The Eons-Lost Orphan (The Space Orphan Book 1)

by Laer Carroll

  She introduced her parents to Baker, who already had met her father. The woman told Malena so, and recounted how the Dr. had helped her solve a problem on her computer when he had brought Jane in for her first visit.

  For two hours they waited, getting acquainted to take their minds off Jimmy's peril. Finally a doctor came out and gave them the good news.

  "Because we caught your friend's condition in time we were able to administer a blood thinner that dissolved a blood clot. He should recover completely, though we will have to give him some tests to be sure there's no residual injury. There should not be, but we won't assume that."

  "How soon can he leave?" Baker wanted to know.

  The doctor answered her and spoke about other matters involved in Jimmy's care and recovery. Then she told them they could visit him shortly.

  It was maybe ten minutes before a nurse came and escorted them to Jimmy's room. He greeted them with a grin and endured (or enjoyed, Jane wasn't sure) a hug from Baker. Jane guessed from their behavior that they were closer than just employer and employee.

  Jimmy grinned at Jane. "Not quite a usual solo check ride was it, little girl? Thank you."

  "I've told you to cut out the fucking cigarettes. Maybe now you'll obey better, you old fart."

  She gave him a hug too, a ginger one. Then she had to introduce him to her mother and re-introduce him to her father.

  <>

  The story of her plane flight was too good to remain local. It went national, was even mentioned on one of the late-night talk shows. Jane's J-name group at Poly swelled to more than 50 and was becoming annoying. Her quintet business increased.

  Wang was never one to get excited about celebrity (he had several in his family). He solemnly asked her to do another publicly-acclaimed rescue or two to boost her and the quintet status more. Jane gave him the finger.

  One event surprised her. The group still had a regular gig at the club where the manager had assaulted her to his great discomfort. He spoke to her directly for the first time since that event and congratulated her on her heroism.

  Thereafter she and he got along better, becoming almost friends. She'd heard about the rare phenomenon of enemies becoming friends. This was the third time it had happened to her.

  The first week in June she graduated Cum Laude from the Polytechnic School. There were no Magna or Summa divisions but she and several other graduating students were given Special Recognition Awards.

  Her summer was spent shepherding the quintet and finding a replacement for her and a manager. The last was easy. Her agent, still plugging away at selling Jane's musical productions, had taken the entire group as clients and she found a manager. Jane got the impression Stephanie was going to keep a beady eye on the manager.

  Jane also took helicopter flying lessons and graduated with a limited license to fly them.

  <>

  Finally the summer came to an end. Jane left home with many sad and tearful farewells to become a cadet at the US Air Force Academy.

  Chapter 8 - USAF Academy - Year 1

  A half hour out of the Colorado Springs Airport a steward came to Jane's seat.

  "The pilot would like to see you, Ms. Kuznetsov."

  Jane was surprised. She had no idea why anyone would want to see her or know her name. She got up and followed the man.

  She'd been in an airline plane cockpit before but they were always fascinating to her. She glanced around at the interior then at the people inside. There were three, one sitting in the pilot's chair on the left, one getting up from the copilot's chair, and someone in a seat at right angles behind the pilot stations. That person was looking at something on the wall which was full of instruments. He was the flight engineer, a navigator, and much more.

  The copilot motioned her to sit in her seat and made sure Jane's seat belts were securely engaged. Then she disappeared into the passenger compartments.

  The pilot leaned across to offer a hand to shake. "Ms. Kuznetsov, I assume."

  She smiled and shook his hand. It was warm and strong.

  "You assume right, Sir."

  "I understand you're a brand new Academy cadet. If you bend over and look that way--" He pointed out the left-most forward window. "--you can just barely see it if you know what you're looking for."

  She looked but could not make out the site. She said so.

  "You'll be there soon enough."

  "How do you know my name, sir?"

  "The front office always gives us a heads-up when a celebrity comes aboard."

  "Me? A celebrity?"

  "To me and the rest of the crew you are, Ms. Kuznetsov. Not every student pilot can keep her head in an emergency and get a plane down when there's a med emergency on board. And have the b...guts to land on a freeway in defiance of the control tower yelling at you. That makes you more than a celebrity. It makes you a hero."

  "I just did what was needed."

  "And that's what heroes do. And they don't make a fuss about it."

  The engineer spoke up. "MOST of them. There are exceptions."

  The pilot laughed.

  "True. Now, the reason why I called you up, besides to shake your hand is to give you a bit of advice."

  "I appreciate it."

  "Real soon now you're going to be at the Academy. They'll be yelling at you and calling you names and giving you silly tasks and generally trying to make you mad or cry and eventually to wash out. They do that not because they're sadists--"

  "Though a few of them are," said the engineer.

  The pilot nodded. "One of the rare times good can come of evil. Now I went through that, and busy body back there did too. Many of the times I felt I could not last one, more, second. But I found just enough b...guts to stick it out. And I am forever grateful to whatever got me through the obstacles."

  The engineer said, "One of the few times I agree with the dinosaur there. Stick it out. Cry if you must. Though hide it. Get mad and hate their guts. But stick it, kid."

