As much as our drill instructor would like to speed up the weeding process, he was well within his quota and therefore had to make way for our formal education. We were, after all, here to study.
Going to bed late was technically allowed, but it came with a price. My head hurt, and I was as exhausted as a clone worker, but I couldn't show it. Our teacher, Sergeant Eveline "Thunder" Wong, had sharp eyes that seemed to be everywhere. I sat straight and open-eyed, determined not to yawn.
I mustn't yawn.
I yawned.
Thunder's head whipped around, and if looks could kill, this one would have exterminated the whole class. Her voice was quiet. Dangerously quiet. "So, Private Aranis, do you find my subject boring?"
"No, Ma'am. Of course not. I... It is fascinating."
"It doesn't seem so. Please sum up what I just said."
Now, that was an invitation for a firing squad. Fortunately, I really liked this subject and was quite fluent. "The Galactic Republic does not invite species that do not contribute to the common whole. While all take part in every part, tradition has it that every race is specialized in one activity they do better than everyone else. The Golgrag, for instance, are ten-foot-tall living cranes. They are called upon every time there is heavy construction work. They are also known for their heavy machinery. The Aaarkraka, on the other hand, are still known as the best exterminators in case of a Xaxx infestation."
Thunder seemed mollified since I used other examples than she had just provided. "And what specialization did humans bring to the Republic?"
"Logistics, Ma'am. We are known throughout the universe as the best-organized species."
"Exactly. Standardization, logistics, and organization. If a crop harvest fails and food needs to be distributed on a planetary scale, or if a planet wants to overhaul its transportation system, they call for the humans."
An almost, but not quite inaudible comment came from the rear of the class: "They call for the Diplings."
Thunder rolled her eyes. "Yes, that one never gets old."
Most of the class giggled. In the early days of our joining of the Republic, most problems were solved by specialists, which often introduced themselves in written communication as "Dipl. Ing. [Name]." Most aliens to this day think it is an honorary title of our species. It's never translated, so you can hear it even in the middle of the subsonic Whalespeak of the Drull or Aarkraka screeching.
"While we are still struggling to be recognized as competent in Xaxx hunting, SELMA, the Space Emergencies Logistics Managements Agency, is already quite renowned throughout the galaxy." Her finger pointed at Delfi. "What was the predecessor of SELMA?"
"It was built on the principles of a German organization, the Technisches Hilfswerk or THW for short, and FEMA, the Federal Emergency Management Agency of the former United States, Ma'am."
"Quite right. SELMA's operations still account for more than sixty percent of Earth's income of Galactic Contribution Coins. Some of the more prominent missions, like the flood relief of Pandallor, are responsible for most of Earth's good reputation."
Savannah lifted her hand. Sergeant Wong nodded in her direction. "Wasn't that the mission we got our solar network from?"
"Correct. Twelve geostationary solar power satellites, including the ground stations to receive the microwave lasers. A most generous gift from the Emperor of Pandallor for Earth's help."
"I don't really like the idea of a dozen death lasers floating around Earth. Who knows what kind of backdoors or remote controls the Pandallorians built-in." Delfi spoke without invitation, which earned her a stern look, but the Sergeant answered anyway. "The Pandallorians are a completely vegetarian and pacifistic species. It would be quite surprising if they included programs to burn down Earth cities from orbit. Nonetheless... humans as a whole are quite paranoid, Space Marines especially. The first thing we did was to build in self-destruct bombs. Just in case." She grinned.
I scratched my head, paused, then lifted my hand.
"Yes, Havoc?"
I blinked, irritated by the use of my callsign, but asked my question anyway. "Why bother? Any starship in orbit can shoot down a satellite with ease."
"Pandallorian power satellites are equipped with level 5 force shielding to secure them against meteorite impacts and orbital space debris. Since they are actual power stations, it would take quite some time to batter down their shields if they transfer all produced power into shielding. So, no. It wasn't unnecessary paranoia. It was just the appropriate level of paranoia to use."
