It was weird to say the truth. Strange. It was like one of those old movies where the rick white kid would go to the poor crime ridden neighborhood for the first time, with the slow-motion and all. They stared and whispered, and that would be fine if it didn't eerily reassemble the stare a predator would have for it's prey, or the way a child would look at their new toys when they wanted to play with them yet weren't allowed to.

I thought it would be overpopulated,what with there being a quarter of the world population, but that is not the case, in fact it looked positively cozy. Not too many people cumbered the hallways and the courtyards were comfortably filled, leaving enough space to move around freely.

However, the weirdest thing was not their attitude or the way they glared or their scars and tattoos, nor was it the sheer quantity of exposed skin that caused our confusion, we have that on Mars too, but the language they were whispering in. It was like nothing I had ever heard, in presence or in rumor, and composed of very short sentences made mostly out of consonants.

It was spoken fluently by all, and understood by all, although there seemed to be many dialects, for some had longer sentences and more vowels, and some had none, the transition between two consonants made fluid thanks to a a tiny 'uh' or 'eh' sound.

How strange.

I expected to de able to see more clearly the specters leading us, but the lighting was weak and they stuck to the shadows while walking. It's starting to get really annoying.

We were led into a building, and through a maze of hallways. My relatively lengthy experience in ships was the only thing stopping me from being sick at all these twists and turns. This continued for a fee minutes, somehow never going in the same corridor twice, before arriving before a giant door, taller by half than regular doors and wider by a quarter, obviously reinforces with steel and triple thickness. It was a bunker, or at least as close to one as I ever saw above the ground.

The leader raised his hand, knocked politely, waited patiently for half a second, and kicked. the door. open.

Inside were men and women of various ages, most stern looking in clean and pressed military uniforms or suits, and others in extravagant outfits sporting devil-may-care attitudes. None seemed surprised the door was booted open, currently banging on the walls. Huh.

One of the grizzly old men stepped forward and addressed us.

"Good day, sirs. I am General Martin, but most people call me Gramps for a reason I ignore. I am in charge of this base, and now with General Kim from the opposing force, of the population of Earth. I hope the journey was well?"

I stepped up to respond.

"Yes sir, there were no complications or unexpected problems. I am the leader and commander of our ship, Freeing Eden, and I usually answer to Sir or Cap. My last name is Marshall and it usually creates confusion when used. This is a small part of my crew, Hudson, Moriyama, Jefferson, and Foreman. We were wondering if you could answer some of our questions..."

"Of course! Ask away, we shall answer truthfully!"

"Okay, so, first of all, what's the deal with that language? I mean, everyone speaks it but I've never heard of anything like it..."

"Wow, you like to jump right in don't you... It's a made up language, a mix of everything, english, arabic, Spanish, Chinese, Japanese, you name it we mixed it, as well as codes and stuff. It was easier to use that as a language seeing as everyone had to learn it and it was fairer than having a part of the population learn an entirely different language whilst the others laugh and correct them. That is what is spoken here, although most will understand English, they are used to speaking it, for it has been close to a decade that we have foregone the language."

"Fascinating...,"murmured Hudson, the linguist of our group. "Everyone took to the language? Just like that?"

"Well, yes and no. To say the truth, we started out with a code and grammar, so it becomes harder to understand, and on the different fronts people would create words that would become part of their vocabulary, say the soldiers in a battle near farmlands will be create words for wheat and other agricultural items, to be able to yell out 'there is a man behind the barn' without the enemy realizing they are blown, and when the battle is over and the soldiers change fronts they inadvertently influence others and teach them the words they created. So many different dialects were made, but with the spread most are able to understand the other dialects and one was chosen as the common one. One can speak in the eastern russian dialect but communicate perfectly with someone speaking the south african dialect. The spread was also boosted with our communication, which was often and considered a treasure, what with our lack of communication with Mars and the high death toll."

"Incredible, truly incredible... Is it possible to learn it? Such a thing is truly remarkable, I have never heard of such a language..." Asks Hudson. I would've called him a nerd, but I am just as bad, and honestly, only a fool is not part nerd. There is a reason we remember Einstein and Franklin, and that is not how far they could throw a ball.

"Of course you can be taught, but I an unable to teach it... I can speak it, but not with the ease and sheer complexity of the grunts, we tend to speak English here in the command center. But any one of them would be more than happy to teach you... Here, Ace! Think you can teach him?" He called out to a young teen in informal clothing in the corner.

She looked up, but shook her head, pointing at the man next to her, and tilted her head like an owl. The general was unfazed with this unconventional response, and simply replied like that was normal.

"Yeah, of course Wolf can do it!"

