The Black Guardians: Book 4 in the Black Guard series, page 3
Milly's list included twenty-eight of what looked like the youngest girls, closer to eight than nine, although there were six or seven that appeared to be around nine or several months older.
"The following recruits will be in group two and will report to Petty Officer Gerde." Milly pause as an average-looking woman, slightly younger than Madde, raised her hand. Her eyes evaluated each recruit Milly named as they approached her. There were fourteen girls in group two. Most looked to be close to nine, although there were a few who appeared several months younger or older.
"Those whose names haven't been called are in group three and will report to Chief Stefan." The chief didn't need to raise his hand as he was the only man. I thought him young for a chief, but he had that no-nonsense look typical of navy chiefs. "Your group's monitors have your detailed schedules."
On the surface, I was pleased. Axelle and Lydie were in group three, which was primarily the older recruits and probably meant early graduation from South Lake Station. I wasn't sure why we had a male monitor, but there wasn't time to discuss the issue as he strode toward the empty end of the barracks and waved for us to follow.
When we were all assembled, he spoke in a low base tone. "Good morning, recruits. As you have probably already deduced, you have scored well and, if you work hard, can expect to graduate South Lake in two years. I want you dressed and to have all of your possessions in your lockers in thirty minutes when I return. Your lockers will be delivered to your new quarters later today. Questions?" he asked, scanning the group. I had a thousand but thought he was referring to his instructions, nothing else. Everyone else appeared to agree with my assessment. "Good. Thirty minutes," he said and walked back to where Chief Milly stood.
I smiled at Axelle and Lydie, who gave me a thumbs-up gesture.
Thirty minutes later, Chief Stefan had us assembled outside where we double-timed to a two-story-brick building about five minutes away. To my surprise, there were about twenty boys in the building when we entered.
"Quiet!" Stefan's voice boomed. "Rule number one. When I or your other monitors speak, you don't. Not so much as a cough. Silence is required so you and the recruits next to you can hear what we are saying, because what I or they are saying is far more important than what you are saying." He scanned the room, locking eyes with each of us. "The downstairs of this building is your sleeping quarters. It is split into two sections with a monitor's room in the middle separating the two wings. Upstairs is for recreation and study. It is divided into a boys' wing, a middle wing which can be used by boys and girls, and a girls' wing. Lights out is at twenty-one hundred hours on the first floor and twenty-three hundred hours on the second floor."
Looking around, I saw Ryan smiling in my direction. I smiled back.
"Girls, follow me," Stefan said as he led us through the monitor's room, which sat in the middle of the barracks. It had a small wooden desk with a leather office chair, a cot, and what looked like a tiny kitchen area. "Pick a cot and write your name on the whiteboard. No fighting. Come to me or one of the monitors if you have a dispute now or in the future, although we would prefer you learn to peacefully resolve your own disputes. Remember, you will be spending many years with the people in this barracks."
Again, there were sixteen more bunks than the number in our current group. Stefan introduced us to Petty Officer Second Class Sabine, a woman in her early thirties with bright red hair, a soft-looking body, and who was a bit overweight. Her eyes stopped on each one of us, classifying and evaluating as Stefan introduced us to her.
"Petty Officer Sabine is one of your monitors. She will be handing out tablets you must keep on you at all times, except when bathing. They are small computers that contain your schedules, class material, and connect you to the station's communications network."
We spent the rest of the day familiarizing ourselves with the tablets, texting messages to each other, and reviewing our classes for the year.
The next two years would be devoted to military rules and regulations, naval history and traditions, mathematics, Jax and Standard languages, reading and writing, and daily exercises. I became the go-to person for Standard, and we designated our meal times as a Standard-only hour. Ryan became a member of our study group, and we became the go-to people for mathematics, and Lydie the go-to person for reading, writing, and accounting.
At my suggestion, we set aside certain times and days dedicated to specific subjects. Over the year, others joined our little group, which included two boys, Adler and Hasli, and two girls, Kathri and Estee. We dedicated two hours each day on weekends and holidays for self-defense, for which Hasli and Kathri were the go-to pair.
Our instructor for exercises and self-defense was Stefan, who in our second year introduced meditation, which for me was harder than self-defense, and that was difficult enough.
"Why?" I whined when we had returned to our quarters after two hours with Stefan.
"Could you be a bit more specific?" Axelle asked, amusement on her face as we stood in the shower, trying to get rid of the sweat and dirt and to relax sore muscles. "We are women because of our DNA. We are in the navy because of the Jax Conscript Law. We are in the shower because we are dirty and sweaty."
"Self-defense!" I shouted then gagged and coughed, having breathed in water. Several minutes later, I had recovered enough to answer, "We have big strong commandos on each cruiser. They can't possibly expect us to repel any hostile boarders. If I can't shoot them, I'm not likely to win a physical contest. If I have to stay here until I pass self-defense and learn to meditate, I will probably spend my entire twenty-five-year commitment at South Lake Station."
I was so frustrated I felt ready to explode or cry or both. Axelle had the nerve to laugh.
