Battle On The Marathon

by John Thornton

  “I did spear one fish,” I admitted, but then added, “Tudeng is a better spearer, than me. Wait, is spearer the right word? Well, she is better at spearfishing than I am.”

  “Spearer is a word if it is in common usage,” Mister Fisher replied. “Right now, spearer is not in common usage in my vernacular. Perhaps it is used in one of the other seven habitats, but for now, I say avoid using it. Precise language is important.” He gave my shoulder a light squeeze and kept eye contact for a moment longer.

  “Do I have to tell my parents that I hurt myself?”

  “Only if you want to, Kalju. I will leave that to you,” Mister Fisher replied.

  For some reason, that made me feel a little less stupid. I am not sure why. We did eat those tench for supper that night. I had to clean them, and cook them up. Tench are better than carp, for sure. Even the one I got while spearing myself. I wonder if you ever got to try tench?

  Oh, I have to stop here for now. The Major needs some help on preparations for the big jump.

  2

  Training

  Well, it has been a busy few days. There have been unforeseen issues come up. But the Major insists on us getting rest as needed. So, again I have a little time to spend on this journal, before I fall asleep. The big jump is still in the works, but it is complicated.

  I told you about my first days at Raven Academy, back when I was twelve. Yes, I started there on my birthday. And I think I told you about that first injury of mine. Let me check. Oh, yes, I just reviewed what I wrote.

  Well, training was a lot like regular school only more involved and more intense. I think of it as in three basic parts. First, was intellectual. We studied a lot. Second, was physical. We did a lot of physical training. Often, we ran, and with the two classes above us, we all made a pretty significant pathway through the forest, even though most times I ran I seemed to be with just a few others, or even alone. Marie the dog ran with me as much as anyone. We were allowed to workout wherever we wanted, but many of us preferred to run in the forest. That made for a path all around Raven Academy’s perimeter. I know the juniors and seniors used the track as well, but I almost never saw them. And third, we did our tasks and duties. Food acquisition was one of those many tasks, but not the only one.

  I got better using a spear, but never quite as good as some of the other inductees. Sorry if I use different terms, I sometimes think of them as fellow students, and sometimes as inductees, and usually as friends. Well, the spear was not the only weapon we learned to use.

  Back to the intellectual training. Textbooks were typical and we could read them on our watches, or on the conservation slates. We each had one of those then. Did I tell you that? So, classroom work was where Mister Fisher led us in assignments, discussions, and lectures. He was easy to listen to, and I liked that. His tests were very hard, but fair. We just had to know the materials to pass.

  But outside of class is what I remember more. I recall a conversation where we spoke about what we were learning. It was early in training, and we had just been assigned to read an old book called, 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea by Jules Vern. It is a book from way before the Great Event.

  I was sitting with Kulm and Matkaja on a set of benches near the lodge. Marie was sniffing around, and listening in on our conversations.

  “Why are we reading some old fiction book?” I asked.

  Kulm, with his big shaggy mop of brown hair, shook his head. “It beats me. Obsolete and farcical engineering. It is so old, and pretty weird. Have you read it?” He tapped his conservation slate. “It was only a paper book for like two-hundred years, before regular printing.”

  “It started as a paper book, as did all books from that era. But it was not only as a paper book,” Matkaja corrected. “It was an early offering in what those ancients called e-books, or Kindles. Now it is on our slates.” Her oval eyes twinkled as she spoke. She brushed some of her long and straight hair back behind her ears. “But you are correct, essentially, it was well over a hundred and thirty years when it was almost exclusively a paper printed book. There are also several renditions of it in audio and in two-dimensional audio-visual formats. The AIs can translate those into three-dimensional plays. There are some major differences in the plot and characters depending on format.”

  “But why is it required reading?” I pressed. “It is old and like Kulm said, it is just weird.”

  “I have a theory on that,” Matkaja said in a conspiratorial tone.

  Kulm’s blue eyes opened wider. He and I both leaned in to hear what she had to say. Marie even stopped sniffing and alertly watched.

  “I think we are reading this book so we appreciate the vastness of the old Earth. You know, twenty thousand leagues is an enormous distance. I had to look up the old measurement of a league, and it is five and one-half kilometers, or a bit more. Measures back then were not really precise and the records from before the Great Event are conflicting. So, figure that distance is 110,000 kilometers. All of Kansas is only eighty kilometers long, and sixteen wide. That book is teaching us about scale and vastness, getting us thinking about our destination world.” Matkaja grinned her smug, all knowing grin. Her grin was often well earned as she had a fine mind.

  Kulm huffed and said, “None of us will live to see the destination world. That is generations away.”

  “You, Kulm, have just proven my point,” Matkaja said. “They want us to think about a planetary body, not a colony ship. That submarine travelled twenty thousand leagues, while we are traveling light years. If we think about it and discuss it, and have it in our minds, then we can pass those ideas onto our children. Well, if either of you ever get a chance to procreate,” She laughed a bit.

