A Learning Experience 2: Hard Lessons (29 page)

“Oh,” Martin said.  “Relaxing?”

He snorted.  Watching the aliens wasn't relaxing, not when he knew just how many missile warheads or antimatter storage pods remained in the complex.  A single saboteur who had gone undetected could do real damage, just by turning off the antimatter containment field.  Or by detonating an IED next to an antimatter pod.  He wasn't sure what would happen if someone managed to detonate a nuke in the complex, but he was fairly sure it would be utterly disastrous.

“It beats running simulations all the time,” Robbins assured him.  “And besides, you would be able to see your girlfriend.”

Martin would have coloured, if it had been possible.  “You know?”

“You haven’t exactly done a good job of hiding it,” Robbins said.  She cocked her head at him, then rolled her eyes.  “Pretty much everyone knows, Martin.  They're happy for you.”

Martin blinked.  “Really?”

He knew what would have happened on Earth, even if he’d dated a sister.  The young men – boys – would have crowded round him, demanding details.  Was she really so pretty with her dress off?  Had she gone down on him yet?  Were her breasts firm or soft to the touch?  Was she good in bed?  And the immature bastard he’d been at the time would have happily told the other immature bastards intimate details ...

It would have been worse, of course, if he’d been dating Yolanda on Earth.  The questions would have been fascinated or insulting, depending on which stereotypes the questioners believed.  One half would have demanded to know if it was true that all white girls wanted a taste of chocolate, others would have demanded to know why he wasn't dating a black girl.  Martin would have given a great deal for a chance to meet Yolanda’s father up a dark alleyway with no witnesses, but he understood the man more than he cared to admit.  In a society where dating outside one’s own race was sometimes considered worse than treason, it would be very tempting to deny the relationship had ever happened.  And neglect his daughter, the sole proof the affair had ever existed, into the bargain.

“Yes,” Robbins said.  “Honestly ... were you
trying
to keep it a secret?”

She winked at him.  “You’ll need to be more stealthy if you want to go into covert ops,” she added, darkly.  “You couldn't have made it more obvious if you’d painted a declaration of love in giant letters on the bulkheads, complete with pink and red hearts and flowers.”

“Oh,” Martin said.

“She isn't a Marine, so you’re not breaking the laws on fucking within the corps,” Robbins said.  “She isn't a security risk, so you’re not putting your cock ahead of common sense.  She doesn't have a bad reputation, so you’re not risking more than heartbreak and some minor embarrassment, should the affair go sour.  The worst that will happen is that you will be assigned to different ships, you’ll try to keep it going for a time and then you will discover that it’s impossible and you both go find different people.”

She paused.  “And, if you’re lucky, you’ll remain friends despite all the bullshit you will go through when you end the relationship.”

Martin threw her a curious look.  “Are you talking about yourself?”

“It happens,” Robbins told him, tartly.  “You’re in the military.  So is she.  Sooner or later, you will be assigned to different ships.  When that happens, you will have the choice between trying to keep the relationship going and breaking it off as cleanly as possible.  And if you happened to be under my command, if you start crying all the time, I will happily help you to cope by banging you over the head with a blunt instrument.”

“Thank you, Counsellor Obvious,” Martin said.

Robbins smirked.  “Fairness isn't part of the deal,” she said.  “The military doesn't give a damn about the way you feel about something, nor should it.  You signed away your freedoms the day you swore the oath.  And she did the same.”

She shrugged.  “You want my advice?”

Martin covered his ears as a freighter rose into the sky, then nodded.

“Keep it as light as possible until you reach the end of your first contract,” Robbins said, slowly.  “Don’t pin all your hopes on having her for the rest of your life.  After you retire from the military, you can see if the pair of you can build a home together – and if there’s something more than sexual lust involved.  She really is quite pretty.  But is that all there is to it?”

“No,” Martin said, firmly.

Robbins smirked, again.  “Are you sure?  What do you want to be doing in ten years?”

