Dawn For A Distant Earth, page 4
Chapter XII
"You need a name."
"Have name. Devulkid."
The lieutenant shook her head, short red hair fluffing out with the motion. "That would not be acceptable and could certainly cause problems."
"Problems?"
"Difficulties, hard places."
The blond-haired young man wearing the unmarked tan shipsuit wrinkled his nose, as if at the smell of landpoisons.
"Hard places with name?"
The lieutenant smiled faintly. "It does sound strange when you put it that way. But you need a name, at least two names."
"Two names? One person?"
"Call it the Empire's way of doing things. Like the ships, like the uniforms."
"Two names for one person?" repeated the devilkid.
"Some people have three names," admitted the lieutenant.
"Three names?"
Lieutenant Marso nodded.
"How many names for you?"
"Three. Jillian . . . K'risti . . . Marso."
"The big man has three names?"
"Major Corson? Two, I think. MacGregor Corson."
"Why two names?" asked the blond youth again, as if the lieutenant had yet to answer the question.
"Look. If you want to go to the transitional school, if you want a chance at going to the Academy, you have to have two names. Any two names. You can have three if you want, but you have to have two."
"School needs two names for devilkid?"
"That's right. Both the transitional school and the Academy, if you make it that far, require two names. Two names and a number."
"Number?"
"Don't worry about that. Once you decide on the names, we'll use them to get you your imperial I.D. number. That won't be a problem at all."
The devilkid frowned as he sat uneasily in the ship swivel across from the lieutenant.
"Devilkid choose names. Empire choose number?"
"Right."
The curly-haired blond pursed his lips, but said nothing.
"Did your parents ever give you a name?"
"No name." His tone was more abrupt than before.
"I could read you some names and see if you like them."
"No."
"All right. But you'll have to choose something."
"Gerswin? Means what?"
"I called you that when you whistled that strange little melody. A gerswin is a'music-maker, a wild singer, sort of like a dylanist, but the power is mostly in the music and not in the words."
The devilkid looked back at the Imperial lieutenant blankly.
"Gerswin means music, like your whistling," she repeated.
"MacGregor? That means?"
"Once it meant 'son of Gregor.' Now it has no special meaning."
"Corson means?"
"Son of Cor," the lieutenant answered uneasily.
"The big man, the major? Two fathers?"
Lieutenant Marso laughed. "Some would say he had none. But, no. He has just one father. Sometimes, names are chosen because people like them. They like the way the names sound." She frowned momentarily. "You have several days before you have to choose. Now that you've passed the initial screening tests, the transitional school will give you other tests, tests with more words."
"More words?"
"More words," affirmed the woman. "That is, if you want to leam more. If you don't want to go back to the shamble-town."
A shadow crossed the young face.
"Leam . . . means not to go back to shambles?"
"Learning means much more than that. The more you leam, the more you can do. If you can make it through the transitional school, then you could go to the Academy-"
"Academy means leam more?"
"If you can."
"Devulkid learn. Learn everything."
Chapter XIII
In "Warfare, Basic Theories of [4/C, BC W-101]," Gerswin's console was in the third row, second one from the far right aisle.
The instruction hall itself was similar to all the others, with identical consoles with the identical gaps into which unidenti-cal cadets placed their identical bridge modules, incidentally recording their presence while allowing them direct access to their individual data banks.
The thirty fourth-classers stood beside their consoles, waiting at standing rest for Gere Yypres Gonnell, Major, Retired [Disability], I.S.S., who was listed as their professor.
"Ten'stet!" rang the tenor voice of the section adjutant,
Gerswin stiffened with all the others, exactly in key with their motions, although he could have easily beaten them into position.
"At ease," squeaked an amplified voice.
Gerswin watched the instructor's podium and the figure who moved behind it with jerky steps,
"Please be seated, Cadets," the squeaky and raspy voice added.
Gerswin sat, but wondered. He could see the shimmering metal bands around the professor, could see that while the professor's throat moved, his mouth barely opened.
"For those of you who have not met me, and that may well be all of you, I am indeed Major Gonnell, otherwise referred to as 'old-gonna-hell,' 'old metal bones,' or other endearments less flattering. This is the class technically referred to as 'Warfare, Basic Theories of.'"
A raspy sound like tearing patch tape followed.
"Excuse me, but subvocalization is not perfect."
A clanking sound followed.
"All of you are supposed to have read chapter one of the text. Knowing the Academy and the idealism with which you all approach your studies, you all have."
An intake of breath that would have been laughter at any non-military institution punctuated the otherwise silent instruction hall.
"The title of the course is incorrect. A more accurate description might be 'A Few Guesses as to Why Societies Fight.'"
Gerswin tabbed in the new title, noting that few others did.
"A standard hour a day for four months is totally inadequate for those of you who survive the institution to practice the profession, but I hope to make a small dent in your ignorance and to let you know how little you really know, in the hopes that you will at some future time be inspired to actually learn the subject."
The metal figure swiveled as if to survey the hall.
"Cadet Culvra, what does Adtaker mean when ..."
