A Learning Experience 2: Hard Lessons (13 page)

Martin choked down a word he knew would earn him more demerits.  Not
bad
?  None of them had managed to take a step forward without falling over like a load of drunken idiots.  Even the asteroid-born had had problems.  But ... he took a step forward, very carefully.  This time, he managed to stay upright long enough to take a second step, then a third.  It was hard, so hard, but the more he did it, the easier it seemed.

“Just like driving a car,” Jones said, loudly.  “We can do it, eventually.”

Grison gave him an evil grin.  “Just you wait until you’re managing weapons as well as running,” he said.  “And, speaking of weapons ...”

He nodded to one of the other Drill Sergeants, who produced twelve packets of eggs.  As Martin watched in disbelief, she put a packet in front of each armoured recruit, then stepped backwards hastily.  Martin didn't blame her.  The slightest movement inside the suit, voluntary or involuntary, would be magnified a hundred-fold by the armoured muscles, leading to disaster if he coughed at the wrong moment.  There was no way he would trust himself with weapons until he knew how to drive the suit safety.

“To get your driving licence,” Grison said, shooting Jones another look, “you have to pick up one of the eggs, safely.”

Martin bent over, reached for the eggs ... and smashed them with a single touch.  Groans and curses over the communications network told him that everyone else had had the same problem, making them all failures.  Grison walked from person to person, looking down at the packets of eggs and shaking his head mournfully.  None of them, it seemed, had even managed to save a single egg, let alone pick it up.

“What a waste of good eggs,” he observed, archly.  “But you will master it, one day.”

He turned and started to march towards the training field.  “Follow me.”

Martin would have enjoyed the next few hours if they hadn't been so frustrating.  The more he played with the suit, the more he thought he understood it, only to lose his certainty as something else happened and he lost control again.  He even tried to shake hands with another recruit, only to find himself thrown over and slammed into the ground.  Others crashed into one another, laughing as they bounced off and squelched through the mud.  The Sergeant moved from recruit to recruit, offering pieces of advice merged with a droll awareness that learning how to handle the suits was something that could only be done through experience.  By the time they were finally ordered back to the barracks, Martin was feeling a dull ache at the back of his temple.  It was clear that mastering the suits was going to take weeks.

“We will be training with the suits every second day,” Grison informed them, as they lined up in front of the barracks.  “The other days, I’m afraid, will be spent continuing with our unarmoured practice.  You will have to learn the difference between fighting in an armoured suit and fighting without it.”

At first, Martin thought he was joking ... and then he realised there was something deadly serious behind it.  He’d forgotten, to some extent, that he was actually wearing the suit.  It had merged so completely with him that he might as well have
been
the suit.  And something he could do in a suit – rushing across a field while the enemy fired machine guns at him – would get him killed in an instant if he tried it without a suit.  The Solar Union BDUs had some bullet-resistance woven into them, he’d been told, but bullets still hurt. 

I could die if I did the wrong thing
, he thought, numbly.  He'd thought he was used to the concept of death, but hope – real hope – had proved him wrong. 
And so could all of us
.

“Now,” Grison said.  “Get out of your suits.”

That, Martin discovered, was harder than it seemed.  It took him a long time – and some prompting from the Sergeant – to work out where to put his hands as he scrambled out of the suit and down to the ground.  Two others were less lucky, losing their grip and plummeting backwards to hit the ground, yelping in pain at the sudden shock.  Grison laughed, helped them to their feet, then pointed the recruits towards the mess.  Martin was surprised by just how hungry he was, after several hours in the suits.  But then, they hadn't had anything to eat in the morning.

“You have five more months of training to go,” Grison informed them, as they gratefully ate as fast as they could.  “By then, you will be expected to be completely proficient with a suit – and ready to handle anything, from an enemy shooting at you to a child wanting to ride on your shoulders.  You are
not
to try the latter until you are a qualified suit operator.  Do you understand me?”

Martin blanched.  He could tear a child – or an adult – apart, entirely by accident.  The thought was terrifying.  He didn’t want to kill someone who merely wanted to have fun ...

I have to write Yolanda about this
, he thought.  The last he’d heard, she was studying for her flight qualification.  But neither of them had had time to meet up since starting the next phase of their training. 
She’d be impressed ... and jealous
. 

Chapter Thirteen

The Provisional Russian Government has been warned, in the strongest possible terms, that further attempts to bar emigration to the Solar Union will result in harsh reprisals.  Speaking in front of the Solar Congress, President Ross reaffirmed the Solar Union’s determination to provide a home for all those willing to live by the solar creed...

-Solar News Network, Year 52

“Two years,” Julian said, slowly.

“So it would seem,” Kevin said.  “Two years for the fleet to arrive, then set out for Earth.”

He scowled.  It was possible Ando was wrong – or that something would impede the fleet’s progress as it made its way to Varnar – but he dared not assume anything of the sort.  The worst case scenario would see two hundred Tokomak battleships approaching Earth, demanding immediate unconditional surrender.  And they would have the firepower to crush the Solar Union, if it came down to a straight fight.  Mongo would need to be informed, as quickly as possible, before it was too late.

