by Eric Nylund
1120 HOURS, SEPTEMBER 22, 2489 (MILITARY CALENDAR)
COLONIAL MILITARY ADMINISTRATION SEASON OF PLENTY
SOL SYSTEM LUNA, HIGH ORBIT BRIDGE LOG (VIDEO, SPATIAL
ENHANCEMENT=TRUE)
The tiny bridge of the CMA Season of Plenty had view screens and workstations crammed on every square centimeter of wall (with auxiliary stations on the ceiling and floor in case the rotating segment failed). The screens would have provided a simulated panorama of stars had not they instead been crawling with icons representing colonists, building supplies, and the raw materials to jump-start the new city dubbed “Lazy Acres” on the hellhole of a world called Paradise Falls.
Six ensigns manned their stations, checking and rechecking every gram of mass and fuel, and balancing the energy flow of the rectors in preparation for launch. They barely had enough room to turn without bumping into one another—save Ensign Otto Seinmann, who stood aft of the captain’s chair at Lorelei’s interface pedestal.
The artificial intelligence hologram stood half a meter tall. Like all holograms, Lorelei’s outer appearance reflected a chosen inner personality: a woman wearing a toga, a sickle in her belt, and a wreath of wheat crowning her head. She once again shook her head at the young ensign.
Seinmann crossed his arms over his chest. “We’re not done.” He towered over the diminutive hologram, two meters tall, handsome, and his dark hair short but stylishly wavy.
“We may not be done, Ensign,” Lorelei replied, “but I am. My apologies; I have a scheduled self-diagnostic to run before the jump.”
The hologram vanished.
Seinmann pounded a fist onto the console.
Ensign Alexis Indara tore her gaze from the mass-balance matrix on her screen. “Better ease up, Seinmann. You’re going to break it.”
Next to her at the fusion monitoring station, Ensign Handford murmured, “Maybe it’s Seinmann’s breath. These new ‘smarter’ AIs are supposed to be sensitive to everything.”
Lieutenant Commander Nevel stepped onto the bridge. In his mid-thirties he already had that casual air of “don’t mess with me” that most officers couldn’t achieve until they were at least captains. The ensigns all stood a little straighter but kept on working.
“Navigation reports no input parameters yet,” Lieutenant Commander Nevel said. “What’s the hold-up, Seinmann?”
Seinmann flushed, not with embarrassment, but with anger. “Sir, Lorelei has shut herself down for routine maintenance—again.”
Nevel raised an eyebrow. “Well, we were warned it might take a while for her to come fully online. Reboot the backup intelligence and get those calculations—” Nevel paused, looked Seinmann over, and then told him, “On second thought, this would be a good opportunity to brush up on your Shaw multivariate calculus, Ensign. Do a rough calculation by hand. The captain expects to be under way in ninety minutes.”
Seinmann opened his mouth as if to protest—then said nothing, and then finally, “Aye, sir.”
Nevel wheeled about and left the bridge.
Ensign Indara whispered, “I think Nevel has an antique slide rule tucked away somewhere if you run out of fingers to count on.”
Seinmann growled something unintelligible, grabbed a data pad, and stabbed in calculations.
After a minute of this, he looked among his fellow ensigns (all of whom were busy with their own work) until he spotted a young crewman—or rather the backside of a crewman that protruded from an open access panel to the oxygen recycling intake.
“Cole!” Seinmann barked. “Get over here.”
Crewman Apprentice Cole extracted himself from the narrow crawlspace, stood, straightened his gray coveralls, and ran a hand over his shorn hair (which was dotted with drips and spatters of grease).
The fresh-out-of-barf-school crewman looked alert and eager to please. His dark eyes met Seinmann’s and didn’t waver.
“Yes, sir?”
Seinmann shoved the data pad at Cole. “I need you to run an independent check on these numbers.”
Cole’s gaze moved to the data pad. He swallowed.
“In case you don’t recognize them, they’re parameters for a Shaw-Fujikawa manifold collapse.”
Cole nodded and took the pad.
