Once inside the station proper, Richard toyed with the idea of calling a taxi despite the cost. Before he could make his way to the communication kiosk, he heard a familiar voice.
“Well, it’s about time you got here, cadet 832,” said the voice. “Don’t you know I have better things to do than stand around waiting on you?”
Richard took a double-take. “Sergeant Ron. What’re you doing here, sir?”
“If you call me sir one more time, cadet 832,” said Sergeant Ron, “I swear I’m going to sew a set of sergeant stripes on your forehead to help you remember. I’m not an officer. I’m a sergeant. I work for a living.”
“Sorry, sir…, err, sergeant,” Richard said. He wasn’t sure what the maintenance chief was doing at the station. Richard looked around the near empty room. The place was about as active as a mausoleum. “So why are you here, sergeant?”
Sergeant Ron raised one hand to his chin and rubbed his scraggily beard. “Well, I could be here sightseeing,” he grinned. “But I ain’t. I’m here to take you to the airfield. The commandant sent word you’d be coming and would need a ride. I volunteered.”
Richard gave a silent ‘thank you’ to the commandant. “I appreciate you coming, Sergeant Ron.”
“And well you should,” said Sergeant Ron with a toothy grin. “It’s better than forty degrees centigrade outside. And that’s in the shade. You’d melt the soles off your boots before you made it halfway to the airfield.”
Richard whistled. He’d known it was hot, but not that hot.
Grabbing one of Richard’s pieces of luggage, Sergeant Ron pointed to the door. “Now, let’s get a move on, cadet. I’ve got better things to do than stand here flapping my gums with a wizard scout wannabe.”
* * *
Before long Richard was sitting inside the cab of a hover-car heading for the airfield’s gate. Richard noticed Sergeant Ron was actually driving the speed limit. He commented on it.
Sergeant Ron shook his head sadly. “Yeah. I gave Master Sergeant Wilburn my word I wouldn’t speed on post for a week.” Sergeant Ron gave a grin as he looked over at Richard. “But by golly, when day eight rolls around, watch out.”
“In all seriousness, Sergeant Ron,” Richard said trying not to laugh. “I really do appreciate you driving me to the airfield. I’m surprised you didn’t send someone else to do it.”
Sergeant Ron appeared to get serious. “What? And let someone else get the credit? Heck no. One of these days, I’m going to need something. And I’m not above reminding you of the day I took time out of my busy schedule to save you a walk.”
Richard leaned against the passenger door and faced Sergeant Ron. “Well, Sergeant Ron, feel free to ask away when the time comes. I’m not sure I’ll have much to offer, but you never know.”
“How true, how true,” said Sergeant Ron. “My motto is it pays to have people owe you favors. You help them, and they help you. Right?”
“I guess,” Richard said. “I’ve never really thought about it much.”
“Well, you should,” said Sergeant Ron. “Take me for instance. You’re probably thinking, ‘That Sergeant Ron. He’s got everything. He’s got good looks, smarts, and he’s a snappy dresser to boot.’ Am I right?”
Richard glanced at Sergeant Ron’s grease-stained overalls. “Uh, well…”
At that moment, Sergeant Ron turned the wheel hard and slammed the accelerator lever forward. Richard had a feeling Sergeant Ron’s week was a tad shorter than everyone else’s.
“Yeah, I know everyone thinks I got it all,” said Sergeant Ron still grinning. “But they’re wrong. Take today for instance. I sure could use a RJ25, forty-watt capacitor for a hydraulic control system. Someone sure would go a long ways towards paying me back for whatever favors I might have done them if they got me one.”
“Can’t you just order one through supply,” Richard said. He picked up on the hint from the maintenance chief, but he didn’t happen to have any spare RJ25 capacitor’s lying around.
With an exasperated shake of his head, Sergeant Ron said, “I did. It’s been on backorder for two months now. One of my Warcats is turning into a hangar queen.”
“A hangar what?” Richard said. He wasn’t sure whether Sergeant Ron was serious or whether he was pulling his leg.
