Patriotic Treason
 
Why doth treason never prosper?
Because if it prosper, none dare call it treason.

Part I: Ensign
Prologue

From: An Unbiased History of the United Nations.  Williamson, Mike.  Baen Historical Press, Heinlein, 2555.

We have seen in the preceding chapters how the factors of improved access to space, growing ethnic and international conflict and endless Wrecker attacks led to the exodus of human industry to the solar system, where safety could be guaranteed.  The construction of the first orbital towers, the development of fusion power and – not coincidentally – ever-harsher regulations on Earth ensured that the space-based communities would lose most of their loyalty to Earth.  The development of the Jump Drive by Professor Kratman in 2156 merely cemented that trend.

The first viable extra-solar colony world was discovered in 2157 and settled under the auspices of the UN.  The land was shared out among interested groups who could afford space on the first colony ships – and the vast bribes paid to various UN bureaucrats – and those who were victims of ‘historical oppression.’  The result, for reasons that will be examined later, was a catastrophe of the first order.  The next seventeen worlds to be settled by the human race were established by various nation-states – America, Britain, China, France, Russia and many others – and immigration quotas were firmly centred on those who could fit in.  Although this policy was regarded – not entirely without reason – as racist, the UN was unable to counter it, as national armed forces were still a significant power.  Other worlds, including Heinlein, Balboa and Williamson’s World, were settled according to a political ideal, or by corporate interests.  By 2200, there were nearly one hundred and eighty worlds settled by the human race, with an ever-growing sphere of exploration and secret settlement.

The unintended consequence of this development was that it allowed the UN to consolidate its power on Earth and, later, throughout the solar system.  There had always been a trend towards transnational institutions and this only accelerated as nationalists or parrots emigrated from their countries to newer pastures.  As the UN tightened its grip, the United Nations Peace Force became the dominant military power of the world and national armed forces were either disarmed or encouraged to depart to the outer worlds. The growing social collapse over much of Earth – and resentment among the so-called Third World for years of semi-imaginary offences committed by the richer nations – only encouraged further emigration.  In short, the UN’s bid for global power had succeeded itself to death.  It had inherited a still-breathing corpse.

This was not immediately appreciated by the UN General Assembly, or the bureaucrats, who were by that time the real rulers of the planet.  It became staggeringly clear when attempts to settle newer worlds based on past historical grievances tended to fail spectacularly.  Worse, Earth’s production system was falling apart – by now, the planet was completely dependent on imported goods from the solar system – and the planet’s population was eating itself to death.  The UN had either driven away or killed the men and women who could have solved the problems, and compounded their crimes by making it impossible for new ones to appear.

It was a problem that required a firm grasp of reality and ruthless measures to survive, all of which were politically impossible.  Instead, the UN looked for another answer.  It had always claimed jurisdiction over the extra-solar planets, the bureaucrats reasoned, and surely it was right for them to aid Earth in her hour of greatest need.  The one element of the UN that had continued to work fairly well, insofar as anything worked fairly well, was the military arm, which had been confronted with endless rebellions on Earth against UN authority.  The Generals drew up a plan, dispatched the fleet, and sat back, fully expecting victory and loot for Earth’s starved economy.

The plan didn’t go exactly as they had predicted.

In fact, it went spectacularly wrong.

The outer worlds didn’t recognise the authority of the UN.  Many of their parents and grandparents had fled the UN’s growing control over their lives.  They had built their new worlds for themselves, not for the UN to loot.  The resistance started almost at once and, while the UNPF was extremely powerful, rapidly became impossible to suppress quickly.  The UN found itself caught up in an insurrection on a galactic scale.  Victory was as distant as ever.

It was into this world that John Walker was born.

Chapter One

The principle requirement for an officer serving in the UNPF is political reliability; i.e. he or she is fully aware of and dedicated to the UN’s official purpose.  The courses at the Peace Academy (Space Studies) are therefore largely dedicated to political indoctrination sessions, often at the expense of competency.  UNPF cadets and trainees, therefore, are often brutally unprepared for the hazards of space service.  At least a fifth of newly-minted Ensigns die within the first year of their active service.
-Thomas Anderson.  An Unbiased Look at the UNPF.  Baen Historical Press, 2500.

“Look at her,” Ensign Roger Williamson said.  “Isn’t she magnificent?”

I couldn’t help, but agree.  Even docked at Orbit Seven, the largest UNPF space station orbiting Luna, UNS Jacques Delors was an impressive sight.  Two hundred meters long, shaped rather like a child’s dream starship, it was painted the bright white and blue colours of the United Nations Peace Force.  It bristled with weapons and sensor modules and gave the impression, somehow, of being new.  We knew, of course, that it was over ten years old, but it didn’t look it.  I stared, trying to drink in all the details of my new posting, the first since I – we – had graduated the Peace Academy.

“She is,” I breathed, awed.  The starship just took my breath away.  I glanced down at my watch-terminal and allowed myself a moment of relief.  We were only seven minutes late, hardly worth worrying about.  We could stay and stare at the starship for several more minutes before we walked down the docking tube and boarded her formally.  “The images didn’t do her justice.”

“You never said a truer, John,” Roger said.  “Muna, what do you think?”

“I think I’m glad to have made it through the Academy,” Muna said, flatly.  Ensign Muna Mohammad, for reasons I never fully understood, had almost failed the Academy and been sent home in disgrace.  “I also think that we should hurry up and board her.”

Roger snorted.  “There’s no need to rush,” he assured her.  “The Captain won’t leave us behind, I’m sure.”

Ensign Rolf Lommerde coughed.  “For those of us who do not have highly-placed relations,” he said, “it is rather less easy to be sure of our own safety.”

“I know,” Roger said, seriously.  He was an alright type really, despite his family’s connections in the vast UN bureaucracy that ran the United Nations.  He’d certainly never traded on them to get better treatment from our instructors back at the Academy.  “Sally?  Ellen?  Should we go…?”

“Yeah,” Ellen said.  She picked up her carryall with a sigh.  “We want to make a good impression, don’t we?”

Roger led the way down to the docking tube, which was guarded by a pair of armed and armoured Marines.  I studied them with interest as Roger explained who we were; their armour, I had been assured, could stand off either bullets or laser beams.  They both looked tough and scarred from the wars; indeed, it took me several minutes to realise that one of them was actually female.  I wouldn’t have dared try to chat her up in a bar, had I known that she was a Marine.  The Marines had a reputation for being utterly unforgiving in a fight.

“You may pass,” one of the Marines said, finally.  He seemed to exchange a glance with his comrade.  When he spoke, it was in a grave voice that somehow seemed to hold a vast amount of amusement.  “I hope you enjoy your time on the ship.”

I didn’t understand why, but I could have sworn I felt a chill run down my neck as he spoke.  Roger ignored it, if he noticed it, and led us down the long docking tube towards the starship’s main airlock.  I felt myself tensing again and not just because of the fact we were about to set foot on a starship for the first time.  The docking tubes were supposed to be perfectly safe, but I had heard whispers of accidents that had left unprotected victims dumped into space, killed almost instantly before they could save themselves.  The course on surviving in a vacuum at the Academy had been almost painfully blunt.

“This assumes that you will be near a set of emergency supplies,” Instructor Patel had informed us, glaring around the class with his single eye.  No one knew how he’d lost the other one.  “If not, you’re dead.  Bend over and kiss your ass goodbye.”

We hadn’t taken the time to study the diagrams of the starship that had been included with our orders, but we weren’t surprised when the docking tube opened into a small reception area, with a single UN flag at the rear of the chamber.  I barely noticed it.  All of my attention was taken, at once, by the woman waiting for us at the end of the docking tube.  I took one look at her and knew, exactly, what the Marines had found so funny.  They’d known that the dragon was waiting for us.

“And what time,” she demanded, “do you call this?”

She looked tough.  She might have been attractive when she had been younger, but years of living and working in space had evidently taken a toll.  I met her blue eyes for a long moment and then found myself looking away.  I couldn’t bear to look at her.  She was looking at us as if we were something she’d scraped off her shoes, or perhaps a mess a dog had left on her clean floors...and no one had ever looked at us like that before.  I felt about a centimetre tall, perhaps smaller.  I hadn’t felt so small since my grandfather had caught me with a girl I’d known when I’d been fourteen.

“Ah…1309,” Roger stammered.  He was clearly as caught out as I was.  “We were ordered to report onboard and…”

“You were ordered to report onboard at 1300,” the woman said.  Her voice suddenly became a commanding bark.  “Stand to attention, now!”

We jumped and tried hastily to form a line, standing to attention.  It took us nearly a minute to get into position.  We hadn’t practiced it since the first week at the Academy, two years ago.  I cursed our mistake under my breath, not daring to speak aloud; we should have practiced more.  Standing to attention means standing absolutely still and I was suddenly very shaky on my feet.

“That is pathetic,” the woman said.  She glared at Ellen, who was the first in line.  “That’s a dress uniform, isn’t it?”  Ellen nodded, too terrified to speak.  “Answer me when I ask you a direct question, Ensign!”

“Yes…ah, Lieutenant,” Ellen said.  “It’s a dress uniform with…”

“A simple yes is sufficient,” the Lieutenant thundered.  “Why are you not wearing a jacket?  Why do you have a stain on your shirt?”

Ellen gulped twice.  “Because I didn’t wash the shirt, Lieutenant,” she explained, looking as if she was staring into the face of Medusa herself.  “I didn’t have the time…”

“You should have made the time,” the Lieutenant informed her.  She looked Ellen up and down, and then dismissed her with one flick of her eyebrows.  “One demerit for untidiness while wearing a dress uniform.  A second demerit for not taking care of your issued uniform.”

She paused and glared at us.  “The dress uniform is a sacred uniform,” she informed us.  We’d been told that at the Academy, but it somehow hadn’t sunk in.  “You wear the dress uniform, you represent the honour of the Peace Force itself.  You” – she pointed a long finger at Roger – “what is that?”

“My coming-of-age badge,” Roger said.  It was a silver talisman that had been presented to him on his sixteenth birthday, just before he had joined the Academy as a cadet.  “It’s from my…”

“Get rid of it,” the Lieutenant snapped.  She eyed him up and down icily.  “The dress uniform is worn according to regulations and there are no additions, understand?”

“Yes, Lieutenant,” Roger said.  He looked pale, but at least he managed to keep his voice steady.  “I understand.”

“You,” the Lieutenant said, pointing to Muna.  “What is that?”

“My headscarf,” Muna said, somehow standing her ground.  Like most people from a very religious background, Muna had permission to wear a symbol of her religion, even if she didn’t want to wear it.  It was blue and went surprisingly well with the dress uniform, but the Lieutenant wasn't impressed.

“You put someone else in danger wearing that thing, you get put in front of the Captain’s desk,” she thundered.  I was starting to think that thundering was all that she did.  “I…suggest that you wear it only as part of your dress uniform, understand?”

Her gaze locked onto me.  I’d felt less threatened back when I’d been trying to escape the neighbourhood gangs and bullies back home.  “Your shirt isn’t tucked into your trousers,” she informed me, her eyes never leaving mine.  “Your hair is also longer than regulation length.  Have it cut on your next off-duty period, understand?”

“Yes, Lieutenant,” I said.  I wouldn’t have dared object.  The Academy hadn’t cared about hair length or many other things, but it was clear that things were slightly different here.  This was a real starship, when all was said and done.  “I understand.”

“Excellent,” the Lieutenant said, sardonically, when she had finished.    All of us had earned at least two demerits.  “I see that we have a right set of geniuses here.  Every year, without fail, the quality of Academy graduates grows worse and worse.  Every year, I find myself having to teach young men and women who are unworthy of Cadet Rank how to survive on a starship.”  Her gaze moved from face to face.  “The worst that can happen to you at the Academy is being expelled for gross misconduct.  The worst that can happen to you here is that you get your silly ass killed, understand?  If you’re really unlucky, you’ll take the rest of us with you.”

She stood back and smiled thinly.  “Attention to detail is the first thing they should have taught you at the Academy,” she added.  “You may find all of these little rituals silly and wasteful, but they help to keep your lives safe.  If you have a problem with any of them, you may leave the ship now.  Are there any takers?”

There weren’t.  None of us were stupid enough to take her up on her offer.  We had all joined the UNPF to explore the galaxy, not to spend the rest of our lives flying desks on Luna Base, or Mars, or one of the other UNPF bases scattered around the ever-expanding human sphere.  Even if the Lieutenant was a Medusa and the Captain was the Devil himself, we would have stayed on the ship.  Nothing would have induced us to leave.

“Good,” the Lieutenant said, finally.  “Perhaps we can make something of you yet.”  She pointed one long finger towards the UN flag.  “I believe that you have forgotten something…?”

As one, we turned and saluted the flag.  “Good,” she said, again.  “At ease.”

We relaxed, just slightly.  None of us dared slouch.  “My name is Lieutenant Deborah Hatchet, First Lieutenant Deborah Hatchet,” she said.  The name fitted her perfectly, I decided.  As the First Lieutenant, she was effectively the second-in-command of the starship.  “You will address me as Lieutenant, nothing else.  I am, for my sins, the officer charged with breaking you down and rebuilding you into useful and productive crewmembers.  Work with me, listen and learn from me, and you will go far in the Peace Force.  Don’t listen to me and you will probably end up being discharged at the end of your first five-year term, assuming I let you live.”

I winced.  It might have been a joke, but I wouldn’t have placed money on it.  “You are the lowest of the low on this ship,” she continued.  “You may believe that as Ensigns, Commissioned Officers, you have the right to issue commands to crewmen and others not in the chain of command.  You will earn that right in time, but for now, listen carefully and learn.  The Academy did not prepare you for life on a starship.  When you understand just how unprepared you are, you will also understand why.”

She stepped back.  “If you have problems, you bring them to me.  If you have questions or issues, don’t hesitate to ask.  I will be far more annoyed with you if you don’t understand something and you don’t ask than if you do ask, understand?”

“Yes, Lieutenant,” we chorused.  My feelings were confused now and I suspected that the others were in the same boat.  I think I understood the subtext, but the Academy had told us that we were mature adults…and officers.  The Lieutenant was telling us something different.

The Lieutenant smiled.  “You don’t, yet,” she said.  “Now, stand to attention.”

On cue, the hatch hissed open and a man wearing a Crewman’s uniform stepped through.  “Captain on the deck,” he announced.  His voice wasn't loud, but it carried.  I heard him easily and forced myself to straighten even further.  The Lieutenant, I realised suddenly, had also stood to attention.

The Captain stepped through the hatch and studied us appraisingly.  He reminded me a little of my grandfather, I realised, but he was definitely younger and fitter.  He was scarred, like the Lieutenant, by experience, but he held himself firm and showed no sign of weakness.  His dark hair was tinged with flickers of white, but his face showed no hint of doubt that he was in charge.  I was impressed right from the start.  He had command presence, all right.  I had wondered who could command the Lieutenant, but now I knew.  The Crewman, standing slightly behind the Captain, seemed to fade out in my mind.  The Captain absorbed all of my attention.

He wore a simple white dress uniform – commanding officers were the only ones allowed to wear white uniforms – with gold braid and a line of service pins marking time spent in the UNPF.  I counted them mentally and was astonished to realise that the Captain had spent nearly fifty years in the service.  He must have taken a formidable doze of anti-aging drugs, despite the cost, and I felt a flicker of anger.  If the drugs hadn’t been reserved for ‘socially useful’ people, my grandfather might have remained alive longer, long enough to see me don the uniform myself.

“At ease,” he said, finally.  His voice was calm and very composed.  I had the impression that he never lost his temper, or even raised his voice.  “I am Captain Harriman.  Welcome onboard my ship.  The UNS Jacques Delors has a long and proud history and I expect each and every one of you to comport yourselves in a manner befitting that history.  I also expect you to give the ship and crew one hundred percent of your time and attention.  You volunteered for the UNPF and it has invested considerable resources in each of you.  You will spend the first years of your career repaying it for your training, as…worthless as much of it was.”

He looked around the compartment and I lowered my eyes.  I couldn’t face his gaze.  “We are under orders to cruise out to Terra Nova and then to Albion as part of a general anti-piracy patrol,” the Captain continued.  “We will be beginning an extensive period of training for you as soon as we have departed Orbit Seven and entered Jump Space.  By the time we reach Terra Nova, I want all of you to be confirmed qualified to operate any of the consoles on the bridge.  Those of you who had problems at the Academy will be given remedial training.  You will qualify.”

I had no doubt of it.  Somehow, the thought of disappointing the Captain was more than I could bear.  “The Lieutenant and the Senior Crew Chief will see to your immediate training,” the Captain concluded.  “I expect, however, to see you all on the bridge for departure.”

