by Ian Miller
"How?" the leader said coldly. "They'd hardly help rebuild a battle fleet that they knew was totally beyond their ability to control. No, they'd hold back until they advanced. That's a basic strategy for a species with inherent treachery. It simply wouldn't work. And worse than that, for all we know there could be a fleet on its way right now. Time is not on our side."
"You may be right," the second said, "but looking at that lot, I don't like it."
"I never said I like it," the leader laughed bitterly, "but I can't see any other realistic option. Our only other option was to try some planetary engineering. I thought that was a good idea because it's peaceful, and we have to get our ships repaired structurally to provide the necessary power, but if these Martians don't want us to try, all we've got left is military force. And it may not be the worst outcome. This way I think we'll get the labour and the metals we so desperately need, then we can decide when to leave this solar system. These primitives can't do anything to us. And there's a bright spot."
"What's that?"
"I've finally found a use for this thing," he said, holding up the strange staff.
Part Two
TASHKENT, SAMARKAND, ROMA, NEW YORK, SOL {3.0-3.1}-L4
June-December, 2285
Chapter 1
While Harry was quite surprised at how quickly the weeks had passed, the very tiring and extensive course work had been expected. The Commissioner had been correct that with the amount of work to make up, he would have very little spare time. That made it a little surprising that the entire intake had been instructed to attend the recreational area this evening. Ordering the intake to work was one thing, but ordering them into an area where they were going to purchase refreshments seemed to be a little over the top.
He looked around as he sipped a beer. He was alone, and he noted that only one other table had a lone occupant, the Brazilian girl. Perhaps she would like company? Suddenly Harry felt mentally tongue-tied. How could he introduce himself to someone who disliked everybody there; who thought, generally correctly, that every approach was with the intention of taking advantage of her? His thoughts were interrupted by raucous laughter that erupted from one of the other groups; all the trainees had come from the five class two academies, and had remained in the cliques that reflected their origin.
Tashkent was clearly different from the lower academies, and many of the previously pampered had received several sharp wake-up calls. For some, for the first time in their lives, they found that the world did not rotate around them. That was part of what made Tashkent special, for events in space did not always go according to plan. The Tashkent spacers were mentally tougher. It started with small things. The food was, initially, at best adequate, but the initial complaints about the food had quickly subsided. An Uzbek officer had strolled through the mess area, remarking what good food was offered in Tashkent. There were no complaints, were there? His whole expression showed he would just love to hear a complaint from one of these trainees. The professional military men wasted no love on the trainees, most of whom were there for one reason: to get the certificate required for the huge space pays.
Some of the intake did not fit. First there were the few corporation men who had no need whatsoever for the money. Spoilt children, out for a thrill, and the officers might just provide that. The Brazilian girl was clearly there for political reasons, and the general consensus was she would have trouble qualifying. Of course, that was the general consensus about Harry too. Except that Harry was a conundrum. He was the only person, other than the Brazilian, who had no space badge, and as far as anyone could tell, he had never been in space! On the other hand, he had emblazoned wings, which meant that not only could he fly, but he did fly, solo, the most advanced military craft. He was a full Lieutenant, and he had what even the instructors did not have: a decoration. Nobody had any idea how he got it.
Then there was the Dutchman, van Lugt. At the end of the first week, he had approached Harry. Harry had tried to be friendly, but van Lugt, without being totally unfriendly, had challenged him on his method of entry. Harry had been non-committal.
"Commissioner's pet, I'll bet."
"Of course," smiled Harry.
"Or a spy!"
"Oh Yeah! And how'd you get to that conclusion?"
"You've no qualifying space badges. You're an air force plant, aren't you?"
"Perhaps I should pin on a badge saying 'Spy'," Harry remarked caustically.
"You might as well!"
"I don't suppose it occurs to you that if the Air Force wanted to spy on this place, they could walk in? Or that they couldn't find someone with space badges?"
