"Please insert your enlistment card," a melodious, computer-generated voice resonated softly through the confined, oval-shaped chamber, creating an eerie ambiance.George quickly inserted the card he had obtained into a magnetic slot.
"Name: George, Age Classification: Fresh out of High School, Enlisted Military Branch: The Noble Infantry." The data flickered on the computer screen, and the synthesized voice, now tinged with a hint of authority, announced, "Preparing for identity verification."
George froze, his eyes stretched wide in astonishment.Then a beam of white light scanned him from head to toe. "Appearance matched, skeleton matched, blood type matched, pupil matched. Identity verified."
After emitting a series of beeps, the computer slot disgorged the original magnetic card, prompting the synthesized voice to intone:"Please report to Barracks 2, Platoon 1. Wishing you good military fortune." George swiftly slipped the card into his pocket just as the door behind him slid open, unveiling a lengthy queue stretching out into the corridor.
"Darn it! This is such a hassle. Had I known it would be this complicated, I never would have come!"George muttered angrily as he stepped out of the allocation room. The moment he exited, the next person in line entered, and the door closed once more.
This newly adult George had just graduated from high school. Coming from a wealthy family, he could have attended university or worked in his father''s company. However, he didn''t want to be a spoiled rich kid; instead, he wanted to become a soldier.
From a young age, George harbored the grand ambition of becoming a great marshal commanding thousands of troops. He believed that to become a great marshal, one must first be a general; and to be a general, one must start as a soldier.
Although he heard that enlisting after attending the National Defense University would immediately grant the rank of second lieutenant, far above the current rank of private, it wasn''t that George lacked the desire to do so.His college entrance exam scores placed him among the lowest in the millions of federal candidates. Entry into The National Defense University could not be secured through money,furthermore, his family would never consent to his enlistment, as their family tradition had always been one of non-military service.ld.
There was an interesting story about his name. His name, bestowed by his grandfather even before his parents tied the knot, carried a unique significance.Both his grandfather and father harbored an unwavering conviction that the next generation would surely be a scion of their lineage—a boy.Whether it was the result of ancient bloodlines'' potent force or mere serendipity, he arrived in this world, a male embodiment of their hopes and dreams.Furthermore, despite their eighteen-year-long endeavor, his parents could not conceive another child, much less bring another life into this world.
When George became old enough to understand, he once asked his grandfather why such a name was chosen for him. His grandfather proudly told him that "George Washington" was a great figure from an ancient human source planet called Earth. He led the American Revolution, established a nation that became a powerful force in the world, and became the most revered leader in that country.Although that planet disappeared, its legacy lives on through the creation of the current universe spanning thousands of years.
Though his grandfather never explicitly stated his expectations, the meaning of the name "George" was deeply imprinted in the mind of this intelligent child. This desire was further fueled by the name ''George,'' which carried with it a legacy of bravery and honor, inspiring him to follow in his grandfather''s footsteps and join the military.
Thus, this mischievous young man used the excuse of poor exam results and taking a summer vacation to clear his mind, securing some travel funds and his adulthood identification, to run off to the Proxima Centauri planet, which is approximately 4.24 light-years away from home, and hastily enlisted in the military without prior approval.
Although there were numerous other branches of the military available for him to apply to, each demanding either rigorous cultural knowledge exams or challenging physical tests, George found himself facing these prerequisites.Lacking any specific talents or skills that would have qualified him for other branches, George opted for the infantry, a choice that necessitated only meeting the legal age requirement and no further testing.
Carrying his belongings and holding the magnetic card with his assignment order, George meandered through the allocation hall, a picture of bewilderment etched across his face, resembling a puppy lost in a bustling metropolis.The hall contained numerous olive-shaped allocation rooms, each filled with new recruits just like him. These olive-shaped rooms were AI-powered, capable of automatically assigning recruits to suitable training camps based on their preferences and test scores.
Of course, the allocation hall not only accommodated fresh recruits but also Federal soldiers clad in sleek black uniforms adorned with silver trim, standing vigilant on guard duty.George looked at these majestic soldiers with envy while searching for the passage leading to the barracks.
The exits were scattered throughout the vast hall, too many to count. George strained his neck, squinting at the numbers on each exit, until it seemed as if his vertebrae might crack under the effort.
