by Mark Rounds
About noon the ex-cadets staggered out to look for a new life. Their first stop was at a computer software house. There were still some jobs in that field, or so they thought. Besides, part of the curriculum at the Academy included enough training to do basic shipboard programming in an emergency. They figured they would be cheaper to train than starting someone from scratch.
"Listen kid, I don't want to appear unsympathetic, but you aren't the first ones here," said the man bored behind the counter at the first place they tried. "I am not saying you couldn't handle the work, but there are guys who have trained for ten years to get on here and we are turning them away."
"But our time at the academy has got to be worth something!" said Jarl desperately.
"Maybe to some, boy, but not to me,” said the clerk who was beginning to get impatient. “Would you kindly clear out? I have work to do. Don't bother to call back. If we need you, we'll call you."
With that, they were rather rudely hustled out of the building.
The truth hurt. Openings in anything were scarce. Automated production had ruled out most jobs and the competition was extremely fierce for those few that remained. If you didn't start young like Taol, Jarl, and Harm had in the Survey Corps, you didn't stand a chance.
The former cadets took batteries of standardized tests and left transcripts of their Survey Corps work in a half a dozen places. No one appeared interested or even polite. The employers held all the cards and knew it.
Taol tried to cheer his friends up on the way home but it sounded hollow even as he attempted it. Later, in their apartment, no one could stomach the thought of anything to drink, so they went to bed early and spent a long time staring at the ceilings in their separate rooms.
#
"Dawn is supposedly the time of rebirth," Taol thought morosely as he looked out over the vacant quadrangle. Sleep had been slow in coming and when it did come, it had been fitful, so he was hoping to draw strength from the sunrise over the mountains.
Normally, the sidewalks below would have been full, even at this hour. Freshman cadets would be doing PT and upperclassmen would be leaving for advanced classes off campus. Today, it looked as empty as his future.
“This,” thought Taol, “is my twenty-first birthday and it seems like all I have to look forward to is life on the dole.”
Jarl, Harm, and Taol moped around the apartment most of the day as they didn't bother to go out looking for work again. Then Jarl remembered it was Taol’s birthday and suggested that a celebration was in order.
"Come on guys," said Jarl. "It's not as if we had anything pressing to do."
"He's right Taol," chimed in Harm. "I don't think I can take another night just sitting around watching the paint on the ceiling peel."
"OK, I give," said Taol . "No one can say Taol Ubner has to be hit over the head multiple times to go out and have fun. Where should we go?"
"Let's hit the El Alamein,” said Jarl excitedly, “It's in Denver. We can tube out there in half an hour.”
"We can't afford that place!" said Taol with alarm. He wasn’t all that frugal, and the El Alamein would take a big bite out of his little reserve.
“Sure, we can," said Harm. "Survey ensigns make a lot more than cadets do. Check your account. We also got a reallocation allowance, whatever that is. We should have no trouble; besides you only turn twenty-one once."
#
El Alamein, the name conjures up a dashing, desperate battle almost four hundred years ago. Reality is a little more posh. El Alamein is also the name an establishment that caters almost exclusively to gamblers that frequent the games.
The decor is early 20th century with a general theme of oak and brass. There is a stainless steel art deco bar where most forms of chemical refreshment can be purchased for an outlandish price. There are several large holovid tanks in carefully selected locations. The controls for these tanks are artfully disguised as early twentieth century juke boxes. These tanks displayed the overview presentations of all the AAA games in progress as well as selected AA and A class games. Several private viewing rooms were also available where the tanks could be tuned to several views of the same game, but all the action goes on in the main salon.
The clientele was a mix of old soldiers, hustlers, outfitters, and a few green kids like Taol, Harm, and Jarl. To celebrate, the roommates were sitting in a private booth, trying to look sophisticated. They were watching the live holocast of a nasty little A rated game on the big tank. A retired AAA Warlord was having a little sport with a low budget Krasni mercenary.