"You think you're smart, don't you?"
"Not really," Harry admitted shamefacedly. "Actually I blundered."
"You can say that again!"
"I blundered," Harry repeated himself. He had now entered a provocative phase. "What actually happened is that I'm an advanced spy for a bunch of aliens who've invaded this solar system, and we're looking for bodies."
"Smart arse!"
"That's the trouble," Harry went on. "I thought these were bits of body," Harry added, pointing to his wings, "so I thought this must get me into the advanced medical research organizations . . ."
"I'll see you in the contests, my smart friend, and I'll take pleasure wiping that grin off your face," the Dutchman sneered, before walking off.
Van Lugt had even challenged a corporate, even if unknowingly. Two rather odious men had begun to harass the young Brazilian woman. She had tried to push her way past, but one of the men held her back. Van Lugt had been passing by, with his arms around one of the women pilots, when he saw the struggle.
"Care to join us for a drink, and more pleasant company?" he asked.
"Piss off!" one of the odious ones sneered at van Lugt.
"Even you are not that stupid to think I was inviting you," van Lugt taunted the girl's tormenter. "Come on," van Lugt smiled, as he turned to the Brazilian. "They wouldn't dream of touching you."
One did. As she stepped forward, one tried to stop her. Van Lugt punched straight to the kidney, then as the man fell forward in pain, van Lugt grabbed his hair and brought his head hard down onto a table.
"I stand corrected," hissed van Lugt, "You were that stupid. Now the question is, are you stupid enough to complain?" There was no complaint, although rumours started that van Lugt had done his career significant damage. Certainly, van Lugt seemed much quieter for several days.
Harry felt a little sorry for the Brazilian girl. She had little love for the Federation, she hated the corporations, and she associated the entire intake with the corporations. In a sense she was correct; there would be few of the intake whose families did not depend on the corporations for their very existence. Her loudly held views ensured that she had made no friends since her arrival. Nobody wished to have their loyalties to the corporations doubted in secret reports, except the very few independents, and those intending to make a career in the military.
There was a further impediment to building friendships, and this lay in the whole sociological problem with space flight itself. The Mars pilots spent over ninety per cent of their time in space, and even with the recommended gravity workouts, their bone and muscle structures might make returning to Earth more a task for recovery than recreation. Even the short runs to the Moon or the stations might not involve the luxury of a return to Earth. The situation was even more difficult than for the men of the old sailing ships, because at the end of a long journey, it was difficult to go home.
The net result of this was that the successful space pilots would either spend their lives singly, with the odd visit to the space brothels, they could form "swing" groups on the flights, or they could marry other spacers. The academy thus had a second function, that of a marriage brokerage. Because the number of women was far lower than the number of men, the competition from the men was fairly keen, and the women had a good choice. A choice to be exercised, because failure to marry left one
's spacer life like that of a nymphomaniac. But having such a choice, with such limited free time, meant that as much spare time as possible was devoted to forming associations. Very little spare time was devoted to forming friendships with other women, who would then turn into competition.
The young Brazilian had made it clear from the outset that she had absolutely no interest in the decadent Federation men, and it soon became obvious that she would not be going into space. She was there for political reasons, and her flying ability was only barely adequate for this academy. She was silent in classes, and had made no impression at all in tutorials. For those seriously intent on space, time spent with her was time wasted. For those interested in a one-night stand, she had an automatic no. As an added complication, it appeared that the corporates were taking an active interest in ensuring that she withdrew from the course.
Tashkent attracted the cream of the cream, so perhaps it was not surprising there were oddities amongst the pilots. Mike Pennlington was certainly one. He was a professional in Defence, an Englishman, and hence he was not there for the glamour pay at the end, although there was speculation that he would resign, because the difference between the military and the civilian pay for deep space travel was very significant. Pennlington was remarkable in that he was on first name terms with almost everybody before Harry had even begun to introduce himself to anyone.
