“I want to make a complaint,” a girl said, pushing her way up to the guard. “I should be first in line and ...”
The guard cut her off. “This isn't the socialist states of America,” he said. “We don’t care what entitlements you might have from anywhere outside the wire. Wait your turn in the line.”
Martin stared. It was rare – vanishingly rare – for anyone to stand up to a claim of entitlement from anyone. Anything that could be used to screw an advantage out of the system, be it race, religion, gender, sexual orientation or anything else would be used. It had pleased him, at first, to know that his skin colour gave him precedence over others, until he’d realised that the system was nonsensical. He’d never been a slave, nor had his great-grandparents. And he certainly didn't have any Native American blood running through his veins.
The girl stared at the cyborg for a long moment, then – when he seemed utterly unmoved – turned and stamped back to the rear of the line, muttering just loudly enough to be heard about how the guard should check his privilege. Her words were almost drowned out by snickers and an overwhelming sense of relief that seemed to spin through the air. Martin smiled to himself, then followed Yolanda into another large chamber. A holographic image of a giant starship floated in front of them, and then shifted into a man wearing a massive suit of powered combat armour. The gun he was carrying in one hand looked larger than he was.
Yolanda giggled as they sat down. “He must be compensating for something,” she said. “Do you think he’s a defender or a mercenary?”
“I have no idea,” Martin confessed. He opened his terminal and started to fill out the form, cursing his poor reading skills. Each question was simple, yet he needed to read through them twice to be sure he was saying the right things. Thankfully, none of the questions actually required him to lie. “But I’d be either, if it meant getting out of here.”
The holographic image faded away, leaving the room dark and bare. Martin felt another pang, then sat upright as a man wearing a black uniform that matched the colour of his skin strode out onto the stage. He looked too muscular to be real, Martin thought; it didn't seem possible that any human could have so many muscles. And yet, from the ease he carried himself, it was impossible to think otherwise. Martin was impressed. He’d met too many thugs, gangbangers and snobbish social workers in his life, but this was the first real man.
Maybe my father was like him, he thought, suddenly. But would he have left if he was?
“Good afternoon,” the man said. His voice was sharp, oddly accented. He spoke in a manner that demanded their full attention. “I am Drill Instructor Denver. You are here because you are interested in joining the Solar Navy or associated forces. If you wish to be anywhere else, piss off now and save me some time.”
There was a pause. No one left.
“Good,” Denver said. “You will know, I think, that the Solar Union is a very loose society, almost anarchistic. There are relatively few laws to follow and you can do whatever the hell you like, assuming you don’t harm others. That is not true of the military. Depending on which branch of the service you join, you will have to serve a five, ten, fifteen or twenty year term. During that time, we will own your asses. You will have very limited choice in assignments and, unless you earn a medical discharge, you will not be allowed to leave without fucking up your future. If you’re not committed, like I said, piss off now and save me some time.
“The Solar Navy is charged with defending the human race against the Galactics,” he continued, without a break. “You may not like Earth as it is now, but it would be a great deal worse if the Galactics took over. We cannot afford to fuck around like the politically-correct” – he pronounced the words as if they were curses – “officers who have ruined the western militaries over the past seventy years. The Solar Navy is all that stands between us and alien rule.
“There will be a three-month period at Boot Camp for all of you,” he concluded. “This is to get you used to life in the Solar Union and, also, to give us a chance to evaluate you. After that, you will be assigned to separate training streams, where your talents can be shaped to suit our needs. At that point, you will be committed.”
He paused. “Any questions?”
“Yeah,” a young man said. “When can we quit?”
Denver eyed him darkly. “You can quit up to one week in Boot Camp without penalty,” he said. “At that point, you will receive your implants. Should you quit after that, you will be charged the full price for the implants, which have to be tailor-made for you personally. And then, when you are steered into your training streams, you will be committed. The military life is not for everyone.”
That, Martin knew, was true. But it was also his only hope of leaving Earth behind. He had no educational qualifications that meant a damn in the Solar Union, no hope of obtaining them ... it was the military or grunt labour, which offered no prospect of advancement. If he’d wanted that, he would have gone to work for McDonalds-Taco Bell, if there had been a place available. Most fast-food takeouts were purely robotic these days.
“The choice is yours,” Denver said. “If you’re still interested, walk through the doors at the rear of this chamber. There will be a brief medical exam, then a shuttle flight to Sparta Training Base. Good luck.”
Martin and Yolanda exchanged glances as Denver walked out of the room, then, without hesitation, rose and walked through the door.
Chapter Two
Fighting was reported today in Paris between footsoldiers of the French Nationalist Brigade and the Algerian Jihad. French news agencies claim the battle was a minor clash between rival gangs; sources on the ground assert that tanks and soldiers from nearby French Army bases assisted on both sides ...
