Dying For Space

by S. J. Higbee

  Grabbing his arm as he jerked his elbow backwards, I yanked him sideways. Hard. As he’d already shifted his weight onto the opposite leg, ready to hook his foot behind my knee, he was slightly off-balance. My creative moves certainly revved the class. Their whoops and encouraging calls were deafening.

  Give him his due, as soon as he realised the move had failed, he changed tactics faster than a tachy-blink. Instead of going all the way down, he got his knee under him, jabbing backwards with his other elbow. I managed to sidestep sufficiently so that he didn’t totally wind me, but the blow numbed my arm. Sarge wasn’t doing Gently, just for a change.

  Meantime, I still had hold of his other arm. Dropping the knife before I accidentally cut him, I tightened my grip and twisted his arm against the shoulder joint.

  He suddenly relaxed. “At ease, Cadet. You made your point.”

  Don’t reckon that you have, though.

  As he snapped out of my grip and dived at me, I was more than half-ready for it. Trouble was, our audience wasn’t. Leaping backwards, I crashed into our ring of onlookers.

  His snarling grin would’ve done credit to the Cap at his most dangerous. “Want a piece of me, Cadet? Want a chance to revenge those six demerits?”

  Tingling with fear and excitement, I rolled onto the balls of my feet and took a deep breath. “Many thanks for the opportunity, Sarge. But.” I raised my eyebrows, hoping to look pitying. “I’m thinking of your advancing age. Medical treatment starts to get pricey at your time of life.”

  His eyes slitted.

  Have I overdone it? I want him mad enough to make mistakes, not kill me.

  A bellowing laugh resounded over the muffled gasps and smothered curses.

  Holed heavens! What’s he doing here? A wet-brained question, as I already knew the answer. Checking up on me, of course. What else would he be doing in this humble part of his kingdom?

  Sarge stiffened like he’d been shot. “Ten ‘shun!”

  We all jumped to it as General Norman strolled into the gym, his aides and the Ceren visitors trailing in his wake. “I do beg your pardon for crashing into your class, Hugo,” he said, not sounding the slightest bit sorry.

  “No problem, General,” said Sarge, all rigid attention.

  “At ease, people,” said Norman before his burning brown eyes hungrily locked onto me. “Getting into more trouble, sweetheart?”

  I mentally winced. It’s one thing knowing the General is my father, it’s another thing the whole class hearing him call me pet names. “Yes, Father.”

  His smile stroked me, before he turned to his visitors. “This, gentlemen, is part of our Officer Training programme. Unlike many outfits, we set the very highest standards for our cadets. These candidates will be leading the patrols tasked with protecting colonies and merchant shipping throughout the Sector.” He turned away. “We’ll leave you to it, Sergeant.”

  Everyone froze as he suddenly spun round, again. “Six demerits, Hugo?”

  “We had a kit inspection this morning, General. This cadet’s gear was in a disgusting state.” Sergeant Gently’s voice was expressionless.

  Norman stared thoughtfully at the bar-taut NCO. “I see. Carry on, Sergeant.” And this time, he continued walking out the door, without so much as another glance in my direction, proving that he did see.

  Of course he does. Norman sees everything. The craven part of my soul whimpered because Norman didn’t force the Sarge to scrub the demerits and apologise to me, while I was also relieved that I wouldn’t be fighting him, after all. However, now that the General was back on Base, I realised things were going to be far more complicated.

  Good thing we can’t see into the future, isn’t it? Because, complicated doesn’t begin to cover it.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The next day was the start of Study Leave to prepare for the Graduation exams scheduled to begin the following week. Irena, David, Romeo and I took to revising in the sunken garden when the weather permitted and in the library when it didn’t.

  While David – again – explained the finer points of a 3D plotting mesh to a completely perplexed Romeo, I tested Irena on Disciplinary Procedures, the Emergency Evac drill and Spacesuit Maintenance regs. We grappled with the Docking Regs together as they were a nightmare. The rules were supposed to be standardised throughout the whole Sector. However, in practice each scruffy dirtball or metal heap claiming to be a space station had their own variations. And we had to know every single one. Claiming ignorance of the local version of who gives way to whom wouldn’t be sufficient defence if we rammed some inattentive merchanter. For while Norman was more than capable of running roughshod over any civi-inspired rules, he preferred not to make a habit of it, as angry customers tend not to pay their subs.