  I guess my face was turning bright red.

  “That makes sense,” I finally answered. “Not the procreation stuff, but the thinking of a planet. Could the militia just be a group who is going to work and be ready to pass along important traits to the next generation?”

  “Kalju, did you ever look up militia?” Kulm asked. He rolled his blue eyes at me.

  “Well, yes, I did. It is a military type of force that is raised from the general population for use in an emergency,” I answered.

  “So, what is our emergency?” Kulm asked. “It is not keeping alive some myths and legends of old-time Earth.”

  “Better to prevent an incident that suffer an emergency.” Matkaja looked him over. “Learning and study prevents emergencies. The best way is always to prevent something from happening, rather than trying to fix it after it happens. Learning the old things from Earth will help us when our grandchildren get to the destination planet.”

  “That book describes a vast submarine called Captain Nemo’s Nautilus. The engineering is all messed up,” Kulm stated. “That Nautilus extracts sodium from seawater to power some goofy sodium and mercury batteries system. Nonsense, or very primitive. But those sailors do have the ability to farm food from the sea. And that is the answer to why we are reading that book. Read it like an extended allegory about the Marathon’s voyage through the stars. We are the militia who are to fix and repair unforeseen engineering problems. Maybe, there are already issues with the main drive or one of the habitat’s biomes.”

  “That might be a secondary consideration,” Matkaja went on. “However, one should not ignore the facts of scale and distance. As I said…”

  Kulm and Matkaja kept arguing their points back and forth. Neither would win, but they had great fun in those discussions. I could tell they both respected the other’s options, and it was all good-natured.

  I wondered more about the kraken monsters described in 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea. I had just gotten to the point where the electric bullets did not work so good against the kraken, and they were chopping off tentacles with axes and stuff. Maybe, that reminded me of my leg, and how I had speared myself. I was not sure I wanted to inject my own thoughts into the conversation between Kulm and Matkaja. They were both making good points, and I was just thinking abo
ut the adventure and fighting. I did not want to look stupid to them, and I felt like I was missing some deeper meaning from the book.

  In class, Mister Fisher let everyone have a chance to share what he or she thought. In the classroom, the other students were less willing to ridicule and mock an idea. I once asked him why we were reading fictional novels, and he replied in a cryptic manner. “Much was lost in the Great Event, and the 90 Hour War, but we have to learn from the past,” Mister Fisher stated. “We have a well-stocked library, and I have made these reading assignments for your edification. Not all of life is gathering food, or learning simple quantum mechanics. So, read the works on the syllabus, and we will discuss them in class. There are also some pre-Great Event entertainment shows, movies to use that ancient term.”

  “But what good does it do?” I asked in one of my more assertive moments.

  “What good indeed?” Mister Fisher replied. He said nothing more, and I did not ask for elaboration, as I knew he was telling me to find the answer in myself.

  And so we talked on the benches as much as in class. In class things were polite, civil, and very measured. However, out at the benches, our impromptu debating society place, any idea which was brought up could be ripped to shreds by the others. Not in malicious ways, or in personally insulting ways, but by pointing out the logical absurdities of the ideas. So, at that time, when we were discussing 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, I hesitated to bring up the kraken. I have often wondered how things might have changed had I discussed it more back then, with those friends of mine.

  Well, Jules Verne wrote more than just that one book, and we read a bunch of his works. Some supported Matkaja’s ideas about remembering the vastness of a planet. One book was about traveling around the globe, and another one about venturing deep into the interior of the planet. However, those other works by Jules Verne made me wonder about what was really happening and why we were told to read them.

  Of course, ancient novels were not the only things we read. Oh, heavens, no. We read all sorts of engineering manuals, and mathematical textbooks, and agronomy texts, and ran simulations on biological breeding of plants and animals. All those normal classes I would have taken in the regular school, only to a much more wide-ranging and comprehensive extent. The engineering books always made me wonder and wish I had gotten to choose what I wanted to do. But at least some my dreams of engineering were there at Raven Academy.

  But back to Jules Verne. I recall his writing coming up many times that first year as we sat on the debate benches. One particular theme, submarines, came up again when we read his book, Facing the Flag. This time it was a different era, sort-of, and a different machine for traveling through the water. It was the HMS Sword.

  “You know,” Everett said one day as we sat on the benches. He had a habit of running his hand over his buzzed off black hair while he spoke. He did it at the benches a lot, but had some self-control in the classroom. That day was chilly, I recall. It was later in the afternoon, and there was a crispy coolness to the air. It must had been fall of my first year there. Sometimes, the conversations are so vivid, but the chronology of when they took place is muddy in my mind. Everett went on, “We have read at least three books about submarines, that Nautilus one, and that Tom Swift one with his underwater boat, and then the other one with that HMS Sword.”