"Cadet Hytewer, describe the Empire in the terms outlined by Hym ..."
Gerswin noted most of the questions, but few of the answers. From the pace of the inquiries from the professor, he began to understand why the major had gotten the reputation he had.
"Cadet Resia, you have just asserted that wars are caused by scarcities. If that were true, would not all warring between systems be non-existent?"
Cadet Resia did not answer, but kept his square face directly pointed toward the major.
"Come now. We have had wars between systems. I have some personal experience which I doubt is a fiction." At that, he raised a metal-bound arm. "Yet the costs of building jumpships, the energy costs of jumping with stored power, the relative abundance of raw materials in all but the most crowded systems-all these would indicate that scarcity could not be a motive for war except in a limited number of systems, say perhaps a dozen. Those systems, however, lack the knowledge and resources to build a jumpship space force."
"That doesn't prevent others from occupying them," observed a red-haired young woman in the first row.
"While I was prodding Cadet Resia, I will accept that observation. Cadet Karsten. If your interjection is true, then scarcity and weakness prompt others to war over the least desirable systems. Is not that the logical outcome of your observation?"
Gerswin frowned. If what the discussion was leading to actually followed, then war could only be fought for non-economic reasons.
"Would anyone else care to comment?" asked the major.
Gerswin looked down, finally pressing the red stud.
"You have a comment. Cadet Gerswin?"
"A question, ser. If wars aren't fought for material gain, does that mean that there are other logical reasons for war? Or material ones?" he added.
"The original question assumed there was a distinction, if you please, between wars within systems, and wars between systems. Are you questioning that distinction?"
"Yes, ser . . . I mean . . . no, ser . . . I mean ..." Gerswin closed his mouth.
"Would you like to clarify what you mean, Cadet Gerswin?"
"Yes, ser."
"Please do so."
"Ser, I wasn't going to question the distinction. Not sure now. Text indicates costs of war almost always outweigh the gains. Doesn't say that, but the numbers seem to-"
"What numbers. Cadet Gerswin?"
Gerswin repressed a sigh. "Looked up military budget differentials, reconstruction costs, death benefits ..."
"I'll accept that for purposes of discussion. Are you saying that the costs to even the victor outweigh the quantifiable benefits?"
"Yes, ser."
"Aha. Cadet Gerswin is suggesting that since the costs of war outweigh the benefits, no wars have a logical basis. A novel approach. Any takers?" Major Gonnell surveyed the hall again, his metal support skeleton swiveling him from side to side. "Any dissenters?"
Another sweep of the room followed.
"I see. Cadet Gerswin's suggestion is so novel none of you have considered it. Very well, your first submission, due in five days, is: 'Wars Have No Logical Basis.'
"The submission must be a proof, although documented anecdotal material may be used, and you must take a definite position. Any submission which fails to support or refute the illogicality of war will be failed."
The major surveyed the class once again before concluding in his rasping squeak, "Section dismissed."
"Ten'shen!"
The cadets snapped out of their seats to attention as the major departed.
Chapter XIV
"All hands! All hands! Stand by for jump! Stand by for jump!"
Gerswin laid back in his couch, made sure the webbing across his chest was tight, although there was scarcely any chance that it would be needed. As a second class cadet, he had no permanent duty assignment. Consequently, he had no station from which to watch the jump.
Only Tammilan had managed that, and only because the Fordin's number three navigator billet was unfilled. The missing officer had stepped in front of a lift loading a cargo shuttle less than an hour 'before orbit break. While the emergency releases had stopped the lift in time, not all of the weapon spares had been securely fastened, and the junior navigator was now recovering from multiple fractures in the I.S.S. medical facilities at Standora Base.
Gerswin waited for the blackness that filled the ship during the jump itself, that and the accompanying distortion. Supposedly, the jumps were instantaneous, but the longer the jump, the longer the subjective feeling of blackness and disorientation.
While Gerswin had been on a jumpship before the Fordin, this tour was his first trip since learning enough to understand what a jump really was. The upcoming jump was only the third since the cadets had boarded the Fordin off Alphane, using the Academy's shuttles to reach the cruiser.
The battlecruiser was headed for quarantine duty in the New Smyrna system, along with two other cruisers and two corvettes.
"Jump!"
BRrrinnngggg!'!'!'!
The jump alarm seemed to stretch out through the darkness like an organ reverberating in slowtime.
With his third jump, Gerswin could see that the blackness was not uniform, but a swirl of differing blacks, as if each had a different shape and depth.
Just as suddenly as the darkness had dropped over the colored plasteel corridors of the cruiser it was gone.
Gerswin unstrapped, checked his uniform, and scurried out of the closet-like room he shared with Tammilan. Since he was now assigned to the Gunnery department that was where he headed, down the corridor to the spool and in two layers to the central spoke.
No sooner had he entered the Gunnery operations center, with its spark screens and representation plots, than a voice boomed out.
"Cadet Gerswin!"
"Yes, ser."
"What is the maximum effective range of a Mark II?"