  These were her people. She relaxed a little of her caution.

  Her robot stirred a bit from its slumber.

  "You see a small thin body and it makes you think me weak. But don't worry about me. Please. This body is incredibly tough and abnormally strong. And that goes for the soul inside me. They can only barely bend me. They can never break me."

  She looked into the pilot's eyes and let a little bit of her adamant insides show in her gaze.

  He gazed back. Measuring.

  He nodded. Turned back to sweep his eyes over his instruments and out the windows.

  "We've got a few minutes before we need Constance back. Now if you'll put your hands on the yoke you can feel the adjustments the autopilot is making. They are tiny. If you close your eyes you can feel them."

  She did so and whispered, "I can. And I can almost read its mind. It's--"

  She let her mind roam. "--wonderful."

  <>

  Soon the plane landed and after the usual wait as it taxied and lined up with the boarding tunnel everyone was allowed to exit.

  A sign in the hands of a uniformed man drew her attention and that of three other passengers. It read USAF ACADEMY. They approached him. He turned away and led them to a waiting area where a dozen other young women and men sat and stood. A half hour later another few people joined them and another uniformed man led them to a bus resembling a city bus. Perhaps it was.

  It drove for a half hour northward and let them off at the Academy. The harassment started immediately from senior cadets. They were impressive in perfectly neat white short-sleeved shirts with blue shoulder tabs and dark blue pants and gleaming shined shoes.

  The seniors yelled at people from inches in front of their faces. Jane was the target of several encounters. She endured them with a perfectly stoic face, standing rigidly at attention as she'd learned from the books and articles she'd read. That gained her more yelling. Nothing fazed her, nor startled her even when a senior walked quietly from behind before launching abuse. Sh
e'd expected it and even if she hadn't her robot reported the sneaking figures.

  Once she was commanded to "Drop and give me twenty!" She did so, her body as straight as a plank as her thin arms pushed her up and down as if she were a machine. At the end she uncoiled like a snake into an upright posture and returned to attention.

  Perhaps she should have pretended normal human limits. The attention and resentment of the ordinary for the extraordinary was dangerous. But she had a long-term strategy. Out-last and out-fight anyone who deterred her from her goals. Anyone who deliberately stood in her way she would destroy. The sooner everyone learned to fear her the sooner she'd arrive at her goals.

  As she waited for another yelled command she wondered at this ruthless side of herself. She liked people. She did not want to hurt them and went out of her way to comfort them. But this hard side was as equally her nature as that gentler side. It was in her, not in her robot.

  Eventually the yelling stopped and they were assigned memberships in one of ten squadrons in one of four groups. Eventually, they learned, there would be about a hundred cadets per squadron. For now there were two dozen or so first year cadets in Jane's squadron commanded by two first year cadets. They were given a brief pep talk by the lieutenant colonel in charge of all the groups, given a basic lesson in marching, and were marched off to barracks where they were sent to pre-assigned rooms. No rooms were co-ed but the buildings were.

  In the two-person rooms were unmade beds on opposite sides of the room. Folded bed clothing lay atop the beds. There were two closets on opposite side of the rooms near the beds.

  There were desks near the beds with a single chair which had a straight back but a cushioned ergonomically designed seat. A small slab of a computer rested on a shelf above the desk. In the center back was a computer screen and center front a keyboard. There was a mouse beside it and beside the screen a high-end VR/AR head set.

  Jane stood beside the door, not at attention but ready to assume it. Her room mate, a big American Indian woman, dropped onto the bed and let out sigh of relief. She caught sight of Jane by the door and said, "Should I be...?"

  "No. Relax. I'll hear them coming and warn you in plenty of time."

  "How can you be sure...?"

  "I researched the Academy training methods. I'm very good at research."

  "I noticed you. A lot of people did. You're tough for a little girl."

  Jane chuckled. "I'm tough for a big girl. Or boy."

  The woman stared at Jane for long moments. Her flat stare was almost as good as Jane's. Then she sighed and lay flat with her eyes closed. "Don't bother me. I'm going to meditate."

  Jane stood beside the door for nearly fifteen minutes. Then she heard yelling and loud foot steps coming closer.

  "Awake, meditating beauty. Incoming."

  Eagle Feather, as she introduced herself on her way to stand opposite Jane, said, "Thanks."

  Moments later the door burst open and two senior cadets rushed in yelling for them to "Get up off your la--" The yelling cut short as the two women were already near the door at attention.

  The seniors were silent only for moments before they gave Jane and Feather instructions on how to make their beds and, when they'd been made, pull the bed wear off onto the floor and order them made again. They did this four times until they were satisfied, or just plain tired, and left.

  Jane then stood by the door again, sure the seniors were not forever gone.

  This time it was a different pair of seniors. They didn't come in yelling, so they may have been warned about this room's occupants. But they went through the same bed making-unmaking routine as the previous two seniors. Then they stopped after the second making and ordered them out to form up in front of the barracks for evening chow.

  The first year cadets were marched to chow with much correction of their form. Jane received her share of "correction" though she needed none. She'd researched posture and marching and had practiced them.

