The Methuselan Circuit

SPACE CADET

Book 1

The Methuselan Circuit

A Novel by

Christopher L. Anderson

For my son Nathan whose spirit of adventure and quest for knowledge will always inspire me! Thanks for being my son!

CHAPTER 1: Service Day

The rain beat down on Alexander’s hat. He really hated having to go out and feed the animals when it was raining, which was often. It still rained in twenty-third century Seattle—a lot. Alexander lived on the island of Vashon was in the middle of Puget Sound, only a two minute anti-grav scooter ride from the emerald green population center of SeaTac. SeaTac wasn’t a city anymore thanks to global warming, but rather a charming, rural population center at the knees of the Cascades. Like much of the planet, SeaTac was very different than it was a few hundred years ago. The blaster bombardments of the Ascension Wars, the Methuselan Invasions and the Caliphate Wars not only leveled many of the huge cities of the pre-Interstellar Empire they changed the climate. The Terran population suffered enormously through the wars, but now it was on the rebound thanks in part to global warming which actually increased Terra’s arable land areas and allowed the decimated population to support themselves without the benefits of technology.

Unfortunately, global warming made the Pacific Northwest’s gloomy, muddy and depressing winters even more gloomy, muddy and depressing. Alexander hated it. He lived on a ranch, and just like every other morning in his twelve years of memory, he had to get up early and feed the animals before school. That meant he had to do it in the rain and the mud. He gritted his teeth, recalling painfully that Terra of two hundred years ago had weather control. Ah, the good old days! “We’re so backward,” he grumbled. “We feed the animals so they can poop and make us walk through poop soup—yuck!” he grumbled.

“Quit complaining and hurry up Alexander,” called his sister, Kathy, scrunching up her face against the fat raindrops. “You know how Dad gets when we’re late.”

“All right, all right,” he grumbled, slogging through the ankle deep muck. They passed through the gate and crossed an open stretch of mud to the barn. Kathy ducked inside the door, Alexander close behind, and reached up to hit the light switch. The bar flickered weakly, illuminating nothing. “The solar batteries must be close to dead; we’ve had rain for a week now. I suppose we better charge them up, otherwise they might be ruined.”

“
Yeah, if the barn batteries are low the house batteries must not be far behind,” Kathy agreed. “Dad won’t be happy; electricity prices have skyrocketed cause of the greeners.”

Alexander laughed, “Can you believe some people want snow again?” He reached inside his two sizes too large oilskin duster and took out his phone. Hitting the mike button, he called, “Hey Dad, the barn batteries are low; do you want us to charge them up?”

There was a pause, and then a baritone voice said, “Yeah, the house batteries are low too. We can’t afford the power bill and I don’t want to fire up the generator; go ahead and use the ship’s APU. I’ll charge the fusion lattice on my next trip.”

Alexander turned to Kathy. “I’ll do it if that’s O.k.”

“You’re the one who wants to go into space,” Kathy said, already climbing the barn ladder to dole out hay to the horses and cows; feed the chickens in the loft; and give grain to the dozen ornos. The ornos, ostrich-like dinosaurs properly called ornithomimus stretched their necks high so that Kathy could pet them. They squawked and chirped hungry for attention and food. “You can go out in the rain with your space ship; I’ll feed the animals.”

It was a fair deal. Alexander walked down the short dirt floor corridor between the stalls and opened the barn’s side door. Lightning struck, illuminating the rain slick silver-white metal of the space ship. He smiled and sprinted through the rain to get under cover of the ship. Pressing a button on the landing gear lowered the gangway. The whine of the hydraulic motor could hardly be heard above the pounding of rain on metal. With a soft plop the foot of the gangway slid into the mud. Stepping onto the metal ramp, Alexander plodded up into the dark ship, shaking off as much of the mud from his boots as he could—Dad hated his ship smelling like manure. Traversing the dark tube of the fuselage, Alexander entered the cockpit and sat in his Dad’s command seat. He switched on the Auxiliary Power Unit, the APU, and settled back to the hum of the motor. The display next to him traced the power lines. He linked the APU to the batteries in the house and the barn, and then he closed his eyes, thinking as he always did when he sat there, of the day he would go to the stars.

“Alexander!” It was his father over the phone. “Wake up boy; you don’t want to be late for school. Remember, it’s Service Day, the biggest day of the rest of your life!” A daydreaming Alexander nearly jumped out of his skin. Service Day, he’d almost forgotten! Switching off the APU, he hustled out of the ship and back to the house. The rest of his chores and breakfast were a blur. Forty standard Terran minutes later, Alexander sat in the auditorium at school with barely contained excitement. Really, all the kids in the 6
^th
grade class were excited. It wasn’t just the last day of school, it meant Grammar School was over and this was the first day of their adult lives.

It was true, of course, that he wouldn’t really be an adult until he was eighteen and graduated from High School. Then he’d have to decide on a career and whether or not to take on a vocation, continue schooling, or maybe even become a settler on one of the far-flung planets of the fledging Terran Empire. For now, though, it was quite enough to be starting on that road. This was important enough. Today, he would see his options for the next six years of his life.

“I hope I get to be a legionary,” exclaimed Jonathon from the row in front of Alexander. He was playing a game on his holopad, a current version of the Absolute War series. He was maneuvering half a dozen squads of legionaries to attack an equal number of black robed Fanatics, but he was doing it all wrong. Instead of covering his advance with artillery and attacking their weak flank he was channeling all his troops through a narrow gap between buildings—they’d be slaughtered.

