His father, Roger Zinder, came up next to him and rested his hand on David's shoulder. "I appreciate what you're giving up, David."
David shook his head. "They told me that on New Texas that I'll still be considered Earth-born and eligible for the Academy Exam. I'll be ready." David grinned at his father. "It doesn't matter so much where I study, just that I do and how well I do at it."
His father nodded, squeezing David's shoulder. "I hope you make it, David."
"I will." In fact, David had it on good authority that his application to the Fleet Academy at Maunalua Bay in Hawaii would be expedited. The ways were, in the vernacular, going to be greased for him.
Behind them, their shuttle was called. His father chuckled as they turned away from the window. "You've gone up how many times?"
David wasn't sure if he should be embarrassed or simply ignore his father. "Only in sims." But hundreds of times in sims. There'd been a malf or two, as well. Well -- maybe dozens of malfs. More excitement than a rational person could want or need. Training and testing. His heart’s desire.
"I was thinking we should put on our game faces and convince your mom and your sister that this is no more exciting than the flight here from Nebraska."
David lifted an eyebrow. "Considering how Sherry jumped up and down with excitement on the flight, I don't see we have much chance of that."
"She's ten, David. You were ten, once -- and enthusiastic like your sister the first time you flew."
"I didn't jump up and down," David reminded him, a broad smile on his face. No, he’d sat at a window and his eyes had never once had left the view below.
The two of them shared a grin. David knew a lot of kids who didn't care for their parents, but not him! His father was Roger Zinder, and he was a magician: a project engineer. He was a man who went in and took charge of a project and finished it. Particularly Roger Zinder dealt with troubled projects, like the one he was headed off Earth to deal with. David wasn't sure of the details, but his father's company had a major complex on a planet called New Texas, 62 light years from Earth. A project that was seriously behind schedule and horrendously over budget. They'd asked his father, ‘Would you please go fix it?’ and then they had promised the sun, moon and stars to David's father if he would go.
So, they were going. David was far more mature than his little sister. He only jumped up and down in his imagination as he contemplated flying from ground to orbit, to rendezvous with a Rim Runner starship bound for New Texas. And as for the flight to New Texas? Only the thought of eight, nearly nine weeks of travel time tempered his enthusiasm. Their ship, the City of Manhattan, was more or less the equivalent of an express: they were only scheduled for four single daylong stops between Earth and New Texas.
Aboard the shuttle, David sat next to his younger sister, Sherry. She looked at him, once they were seated, with undisguised amazement. "I thought you'd want the window."
David grinned and shook his head. "No, this time Sherry, you get the window."
She looked at him; sure there was a trick involved. David shook his head again. "Sherry, we are just lifting to orbit. They told us the pilot will do exactly one roll of the ship before we dock, to give people at the windows a view of the Earth. I've seen Earth from orbit a thousand times."
Pictures though, very realistic pictures. But then, what about Fleet Command wasn't realistic?
Everything but the dying.
"In computer games," she said sarcastically. His sister wasn't stupid, just young.
"Fleet Command isn't your garden variety computer game," David told her mildly. "The simulations range from realistic to as real as they can make a sim."
His sister snorted in derision.
David didn't mind. Sherry was interested in other things and he could understand that. Not many people stuck with Fleet Command and fewer still were offered the Basic Agreement. He'd been offered that when he wasn't much older than Sherry. It seemed to take forever from then until now. And he still had forever to wait until he could go to the Academy, then another forever until he would be assigned into a Fleet ship. One day, it would happen. It wouldn't be a day too soon!
Fleet Command was the ultimate war game. Only it wasn't just a war game. The Federation Fleet actually assigned officers to monitor the sims, to participate in them. Not only did you gain “combat experience” but also beyond a certain level there were all sorts of other exercises. From command and leadership exercises to problems in celestial mechanics. As you advanced, “simple” stopped being part of the parameters of what you faced. Complex was the name of the game in space.