"We could have just installed AI-driven software. That way, the satellites would have committed suicide, rather than endanger humans. Much safer than bombs."
I turned around to look for the idiot. I absolutely expected to see him slow-roasted by our instructor. Which would serve him right.
Ms. Wong did not react as expected. She just shrugged. "AI was always horrendously overpriced. To think somebody paid big bucks to have a machine do what even a stupid human could... Embarrassing."
I found the guy who had just badmouthed the technology my family had taken generations to perfect. It was Jim Smith. He was... big. I had seen him before, but he still unnerved me every time I saw him. Two meters and counting. Shoulders broad enough for two people. Just how you would imagine the lovechild of Hulk and President Schwarzenegger. He grinned directly at me. Malfeasony held up his hand and waited for Ms. Wong to turn to him. "While we are on this subject, wouldn't AI drones be much better for suicidal missions than regular soldiers?"
"No, they aren't." While she launched into a long lecture about the advantages of people, honor, and how much better they were in any circumstances than any machine, I silently gritted my teeth. Much to the amusement of Big Jim. I stared daggers at him. He only grinned bigger.
I snapped. I took my input pen and threw it full force at his face. The pen's trajectory took it right across Malfeasony. His hand shot up and caught the pen right out of the air. He didn't even blink.
Ms. Wong turned around, but saw him only putting down the pen on his own pad. He evenly returned her gaze. Not a care in the world.
Our instructor looked around, one brow lifting warily. "Okay, something just happened." She pointed at Malfeasony, her voice growing low and menacing. "Tell."
He just shrugged. "I don't know what you mean. I haven't seen anything out of the ordinary."
She held his gaze for a few seconds. When he didn't budge, she took up her pad and tapped around with her finger. Seconds later, the main monitor of our classroom lit up with a video recording of our lesson. Low mumbling came from the surprised class. No one had suspected a surveillance camera in a classroom. I tried to find the angle it was recorded from, but still couldn't see anything suspicious. Ducts, vents, nuts, and bolts everywhere.
The recording rewound slowly, then disappeared into static, just as Malfeasony's hand reached his pad. A few seconds of static later, the classroom came back into view. I could see my hand clenching around my pen, but I seriously doubted anyone else would notice. Ms. Wong was clearly annoyed her dramatic demonstration of perfect surveillance had been ruined by a recording error.
She spent the rest of the hour dictating information. No one even tried to ask a question.
I was fuming when I left the classroom. Delfi tried to calm me down, but someone pushed something into my hands before she could even start talking. When I looked up, I was greeted by a smiling face. It took me a few heartbeats to recognize him. Sir-Screams-a-Lot. I gulped. He seemed to be genuinely happy. That couldn't be good.
He pushed something into my hands and gestured for me to move forward.
I stepped forward and looked at what I got. It was some kind of gun. A short gun barrel and instead of a power bar, there was some kind of gas bottle. What was that thing? Insect repellent? Did we have some kind of outbreak of ants or something? Sometimes they even got insects nesting on spaceships, no matter the security.
Another space marine behind him gave me a full-face-protection mask. I walked past him and inspected the mask. It did not have any filtering system, so it wasn't intended to protect against insect repellent or any other harmful gas.
Sir-Screams-a-Lot rubbed his hands after the last of my classmates had been issued his weapon-thingy: “Well, that will be fun.” Then he turned up his volume to a familiar volume: “Listen up, maggots! The guns you have been issued with, are non-lethal gas-powered paintball guns. We have closed off any sensitive areas in the station. Everything still open, is now considered you’re playing field. Any personal left has been armed with paintball weapons.”
Malfeasony held up his hand and asked his question as the drill Sergeant nodded in his direction: “Sir, isn't it dangerous to throw around paint at electronics?”