He nodded to the Senior Crew Chief, turned, and walked back through the hatch, which hissed shut behind him.  “Stand at ease,” the Lieutenant barked.  We relaxed, somehow.  None of us quite dared to breathe.  “This is Senior Crew Chief Markus Wilhelm, the senior Crewman onboard this vessel.  He will show you to your quarters.”

Her gaze swept over us again.  “Tell me something,” she said.  One finger pointed at Ellen.  “How many demerits have you all earned today?”

“Fourteen,” she said, rapidly adding them up in her head.  “That’s…ah…”

“No need to break them down,” the Lieutenant said, dryly.  “How did you work them off at the Academy?”

“Exercise, Lieutenant,” Ellen said.  I nodded.  In theory, twenty demerits meant a more severe punishment, but I had never heard of one actually being carried out.  There had even been Cadets with far more demerits who had never worked them all off.  Somehow, I was sure that it was going to be different here.  “We had to work out for at least an hour in the gym under supervision.”

“Very good,” the Lieutenant said.  Ellen blushed slightly.  “You will discover that things are different here.  A demerit is worked off by hard and embarrassing duties, including cleaning the ship’s toilets with a toothbrush, and you will do it.  If you earn more than five without working them off, you will be disciplined firmly.  The golden rule on this ship is simple.  Don’t fuck about, understand?”

She didn’t wait for our answers.  “Markus, show them to their quarters,” she ordered.  Her voice darkened slightly.  “I believe that the Political Officer will want to speak to them later and we don’t wish to disappoint him, do we?”

“No, Lieutenant,” the Senior Chief Crewman said.  He smiled at us and I found myself liking him instinctively.  He had a very trustworthy face, although I wasn’t blind to the muscles showing under his uniform.  “Follow me.”

Chapter Two

The reasoning behind the demand for political reliability is simple.  The UN relies on its officers and men carrying out orders without question, as questioning officers might question the very value of the UN itself, or the nature of the war they are forced to fight on the UN’s behalf.  Therefore, every care is taken to ensure that not only are the officers and men exposed to UN propaganda regularly, but that they are also watched carefully for subversive leanings.  This is the task of the Political Officers.
-Thomas Anderson.  An Unbiased Look at the UNPF.  Baen Historical Press, 2500.

“My God,” Roger said, after we’d been shown into our quarters and informed that we would be expected on the bridge at 1400.  “These quarters are small!”

I laughed dryly.  “Are you going to go and complain?”

“Not really,” Roger said.  His demerits would take him time and effort to work off.  We’d been given so many between us that the toilets were probably going to be permanently spotless until we reached Terra Nova.  “Maybe Sally should do it.  She only got two demerits.”

“Fuck you,” Sally said, annoyed.  “We’ve got twenty-one minutes until we’re expected on the bridge.  Choose your bunks now, please.”

I looked around.  There were eight bunks and only seven Ensigns.  We might get someone else assigned to the ship, but I rather doubted it.  We’d been ordered to report as a group and no one else had turned up.  The cabin was barely large enough for us all to share and as for privacy…forget it.  There were only two showers, a handful of drawers for our private possessions, and a small terminal.  I tapped it absently and it lit up with a diagram of the ship.

“I’ll take this one,” Roger said, picking a high bunk.  I shrugged and picked the one next to him.  I didn’t really care if I got the higher or lower bunks, but it was the principle of the thing.  “Who’s going to be First Ensign?”

We looked at each other.  Traditionally, the First Ensign – or the First Lieutenant – was the officer who had held that rank the longest.  Lieutenant Hatchet’s service pins had suggested that she’d been a Lieutenant for at least seven years, surprisingly long.  She should have been promoted to Captain or rotated out of the zone years ago.  We, on the other hand, had received our commissions together and we had all served an equal amount of time.  It might have been barely two days, but even so, we were matched.  There was no obvious First Ensign.

“Sally probably has the best claim,” Muna said, from her bunk.  She was already stripping down to put on her standard uniform.  I carefully didn’t look at her.  “She’s the only one who didn’t earn so many demerits.”

“Yeah, but that’s not tradition,” Roger said.  I rolled my eyes.  It was evident that Roger was angling for the post himself, and equally evident that Muna and Sally were against it.  I didn’t know why.  As far as I knew, we all got on fairly well, even though we came from very different backgrounds.  “Tradition says…”

“Tradition says that we need someone who has served longer than the others,” Sally pointed out.  “Remind me; which of us has a fair claim to serving longer than the others?”

“No one,” I said.  “Why don’t we just pull straws for it?”

“John, that’s not going to work,” Roger said.  “We might as well play cards for it.”

“Not bloody likely,” Rolf said, from his bunk.  “I’ve seen you pulling an ace from your sleeve before.”

“Enough,” I said, tightly.  “None of us has a real claim to the position.  If we cannot elect someone, then we need to go to the First Lieutenant and ask her to rule on the subject.  Does anyone have more than two votes?”

There was a brief argument, which concluded with Sally and Roger having two votes each, me having another two, and Muna having the last one on her own.  “I nominate Sally for the moment,” I said.  “I dare say that we’ll have a clear First Ensign soon enough with the Lieutenant, right?”

“True,” Roger agreed.  One of the more significant punishments was retroactive beaching for a short period of time, effectively wiping out someone’s service record.  A man who had served for ten years might end up having legally served only eight – and therefore was no longer senior to nine-year officers.  I had no doubt that the Lieutenant would be quite happy to use the punishment if she felt we deserved it.  If she carried on, we’d end up being legally children, or unborn babies.  “Shall we get dressed?”

I nodded, stripped myself, and pulled on my standard uniform.  Unlike the dress uniform, it could be dirtied without incurring any penalties, although I doubted that the First Lieutenant would allow us to pass without at least a sharp reprimand.  I checked myself in the mirror and was relieved to see that I looked reasonably neat and tidy.  Roger made a great show of removing his talisman; Muna removed her headscarf without saying a word.  Her dark eyes were unreadable.  I opened my carryall and transferred the remaining clothing and equipment into the drawer.  It was unlocked, but by long convention no one apart from the Captain could demand it opened.  I trusted my fellow Ensigns.  Besides, there was nothing valuable in my drawer.

“Remember to keep the room tidy,” Sally said, calmly.  As First Ensign pro tem, she was responsible for ensuring that we took care of our quarters and drawing up the cleaning rota.  It would be one of her tasks in the immediate future.  “Ellen, put that bra away.  We don’t want to see it.”

“We do,” Roger said, innocently.  Sally fixed him with a look that would have made a rampaging tiger back down.  “Sorry.”

“So you should be,” Sally said.  The laws against sexual discrimination prohibited any awareness of differences between male and female cadets.  I had often though that that particular regulation was stupid – I couldn’t help being aware of their femininity – but parts of it made sense.  Sexual relationships between cadets and ensigns were forbidden.  “Now, shall we go?”

We made one final check of our appearance and allowed her to lead us from our cabin up towards the bridge.  It was my first time on a real starship and I gazed around me with interest, drinking in the sights with open wonder.  The noise of the starship’s engines as they built up the immense power reserves needed to trigger the Jump Drive seemed to be singing in my ears.  It was something out of my dreams.  We passed a handful of crewmen who looked at us oddly, perhaps envying us our smart uniforms and career prospects, before we stepped onto the bridge.  The First Lieutenant inspected us carefully – no demerits this time, thank goodness – before presenting us to the Captain.

The bridge itself was something of a disappointment.  I had expected something out of the latest movie, showing a glistening place of magical technology.  Instead, there were a handful of consoles and a single chair in the centre of the room.  I felt my gaze linger on the chair, and the man seated in it, for a long moment.  The Captain’s chair was only for the Captain.  It was a serious offence for anyone else to sit in it.

“Captain,” an officer I didn’t recognise said, “we have received clearance to depart from Orbit Seven.”

“Finally,” the Captain said.  He didn’t sound happy, but UNPF regulations were firm on the subject of disengaging from orbital stations.  “Ensign Walker, would you care to take the conn?”

Me?  I thought.  It took me a moment to realise that I was even being addressed, or that the Captain knew my name.  “Yes, sir,” I said, trying desperately to remember the procedure from the Academy.  I had never docked anything larger than a Flitter or Bug in real life.  I’d done well on simulations, but…I swallowed my nervousness and leaned forward.  “Pilot, confirm that we have disengaged from the locks.”

“Not confirmed,” the pilot said calmly, although there was an undertone of nervousness in his voice.  He knew just how badly I could fuck this up, all right.  “We are still locked to the station.”

I cursed my mistake silently.  “Confirm that the docking tube has been evacuated and depressurised,” I ordered.  I could hear my heartbeat thundering away in my ears.  I was sure that everyone could hear it, right across the bridge.  “Disengage from locks and order the station to retract the tube.”

The display altered slightly.  “Tube retracted, sir,” the pilot said.  The starship was now flying free.  “The station confirms that we are cleared to depart.”

“Bring up the drive field and manoeuvre us away from the station,” I ordered, searching my memory desperately.  “Clear two hundred thousand kilometres from the station, and then prepare to bring up the Jump Drive.”

“Aye, sir,” the pilot said.  I could feel a faint thrumming though the deck as the starship slowly moved away from the station.  The drive field was pushing us towards the jump coordinate.  “Target star?”

“Terra Nova,” I said, firmly.  The Captain had said that we were going there first.  I also expected that he would countermand me if we were going elsewhere.  “Select jump coordinates as appropriate.”

“Very good,” the Captain said, warmly.  I flushed.  “Still…how many waypoints do you think we will need?”

I hesitated and finally took refuge in the regulations.  “UNPF regulations state that starships must have at least four waypoints between Earth and the destination star,” I answered, carefully.  “Five, sir?”

“Four will be sufficient,” the Captain said.  He keyed his console.  “Engineering, this is the Captain.  Clear the Jump Drive for activation in…”

He looked up at me.  “Fifty seconds,” I said, automatically.  I’d been watching the display as we moved further away from Orbit Seven.

“Fifty seconds,” the Captain confirmed.  He had to be aware of the sweat trickling down my back.  “You have the conn, Ensign.”

“Yes, sir,” I gulped.  I wanted to flee the bridge and hide.  “Pilot, bring up the Jump Drive and engage in…three…two…one…now!”

The screens went black as the drive triggered and we vanished inside the artificial wormhole.  “Secure from departure stations,” I ordered, automatically.  “Estimated time of arrival at first waypoint; seven days.”

“Acceptable,” the Captain said, calmly.  I flushed again.  “You were given the conn, Ensign.  Not issuing the orders would have been unacceptable.  I relieve you.”

“I stand relieved,” I said, formally.  The Captain nodded to the First Lieutenant.  “Lieutenant Hatchet will take you to meet with the Political Officer now.”

“Yes, sir,” Lieutenant Hatchet said.  “Follow me.”

“You did reasonably well,” she said, as soon as we were outside the bridge and walking down the corridor.  We paused to allow a pair of crewmen to walk past carrying a large box of spares between them.  “You could have been sent to the Captain’s Mast for forgetting to depressurise the tube, or forgetting to clear enough space between us and the station before opening the wormhole, but on the whole…good work.”

She smiled at me.  It completely transformed her face.  “Thank you, Lieutenant,” I stammered.  I hadn’t realised how much I’d forgotten after the brief course at the Academy.  “May I ask a question?”

“Of course,” she said.  “I may decline to answer.”

“Why did the Captain talk to Engineering instead of me?”  I asked.  “I don’t mind, but…”

She laughed.  “The Engineer would not have started the power-up sequence for anyone less than the lawful Captain,” she explained.  “You’ll see more of it when we start you on the drills later this afternoon, but for the moment, only the Captain has the clearance to issue certain orders.  You’ll hear more about those later.”

We stopped outside a large hatch.  “This is the Political Officer’s quarters,” she said.  I felt my insides clench before she issued her warning.  “Behave yourselves.”

The hatch slid open, revealing a cabin that was much larger and more luxurious than our shared cabin, or perhaps even the Captain’s cabin.  I looked inside and my first thought was wondering just what the Political Officer did with all the space.  It was decorated in a fashion that surprised and disgusted me, with a handful of nude images on the bulkheads and a drinks cabinet placed in a prominent position.  The Political Officer himself was seated behind a desk that looked rather out of place on the starship, but as we entered he came to his feet and smiled at us.  I found myself distrusting the man on sight.

“Enter, enter,” he said, waving us to a comfortable sofa that had seen better days.  It looked large enough to hold more than seven Ensigns without difficultly.  “No need to stand to attention here, my dears; we’re all friends here.  Take a seat, please.  Would you like something to drink?”

I shook my head.  None of us, even Roger, had the self-confidence to ask for a drink.  The Political Officer looked far too well-fed, and polished, to be trusted.  He was overweight and surprisingly unkempt, wearing civilian clothes on a very military starship.  The string of medals he wore on his jacket clashed oddly with the civilian outfit.  I didn’t know what half of the medals were, but I doubted that he had any right to wear them.

“Welcome onboard the UNS Jacques Delors,” he said.  His voice was light and effeminate.  “I would have greeted you at the hatch, but the Captain insisted on me seeing you after we’d entered the wormhole and shipped out for Terra Nova.  I hope that you weren’t too disappointed to miss me there?  The Political Officer is quite an important figure on the starship, my dears, even if I am not in the chain of command.  You can talk to me about anything, anything at all.”

He took a chair himself and leaned back in it absently.  I wasn't sure what to make of the performance – and yes, I was sure that it was a performance – but I saw no reason to change my first impression.  He seemed to be trying to be friendly, yet disconcerting, and I had the feeling that telling him anything would be a really bad idea.  The Political Officers at the Academy had been boring people with stuffed shirts, testing us endlessly on our political opinions, but this one was different.

“No?”  He asked.  “Well, we’ll get down to business.  I am Jason Montgomerie, Political Officer to this ship.  My task is to ensure that you understand the political implications of the work the Peace Force does and assist you to remove any doubts or hesitations you might have.  You have to understand the rational behind your work to give your lives meaning, you see, and you have to understand that it is all worthwhile.

“The UN was founded originally to bring peace and tranquillity to the Earth, which was suffering under the endless curse of war spread by rogue nations and societies,” he continued.  I’d heard this all before, but I knew better than to be lulled into complacency.  “It took years to move from being little more than a talking shop to develop the framework of international law – later interplanetary law – that governs the human race today.  The Rules of War, the Code of Behaviour and the various protocols governing interplanetary trade all grew out of those early works.  The UN was resisted mightily by nationalists who wanted to reserve the right to butcher thousands with crude weapons and threaten the very future of the human race, but slowly it grew into a mighty edifice.

“And yet, enemies of the UN continued to threaten its existence, to make profits for themselves at the expense of the remainder of the human race,” he said, his voice rising.  He believed what he was saying.  “The asteroid miners insisted on selling their ore at prices the market would bear, not what the poor could afford to pay, despite the attempts by progressive forces to intervene.  The development of the Jump Drive only made those problems worse.  The Enemies of Progress took resources that should belong to the entire human race and used them to found new colonies, teaching their children that the UN was evil and its dream of a united humanity nothing, but an attempt to suppress them.  Would you believe that many of them banned Free Speech regarding the UN?”

I felt myself shivering slightly and hoped that he couldn’t sense it.  I’d seen the UN’s idea of Free Speech before, back when I’d been at school.  A young teenage boy - a wiseass, true, but very smart with it – had questioned the UN’s policy on race and racism.  His speech had been moving and quite effective, but the day afterwards…he hadn’t shown up at school.  If the teachers had known what had happened to him, they never told their pupils…and we all drew the lesson.  Free Speech was dangerous to the health.  I’d been told that restrictions existed to prevent the spread of racial hatred and bad ideas, but…he’d just been a boy!

“Our task,” Jason Montgomerie continued, lumping himself in with us, “is to prevent the Enemies of Progress from preventing the unification of the human race.  We can and will do anything that is required to prevent them from deserting the human race in its hour of greatest need.  You will learn, as we go on, that they have sacrificed their rights because of their insistence on placing themselves in front of the rest of humanity…”

He went on for hours.  By the time he had finished, we were all headachy and confused.  Lieutenant Hatchet, surprisingly, allowed us to go back to our cabin and sleep, instead of taking us to start drilling.  We all needed our rest.

The day afterwards, we began drilling in earnest.

Chapter Three

The UN would prefer to deny it, but there are far more complicated issues regarding pirates and piracy than it allows its people to recognise.  The pirates that appeared in the wake of the UN’s first attempt to assert its authority over the outer worlds were driven by a mixture of motivations, ranging from revenge to greed and the desire to set up new independent colonies.  Despite the UN’s claims, there are hundreds of pirates known to be at large…and, owing to the difficulties of intercepting them, they may be at large for years to come.
-Thomas Anderson.  An Unbiased Look at the UNPF.  Baen Historical Press, 2500.

