Marilik: Chapter Two- The Dawn

You'll have probably noticed that this is Chapter Two of Marilik again, but I assure you it is completely different than its first incarnation. After receiving some criticism about the last Chapter Two I had, especially relating to Llewellyn's character and the general silliness of it, I decided to give it a "gritty reboot", so I have.

Please enjoy. Once again, comments and criticisms are GREATLY appreciated. I think I can say that this chapter was only possible because of it.



The room was quiet. There weren’t many people inside of it, given its fairly immense size. The dull roar of the ship’s engines reverberated through the metal walls. There was something caught next to the bottom of the starboard wall. It rattled incessantly along with the engine’s rumble.


Llewellyn Graves looked up after studying the cracks in the chair he was sitting in for a few minutes. He tried finding the source of the rattle, but it was hidden behind another group of chairs. He went back to studying his own chair. He heard footsteps coming from behind him. An average sized male, walking in expensive shoes as if he owned the place by the sound of it. His brother Owen came into view to prove him right.

“Coffee’s shit,” Owen said. He took a sip out of a Styrofoam cup in his hand.

“They spend their budget on more important things,” Llewellyn replied. He traced a crevice in the seat part of the chair slowly with his finger. Owen shrugged, taking another sip. The room’s other inhabitants weren’t doing anything any more exciting. The Canadian girl was asleep on her brother’s shoulder. The French-sounding boy was staring out of the Observation window, somehow still bewildered by the sight of space. The American boy with jet black hair was focusing intently on the palm of his hand. Llewellyn took a slight interest in what the American was doing.

The boy stared at the object in his palm. His thumb was slowly rising. His eyes were focused on its tip. Suddenly, a coin dropped out of his hand, clinking on the metal floor beneath them. The boy cursed under his breath, scrambling to pick the coin up. Llewellyn became disinterested. He’d never understood the attraction of seeing other people fail. Owen had always enjoyed laughing at other people’s misfortune, however. This time he hadn’t seen the boy miscue his trick, only the scramble for the coin afterwards. It was still enough to make Owen chuckle slightly, somehow.

There was a bell sound from above the door all of the room’s inhabitants had walked through. A yellow light flashed above it a few times before shutting off completely. A green light next to it turned on with a loud buzz. The door slid open. After a few seconds, a girl, dressed only in lingerie, walked through the doorway. The American boy dropped his coin again. The French-sounding boy looked away from the window and towards her almost out of instinct. The Canadian boy shifted his body position awkwardly, waking up the girl on his shoulder. She looked at the new entrant for a few seconds with groggy eyes before sitting up abruptly.

“Excuse me a moment,” Owen said, handing Llewellyn the Styrofoam cup. He walked towards the girl. Llewellyn hadn’t bothered to fully examine her as quickly as the others had, taking the room-stopping reaction she drew as evidence of her above-average beauty. Having nothing better to do, he looked over the girl. She was dripping wet, sweat trickling down her bronzed, toned body. Her wavy blonde hair was tied back in a pony tail. She looked absolutely exhausted.

Llewellyn turned his attention to the Styrofoam cup. It was lukewarm, what the GeoConfederate army called “coffee” was halfway filling it. The liquid would have better been described as “dirty hot water”, given the taste and slightly offensive aroma. He was tempted to pour it into Owen’s bag, but decided to just lay it on the floor instead. As he did, he heard Owen deliver a pickup line to the new entrant. Llewellyn had heard him use it before. Somewhere on a Spanish beach. It had worked then, but, much to Owen’s surprise, the scantily clad girl didn’t even give him a response much less recognition, walking straight past him and towards where Llewellyn was sitting instead.

She collapsed into the chair next to Llewellyn. Llewellyn acknowledged her, then returned to running his finger over the crevice in the chair. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the girl staring at him.

“So this is an everyday thing for you?”

“No,” Llewellyn replied. He’d gotten a piece of something stuck in his fingernail. He tried shaking it out, but to no avail.

“You just seem very…” the girl started. Llewellyn successfully picked the piece of something out of his fingernail. “Unfazed.”

“Would you rather I gape at you like them?” Llewellyn asked, subtly motioning towards the other people in the room before wiping a bit of dust away from the chair. The girl looked around at the others.

“I suppose not,” the girl said. Llewellyn didn’t acknowledge the response. Instead he ran his fingers down the arm rest of the chair. The girl, seemingly dumbfounded, watched him intently. “Do you always ignore people like this?”

