Free Ninth City Burning by J. Patrick Black Page B

Front, where the Legion is out holding off our implacable foes, is supposed to be real far away, but if the Enemy ever gets through, there’ll be no stopping them. That’s why we have to support the Legion with everything we’ve got. But I think now and then everyone around here gets the idea something else must be going on. Like, maybe there isn’t a war at all. Maybe it’s just something the Prips came up with so we’d work ourselves stupid for them. Maybe if we stopped shipping supplies to the Front,we’d all be just fine because there isn’t really any Enemy. No one actually comes out and says it, though, except maybe Spammers when he gets into the aquavee because that’s like “criminal sedition” and about the quickest way to land yourself at the Front. But no one ever wonders about the hellions. We all know
they’re
real.
    Once you hear the muster alarm, you’ve got fifteen minutes to report to a muster station. That’s easy enough for Camareen and me, since the Prefect Building is the muster station for the whole Town Center. We’re some of the first outside, so there isn’t much of a line at the arsenal lockers beneath the big steps. Most work uniforms are made to double as militia uniforms once you put on your gun vest, but Camareen has to take a jacket for the cold and change into boots. She leaves her shoes in one of the cubbies inside the arsenal, and I leave my satchel. If anyone finds it and sees what’s in there, I’ll have to just pretend it isn’t mine and lose all that milk and bread. It’d be a pain, but better than getting caught.
    I’ve never been around the Square during a muster, and I’m surprised at how many important people there are. I guess it makes sense, since they all work around here, but it’s still kind of strange to see all these faces from telecasts and news publications and so forth. There’s even Qu, the Prefect, walking around in her muster commander’s armband. Right behind her is Ghalo, the Sub-Prefect of Production, Camareen’s boss’s boss. Both of them are watching us all put on our vests and caps like it’s the most exciting thing they’ve ever seen.
    Even though Camareen was still a little mad at me before we heard the muster alarm, I can tell she’s forgiven me by the way she squeezes my hand as we wait for everyone to line up. This is only our second muster since we started in the militia for real, and it’s scary as anything. Most hellions near Granite Shore have learned to stay away, and even when they try something, the sentries at the outer fences usually take care of them pretty quickly. They don’t sound the muster alarm unless they’re worried the tower guards won’t be able to handle things. Last time they called a muster, a whole bunch of hellions had just charged the fences, trying to break through. They didn’t stand a chance, though, those hellions. In the end, only a few militia squads got sent out, and no one I know went with them.
    But when the trucks start pulling into the Square, I know we’re reallygoing out this time. Camareen’s hand tightens around mine, but then Ghalo comes along counting us all off into squads, and I get put in the first load of trucks while Camareen waits for the second. She raises one hand to wave as my squad drives off, and I just watch her getting smaller and smaller. I think about how this could be the last time I ever see her, and there’s this punch in my chest, like someone’s really punching me. I tell myself they always send out way more militia than they need. Like last time no one got killed at all, except a whole bunch of hellions. It doesn’t make me feel any better, though.
    I’m so worried about Camareen, I don’t even think to be scared or nervous on the ride out. Everyone else in my squad is some clerk or low-level bureaucrat. They sort of look at me but