  “Do not forget that Choose Your Own Adventure, Journey Under the Sea,” Carol interjected.

  He all laughed about that book which was the only one of its kind we read, but had over forty different outcomes. It was more prophetic than I thought then.

  “Everett, we all have read the same books, what are you trying to say?” Bartlet said to him. “Be concise and precise, right?”

  “Quoting an idiom does not make you the leader,” Everett snapped back. “I was pointing out that those books all have a common theme. They…”

  I interrupted, “They all were assigned by Mister Fisher.”

  I laughed harder at my own joke than the others did. When I realized my humor had failed, I was quite embarrassed.

  Everett went on anyway. “I was going to say, that they are all about some kind of piracy or ship to ship fighting. It varies a lot from book to book, but here is my point, are we reading those because there are some kind of kidnappers or pirates in one of the aquatic habitats? Is that why the militia was formed?”

  “Vodnee automacubes would take care of any kind of pirates, and security automacubes would track down kidnappers,” Bartlet replied with authority in her voice.

  “So, you tell me, why is there a militia?” Everett asked.

  And there it was. That was the major issue around which so many conversations circled. All twelve of us had about ten dozen different ideas on why the militia had been formed. Even more ideas were speculated about what the purpose of the militia was going to be. None of the speculations or inferences had any real solid backing. We each had our own personal thoughts, ideas, and wild hares for the various theories. Most of those concepts just floundered around like a fish on a spear tip.

  One time in class, Radha, who of all of us was the most quiet and introspective, asked Mister Fisher about that very issue. Now, all of us, except for Radha, had tried to pry an answer out of him at one stage or another. A direct question would not work, nor would a trick question, or flattery, or gently prodding. In fact, I think we had all asked him specifically about it, both in front of the others and privately, but he would always reflect the topic by giving us one of his famous lines. He would say, “Why do you think the militia was formed?” or “What are your thoughts on that issue?” or ask the group something like, “Kalju brings up an interesting topic, address the various possibilities.”

  So, for me, I had quit asking a while back. Some others continued to probe about it, knowing we would just get into that same circular session of the various conspiracy theories. Well, that happened every other time, except for that day when—for the first time—Radha, asked for herself.

  It was in a government theory class when she asked. I thought it was off-topic, but that was not uncommon. Mister Fisher had just finished a lecture on some forms of oligarchy, especially the strengths and weaknesses of that so-called Iron Rule of Oligarchy. As he did at the end of his lectures, he opened the floor to discussion.

  “Are there any additional questions?” Mister Fisher asked.

  Radha raised her hand. This was very unusual, as she seldom volunteered or asked a question. She was laser accurate when called upon to give an answer. She never fumbled for answers like I did. However, I can count on a single hand how many times she initiated a question.

  “Yes, Radha, what is your question?” Mister Fisher leaned forward placing his chin on an elbow. His eyes were intrigued.

  I looked over, along with the rest of the class, and saw Radha with her timid brown eyes, and her somewhat frizzy, medium brown, hair pulled back into its usual ponytail. She spoke clearly and distinctly.

  “Mister Fisher. There has been considerable debate about the etiology of our militia. Would you please tell me why the militia was created, why we are here, and what we are going to do in the future as a militia?”

  A slight smile rolled across Mister Fisher’s face, and I have wondered ever since then if I actually saw that, or just imagined it. He replied, “Certainly, I will tell you all I know. The militia was created by direct order of Captain Francine Adams, and established roughly three years ago. I and the other instructors were drafted immediately thereafter. You are all here because you met certain parameters set forth by the captain. As to what the future will hold, all I know is that we are all answerable to Captain Adams. We will follow our captain’s orders. She calls the shots, to use an old idiom. The other instructors and I were told to prepare you for any eventuality. Any. If I had more information, I would share it with you. That is all I can tell you.”

  “Thank you,” Radha replied.

  I sat there stunned. He had not deflected back on us. Nor had he turned
it into discussion of some wild theories about pirates, or the main drive failing, or about civilian revolt in some rebellious habitat. We could all tell, he was being honest, as he always was, but here he also gave the revelation that there were things he did not know. For me, that was an epiphany. I had sort-of thought Mister Fisher was omniscient. I kept asking myself, “If Mister Fisher did not know, could anyone know?”

  Suddenly, that classroom exploded in other questions. Mister Fisher, returned to his typical deferment and we ended up in another go-around of the various theories. Nothing more forthcoming came from Mister Fisher.

  Well, that answer to Radha, that we needed to be ready for any eventuality, made me study, work, and exercise even harder.

  I read even more, and tried to decipher why we were reading the novels we were assigned. The regular classroom assignments made sense, as they had direct and practical application. But reading old fiction, some of it hundreds of years old, just did not seem to have a reason or an application.