by Martin Perry
“Hello Reminder, how are you?” The Admonition smiled, it felt so warm. Ulalo had to keep herself from returning the look.
“I’m well, Admonition, I hadn’t expected anybody for another few minutes.”
“Yes, well I thought we could have a quick chat before the others arrive.” The Admonition spoke with such a pleasing authoritarian grit, despite her slight appearance. “You are expecting to journey to Earth after we have taken the prisoner back into custody, yes?”
“Correct,” Ulalo responded.
“I think we should meet, in person I mean, and discuss the future,” said The Admonition, a glint breaking the sternness of her voice.
“I would like that. It seems odd that we haven’t met, given you recommended me to the others.” Ulalo was barely keeping it together. This felt intimate,
“Yes, well you’ve certainly made an impression,” stated The Admonition, suggesting a little surprise to accentuate her point, “on me in particular.”
Their conversation was broken. The other members started flickering in. One after another they appeared, stepping onto their own platforms spread across space. Ulalo had only met a few in person. The Admonition’s offer appealed far more.
He arrvied last. Their glorious leader.
“Good. We’re all here.” The meeting started, His words punctuated by the sense of entitlement that His position carried with it. “I had expected that a few of us might have been late. Extra work has been produced thanks to the mistakes made on Pura.”
The comment was directed at her, and it cut Ulalo. Their opinion mattered, they made her part of a family. More importantly, they had given her power within it.
“I have arranged for progress to be made following the Jump Cannon’s planned activity on the surface of Seeon,” He continued, full of confidence. “This should see them floating adrift, at which point we will intercept and regain control of the situation.”
“The Gentle Reminder.” He looked directly at Ulalo. “You may be further required prior to the subsequent operations on Earth. I trust you will have adequate time to prepare a ship should we issue one?”
“Yes, Sir” said Ulalo.
“Good, that is all. For the Nation!”
“For the Nation!”
“Test subjects should be aware that while the projections that follow can not harm you in themselves, idiotic tactical moves may result in physical injury. The sim wishes to make all participants aware that diving from cliff-edges, trees and moving vehicles is not advised where not completely necessary. The ground may be closer than it appears.”
Disclaimer information from the common training assessments used by the military and mercenary forces. It was added following an incident in which a gravitational glitch caused a test subject to land on his head when he attempted to dive from a simulated waterfall, compacting his spine. Unfortunately, the sim failed to initialise the weightlessness of the water, instead responding to his manoeuvre with the force of concrete.
Chapter Nine
Seeon was roughly four weeks away from Pura at near-quantum. Beta Crew, and the few other members of Annie’s crew, attempted to busy themselves beyond their regular maintenance duties. The new features that the Jump Cannon had been fitted with meant that they had very little to do in terms of direct command.
Prior to the refit, every member of the crew used to have a laundry list of tasks to complete on a daily basis. Most of them were vital just to keep them alive and moving through space. Now, with a mere skeleton staff, it felt as though Annie didn’t need them as she once had. The grass, sand or other material of choice that formed under foot, and the pleasing simulated sunlight kept them all placated, if incredibly bored.
Maur had taken some time away from Beta Crew in the first few days, occupying himself in the new sim suites that were rarely used. He would often become distracted though, wandering away from any core objective set by the sim itself and going out to explore the wider world generated for him by the ship computers. He crossed purple mountains on the first day, swam to the bottom of an abyss on the second and flew unassisted through an endless sky on the third. However calming these experiences would normally be, he couldn’t shift the feelings of fear and the still aching pains that he had collected in Cirramorr. A few details of his capture and torture would be remembered, perhaps triggered by a scene in one of the sims or just by an idle thought.
He tried to turn fear into hatred, compelling himself to think like a soldier and make the Nation his enemy. Maur faced one significant problem with that strategy however – he was not their opponent but their victim. They had taken him without significant resistance being returned. Whatever part of the combat training that should have kicked in during the whole incident never came to him, or at least as he could remember. For all he knew, he had spilled out whatever information that they had wanted from him, even if he couldn’t work out what that information might be. Attacking outside of The Historian’s unit suggested otherwise, and while he had performed admirably, there was a constant feeling of guilt; he had gotten lucky, every member of Beta Crew could well have ended up dead in the streets.
It wasn’t until he woke on the fourth day that he consoled himself with a resolution. Up until then all the sims that he loaded had been for recreational or entertainment purposes, any learning being completely coincidental. Maur wanted to be better, a more able soldier, and he wanted to stay in that role even once the new crew members arrived. When the time came he would talk to Champion and say that he wanted to be transferred out of the maintenance team and made a permanent member of the combat staff. He never wanted to see Kerra and Charles put in harm’s way again, capable and experienced as they were. He had caused the recent problems, but in the future he would be the solution.
