Enjoy this free ebook! Write me and tell me what you thought
of this book (at Steve2 "at" allreaders.com)!
Feel free to save this at any time in your hard drive
by clicking on "file" in the upper left hand corner than
"save as" so you can finish reading it at your leisure.
Future Park
By Steven Gordon
Prologue: A slice of Day Five
It was all just a game....
"Now entering the cloud, sir," said Lieutenant Booz. Their visual
started to go foggy.
"Still not picking anything up," said Commander Cassra. She studied
her imager like a hawk, eagerly waiting for the first blip to appear.
They knew a ship was out there, and Cassra felt in her bones that it
was a Raster vessel.
"We must locate that ship. Keep trying to alter imager frequency and
wavelength," said Captain North. "Mr. Barr, weapons status?"
Barr checked his console. "All weapons charged. Missiles in the
tubes."
"Lightscreens?" said North. Rats, Wong was gone. He rushed to Wong's
console. The lightscreens were up, and at full power.
"Got something," said Cassra, studying her imager display. "No, now
it's gone."
"Did you get an ID?" said North.
"No, but it was close," she said. Her face looked tense.
"Mr. Booz, how long before we penetrate cloud?" Was that mystery ship a
Raster? And where was it? They couldn't see it. The ship would be a
sitting duck for an attack. North fretted over this. They must get
the ship out of the cloud!
"Ah, about four or five minutes to penetrate cloud, Captain."
"Keep your eyes peeled on the imagers, everyone," North ordered. "Keep
trying to alternate the frequencies and wavelengths." He wanted them
all to be at peak efficiency, at the highest state of alert.
A few seconds later Cassra broke the tense silence. "Got it!" she
yelled.
"What?" said North.
"It was only for a few seconds, just long enough for a lock on. It`s a
Raster ship. More I couldn't tell," she said. Her face clouded. It
was just as they feared.
Suddenly, the ship was hit. Everyone was jostled about in their chairs
as the entire room thrashed from side to side.
"Damage-" North said, stopping himself. Wong was gone. The post was
unmanned. "Booz, take over Wong's post. Get me a damage report."
Booz staggered over to Wong's post. He sat there, dazed.
"What's wrong?" said North.
"I'm... I'm not familiar with these controls. It's going to take a few
seconds.~ He looked a little disoriented as he stared at the complex
console, which was full of instrumentation and indicators and screens.
"Do the best you can." North cursed under his breath. He could use
several SF officers about now. North hit the intercom switch on his
chair. "Wong!" he yelled.
The ship buckled as it was hit again. This time the lights flickered
momentarily.
"I can't get the target!" said Barr. He turned to Cassra. "Get us a
lock on!"
"I can't find the target!" she repeated back to him.
The ship was suddenly hit again, more violently than before. North
fell from his chair. A babble of voices rose around him. Electrical
systems sputtered and died. He heard a faint whirring in the
background as if the ship itself were in its death throes.
It was just a game, just a game, North tried to tell himself. He was
in a simulator at Grey's World, not outer space; he had come here a
scant five days ago. But, as the ship started to fall apart around
him, North had a hard time convincing himself that he was in a
simulation....
Day One: Arrival
The giant passenger plane descended as it approached the landing
strip.
One of the passengers turned in his seat. His eyes were closed,
but his body kept jerking left and right.
The power was failing! There was no power to the weapons! The
ship was dead in space. The enemy was coming around for a final pass.
He must get power! He tried to reestablish the link to engineering,
but couldn't. The enemy ship loomed large on the viewscreen.
Closer... closer... a beam of light shot out from it, blasting into his
ship-
"Attention passengers," a voice over the p.a said. "We will be
landing at the new Alexandria International Airport in just a few
minutes. For those of you heading north-"
A passenger sat up with a jolt, as if awakened out of a dream.
"-to Grey's World, ambassadors will be on hand at the gate to
welcome you."
The passenger, wide awake now, nonetheless kept his eyes closed.
He could feel his back was covered with sweat. His whole body was
tense. Gradually he forced his muscles to relax.
"North? North?"
The passenger shook his head, as if he were hearing echoes.
"North? Are you Norman North?"
That did it. The passenger opened his eyes. He was about 5'
11", slim, and had dark hair parted to the side. And his name was
Norman North.
Focusing his eyes, North noticed his companion. He was sitting
two seats over, and was staring at North. He was a little shorter than
North, and a little heavier, though not quite fat. He peered out at
North through thin unrimmed glasses.
North took a deep breath. Slowly it came back to him. He had
been dreaming... about Space Command. Little else had been on his mind
lately, so this was hardly a surprise. He couldn't remember much
from the dream; only that he was helpless, caught in a totally helpless
situation.
North blinked. The man was still staring at him.
"You're Norman North," said the stranger.
North nodded, forcing a grin. "You have the advantage of me,
stranger." Had he cried out while he had been asleep?
If he did, the man did not make mention of it. "Forgive me," his
companion said, his head bobbing up and down. "David Booz. Sorry to
wake you like that-"
"-it's ok, I was already awake," North assured him.
"-But I recognized you, and just wanted to tell you how much I
admired your work in the Norway campaign."
North smiled. That had been a tough one. It had been nearly
five years ago, a grueling four day campaign at the international
strategic wargaming playoffs. Norway was where North had achieved his
first stunning victory that had attracted world-wide attention in the
gaming community. After several days of protracted stalemate on the
battlefield, North had executed a series of company-sized pincer
maneuvers that had won him a sudden victory.
"I bet I know where you're going," said Booz, with a grin.
"Grey's World, right?"
North nodded.
"As a player, not a tourist, right?"
North nodded again.
"Don't tell me, let me guess... you're going for the Presidency.
No, cancel that. Of course, you're going for the Battle Games."
North shook his head. "No. I'm going for Space Command." But
Battle Gaming would have been a good guess. A few years ago, that was
the only realm in Grey's World that North ever frequented. But he had
gotten tired of the Battle Games. Victories came too quickly. He
wanted a new challenge.
And yet North also felt a little uneasy about his decision to go
to Space Command. It was a new realm, and in a new realm there was
always the risk of losing. North had built up an enormous reputation
in the Battle Games, and he was not ready to quickly squander it.
True, he had performed capably enough in the Presidency and the Agency,
but word had it that Space Command was the most challenging of the Grey
realms. And if North fell on his face in Space Command everyone would
know. Everyone.
That was why he had to succeed. That was why he had to make
captain, why he had to command the mission, why he had to outperform
everyone else. That was what was expected of him.
"Space Command?" Booz seemed quite surprised. "That's where I'm
going! But why is a fellow like you going to Space Command? You'll
make Captain, to be sure. But you'll command only what, four or five
men? If you were in the Battle Games you could command, what,
battalion sized units, is that what they're up to now?"
North agreed that they were.
The plane touched down on the ground, and they landed with a soft
bump. After a pause, they started their taxi to the gate.
"So why are you going for Space Command?"
North sighed. Wherever he went, he was always deluged by well-
wishers who recognized him. But this Booz fellow seemed nice enough.
"I've always liked strategic landgames, and always will. But my real
love, my first love, is commanding a starship. Trouble was, there
hasn't been any competitions in this area, at least not until recently.
Space Command just opened up last year, as you know."
"Makes sense," said Booz, nodding vigorously. "Excuse me for
saying so, Mr. North, but I hope I'm on your team!"
The plane stopped. They had reached the gate.
