A Learning Experience 2: Hard Lessons

by Christopher G. Nuttall

  “Two of them are,” Julian confirmed. “But we would be better approaching Ando openly, first.”

  “Then set up the meeting,” Kevin said. He couldn't help a thrill of excitement. It had been far too long since he’d done anything apart from push paper. “And then let us go down to the planet.”

  “Yes, sir,” Julian said. “You’ll need your skinsuit and protective gear.”

  Kevin had seen alien worlds before; hell, he'd been the first human to set foot on an alien world, over fifty years ago. But Varnar was different, a thriving metropolis that made every human city on Earth look small. He found himself looking around in awe as soon as the teleport field let go of him, glancing up at towering skyscrapers that seemed to reach all the way to orbit, then down at smaller buildings and walkways crammed with thousands upon thousands of sentient beings. The Varnar were the majority, of course, but they were far from alone. He even caught sight of a handful of humans, either working for the aliens or traders themselves. They were often among the SIA’s best source of intelligence.

  The air smelt faintly unpleasant, even though the skinsuit filter. Kevin forced himself to breath normally, then followed Julian as he led the way along a crowded road and through a marketplace. It was crammed with goods, ranging from foodstuffs from a hundred worlds to pieces of technology he couldn't even begin to identify. His implants kept up a running commentary as he looked from stall to stall, marking food that was edible by humans and food that would be poisonous, if he hadn't had nanotech running through his blood. One stall caught his eye and he stared in puzzlement. It was selling nothing more than white playing cards, completely unmarked.

  Pornography, his implants informed him. Species #362 is blind, by human standards. They rely on smell to recognise their potential mates. The aroma on the cards arouses them ...

  “Thank you,” Kevin grunted. He hadn't wanted to know that, not really. There were countless humans who were fascinated by the endless variety of alien life, but he wasn't one of them. It was far more important to devise ways to prevent the aliens from ending human life. “I don’t suppose they have human porn here, do they?”

  His implants offered no answer. He shook his head, dismissing the thought, then walked past a pair of aliens wrapped in all-concealing armoured suits. For religious reasons, his implants reminded him, they kept themselves hidden from all, but their families. Behind them, a four-legged alien female walked past, followed by five males of her species. His implants informed him that the males were nothing more than dumb animals, while the females alone possessed intelligence. There were other races where the reverse was true, or where the breeders were unintelligent and only developed intelligence after they reached an age where they could no longer breed. Or races that laid eggs, like chickens ...

  Remain calm, his implants advised, as they reached a large office. This is not a place to show weakness.

  Chester waited outside, his maniples clicking impatiently, as the three humans stepped into the office. Inside, it was pleasantly cool. A human girl sat at a desk, reading from a terminal; her eyes went wide as she looked up and saw the humans. Kevin smiled at her, knowing she would be very alone. There simply weren’t more than a few hundred of her compatriots on Varnar at any one time, hardly enough to get a ghetto of their own. The chances were that the girl rarely saw other humans.

  “Good afternoon,” Julian said, briskly. He held up an ID block, allowing the office processors to scan it. “We have an appointment with Ando.”

  “So you do,” the girl said. She gave Julian a charming smile. “My name is Sally, by the way.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” Julian said. “We’re just passing through.”

  “Everyone is just passing through,” Sally said. “How long will you be staying here?”

  “Maybe a week,” Kevin said. He cocked his head, then lied through his teeth. “It’s my first time on a non-human world. Would you be able to show me some of the sights, later?”

  “I might,” Sally said. His implants blinked up an alert; she’d sent him a contact code, along with her address details. “But for the moment, I can only show you into Mr. Ando’s office.”

  “Thank you,” Kevin said.

  Julian gave him a mischievous look as they stepped through a large hatch and into a darkened room. There were three chairs, all designed for humans, placed in the middle of the compartment, facing a shrouded form. Kevin had to resist the urge to reach for his weapon as the alien loomed forward, slowly coming into view. Ando’s race might be intelligent and largely peaceful – the file claimed they could never deliberately start a fight – but they were monstrously ugly. He looked like a strange cross between a human and a frog.

  “Humans,” Ando said. He was using a voder, which erased all traces of emotion from his voice. “Humans seeking information, I assume.”

  “That is correct,” Kevin said. There was a protocol for dealing with Galactic information brokers, after all. “We will pay for the information, but also for secrecy.”

  Ando loomed forward. “But not for exclusivity?”

  “No,” Kevin said. He would have paid, if he thought it was worthwhile. But Ando wasn't the only information broker in the system. “I merely wish the information, without anyone else realising we have it.”

  “Very well,” Ando said. The alien moved backwards, into the shadows. “What information do you require?”

  Kevin took a breath. “There is a report that the Tokomak intend to intervene openly in the war,” he said. “We need to know everything about the planned intervention.”

