A Learning Experience 2: Hard Lessons (12 page)

“That is correct,” Kevin said.  There was a protocol for dealing with Galactic information brokers, after all.  “We will pay for the information, but also for secrecy.”

Ando loomed forward.  “But not for exclusivity?”

“No,” Kevin said.  He would have paid, if he thought it was worthwhile.  But Ando wasn't the only information broker in the system.  “I merely wish the information, without anyone else realising we have it.”

“Very well,” Ando said.  The alien moved backwards, into the shadows.  “What information do you require?”

Kevin took a breath.  “There is a report that the Tokomak intend to intervene openly in the war,” he said.  “We need to know everything about the planned intervention.”

There was a long chilling pause.  “I can give you what I have gleaned from sources in the Ministry of War,” Ando said, finally.  “But I could offer no guarantees.”

Kevin understood.  The plans might change ... or the Tokomak might have lied to the Ministry, making sure the
real
plan couldn't leak out.  Nothing Kevin had seen had convinced him the Galactics had any head for security, but there had to be
some
competent Tokomak in the universe, or their empire would have collapsed centuries ago. 
He
would certainly have restricted any information he saw fit to pass on to his underlings, in their place.  Let them wait and see what was coming when the fleet actually arrived.

“That will be sufficient,” Kevin said.  “And the price is ... what?”

“Five thousand GalStars,” Ando stated.  “The risks in obtaining this information were high.”

Kevin swallowed the urge to swear out loud.  Five thousand GalStars was a significant percentage of their operating budget.  Spending it now would be risky ... but he knew from experience that the information broker wouldn't change his price, unless Kevin had something other than money to offer in exchange.  But he didn't have anything ...

“Very well,” he said.  “Five thousand for both the information itself and secrecy.”

“Done,” Ando said.  He leaned forward again, revealing giant frog-like eyes.  “My assistant will have the information ready for you in ten minutes.”

“Thank you,” Kevin said.

“I should warn you that you are not the only interested parties,” Ando said.  “The information can go no further, if you are prepared to pay.”

“No, thank you,” Kevin said.  “Unless you have something completely exclusive ...”

“I may be able to find something exclusive,” Ando stated.  “I will inform you if I can do so.”

Kevin scowled, inwardly.  The information broker might well know more about humanity than he cared to think about, particularly as he had a human assistant.  How much did he know about humanity’s attempts to build up a space fleet?  Or did he feel that humanity was nothing more than another scavenger race, using technology it couldn't hope to understand, let alone duplicate?  There was no way to know.

Sally might know
, his own thoughts mocked him. 
And she is clearly interested in meeting someone – anyone – human
.

“Thank you,” he said, instead.

A door opened in the far corner, allowing brilliant light to shine into the compartment.  A tall, inhumanly thin figure stepped into the chamber, carrying a datachip in one hand and a credit terminal in the other.  Julian reached into his pocket, retrieved his GalStar Card and pressed it against the terminal.  There was a long pause, then five thousand GalStars transferred themselves from the SIA’s card to Ando’s account.

“You may leave now,” Ando informed them, as his assistant retreated back through the door.  “I will contact you if I discover anything I can offer to you exclusively.  Do you have any specific requests?”

Kevin shared a long look with Julian.  They’d paid for secrecy, but the Varnar might well find a way to force information out of Ando, if they realised what he’d sold to his customers.  And if they asked for a specific piece of data ... even asking would be revealing, in a way.  It was too great a risk to take.

“No, thank you,” Kevin said.

He led the way through the door and back into the lobby, where Sally greeted them with a smile.  Julian and Mandy made their way to the door at once, Kevin stayed back long enough to ask Sally if she would like to meet the following day, after work.  Sally countered with an offer two days in the future, clearly trying not to seem
too
eager.  Kevin accepted, then followed the other two out into the open air.  The heat of the city struck him as soon as he stepped outside.

“We’ll go back to the ship and have this analysed,” he said, once Chester joined them.  No one had seemed surprised to see the Hordesman standing guard.  “And then we will know what to do next.”

“That girl,” Julian said.  He smirked as they started to walk back to the teleport zone.  “Do you think she’s working for us?”

“The files said she wasn't, not directly,” Kevin said.  It was a shame – it would have been easy to ask her questions openly if she had already been working for the SIA – but it was also a challenge.  “I’ll see what she says when we go for dinner.”

“Just be careful, boss,” Julian said.  “She’s spent years on an alien world.  She might well have gone a little native by now.”

Chapter Twelve

Four federal land exploitation agents have been found dead in Kansas, their bodies apparently mutilated before being dumped in an abandoned quarry.  Federal news sources have classed the killers as terrorists and sworn to hunt them down, but posts on the datanet by the Kansas Liberation Army state the agents were killed for “sticking their Washington noses in Kansas business.”

-Solar News Network, Year 52

“Well, maggots,” Sergeant Grison said.  “I suppose that wasn't a
complete
disaster.”

