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

by Laer Carroll

The officer gestured her through the narrow door into the cockpit and followed her in to sit in a seat behind the two pilot stations. The Captain, in the left-hand seat, motioned Jane to take the right-hand copilot's seat. After she'd buckled in he offered her a hand to shake.

  "So, Cadet Kuznetsov, what are you doing on my plane?"

  His manner was friendly so Jane smiled and said, "Going to Venezuela to run around in the jungle and eat snakes."

  "Really?"

  "Not really. For part of my summer I'm observing the Marines that are on loan to help out with stuff. I'm supposed to observe the pluses and minuses of various leadership styles.

  "Ahh, how did you know I was aboard. I signed in as Jane Cook."

  He switched his view from out of the window to briefly grin at her before returning to his watchfulness.

  "There's not a pilot in the world that doesn't know your face from that video on your jet demonstrator. Jason here spotted you right away when you came aboard."

  "Jason" leaned over the back of the seat he usually occupied. He said "Hi" and offered his hand to shake.

  "Damn," Jane said. "I knew I should have had Kate or Nicole do commentary."

  "Who are they?" the pilot said.

  "Two friends who are way prettier than me."

  "You're not so bad yourself. But what I wanted to know: Is this real?"

  "Oh, yeah. Our demos showed two ways the induction process can be used for flight engines. Making any of them practical, that will take time and money and lots of work. It always does with new tech.

  "Telemag floaters will come pretty quickly. The tech is simple and forgiving. I mean if your floating forklift stops working you can always go back to your old ones with wheels.

  "Telemag jets on the other hand will take a lot more work to make them safe and reliable. It will be maybe five years before they come on the market. But they will. The much cooler operation alone is worth the investments. And the fuel savings are just as important."

  "Good. Now, how'd you like to fly this baby?"

  "Gee, thanks. I put my hands on the yoke and my feet on the pedals and let the automatic pilot do its work."

  "I expect you know better than that. You have to keep an eye out. There's not a lot up here to run into. But aircraft collisions do happen. Plus you need to keep an eye on weather conditions. We have weather sats to keep an eye on large-area phenomena, but local-area phenomena even this high do happen."

  He went on that way for some time. Jane listened carefully. She was hearing wisdom culled from years of experience.

  <>

  By noon the Marine platoon was on the ground at a Venezuelan military base near Caracas. They had chow, were issued ammo and other supplies, and did what most troops always did: hurry up and wait. It wasn't till past 4:00 when they joined a supply convoy toward the south. The trucks were about half mid-size and half mini pickups.

  Four hours and 120 miles later an hour after sunset the convoy passed by several miles of the side of a large lake and entered the outskirts of the large city of Calabozo. The latest of several thunderstorms was in full swing. The caravan skirted the northern border of the city and pulled into a military compound surrounded by barbed wire.

  The LT and the First went into a headquarters building along with several other officers and sergeants. Shortly they came out and the caravan started up and drove a zigzag path to several barracks. There the platoon was dropped off with their weapons and luggage. Everyone hustled to get inside out of the rain.

  In the barracks they were assigned four-person rooms. Jane was with the Second, the female sergeant of one of the squads, and the female corporal of one of the fire teams. She waited for them to choose bunks and took the last. They left. She removed her rain cape, hung it on a hook on the outside of the door to the narrow free-standing closet by her bed, and plopped back down on it.

  A moment later she sat up. The room was a disorganized mess. Rain capes were hung on the other closet but their owners had done nothing to unpack or to make the beds with the stacks of pillows and bedclothes on the beds.

  Jane placed the duffel bags at the foot of each bed and made each bed. There was nothing else she could do but at least the room was no longer a mess.

  She'd dozed off when she was awakened by the returning three women. She sat up. They were staring at her.

  "Something wrong?" Jane said.

  The Second said, "No, Circus. Thanks. Now let's get this placed organized and get down to where they're fixing chow."

  Organized basically meant removing clothing from the duffel bags into the closets and toiletries on the shelf at the top of the closet.

