by Grant, Peter
“OK. You called your teacher ‘Ustad’. The way you used it sounds similar to the Japanese terms Sensei, teacher, or Shihan, a master of an art.”
“That’s right – although, like the Japanese terms, it’s not confined to the martial arts. Anyway, I finished high school at the top of my class. I really wanted to study pediatrics – children’s medicine. I remembered how horrible ‘halfbreed disease’ had been, and how my brother and sister had died. I wanted to help save other children from that. The trouble was, universities on Nasek were small. Most people did apprenticeships, or a technical diploma, for advanced education. An academic degree was considered high-status. It was hard to get into university at all, and only the rich could afford it without needing a scholarship. The sheer number of orphans left after the epidemic threatened to overwhelm them.
“As a result, most regions imposed new restrictions on university admission. One of them was racial purity – although that was never publicly acknowledged, of course. My school results were right up there with the best, so in theory I was eligible for a full scholarship. Trouble is, I’m visibly of mixed-race ancestry, so I was told, in so many words, that I was ‘uppity’ for even daring to apply for one. The best I could hope for was training in pediatric nursing at a vocational college.”
Steve stirred angrily. “In other words, no-one was looking at you as a human being at all – they were judging you by the group to which you belonged, not as an individual.”
“Precisely! I was caught in a trap. If I wanted to study medicine, I’d have to leave the planet: but that would require money and qualifications. I had to get a degree to be qualified for higher-paying jobs and to be attractive as an immigrant to other planets. Without a degree, I was restricted to lower-paying jobs and couldn’t save enough to emigrate. If I somehow managed to both get a qualification and save enough money, the other planets of the Bihar Alliance would be open to me; but I knew I’d face racial discrimination on most of them. I was stuck.
“I went to my shastar vidiya class that week, and I guess Ustad Prabodh must have seen how miserable I was. He had me stay behind after class, and asked what was troubling me. I poured it all out to him. He had an idea. He’d served with Nasek’s armed forces on several United Planets peacekeeping missions, and came into contact with the Lancastrian Commonwealth Fleet and its Marine Corps on two of them. He knew the Fleet permitted recruits who aren’t Commonwealth citizens to enlist, and earn citizenship after four years’ service. He suggested I apply to the Marine Corps, and assured me I was enough of a fighter to be able to fit in well. In four years I could earn Commonwealth citizenship, and read for a degree through Fleet University at the same time. He said many enlisted personnel did that, and then went on to a civilian career. He saw no reason why I couldn’t do the same.”
She was silent for a moment, a smile on her face as she recalled her reaction. “I was thunderstruck. I’d never known that such an opportunity existed. If I could qualify, it offered me a way out of the trap I was in. He helped me find the address of the Commonwealth Consulate on Nasek, and I wrote to the Consul asking for more information. I learned I’d have to go there for a week-long battery of tests and a series of interviews. They were offered once every four years, when a Fleet recruiter visited the planet. The next scheduled visit was in a little over two years.”
“What did you do while you waited for them?” Steve asked, idly treading water, moving slowly back and forth as he listened intently.
“I worked my ass off!” She grinned. “I spent those years working in menial jobs, saving enough to travel to the Consulate in Puna, Nasek’s capital. I also studied business and nursing courses at night, at a local college. Most of their courses were at diploma level, but some were accepted as undergraduate qualifications for a university degree. I chose those courses only. Of course, since there wasn’t a wide selection of them, I sometimes had to study something that didn’t interest me or might not be useful, but I didn’t have any other option.
“After two years, I went to Puna for the tests and interviews. Ustad Prabodh wrote me a glowing letter of recommendation. I think having a retired Sergeant-Major do that, and my high scores in the tests and my martial arts training, plus having several undergraduate courses to my credit, clinched it for me.” She smiled happily. “There were only twenty-five successful candidates from Nasek that year. Most of us were ‘halfbred’. That really burned up the ‘purebred’ aspirants who didn’t make it. I loved it!”
