A Learning Experience 2: Hard Lessons (21 page)

“If we had equal numbers to them, we’d be laughing all the way to their homeworld,” Glass said, frankly.  “As it is, they have a distressing number of everything from directed energy weapons to missile launchers.  If they decided to soak up the losses and just keep coming, Kevin, we’d be fucked.  And if they ever realise just how advanced we will be in a few decades, they
will
throw a million ships at Earth just to exterminate us from existence.”

Kevin frowned.  “Are we
that
close to beating them?”

Glass snorted.  “How long was it, on Earth, between the invention of the internet and the explosion of electronic society?  How long was it before we started using the internet for anything, apart from sharing intellectual thoughts and defence data?  How long was it before large chunks of the internet became nothing more than tits, asses and cocks?”

“Not long,” Kevin said.  He was old enough to remember the arcade machines he’d played as a child ... and then the versions of Windows that had opened up a whole new world.  “But this is different?”

“No, it isn't,” Glass said.  “This is ... well, this is
Harry Potter
.”

He went on before Kevin could say a word.  “Right now, on the datanet, there are
billions
upon
billions
of pieces of
Harry Potter
fan-fiction, everything from text stories to homemade movies.  The franchise has expanded so rapidly, with so many people involved in creating new versions of the universe, that it’s hard to say what is truly canon any longer.  Point is – there was a colossal flowering of intellectual activity based on a single seven-book series.”

“I never figured you for a
Harry Potter
fan,” Kevin said.

“There wasn't an author alive at the time who wouldn't have given his soul for such publicity,” Glass pointed out, dryly.  “And besides, these days, science-fiction has hit something of a roadblock.”

Kevin understood.  Universes like
Babylon 5
and
Star Trek
and even
Doctor Who
had been proven to be impractical, as well as non-existent.  The march of technology – alien technology – had damaged science-fiction quite badly, while fantasy had grown and prospered.  Steve would probably have muttered something about liberals encouraging pie-in-the-sky dreaming, but Kevin had a feeling the decline of science-fiction was caused by something more fundamental.  It was simply harder to suspend one’s belief when one knew very well that the universe simply didn't allow time travel.

Glass coughed, loudly.  “We’re doing the same with alien technology,” he continued.  “Right now, we have countless ideas for new uses – uses they never considered – making their way through society.  It won’t be long before there will be
newer
ideas, based on the previous set of new ideas, and even newer ideas based on
those
.  The datanet allows countless ideas to be considered; the high level of education in the Solar Union allows our versions of Bill Gates and Roger Pearlman to flourish and actually make their ideas into reality.  They simply don’t have any way to compete against us, once we start pulling ahead.  I don’t think their leadership is remotely capable of grasping the fact it needs a less immobile society even to
begin
to meet our challenge.”

“Probably not,” Kevin agreed.  From what he’d heard, the Tokomak birthrate was very low and the youngsters spent most of their time enjoying themselves, rather than trying to rise in the ranks.  But why should they try when they knew it was impossible?  “How long do we have, then, before we are invincible?”

Glass smirked.  “Give us fifty years and they wouldn't be able to touch us,” he said.  “Right now, though, we only have samples of some of the more interesting pieces of technology, weapons that will blow them right out of space.  It won’t be an easy war.”

“But at least we will have a fighting chance,” Kevin said.  “Let me know if you have any reason to change your conclusions.”

“I will,” Glass said.  He sighed, then nodded towards the ship.  “I believe the ship isn't likely to hold any surprises, Kevin.  They’re not much more advanced than the lesser Galactics.”

“And the Varnar might be moving ahead of their masters,” Kevin mused.  “I wonder if we could do something with that ...”

“Let them know?”  Glass said.  “They must resent their position, particularly as they’ve been fighting the proxy war for generations.”

“We could,” Kevin said.  “Or we could offer to broker a honest peace, after we beat the Tokomak.”

He paused.  “
If
we beat the Tokomak.”

