Authors: Mark Kalina
Aran
Silaban Hogan glanced briefly at his wrist-phone to check the time. It was just
after 2pm; less than an hour to go before the train reached the Tannhauser gate
to Arcadia. His partner for this assignment, Ulla Schneider, had her
data-glasses on and her type-pad spread out across her lap, trying to use the
train's uplink to do some last minute research. From her expression, she was
having trouble.
"No
signal?" he asked his colleague.
"
Nein
. No. Perhaps you are used to this,
but I have to tell you, I am not. I expected better from the Americans. This
is... like something out of some third world country," she said, then
broke off, embarrassment reddening her pale European features. "I mean..."
she started to add.
"No,
I'm not offended. From what my mother told me, Indonesia was like this not too
long ago, true enough. Though not since she was a very small child. I grew up
in Australia, though. I'm just based in Jakarta these last few years. But I
think the uplink interference might be a matter of Tannhauser gate being
active, rather than the decayed infrastructure of this place."
"Ah,
yes. Of course. Have you been through a Tannhauser gate before?" she
asked.
"Yes,
several times. Once before to Arcadia, but also, my news service has sent me to
Mars, and to Elysium."
Ulla
looked impressed.
He
smiled at her expression and added, "and I once had to take an actual
spaceflight to the lunar mining colonies. It's rather ridiculous, you know, the
politics that keeps them from opening a gate from Earth to the lunar mining
operations. It's actually faster to take the gate to Mars and then the Mars
gate to the Moon, but part of my assignment was to cover cultural interaction
of the Mars-based lunar mining corporations with the Earth-based Orbital
Transport Pilots' Union."
"You
really are quite the traveller, then," Ulla said, losing some the redness
in her face and favoring him with a rather pretty smile.
Aran
smiled in turn, an expression he knew most women found charming. Ulla was an
attractive woman, in a classically European-German manner —flaxen-haired,
blue eyed and quite curvaceous— and he had some hopes for their...
non-professional... relationship on this assignment.
"I
take it this is going to be your first Tannhauser gate transit?" he asked.
"Yes.
Current biotechnology news doesn't take a reporter off Earth that often, and
before I started working for
EuroBiotechZeitschrift
,
I only covered local news in Frankfurt."
"Well,
it's nothing to be afraid of. Not really. There's sometimes some discomfort,
but my understanding is that it's from some people's reactions to being near
strong induced currents. At any rate, it doesn't last long. And the sight of
the actual Tannhauser gate is... actually quite amazing."
"Well,
I guess I get to find out. I have to say, I'm more worried about... well, about
the Arcadians, than about the gate. An entire planet of lawless
anarchists..."
"Well..."
Aran said, wondering how good the listening devices in the train car were. It
was almost certain that the UEN and the government of the Federal States of
North America —the FSNA— had put in some sort of listening devices.
On the other hand, the Jakarta Post and Globe had given him pretty good
counter-surveillance equipment. Doing his job with no counter-surveillance gear
wasn't an option; not unless he and his editors wanted to read the work they'd
sent him to do from a Chinese news service, before they'd even had a chance to
publish it.
"Just
a moment," he said, and reached into his carry-case to activate a
listening jammer that looked like —and functioned perfectly as— a
portable VR game unit. The little device's readout flickered and then showed
three lines of glowing amber text, giving the details of three listening devices
that it had detected and successfully spoofed. And in theory, the listening
devices wouldn't even be able to detect that they'd been spoofed; the latest
Japanese technology was expensive, but supposedly very good. He supposed he was
counting on it being better than what either the UEN and FSNA had placed in
this train, but that was probably a good bet.
"There,"
he said. "Something like a private conversation, now."
"Really!?
We were being...?"
"Not
really a surprise, is it?"
"Ah,
no," Ulla said. "I suppose not. But in Germany, it would only be
Public Security listening, and the software would only flag things like violent
speech, hate speech, that sort of thing."
"Yes,
the same in Australia. Or in Jakarta, for that matter, these days. But in the FSNA,
things are more restrictive. But about Arcadia, you mentioned that they have no
laws. That's not really right. They have a few laws, but they do tend to obey
them. And 'anarchists' is... well, not quite right either. Or maybe it depends
on your definition of
'anarchist.'"
"People
have no restrictions on their speech or their actions, not even when it's
outright hate speech and provocation. There's no government oversight of
contracts to ensure social equity. There's no government licensing or
certification of jobs... even for jobs that could impact public safety. And I've
even heard that civilians can be armed!" Ulla said, sounding a bit upset.
"It sounds terrifying."
"Well,
you have the details right, but I've found that it's not that terrifying.
Enough to make me nervous, yes, but not as bad as being in a war zone or an
economic refugee camp."
