Martin shook his head in bitter disbelief. “How many other lies were we told?”
“I dare say we could find out now,” Yolanda said. She tapped the side of her head. “There’s an awesome amount of data in the datanet, Martin.”
“I know,” Martin said.
He stood, then held out a hand. “Why do I feel so ... depressed?”
“Because you now understand what you’ve been trying to fight for your entire life,” Yolanda said, after a moment. “And because you think you lost.”
“I did lose,” Martin said. He hated to admit it, but there was no avoiding the truth. “I didn't manage to win, did I?”
“You did manage to escape,” Yolanda said, as she declined his hand and rose to her feet. “I think your enemies – your real enemies – would have preferred you to wallow in the ghetto.”
Martin sighed. “But why are they so ... so stupid if they really want to help?”
“My bitch of a stepmother used to help people, but not to teach people,” Yolanda said. “If someone had torn clothes, they would bring them to her and she would mend them. She never taught me how to sew, naturally. Only her biological daughters were considered worthy of that honour. But she didn't teach anyone outside the house, either. They were dependent on her.”
“I don’t understand,” Martin said. “Surely she wasn't the only one who could sew ...”
“Of course she wasn't,” Yolanda said. “Most of the older women could sew. But she didn’t charge anyone for her services, you see.”
“I don’t,” Martin said. It made no sense to him. “Why were they dependent on her?”
“She didn’t charge them anything for the work,” Yolanda explained. “I think she just liked having people dependent on her. If she’d taught every young woman to sew, they wouldn't have had to come back to her, time and time again. And then she wouldn't have been so important in the community.”
She shrugged. “Or maybe she was just a bitch,” she added. “I could quite happily believe that too, just because she made me do all the housework.”
Martin frowned. “Is that common?”
“Yeah,” Yolanda said. “There were so many children missing one or both parents that they tended to be treated as slaves, by those who took them in. A girl born of her mother’s womb was treated like a little princess; a girl from another mother was put to work almost at once, scrubbing floors and cleaning clothes. And there was no chance of a dowry when they married, if they married. I wouldn't have had a hope of receiving anything from my stepmother, apart from the back of her hand.”
She laughed, humourlessly. “The bitch would have pulled me out of school and put me to work full-time, cleaning her friends’ floors, if she hadn't claimed the Educational Incentive just to keep me in school. I wouldn't have seen a cent of that money, if she’d put me to work.”
Martin looked at her. “Then why work?”
“I would probably have been beaten if I hadn’t worked,” Yolanda said. “The bitch would never lay a hand on her own children, but me? I wasn't hers.”
“Shit,” Martin said. He understood, all too well. “But ... I wanted someone looking out for me.”
Yolanda gave him a sharp look, clearly puzzled.
“I used to have a friend who actually had a father,” Martin explained. Bitterness welled up inside him as he remembered his old friend. “You have no idea how much I envied him. There was someone there, looking out for him, making sure he did everything he could to better himself and rise out of the ghetto. No one took me in hand when I was a kid. I even used to tell myself that, one day, maybe he would adopt me.”
Yolanda gave him a tired smile. “Did they make it?”
“They were gunned down, three years ago,” Martin admitted. “It was just another piece of senseless violence, two people in the wrong place at the wrong time. Nick ... Nick was smart, his father made him work ... he could have made it out, if he’d tried. But his life was just cut short, as if it were nothing, and no one really gave a damn. They were just ... dead.”
He shook his head. “It's funny, really,” he added. “Nick used to envy me. My mother was always ... out; I could do whatever I pleased, whenever I pleased. I could have joined the gangs, or skipped school and hung out at the mall and no one would have given a damn. His father went ballistic every time Nick skipped school. Nick couldn't get away with anything.
“And I envied him. I would have given anything to have someone that involved in my life.”
“It isn’t always a good thing,” Yolanda said. “My stepmother would shout and scream and throw things if she found a single speck of dust on the floor after I had scrubbed it.”
Martin had to smile, despite the bitterness in his head. “The grass is always greener on the other side of the hill, isn't it?”
“Yeah,” Yolanda said.
“What happened to you at school?” Martin said, suddenly. “I mean ... if you don’t mind me asking.”
“I was careless,” Yolanda said, shortly. There was a trace of ... bitterness in her voice, now. “There isn't anything else to tell.”
Martin shuddered. He’d been told, once, that his school was far from the worst in the world, but he’d never believed it. How could he, when the teachers couldn't keep order and bullying, theft and even rape were common occurrences? The girls had always stayed in groups, or put out for the strongest boys in exchange for protection. Some of the boys hadn't been much better ... and God help anyone who happened to be homosexual. They’d been treated worse than the girls.
