Childers

by Richard F. Weyand

  Voipers pulled a chair up, and motioned to it. Jan climbed up on the chair and faced the crowd with tears in her eyes. She tried to project her breaking voice to the far corners of the room.

  "Thank you all so much. You don't know how much all this means to me. Someone from Earth, from the slums, who had nothing, and no one. But now, with your friendship, I am rich beyond my dreams."

  Officer Candidate School

  Jan was met at the shuttle landing area by an ensign.

  "Jan Childers?"

  "Yes, Sir."

  "Come with me, please."

  He drove her across Sigurdsen Fleet Base in a ground car to the OCS Cadet Dormitory. He showed her to her dorm room, and told her where everything was, when meals were and where, and left. The room was a two-person room, generous in size compared to anything shipboard. While a few people had arrived for OCS already, her roommate, if she had one, was not one of them.

  She picked a bunk and locker and stowed her things. She went and had breakfast, and then went to the Cadet Dormitory Library. She took up a VR carrel and went back to studying.

  Two days later, a Petty Officer 3rd Class came looking for her.

  "You Childers?"

  "Yes, Petty Officer."

  "Come with me, please."

  She was shown to the office of Senior Chief Petty Officer Nils Larson, the drill instructor for OCS. When she was called in, she walked up to the desk and stood at attention.

  "Seaman Recruit Childers reporting as requested, Senior Chief."

  "Seaman Recruit?"

  "Uh, sorry, Senior Chief. Force of habit. The crew of the Aquitaine sort of adopted me."

  Larson was confused. She was wearing a midnight-blue CSF shipsuit with CHILDERS on the right breast, she had ship-short hair, she didn't address him as 'Sir,' and she didn't salute him. That was all correct, of course, but most civilian OCS candidates showed up in civvies and long hair and got address and saluting of non-commissioned officers all wrong.

  "Are you prior service, Childers?"

  "No, Senior Chief."

  "Then why does your personnel folder contain service evaluations from time aboard the Aquitaine?"

  "Excuse me?"

  "You heard me, Childers. Your personnel folder has been updated with service evaluations from the captain, executive officer, and several non-commissioned officers aboard the Aquitaine. Weren't you a ferry from Earth?"

  "Yes, Senior Chief. But I swore oath on Earth, and so I, uh, sort of volunteered service below decks for the crossing."

  "Below decks? What was your duty station, Childers?"

  "Galley, Senior Chief. I washed a lot of dishes, and I clipped crates for pulling stores, and sometimes I retrieved lost equipment from niches no one else could get into."

  "So you, a civilian OCS candidate, volunteered service below decks, in the galley, washing dishes and clipping crates in stores, rather than ferry ride as a guest?"

  "I wasn't properly a guest, Senior Chief. I was already oath sworn."

  "I see."

  "You can just delete those evaluations, Senior Chief."

  "Oh, no. I'm not going to delete personnel evaluations from a captain and a lieutenant commander, Childers. That's way above my pay grade. You don't want these deleted anyway. Positive evaluations one and all. Glowing, you might even say. One of the reasons I called you in here was I wanted to meet the person Senior Chief Voipers would write that kind of evaluation about. He seems to think you could walk on water if you put your mind to it, Childers."

  "Senior Chief Voipers is a very nice person, Senior Chief."

  "Max Viper? A very nice person? Remind me sometime to tell you some stories, Childers. Better yet, don't. Dismissed."

  The first day of OCS was like the first day of service in any branch of any military anywhere. Buzz-cut haircuts, physical exams, size measurements, distribution of uniforms and boots, introduction of training staff, laying out the rules and schedule of the training regimen.

  At one quiet point in all the activity, Jan was sitting next to a young woman, a new arrival this morning, who was quietly sobbing.

  "What's the matter?" Jan asked her.

  "They cut off all my hair," she answered through her tears.

  Jan stared at her incredulously. She didn't even know what to say to that. She didn't know what else to do, so she just put her arm around the older woman's shoulders and let her cry.

  Officer Candidate School in the Commonwealth Space Force was intended for experienced enlisted spacers and for civilians who already possessed a college degree. It was taught as a graduate-level course sequence lasting four months, and included a daily physical training regimen. The coursework included naval history, environmental engineering, propulsion engineering, beam weapons, damage control, warfare, logistics, leadership, normal-space and hyperspace navigation, and military law. The classes included competitive team exercises in which OCS candidates would command a team of their fellow cadets in carrying out various drills in a small ship mockup. OCS was designed to prepare the student for his next school, which would be provided in his assigned specialty area.

  Jan loved the coursework, which came easily to her. She was already used to studying and learning materials on her own. Having the materials presented by experienced teachers added a nuance and viewpoint her independent study had lacked. It came easily enough to her that she had a lot of free time when she didn't need to study. She spent it tutoring others, and found tutoring helped her learn and integrate the material at a deeper level.

  The physical regimen took a little longer for Jan to get used to, but she found herself growing to like it as well. Her previously malnourished body responded to the combination of proper nutrition and daily exercise by building lean muscle mass. Her height, though, which should have been near her adult height by fourteen, was permanently stunted, and she would probably never grow beyond five-foot or five-foot-one-inch tall.