  Five days later, the basic Craft Handling exam took the form of a holosim scenario on the Bridge deck, where the candidate was In Command with the instructors as the watch officers. The scenario lasted about half an hour, although it seemed more like three minutes to me. Obviously, each scenario was different. This was the exam that really mattered to me as I was hoping to become the captain of one of Norman’s patrol vessels.

  I was supposed to be bringing my craft into Oasis, our own maintenance yard. A huge relief. No dredging up half-remembered regs for that approach. However, the catch was that my pilot had been injured and her replacement had accidentally overdosed on QuickThink. So as Captain, I had to keep a close eye on the helm. It was the fiddly kind of close-quarters handling that can so easily lead to disaster – 71% of spaceship damage and six times more lives are lost during docking accidents than travelling in open space. Other than during firefights, of course.

  I did okay. Nothing got bent. But when closing too fast, I didn’t take over the helm from my fumbling pilot and show off my dazzling skills at close-quarters manoeuvring. Instead, in an overloud voice, I ordered us into full reverse till we had enough turning room, and then requested a new approach heading from Oasis TrafControl. I linked my hands tightly behind my back, so no one could see them shaking, hoping this time around would be better. I vividly recall envisaging the exam dragging on for the rest of the day, while I kept getting the approach wrong.

  Fortunately, next time around the closing speed was correct and we docked without any further incident. During the debrief, I waited for the critical comments and follow-up questions at my initial unsuccessful attempt to dock. But no one seemed particularly concerned, being far more interested in my command that the pilot sweat out his QuickThink o.d. in the sauna. And that was that. I staggered out of the holo-arena feeling slightly flat that it was finally over.

  Except it wasn’t, of course. There were the written exams. And the team challenge. We slept rough for three nights in our team groups among the thick forests off to the east of Restormel, while a squad of regulars got busy hunting us down. Thanks to my six demerits we couldn’t win the Team Shield, but we Reds were determined to prove a point. Both Green and Blue teams were found, but largely thanks to Irena, we managed to stay out there till it was over. However, so did Yellow team, which meant they scooped the blixing Shield.

  Like I cared.

  Then, there was the Combatzone test. Before you ask – yes, it’s based on the holosim game. The major difference is that our Combatzone was a whole lot bigger and in addition to fielding laser-firing avatars, it was crawling with real knife-wielding mercs panting to creep up behind the ‘flooding firsties’ and smack us between the shoulders, proving that they could’ve cut our throats.

  Oh, and we also had to assemble and replace the powerpacs on our weapons in under a minute… The truth is, all such tests and exams became a blur during that month, which seemed to both fly by in a nanosec and last half a lifetime. No one failed, proving that Sergeant Gently had done a solid job.

  *

  Saluting Norman during our passing out parade, I knew this gold-edged memory would never tarnish into regret. And despite everything that happened, I’m still proud that I graduat
ed top of my class. Yeah, I know the official stats record that I was third, but apparently – at Norman’s suggestion – they marked me down so that no one could claim I’d had special treatment. George finally admitted it, later. What can I say? Welcome to my world.

  That night, a banquet was laid on in the Officer’s Mess in our honour. We all filed into the room wearing our new dress uniforms, stiff with braid and shiny buttons to applause from all the officers currently on Restormel. Another glittering drop of happiness.

  Norman swept me into his arms. “I’m so very proud of you, sweetheart,” he said, huskily.

  I hugged him back. All the effort was worth it just to hear his emotion. How long before all this hugging seems natural?

  Shouldn’t ever seem natural, Lizzy. Not when dealing with a holo-hoaxing snake like Norman. As ever, Jessica was nagging me. Despite being killed in a firefight on Space Station Hawking, she didn’t cease her constant jabbering in my head that Norman was one dangerous dregger and I was mad for opting to stay with him. But then, Jessica was – had been – an English merchanting girl right to the tips of her dura-strengthened fingernails. And merchanters regard mercs as several steps down the food chain from stationmasters and customs officers.

