“Thank you,” Mister Fisher continued. “Your basic question is why are we training for something which has only a slight chance of ever occurring, is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“It is a good question. I know you students have ludo matches in your free time, as well as a variety of other games. Are those a waste of time?”
“They are entertainment,” Carol replied. “Leisure and rest are essential aspects of having a healthy lifestyle.”
“A precise and textbook answer. You are correct. However, what purpose does it all serve? I think that is the core of Kalju’s question. To what purpose is all this training, when it seems so unlikely to be needed. Kalju? Is that a fair paraphrase of your intriguing question?”
“Yes. I guess I like to know the practical application of it all.”
“Great,” Mister Fisher replied. “Practical application. We will run with that for a while. We have trained each of you on repairing the central memory cores for artificial intelligence systems, correct?” He waved at the entire class.
“Yes,” we answered.
“Yet, a central memory core is one of our finest achievement of technology. It has a failure rate of far less than one one-hundredth of one percent, due to its own self-diagnostics and mechanical healing properties. Do you think we are wasting our time in training to repair a central memory core?”
The other students all looked around. That was a subject we had discussed in our classes on artificial intelligence and machine sentience. However, none of us wanted to say it was a waste of time, even though I knew several others had expressed that very sentiment.
“So, our friend Kalju here is the only one brave enough to admit that he thinks some of our training has been a waste of time. That some of it has no legitimate and practical application. Is that correct?” Mister Fisher probed.
Bartlet raised her hand and said, “I think some of the fictional readings have been a waste of time.”
“Another honest and brave soul. Bravo for you, Bartlet,” Mister Fisher stated and gave her a hand clap of three. It was not mocking, or sarcastic. He quickly looked over to Pilliroog and said, “And I am sure you are about to agree with Bartlet. Am I correct?”
Pilliroog blushed and nodded his head.
“Of course you were,” Mister Fisher said, this time his voice did hold a bit of condescension, but it was tempered by the look in his eyes. He then addressed the whole class. “Have any of you considered that perhaps the specific lessons, while focused on a specific task, are preparing you for more than just single-minded or simple linear thinking? Can they all be parts of a great whole? Is the practical application in being well-rounded and grounded in many fields?”
All eyes were on him.
“Looking at history, one of the major contributing factors to the Great Event was a lack of genetic diversity in the food crops. Those scientists of that era thought that genetically modifying food, to use their own terms, would yield better production and streamline harvests. Their ideas bore fruit—sorry for the pun—for some years, and that gave them confidence they were correct. All until that overly specialized and extremely narrow focus allowed the blight to happen. We know now that they were wrong, but the consequences left billions of people dead. What other factors helped to make that catastrophe…”
I always felt strange when we talked about the world prior to the Great Event and the 90 Hour War. I had trouble imagining billions of people, when Kansas had only about five thousand people in the whole habitat, and the Marathon itself only had about forty-one thousand active people. Sure, there were one hundred and fifty thousand people in suspended animation scattered in the repositories all over the ship, but still, less than two hundred thousand people is not anything like the billions which populated the Earth before the Great Event. Back then single cities were vastly larger in population than the entire Colony Ship Marathon. It boggled my mind.
“Kalju?” Mister Fisher interjected. “Are you with us?”
“Huh?” I replied.
He just smiled at me as I returned my focus to the discussion. He then said, “Taking Kalju’s topic, the spacesuits and training in vacuum. What factors must someone understand in order to properly use a spacesuit?”
And so, the discussion took off about tangential aspects of spacesuits construction and usage, the creation of a simulator which could mimic vacuum and zero gravity, as well as the dynamics behind remote power and all the associated factors in those fields. I never did get a direct answer as to why we were training for those things, and in the end, I guess Mister Fisher did provide more information which I am honestly glad I learned. It was just not apparent back then.
Not all our training was in those lower levels, or in the simulators which I once had thought were so cleverly hidden inside the end of the lodge. Sure, the majority of our senior training was in those places, but we were still occasionally on the grounds. We did do some night training in the woods around Raven Academy. As we did that, the dog Marie accompanied us. She loved to follow us, and could tell when we were being sneaky, or when we were being bold. That animal just sensed the missions, and always was much more of a teammate than a working dog, or some pet. She was thrilled to be with us at night. Even the rabbits and squirrels did not distract her as she helped us complete our training missions.
Which leads me to the final part of my time at Raven Academy. Ever since I recorded the incident where Everett shot Radha, I have been dreading telling you this next part. Oh sure, after all I have seen, my intellectual mind tells me it was just another sad event in a long series of such things. But that is my intellect trying to override my heart.
That fateful morning, Mister Fisher summoned us for a very unusual happening.
“All seniors please report to the grassy area near the wharf,” Mister Fisher’s voice came from each of our wristwatches. “Seniors, please report to the grassy area near the wharf. Your attendance is required immediately.”