“Ensign,” the Captain said, “prepare to take us out of the wormhole.”

I found myself tensing, again.  I had practiced the manoeuvre endlessly in the simulators, under far worse conditions, but this was real.  The memory of some of the more spectacular failures, where a single moment of inattention had cost me the simulated ship, lingered in my mind.  I couldn’t help, but be aware that the Captain probably remembered them too.  I had earned those demerits the hard way.

“Yes, sir,” I said, running my hand over the console.  In theory, there’s no point in manning the bridge while the starship is in the wormhole, but the Captain insisted on having all stations manned at all times.  We’d learned quickly that there was no such thing as enough practice and simulations.  The First Lieutenant had drummed it into our heads often enough.  “I have the Jump Drive online and ready to open the terminus.”

I didn’t understand the theory behind the Jump Drive – few people did, according to Lieutenant Hatchet – but we had practised enough so that I understood the practicalities of the wormhole it generated.  It formed a link between our departure point and arrival point, but it also created a whole separate universe, containing nothing, but the starship.  We had to open the wormhole terminus at the far end to escape.  No one was quite sure what would happen if we didn’t, but no one felt that it was worth the risk of trying to find out.

“Excellent,” the Captain said, leaning back in his chair.  I wasn’t fooled.  I had respected the Captain from the start and the month since we had joined his crew hadn’t altered that opinion.  He was watching me like a hawk.  “Confirm arrival point.”

I winced inwardly.  This was the tricky part.  “Arrival point…confirmed,” I said, carefully.  The Jump Drive was many things, but accurate it was not.  “Terminus point confirmed as preset destination to within seven million kilometres.”

“Let’s see, shall we?”  The Captain said.  “Helm, take us out of Jump Drive.”

My display altered slightly as the wormhole terminus blossomed open in front of us, revealing stars for the first time in a week.  The Captain’s course had given us four chances to practice egress from the wormhole, but this was the first time we had opened a wormhole in an inhabited star system.  The UN safety regulations insisted that all wormholes had to be preset to locations within range of explored stars, but the stars we had used as waypoints were uninhabited.  If something had gone wrong, we would have been stranded light years from any possible rescue.

“Sensors, confirm clear space,” the Captain ordered.  The odds were astronomically against us coming out near another starship, or a planet, but he wanted to be sure.  “Communications, transmit our IFF to System Command and inform them that we require a local space information download.”

“All sensors read clear, sir,” Muna said, from her position.  “No contacts within active sensor range.”

The Captain keyed his armrest console.  “All stations, stand down from emergence alert,” he ordered, calmly.  There was no need, in theory, to go to emergence alert either, but the Captain ran a tight ship.  The last week had included hundreds of drills, ranging from standard hull breach drills to counter-boarding drills.  “Communications?”

“Signal sent, sir,” Roger said.  We were several light minutes from the planet, so there wouldn’t be a reply quickly unless there was a starship or sublight spacecraft closer to our position.  “No response as yet.”

“I thought not,” the Captain said, dryly.  Roger flushed, slightly.  The Captain didn’t shout, or lose his temper, but his tone spoke volumes.  Roger had pointed out something that Captain had known for longer than Roger been alive.  “Engineering?”

“Jump Drive powering down now,” Engineer Ivan Druzhkov said, his faint Russian accent echoing through the communications link.  He was a gloomy fellow most of the time, except when he was working with his beloved engines.  He also had a surprisingly large collection of model railway locomotives he’d built himself in his spare time.  “The drive field is online and ready.”

“Good,” the Captain said.  “Ensign Walker; plot us a course to Terra Nova and take us there, standard speed.”

“Aye, sir,” I said.  I had already plotted out the course while Muna and Roger were going through their own motions, knowing that the Captain would ask for it.  I hoped – prayed – that he was keeping a careful eye on it.  I’d once accidentally rammed a planet during the simulations.  Lieutenant Hatchet had been scathing.  “Course laid in.”

The starship seemed to shiver slightly as she built up speed, heading towards the planet.  It would take hours to reach Terra Nova in normal space, unless the Captain decided to open a wormhole to reach the planet quicker, but he didn’t seem to mind.  There was no rush, apparently.  The display was filling up now as passive sensors started to pick up hundreds of beacons right across the solar system, from small mining craft to massive bridge ships linking Terra Nova with the handful of colonies on the other worlds in the system.  I had to remind myself that there was a time-delay in all of the reports.  A spaceship could be light minutes from where the display insisted it was.  The planet itself, of course, was surrounded with enough icons to form a small galaxy.  Any colony world would have a growing space industry…

I frowned as some of the beacons resolved into IFF signals.  There were a handful of other starships in the system, along with sublight gunboats and support craft, and most of them were hanging in orbit around Terra Nova.  I couldn’t understand what I was seeing.  I’d heard from Lieutenant Hatchet and the Senior Chief how desperately short of starships we were, so why were so many on station around Terra Nova?  The mystery only deepened when I realised that the space stations were largely UN-built, instead of local construction…and that the Peace Force seemed to be controlling them.  It was odd.  Terra Nova didn’t even have a space cable, let alone an orbital tower.  If was as if they didn’t want any connection with space at all.

Muna’s console bleeped an alarm.  “Captain,” she said, “I’m picking up a distress signal, from the freighter Diamond’s Revenge.”

I looked up at the main display.  A new icon had flashed into existence.  “They’re reporting that they are under attack,” she said.  “They’re requesting help.”

“Ensign Walker, bring up the Jump Drive and take us there,” the Captain ordered.  I’d been caught by surprise and found myself struggling to plot out the course.  The computers are supposed to assist us in working out the wormhole coordinates, but I’d already discovered that their help was strictly limited.  “Open the wormhole.”

“Yes, sir,” I said, bracing for the inevitable reprimand.  We’d all had a shot at being First Ensign since we’d boarded the starship, as we’d earned reprimands and demerits from the senior crew.  I wasn't going to be wearing the silver star again anytime soon.  “Wormhole opening…now.”

This time, there was no point in standing down from Jump Alert.  “All hands, this is the Captain,” the Captain said, as the wormhole closed behind us.  It would be mere seconds before we reached my destination coordinates.  I desperately hoped that they were close enough to the pirate ship to bring it to battle.  If we were unlucky, they might not even be in the same star system.  “All hands to battle stations, I repeat, all hands to battle stations.”

I found myself tensing again as the alarm sounded through the ship.  “Wormhole opening now, sir,” I said, as the wormhole loomed open in front of us.  I stared at the display, willing the numbers to match up.  “Emerging…”

“Bring up the drive field and plot an intercept course,” the Captain said, as if he didn’t have the slightest doubt of my ability to do as he wanted.  I watched the display and tried not to sigh too heavily in relief when I realised that the numbers matched up, if not quite perfectly.  “All weapons crews to their stations; load missile and torpedo tubes.”

The pirate ship and its prey blinked into existence on my display and I angled the starship’s course towards them.  The pirate had clearly been planning on subduing and boarding his prey before its distress call could reach Terra Nova and the starships orbiting the planet.  They hadn’t expected us to arrive in the system – from what the Senior Chief had said, that might have been because most starships arrived overdue as a matter of routine – in time to intervene either.  It had been sheer luck.

“Steady as you bear,” the Captain ordered, calmly.  I half-expected him to order me to give up the helm to the Pilot, who had just arrived on the bridge, but the Captain seemed quite happy with the situation.  I hoped his faith in me wasn't misplaced.  “Ensign Mohammad, open up a direct communications link, if you please.”

“Link open, standard intership communications frequency,” Muna said.  She sounded briskly competent, at least.  I felt as if I were a steaming puddle of sweat.  “Sir?”

“This is Captain Harriman of the Jacques Delors,” the Captain said.  His voice was so firm and intimidating that I would have surrendered on the spot, had I been the pirate.  “You are ordered to halt your assault on the Diamond’s Revenge and prepare to be boarded.  If you refuse to follow orders, we will engage with deadly force.”

There was no reply.  I opened another window on my display and followed the action carefully.  The pirate was being careful not to damage his prey too much – it would have destroyed his target – but he didn’t seem to be retreating from the engagement.  He could have opened a wormhole and escaped – he had to have a proper starship, or the UN starships in the system would have hunted him down by now – but instead he seemed to hesitate.  I pulled open the starship’s database, searching for a match, but only found a handful of details.  The starship’s origin was unknown.

Perhaps its an alien ship, I thought, before realising that I was being silly.  The UN hadn’t encountered any form of intelligent alien life since mankind’s first steps into space.  The Senior Chief had taken a gruesome delight in telling us some of the wilder spacer stories, but none of us believed them.  Alien contact would have been the sensation of the millennium.

“No response, sir,” Muna said.  She seemed to hesitate.  “I’m sure they can hear us, sir; they’re just choosing not to reply.”

“Understood,” the Captain said.  “Attempt to raise the freighter and assess their situation.”  He looked over at the tactical console.  “Lieutenant Hatchet, fire a warning shot.”

“Aye, sir,” Lieutenant Hatchet said.  It hadn’t surprised us to discover that she was the ranking tactical officer as well as the First Lieutenant.  Mere Ensigns were not allowed to touch the tactical console except under strict supervision.  “Missile away, sir.”

The starship shook slightly as the missile launched, racing towards the enemy ship at a speed no human could stand, even with the most advanced compensators in the galaxy.  The missiles weren't as bad a threat as the space operas made them out to be – anyone could see them coming and point defence lasers could take them out pretty quickly – but they drew a line in the sand.  The pirate would have to know, now, that the Captain was serious.  I found myself making a mental bet.  Would they take out the missile with their point defence, assuming they had any point defence, or would they allow it to pass them and detonate harmlessly a few thousand kilometres from their position?

“Enemy ship has engaged the missile,” Lieutenant Hatchet said, a moment later.  I watched as the missile icon vanished from the display.  “They have destroyed the missile.”

“Helm, close to engagement range,” the Captain ordered.  “Lieutenant Hatchet, you are authorised to engage with lasers at will.”

“Aye, sir,” I said.  We had been moving directly towards the pirate ship, but now I ramped up the drive and pushed us forward on a collusion course.  The pirate would have to be blind to miss our approach now and if they didn’t move, they would be rammed, unless we altered course ourselves.  I hadn’t realised how slow and stately space combat actually was until I’d spent hours in the simulators.  “Five minutes to prime engagement range.”

The pirate ship seemed to alter course slightly, spinning away from its prey.  “They’ve seen us,” Roger exclaimed.  “They’ve locked on.”

“Report,” the Captain said.  There was a hint of reproof in his tone.  “Calmly, if possible.”

Roger sounded embarrassed and I didn’t blame him.  He’d probably earned a demerit at least for that unprofessional report.  “They just swept us with targeting sensors, sir,” Roger said, carefully.  “They’re locking on to us with their fire control.”

“Charge point defence lasers, prepare to engage,” the Captain said, calmly.  “Lieutenant…”

“Opening fire, sir,” Lieutenant Hatchet said.  The lights dimmed slightly as the starship’s power was diverted towards the laser cannons.  The pirate drive field would interdict as much as possible, but a constant bombardment would eventually overload the drive field and send the starship out of control.  “Enemy ship is engaging with missiles.  Point defence systems online and engaging enemy forces at will.”

I watched as two missiles launched from the pirate ship.  The sight puzzled me for a moment.  Was it my imagination, or were the pirate missiles moving faster than the standard missiles we carried?  They were still picked off by the point defence, but it was apparent that the missiles were heavily armoured against laser fire.  One of them got far too close before it was burned to nothing.  I saw the Captain exchange a long glance with Lieutenant Hatchet, their faces unreadable, before she redoubled her efforts and continued to burn away at the pirate ship.

“Stay with him,” the Captain ordered, as the pirate ship continued to move away.  I kept us right on his tail, despite a growing number of missiles being fired at us.  I wondered why the Captain wasn't ordering us to engage with our own missiles, or torpedoes, but there was little point.  The pirate point defence seemed as capable as our own.  Its drive field seemed to be radiating energy as our lasers bit into it, but it wasn't stopping.  “Ah…”

I saw the wormhole blossom into existence around the pirate ship.  A moment later, it was gone.

“Secure from battle stations,” the Captain said.  If he were angry, he hid it well.  “Master Sergeant, prepare a team to board the freighter and attempt to locate whatever the pirates were after.  Everyone else, good work.”

I glowed.  Praise from the Captain was rare.  “Ensigns, you are dismissed,” the Captain said.  “Report to the Senior Chief for further duties.”

The next hour was largely uneventful.  The Senior Chief, as always, had a vast number of tasks that needed doing whenever someone could be spared and I found myself working with Sally on the starship’s main shuttle.  I’d flown shuttles back at the Academy, but I hadn’t had a chance to fly once since I’d boarded the starship, even in simulation.  I was dimly aware that the Captain would be going down to the surface when we finally made orbit and I rather hoped he’d chose me as his pilot.  It was unlikely – flying the shuttles was the Pilot’s other task – but I could dream, couldn’t I?  Besides, I’d heard good things about Terra Nova.

“Good enough,” the Senior Chief said, finally.  We were, as Ensigns, allowed to refer to him by his first name, but none of us quite dared.  “We don’t want the Captain to be put out by the condition of his shuttle, do we?”

“No, Senior Chief,” we said, together.  A Senior Chief couldn’t be called ‘sir’ – he’d made that point clear the first time he'd had us as a group – but what else could we call him?  His task – bossing the various crewmen around – wasn't an easy one, even though no one in their right mind would have picked a fight with him.  He'd once disciplined a drunken crewman by giving him a black eye and a sound thrashing.  The crewmen might have called us ‘babies’ when they thought we couldn’t hear, but they wouldn’t dare defy the Senior Chief.

“Of course not,” the Senior Chief agreed.  His voice lightened slightly.  “It is particularly important when the Captain has decided that the Ensigns who were on the bridge are to accompany him to the surface.  You wouldn’t want to be the person responsible for the mess, would you?”

“Lucky you,” Sally said, without heat.  If she hadn’t been tired, she would probably have said a great deal more, perhaps even a discussion of my parentage.  “Senior Chief, why is the planet called Terra Nova anyway?”

“Officially, because it was the first planet we discovered,” the Senior Chief said.  He laughed, as if he were laughing at a very private joke.  “Or perhaps it was just a case of someone lacking in imagination at the right time.  That said…do you know what the inhabitants call it?”

We shook our heads.

He smiled, with the air of one imparting a great secret.  

“Hell,” he said.

Chapter Four

The causes of the Terra Nova disaster – although the UN refuses to admit to this day that it was a disaster – are many, but the simplest cause of all remains unspoken.  The UN attempted to ensure that every ethnic group on Earth received a ‘fair’ patch of ground on the new world.  This might not have led to disaster, if the UN hadn’t then insisted that all groups were to be forced together on one continent, as, according to the latest political-science theories, they would form into a new community.  This might have worked…if the UN hadn’t then taken steps to prevent, quite unintentionally, such a community from forming.  It took twenty years to develop Terra Nova…

The war started the following year.
-Thomas Anderson.  An Unbiased Look at the UNPF.  Baen Historical Press, 2500.

The Captain didn’t allow me to fly the shuttle, but I was able to sit up front with the Pilot and watch as we descended through the atmosphere of Terra Nova.  It reminded me of travelling up from Earth on the orbital tower, back when I had been accepted into the Academy, but descending in a shuttle was somehow more exciting.  Terra Nova looked a lot like Earth – it had the same mixture of green land and blue seas – but it was lacking the clouds of pollution that infested Earth’s upper atmosphere.  The Political Officer had waxed lyrical about how pristine Terra Nova had been before humanity had landed on it, and how it was still a paradise, without the wrecking effects of capitalist terrorists.

Despite his words, I was actually looking forward to visiting the planet, although I was starting to realise that anything that was described in such glowing terms probably had a nasty sting in the tail.  It was a lesson the Senior Chief had hammered into our heads repeatedly, starting with a lesson on space helmet safety that had included retch gas seeping through ‘sealed’ spacesuits and dozens of others since.  The promises the manufactory people had made, the Senior Chief had warned us, could never be taken at face value.  Checking and rechecking the inventory was part of our duties as Ensigns.  Nothing could be left unaccounted for, even the merest item.