"Thanks, but I don't know if I'll make Captain," he said
truthfully. The passengers started to rise from their seats. "Perhaps
I'll be on your team. And call me Norman. Or Norm," said Norman
North.
They disembarked from the plane. As they filed out of the gate
they found their luggage, neatly lined up on a linear conveyor belt,
waiting for them. This was the official airline of Grey's World, and
efficient and courteous service was required. Once they had acquired
their luggage, most of the passengers, predictably, veered to the
right, away from the big sign "Welcome to Alexandria', instead going
down the tunnel with the sign over it that read, 'Grey World Embassy".
At the entrance to the tunnel were two attendents, clad in formal
grey. Their smiling, cheerful demeanor infected the flight-weary
passengers.
All except one. Clad in a formal tie and jacket, one passenger
retained a sour expression. He stood there, at the entrance to Grey's
World, staring first at the Alexandria sign, and then at the Grey's
World one. He scowled. How could so many people chose fantasy over
reality? How was it possible that so many people could be lured, by an
impossible dream? Just where was the world going to?
"Mr. Dustin?"
He looked up. One of the attendants had approached him. "How
did you know who-," he began, his scowl only deepening.
The attendant smiled. "We were told to expect you on this
flight, of course."
Of course. "But how did you know what I looked like?" Dustin
wanted to know. He was well known, but in name only; most people could
not pick his thin, frowning face out of a crowd.
"We were provided a picture of you so we could identify you, and
provide service if needed," smiled the attendant. "After all, we want
your experience at Grey's World to be a pleasant one."
"Starting the minute I get off the plane?" said Dustin, still
suspicious. He knew they would give him the velvet treatment. Well,
he wouldn't let that sway him. He had a job to do, and he was going to
be impartial.
"Yes sir," said the attendant. "Starting the minute you enter
the tunnel. That's official Grey's World territory, ceded by the
state, Mr. Dustin sir. We care very much about details, sir. Even if
you weren't one of the most famous writers for the Times, we still
would work to ensure your pleasure. Look!" he said, indicating his
companion. The other usher was making silly faces at a group of young
children passing by. The children were laughing hysterically.
Dustin looked at the children, and then back at the sign over the
tunnel. He picked up his bags.
"Enjoy your vacation, sir," said the attendant. "And do try to
have a good time."
Dustin grimaced. Of course, they knew that he was here to write
a piece on Grey's World, but they were still laying it on pretty thick.
Dustin wondered why he had agreed to come here in the first place. It
had all started when he had written a series of critical articles about
Grey's World. It seemed obvious to him that the place was a fraud, a
sham, a waste of real estate that charged exhorbitant fees while at the
same time deluding visitors into thinking they were having a "good
time" in their mindless games. So Grey's World had publically
challenged Dustin to come and take a firsthand look for himself.
Dustin couldn't really refuse, so here he was. But now he was
beginning to regret it. The phoniness of the place disgusted him.
Still, it seemed to Dustin that he held all the cards; he could
come to Grey's World and still give it a bad write-up, which would make
Grey's World look foolish, to say the least. From a lesser reporter it
might not matter, but Dustin was one of the most prominent
investigative reporters at the Times. If he did a real muckraking
about Grey's World, he could seriously tarnish its reputation.
The passengers from the plan entered a long, downward sloping
tunnel. They didn't have to walk, not a step, because they were
standing on a motorized walkway which smoothly but surely took them to
the end of the passage.
When the passengers came to the end of the descending tunnel and
stepped off, they found themselves in a wide cavern. Enormous
stalagtites and stalagmites, highlighted by powerful spotlights,
attracted more than a number of oooh's and aaah's. A huge three
dimensional hologram hung in the air. "Welcome to Grey's World!" it
said. In the background they heard the Grey's World anthem.
That nut Grey really acts like it's his own country, Dustin
thought. Grey had a large degree of autonomy control on the local
level, but the park's land was still part of the United States. But
Grey was trying to deny that reality.
"Is there a problem, Mr. Dustin?" said a smiling woman attendant.
Dustin blinked. Did every employee know who he was? Looking
around, he saw that the other passengers were putting their luggage
back on a conveyor belt.
"Why did we pick up our luggage just to give it back again?" he
thundered.
The woman smiled at him, ready with an answer. "You picked up
your luggage to insure that it arrived with you. Once you enter Grey's
World we accept full responsibility for it. It will be sent to your
hotel room, now that it's been tagged." She looked at the tag on
Dustin's luggage. "Grey," she said, smiling. "You're a special guest,
Mr. Dustin. It's not often that people, even prominent reporters such
as yourself, get inside tours of Grey's World. This way, please."
Dustin followed her. As he looked back, he saw that his luggage
had been lifted up and loaded on a conveyor belt, winding into a cavern
tunnel. Dustin followed the other passengers. They were assembling on
a platform farther down in the cavern. Suddenly, a travel tube
silently pulled in. It was like a chain of subway cars, only each car
was spherical in shape, and its motion was both smooth and silent.
Tense with anticipation, the passengers filed into the travel tube.
There were seats enough for everyone. The travel tube, though crowded,
was clean, and well lit. In front of each car was a screen.
The doors hissed shut, and the travel tube started to move. The
acceleration was so smooth that Dustin had to look out the window to
see that they had left the station. Now all that could be seen was the
blackness of the curving tunnel walls. Dustin had no way to tell, but
he sensed that the travel tube was going fast, incredibly fast.
"Welcome!" said a voice.
Dustin turned. The screen had come alive. North and Booz,
sitting several seats ahead, also turned to the screen.
A middle age but handsome man appeared on the screen.
"Welcome to Grey's World!" he said. And then, "I am Ernest
Grey."
There was a murmur in the travel tube.
"For those of you who are here for the very first time, I greet
you. You are about to live through a series of the most amazing
experiences in your life. And, for those of you who are returning
guests, perhaps we'll find something new to keep you interested."
There was a twinkle in his eye when he said that. Everyone knew that
Grey's World was constantly growing, constantly expanding.
"Many of you are going to Grey City, the nucleus of Grey's World.
Grey City is the home of a number of lively attractions, shops, and
restaurants. But they're all in different time zones. You start out
in traditional 18th century America, the land of the settlers. See how
the metal was forged, the candles made, the bread baked--and do be sure
to sample the bread, it's reputed to be the best in all of Grey City.
After that you can move on to the 19th century, where you can get a
taste of the wild west. Watch a bank being robbed, or enjoy a pitcher
of ale at the local saloon, or join the rodeo, it's all up to you.
Beyond that is the 20th century, the idealic 1950's. Plain and simple,
as we used to call it. After that there's the future zone, where you
can take the moving walkway into the mall, or watch a robot orchestra,
or go window shopping to see what the stores of the future will be
selling. Like this golf putter specially designed for four armed
robots." Grey held up a club with two handles. "Pretty neat, no?"
"After you've explored the city, you can go to the gaming tower,
eleven floors of fun and excitement. Play a game of baseball against
our best robot players on the roof. Or match intellects with our
computers on the seventh floor in cunning mind games. Or play netfall
on the first floor, defying gravity while having a good time too."
Grey's picture was briefly replaced by a picture of youngsters leaping
from an elevated structure into a net below.
"Of course, no visit to Grey's World would be complete without a
visit to Sanctuary Park."
There was a murmur in the travel tube.