“And if we don't,” Glass said, “we need other plans.”

“They’re underway,” Kevin said.  “Do you have a contingency plan for evacuating this base?”

“Yep,” Glass assured him.  He didn't go into details.  “We can get everyone out in a hurry, if necessary.”

“Let us hope so,” Kevin said.  He rose to his feet.  “I have to get back to Ceres, unfortunately.”

Glass lifted his eyebrows.  “You don’t want a tour of
Flower
?”

“I can't afford contempt,” Kevin admitted.  “I’m already too unimpressed by what we’ve seen for my own good.  By any reasonable standard, the Taliban should have been no match for us and they still managed to give us a few nasty surprises.  They thought themselves the masters of the universe too.”

“Point taken,” Glass said.  He rose, too.  “But, from a technical point of view, that ship is crap.  We would have shot the Captain and half of the crew by now for gross dereliction of duty.  But, for them, looking good is better than
being
good.  You know what we found in the databanks?  Flight patterns for formation flying.”

Kevin stared.  “Starships flying in formation?”

“Yes,” Glass said.  “It would have looked good, too.  But one single accident and ...”

“Bang,” Kevin finished.

Chapter Twenty-One

Rioting broke out between Hindus and Muslims in Northern India over the issue of a number of Hindu converts to Islam.  The Hindus claim that the converts were kidnapped, raped and then forced to convert; the Muslims claim the converts were looking for a better life and submitted to Allah willingly.  Whatever the truth, as of last report, there were over two hundred dead in the streets ...

-Solar News Network, Year 53

“You wanted to see me, Commander?”

“I did, Ensign,” Commander Gregory said.  “Come into my office.”

Yolanda stepped inside, a little nervously.  She'd never visited the Commander’s office before, but Ensign Fisher had been summoned to face Commander Gregory a week ago and had emerged looking pale and worn.  Yolanda guessed he’d been given a heavy chewing-out to rival anything they’d been given at Sparta, all the worse because they were on a real starship.  But he’d refused to talk about it to any of them.

“Take a seat, Ensign,” Commander Gregory said.  She smiled with genuine amusement as Yolanda sat down.  “You’re not in any trouble, so relax.”

“Thank you, Commander,” Yolanda said. 

She’d hastily been reviewing her actions over the past week, trying to decide what she might have done that had attracted the Commander’s attention.  But there had been nothing.  She forced herself to relax, fighting down the temptation to run a tranquilising program through her implants.  The Commander would tell her what she had in mind soon enough.

“You are aware, of course, that you became a full citizen of the Solar Union the moment you graduated from Sparta?”  Commander Gregory said.  “You have your Citizenship Certificate?”

Yolanda nodded, puzzled.  She didn't trust herself to speak.

“You will not, of course, have registered as a resident of any canton,” Commander Gregory continued.  “Do you understand the difference?”

“Yes, Commander,” Yolanda said, thinking back to citizenship lessons.  “I can vote in overall referendums and elections, but not in a single canton.”

“Close enough,” Commander Gregory said.  “You simply haven’t been resident of anywhere long enough to register as a citizen.”

She paused, then went on.  “Your name – and the names of the crew – were added to the local canton’s register of non-resident citizens,” she explained.  “Fortunately – or unfortunately – your name came up when they were selecting a jury.  You are expected to present yourself at the courthouse tomorrow, unless you choose to decline the honour.”

Yolanda opened her mouth, but Commander Gregory held up a hand to keep her from speaking.

“I should warn you,” Commander Gregory said, “that it will look very bad if you
do
decline the honour.  You are a citizen, after all, and citizens are expected to take part in the democratic process.  There’s no reasonable excuse – we’re not due to leave for a week – so I strongly advise you to accept the honour and serve on the jury.”

“That doesn’t seem fair,” Yolanda observed.