“That’s Landing City,” the Pilot said, as we continued to fly down the coastline.  The city spilled out over the land ahead of us, somehow subtly different from any city on Earth.  It took me a moment to realise what was missing.  There were no towering mega-skyscrapers, each one holding thousands of people in a self-contained environment, but merely smaller blocky buildings.  They all looked to have been turned out at the same manufacturer’s complex and they probably had been.  I recalled reading that most colony worlds developed their own housing style pretty quickly, but the core city always kept the original settlement design.  I couldn’t understand why.  It looked pretty ugly from high overhead.  “Do you know how many Landing Cities there are in the entire galaxy?”

I shook my head.  “One hundred and seven,” the Pilot informed me, with a grin.  He wasn't – technically – in the chain of command, but we’d been taught that it was wise to listen to all of the department heads.  They knew their own specialities and not much else, according to the official statements, but they’d been in space longer than any of us Ensigns had been alive.  “Humans are not known for their imagination, eh?”

“No,” I agreed, as two silvery shapes shot past us.  “What are they?”

“Fighter jets intercepting us and escorting us to the spaceport,” the Pilot said, checking his display.  “The damned flyboys haven’t bothered to check in with us yet, either.  They’re damn lucky I didn’t have my lasers on a hair trigger.”

The radio buzzed an inquisitive statement.  “Shuttle One, UNS Jacques Delors,” the Pilot said.  I lifted an eyebrow in his direction.  I didn’t understand how he’d made sense out of that racket.  “We are landing at the main spaceport, over.”

There was another burst of talking from the radio.  “Understood,” the pilot said.  “Altering course now to compensate.”

He grinned at me as the shuttle yawed through a long curve that took it around the city.  “They’re going to escort us down to the spaceport,” he said.  “It seems they’re having some trouble down there and perhaps we’ll need some help from them.”

I stared as the fighters closed in around us.  They were crude aircraft, but the missiles and bombs they carried under their wings were clearly deadly.  I couldn’t understand why they were carrying so many weapons.  Even if there was trouble down on the planet below, the enemy couldn’t have any aircraft, could they?  Enemy?  The Political Officer had told us that the world was peaceful and tranquil.

“Here we are,” the pilot said, as we floated down towards the spaceport.  It was a massive complex, surrounded by heavy defences and crammed with aircraft.  I hadn’t seen anything so large since I’d left Earth.  Even the Academy Flight Ground had been smaller than the massive airfield.  “Coming into land…now!”

We touched the ground with scarcely a bump.  “The Captain will want to see you now,” the pilot prompted, as the ground crew appeared from all around us.  Some of them were pushing small fuel tanks, others were clearly soldiers, wearing standard UNPF urban combat outfits.  The sight of them sent a chill down my spine.  Was it really so important that the shuttle was guarded with armed men in the middle of the compound?  “Have fun.”

I nodded.  “Thank you,” I said.  I had wondered if the Pilot harboured a grudge over my work on the helm console, but he didn’t seem concerned.  I hadn’t placed myself there anyway.  “It was a good flight.”

The noise struck us as soon as we opened the hatches and filed out.  It was a deafening cacophony of aircraft engines, heavy vehicles and not a little shooting, somewhere off in the distance.  The air was warm and oppressive, smelling of vehicle flumes and burning fires.  I found myself staring wide-eyed at the spaceport, taking in the heavy combat aircraft and the hundreds of helicopters that seemed to be coming and going all the time.  They weren't dinky little civilian-model helicopters either, but dark-painted military aircraft, laden down with missiles and guns.  I was starting to realise that Terra Nova was far from peaceful.

I looked back at the five Marines and realised that they shared my views.  They weren't standing at ease like the rest of us, even the Captain, but were holding their weapons so that they could open fire quickly on any target that presented itself.  I had always found the Marines a little intimidating – the Captain was the only one who was authorised to issue them orders, despite their presence on the starship – but I was glad to have them along.  I had the feeling that we were going to need them.

“Captain Harriman?”  A man detached himself from the general mob surrounding the shuttle and came over to the Captain.  He reminded me – to my shame – of the picture we’d cut when we’d first boarded the Jacques Delors.  He held himself as if he didn’t know how to stand to attention, or as if he didn’t know how to use the rifle he had slung over one shoulder.  His uniform was too clean and pressed to be real.  “I’m Colonel Hoskins, military rep.  The Governor has requested the pleasure of your company at Government House.”

I saw the Captain’s lips thin and felt a moment’s pity for the Colonel.  “I was informed that the reception would be at the spaceport,” he said, tightly.  There was an undertone in his voice I didn’t like, or understand.  “I trust that you have provided us with sufficient transport and an escort?”

“Of course, sir,” the Colonel said.  I couldn’t understand how he was still on his feet.  If the Captain had spoken to me like that, I would have probably died of shock.  It would have been kinder to shout at us.  “Right this way…ah, your Marines can leave their weapons here…”

His voice trailed off as he saw the Captain’s expression, and the way the Marines were fingering their weapons.  “But there will be no need for that,” he added, quickly.  “I’m sure that everything will be fine.”

He led us across the airfield, chattering away to the Captain as if they were old friends, although he never seemed to say anything of any real substance.  We were left walking behind them, with the Marines spread out around us, allowing us to take in the airport as we walked.  I wasn't impressed by the rows of soldiers all around us, marching around as if they were permanently in a hurry.  Compared to the Marines, I was starting to realise, most of them were barely trained.  They might have looked intimidating to some, but I was surprised to realise that they didn’t intimidate me.

I looked over at Roger and risked a whisper.  “How many troops are assigned to this planet?”

Roger looked at the Captain’s back and answered, equally quietly.  “The files say around five hundred thousand,” he muttered back.  “It could be a lot more.”

“Here you are,” Colonel Hoskins said, as if he’d discovered them personally.  “You escort and transport awaits.”

I couldn’t believe my eyes.  The Captain deserved a limo, at the very least.  Instead, we were looking at a pair of armoured trucks, surrounded by a set of armoured cars and troop transports.  There had to be at least seventy soldiers there…and yet, somehow I wasn't reassured at all.  The trucks looked older than I was; the soldiers looked bored and completely unconcerned by their mission.  It didn’t, I decided, bode well for the reassurances that the planet was safe.

Another flight of helicopters flew overhead as Colonel Hoskins invited us into the vehicles.  The Captain, the Master Sergeant and two armed Marines went into one of the vehicles; myself, Roger, Muna and the remaining Marines went into the other vehicle.  I couldn’t help, but wince when I smelled the inside of the truck; I had a nasty feeling that it was normally used for transporting pigs, or prisoners.  If I had left a compartment on the ship smelling like that, the First Lieutenant would have probably beaten us black and blue.  I didn’t want to think about what the Captain would have said about it.  The best thing that could be said for the vehicle was that it had no windows.  I didn’t want to look outside.

The engine coughed to life, releasing a vaguely-unpleasant smell into the rear, and the vehicle started to move.  I found myself tensing as it rattled back and forth, leaving us all completely confused.  They could have been taking us anywhere.  I pulled out my terminal and started to open a link with the ship, but it seemed that the local communications network wasn't open for mere Ensigns.  The local communications node refused access.

“Try using the emergency code,” Roger suggested.  I tried, but the local net continued to refuse access.  He looked up at the lead Marine.  “Can you reach the ship?”

“The local Marine net is still active,” the Marine said.  It took me a moment to realise that she was female.  The body armour she wore covered up all traces of her breasts.  I didn’t know what she looked like under the mask and, somehow, I didn’t want to know.  “There’s enough data there to keep us going for a while…”

The entire truck rang like a bell.  “Gunshot,” one of the Marines said.  I wanted to cringe inside, but somehow I managed to control myself.  I had never been in a gunfight before, but I’d seen hundreds on video, late-night entertainments where the villain had used a gun to inflict nightmares.  A single shot could kill easily, or so we had been told.  A moment later, a handful of other shots bounced off the armour and the truck lurched violently.

“Why aren’t we shooting back?”  Roger asked, plaintively.  “What about the soldiers escorting us?”

“Their hands are tied by the ROE,” the lead Marine said.  There was a curiously dismissive tone to her voice.  “They’re not allowed to shoot back unless their lives are in real danger.”

An explosion, not too far away, made the entire vehicle shake.  I heard more gunshots in the distance, but I couldn’t tell who was firing.  The video heroes could tell the difference between one weapon and another by sound alone, but they all sounded the same to me.  I hoped – prayed – that we weren't the targets of the assault, but somehow I felt otherwise.  The enemy, whoever they were, had turned out to welcome us to Terra Nova in force.  The truck kept moving rapidly and then…

It crashed to a halt as another explosion shook it.  I heard shattering sounds from the front cab and knew that the crew were dead.  “Out, out now,” the Marine barked.  Muna hesitated and the Marine caught her arm, pushing her rapidly towards the rear.  I followed her, stumbling slightly, as the Marines jumped out first, their weapons already out and seeking targets.  I couldn’t understand how they were taking it all so calmly.  I was on the verge of panic until the Marine cuffed my head.  “Keep down, damn you!” 

The noise was much louder outside the truck.  We were caught in a crossfire coming from buildings on either side of us, with gunners pouring down fire towards the trucks.  Half of the soldiers seemed to be dead already, their bodies draped over their burning vehicles or lying torn and broken on the ground.  The Marines didn’t hesitate.  Moving in perfect concert, they lifted their weapons and returned fire savagely, spending bullets like water.  A handful of gunners fell out of the windows as the bullets tore through their flesh; others targeted the Marines and attempted to overwhelm them.  The remaining soldiers, who had been pinned down under heavy fire, were attempting to counterattack or retreat, but neither seemed possible.  The road was blocked at both ends.

Hoskins must have been working for them, I thought, angrily.  The thought seemed unlikely, but even I could see that we’d driven right into a planned ambush.  The enemy, whoever they were, had had the time to set up perfectly and they’d killed…they might have killed the Captain!  The thought spurred me to action, despite my terror, and I started to crawl around the remains of the truck.  If the Captain was alive, it was my duty to go to him; if he were dead, it was my duty to take care of the bodies.  I hadn’t understood some of the muttered comments the Marines had made before now, but I saw now that those on the ground were very different to those who served in space.  They didn’t understand us and we didn’t understand them.

The firing seemed to intensify, joined by a CRUMP, CRUMP, CRUMP sound that, moments later, was followed by explosions all around us.  It seemed as if we were caught in the midst of a civil war, or perhaps half the city was trying to get at us and hitting their own side in all the confusion.  I felt sweat trickling down my back as I crawled forward, stopping only when I saw the small group of soldiers in front of me, firing into the buildings.  It saved my life.  A handful of grenades tumbled down amongst them and shredded them in the explosions.  Blood and gore splattered over me.

Dark shapes burst out of the buildings, firing as they came.  A handful fell, a dozen, but the remainder kept running, pressing their advantage.  I tried to crawl backwards, but it was too late; one of them had seen me.  He pointed his weapon at me, leered down the barrel of his gun, and smiled.  I froze.  I should have gone for the laser pistol on my belt, but somehow I couldn’t move.  He held me hypnotized.  I felt a warm trickle running down my leg, a moment before his head exploded as one of the Marines picked him off with a single shot.  The Marine was past me in a moment, firing single shots into the group, wiping them all out.  A moment later, we were in the clear.

“Stay down,” he hissed, as a new sound rent the air.  I could hear the sound of mighty blades tearing through the air.  “Stay down…”

The first helicopter swooped down, firing missiles into the buildings on both sides of the road.  The others followed, bombarding enemy positions with missiles and gunfire, while thousands of soldiers in heavy armoured vehicles appeared at both ends of the street.  The enemy forces faded away and vanished into the surrounding streets.  It was over.

“Get into the trucks,” I heard the Captain order.  I had never been so glad to hear someone’s voice in all my life, even if I had wet myself from fear.  I thought of presenting myself to the Governor like that and had to fight to suppress a giggle.  Now the fear was wearing off, I was just happy to be alive.  “Move, now!”

The armoured truck was, thankfully, cooler than the outside.  The Captain followed us in, with the Master Sergeant bringing up the rear.  A moment later, the truck moved off.  Apart from a handful of bullets pinging off the armour, the remainder of the trip was uneventful.  Judging from the smell, I wasn't the only one who had wet myself either.

“I want them all started on weapons training tomorrow,” the Captain ordered.  It was the first time I’d heard him sounding angry.  The Master Sergeant seemed equally angry, although his anger seemed directed at the soldiers on the outside.  “If this is going to happen again…”

It didn’t on that trip, but the memory stayed with me for the rest of my life.

Chapter Five

The UN’s position on weapons training and private gun ownership is, as always, presented as something its not.  Citing safety fears and concerns over criminal use of weapons, the UN bans ownership of weapons, and places severe limits on those who would be expected to use weapons in the performance of their duties.  It is not unknown for a person to spend their entire career in the UNPF and never fire a shot in anger, or even in training.  Civilians are simply forbidden to use weapons; somehow, this does not affect criminal activity.  The murder rate in Earth’s cities is shockingly high.

The real reason, of course, is simple.  A disarmed population, one that has been trained to be scared of weapons, is one that is unable to revolt.
-Thomas Anderson.  An Unbiased Look at the UNPF.  Baen Historical Press, 2500.

“All right, pay attention,” the Master Sergeant bellowed.  He had the kind of voice that seemed to echo through space, even if sound itself couldn’t travel through a vacuum.  “This is Basic Weapons Handling for Dummies!  When you came into this cabin, you knew nothing about weapons!  When you leave, you will know enough to use a weapon in self-defence or as you are directed by senior officers!  Anyone who fucks about in this course will be taken outside and soundly beaten.  Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir,” we said.  Master Sergeant Erwin Herzog was not the type of person anyone would easily defy.  He was a short grizzly sparkplug, but we’d all seen him exercising and none of those muscles were the result of cosmetic surgery.  I’d also seen him practicing with his fellow Marines and knew just how tough he was.  If he called me out, I knew I wouldn’t even be able to land a punch.

“I am a Sergeant,” he snapped.  “You will address me as Sergeant!  I work for a living.  I once tried out for officer status, but I was disadvantaged.  My parents were married!”

He glared around at us impartially.  “First model, the standard-issue UN Model Seven Laser Pistol,” he announced, picking up the pistol and waving it under our noses.  “Fires a beam of laser light capable of burning through flesh and light armour.  Powered by a single power cell emplaced in the hilt.  Designed by a gay sausage sucker and used only by little girls and girly men.  What is wrong with this weapon?”

I winced under his tone.  The Model Seven looked like something out of a science-fiction movie, one of the endless videos produced about the UNPF and its services to Peace along the frontier.  The weapon looked cool, but in the Master Sergeant’s hand, it began to look almost like a toy.  It might well have been a toy in a previous incarnation.  One of my former friends at school had actually had a set of contraband toy guns.

“I don’t know, Sir…ah, Sergeant,” Roger said, finally.  “It kills people, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, it kills,” Herzog agreed, slowly.  “It kills an opponent who is not smart enough to wear heavy armour, but it kills.  Never underestimate just how stupid an enemy soldier can be.  At the same time, never underestimate the scale of your own mistakes, or just how ignorant you actually are.”  He glared at Roger.  “What is wrong with this weapon?”

He carried on without waiting for Roger to answer.  “There are two things wrong with this piece of shit,” he thundered.  “The first thing is that it’s fragile.  Slam it to the ground and it will break!  The second thing is that the power pack” – he opened the hilt of the pistol and removed the small cell from the weapon – “cannot hold a charge more than a week, if that.  If you charge this weapon on Monday, you will be unable to fire it on Sunday.  That could be unpleasant.”

Sally spoke into the silence.  “Sergeant,” she said, carefully, “why can’t the weapon hold a charge that long?”

“Because some penny-pinching asshole in the Department of Supply decided that it would be cheaper to purchase these shitty power packs from one manufacturer than spend additional money on power packs that actually work,” Herzog informed her.  “That asshole probably got a promotion for his stroke of genius, but we on the front lines have to pay the price.  Those of you who went down to the surface of the world below will know now that we’re at war.  The assholes back home do not believe it in their bones.  They are quite happy to give us shit like this to save a few billion credits.”

He threw the pistol to the deck hard enough to make me wince.  “You’ll see this again and again in your careers,” he added, icily.  “Those of you who have been working off their demerits by doing the replacement work will have realised that all of the components on this ship have around half the lifespan we were promised.  The soldiers down on the ground are meant to be able to communicate with one another with ease.  Naturally, half the radios don’t link into the other half, which is why the ambush went off so well.  The bastard in charge didn’t know that the convoy was under attack until it was almost too late.”

