Star Traders (Corporate Marines Book 3)

by Tom Germann

  The two Marines glance at each other and then nod in agreement.

  The captain smiles again. “Excellent! I am glad that you and security chief Sveringening are going to be able to work together on this. A good crew is a highly trained crew and needs to constantly be used or the skills get rusty and fade. I will leave you with the capable chief and his young assistants. Good day.”

  The captain turned and walked off down the hall.

  The chief waited until the captain had taken a dozen strides and then turned to the Marines and grunted. “I have to apologize for the captain. He understands the importance of security, but this ship has never been attacked, and historically, Earth has had little to do with pirates, so most people do not think that the pirates are a real threat.”

  The female Marine nods and asks, “Yet you still feel that there is some level of threat?”

  The chief nods in the affirmative with a twisted grin. “Of course there is. This ship represents a fortune for anyone or anything. If it was taken after it finished its run and had a full ore load? You could buy a continent for the value of the load and ship together.”

  She nods. “Should we just stay in our areas and leave everyone else alone for the trip? We do have numerous training sims we could run through, and our equipment will need regular maintenance.”

  The chief shakes his head. “No, you should participate and socialize. Every new face and new topic of conversation will help keep everyone shipboard sane.” He smiles. “You have to understand that this is a very small community and we see no one new for weeks at a time. Even then, there will not be a lot of people that are really ‘new,’ so after a long enough timeframe, everyone starts to get strange. Colorful clothing, and other—usually harmless—activities. We have a ceremony for those first crossing out of the Sol System and a celebration party for those who have travelled the Mama for the first time. There are other things like that going on as well. So no, please do socialize and interact.”

  The chief hesitates for a second before continuing. “I am the head of security for the ship and our AI is good at running scenarios for sim training. But the crew is small enough, and after several years of this training, I am starting to see patterns forming, which will establish a mindset within the crew, and expectations of what would happen in the event of a real attack. That can kill people. Would you be willing to participate in our sims as the enemy? Your training is different, and I am guessing completely unlike what we would all expect.”

  The two Marines looks at each other and then nods in agreement.

  The chief smiles. “Good.” He turns to the two boys that are fidgeting at the side and trying not to stare at the two Marines, and gestures them forward.

  He points at the brown-haired boy. “This is Derek, my son. He will act as one of your guides and information sources while on the Mama.”

  He gestures to the other blond boy and adds, “This is Snyrl, who will act as your other guide.”

  He stops for a second and then chuckles as he looks back at the Marines. “I am sorry—with the boarding and everything going on, I seem to have forgotten my manners and we have not conducted a proper introduction. I am afraid you know all of us, but we do not know how you prefer to be addressed.”

  The female Marine smiles. “I am Two, and this, my associate, is Eight.”

  The three crewmembers stare blankly for a second.

  She continues. “I take it you have not been briefed on how the Marines work within the sections and platoons?”

  There are negative nods and curious looks.

  “Very well. Like you, we practice our drills constantly. Something that was identified early on is that yelling names over the comms for personnel to get work done will, during high-stress operations, cause confusion. So everyone in a section is numbered. All our training is the same, so any one of us can fill in any position within the section. So four could be heavy weapons or sniper, over-watch or assaulter.”

  She smiles again and her entire face lights up; she has a tattoo on her neck, adding even more character. “Of course, that is training, and some have natural skills that will come to the fore. We operate in such small groups that knowing that anyone can do any of the jobs simplifies everything during heavy action.”

  The smile leaves her face as she looks the security chief in the eye. “Of course, names also are a way of creating attachments. Attachments in a small unit are going to happen. But we each have our job to do, and if we start second-guessing because we have to be concerned about those attachments… well, that is a fail point.”

  The other Marine, Eight, who had been silent to that point, nods, smiles and quietly says, “Please understand, Patroe; they are right, as you lose combat effectiveness, and that leads to increased casualties. In a straight fight we decrease the odds of losing and of taking casualties that would reduce our combat effectiveness.”

  Patroe looks at them both curiously. Beside the security chief, the boys’ mouths are hanging open. “Well, I can’t say I understand everything behind that thought process, but it obviously works for you and your fellow troops, and that is all that is important.” He turns to the boys again, “Derek, Snyrl, stop gawking and wake up! Take two and eight here to their rooms and run them through the full briefing.” He grins. “I am guessing that they will run through it faster than the other two newbies to the ship. After that, show them around the ship and find out what they need, and submit the requests to me in triplicate so that I can get them any necessities quickly.”

  The boys brace themselves to attention and with grim looks on their faces, bow to the Marines. The Marines, equally grave, bow back, and then the small party walks down the hallway.

  Patroe just watches them leave with a quirky smile on his lips. “I can’t wait to see what happens next.” He turns and strides to the intersection and heads in the opposite direction from the one everyone else had taken.