“You do know what a Shaw-Fujikawa manifold is, don’t you, crewman?” There was a dangerous glint in Seinmann’s eyes.
Cole didn’t look up from the pad, still studying its contents. “Yes . . . sir.”
“Good. If you get stuck just look up the formulas on a workstation.” With no further explanation, Seinmann picked up his coffee mug and strolled over to Indara.
Cole took the data pad and sat at a nearby station, still not moving his stare from the ensign’s equations, but now frowning at them. He tapped in a few parameters, sighed, and erased them.
“You’re cruel,” Indara whispered to Seinmann.
“And in hot water if the lieutenant commander finds out you’re not doing your own work,” Handford added.
“Cruel . . . ?” Seinmann mused. “Isn’t that what crewmen are for?” He looked over at Cole. “Don’t worry about the lieutenant commander. I already have the rough calculation done.”
“So why pick on Cole?” Indara asked. “He gets his work done and doesn’t bother anyone.”
“He bothers me,” Seinmann said. “Never shows the proper respect. Did you see the way he looked at me? And he’s always got his nose in a library access terminal, too, reading ancient history or quantum field theory or stuff he couldn’t possibly understand. It’s so obviously an act.”
“I still think it’s unnecessarily cruel,” Indara said.
Lieutenant Commander Nevel stepped onto the bridge.
Seinmann instantly pretended to be double-checking the seed stock in Holding Bay 4.
The AI pedestal lit and Lorelei flickered upon its surface, the lines of her face smoothed into the features of someone just waking up. “Good afternoon, Lieutenant Commander. All primary and secondary neural links checked. Shaw-Fujikawa parameters calculated and three-times-three checked. All systems go. Season of Plenty ready for slipstream space transition upon the captain’s orders.”
“Very good,” Nevel said. He spotted Seinmann and added, “Oh . . . and link to Ensign Seinmann’s data pad and check his work, please.”
Seinmann strode over and whispered to Lorelei, “I thought you said you had to run a self-diagnostic.”
“I did,” Lorelei’s admitted, “but that’s not all I did. I’m not an idiot, Ensign.”
The AI blinked, and then announced to Nevel in a loud voice, “His calculations are correct, if not crude. The input parameters would have gotten the Season of Plenty there—albeit 160 million kilometers off course . . . and pathing through a brown dwarf.”
The lieutenant commander frowned at Seinmann. “Ensign, report to the captain that the Season of Plenty is shipshape and awaits his orders.”
Seinmann skulked off the bridge, but as he passed Ensign Indara, she whispered, “What about Cole? He’s still working.”
“Let him,” Seinmann muttered and left.
A moment later the order came through the bridge intercom to transition to slipspace.
The bridge officers remained busy for the five hours until the shift change, and it was only then that Lieutenant Commander Nevel noticed Crewman Apprentice Cole still working at an auxiliary workstation.
“Crewman, what precisely are you doing?”
Cole looked up; his eyes were ringed with fatigue. When he saw Nevel he immediately stood at attention. “Sir, finishing the slipstream space calculations Ensign Seinmann ordered me to double-check.”
The lieutenant commander’s face contorted with anger, disgust, and finally a hint of amusement. “Very good”—his gaze fell onto the name tag of Cole’s jumpsuit—“Crewman Cole. I’ll take it from here. Dismissed.”
“Yes, sir.” Cole gathered his tools and left the bridge.
Nevel chuckled and retrieved Cole’s data
pad—then halted, gazing intently at its contents.
He moved to Lorelei’s station. “Did you help the crewman with this?”
The data pad flickered as Lorelei interfaced. “No.” The AI paused for a full half second. “How intriguing. It is indeed a Shaw-Fujikawa manifold calculation, but it uses a method I have never before encountered.”
“Is it correct?”
“Yes . . . even good . . . for a crude approximation. But highly impractical. It would take far too long for a human to implement such a method, and I have far superior algorithms at my disposal.”
Nevel looked again at Cole’s equations. “But let me get this straight—this crewman actually came up with a new way of calculating input parameters?”
“That is correct.”