Martin considered it.  “Your job?”

The Lieutenant gave him a one-fingered gesture.  “In ten years, Martin, you should be a Captain, if you stay in the ranks,” she said.  “If you’re a Lieutenant still, people will start to ask questions.  Pointed questions.  Why is that jerk still an LT when he should be a Captain?”

“I see, I think,” Martin said.

“There will probably always be room for Marines, unless we lose the war,” Robbins said.  “You can probably stay in, unless you commit some fuck-up so fucked that the court-martial board has no choice, but to kick you out on your ass.  But what will she want to do?”

Another freighter took off, passing through the atmospheric forcefield and climbing into the sky.  Martin watched it go, wondering if the aliens would behave themselves – or take advantage of the opportunity to vanish into FTL and lose themselves in the endless sea of stars.  The bomb on the control deck should make it a no-brainer, but who knew how aliens thought?  They were even stranger than girls.

“But leave it until the end of the war,” Robbins said, clapping him on the shoulder.  “By now” – she made a show of checking her watch – “the news should have reached Varnar.  And who knows how they will react, once they know what’s happened here?”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Thousands of refugees from Sabah have begun to swamp refugee camps in East Asia, following the start of a purge of natives from Sabah.  The Malaysian Government claims to be only targeting rebels, separatists and terrorists, but sources on the ground claim that Malay troops are slaughtering innocent civilians and burning entire villages.  Chinese and Christian citizens are crossing the border into Singapore or booking flights out of Malaysia at an unprecedented rate.

-Solar News Network, Year 53

There was nothing inherently unpredictable about the universe.  The Tokomak believed, quite firmly, that everyone could be calculated, that everything could be predicted and eventually placed firmly where it belonged.  Surprise – true surprise – simply didn't exist.  But none of the planners had ever anticipated one of the newer races actually daring to attack a Tokomak world.

Viceroy Neola sat in her office, staring at the report.  Two ships had made it to Varnar, one reporting that Hades was about to come under attack, the other reporting that the defending squadron had been decisively beaten.  It was impossible.  It was unthinkable.  No one would ever dare to attack a Tokomak world.

It had happened.

She forced herself to remain calm, despite the shock, despite the rage that called for the immediate eradication of every last member of the race that had dared to attack the masters of the universe.  Someone had attacked ... but who?  The humans?  Or someone else, someone completely new?  The ships hadn't been recognised, which meant whoever they were facing was someone who had mastered starfaring technology before encountering the expanding edge of civilisation.  Or someone deliberately trying to disguise their involvement.

Think
, she told herself. 
What do they want?

It was hard to imagine what the aliens must be thinking.  Empathy had never been a Tokomak strength, even though she could see some uses for it.  They’d committed suicide.  No matter how advanced their technology, they couldn't match the Tokomak for sheer numbers.  She could trade a thousand battleships for every alien ship involved in the attack on Hades and still come out ahead ... if there were a thousand battleships on call.  The hundreds she knew to be approaching the sector might not be enough ...

No
, she thought. 
They couldn't have the firepower to destroy my battleships.  The entire war would have been ended long ago.

She fought to wrap her mind around a totally new concept.  No one had encountered a self-starfaring race, certainly not one who had mastered FTL on their own.  The Tokomak had been the first and only race to devise a way to liberate themselves from the tyranny of the gravity points.  It was why they were the masters of the universe.  If someone else had mastered it, they would have been encountered long ago.  Unless ... no, she decided.  The humans were the only logical suspects for the attack on Hades.

Piece by piece, she worked her way through the concept.  The humans had received her ultimatum and reacted with blinding speed, launching an immediate attack on Hades to push the Tokomak back.  But she’d spent long enough struggling with the moribund logistics department back home to know that it took a long time to plan a war, particularly one against a far greater power.  The humans had to have had their war planned out long before she’d arrived in the sector, gaming out move and counter-move in their fight against an overwhelming force. They would have calculated her reaction and factored it into their plans.

