A Learning Experience 2: Hard Lessons (20 page)

“My God,” Corporal Rogers said.  “What the hell is that?”

Martin followed his gaze.  The next airlock had opened automatically at their approach – and the corridor beyond was decorated in a style most humans would have unhesitatingly called gaudy.  Martin couldn't help thinking of drug lords and gangbangers wearing tasteless gold jewellery, people for whom the whole point of having wealth was to show it off.  There was no rhyme or reason to the decorations, as far as he could tell.  But then, aliens might have very different senses of just what was tasteful ...

Alerts flared up in his implants as the lead Marines ran into fire.  The Tokomak had, somehow, managed to organise an ambush.  Martin moved forward, crouching as low as he could in the suit, and launched a pair of grenades down the corridor, blowing the alien position to bits.  The Marines ran forward in the wake of the blast, looking for surviving aliens and stunning them.  Martin suspected that few would survive, even if they were stunned, but they needed prisoners.  He glanced from side to side as he reached the blast zone, then forced himself to run onwards.  There was no time for anything, but carrying out his duties.

The lights failed.  He swore as his suit’s sensors adapted to the darkness, casting an eerie pallor over the scene.  The gravity failed seconds later; the suit adapted, fixing the Marines to the deck.  He pushed the sensations aside and kept moving.  If they were lucky, the power failures meant that the ship was under their control.  But if they weren’t ...

They could blow the ship
, he thought. 
Take us and them to hell together
.

“The RIs cracked the computer network,” Major Lockland said.  “We have control of the ship’s datanet.”

Martin let out a sigh of relief as new data started to flow into his implants.  The analysts hadn't been too far wrong, he saw; the Marines were indeed approaching the engineering compartment, or what was left of it.  Resistance tailed off rapidly as the ship’s onboard sensors were used to locate the surviving aliens and teleport them directly into the brig, where they were promptly stunned.  The jammers they’d been using to prevent teleporting within their ship’s hull had been deactivated.

At least they took that precaution
, he thought, dully. 
They could have made it easier for us – and them – if they hadn't
.

“Secure the remaining parts of the ship, then deploy scanning drones,” Major Lockland ordered.  “And then prepare to move the ship elsewhere.”

Martin braced himself as he stepped into the engineering compartment.  It was a mess; bodies lay everywhere, some seemingly intact, others mutilated and torn by exploding consoles.  He rolled his eyes at the sight, recognising more signs of
very
poor maintenance.  Outside bad movies and worse VR simulations, consoles simply didn't explode, no matter what sort of battering the ship had taken.  It was horrific to realise, after spending so long being taught the importance of keeping everything perfectly maintained, that there were people out there who hadn't even grasped the first lesson.

“This is your rifle,” Sergeant Grison had said, almost a year ago.  “It is yours.  You are responsible for maintaining your rifle and any other piece of equipment we give you.  It will be inspected, frequently.  And if your rifle is in poor state, may God have mercy on your soul.  Look after your rifle and it will look after you.”

He shuddered, again, as he worked out what the compartment must have looked like before the short, sharp battle.  Captain Singh, according to Yolanda, was absolutely determined to have the finest ship in the fleet, but
he
didn't waste time forcing the crew to scrub the decks and wear dress uniforms at all times.  But the Tokomak commander evidently
had
, judging from the engineering compartment.  The sections that weren't damaged looked remarkably impressive, even by human standards.

“Quit woolgathering,” Lieutenant Robbins barked.  “You have work to do!”

“Yes, Lieutenant,” Martin said.

He forced down a smile as he went to work.  Whatever else happened, there was no way they could say he hadn't served on a combat mission now.  He’d be one of the Marines – and he would finally have a place to call home. 

And true brothers
, he thought. 
And that was all I wanted
.

***

It was nearly two hours before the Tokomak ship – whose name translated as the
Supreme Flower of the Delicate Evening
– was finally secured.  Kevin had watched, first in fear and then in honest amusement, as
Freedom
took the ship apart, piece by piece.  He’d expected the Tokomak to put up a stubborn fight, but instead they’d practically rolled over after the first shot.  Their attempts to fight back had been completely ineffective.