I rode down with the others in the elevator, and was surprised to see that the sophomores as well as the juniors were also gathering together. They each had a preceptor with them. Matron Hildegard was with the juniors, and Mister Nkrumah was with the sophomores. Each of the other preceptors was dressed in a uniform similar to what Mister Fisher always wore. I had seen them on rare occasions, but was not at all familiar with them.
“Class, queue up here,” Mister Fisher called out and gestured toward the grassy area. Since there were only eleven of us, our line was somewhat shorter than the juniors and sophomores who each had twelve in their respective classes. The lines formed three sides of a square.
“Why are we here?” Bartlet asked as we made our row.
“We have visitors,” Mister Fisher replied.
An engine noise came from the river. As my back was to there, I had to turn around to see what was happening. Coming up the river was a boat like I had never seen before. It was blue and gray stripped, with sharp lines, and a clear permalloy windshield, and side widows on its sleek body. I could not see inside the boat, but it’s wake was churning up the water to either side of it. Some kind of small battlement on its top. That structure reminded me of an automacube, without its drive wheels. The boat made a quick turn in the water, and pulled up next to the end of the wharf.
Marie barked vigorously.
The class lines merged together as we all looked over to see this strange sight.
The side of the boat popped open, folding up and away. A man stepped out. He was about average height, for an adult, so somewhat taller than I was then, since I was a teen. His build was wiry, yet somehow intense. He quickly tossed a rope around one of the wharf’s cleats. He was wearing some type of uniform, which had an odd pattern. It consisted of mottled colors of greens, blues, whites, and browns. I could not see how those swirled and blotchy colors would be effective as any kind of camouflage, but camouflage looked like the intent. He had a gray hat cocked at an angle on his head, and a belt with pouches
, shoulder straps, and a sidearm. As he marched across the wharf, I heard his voice snap out.
“What kind of lame formation is this?” It was a man’s voice, but with an edge to it that I immediately disliked.
Mister Fisher approached him, as did Matron Hildegard and Mister Nkrumah. Our three instructors stopped at the edge of the wharf, as the man neared them.
“Welcome to Raven Academy,” Mister Fisher said formally. “We received your message.”
“And you turn out the inductees looking like this?” the man snapped back. “Come on Wild Bill, even you know better than to do that.”
Behind him, several other people got out of the boat, and they had similar uniforms to the first man. These other people took up positions on the wharf. They had rifles drawn.
“Lieutenant Benton Adams, our students are still in training,” Mister Nkrumah stated. “Your visit comes as a surprise to us, on short notice. Had we been given more time we could have arranged a more formal reception for you. We mean no disrespect.”
“So, you need time, and a warning, to do something correctly?” Lieutenant Adams snarled at him. “The things I must endure to make this happen.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and then quickly stepped over to Mister Nkrumah. “I am not here for receptions, protocol, or etiquette. I am here for results.”
“Yes, sir, I understand that…” Mister Nkrumah began, but was interrupted.
“Our curriculum is quite structured. Unexpected visits can disrupt essential training times, and that requires adjustments,” Matron Hildegard stated firmly. “Lieutenant, we have made an accommodation for your visit.”
Lieutenant Adams turned from Mister Nkrumah and glared at her. He was about her height. Suddenly, he charged at her like someone much bigger and older. She stood firmly against his rush at her. “I know your curriculum better than you do.” He spoke right into her face from a very short distance away. His voice carried out across the river. “I have allowed all the training facilities to try to meet our needs in their own manner and method. I am the one who is making accommodation to these local habitat traditions and all. Dwellers, oh, the headaches of you all. However, there is a limit to my benevolence. You do not want to press that limit, let me assure you.”
“I apologize if I spoke out of turn,” Matron Hildegard stated. “I was just reminding the lieutenant of our structure and how hard we are working to achieve our mutual goals.”
Lieutenant Adams’ green eyes flared up. He increased the volume of his voice. “Do not lecture me on what is happening here. Nor try to tell me about the goals we have set. Raven Academy is a small cog in this big machine. From what I see here, it looks like you are about as useful as a broken tooth.”
She began to say something more, but he turned away from her with a dismissive gesture. “Hildegard, yours are not the team I need. Not now anyway. Dismissed. Take your children away with you. If I inspect them now, I will just get depressed. Maybe in the next cycle you can produce a crop worthy of my attention.”
Matron Hildegard, remained in control of her emotions, but his words were very insulting. He put tones on the word children as if it tasted badly in his mouth.
Matron Hildegard and the sophomores walked away, back toward the lodge.
“Nkrumah? Some of this rabble are your protégées?” It was not a question so much as another insult. I could not tell who he was insulting more, Mister Nkrumah or the juniors. “You too are dismissed. Get them out of my sight as well.”
“With pleasure, sir!” Mister Nkrumah said. He made a few hand signals to the juniors and the happily trotted off.
Lieutenant Adams shook his head as he watched them walk away.