He began with advanced rifle training, before moving through the mobility tests, then onto demolitions training. He started reintegrating himself, struggling to shirk off Kerra in the corridors any longer; she didn’t deserve to feel the brunt of his current depression. More training was undertaken as they neared Seeon, breaking only to sleep, eat and briefly socialise with Beta Crew. Maur would keep this up, he promised himself, for as long as it took. Wasting his flight time with fantasies was no longer an option, he had to be better than that.
Maur’s progress wasn’t without fault however, and he began to fail assessments as he moved into the more expert level training. The sim would recommend developing more experience before attempting to sit the tests once more, but the sharply escalating danger that he had been in since the Los Piratas attack and Josia 24’s betrayal of Champion ruled out the option of waiting for a few more field missions to pass. Annie and her crew had been robbed of their laid-back attitude in recent times. Maur knew deep down that it would not be a matter of years but more likely weeks before he would have to reprise the role of defender. He would have to use the resources around him.
Charles had taken to spending a lot of time on the new sim platform in maintenance. Maur mulled over why, wondering if Charles was facing a similar crisis of confidence regarding his role on the ship. There was no doubt though, the man mountain was a soldier and had strategy to share. Maur headed into maintenance, sneaking a look at the EBAC-150s as he went through the hangar bay. His new focus on becoming a better soldier eased his fears, and enjoying a few of life’s pleasures seemed acceptable once again.
Charles was laid out on his back on an automated tray, much like those that had carried their quickly destroyed supplies on Pura. He was shifting around under a projection of an old four-wheeled vehicle. The tray took on a concave shape, scraping over the platform, Charles considerable weight being a little more than it could confidently carry. The vehicle itself, or at least its projection, looked like a comet in reverse, the cabin sitting at the back of a long bonnet. The wheels were chrome, and there was more of the material lining the window frames, circling the perimeter and forming the grill. It was a dark red in colour, and while not familiar with the particu
lar model he could tell that it was pre-Collapse.
“Champion won’t hand over my sweet maintenance gig if all you practice on is ancient automobiles,” Maur said, catching Charles by surprise and trying to be jovial despite his sore muscles. He had been training particularly hard that morning, working out his nerves about the conversation he was hopefully about to have.
“Ha!” responded Charles, his voice clear and not in any way muffled by the technically non-solid projection. “You really think I want to be down here with you grease monkeys?”
It was odd that Charles used the plural given that beyond he and Maur there was nobody else in the maintenance bay. There wouldn’t be for several more months - any other maintenance staff aboard retrained for the role as much as he had been for combat. This was exactly what Maur was afraid of – Charles’ notoriously guarded nature, his tendency towards denial. He never spoke of previous operations, or of his past in general, save for a few remembered details freed during drunken nights. More concerning was his apparent ability to act as if nothing was wrong, as if nobody had been lost, and just carry on with life.
Maur wandered over, swinging his arms in front of him and puffing out, trying to build up a little courage before launching in with questions. He sat down on the platform, putting his crossed arms over the top of his knees. Charles would know he was there, but he sat in the silence for a while, just enjoying the calm company. Every member of Beta Crew, and the people aboard Annie in general, was family as far as he was concerned. Unfortunately, that meant that peace was difficult to find, a rabble much more likely to break out than people taking the time to enjoy each other’s company.
“If you’re just going to sit there,” said Charles, breaking the silence, “the least you could do is talk to me.”
“Hmm? Yeah, sorry.” Maur gave in, the comforting hum of the engines would have to be drowned out by conversation. “You having fun?”
“Yes. Of course. Don’t you recognise the machine?” replied Charles.
“I recognise the era, but not this particular vehicle. Something special?” asked Maur, knowing that it was.
“Now that you ask, it is actually.” Charles seemed to perk up at the question. He paused as if pleased with himself.
“Well...?”
“Well, my grandfather used to own one. He owned several pre-Collapse vehicles. Used to work on them in his spare time. To get away from my grandmother.”
“He was a maintenance man, partly in the military, Earthbound Colonisation Force, like us all I suppose, before starting his own garage back home. People used to tell me he was one of the best, but he never quite got this one working. I had a sim made of it years ago, but Annie never had a platform in the bay before. Doesn’t feel right working on it anywhere other than a garage.”
This was far more open than Charles had ever been with Maur. It crossed his mind that perhaps his efforts on Cirramorr had earned his way into the warrior’s mind. It seemed a little far-fetched though. He had probably just caught him in a good mood, ready for conversation.
“I tried to remodel a vintage once, didn’t get very far,” Maur replied, testing the water with some of his own disclosure. “I could never find the right parts. Don’t have the skill to fabricate them myself.”
“Well,” sighed Charles, “I have to confess. I’ve cheated a few times, had the sim give me parts that my grandfather didn’t have. Hasn’t got me far though, thing still won’t start.”
The statement sounded final, as if that was the last they were going to say about the automobile. If it was something Charles had been doing for years, something that he hadn’t made much progress with, it didn’t seem like the way into getting him to talk openly. You can’t bond over nothing, and Charles had really only answered his innocuous question. Maybe he was just in the same mood as he ever was. Maur was going to have to change tact.