Steve asked, “Did you consider the Spacer or Service Corps, rather than the Marines?”
“I knew only what I’d learned about the Fleet from Ustad Prabodh, and his contact had been with Marines. Since he spoke so highly of them, I didn’t think to investigate the Spacer Corps in much detail, although the recruitment material covered it. If I’d known then what I know now, I might have looked at it more closely. Shipboard life’s more stable than field deployments, giving more time for study. Still, I’ve never regretted becoming a Marine. It’s a great Corps.”
“It sure is!” Steve agreed. “Besides, we’re all one Fleet, being a unified service. Go on.”
She smiled. “The Corps paid our passages to Hagan, the nearest Fleet Sector base, where they had a Recruit Training Depot. It was difficult for me at first, because I didn’t speak Galactic Standard English very well: but of course the Fleet is used to people with that problem. I was placed in a preparation platoon, which used hypno-study and immersion techniques to bring us up to speed very quickly. After that I went through Boot Camp, Advanced Infantry Training and Armor School. What fascinated me was the total impartiality in the Fleet. Age, sex, looks, where we came from, who our parents were, how well we’d done at school – none of that mattered. Our superiors judged us solely by how well we did our job, both individually and as part of a team. That was such a revelation to me! No-one even mentioned race, or looked askance at my skin color or inoculation scars. It was so… so liberating!”
“I’m sure it was,” Steve agreed. “I found the same thing at Boot Camp on Vesta. We had all sorts, from academic types to professional spacers – I was one – to farmers and factory workers.”
“Uh-huh. I did fairly well during my first four-year term of enlistment. I was assigned to the peace-keeping mission on Radetski – ”
Steve shot upright in the water. “I was there too! I went there twice, first as a merchant spacer at the start of the mission, to help evacuate injured children. Several years later I was there as the cutter pilot aboard Grasswren, a heavy patrol craft, as the mission was winding down.”
“You mean you’re that Maxwell? The one who dropped a rock on a bunch of terrorists?”
He laughed delightedly. “Yes, that was me. Were you there at the time?”
“Yes, I was! I remember hearing about that. You were hit by flying shrapnel, weren’t you, and got a medal as well?”
“That’s right – and another one for a later incident in orbit. Radetski was very good for my career.”
“Mine too. I was awarded a battlefield promotion after a fight with terrorists. There was talk of recommending me for a medal as well, but I wanted something else. Foreign Service Program enlistees aren’t normally allowed to become pilots until they earn Commonwealth citizenship, but I asked for and was given a waiver. The Corps sent me to Small Craft School to learn to fly assault shuttles. I also used my first term of enlistment to complete my studies for a Bachelor’s degree through Fleet University. They accepted my Nasek courses as being equivalent to half the credits required.”
Steve nodded enthusiastically. “That’s exactly what I did with the college courses I completed on Earth – got Fleet University to accept them, then finished the rest of the degree during my first term of enlistment.”
She grinned, then sobered. “When my enlistment was up, I really wanted to study pediatric medicine: but by then I knew it was a very long course of study. I’d passed the aptitude tests to study medicine, but I didn’t have some of
the required pre-med courses and qualifications. After getting them, I’d have to pay for nine years of study – four years of medical school, plus a one-year internship, plus another four years of specialization – and support myself during that time. I’d saved enough for a year, but not nine; and I wasn’t eligible for most scholarships on Commonwealth planets – they usually go to local residents.”
She sighed mournfully. “It was just… impossible. I had to shelve the idea. It was a terribly sad decision for me, but I had to face facts and be realistic. I decided that if I couldn’t afford to become a pediatrician right away, I’d apply for a commission, and see about saving enough money over the next couple of decades to be able to tackle medicine as a second career. If I gave the Corps twenty years, plus another ten for my medical education, that’ll still leave me fifty or sixty years as a pediatrician to make a difference in kids’ lives.