  After chow the cadets were marched back to the barracks to two hours of rest while they digested their food. Jane's research said the Academy was in earnest about this period of rest.

  After the second hour ended, on the dot, the barracks were aroused for "a little cool air enjoyment" as they marched for nearly an hour all about the academy grounds, the seniors loudly pointing out landmarks.

  Returning to their barracks everyone was given a half hour for private functions and a shower. Then it was lights out.

  At 3:00 in the morning they were awakened for a brief march around the barracks.

  Morning began just before dawn for calisthenics then a short time to shower and groom themselves. They were marched to chow. Then to counseling.

  When it came her turn Jane was ushered into a large book-crowded room with cream walls and a window onto greenery. The walls were adorned with certificates, photos, and reproductions of paintings. A large old-fashioned desk faced so that its occupant could turn her head to gaze out the window or directly ahead to gaze upon her guest. The woman was trim and had short grey hair, a major judging by the insignia on the tabs of the white shirt similar to the ones the seniors wore. She was Jane's squadron commander.

  "Sit down, cadet Kuznetsov. Relax. While you are in this office there'll be none of the formality and stress of the training."

  Jane sat and did relax, although she sat like the outstanding athlete she was, ready in an instant to stand and move into action. She'd researched the Academy counseling process. She was sure the counselor was sincere.

  She saw that Major Bledsoe, as she introduced herself, observed Jane's posture, surely making a note of it eventually in Jane's record.

  "Did you sleep well last night?"

  "I did. I need much less sleep than others and I'm unusually resilient. Please openly make notes of my answers and demeanor, by the way."

  The officer laughed and it was genuine good humor. "Your record says that you're very intelligent."

  "Yes. And I know you know those who examined me at several points in my life noted that my intelligence was too high to measure."

  "How did that make you feel?"

  "It's an objective fact. It doesn't make me feel proud. I was born this way." (Or manufactured. Jane still wasn't sure if she was an alien or an experiment.)

  "I'm aware of all the many downsides of high intelligence, including the envy and fear of others. But the upsides, in my present and likely future circumstances, are greater."

  "And why is that?"

  "I intend to go high in the Air Force organization. Intelligence on the whole is a useful quality appreciated by most of those who will judge and promote me."

  "Why do you want to 'climb high'?"

  "I intend to be a fighter pilot. Then a test pilot. Then an astronaut."

  "Why?"

  Jane puzzled over her motivations. And whether she should reveal them. She weighed the pluses and minuses of revealing them.

  "When I settle into a moving vehicle it's as if I slip into a warm pool of water. I become one with the machine. Its wheels, or propellers, or jets, or some day an advanced space drive, become as much a part of me as my legs. I almost feel them, and what they can and can't do. It's...fun? Satisfying."

  "An almost mystical feeling."

  "Linguistically correct. Mystical implies mystery, and I don't understand the origins of the sensations. But in another sense, not mystical. A better adjective would be...sensual."

  "The Air Force needs capable pilots. Especially astro pilots, whose ranks I'm sure you know we are building up."

  "I know that private enterprise has been doing that quite well for nearly two decades now. And before you ask, the Air Force is a quicker path to the cockpits of high-performance vehicles than the civilian route."

  "How do you feel about killing? The Air Force is a military organization."

  "I have no compunction about taking out those who are a danger to Americans. But you may as well note in my record that I will always evaluate targets
for their ethical as well as tactical value. If that means I am court-martialed or executed for disobeying orders that is the price I'm willing to pay."

  And the price she would do her best to ensure her would-be executioners paid first.

  In this she and her super robot were in perfect accord. Its lethal functions came briefly alert inside her, almost as if it flexed its muscles to ensure they were ready to perform at top efficiency.

  "To reach those heights you have to pass the stressful tests the Academy will apply to you. Stress both physical and emotional."

  "I know all about the stresses you are willing to apply. I agree with them and am more than equal to them." And if any of you go beyond those limits you will be in more danger than you can imagine.

  The Major measured her answers. Fear seeped into her soul. What sat before her in the form of a cute little girl made her think of those movies about mechanical killing machines which had long ago given her nightmares.

  Jane's features eased into a grin. She said softly, warmth in her voice, an almost oceanic caring. "I scare you don't I? Don't be scared, Angela. You are under the shield of my protection, not out of it."

  Angela Bledsoe wondered at the fragility of her composure and how this child could both threaten it and soothe it. Objectively she, a tough military woman who'd survived terror and tragedies, should not so easily become a child in front of this child. Was she edging unbeknownst into psychosis?

  Jane waited for the adult military officer to flow back into her adult body. Somehow an echo of the woman's feelings sounded inside her.

  "Are we done here, Sir?" Jane's voice was gentle.

  The Major's smile was rueful. "Yes, Cadet Kuznetsov. We're done. Good luck on your career."

  "Thank you, Sir."

  She rose, did an about face, and left.

  <>

  The cadets never after had their sleep interrupted although the schedules were carefully calibrate to ensure they got no more than the minimum. The interruption and the harassment of the first two days had been part of a carefully calibrated plan to wash out those who would never be able to withstand the harsh realities of combat.