In Fleet Command you won “points” for victories and correct answers. Points earned you promotions and harder problems and tougher questions. At a certain point, the Federation offered you a particular plum: a reserve enlistment in the Fleet under terms of what was called the “Basic Agreement.” David smiled at the thought. A very strange caveat came with that enlistment. Fleet promised that in an emergency, they would promise you a regular Fleet rank, no higher than two less than your reserve rank.
Or, put another way, if you reached full lieutenant in Fleet Command, they promised to take you on as a serving ensign, in an emergency. Except, David had long since been promoted lieutenant. In fact, David was Fleet Command, White Force, the vice admiral for operations. According to the Basic Agreement, if it was invoked, he could look forward to an appointment as a commodore. Not! The words “no higher than” were sure to be applied. He’d be an ensign that was all. And it wasn’t going to happen. David had checked -- Fleet Aloft had never invoked the Basic Agreement. Not for anyone, no matter how good they were, not ever.
Fleet Command had two sides: White Force and Black Force. You could choose which side you wanted for any particular sim, up until you reached the rank of full lieutenant. Then you had to pick a side and stay there. Black Force were the attackers. David was not sure why, but nearly two thirds of Fleet Command players opted for Black Force. That had been fine with him; he had moved upwards faster than Black Force officers did.
There were thirteen White Force vice admirals. Twelve of those held fleet commands, the thirteenth, David, held the Staff Deputy for Operations slot for White Force. Except of course, full Admiral Evan Carlson actually called the shots; David simply was responsible for planning them. But Admiral Carlson usually followed David's plans. And he'd been genuinely upset that David was leaving, but determined that no matter what, come what may, that David would go to Fleet Academy.
And until four years ago, Evan Carlson had been the Commandant of Cadets at Fleet Academy. David smiled to himself. It was a done deal; he had one more year of secondary school and he’d be there, at the Academy. He’d checked, they played something like Fleet Command on New Texas; he would go back to being one of the operational commanders, but that wasn’t a bad thing!
A pop from the attitude thrusters interrupted his thoughts. David looked around and fought off the blush that rose to his cheeks. He hadn't noticed the shuttle lift off! He hadn't noticed orbital insertion, just the last few seconds of the docking maneuver! It was a good thing he wasn't flying this bucket! They'd be out someplace around Pluto now!
Shortly, the intercom announced that the boarding tube was ready for disembarkation; Sherry jumped up at once from her seat, complaining that space travel was “boring.” David could see the Earth in thin crescent behind her. He cast a gimlet eye on the line of people in the aisle, waiting to disembark. Without a word, he slid into Sherry's seat and looked down.
Awesome. The view was, beyond any doubt, the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. It was so beautiful that David lost all track of time once again.
It was when the last light went from the scene beneath him that David stretched and looked around. A couple of the cabin stewards were talking towards the front of the cabin, no one else was visible. David got out of his seat and started floating forward.
Free fall! Walking was impossible. He got control of himself, and then pushe
d himself along at a decent pace, nodded to the stewards as he passed them.
Just before he passed them, he saw a girl his own age, sitting in her seat, intent on her comp. David was detached from Fleet Command and he had no lessons due. His comp was over his back and would stay there.
David contemplated the boarding tube that faced him, what everyone else had used to exit the shuttle -- a boarding tube was a hundred meters of extensible plastic. You saw them all the time on HDD. A slam dunk. Piece of cake. He pushed off, intent on doing it right. And almost at once he saw that he had done it wrong. He'd been too timid, so he wasn't going as fast as he should. More importantly, he was going to bump against the boarding tube sidewall, less than halfway along.
David paid careful attention. He grabbed a loop and prepared to push himself off. He'd barely launched when he sensed movement behind him, turned and saw the girl from the shuttle cabin hurtling towards him. There was nothing he could do; there was no time. At the last second, he decided that using his hands to fend her off, while offering exotic possibilities, was liable to get his nose punched.