“Good question. We use a nonconductive, alcohol-based paint. It rapidly disappears without a trace on anything but textiles and flesh. Now, to the rules: Anyone hit on his head or body is out. Everything else doesn’t count, so feel free to catch bullets with your hands. If you like breaking your finger bones, that is. You split into standard teams. The team with the most intact members, that reports to me at the main elevator shaft entrance, wins... my respect. The last quarter of teams to arrive and any team losing every single member, instead wins a trip down back to earth. In shame!”
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He shouted the last two words, waited for two breaths and continued: “Ship personnel can shoot at you, but you are not allowed to shoot back. There is no additional ammunition available. Shooting starts in five minutes. Disperse!”
I looked around to orient myself when Malfeasony grabbed my hand and started pulling me to a smaller service-corridor. Savannah and Delfi followed close behind.
“Where are we...” He silenced me with a gesture. “Not here. The others can still hear us. Follow.”
We ran past two corridors, turned left, then right. When we entered a room with many tables, he stopped. “Ok, girls. We move all tables to the wall at the rear, turn some sideways to build cover.”
Savannah looked around: “Good idea. They closed off the other doors because they lead to the kitchen and other important areas. So, only one way in. Nice.”
I looked under one table and found what I had expected: “One small flaw. The tables are bolted to the floor.”
Malfeasony cursed: “Damn. I forgot. I was just looking for a one-entry room. Without cover, this is a deathtrap.”
Delfi turned around to the door and stopped. She held up a hand to silence us. I understood. Another team was nearing. We heard the voice of the drill-instructor from every intercom speaker: “Time is up. Good hunting!”
We rushed to the sides of the room, out of sight of the entry corridor. Malfeasony and I went right, Delfi and Savanna to the left. We all brought up our paint-guns.
Seconds passed. Then one of the cadets flew through the door, rolling over his shoulder and turned lifting his gun. Two red blotches of paint appeared on his breast and one on his face mask. He cursed, dropped his weapon and sat down.
I looked dumbfounded at my gun. I had pulled the trigger, but it didn’t shoot. My team members continued shooting at the other members of the enemy team that now entered the cafeteria more slowly, guns already in shooting position. Malfeasony fired with one hand and grabbed my gun with the other. His thumb moved a switch, and the gun fired because I still held the trigger. My shot crossed the room and struck the wall an arm's length left of Delfi. She shot back with a murderous glare. I could only shrug my shoulders apologetically. Then I concentrated on firing on the intruders.
Caught in the middle, they went down fast. Not that I had anything to do with that.
When the last of them sat down, I sneaked to the door and listened. The three “killed” cadets looked annoyed, but said nothing. There was no one else in the corridor, but sounds of battle could be heard. They were not far away.
I turned to Malfeasony: “We need to get out of here.” He nodded, and we left. He took the lead, and we somehow managed to evade any other group until we came back to the main corridor. He stopped. We grouped together to hear his quiet voice: “There are at least three groups inside the corridor. And I bet more in any of the side-ways. The corridor has the least cover. Since we are not entrenched and all the other groups will be...”
Delfi nodded and finished his sentence: “... it's the best way.”
Savannah held up her gun: “Storm formation?”
My face probably betrayed that I had no idea what she was talking about. Delfi quickly explained: “Pointy triangle. Point forward. Best shooter at the point.”
“Is that a standard formation?” Three annoyed faces told me it was, so I continued: “Then I take the point position.”
Savanna knocked on my head: “Hello? Something broken in here?”
I ignored her and continued my reasoning: “Everyone thinks the best shooter will be at the point. No one knows I can't hit a spaceship cargo ramp. They'll concentrate their fire on me. If you lose me, that's... not much of a loss.”
Savanna was a bit too fast to comply for my taste, but so it was decided. Since it would be impossible to surprise anyone, we ran as fast as we could while holding formation.
At the next door, three cadets started firing while using the doorway as cover. Just as I expected, the first volley went at me. I threw myself to the floor, covering my head with my gun and my arms, so no valid target got hit.
