Ships of Valor 1: Persona Non Grata

by Aaron Kennedy

  After I changed, Robert helped collect my gear and told me he would have it delivered back to White Caps. I thanked him and headed over to the triple mirror to look at myself. The last time I had been in a suit was before I left Terra. I had forgotten the feeling. I had opted to keep my boots, as Master Redback assured me they wouldn't clash. We went with a midnight blue dinner jacket, peak collar, and a vest the same color as my Legion jacket instead of a cummerbund. Simple studs and a gorgeous pair of cufflinks showing the opposite sides of Terra's hemispheres. The final addition was a Legion lapel pin showing a simple shield with the moon and the galactic arms. I'm not sure where he got it, as we're not big on swag. Sure, we have things like the club patch on my jacket, but it's never been necessary to advertise when showing up with ten thousand very well armed folks. The residents tend to get the idea.

  I looked good, I don't mind saying, especially as I had trimmed my hair to a respectable level, and even managed to shave without cutting an artery. I looked more like a real soldier than my usual shaggy Legionnaire self.

  I should probably explain the last bit. The Legion isn’t really a military in the traditional sense. We're more akin to a para-military organization with a charter allowing military operations. Goes back to our founding and who could be trusted to employ us.

  Militaries are armed services belonging to governments. Governments are political entities, and politics change over time. When the human race made it to space, a few very smart people realized time and distance could create disastrous effects when added to politics. So these smart people found rich people. Stupidly rich people and got them on board with a concept of an apolitical watchdog organization. Somebody beholden to no government, no corporation, and no man. Idealistic, I know.

  That was the seed of the idea becoming the Legion. The question that followed was where to place an organization like the Legion? We were formed early in space travel, before the hyperspace era, back when we still called it the Sun and the Solar System, instead of Sol. This was when we still called Terra, Earth. We were still only in the early stages of colonizing Mars and Ganymede. Titan and Venus weren't viable yet. So, the moon became the natural choice. Since the moon can't be owned by anyone, no one can use the location to exercise control over the Legion. We became partners in a sense. Legion HQ is located off the south pole of the moon, training command is off the northern pole, and we recruit from Luna City proper.

  Since we don’t have the underlying bureaucratic structure accompanying a government, we never developed the mindset of a real military requiring all of the regulations that come with them. Instead, we promoted a philosophy. That doesn’t explain the lack of uniforms, shaving, or grooming standards. A lot of those boiled down to saving creds and keeping only the things that worked.

  So, yes, we have things like ranks, because they make sense, and allow us to communicate better with governments who understand hierarchies, but we don't have dress uniforms because they're not necessary for what we do. Instead, we focused on kit that’s used during actual operations,

  Our charter was very simple, and a few things set us apart were we weren’t as regimented as normal military and had no real intention of becoming so. The only uniforms we had were combat gear as opposed to dress uniforms. We don’t do medals. We don’t believe in unnecessarily stringent levels of hygiene, like shaving every day or haircuts once a week, unless the mentality served some real purpose like keeping us from killing each other aboard ship. We weren't trying to become something we weren't. We were trying to be our own thing and we succeeded. We took the best aspects of organizations available and left the worst ones.

  So there I was, cleaned up nice, looking somewhat respectable, and on my way to a state dinner as the guest to the head of Luna Corp. A situation I was wholly unprepared for. After getting back in the runabout it finally dawned on me to ask Robert what the dinner was about.

  “They happen about twice a month. Most of them are social events. It's been my experience real business takes place at the dinners as opposed to during the scheduled business meetings.” This jived with my experiences as well. The meetings are for show. They're great for azimuth checks and getting people together, but things don't get done during them.

  As an example, we had weekly commander's call. The Old Man passed word, and so would everyone else with half an ounce of silver. But nothing really happened. Where things really happened was over beers at night or at chow when the teams got together. This was no different. We were heading to what was comparable to a bunch of Legionnaires sitting around beers trying to figure out how to get a bunch of jump jets ready by system-fall.