I shivered, remembering the brief…incident.  The Captain hadn’t said anything to us about it, even during the brief pointless ceremony at Government House, but on the way back we’d been escorted by hundreds of soldiers.  We’d also seen something of the city.  It looked like a war zone…no, it was a war zone.  The various factions fighting it out for control had somehow managed to learn the route of the convoy and plan an ambush in advance.  They’d almost killed all of us.

“This is something a little different,” Herzog snapped, holding up a second weapon.  Unlike the laser pistol, it was made of dark metal and gleamed in his hand.  “This is as Standard-Issue Marine Automatic Pistol, based on a design hundreds of years old.  It fires a clip of nine bullets” – he opened the weapon to reveal the clip stored inside the gun – “and is fucking difficult to fuck up, although knowing most spacer babies you’ll manage it somehow!  You shoot someone with this, they’re going to be dead or seriously injured, if you hit them.  The one advantage of the laser pistol is that it fires a beam in a straight line.  This weapon…you jerk when you fire and you’ll miss.”

He looked from face to face, and then finally pushed the weapon, hilt first, at Roger.  “Take it,” he ordered, nodding towards a target set up at the rear of the room.  “Hit that target now and you’ll lose a demerit.”

Roger didn’t hesitate.  He swung around, pointed the weapon towards the target, and pulled the trigger.  It clicked, uselessly.

“First lesson of shooting,” Herzog said.  He laughed as he held up his hand.  “Never – ever – take anyone’s word about a weapon being loaded, or not.  You can’t trust anyone, even me.  The next person to make that mistake will be cleaning Marine Country until its completely spotless.”

“I didn’t see you do that,” Roger said, astonished.  I hadn’t seen Herzog palm the clip either.  “How did you…?”

“I’ll tell you one day,” Herzog promised.  “It’s a very old trick.  Now” – he took back the weapon and inserted the clip – “point and fire again.”

Roger checked the weapon this time, pointed and fired.  It clicked again.  “You also have to take the safety off,” Herzog explained, dryly.  He demonstrated quickly.  “The morons in charge of security at any surface base will probably make a fuss about you carrying a weapon, regardless of the regulations in effect.  Always keep the safety on unless you want to use the weapon to kill someone, or to practice shooting.  Take care of the weapon and it will take care of you.”

He smiled.  “Now, shoot!”

The bang was much louder than I’d expected.  “Ouch,” Roger said, with a hiss of pain.  The gun had jerked in his hand.  “I hit the target…”

“You hit the outer ring,” Herzog said.  His tone wasn't quite mocking.  “My old grandmother could shoot better than you.”  He took back the weapon and passed it to Muna, who checked it carefully, earning herself an approving look in the process.  “Your turn.”

An hour later, we had all had a turn firing the pistol and learning how to use it.  Herzog made it clear.  It wasn't just shooting that was important, but cleaning and preparing the weapon for use.  Once we’d all been issued a pistol – although Herzog did warn us that we might not be allowed to keep them in the long run – we were told that they would be inspected regularly.  A single weapon in bad condition would mean two demerits.

“In your free time, come here and practice shooting,” Herzog ordered, finally.  We groaned.  We barely had any free time on the ship.  The First Lieutenant and the Senior Chief kept us working from dawn till dusk.  I had never realised that I could be so grateful for sleep until they’d started to put us to work.  The Academy had been far more routine, with hours allocated for the different courses well in advance, and none of us had been really challenged.  “Now…”

He opened a box and revealed a third weapon.  I’d seen something like it before, carried by the soldiers down on Terra Nova, but this one was gleaming.  “Standard-Issue UN Assault Rifle, Mark Nine,” Herzog informed us.  “These weapons are issued, without fail, to both Marines and Infantry troops down in the mud.  Why is that?”

I hesitated, and then took a guess.  “To allow compatibility?”

“Correct,” Herzog bellowed.  “I can use their weapons; they can use ours.  We can use their supplies; they can use ours, if they need them.  The Infantry doesn’t know what it is like to be a Marine, but they know that they can use our weapons, if they need to do so.  When you have all qualified with the pistol, we will move on to the rifle and qualify you on that as well.”

He glanced at his chronometer and smiled thinly.  “Times up for the day,” he said, with a faint leer.  It was an expression that promised pain…and lots of it.  “Unarmed combat practice tomorrow, same time, same place.”

I didn’t – quite – groan again, but unarmed combat against trained Marines was a humiliating experience.  I had a handful of lessons back at the Academy, but I hadn’t realised just how much more the Marines got, to say nothing of their constant practice against each other.  The Doctor was forever complaining about repairing various Marines after sparring matches had broken bones and inflicted smaller injuries.  We’d landed blows…but I was very aware that we’d been allowed to land those blows.  The Marines were so controlled that they could absorb our blows without lashing back and knocking us out.

The next week went very slowly.  The Captain had us running interception drills on the handful of freighters orbiting Terra Nova, or trying to set up exercises with some of the other starships.  I spent some of my off-duty time reading about Terra Nova’s history in the ship’s library, but I found nothing to explain the ambush, or what I was coming to realise was incessant warfare.  I asked Lieutenant Hatchet for an explanation, but she clammed up and assigned me other duties until I got the message.  There were some questions I couldn’t ask even her.

“Perhaps they’re fighting over religion and the UN is caught in the middle,” Muna said, her dark eyes hooded.  I knew little about her origins, apart from the fact that her presence at the Academy hadn’t been universally popular.  I couldn’t understand why.  She was good company, if sometimes shy and reserved.  “Or perhaps they’re fighting against the UN itself.  There were people back home who hated the UN and wanted to destroy all the peacekeepers…”

She shook her head.  “The UN was the only force keeping the warring tribes apart,” she added.  I realised, suddenly, that she could never go home again.  The UNPF was her home now.  “If it had withdrawn, they would have wiped each other out, but that didn’t stop them mounting attacks.”

“Perhaps,” Roger agreed.  He seemed to hesitate.  His family connections should have ensured that he had access to more information than anyone else, but on the starship he was cut off from anyone who might have shared information with him.  “Or perhaps there’s something else going on.  Were they shooting at us, or was it just a target of opportunity?”

I shrugged.  “Would they have known or cared who we were?”  I asked.  It didn’t seem very possible, somehow.  “How many Ensigns graduate from the Academy each year?”

Sally snorted.  “Perhaps they were so scared when they heard that you three were on your way they decided to set up an ambush to welcome you,” she said.  “They might even have intended to put your heads on poles…”

“Don’t even joke about that,” Muna said, sharply.  The pain in her voice brought us up short.  “It isn’t even remotely funny.”

There was an uncomfortable silence.  “They might have wanted the Captain,” I suggested, finally.  “Whoever they are…killing a starship Captain would have given them a serious victory.”

“But a victory for whom?”  Rolf asked.

We had no answer.

At the end of the second week, the Captain ordered us to set course for Albion, a world only thirty light years from Terra Nova.  I’d been expecting some kind of farewell from the planet, but apart from a brief inspection by the Port Admiral commanding the observation squadron there was nothing, not even a goodbye signal.  If the Captain felt the lack, he didn’t show it, merely ordering the Pilot to open the wormhole and take us out of the system.  I had hoped that I’d be on the helm again, but after the brief encounter with the pirate ship the Captain had decided that the Pilot would handle all manoeuvres in an inhabited solar system.  I didn’t mind.  I’d had plenty of time to practice in simulators and somehow it felt more real after I’d flown the ship into battle.

There was not, of course, any chance to slack off during the voyage.  Lieutenant Hatchet kept us working hard, hammering new skills and disciplines into our heads even as we struggled to master automatic weapons and unarmed combat.  I spent several hours per day on the tactical console, learning to master the system, even though I doubted I’d be allowed to use it until I reached Lieutenant, if I ever did.  I was starting to realise – no, I’d realised it long ago – that I had been unprepared for duty when I’d boarded the ship and without the extra training, I would probably have been killed long ago.

“But Lieutenant,” I said, one day, “I won’t be allowed to use this console until after I reach Lieutenant…”

“If the ship is attacked, and all the Lieutenants are killed, do you think that the Captain will decide not to continue to return fire?”  Lieutenant Hatchet asked, dryly.  I flushed.  It had been a pretty stupid question.  “If I am out of the loop for any reason, the next in line will take over and continue to operate the console.  If the senior crew was wiped out, you would be in command of the vessel…”

And God help her, I thought.  I had wanted command of my own, one day, but I knew now that I wasn't even remotely prepared for command.  The Engineer or the Pilot would be far more qualified for the position, but regulations were inflexible.  The Department Heads were not in the chain of command, any more than the non-commissioned crewmen were, while the merest Ensign was.  I’d need years before I knew half of what the Captain knew about running a starship.  The punishment duty Lieutenant Hatchet had assigned me once, helping her with the paperwork, had rubbed that in as well.  I had had no idea just how much paperwork was involved in operating the starship.

It might not make any difference, of course.  The Space Opera videos that I’d absorbed back when I’d been a child, when the UNPF patrolled the galaxy and everything was well with the universe, had suggested that a heavily-damaged starship would be able to limp back home eventually.  It hadn’t taken long for me to lose that impression.  A hit that took out the bridge and most of the senior crew would almost certainly destroy the ship completely.  The bridge was the most well-protected compartment on the ship, but a nuclear warhead – officially banned, but it was an open secret that some pirate ships possessed them, along with UNPF ships – would vaporise the entire vessel.

“Once you’ve finished with the tactical console for the day, go on to the shuttlebay,” Lieutenant Hatchet ordered, finally.  I didn’t relax.  The shuttle training simulators had been designed by a sadist who was far more devious than the person who dreamed up the Academy simulators.  The Pilot had been needed on Terra Nova after all.  “The Captain wants you all checked out on the shuttles before we arrive at Albion.  You may be needed to operate on detached duty.”

I took the risk and asked her.  “Lieutenant,” I asked, “is Albion going to be as dangerous as Terra Nova?”

Lieutenant Hatchet looked me right in the eye.  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said, blandly.  I blinked in surprise, but realised just what she meant.  It wasn't something we could talk about in the open.  “Everyone knows that Terra Nova is a peaceful world and any rumours to the contrary are malicious propaganda spread by the enemies of peace and harmony.”

I got the message and shut up.

Two weeks later, we arrived at Albion.

Chapter Six

The relationship between the UNPF and the various independent freighters is a complex one.  Official UN policy is that independent freighters are dangerous and therefore all freighters should be operated under UN supervision as part of a shipping cartel.  This is accomplished by endless bureaucratic regulation that makes the lives of independent freighter crews much harder.  Regardless, independent freighters make up a critical part of the galactic economy and, because of the regulations, tend to be strong supporters of independence movements.  The UNPF therefore harasses them where possible.
-Thomas Anderson.  An Unbiased Look at the UNPF.  Baen Historical Press, 2500.

Albion was settled thirty years after the invention of the Jump Drive by a forward party from a nation called England, one that I hadn’t even heard of until I’d read the briefing notes on the planet.  England had been absorbed into the Pan-European Federation centuries ago, after the nationalists had left to live on various other planets.  I had learned, by now, to take everything in the briefing notes with a great deal of salt, but even so, it was apparent that Albion was doing much better than Terra Nova.  The system was crammed with sublight spacecraft mining the asteroids and moving between the outer planets, while the handful of UN craft seemed badly outnumbered.  I didn’t know if there was a garrison on the surface at all – the briefing notes had been vague on the exact political status of Albion – but it certainly seemed peaceful.  Of course, Terra Nova had also looked peaceful from high above.

“Penny for your thoughts, sir?”

I looked over at Marine Corporal Alice Hayden and had to fight to repress an embarrassed grin.  Alice was two years older than me and looked tough enough to take on a gorilla and win.  I had sparred with her on the mat and she’d held back…and she had still won.  I wouldn’t have dared to pick a fight with her over anything…and I was supposed to be the one in command.  The shuttle was an independent ship at the moment and, to all intents and purposes, I was the Captain.

“I was just thinking about how peaceful it is out here,” I said, ruefully.  I might have been the senior officer on the shuttle, but everyone else had far more experience than I had.  The Senior Chief had warned me to listen to the others and learn from their mistakes.  It was, apparently, cheaper than making my own.  “There’s no one shooting at us, there’s no one even shouting at us…”

Alice laughed.  “In space,” she announced dramatically, “no one can hear you scream.”

I rolled my eyes.  It was a kind of unofficial motto for the Marines and they never lost a chance to work it into their words.  It was true, of course, but it didn’t make me any happier.  There were dozens of vessels in orbit around Albion and anything could be happening on any of them.  The UNPF had a remit to prevent smuggling, but there just weren’t enough starships to enforce it properly.  There was little point in smuggling anything into Albion – the system could provide everything its inhabitants might want – but there was plenty worth smuggling out of the system.  The UNPF had been warned to watch for high-tech cargos and other illegal consignments.

“I know,” I said.  I was always a little shy around Alice.  She scared the crap out of me.  She was the type of woman who would go walking through dark alleyways, confident that the night held nothing more dangerous than her.  If I hadn’t known her reputation, I might even have asked her out on a date; Marines weren’t in the same chain of command.  “It’s just beautiful.”

“You’ll also have a much greater chance of appreciating it in the future if you get on with the patrol,” Alice said, dryly.  I nodded reluctantly.  I might be senior officer on the shuttle, but that was only as long as I obeyed the Captain’s orders.  “Which ship do you want to board?”

I looked down at the live feed from System Command.  A handful of freighters had already been inspected by the local UN detachment and marked as clear.  A couple more had immunity from inspection and had to be left alone.  That left seventeen freighters in orbit that needed to be inspected.  The smallest of them made our starship look tiny.  It was going to be a long day.

“That one,” I said, finally.  I pointed to the icon representing a massive bulk freighter.  The manifest claimed that it was transporting vital farming machinery to Amish, something that made little sense until I recalled that Amish was a low-tech world with a thriving trade in illegal technology.  The people who had founded the planet had wanted a life free of the corrupting influence of technology, but some of the settlers had disagreed when they’d finally discovered just what a low-tech life was like.  The crew of the freighter would stand to make a huge profit if they delivered to the right people.  “I’m taking us in now.”

The smaller the craft, the faster it could build up acceleration.  I triggered the drive field and swooped down towards the freighter, transmitting our IFF signal ahead of us.  By law, we had to keep a safe distance from any other craft while performing an intercept, but I skirted the border as close as I dared.  Flying the shuttle was different to flying an ordinary aircraft.  I could do things in a shuttle that would be impossible in a jet aircraft.  I could even turn on a credit piece.

“They’re acknowledging,” Alice said.  I allowed myself a moment of relief.  We were legally authorised to inspect any starship, but the independent freighter crews tended to dislike us encroaching on their territory.  It wasn't unknown for shuttle crews to suffer accidents.  In theory, all of the freighters were unarmed; in practice, there were dozens of interesting tricks freighter crews could pull to give them some teeth.  The Captain would avenge our deaths, unless the freighter made it clear before the starship could intercept, but that wouldn’t save our lives.  “They’re demanding a full copy of our authorisations.”

“Send it,” I ordered.  The Senior Chief had warned me about that too.  We harass them, they harass us…and the winner is the one who keeps his cool.  “Order them to open a docking port for us and signal location.”

“Done,” Alice said.  A new icon blinked into existence on my display.  “They’ve opened a port, sir.”

I nodded.  By law, all starships have to have compatible equipment, but I wouldn’t have put it past a freighter crew to tamper with it in some way to make docking harder, particularly as it wasn't something I could charge them for.  Freighters operate close to the margins and it wasn't unknown for them to have maintenance problems that couldn’t be handled outside a shipyard.  I slowed the shuttle, carefully matched course and speed, and linked the two ships together.  A moment later, we were docked.

“Matching pressure now,” Crewman Frederick Jones said.  He was a big hulking man who didn’t look as if he could be intimidated by anyone short of the Senior Chief.  I had the impression that he was the real escort for me, as well as the real inspector.  What did I know about searching a starship?  I’d barely had a chance to inspect the diagrams of the freighter.  “Hatches opening.”

I reached for my cap and set it on my head.  “Come on,” I said.  “Let’s go meet the neighbours.”

The freighter captain and two of his crew were waiting for us as we stepped out of the airlock.  The captain reminded me of Captain Harriman, except he had a long beard – forbidden to UNPF naval officers – and a slight paunch.  His expression was carefully controlled, but I was sure that I could sense an underlying anger and concern.  The Senior Chief had briefed me carefully and warned me to ignore anything apart from actual smuggling, but the Captain wouldn’t know that.  A proper examination of his ship would probably end up with his licence being confiscated on the grounds his ship was unfit to fly.  The other two crewmen didn’t bother to hide their disdain.

“Welcome onboard my ship,” the Captain said, calmly.  “I am Captain Scott, master of the Underlying Liberty, out of Williamson’s World.  I also have a cleared window to depart in an hour, so I suggest that we move along with it.”