  Sitting between David and Romeo during that meal, I laughed at the jokes flying around the table, enjoying the delicious food and good wine. Every smallest detail of that evening comes back to me if I close my eyes – the aroma of the paella mingling with the scent of Irena’s heavy perfume… Norman’s approving gaze… Romeo’s arm resting across my shoulder…

  After the meal came the speeches. Not that anyone heaved a sigh when Norman stood up, as he was an inspired speaker. So, we whooped, whistled and banged the table as he welcomed us to the Peace and Prosperity Corps, laughed at his jokes and roared for more when he stopped.

  When Sergeant Gently stood, I recall thinking that having to follow Norman seemed a dank option. But the ringing applause, boot stamping and whistles from the regular officers ensured this was no anti-climax. Whatever our feelings about him, it was clear that his previous students recalled him with far more affection.

  “If you sorry articles could spare me a nanosec of your attention!” Gently’s bellowed catchphrase caused another gust of laughter before everyone quietened down. “This is the part where I tell you lot that you’ve been the shoddiest shower of misfits I’ve ever been lacklucked enough to knock into shape—”

  An officer staggered to his feet. “Nah, Sarge – that was us!”

  “Glinting to see that even you can be right once in a long light year, sir,” Sarge’s reply brought another delighted roar from the room. “But, this year, I’m changing the script. Because despite your obvious rawness, you were – are – one of the best intake I’ve trained. Ever.”

  The mood around the room shifted. Regular officers were either staring at Gently in obvious surprise, or swivelling round to gaze at us newbies.

  “It doesn’t take some loose-lipped journo to tell us the situation in this Sector isn’t easing, any. It’s times like these when the likes of us are busy. Remember what you’ve learnt. Keep safe – and just as important – keep the fighter beside you safe. While those of us put out to pasture here back in Restormel will do the best we can to support you. Make me proud.” Picking up his glass, his face scrunched into his familiar glower. “And if you can’t manage that, try to avoid making me ashamed.” There was more ear-blasting applause as he sat down.

  Not that I was paying too much attention. Because now it was our turn. We were on.

  Since arriving at Restormel, I’d been slack-jawed at the excellence of the Library. So, when I had the odd moment to myself, which was admittedly a rare event, I’d trawl through the archives for ancient songs. Partly because I enjoyed the buzz when I found a stimming tune, but on a more practical level, in the days before ChoralSing and 5Octave augments, melodies were far simpler and often more tuneful without being stuffed with meta-synch rhythms and a minimum of four parts. When searching for old marching songs, I’d stumbled across ‘Kiss Me Goodnight, Sergeant Major’. Tradition had it that the graduating officers had to perform something at this evening’s meal and the words didn’t need much tweaking to turn it into ‘Kiss Me Goodnight, Sergeant Gently’.

  Now it was our turn, I and Red Group performed it, leading the rest of the room in singing the chorus. It was such a success, the Sarge spilt his drink as he bellowed with laughter.

  Once we sat down, there were the usual shouts for me to give them a song or two. I’d promised myself that if any zilcher wanted a lament this evening, they could sing it themselves, Norman included. However, the two comedy songs I delivered received plenty of applause, leaving me free to enjoy the next turn, howling with laughter till tears came when the egg-juggling bloke dropped them…

  A magical evening. Throughout it, I became increasingly aware of Romeo sitting beside me. After the juggling act, as we both rocked with laughter he leaned into me, his arm resting lightly around my shoulders. I was about to shrug it off till I saw David’s scowling glare and decided it could stay put. The lemon tang of his soap smelt pleasant and when I glanced across at Norman, his gaze was thoughtful. When the evening finally ended, Romeo suggested that we take a walk through the gardens. It wasn’t raining and feeling far too wired to want to return to my bunk, I agreed.

  Romeo’s kiss was good. It was. But the memory of Wynn’s lips… the feel of his body against mine… all came flooding back. Along with the bitterness of his death.