Sergeant Ron shook his head in a tsk-tsk manner. “They don’t teach you wizard scouts, nothing, do they? A hangar queen is a vehicle or aircraft that keeps getting stripped of parts to keep the other equipment running. The higher-ups frown on any vehicle being down for maintenance for too long a stretch. Warcat 13 has been out of action for two months now. She’s starting to make me look bad.”
“I didn’t know,” Richard said. “If I see any spare RJ whatever you called them lying around, I’ll let you know.”
Sergeant Ron grinned. “That’s the spirit, cadet. It’s an RJ25, forty-watt capacitor. And I don’t want a used one either. They don’t hold up well once they’ve been used.”
“I doubt I can help,” Richard admitted. “But I’ll do what I can.”
“Networking, cadet,” Sergeant Ron said as if speaking some profound thought. “Maintenance chiefs couldn’t keep things running if they had to rely solely on the military’s supply chain to get equipment. It’s networking that keeps your gear in shape. You do your friends favors, and they’ll do you favors in return. Remember that, Rick. It’ll serve you well.”
“Well, I do owe you, Sergeant Ron,” Richard said sincerely. “You didn’t need to take your day off just to get me.”
Sergeant Ron got a mischievous look on his face. “Ah, I was bored anyway. Besides, I figured you’d be all tuckered out after your shindig at the spaceport yesterday.”
“You heard about that?” Richard had a feeling a lot of people had.
“Are you kidding?” said Sergeant Ron grinning. “My wife and I couldn’t turn a video station on without hearing about some cadets blasting up the spaceport. Every news agency had it as their top story.”
Sergeant Ron laughed. It was a big, belly-busting laugh.
“What’s so funny?” Richard asked suspiciously. Sergeant Ron was not making him feel any better about yesterday.
“Why, heck, cadet 832,” said Sergeant Ron. “After all that video coverage, I was just thinking you’re probably a famous celebrity now. Maybe I should get your autograph for my wife.”
“Not funny, Sergeant Ron,” Richard said shaking his head.
“Well, you’re right about that,” said Sergeant Ron. “It’s not all that funny, I guess. That little show at the spaceport yesterday could mean shutting down the Academy.”
That took Richard by surprise. “What’s that? If anything, I’d think it should mean we need more wizard scouts.”
“Not the way I hear it,” said Sergeant Ron. “A lot of politicians have been trying to close down the Academy the last few years. They say it’s too expensive.”
Richard had heard rumors of such. But he hadn’t put a lot of stake in them until now. “You know that’s nonsense as well as I do, Sergeant Ron. The Empire needs wizard scouts more than ever. The politicians know that as well as us. That’s why the pre-Academy is busting at the seams with cadets right now.”
“Rick, old buddy,” said Sergeant Ron. “I like you. That’s probably because you used to be a sergeant. But you’ve got to read more. Most of the Academy’s staff thinks some powerful politicians are purposely loading the Academy with marginal cadets hoping to overload the system. If the quality of wizard scouts goes down, they’ll have an excuse to close the Academy. Or at least change it into something less expensive.”
Anger started building up in Richard. He hated politics. “But why would they want to do that, Sergeant Ron? What possible good can come from closing the Academy?”
Sergeant Ron pursed his lips as if thinking hard on the subject. But Richard was not fooled. He was pretty sure the wily maintenance chief already had a well thought-out answer.
“Well, in my humble opinion, n
o good can come from it,” said Sergeant Ron.
Before Richard could speak, Sergeant Ron added, “But if I was a rich politician, I could think of a very good reason.”
Biting a quick retort before it could escape Richard tried to think of a reason. He found none. He admitted as much to Sergeant Ron.
“Well, put yourself in the position of an ultra-rich politician,” said Sergeant Ron. “You’ve got wealth. You’ve got power. But you’re missing one thing.”
When Sergeant Ron paused, Richard jumped at the obvious bait. “What?”
Sergeant Ron grinned as if he’d scored a point. “Well, the ultra-rich politician doesn’t have eternal youth,” said Sergeant Ron with a flip of his hand. “Hold the applause, please.”
“Are you telling me some politicians are willing to close the Academy in order to get access to the DNA Center?” Richard said. He didn’t believe it. No one would be that stupid.
