Front Lines (Front Lines #1)(23)

He has not even paused for them to answer. Rio is relieved but also a bit disappointed—she has a whole convoluted lie worked out about her age.

They sign, first Jenou then Rio. The sergeant has a stamp that he pounds first on the ink pad and then bam, bam, on each sheet.

“Through that door,” he says.

“Through that door” brings them together with the draftees who’d been processed in a different queue. Rio glances around nervously and sees to her great relief that Strand is far toward the back of the line. She is all out of conversation with Strand, and she’s terrified of being revealed as a shallow, empty-headed ninny with nothing to say.

Stop thinking about how big his hand was.

There were four tables, each manned by a corporal or sergeant and each apparently required to produce a piece of paper and bang a stamp down onto it.

Paper: bang! Paper: bang! Paper: bang!

Stop thinking about that single gunshot.

Then, “Are you now or have you ever been a member of any organization devoted to the overthrow of the American government?”

“What?”

“I’ll take that as a no.” Paper: bang!

Thus far Rio is certain that not one of the soldiers has actually made eye contact with her. That changes at the last stop where yet another aged, bored-looking sergeant does not at first look up as he says, “Do you like girls?”

“They’re all right,” Jenou says. “But I quite prefer boys.”

At that the sergeant looks up. “Ah. Sorry. Not yet used to the female of the um . . . Ahem. Do you like boys?”

“I guess so,” Rio answers. “Some. Well . . . one. But it’s—”

“Do you have any diseases that might affect your ability to perform your duties?”

Two “no” answers.

Bam. Bam.

“Take your papers through that door for your physical.”

They head for the obvious door, the one marked Physicals.

“Not that door!” the sergeant yells. “Can’t you see the sign that says Ladies?” The door before them is not labeled Gentlemen or Men Only. But Rio hears distinctly masculine voices from within.

Jenou freezes with her hand on the door. “Uh-uh. No, Jenou. No, you cannot go in there,” Rio says. Rio drags her to the properly marked door.

Beyond the properly marked door is a small number of almost entirely naked people, all of them female.

“Strip down, all the way down to your bra and panties, stack your clothing in a box, and step into the line.” The sergeant in this case is a woman, not as old as some of the men outside, but every bit as bored and indifferent. It’s been just over five years since the courts decided that women may serve, and just over a year since deciding that women must serve. At this point then, any woman ranked above private was a volunteer who had most likely gotten in before the war even started.

Rio has never undressed in front of anyone except the family doctor. “I didn’t realize that we . . . you know.” They are the only two girls; the others are all women. Adult women.

I look like a stick figure.

“Come on, honey, no time for false modesty,” Jenou says.

“There’s nothing false about my modesty. This is perfectly genuine modesty.” Rio begins to strip, stacking her clothing carefully in the box.

She feels extraordinarily exposed. And since it is a brisk day and the building is not heated she also feels cold, especially her now-bare feet on the linoleum floor.

She joins the line along with Jenou, who, to Rio’s quiet satisfaction, finally seems just a little abashed and uncertain.

The line shuffles forward until they reach a man in a white coat. The fact that he, too, seems bored strikes Rio as funny.

“Lots of men might enjoy this job,” she whispers to Jenou.

“Maybe he doesn’t like girls.”

“What do you mean?”

Jenou looks at her, seems to see something in her eyes, and shakes her head in wonder. “You really are so sweet, Rio. Remind me someday when we’re as bored as he is and I’ll tell you all about the birds and the bees, and also the bees and the bees and the birds and the birds.”

“Step up!” the doctor snaps. “You, brunette. Have you had any disease that might affect your ability to perform your duties?”

“The other man already—”

“Yes or no?”

“No,” Rio said.

“Do you have any form of venereal disease?”

“Pardon me?”

“That’s a no. Pregnant?”

“I’m not married, as you can see!” She holds up an empty ring finger.

“Cough.”

“What?”

“Cough. Cough, cough, cough. Are you going to make me repeat every question and instruction? Cough!”

Rio coughs.

“Turn your head left. Now right. Now look at the chart on the wall behind me, cover your left eye, and read the top line.”

“E, G, R—”

“Now the other eye.”

“E, G, R, Q—”

“Quiet.” He holds a cold stethoscope to her chest. “Now prop your leg up on this stool.”

Rio does, and the doctor snaps a triangular rubber mallet against her knee, causing her leg to twitch.