  TWENTY-FOUR HOURS AFTER LOADING

  The captain pours himself a cup of coffee and adds some of the 18-percent cream, his sole weakness. He stirs using a spoon and heads for the table where the security chief is eating with his wife. He thinks to himself how they could not be further apart in likes and tastes, and yet they are husband and wife. He’s big and burly and a fighter with almost unlimited patience and she is small, petite, with strawberry-blonde hair and the nickname Terry “The Scary.” There was a story a long time ago of a huge brawl and little Terry in the middle of it with a chair leg, facing off against four Earthers while she stood over a downed shipmate. She has the energy of a nuclear reactor and the drive to go with it, yet they sit there quietly eating and just enjoying each other’s company.

  The captain smiles and asks, “Patroe, Terry, may I sit here?”

  Terry smiles at the captain. “Well, of course you can, captain. Pat and I were just talking about the personnel that came aboard yesterday and how interesting they are.”

  Patroe solemnly nods. “I heard that both the man and woman almost cried when they had their heads shaved.”

  The captain chuckles at that. “I understand that the crew were a bit more energetic than was strictly required. Would this have fallen under the banned hazing ritual?”

  Terry smiles sunnily. “Nonsense, Bill! Those two should never have left Earth without a proper spacer’s haircut. Whoever let them get out this far with that hair should be punished by chanting regulations for a full day! The crew were just making sure that those two newbies are safe!” Her smile turns a bit less cheerful. “Of course, if they are such delicate flowers that they can’t handle it, then they should get off. Especially the new girl. For shame, allowing herself to get attached to hair. Women are better than that and should be showing the little powder boy how it’s done!” Then her smile disappears completely. “Perhaps she should be wearing heels and focussing on her nails and how they look instead of coming out here to do resear
ch on another star.”

  The captain holds his hands up in surrender. “I am glad that there was clearly no hazing going on and it was really just my wonderful crew looking out for their safety in the event of a hull breach!”

  The three of them chuckle while the few other people in the mess hall continue eating and drinking around them.

  The captain tries again. “No, actually, my question was a bit more for Patroe. How are the two Marines working out so far? Demanding? Bored?”

  Patroe shrugs. “No problems at all so far, captain. They want to fit in and gave me a schedule of their activities for every day. Two hours per day working on armor and equipment. An hour in the gym, where they will be putting the gravity up just past Earth-normal.” He nods to himself. “They are organized enough that Eight sat down with me and reviewed some of the scenarios that we run. He had some good ideas in the immediate short-term and has updated statistics on different weapon and armor systems that are in use. They are even willing to act as enemy forces in a few sims so that we can differentiate our training.”

  The captain absorbs this and then sighs. “So they are trying to adjust in. No problems yet at all? Are you sure?”

  Terry answers before Patroe can open his mouth. “Bill, you need to stop looking for monsters where there are none. Or at least none that are not under control. They have been here for twenty-four hours and you think there would be problems already? Hardly. Ask that question after a few weeks in transit. They are being straightforward, so why don’t you give them the benefit of the doubt for now?”

  Patroe cocks an eyebrow at Terry and then looks at the captain. “What she said.” Then he goes back to eating.

  The captain nods. “Okay, Terry, I understand what you are saying. My concern is the safety of the ship. I know they are highly trained, but I just don’t want to see them go off because they are too highly trained and there is no enemy to fight. As long as they can stay focussed and not decide that we are the enemy, everything should be fine.”

  Patroe finishes the mouthful of food and looks at the captain. “I don’t think they are going to be a problem for us, captain. They spend a lot of time training in sim environments so they are always busy. Give it a few weeks, like Terry said, captain. We’ll have an idea by then if they could be a threat to the ship or crew.”

  The captain nods and then turns at the call of another crewmember, who joins them.

  TWO WEEKS AFTER LOADING

  “Oh my gosh! Eight, that was the best sim I have ever gamed through!”

  Eight smiles at Susie, the corporate research specialist that had been new to space. “Thanks, Sue, but really, this is a training sim designed to hone marksmanship and observational abilities. I mean, it is fun in that the bad guys are zombies and everyone loves shooting them up, but the training itself is sound.”

  Sue giggles. “Fine, you stay with that story and let’s discuss it over a cup of that good coffee.”

  Eight and Sue head out of the briefing room and walk off toward the mess hall.

  Derek quietly tugs on Two’s sleeve so as not to attract the attention of the other adults. “Psst, Two?”

  Two leans over. “What is it, Derek?”

  “Do you think that you could run me through that sim with some pointers later if you have any spare time?”

  Two smiles. “Yes, Derek, I should have an hour or so free later after we come out of the jump. I can run you through the whole sim again. I may even be able to partner up with you, if you want?”

  Derek grins. “I’d love that! You’re a crack shot and have reflexes like a cat!”

