A Learning Experience 2: Hard Lessons (17 page)

You’ll have to prove yourself
, Yolanda thought, remembering the advice she’d been given by one of her training officers.  The older woman had sat down with the cadets and explained to them that merely passing the course wouldn't be enough. 
Once you prove yourself, you can expect more responsibility and a chance at promotion.  But no one will take you on faith
.

She kept her expression blank as the newcomers were marched off the bridge and down into the secondary control centre.  “This compartment is a near-complete duplicate of the bridge,” the XO said.  “From now on, until I say otherwise, those of you qualified for bridge duty will be working here, practising, practising and practising.  You will run through every disaster scenario in the book and a few we made up specially.  Should you pass those tests, you will be permitted to serve on the bridge during our deployment.”

There was a pause.  “Any questions?  None?  Then get started.”

Yolanda nodded, then sat down in front of the helm console.  Moments later, it came to life and displayed the first part of a simulation, one she knew from training.  But there was no point in trying to argue.  Instead, she just started to work her way through it, piece by piece.

***

Marine Country was isolated from the remainder of the starship, according to the plans Martin had accessed through his implant.  There was only one door, guarded by a pair of Marines, who checked his ID twice before allowing him through the hatch and into the compartment.  Inside, it was dark, so dark even his enhanced eyesight couldn’t see anything in the shadows.  He had to bring up his implants to see anything ...

Light flared.  His implants automatically dimmed his vision.  Moments later, he couldn't see anything at all.

“Welcome to Marine Country,” a voice boomed.  “Are you worthy?”

“I like to think so,” Martin tossed back.  Sergeant Grison had warned him about hazing rituals, tests designed to ensure the Fucking New Guy – the FNG – was up to the job.  Just graduating from Boot Camp wasn’t enough.  “I’m tough, thick-headed and bloody-minded.”

“You sound a bit overqualified,” the voice said, dryly.  “Take five steps forward,
Boot
!”

Martin stepped forward and felt something pressing against his eyes.  Gritting his teeth, he took another step forward, then another.  There was a moment when he was sure he was about to impale himself on something, then the pressure melted away into nothingness.  But there was still nothing to see, but darkness.

“Lights,” the voice said.

This time, the lights were dim enough to allow Martin to see without pain.  Ahead of him, a grim-faced man wore urban combat BDUs and a Captain’s insignia on his shoulder.  Martin frowned, then remembered the custom of granting every Captain on the ship, apart from the
real
Captain, a courtesy promotion.

“Major Lockland?”

“Private Douglas, I assume,” Lockland said.  “You’ll be slotted into 3
rd
Platoon unless there are major problems – and I don’t expect there to be any, understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Martin said.

“You’ll be bedding down with them when you’re not in simulators or chasing your tail around the exercise compartment,” Lockland continued.  “I expect you to be pulling your weight within the week, Private, or I will have no hesitation in beaching you until we return to Sol.  Lieutenant Robbins will keep your nose to the grindstone until you prove yourself, so work hard and keep clean.”

“Yes, sir,” Martin said.  He’d expected nothing less.  “I will do my very best.”

“Make sure you do – and that it’s good enough,” Lockland growled.  “There’s trouble coming, Private.  No one has said anything officially, but I’ve heard rumours, whispers of trouble.  We have to be ready for when the shit hits the fan.”

“Yes, sir,” Martin said.  He wanted to ask what Lockland had heard, but he knew he wouldn't get a straight answer until he’d proved himself.  There was no shortage of potential issues, from interventions on Earth to outright war with one or more of the Galactics.  “We will be ready.”

“Indeed we will,” Lockland said.  He nodded towards the hatch.  “Go put your bag down, then join 3
rd
Platoon for their ongoing drills.  I’ll speak to you again in a week, I hope; if I have to talk to you before then, you’re in deep shit.”

“Yes, sir,” Martin said.

He thought briefly of Yolanda, wondered if he would have a chance to see her after 3
rd
Platoon had accepted him, then pushed the thought aside.  The Sergeants had hidden nothing from the recruits, once they’d passed the final tests.  Established units only opened their hearts and minds to a newcomer after he’d proved himself.  And if he failed, he could expect nothing, but a quick ride back to Sparta and an equally quick discharge.

A shape appeared behind him as he placed his bag on the bunk.  “Private Douglas?”

Martin turned, then saluted the stern-looking woman wearing a Lieutenant’s uniform.  “Sir?”

“I am Lieutenant Robbins, CO 3
rd
Platoon,” she said, briskly.  There was no give in her voice at all, no sense she might have a feminine bone in her body.  Like Kayla, she had passed the same tests as the men, then won her spurs in an active unit.  “Come with me.  We have a
lot
of work to do.”

Chapter Seventeen

The Pakistani Government fell for the fifth time in as many months today, as armed mobs stormed the walls of the Presidential Palace in Islamabad.  So far, successive military and Islamic governments have proved completely incapable of halting either the ongoing economic decline or the outflow of skilled technical workers, looking for better jobs elsewhere.  At last report, several thousand were dead in the streets, with thousands more injured.  This does not bode well for Pakistan.