“We have fifty-seven Tokomak in custody,” Julian reported, shortly.  “They’re all currently loaded into stasis chambers.”

“Keep them there, for the moment,” Kevin ordered.  It was, to all intents and purposes, a
Red October
scenario.  How far was he prepared to go to make sure that the truth behind
Supreme Flower of the Delicate Evening’s
–he mentally shorted it to
Flower
– disappearance remained a secret?  Was he prepared to butcher helpless Tokomaks?  “And the ship itself?”

“Largely intact, apart from the drives and hull-mounted weapons,” Julian said.  “The computer cores weren't even crashed before we gained control.”

“Better make sure there aren't any nasty surprises in the hulk,” Kevin said.  How long had it been since the Tokomak had fought a real battle?  The more he thought about it, the more he wondered if he had overestimated them.  What if ... there was a chance to win the war with a pre-emptive strike on Varnar or Hades?  It was something he would have to raise before the Council.  “Can she be towed?”

“Captain Singh is confident she can be taken to Area 51,” Julian said.  “His crew will have to be warned to keep their gobs shut, though.  They might start talking when they’re in their cups and the bragging is about to begin.”

“They’ll have to be warned,” Kevin agreed.  “I’ll have a word with Captain Singh personally.”

He smiled.  “And I will also complement him on a job well done,” he added.  As unimpressive as the opposition had been, there was no denying the fact that the crew of
Freedom
had done a very good job.  “What happened today may make the difference between victory and total defeat.”

Chapter Twenty

A survey carried out by Gallup in the United States, Europe and Australia pegged ‘racist’ as the single most hated and overused word in the English language.  Respondents claimed that the word was so overused as to be completely devoid of meaning, a fact easily verified by the observation that every single candidate in every single election for the past twenty years was accused of being a racist at least twenty times.  Responding to the survey, the Anti-Racist League stated that the curse of racism had yet to be removed from human society ...

-Solar News Network, Year 53

“Welcome to Area 51, Kevin.”

“Thank you, Keith,” Kevin said.  “I trust you and your team had fun?”

“We had a
lot
of fun,” Glass said.  “There is no shortage of arguments about just
why
we found what we did, but we do have some preliminary conclusions.”

Keith Glass gave him a mischievous smile.  Area 51 wasn’t the only secret base in the Solar Union, certainly not the only place that studied alien technology, but it was the only base that studied
stolen
alien technology.  Half of the SIA’s operations were devised to obtain more samples of alien technology, technical manuals and everything else that might help the human race match and exceed the Galactics.  But no one had stolen an entire top-of-the-line starship before.

If it is a top of the line starship,
Kevin thought. 
The Varnar would have put up a much harder fight.

Glass turned and led Kevin through a pair of airlocks, into a giant observation lounge.  The Tokomak starship floated over their heads, sealed inside the giant asteroid.  Kevin looked up and drank in the sight – by now, he was used to the sensation of feeling as though an entire starship was about to come crashing down on his head – and then turned back to Glass.  The Admiral’s assistant was already bringing them both mugs of coffee.

“Have a seat,” Glass invited.  “One day, I will have to write a book about this.”

They shared a smile.  Keith Glass had been a popular science-fiction writer before the Hordesmen had first approached Earth, then a natural recruit for the Solar Union before it had even been called the Solar Union.  Indeed, quite a few members of his team were past and present science-fiction writers, men and women who could devise uses for alien technology the Galactics had never thought of, let alone tried to implement.  The remainder were the best and brightest of humanity, including youngsters from Earth who had come specifically to work on alien technology.

“I think someone already wrote
The Hunt For Red October In Space
,” Kevin said.  “There’s probably a copy or two floating around the datanet.”

“I have no doubt of it,” Glass agreed.  “I would be
pissed
if I didn't have so much else to do here.”

