The Black Sheep (A Learning Experience Book 3)

by Christopher Nuttall

  “I’m not looking to settle down yet,” he said. Most Solarians married formally in their forties and settled on one of the asteroids to raise children, before going back to work or seeking something completely new. “I’m not even sure where I want to go.”

  Sandra gave him a smile as she stepped into the sonic shower. “Amstar? I hear you did well there?”

  Thomas considered it. He’d never thought about a career as a diplomat, although he had to admit that diplomats got to travel from place to place. It had struck him as boring ... and yet, juggling requirements for a dozen different races had been fun, if complex. He’d seriously wondered about trying to find a job with the Pan-Gal, if he didn't stay in the navy. Running a multiracial hotel was one hell of a challenge.

  “I’m not sure,” he said, finally. “I got sent back up here when the squadron left.”

  “Detached duty isn’t counted as shipboard duty,” Sandra said, her voice echoing oddly as she turned on the shower and washed the sweat from her body. “You need at least twelve months as an ensign before you can be considered for promotion, in the normal run of things, but a month or two on detached duty wouldn't count. And then the promotion board would start asking pointed questions, if you stayed in grade long enough to be considered for an automatic promotion.”

  “That’s not fair,” Thomas protested, when he worked it out. “I could have twelve months of service, but only ten of them would count!”

  “Life isn't fair,” Sandra said. She stuck her head out of the shower and smirked. “Only a baby ensign would think it was. Would you like me to kiss your ego better?”

  “No, thank you,” Thomas said, biting down the rude suggestion he’d wanted to make. She would probably have refused to have sex with him again. “But you could tell me how best to outsmart the promotions board.”

  “Do something heroic and get promoted,” Sandra said. She stepped out of the shower, picked up her shipsuit and started to pull it on. “But I doubt there’s much hope of getting anything other than a provisional promotion before we return home, Tom. And if you did ...”

  Thomas sighed as he sat upright and stood. They’d been told that, in certain cases, a commanding officer could hand out a provisional promotion, if there was a reason the officer needed the authority of a higher rank. But such cases were always carefully scrutinised when the starship returned home, just in case favouritism - or worse - had been involved. The Academy staff had been careful to note, more than once, that provisional promotions were rarely confirmed, let alone counted as time in grade. It hadn't struck him as fair either, but there had to be limitations on a commander’s authority when the ship was far from home.

  “I need to nip down to my cabin for four hours of sleep before I go back on duty,” Sandra said. She leaned forward, kissed him on the lips and then stepped back, all professional once again. “Try not to grin too broadly as you walk back to your cabin.”

  Thomas flushed, then hurried into the shower and washed himself clean. When he stepped back outside, Sandra was gone and the automatics were already cleaning the bed and readying it for the next users. He shook his head, pulled his shipsuit on as fast as he could and checked his implants. He had seven hours before his next duty shift, which would be well spent sleeping or eating something before he reported to the bridge. His stomach rumbled as he stepped out of the privacy tube, urging him to head down to the mess to get something to eat. And then a new icon popped up in front of his eyes, demanding his immediate attention. The XO wanted a word.

  Shit, Thomas thought. The message’s time-stamp indicated that it had been sent thirty minutes ago, but - because it hadn't been tagged urgent - it hadn’t reached him while he’d been in the privacy tube. Unless he invented a time machine in the next ninety seconds, he would have to explain to the XO why he was over thirty minutes late. I’m dead.

  Thomas tried to come up with an explanation as he hurried to the XO’s office, but nothing came to mind. He’d just have to tell the truth and hope the XO didn't do more than assign him a thoroughly unpleasant duty for several weeks. He should have removed the filters, he told himself angrily, but he hadn’t expected to be dragged into the privacy tube. There hadn't been any sign Sandra was interested in him ...

  He pushed his hand against the buzzer, feeling as if he were going to his own execution. The hatch hissed open a second later, revealing the XO sitting at his desk. Thomas braced himself, then strode forward and into the compartment. The hatch hissed closed behind him, trapping him. There was no escape.

  “You’re late,” the XO said.

  “Yes, sir,” Thomas said. “I was in the privacy tubes.”

  The XO gave him a dark look. “And do you think that’s a good excuse?”

  “No, sir,” Thomas said.

  He swallowed, hard. There were all sorts of rumours, nasty rumours, about the old crewmen who’d served in the wet navies before transferring to the Solar Union. All of a sudden, the stories about them ramming red-hot pokers up the backsides of ensigns who displeased them seemed alarmingly plausible. Some of them were so old he was tempted to believe they dated all the way back to the age of sail, even though cold logic told him it was unlikely. The oldest in naval service couldn't have been born long before 1950.

  “For the record, I strongly suggest you don’t put any filters on your messages, even while you’re in the tubes,” the XO said, dryly. “Had the meeting been urgent, young man, you would have been in deep shit.”

  “Yes, sir,” Thomas said.