"Civilians
with weapons isn't enough to scare you?"
"At
home, certainly. Or here. But on Arcadia, it's not.... Well, you can see the
weapons, they wear them openly, some of them. But I was there for two weeks and
in that time I never saw anyone draw a weapon or even make a threat. Not once.
It's very odd, I know, but that's how it was."
"Well,
obviously the Arcadian government was careful with what you were allowed to see.
They probably kept you away from any violence."
"No...
that is, the Arcadian government never even talked to me, except to make sure I
completed the UEN-required transit documents. And even for that, they sounded
like they wouldn't have bothered, except that then the UEN wouldn't allow
access on this side of the gate."
"Like
I said," Ulla said, "anarchy. Besides which, there's the way they
treat those poor refugees."
"Maybe,"
Aran allowed. "But it seems that they've somehow managed something like a
functional society even so. I'd say it was because there were so few of them,
but their population is up above six million now, and I've been to less
populous cities on Earth where the social situation looked... more chaotic that
it seemed on Arcadia.
"In
fact, that's one of the things I really want to research. You know that we tend
to less stringent social controls, in the Pacific Alliance, than what you'd be
used to in Europe, say."
Ulla
smiled wryly and nodded; the relatively relaxed social controls of the Pacific
Alliance were well known. It gave the nations of the Pacific Alliance a certain
reputation for easy-going social interactions.... Though for that matter, Aran
thought, German girls had rather a reputation along those lines as well.
"So
the question I want to look into," he went on, "is what sort of
social controls do the Arcadians use, to get that sort of effect? My editors
and I think there's a good story in it."
"I
see," Ulla said. "I hope there is. For my part, as soon as I get the
interviews with the two biotech companies I need, I plan to head back to Earth
as soon as I can."
"It
will be at least a week, with the way the gate traffic works to and from
Arcadia, though," he told her. "An E-week, they call it; an
Earth-week. Just a bit more than six of their local days. Last time I was
there, I missed the first return window and had to stay a second week."
"Do
they use Earth times, then?" Ulla asked.
"Sort
of," Aran replied. "They mostly use Earth years, since their orbital
period is so short, but then they use their local 'years' as months, more or
less, since their orbital period isn't that much longer than an Earth lunar
period. But their day is somewhat longer, if I recall."
"I
think we're getting close," Ulla said abruptly, and indeed, the train
seemed to be slowing.
"Ah,
well," Aran said, "let's try to stay together. The screening and
security on this side are... thorough."
Calvin
Piper stood at attention and did his best not to scowl. In his hands was a
sheet of print-film with his scores for the Armored Corps. Failing scores.
It
wasn't his fault, he thought. Not his fault at all. If he'd been able to get
enough sleep, he knew he could have passed. The driving test at least.
Of
course, the reason he didn't have enough sleep... even now that was enough to
raise a blush on his features. He'd heard silly stories about recruits who lost
their virginity after they'd been inducted, but he hadn't really believed them.
He certainly hadn't expected to have it actually happen to him. But it had.
He
wasn't sure if he should be upset at it or not. Reiko had been... wild,
enthusiastic, eager... or maybe desperate. Cal never thought of himself as the
sort of guy a girl would be desperate for, but Reiko had... well, had ridden
him, all night, muffling her cries by biting her pillow and waking him every
time he'd fallen asleep... sometimes with a whisper... other times with her
hands... or her mouth. All night.
If
it hadn't been the night before the evaluation tests, he'd have still been
grinning at the memory. As it was, he had... the memory of her; the feel of her
lithe, compact body, and smell and taste of her, and of her ecstasy. And his.
And
he had a failing score from his evaluation for service in the Armored Corps. He
honestly wasn't sure if it was a good trade or not. If he'd been talking with
his friends from school, he'd have said it had definitely been worth it, losing
his virginity to a lustful, eager, pretty girl. But now, he was looking at two
years of service in the Infantry Corps, and he wasn't at all sure it had been
worth it.
Cal
stood at attention while the assignments sergeant read out names and told
recruits which Corps would be their home for the next two years. And tried not
to cry.
***
"This
is the M39 Infantry Combat Rifle!" shouted the instructor-corporal,
holding up a huge, heavy looking rifle. "It is the primary weapon of the
Infantry Corps. Which means it is the primary weapon of the Defense Force. And
that means that it is the weapon which keeps Arcadia free!"
Five
weeks of basic induction training meant that standing at attention was no
longer anything new to Cal Piper. Neither were daily ten kilometer runs, or
hundred push-up punishment details.
There
was no doubt that Cal was in the best shape of his life, now. And since he was
still sleeping, now and then, with the lovely Reiko, he couldn't really count
his life as being all bad. Well, some of the time with Reiko was spend
sleeping, anyway.
