The Methuselan Circuit

by Anderson, Christopher L.

  Alexander stared at him in dumbfounded disbelief.

  “You two were bound to run into each other, but let me make myself perfectly clear, you will not kill each other while Centurion Fjallheim is the Officer of Discipline in this Academy!” He glared at them both until they shrank away from his volcanic eyes. Finally, he pounded his fist into his other hand in anger. “I don’t care who killed who in your families, you two will get along as brother officers! To start you down that long path of brotherhood you’ll stand watch together from 2200 hours to 0200 hours while all your classmates are asleep. Report to me on the Bridge at 2200 hours for briefing—dismissed!” Fjallheim turned in mid air and jetted away.

  The cadet behind Alexander let him go, whispering, “Hey buddy, don’t get on Centurion Fjallheim’s bad side, we don’t call him “Centurion Pain” for nothing. As for the Golkos kid, watch your back! He’s got diplomatic immunity. He could kill you, but they wouldn’t dare kick him out of the Academy. Watch him; the Golkos don’t play fair at anything. Good luck!”

  “Thanks,” Alexander said weakly, realizing that he’d somehow he’d started out about as badly as he could. He jetted back toward his classmates and Treya joined him.

  “You sure know how to pick enemies,” she said shaking her head.

  “Do you know him?”

  “That’s Janus Khandar, son of Grand Admiral Khandar of the Golkos. He was the one responsible for bombarding Terra in the Ascension Wars.”

  “He seems to think my dad is responsible for,” he stopped, he couldn’t even say it. How could his dad be responsible for the murder of Janus Khandar’s dad? Sure, his dad served in the Fleet but that was it. There hadn’t been war in the galaxy since the Caliphate wars ended seventy-five years ago—his dad wasn’t even born!

  “I don’t know,” she said. “What did your dad do? I assume he was a Fleet or Legionary Officer.”

  “He was a Fleet Officer, but not a Captain or anything,” Alexander protested. “Now he has his own freighter and he runs our ranch. Khandar’s got me confused with someone else!”

  “He’s a Golkos,” she shrugged. “He’s not likely to let truth or logic get in the way of revenge. You’ll be better off staying away from him.”

  “Great, I’ve got to stand watch with him tonight!” Alexander sighed. They reached their flight and none too soon. Centurion Fjallheim was ordering everyone to line up. His sharp eyes rested on Alexander for just a second. It was long enough. He hurried into place next to Lisa and James.

  “Where have you been?” Lisa said, giving him a withering glance. Alexander couldn’t tell whether it was for being absent or being with Treya. Treya jetted expertly up and hovered on the other side of Alexander from Lisa.

  “I’ve been making friends; the wrong kind of friends, it seems!”

  “That’s for sure,” Treya nodded.

  Lisa was put out. “Well you need to stop doing whatever you’re doing. Centurion Fjallheim and the other instructors were talking about you. Alexander, I don’t know what’s going on, but you need to lay low!” She whispered the last words so emphatically that Centurion Fjallheim noticed.

  “Cadet Miller!” he barked, and Lisa straightened up with a jerk. Unfortunately, the automatic reaction caused her to point her feet and she involuntarily jetted up above everyone else. Alexander reached for her, grabbing her foot as she whooshed by, but this wasn’t on dry land. She pulled him right out of line, and his weight caused her to begin to tumble to the side. They ran into each other, cart-wheeling out of control for about twenty feet before they fired their jets to stop—much to the amusement of Centurion Fjallheim and the rest of the flight. “That’s a very pretty demonstration of how not to do it!” the centurion announced. “Now if you don’t mind, we have a simple hands-on demonstration of the various modes of transportation you will use in the Service. Of course, you’re progressing from one to the next depends on mastering what you’re doing now. Your basic form of transportation in zero-G will be zoots, but when you master that the next step up is the zero-G board, or zoard, as demonstrated by Ensign Meir.”