And then ... what
?  Kevin asked himself. 
Can we stop that much firepower from doing whatever the hell it wants
?

“Store the information in the secure compartment,” he ordered, instead.  “We will depart in two days, as planned.”

“After your date,” Julian said, dryly.  “Be careful, sir.”

“I’ve carried out more covert operations than you,” Kevin said.  It was true, although only if one counted covert operations on Earth as well as alien worlds.  “And besides, you never know what it might lead to.”

“Her bedroom,” Julian said.  “Good luck, sir.”

The next two days passed quickly.  Kevin spent most of them exploring the planet with the rest of the team, trying to understand just how it worked.  The Varnar had created an environment that was surprisingly multicultural, but – at the same time – forced the large non-Varnar communities to live in ghettos of their own.  It was almost as if the Varnar didn't want to allow too much alien influence into their society, although Kevin had a feeling they were wasting their time.  Earth was far more isolated than Varnar and quite a bit of alien influence had entered the cultural gestalt.  By the time he was due to meet Sally, he thought he knew more about just how the planet worked.  But he also knew better than to take it for granted.

“I’ve booked us a table at a Pan-Gal,” she said, when he reached her apartment.  It was definitely a multiracial complex, designed to give members of almost every known race a place that suited their environmental needs.  “It won’t be cheap, I’m afraid, but Ando has his contacts.”

Kevin nodded as he took her hand.  Sally was wearing a long yellow dress that set her dark hair off nicely, hinting at her curves rather than crudely revealing them.  She looked surprisingly attractive, although he was probably the only person for miles who could appreciate it.  The Pan-Gal, like the apartment complex, catered for just about every known race.  It wasn't as if human cuisine had taken the Galactics by storm.

Sally chatted happily about nothing as they walked through the streets and into the Pan-Gal, where a robotic waiter took their coats and steered them to a small table, surrounded by invisible forcefields.  Kevin had to smile as Sally explained, with a hint of embarrassment, that most of the Galactics liked dining together, but what one race considered edible another might consider deadly poison.  The forcefields ensured that no one had to smell anything they might consider offensive, scuppering whatever deal the Galactics were trying to make.  It also made sure that disagreements between parties couldn't turn lethal.

“I left Earth four years ago,” Sally said.  “It was meant to be a short-term contract, but it was so fascinating to be on an alien world that I just stayed here.”

“I don’t blame you,” Kevin said.  Sally was far from the only human to make a home among the Galactics.  There were no shortage of human traders plying the stars now, looking to earn their fortunes while seeing the galaxy.  “What’s it like, working here?”

“Strange,” Sally said.  “And it keeps you on your toes.”

She jabbed a finger at the holographic menu.  “I’m supposed to organise dinner meetings for Mr. Ando and his clients,” she said.  “Trouble is; one of his clients likes eating live beasties while Mr. Ando would find the sight repulsive.  I have to sort out the dinner so that the two requirements don’t clash horrifically.  And then there’s the Varnar code.  Everything has to be absolutely in its place or there will be murder done.  Perhaps literally.”

“It must be easier eating with me,” Kevin joked.

“It is,” Sally said.  “I won’t have to watch as you masticate something that looks like a human baby, then ask snide questions about my intelligence.”

Kevin frowned.  “A baby?”

“There’s a race that look like very pale and bald humans,” Sally explained.  “They’re not intelligent, but several Galactics consider them a delicacy.  And then they glance at me and notice I look very much like their food.”

“Yuk,” Kevin said.

“It gets worse,” Sally said.  “Do you know there’s a race that is primarily composed of cannibals?  They eat their own flesh, just to stay alive.  God alone knows what sort of evolutionary pattern created such a nightmare.”

She tapped the menu, ordering something simple to eat, then swung it over to Kevin.  “It’s only showing food humans can eat, but I’d be careful what you chose,” she advised.  “Not all of it tastes nice, even if it is technically edible.”

“I understand,” Kevin said.  He picked something that looked like roast lamb, then banished the menu with a wave of his hand.  “Do you often meet other humans?”

“Not that often,” Sally said.  “Mr. Ando keeps me very busy.”

She looked up as the robotic waiter arrived, carrying two large plates of food.  Kevin took his, nodded politely to the robot, then sniffed his plate carefully.  It smelled surprisingly good, for something the Galactics had produced.  His last meal on an alien world had tasted suspiciously unpleasant.  If he hadn't had his taste buds modified, he wouldn't have been able to eat it at all.

He took a bite of his meat, then leaned forward.  “Have you ever met a Tokomak?”

“Never,” Sally said.  “I believe some of Mr. Ando’s clients are Tokomaks, but they never show themselves to mere humans.  He handles all such matters himself.”

Kevin smiled.  “They don’t trust you?”