  The dinner was taking place outside the main dome at the old observatory. Replaced long ago, a convention center with a restaurant occupied the old observatory grounds. One of the few places to see Terra with the naked eye. As the old saying goes, go big or go home.

  The observatory was one of the first things built on Luna, actually predating the Old Dome in many ways, as it was finished first. Since most things on the moon are under the protective canopy of the domes, light pollution isn't an issue. It's actually a heck of a lot easier to see into space than back on Terra. Or at least it was back when the first observatories were built.

  We started getting smart. Since the moon doesn't really have an atmosphere to speak of, it made sense to put solar panels on the outside of every available constructed surface whenever a dome went up. May as well take advantage of free power. Not like Sol is burning out anytime soon. The vast majority of our power is nuclear, in the form of thorium generators, but solar helps offset things quite a bit, at least during Lunar day, which is half the month, and makes a great industrial level job for those with the knack.

  When we left the domes through a secondary tunnel, I was greeted with a view of Mankind's largest solar farm. Built atop the main dome hundreds of thousands of panels shared my anxiety. They waited for the sun while I anticipated a dinner with a woman I hardly knew. The tunnel’s transparent walls acting as a poor surrogate jacket, as we crested the horizon and approached the old observatory.

  It's not exactly a big building compared to some of the structures under the dome, but it's the tallest single structure outside the dome. Coming in at over 120 meters above average surface level. And that's not including the telescope proper. Surrounding the main telescope were three old school receiver arrays. The old parabolic types, designed to listen for any signs of intelligent life out there in the cosmos. Of course, we made them before we stumbled into the other races but that's a story for another day.

  Robert pulled the runabout into the parking bay occupying the entire bottom floor. It had originally been more a hangar than anything, back before the building had its tunnel leading to it. Needed for rovers and even to park shuttles to protect them from meteors on the surface. A large open area, little more than a flat piece of concrete, with open blast doors on one end, and airlocks leading to elevators on the side. After parking the vehicle, Robert waved us through the security at the lock, and we headed up to main levels.

  When this place was originally constructed, the observatory needed a lot of computing power. And back then the computers were a lot bigger, so entire floors were dedicated not only to computing but to communication as well. Hence the monster antenna outside. Well, technology gets better over the centuries, so what used to take floors, eventually takes broom closets. And the fact this place wasn't active allowed them to strip out the old gear.

  When the engineers retrofitted the main floor, they decided to have a little fun. They added high res screens to the floors and ceilings. The floor was currently displaying the Sol system, with the Sun as the centerpiece. The ceiling was displaying our section of the Milky Way.

  There were perhaps a hundred people in the room. Tables arranged around the outside in what was arguably a school circle so everyone could see everybody else. On the one side without tables, was a bar. Robert drew my attention, with a slight nudge to the ribs, to a part
icular fetching woman at the bar, and it took me a moment to realize she was my date for the evening. I thanked him and headed to the bar.

  Lysha was wearing something I could only describe as downright amazing, slinky, and shade a red matching my vest. I wasn’t sure if she planned it or not but based on the way the dress draped over her that was inconsequential to me. I am no expert on women's fashion, but I know what I like, and this plumage fell distinctly into that category. Going into more detail would not do the gown or her justice; I would seem like a pervert for trying. "Hey sailor, buy a girl a drink?" she said as I approached. Again, I notched up my assessment and wondered how in the hell I got it wrong the first few times.

  She gave me a quick peck on the cheek and waved over the bar-back. I'm cautious to bring this up because I hardly knew her at this point and it wasn't intentional but she smelled like fruit. I love fruit. Absolutely love it. Can't get enough of it. I've wasted more money on fruit than I have on books, and that's saying something.

  I'm jumping off topic, though. I've spent about half my waking life on ships. Recycled air really doesn't have a smell. People living on boats are careful about their personal hygiene. Those who don't quickly find themselves the subject of involuntary baths, or worse. Even too much soap can set someone off after spending a year together due to the cabin fever effect.