“Life is rarely fair, in any sense of the word,” Commander Gregory pointed out, rather tartly.  “The Solar Union expects some degree of participation, as I said.  There are too many people with too many memories of what happens when people
refuse
to take part in the democratic process.  I have checked your record and have been unable to come up with any reasonable excuse that would stand the test of time.  You are not involved with any of the suspects, nor do you have any stake in the asteroid’s political structure.  I think you can reasonably be expected to be neutral.”

“Yes, Commander,” Yolanda said.

She wasn't sure what to feel.  Serving on a jury was an alien concept to her.  She certainly hadn't served on a jury back on Earth, where jury trials were almost a thing of the past.  But if it was part of her duties as a citizen, she had no intention of simply refusing to carry them out.  The Commander was right.  On the surface, it was a free choice, but it
would
look very bad on her record.

“Go to the courtroom in four hours – and take your Marine friend with you,” Commander Gregory ordered, transmitting a stream of data from her implants.  “You shouldn't be expected to remain there longer than two days, perhaps three at the most.  If they want to hold you back, explain to the usher that you’re expected to leave with your ship and they will probably let you go.”

She sighed.  “I’m sorry this happened when you should be on shore leave,” she added.  “You probably would have been called to jury duty, sooner or later, but the timing was particularly poor for you.  Dismissed.”

Yolanda nodded, saluted as she rose, then left the compartment.  She called Martin as soon as the hatch hissed closed behind her and arranged to meet him at the airlock, then reviewed the files Commander Gregory had given her.  They were sparse on actual details of the case – she assumed it was to prevent her forming any conclusions before the trial actually began – but quite detailed when it came to explaining what she had to do.  It wasn't enough to find someone guilty, or innocent.  She would be responsible for passing judgement too.

“Hey,” Martin called.  “What’s up?”

“Jury duty,” Yolanda said.  She copied the files Commander Gregory had sent her to his implants as they stepped through the airlock and walked down the long corridor into Gunn Asteroid.  “I’m sorry for ruining your shore leave.”

“I was spending half of it with you and the other half getting drunk with the platoon,” Martin said.  “Truthfully, I preferred spending time with you.”

Yolanda smiled, shyly.  “Really?”

“The platoon can be very overbearing at times,” Martin said.  “And they’re always around me on the ship, anyway.”

“At least they’ve accepted you now,” Yolanda said.  “You should be happy.”

They reached the second airlock and stepped through into the asteroid.  Unlike most of the other asteroids she’d visited, which were largely well-established cantons, Gunn Asteroid served as a clearing house for emigrants from Earth who were reluctant to join the military or sign up with a corporation before they left their homeworld.  There was something about it that felt a little shabby, Yolanda noted, although she couldn't put her finger on
what. 
The Solar Union could feed and water its entire population without needing to strain itself, but it assumed no further obligation towards the immigrants.  Anyone who failed to find a job would be in deep trouble.

A stream of holographic advertisements popped up beside her as she walked, advertising everything from asteroid mining to prostitution.  Yolanda had been shocked, at first, to discover that sex worker was considered a honourable occupation, although she could see
some
advantages in allowing prostitutes to work openly.  Other potential occupations looked to be dead-end jobs, as far as she could tell; some of the adverts offered proper formal training as well as actual employment.  A line of text at the bottom promised more details if she sent a message to the owners.

“Shit,” Martin said, quietly.

Yolanda followed his gaze as they paused outside a large rock chamber, hewed out of the asteroid.  It was crammed with people, mainly young men, trying to snatch some sleep before they resumed the search for jobs.  On Earth, so many people from so many races would have been uneasy together; here, they were too tired to do more than roll over and sleep on uncomfortable mattresses, covered with torn blankets.  She felt a sudden stab of pity and horror as they walked on and past the next chamber, which held men and women lining up for cheap soup and bread.  Beyond them, a third chamber held sleeping women.

“If we hadn't found a way to join the military, we might have ended up there,” Martin breathed.

“Maybe,” Yolanda said.  She doubted Martin would have stayed there for very long – he’d had the drive to get out of the ghetto, after all – but
she
might have been trapped in the caves or driven by hunger into prostitution.  “Why don’t they move on?”