-Solar News Network, Year 53

Viceroy Neola – the remainder of her names were never shared outside her clan – was young for a Tokomak, a mere six hundred years old.  It was something that galled her more than she would ever have admitted, even to her life-mates or children.  She could neither enjoy the authority that came from having been born before the foundation of the Tokomak Empire nor the freedom of a child.  And yet, she was as committed to the empire as the rest of her kind, despite its flaws.  It had brought peace and stability to a galaxy tormented by war.

She watched through cold eyes as the Varnar leadership bowed their heads before her, welcoming her to their world.  They were a surprisingly advanced people for their position in the galaxy, already halfway towards mimicking the Tokomak government before they’d encountered the empire and been assimilated.  They’d made useful proxies because they could be relied upon to do the job, without complaining about their position in the empire.  But now they had run into something they couldn't handle ... and they’d requested help. 

It had been a surprise – and it had taken nearly thirty standard years for the Tokomak to even
consider
the request.  The whole idea of the proxy wars had been to keep the races on the rim of civilisation – barely civilised themselves – occupied, wasting time and resources in a petty pointless war.  It had gone on for nearly a hundred years, after all, and had seemed likely to carry on for the next thousand, if the races didn't exhaust themselves long before then.  But now, it looked almost as if the Varnar would lose the war.  They’d run into a new race, one that was causing them problems.  And
that
was tipping the balance against them.

She allowed herself a cold smile as she walked past a line of cyborg soldiers, constructed from biological samples taken from several different primitive worlds, and halted in front of the Varnar leaders.  They were short, when she was tall; their eyes flickering nervously over her badges of rank.  She could do anything to them and she knew it; the Tokomak, when they’d taken the sector, had not been shy about granting themselves unlimited authority.  And yet, she had to work with them.  The ossified geriatrics who made up the Inner Council of Tokomak could never have handled the thought of doing more than issuing orders to non-Tokomak.  They even had problems with non-Tokomak servants!

“I am honoured to set foot upon your world,” she said.  The Varnar needed the sector to know the Tokomak were behind them – and besides, it
was
a honour.  She didn't have the unlimited authority to make war she wanted, but she did have unprecedented freedom in other areas.  “I thank you for the welcome.”

The Varnar leader bowed low.  “I thank you, Great One,” he said.  “Your presence brings honour to us all ...”

He went on, and on, while Neola tuned him out and surveyed the crowd through her implants.  They were mostly Varnar, but there were hundreds of non-Varnar there, each one representing a different race.  Some of them were spacefarers themselves, treated with a certain degree of leniency by the empire; others were primitives, uplifted into galactic society and gifted advanced technology they couldn't hope to duplicate for themselves.  Her lips curved into a sneer, which she forced off her face before anyone could take notice.  Primitives.  What could they do when they came face to face with the towering interstellar civilisation, but bend the knee in awe.  They would never be anything more than servants for their elders and betters.

“And so we welcome you to our world,” the Varnar concluded.  “We thank you.”

“Thank you for your welcome,” Neola said.  At least it hadn't been as long as some of the speeches she’d been forced to endure as a young politician.  But the Varnar had definitely mastered the art of saying the same thing, over and over again, in a dozen different ways.  “I now wish to see the war room.  The rest of the matters can wait.”

The Varnar looked shocked.  They’d expected her to inspect everything from hospitals and spaceports, leaving the war room until last.  But Neola was young enough to be impatient – and besides, she wasn't particularly interested in local facilities.  If the Varnar wanted spaceports or hospitals, they could build them for themselves.  The empire wasn't interested in their local affairs.  She smiled to herself as the Varnar recovered, then led her into a secure passageway – her bodyguards inspected it minutely before they allowed her to enter – and down towards the war room.  Her implants reported hundreds of security scans before they passed through the last set of hatches and stepped into the chamber. 

“Now,” Neola said, once the bowing and scraping had died away.  “Tell me about the war.”

***

Sally had been lucky to get tickets for the reception ceremony.  The Varnar had wanted to showcase their connections with the Tokomak, but even so she’d had to pay well over the odds just to obtain a pair of tickets.  No one had even
seen
a Tokomak for centuries, certainly not one who would be taking command of the war.  Indeed, the bookies – it had amused her to discover that the Galactics like gambling – had already started revising the odds of a Varnar victory in light of the Tokomak involvement.

But it wouldn't be a Varnar victory
, Sally thought, as the shuttle slowly descended to the landing pad. 
The Tokomak would have won the day
.

She gritted her teeth as the Viceroy came into view.  The Tokomak were a tall, inhumanly thin race, with light yellow skin and large eyes.  She – Sally’s implants identified the alien as female – was surrounded by alien attendants, each one brain-burned to be totally loyal to its mistress.  Beside her, the Varnar looked small, almost child-like.  They bowed and scraped in front of the Tokomak as if a single word from her could destroy them, which it probably could.  The battle squadron that had escorted the Tokomak Viceroy to Varnar would have no trouble reducing the planet to rubble, on her command.  It was quite possible the local defences would refuse to fire on their ships until it was already too late.