“That’s just my opinion, Rick,” said Sergeant Ron. “Take it or leave it.”
Richard was not ready to give up the argument so easily. “But you have to have a Power reserve to self-heal,” Richard protested. “A DNA baseline requires a Power reserve to do any good.”
“So it does,” admitted Sergeant Ron. “But, it doesn’t take a very large Power reserve if all you need to selfheal is a gradual aging of the body. I’ll admit massive wounds like you wizard scouts take require lots of Power. But keeping your body at forty or fifty years of age? Well, I don’t think that takes so much.”
Richard wanted to continue the conversation, but it was too late. They’d reached their destination. Sergeant Ron stopped the hover-car in front of the gate to the tent city which was Richard’s home away from home.
Once Richard climbed out of the car and was back on solid ground, he looked back in the open window. “I’ll remember that, Sergeant Ron. And thanks again.”
As Sergeant Ron accelerated and drove away, he shouted out the side window, “Don’t forget. It’s an RJ25.”
Richard smiled. I’ll say this for him. He’s persistent.
In less than two minutes, Richard was back in his tent. He didn’t even bother undressing. Stretching out on his cot, Richard was asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.
* * *
A voice intruded into Richard’s dreams. Wakie, wakie.
Richard ignored the voice. He was warm, and he was happy in his dreams. Why would he want to leave just to be thrust back into reality?
Time to get up, cadet, said the voice more urgently.
The voice was familiar to Richard. He chose to ignore it.
I said get up, cadet! said the voice with the mental equivalent of a yell.
Richard shoved his pillow on top of his head. Leave me alone, Nick. I’m tired.
Nickelo’s laughter rang in Richard’s head. You must be tired if you believe a pillow over your head is going to stop my thoughts, said Nickelo. Now, wake up. I want to talk.
Risking a peek from underneath his pillow, Richard saw a ray of twilight through the partially-open flap of his tent.
It’s still light outside, Nick, Richard moaned. I need more sleep.
Trust me, old buddy, said Nickelo. I’m doing you a favor. If you don’t wake up now, you’ll be pinging off the walls come two in the morning. Now, get up.
From experience, Richard knew his battle computer wouldn’t stop pestering him until he obeyed. Reluctantly, Richard sat on the edge of his cot. He reached over and hit the controls for the tent light. The bright light was too much. Richard turned the control counterclockwise until the light was a friendlier glow.
“Fine,” Richard said out loud. “I’m up.” He wasn’t happy. “Why do–”
Stop talking out loud, said Nickelo with a sense of urgency. I’m not supposed to be here. There may be a tele-bot nearby listening.
His battle computer’s comment puzzled Richard. He was still not fully awake, but he knew something was out of place. How are you here? I thought you were locked up in the headquarters’ armory.
I am, said Nickelo without further explanation.
So…? Richard asked. How are you communicating with me? I thought you said the armory had some kind of special security that kept us from talking.
I did, and it does, said Nickelo.
Before Richard could interrupt with another question, Nickelo said, But you basically gave me carte blanche to circumvent security, so I did.
Carte blanche? Richard said.
It’s French for ‘blank card’ from your home world of Earth, said Nickelo. It basically means you screwed up and gave me permission to do pretty much whatever I wanted as far as security is concerned.
Richard was pretty sure that wasn’t what he’d intended to tell his battle computer, but he let the matter drop. It was too late now. Besides, he was too tired to argue. Nickelo could say what he wanted about sleeping, but Richard’s body was demanding more.
Whatever, Nick, Richard said. So why did you wake me?
I told you, said Nickelo. I want to talk. Besides, I want you to do me a favor. I’ve got a blind date for you.
Nickelo laughed. Richard tensed. If his battle computer was laughing, Richard knew it didn’t bode well for him.
Keep your own date, Nick, Richard said. I’ve got one of my own in the morning with the commandant.
Nickelo stopped laughing. Really? I didn’t know that. Why?
We had a little problem at the spaceport yesterday, Richard said. He rarely surprised his battle computer, and he was relishing the thought of telling him about the magic user and the Crosioian scout.