  The Golf flight instructor Ensign Meir, a petit brunette with a bowl-like haircut, displayed a meter long piece of plastic with two straps for boots. She stuck her toes in them and began to zoom around the Tube. The Centurion gave them a running commentary. “As you can see, a zoard is just as maneuverable as zoots but faster. Zoards come in several sizes and configurations ranging from this basic model to the combat scout zoots used by the Legionary cavalry.”

  “Does your dad have a zoard?” James whispered to Alexander.

  “My dad wasn’t a Spook,” he retorted.

  James shrugged, “Why get all hot and bothered; I’d think that was cool—why don’t you?”

  It was a good question, but Alexander didn’t know the answer. He’d always been disappointed in what his dad did for a living. That wasn’t to say he didn’t look up to his dad—he did, but being a rancher and a freighter Captain wasn’t very impressive stuff. What if he was a Spook? The Rangers were a prestigious group, if they were real, but there was a dark side to them that Alexander didn’t feel comfortable with at all. He’d rather believe his dad was nothing than his being something that was so—he couldn’t find the word to describe what he was feeling. He ignored James’s remark and focused on Centurion Fjallheim, anything to avoid the subject.

  “Looks like fun eh? Well those of you lucky enough to have skiing or snowboarding experience should pick this up quick. Ensign Meir is the reigning 3D slalom champion of the Service and competed in last year’s Astro-Olympics.” Next he demonstrated the zero-G bikes or zikes. Like the zoards they came in basic models as well as armed Legion models. The zanks were logically zero-G tanks and strictly legionary weapon systems. They carried a crew of one to three legionaries, depending on whether it was a scout sized vehicle with rapid fire blasters or the hulking Tiger class zank with the level eight blaster projector mounted on a rotating turret.

  “You will be proficient in each one of these weapon systems before you graduate from the Academy, and indeed before you are designated for either the Legions or the Fleet.” Fjallheim waved the Tiger over to the next flight. “Are there any questions?”

  Alexander was eager to make up for his mounting list of mistakes. He’d talked all summer about the Academy with Dad. One day Alexander remembered him talking about the various zero-G vehicles. “It doesn’t matter how good you get on the zoard or the zike,” he said seriously, trying to give Alexander a head start. “You concentrate on your zoots. When everything else goes to hell and a hand basket that’s what will save your bacon—that is, unless you get a zoot suit. That’s a whole ‘nother ball game.” This was his chance to make up for his screw-ups.

  “What about zoot suits,” he asked.

  Centurion Fjallheim turned white.

  CHAPTER 10: Academy Ups and Downs

  The centurion stared at Alexander, but then suddenly he laughed. “Good one, Cadet Wolfe, that’s very funny—Zoot Suits!” He turned to the rest of the flight and laughed again. “For those of you who don’t know what a zoot suit is it’s early twentieth century clothing; a very fancy and flamboyant suit worn for dancing. There’s no such thing now, of course, but thanks for the bit of levity Cadet Wolfe. That’s a perfect way to end things!” He put a whistle to his mouth and blew three blasts on it. “That’s all for today. Class, atten-tion!” A full quarter of the flight did exactly what Lisa did and jetted upwards. There was a general amount of repressed laughter. After everyone was back in line, Fjallheim announced, “Diiiiismissed!”

  Alexander couldn’t help but notice Fjallheim gave him a long dark glance before he left.

  “What was that all about?” Alexander said, more to himself than anyone else.

  “What do you mean,” Lisa asked, astonished at his naivety. “You go and blatantly ask about something that probably doesn’t exist, and if it does it’s so impossibly secret that even the Commandant wouldn’t joke abo
ut it! Zoot Suits are supposedly what Spooks use to get around; they don’t even need ships within a system, just the Zoot Suit. They’ve got another nickname, but it’s not so nice—it’s ‘the Angel of Death.’”

  “Lisa’s right Alexander,” James added with a very serious expression on his lean face. “Leave it alone. We’re cadets. We’re not even supposed to know the rumors of stuff like that—unless your dad really was a Spook.”

  “He wasn’t, so stop saying he was,” Alexander growled under his breath, throwing James a furious glare.