“I speak when spoken to,” Llewellyn replied. He traced his figure-eights on the armrest with his pointer finger.

“Not one for conversation then?” the girl asked.

“I don’t see the point of conversation,” Llewellyn said. “To me it’s just a way of avoiding dealing with life’s problems by trying not to talk about them.” He stopped the figure-eights, looking up thoughtfully. “But, I suppose I will converse if I see value in conversing.” He continued with the figure-eights.

“So if it interests you?”

“Interesting helps.”

“Well what does it take to interest you?” Llewellyn’s finger stopped. He tapped the spot it rested on.

“I have been to the shipyards of Odin, I have driven a dune buggy in the middle of Olympus Mons’ crater, I have dated a movie starlet for seven years before being dumped for being too distant, and I have seen more images of bloodshed and horrendous acts of violence than even the most experienced soldier,” Llewellyn said. “I’ve survived seven assassination attempts, had dinner with a convicted serial killer, been in the caldera of a volcano during an eruption, and I’ve seen some of the most powerful men in the galaxy crumble to their knees for a woman in a red and black dress. Anything more intriguing than all of those things might interest me.” The girl stared blankly at Llewellyn.

“I saw my farther die, heard that everything I’d spent my life working on was soon to be worth nothing, punched a GeoConfederate Marine in the stomach, dove off of an open air skiff half a mile in the air, climbed a two mile high mountain in lingerie, and inherited almost half a trillion credits in the last five hours,” the girl said. “Is that impressive enough?”

“Impressive, yes. Interesting?” Llewellyn said. “Debatable.”

“Debatable?”

“Yes, debatable,” Llewellyn said. “I would be able to form my own opinion on whether or not I am interested in your impressive five hours based on an argument between two people.”

“I am aware of what debatable means.”

“Then I have to wonder what the purpose of repeating what I had said in an inquisitive tone was.”

“To see if you were serious.”

“I assure you that I am quite serious.”

“I can see that.”

“So you are not blind or deaf,” Llewellyn said. “That conversation would have been more interesting if you had been both.”

“It was interesting enough for you to call it a conversation,” the girl said. Llewellyn thought about it for a few moments, then turned his head to look at the girl. She was smirking, quite satisfied with herself.

“I suppose you’re right,” he said. She nodded appreciatively. There was another bell sound, followed by the flashing yellow light and the subsequent buzzed-in green light. A marine walked through the doorway, a set of clothes and a towel in his hands. He turned towards the girl.

“Ms. Pankiridous, here is a set of clothes for you,” the marine said.

“Thank you, but I’m more than comfortable with my current ensemble,” the girl said.

“Ms. Pankiridous, GeoConfederate naval regulations state that any civilian aboard a naval vessel must be clothed in at least minimum-required clothing which includes a shirt that covers the chest and midsection and pants that cover at least three inches below the buttocks and genitalia. If the civilian does not have the means to provide themselves with the minimum-required clothing, then the ship’s crew must provide them with standard uniform,” the marine said. He shifted uncomfortably, “The regulations also explicitly restrict clothing that includes… lace, ma’am.” Llewellyn looked at the girl’s bra, which was indeed lace.

The girl took the clothes with a sigh.

“Is there a bathroom I can change clothes in?” she asked.

“No, ma’am. You’ve been instructed to remain in this room until told otherwise,” the marine replied.

“I have to strip naked in here?” she exclaimed. “You cannot be serious.”

“Quite serious, ma’am,” the marine replied.

“Soldier, could you please provide Ms. Pankiridous with a more private setting?” Llewellyn asked. The marine looked strangely at him.

“My orders are to have her remain in this room,” the marine said.

“And mine are to have you give her a more private setting,” Llewellyn countered. “As the First of a GeoConfederate state, my orders supersede yours until I’m enlisted.” Both the marine and the girl looked at Llewellyn, rather shocked.

“First…” the marine started.

“First Llewellyn Graves of Unio. The very same. Please find this girl a bathroom.”

“Ye…yessir,” the marine stuttered. “Ms. Pankiridous, would you follow me please?” The girl got up out of the chair, following the marine back out of the door. She stopped before she left and looked back at Llewellyn.

“Thanks,” she said. Llewellyn nodded, going back to the figure-eights on the armrest. Owen watched the girl as she walked out of the door. After she’d gone out of sight, he sat down in the chair next to Llewellyn.