  “As it happens, you may be in deep shit anyway,” the XO said. “I understand from your Academy records that you know how to fly a Galactic courier boat?”

  “Yes, sir,” Thomas said. “They were trying to attract couriers to transport messages from star to star.”

  The XO nodded. “And why didn't you take a post on one of the boats?”

  “Too claustrophobic, sir,” Thomas said. “The idea of being cooped up with two or three other couriers was too much to handle, even with VR sims and other entertainments. I didn't think the incentives made up for it.”

  “And promotion would be very slow,” the XO said. “But you know how to handle a courier boat?”

  “As long as it’s in working order, sir,” Thomas said. “An emergency on a courier boat in FTL would be very difficult to handle.”

  “It probably would be,” the XO agreed. He cleared his throat. “We have a mission for you, Ensign. You’re not the only person who can fly a courier boat, but you’re the only expendable person at our disposal.”

  “Yes, sir,” Thomas said. He had to admit that the baby ensign was certainly the least important member of the crew. Indeed, he’d been so unimportant that he hadn't been offered a billet on one of the alien ships. “You want me to fly a courier boat?”

  “In a manner of speaking,” the XO said. “We have ten days until we reach our target. If you accept the assignment, you’ll be taken off the regular duty rota and put to work in the simulators, testing everything before we commit you to the operation. I should warn you that the prospect for disaster is actually quite high.”

  Thomas kept his face impassive as he considered it. The assignment made little sense, unless there was something he hadn't been told. The Galactics practically had a fetish about protecting courier boats, although the Druavroks might have other ideas. They might break the rules about not firing on courier boats, but few courier boats would fly right into the teeth of their fire in any case. Did the XO intend to turn a courier boat into a spy? It would explain much ...

  “I accept the mission, sir,” he said. If the XO was right, Thomas was the only one who could be spared ... and besides, it might look good in his file. Turning down the mission, on the other hand, would look very bad indeed. “What do you want me to do?”

  “We’re sending a modified bulk freighter into the system,” the XO said. He cocked his head, sending a command to the compartment’s processors. A holographic image of a Galactic bulk freighter, sc
arred through centuries of faithful service, appeared in front of them. “The freighter has been slaved to a courier boat that is currently stowed in the lower hold. You will be piloting that courier boat when the Captain decides she wants to abandon the freighter and leave the system.”

  Thomas stared. “The Captain, sir?”

  “She will be in command of the mission,” the XO confirmed. It was hard to be sure, but he didn't sound happy about it. “When the time comes, you will abandon the freighter and jump back into FTL.”

  “Yes, sir,” Thomas said. It didn't sound that hard or dangerous, which suggested there was a nasty sting in the tail somewhere. “I should be able to do it.”

  “See that you can,” the XO said. “We’re giving you the simulation chamber. I want a full report on your progress in eight days. The Captain will be watching with great interest.”

  “I understand, sir,” Thomas said. Inwardly, he was reeling. He was expendable, but the Captain? She shouldn't be putting herself on the front line. “I won’t let you down.”

  ***

  Max stopped outside the hatch and hesitated, feeling oddly reluctant to enter. He’d spent the last two days editing the sensory recordings he’d taken during the landing on Amstar, but now he needed interviews to help flesh out the follow-up stories. None of the marines had responded, save for Hilde, a fact that worried him. Hilde might well have orders to allow him to interview her, orders she was unlikely to like. And while, on one hand, it didn't matter if she liked her orders or not, he knew it wouldn't make her an easy interview subject.

  And allow her a chance to sue, later, he thought, as he pressed the buzzer. There were quite a few precedents that suggested a senior officer couldn't order a junior officer to talk to the press, whatever the situation. Hilde could easily claim she’d denied permission to have the recordings made public. She’d have every chance of winning quite a substantial judgement in her favour later.

  The hatch hissed open, revealing a changing room. Max stepped inside, suddenly feeling a great deal warmer. Sweat started to trickle down his back as the hatch hissed closed behind him, locking closed with an ominous click. He hesitated, then stepped forward, looking around with interest. A curtain at the far end of the room concealed a shower. It was brushed aside a second later as Hilde stepped out of the shower, water dripping down her frame and peered at him.

  Max couldn't help himself. He stared. Hilde was huge, her arms and legs so muscular that he was sure they were the results of genetic engineering. Her skin was a golden-brown, but there was something almost leathery about it; her breasts were sunk into her skin, the nipples barely even there. He had to fight to keep himself from stumbling backwards as she advanced towards him, trying hard not to stare at her naked body. There wasn't even a hint of hair anywhere within view.

  Hilde laughed, throatily. “Like what you see?”

  She watched him for a long moment, then picked up a towel and began to dry herself. “My father is practically a brain in a machine now,” she said. “He lives in an asteroid without air or heat or gravity, without any of the conveniences you take for granted. My combat biomods are less extensive, but I can still survive in space for long periods without a spacesuit. How do I look to you?”