“Yes, sir,” I said, and then caught myself.  He reminded me so much of my Captain that obedience was automatic.  “Ah, we can clear a later window if necessary, but I’m sure it won’t be.  May I see your manifest?”

The Captain nodded to one of his crewmen, who passed me a datapad.  I pulled out my terminal and compared it briefly to the manifest System Command had sent me.  It was largely identical, although two crewmen on the original list were missing, replaced with new names and faces.

“They decided that they would prefer another ship,” the Captain explained, when I asked.  “There’s no shortage of berths around here for qualified crewmen and some other Captain made them an offer.  I had to take on two more to replace them.”

“I see,” I said, puzzled.  “Didn’t they sign a contract to work for you for several years?”

He smiled at my naivety.  “Not in the real world,” he said, dryly.  “A senior crewman can earn far more by advancing up the ladder owning to his experience, not to his political connections.  No crewman would accept such a contract unless they were really desperate and probably unsuited for the job.  This isn’t Earth, you know.”

I flushed slightly.  “No, sir,” I agreed.  On Earth, it was extremely difficult to get rid of an employee unless there was clear proof of criminal activity.  The UN had finally granted the workers all the rights they’d sought since time out of mind.  Things were definitely different outside the Solar System.  “I’ll need to inspect the newcomers cards…”

“They have already been cleared by System Command,” the Captain said, still calmly.  I wondered if he was mocking me slightly, but his face was still blank.  “I can have copies fired over to your starship if you like, but System Command handled it for us.”

“Good,” I said.  This was not going according to plan.  “I believe we’ll start with the bridge, if you don’t mind…?”

The Captain probably did mind, but he led us down a long corridor, chattering away as if we were welcome guests.  The interior corridors were surprisingly clean and tidy – I had been expecting something darker and unpleasant – and decorated with children’s scribbles.  The Underlying Liberty was a family-owned ship, I remembered from the manifest; they had special licences to carry children and even give them education onboard the vessel.  I envied them.  I hadn’t known just how ignorant I was, despite the Academy, until I’d boarded the Jacques Delors.  The bridge was neat and tidy, but compared to our bridge it looked primitive, with several consoles merged together and two of them open for inspection.  I peered inside, just to be through, but I honestly couldn’t have told a working console from a useless unit.  The Engineer probably could have, but he wasn't with us.

“I’ve got two of the kids working on the console,” Captain Scott explained, much to my astonishment.  That contravened several safety regulations, but the Senior Chief’s warning hung in my mind and I disregarded it.  I’d have to make a report to the Captain, but there was little point in harassing anyone now.  “They’re learning how to carry out repairs without spare components.”

“Impressive,” I said, and meant it.  We’d been taught that when a component becomes faulty, it has to be replaced.  We didn’t know how to open a component and repair it if there were no spares available.  It was no wonder that the First Lieutenant had so much paperwork to do.  A missing component at the wrong time could doom the entire vessel and crew.   “We need to inspect the cargo holds as well, and then we’ll leave you to your window.”

The Captain took us down a set of stairs – no intership cars for a freighter – and into the main cargo hold.  It was a massive modular structure – normally, the freighter would simply unload them all in orbit, rather than trying to land – packed with cargo crates.  A handful had been sealed by UN authority and I left those alone, but we opened up a couple more and checked them against the manifest.  I wouldn’t have known a piece of farming gear from a cargo of illegal weapons, but the Marines seemed calm and the Captain didn’t look nervous.

“It all seems fine,” I said, finally.  I had the legal authority to insist on a full search, but there were no grounds for it and the Captain would be annoyed with me.  I’d be cleaning toilets for the next month with a toothbrush.  “Thank you for your time.”

“You’re welcome,” Captain Scott said.  I knew he didn’t mean it, but I accepted it graciously.  “I hope to see you again sometime.”

We were back onboard the shuttle and heading away from the freighter before I realised what he meant.

“We’re picking up an order from System Command,” Alice said, suddenly.  “They want us to inspect this freighter here.”

I blinked.  The small freighter was pulling away from the planet.  I checked the log and it had an open window to depart, but I took the shuttle after it anyway.  System Command probably had a reason for it.  There was no reason why the freighter couldn’t continue its journey after we’d inspected it, either.  The concept of opening a departure window had been outdated centuries ago.

“Hail them,” I ordered.  “Tell them to heave to and prepare to be boarded.”

“Done,” Alice said.  The freighter’s drive seemed to increase in power.  “There is no response.”

I stared.  The freighter was trying to outrun us.  They didn’t have a hope…unless they managed to reach a safe distance from the planet’s gravity well, where they could open a wormhole and vanish.  I ran through the calculations quickly.  If they managed to stay ahead of us for three more minutes, they could wormhole out and we’d never see them again.  What the hell were they carrying that was so important?

“It must be illegal weapons,” Alice murmured.  “What else could it be?”

I wanted the Captain to give me orders, but even if I called the Jacques Delors directly and asked for orders, the Captain would tell me that I was in command.  He’d given me the responsibility and I couldn’t shirk it.  It would have been easy to hesitate long enough to let the freighter go, but I remembered the battle on Terra Nova and shuddered.  I wasn’t going to let more illegal weapons loose if I could help it.

“Pursuit course,” I said, engaging the drive.  The shuttle leapt forward as if it had been stung by a bee.  Under such orders, I could ignore most safety regulations and I took a hellish delight in skimming closer to another freighter.  “Alice, charge weapons; prepare to engage.”

“Aye, sir,” Alice said.  I was astonished that there was no sarcasm in her tone.  She seemed confident that I could handle the task without prodding.  “Lasers ready, sir; shields deployed.”

I nodded.  On the face of it, we were engaging a behemoth, but the freighter couldn’t hope to outrun us, or even destroy us if we were careful.  I looked down at the manifest from System Command and frowned.  It didn’t list any weapons at all, but that proved nothing.

“Transmit a sterner warning,” I ordered, still puzzled.  They might escape, but not without us taking a bite out of them.  Maybe I was being foolish, but I wasn’t going to allow them to escape so easily, whatever they were smuggling.  “Tell them to stand down their drives at once or we open fire.”

“Signal sent,” Alice said.  There was a long pause.  I was starting to wonder if I would have to fire into the vessel, or perhaps try to force-board them, before the drive field flickered out of existence.  “They’re standing down their drives now.”

“I don’t understand,” I muttered, wishing – again – that I could consult the Captain.  I tapped a key, sending a full data download to the Jacques Delors, but the Captain probably wouldn’t issue any different orders.  The ball was still in my court.  “Prepare to dock.”

The mystery was solved the moment we stepped onboard the small freighter, weapons ready.  The Captain was surrounded by a group of unregistered men, their faces tired and desperate, pleading for mercy.  I didn’t understand until we took their biometrics and compared them to System Command’s download; they were all listed as wanted criminals.  Somehow, the Captain had managed to move over two hundred criminals onto his ship to transport them out of the system.  I sent a signal to System Command, asking for reinforcements and a crew for the ship, and then searched the remainder of the vessel.  We found several women and children, hidden away in various sealed compartments, but none of them were on the wanted list.  I wondered if they were kidnap victims, but they seemed unhappy to see us.  One attractive blonde even tried to kick a Marine in the groin.

Once the reinforcements had arrived and formally arrested the criminals, who offered no resistance, we returned to the Jacques Delors and I made a full report.  The Captain listened quietly, without interrupting, but he wasn't pleased.  I could tell that he wasn't pleased, even though he seemed unconcerned and even gave me a note of commendation for my file.  There was just…a slow anger burning away in his eyes…

And I honestly didn’t understand why.  What had I done?

Chapter Seven

Officially, the UN is a representative democracy, with everyone having a vote.  In practice, it is run by a ‘political class’ and controlled by literally millions of bureaucrats.  Although there is a certain pretence of elections and democracy, the senior personages are always from the same class and outside candidates are defeated by a complicated political selection process.  Any political party must have the approval of the UN General Assembly to operate…and, naturally, no party is granted this approval without being firmly wedded to the status quo.  The system is, quite simply, beyond reform.  It is worth noting that of the last seven Secretary-Generals, three of them attempted to reform the bureaucracy…and ended up dying under mysterious circumstances.
-Thomas Anderson.  An Unbiased Look at the UNPF.  Baen Historical Press, 2500.

“I thought I’d find you here,” the Senior Chief said.  “How are you feeling?”

I shrugged.  I had been sitting in the observation blister for the last twenty minutes, watching the stars.  We didn’t get much free time on the starship – that was for leave, or so Lieutenant Hatchet had informed us – but what little we had, I tended to spend in the blister.  There was just something about looking at the unblinking stars that put the entire universe in perspective.

“Lousy,” I growled finally, too tired to care about how I spoke to him.  “What did I do wrong?”

If the Senior Chief was offended by my tone, he didn’t show it.  “What makes you think you did something wrong?”

“The Captain wasn't happy with me,” I said.  I felt as if I had failed him, but I couldn’t understand how, or why.  “What did I do wrong?”

“Nothing,” the Senior Chief said.  He came fully into the blister and closed the hatch behind him with an audible thump.  “You did nothing wrong, John.  That’s the problem.  You followed orders and regulations to the letter.”

I had the odd feeling that I was being mocked.  “And yet…why was the Captain unhappy with me?”  I demanded.  “Tell me!”

The Senior Chief smiled.  “That might take some time to explain,” he said, seriously.  “Tell me something.  When you and your fellow Ensigns came onboard this ship, were you prepared for the experience?”

I remembered our disgraceful showing with a wince.  “No,” I admitted.  In hindsight, we’d all been foolish.  We should definitely have been on time, wearing proper dress uniforms.  “We were a disgrace.”

“How true,” the Senior Chief agreed.  “Even after you looked the part, were you actually ready to play the part?  Were you really qualified to be Ensigns?”

“No,” I admitted.  We’d been badly ill-prepared for the position.  I hadn’t known how ignorant we actually were until we found ourselves struggling to survive our first cruise.  There were some Ensigns, according to Lieutenant Hatchet, who never managed to make it that far and ended up killing themselves through a simple mistake.

“No,” the Senior Chief agreed.  “Tell me something.  Do you know why you weren’t prepared?”

I hesitated.  “No,” I admitted finally.  “The Academy never prepared us for the role.”

“Oh, it taught you a lot, but it didn’t always teach you the right things,” the Senior Chief said.  He seemed to be dancing around the question, but I controlled my frustration.  The answers would come in time.  “Tell me something else.  How well did you do at school?”

“Pretty well,” I said, stung.  “I got good grades...”

“Yes, I suppose you did,” the Senior Chief agreed.  “Tell me one final thing.  How many of your classmates got good grades?”

The moment of realisation hit me like a hammer.  “Son of a bitch!”

“Quite,” the Senior Chief agreed.  “Everyone got good grades.  Everyone got good prizes and rewards for their work, regardless of how much, or how little, they were actually worth.  The teachers taught you your rights, but not your responsibilities…and not what you needed to actually get a good job.  You were taught nothing about science, or technology, or politics, sometimes through oversight and sometimes through deliberate planning.

“And, of course, there was no discipline.”

I shuddered, remembering the first weeks at school.  The teachers taught and had nothing to do with us otherwise.  The children ran the school and formed gangs that waged war on each other, or the teachers.  Some used drugs and became criminals very quickly, others drunk themselves to death or killed themselves, just to escape the nightmare.  I might have been one of them if my life had been different, one of millions of semi-illiterate thugs roaming the city, terrorising the civilians.  If I hadn’t made it into the Academy, it would have been a dead-end job or a life on permanent welfare, or maybe even the infantry.

And that had been one of the good schools.

“You have never been under real discipline until you boarded this ship,” the Senior Chief said.  “The experts say that giving a child proper discipline hampers their development.  The experts say that encouraging competition only fosters resentments and bitter hatreds.  The experts say that penalising children for their own failures is unfair.  The experts say…”

He broke off.  “Tell me something,” he said, again.  “If I told you to repair the Jump Drive, could you do it?”

“No,” I said, flatly.  I was starting to have an idea of where this was going.  “I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

“Nor would I,” the Senior Chief admitted.  “The Engineer could, I suspect, attempt it if there was no other choice.  His assignment here suggests that he couldn’t do it.  If he were one of the few people who really understood the Jump Drive, he’d be on Mars or Titan, working on research.  Could you build a helicopter?  Could you build a Marine Assault Rifle?  A shuttle?  A computer?  Could you even tell me how one works?”

“No,” I said, reluctantly.  “But why…?”

“Bear with me a moment,” the Senior Chief said.  “The Education System down on Earth is designed to promote equality.  It succeeds admirably...in spreading an equality of ignorance.  For every man who understands how something works, there are a million people who might as well be peasants, sleepwalking through an age of wonder with their eyes screwed closed, never taught to understand the world around them.  The reason Earth’s cities are decaying is because there are too few people who understand the problem and are working to fix them.  You were one of the lucky ones.”

He looked at me for a long moment.  “Your friend Muna came from an area where women are kept under strict religious law, despite the UN’s high-minded rhetoric, because those self-same experts have convinced the UN that intervening to prevent human rights from being violated is a human rights breach in itself,” he said.  “How lucky she was to have even a hope of escaping!  How lucky she was that she found a UN officer who actually saw to it that she was sent to Luna Base and the Academy there!  How lucky she was that the UN didn’t send her back the moment one of the bastards who claimed to own her complained about his rights being violated!”

I was genuinely shocked.  “But the Bill of Human Rights…”

“Ink on paper,” the Senior Chief snapped.  “You must have realised by now that the UN’s version of events has some holes in it.  You’d be better off assuming that everything in the files is a lie and working from there.”

I stared at him, and then looked back at the stars.  I hadn’t known that it was that bad in other parts of the world.  I had just wanted to escape the slum that had been waiting for me since I had been born.  If I had known…what could I have done?  The Senior Chief was right.  Helplessness had been bred into us from Day One.

“The result of their system is that inquiring minds are generally squashed quickly,” the Senior Chief said.  “The really smart people left and emigrated to the colonies centuries ago, back before the UN clamped down on emigration.  The ones who were left were so few in number that any advance was mainly a matter of luck, rather than judgement.  They are rarer than gold, and yet the UN works them to death, because there are too few of them to waste.  There are billions of people on welfare to be fed, somehow.”

He looked over at me.  “The UN tried to square this circle by decreeing that the colonies would supply manpower to Earth to help fix the problems they had caused,” he added.  “They don’t want brute force manpower – they have plenty of that in people like you – but scientists and theorists who might be able to make the next breakthrough that will prevent Earth from starving.  The UN garrison here put out an order for two hundred qualified people to report to the spaceport for shipping to Earth.  They decided they wanted to escape…”

I understood.  “Until I caught them,” I said, shaking my head.  It all came crashing down suddenly.  “What did I do?”

“Oh, nothing much,” the Senior Chief said.  “You merely condemned two hundred people unlucky enough to be smart and trained to use those smarts to a lifetime working to reform a system that is well past reform.  Congratulations, John.  You’ve ruined hundreds of lives.”

He couldn’t have hurt me worse if he’d punched me in the nose.  “I didn’t mean to do it,” I protested.  “I was only following orders…”

The Senior Chief snorted.  “Do you think that that makes any difference?”

His voice softened.  “You don’t know how lucky you are to be onboard this ship,” he explained.  “There are far worse ships, commanded by UN zealots, who can get away with anything.  This ship is the best ship in the fleet and don’t you forget it.  The Captain won’t hold you responsible for your little fuck-up.  You were only following orders.”

I felt my temper flare.  “Why was he so angry with me, then?”

“Because the Captain might have known what was going on and chose to turn a blind eye,” the Senior Chief explained.  “The System Command sent him the intercept request first and he turned it down on a point of order.  They then sent it to you and made you carry out the interception.  You didn’t know it, but they were placing you in a really bad position.  Luckily…the refugees didn’t open fire.”

He smiled thinly.  “Tell me something,” he added.  “Do you think that two hundred, or two thousand, or even two hundred thousand people would make any difference to Earth?”

“No,” I said, remembering irregular power supplies and the tainted, odd-tasting water, that we’d been forced to drink.  Entire districts had been blacked out for weeks on end.  “I didn’t know what I was doing.”

“No, you didn’t,” the Senior Chief said.  He hesitated.  “The Captain knew it as well, hence his willingness to let them go.  I shouldn’t be telling you this, but I think you need to know.  You were damned whatever happened, but you’re going to get a commendation and probably a promotion to Lieutenant when we return to Earth.  You’re a hero!  You stopped the colonies from hoarding some of their knowledge capital instead of sharing it out equally.”