Grey grinned. Obviously, although this was a prerecorded
statement, Mr. Grey seemed to know when to pause. "You've heard of the
Park, have you? Our earth engineers have adapted a wide range of
geographical features for your relaxation pleasure. Climb Mount Grey,
or take the escalator up." The picture showed an escalator going up a
tall, imposing mountain. "Or go for some swim fun in Serene Lake."
The image cut to a person being shot from a tube, flying out in a
downward arc towards the lake. "We have many sorts of boating." Now
the image was of peddleboaters, row boaters, canoes, even hovercraft.
"And we've just recently introduced submarines. But if you'd like a
personalized tour of the lake, why not go underneath it? Our park
rangers lead fascinating tours of the glass corridor under Lake Serene,
as well as the Gem Caves and the great waterfalls." Grey looked
thoughtful. "And I highly recommend eating at the park. The food
there is the best in all of Grey's World." He leaned closer to the
camera. "And that's quite a compliment."
Most of the travel tube passengers, even the first timers, had
knowing grins on their faces. Dustin wondered what they were all
smiling about. He had seen the brochure about Sanctuary Park, too.
There were specially designed lakes, a clever river works, some nicely
engineered cliffs and terraces; but nothing monumental.
For Norman North, though, the Park meant something special. He
remembered the first time he had been there, just after he had led his
team to victory in the Battle Games. He had been only a company
commander then; the game had not been big enough to accomodate
battalions. North remembered how he and his senior officers had hiked
up the mountain of terraces. It had been a lovely spring day, and the
view from the uppermost terrace of the valley below had been simply
unparalleled.
"But I'm sure that if you've come this far, you won't stop at
Grey City, or the Park," said Grey. "By all means feel free to visit
our other Grey Realms. There's the Presidency, of course, complete
with a Mall, White House, Washington Monument, and the Lincoln
Memorial, bounded on one end by Capitol Hill, and on the other by the
Potomic." Grey took a deep breath. "Our Potomic."
There was a scattered laughter in the travel tube.
"Or, there's the training academy at the Battle Games. You can
watch the troops in training, or, if you'd like a closer view of the
real thing, spectator outposts have been set up all across the battle
zone, so you can watch the game in the comfort of an elevated and air
conditioned command post."
Grey smiled, almost to himself, as if he had forgotten something.
"Oh, and this year, we've introduced short games for the tourists.
That's right, we'll be running a series of thirty, sixty, and ninety
minute games in the old gaming areas by the departure ramp, just for
the tourists. I hear they've been cooking up some interesting
scenarios."
"And, I'm proud to say, we've just added a new Grey Realm to
Grey's World... Space Command! All tourists are welcome to blast off
to Space Station Victory and have a look at our brand new outpost in
the sky. From there tourists can go to our base on the moon, or board
the Sword Flash and take a flight to the ruins on Tau Ceti. Or, if
you're winded, you can just relax and enjoy the entertainment on Space
Station Victory, or just take in the view. I hear the view of the
Earth is lovely during this time of year."
There were a few more chuckles in the travel tube.
"Yes, I think the tourists will find something to amuse
themselves. But then, not all of you are tourists, I expect. A few of
you, a scant few of you, are players."
Suddenly, everyone in the travel tube was silent.
"The players, yes," said Grey. "If you're going to the Agency,
you'd best get off at Grey City and report to administration. The
Agency is just about our oldest Grey Reality, but we've managed to keep
it interesting. If you're a repeat offender, and have been here
before, let us know at the desk, and we'll make sure you get a
challenging scenario. We've fourteen of them now, dealing with
kidnappings, industrial esponiage, infiltration, and counter
intelligence, to name just a few, so I trust even old time spy masters
won't be bored."
"Of course, some players would probably prefer a more lively
time, which is why we have the Battle Games. All Battle Games players
are to report to recruiting, where they will be tested, trained, and
assigned a unit, a rank, and a mission. We now have twenty two
scenarios at the Battle Games, more than at any other Grey Reality. We
have games leading up to battalion size strength, that's nearly 500 men
that two lucky generals will have the honor of commanding. Given the
successful introduction of grenade technology into the campaigns, this
year we're adding new mortar equipment. We've also constructed more
intricate fortifications and introduced more complex victory
conditions. And, to top it off, we've recently added agents and double
agents, to introduce a wildcard element into the games."
"Sure you won't go for the Battle Games, Norm?" said Booz.
North, grinning, shook his head.
"And then there's the Presidency. This Grey Realm has become so
popular that we've not only expanded the scenarios but the number of
participants. Players will continue to play the President and his
cabinet secretaries, as always. But we've also formulated player roles
for top diplomats in the State Department as well as senior Pentagon
officials. This year there are seven scenarios to choose from,
including international economic crises, rescue operations, and
invasions."
Grey paused. "And now we come to our newest, and, I confess, my
favorite Grey realm, Space Command. While we still have only three
scenarios to offer, I think, I know, that thousands of you have applied
for spaceship duty. The competition has been great; the waiting list
stretches from here to Tau Ceti." He grinned again. "It's still a new
realm, I won't get into any specifics and spoil it for our prospective
players, but all I'll say is that Space Command will... take them to
their limits. And beyond."
Grey paused for a moment, letting his words sink in. Then he
said, "Of course, that's not the end. There is no end. Even as I
speak, a new Grey Realm is being constructed: Swords and Magic. It
will open its doors in less than two years, and then players will be
able to fight dragons and goblins and wizards. With swords. And
magic. Just as advertised. A tall order? Not for Grey's World."
"That's what Grey's World is all about: making the impossible
possible." Dustin sensed that the tube was beginning to slow. "That's
about all I have to say, except for one other thing, and this is a
command, the highest of all in Grey's World: enjoy yourself. Leave
your work and your worries outside of my domain. If there's anything
you want, or any suggestion you'd like to offer, speak up! Our people
are here to serve you! Enjoy your stay in my land."
The passengers were actually clapping. Dustin could not
understand it. It was all hype. But these gullible tourists were all
taken in by all the P.R. Well, he, Dustin, would not be swayed. The
tube slowed to a stop, and the doors opened. Everyone exited.
Several miles away two individuals sat at a viewscreen. Right now
it was focused on the image of the travel tube platform that Dustin was
traversing.
He doesn't seem very open-minded, Mr. Grey.
That's why we brought him here, Laker. He is the most prominent
of our critics. If we can convince him-
Begging your pardon, sir, but we don't need to convince him.
Grey's World has incredibly positive public relations.
I'm not satisfied. I'm not satisfied while we have one critic.
But if we fail to convince him it will blow up in our faces.
Imagine the headlines, "I went to Grey's World, and was unimpressed."
It's a risk I'm willing to take. This is not about PR; you're
right, our public image could hardly be higher. This is about
convincing. If I can convince our most prominent critic, I'll feel I
accomplished something.
Sir-
I wouldn't expect you to understand, Laker. You have to be in my
shoes. When I started out on Grey's World, everyone was a critic, even
my closest friends, my closest relatives. One by one they were made
to see that I was right, that this was a good and worthy effort that
could and did succeed. I want to conquer this man. I want to appeal
to his reason... no, I take that back. I want to appeal to his senses.
He clearly has his own biases, to be sure. But I believe that he is
capable of being influenced by this environment. My environment.
I'll do my best to see that he is, sir.
You do that, Laker. But don't go overboard. Think of it as a
game. Everyone here gets to play games but me. This, this little
experiment is my game. Now you'd better get out there. He'll be
arriving at Academy soon. Oh, wait- did you notice who was on the
travel tube with him?