  The barracks was two stories and could house 64 on the top floor in 16 rooms of four each. The top floor had a central area with unisex showers and toilet stalls and several closet-like storage rooms. The bottom floor had rooms for officers and top sergeants and showers and toilets.

  It also had several other rooms, including a large central communal area with couches and chairs and tables. Once the room might have been organized. No longer. Along one side of the communal area was a long bar-like area. Behind it was an area for storing food and drinks in several refrigerators. It also had vending machines.

  It also had a food prep area. The platoon had been organized into creating a buffet with several privates acting as kitchen personnel. Everyone soon had food and drink and were told to find a chair or couch to sit on.

  That done the LT stood and spoke to them.

  "Well, Marines, this is our new home away from home for the next several months. In the next few days part of our job will be to turn it into something halfway livable. We've got some 20 empty rooms. We'll expand into them and shuffle and re-shuffle occupants until we get bunk mates we don't hate enough to kill in the middle of the night. Second will oversee that. Don't try her patience, of which she is not well supplied, by making silly requests. Got it so far?"

  After nods and Yeahs she went on.

  "A little bit of orientation. We're the last of three platoons assigned to a rifle company commanded Captain Oscar Phan. He and his staff are housed in the fourth building on this block. It used to be a barracks like this one but has been converted into an HQ for the Captain and his staff. This includes a first aid area where we can get quick help day or night before they cart us off to base medical.

  "Speaking of which, tomorrow we'll get our own Navy Medical Corpsman."

  There were cheers and Yeahs.

  "About the Captain. His ancestors were Vietnamese but he's pure Texan. Do not make fun of his accent. After you know him a while you won't want to. He looks harmless but is a tough son of a bitch. He'll be tough on you if he has to, but he's even tougher on anyone who tries to screw over his people. I've known him a long time. He's a good guy.

  "The rest of this week is going to be fairly soft duty. We all need to recuperate from the last several days. More important, we need to get oriented. First I want you all to learn where we can get whatever we need to accomplish our mission. Ammo, supplies, food, whatever.

  "Second, get acquainted with the other two platoons. Make friends, or at least acquaintances. Rivalries among the platoons are inevitable, but make no mistake. We need them to watch our backs, and vice versa. It may not seem like it, but we're in hostile territory here. The drug gangs don't like us. There are two other rival governments who don't like us."

  A Marine lifted her hand and, getting a nod from the LT, said, "Are we in danger of a mortar attack or large-scale assault? I notice our perimeter is pretty hefty in counter-measures."

  "Anything is possible. Everyone who's been around the block knows that. But attack is much more likely to be low level. MAYBE a terror-type attack. More likely an 'accident' if we're out of the base.

  "Even more likely, remember that every Venezuelan may be a spy. Probably is, even if they don't know it. They may blab, for instance, about each of you and what bootleg porn or drugs you like. They may try to hook you with some small blackmail, then
work up to bigger and bigger ones."

  She looked around the room. After several moments when questions might be but were not asked she spoke again.

  "One last matter. For the next few days our supernumerary is going to spend a lot of time trailing along behind me and First. Her job is to observe and what First and I do is an important area.

  "But afterward she's going to be going out on regular patrols. Keep her safe but work her into your routine. I'm reliably informed that she is a lot smarter and tougher than anyone may guess. She'll be an extra asset to watch your back and back you up.

  "Now I'm going to let you get to sleep. We'll start a bit late tomorrow, but go to a regular schedule afterward. Good night."

  <>

  Jane, with the others, got to know the other platoons and the resources available on the base. It was the center of a regiment, an organization about ten times the size of the three platoons with more than 500 regular personnel. Among other facilities it had a big cafeteria and a base exchange.

  On Thursday Jane was allowed to leave Calabozo Base. With her went Corporal Juana Cruz of Platoon 1 and Private First Class Silvio Morales of Platoon 2.