  Her roommate for OCS was Chris Lau, the young woman who had cried when they cut her hair. The roommates helped each other a lot. Jan gave Chris perspective on how pampered she had been, and how bad things could really get when civilization came apart. Chris helped Jan learn the nuances of civilized society, with which Jan had no experience. Chris also helped Jan with hygiene matters when Jan's body, now properly nourished and getting regular exercise, produced her first menses in the third month of OCS.

  There was one fly in the ointment at OCS, and his name was Cadet Chet Baker. The chief petty officer, with fifteen years in the service, seemed to take personal umbrage at the idea of a fourteen-year-old female officer under five feet tall in his he-man navy. Jan caught occasional murmured imprecations from him whenever they were together and the instructors couldn’t hear. “Little shit” seemed to be his favorite.

  Then the pranks started. Itching powder in her underwear. Her socks tied in knots – with glue in the knots. The shampoo in her shampoo bottle replaced with glue. Baker’s barely suppressed glee when he asked how her morning shower had gone was all the evidence she needed. Worse, others started to copy-cat his behavior. Some minor pranks didn’t quite have Baker’s flair.

  She went to the OCS commanding officer about it. Captain Westman listened to her complaint sympathetically.

  “Cadet Childers, OCS is a school for adults. When things come up like this, we expect people to work them out somehow. It’s not fair, but it is educational. Officers have to learn how to work with each other, and earn each other’s respect, under what are sometimes difficult circumstances. We seldom interfere, though we occasionally – very occasionally – make exceptions. Do you want me to make an exception in this case?”

  “No, sir.”

  “I will mention one other thing. We have been known to have a certain laxity with respect to minor infractions incurred in the process of working these things out.”

  “Understood, sir.”

  “Dismissed.”

  Chet Baker woke with a start to a slap on the top of his head
from someone’s hand. He was shocked to find he could not move. His ankles were tied together, and to the bed frame. His hands were tied behind his back. He lay on his left side, and his head was held down to the bed by a rope around his neck. He was a light sleeper, and had no clue how he could have slept through this.

  He opened his eyes to see the business edge of the forte of a ceremonial dress sword across the bridge of his nose an inch in front of his eyes. It had been plunged down through the pillow and the mattress. Past it he could see his roommate sleeping soundly, though his breathing sounded different than normal. He sounded as if he had been drugged.

  That was how he’d slept through being tied up. He’d been drugged! But who –?

  The voice that cut off his thoughts was low, but not a whisper. It was Cadet Childer’s voice, but the ice in it made his blood run cold and the hair on the back of his neck stand up. She was so close behind him he could feel her breath on his ear.

  “I could have killed you and made it look like an accident, but I don’t want to waste Navy resources. I was nine years old the first time I killed somebody who wouldn't leave me alone. He was not the last. Superior force is good, superior size is good, but sneaky? Sneaky is best. And I am the sneakiest 'little shit' you have ever known.”

  Baker felt a piece of rope pressed into his hand.

  “This is the release line. Count to thirty before you pull it.”

  He saw the dim light from the corridor night lights play across the far wall and disappear as the door opened and closed, but he never heard a sound as she left.

  He counted to thirty twice to be sure.

  The next morning at inspection, Baker presented the sword to the drill instructor. He had found the sheath on the floor alongside the bed once he had released himself.

  “Cadet Baker, where did you find this sword?”

  “In my mattress, Senior Chief.”

  “In your mattress?”

  “Yes, Senior Chief.”

  “Do you have any idea how it got there, Cadet Baker?”

  “No, Senior Chief.”

  “No idea at all?”

  “No, Senior Chief.”

  “A ceremonial dress sword like this went missing from the commissary yesterday. Do you know anything about that, Cadet Baker?”

  “No, Senior Chief.”

  “You just ‘found it’?”

  “Yes, Senior Chief.”

  Senior Chief Petty Officer Larson shot a glance at Cadet Childers, farther down the line, but, like the rest of the cadets, she stood at attention, facing forward.

  “This sword needs to be returned to the commissary. Cadet Baker, you will return it.”

  “Yes, Senior Chief.”

  Larson handed Baker the sword.

  “Cadet Childers!”

  Jan stepped forward out of line one step.

  “Yes, Senior Chief.”

  “You will supervise Cadet Baker in his return of this sword to the commissary.”

  “Yes, Senior Chief.”

  With a single step, Jan turned 180 degrees to face the cadet corps.

  “Cadet Baker!”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  “Follow me.”

  Jan turned and walked out of the barracks with Baker following, carrying the sword. They walked across the base to the commissary without comment. When they entered the commissary, the Chief Petty Officer behind the counter looked up. When he saw the sword, his eyebrows shot up.

  “There it is. Where did you find it?”

  “It was found in the OCS Cadet Dormitory, Chief,” Jan said.

  “Huh. It was the darnedest thing. In the surveillance video files, it’s there, it’s there, and then it isn’t there. Just like that.”