Martin shrugged.  He had no answer.

Yolanda mulled it over as they walked past the caves and down towards the courthouse.  There was no shortage of jobs, but jobs required education.  Had the newcomers learned
nothing
on Earth?  Given how little she’d known when she’d left Earth forever, it seemed quite likely.  Or was there some other reason they were caught in the asteroid, instead of going on to find a proper place to live? 

There was a small crowd outside the courthouse, supervised by armed guards wearing white uniforms.  Their commander, a man wearing a cowboy hat with a silver star, eyed them both warily, then sent an ID ping from his implants.  Yolanda returned it, then transmitted a copy of the jury notice.  The officer eyed her for a long moment, then jerked a thumb towards the door.

“Your friend can go through and join the audience,” he said.  “Or he can wait outside.”

“I’ll watch,” Martin said, quickly.  He waved to Yolanda.  “Good luck.”

Inside, the air was fresh and cold.  Yolanda shivered, then looked up as someone called her name, inviting her into a second room.  Two men sat at a desk, one of them looking down at a datapad, the other studying Yolanda with cold blue eyes.  She sat facing them, when one of them motioned to the chair, and forced herself to remain calm.  Moments later, the man studying the datapad looked up at her and smiled.

“I am obliged to warn you that you may not disclose anything that happens in here until the end of the trial,” one of the men said.  “In the event of you being rejected for jury service, you will still be obliged to keep your mouth shut until the end.  Any disclosures you may make before then will result in your arrest, trial and a possible sentence of five years hard labour.  Do you understand what I have just told you?”

“Yes,” Yolanda said.  Her mouth was very dry.  “I understand.”

The man relaxed, slightly.  “And you are prepared to accept the responsibility that comes with being a juror?”

“I am,” Yolanda said.

“Good,” the man said.  He passed her the datapad.  “You are required to inform us, now, if you know any of the people in the files personally or professionally.”

“Or if there are any other reasons you should not be judging this case” the other man added.

“Indeed,” the first man said.  “If any such reasons should appear later, you may be charged with causing a deliberate mistrial, which – if found guilty – will result in a five year sentence of hard labour.”

Yolanda took the datapad and flicked through the files.  None of the faces looked familiar, although she had to remind herself that people could change their names and faces in the Solar Union, without restriction.  She studied the names for a long moment, then shook her head.

“I don’t recognise any of them,” she said.  “What now?”

The man pointed a finger at the door behind them.  “You go through and wait to be called,” he said.  “Do not talk about the case with your fellow jurors or attempt to leave the compartment.”

Yolanda sighed, then walked through the door.  Inside, there was a reasonably comfortable waiting room, with seven men and women already sitting there, most of them reading paperback books.  She frowned and tried to use her implants, only to discover that she couldn't get a signal out of the room.  If there were any processors capable of linking her into the datanet, none of them responded to her.  Sighing, she sat down and picked up one of the glossy magazines lying on the tables.  In hindsight, she should have brought a book or downloaded something new into her implants. 

It was nearly an hour before the thirteen jurors were summoned through yet another door, into the courtroom.  Yolanda almost laughed when she saw it; someone, she suspected, had been reading books about an era where the defendant had to prove his innocence, rather than the law his guilt.  The judge’s chair looked more like a throne, the defendant’s box had spikes hammered into the sides and the jury had uncomfortable chairs, presumably to keep them alert.  It would be hard for the defendant to have any doubt about why he’d been summoned to court.

She hastily reviewed procedures as the doors were thrown open, allowing the public witnesses to flow into the room.  Martin was the third person to enter; he waved to her, quickly, then sat down at the back of the room.  Once the public seating was full, the doors were closed and the judge marched out of a side door and sat down on his throne.  A deep silence fell.  It would have been more impressive, Yolanda thought, if she hadn’t known it was caused by a sound-suppressant force field.