“To cut a long story short, I made it to OCS and was commissioned. I spent six months at Basic School, then I was assigned to the Armor School as a Training Platoon Officer. I’d been there six months when Lieutenant Shelby arrived, and I was transferred to his Training Company. The rest you know.”
“That’s one heck of a life story,” Steve said seriously. “I thought I had lots of challenges to overcome, but you had even more!”
They left the water and toweled themselves dry, then Steve unplugged the heated dishes from the solar sheet while Abha opened the other containers. She goggled at the hot spicy chicken casserole and rice, accompanied by salad, complete with paper plates and camping utensils. Steve plugged a flask of coffee into the solar sheet to reheat while they ate.
“You went to a lot of trouble over this!” Abha exclaimed. “I was expecting something simple, like sandwiches.”
“I could have done that, but I… well, I wanted to impress you, after your comment about being a good cook yourself.”
She took a forkful of chicken casserole and chewed it appreciatively. “Consider me impressed! Trouble is, you’ve set the bar very high for me when my turn comes around.”
Steve grinned happily. “I’m glad to know you’re planning on a next time.”
She blushed slightly. “Well, we’re going to be working together on Rolla, so we may as well get to know each other better. Besides, you come highly recommended. Both Brooks and Carol say you’re good people.”
“They say the same about you. Hey, if we work at it, we can see more of each other before I leave.”
“You’ll have to twist my arm, but… okay.”
They grinned at each other, then settled down to enjoy their meal.
~ ~ ~
Abha was still smiling two weeks and eight dates later, as Steve and Colonel Houmayoun boarded a Mark XIII Plus assault shuttle at Orion Industries’ launch pad.
“Take care of this bird, Lieutenant,” Major Venter warned him, only half-jokingly. “If you bend it, there won’t be another one available until the instructor unit gets there.”
“I’ll be careful, Sir,” Steve assured him, watching the Colonel walk up the rear ramp of the shuttle, towing a suitcase behind him and carrying a holdall.
“Good. I’ll leave it to you to make the preliminary arrangements to train their personnel in their operation and maintenance. You have all the necessary manuals and software for that, of course.”
Steve saluted the Major, who returned it, then stepped back to allow Brooks and Abha to make their own farewells.
“Take care of yourself, buddy,” Brooks advised cheerfully, shaking his hand firmly. “You get things ready for us, and we’ll hit the ground running as soon as we arrive.”
“Consider it done.”
Abha took his hand, holding it a moment longer than was necessary. “I’ll keep in touch via the weekly dispatch vessel,” she promised. “You do the same, OK?”
“It’s a deal. See you in a few weeks.” He hesitated. “I’m going to miss you.”
She squeezed his hand. “I’ll miss you too. I’ll get there as fast as I can.”
Heedless of the fact that they were both wearing uniform, she hugged him, briefly but firmly. They smiled warmly into each other’s eyes, then Steve turned and walked up the ramp.
Rolla
July 2847, GSC
Steve was on tenterhooks as the reception group gathered at the military airfield outside Beaumont, Rolla’s capital city. He’d been apart from Abha for almost a month. They’d only had time to exchange a couple of messages via the weekly dispatch vessel, but her absence had done nothing to decrease his interest in her. The prospect of seeing her was even more enticing than the arrival of Brooks and the rest of the team of instructors, bringing three more Mark XIII Plus shuttles to join the lone example on the planet.
His thoughts were interrupted by a discreet cough behind him. He turned to find an officer wearing a single star on the epaulettes of his dark blue System Patrol Service uniform. He saluted him smartly. The officer returned the courtesy, then offered his hand.
“Good morning, Lieutenant. You must be our Spacer Corps consultant concerning shuttle issues. I’m Commodore O’Fallon, Commanding Officer of Rolla’s System Patrol Service.”
“Good morning, Sir. Yes, I’m Senior Lieutenant Steve Maxwell.”
The Commodore glanced at the medal ribbons on Steve’s chest. “I see you have four combat stars. You’ve kept yourself busy.”
“You know what they say, Sir – no peace for the wicked.”