  I'm hyper aware of smells, particularly body odor, but her quick peck and the smell of oranges and vanilla had me reeling. I did my best to hide my reaction during the couple of seconds as the bartender approached. I requested a scotch on ice while she nursed what looked like a white wine of some type. I have decent skill at identifying drinks, but it’s been my experience most are named after regions, and after getting into intergalactic travel, the possibilities quickly become infinite. I learned as a young trooper; never drink the local stuff unless knowing exactly what it was, and what its effects would be.

  Back when I was much younger and way dumber a few of my squad-mates and I got lit on what we later found out was distilled arachnid venom. By later I mean about four drinks in when the local guides invited us to hunt our own drinks and we thought the idea was great. Until we realized our prey weighed almost three kilos. Five drunken Legionnaires hunting giant spiders in the jungles of a low-g world. I'm not sure how much of my memory is a drunken haze, and how much the story has grown from the retelling, but spiders jump. And battle hardened Legionnaires have no problem running from them, screaming like little girls when those spiders do.

  Those visions always gave me shivers when I thought about drinking new or local stuff and after being gone so long; the local stuff may as well have been brand new to me. Who knew what new and crazy concoctions had seeped in, so I stuck to the old standbys, at least until I re-acclimated.

  "So glad you came. I really dread these things, but they come with the job." I caught a genuine smile in the eyes when she said that and told her I was happy to help. We chatted for a bit, getting a feel for each other, mostly about nothing until we were slowly ushered to our seats. As the resident authority, she sat center-stage, and as her date, I was on her right. On my other side were the representatives from Mars. The seats to her left were empty.

  The event, a misnomer, began without much fanfare. A server provided water and presented a few meal options. Having been aboard ship for a long time, I've been effectively vegetarian for as long as I've been in the Legion. I'm not meat adverse, but it's a luxury more than a necessity at this point. When I do eat it, I lean towards animals who aren't self-aware.

  I've run into enough other intelligent species in the galaxy, I don't want to be on the wrong side of that arrangement, and I'm hoping I build up enough karma in the present to pay off in the future. The last thing I want is to be dinner on some higher predator’s table.

  I selected the least objectionable, but still a palatable option, and introduced myself to the Marsans to my right. Folks from Mars are a hard people. They have to be. Mars has never been a kind place. Worse than the moon in many ways.

  Not that I'm stereotyping, it's the first colonists went over on big sub-light transports, and rather than using deep-sleep, they chose a combination of genemod and psychological conditioning instead.

  When people talk about Marsans not having a sense of humor, it's not a far stretch. Near impossible to get them riled up. It's not that they can’t be made to laugh, it takes an understanding of what Marsans think is funny. For Terrans, we tend to lean towards the pain of others. It's a sad fact. We take a perverse little joy in seeing others hurt. Not necessarily injured, emotional pain is near as funny. Laughter is our release. Looneys love satire. They love fiction hitting way too close to the truth. Marsans love epic misunderstandings. The bigger the better. If someone could die because of it, the joke can have them rolling on the floor. They don’t want to see people hurt, but the potential due to a misunderstanding is hilarious to them.

  Back on the Rope, I met a Marsan whose call sign was Guano. Most of us get them either in basic or in our first unit, or we go by our last name. Mine's Rattlesnake, in part from the flag bearing my surname. Being significantly easier to pronounce than Gadsden. People seem to have a hard time with the double-ds. As for the Rattlesnake, at least that’s what I tell people. Back when I was younger, I had a bit of temper and the name stuck.

  Well, this guy apparently was given a snipe-hunt during some downtime in basic. Someone told him to clean out an old thorium reactor on the camp. Normally, involving getting into full scrub-gear, deconning up, and spending the better part of an afternoon. Well, as I said, Marsans are hard people and don't really have a sense of humor. He grabbed a mop and started scrubbing the place down. About three hours in, the senior instructor went looking for him to end the fun, figuring he should be about thirty minutes from actually going into the reactor, only to find him inside, wearing nothing but shorts and a smile.

