at the door from a metal topped cane. Mother had made her favourite, carrot cake, blowing a large part of her grocery stamps on cream cheese and sugar, but no-one could swallow even a nibble. The R.M. men entered without waiting and a nurse hurried in with the orange jumpsuit, GPS trackable and able to dissolve skin by remote control. She dressed in silence, her Mother cried quietly. Now she did push ups to a relentless beat, legs straight, arms straight, any deviating and the count restarted at zero. Here in the Noble Army of the Emperor push ups were punishment; for being sassy, for unshined boots, for an unmade bed. More often that not it was just because the kid in charge felt like it. Give them a stripe on their shoulders and they were worse than the generals.
The rain that had lashed against the compound windows these last days of November was no warmer than ice. It was a realization that didn't surprise Mac but the thought had not occurred to him while he was in the training rooms with their geothermal heating. Now it stung his face and soaked into his standard-issue t-shirt, turning the sage green to almost black. His hands were splayed on the muddy gravel courtyard and his nose had to actually touch the grime with each push-up. On his back was a forty pound pack and his superior stood next to him in his winter issued garb under a black umbrella. His muscles screamed with the effort and his brain swallowed his feelings of injustice. One wrong look, one misspoken word and he'd be looking at double the punishment.
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