North, sir?
Norman North. He's back again. He's going for Space Command,
isn't he?
I believe so, sir.
I'm sure he'll make Captain. He's one of our best gamers.
But sir, he's never played Space Command before. He's a Battle
Gamer. The relevant skills are very different.
He will make Captain. I know him. And don't be surprised if he
sets a new all-time high score in this area, too. You know... I just
had an idea. You were going to let Dustin monitor a game, start to
finish, correct?
Yes, sir. We were thinking of tying him into the Presidency Game
starting on Thursday-
Cancel that. Keep the rest of the itinerary, but link him up
with North's game instead.
Sir, are you sure that's wise? Dustin is a political
correspondent. He would more readily identify with the Presidency
scenario-
I'm sure.
But Mr. Grey, he might not even like science fiction-
No, I'm going to trust a hunch on this one, Laker. I'm betting
that North will put on such a show that will by comparison make the
Presidency players look like a bunch of tame politicos.
(Sigh) I know that once your mind is made up-
Good, then stop wasting time and meet Dustin. And arrange for me
to meet him.
Meet Dustin?
And North. Separately, of course. Now get a move on, you're
late already.
The passengers exited the travel tube. An escalator led up,
presumably to the planet surface, with a big sign hanging before it.
ALL TOURISTS AND PLAYERS GOING FOR BATTLE GAMES OR SPACE COMMAND
MUST REPORT TO WARDROBE BEFORE GOING FURTHER. An arrow pointed to the
right.
Dustin, North, Booz, and a significant number of other passengers
peeled off to the men's half of the wardrobe area. North matched the
number of his Grey's World ID card with a locker in the wardrobe
chamber. North put his card into the appropriate slot, and the locker
popped open. Inside he found a blue uniform. He took a breath. This
was the uniform of a Space Command Blue. There was no rank on it, of
course; for now, he was only a cadet. But North was pleased
nonetheless. He quickly changed, finding that the clothes fit him
perfectly. Even the long black spacemen's boots were snug.
Booz was clad in a similar fashion. But he and North were the
exceptions rather than the rule. Most of the people going to Space
Command were clad in the blue uniforms, but with a telltale white
stripe around their waists. These were the tourists. Similarly, most
of those going to the Battle Games had a white stripe circling the
waists of their green fatigues. Now that it was painfully apparent who
was who, some of the tourists could not help but be envious of those
without the white stripes: the players.
Dustin, in a player uniform, did not feel proud. Indeed, he felt
silly. Why did he have to get dressed up in this ridiculous costume?
What was the point? He noted the white stripe that seemed so important
to the players and the tourists. Grey's people certainly went to pains
to keep the players apart from the tourists.
North put his old clothes into the locker, slamming it shut. He
and the others returned to the escalator. After they climbed it, they
found themselves on a platform overlooking Grey City. The Gaming Tower
stood in the distance, and beyond the City he could see part of
Sanctuary Park.
"I hope I get an opportunity to see it again," whispered North,
staring at Mount Grey in the distance. When he had been in the Battle
Games, he had had the chance; but he hadn't been briefed on his
itinerary for Space Command, and didn't know if he would have the time.
The training would probably be more extensive; North realized that in
many ways, commanding a spaceship was more difficult than commanding a
Battle Games company. In addition, once he was graduated from Academy
and posted to Space Station Victory, North didn't know whether he would
easily be able to return to Earth. Of course, North knew that the
space station was really on the Grey's World park grounds, but the
rules of the game, the rules of Grey's World, nonetheless required a
shuttle ride back and forth.
"Sure, we'll get shore leave," said Booz.
North just stared at the cliff.
An attendant approached them. "Mr. North?" she smiled.
North did not ask how she recognized him. "Yes?" he said.
"This way, sir. The next strip to Academy will be leaving in
just a few minutes."
"Thank you." North and Booz followed the signs for Space
Command. Other passengers and tourists peeled off for the Presidency,
the Battle Games, Sanctuary Park, or simply disembarked at Grey City.
But others had stopped to admire the view. A glint of afternoon
sunlight reflected off the Gaming Tower. And the view of Sanctuary
Park was very enticing. The rolling green hills seemed almost
hypnotizing, calling to them in a not so subtle way. In front and to
the right of the hills the famed Glass Tower glinted in the sunlight.
But Dustin was not impressed, except, perhaps by the sheer waste
of it all. All these resources, were being wasted, wasted, wasted on
such a silly fantasy idea. And yet people continued to be spellbound
by it. Was there really something to it? Well, he would make a
firsthand determination of his own.
"Excuse me, but if you're heading for the Battle Games, the
Presidency, or Space Command, transportation is leaving now," the
attendants announced.
Dustin turned away, heading down the platform. But other lookers
were not so quick to leave, and attendants milled about, prodding the
visitors to disembark. One attendent was hailed by a visitor.
"Excuse, please," said a passenger. "I going to Space Command.
What way to go?" The attendant thought he was a tourist from the Far
East. She was part right; Songsu Wong was from Asia. Thailand, to be
precise. And he was a player, not a tourist. At the moment he wore a
thoughtful expression, tinged with puzzlement.
"That way, sir," said an attendant.
"You're going to Space Command?"
Wong turned. He found himself facing a young woman. She had an
angular face, with nearly shoulder length straight brown hair combed
meticulously to the sides. "You're going to Space Command?" she
repeated. She knew the answer, of course; not only was he clad in
blue, but, like her, he didn't have a tell-tale tourist stripe around
his waist. They were players, both of them.
"Yes," said Songsu, not quite sure what to make of her.
"I'm going too; we'd better start walking, before they leave
without us."
They headed off the platform. "My name's Donna Cassra. What's
yours?"
"I am Songsu Wong. It is very good to meet you," he said slowly
but clearly.
They shook hands, even as they walked. "Same here. I don't know
anyone here. Is this your first time at Grey's World?"
"Yes. First time here. And you?"
"Nope," she said, shaking her head. "I'm a regular. This is my
forth time."
"Have you done Space Command before?"
"Ha! You think I got this ticket in the auction? I was on the
waiting list, just like everyone else. Space Command is the newest
Grey Realm, you know, and everyone is just clamoring to get in. I hear
there's even a long wait just to be a tourist there, much less a
player."
"You are expert."
They walked down a ramp; it seemed they were going underground
again.
"No," said Cassra, grinning. "My past experiences were in the
Agency. I was a pretty good spy, I admit, although I was most skilled
in analysis. But how I'll do in Space Command is anyone's guess.."
"You wish be Captain?"
"Ha! I wish. I'd settle for science officer, weapons officer
maybe. So long as I don't get ship's functions." That was the last
thing Cassra wanted. She understood that SF work involved nuts and
bolts engineering, and she wanted no part of it.
"I... wish for ship's functions," said Wong shyly.
"You do?" she said. That surprised her. "Why, Songsu? That's
among the least sought after positions. You know, of course, that once
you're a player, you're a player. You can't be weeded out, unless you
deliberately disobey the rules, of course. Since you're here for the
whole week, why not try for the best?"
"I want ship's functions," said Wong, with some tenacity. "I
good with power systems... especially computer." That was an
understatement. Wong was a veritable expert.
"Really?" said Cassra, eyebrows raised. "What do you do in real
life? Are you a computer analyst?"
Wong shook his head. "Not analyst. Designer."