"Is she shy?" Asked Moriyama.

"No! She is anything but! She was just very young when we abandoned conventional languages, so she is not confident in her English, even though she probably speaks it better than I do."

I looked at her a little closer and noticed something I didn't before: a dog-tag around her neck.

"Was her sibling or parent a soldier?"

That earned me a confused look.

"She wears a dog-tag. Was her sibling or parent a soldier? Died in the war?" I explained.

Surprisingly, she answered me herself.

"No, the tag is mine..."

Hers? She is but a girl?! Glancing behind me, I was able to confirm that my teammates are as shocked and furious as I.

"She is what? Sixteen, fifteen? And is a soldier? On the fronts? How could you employ child soldiers! That is illegal, inhumane!!"

"Don't you dare judge us with half backed misconceptions," said the general in a chilling yet seething tone. "You do not know a single thing that happened on Earth since your departure, not a single thing. You do not know that with your departure and the lockdown of the planet, you left thousands, millions, of people on this shithole, mainly soldiers so drunk on bloodshed and despair they became unable to differentiate right from wrong. Murders, slaughters, rapes, slavery, all became normal. No police, see? They had to go to Mars, priority to ensure the installation goes fluidly. Well the coppers might not have done the best job, but they still did their job, and we felt it. Only understand the importance of something when it goes away. With guns and weapons so easily accessible, and way more munitions than we could ever need, we continued the war to have something to do: soldiers preoccupied killing each other equals soldiers not preoccupied killing civilians. Easy right? But civs didn't have anything to do, since there were no jobs other than soldier with no sun and no hope, and they got killed in the crossfire, annihilation war, remember? So they became soldiers to survive. We had all the food, see? And your laws? They don't count for shit when trapped in a death planet. Do not judge us from your high ivory tower, you've been down here only half a day. We've changed in the last eleven years. You've changed in the last eleven years. We haven't hanged for the better, not like you. We don't 'employ' child soldiers, we survive. Now, I believe we have sufficiently talked. If you are not a diplomat, that means we are fed up with you. You may discuss with anyone, and nowhere but the weapon storage is out of bounds. We are not yet ready to leave, we have some last minute work to do on Earth. Wolf will show you to your rooms and answer any questions you may have. Good night."

--------

We were silently walking to the end of the eternal hallway. Wolf was guiding us, somehow knowing his way through the maze, quiet, but not seemingly mad. At least his back didn't betray it.

We were ashamed. We had forgotten that we are different, and that in the space of a dozen years cultures and traditions can change easily. We had lept at their throats like hounds because of half-truths and misconceptions.

It is true that children have no place in wars, not on battlefields nor in bases, but we should not have accused them in that way. In this mission, we are diplomats, who's function is to negotiate and acquire knowledge and alliances, but acted as space marines, who's philosophy is to shoot first and send a gift card later.

Wolf was an imposing man, not because of his stature, he was muscular, but in a lithe way, not bulky, but because of the experience and suffering carved in his back and shoulders. He wore light black pants and a white shirt so used it became transparent, enabling us to see his scars.

"So, Wolf, huh?" Asked Jefferson.

"Yeah, that's what I am called. Last named were either too common, too long, or reminded people of dead or lost friends or family. So we got nicknames. My team's name is 'Mad dogs'--I know, real original-- so our nicknames all have a link with canines. Mine's Wolf, but we got Lab and other stuff. The Shiemon squad's got famous Samurai names, see? So, yeah, I'm Wolf, but I wasn't always Wolf."

"Oh"

We continued walking to Wolf only knows where.

"How old is the girl? Ace was it?"

"Aaaah, was waiting for that. Yeah, she's Ace, she's seventeen, six when Earth closed. Not a good age, then. Too old for pity, too young for strength. Had to rely on her wits and cold blood to survive."

Hudson was apparently a little sceptic.

"Was it really that...bloody then? Were children really harmed? I mean, that much?"

Wolf's mirth disappeared. We continued walking for a couple minutes, suffering from suspense and guilt.

Suddenly, he nodded, sad.

"Yeah. Its no joke. Surviving became first priority, and anyone in the way became prey. Children, alone, were the first to go. It's rare for them to survive, so very few soldiers are as young as Ace. Some found people who were willing to protect them, or were already in the military, living on or near a base. Communities of lone children were created somehow, with smart, strong children, usually the oldest, in charge of going out and getting food, the rest staying hidden inside, but pretty quickly they got in the military. Rescues, finding and recruiting them in battles, that shit. Ace was different though. She doesn't like to talk about it, but she was alone. Had to learn hoe to hide, how to be cruel. Messed her up. We're all messed up, but she's got another layer."