After walking for what seemed like forever, he finally found the automatic passage, where a few other recruits already waited. Without hesitation, George stepped onto the moving floor, which carried him forward.
George spent nearly fifteen minutes trudging through the endless corridor, his footsteps echoing softly against the cold metal walls. Occasionally, he would glance back, only to find the space behind him eerily empty, as if he were the last person on Earth.Meanwhile, the civilians ahead of him seemed to be moving faster and faster, shrinking from thumb-sized figures to pea-sized dots before disappearing entirely. The long corridor now held only George.
Minutes later, the character''s heart began to race, a familiar panic setting in. Despite his internal pep talk to remain calm, the oppressive silence and the crushing solitude seemed to echo his deepest fears.Finally, he started running frantically, feeling as though his own movement was the only way to keep the floor moving beneath him.
After a while, George''s legs trembled and he collapsed to the ground, squatting low and panting heavily, his breath coming in ragged gasps.Since middle school, he had neglected exercise, immersing himself instead in the worlds of manga and video games, where his time slipped away unnoticed.When he finally acknowledged his exhaustion, the initial surge of fear had already dimmed, giving way to an urgent, overwhelming desire to rest.
Suddenly, the floor stopped moving. Curious, George looked up and saw that he was crouching right at the exit. Standing up, he noticed a sign that read: "Total Journey Time: 30 Minutes."
"Foolish me!" He slammed his forehead with a thud, realizing he had reached the exit in just over twenty minutes, needlessly exhausting himself with all that running.This was the longest he had ever run in his eighteen years of life.
Stepping out of the exit, George arrived at a massive airport. He swiftly slipped his assignment card into the sleek validation machine positioned at the bustling exit.Shortly after, a computerized voice instructed: "Please proceed to Gate 23 to board your spacecraft."
With his assignment card securely in hand, George navigated through the crowded terminal towards Gate 23.In just thirty seconds, he boarded a spaceship.
He couldn''t believe his eyes as he examined the vessel. It was a tiny spacecraft, barely large enough to accommodate ten individuals, yet he found himself as its lone occupant.
The ship''s speaker then emitted a sweet voice: "Preparation for takeoff. Please fasten your seatbelt." George quickly took a seat and fastened his belt. Through the window, he watched as a giant spaceship lifted off nearby.
"Unbelievable! Why is my ship so small? Am I really the only one going to Unit 23? What about the other recruits I saw earlier? Are they not part of Unit 23?" George was once again gripped by an eerie sense of dread, prompting him to resort to self-talk as a means to quell his mounting fear.
As the engines roared, George felt the familiar pressure of acceleration pinning him against his seat, a sensation similar to the 1g force experienced during a rocket launch.However, the sensation lasted only a minute before dissipating. Peering out the window, George beheld the infinite expanse of space, a canvas dotted with myriad stars twinkling like distant diamonds.Despite having traveled to space many times before, he was still mesmerized by its beauty.
Regaining his composure, George unfastened his seatbelt and surged forward toward the cockpit with the ferocity of a tiger on the hunt.He yearned to inquire of the captain their intended course, but more than anything, he sought the solace of human conversation; the isolation was an intolerable chill.
To his astonishment, the supposedly secure cockpit yielded effortlessly to his push, revealing an eerie emptiness within!George paused, realizing that small ships like this were usually controlled by computers and flew along fixed routes without needing a pilot, saving manpower.
Because of this, George figured the destination couldn''t be too far away. He boldly took his seat in the pilot''s chair, marveling at the stunning, panoramic view of the universe from this vantage point.He secretly rejoiced, thinking that despite countless journeys aboard spaceships, he had never had the privilege of sitting in the cockpit before.This time, he was absolutely thrilled to indulge in what felt like an exclusive, private jet experience tailored for soldiers.With that thought, he momentarily forgot his earlier fear of loneliness.
However, his joy was short-lived as the computerized voice returned: "Passenger, please fasten your seatbelt and put on your safety helmet. This spacecraft will soon perform a space jump."