"Oh." Cassra thought for a moment. "Then you'll probably get
what you want. Real life experiences can help in Grey's World. Say,
where're you from?"
"LA. But originally from China. Through Thailand."
"Well, you've done a lot of travelling."
They found themselves underground, on a platform adjacent to a
tunnel. But it was no travel tube that arrived at the platform. They
saw a row of moving chairs that descended into a tunnel. The chairs
slowed, and came to a stop by the platform.
The Space Command tourists and players took their seats in the
unusual underground subway. The players were directed to sit in the
front, apart from the tourists. Cassra offhandedly wondered why they
were being separated from the others.
"What you do?" said Wong.
"My job?" said Cassra, distracted by their rather unique form of
transportation, which had just started to pick up speed. Of course,
the chairs were not really moving; rather, it was the floor underneath
them which was accelerating. The chairs were padded, and comfortable,
and automatic seatbelts prevented the travellers from suffering any
mishap. Screens and speakers were built into the back of every chair.
"I'm a junior manager at Metatrex. Ever heard of us? We do a
lot of work with steel, iron ore and the like. We're involved in
mining, melting, and cutting the stuff for shipment. The job doesn't
have much in common with Agency work. Or Space Command, either, for
that matter." She was about to say something else, but the screens
came to life. All the passengers, including North and Booz, who were
sitting several seats forward, and Dustin, who was sitting four rows
behind Cassra, watched as a Space Command Captain appeared on the
screen in front of her.
"Greetings, cadets. I am Captain Martin Trailer of Space Command
Academy. At this time I am Captain of the Academy Watch Guard, and I
will welcome you personally when you arrive at Space Command in...
approximately 8.4 minutes."
Cassra realized that not only was this a live message, but it was
a message solely intended for the players. Did the tourists merit a
live message? Probably not, she thought.
"The procedure will be as follows. When you arrive at Academy
there will be the welcoming ceremony. You will march out of transit
area in two lines. An officer will lead each line. Simply follow the
cadet in front of you, and listen for the verbal commands, and I'm
confident that you'll enjoy an pleasant beginning at Space Command. I
hope to meet you all in... a little over seven minutes." Captain
Trailer's face was replaced by the image of a flaring rocket. The
image of Space Command.
When they exited the underground subway, the players were
directed down a different passageway apart from the tourists. After
climbing an escalator, they found themselves in a Space Command
stationpost, adjacent to the parade field. Two officers met them.
They, like all commissioned astronauts at Space Command, had the
telltale silver striped sleeves, as well as insignia of rank.
"Welcome," said a Space Command officer. "I am Lieutenant Jamez,
and this is Lieutenant Walters. We are your parade leaders. Please
line up, in this order." They read a series of names. The cadets took
their place in the lines. Dustin cynically wondered why all the pomp
and circumstance was necessary. But the other cadets didn't analyze
the situation; they were all too busy writhing in anticipation.
The cadets lined up as trumpets blared outside. They heard the
murmur of a crowd gathering.
"Just in time," said Jamez. "Everyone, prepare to move out."
Booz looked outside the window. There appeared to be a crowd
gathered there. "What if we make a mistake?" he gulped.
Jamez smiled at him. "Don't worry; you won't. Just follow the
lead of the man in front of you. Don't look so grim! You're all about
to be inducted into Academy!"
A horn blew, low and long. Jamez and Walters started the
procession out of the stationpost. They halted the line when they had
gotten halfway to the gates. North could see that the parade ground,
wide and long, extended to the gates of Academy on one side, and the
debarkation area on the other. Two platoons of Blues awaited them at
the gate. The first, a platoon of musicians, were playing the harsh
but proud anthem of Space Command. The second was an armed rifle
platoon, undoubtedly on ceremonial duty. To the side of the parade
grounds were crowds of the Blues. But as North looked closely he saw
that they all had white stripes at their waists. These were the very
tourists the players had travelled with to Space Command! North could
not help but smile; he and the other players were being used to provide
some authenticity to the atmosphere for the sake of the tourists. Grey
had a stake in keeping the tourists happy, too.
The anthem ended. Booz noticed for the first time the fluttering
flag of the Space Command hanging over the gate. The image on the flag
was one of a rocket, spouting flame from its bottom. Suddenly, the
armed rifle platoon, prompted by a drummer, started marching. They
marched slowly in step to the point where the players were lined up.
When they reached the players, they halted, as if waiting for a signal.
Then, Jamez and Walters started marching, and both lines of players
moved forward. The rifle platoon escorted them, being careful not to
put themselves between the players and the onlooking tourists. The
drumbeat of the musicians spurred them on, erasing any of the doubts or
worries the players might have had.
Captain Martin Trailer of the Academy Watch Guard stood at the
gate, his sword drawn, his lips pursed. Of all the rotating posts he
held at Space Command, this one made him the most nervous. He never
liked the idea of parading new players in front of the tourists. New
players were unpredictible, and even well-meaning players could stumble
out of fear or nervousness, although an incident had never occurred,
not on his watch. Trailer knew the arguments in favor of this ceremony;
it gave the players the firm sense that they were being inducted into a
Grey Reality. There was also a double bonus; the tourists would see
that outsiders were accepting Space Command as reality, and they in
turn would begin to accept it as such.
The players and their platoon escort marched to the gate, and
stopped. The drummers played down to a silence.
"Platoon.... face right," yelled Nayler, speaking loudly but
clearly. The players smartly turned a quarter clockwise.
Trailer sheathed his sword. "Welcome to Space Command!" he said.
"All tourists are hereby welcomed to pass this gate and enter this
realm. You will find quick and easy transporation to Space Station
Victory to your right. Unfortunately, the cadets who stand before me
will not be joining you."
There was an audible gasps from the tourists. They were to
receive better treatment then the players?
Trailer grinned, knowing what they were thinking. "Not for
several days, at least. For they are to be trained here at Academy."
He waved his hand to the building in back of him, to a sprawling metal
complex behind the gate.
Trailer addressed the cadets, and he said "Cadets, are you now
ready to join Space Command?"
And the cadets cried "Yes sir!"
Trailer studied the cadets. "You have come far to be here. But
when you step through the grounds, you will go a step farther. Your
task will be difficult, it will always be difficult, but you will also
find it rewarding.
"I will now read the roll. You will step forward, to the gate,
when your name is called."
Booz was the second one called. Dustin was third. When North
was called, an oooh went up among the cadets. They had heard of him.
North and Trailer ignored the commentary, and North stepped forward, as
smartly as he could. When the last cadet had passed into the gate,
Trailer said, "Commander! Dismiss the men."
With a whoop of joy the tourists passed through the gates, most
of them heading for Space Station Victory. The cadet-players, though
not immediately heading into space, were also exhuberent. They had
finally made it, Booz thought. After months on the waiting list, the
long flight, and the protracted arrival, he had made it. Here he was,
a player at Grey's World, and one of the first people to become a Space
Command Blue. As they marched into Academy, Booz was not the only
cadet grinning.
Good work, Captain Trailer. Now, where may I find Mr. Dustin?
Well, Mr. Laker, he hasn't been assigned to a team, so he must be
in I-20.
And he won't be assigned to one, not officially, although we'll
be working him out a bit on the trainers. And, by the way, which unit
is Norman North assigned to?
Team two. I've seen his work before. I was a referee in Battle
Games several years ago. Most impressive.
I know. Let's try to give him a challenge here, shall we?