  The idea, the Second had explained to the gathered new Platoon 3 at the base, was to ease Platoon 3 personnel into the consciousness of the city. Juana and Silvio had become regular customers of several business establishments and so were familiar to the locals. Jane was a stranger but the most innocuous looking of Platoon 3.

  Someone spoke up. "Innocuous? Why not Hastings here?"

  The named corporal, the leader of one of the fire teams, raised an eyebrow and chuckled. He was a big man and looked like a gangster.

  One of his fire team swatted the speaker over the back of his head with a rolled-up newspaper, saying "Bad boy! Bad boy! Sit! Roll over!"

  Throughout this exchange Jane sat knees primly together, hands folded under her chin as if in prayer, and widened her eyes as much as she could. With her slender body, pretty face, and short blond hair she looked as angelic as one could wish.

  The three left the base wearing civilian clothes. At about 500 feet of the 1000 feet separating the nearest edge of the base from the city's edge she stopped and looked back.

  The view didn't look all that forbidding to her despite the barbed-wire-topped fence of steel mesh which faced the city. Three years ago when the Marine camp had been erected bushes had been planted all along the outside of the fence. They had grown into lush greenery. The guard shack and the two guards in it controlling entry didn't seem all that threatening. Just two youngsters in uniform playing soldier, almost.

  "Come on, Cook," said Juana. "I've got shopping to do."

  Silvio grinned as he said, "And I've got computer games to buy. Come on, Chica."

  Jane told them to go on ahead without her. They'd been instructed to add comments wherever they shopped about newcomers to the base. Perhaps Juana remarking that "Emily would just love this." Or Silvio: "Billy's got to see this."

  Agreements with the city barred businesses from setting up on the 1000 foot separation. But on the cross street that ran parallel to the near wall of the base there were businesses aplenty which catered to base personnel as well as to their own local clientele. On the one block to her left and the one to her right facing away from the base she saw three hamburger and two pizza places, Anita's Nail Salon, two gift shops, a Quik Pharmacy, a flower shop, iPhone and tablet sales and repair, and several more.

  Across the street businesses further from the base and facing it were a little more serious. They included a bank, a dentist, an urgent care medical center, and several more.

  Jane turned left and walked along that parallel street (Calle 8 Julio Cortez). Two blocks on she hit the jackpot, from her point of view. A big music store. It sold CDs (rather to her surprise, since they were increasingly rare in the states), DVDs of movies (ditto), and download stations for music and games for SuperSmart phones and foldable tablets. At noon on a weekday there were plenty of browsers. Apparently online shopping had not yet ruined the pleasures of physical shopping here in Venezuela.

  Right next to the music store was a musical instrument store. It sold guitars, drum sets, brass and wooden wind instruments, violins and violas--and keyboards. Some of them actual pianos as well as electronic ones.

  Jane looked askance at a music store clerk arranging stock nearby as she gestured toward a bench in front of a piano. He nodded and Jane sat down to play.

  She began with something quiet: Beethoven's "Moonlight Sonata." Shortly she abandoned it for a boogie woogie piece, bouncy and loud.

  Still there were no objections to her playing. She segued to "The Saints Go Marching" in, giving the marching beat plenty of bounce then to "The Entertainer."

  Jane got up and went to the electronic keyboards. On the way she asked the clerk if it was OK to play something. He went with her to the section with them. Several expensive ones were lined up on a shelf at the right height to play them.

  Jane pointed to the latest Yamaha middle-expensive keyboard with lots of options for controlling it. He started to explain something but she smilingly cut him off, saying she just wanted to try it out. He ensured it had power and left her to it.

  She'd had a Yamaha keyboard once and had used several more owned by others since, so she was able to quickly pick a percussion track and start it playing for a bottom track. Then atop it she played the lyrics to a merengue, a fast danceable piece. A quick change of pace and she was playing a salsa piece.

  In the end she turned to her favorite music (and dance): the Argentine tango.

  She played "El Choclo" a piece hardly anyone in the Western world hadn't heard and still a favorite among tango dancers. She started it slowly and softly, then built in tempo and volume, ending with a fast loud version.