“They never talk to anyone who doesn't come from a self-starfaring race,” Sally said.  “I don’t think they really believe we’re intelligent.  I heard, once, that a handful of them came to discuss matters with the Supreme Council on Varnar.  One of them talked only to the Supreme Commander, the others kept their mouths shut all the time.  I don’t think they were even exchanging messages through their implants.”

“I see,” Kevin said.

“They’re not the only ones,” Sally said.  “Most starfaring races bend the knee to the Tokomak, but look down on any race that didn't manage to find the gravity points on their own, let alone the gravity drive.  I sometimes find myself pushed aside by one of them ... and there are races that have it far worse.  The Hordesmen, bastards though they are, aren't treated as anything other than slaves.  And there are entire races that are practically moulded by their betters into something more ... useful.”

She jabbed a finger towards a handful of diners at the far side of the room.  The leaders seemed to be a pair of insect-like creatures, but they were being served by a handful of green-skinned creatures that bowed and scraped whenever their masters looked at them.  Kevin couldn't help thinking of negro slaves from before the War Between The States, pretending to be submissive whenever they were watched.  He hoped the slaves he was looking at were planning their own escape, the sooner the better.  But what would happen if they tried to escape and failed?

“Anything,” Sally said, when he asked.  She shuddered.  “The contract I have with Mr. Ando grants me some rights, but others are practically slaves.  There’s even a slave market down near the ghettos, if you happened to want a slave while you’re here.  I imagine you could even take one back to Earth, if you wished.”

“Shit,” Kevin said.  “I dread to imagine what would happen if I turned up with a slave in tow.”

“Depends,” Sally said.  “They might simply free the slave – or they might put you in prison.”

Kevin shuddered.  There had been a time, before the Solar Union, when several Arab states had had slaves, in all but name.  Some of those slaves had fled, when they’d been taken to America and had a chance to escape, others had become excellent sources for the CIA.  And yet, the bastards who’d brought slaves to America had been left unpunished, because they had diplomatic immunity.  There had been nothing anyone could do.

“Depends on the contract, I assume,” he said, finally.  Selling someone into slavery was illegal; signing a contract that made one a slave was merely stupid.  “But it isn't something I want to think about.”

“There will be diplomatic incidents, sooner or later,” Sally predicted.  “If Earth becomes more important, more and more Galactics will make their way to Earth.  And some of them will have slaves.”

“We shall see,” Kevin said.  There were relatively few Galactics – as opposed to exiles – in the Sol System.  The longer it stayed that way, the better.  “And we’ll probably come up with a way of dealing with it by then.”

Sally smiled.  “Good luck,” she said.  “Make sure you warn them on Earth, all right?”

Kevin nodded.

He would have enjoyed the dinner, under other circumstances.  The chance to meet a pretty girl, one who wasn't awed by his family’s reputation, and just to sit back and relax would have been worth almost anything.  But he knew he had to pump her for information, in the hopes she might prove a useful intelligence source.  There was no way he could simply relax and enjoy himself.  And she might well pick up on it, even if she hadn't set eyes on another human for years. 

“I wouldn't recommend anything they consider suitable for desert,” Sally advised, when they finished their main course.  “I have something at home I’ve been saving for a special occasion.”

Kevin glanced at the menu, then nodded in agreement.  The most appetising thing on the list looked like a melted banana split, but he rather doubted that the ingredients included bananas, nuts, ice cream or anything else that had been within ten light years of Earth.  Instead, he paid the bill – fifty-seven GalStars – and then allowed Sally to lead him back along the darkened walkways to her apartment.

“Is it safe to live here?”  He asked.  “What is it like compared to Earth?”

“Moderately safe,” Sally said.  “The local Law Guardians – the police, to you and me – patrol regularly.  If you’re not a Varnar and you commit a crime, they won’t hesitate to rough you up and dump you in the cells for the night, then your employer will be forced to pay for your ticket back home.  You won’t be allowed to return.  If you’re an illegal, you will probably be shipped to a penal world and put to work.  They don’t police communities so closely, but anything that spills out into the mainstream will draw a harsh response.”

She shrugged as they entered the apartment block.  “There’s no shortage of blue collar crimes here, everything from information theft to financial fraud,” she added.  “But any crime of violence will be punished.  It keeps everything reasonably peaceful.”

“I see,” Kevin said.

Sally led him into her apartment, then closed the door and motioned for him to sit down on a comfortable sofa.  “Mr. Ando wished me to give you this,” she said, as she sat facing him and crossed her legs.  There was a small Galactic-issue datachip in her hand.  “He thought you might find it of interest.”

Kevin felt his eyes narrow.  “And what is the price?”

“There isn’t one, now,” Sally said.  “Mr. Ando gives it to you as a gesture of ... good faith and of his hopes for a future relationship.  If you want to turn it down, I dare say he won’t care too much.”

“I imagine he won’t,” Kevin said, slowly.  Did Mr. Ando know who they were?  He was an information broker, after all.  The Stuart Family was largely unknown outside the Solar System, but someone who traded in information might well have heard the name, then put two and two together.  “What’s on the chip?”