The impact from the collision sent him back against the tube sidewall, this time, head first. He bounced, as the designers intended, but he was cartwheeling. It took every bit of concentration on what to do, to stop his spin. He reached out, grabbed one of the loops on the sidewall to steady himself and catch his breath, letting his motion damp out and the induced nausea die down.
And as such, David became a helpless spectator to a spectacular chewing out that occurring a few meters further down the tube. A man, David's father's age, was talking to the girl David had collided with.
"What a wonderful maneuver, Bethany! I haven't seen the like since you convinced your younger brother that he could travel a tube faster if he was naked! Another fine example of tube etiquette!"
The girl drew herself up. "Damned dirty-foot was too slow!"
David's head ached; from the impact, and from the fact that the man doing the chewing out was upside down from David's point of view and the girl was at right angles to it.
"Sir," David spoke up, clearing his throat, "this was my fault. I didn't look behind me before I pushed away from the sidewall. I'm sorry, Miss. Sir."
The man smiled at David. "First time in a boarding tube, son?"
"Yes, sir."
"I remember mine. I set some sort of Rim Runner record for the number of times you can rolf in a hundred meters." He turned to the girl, who, David was sure, was his daughter. "Bethany, 0800 tomorrow. You are scheduled for the tube etiquette class."
The girl paled, flipped, bounced off the sidewall, and then squirted past the man faster than you could say, “Goodbye!” David was left with an impression of a rather short young woman, her brown hair cut short. Blue eyes that had turned a simply amazing angry gray there at the end.
The man nodded to David. "You are who, young man?"
"David Zinder, sir."
"Ah, Roger Zinder's boy!"
David was surprised that the other had heard of his father, more surprised that the other had heard of him.
"You, Mister Zinder, will also report to the tube etiquette class tomorrow at 0800." The man paused, moved to orient himself the same as David, and then held out his hand. "Dennis Booth."
David shook the other's hand, aware that the scrutiny had increased, not diminished. "Have you decided what sort of class load you will undertake, Mr. Zinder?"
David shook his head. "My father said there would be some, but when I looked a couple of days ago, there wasn't a schedule."
Dennis Booth nodded. "They handed me the job of Superintendent of Instruction at the last minute, so it's a work in progress. Do you have any certificates, Mr. Zinder?"
"Sir?"
"That means no certificates. City of Manhattan, Mr. Zinder, is a Rim Runner ship and that means there will be no sitting around for the eight weeks we'll be en route to New Texas. I'll enroll you in the basics -- Basic Life Support, Basic Communications, Basic Sensors and Basic Flight. Do you have any favorite subjects?"
"Math, physics, and dynamics, sir." David responded; the answer was nearly rote. "Sir, I've already had classes in life support and sensors." And he was entirely too young for a flight certificate.
"Ah! A glutton!
"Mr. Zinder, the classes I've recommended are certificate classes -- not the usual dirty-foot foolishness. Please report to the exam room this evening at 1900 for an evaluation. The location is listed in the ship's guide. Afterwards, we'll work something suitable out." Dennis Booth nodded to David, flipped and vanished as his daughter had a few moments before, leaving David alone in the boarding tube.
That had been... abrupt. David shook his head again, remembered to check behind himself this time and launched once more.
David finally found his family's stateroom, where his parents were getting things sorted out from their baggage. Sherry already had her head buried in an HDD screen.
"I thought we'd lost you there, David." His father had looked closer at David’s face. "Is that the start of a black eye, David?"
David reached up and touched his eye. Sure enough, when he touched it, it started to hurt. He'd checked it out in a mirror. Yep! He hadn't even felt that one!
"I had a collision with someone in the boarding tube."
His father sighed. "It's hard, I know, but we all have to be careful."
"Now I'm enrolled in a class on tube etiquette."
His father laughed. "Rim Runners are like that! The first thing in the packet was a warning that everyone must either teach classes or take classes... preferably both. I'm going to offer some management and negotiation courses."
Later, David found the exam room and was given an exam HDD by Dennis Booth. David walked to one of the desks, slid the disk in and set to work. An hour and a half later David finished and then hit the done button on the desktop comp and leaned back to stretch.