"Tradition," Lydie said. Her family had a hundred-year legacy of having two or more children in the Jax navy every generation. "The Jax military runs on tradition. It's like the saying, Take no prisoners, which is translated to Die fighting. The reason the Jax military are such badasses among the inhabited systems. Once you engage us, you have a Tyrannosaurus rex by the tail."
"Kathri to the rescue," Kathri said. She was several centimeters shorter than me and weighed six kilograms less, easygoing but no pushover. Her mess of curly hair and mischievous elfin face was deceptive as she was consistently at the top of the class and rock solid. "They don't expect us to be backup for the commandos. The self-defense lessons are to give us self-confidence in our everyday lives and ties into that take no prisoners expression and attitude that Jax is a Tyrannosaurus rex." She gave a short laugh before continuing, "The meditation helps to keep us from panicking…or from making knee-jerk decisions."
"How the hell does it do that?" I demanded. "Every time Stefan tells us to quiet our minds, my mind finds new things to think about. The harder I try, the worse it gets. By the time the half-hour is up, I've forgotten why I was sitting there."
"I think Stefan is approaching the meditation session wrong." She held up her hand to stop us from responding, which certainly captured everyone's interest. We left the showers and were in the process of drying off and dressing for dinner when Kathri again spoke. "One of my uncles is a Buddhist monk and works with me every time he visits. He recommended only ten-minute sessions in the beginning and not to try to think of nothing. Acknowledge the thoughts you are having but don't hang on to them. Let it dissolve. Of course, you need to practice regularly, at least a couple of times each day. It's difficult, but the rewards are huge."
In the end, our clique decided to give it a try since ten minutes twice a day didn't seem a big sacrifice. From then on, Kathri became our go-to person for self-defense and meditation.
"I'm glad you chose to sit next to me that first day," Ryan said as the eight of us sat reviewing our final course grades for our two years at South Lake Station.
We had each been called into Commodore Javril's office for our review. He and Chief Stefan went over each of our performance individually, then afterward separated us into two groups. To my delight, I was in group one, as was our entire clique. I was told group one consisted of twenty-three individuals who were going to East Lake Station, which was dedicated to cruiser specialties.
"Two down, and four to go," I said and raised my water flask, which was met by the other seven members of the Rex Clique.
6 - The Helix Alliance
"Joshsa, I am glad you decided to have Mason and me working on the Blackwood and Safort problems," Vega, the senior member of Lariw's ruling families, said. "After your unsuccessful attempts to influence their votes in favor of a Helix Alliance, Outpost's presence would have increased the resistance. Mason and I agreed to continue trading in the two systems, giving them favorable trades while ignoring any talk of an alliance. Two years ago, we began helping candidates favorable to the alliance with money to finance their campaigns and with promises of huge profits if the alliance was approved. It has taken almost two years, but our efforts are paying off. I believe that the elections later this year will give us a majority in the Safort Upper Chamber."
"Omom Nastya is still against the alliance," Mason said, giving an evil smile. "However, I've been working with the Gurk clan, who Nastya used the Black Guard to take away their century-long tradition as the royal guard and their indirect power to undermine Nastya's more lenient policies. They love the idea of being on war cruisers, as do the clans who side with their more stringent interpretation of Blackwood's holy book. Their resistance is growing and beginning to spread to other clans. Within a year, two at most, Nastya will have no choice. She will have to join or risk an insurrection. That, inside sources tell me, is her worse nightmare."
"If I hear you correctly," Joshsa said, pausing to look at Vega, "Safort will vote in favor of the alliance this year." His gaze shifted to Mason. "Blackwood will follow next year?"
Both men nodded.
Joshsa rose and walked over to the small glass bar set into the middle of a wall of glass bookshelves loaded with hundreds of books. The bar's back and sides were lined with small angled mirrors which combined with shifting colored LED lights to provide an illusion of the bar's contents hanging in space. He opened a fifty-year-old replicate of the Last Drop Glenrothes, a single malt scotch from the Malin Commonwealth, worth several thousand credits if you could find a bottle. He poured a quarter-glass of the amber liquid into three crystal glasses and presented one to each man. "To the Helix Alliance and the eventual annihilation of the Jax nation." He raised his glass, and three glasses met in a sound like a crystal bell had been rung.
Mason spoke as they returned to their oversized chestnut leather armchairs. "I understand the alliance will permit us to build a powerful navy, but how does that help? The Jax have powerful warships and a small navy of their own. An outright war with them will be costly and might split the alliance."
"The alliance will not only allow us to build a powerful navy but will cement the other systems’ mentality into a unified cadre, since the crews will be composed of individuals from each nation. The cadre will hassle the Jax merchants under the alliance articles to guard their merchants and space. That will eventually cause Jax to retaliate in what we can spin as an unprovoked act of aggression, escalating the tension, and sooner or later into an act of war against the Helix Alliance.'" Joshsa's smile was maniacal, and his eyes radiated hate. "The war must look like the Jax initiated it against the alliance, giving us no choice but to respond in self-defense. Of course, we must have a sufficient force to attack and destroy Jax’s Home fleet, leaving any Jax cruisers on assignment without any place for maintenance, supplies, replacements, or sanctuary."