  “Alright Alexander, I won’t say it anymore,” the boy shrugged. “For God’s sake I wasn’t trying to dis your dad; I mean, if he was that’d be cool—really cool. I won’t say it again if it bothers you though.”

  “Really Alexander, you shouldn’t take it so seriously,” Treya told him. “People may be afraid of the Terran Rangers, if they exist that is, but they think they’re around to do good not bad. They keep the peace in the frontier where there’s no other law or justice. Why does this freak you out?”

  “I just can’t picture my dad blasting people away like the stories say,” he said in a low, hardly to be heard voice. “I can’t see him as that bloodthirsty. He’s my dad, that’s all.”

  “Don’t worry about it Alexander,” Lisa told him. “We won’t say anything more about it; will we?” She looked scathingly at the other two.

  “No we won’t,” they promised.

  Classes were both exciting and sobering. The first day of any class was always exciting for Alexander. This was even more so. Military History was his favorite, nor was he disappointed. The instructor was Commander Gauge, a tall aristocratic looking woman who nonetheless had a flair for the dramatic events of history.

  “You have already been part of the privileged few to see with your own eyes the USS Iowa, the flagship of Alexander Galaxus, the first and thus far the only Overlord of the known galaxy.” She paced the room, gazing at every student with her sharp gray eyes as if estimating how attentive they were, or worse, how well they would do in her class. It seemed to Alexander that she was already handing out the final grades before there was even a test. The thought caused him to sit bolt upright. She smiled slightly. “Some of you may simply think the Iowa was a neat old wreck, but I assure you, you will think much differently of her by the time I’m through with you.”

  Alexander didn’t know whether he worshipped Commander Gauge or feared her; perhaps it was both.

  Every Instructor referenced their homework, already loaded in their compads. Privately, Alexander wondered how they were going to do their homework and sleep—then he remembered detention, and groaned. Forget about everyone else; for him it would be patently impossible.

  His last class was Weapons Familiarization. The Instructor was Lieutenant Sheur, a Chem. He was tall and lean like most Chem and Golkos, but his eyes lacked any pupils so it was exceedingly difficult to tell what he was thinking. Alexander never realized just how much you could tell from a person’s eyes. He strode up and down the classroom in silence for a full five minutes before he said a single word. At length he sighed, “There will be no levity in this classroom—is that perfectly understood? First of all, we Chem have no sense of humor. Second, weapons do not care whether they are used against enemies or friends; they do not care if they are used accidently or with deadly purpose. There will be no—how do you humans say it—no, Tom foolery. There will be no inattention. If I have to write your parents a letter telling them how you had your bowels blown out through your ear, I will be seriously displeased.”

  He stopped and looked them over, his luminous blue eyes turning reddish-purple. Alexander figured that meant he was mad. That was a color to avoid, but he’d have to ask Treya about it.

  Lieutenant Sheur began to stalk about the room again. “I will instruct you on the care, maintenance and employment of all Fleet and Legion weapon systems. To ease your misgivings, I must inform you that I am outstanding at my job. If you listen and follow my instructions you will all be competent in weapons employment from the proper use of the combat knife to the use of a long range express rifle. In addition, you will receive a basic familiarization with every type of weapon we employ and many weapon systems of alien,” he smiled at the word, showing his sharp platinum colored canines, “cultures. Before you graduate some of you may even have the opportunity to fire a broadside from a battleship.”

  There was a chorus of excited gasps, including Alexander. That seemed to please Lieutenant Sheur. His eyes turned a slightly lighter shade of blue. Alexander took note of that.

  “Very well, we have fifteen Terran minutes left in class. Before dismissal I want every one of you to have fired ten shots from a blaster. Follow me to the firing range!” The firing range was conveniently located next to the classroom. There was a long line of firing platforms and each one had the name of a cadet above the platform. Alexander found his and stepped into it. A small gray blaster with a bulbous end waited for him. He didn’t touch it.