At the other end of the spectrum was 'Gangster' Shultz. He was the most timid there, the man who had no friends, and no enemies. He was good at everything relating to space, but excellent at nothing. He was thorough in the extreme, and regarded by everyone as an extreme pain. Yet everyone knew he would be the most sought after for the long space hauls, because he would not cause social tension.
The courses at Tashkent involved many compulsory subjects, generally involving space flight and navigation, but each officer was entitled to one optional subject. Harry had chosen combat, because he felt it would give him an edge in that competition. Pennlington had chosen ordnance. This was remarkable, a subject generally considered a dog best left to the bones. And it was not that Pennlington was unlikely to qualify; the general feeling was that Pennlington would win the precision flying hands down. Given time, only Shultz could match his incredible precision with all his flying manoeuvres, and if Shultz could match Pennlington's speed, they would call for swabs. The reason for Pennlington's peculiar choice became apparent as time went on, however. Ordnance gave access to the support staff. Most of the support staff were women, and many of these were attracted to the base in the hope of meeting a pilot. The men wanted women, the women wanted men, and Pennlington alone knew how to bring the two together. Pennlington became incredibly popular, and Harry had to admit that despite this popularity, he was very likeable.
The academy involved a series of courses, but following the courses there would be contests rather than examinations. Points were awarded, and at the end of the course, there were a sequence of trophies for the highest scorers, certificates for the middle, and nothing for the remainder, who were discharged without any perceivable benefit, although it was generally acknowledged that to have attended at all was a great benefit and honour, and it would be unusual not to receive a certificate in something. Harry had examined the details of the other entrants, and he felt that his original plan was a good one; all of them had tended to overlook training in aerial combat.
Of course Harry had some work to do to complete the course, and he was devoting as much time as he could to the simulators. He could never be the tidiest pilot, nor could he manage the best recall of the arcane rules, but he could be adequate. And he could possibly go for a second trophy; there was a completely artificial contest run only on simulators, in which the spacecraft were flown down an artificial maze. It involved high speed flying, and navigation, but the real test was in communication between the two. He was confident about the high speed flying skill, but he had to find a competent navigator, one who could rapidly convey the intricacies a pilot needed to execute the manoeuvres.
These ambitions, however, focused on a further complication. Most of the contests were for pairs, for if compatible partnerships could win trophies, there was an immediate call for their services in the highest paid glamour positions. This left Harry in something of a dilemma. Jane was never going to be a spacer, but he could hardly form a partnership with another woman. He absolutely refused to confront the problem he would have when he did marry. A wife either came or did not come. If she stayed at home, he would hardly ever see her, and to go with him, she had to be qualified at something. So far, he had made no progress in getting a partner, and he had to address this problem quickly. Unfortunately, he had to recognize that he was not an attractive proposition, as he had had far less training than any other candidate there, except for the Brazilian. There was a rumour she had some talent for navigation; perhaps that could be his introduction.
There was a commotion near the entrance, and a Russian officer stepped into the room. "Commissioner Kotchetkova!" he announced loudly.
Harry immediately leapt to his feet, and as he looked over, he saw the Brazilian woman rise and stand at attention. There were titters of laughter. He saw out of the corner of his eye Pennlington, Winters and van Lugt do the same. Nobody else moved. The Commissioner entered, followed by two officers, and four very smartly dressed sergeants. As the Commissioner passed the Brazilian, she smartly saluted; the Commissioner returned it. As the Commissioner got as near as Harry believed she would to being level, he also saluted. He felt himself blushing a little as there were titters of applause, but the Commissioner returned the salute without expression. Harry knew this meant little; a facemask could hide a lot of expression. He almost felt stupid, but he was committed; he stood rigidly until the Commissioner reached a small platform, and called out, "At ease!" There was more applause. Harry could see the Brazilian was almost embarrassed by a few comments flying towards her. Kotchetkova stared without expression across the room, and finally the candidates fell into silence. She turned to an aide, and whispered something, presumably a question, as the aide whispered back. She turned to face the audience.