  There was a long chilling pause. “I can give you what I have gleaned from sources in the Ministry of War,” Ando said, finally. “But I could offer no guarantees.”

  Kevin understood. The plans might change ... or the Tokomak might have lied to the Ministry, making sure the real plan couldn't leak out. Nothing Kevin had seen had convinced him the Galactics had any head for security, but there had to be some competent Tokomak in the universe, or their empire would have collapsed centuries ago. He would certainly have restricted any information he saw fit to pass on to his underlings, in their place. Let them wait and see what was coming when the fleet actually arrived.

  “That will be sufficient,” Kevin said. “And the price is ... what?”

  “Five thousand GalStars,” Ando stated. “The risks in obtaining this information were high.”

  Kevin swallowed the urge to swear out loud. Five thousand GalStars was a significant percentage of their operating budget. Spending it now would be risky ... but he knew from experience that the information broker wouldn't change his price, unless Kevin had something other than money to offer in exchange. But he didn't have anything ...

  “Very well,” he said. “Five thousand for both the information itself and secrecy.”

  “Done,” Ando said. He leaned forward again, revealing giant frog-like eyes. “My assistant will have the information ready for you in ten minutes.”

  “Thank you,” Kevin said.

  “I should warn you that you are not the only interested parties,” Ando said. “The information can go no further, if you are prepared to pay.”

  “No, thank you,” Kevin said. “Unless you have something completely exclusive ...”

  “I may be able to find something exclusive,” Ando stated. “I will inform you if I can do so.”

  Kevin scowled, inwardly. The information broker might well know more about humanity than he cared to think about, particularly as he had a human assistant. How much did he know about humanity’s attempts to build up a space fleet? Or did he feel that humanity was nothing more than another scavenger race, using technology it couldn't hope to understand, let alone duplicate? There was no way to know.

  Sally might know, his own thoughts mocked him. And she is clearly interested in meeting someone – anyone – human.

  “Thank you,” he said, instead.

  A door opened in the far corner, allowing brilliant light to shine into
the compartment. A tall, inhumanly thin figure stepped into the chamber, carrying a datachip in one hand and a credit terminal in the other. Julian reached into his pocket, retrieved his GalStar Card and pressed it against the terminal. There was a long pause, then five thousand GalStars transferred themselves from the SIA’s card to Ando’s account.

  “You may leave now,” Ando informed them, as his assistant retreated back through the door. “I will contact you if I discover anything I can offer to you exclusively. Do you have any specific requests?”

  Kevin shared a long look with Julian. They’d paid for secrecy, but the Varnar might well find a way to force information out of Ando, if they realised what he’d sold to his customers. And if they asked for a specific piece of data ... even asking would be revealing, in a way. It was too great a risk to take.

  “No, thank you,” Kevin said.

  He led the way through the door and back into the lobby, where Sally greeted them with a smile. Julian and Mandy made their way to the door at once, Kevin stayed back long enough to ask Sally if she would like to meet the following day, after work. Sally countered with an offer two days in the future, clearly trying not to seem too eager. Kevin accepted, then followed the other two out into the open air. The heat of the city struck him as soon as he stepped outside.

  “We’ll go back to the ship and have this analysed,” he said, once Chester joined them. No one had seemed surprised to see the Hordesman standing guard. “And then we will know what to do next.”

  “That girl,” Julian said. He smirked as they started to walk back to the teleport zone. “Do you think she’s working for us?”

  “The files said she wasn't, not directly,” Kevin said. It was a shame – it would have been easy to ask her questions openly if she had already been working for the SIA – but it was also a challenge. “I’ll see what she says when we go for dinner.”

  “Just be careful, boss,” Julian said. “She’s spent years on an alien world. She might well have gone a little native by now.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Four federal land exploitation agents have been found dead in Kansas, their bodies apparently mutilated before being dumped in an abandoned quarry. Federal news sources have classed the killers as terrorists and sworn to hunt them down, but posts on the datanet by the Kansas Liberation Army state the agents were killed for “sticking their Washington noses in Kansas business.”

  -Solar News Network, Year 52

  “Well, maggots,” Sergeant Grison said. “I suppose that wasn't a complete disaster.”

  Martin winced under his gaze. He wasn't the only one. Sergeant Grison was terrifying. His left eye had been replaced by a cybernetic implant, while one of his legs was made of metal, which glinted in the light. And, despite that, Martin was sure the sergeant could whip the entire platoon with one hand tied behind his back. His career had seen more combat than Martin had imagined possible, first as a United States Marine, then as a mercenary and finally as a Solar Marine.

  “You could have reacted better,” Grison continued. “Why didn't you think to watch for ambushes?”

  “We were tired, sir,” Hawke said, finally. He was the current platoon leader, although the post changed hands at least once a week. “We were thinking about getting back to the barracks for food and sleep.”

  “At least you’re honest,” Grison sneered. “Didn't you think the enemy would know you were off your game?”