  “Cadet Johansen, Scott, Barret . . .” the Lieutenant ran through a list of a dozen names. “I did not give you permission to pick up your weapon. You will stand down from your firing platforms and watch. Each of you take two demerits for failure to follow instructions!”

  “But lieutenant,” began one unfortunate cadet.

  “Take two more demerits for insubordination Cadet Marcello!”

  “Yes sir!” Marcello said morosely.

  There were heavy sighs from the identified cadets but what could they do? They stood down and watched.

  Alexander breathed a sigh of relief. At least this time he hadn’t been the one to mess up.

  “Don’t be too sure!” Alexander jumped. Somehow Lieutenant Sheur was right behind him. The Chem looked down at him as if reading his mind, and said, “Don’t be so sure that you won’t be next.” His gaze stayed on Alexander for a moment. “I do not put up with any lack of discipline in this class or on this range. Stay attentive and you will almost assuredly learn something that will save your life one day!”

  Lieutenant Sheur left Alexander’s firing platform and began to instruct the cadets, those that would fire that day, the basics of shooting a blaster. Alexander took special care to do everything the Lieutenant said and nothing more. When it came time to fire, he was surprised at the lack of recoil. He didn’t know why he expected it, but maybe it was because firing the blaster was nothing like it appeared in the movies. There was no kick, but he did feel a flash of heat on his hands and there was an acrid odor of ozone. He hit the target at ten meters all ten times, not always in the center, but still he hit the target. Lieutenant Sheur stopped by his platform and studied the target. Nodding his head, he said, “Not bad Cadet Wolfe, not bad at all. Have you ever fired a blaster before?”

  “No sir.”

  “Really,” he replied, seemingly surprised. “You mean your father never taught you to shoot?”

  “I’ve fired ballistic weapons, sir,” Alexander answered, wondering whether the question was generic or meant that the Lieutenant had heard of his father as well. “We hunt on the island. I’m familiar with both a rifle and a pistol.”

  “It has transferred to energy weapons, which is all to the good,” Lieutenant Sheur smiled. “You have the eye of your father.” Alexander gasped at yet another instructor who seemed to know of his father. The Chem turned to walk on, but stopped. Quickly, in barely a whisper, he said, “Be alert tonight on the bridge. There are many ghosts wandering around there, and some spirits that are not wholesome at all!”

  Alexander had no idea what Lieutenant Sheur might mean. What spirits could there be on the bridge of the Academy? He put his blaster back in its cradle and left with the rest of his flight.

  At the cadet’s mess they ate as a flight. The mess hall encompassed all of Deck 14, the uppermost deck of the Dormitory Pod. It was arranged like a huge wheel with the food dispensers in the center around the hub through which the Tube ran. Radiating outward like spokes on a
wagon wheel were the twenty-six flight tables. The other members of Kilo flight were there as well, all seven years worth. The more senior the cadets the closer they sat to the food dispensers. That meant that Alexander was about as far away as he could get and he and his tablemates had to carry their trays a full hundred meters to their table.

  There was something of a reward for eating in the mess hall, however. The panels between the spidery support structures were made of transparent aluminum. It gave the cadets a wondrous view of Terra with Luna rising over the blue Pacific Ocean. The best view was from the outermost seats, which was just as it should be. The more senior cadets lived with this wonderful vista for years and they didn’t appreciate it nearly as much anymore.

  The food was good. Actually, it was excellent. Alexander had pot roast, mashed potatoes, corn, cornbread and chocolate cake. It was a welcome change from venison. At least they weren’t going to starve him to death. Between mouthfuls they all reflected on their day. Alexander sighed, “It’s hard to believe I was slogging through the mud to feed the horses this morning and now I’m here.” Looking up over his head he could see Puget Sound. He could even pick out the green irregularly shaped form of Vashon Island. He imagined the old farmhouse they lived in, and though he couldn’t see it, he could see where it should be. There, so close he could reach out and touch it with his finger, that’s where his parents and sister were sitting down to dinner right now. They’d be saying grace. That reminded him that he’d forgotten. Quickly he crossed himself and said a silent prayer.