"Lansfeld, van Lugt, Pennlington, Winters and Robeiro. Please sit together at this table." The Commissioner indicated a table that was currently unoccupied, and near the stand. Harry moved to it, and noticed the rather expressionless faces of Pennlington and of van Lugt, the embarrassed look on Winters' face, and the indifferent look on the face of the Brazilian girl.
The Commissioner raised her hand for silence. "Ladies and gentlemen. I have some very serious news. We have made first contact with an alien race."
There were gasps from around the room. An immediate buzz broke out, which suddenly faded as it was clear that the Commissioner had further information. Nobody noticed Harry's expression: while everybody else had expressions of amazed anticipation, Harry's was one of dread.
"About twelve hours ago," she continued when absolute silence was restored, "an alien force approached Mars and delivered a simple ultimatum; either the Mars colonists totally surrendered to the alien domination, or they would be killed. They were given one hour to decide, and to help them decide, the colony at Tarsis was immediately destroyed. Needless to say, the remaining colonies surrendered." She paused, and waited for further noise to subside.
Most of the tables buzzed, but the front table did not. Winters and van Lugt were stunned, Pennlington became very apprehensive, the Brazilian girl seemed to be in deep thought, while Harry was nodding fatalistically. He, alone in the room, had any inkling of the problems these aliens could provide.
"As far as we can make out," she continued, "the aliens are a race called the M'starn. They have demanded a tithe of labour, and approximately one hundred colonists are to be deported to some labour camp elsewhere in the solar system. All colonists known to have any association with Defence were given priority for deportation.
"We have attempted to enter negotiations, to determine whether there is any way out for us, b
ut they have failed to respond. There may be a number of reasons for this, but they do not matter. As from this moment we have to consider ourselves at war with these aliens. Those of you who read the small print on your documentation granting you admission to this facility will know that this is a military base, and in the event of war, you are automatically conscripted. You are hereby conscripted as from now."
She paused, and studied the horrified looks on the faces before her. "As you may gather, the courses here will be drastically altered. As from now, full military discipline will be imposed.
"Regarding my entrance here, five officers alone behaved adequately. When I leave, they may leave. Those remaining will be under the direct command of these four drill sergeants, and nobody will leave this room until acceptable saluting and some indication of acceptance of military discipline is achieved." She paused, then added, "Some of you may consider yourselves of higher rank than the NCOs sent to drill you. You are not. Their orders are my orders, and you will follow them without question. If not, you will be punished, the ultimate punishment being death for mutiny. The unfortunate fact of life is we have very little time to turn you into soldiers, but I promise you," she said, her voice now becoming very harsh, "we will do our best. Thank you."
As the Commissioner stood to leave the stadium, the five immediately stood and saluted. A small number of others followed suit. The five were waved from the room, and they quickly marched out.
When they reached the parade ground, the Dutchman turned to Harry and the Brazilian woman. "I'm Cornelius," he nodded towards Harry, and he offered his hand.
"Harry."
"Marisa," the Brazilian offered, and placed her hand on the other two.
"Shelley," Winters added her hand.
"Mike," Pennlington completed the grouping. "Take some advice," he added, "and get back to barracks. Polish everything you can and get some sleep."
* * *
At five thirty next morning, the daily inspection resumed. About half the intake in the barracks had tried to emulate Harry; they stood roughly at attention, bed made, boots polished. To each of these, the warrant officer gave a verbal dressing down, screaming at them from one-foot range. Kitchen duties were awarded lavishly. These involved various cleaning duties, to be carried out at the end of the day's duties. Then he turned on the remainder. Untidy piles of bedding were flung across the floor, belongings scattered here and there. "Aaahhh he!" he screamed, which was later translated as fatigues.