Kevin nodded in understanding.  The datanet had changed so many things, but – perhaps most of all – it had destroyed Hollywood.  What was the point of spending millions of dollars in making a movie when it would be pirated within days of its release, or when a handful of amateurs with access to vast computing power could produce their own movies and release them practically for free?  If a particularly famous actor was unavailable, there was no reason they couldn't create computer-generated substitutes.  Hollywood had never quite managed to adapt to the new reality and had gone the way of the dinosaurs.

But it does have its advantages
, he thought, wryly. 
How else could you watch a movie starring all fifteen versions of Doctor Who
?

“First, we did manage to recover the computer cores intact,” Glass said, once he’d taken a sip of coffee.  “It wasn't too hard to break into their secure compartments, Kevin.  I’m rather disappointed in them.”

He shrugged.  “But what we do know is that the plan for attacking Earth and bringing the Coalition to heel is a little more complex than we’d thought,” he added.  “They’re planning to snatch a number of stars between the Varnar and Coalition space, which will force the Coalition to decide between surrendering or attacking the Tokomak directly.  I think they’re actually convinced there
won’t
be any counterattacks; judging by their dispositions, they’re planning more of a parade than anything else.”

“Arrogant,” Kevin observed.

“When you’ve been absolute masters of the universe for the past four thousand years, perhaps you have some problems wrapping your head around the concept of someone daring to attack you,” Glass countered.  “I think that’s their problem, Kevin.”

He looked up at the giant starship, its white hull pitted with carbon scoring from where the human weapons had struck home.  “On the face of it, that ship was in perfect condition,” Glass explained.  “Every single undamaged compartment is ... well,
perfect
.  The decks are scrubbed, the equipment is neatly stowed away and not a single component is out of place.  I don’t think there was even a speck of dust anywhere outside the damaged compartments.”

“Sounds like trying to satisfy a Drill Instructor,” Kevin said. 

He smiled at the memory.  One of his uncles had had hundreds of horror stories about West Point, where it was impossible to clean a room to the standards of the Drill Instructors and a single speck of dust was grounds for having to clean the room over and over again.  It was one of the reasons he had never seriously considered the military as a career.

“I think so, yes,” Glass agreed.  “I don’t think I’ve ever worked for someone so anal in my entire career and I’ve worked with editors who left my manuscripts covered in red ink.”

“It was worth it in the end,” Kevin said.

“Yes, but I didn't feel that way at the time,” Glass said.  He shrugged again, then looked up at the ship.  “On a more practical basis, however, the ship was rotting away at the seams.  Her level of maintenance was very low, well below our standards – or, for that matter, the Varnar standards.  I think part of the reason she didn't put up more of a fight was because some of her systems were cross-linked together and taking out one of them knocked out several more as well.”

Kevin tried to imagine what Mongo – or Steve, or any Solar Union Captain – would have said to any junior officer stupid enough to interlink his systems more than strictly necessary, despite knowing the risks.  It might have been safer for the junior officer to volunteer for the next suicide mission.  Hitting one’s subordinates was not considered acceptable behaviour, but any court martial board would probably have voted to acquit.  Risking a starship’s integrity just to save time would have been utterly unacceptable.

“Idiots,” he said.  “That wasn't a Horde ship.  They
designed
this technology.  Don’t they know ...”

“I imagine they didn't have time,” Glass said.  “Burnishing the hull alone would take days, perhaps weeks.  There's a reference in their log to a potential visit by Great Old Ones, so the crew had to spend time cleaning and re-cleaning their ship.  I think they probably started skipping on basic maintenance pretty damn quickly.”

He looked up at the ship again, then back at Kevin.  “Do you know how old the ship is?”

Kevin shook his head.  The Tokomak ship -
Supreme Flower of the Delicate Evening
, he reminded himself – had looked pristine before the battle.  But then, starships didn't actually decay in space.  The Galactics had no shortage of starships that had passed through twenty or more pairs of hands – or claws, or maniples – before humanity had purchased them for a song.  There was no way to tell a starship’s age from its outside appearance.