North liked his quarters. His room was small and spartan, but
clean and well lit. There was a narrow bed, and a closet, and a
washroom in the corner. He opened the closet. It was lined with cadet
uniforms. His size, of course.
North also noticed a television set along the wall. He studied
the television guide mounted on its side... and grinned. As he
expected, they broadcasted a goodly number of science fiction movies
and series on Space Command television. And then his smile turned
broader, when he saw the note, handwritten, it seemed, on the bottom of
the schedule.
"But you won't have much time for television, at least, not while
you're a Space Command cadet."
Dustin sat in his small room. The Times had payed all this
money for Dustin to come here, and this is how Grey's people treated
him. There wasn't even room for a spare chair in this tiny cubicle.
Suddenly, an announcement came over the P.A., a summons to dinner.
Dustin got up and opened the door to his room, preparing to leave.
When he opened the door he was surprised to see an individual
standing there, hand in mid-knock.
"Mr. Dustin?" the fellow smiled. He was a little short, and had
a head of silver hair, but he didn't look all that old. Not waiting
for a response, he said, "I'm Albert Laker. Mr. Grey has requested
that I be your guide during your visit to Grey's World."
So this was to be his escort, thought Dustin. Assigned to put
the best spin on everything, no doubt.
"Is there a problem with your quarters?" said Laker, noticing the
frown on the reporter's face.
"No, well, they're kind of small." Suddenly Dustin felt as if he
was whining. "I mean, my paper paid so much for me to come-"
"Yes, you paid player rates," said Laker. "You will remember, we
offered to cover costs for you, as we do other reporters." Laker was
quite prepared to deal with the recalcitrant reporter, ready with an
answer to every question, a parry for every thrust.
"No thanks," said Dustin. "That's not the way I operate."
For a moment, Laker's smile left his face. He entered the room,
closing the door behind him. "And that is not the way we operate," he
said, calmly but firmly. "We do not expect favorable reporting because
we foot reporters' costs. All we expect is a fair hearing."
"And that's what you'll get," said Dustin simply. But it didn't
take a genius to figure out that Laker thought he would be biased
against Grey's World. And then Dustin caught Laker's eye, for a
moment, and there was such intensity in his stare that Dustin
involuntarily looked away.
Dustin blinked. "I have to go, go to dinner. Dinner was
called."
"I know," said Laker. "But since we're not assigning you to a
team, at least not immediately, I thought you wouldn't mind having
dinner with me."
"I thought I was going to see a team from the beginning to the
end. That was our agreement." He looked sharply at Laker, as if he
were being cheated out of something.
"And you will," said Laker soothingly. "You will. Now, shall we
go?" He could see that Dustin was clearly suspicious, and privately he
wondered if Mr. Grey hadn't made a big mistake by inviting him here.
Laker and Dustin were served in a private dining room, on a
balcony overlooking the cadet's mess, a large spacious chamber in the
heart of Academy.
"I notice the cadets down there aren't being served," said
Dustin, peering down for a moment at the cadets lining up for dinner.
So suspicious, so suspicious, Laker thought again. Carefully
keeping his voice level, Laker said, "But then, you're not a typical
cadet. We could have just put you in a team, and let you play the game
along with the others, but we felt that assigning you to a team, at
least immediately, would not be helpful. You indicated in your
negotiations with us that you wished to see Grey's World "behind the
scenes". And, as I promised before, you will do just that. We will
show you how we run the games from the main control room. We will show
you our support infrastructure. We will show you some of our most
exclusive R&D labs. And at the same time we will train you so that
before the week is over you can take a place in a game, and thus see
Grey's World from both perspectives, as a spectator and as a player.
How does that sound?"
Dustin slowly nodded. "Acceptable. But one thing: why did you
pick Space Command? I would've thought you would have wanted me to see
the Presidency, or the Agency." Dustin didn't particularly care for
science fiction and spaceships; were Grey's people really so dumb as to
stick him there?
"We will, of course, hope to give you more than a glimpse of all
the Grey Realms. But Space Command was chosen because the team that
you'll be monitoring has an especially... dynamic personality in it.
Have you heard of Norman North?"
"Of course! He's, what, a big Battle Gamer?" For the first time
since he had arrived at Grey's World, Dustin smiled.
Laker caught the smile, and saw he had found a persuasive angle.
Perhaps Mr. Grey was right. "I see you have been following events at
Grey's World. Yes, he is, or was. And a great many other things. But
he's come here, now, to try out our new Space Command. I think you'll
find his performance most... interesting."
"That I might... that I might," said Dustin. Dustin bit into his
steak. It was delicious, he had to admit. He wondered if the cadets
ate this well.
Laker touched his silver hair thoughtfully. "Now, turning to the
other matter you mentioned earlier," he began.
"What matter?" said Dustin, a little confused.
"The matter of your room."
Dustin waved his hand dismissively. "Oh, forget that. I was
just-"
"No, it is my task to address all your questions and comments.
The room is of a spartan design, that is correct. There are two
explanations for this. The first is that a room of a Space Command
cadet must be spartan. That's part of the image, you see. Indolent
comfort is not going to be helpful in persuading these people that
they're attending a quasi-military academy. And yes, there is the
matter of cost. Certainly it would cost more to build larger, more
elegant rooms. Certainly there are many other costs, such as hardware,
personnel, planning, construction, and incidentals that more urgently
drain our revenue pools. But if we thought, if Mr. Grey thought, that
plush rooms would be in order here at Academy, we would build them.
Without hesitation. You should, perhaps before you leave, see some of
the vacation accomodations in Sanctuary Park. Calling them hotel rooms
would be a disservice." He made a note on his pad. "Yes, must
remember to have you shown some of those."
Laker looked satisifed. Dustin was finally silent for a moment.
Finally, the reporter said, "And there's another thing. What the
business with the costumes? And the embassy? And the marching around?
Why not just send them into the games?"
Laker looked at Dustin as if he were disappointed. He kept quiet
for a time, as if he were at a loss at what to say. Finally, he said,
"Mr. Dustin, Mr. Dustin. How could you write all those critical
articles of us if, as you've just demonstrated, you don't really
understand us? Grey's World is real. Space Command is real. In three
days these cadets eating below us will go into outer space."
Dustin looked at Laker as if he were mad. "You really believe
that?"
Laker just sat there, smiling at Dustin. Then he said, "No, but
that's not the point. Of course I know that Grey's World is not
reality. You know it. The cadets down there, they know it. But
that's not the point. It's the pretending that's the point. Ever gone
to a movie, Mr. Dustin? Say, a science fiction film?" Dustin nodded.
"Well, how could you enjoy any of them? You know that spaceships, like
the ones in those films, aren't real; they're pure fantasy. How can
you pretend to enjoy something which is so patently unreal?"
Dustin did not answer.
"We're not asking people to believe that we're sending them into
outer space, Mr. Dustin. We're not pulling the wool over anyone's
eyes. But what we are trying to do is to put them in an environment
which looks real, which looks as if it could be real. We're trying to
put them into a movie, Mr. Dustin. Now, Grey's World could be a
conventional amusement park. We could have a big, cement parking lot,
and have people walk straight through the gate, and we could have Space
Command rides, and Agency arcades. And a Presidency game."
"But we'd lose the customers the minute they stepped on the
asphalt. Oh, they would come, perhaps not in the numbers they now do,
but they would come. But it wouldn't feel real. It would just be an
amusement park, a ride, a game, a gimmick. Here we let people play
games, yes, but we also let them live experiences, live professions.