-Solar News Network, Year 51
It was an odd contradiction, Kevin Stuart had often considered, that a government based on openness and universal political participation required a secret council. Indeed, very few citizens of the Solar Union had even heard of the Special Security Council and the Government took pains to keep it that way. Open awareness of the council could do nothing, but make it impossible for the council to do its work. As always, secrecy, security and the Solar Constitution were uneasy bedfellows.
He stepped into the council chamber and looked around, marvelling – as always – at just how unadorned the chamber was, compared to conference rooms on Earth. There was nothing in the room, save for a large portrait of Steve Stuart, a table, a number of chairs and a drinks dispenser. But it was rare for Councillors, even the highest-ranking officials in the Solar Union, to meet in person. It was far more convenient for them to meet over the secure datanet, while remaining on their home asteroids and tending to their constituents.
We didn't want them to grow into bad habits, like those assholes in Washington, Kevin thought, as he poured himself a cup of coffee – no servants here, not in the secure compartment – and sat down at the table. They need to remember that they are the servants of the people, not their masters.
He looked up as the door hissed open again, revealing Councillor Marie Jackson and Councillor Richard Bute. The former had frozen her age at roughly thirty, combining a certain degree of red-haired attractiveness with a maturity that had allowed her to score a victory in the notoriously rough-and-tumble politics of the Solar Union. Behind her, Councillor Bute looked older, roughly fifty years old. Studies had shown that voters preferred older leaders, after all, even though nanotechnology could make a ninety-year-old man look like a teenager. Kevin had wondered, more than once, just what the long-term effects of frozen aging would be.
“Councillors,” he said. “Thank you for coming.”
“We were informed we had no choice,” Bute said, gravely. “I hadn't even heard of this council until I received the notification.”
“Not many people have,” Kevin said. “You were selected to serve on it at random.”
“Your brother would not have approved,” Councillor Jackson said, stiffly. She nodde
d towards the portrait on the wall. “I think he would have refused to serve, if asked.”
Kevin shrugged. Steve Stuart – the founder of the Solar Union and Kevin’s older brother – might well have refused to approve of the council. But Steve had never really been able to cope with the clashes between his libertarian dreams and cold hard reality. It was why, in the end, he had taken a starship and set out as an interstellar trader, accompanied only by his wife. Kevin and Mongo had remained behind to ensure the Solar Union didn't lose sight of its original purpose.
Speak of the devil, he thought, as the hatch opened again. This time, it revealed Mongo Stuart, Kevin’s other brother. He nodded to Mongo – the Stuart Family had never been one for enthusiastic greetings – then waved him to the drinks dispenser. Behind him, Admiral Keith Glass stepped into the compartment and sat down next to Kevin.
The President of the Solar Union – Allen Ross – followed them into the compartment, accompanied by three other Councillors. Kevin rose to his feet and nodded to the President – Mongo and Glass saluted – and then watched as the President sat down at the head of the table. It was informal, compared to meetings on Earth, but it helped make everyone comfortable. Given what they were going to be discussing, Kevin knew, the more comfortable they were, the better.
“Mr. President,” Bute said. “Dare I assume we’re discussing the situation on Earth?”
“I sure hope not,” Councillor Jackson snapped. “There’s nothing to be gained by meddling on Earth!”
“I’m afraid not,” the President said. “As soon as SPEAKER is here, we will begin.”
Kevin sighed as the two councillors continued to argue. The AIs swore blind that the process of selecting councillors for the council was completely random, but he had his doubts. Bute was a known dirty-foot, a person who had maintained ties to Earth, while Jackson was one of the largest advocates for leaving Earth mired in its own shit, slowly decaying to death. Kevin himself, in line with Steve’s opinion, tended to support the latter. The Solar Union took everyone who wanted to leave Earth and make a new life among the stars. There was no point in helping those who refused to leave no matter their circumstances. Besides, the last thing they needed was a quagmire.
He smiled as a holographic image appeared at the other end of the table. The AI representative looked oddly inhuman, even though the AIs claimed he was formed from a composite of all human faces recorded in the database. Kevin had never been able to look at the image without feeling uneasy, although he’d never been sure why. But then, the AIs weren't human. Their motivations might be very different from anything humans understood.
Just one more thing we don’t understand about the race we created, he thought. Alone among the known races of the universe, humanity had created unrestricted AIs. And one day we may come to regret creating them.
“Security fields are now online,” the hologram said. “This room is now sealed.”
Kevin heard Councillor Jackson gasp. She'd been implanted as soon as she was old enough to handle an implant, then remained swimming in the endless stream of data ever since. To be cut off from the datanet was almost like losing part of her mind. For Kevin and the others, old enough to remember a time when direct neural interfaces had been a dream, it was easier to handle. He wondered, absently, if Jackson would need therapy after the session came to an end. There were people who couldn't cope with being separated from the datanet for more than a few minutes.
“Thank you, SPEAKER,” the President said.