He turned to our preceptor. “Well, Wild Bill, this sorry lot of yours are what I have to work with. Fortunately, this entire nasty business is about to be concluded with Operation Barnacle. Your, people, are promoted early. Oh, I hate to call them cadets—considering the other men and women who are proudly carrying that rank—but alas, these are the best that your habitat can produce. So, your cadets, oh I do dislike calling them that, alas, I will again lower my standards. Your cadets will have a very minor role to play in Operation Barnacle.”
“Yes, sir. I received your message, sir,” Mister Fisher replied. His voice carried no emotion, but was a mere stating of facts.
“So, you have briefed them, and they still appear before me like this?” Lieutenant Adams walked away from him toward the eleven of us.
“Listen to me, cadets. If you are capable of following basic instructions, line up with your backs to the river,” he commanded.
We walked over to follow his instructions but I guess we moved too slowly.
“Hustle people! My time is not for wasting on you.”
We all stood in line.
“I am Lieutenant Benton Adams, of the Marathon Defense Force. I am your commanding officer, lucky me. I have brought supplies and proper uniforms for you. You are now promoted to the rank of cadet.” He stood there looking at us, as if expecting a reply. I saw that he was maybe ten years old than me, but much younger than Mister Fisher. His eyes glared over us all, but I had no idea what he wanted to hear.
Mister Fisher stepped in and said, “I am sure they would all thank you, but they are overwhelmed by these events. I received the mission parameters in your message.”
“You will consider yourselves lucky to have been involved in this great event. History will record you among the ones who took part in Operation Barnacle. While I am not at liberty to share with you the details of the whole operation, when it is completed, your names will be recorded in the official records as being part of my team. You can look forward to telling your grandchildren someday that this was the highlight of your mundane lives in the habitats.”
“Sir?” Kulm asked.
Mister Fisher shot Kulm a stern look, but he missed it.
“What do you want cadet?” Lieutenant Adams sneered.
“That is an impressive watercraft. I have never seen anything like it. Will we be riding in it?” Kulm asked.
Lieutenant Adams huffed a mirthless laugh. “No, you will not be riding with me. As I said, you will play a minor role in this operation. I have important things to do. That watercraft, as you call it, is a MOP-1. Maritime Operations Platform stage one. Those of us in the Marathon Defense Force call it a MOP-1. Those of you in the militia will not get the frontline armaments, as you are doing minor assistance missions.” His negative emphasis on our roles was dripping from his words. Then he looked out at the boat. “The MOP-1 is far too much for you. That is a specialized piece of finely crafted machinery. It is equipped to remain on station with a crew of four—only officially trained MDF operators—and up to twenty troops. The MOP-1 can track a threat covertly for up to eighty hours, in total darkness and has a range of six hundred nautical kilometers. It is powered by three onboard lufi amalgam batteries which recharge from the solar mimicry. The engines can propel the MOP-1 at speeds you uneducated habitat dwellers could not fathom. We in the MDF use the MOP-1 to perform multiple roles, such as: search and destroy, reconnaissance, and mission critical tasks. It is not built for use by the militia.”
“So, why are you even bothering with us here?” Bartlet stated, overly loudly. “We obviously are not up to your impeccable standards, and your superior status. Why even annoy us with your vast perfection? Is it just to humble us poor habitat dwellers who must bask in the shadow of your radiance?”
“Bartlet!” Mister Fisher snapped. “Sarcasm like that is totally out of place.”
“Fisher, relax. This cadet wants an answer, and I will give the young lady one.”
Lieutenant Adams marched the few steps over to Bartlet. He was taller than her, being about 1.8 meters tall, as compared to her 1.5 meter height. Lieutenant Adams was also substantially heavier than Bartlet. As he strutted up to her, she remained firm in her resolve.
“You are correct. You habitat dwellers are inferior. It is important you not forget that fac
t,” Lieutenant Adams said, but his voice was smooth and soft. Before anyone could say or do anything else, he backhanded her viciously.
Bartlet dropped to one knee from the blow but did not go down.
I rushed toward my stricken comrade, but the dog was faster.
Marie, barking furiously, sprinted up and bit down on Lieutenant Adams’ arm. Her teeth ripped through the tough fatigue materials of his clothing. However, before the bite could land fully into his flesh, he snaked his arm out, grabbed the dog with both hands, made some rapid grappling moves, twisted, and hurled Marie’s body up and over. There was a yelp from the dog, and her eighteen kilogram body landed in the river.
“No, pets!” Lieutenant Adams spat out. “Bloody nuisance to proper command.”
I took several steps and dove after Marie’s body. I had heard some crunching sounds which deeply troubled me. As I plunged beneath the surface of the river, I heard angry voices.
The river water was fairly clear, and luckily was deep enough where I dove that I did not hit my head on the bottom. I kicked off my shoes, and swam with the current. I was trying to find Marie. My eyes were blurry when I looked under the water, but I did not see the dog. I knew she was a good swimmer, as she liked to frolic in the water while we did exercises. I came up for air, and saw her body being carried away. I took some strong stokes and got to the dog.
Battle On The Marathon Page 12