  I pulled away. “I can’t. It’s not you – I just can’t…”

  “I’m not offering love’s young dream. We both know that’s not on the table. But I really, really like you. Always have.” He gently stroked my cheek. “I could make it good for you. No strings.”

  As he bent to kiss me again, Wynn’s face flashed across my inscape.

  “This isn’t going to work, Ro—” It came to me that using his nickname in such circumstances was beyond tactless. “I’m sorry.”

  He shook his head, trying for a grin and failing. “So’m I. Ah well. Let’s get you back to your quarters.”

  We didn’t talk much on the way. Embarrassed and annoyed with myself for having ended a wonderful evening in such a mess, I muttered a hasty goodnight and rushed inside. But once in bed, I spent a long time staring into the dark, aching with loneliness and wishing Wynn back. Again.

  *

  I couldn’t believe it. All my classmates were off on their Liveaction sorties while I was still stuck on Restormel. And why? Because the General didn’t want me going into danger! I stared down at my congealing steak and kidney pie, feeling betrayed. What was the point of all that training, all that effort and hard work if I ended up proning around Restormel attending banquets? Or shopping? Which was what he’d come up with, when I’d asked Norman what I’d do with my time if I wasn’t on active service.

  “What is it with you men and shopping?” I snapped, too angry to care when Fina gasped.

  Norman chewed on his cigar as he swelled with anger.

  My heart thudded so hard I thought everyone around the table could hear it, as Jessica crowed, Yeah, that’s telling him, Lizzy! You go for it, girl. What’s the point of wading through all that guano if you still end up where you don’t want to be?

  I took a deep breath and pushed my plate away. My dead friend was right. I’d lost my family, my lover and all my former friends. Norman had to understand that I hadn’t undergone Officer Training just to pass the time – I wanted to serve just like Mum had. Well, not exactly the same as Mum, given she’d ended up pregnant with me.

  “You ungrateful little spacespawn!” His fist crashed onto the table, making the crockery – and me – jump. “After all I’ve done for you! It’s not enough! It’s never enough with you bloody girls!”

  I’d stared straight ahead, determined to take whatever punishment he threw at me. But I wasn’t going to grovel. I’d spoken the truth. If Norman didn’t like it, so
be it.

  “William,” Number Two’s quiet voice was like a calm pool in the hurricane of Norman’s fury. “She isn’t Elsbeth.”

  At the mention of his dead daughter, Norman’s face spasmed.

  George continued, “She hasn’t asked for so much. Just to train as an officer. She promised to make you proud. And she has.” He leaned across the table and put his hand on Norman’s shoulder.

  I held my breath, waiting for him to be knocked to the ground, as he continued, “The fault is ours in not looking further ahead. Did we ask ourselves what she’d want to do after training? No. We assumed that she’d settle into the daily life, here. But she’s a natural. You said it yourself when you looked at the stats and the training vids.”

  Norman’s face was stony as he glared at me. “Go. Get out. Now.”

  “Yes Father. And thank you.” I didn’t look at him as I jumped up from the table and scuttled for the door, but hoped that George realised my gratitude was aimed at him.

  The next three weeks were pure misery. By now, I should’ve moved into the room Norman had prepared for me on the mezzanine floor near his own suite. But till his black mood lifted, I decided to stay in the officer training barracks with the few graduates remaining on the Base. Poor David, who’d just started his probationary year on Norman’s staff, showed up every night at the Officer’s Mess, white-faced and tight-wound.

  In desperation, I asked Sergeant Gently for something to do just in case I was remotely tempted to go shopping. The zilcher obliged by giving me the longest equipment checklist in the galaxy. My task was to go through and ensure all the weaponry and combat supplies needed for the next batch of officer recruits was in working order. I began the chore furious this make-work was my lot while my fellow graduate officers were out seeing action. But to my surprise the job wasn’t too bad, especially once I realised that it was a vital check that someone was going to have to undertake. The bonus was it also helped to keep me out of the way and fully occupied as word of our quarrel spread. One bleak evening even David, after buying me a couple of glasses of wine, tried to persuade me to apologise to Norman. I’d stalked out of the Mess feeling misunderstood and terribly alone.