If everything around them tells them that they are really in those
circumstances, that they are actually there, then their enjoyment of
their situation is actually heightened."
Dustin snorted.
"Believe me, Mr. Dustin, it's necessary. We've done studies, and
found that it really helps. We constantly study our visitors to oberve
their reaciton to different aspects of Grey's World. We knew, for
example, that you didn't like the march on the parade grounds."
Dustin let a piece of meat on his fork drop back to his plate.
"Oh?"
"Video monitors, you must have known. We watched your facial
reactions."
"You spied on me?"
"Oh, what have I started now," Laker sighed again. "Mr. Dustin,
it's in your contract. Grey's World is entitled to monitor and film
all official player activities. That means that when you're in a
simulator, or in a scenario, or on a parade march, we're entitled to
film. Of course you knew that we broadcast the very best games."
"Yes... but..."
"Yes, we also use the tapes for market research. If, for
example, we had seen that... oh... even three or four cadets were
unhappy with the induction march, embarrassed, or, perhaps, shy, we
would have reevaluated it as an opening protocol. We're constantly
evalutating and reevaluating different aspects of the games. The
easiest way to do that is simply to watch what the players say and do.
Naturally, of course, we are not monitoring players in their quarters,
or during their off times."
"Of course," said Dustin, who wasn't really sure. He had an
image in his mind of a big brother eye, monitoring every facial
feature, burrowing into the minds of every subject under its intense
lense. All at Grey's World. Grey's World.
"Another thing. Why Grey's World? The name, I mean," said
Dustin, biting into another piece of his dinner. "Does Grey really
believe this is his own World? You have to follow state and federal
laws, you know."
"Mr. Dustin," said Laker, looking disappointed. "I do believe
you are ready to pick on everything. No, we don't make any grandiose
claim to be an entire world. Our name is not meant to be interpreted
literally, Mr. Dustin. We simply wanted a name for our facility that
would give people the idea that they were somewhere else. Somewhere
different. Still in America. Still in Virginia, outside Alexandria.
We're not deluded, Mr. Dustin. As for the Grey name, well, the basic
idea for the facility was Mr. Grey's. After 25 years of hard work,
he's earned it, believe me."
Laker stood up. "It's getting late," he said, looking at his
watch. "If you have any questions or requests, let any cadet
instructor know. I'll be seeing you tomorrow, Mr. Dustin."
Dustin nodded.
Laker paused. "Oh. There is one more thing. During the course
of the week you will undoubtedly be mixing with the other players.
There is of course no harm in that. But you are not to reveal to them
anything that you learn during your little tour. Perhaps it would be
best if you pretended to be an ordinary player" He chuckled, thinking
of something amusing. "They don't even know their itinerary."
"I don't even know the itinerary!" Dustin yelled. But Laker had
already gone. Dustin checked his watch. "7:30. Yep, that's getting
pretty late," he said, with more than a touch of sarcasm.
North was lost. He hestitated to admit it to anyone, even
himself. He had left his map back in the room, and he was now
wandering around the halls of Space Command, and he was lost. The
directions to the dining space had seemed so simple, on the map. He
must have gotten disoriented, somewhere.
People were walking around him, but none that he could see who
wore the silver striped sleeves. He could ask a fellow cadet for
directions, but if North were recognized, it would be embarrassing.
Stop. That was North's first move. He stopped moving, and
studied his surroundings. He was at a junction of two converging
corridors. Cadets were walking this way and that. Could he follow
them, hoping that they would lead him to the dining space? An option,
although they all seemed to be going in different directions.
Then North studied the walls. There, on one wall, was a blank
piece of blue glass. Could it be some sort of help screen? Well, that
was what North needed. He approached the glass. There seemed to be no
controls.
He thought of saying "Hello", but he doubted it was voice
activated. Indeed, talking to a wall, even in Space Command, might be
frowned upon, and North never knew when he was being evaluated. So he
touched it.
Immediately lights sprang up. The words "Security Alert" "First
Aid" "Bulletin Board" and "Map" appeared on the screen. He touched
"Map", and a map appeared on the screen. On the lower right of the map
he saw a dot, which said "You are here" and underneath that it said
"(Norman North)". North grinned as he studied the map.
When he finally found the dining space, only a few minutes later,
he joined the end of the food queue. Everything, the walls, the floors,
the tables, and even the chairs, were built of a gleaming metal that
sparkled. The chairs, North noted, had transparent padding which
provided comfort without mitigating the visual effect.
The food was plain enough: hamburgers, hot dogs, and fries and
the like. But North was studying his fellow players. Most of them
were young, in their twenties or early thirties. There were even a few
in their late teens. They all seemed eager with anticipation, looking
forward to all the trials and adventures they were to face in the
upcoming week. At Grey's World, virtually anything could happen.
After North had gone through the food line, he checked around for
his designated table. He wondered why he and the other cadets had been
assigned to specific tables. He soon found out.
North reached his table, matched numbers, and looked up to see
four cadets. One of them was immediately familiar, however; it was
David Booz!
"Norm! This is great!" said Booz. "Sit down, sit down! Let me
introduce the team. Norm, this is Donna Cassra, Songsu Wong, and Eric
Barr. Team, this is Norman North."
Cassra gasped; Wong raised an eyebrow; Barr's eyes widened.
Norman sighed. He had been recognized. But then he noticed something
else. Booz had called them "team". It was then that North noticed the
sign in the middle of the table. Plain as day, it said, "MEET YOUR
TEAMMATES" This was to be his team.
"Are you the Norman North?" said Barr.
North thought quickly. He would have to handle this carefully.
He grinned sheepishly. "Well, I'm one of them, I suppose."
"You battle gamer," said Wong. Wong had never been to Grey's
World before, but he, like most people on the planet, had heard of
Norman North.
"Wait, I thought you made your mark in the Agency," said Cassra,
confused. Cassra knew he was a Battle Gamer, but she had first heard
of him when he pulled a high score on the Supersleuth mission in the
Agency.
"Obviously none of you have been following the Presidency very
closely either," said Booz. Norm had been a high scorer there too.
They all exchanged glances. Apparently, North had done quite well in
every part of Grey's World.
"So, you think you're going to make Captain pretty quick?" said
Barr. A built-in sneer seemed to mold the fellow's face. Barr, as it
turns out, was a young attorney from New York, who had been in private
practice for three years. He was an exceptional litigator; in court,
his aggressive instincts served him well. But, as he put it, he had
'little tolerance for fools'. Or for anyone else, for that matter.
"Whoa! Time out!" said North, making the universal 'time out'
gesture with his hands. They knew, of course, that they were to be
competing against each other for player positions. But if they
resented North, he would not be able to work effectively with them.
"Yes, I've done ok in some of the games. But I, like all of you, have
never played in Space Command before. Here we're all even until proven
otherwise.."
"Yeah, even," said Barr, making a sarcastic noise. He didn't buy
into the false modesty bit, not for one minute.
North shrugged. "Maybe my skills from the Battle Games will
carry over here. Or maybe they'll be inconsequential. Or maybe
they'll be an actual hinderance. Whatever our ranks, we've all got to
work together; otherwise we're surely going to blow this thing,
regardless of who makes Captain."