He took a breath, then went on in an oddly formal tone. “The 34th Meeting of the Special Security Council is now in session. Participants are advised that full secrecy regulations are now in effect. Disclosure of any or all information discussed at this session without permission will result in harsh penalties. If this is unacceptable to you, you may leave now.”
There was a pause. No one left.
“Director Stuart,” the President said. “The floor is yours.”
“Thank you, Mr. President,” Kevin said. He activated his implants, then sent a command into the secure processors controlling the room. The lights dimmed slightly as the holographic image flickered into existence. “I shall be blunt. The gods have noticed.”
The President frowned; Bute, beside him, looked pale. Neither Mongo nor Keith Glass showed any reaction. They’d expected, sooner or later, that the Galactics would wake up and notice the human race. But they’d hoped and prayed, just like Kevin himself, that the Galactics wouldn't notice for decades. Humanity was everything the ultra-conservative Galactics had good reason to hate.
“Shit,” Councillor Travis said, quietly.
“Indeed,” Kevin said. “We have sources on Varnar. One of them warned our people, last month, that the Varnar Government finally filed a specific request for assistance from the Tokomak. They specifically discussed humanity with the masters of the known universe.”
“They may not be willing to do anything,” Bute said, with the air of a man grasping for straws. “The Galactics take centuries to make up their minds about anything.”
It was true, to some extent. The kindest way to describe the Tokomak Government was to call it a government of old men. Their leaders were rarely younger than a thousand years, which had bred a degree of stagnation that made Imperial China look like the early United States of America. If anything had changed in their system of government over the last five hundred years, Solar Intelligence hadn't been able to identify it. Kevin had often wondered just why history had decreed it was the Tokomak who ruled the galactic community. Surely, a more thrusting race would have displaced them by now.
But we could go the same way, he thought, looking down at his hand. It should have been wrinkled and old – it had been seventy years since his birth – but it looked young and healthy. Nanotech had frozen his age too. What will happen when the geriatrics outweigh the young?
He scowled. One of the many problems on Earth was the simple reluctance of the young to be taxed to death to keep the elderly alive. Perhaps it was selfish, perhaps it was unpleasant, but hundreds of thousands of youngsters had fled Earth for the Solar Union, leaving the outdated political structures to crumble into dust. But the Solar Union could keep the elderly young and productive indefinitely ...
“The reports state that the Varnar have actually been quite insistent,” he said, pushing his morbid thoughts aside. “Their panic may actually get the ships moving within a decade, perhaps less.”
“They’re losing the war,” the President said.
“Yes,” Kevin agreed. “They’re losing, partly because of our involvement, and yet they cannot divert their forces to deal with Earth. They know they need help.”
He sent another command into the display, projecting an image of the local sector in front of them. “The war situation was perfectly balanced until we entered the picture,” he said. “Since then, the Varnar have lost control of several star systems and have been forced to watch as their empire crumbles. I believe their rulers have finally concluded that they can no longer handle the situation. They’ve asked for help.”
“Risky,” Councillor Jackson said. “The Tokomak might turn on them too, once they outlive their usefulness.”
“True,” Kevin agreed. “But there’s so much hatred built up over nearly three hundred years of war that survival itself becomes questionable, if they lose the war.”
“Because the Tokomak used them to keep the powers in our sector from uniting into a potential threat,” Bute said, quietly. “They may be exterminated.”
“Quite possibly,” Kevin said. “And they know better than to rely on Galactic Law for protection.”
He sighed. The Galactics had laid down laws of war, forbidding – among other things – outright extermination of conquered races – but accidents happened. It was uncertain even if the Tokomak would bother to enforce the laws. God knew humanity’s governments had rarely bothered to punish rogue states that broke the rules. But then, if the Tokomak ever woke up to the
danger represented by humanity, it was quite likely they’d throw the laws out of the airlock and do whatever it took to exterminate the human race.
The President cleared his throat. “How long do we have?”
“Impossible to calculate,” Kevin said. “SPEAKER?”
“Projections suggest a minimum of five years and a maximum of twenty,” the AI stated, bluntly. “However, attempts at actually predicting the actions of multiple alien races have always proven unreliable. We simply lack enough data to speculate.”
“I see,” the President said. “Can we fight?”
“We must,” Mongo said, quietly. “The best we can hope for, if we submit, is permanent third-class citizenship in their empire.”
“I doubt it,” Kevin said. “We’re just too damn innovative for them to tolerate.”
The thought would have amused him, under other circumstances. Most of the Galactics had drawn their technology from the Tokomak and never really bothered to make improvements. Indeed, much of the technology either came in sealed boxes or was beyond their ability to maintain, let alone understand. The schooling the Galactics gave their citizens was so limited it actually made it harder for them to grasp the principles of technology. But humanity, on the other hand, had actually worked hard to unravel the mysteries of alien technology and then start improving on it.
A Learning Experience 2: Hard Lessons Page 2