  "Brava" said someone half a store away when she turned to walk away. Someone whistled and others clapped.

  Jane startled. She'd gotten so deeply into the music she'd forgotten her surroundings. Someone could have walked up and shot her.

  Hardly came the thought from Robot. It never forgot her surroundings or possible danger from it.

  "Are you a performer? Come to Calabozo for a performance?" This was from an older man who'd been standing in a back office doorway and now approached her.

  "Oh, no. I'm a journalist with the Marines for a month and have just come here."

  "Amazing. You're very good."

  "Thank you. Do you know any places to dance here on the weekends?"

  "Naturally. You have an eclectic taste to judge from what you played. What's your favorite?"

  "Salsa and cumbia. Argentine tango."

  "Cumbia is popular here even though the Colombians have claimed it as their national dance. Wait here and I'll get you a flyer for a dance this weekend."

  While he was gone Jane had a similar discussion with a young couple. The store manager or owner returned and handed her a flyer he said he'd printed from an online information page.

  From the music store Jane went a quarter mile further into the city, its center. The rest of the city extended east as suburbs a couple of miles. And to the south there were a couple of miles of more suburbs.

  El Centro had upscale buildings, some of them high rise. Though high was rarely higher than three stories. It wasn't much compared to the cities Jane knew.

  Still it was enough of a "downtown" to have several small two-story shopping malls taking up no more than a city block. At one of them she met up with Juana and Silvio. They had a leisurely lunch, did a bit more shopping, and took a taxi to the base entrance to carry all their shopping bags.

  Jane felt they'd done their job well: let everyone know there were new players in the area. This might urge drug runners to lay low for a while. Or hurry to run more shipments of drugs north where they could be shipped out of the country. Either would be a desirable outcome.

  <>

  Saturday and Sunday were to be the last few days which were "easy"--that is, in the bas
e and city.

  However Saturday started with a couple of hours of duty before the platoon could enjoy themselves. The LT had decreed that everyone had to re-qualify with their weapons and ensure they were zeroed in and so 100% ready for action.

  All 42 members of the platoon and Jane met after morning chow on the edge of the base farthest from the city. There two firing ranges stood.

  One was outside and extended 300 meters or about 1000 feet away from the base. At the far end a wide high wall stood which would backstop rifle bullets. There was also an automated target area. New targets could be displayed and, once struck by bullets, replaced with new targets.

  Starting with the LT and working its way down the ranks Marines wearing protective ear cups fired their rifles in three positions: prone, kneeling, and standing. Their target was a round one with ten rings around a bull's eye. The outside three were white, the inside six were black, and the bulls eye white. Each ring and the bull's eye were one inch wide.

  Everyone qualified, of course. Then at the LT's insistence Jane fired. Everyone who went into the field had to be able to protect themselves.

  Jane had picked her weapon at Pensacola. It was a bit old fashioned: a semi-automatic mid-range sniper rifle firing the 5.56mm NATO bullet. This bullet was a bit light for a sniper rifle, because the bullet was more prone to deflection by wind and other air currents over the long distances snipers typically covered. Her sight, however, was cutting edge. It was electronic and could magnify a target up to 22 times or as few as 2.2 times.

  Jane loaded one five-shot magazine into her rifle.

  "Firing till empty one magazine," she announced. Today's range officer, the platoon's Second, said. "Range is clear to the left. Clear to the right. Fire at will."

  Normally this would be done prone for the most stable shots. But what no one but Jane knew was that when she picked up a weapon she and Robot become one with it. She knew it as intimately as she knew her own body. Prone, standing, running, jumping, even falling, Jane+Robot+rifle was a deadly android fighting machine.

  Casually Jane raised her weapon and pointed it toward her target. Her metabolism sped up, making the world seem to slow down. She had plenty of time to aim with the scope's magnification slight, increase the magnification till the bulls eye appeared large, and squeeze off a shot. Then leisurely fire the remaining four bullets.