Lieutenant Commander Nevel traced his fingers over the multidimensional, imaginary-space calculus on the data pad. “Hmm.” His face hardened. “Find Ensign Seinmann and have him report to the bridge. I need to remind him of the level of mathematical expertise we expect of our officers on the Plenty.”
Letter from Crewman Apprentice Preston Cole to his brother,
Michael James Cole, October 16, 2489 (Military Calendar)
Mike,
So much is going on, I just have time for a quick note. They keep me twice as busy on the Season of Plenty as I was back home—even during calving season, and I’m trying to learn everything I can, all at once. This is exactly where I want to be. Where I was meant to be.
And some of the people that we take to the colonies! Most were rich back on Earth. Many have PhDs. But they’re risking everything to become blacksmiths and herd sheep and throw themselves out into the great unknown. It’s inspiring.
I want to get out there and be a part of this, too. You and Molly should join me one day. Dad would bust an artery if he heard me say that, so don’t tell him. Or would he be proud?
The only problem I’m having is with some of the crew—they aren’t as easy for me to figure as a math problem. I’m getting along, mostly. I just don’t understand some of the junior officers. I’m glad I don’t have to. That’s one of the advantages of being a crewman apprentice: we just do what we’re told.
More soon, P.J.
{Excerpt} Bi-annual Personnel Review of CMA Season
of Plenty / November 27, 2489 (Military Calendar)
Junior Officer Summation (continued)
Ensign Handford, W. (UNSC Service Number: 00786-31761-OM)
Average performance
Ensign Indara, A. (UNSC Service Number: 00801-46332-XT)
Above average performance
Requested management training (Series 7). Request granted.
Ensign Seinmann, O. (UNSC Service Number: 00806-95321-PG)
Above average performance
Promotion to Lieutenant Junior Grade
Transferred to the CMA Laden.
Additional:
RE: Crewman Apprentice Cole, P. J. (UNSC Service
Number: 00814-13094-BQ)
Shows aptitude for history and mathematics. Suggested
by Lt. Commander Nevel and the ship’s AI, Lorelei,
that he would be a superior applicant for the Academy at
Mare Nubium (aka Luna Officer Candidate School).
One week temporary assignment to Luna, pending
entrance examination results.
ANALYSIS
* * *
It was the end of the Golden Age of human colonization. As of 2494 CE it was still a time of peace and prosperity, but Earth had begun to overreach its logistical ability to control her colonies. Several factors led to the destabilization of the more distant, or as later called, “Outer” Colonies.
1. There were widely varying standards for recruitment to the Outer Colonies. “Colonization contractors” were more interested in staking claims to valuable resource rights than providing the most-skilled personnel. Some people were illegally conscripted, and others were law-breakers granted pardons if they agreed to go—all of which led to these colonists being less than absolutely loyal to Earth.
2. Some colonists struck out on their own, procuring by legal or illegal means transport to farther-flung worlds, partially or wholly outside Earth’s control.
3. Continued taxes, levies, and restricted trade practices by the CMA increased friction as the Outer Colonies received only a fraction of the benefits they were taxed for.
The situation was a problem of physical as well as psychological dimensions. Mathematically the volume of the sphere increases as its radius cubed, and so the number of Outer Colonies grew. Given such a numerical advantage and the fact that they encapsulated the Inner Core worlds, there was the belief that Earth and her close colonies were literally surrounded by increasingly hostile forces.
Many now think this was a skewed perception, and that given diplomacy and enough time, Earth and her Inner Colonies could have established more harmonious relationships with her farther-flung cousins. Others point out, however, that had there been no military action, the Outer Colonies might have risen to power and threatened the core worlds at the worst possible moment in human history.
All theoretical analysis aside, the United Earth government and her colonies developed new policies and an increased military presence that would provoke further unfortunate responses from the Outer Colonies . . . and lead to an undeclared Civil War.
For that, Earth would need more ships and crews . . . and officers to lead them.