Malfeasony ran past the door and shot sideways, seemingly without looking in the direction of his targets. Two cadets cursed and sat down.
Delfi and Savanna got the last two while they were distracted by Malfeasony's fire.
The four looked around, saw no other enemies, and exchanged a series of high-fives.
Then our drill-sergeant's voice rang from the speakers: “Stop right there! No one moves or fires!”
Something must have happened. Did anyone get hurt? Had someone managed to damage something vital?
A few minutes later, Sir Screams-a-lot came from the next doorway and stomped directly at us. He seemed pissed off by something. Ignoring me and the other girls, he stopped directly before Malfeasony. “Do you have to tell me something, Nosy?”
Malfeasony shook his head, clearly not knowing what he'd done.
“Really? You have no idea?” He held up his tablet. I stepped closer, and when he didn't chew me out, looked over my team-member's shoulder. The drill-sergeant showed him a video from one of the surveillance cameras.
Malfeasony shrugged, but then pulled himself together, stood straight, and said: “Sir, I don't see anything against the rules, Sir.”
The drill sergeant silently stared him in the eyes. Then he started smiling. I never knew I had hair on my back, but I could now feel any hair on my body stand.
Sir Screams-a-lot didn't scream. Or shout. He did seem to enjoy himself immensely: “Well, you did very good. Too good. There is no way you could have seen your targets. Much less hit them. So, I was intrigued. Could it be I was so lucky as to finally get a worthy student? A prodigy? A natural gun-master? But alas... I checked your file. And got the captain to unlock the restricted part. Guess what I found.”
Malfeasony swallowed and kept a straight face with obvious difficulty: “I have no idea, sir.”
“I found your special dispensation for using a military-grade tactical computer implant. That is, of course, legal, but highly unfair in regard to your fellow cadets.”
That got Malfeasony some dirty looks from all sides.
The drill-sergeant continued: “I had some video conferences with the station's commander. He was not amused, since no one thought about asking his approval or even informing him. He ordered your implant to be shut down for the duration of the selection process. At least your family had the decency to store the access codes in the station’s database, as is required by military protocol.” He tipped at his temple to give a preprogrammed order to the station’s computer.
Malfeasony winced, pressed his eyes closed, and held his head with both hands. After a moment, he took his hands away and blinked, seemingly confused. I hurried to his side. “Everything okay?”
He blinked some more, then straightened. He gave me a forced smile, then turned to the drill sergeant: “Sir, I apologize for not mentioning my implant. I have become so used to it, I rarely think about it other than part of myself. You are of course right; it did give me an unfair edge in some minor specific circumstances, Sir.”
Sir Screams-a-lot seemed a bit disappointed by the calm reaction, but then smiled: “Good reaction. Now, let’s continue with your education. We just need to remove one more team, then we can start with the normal education program. I seem to have used up the allowed number of surprise exercises, so you’ll get two days of formal classroom training in military strategy for boarding actions, then we’ll repeat this exercise again. The first two teams that lose all their members will leave the station.”
He left them with that. I noticed a lot of angry looks coming our way, especially at Malfeasony, from the other cadets. There was no doubt we would get more than our fair share of attacks at the next exercise. We were quite thoroughly screwed.
After the lunch break, we returned to our classroom for a tactical debriefing. There was an unusual amount of whispering among the other cadets, followed by more dirty looks our way. The teams we hit were especially active, but the members of the Deathshooters also seemed to be very talkative.
After class, Malfeasony gestured for me to follow him. We went into one of the study rooms and closed the door. I gave him a mock suspicious look: “Two people in a closed room? Isn’t that against station rules? How am I supposed to defend my virtue and good reputation?”
He ignored the jibe: “I’m screwed.”
“If everyone joins against us in two days, which is what I expect they’ll do, we are all four screwed.”
“Well, yes. That too. But… Look, can you hack into the station's computer to restart my implant without them noticing?”
