“I need to send a message back home,” she said, when Yates looked up at her. “How do I do it?”
Yates lifted his eyebrows in an exaggerated gesture of curiosity. “If you’ve forgotten something,” he said, “there is no way they can get it to you before departure.”
Kailee found herself flushing under his gaze. “No, sir,” she said. “I just want to thank my aunt for packing for me.”
Yates stood, then motioned for her to walk over to the corner. “Have you ever used one of these before?”
“No,” Kailee admitted. She’d used the wristcom she’d been given at school, but it had had a number of addresses preloaded and no way to add or erase them. Her teachers had been able to harass her, her friends had not been allowed to add their codes to the system. “How do they work?”
Yates gave her a long look. “Do you know your family's code?”
Kailee shook her head, helplessly.
“Then you can't send them a message,” Yates said, dryly. “Why didn't you memorise it when you were a child?”
“You should have my code,” Kailee protested, finding her voice. “Surely it's in my file ...”
“It could be,” Yates offered. “But what would you do if your file was elsewhere?”
Janet tapped a datapad, then passed it to Yates. Yates took it, keyed a code into the console and nodded at Kailee. Kailee swallowed and began to speak, thanking her aunt for everything she'd done for her. Once she'd finished, Yates tapped a switch and sent the recorded message into the communications network.
“I’d suggest that you memorise such information in future,” Yates commented, as Kailee turned to walk back to her compartment. “There won't always be someone around to help you.”
***
Darrin sat upright as a dull throbbing suddenly ran through the ship. The bunk was quivering slightly, strange vibrations echoing through the bulkhead and his fingers, when he touched the edge of the compartment. A series of loud clunks echoed through the ship, then the dull throbbing grew louder. Moments later, the intercom activated and a voice spoke throughout the ship.
“Attention all hands, attention all hands,” it said. “Assume departure stations; I say again, assume departure stations.”
The hatch opened, revealing Yates. “Remain in this section,” Yates ordered. “You have no departure stations.”
Gary stood, snatched up his reader and walked outside. Darrin smiled to himself. He wasn't unaware of Barry’s bullying games, but better Gary than himself or one of the other boys. It was quite possible that one of the other the boys – he still didn't know their names – was secretly a good fighter, or mad enough to try to hurt Barry even if he was hurt badly himself. There were a handful of such boys at school, boys everyone avoided as much as possible. They were just crazy.
The starship seemed to shudder for a long moment, then smoothed out. Darrin guessed that they were heading away from the tower now, but compared to the starships in the entertainment flicks it was almost disappointing. There was no giant roar as the engines came to life ... and nothing to see, apart from their compartment’s bulkheads. He wondered, briefly, if it looked any different on the bridge. Or had the movies simply taken a few liberties with the truth just to make everything seem more dramatic?
“You should all get some rest,” Yates said. “If you look inside your drawers, you’ll find a starship-issue wristcom, linked into the ship’s communications network. I’ll wake you all up at 0800 tomorrow, precisely. We have a great deal of ground to cover.”
Darrin nodded, wondering if Gary would come back or if he would try to sleep outside. They still didn't know where Yates and Janet were going to sleep. On impulse, Darrin asked.
“I’ll be sleeping in here to make sure you behave yourselves,” Yates said, sternly. He looked over at Barry, silently daring him to say anything. For once, Barry had the wit to keep his mouth shut. “And I would advise you to behave yourselves. The Captain has near-absolute authority over his vessel. He could put you out of the airlock and no one would bat an eyelid.”
He turned and left the compartment. Barry let out an exaggerated sigh, then winked at Darrin.
Darrin sighed. That meant trouble, he was sure of it.
But as long as it was trouble for someone else, he didn't really care.
Chapter Eleven
One simple example might be exams. Put crudely, the bureaucrats reasoned that the more students who passed the exams, the better the educational system was working. On the face of it, this didn't seem a bad idea. Teachers – those who actually worked with children – often knew better. When attempting to pass an exam, students would cram and review in the weeks prior to the test – and then forget everything once the exam was over.
- Professor Leo Caesius. Education and the Decline and Fall of the Galactic Empire.
Gary had to admit, reluctantly, that he’d been spoiled by the entertainment flicks he'd watched. They showed deadly weapons, half-naked crewwomen in miniskirts and exploding consoles, but they didn't show the deadly boredom of moving from star to star. Five days after Hawkins had crossed the Phase Limit, they had largely explored the entire ship and were starting to feel confined. Yates had pointed out, rather sarcastically, that they’d been confined in the CityBlock too, but somehow it wasn't quite the same.
But the starship did have some unusual pieces of equipment to help pass the time. There was a gaming system that was actually far in advance of anything Gary had seen on Earth, a VR lounge that was largely configured for porn and a set of teaching machines that the crew claimed were far more effective than human teachers. Gary had had his doubts until he’d actually tried one of them, hoping to keep his studies going. The teaching machines were definitely far more interesting than the human teachers, if only because everything was cross-referenced and carefully explained. A human teacher wouldn't bother to explain something if it wasn't in the lesson plan.