Martin winced under his gaze.  He wasn't the only one.  Sergeant Grison was
terrifying
.  His left eye had been replaced by a cybernetic implant, while one of his legs was made of metal, which glinted in the light.  And, despite that, Martin was sure the sergeant could whip the entire platoon with one hand tied behind his back.  His career had seen more combat than Martin had imagined possible, first as a United States Marine, then as a mercenary and finally as a Solar Marine.

“You could have reacted better,” Grison continued.  “Why didn't you think to watch for ambushes?”

“We were tired, sir,” Hawke said, finally.  He was the current platoon leader, although the post changed hands at least once a week.  “We were thinking about getting back to the barracks for food and sleep.”

“At least you’re honest,” Grison sneered.  “Didn't you think the enemy would know you were off your game?”

“No, sergeant,” Hawke said.

“Get into the camp, get washed and get something to eat,” Grison said.  “We’ll go over what you did wrong in greater detail after you’re refreshed.”

He stepped forward and ripped the platoon leader badge off Hawke’s chest.  “You’re demoted,” he added.  “You should have been watching for an ambush when you were least able to deal with it.”

“Yes, sergeant,” Hawke said.

“I’ll decide which one of you gets it next after you stuff your pie-holes,” Grison informed them.  He jabbed a finger towards the barracks.  “Get.”

Martin ran – no one was allowed to walk, unless they were injured – along with the other recruits.  He’d thought the first part of training was bad, but he’d never imagined Boot Camp ... or just how hard he would have to work to keep up with the others.  Four weeks of intensive training felt like months.  Part of him was honestly tempted just to give up and quit, as several of the others had.  The thought of spending the next year being hammered into shape was terrifying.

“That could have gone better,” Recruit Jones said.  “We should have been more alert.”

“It’s not like a computer game,” Martin agreed.  The training grounds included all kinds of threats, ranging from holographic alien soldiers to dangerous creatures.  By the time they’d started to move back to the base, they’d been so tired they hadn't notice the warning signs until it was too late.  “Does it get easier?”

“It’s
meant
to get easier,” Jones said.  “But it may be months before we can hold our heads up high.”

Martin sighed as they stepped into the showers, removing their clothes in unison.  His body was stronger than he had ever imagined possible, thanks to nanotech enhancement and endless exercise, but it still ached every day, after hours of physical training.  The Solar Marines didn't take slackers, Grison had told them, and he'd meant every word.  He’d even thanked – with a sickly-sweet politeness – the quitters, telling them that they'd done the right thing in deciding to leave.  They wouldn't threaten his beloved Solar Marines any longer.

As soon as they were washed, they jogged into the mess hall and scooped up plates of food, then ate in a tearing hurry.  Grison entered shortly afterwards and watched them, his face betraying nothing of his innermost thoughts.  Martin wondered if he was proud of the remaining recruits, then realised it probably didn't matter.  He’d been told, during induction, that they would be pushed right to the limit, with most of them falling by the wayside.  The Solar Marines took only the best. 

But if they only take the best
, he’d thought,
what happens to those who don’t meet their high standards
?

He hadn't dared asked.  Grison would probably not have taken it kindly.

“Briefing room, now,” Grison said, when they had nearly finished their food.  “Hurry.”

Martin stuffed a last bite of food into his mouth, then stood and paced hurriedly into the briefing compartment.  It was nothing more than a tiny office with a handful of chairs, a projector and little else, but it represented a chance to sit down.  He found a chair, sat quickly, then looked up at Grison.  The Drill Sergeant was talking to a Drill Instructor, who was holding a terminal in one hand.  Neither of them looked very pleased.

Bad news
, Martin guessed. 
They’re going to fail us all
.

“Attention,” Grison snapped.  The recruits straightened up, as they’d been taught.  Grison had a nasty habit of throwing questions at them, just to make sure they were actually listening to what he said.  “It has been decided that you may proceed to the next stage of training.”

Martin found himself smiling.  He wasn't the only one.

“You have learned from your fuck-ups,” Grison continued.  “However, the next stage of training is far more complex.  You will be expected to master powered combat armour, a mission that not everyone can handle safety.  Do you have any questions?”

“Sergeant,” Kayla said.  “Why do we have to learn to fight without the armour if we are going to fight
with
the armour?”

“Because there’s no guarantee that you
will
be fighting with the armour,” Grison snapped, crossly.  “I have been on deployments where I have been wrapped inside my personal tank and deployments where the only thing protecting me from certain death was a thin set of BDUs.”

He glowered at her, then at the rest of the platoon.  “You will start training tomorrow,” he added.  “Until then, review the data provided to your implants and make sure you get plenty of sleep.  A single mistake could get you in deep shit - and even get you kicked off the course.  There is no room for slackers in this unit!”

“Yes, sergeant,” the recruits said.

“And you, Jones, will be the new platoon leader,” Grison snapped.  “Try not to fuck up this time.”

“Yes, sergeant,” Jones said. 