“You realize that if she would have had to change here, she would have been naked in front of all of us, right?” he asked Llewellyn. Llewellyn nodded. “You also realize that every person in this room thinks you’re gay now, right?” Llewellyn stopped the figure-eights and stared at Owen. “Look, I know you’re not, but everyone else doesn’t.” He went back to the figure-eights. Owen desperately wanted to push his point across, but Llewellyn was having none of it.

The American boy had failed his coin trick again. The clink on the metal floor was followed by a string of random curses and a few racial slurs. The outburst drew the ire of the high and mighty Australian boy, who walked away from his two sisters to confront the room’s magician.

“I don’t think it’s gonna’ work for you, mate,” the Australian said as the American picked up his coin again.

“You know what they say,” the American started. “If at first you don’t succeed..”

“Stop before you get a foot up the arse,” the Australian finished.

“That’s a very pessimistic way to look at things,” the American said. “You must not get anything done. Wait, hold on. Is it true your toilets flush backwards? That shit would screw me up.” The American was clearly not taking the Australian seriously. The Australian looked at him for a few moments before walking away in frustration.

“Fucking Yank…” he said under his breath.

“Fucking Roofucker,” the American replied rather loudly. The Australian turned on his heel, coming straight for the American. The American had expected to draw some kind of violent, physical retribution effort and stood to face the Australian in anticipation. The Australian let fly a right jab, grazing the American’s cheek. The American landed a shot to the Australian’s jaw with his right. It didn’t seem to faze the Australian much, as he came across the American’s face with his left fist as well. The weight of the punch put the American off-balance, allowing the Australian to deliver an uppercut to the American’s chin with his right.

The blow threw the American to the ground just as the door slid back open.

“Either of you make another move and I’ll tear your eyes out of their fucking sockets,” a man dressed in a dark green uniform shouted from the doorway. The two combatants remained motionless. The man walked into the room, his arms folded behind his back. Every time he took a step, his boots boomed against the metal floor like large rocks. He looked at the two boys. “You! Get up off the ground! I’m from Wyoming too, cadet. You’re putting us to god damned shame sitting on the ground waiting to take it up the ass.” The American scrambled to his feet, standing as straight as he could. “And you!” I like Wyoming’s little name for you. Roofucker. It fits. You look like you’d enjoy a nice evening out with a marsupial!” The Australian cringed.

Llewellyn didn’t like to laugh at other people’s misfortune, this much was true, but this guy had some wit. Llewellyn couldn’t help but smile. The loud man took notice.

“Something funny, cadet?” he shouted. Llewellyn couldn’t stop smiling.

“Yessir,” he replied. The man wasn’t expecting the answer he got.

“Do I amuse you, cadet?” he pressed on.

“Yessir,” Llewellyn replied.

“How ‘bout I call you Joker, cadet?”

“That would be cliché, sir,”

“Cliché? Okay how about cadet Froggy for being so god damned French then?”

“We already have a real Frenchman, sir.”

“Then cadet Smartass it is.”

“That works, sir.”

“Then we’re agreed, cadet Smartass. You’re in for some hell, First Graves.”

“I thought I was already there, sir.” The man grinned widely. His arms unfolded from behind his back, instead resting on his hips.

“Sonny” he said. “You ain’t seen shit.”As he’d finished, the door behind him opened again. Ms. Pankiridous walked through wearing grey sweatshorts and a matching skin-tight athletic shirt. The loud man turned to her.

“Cadet Pankiridous,” he said. “It’s a good thing that they have sports bras as standard uniform. Tell me, how many times have those things popped up and knocked you the fuck out?” Llewellyn almost burst out laughing. Pankiridous didn’t know how to answer the question, or if she even should have. The loud man smirked slightly. While Pankiridous was still wondering whether or not to answer the question, two marines walked through the door, one carrying a holoboard, the other dragging a hovercart with packaged clothing stacked on top of it.

“When I call your name, fall into line in front of me, confirm your name and origin, and receive your cadet uniform,” the loud man said, rather loudly considering the relative unimportance of what he was saying. “Luc Chevalier.” The French-sounding boy walked before the loud man.

“Luc Chevalier. Montreal, Quebec,” he said.

“That’s in Canada, ain’t it?” the loud man asked. Chevalier almost grimaced.

“Yessir,” he replied. The loud man smirked again.

“Carlson, GC1,” the man said to the marine with the uniforms. The marine threw Chevalier his uniform. “Jake Comeau.” The Canadian boy got out of his chair and stood next to Chevalier.

“Jake Comeau. Oshawa, Canada.”

“The new first, eh?” Jake cringed slightly like Chevalier had.

“Yessir.”