"I thought…" Vega began but hesitated. "An endless war. I never imagined destroying their home world. It could work. They would never expect a direct attack on their planet."
"If we could draw some of their cruisers away from Jax, we could easily overwhelm what remains," Mason said, pursing his lip in thought and giving his round face, thick lips, and sagging jowls a cabbage-patch look. "The remaining force would be stranded and could be picked off one at a time if they chose to stay and fight. I like it," he said with a smile that turned the look vicious. "Better yet, we would be the good guys defending the Helix Alliance against Jax's unwarranted aggression."
"To the annihilation of Jax," Joshsa said, and the three rose with raised glasses.
7 - The Second Hurdle
"Welcome to East Lake Station. I am Commodore Marcel," a middle-aged woman said after everyone had found a seat and the talking had ceased. She stood at the podium in dress whites and a chest full of ribbons. "The school at East Lake Station is officially designated the East Cruiser School. You will be here for a minimum of four years, continuing your academic studies as well as studying the standard equipment on a typical Jax cruiser. Your performance here will help the navy assess where you can best serve the needs of Jax as well as where you will be most productive and comfortable. Don't be concerned if you don't get the exact position you would like, since there may be many opportunities during your career to change positions. The Jax military is truly an equal-opportunity organization where rank and position are based predominately on performance."
She smiled. "I see the smirks on some of your faces. I said predominately not because some individuals may get preferential treatment because of their parents or personal connections, but because for anyone to rise to the next level, it requires there be an open position. For example, if you want to be the captain of a cruiser, one of the existing captains must die or retire or a new cruiser be commissioned. That usually is not a problem in the lower ranks as there are many openings in most positions."
She paused to look at her tablet. "Chief Petty Officer Hardy, who is standing on the left at the back of the room, will be in charge of the girls, and standing on the right at the back of the room is Chief Petty Officer Pascal, who will be in charge of the boys. Like at South Lake, you will be in the same barracks. Although there is a common area where you can mingle, we discourage pairing off. We have found over the years that it affects your performance, which can severely impact your career. Dismissed."
With that, I and the other girls gathered around Chief Hardy and were double-timed to the barracks, which looked exactly the same as the South Lake building.
"What do you think, Caitlin?" Axelle asked as we chose a bunk and got settled awaiting our lockers.
"Harder work, more interesting, and critical to our future," I said, thinking our performance here would determine our career paths. Like a machine separating rocks, we would be on a conveyor belt that would pass us over multiple screens. At each screen the rocks smaller than the mesh would drop out until only rocks of a certain size would remain. In terms of individuals, size would be determined by their performance. Poor performance would keep you small, marginal performance would limit your growth, and good performance would significantly increase your size. "These four years will shape our future."
"I agree," Kathri said. "All we had to do at South Lake was pass all of our courses to be assigned to cruiser school. Here, how well you perform will determine your choice of careers."
At East Lake, the academic courses were mostly technical with an emphasis on mathematics, sciences, and technical documentation. In addition, first-year courses included naval culture, protocol, and laws.
The second and third years, we studied each of the cruiser's departments and its equipment, including the Bridge. The Rex Clique continued to study together and spent an hour or more each night on meditation and speaking the Standard language. During those years, I had begun to enjoy meditation and found it helpful in maintaining my focus in my classes, which, in turn, made assimilation and retention easier.
At the end of the third year, we were assembled in the auditorium were Commodore Marcel addressed the group. "Your next year will require you to make several decisions. You will be studying Jax fighters, how they function, what can go wrong, and how to fix it. You will also be given a ride in one and have the option to learn how to fly one and to study the tactics involved. At the end of the year, you will inform us of your career choices and subsequently be given a specialty and assigned to a station, where you will begin the on-the-job training necessary to master your chosen career.”
8 - Tinker Man
Lucas Noam sat on a stool staring at his current project on the work bench: an improved ECM control panel. It was innovative…but not creative. It improved an existing device. And that is the problem, he suddenly realized.
He had taken Geller's suggestion to take a paid leave of absence and to forget about the inevitable confrontation with Outpost and their allies, Valhall and Lariw, in the hope it would clear his mind and spark a solution. He agreed that dwelling on a problem frequently resulted in forcing a solution–hammering a square peg into a round hole. They didn't need innovation; they needed creativity, something new. They needed to think in terms of what if. Not how to improve our missiles but what if every missile always hit its target. Not how to stop the enemy's missiles, but what if the enemy's missiles couldn't find the target. Not how did they survive if outnumbered, but what if one cruiser was adequate to take on multiple enemy cruisers. He smiled. Geller was right. He needed his conscious mind to forget about the problem while his subconscious mind worked on it.
Two years had passed since Noam had taken a leave of absence. He had visited friends and family, traveled the country, and even started a small business called the Next Step, hiring men and women who were like him–holders of multiple patents and were never satisfied with good enough. The business had been reasonably successful and had earned patents on nine different products. As he reflected on their success, he realized they had gone the normal route – how to improve a product – rather than approaching the problem from a what if perspective – forget how the thing was done today and imagine a new and better way.