“You said it, not me! Be that as it may, I’m pleased to know you’re teaching our forces out of more than just a theoretical knowledge of combat.”
“Thank you, Sir. We’ll be able to do a lot more now that the rest of the instructors and another three assault shuttles are here.”
“How are you finding our old Mark IX’s? Are they still usable for training?”
Steve shook his head. “Not really, Sir. They simply aren’t capable of doing all that we require of modern assault shuttles. Also, there are never more than a couple of dozen serviceable at any one time – only half as many as your armored battalion requires for a full lift – and that’s only through cannibalizing the non-flying shuttles for spares. They can cope with a simple low-speed hop from point to point, but they’re so old and worn that they’re a potential hazard in any sort of high-stress flying.
“That’s not to criticize your shuttle technicians, of course. Warrant Officer Labuschagne is really good at his job – as good as anyone I’ve encountered in the Fleet. He and his techs have already worked through a lot of the training material I brought with me, and studied the Mark XIII Plus in the simulators. They can hardly wait to strip one down and learn its component parts at first hand, but that can’t happen until there are a couple of platoons’ worth of shuttles on hand, so that one can be spared for technical training.”
The Commodore grinned. “I’ve met the Warrant Officer. He’s never so happy as when he’s up to his elbows in a complicated piece of machinery. Fortunately, he’s also a good organizer.”
“Yes, Sir, that’s him to a T. Frankly, I think he’s performed maintenance miracles to keep so many Mark IX’s flying at all.”
O’Fallon nodded. “That he has, particularly on so limited a budget.” He made a sour face. “The previous administration ran us into the ground, so we have to spend a great deal out of our present budget just to make up for all the years of neglect. For more than a decade they refused to budget more than the bare minimum for maintenance of our equipment. The SPS had to cannibalize one of our four corvettes to keep the others in service. We took so many parts and sub-systems out of her that she’s no longer spaceworthy – we’ll have to ferry her to a shipyard in Lancaster aboard a freighter for a full refit. After the PSDF has paid for its new shuttles, we hope to buy enough heavy patrol craft to first augment, then eventually replace the corvettes.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Sir. Is that why you contracted for two Fleet destroyers to temporarily supplement your ships?”
�
�Yes. We’ve sent two corvettes to the Fleet dockyard at Lancaster. They’re presently being overhauled and upgraded, using parts taken from ships scrapped out of the Reserve Fleet wherever possible, to save money. When they get back here at the end of this year, the other two corvettes will be refurbished in their turn. As soon as we have enough patrol craft to replace them and enough money to do so, we’ll convert two of them into communications vessels – easy enough, of course, since Fleet communications frigates are based on earlier corvette designs. We’ll strip out their missile cells and convert that space into passenger and freight compartments, as well as upgrading their propulsion systems. We’re supposed to operate at least two communications ships in terms of our Commonwealth membership obligations, but the previous Administration ignored that and relied exclusively on the Commonwealth Secretariat’s dispatch vessels.”
He lowered his voice. “It’s only thanks to the Fleet that we’re still a member of the Commonwealth at all. They tactfully turned a blind eye and didn’t officially report to the Secretariat that we could no longer fulfill our military obligations. That would have seen us expelled for sure! As soon as we got a more reasonable government after last year’s elections, the Fleet sent us Colonel Houmayoun as the new Military Attaché, instead of the Major or Lieutenant-Colonel usually assigned to an associate Commonwealth member like ourselves. He’s got enough seniority to get a lot of attention, both here and at Lancaster, and he’s been a huge help in revitalizing the PSDF and SPS. I don’t think we could have come so far, so fast without him.”
“I don’t see him here this morning, Sir,” Steve observed, looking around.
“That’s because he’s been asked to discuss your Fleet’s contribution to our system security at the negotiations for our asteroid mining project. He won’t be joining us.”
“That’s a pity, after everything he did to arrange for the instructors to be sent here. Oh, well, we’ll meet with him later, I’m sure.”