“GC2.” The marine tossed Jake a uniform. “Lindsay Comeau.” The Canadian girl stood next to her brother. She said her name and repeated Jake’s answer to the origin.

“Mandrella Cortana,” the man said. The shorter of the two Australian girls fell into line next to Lindsay, followed by her brother Starr, the aggressive Aussie from before. Both received their uniforms, GC4 and GC5 respectively. Next came their sister, the tall and statuesque Zelphia. After she received her uniform, she observed the dull gray outfit with a look of slight disgust.

“Reno Falconer,” the man said. No one in the room moved. “Wyoming! Get your ass in line.” The black-haired American was too busy gawping at the curvature of Zelphia’s legs. He snapped out of it after the man had shouted his newly acquired nickname.

“Reno Falconer. Simmonds, Wyoming,” he said after falling into line.

“I hate Simmonds, cadet. I ain’t never seen a worthy scratch of life out of that shithole.”

“Me neither, sir.”

“Hah! See that’s the problem with you fuckers, among other things of course. No spirit! Gravel’s a proud town. Women are fine, kids ain’t no gangsters or whatever you little shits call it these days, and our grav team actually wins game. You know what that word means, Wyoming? ‘Win’?”

“Not really, sir.”

“Well learn it, god dammit. There’s a war on. GC7.” A uniform flew at Falconer. He was barely able to catch it. “Steven Fennell.” There was a stirring from behind Llewellyn and Owen. Apparently there had been a boy sitting behind them the entire time they were in the room. He walked by Owen and Llewellyn. His long black hair covered most of his forehead and his right eye, but over his left there was a blood red slash, which looked like a tattoo, from his hairline to the top of his cheek. He fell into line, saying something inaudibly.

“Speak up, Dopey,” the man said.

“Steven Fennell. Aldrin, Luna,” the boy said, slightly louder.

“No wonder you can’t talk. I wouldn’t either if I wasn’t a Geec. GC8.” The marine tossed him his uniform. “Llewellyn Graves.” Llewellyn stood next to Fennell, who was about his height and was built almost identically.

“Llewellyn Graves. Cardiff, Unio.”

“Jesus Christ, cadet. Is it really necessary to have that many L’s in your name?”

“You can just call me Lou, sir,” Llewellyn offered.

“I ain’t no fruit, cadet. Don’t flatter yourself. GC9.” Another uniform came flying from the marine. “Owen Graves.” Owen stood next to Llewellyn and repeated his brother’s origin. The loud man looked at Llewellyn and Owen intently. “How am I supposed to tell you two apart?”

“He never shuts up, sir,” Owen said, motioning to Llewellyn, who in turn gave him a disapproving look.

“Not what I hear,” the man said. “GC10.” Owen’s uniform cam flying at him. “John Moreau.” A boy that had been observing the ordinance screen in the corner of the room stood next to Owen. Llewellyn had assumed that he was a crew member based on how handily he navigated through the ship’s weaponry database.

“John Moreau. Kanata, Ontario, Canada.”

“Good aviation town. I assume that’s why you’re here Mr. Moreau.”

“I’m here because you told me to be here, sir.”

“Hah! That’s what I like to hear! You’ll be a good military man, Moreau,” the man laughed. “GC11.” Moreau caught his uniform handily. Llewellyn imagined that the other ten cadets wouldn’t appreciate the man’s already preferential treatment of Moreau. Llewellyn himself couldn’t care less. He wasn’t here for brownie points. “Alexa Pankiridous.” The girl from before stood next to Moreau.

“Alexa Pankiridous. Athens, Greece.”

“How’s that new uniform treating you, cadet?”

“It’s… restrictive, sir.”

“Good riddance. Wouldn’t want those things to get caught on trip wire or something. GC12.” Another uniform came flying at Pankiridous. She hadn’t expected one after receiving hers early, so the package followed through and hit her in the chin. An annoyed look on her face, she threw the uniform back at the marine.

“That’s everyone, sir,” the marine with the holoboard said. The man nodded. He turned to the twelve cadets standing in front of him.

“Cadets, my name is Sergeant Peter Renner and for the next month, you are all, every one of you, my bitches,” the man shouted. “You have been selected by a group of men with more power than me to be ground until the dirt until it hurts to think. You will follow an eighteen hour-a-day physical training regimen until this ship has arrived at its final destination. You will be completely depleted, and once we land you’ll be expected to make a comeback that’d make Lazarus look like a pussy.”

Renner looked at all of their faces, now slightly paler than before, and smiled.