Gerswin braced himself. Lieutenant G'Maine, the junior of the three Gunnery officers, always tried the question on unwary cadets, or so Tammilan had told him.
"There is no effective range for a Mark II, ser, since there is no Mark II, ser."
"A smart cadet. Tell me, Mr. Gerswin, the difference between the calibration technology used in the tachead rangers and the EDI detectors."
Gerswin wished the lieutenant would quit booming out questions, but he remained at attention beside the detector console.
"Tacheads have no rangers; calibration is independent and based on mass detection proximity indications. EDI tracks are actually a flow ratio compared against background energy flows."
"A really smart cadet! Can you tell me, Mr. Gerswin, the power flow managed by this center at full utilization?"
"No, ser."
"Why not?"
"Because I don't know, ser."
"And why don't you know-"
"Lieutenant, would you spare the cadet for a moment? I have some rather menial and less intellectually demanding tasks for him."
Gerswin was glad someone had rescued him, though he did not recognize the voice. From the comer of his eye he caught a glimpse of the uniform, which seemed to be that of a major. If so, it had to be Major Trillo, the chief Gunner of the Fordin.
"Certainly, Major."
Gerswin waited.
"On your way, Mr. Cadet Gerswin."
"Yes, ser."
"And, Lieutenant," added the Major, "I also need a word with you after Cadet Gerswin is dispatched."
The lieutenant nodded, his blocky face bobbing up and down.
"Mr. Gerswin, don't stand there like a statue. We've all got things to do. Get on over here."
"Here" meant to the main console, which was a quarter of a deck high and at one end of the narrow room overlooking the banks of screens.
Gerswin stepped up.
Major Trillo was short, only to Gerswin's shouldeMevel, square, with shoulders broader than his, deep violet eyes, and short, black curly hair. Her voice was velvet over frozen iron.
One tech stood near her control seat, and the major looked, merely looked, and the tech retreated to the main operating screen level.
Gerswin was impressed. He felt more secure with the Lieutenant G'Maine's of the I.S.S.
"Gerswin, I can't blame you, but it's not smart to make your senior officers look stupid, even when they behave like robomules. You must have known what G'Maine would do. You had the answers down pat. If you'd played a little dumber, G'Maine could have crowed and been delighted to teach you all he knows, which isn't that much.
"Now, I'll have to make him responsible for teaching you more than he knows or he'll make everyone's life miserable. So ... if you don't leam everything he has to teach you and more, it will go in your record under lack of adaptability. But I don't expect that."
Unexpectedly, the major sighed. "Maybe it's better this way. I have an excuse to force him to leam more. But it takes more of my time, and I have little enough of that anyway. So put it all down to experience, and don't do it again. Do you understand?"
"Yes, ser." Gerswin nodded.
"Understand, Cadet Gerswin, I am not opposed to your knowing more than your superiors, nor to learning anything and everything you can. I am opposed to junior officers flaunting such knowledge when it is totally unnecessary. Do you understand that?"
"Yes, ser."
"Further, young man, if you breathe a word -of this conversation to anyone, I will insure that you spend the rest of this cruise on maintenance detail and that there is a half-black on your cruise file."
Gerswin swallowed, swallowed hard. A half-black amounted almost to a bust-out. A half-black with a year to go at the Academy-only two had ever graduated with a half-black, only two in the last century, according to the rumors.
"Yes, ser."
Major Trillo smiled, and the smile was friendly.
"If you understand, you've learned more from this encounter than some officers leam in an entire career."
Her voice hardened slightly. "For the past week, the ES section has been promising to reclaim the contents of the repair and recycle locker and take back the material. Would you please gather it all together-all the junk in bin ER-7 over there-and take it down to the E-section senior tech, Erasmus.
"On the way back, stop by the Mess and bring back two cafes, one liftea, and whatever you would like."
"Yes, ser."
"And don't mind Erasmus. He'll grouse."
The major switched her attention from the cadet to the screen, effectively dismissing him.
Gerswin found a snapbag two bins away from the one labeled ER-7 and carefully placed in it all the mysterious pieces of the transequips and solicube segments.
He wondered if the major saw through his carefully cultivated facade, if she read the contempt he tried to avoid displaying when he ran across Service types who fancied themselves great warriors. Most wouldn't have lasted a night on the high plains.
His lips quirked as he thought about the major. He had no doubts that she would have survived anywhere.
At the Academy he had avoided cadet rank, had tried to blend into the middle of the class. He had been successful, except in the physical development classes. Even there, he'd minimized his strength by concentrating on skill-oriented combat forms, or on learning and mastering the range of energy weapons.
His reflexes made him number one in unarmed combat. He could usually beat the instructors, when he tried, but he made certain that he never won all the time. Instead he worked on learning new techniques until perfected, at which point he began to leam a new repertoire.
He shook his head and concentrated fully on placing each component within a separate insulated section of the carrying case.
Finding E section was harder than he had anticipated, since it wasn't listed except by spoke and frame number. He had to retrace his steps twice before he knocked and stepped inside.