  Max watched, unable to speak, as she turned slowly. Muscles rippled across her back and thighs, her bottom was tart, almost mannish. He’d known, of course, that there were cantons where genetic enhancement and biomods had been carried far further than in any of the inner cantons, but it was still a surprise to see one face to face. The sight was terrifyingly intimidating. Hilde could break him across her knee without effort.

  “Strange,” he said, finally. “Why ...?”

  “I choose not to be bound by baseline humanity,” Hilde said, as she finished drying herself and dumped the towel in a basket. “You’re enhanced too, are you not?”

  “Not as extensively,” Max said, feeling his heart racing as she came forward to loom over him. His feet felt as if they were rooted to the deck. “I never considered the advantages of living in space.”

  “It takes a lot to kill me,” Hilde said, without heat. She motioned to the bench and sat down, her eyes following his every move. “Put me on Earth and I’d be able to survive indefinitely, eating and drinking whatever I could find. My children, assuming I had children, would have the same enhancements.”

  She smiled. “Getting through the atmosphere without a suit would be a pain, though.”

  “It would be,” Max agreed. But that wasn’t entirely true. There were people who jumped from orbit down to Mars for fun, he recalled. It wouldn’t be hard to make a primitive space capsule to allow an enhanced human to get down to the surface. Getting back to orbit, on the other hand, would be a real problem. “Can you ... can you have children?”

  “Of course,” Hilde said. “My womb and menstrual cycle is currently in suspension, thanks to the biomods, but it wouldn't be hard to reactive it. The dominants in my genetic code would assert themselves against baseline humans, though. I wouldn't want children who didn't have the advantages I have.”

  “I can understand that,” Max said. She motioned for him to sit beside her, again, but he remained standing. Being so close to her was ... difficult. “Do you plan to go to Earth one day?”

  “Probably not,” Hilde said. “I am a Solarian. But the corps may be deployed there one day.”

  Max cleared his throat. “I do have a number of questions to ask you,” he said. Had Hilde walked out naked to intimidate him - or to make it harder for him to use any of his recordings in his work? He’d look like an ass if he complained to her superiors too. “Before we start, do you want to put something on or do you mind me recording you in the buff?”

  “It might stop young idiots wandering into marine bars and trying to pick up marines,” Hilde said. Her voice was so deadpan that Max couldn't tell if she was teasing him or not. “It’s really quite annoying being chatted up by youngsters who haven't done anything like as much as I have. Or bastards who only ask me out on a dare. They’d freak out if they knew just what I did for a living.”

  “I suppose they would,” Max agreed. He’d nearly freaked out when he’d seen the Druavroks charging their position. “So I can record you?”

  “Go wild,” Hilde said. She stretched back nonchalantly and smirked, like a cat. “What’s your first question?”

  Max swallowed. It was hard to keep his eyes off her.

  “Down on the planet,” he said. “How did the Druavroks make you feel?”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Turkey imploded into chaos yesterday as an Islamist coup took out the government and declared the foundation of an Islamic state. Greece, already shivering under endless economic problems and domestic unrest, has sealed the borders, but fears it will be unable to handle the expected tidal wave of refugees. Thousands of other refugees have already requested asylum in the Solar Union and millions more are expected to make the trip into space.

  -Solar News Network, Year 54

  “That’s our target star,” the helmsman said. “Malachi Primary.”

  Hoshiko nodded. From nine light months, Malachi Primary was barely more than a dot of light against the endless darkness of interstellar space. Long-range passive sensors picked up bursts of radio emissions coming from the planets orbiting the star, but it was impossible to collect any current data at such a distance. Even if a telescope existed that would allow her to see starships and orbital defence platforms, the information would be nine months out of date and completely useless. She’d have to take the ship a great deal closer to pick up any useful intelligence.

  Which is the plan, she reminded herself as she rose. In a manner of speaking, that is.

  “Mr. XO,” she said, formally. “You have the bridge.”

  “I have the bridge,” Wilde confirmed. He took a breath. They’d gone through a thousand different simulations of what they could expect to fight at Malachi and not all of them had ended well. He’d tried, several
times, to talk her out of going, even offering to go in her place. But Hoshiko had always refused. “Good luck, Captain.”

  Hoshiko nodded, took one last look around the bridge and then headed for the hatch, stepping through and down towards the teleport chamber. Wilde and she had gone over so many contingency plans that she doubted there was any room for mistakes, unless the enemy came up with something new. The Druavroks might have a picket far enough from the primary star to pick up her fleet, they might launch an immediate strike of their own ... and, if they did, her officers knew what to do.

  But I have to remember that they might innovate too, she reminded herself as she stepped into the teleport chamber. Just because the Tokomak deliberately kept them ignorant doesn't mean they’re stupid.

  “Captain,” the operator said. “Teleport to the Eyesore?”

  “Yes, please,” Hoshiko said. She stepped up onto the teleport platform and turned to face him. “Energise.”