The old Warlord was holding a hill top position. The mercenary was trying to take it. The prize was two mega credits for the winner and fifty kilo credits for the loser. Fifty kilo credits was hardly enough to pay for their shuttle home. The time frame of the game was June 1943 and all the weapons matched the period. The Warlord, who went by the professional name of "Guderian", was probing the Krasni with a small force of German armored cars and mechanized infantry backed up by a couple of mortars. The current action revolved around an encounter with some miscellaneous Krasni infantry backed up by three T-34 tanks. It was nasty, but low budget.
Jarl, who was a year older than Harm or Taol, punched in a bet code with the house against the old Warlord.
"That ancient relic has no business in this game," said Jarl. "Just look at that force, He should have known that Krasni would have some armor squirrelled away somewhere."
"That's why his reconnaissance is down there young man."
All three of the former cadets turned in unison. Behind them sat another old, retired Warlord with the professional name of ‘Montgomery.’ Jarl, always the hot blood, was about to launch into a tirade when Taol kicked him under the table. His stifled shout brought a sparkle of amusement to the old soldier’s eyes.
"Excuse me your Excellency," said Taol. "My name is Taol Ubner. Were you the Warlord who fought "Rommel" in the AAA game "Tobruk" about ten years ago?"
"Yes," said Monty. "But you would have been naught but a boy."
"My father used the name "Horrocks" when he fought in the games."
"Your father is Bernard Ubner?" asked Monty.
"Yes, “said Taol.
"Join me then," exclaimed Monty. "How is the old warhorse anyway? I haven't seen him for years."
"Dad has been retired and in business now for some years."
Montgomery gave Taol a knowing look. "Then he would be pursuing the family business?"
Dad's reputation in the games and his practice of selling replicas of antique weapons at a good price had made him well known to most of the forces that concentrated in the eras from 1700 to 1999.
"Yes, he wants me to follow him into that trade," said Taol as his face colored a bit. The profession of arms dealer had about as much respectability as a street walker, even in a place like this.
"If my son had lived,” said Montgomery as he regarded Taol kindly, “I wouldn't have wanted him to follow me to the arena."
"I didn't know you had a son?" said Jarl, recognizing the old man
"Aye,” said Monty with a faraway look in his eye. “But he died in the arena. The battle was titled ‘Thermopylae’ I believe."
Then, too late, Taol remembered his father telling him that Monty’s son had been killed in the thick of battle. Before the Regen techs could reach him, his nervous system had begun to deteriorate. There was nothing to be done. The Regens kept the permanent harm that the games caused low but they didn't stop it. For every twenty or thirty phantom deaths in those orbiting habitats, perhaps one real death happened.
This made the profession dangerous but not foolhardy. Still, Taol’s father, Bernard, thought it better that he stay a boring, living businessman rather than risk death in the arena.
Taol’s reverie was broken by Jarl. "Where did those come from?" he said.
Looking back at the tank the ex-cadets saw two Stuka dive-bombers mounting 37mm anti-tank gun pods rolling in to attack the Krasnian armor.
Mont
gomery chuckled, "Son, you have just discovered the function of recon. Find the enemy so other forces can deal with them. Guderian is too wily a fox not to have some kind of backup. Still, those Stukas must have cost him plenty."
Harm spoke up for the first time, "He won't make much from this game by the time those planes have been paid for." Harm's father rented replica aircraft among other things.
Montgomery looked at the three former cadets and said, "Why aren't three likely young men such as you doing something more important than watching staged combat in an orbital habitat?"
"Well, we are celebrating Taol's twenty first birthday," said Jarl somewhat defensively "Besides, the Survey Academy at Colorado Springs has been closed down. We've been surplussed."
There was no answer to that. Montgomery was the first to break the silence. "Well then, as your twenty first birthday only comes once, let's celebrate!" he said in an effort to lift the gloom. He punched his code into the terminal and ordered real champagne!