SECTION THREE: LUNA OFFICER CANDIDATE
SCHOOL (2489–2493 CE)
* * *
Cole’s academic record at the Academy at Mare Nubium speaks for itself. He graduated magna cum laude with high degrees of excellence and specialization from the Rutherford Science Magistrate. Apart from minor hazing incidents, and the usual swept-under-the-rug blemishes that are on any cadet’s record . . . there is only one incident of particular note.
During Cole’s junior year, there was a series of incidents with Admiral Konrad Volkov’s daughter: her overnight disappearances from family officers’ quarters located on base, sightings of the young lady in the company of a young man, and the biological consequences of these liaisons.
The scandal culminated publicly when six cadets were brought before a Board of Inquiry.
{Excerpt} Transcription of Cole, P. J. (UNSC Service Number:
00814-13094-BQ) testimony before Board of Inquiry, Academy
at Mare Nubium
JAG Incident Report (local) 475-A June 7, 2492 (Military
Calendar) Log (video, spatial, psychological enhancement =
TRUE)
FILE *SEALED* (UNSC-JAG ORD: 8-PD-3861), June 13,
2492 (Military Calendar)
Seated Board of Inquiry: Colonel Mitchell K. Lima (UNSC Service Number: 00512-5991-IX), Captain Maria F. Gilliam, JAG officer in residence (UNSC Service Number: 00622-7120-RJ), Frank O. Welker (Civilian Liaison to the Academy at Mare Nubium, Civilian ID#: 8813-316-0955-G)
[Crewman Apprentice Preston. J. Cole is sworn in before the Board.]
COLONEL LIMA: State your name for the record.
CREWMAN COLE: Cole, Preston J., sir.
CAPTAIN GILLIAM: Tell us, Cadet, where exactly you were between 1900 and 2300 hours three days ago?
[Cole remains standing at attention and stares up and to the right. Since Cole is right-handed this indicates he is accessing the visual memory portion of his brain (and not lying).]
COLE: I was on watch duty on Shadow Perimeter Three with Cadets Parkins, Haverton, and Tasov, ma’am.
MR. FRANK O. WELKER: Describe “shadow perimeter three” for me, Cadet.
COLE: Yes, Mr. Welker. Shadow Perimeter Three is the colloquial term used for the series of tunnels and surface tubes that run across the Mare Nubium, connecting the Academy to the civilian sectors of Asimov Center. The “shadow” part of the name comes from the shadows cast from the nearby crater walls.
WELKER: Why guard that particular section?
[Cole
’s eyes now lock forward.]
COLE: I was ordered to do so.
GILLIAM: Cadet, speculate as to the reason required for guarding Perimeter Three.
COLE: Yes, ma’am. There are two reasons. First, we always maintain a guarded perimeter against unauthorized civilian incursions on Academy grounds. Second, there have been recent reports of unauthorized military personnel and supplies moving into the civilian territories.
[The five other cadets who await questioning in the tribunal chamber shift in their seats.]
LIMA: Do you know of any such unauthorized crossing of our military personnel?
COLE: I have not read of any such occurrences in the incident report, sir.
LIMA: That was not my question.
[Cole pauses, looks straight down.]
COLE: I have never seen any such incidents, sir. If I had I would have attempted to stop them from occurring. If I could not, I would have immediately reported it and been required to make a note of it in the incident log.
[Gilliam leans forward and removes her glasses.]
GILLIAM: You say “never seen,” but have you heard rumors or otherwise received any indication of such illegal base crossing on or off your watch?
[Cole swallows, eyes back up, staring past Captain Gilliam.]
COLE: I cannot substantiate any rumors I may or may not have heard, ma’am. I have insufficient evidence to do so.
LIMA: I’m going to remind you once, Cadet, and only once, that obstructing any military investigation is a serious offense that carries a minimum of five years of hard labor.
[Cole gives no response.]
LIMA: I am now ordering you, Cadet, to tell me everything you know about any military personnel crossing the perimeter the evening of the twenty-fifth—or any tampering with security devices or recordings of the region during that time—or any detail of anything unusual that evening.
[Cole inhales deeply, looks directly at Colonel Lima.]