“Charles. I’ve been training a lot recently,” Maur stated.
“Yes? Good to keep fit during long flights.” A matter of fact reply, as Maur expected.
“No, not normal training. Combat training. Shooting, tactics, manoeuvres.”
“Why?” questioned Charles.
“Why do you think? I almost got you all killed. This bullshit with the Free Man Nation, although I still think that The Historian was feeding us a bunch of crap, then all the shooting, fucking up on the roof...”
Maur was getting increasingly frustrated.
“You fucked up on the roof?”
“Yes I fucked up on the roof! I had to shoot out a cable and swing into a wall! I almost ended up with broken legs and dead friends.”
He had stood up, pacing around and waving his arms with Charles still tinkering away under the car.
A whirr sounded on the tray, along with a few scrapes, and Charles appeared from underneath. There was no oil on his face. Playing with pretend cars didn’t have any of the dirty fun of working on real ones. Still, a learned habit most likely, he rubbed his hands together to clean them. Maur was silenced by his figure as it stood in front of him. It was easier to behave like a complete pussy, he thought, when there wasn’t three-hundred pounds of human staring you down. A heavy hand came down on his shoulder.
“Maur. Stop. We got out alive. We all did. You can’t hope for much more in those situations,” Charles said supportively. “None of us came away with any injuries. Pride was mostly kept intact.”
Maur shrugged off the hand and stepped away once again. He felt a little pang of guilt, what came next was intended to pull at the heart strings even if his first outburst had been genuine. It would be worth it though, Charles would make him the best soldier he could be. Besides, he couldn’t deny that it felt good to unload.
“I just don’t think the training was enough. It was only the basic stuff. We need more, both me and Thom. I don’t want to let you down,” Maur said, turning half way to face Charles.
“But you won’t be in a combat team after...”
“Charles, please, just tell me what you know. Make me half the soldier you are,” interrupted Maur, hands coming up and pleading openly to his friend. He genuinely wanted to be the best he could, and the sims weren’t enough. This parade felt like trickery though. Charles looked at Maur dead in the eye, teeth grinding, as if trying to work him out.
“Fine,” came a sharp reply. “I’ll assume the mentor role if I must. Do not let this affect our friendship though Maur. Teachers rarely socialise with pupils. I do not want to stop drinking you under the table.”
He had grinned as he approached the end of his statement. It comforted Maur, assuaged concerns that he was having to trick Charles into helping him. The two walked to the edge of the sim platform and sat on its edge as if it were a stoop back home. Charles bent over a little, putting himself on Maur’s level.
“So, what have you done so far?” he asked.
“I’ve run through basic again, intermediate assessments all completed with A-star ratings, but I’ve hit a wall with the expert stuff,” listed Maur. “I’ve barely scraped passes in a couple, but were it for real I’d have been killed a hundred-times over already.”
“You’ve not touched any of the master level training?” Charles questioned, a look of playful shock on his face.
“Are you kidding me?” responded Maur. “I doubt I’d make it off the starting blocks!”
“And what do you think the problem is?”
“I just... I just don’t see things coming. In the mobility tests I keep falling off walls and ledges as soon as they move. I’m not used to that stuff, and in the rifle assessments I keep getting flanked or overpowered. I just can't work out what's going to come next.”
“You’re not feeling the battle then,” replied Charles, as if his statement made perfect sense.
Maur looked puzzled. The sim suites were good at making you feel as if you were really there, but there was always the disconnect that their inherent safety brought. Perhaps that’s what Charles meant, that he wasn’t aware of the d
anger, that he wasn’t performing under pressure.
“You need to learn to spot tactics and threats ahead,” said Charles, negating Maur’s hypothesis for the most part. “You need to see these things before they come to you. How hard do you concentrate on your rifle?”
“You mean how much do I concentrate on shooting?”
“Yes,” Charles stated.
“Well, a lot, obviously.” Maur wasn’t getting this. “I’m failing the assessments, I’m concentrating as hard as I can.”
“Don’t. You need to make that second nature. The same goes for adjusting during the mobility tests. Firing your weapon correctly and making the right movement needs to be the default, not the extraordinary. You have scored well in the basic and intermediate assessments because you are technically capable. You need to do more. You must dominate those tests because doing so has become natural.”
Charles stood, leaving Maur behind and heading over to the sim platform’s panel. After a couple of taps he had collapsed the projection of the vehicle and the tools that were strewn across the platform, and loaded up a terrain map that Maur recognised. It was one of the intermediate maps for rifle assessment. Maur raised himself up, following after and standing looking down over the valley. He recognised the cover layout and spotted out the same vantage points he had moved to in order to overcome the simulated mix-species forces and weaponry. He could see himself too, or at least a miniature version, standing limbering up at the start point. Maur had never thought to watch over his replays before.
“We’re going to watch how you perform, although I’ve seen this before,” said Charles, moving over to the projections, stood opposite Maur.