Martin glanced over at Kayla as the recruits were dismissed back to their barracks.  She looked odd; unlike Earth, where the ideal woman was stick-thin, she was incredibly muscular and strong as an ox.  Martin hadn't understood it until he’d realised just how many treatments were provided to recruits who wanted to join the Solar Marines.  The muscles he’d built up over the past month weren't
just
the result of endless exercises and drills.

He smiled, then looked away.  They’d been told, in no uncertain terms, that they were not allowed to have any form of sexual relationship within the platoon.  Heterosexual, homosexual, bisexual ... it was strictly forbidden.  The only way to get any form of sexual release was to use one’s hand, perhaps while watching porn through one’s implants.  And there was rarely any time to indulge.  When they weren't training or eating, they were either reading briefing notes or trying to catch up on sleep.

The files opened up in his mind as he lay back on his bunk and closed his eyes.  They would be learning how to use the Mark-IV Hammer-class Powered Combat Suit, which was – according to the briefing notes – a formidable weapon of war.  Martin watched as a handful of men in suits tore through old-style tanks – a scene from the attack on Tehran, 2045 – with ease, suffering absolutely no casualties at all.  But the suits weren't invulnerable.  The Galactics had plenty of weapons that could be turned against them, ripping through the combat armour as though it were made of paper.

He opened his eyes as the files came to an end, then activated a sleep program in his implants.  Moments later – or at least it felt like moments later – he heard the alarm, yanking them out of sleep.  He jumped off the bunk, dressed at a speed he would have considered impossible five months ago, then ran outside ... and stopped, dead.  A line of armoured combat suits was standing in front of them, weapons levelled at the barracks ...

“Get into line,” Grison snapped.  “What are you waiting for, Recruit Douglas?”

Martin felt his cheeks heat as he fell into line behind the other recruits.  The first week had been an endless series of embarrassments, as recruits had found themselves forgetting various items of clothing as they’d tried frantically to dress themselves and get out onto the line before the sergeants started handing out demerits.  Martin had forgotten a sock, or a shirt ... there had even been a recruit who’d panicked and run out wearing nothing, apart from his hat.  Grison had been
very
sarcastic that day.

“These are your new toys,” Grison said, when he’d finished the inspection and handed out a handful of demerits.  “You have all read the briefing notes, I assume?  You will be aware that the suits magnify every movement you make?  Good!  You will be careful, won’t you?”

Martin swallowed.  Grison sometimes warned them of potential mistakes, but he also allowed them to make others on their own, pointing out that it was the only way to learn.  Martin had lost count of the number of times he’d ‘died’ on exercises, shot with a training laser, when he’d made a careless mistake.  There was more to combat than charging at the enemy, screaming curses into the air; the movies he’d watched, down on Earth, had been more than a little unrealistic.  The Drill Sergeants had even forced them to play out movie-like scenarios, just to learn how completely unrealistic they were – or get killed trying to emulate some of the movie heroes.

“When you get into the suits, do not move until I give the order,” Grison added.  “Step forward, claim your suit, and open the hatch at the back, then climb inside.”

Martin obeyed.  Up close, the suit was thoroughly intimidating.  It bristled with weapons and smelt faintly of blood.  He shuddered, then used his implants to send the open command to the suit’s processors.  There was a dull hiss as the hatch at the back opened, revealing a space just barely large enough for the human body.  He hesitated, feeling claustrophobic for the first time in his life, then scrambled up and lowered his legs into the suit.  Moments later, the suit closed in around him, cutting off the light.  Martin almost panicked, then activated his implants again.  The outside world sprang to life inside his mind.

“Connection established,” a voice stated.  “Combat interface online.”

There was a dull crash from outside as one of the suits moved, then fell over.  Martin heard Sergeant Grison screaming at the suit’s occupant, who had ignored the command to remain still, then turned his attention to the suit itself.  The control programs reminded him of some of the teleoperated systems they’d been forced to use in their first training sessions; now, he understood why they'd been forced to go through it, even though it had seemed useless.  It would have been a great deal harder to control the suit without that experience.

“All suits,” Grison said.  “Take one step forward.”

Martin obeyed ... and toppled over, hitting the ground.  The feedback wasn't bad enough to stun him – he’d automatically thrust his hands forward to break his fall – but it told him just how closely the suit was merged to his mind.  He pushed himself off the ground ... and flipped over backwards.  There was no way he was accustomed to having so much strength at his command.  He glanced from side to side and saw the other Earth-born recruits having problems, although the Solar Union citizens seemed to have no such issues.  They’d been using biofeedback systems since they’d been old enough to accept implants.

He felt a stab of envy, then slowly forced himself to sit upright, then stand up again.  The suit responded, but every motion was backed with so much strength it was alarmingly easy to lose control and fall over, as if a child had suddenly become a man.  On impulse, he flexed his legs and jumped upwards ... and found himself shooting into the air.  Gravity reasserted itself moments later, dragging him back down.  He landed badly enough to send pain shooting up and down his legs.

“Not too bad, for a first try,” Grison said.