We walked more. How Wolf was not lost was beyond me. The hallways were desert, the only sounds the soft thuds of out boots striking the dirty and broken floor. It may have one day been smooth clean stone of some sort, or polished ciment, but now it is black and polished with filth, full of bumps and potholes and obstacles.

"What did the General mean by goodnight?"

"Well, as you probably know or realize, since that day a dozen-ish years ago, we can't see the sun. We have been in perpetual night since then. Plus it is a reminder, at anytime, anywhere and by anyone's hands, you can go nighty-night. So greeting became good night. Pretty passive aggressive, sue us."

"Ah." Fucking diplomats, I tell you.

"Here we are, these are your rooms. You should have all you need in there. We will come fetch you for meals, but you have a map, so you can go yourself or elsewhere. Good night."

And he turned on his heels and left. We faced our rooms.

Thankfully, they were fine by our standards, a bit dirty, but fine. When you pend years on a flying ship, you learn how to appreciate basic luxuries.

----

Mealtime was special. First because mess hall barely had any tables, far too few for everyone at the same time, second because we never see the same people there twice in a row, third because rations are very small. At first we thought it would be because there were too many people here, and too few rations, but after a while we learned the truth.

We had started to go out and talk to people. It was tricky because we didn't know solto, as they called their language, translated in English as 'soldier language', and not all of them spoke English or a language we understand, but we managed.

Turns out during the war rations were often too few, stolen by the enemy or simply to few for so many soldiers, so they had to cut rations and take them less often. Now they have more then enough rations, but they continue to eat little, as a habit and simply they don't need any more. Apparently a scientist, they call him

'Knlo', spent years developing a solution to add to the water or drinks with everything the body would need to function normally. They still need to eat, but not as much as before. Helps that they were used to getting little food before that.

We also saw troops and battalions with different uniforms get here. They were bashed up, some critically wounded, but all bore smiles in their faces.

Medics, nursed and doctors ran around, checking everyone, leaving no one. They were easy to recognize, they were dresses in a brownish red. I wondered long why they would choose this specific color, but it is fairly obvious. The blood. I don't know if it is to hide the blood or if it was once white, a long time ago, but war medicine is a messy business.

Our eyes have gotten used to so little light, and we've started to see and notice more, like the way most people do small stuff, such as picking up an object, with their non-dominant hand, their dominant hand close to their stomach.

We were also surprised when, what seemed like a week or so later, we were presented with two big books, one thinner than the other. One compiled the names, ranks, companies, nicknames and cause of death of every known KIA, and the thinner one compiled the names, nicknames, ranks, companies, a tiny bio, and info on the known living family members of all the survivors.

We had sent them to the ship to be put on file and sent to Mars once we leave the planet.

Once they had given them, we noticed a change in the flow of the base. Since the last of the survivors had made it to the base in order to complete the books, they had started to prepare for departure.

Cooks took care of bringing enough food for everyone for the duration of the journey, medics took care of ensuring the wounded do not worsen and soldiers took personal items, and familiarized themselves with the wounded they would carry. Apparently trust is needed for such a thing. Of course on the battlefield they cant be picky, and they do know most of the people on their side anyhow, so this only became an issue now.

People of all sorts were scurrying around, jumping from one task to the next.

Pretty quickly, it was time to leave.

One long line, an organized chaos, made it's way out the gates of the base. People were carried, people were in vehicles, some were dragged in stretchers. We made good time. It felt like forever, but considering we were in a vehicle when we came and that still felt like forever and a day, we made good time. That was probably linked to the ridiculous pace they were able to keep, even carrying people and going from back to front and back again to check on the wounded, while we were struggling and jogging to keep up.

Nonetheless we arrived at the ship, where the wounded were sent to the med bay, or at lest a small cargo hold converted in one, and the rest went to the larger cargo hold. Of course, because of the sheer quantity of the passengers, levels were made. The cargo hold has an extremely high ceiling, but the floor is composed of many different layers, all a thinner floor, so as to make different floors or levels once they are lifted. This enables us to carry huge cargo, or smaller cargo that must be separated for security reasons. Here it came useful by letting us store more passengers, who only take little space, their bedroll and a tiny margin to put their personal effects. Fortunately, no one grumbled or complained about their living conditions, and the trip is short anyhow.

I got to the bridge, overlooking the deck under which so many lives were counting on me to lead them to safety.

I sigh. I have a job to do.

"People, prepare for lift off in ten"

-----

So, Author here. Sorry for all the typos and mistakes, I know my writing isn't the best. Soon the plot shall really commence, that was basically just the incipit.   Say if you like, comment if you want, you know the drill!