“I don’t feel like a hero,” I said, numbly.  “I feel like a bastard.”

“So you should,” the Senior Chief said.  “Did you ever think to wonder why the Captain was given you Ensigns specifically?”

“Us?”  I asked.  “I just thought we’d been assigned to the ship as normal.”

“Normally, one to three Academy graduates would join a pair of Ensigns who had already served on the ship and had seniority,” the Senior Chief said.  “The Captain was given seven totally green Ensigns because his enemies wanted to embarrass him and perhaps cost him his command.  You see, the Captain obtained his post through political connections and then let the side down a bit by actually being good at his job.  There are ships where the Captain is a frightened man, scared of his own crew, and ships that are run by tyrants.  On this ship…raw Ensigns become men.”

He looked down at his hands for a moment.  “There’s a power struggle going on back home,” he said.  “One side wants to try to come to terms with the colonies and reform the system from within.  The other side wants to fight it out till the bitter end.  The Captain was supposed to be a member of the latter faction, but effectively changed his allegiance.  They can’t get rid of him without looking like idiots, but they’ll be watching and waiting for a chance to stick a knife in his back.  There are times when I wonder if he’s going to go rogue, but he’s got too much of a sense of duty to accept that.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, helplessly.  “I didn’t know.”

“No, you didn’t,” the Senior Chief said.  There was no condemnation in his voice.  “You couldn’t know what they were doing, or why.  It wasn’t your fault.”

“I’ll refuse the promotion,” I said, suddenly.  “I’ll stay here and…”

“No, you won’t,” the Senior Chief said.  “You’ll accept the promotion and the probable transfer.  This ship has a full complement of Lieutenants, so you’ll end up being transferred, and you’ll go there and remember what I told you.  It’ll serve you well in later life.”

“Why?”  I asked.  “What’s the point?”

“Earth is on the end of a very long supply line,” the Senior Chief said.  “It cannot feed itself for very long.  When the system finally falls apart, we’ll still be here.  The galaxy needs us.”

“As what?”  I demanded.  I was too angry to care any longer.  “Kidnappers and thieves?”

The Senior Chief smiled.  “Maybe more than that,” he said.  “There are worlds out there that are far less peaceful than Terra Nova, and worlds that would cheerfully attack their neighbours if they were given half a chance.  There are groups on Earth that would commit genocide if we allowed them to try.  The Peace Force can’t keep a peace that doesn’t exist, but we can try and stop it from getting out of hand.  If not…”

His eyes met mine for a long moment.  “It’s quite possible to wipe out the entire population on a planet, you know,” he said, slowly.  “We might be all that stands between the human race and destruction.”

“Yes, sir,” I said, without thinking.  He shrugged and let it past, even though I suspected he saw it as something of an insult.  “What about…”

I broke off, and then took the plunge.  “What is really going on back on Terra Nova?”

The Senior Chief shrugged.  “Back when the Jump Drive was first invented, no one knew how many worlds there were out there waiting to be claimed, so when Terra Nova was discovered, everyone wanted in.  There were hundreds of nations or factions who wanted to set up their own colony world.  The UN ended up arbitrating between the factions and used it as a chance to push forward their own position.  To cut a long story short, they moved out tens of thousands in the first year, with berths shared out on an equal basis.

“The sociologists believed that a new culture would form in the melting pot,” he continued.  “They might have been right if there had been pressure to make people melt together, but they also forbade the use of such pressure.  It wasn't such a problem in the first few years, but when the hard work of making the planet liveable was completed, everyone looked at each other and realised how different they were.  It didn’t help that hundreds of other planets had been discovered and claimed by different nations, which meant that Terra Nova was suddenly a backwater.  There were even people starting to leave.  To add to the chaos, the UN decided that prisoners should be exiled to Terra Nova and dumped among the general population.  They included thousands of rebels and radicals…

“To cut a long story short, civil unrest began quickly and mutated into civil war,” he concluded.  “The UN decided to put a stop to this and moved in a few companies of infantry.  On a ship, that’s enough manpower to subdue a battleship’s crew easily.  On a planet, it’s tiny.  The peacekeepers rapidly found themselves under attack by the rebels, or insurgents, or whatever you want to call them and ended up trying to defend themselves instead of keeping the peace.  Reinforcements were poured in, but the UN desperately needed a political victory, so there was no attempt to crush the enemy decisively.  It didn’t help that the diplomats kept getting their wires crossed so that different factions in the UN would back different factions on the planet.”

He sighed.  “And it all went downhill from there,” he said.  “Do you think that the forces you saw on the planet can put the genie of ethnic conflict back in the bottle?”

I shook my head.  I hadn’t seen much of the infantry down on the surface, but there had been an undeniable…sloppiness to their arrangements.  “Probably not, no,” the Senior Chief agreed.  “The UN breaks things and when it does, it’s our task to keep the peace, somehow.”

He grinned at me.  “You’re one day older, kid,” he said.  “Welcome to the real world.”

I didn’t know what to say.  I’d been taught all my life that ethnic groups could get along fine, but I’d seen plenty to suggest otherwise, even though there had been no way to express it.  Back home, whites and blacks, Chinese and Native American and others had all gone around in their own groups.  The religious sects had kept themselves separate from us non-believers, or fought us whenever they saw a chance.  The schools had told us that racism had been eradicated, but it had been alive and well on the city streets.

“Thanks,” I said, dryly.  “What do I do now?”

“You remember what I told you,” he said.  “It’ll keep you alive.”

Chapter Eight

The UNPF promotion system, put simply, is a mess.  Officers are promoted after what is supposed to be a careful reading of their service record, followed by interviews with their commanding officers, but it is quite common for complete incompetents to be promoted to quite senior positions.  Every service record must praise the officer to the skies.  A single blemish in the wrong place can utterly destroy a career.  The political officers assigned to starships, rather than commanding officers, make the final recommendations.  These are almost always acted upon.  Competence is a leaf when weighed against the stone of political reliability.
-Thomas Anderson.  An Unbiased Look at the UNPF.  Baen Historical Press, 2500.

“So,” Jason Montgomerie said, over a cup of synthesised coffee, “how do you feel about your first year on active service?”

I tensed, despite myself.  It had been a year since I had boarded the Jacques Delors for the first time and in some ways I wished I had never known what it would be like to serve on a starship.  There hadn’t been another interception of people trying to escape the UN’s insatiable demands for their service, but there had been enough other incidents to leave me in no doubt what I served.  Part of me was tempted to tell the Political Officer the truth, knowing that I would never be allowed to serve on a starship again, but the rest of me held fast.  I didn’t dare speak the truth.

“I think it went fairly well,” I said, carefully.  I’d seen the Political Officer from time to time – we were meant to have regular indoctrination sessions as young officers, but most of them had been skipped under the pressure of the starship’s patrol route – but never on my own.  Up close, he looked more of a harmless sot than anything else, like one of the Persons of No Residence from home.  They drank to forget their woes.  It had occurred to me, not for the first time, that Jason Montgomerie might have more in common with them than either would have cared to admit.  “It was an adventure, sir.”

My enthusiasm wasn’t quite feigned.  The Senior Chief had been right.  I had never been fully tested until I’d boarded the starship and discovered that the universe didn’t care how politically reliable you were.  I hadn’t been worthy to wear Ensign’s rank, or even a Crewman’s uniform, but now I felt much more confident in myself.  The Senior Chief, the Marines and even the Captain himself had taught me far more than the Academy, even if I hadn’t ended up First Ensign.  That honour had gone to Roger and, despite his family connections, I had to admit that he’d earned it.

“Excellent,” the Political Officer said.  He took another sip of his own coffee.  I caught a whiff of the smell and realised that it was spiked with something else.  There was supposed to be only one still on board – under the care of the Senior Chief – but I wouldn’t have been surprised to discover that there was another one.  The Political Officer drank far more than anyone else.  “And your adventure with the fleeing criminals?  How do you feel about that?”

I kept my face blank.  “I felt as if I’d caught fugitives from justice,” I said, untruthfully.  I still wanted to throw up every time I thought of it.  The mere thought of what I’d been party to, if only by accident…it was disgusting.  The Senior Chief had briefed me carefully, however; I was to pretend to be delighted at my own work.  “They fled lawful orders from Earth and had to be detained.”

“Of course,” the Political Officer agreed.  He smiled down into his coffee for a long moment.  “And your own career has benefited because of it.  Your name is on the list for promotion at the end of this voyage.”

I blinked.  The Senior Chief had hinted at the possibility, but it hadn’t really sunk in, not when I still felt like an incompetent jackass half the time.  I’d learned more about how the Peace Force really worked than when I’d been a young Cadet, but I couldn’t quite believe that the Promotion Board would consider me a serious prospect for higher rank.  Roger, perhaps, or Muna…but not me.

“Ah…thank you, sir,” I said, tightly.  The Senior Chief had made one thing very clear.  If promotion was being offered, I was not to decline it.  They would never offer to promote me again.  “May I ask why…?”

“Certainly,” the Political Officer said.  “The reports from the Lieutenants have all been very favourable about you, John.  You have mastered the requirements of an Ensign’s role and studied the basic requirements for a Lieutenant, including logistics and crew support.  They were very impressed with you.  You may never make a Security Officer, or a Doctor, but you’re certainly on the command track.”

His eyes narrowed slightly.  “Unless, of course, you don’t want it?”

“I do,” I said, quickly.  I wanted to be a commanding officer, like Captain Harriman, not a pen-pusher on a base somewhere or a Lieutenant who would never rise above Lieutenant.  I’d met both types now on the cruise, and on the handful of bases we had been allowed shore leave – thankfully, none as bad as Terra Nova – and I didn’t want to be either.  A Lieutenant without career prospects became embittered very quickly.  “Sir, I’m flattered that…”

“Think nothing of it,” the Political Officer said, waving one hand in the air dismissively.  My promotion clearly meant nothing to him.  “A Harriman-trained officer is always welcome on the other starships and you come with the Captain’s recommendation.  You’ve really reached the limits of what you can do on this ship, my dear John.  Unless the Promotion Board sees fit to reverse the decision, you’re going to become a Lieutenant within a week.”

The thought didn’t give me as much pleasure as I would have liked.  It wasn't UNPF policy that crewmen should serve on the same starship for their entire lives, certainly not junior officers like me.  The Jacques Delors had become home for me, and the other Ensigns, but if we were promoted, we’d be reassigned to other starships.  I had thought that that was to give us a chance to experience life on other ships and carry out a wide variety of duties, but the Senior Chief had explained that the real purpose was to stop us developing enduring friendships.  I didn’t understand why, but in any case…there could only be one Captain on the Jacques Delors.

“Thank you, sir,” I said, seriously.  I felt conflicted, but proud, even though I suspected that I had few grounds for that pride.  “I’ll try and make the Captain proud of me.”

The Jacques Delors had returned to the Solar System three days ago, but instead of travelling through a wormhole directly to Earth, the Captain had decided to take us on a brief sweep through the outer planets before we returned home.  The popular conception of the outermost reaches of the solar system had it ringed with clouds of dust and comets, but while there were hundreds of comets, there was nothing that posed a serious threat to the starship.  There were videos that suggested that any starship racing through the asteroid belt would certainly crash into an asteroid – with huge loss of life if the asteroid was a populated one – but that wouldn’t happen unless someone intended it to happen.  Even so, it would be tricky…

It was another day before I was called into the Captain’s office and I was surprised to discover that Roger and Muna were already there.  They looked at me, puzzled, and I realised that they were as surprised to see me as I was to see them.  The Captain’s office was tiny, compared to some of the classrooms at the Academy, but it was massive compared to our wardroom.  It was neat and tidy, but there were a handful of pictures on the bulkheads.  The image of the current Secretary-General was pretty much obligatory, but the other images were different.  A dark-haired girl, smiling into the camera, and a pair of children.  The thought of the Captain having a family surprised me, even though I knew now that he was in his late forties, and I felt an odd flash of guilt for prying into his private life in such a manner.  

We straightened to attention as the Captain strode in.  There was no longer any nonsense about having forgotten how to stand to attention, or salute; indeed, I wished that I had had the foresight to put on my dress uniform instead of basic ship’s outfit.  Roger looked even worse – he’d been in the Engineering Section when the summons had arrived and he was covered in oil stains – and Muna looked tired.  It would have been her sleeping time, I remembered.  It had to have been important for the Captain to summon anyone from their bunk.  He wasn't an inconsiderate sadist, unlike some instructors I could name.

“At ease,” he ordered, tightly.  There was an expression in his face I couldn’t recognise at first…and then I realised that it was pride.  “We will be docking at Orbit Nine in two days, as you know.  The Jacques Delors will be replenishing her supplies there and preparing to embark on another patrol, unless Admiral Hoover decides that he requires the presence of another cruiser.  You three, however, will not be remaining on this ship.”

I tensed, despite myself, before he smiled.  “The Promotions Board has accepted my recommendation and accepted that the three of you will be promoted to Lieutenant,” he continued.  He held up a hand before any of us could speak, as if we would have dared.  We’d probably all been warned in advance – I knew that I had – but it hadn’t been real until the Captain had confirmed it.  “Do not question this, or wonder why you were chosen when others, seemingly better qualified, were passed over in your favour.  Accept this and make me proud of you when you take your posts on your next starship.”

Muna let out a quiet noise and I suspect that I joined her.  None of us wanted to leave.  “I do understand,” the Captain said, and in that moment he sounded much older and tired, too tired, than any of us had heard him before.  “There is nothing quite like the starship you served on first, unless it’s your first command.  You might just want to decline this promotion, or perhaps even request that you replace one of the Lieutenants on this starship, but that cannot be granted.  The UNPF is going to need young men and women like you in positions of responsibility.  I would not have pushed for your promotion if I didn’t feel that you could handle it.

“You all had a taste of a Lieutenant’s duties,” he added, “but you will discover that you never even scratched the surface.  It depends on where you go after this ship, but you may discover that you will have harder work to do than you have ever faced before, or perhaps you’ll find that you are unable to face up to the challenge.  I think that you can handle it.  Do you want to try and prove me wrong?”

“No, sir,” we said, together.  I was confused and conflicted, excited and terrified, all at the same time.  I couldn’t have explained it, but somehow I was rooted to the spot, unable to move.

“Good,” the Captain said.  He picked a folder up from his desk.  “Roger Williamson?”

“Yes, sir?”  Roger said.

“By the power vested in me as Captain of this vessel and the United Nations General Assembly, I hereby promote you to Lieutenant,” the Captain said.  He stepped up to Roger and carefully removed the Ensign’s rank bars he wore, replacing them with a silver pair of stars.  A moment later, he pulled away the pins Roger wore to mark his time in grade; as a Lieutenant, his seniority would return to zero.  He was the most junior Lieutenant in the service.  “Muna Mohammad?”

“Yes, sir?”  Muna said.

“By the power vested in me as Captain of this vessel and the United Nations General Assembly, I hereby promote you to Lieutenant,” the Captain said.  He altered her rank bars as well and then turned to me.  “John Walker?”

I was as tense as a bridegroom on his big day, but the Captain didn’t seem to notice.  I barely felt his touch as he removed my rank bars and replaced them with something new.  I felt as if I could walk on air, all of a sudden; I was no longer an Ensign!

“You will be spending the last two days in your Wardroom, I’m afraid,” the Captain said.  His lips twitched into a faint smile.  “I should warn you not to use your new rank too much in the first few days, until you get used to it.  You’re not secure in your rank until you set foot on your next ship.”

I understood the subtext.  If we bullied the other Ensigns – the Ensigns, now – we might be demoted on the spot.  I wasn't sure if the Captain had the power to do that, but I wouldn’t have bet against it.  We left the Captain’s cabin with our orders and didn’t burst into cheers until we were well away from Officer Country.  It was absurd, in a way, but I felt silly wearing my new rank bars.  They didn’t feel quite real, yet.

Roger opened his orders and peered at them.  “Kofi Annan,” he said.  “A battleship. What about you two?”

“Lover,” Muna said, puzzled.  She frowned at her orders.  “That’s not a standard name, is it?”

“It could be a specialist research platform,” Roger suggested.  “John?”

“Devastator,” I said, almost as puzzled as Muna.  “A Monitor.  What’s a Monitor?”

Roger laughed at me.  “It’s a planet-bombarding ship,” he said, amused.  “They’re supposed to be a new class of ship; they only entered service a few years ago.  No one likes to talk about them, for some reason.”

“I see,” I said, finally.  We had reached the Observation Blister.  “I’ll catch up with you later, all right?”

They waved goodbye and I stepped into the blister.  The Senior Chief was standing there, waiting for me.  “John,” he said, gravely.  “Congratulations.”