“Try two thousand
years
,” Glass said, coolly.  “That ship was new when the Roman Empire was at its height.”

“Fuck,” Kevin said, stunned.  “You’re shitting me.”

“I’m quite serious,” Glass said.  “We found log entries dating back right to her maiden voyage.  Extensive log entries.  There’s another reason for the poor maintenance right there, Kevin.  Her CO was expected to spend at least an hour a day filling out the ship’s log.”

He shook his head.  “The Tokomak built well,” he added, “but the ship needed maintenance and all she got was people covering up the flaws with new coats of paint.  You know what she reminds me of?”

“No,” Kevin said.

“The
Enterprise
,” Glass said.

Kevin frowned.  “Our cruiser or Captain Picard’s ship?”

Glass shot him a cross look.  “The aircraft carrier,” he said.  “I served on her before 9/11 – this was back when Slick Willy was in the White House.  We looked good, Kevin, but we had very real problems.  Half the Tomcats were cannibalised to keep the other half flying, among other issues.  The Captain was doing what he could, but ... morale was in the pits, we were losing good people and not a one of us trusted the Commander-in-Chief.  There was a stunningly hot Tomcat pilot who kept getting shit because half the crew thought she had only been allowed to fly because she was a woman ...”

He shrugged.  “This ship is just the same,” he added, “but they had a worse Captain.  I found copies of requests for paint or internal decoration, not requests for spare parts or a larger crew.  Hell, she was undermanned too.  I think they’re having problems crewing their fleet.”

Kevin remembered his thoughts on how the Solar Union might ossify and went cold.  “Why?”

“I don’t know,” Glass said.  “It could be they're going through the whole ‘patriotism is a dirty word’ phase or it could be the sheer lack of promotion prospects.  There are crew records that claim some of the crew served on her for over fifty years without promotion or hope of same, Kevin.  How long would it be before human ships started shedding crew in great numbers?”

“Not long,” Kevin said.  The Solar Union was a meritocracy.  If a crewman proved himself capable, there
would
be promotion, right up the line.  But if promotion dragged, and if there were opportunities outside the fleet, it was unlikely that anyone would feel inclined to put his life on the line for the Solar Union.  Fleet crewmen were people too.  “The old DHS had that problem right up until it collapsed under its own weight.”

He shook his head at the bitter memory, then pushed it aside.  Perhaps the DHS – and America – would have recovered if the Solar Union hadn’t come into existence.  There had already been feedback trends, even though he suspected Washington wouldn't have agreed to reform without serious pressure from a largely inert population.  Instead, everyone who wanted to live free had emigrated to outer space, leaving behind the people who depended on the government to take care of them ...

And that,
he thought,
might explain why the government never managed to master even unrestricted alien technology
.

“Overall, I am most unimpressed,” Glass said.  “I will present a copy of my formal report before the Council in a week, as requested, but we have a definite advantage.  Hell, the
Varnar
would have a definite advantage.  They, at least, had to learn to adapt to keep fighting the war.  The Tokomak haven't had to check their security arrangements for over a thousand years.  I think they're in for a nasty shock when the war begins.”

“It's already begun,” Kevin said, nodding upwards.  “And they have a
lot
of ships.”

“Yeah,” Glass said.  “We’ve downloaded specifications from the datacores we captured, Kevin.  Their battleships aren't too bad, at least on the surface.  God alone knows how badly they’ve been maintained.”

“It would be unwise to count on it,” Kevin said.  “Perhaps we could monitor their arrival at Hades and see how well they manage to enter orbit.”

Glass looked doubtful.  “I don’t think they could screw
that
up,” he said.  “Any fool can get a ship into orbit.”

“You need to spend more time at Sparta,” Kevin said.  “Every last screw-up that can be screwed-up has been committed there, time and time again.”

He smiled at the memory of the blooper reel Mongo had once shown him – even  though it hadn't really been
that
funny – then sobered.  “Overall,” he asked, “what do you think our chances are?”