The boys spent some time reveling in false sophistication. It's not every day that someone on a cadet’s allowance could sample wine made from real grapes. After the third bottle they were getting quite boisterous and were betting often, but the amounts were small. Montgomery called them ‘schoolboy bets.’
"That Krasni should have known better than to attack a fortified hill top with that force!" said Taol a little too loudly.
"Those Krasni fight like virgins copulate, lots of enthusiasm but no imagination!" said Jarl equally loudly.
Everyone at the table thought that Jarl's jest was hilarious, so it took a bit to realize that the rest of the room had suddenly become very quiet. There, behind Jarl, stood the biggest Krasni they had ever seen.
The Krasni were dissidents who emigrated from the remnants of the old Soviet Union in its last gasp of oppression before the Commonality dissolved all the old national barriers. They settled on a high gravity planet in the Aldebaran sector because they couldn't afford better. Most of them died in the attempt, but the survivors grew up short, massively muscled, and extremely suspicious. This one must have been at least one hundred and eighty centimeters tall and a good one hundred and fifty kilos.
His speech was almost unintelligible with drink and a strong Russian accent. He shouted something at Jarl and began to jostle him around. The champagne must have affected Jarl's brain because he was shouting back and trying to shove the Krasni around. This was like pushing against a concrete pillar. The bubbly had also gone to Taols’s head because he tried to get between them and stop things before it got ugly.
About the time the shouting had reached a crescendo, a voice cut across the room, "Yosep, Nyet!"
A smaller version of the drunken Krasni stepped out from a table near the tank.
"Who is responsible for this slack brained lout?” said the smaller Krasni in good but heavily accented English. “Who is responsible? Tell me! Or I'll let Yosep tear off his arms and beat him with the bloody stumps!"
At the mention of his name and the intended task ahead of him, Yosep smiled and began to advance on Jarl, who only too late realized what had occurred.
"I am!” said Taol, summoning up as much dignity as he could. “What is it to you, you son of a Party Hack?"
"So be it then,” said the smaller Krasni who then drew himself up to his full height, which barely reached Taol’s shoulder. “If the two of you have so little respect for the fighting ability of the Krasni, I ask all within the sound of my voice to witness my next words. I, Vicktor Sokolov, Colonel of Mercenaries, Commander of the Kiev Guard, challenge you to an arena duel. I am placing a one hundred and fifty kilo credit guarantee that I'll field a force. Bring as many as you want, Nomenklatura, I fight you on whatever turf you pick!"
“I am in it up to my ears now!” thought Taol in shock. As the son of a Warlord he had two options. Taol could back down. This would mean he would have to pay a challenge fee of about five kilo credits but that would end it. Or he could accept the challenge. As a Warlord's son Taol didn't have to put up a guarantee but he would shame Bernard, his father, and probably destroy his business to boot if he didn't show. The worst of it was, Taol didn't have even half the challenge fee! Not being able to cough it up on the spot would be worse than failing to show up for a challenge.
"I accept," said Taol, sucking it up and standing tall. "My seconds will contact you."
"Very good," said Vicktor triumphantly. "Yosep, save it for later."
With that he and the Krasni giant went off to one of the private viewing rooms. As the ex-cadets looked around they saw that "Monty" had also departed, doubtlessly embarrassed by the crude scene that had just occurred.
"This is going to be great!” said Jarl enthusiastically as soon as the Krasni were out of sight. “Why, with your dad's backing this should be easy!"
"Let's get out of here," Taol whispered, the folly of what he had just done hit like a dip in an icy river. His father was going to be infuriated! "We can talk about it later."
They made as inconspicuous exit as they could, considering they were three sheets to the wind, and caught the tube home.
#
"Yosep, you Son of a Bureaucrat,” said Victor in a Krasni bar, far less exclusive than the El Alamein, “you very nearly blew it. If that kid had been any more scared he might have run, challenge or not!"
"Don't be so hard on him, Vicktor," said a voice from the back of the room. "His father is one of the biggest traditionalists in the game. Even if he had run, his dad would have coughed up quite a few kilo credits to keep it quiet."