Standard procedure was to stamp on any source of trouble before it became a major problem, she knew.  The humans would anticipate her launching ships to Hades, bent on recovering the world and trapping the attackers before they could strip the planet bare.  And if that was what they expected her to do, she was sure, they would take it into account when they were planning their operations.  They would adapt their plans to deal with it ...

It had been too long, she realised numbly, since the Tokomak had fought a real war.  The humans might have an edge, one she simply couldn't match.

She looked up as the Admiral entered the chamber.  “Your Excellency,” he said.  “I have detailed three squadrons to recover Hades.”

“Hold them here,” Neola ordered.

The Admiral was too skilled a veteran of political battles to show much of a reaction, but Neola had no difficulty in reading his shock.  She would have known he was shocked even if he’d shown nothing, for leaving the enemy in possession of Tokomak territory was effectively admitting defeat.  Everyone knew the Tokomak would punish any offense against them a hundred-fold.  To leave the humans in possession of Hades would call that into question, suggesting to a hundred races that the Tokomak could be beaten.  It would threaten the very existence of the empire.

“Your Excellency,” the Admiral said.  “I beg you to reconsider.”

“They will expect us to send a fleet to Hades,” Neola said.  She mourned, inwardly, for what her race had lost.  None of them were particularly imaginative any longer, even the Old Ones who had been young when FTL was first discovered.  “We shouldn't do what they expect us to do.”

The Admiral looked uncomprehending.  “It is standard procedure ...”

“Yes, it is,” Neola said.  “And that is precisely why we won’t do it.”

She understood his doubts perfectly.  They were both young by Tokomak standards.  If they made mistakes, their mistakes would be attributed to their youth.  They would certainly not be honoured with any future commands, even if they won the overall war; instead, they’d be told to leave matters of galactic import to the grown-ups.  She understood precisely how he was feeling, but she was sure – now – that doing what she was expected to do would be a dreadful mistake.  At best, she would look weak for giving the enemy a chance to steal everything they could carry from Hades and destroy the rest; at worst, her ships would run into an ambush and be destroyed. 

And I would have sent ships away from Varnar
, she thought.  News of the defeat hadn’t become public, yet, but it would.  Who knew which way the
Varnar
would jump, if their Tokomak backers looked weak? 
They might be counting on the Varnar deciding to move against us
.

She turned and walked over to the window, looking out over the towering city.  Millions of aliens lived below her, she knew, from hundreds of different races.  Some of them would be loyal to the Tokomak, or at least to the Status Quo; others would see advantage in any shift in the balance of power.  The Varnar themselves, as loyal as they were, couldn't be blind to the ultimate truth of the proxy war.  Or, for that matter, that her orders might encompass more than just crushing the Coalition, once and for all.

“Fetch me a Varnar Admiral,” she ordered.  “One who has faced the humans in battle.”

“Your Excellency,” the Admiral protested.  “He would know nothing of naval affairs.”

“But he would know the humans,” Neola said, patiently.  “Find someone who has faced them and bring him to me.”

She returned to the raw data as the Admiral bowed, then left the room.  There had been no time to have any analysts take a look at the data – she hadn't even brought any on her ships – but she could pick out some of the more important details for herself.  The human ships were faster and more manoeuvrable than her own, capable of tricks she hadn't thought possible.  In fact, one on one, she had a nasty feeling the humans had a definite advantage.  The more she thought about it, the more she wished the Tokomak had done more than log the human race’s existence when they swept through the sector, centuries ago.

It was nearly an hour before the door opened again, revealing a Varnar.  He was a short being, even by their dwarfish standards, with grey hairless skin, dark eyes and a simple black overall.  Neola didn't pretend to understand how the Varnar governed themselves – as long as they obeyed, races enjoyed internal autonomy – but she knew he would be competent.  The Varnar would not have been able to fight the war without competent and experienced officers.