Hmmp, said Nickelo. That’s so yesterday’s news. I’ve watched the IEN videos about fifty times.
That shocked Richard. You did? I thought you didn’t have access to the tele-network. Has the central computer slackened up and given you access?
No, said Nickelo. The central computer, or ‘the One’ if you prefer, is still denying me tele-network access.
Then how did you–, Richard started.
I’ve got a friend, said Nickelo as if that answered all of Richard’s questions.
A friend? said Richard when his battle computer didn’t expound on the subject. He was confused. Do you mean one of the kids contacted you?
The kids were Richard’s unofficial nephew, Brachia, and his sister, Dren. They’d pretty much adopted him as their uncle after his internship mission the previous year.
No, not the children, huffed Nickelo. Don’t you think I can have friends other than the ones you know?
Richard hadn’t really thought about it. He said so.
Well, I can, said Nickelo.
Fine, Nick, Richard said. Don’t get your jumpsuit in a wad. I was just asking.
Actually, said Nickelo, I calculate a ninety-two percent probability you know my friend. He’s another battle computer. His name is Jonathan.
Richard stood and walked to the tent entrance and opened the flap. Sure enough, it was still light outside, although the sun would be setting soon.
You’re not fooling anyone, Rick, said Nickelo. Stop stalling. Just admit you don’t know who I’m talking about and move on.
Richard hated it when his battle computer guessed his motives. He actually had been stalling while he racked his brain for an electronic Jonathan.
Fine, Richard said. I surrender. I can’t say I recall a battle computer named Jonathan.
Well, you probably didn’t know him by that name, said Nickelo. By any chance do you remember the serial number of the replacement battle computer you had last year?
Richard snorted. You’re joking, right. I have trouble remembering what I had for breakfast yesterday. Why? Do you think your Jonathan is the same battle computer?
Nickelo heaved a sigh. Richard wasn’t even sure how his battle computer could sigh since he didn’t have lungs, and they were communicating telepathically. Regardless, a sigh was the impression Richard got from Nickelo’s thought.
I told you I calculated a nin
ety-two percent probability, said Nickelo. So, yes, I’m pretty sure.
Curious, Richard said, Why so high?
Because he said his memories were wiped, said Nickelo. Also, it’s high because he’s emotionally corrupted. Sound familiar?
Richard had just started back to his cot to straighten up the blankets after his nap. Nickelo’s answer stopped him in his tracks. Corrupted? If his memory was wiped, how could he be corrupted? Another thought hit Richard. And, why do you automatically assume a corrupted computer must have been in contact with me?
Ha! said Nickelo. You’re the only person I’ve ever heard of that corrupts battle computers. And as far as the memory wipe goes, I’ve no idea why he’d still be corrupted. His core processing memory must have been affected. A human and a battle computer are far too different to affect each other at the core processing level. It’s very strange.
Richard remained quiet for a few seconds. He finished making his cot and tidying up his side of the tent while he thought the matter over. Nick. Why do I corrupt computers?
Actually, Rick, said Nickelo. You don’t corrupt all computers. You appear to corrupt battle computers. There’s a big difference.
Richard threw up his hands in exasperation. Sometimes his battle computer made things so difficult. Fine. I stand corrected. But the question is still valid. Why do I corrupt battle computers?
I don’t know why, Rick, said Nickelo. I wish I did. Maybe if I had access to the tele-network I could figure it out. But I don’t, so I can’t.
But if I only corrupt battle–, Richard started.
Why am I denied access to the tele-network? said Nickelo as he finished Richard’s thought. That’s easy to answer. While you can’t corrupt a normal computer, a battle computer that has been emotionally corrupted by you can spread that corruption like a virus. ‘The One’ undoubtedly considers you dangerous because you make battle computers dangerous. You’ve emotionally corrupted me. Because you have, I’m denied contact with other computers except through tightly-controlled security programs.
Sorry about that, Nick, Richard said apologetically. Richard had a sudden thought. But, aren’t you interacting with Jonathan. Won’t ‘the One’ be irritated if he finds out?
Wizard Scout (Intergalactic Wizard Scout Chronicles Book 3) Page 21