Although Jonathon was athletic, bigger and stronger than Alexander, he had to laugh. The bigger boy glared at him as the slaughter began. “You think you can do better?”

It was too late to pull the squads back, but Alexander reached over the seat and touched the holographic squads anyway. He couldn’t stand to see good men, even holographic men wasted. “Set your lead squad to a holding action; they can’t retreat anyway. Let these two squads give covering fire and this one can fire mortars from behind the building on the right.” He gave the appropriate orders to each squad by touching them and designating first their destination and then their duty.

“What about my other squads Napoleon?”

He meant the rearmost squads. Alexander shook his head and designated both of them, dragging them through the ruins and onto the left flank of the Fanatics. The mortars began to land as the covering fire pinned the Fanatics down. As Alexander explained, “A frontal assault simply wastes men, even if you’re going to win. Hit them where they’re weakest. The Fanatic’s right wing is up against higher ground; our squads can climb the cliff using their gravity assist packs and flank them.”

Sure enough the two hundred men of the flanking squads covered the broken ground and took up positions on the Fanatics flank. They poured down fire on the Fanatics, who broke and ran like they always did. The legionaries shot them down. It caused Alexander a momentary flutter. The game programming didn’t allow for prisoners and he knew why, every kid did. At first the Northern Alliance of America, Europe and Russia took prisoners as prescribed by the rules of war. However, no legionary was ever taken prisoner—anyone who surrendered to the Fanatics was tortured and beheaded—every single one. After years of brutality the Alliance stopped taking prisoners. It caused him to shudder.

“Thanks,” Jonathon said grudgingly, taking control of the game back. Alexander mentally shook his head. Jonathon might want to be a legionary, but he’d never be more than a trooper. That in itself wasn’t a bad thing; he respected and admired the hard-bitten swaggering legionary troopers. After all, it was the legions that kept them safe and allowed him to go to school. It wasn’t that long ago, in his grandfather’s time back in the 21
^st
and 22
^nd
centuries when going to school was a rarity. During the Caliphate Wars most kids were either pressed into service or scratching out a living in war-torn lands. Alexander appreciated that, and he wanted to take advantage of his good fortune. His Dad was a Serviceman and an Officer; Alexander wanted to be an Officer someday as well.

The kid sitting next to Jonathan had other ideas. His head wagged back and forth, and he admitted, “I don’t know; I think I’m going for the medical corps. I don’t really have the stomach for lugging around a blaster-rifle and a pack all day—even with gravity assist. Give me a portable scanner, a few micro-robots and some virtual wands and I’ll be good to go.”

“Well we need medics,” Jonathan replied without any sign of needling. “I’ll need someone to put me back together after a hard day on the frontier or in the Indian Ocean!”

They all laughed, but the mention of the Indian Ocean gave Alexander the willies. It was the last bastion of the Fanatics after the war. The Northern Alliance was so exhausted after winning the seventy-five year world conflict they didn’t have the desire to root out the Fanatics from their island hideouts, so they bombed the area into a cratered moonscape of smoking islands. No one had been back there since. Satellite data showed some people survived. There were human habitations but no cities, no roads—nothing but small villages. Who knew what had happened there since then?

“What do you want to do Alexander?” A pretty brunette girl with an olive complexion asked as she sat next to him.

“Hi Lisa,” he said, turning red. He thought for a moment, not that he really doubted what he wanted to be, but he couldn’t just tell everyone he wanted to be a famous General or Admiral. “Oh, I think I want to go to the Space Academy; I really like science and space and all that.”

Jonathon turned around and looked at him. “You want to go in the Space Academy? Look how small you are!” He was right. Alexander was quite a bit smaller than the boy, indeed he was smaller than most, but it only made him more determined.

“Napoleon wasn’t big and neither was Eisenhower,” Alexander protested angrily. “What’s size got to do with it?”

“Listen to the great general,” the boy teased. “You may be good at hologames, but I’m not going to take orders from someone I can beat up!” The other boys laughed.

Alexander glowered, angry and frustrated. He was probably right. Why would they choose him for an Academy slot anyway? Most of the other boys played soccer and lacrosse better than he did, they ran faster and they punched harder. He sunk back into his seat and wrapped himself in gloom.

“Don’t worry about them Alexander,” Lisa smiled. She flashed a smug little grin at the boy. “I’m hoping to serve in politics. Maybe someday I’ll be in the House or the Senate, or maybe even the President.” She smirked at the bigger boy. “Then I can tell you where to go to get shot at Jonathon Brae!”

“You would too, wouldn’t you Lisa?”

“At least Alexander wants to serve,” Lisa said. “You shouldn’t give grief to anybody willing to serve their country.”

“You mean like Willy?” Jonathon sneered. They all looked over to a pale boy with long greasy black hair.

“Why should I care,” Willy Jameson shrugged. “I’ll just take whatever trade job they give me and skate. I’m not going to get myself shot at and I’m not going to knock myself out—why? My Dad’s got it all figured out. Unioneers get a free house; three squares a day and allowance for pizza and beer. When I’m ninety-five I get a government pension. Unioneers got it made. We have no risk, no taxes and no responsibility other than five and a half days of community service a week; we don’t even have to go to church. Fact is, I’d be stupid to want anything else.”