  Two nods at the door. “You need to get going and I need to finish clearing this sim. I’ll com you later.”

  Derek nods and then ducks out, on the run to his next duty station.

  Two gets to work clearing the sim from the computer program. The shipboard computer, while recently upgraded, is not meant to run large-scale sims like this and maintain them in storage, as doing so would noticeably degrade its capability. The ease of clearing the program from memory is a bit of a problem as it seems to indicate that the computers are not well protected. However, this is not the AI that controls the important functions of the ship, like the engine room and life support.

  However, Two is able to figure out three possible options to hijack this system and take over other ship systems, causing loss of life and of control of the ship. Time to file a system status review with the corporate AI onboard and get the last report ready for when we depart. She is so lost in the work that she does not notice the command team’s interest in her.

  Patroe and the captain look at Two, who is clearing the program from the computer’s active memory and resetting action parameters for a future use of the sim.

  Patroe starts the conversation that the captain had been shying away from for the last several days. “Two, how are you both doing on board?”

  Two stops her work and looks at the two men. “As far as I am aware, everything is operating to parameters. So in simple English, everything is good. Why? Is there a problem?”

  Patroe looks at the captain and they both feel awkward.

  There is the sound of a clearing throat behind the two men. Then Terry’s cheerful voice pipes up. “I am sorry, Two. These two are going to have a hard time just coming out and asking you as they are dealing with their personal baggage and are men. Are you and Eight okay? Is deep-space travel causing you any issues that would cause you to have a psychotic break and try to kill everyone on board?”

  Two watches the interaction and deep down finds it amusing that both men are turning red and spluttering.

  The captain is the first to recover enough to talk, with Patroe right behind him. “Terry! That is not exactly what we were looking to find out!”

  Terry steps around so that she is standing next to Two. She grins at Two and then faces the men. “That was exactly what you wanted to know and have been dying to know for two weeks. They both are working hard and getting all their tasks done, but are not really very social. Well, Eight seems to have made some friends, including sweet little Sue. But Two, as a distant woman, is scary. So I figured that it made more sense for me to smash the ice and then we can all move forward with life.”

  She turns toward Two again. “Okay, Two, how is it going and are you okay?”

  Two laughs out loud at Terry’s antics and that seems to put the two men at ease. She smiles. “You really don’t know how to deal with us, do you?” Again it seems like the men are going to get flustered so she eases them down. “We are doing fine. We have armor that is up to spec, all the rest of our gear is good and we are actually ahead a bit on some of our sim training. Eight has had a great time working some of our basic scenario sims into your shipboard security training. He has made that training fun by making it zombies instead of drones. But that sim is on Level 1, which is a good recreational level. Eight is much more social than I am, however. So your concern is that I am not interacting as well as Eight is with the rest of the crew. Is that correct?”

  The captain nods affirmation while Patroe just watches Two.

  That faint smile that Two has comes back and she sits down at the conference room table. She gestures for the rest to sit, which they do. Curiosity has the trio, including Terry, which is strange for someone so forward; for once, she is listening and not asking.

  Two leans forward and steeples her hands in front of her. “You believe that I am the bigger threat as I do not interact well with the rest of your crew and personnel. That is correct, and I do not really do small talk. Our training sees to that. Attachments are a problem. ‘Never leave a man behind’ is a wonderful concept when you are looking at losing thirty more soldiers to get that one soldier back. To us, one lost does not mean that the section goes back to get the body or for revenge. That is inefficient.”

  Two does not notice that all three of t
he crew are staring at her with incredulous to horrified looks on their faces.

  “The cost to get a trooper up to speed and in their custom armor ready for deployment anywhere in Earth space is, according to what we were told in training, just under two hundred and fifty million. A full ten-troop section costs two point five billion.” Two waves her hand in a dismissive gesture. “Now I have looked at the numbers and it is actually less than that by a bit. The Corporation factors in the ongoing maintenance of having smaller ships and all the rest of the background support going on. But you do realize that the numbers you have heard in the advertising for the Marines, the ‘Only one in thousands has what it takes,’ are actually low. Some of the official estimates are that only one in half a million people has what it takes to run armor and operate in a section at peak. Everyone else who gets through training is only able to use the armor at about 75 percent capability.”

  Two pauses and looks at each one of them, making eye contact, as she continues explaining. “None of us interact well with personnel outside of the program because of our training. I am meant as a guard dog to protect the pack animals. This will sound bad to you, but I don’t view you as a threat because you are corporate, and I am meant to guard you and we are on a higher level than you are. I wouldn’t hurt you because it would be like hurting a puppy.”

  Two pauses for a minute and evaluates their facial expressions. “I understood when you said you had read our files that you knew all this already, captain. I see that you may not have understood the significance of the information in that file on us.”

  The captain nods. “I really did not understand in anything more than an academic way what that information meant. I still can’t fully comprehend it.”