The
Defense Force, he had found, was tough, but not —for the most part—
sadistic. Excuses were not tolerated, but neither did the instructors try to
micromanage the lives of the recruits. He had no doubt the instructor-corporals
knew about him and Reiko, but so long as nothing inappropriate was done during
training, what the two recruits did in their —very limited— spare
time was no business of the Defense Force. Or so it seemed; no one had actually
told him anything one way or the other. Unless he counted the lecture all the
Infantry Corps troops had gotten about taking the initiative. In which case, he
thought a grin, he was actually following their instructions when it came to
him and Reiko.
"Is
there something funny, recruit?" snapped the instructor-corporal. "A
joke you want to share with your comrades? Everyone loves a good laugh, recruit!"
"No,
sir, Instructor-corporal!" shouted Cal.
"Then
pay attention!"
the corporal
bellowed. "The M39 fires an electrothermal-chemical propelled 8.5mm
steel-tipped copper-alloy projectile, capable of penetrating a class VII armor
plate out to fifteen hundred meters. The maximum effective range of the M39
against light personal armor is three thousand meters. The M39 has an
integrated smart-sight. That means that the M39 does not miss! If you acquire
your target and lock it in, the round will hit where it's aimed. If you aimed
at your enemy, he will die! If your enemy acquires you first, you will die! Is
that concept clear to you recruits?"
***
Wearing
an infantry frame was a lot, a lot, easier than Cal had expected it to be. The
frame was an exoskeleton of servo-powered armatures that moved when he moved.
When he'd first seen one, he' thought that the mass of the power pack, not to
mention the weapons and armor plate the soldier inside the frame had to wear,
would make just balancing the thing almost impossible. The frame balanced
without any effort at all, and with the power on, the weight of the power-pack,
armor and weapons was nothing. You could sprint in a frame, as fast as if you
were wearing just your shoes and running shorts, and you could do it while
carrying a hundred kilograms of gear and armor. You could jump over a
meter-high obstacle like a track-and-field hurdler. And you were bullet-proof,
at least against anything lighter than an anti-frame rifle like the M39.
"Remember,"
called the instructor-corporal. "You have to move, acquire your target and
shoot first. First! Whoever acquires first wins. Whoever loses dies. If you
can't acquire a target fast, you move for cover, pop out in a different
location and try again. Keep moving. Keep weaving. Don't make it easy for the
other guy to kill you!"
The
exercise ahead of them was a mix of a shooting range and an obstacle course.
The recruits would be timed on how fast they crossed it, graded on how many
targets they managed to hit, and penalized if any of the emplaced targeting
lasers —simulated enemy framers— that managed to get a lock on them
for long enough to have put an enemy round on target.
The
recruits were running through the course one by one, while their comrades
waited behind a tall, rammed-earth wall, where they couldn't see what the
course was like, until it was their turn to go.
It
was a good thing, Cal thought, that Reiko had washed out of the Infantry Corps
a week ago. Some women had the aggression and the upper body strength to manage
a frame, but most, Reiko included, didn't. If she'd still have been here, he
thought with a smile, he might have been short on sleep again. At any rate, he'd
given her his newly assigned integrated comm-code; it was supposed to be
secure, but Reiko was pretty good with data systems, and figured she could use
it to keep in touch. Using the comm-code that way was technically against the
rules, but he figured there was no harm in it, and maybe they'd be able to get
together on leave. Meanwhile, she was training for the Supply Corps now, and
he'd had a good night's sleep to be ready for this.
"OK,
Recruit Piper! Go! Go! Go!"
Cal
moved. It was easy to run fast in the frame; harder to try to track the targets
smoothly though the smart-sight targeting system of the massive M39 rifle. At
least the frame made the rifle all but weightless in his hands; he'd had to
carry and fire it without the frame, and the ten kilogram weight of the monster
gun had been brutal... though not as brutal as the shoulder-slamming recoil of
the heavy, high-velocity 8.5mm armor piercing rounds it fired.
"Move,
move!" shouted the corporal, and Cal ran, vaulting smoothly over
obstacles. The frame's servos hissed and hummed as it took the weight of
power-pack, weapons and armor. There was no feeling of encumbrance at all, and
Cal felt exhilaratingly light and quick.
Ahead,
his helmet sensors pointed out a probable target and he brought the M39 up,
letting the smart-sight get a look at it. The huge rifle felt feather-light in
his frame-enhanced arms. All he had to do was center the target in his
targeting display and press the trigger to give the rifle permission to fire.
Once the target was locked in, the actual shot was automatic.
The
target was in his helmet visor's sights and his finger started to close on the
trigger.
The
target disappeared from his view and a picture of Reiko filled his visor.