  “It’s amazing how poor the access controls on surveillance video files can be, Chief.”

  As they walked back across the base to the OCS, Baker broke the silence.

  “Permission to speak, Ma’am.”

  “Go ahead, Cadet Baker.”

  “I was just thinking, Ma’am. I’ve been in the Navy fifteen years, and I never thought OCS was a big deal. But I’m surprised just how much one can learn in OCS.”

  “Is this a sudden realization, Cadet Baker, or did it come upon you gradually?”

  “Very sudden, Ma’am. You might say it sneaked up on me.”

  Jan wasn’t sure how the story got around, but there were no more pranks, no more muttered imprecations, from Baker or anybody else. People now asked for her on their teams in exercises. When Baker commanded a team on an exercise, requested her for his team, and made her his second in command, Jan considered it a personal victory.

  That their team won the exercise was just icing on the cake.

  Implants

  When Jan graduated OCS, she received her commission at the rank of Ensign and was released to her specialty, the Tactical Division, for assignment. The normal thing would be to attend Basic Tactics School next, but BTS might have to wait. Tactical positions relied heavily on VR implants to understand and integrate all the data coming in. BTS itself relied heavily on implants for the training and exercises.

  Unlike ninety percent of Commonwealth citizens, Jan had never received VR implants.

  The Tactical Division turned Jan over to the Medical Division for surgical installation of VR implants.

  Jan did research on the VR implant technology, so she would understand what it was the surgeons were going to do.

  When VR implant technology was first developed, the installation of implants was complicated. The thinking at the time was the implants had to be connected directly into the affected nerves – the optic nerves, the aural nerves, etc. – for the implant signals to be properly processed by the brain. As the technology developed, it was discovered the implant connections could be made generally to the affected areas of the brain, and the brain taught to read these signals. This immensely simplified the surgery, but increased the learning period from a few days to a few months. As the methods improved, the period required to train the brain to read the signals had shortened to a couple of weeks.

  There were also options on what level of implants to install. A replacement for helmet-and-hands VR was eyes, ears, and hands only. Full-body implants were about twice as much effort, but included feet, smell, taste, and skin as well. The Tactical Division specified full-body implants for its officers.

  The connections were made in the brain, but the equipment itself was located just below the skin in the hollows of the collarbones, so it could be reprogrammed inductively and easily accessed for updating or replacement. The inductive pickups for VR data were placed under the skin at the base of the skull, so leaning one's head against the headrest of one's chair made the connection.

  Jan came to from the surgery laying in bed under a warm blanket in her hospital room. A doctor was there.

  "How do you feel, Ensign?"

  "Fine, Sir. A little groggy."

  "Any complaints. Vision? Hearing? Hands? Feet?"

  Jan wiggled her fingers and toes, closed one eye, then opened it and closed the other.

  "No, everything still seems to work."

  "Excellent. Well, we'll leave you for today, and come start the training tomorrow."

  He left, and Jan slept.

  He was back the next day.

  "We're going to begin training today. Do you understand the basic method?"

  "I think so. You put me in sensory deprivation, and the brain doesn't like it."

  "Yes, that's basically it. We will put you in that special flotation bed there, and we will kill all the light and sound in this room, which is light-proofed and sound-proofed, and we will create as much sensory deprivation as we can. As you say, the brain doesn't like that. It will decide you've been injured and try to repair its connections to the outside world.

  "At the same time, we will be sending data over the VR connections in the same format as the brain's normal connections through the optic nerves, the aural nerves, and so on. We'll al
so give you some drugs that stimulate brain repair. Over a number of sessions, the brain will build a few billion connections, and hook itself up to interpret the new input. As the brain learns each subsystem, we will stop sending data on that channel, so the brain has to look somewhere else for input, and connect the next system, and so on.

  "Your job through all this is to simply lie still and not give in to a panic response to the sensory deprivation. That's easier for some people than others. We can sense it happening through our monitors, and when we do we'll stop for the day. But the longer you can remain calm and let the brain work, the faster the learning process goes. Oh, and you have to not fall asleep. We can detect that, too, and then we'll stop.

  "For this morning, we'll just give it an hour and see how it goes, all right?"

  "Sure. Let's do it."

  It was on the fourth day Jan began seeing through the VR. She tolerated sensory deprivation pretty well, and they were doing two-hour sessions three times a day. Apparently the brain responded best to laughing babies and happy family situations like family dinners and playing games in the back yard, because those were the images they were feeding in the VR.

  After that, they turned off the video feed for the sessions except for the last twenty minutes or so. Jan guessed it was so the brain would continue developing that channel, plus be rewarded that its healing mechanism was working.

  On the sixth day, the sound track kicked in. Unlike the vision, which started out as dim tunnel vision, then brightened and expanded over time, the sound just 'turned on' abruptly. The doctor said that was not unusual, because it was a much simpler signal, and also because the brain was also learning the way to connect the VR system.

  They started giving her a nerve block before sessions that effectively paralyzed her arms and legs. They administered the antagonist after the session. Jan was tremendously relieved the first time they did that and her normal motor skills returned. She gained motor control within the VR on the ninth day.