Vicktor turned and faced Monty. "I'll deal with my own troopers, procurer!" he said viciously.
"Vicktor, without the opponents I have arranged for you, and the buy off money I have collected,” said Monty evenly, “your Krasni renegades would be lucky to be in a circus! Remember who pays the bills! Young Master Ubner will stand up and die very nicely if it comes to that."
Chapter III
Taol’s vidcomm was rattling off the walls. The after effects of last night’s debauchery made the musical bell tones sound like Big Ben was in the room. Taol slapped the bar to activate the holo. Luckily, he had left the scanner off last night.
"Finally, one might think you had passed on prematurely," quipped a three-dimensional image of Bernard Ubner from the corner of the room.
"Oh my God! Dad had found out already!" thought Taol as he tried to collect his wits.
"Young man," Bernard continued. "Be in my office in an hour. We have much to discuss. And bring those bad influences you call roommates with you."
He cut the connection and vanished before Taol could say a word. This was going to be one long day.
Taol ran into the common room of their apartment and saw Jarl, half undressed, sleeping on the floor like a puppy. Harm was up, though only slightly more functional, and had already dialed in breakfast. With luck, it might even be edible.
"We are in for it now," said Taol, "My dad found out about our little escapade last night. We have to be in his office in an hour and it will take twenty minutes just to tube out there!"
"That's not all," replied Harm "What about Sleeping Beauty?" indicating Jarl's recumbent form.
Taol grabbed a liter of water from the table and dumped it on Jarl. He came up coughing and wheezing, but awake.
"We don't have time to fool around,” said Taol glancing at his watch, “We have to be dressed, shaved, and contrite in my dad's office in fifty-eight minutes. MOVE!!!"
Amazingly enough the boys did make it to Bernard’s office with twenty-two seconds to spare. His secretary ushered the subdued former cadets into the office. Bernard was discussing a deal for some Brown and Bess muskets with a client over the vidcomm. He had his salesman's face on, but his eyes spoke volumes. He was not happy. As soon as the client rang off, Taol’s dad turned and faced Taol and the others.
"Sit down before you fall down!" he roared. "What in blazes did you do last night? I was contacted by a second from the Gaming C
ommission. He wanted to know the date, time, and arena of your match. He also hinted that for twelve kilo credits you could back out. I don't want to appear unreasonable, but this is the dumbest stunt yet. Out with it, and it had better be good!"
As soon as he paused for breathe Taol launched into an embellished explanation of last night's escapade. It wasn't as bad as Taol thought it would be; Bernard only turned purple twice and even smiled a bit when he came to the part about Jarl trying to push the Krasni around. When Taol finally wound down, Bernard permitted himself a brief smile.
"Son, you have just been taken by the oldest game in the book,” said Bernard somewhat patronizingly, “Still, Monty is the best hustler in the business. I guess I can see how you could fall, once, into such a trap."
“What a chump "Monty" must have thought me to be!” thought Taol as Bernard droned on about the tribulations of youth, Then Bernard moved on and trying to get in a jab about Taol’s responsibilities and twist the knife a little.
"So I hope this will teach you a lesson,” said Bernard condescendingly. “I'll pay the old phony’s price, once. For your part I would expect you to stay out of the Alamein in the future and apply yourself more diligently to the family business. After all, your mother would not have approved."
“There, he said it,” thought Taol. Bernard reserved that phrase for only the best occasions. It didn't hurt half as bad as it used to, but it didn't help Taol’s mood any.
Jarl and Harm, on the other hand, had just begun to relax and think that they might live through this experience. Taol’s next words scared them worse than the Krasni.
"I don't think so Dad," said Taol quietly. The silence was so heavy, that it pressed the air right out of the room. "I am going to take him on."
"Oh really?” said Bernard sarcastically, “I suppose you think you and your schoolboy friends can beat Monty and his Krasni mercenaries? I understand that this makes you angry, but those mercenaries could make you dead! Let me pay him off and we will forget it ever happened."