"Hey,
Cal," she said, smiling. "Is this a bad time?"
***
"Recruit
Piper!" The instructor-sergeant's face was utterly without expression.
"Sir!"
Cal replied, trying to keep his face just as expressionless.
"Well,
recruit. It's obvious you are not cut out for the Infantry Corps. I'm just glad
you made it clear to us nice and early, so we could get rid of you before you
wasted too much of our time, or, God forbid, got someone who was worth it
killed."
"Sir!"
Cal managed to say, blinking hard to keep the tears from welling up in his
eyes.
"You
are dismissed, Recruit! Pack you kit and take the first available transport to
Hamilton Station. Maybe the Auxiliary Corps can figure out what to do with
you."
***
Hamilton
Station was nothing. An empty place in the desert where someone had once tried
to dig for valuable underground minerals. And failed. Now it was a Defense
Force outpost, under the care of the Auxiliary Corps.
"What
we do," the Auxiliary Corps sergeant told him when he'd arrived, "is
fill in the blanks."
Cal
had said nothing, just stood at attention in the baking heat and wondered how
life could possibly get worse than this.
The
sergeant was a tall, lanky man, with much the same coloring as Cal's; darkly
tanned skin and dark-blond hair. The sergeant's eyes, though, were blue rather
than dark, and his features looked pure Northern-European, rather than Cal's
stereotypically Arcadian multi-component ethnic mix. The sergeant's expression
was relaxed. His hair was longer than Cal was used to anymore. He wore a dusty
working uniform. In fact, the only thing military-looking about the man was the
faded sergeant's stripes on the sleeve of his overalls and the compact light
combat rifle slung from his shoulder.
"Look,
we don't need that stand-at-attention stuff here," the sergeant said.
"So long as you know who's in charge, you can skip all the
stand-at-attention-yes-sir crap and the saluting. Just do what I say, when I
say it and all that military formality shit don't matter."
"Yes,
Sergeant!" said Cal, and the man frowned.
"You
probably think you've wound up in the crapper out here, huh? Piper? What do
want to be called, anyway? Private Piper sounds pretty dorky," the
sergeant said, smiling.
"Ah...
my... that is, people call me 'Cal,' I guess," Cal said.
"You
guess? You're not sure what people call you?"
"Well,"
Cal said, figuring that there wasn't much more trouble he could get into,
"lately people have mostly been calling me 'fuck-up.' But I guess I'd
prefer 'Cal.'"
The
sergeant grinned. "Right. Like I was saying, Cal, what we do is fill in
the blanks. I'm Dave Halgren, by the way, but we go by first names, here,
mostly. So just 'Dave.' I'm the platoon sergeant here. Though you'd have to
squint pretty hard to call this a platoon. Anyway, I'm in charge here, more or
less... unless an officer stops by, which they mostly don't."
"OK,"
Cal said, trying to see where this was going.
"Right,"
Sergeant Dave said. "Fill in the blanks. What I mean is, we do whatever
job comes up, so the rest of the Defense Force never has to take the trouble to
pull their heads out of their own asses. Look, Arcadia is pretty dispersed,
right? Stations, towns and settlements all over the place. And mostly, people
just want to be left alone, right? I mean, we all agree to do our time in the
Defense Force, but that's just so we can make sure we are left alone.
"But
sometimes people need help. Most of the time, it's Defense Force people that
need help. Like getting a spare fuel cell out to a stalled truck somewhere...
or someone's water pipes start leaking and they don't have to gear to fix 'em.
So what do they do? Well, they pretty much call us, is what they do.
"We're
the go-to fix-it guys and gals of the Defense Force. You need someone to
deliver something, we do it. You need someone to guard the edge of a mine field
to keep the kiddies and morons out, we can do it. You need someone to drag some
soldiers out of a pleasure-house but don't want to call the MPs, we can do it.
"Basically,
whatever the job is, we can do it. It's not glamorous. Holy shit, it's not
glamorous," Dave said, smiling. "But there's no chicken-shit military
crap here, and without us... Well, it's like a machine without lubricant. It
seizes and doesn't fucking work. We're the oil that keeps the Defense Force
machine running."
"Yes
si... I mean, OK, Dave," Cal said.
"Right,"
Dave grinned. "You're getting it. Now you can see the down-sides pretty
easy, huh? But the upside is, the sort of people we get as mostly the ones who
don't want to have a military discipline stick shoved up their asses, and
frankly, that sort of people are a lot better to hang out with than the other
sort.
"You'd
be amazed how many people we've had in Auxiliary who wound up really rich and
successful after their stint was up; non-conformist creative types, you know? I
mean, isn't that what Arcadia is supposed to be all about?" Dave grinned.