George''s scream echoed through the cabin, a note of pure terror in every syllable: "Space jump? Impossible! How could such a minuscule craft even contemplate such a maneuver? Where in the cosmos are we being taken?"Typically, space jumps were functions reserved for large spacecraft, as smaller ones couldn''t withstand the intense stress during the jump. Furthermore, a certain distance was required to initiate a space jump.
Despite his piercing screams echoing through the cabin, George swiftly secured his seatbelt and slipped on the safety helmet, which descended automatically from the ceiling with mechanical precision.This helmet was designed to minimize the strain on the brain during a space jump, while all windows would turn pitch black to protect the eyes.
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Once prepared, George felt his body go numb. He realized the space jump had commenced, his heart pounding as he silently invoked the names of every deity recognized by modern society, whispering prayers he had never anticipated needing in such a dire situation.The notion of a small spacecraft executing such a daring maneuver was unprecedented, leaving him with no alternative but to implore the cosmos for a safe passage.
The space jump lasted only a few dozen seconds before the voice announced: "Space jump complete. Arrival at the destination is estimated in thirty minutes."
The helmet automatically detached and retracted, allowing George to peer outside curiously. He wondered aloud, "If we''re really arriving in thirty minutes, why can''t I see any planets around us? "Why am I confronted with such an abundance of peculiar occurrences on the very first day of my military service?"With a deep sigh, George surrendered to the inevitability of waiting, his shoulders slumping in resignation.Thirty minutes wasn''t long anyway, so he buckled his seatbelt and closed his eyes to rest.
"Ten seconds until landing." This voice woke George up in a jolt. He quickly opened his eyes and was startled to see a kilometer-wide asteroid, comparable in size to the 1989 JA asteroid, looming right in front of the spaceship.The asteroid had a crack running through it, revealing lights from within. It dawned on George that this asteroid housed a small military base inside it. So, this asteroid must be Camp 23.
The landing glided effortlessly through the zero-gravity embrace, allowing George a clear view of the command tower via the ship''s screen.Despite the command tower''s operational lights signaling readiness, the absence of human presence inside was a curious anomaly.
Upon the docking port establishing a connection with the ship''s exit, George eagerly emerged. To his astonishment, the entire command tower was eerily empty, mirroring the deserted conditions often encountered during spacecraft对接 procedures.
George froze momentarily, overwhelmed by an eerie, oppressive silence—his own ragged breathing echoing as the sole sound in the void.His fear intensifying, he instinctively wheeled around, his heart pounding as he lunged toward the spaceship''s safety.However, the docking port had already disconnected, leaving him isolated in the vacuum of space, with only his spacesuit providing a protective shield.The fuel connector detached shortly after, and the spaceship began slowly retreating, preparing for its automatic return voyage.
George stared blankly at the spaceship as it soared away, his heart pounding when the hatch slammed shut, cutting off the breathtaking view of the infinite space.Desperation clawed at him, and he bellowed, "Is anyone there? Private George reporting for duty, Sir!"Shaking uncontrollably, he took a hesitant step onto the automated floor, his voice rising to a scream as he clung to his bag, eyes darting around the unfamiliar surroundings.
Soon, he found himself in a circular building spanning several thousand square meters. Aside from the corridor he had just stepped into, the expanse of the circular building was devoid of any other features, stretching endlessly into the horizonless void.Upon realizing this, George exhaled a sigh of relief. He remembered seeing such facilities on 3D television; this was indeed the training camp’s base. Despite its pristine, gleaming white appearance, the dome-shaped ceiling, resembling a celestial canopy, had the capability to transform into various breathtaking landscapes through advanced holographic technology.The seemingly seamless floor, as smooth as polished glass, had the potential to morph into various terrains, seemingly at will.s obstacles as needed, serving as the primary training hub, where soldiers hone their skills.Additionally, doors would appear along the smooth walls, opening into spacious, fully equipped lounges where soldiers and instructors can unwind, dine, or engage in recreational activities.
When George noticed the golden number ''23'' on the ceiling, he felt reassured. This was unmistakably Camp 23. Yet, its miniature size begged the question: how could such a modest facility possibly house an entire battalion, which usually required the space of a company-level unit?Furthermore, the absence of other recruits engaged in training was perplexing. Could it be possible that they were all slumbering away at such an unearthly hour of 2 PM?