“This system is designed to help overcome the effects of teaching on Earth,” Lieutenant Royce said. He seemed to have been assigned to work with the lucky winners, which Gary suspected meant keeping an eye on them. They’d only met the Captain once, but he hadn't looked too pleased at having twelve teenage children on his ship. “Most of the new recruits we get can't even add five and six without taking off their socks.”
Gary nodded. He considered himself one of the brightest students in his class, but the teaching machine constantly pushed him right to the limits. There were entire fields of study, it seemed, where he was completely ignorant, while there were others where he was nowhere near as knowledgeable or as smart as he had believed. The first exam he’d taken on the starship had been a dismal failure, even though the teaching machine had explained with inhuman patience precisely where he’d gone wrong. It had been humiliating, but it had also been reassuring. That level of feedback was never available on Earth,
“There have to be jobs for the teachers,” Royce explained, when Gary said that out loud. “So your classmates will be denied the use of such machines, just to keep the teachers employed.”
“ ... Oh,” Gary said. He wasn't sure he believed Royce. The teachers he’d met had never seemed very happy about their jobs, apart from the PE teacher. But then, the PE teacher was actually respected by the students. Surely, if they could be replaced by machines, why wouldn't they want to be replaced by machines? “That isn't fair.”
Royce laughed. “Of course it isn't fair,” he said, as he stood. “It’s just the way the system works.”
He tapped a command into the console, then smiled. “Why don’t you try following this course?”
Gary read through the précis as Royce left the compartment, leaving him alone. The course covered starship operations and navigation, everything from life support to interstellar shipping. Curious, he opened it up and discovered that it was organised neatly into a set of sub-modules, each one with their own certificate. Some seemed relatively simple, particularly when explained by the teaching machine,
others seemed remarkably complicated and beyond his comprehension. What did the size of a star matter when it came to calculating the Phase Limit?
Two hours later, he took a break, poured himself a cup of coffee and pulled a random article from the database to read. He’d read plenty of semi-forbidden knowledge on Earth, once he’d by-passed the security codes on his government-issue computer, but some of the information on the starship’s database was fascinating ... and some made absolutely no sense at all. He simply didn't have the context to understand it.
When looking at the Stellar Star series of entertainment flicks, the first word that comes to mind is plagiarism. The producers claim that Stellar Star’s adventures are as original as her good looks. In reality, almost all of the flicks draw their plots from far older stories, which have often been oddly bowdlerised to suit the Empire. For example, Stellar Star XXVI takes its plot almost completely from Cosmic Wars V, which itself was drawn from a pre-space entertainment flick on Old Earth. The scene where she comes face to face with her real father for the first time is almost precisely the same as the original.
The only real difference lies in the background situation. Where the heroes of Cosmic Wars fought against the Galactic Empire, Stellar Star fights to uphold the Empire – and the rebels are presented as wreckers, degenerates and outright monsters, people who have to be killed. This none-too-subtle piece of propaganda is part of a long-term effort to uphold the ideal of the Empire in the minds of its citizens.
Gary shook his head. He’d watched the latest Stellar Star – although, like most of his classmates, he’d been more interested in the actress herself than the plot, which had been rather bland. But looking back at it, it was easy to see that the writer was right; Stellar Star’s enemies were the same as the enemies of the real Empire, painted as monsters. The underlying message was that the good guys always supported the Empire.
He’d never really considered it before, not so clearly. How much else had they been exposed to in school, without even noticing? They’d been told all sorts of things about how wonderful the Empire was and how it took care of each and every one of its citizens ... how much of that, he asked himself, had been a lie? And then there were the exams where one had to work out what answer was actually wanted, instead of what answer was actually correct ...
There was a tap at the hatch. He blanked the screen hastily – pornography would have been understandable, but he had his doubts about forbidden knowledge – and looked up as the hatch hissed open, revealing Yates. Gary sighed in relief; he wasn't sure he liked the older man or not, but his presence in the sleeping compartment had probably saved Gary from all sorts of humiliations. Even Barry seemed reluctant to challenge him.
“Good afternoon,” Yates said. “How are you doing?”
Gary looked down at the screen. “I was studying starship operations,” he said. It was something that had never been presented to them on Earth. “It seemed tricky at first, but as I got the hang of it ...”
Yates snorted. “There’s a difference between schooling and actual experience,” he said, sardonically. “I’ve never seen a starship that was precisely as the specifications demanded – or a CityBlock, for that matter.”
Gary nodded. One of his uncles had been a maintenance engineer before he'd vanished, somewhere down in the bowels of the CityBlock. He'd often complained that half his problems were caused by idiot residents overstressing the system or trying to use it to dispose of something the system wasn't designed to handle. And then he’d gone out one day and never come home. Gary sometimes wondered if he hadn't simply deserted his post. Apparently, people like him were never permitted to leave ...