I scowled at him.  “Do I deserve them?”

“Perhaps,” the Senior Chief said.  He waved a hand towards the unblinking stars.  “Do you think that they care for a second if you deserve what you get or not?”

I touched the new rank badge.  “They’re sending me to a Monitor,” I said, bemused.  “What did I do to deserve that?”

“Caught that shipload of information hoarders,” the Senior Chief said.  “You have seen the newscasts, haven’t you?”

“I haven’t had the time,” I replied, crossly.  I was sick of playing games, yet I was sure that any attempt to use my new authority would be futile.  The Senior Chief had known me as a lowly Ensign, barely worth the oxygen needed to keep me alive.  “What have they been saying?”

“You’re their golden boy,” the Senior Chief said.  He grinned, humourlessly.  “You’ve been their poster child for the face of the United Nations, you know.  You’ve got the right attitude to make it ahead in the service too…”

“I didn’t mean to,” I protested.  “Chief, I didn’t…”

“So you said,” the Senior Chief said.  “And, as I keep telling you, reality is what they make it.  By now, you – and every other young officer who did something like it themselves – has had their past rewritten to make you heroes.  You’ll be whatever they want you to be.  The media will see to that.”

“I don’t know what to do,” I admitted.  I touched the silver bars on my shoulder.  “Did I earn these?”

“You played the game their way, quite by accident,” the Senior Chief agreed.  “You must have realised by now that your ignorance is one of their weapons.”

I nodded.  “And, the Senior Chief continued, “if you have the rank, you’ll be well placed to help others in the same position.  Years from now, perhaps, you’ll be consoling the younger generation of officers.  They’re going to need you, aren’t they?”

“Yes,” I admitted, grimly.  “Thank you for everything.”

“I haven’t finished,” the Senior Chief said.  He reached into one pocket and pulled out a small golden badge, shaped like the Jacques Delors.  “Do you know what this is?”

“An icon,” I said, puzzled.  “Why…?”

“Here,” he said, passing it to me.  “You may have noticed that the Peace Force doesn’t really care for traditions at all, but this one even the Political Officers can’t ban.  A memento of your first starship…and perhaps something else.”

He held up the badge and showed me the tiny computer chip built into the underside.  “There are those of us who try to keep the system from screwing up our lives and that of everyone else,” he said.  I felt a numb burst of shock.  “You wouldn’t be seeing this if I didn’t feel that you were trustworthy.  The Brotherhood would kill the pair of us if they felt that they had a security breech.  Take it.”

I took it, staring down at the golden shape.  “Why…how?”

The Senior Chief grinned.  “Take it to a terminal, one disconnected from the main starship’s computer, and use it,” he said.  “You’ll find it very useful indeed.  If you want to drop me a message…well, did you know that there’s a regulation that all electronic messages have to be a particular length?”

I understood.  Anything could be hidden in the right place.

“Thank you,” I said, surprised.  “I’ll be careful with it.”

“Make sure you are,” the Senior Chief warned.  “Now…what are you going to be doing on your week of shore leave?”

“I’m going to go home,” I said, seriously.  “It’s been three years since I set foot on Earth.”

The Senior Chief frowned.  “Good luck,” he said.  “Earth is not quite what it used to be.”

Chapter Nine

It is difficult for anyone to comprehend the state of Earth under the UN.  The once-great cities are crumbling away into dust.  The lives of the ordinary citizens are controlled by thousands of bureaucratic laws and regulations that attempt to dictate every aspect of their lives.  Crime is permanently on the increase and law and order is a joke – indeed, the criminals have more rights than their victims.  Unemployment, always the curse of history, stands at 70% and rising, worldwide.  The tragic irony of the UN’s attempts to legislate a perfect state into existence is that it has, with the best will in the world, created a nightmare.
-Thomas Anderson.  An Unbiased Look at the UNPF.  Baen Historical Press, 2500.

I had forgotten what Earth felt like, but I was reminded the moment I stepped off the shuttle from Orbit Nine onto the North American Orbital Tower.  The two security guards – armed with nothing more intimidating than stunners – insisted on frisking me twice before reluctantly allowing me passage to the surface.  The orbital tower itself was showing signs of decay – it was over two hundred years old and the paint was fading away, along with most of the machinery – and I couldn’t understand why a team of engineers hadn’t been assigned to fixing it.  If we had left the Wardroom in a comparable state, the Captain would have had us all on punishment duty for the next month, but here…no one seemed to care.

It wasn't a particularly reassuring thought, I realised, as I took my seat on the elevator.  I had forgotten how much everything cost as well and I was immensely grateful for the foresight that had convinced me to bring my UNPF credit card as well as a handful of paper money.  Very few people used paper money these days – the odds of being mugged and robbed were too high – but the bartender was glad to have it.  I purchased a small sandwich and a drink and discovered, very quickly, that the meat in the sandwich had probably been slightly unhealthy.  There was no point in complaining – the customer was never right – and I put the rest of it aside.  My drink was flat, but at least it didn’t taste funny.  The ride down the orbital tower took hours and I tried to sleep, but I couldn’t because of the music several of my fellow travellers were playing.  I hadn’t caught up on the latest music since I had gone to the Academy and there was definitely nothing to recommend it; the undertones of rebellion in the music seemed to suggest a definitely hopeless slant.  I couldn’t understand why the singer hadn’t been banned yet, but perhaps it was just another example of what the Senior Chief had called harmless rebellion.

“People need to let off steam from time to time,” he’d explained, during one of our long discussions.  “The UN is very good at identifying something they can do without causing real problems for the state.”

I studied my fellow travellers with some interest, although most of them were minding their own business with an intensity that surprised me.  We’d been taught to help out our fellow Ensigns if they needed help, but few people on Earth would lift a finger to help someone else unless there was something in it for them.  The vast majority of them seemed to be businessmen with interests in space, but others seemed to be nothing more than thugs, or perhaps even a handful of colonists visiting the mother world.  Somehow, I suspected that when they got home, they’d be telling them how much better Terra Nova was than Earth…and they might even be right.  It had been too long since I’d set foot on the planet.

A group of young women were chattering away and I eyed them with interest.  Spacers developed new standards of beauty after a year away from accessible women and they were beautiful by any standard I cared to name, but the giggles!  They giggled about everything, from the worlds they’d visited on the Grand Sneer – whatever that was – to the servants they had tormented down on the ground.  I couldn’t understand why they were on the orbital tower at first, and then it dawned on me.  The girls were slumming it with the rest of the population.  The dank smell of urine touched my nostrils and I grimaced, but the girls only giggled louder.  They were touching real life, but not in any way that could get them hurt.  Even the most unpleasant gang of thugs would think twice about hurting girls from the upper class.  It wasn't as if they were just common or garden citizens.  There would be consequences if they were harmed in any way.

The capsule finally hit the ground and I allowed myself a sign of relief.  It really wasn’t that different from an elevator.  It could have drawn thousands of tourists who wanted to see outside, but there were safety regulations that prevented the capsules from having any viewing ports.  I didn’t understand it.  Modern materials could keep the passengers safe and people didn’t have to look out if they didn’t want to, but the beauecrats had triumphed again.  I was on the verge of composing a letter explaining just how foolish this was – and how much money could be made from selling the ride as a tourist attraction - but I knew it was pointless.  Safety came first.  It was something that had been hammered into our heads from early life.

“This way to the exit, please,” someone was shouting.  The doors were hissing open and I caught my first whiff of Earth.  It stank even worse than I remembered, the sour smell of automobiles, machinery and thousands upon thousands of human beings.  The population of Earth, according to official figures, was dropping every year, but the Senior Chief said otherwise and I believed him.  The Welfare State provided food for each new child that came along and there had been a massive population explosion.  “Follow me to the exit.”

They didn’t just let us out onto the planet, of course.  That would have been efficient.  Instead, there was a long passage through a handful of overworked security guards – I was searched again, not particularly well – before we were allowed out onto the concourse.  I looked back at the orbital tower, stretching away into the sky, and felt a moment of dizziness that I tried hard to suppress.  I had seen more impressive sights out in space, but the tower was something special.  It had been built in a very different age.

I wanted to take a taxi, but I knew better than to make any conspicuous display of wealth, so I walked down to the railroad station and boarded a train to my home city.  I had been brought up in Albuquerque since I had been very young and I hadn’t seen anything of the rest of the planet.  I’d seen more of Terra Nova than I had of Earth.  The UN kept telling us all about the fantastic improvements it had made in defending the Earth’s biosphere, but if that were the case, why was the air so polluted?  I didn’t want to think about what was powering the train, but it seemed to move all right, even though it was packed.  I dreaded to imagine what would happen if I had been a pregnant woman.  No one cared on Earth.

It wasn't easy, but I pushed the thought aside and thought about my family instead.  I’d sent several messages to my parents, telling them that I would be coming home for a visit, but they hadn’t replied.  I found that worrying, but Mom had never been one to learn how to use a communications terminal properly.  She knew nothing – and I had known nothing, until I boarded the Jacques Delors – about how the terminal really worked.  It was quite possible that one of the many computer filters built in to prevent the spread of hate speech had eaten her messages, although I hoped not.  Sending more than a handful of hateful messages – as defined by the filters – meant a mandatory class on avoiding hate speech.  One of my friends from school had had to sit through one and he’d never been quite the same since.  

I didn’t dare sleep on the train – too many of my fellow passengers looked desperate enough to steal what little I had on me – and so I watched as the massive habitation malls of Albuquerque came into view.  They’d been built at least a hundred years ago, I’d been told, each one capable of housing thousands of people in reasonable comfort at the time.  They weren't now.  The vast majority of them were effectively governed by petty criminals and corrupt policemen.  No wonder that the people wanted to escape the cesspool, whatever it took.  It had taken me to Luna Base and the Academy.

It looks worse than I remember, I thought, as I stepped off the train.  The railroad station had actually been linked to the underground system for reasons that I’m sure had made sense at the time, but now no one with any brains would go into them for fear of his life.  When I’d been younger, we had used to run through them on a dare, before being exposed to more adult pleasures like drugs and girls.  A handful of my female classmates had become prostates before even reaching the legal Age of Consent, just to keep their boyfriends (and pimps) happy.  Others had cheerfully rolled their clients for money.  I was tempted to walk through the tunnels anyway, for old time’s sake, but it wouldn’t have been wise.  I walked through the streets instead.

My family had always lived in Harrison Ford Mall, named for someone who had otherwise been removed from history.  I’d looked him up once on the Internet and found nothing, although the deeper levels of the net had suggested a movie career.  It towered ahead of me as I walked through the grin streets, noting with disapproval how much litter had simply been dumped there, but as I drew closer, it became apparent that something was seriously wrong.  Half of the Mall was a burned out ruin, populated only by louts and drunkards.  The remainder looked deserted.

I stopped and stared, helplessly.  Where were they?  I wanted to run forward and search the entire mall, but even as I moved forward I knew it was a fool’s errand.  The whole mall should have been torn down and rebuilt, but instead…it had just been abandoned.  What had happened, I asked myself desperately; where was my family?  What had happened…?

I felt two fingers sneaking into my pockets and caught them, hard enough to hurt.  I turned to see a young boy, barely nine years old if that, staring up at me.  He might have been handsome under other circumstances, but one of his eyes was missing, replaced by a cloth patch.  He opened his mouth to scream and I squeezed harder.  I wasn’t going to let him off lightly.

“All right,” I said, picking him up effortlessly.  He weighed barely anything.  I knew how his life would go in the future.  He’d die, soon enough, or be sold to a pimp to satisfy the really unpleasant set of customers.  “If you scream, I’ll snap your neck, understand?”  He nodded, terrified.  No one would have stood up to him before.  The odds were that he was giving some of his loot to a more senior gang.  “What happened to this place?”

He stared at me.  “I don’t know,” he said.  I started to squeeze harder.  “There was a fire and the place burned down and everyone was killed…”

“That’s impossible,” I said, shocked.  There had been tens of thousands of people in the mall.  There were also fire-suppressing systems and…

I cursed.  What was I thinking?  This wasn't the Jacques Delors, with Captain Harriman and the Senior Chief and the Engineer and the rest of the crew.  This was Albuquerque, a city in the Pan-American Union, controlled by people who didn’t care what happened to their citizens.  The brightly-coloured posters on the wall advertising the wonders and glories of the People’s Progressive Party, the National Socialist Workers Party and the Communist League of Freedom meant nothing.  The real rulers of the city were not chosen in anything so droll as an election…

The little thief wiggled free and ran.  I let him go, knowing what it must have been like for anyone caught in the blaze.  If I’d stayed, maybe…no, that was foolish.  Once the fire had started, it would have spread quickly, particularly if the systems had failed completely.  If I had been there, I would have died with the others of my family…

The bastards didn’t bother to even tell me, I thought, angrily.  There had been some updates from Earth, but none of them had been addressed to me, nor had they discussed disasters like a fire that killed tens of thousands.  The media wouldn’t have mentioned it at all.  No one on Earth, apart from those in Albuquerque, would have known about the fire; they certainly wouldn’t have realised that it could have been prevented, if proper maintenance had been undertaken.  Suddenly, everything fell into perspective; the men and women I’d recovered from the freighter were needed here, because Earth no longer produced competent minds!  I hadn’t understood just what the Senior Chief had meant, until now.

“There he is,” someone shouted.  I turned slightly to see the little thief.  He wasn't alone either.  “I told you he was here.”

A gang, I realised.  There were only four of them, but they swaggered along as if they owned the place, and, in many ways, they did.  They wore red shirts, the better to mark themselves as members of the Bloody Blades, and carried metal sticks on their backs.  They wouldn’t have any firearms, of course, or energy weapons, but they were quite intimidating enough to the average citizen.  I knew what I was meant to do; run, throwing my wallet on the ground behind me, but somehow I no longer cared.  I watched them swaggering closer and I realised, with a flicker of delighted amusement, that they didn’t have the slightest idea of what they were doing.

And then I recognised one of them.  “Hello, Jase,” I said, calmly.  He’d been a bully back at school, despite the best attempts of the teachers, and somehow I wasn't surprised to discover that he’d joined a Gang.  There were thousands upon thousands of kids like him; too under-qualified to get a job or go to the Academy, too smart or cowardly to be attracted to the Infantry, and otherwise without prospects.  They wandered the streets, extorting what they could and dealing in drugs and prostitutes.  My family were dead…and he had survived?  “Journey’s end in lovers meetings, as they say?”

Jase leered at me.  I don’t know if he recognised me or not.  “Here’s how it’s going to be,” he said, dramatically.  The idiot was trying to pose, of all things!  “You give us everything, including the clothes on your back, and we’ll let you off with a few broken bones.  If not, we’ll take them from you and hang you to show them that the Bloody Blades are…”

I punched him, right in the nose.  I’d been training with Marines, not ignorant thugs, and it showed.  I would never have dared do anything like that to a Marine – I was woefully aware that I had telegraphed my own movement too clearly – but Jase was taken completely by surprise.  He went over backwards, already out of it, and two other gang members stepped forward.  They seemed to be moving in slow motion; one started to draw back his fist for a punch, while the other began to take his stick off his back, but they were already too late.  I smacked the first right in the throat and sent him to the ground choking, and then kicked the second right in the groin.  He folded up, screaming in pain, and I took the opportunity to relieve him of his stick.  I turned to face the fourth gang member and was unsurprised to see him heading the other way as fast as he could.  The gangs rarely had to fight someone who was willing and able to stand up to them and, like most cowards, they broke easily.  For the first time since I set foot on Earth, I almost felt happy, even though the Master Sergeant would have torn me a new asshole for exposing myself like that.  It almost took some of the pain of losing my family away.

“Run,” I said, to the kid.  He was staring at me in stark terror.  I could almost read his thoughts – his protectors and masters had been exposed as frauds and cowards – but I didn’t care.  I could have broken his neck with ease and we both knew it.  “Just run.”

He ran.  I turned back to Jase and his two cronies.  The one I’d kicked in the groin was still moaning and I brought the stick down on his head, knocking him out.  After the kick, it probably came as something of a relief.  The other two wouldn’t present any further problem, but I knocked them out anyway, before relieving them of their possessions.  Let the police think that it had just been a mugging, although both they and I knew differently.  It hardly mattered.

I strode away from the bodies and walked back into the crowd.  I’d learned how to hide when I was very young and by the time I had reached the station I had made a handful of minor changes in my appearance, dumping my jumper and replacing it with a shirt.  The cameras wouldn’t recognise me if they saw me, but just to be sure I blended with the crowds until I returned to the orbital tower and returned to orbit.  

I would never set foot on Earth again.