I stared at him in disbelief. Was he serious? What did he think I was? A hacker genius? I’m an AI programmer for the machine god's sake. "Hacking into a maximum-security military installation? I'm flattered by your faith in my abilities."
“You’ve hacked into the secure station network before!” he pleaded.
“I detected its existence, that’s hardly the same as connecting to it and getting administration level access. Which I would need to do something like you want. Even then, I doubt I could circumvent everything being protocolled.”
Malfeasony sat down on a table and lowered his face in his hands.
“It’s not the end of the world. You’re surely still a decent marksman.”
He hesitated, then looked around: “Can you disable the surveillance in this room?”
“Boy and girl, alone in a closed room. Disabling the surveillance. That won’t look suspicious at all.”
“Can you?”
“No. But I can do something else.” She directed her voice toward the ceiling, even as she knew that wasn’t at all necessary. Or logical. “I, Macro Aranis, Cadet, hereby invoke protocol 23a.”
The stations voice was flat, when it answered immediately from a hidden loudspeaker: “Protocol 23a acknowledged.”
Malfeasony looked around surprised: “We can order around the stations system?”
“Only to a very limited degree. The privacy act of 2045 demands the possibility for private discussion, even aboard military installations. Please keep your distance and especially don’t touch me. That would trigger an alarm and send video footage to the station commander.”
He opened his mouth and I interrupted: “That’s to make sure no one can use it to murder someone else without stations security detecting it. It’s not a measure against… you know…” Now I stumbled to a stop. He didn’t seem to find it funny.
Malfeasony's expression fell, but he persisted, desperation evident in his voice. "Please, Havoc. I can’t study without my implant. Much less hit anything with a gun.”
I looked at him sharply. What was that? He couldn’t study? I could understand if his targeting reflexes were used to implant assistance. He’d need weeks to retrain at least. But why would it impair his ability to study? Did he misspeak?
He saw my confused expression and sighed deeply: “Well, someone has to know. Because I need help. I can’t do this alone.”
“Do what?”
“Study. Without my implant, I can’t follow the lessons.” He didn’t meet my eyes.
I still didn’t understand: “But why? Having trouble getting used to unassisted fighting, I can understand. But what problem should it be during lessons? Did you use an quasi AI assistant to project answers into your vision field?”
“No. I could have, but I learned everything the hard way. Wouldn’t be much good in a fight to read up during a firefight or emergency situation. I can’t… read.”
“What? You’re joking.”
“I’m dyslectic. The really bad version of Dyslexia. I can’t read. Even worse, it’s an inheritable genetic disorder. Untreatable, at least since the genetic purity act. If I’m found out, I’ll be sentenced unfit for military training. If this gets out, I can forget a military or political career. Heck, probably any kind of career. I’ll also be banned from ever having children.”
I looked at him dumbfounded. How on earth could he hide something this huge? Even with a father rich enough to buy a small country. The implant must have been connected to his ears instead of his eyes. Using text to speech features, it probably read aloud everything he laid his eyes on. That must have been tiring to hide.
"I had no idea," I finally managed to say, my voice filled with disbelief. "But that’s been the point, hasn’t it. Of course I’ll help you. I just can’t to it by reactivating your implant. We’ll have to manage until it can officially be reactivated.
He offered a small, grateful smile. "Thanks, Havoc. But I still need your help. I can't do this alone."
I nodded, determination filling me. "You won't have to. We'll figure this out together."
For the next two hours, we worked tirelessly, coming up with a plan to help Malfeasony keep up with his studies despite his dyslexia. We found audio recordings of the lessons, transcribed notes, and planed ways to distract the teachers, should they come to close to getting suspicious.
As we worked, I couldn't help but admire Malfeasony's resilience and determination. Despite facing seemingly insurmountable obstacles, he refused to give up.
And as we made our way back to our dormitory that evening, I knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, we would face them together.