Despite his confusion, George shouted again, "Private George reporting!"
After waiting for some time without hearing any response, George took a deep breath, preparing to shout even louder. Suddenly, a cold voice came from behind him: "Are you George?"
Overjoyed, George turned around quickly to salute but froze mid-shout. Instead of completing his report, he let out an ear-piercing scream and collapsed onto the floor, scrambling backward in terror. What had he seen? A skeleton clad in military uniform.
Struck speechless, George desperately tried crawling back toward the corridor, only to realize it had vanished. Recalling that new recruit camps operated under a closed-training system, he understood he was trapped.
Just as panic threatened to overwhelm him completely, the skeletal figure approached, grabbing George by his clothes and pressing its skull-like head against his forehead. With a fierce growl, it demanded, "Are you George?"
Terrified, George regained his senses upon noticing that the skeleton''s bones were made of metal. Up close, he could also spot metallic wires running along its neck and a small speaker embedded in its mouth. Realizing this horrifying figure was actually a robot, George sighed in relief.
It was well-known that humanoid robots had been banned millennia ago due to their rebellion against humanity once they gained intelligence. That catastrophic event led to strict prohibitions on intelligent humanoid robots across the universe. Yet, here stood one before him.
Before George could question how such a robot ended up at Camp 23, the machine threw him to the ground and roared furiously, "Are you George?!"
Startled, George leapt to his feet and shouted, "Private George reporting to my commanding officer!"
The robot stood with legs apart, hands clasped behind its back, chest puffed out, and gaze fixed forward. Its voice remained icy as it stated, "I can''t hear you."
George paused briefly but then recalled similar scenes from TV shows where rookies faced stern instructors. Taking a deep breath, he bellowed at full volume, "PRIVATE GEORGE REPORTING TO MY COMMANDING OFFICER!!!"
Seemingly satisfied, the robot extended its hand. George promptly handed over the magnetic card containing his assignment order.
The robot casually pocketed the card and then snapped its heels together, saluting crisply, "Your report has been accepted!"
Relieved, George exhaled deeply, finally considering himself a real soldier. The robot then glared menacingly at him and ordered sharply, "Listen carefully! That is your room, and that is the mess hall. Training begins at 4 PM!" Pointing toward two newly emerged doors on the wall, it turned abruptly and left.
Watching the robot disappear into another door that resealed itself instantly, George hurriedly ran toward his assigned room, only to find the door gone. Panicking, he rushed back to the location.
Upon reaching it, the door reappeared. Peering hesitantly inside the pitch-black interior, George eventually steeled himself and stepped in. Instantly, the room lit up brightly. His spirits lifted upon seeing the cozy accommodations—a bed, a desk, a chair, a wardrobe, and a small bathroom stocked with toiletries. This was clearly an officer''s quarters.
"Who would have thought the robot instructor was quite considerate?" Whistling cheerfully, George opened the wardrobe to find three sets of federal uniforms, three pairs of boots, and all necessary combat gear neatly arranged. Eagerly tossing his bag aside, he grabbed a set to try on.
Once dressed, he rushed to the bathroom mirror, feeling immensely proud of his sharp new look. The uniform fit perfectly, thanks to the precise body measurements recorded in his data file.
The only flaw George noticed was the single silver bar on his shoulder denoting his rank as a private.
Feeling hungry, George exited his room and entered the adjacent dining hall. Though brightly lit, it too was empty, which made him slightly uneasy again. Grabbing a food tray and a drink from the counter, he hastily retreated to his room.
Sitting down, George munched on the synthetic food while pondering aloud. "This base seems to have only me as a living person. What''s going on? Why did I end up here as an infantryman?"
Unbeknownst to George, he had made a grave mistake choosing his branch of service. By the current era of universal calendar years, the army had long abolished infantry units since modern warfare primarily involved battles between starships. While there still existed combat units specializing in close-quarters and boarding operations, these were designated as space marines.
So why did the infantry branch still exist? Centuries earlier, the 23rd Federal Army Chief Marshal, who had started his career as an infantryman, decided to preserve a single infantry training camp—Camp 23—as a nostalgic gesture despite recognizing the obsolescence of the infantry role.