“Still, if you impress the crew, you might be able to actually try to get some actual experience,” Yates added. “I rather doubt they’ll let you work on the drive, but if you don’t mind getting your hands dirty they might have something for you to do.”
“I don’t know,” Gary admitted. He had to get ready for his exams ... but the more he worked with the teaching machine, the more he suspected that the exams were actually worthless, even the ones that should get him into Imperial University. “Is it worth it?”
Yates looked him in the eye. “What do you plan to do with your life?”
Gary hesitated, trying to think. In truth, he'd been so focused on getting away from the CityBlock that he hadn't thought much further ahead. Imperial University offered courses on just about everything, from law to economics. He’d even go for remedial basket-weaving if it got him out of Rowdy Yates.
“You could spend three more years in schooling if you tried,” Yates said, softly. “You’re certainly capable of passing the exams to enter university, although you should have realised by now that exams aren't the only way of determining who gets into the system. Or you could go to college ...”
“No,” Gary said. He’d heard enough about the college nearest his apartment block to know that he didn't want to go there. He might as well claim his BLA and remain in the apartment for the rest of his life, spending all of his time on the datanet. “I am not going there.”
Yates seemed oddly pleased by the response. “And what will you do after university?”
“I don’t know,” Gary admitted. “What could I do?”
“Well, that depends,” Yates said. “What do you want to do with your life?”
Gary took a breath. “A life somewhere safe, a life I can enjoy ...”
“Not a bad answer,” Yates interrupted. “What do you enjoy doing?”
“Computing,” Gary said, immediately. “I’m good with computers.”
“Quite a few people have claimed to be good with computers,” Yates pointed out. “How good are you?”
“I bypassed the security codes on my computer,” Gary said, stung. It struck him, a moment later, that confessing that might not have been a good idea. But it was too late. “I did it all on my own.”
“Slightly more impressive,” Yates commented. “Why don't you build on that?”
He tapped the teaching machine with one long finger. “There are educational courses loaded into this machine that would help you to develop your skills,” he added. “And there is always work for proper computer experts.”
Gary stared at him. “Why ... why wasn't I told this on Earth?”
Yates gave him a droll look. “Why do you think that your teachers give a shit about you personally?”
“I know they don’t care about me,” Gary protested. If he'd doubted that, the absolute lack of concern the teachers had shown about the rampant bullying in the school would have shattered the delusion. Kids had been crippled in the school, even raped in the school ... and the teachers hadn't really cared. “But they should have told me ...”
“The irony is that the information is probably available, if you look for it,” Yates said, ignoring Gary’s tone. “But you’d need to guess at its existence before you go look for it, wouldn't you? Tell me ... did you have any career in mind at all when you plotted your escape?”
Gary shook his head, not trusting himself to speak.
“I’d suggest, very strongly, that you complete as many of the modules as possible, then asked the Captain to consider recruiting you as an apprentice spacer and computer expert,” Yates offered. “The consortium that operates these starships is always looking for qualified manpower; if you showed talent and willingness, they’d certainly offer to help you meet the remaining requirements. You’re underage, technically, but the recruiters probably won’t care.”
“But ...”
Gary swallowed, unsure of how Yates would react to blatant contradiction, then pressed onwards. “But there were kids who tried to apply for jobs in my apartment block and they were refused ...”
“Only for the legal ones, I’d guess,” Yates said, dryly.
Gary nodded. It was illegal to hire anyone younger than seventeen – and only then if they’d completed their schooling. The handful of small businesses operating in the upper levels of the C
ityBlock might have been desperate for manpower, but they hadn't taken anyone who was too young, even if they could have worked while they weren't in school.
“No,” he said. The gangs had hired children as runners – and worse – but the gangs weren't remotely legal anyway. “Why would the Captain take me ...?”
“The rules are different when a big consortium is involved,” Yates said. His tone hadn't changed, but Gary thought he saw sardonic amusement in his eyes. “A few bribes to the right person and you will have a record that says you’re old enough to do whatever the hell you like.”
“But ...”
Gary stopped. For all of his life, he had been told that the government would look after him and his fellows, no matter how well they did in school. There was the SLA, then the BLA ... and free food, served up in CityBlock canteens. Everyone was registered, the teachers had said; no one was allowed to fall through the cracks and vanish. But the more he thought about it, the more he realised that their claims were nonsense. There was no shortage of unregistered people living in the lower levels – or in the Undercity itself.
And then his father and uncle had grumbled about having to pay bribes ...
“But you will have to work,” Yates warned. He stood and beckoned Gary to follow him. “And I would suggest something else as well.”
Gary rose to his feet and followed Yates through the hatch and down a long passageway, towards the prow of the ship. It was hard, sometimes, to keep track of the ship’s interior, even though it didn't change. He’d been told that he would get used to it, but for the moment he kept getting lost every so often. It didn't help that at least half the crewmen he’d asked for help had pointed him in the wrong direction.
The Empire's Corps: Book 07 - Reality Check Page 10