“I don’t intend to look back,” Yolanda said, firmly. “The future is ahead of us and those who treated us badly are in the past.”
“Fuck them,” Martin agreed.
They walked out of the compartment and down into the mess, where the food was waiting for them. It tasted better now, Martin had discovered, after the nanotech had been inserted into their bodies. He still found the idea of little machines crawling around inside him a little creepy, but he had to admit they were very effective. Now, there was no way he could be infected by disease, or suffer from a host of discomforts. Scars he’d borne since he was a child had faded into nothingness.
“There will be more to do tomorrow,” Yolanda predicted, glumly. “And then we have to start taking the real tests.”
Martin swallowed. Sergeant Bass had told them, in no uncertain terms, that their future in the military dependent on how well they did on their tests. Once they passed, they would be assigned to a specific branch for further training. Yolanda would go into starship training, he was sure; she was certainly smart enough to succeed. But would he be capable of handling combat training? One thing the implants had made clear to him was just how little he knew, compared to someone born in the Solar Union. The tests might show him as suitable for nothing more than grunt labour.
“I’m scared,” he confessed. It wasn't something he would have told anyone else, but he felt a kinship with Yolanda that puzzled him. “What happens if I fail completely?”
“I don’t think you can fail,” Yolanda said. “You just get assigned to somewhere you’d do well. They’re aptitude tests, basically.”
“I hope so,” Martin said.
He shook his head, looking around the mess. What was he doing here? He had no exams to his credit, no qualifications; it was a miracle he could even read. The men and women who had joined the Solar Union had to be smart and educated, not book-dumb bastards from the ghettos. His dream of escape might come to an end after the exams. He’d be lucky if they didn't dump him back on Earth, after crippling the implants so they were useless.
“You have a good heart,” Yolanda said. “And everything else will come in time.”
“I’m thick,” Martin said. “I can't even add numbers together without getting mixed up.”
“You have the rest of your life to learn,” Yolanda pointed out, smoothly. “You could live forever, with the right treatments. The nanotech you have now will keep you alive for nearly t
wo centuries, assuming you don’t suffer brain damage or an injury that kills you instantly.”
Martin stared at her. “How do you know that?”
Yolanda tapped the side of her head. “I looked it up,” she said, simply. “The details are all online, if you bother to look.”
“Oh,” Martin said, embarrassed. He should have thought of checking to see what the nanotech he’d been given actually did. “I’m still not used to having an entire library inside my head.”
“Better get used to it,” Yolanda said. “Sergeant Bass doesn't hold our hands, does he?”
Martin nodded, sourly. There were times when he would have appreciated someone holding his hand, giving him advice, serving ... serving as a father. But he understood Bass’s point, after Scudder’s lectures. The Solar Union offered opportunities, but it didn't – it couldn’t – force anyone to take the opportunities. If someone didn't have the drive to make use of them, the Solar Union had better things to do than coddle them.
And someone could afford to live quite cheaply here, if they worked, he thought. He’d checked, in a fit of panic. There were hundreds of jobs that required nothing, but a set of implants and a willingness to work. I would never have to go back to Earth.
“Just concentrate on passing the tests,” Yolanda advised. “Everything else will take care of itself.”
Chapter Nine
The civil war in Russia intensified today as forces loyal to the St. Petersburg Government launched an offensive intended to liberate Moscow from the grasp of various rebel factions. Sources on the ground claim that the St. Petersburg Government’s offensive is being backed by Byelorussian and Ukrainian military forces ...
-Solar News Network, Year 51
“The examination chambers are the most closely-monitored sections of Sparta,” Sergeant Bass informed the company, as they prepared for the first set of tests. “If any of you break the rules, for whatever reason, you will either be forced to repeat your training from the start or be simply expelled from Sparta. There will be a black mark on your record that will haunt you for the rest of your life.”
He paused, dramatically. Yolanda swallowed. Statements like that had always made her feel guilty, even though she’d done nothing to deserve it. It was a legacy, she assumed, from her stepmother, who had always blamed Yolanda for anything that went wrong. But eventually she’d simply stopped caring. There was no point in trying to win the approval of someone who hated you merely for existing.
“You may not attempt to communicate with anyone outside the chamber,” Sergeant Bass said. “You can use your implants to search for information, if you need to, but you may not attempt to ask for help. Nor may you take anything into the chamber, apart from your clothes; leave anything you happen to be carrying outside or you will find yourself in deep shit. I don’t care what it is, or what sentimental value it has. You are not allowed to take it into the chamber.”
“Probably plans to threaten us with cavity searches if we don’t obey,” Martin muttered.