Dennis Booth had looked up almost the instant David had finished.
"Considering the usual preparation I've seen from Earth-born, Mr. Zinder, you've done very well. It's a pity about the certificates.”
David shrugged. "My father told me not to bother, they were simple, he said. There was no need to worry about them right away."
"True enough on Earth, Mr. Zinder. Out on the Rim, they rather expect everyone will max the easy ones. Life support, sensors, that sort of thing. Since everyone has the same score, the only thing you can compete on is the age when you received the certificate. Bethany got her basic certificates the day she turned six. Competition, Mr. Zinder, is a fact of life on the Rim. If you aren't a betting man, you will be in a class by yourself.
"Oh," David said mildly. Ten thousand little things he'd heard in his life suddenly made sense.
"That said, it isn't that big of a deal. Like I said, tomorrow, 0800 for tube etiquette. After that, I've put you down for the big bear: celestial mechanics. That, Mr. Zinder, is a Fleet certificate class taught by an officer heading out to the Rim, who was teaching that class at Fleet Academy, Maunalua Bay until a few days ago. After lunch, you’re scheduled for the basic life support and sensor classes.
Dennis Booth waved at his own computer. "I'm a little surprised that I can't access your Fleet Command records. Usually that means you have a star. Is that so, Mr. Zinder?"
David nodded. "Yes, sir. I was a Fleet Command, White Force vice admiral; the Staff Deputy for Operations."
"I'll need your key and day code then."
David contemplated Dennis Booth cautiously before responding. Only another admiral would be able to use the codes. On the other hand, by giving them out, it required them to be changed at the first practical moment -- a nuisance. "Tango Romeo Whiskey Hotel. Day code is Charlie Nine Seven."
Dennis Booth entered in the codes, and then read silently for a few minutes, before lifting his eyes to meet David’s. "On the Rim, Mr. Zinder, Kriegspiel is what we play. It's similar to Fleet Command, in fact, beyond full lieutenant, virtually ide
ntical."
His eyes again dropped to the computer. "Your scores and Bethany's are functionally the same. I think that will be an issue. I assume you intend to participate?"
"Yes, sir. I hadn't expected anything aboard ship, though."
"Well, as I said, there's an issue. Bethany is marginally ahead on points; you have competed against half again as many opponents.
"Mr. Zinder, I am Evan Carlson's equivalent on the Rim, the White Force Admiral of the Fleet. We have a goodly number of players aboard; we will be running the full suite. Bethany will command Black Force and you will be her number two. I'll log it as my convenience, so it won't affect your permanent status."
David blinked in shock. Black Force? White Force was the white hats, the good guys. Black Force was the bad guys, the enemies of humanity. He had never, ever, been on Black Force. A lot of people liked it, which was something he’d never understood.
Fleet Command scoring worked like tournament chess scoring. You started out with a number of points (your age times a hundred) and gained or lost points depending on how well you did, the number of points gained or lost depending on the abilities of those you went up against or a par score for a question or exercise. Not many people played Fleet Command on Earth, at least as a percentage of the total population. Still, with seven billion people in the pool, there was rather intense competition. And David had reached the highest point he could reach.
"Thank you, sir," David said quietly. "I do want to stay White Force."
Dennis Booth nodded. "It's the least I can do for you, young man. Life is going to be the pits for both you and Bethany. Tangerine is the wrong place and time for both of you at this point in your lives. I'm sure both of you will be able to get past it, but it will prove to be an additional, unneeded, and I'm sure, unwelcome challenge."
"Sir? I don't understand."
"One day, Mr. Zinder, Tangerine will be one of the finest habitats in the universe. Right this minute though, it's a touch primitive. Those of us who intend to improve upon that have our work cut out for us; there won't be much time available for schooling young squids like you and Bethany. It will make things considerably more difficult for you."
Starfarer's Dream (Kinsella Universe Book 4) Page 2