  “No, sergeant,” Hawke said.

  “Get into the camp, get washed and get something to eat,” Grison said. “We’ll go over what you did wrong in greater detail after you’re refreshed.”

  He stepped forward and ripped the platoon leader badge off Hawke’s chest. “You’re demoted,” he added. “You should have been watching for an ambush when you were least able to deal with it.”

  “Yes, sergeant,” Hawke said.

  “I’ll decide which one of you gets it next after you stuff your pie-holes,” Grison informed them. He jabbed a finger towards the barracks. “Get.”

  Martin ran – no one was allowed to walk, unless they were injured – along with the other recruits. He’d thought the first part of training was bad, but he’d never imagined Boot Camp ... or just how hard he would have to work to keep up with the others. Four weeks of intensive training felt like months. Part of him was honestly tempted just to give up and quit, as several of the others had. The thought of spending the next year being hammered into shape was terrifying.

  “That could have gone better,” Recruit Jones said. “We should have been more alert.”

  “It’s not like a computer game,” Martin agreed. The training grounds included all kinds of threats, ranging from holographic alien soldiers to dangerous creatures. By the time they’d started to move back to the base, they’d been so tired they hadn't notice the warning signs until it was too late. “Does it get easier?”

  “It’s meant to get easier,” Jones said. “But it may be months before we can hold our heads up high.”

  Martin sighed as they stepped into the showers, removing their clothes in unison. His body was stronger than he had ever imagined possible, thanks to nanotech enhancement and endless exercise, but it still ached every day, after hours of physical training. The Solar Marines didn't take slackers, Grison had told them, and he'd meant every word. He’d even thanked – with a sickly-sweet politeness – the quitters, telling them that they'd done the right thing in deciding to leave. They wouldn't threaten his beloved Solar Marines any longer.

  As soon as they were washed, they jogged into the mess hall and scooped up plates of food, then ate in a tearing hurry. Grison entered shortly afterwards and watched them, his face betraying nothing of his innermost thoughts. Martin wondered if he was proud of the remaining recruits, then realised it probably didn't matter. He’d been told, during induction, that they would be pushed right to the limit, with most of them falling by the wayside. The Solar Marines took only the best.

  But if they only take the best, he’d thought, what happens to those who don’t meet their high standards?

  He hadn't dared asked. Grison would probably not have taken it kindly.

  “Briefing room, now,” Grison said, when they had nearly finished their food. “Hurry.”

  Martin stuffed a last bite of food into his mouth, then stood and paced hurriedly into the briefing compartment. It was nothing more than a tiny office with a handful of chairs, a projector and little else, but it represented a chance to sit down. He found a chair, sat quickly, then looked up at Grison. The Drill Sergeant was talking to a Drill Instructor, who was holding a terminal in one hand. Neither of them looked very pleased.

  Bad news, Martin guessed. They’re going to fail us all.

  “Attention,” Grison snapped. The recruits straightened up, as they’d been taught. Grison had a nasty habit of throwing questions at them, just to make sure they were actually listening to what he said. “It has been decided that you may proceed to the next stage of training.”

  Martin found himself smiling. He wasn't the only one.

  “You have learned from your fuck-ups,” Grison continued. “However, the next stage of training is far more complex. You will be expected to master powered combat armour, a mission that not everyone can handle safety. Do you have any questions?”

  “Sergeant,” Kayla said. “Why do we have to learn to fight without the armour if we are going to fight with the armour?”

  “Because there’s no guarantee that you will be fighting with the armour,” Grison snapped, crossly. “I have been on deployments where I have been wrapped inside my personal tank and deployments where the only thing protecting me from certain death was a thin set of BDUs.”

  He glowered at her, then at the rest of the platoon. “You will start training tomorrow,” he added. “Until then, review the data provided to your implants and make sure you get plenty of sleep. A single mistake could get you in deep shit - and even get you kicked off the course. There is no room for slackers in thi
s unit!”

  “Yes, sergeant,” the recruits said.

  “And you, Jones, will be the new platoon leader,” Grison snapped. “Try not to fuck up this time.”

  “Yes, sergeant,” Jones said.

  Martin glanced over at Kayla as the recruits were dismissed back to their barracks. She looked odd; unlike Earth, where the ideal woman was stick-thin, she was incredibly muscular and strong as an ox. Martin hadn't understood it until he’d realised just how many treatments were provided to recruits who wanted to join the Solar Marines. The muscles he’d built up over the past month weren't just the result of endless exercises and drills.

  He smiled, then looked away. They’d been told, in no uncertain terms, that they were not allowed to have any form of sexual relationship within the platoon. Heterosexual, homosexual, bisexual ... it was strictly forbidden. The only way to get any form of sexual release was to use one’s hand, perhaps while watching porn through one’s implants. And there was rarely any time to indulge. When they weren't training or eating, they were either reading briefing notes or trying to catch up on sleep.