She allowed herself a hint of worry, although none of it showed on her face.  It was a fact, as far as the Tokomak were concerned, that they were simply the best at everything.  Once, it had even been true.  Asking another race for advice was utterly unthinkable.  But so was a swift and decisive defeat, one that had shocked her to the core.  It was time to do the unthinkable and hope she produced a victory before the Old Ones relieved her of command.

“Your Excellency,” the Varnar said.  He lowered his head, then closed his eyes in submission.  “I am Admiral He’cht.”

“You may open your eyes,” Neola said.  “You have fought the humans, have you not?”

“Yes,” He’cht said.  “I have faced them four times in open combat.”

“You must have some impression of their skills,” Neola said.  “What do you make of them?”

“They’re very capable,” He’cht said, carefully.  “I think ...”

“I will not take offense,” Neola assured him.  “Be blunt.”

“I think they’re among the best soldiers in the galaxy,” He’cht said, flatly.  “Certainly the most innovative and dangerous.”

Neola started.  “Explain.”

“Human soldiers started cropping up in mercenary forces fifty years ago, mostly on disputed worlds,” He’cht said.  “They proved themselves to be flexible, adaptable and terrifyingly innovative.  Their skill at creating or improvising weapons is unmatched.  The Coalition saw fit to use them as shock troops, a role to which they are aptly suited.  Even in space, they proved themselves capable.  Our cyborgs were unable to match them.”

“Your cyborgs,” Neola mused.  “Couldn't you use them to match the humans?”

“They had to be brain-burned,” He’cht admitted.  “The ones who were allowed to keep some initiative tended to turn on us, when facing other humans.   Some of our researchers believe the race has a unifying aspect we have been unable to discover.  Others think they merely recognise their own kind and start rebelling.  The only way we were able to use them on the battlefield after humans entered the war in large numbers was to reduce them to little more than puppets.”

“And you knew about the threat for fifty years,” Neola said.  “You did nothing.”

“To move against Earth would have allowed the Coalition a shot at a decisive victory,” He’cht pointed out.  “It was why we requested assistance from you.”

“Point,” Neola said.  She keyed a switch.  “I want your
honest
opinion of this battle.”

He’cht watched, dispassionately, as the Battle of Hades played itself out, once again.

“Your ships acted poorly,” he said, when the battle was over.  “Their commanders made too many mistakes.”

There were Tokomak, Neola knew, who would have ordered his immediate execution for daring to point out the obvious.  The Tokomak had to stick together, after all, and if that meant ensuring that no one ever dared criticize them ... well, it had seemed a fair price to pay.  But now, in hindsight, she understood that it was a deadly mistake.  A critic, a critic with real experience, could be very useful.

“Detail them,” she ordered.

“The squadron’s formation was designed more for display than combat,” He’cht said.  “Several of the ships couldn't fire because their comrades were in the way, crippling their firepower.  One of the ships even collided with another ship.  Furthermore, the commander attempted to keep his ships in formation even when it was clear the formation was actually impeding their response.  By the time he was killed, it was too late to salvage the situation.”

“Go on,” Neola said.

“Their rate of fire should have been a great deal higher too,” He’cht added, after a moment.  “Everything about them was sluggish, Your Excellency.  I would go so far as to say they didn't have any real training for war.  They acted as though they expected the enemy to follow a completely predicable flight path and, when it became clear the enemy wasn't going to do anything of the sort, they fell apart.”

There was a nasty amount of truth in that, Neola knew – and He’cht didn't know the half of it.  Naval exercises, what few of them there were, tended to be carefully scripted, with the ‘right’ side always emerging victorious.  It helped to maintain morale in a fleet that was badly undermanned, but it hadn't prepared the crews to face an enemy who took pleasure in being completely unpredictable.  And the humans didn't have a choice, either.  They
had
to be unpredictable or they would be crushed by superior numbers.