If it’s possible at all
, Sally thought. 
The Tokomak could easily have hidden backdoors in the planetary defence systems they sold the Varnar.

She smiled at the thought, then sighed as the Viceroy was flattered endlessly by the Varnar leadership.  No human really understood how the Varnar governed themselves – it was a form of communist democracy, she’d been told – but it was clear they were doing all, but kissing and licking the Tokomak’s feet.  And perhaps they would, if they thought it was necessary.  They knew they were losing the war.

The ceremony finally came to an end, allowing the crowds to leave the giant stadium and retreat back to their normal lives.  No one would have been permitted to leave ahead of time, Sally knew, no matter how long the ceremony took.  The Tokomak might have seen it as an insult.  They were, according to the files, a deeply formal race, with a love of ceremony that left even the most hidebound human government in the dirt.  The idea of even a minor race shunning them would have seemed inconceivable. 

She saved her recordings in her implant, then started to walk back towards the office.  As always, the alien crowds both fascinated and oppressed her, pressing in around her as she walked.  The Galactics didn't really have any concept of personal space, at least in the multiracial areas.  In their own private sections, the rules tended to be different, more focused around the needs of one species.  Unless, of course, the Tokomak were involved.  They tended to disregard the rights of every other species when the shit hit the fan.  Or just when they wanted to make a point. 

“Sally,” Mr. Ando said, when she walked into the darkened office.  “You have a visitor.”

Sally blinked.  She wasn't very sociable on Varnar, if only because there were few people interested in socialising with a human.  The handful of humans living permanently on the planet had little to do with her.  They found it odd that a human would work for an alien – or so they said.  Privately, Sally suspected they doubted her loyalties.  Most of them were probably spies involved with the war.

“I do?”

“Yes,” Mr. Ando said.  He passed her a datachip.  “He is currently staying in the Pan-Gal Hotel.  You will take this to him personally, then take the rest of the day off, if you wish.  Report back to me tomorrow morning.”

Sally remembered, suddenly, the odd group who had visited, nearly a year ago.  Mr. Ando
never
gave samples of data for free, not now he had a proper reputation.  For him to break his rules, even on a small scale ... it suggested there was something important about it, something he had yet to share with her.  But there was no point in asking questions.  She’d be told what Mr. Ando wanted her to know, when he wanted her to know.  Instead, she took the datachip and nodded to him.  The alien nodded back, then retreated into the shadows.

Kevin
, she thought, recalling the older man she’d met. 
It has to be
.

She placed the datachip in a sealed pocket, then walked through the streets to the Pan-Gal, recalling their last meeting.  He’d been staying on a starship then; this time, he’d splashed out for the Pan-Gal.  An offer to her, she wondered, or merely a case of picking a place he knew on Varnar?  There was no shortage of places rated suitable for human or humanoid accommodation, but it could take hours to sort through the datanet and pick somewhere that was actually
decent
.  Sally had stayed in enough apartments, before finding her current home, to know that ‘humanoid accommodation’ covered a multitude of different requirements.

The robotic valet checked her ID, then proffered a file for her to download, showing her how to walk through the giant hotel to her destination.  Sally thanked the robot – a habit she had never been entirely able to break – then followed orders and walked up to the elevator.  The Pan-Gal was larger than any hotel on Earth, although it only held six thousand suites and used the remainder of the space for life support and staffing requirements.  Holograms flickered around her, showing what the hotel managers thought were views suitable for humans.  There was no way they could hope to meet
all
of the requirements without using holograms, she knew, but it still seemed fake to her.

The Galactics clearly like it
, she thought.  The Pan-Gal didn’t have any problems attracting visitors, year after year. 
They must feel right at home
.

Sally stopped in front of a sealed hatch and tapped the bell.  It opened a second later, revealing a surprisingly large suite, bigger than her apartment on Varnar.  She stepped inside and smiled as she saw Kevin sitting on a chair clearly designed for someone a little larger than the average human, reading a datapad.  He rose to his feet, took her hand and bowed to her, then kissed the air just above her skin.  Sally honestly wasn't sure if she should be charmed or amused.  There were races that actually communicated by licking each other’s hands.

“It's good to see you again,” Kevin said.  “And I hope I can treat you to dinner this time.”

“Mr. Ando sent me with gifts,” Sally said.  She passed him the datachip and watched as he made it vanish into a sealed pocket.  “And orders to take the rest of the day off, if I wanted.”

She tilted her head.  “Did you ask him for me?”

“I asked him to send the data as soon as possible by courier,” Kevin said.  “But I’m glad it was you.”

Sally nodded, then sat down on the chair facing him.  “I think they gave you the wrong suite.”

“The chair?  I think they may have an exaggerated idea of the human bum,” Kevin countered, dryly.  “Or perhaps they just picked up some bad TV and thought all humans were that large and obnoxious.”

“How right they were,” Sally mused.  Years ago, there had been a rumour that the Galactics had monitored Earth closely enough to pick up and record the early broadcasts of some of the most famous TV programs in history.  It had been false, but before it had been disproven anticipation had risen to horrifying levels.  “When did you arrive?”