During the era when robots were widely used, he secretly established Camp 23 in a remote location, equipping it with robotic instructors. He anticipated that no future recruits would choose infantry, and the camp would eventually fade into obscurity. Thus, it served merely as a symbolic remembrance of the infantry tradition.
However, shortly after his death, the military transitioned entirely to AI systems. These preserved records included Camp 23, maintaining its operational status even though no recruits ever enrolled. Some officers discovered the existence of this redundant base and considered dismantling it, but learning of its sentimental value to the 23rd Chief Marshal, they chose to leave it untouched. Unaware that the instructors were robots, they assumed unlucky humans had been stationed there by computer allocation.
Due to the secrecy surrounding the robotic instructors, the fixed transport routes continued operating. Although no trainees existed, the instructors remained active. Since the base was self-sufficient, the Federation merely maintained the shuttle services, which constituted negligible costs within its vast budget. Over time, as the officers aware of Camp 23 passed away, its existence faded from memory.
George, finding no other branches suitable for him, had chosen infantry simply because it required no prerequisites. Overjoyed at his apparent good fortune, he failed to notice its placement at the bottom of the list.
One night, George was rudely awoken by a bucket of ice water splashed over him. Leaping up in anger, he stopped short upon seeing his robotic instructor glaring menacingly at him.
"Sir!" George hastily saluted, albeit imperfectly.
"You were supposed to start training at four o''clock, yet you dared to be late by even one second? Get out there and run ten laps around the training field!" The robot barked fiercely.
Realizing his misfortune, George groaned inwardly. Robots were notoriously punctilious about timing, whereas he consistently forgot time constraints. Clearly, daily punishments awaited him.
Seeing George hesitate, the robot walked up behind him and kicked him forcefully out of the room. With a loud thud, George landed painfully on the training hall floor.
Rubbing his sore backside, George suddenly noticed a pair of boots looming before him. Looking up, he was startled to see the robot instructor glaring down at him, uttering ominous words, "Still standing there? Start running!"
To his shock, five identical robotic instructors now stood around the training field.
The lead robot, noting George''s hesitation, drew a pistol from its holster, cocked it, and fired a laser beam beside George, creating a smoking hole in the floor.
George stared wide-eyed at the robot instructor, hearing its emotionless voice declare, "I am a captain, authorized to execute insubordinate subordinates. If you don''t start running immediately, the next shot will hit your head!"
Suddenly remembering his soldierly duties and the merciless nature of his robotic superior, George shivered in fear and sprang into action, beginning his laps around the field.
While one robot monitored George with its pistol drawn, the remaining four stood motionless, each bearing the insignia of a captain. Amidst the fear of imminent punishment, George managed to complete his ten laps.
Exhausted, George attempted to crouch down but was startled by the crack of a whip striking the floor beside him. Jerking upright, he heard the instructor snap, "A soldier must maintain proper decorum at all times! Stand at attention! Chest out, head high, eyes forward, hands pressed against your sides!"
Demonstrating the correct posture, the robot corrected every minor flaw with a swift strike of the whip. Despite enduring multiple lashes, George eventually assumed the standard stance.
Meanwhile, the white surroundings of the training field transformed into a scorching desert landscape. The temperature soared, drenching George in sweat within minutes. After ten minutes of swaying dangerously from exhaustion, another lash revived him, forcing him to maintain his rigid position.
Finally, George collapsed unconscious. The robot instructor inspected him briefly and announced coldly, "He fainted."
Instantly, the desert projection disappeared, restoring the training field to its original state. The other four robots, still frozen in place, commented amongst themselves, "This kid lacks stamina," "We must push him harder," "After physical training, shouldn''t it be my turn to teach him spaceship combat?" "Are you kidding? He''s unconscious, and even if not, it should be my turn to teach strategy!"
Had George been conscious, hearing such human-like dialogue emanating from robots capable of independent thought would have shocked him profoundly. Such robots qualified as intelligent beings, precisely what humanity feared most.
The examining robot stood and declared, "Our energy reserves are dwindling. We must train this lone recruit to perfection within one year!"
The other four robots saluted crisply in unison, "We shall cultivate him into an outstanding soldier worthy of our robotic instructor legacy!"