“Probably,” Yolanda agreed. She’d had a principal who had once threatened to search everyone in school, after a visiting congresswoman’s watch had gone missing. It had eventually turned up in the staffroom, where the congresswoman had spent most of her time, after the police had been called. “But it’s probably not a good idea to screw up.”
She checked her pockets, then pulled out everything she was carrying and carried it over to the lockers. A touch of a button opened the locker, then registered it to her; no one else, apart from the staff, could open it without her permission. She dumped her stuff inside, then closed the door. Beside her, Martin did the same with his equipment, then his belt.
“Better to be sure,” he said, when she raised her eyebrows. “They used to make us take them off when we stepped through the x-ray machine at school.”
Yolanda shrugged, then looked towards the doors at the far side of the room. They were opening, one by one, revealing small compartments with terminals, seats, water facilities and nothing else. She exchanged a look with Martin, then reached out and squeezed his hand, tightly. His eyes widened in surprise – she almost never touched anyone, if she could help it – then he gave her a hug. It was quick enough not to make her want to push him away and run.
“I’ll see you on the far side,” she said, as her implants informed her she was assigned to Room #34. It matched her ID number, making her wonder if that had been deliberate. But there was no way to know. “Good luck.”
“You too,” Martin said.
Yolanda turned and walked through the door. Another alert flashed up in front of her eyes, informing her that her body had just been scanned. She assumed she’d passed, as alarms hadn't sounded and no one had turned up to drag her into the office for a short and unpleasant chat with the Drill Sergeants. Instead, the hatch closed behind her and locked with an audible clunk. She rolled her eyes at the drama, then looked around. A small side door led to a toilet, just in case she needed it.
“Attention,” a soft voice said. “In the event of you leaving the compartment, you will not be permitted to return. You will be assumed to have completed the test. There will be no further warnings. Do you understand?”
“I understand,” Yolanda said, as she sat down in front of the terminal. It blinked to life, displaying her name and ID code. A countdown appeared a moment later, ticking down the seconds until the test was due to begin. “Am I allowed to ask questions?”
“You may only ask questions relating to the test procedures,” the voice said. It was almost certainly an AI, probably one assigned specifically to monitor the tests. “Any other questions will not only be left unanswered, but reported to superior authority.”
Yolanda swallowed, again. Even muttering to herself could be dangerous.
“Thank you,” she said. It was good to be polite to AIs, she’d been told. They had emotions too. “Is there anything else I ought to know about the test?”
“Only what you have been told already,” the AI said, reprovingly. “We cannot force you to actually read the details.”
Her console bleeped. The test had begun.
Yolanda found herself struggling within moments. Some questions were relatively simple, others seemed to have stings in the tail. She found herself having to guess at answers, then using her implants to draw information from the datanet and using it to see if the answers were correct. Other questions needed her to find more specific information, testing – she suspected – her skills at recovering and using data online. It wasn't enough to have access to data, she concluded. She had to think about it too.
The second battery of questions were different. She only had one shot at answering them, according to the notes, and she would be timed from the moment she started until she finished. Panicking a little, she struggled to answer question after question, often realising – in hindsight – that she’d fucked up. By the time the third set of questions came around, there was sweat pouring down her back. But none of the questions seemed to make sense.
She gritted her teeth and pressed on, anyway. The questions grew harder, then resolved themselves as she worked her way through them. A handful of later questions provided the key to understanding the earlier questions. She went back, changed her answers on the questions that allowed her to rethink her answers, then progressed to the fourth section of the exam. Once again, the questions made her want to panic ...
“Attention,” the AI stated. “The exam period will end in ten minutes.”
Yolanda stared. Had it really been two hours since she’d entered the chamber? Her head was pounding, while her body felt tired and old. She hastily checked the last set of questions, then tried to answer two of the ones she’d left untouched. And then the screen blanked, finally. The tests, for better or worse, were over.
“Dear God,” she breathed. “Is it always like that?”
“Of course not,” the AI said, as she stumbled to her feet. “This was the easy test.”
“Fuc
k,” Yolanda said.
“I suggest that you have a nap,” the AI stated. The hatch opened, this time silently. “You will be called to receive your results over the next two days, then your future will be determined. Until you are called, you may consider yourself to be on free time.”
“Thank you,” Yolanda said.
She stepped out of the chamber and stared. The recruits looked dazed, milling around in absolute confusion. Like her, most of them would have no experience with real exams, tests intended to determine their true capabilities. They'd grown used to exams that were meaningless, where you could do nothing more than write your name on the top of the sheet and receive a pass mark. But the Solar Union was different. Their results, here and now, could make the difference between realising their dreams and being told they were unsuited to a career in the military.
A Learning Experience 2: Hard Lessons Page 9