  Thought the prank he had killed him. Thorium can be nasty stuff. Luckily, Marsans are damn near immune to that level of radiation. Earned himself the nickname, and a vacation sitting in a decon chamber for the next week while he regenerated off the tan he gave himself. When Guano told his family back home, they thought the event was hilarious and sent the squad cookies with the frosting decorated with little reactor symbols.

  The pair I was sitting next two were comparable to ambassadors, not that Mars really has them. Once a Mars cycle, lots are drawn and a batch is sent to each of the major worlds. They treat the trip like a vacation. The pair I was talking to had been on the moon for a quarter year and were enjoying the lower gravity, the abundance of people, and all the delights Luna had to offer.

  Mars isn't really a bad place these days. But it's all relative. I'm from Terra, and comparing her to the Luna is hard. Comparing Mars to Terra would be impossible. The nice part of Mars is no domes. The not so nice part of Mars is no domes. The first Marsans Terraformed it using big ships like the Compass Rose. Landed there and changed the place into something sort of like Earth of old. Terraforming works best on places with an atmosphere and no population. Mars was perfect for it, unlike Luna. It’s not that we couldn’t convert Luna, only it didn’t make sense because of the number of people already living there. Mars, on the other hand, was desolate in comparison. The Marsans relocated the few settlers into the ships while the beginning processes happened. Once kick-started and with a breathable atmosphere, the rest was relatively easy. In another 500 years or so, Mars will actually be like Earth was, before she became known as Terra. A lush green planet. That's assuming they can get enough water on it, and keep the atmosphere there. But as I said, Marsans are hard folks and conditioned not to give up.

  It's what can kindly be called an arid plain. Water is liberally rationed but still rationed. Lots of food is grown. More than the planet can use, and they trade it for water, and elements. All to make the place better. Mars has a plan, a schedule, and does not run behind. They're the perfect trade partner for the Luna Corp.

  At first, I thought th
is was the reason for the honored position but turned out to be much more mundane reasoning. The host sits at the head table I understood. To avoid any perception of added influence, everyone was arranged by proximity to each other. So the head table was Venetians, Terrans who were not present, Luna Corporation, Marsans, and then Ganymede's representatives. The next batch of tables was organized in a similar fashion, trying to keep things as close as possible.

  These are all asides. I had this running in the background of my head, as I engaged in the conversation at the table, to the best of my very limited ability. Since I had been out of the system for so long, I wasn't able to speak intelligently on matters relating to Sol, so I swapped to an old standby I kept my mouth shut, and asked questions, trying to learn as much as I could, as quickly as I could without looking like too much of an imbecile.

  Humans, no matter where they are from tend to be talkative creatures. What's more is that a solid portion tends to be extroverts, unlike me, and are willing to share their knowledge with only a little prompting. The group I was with gave me an advanced course on local history, rivaling anything I could pick up from the net, but with far better context, and actually made sure I understood it, and how each piece affected every other bit.

  As the meal ended Lysha grabbed my hand and dragged me to the dance floor. I apologized for bringing work into her work dinner, and she laughed. A full-throated one that was infectious. “It's fine. You actually made it somewhat enjoyable. That's the first time I've seen the Marsans actually talk to the Venetians about something other than ammonia or vapor trading. You have a way with people.” She leaned into my chest as we danced. The floor zooming in and out on the system and galaxy as we did. We were there for a half dozen songs before I begged us away for another drink.

  I lost track of time, but we spent the rest of the evening with the two of us chatting, laughing, and enjoying far too many libations. Eventually, I looked around and realized we were the last of the night's guests. I could see Robert standing off in the corner. I wasn't quite sure if he was trying to usher his boss off, or merely waiting patiently. Lysha caught my glance and followed it. I think she ran the math and realized the time.