North's words had an effect. Cassra, seeing he wasn't a stuffed
shirt, was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. Wong, on the
other hand, felt certain that North would make Captain, but this
thought actually pleased him. With North in the Captain's chair, and
he, Wong, at ship's functions, they would make a great team. As for
Booz, he had been behind North from the start. But Barr wouldn't give
up. He had his heart set on being Captain, and, until North arrived,
he thought he could outclass the competition. He said, somewhat
mockingly, "Yeah, maybe your Battle Games skills will hurt you."
"It could," said North. "Remember what happened to Jerry
Dorrast?"
Everyone knew the Jerry Dorrast story. They laughed hysterically
as North retold the anecdote.
"-and after his experience in the Battle Games, he thought he
could just march in there, guns blazing, and steal the documents," said
North. "Of course, the survivors of his Agency team learned
otherwise." They all were still laughing. North had subtly managed to
change the atmosphere. All thoughts of resentment towards him had been
muted, if not eliminated.
"Tell us about the time you and your agency team freed a prisoner
from the gamma complex," said Cassra, smiling at him.
"Oh, that wasn't anything much," said North. Above all he did
not want to talk about his own exploits. "It was nothing, compared
to... what your team did in the light courier incident."
"You know about that?" said Cassra, pleased Norman North had
heard of her exploits.
"Well, it was featured in Cloak and Dagger, and I am an avid
reader," said North. That much was true. The adventures were
interesting to read about. And learning of the decisions other team
leaders made often assisted North in developing strategies of his own.
"What is this?" said Booz. "I'm not up on my spy stuff; tell
me!"
Amid clamors of "Tell us, tell us!" Cassra slowly relented.
"We were staked outside this restaurant for two days. Two whole
days. All we knew was that we were waiting for a light courier."
Cassra laughed. "We kept watching for skinny guys. Finally, I say no,
it has to be something else, but they wouldn't listen. I thought we
were wasting precious manpower putting tails on skinny patrons. That,
of course, got us nowhere. Finally, sitting there, staked out the
second night, I figured it out. I stared at the restaurant's sign; you
know, it's a flashing neon sign."
"Wait, is this the Big Bite, in the 20th century zone of Grey
City?" said Booz.
"The very one," said Cassra. "Anyway, I just stared at the sign,
flashing on, flashing off, and it came to me. It wasn't flashing on
and off in a regular pattern. Sometimes it would flash on for longer
times, other times it would flash off for a while. Once I figured out
it was based on Morse Code, cracking it was easy. In retrospect it was
really quite obvious--light courier indeed!"
"In retrospect it's always obvious," observed Norman North.
"Have you been to the park before, Eric?" Perhaps he could defuse some
of the tension with this Barr character.
Barr felt he was being patronized, but he slowly nodded. "I'm a
Battle Gamer, born and bred. I served under you, several times."
North didn't remember, of course; he was too great to think of his
underlings.
"Oh?" North thought furiously, trying to remember if he had
worked with Barr before. When he commanded upwards of 500 men in a
typical game, it was difficult to remember everyone. But North was
pretty certain that he hadn't worked with Barr in any significant
capacity; Barr wore a leering expression, one that North couldn't
easily forget. Or maybe that was just the way North saw him.
"Well, it was only twice, both times when I was a noncom, and you
were company commander."
Oh. Those had been one of the smaller games, back when. Even
with North in command of 120 soldiers, it still wasn't that easy to
stand out. Even as a noncom. "Which campaigns?"
"The Ambush series, and the Firestorm campaign."
"The Firestorm campaign," said North, brightening. "Were you in-
"
"McSlatteney's platoon? No, but I sure wish I'd been. Then you
would've remembered me." It was almost a sneer. Barr was implying,
not so subtly, that the great Norman North was oblivious to others,
that he so caught up by his own accomplishments.
North didn't miss the little dig. But instead of showing anger,
his face remained expressionless, save for the slight raising of a
single eyebrow. He looked curiously at Barr, much as a zoologist does
a rattlesnake he is trying to figure out. Barr returned his glance for
a moment, and then flinched, looking away.
"What, what is this?" said Cassra, oblivious to what had just
occurred.
"It was several years ago, before North started automatically
winning every game," said Barr. "He was losing, losing bad. The enemy
made a lucky thrust, one of our platoons were crushed, and another was
in a wacko position. That was Orp's platoon, wasn't it, North?"
"Yes," North said. "He was out of position by almost a quarter
mile. An orientation problem."
"A polite way of saying that he got lost," Barr snorted. "And he
screwed up our entire position. The enemy was pouring through, with
only one platoon in position to stop them. That's when North gets the
idea of outflanking them. Not a new idea, although his implementation
was certainly unique. North saw that he couldn't infiltrate an entire
platoon through without being spotted. So he took McSlatteney's
platoon--McSlatteney had been knocked out earlier in the game by a
double agent--and infiltrated across the lines."
"I thought you said he couldn't," said Cassra.
"Not as a platoon. He sent them through in one's and two's.
Most of them slipped through, though how they found each other and
reorganized, I still can't figure out. But once they did, they crashed
through enemy lines from behind, and that turned the tide, saving us."
"Carey's men were well trained," said North. "Dave, Songsu, have
you guys ever been to Grey's World before?" He was trying to feel out
his teammates, to see what experiences and strengths they possessed.
He also wanted to remove himself from the subject of conversation.
Again.
"Not me," said Booz. "Oh, as a tourist, once or twice, but that
doesn't count. I've poked around Grey City, hoping to catch an Agency
Game. But I've been saving all my nickles and dimes for Space Command.
I'm really into science fiction."
"Well, you've come to the right place," said North. "How about
you, Songsu?"
"No," said Wong. "Very costly. I win lottery, get free ticket-"
"So, you're one of the lucky ten percenters," marvelled Booz. He
had always dreamed of winning the free ticket, but it had never
happened. "I hope your luck spreads to the rest of us on the team."
Wong smiled. "Yes. I want be ship's functions." That was one
thing he wanted no one to be in doubt about.
"Ship's functions?" said Barr incredulously. "Don't you want to
be Captain, like everyone else?" He gave Wong a hostile stare, as if
he were some alien from another planet. What kind of an deluded fool
was this?
Wong shook his head. "No. Want ship's functions." His
English was halting, but his preference was very clear. His friends
back home thought he was crazy, too. But Wong couldn't bear the
thought of being Captain. All the Captain did was give orders. He
barely touched the instruments. On the other hand the SF officer was
up to his arms in the machinery.
"Well, if you're crazy enough to want SF, you can have it," said
Barr.
Wong surrepticiously glared at Barr, who took no notice. By now
most of them had finished eating. North leaned back in his chair,
relaxing. Cassra stared at her untouched jello, trying to fight the
impulse to eat. She was quite slim, but she wanted to keep it that
way.
"Enjoying the meal, cadets?"
They looked up. A cadet instructor stood before them. Someone
they all knew.
"Captain Trailer," said Booz immediately, recognizing the officer
who had welcomed them to Space Command.
"Lieutenant Commander Trailer," grinned the Blue.
Booz was confused. "But, I thought-"
"I was Captain of Academy Watch. Any officer attending to that
duty would be Captain."
"Oh," said Cassra brightly. "Sort of like the commander of a
ship. He's always called Captain, even if he's just an ensign."
"Exactly, Cadet Cassra," said Trailer. "But now I have a new
duty to attend to. All of you. I will be your cadet group trainer
while you are at Academy." Trailer tried to say it in a low key,
routine fashion, as if he were slightly bored. But Trailer had fought
hard to proctor North's team; half the trainers in Space Command vied
for the spot. In the end they had to lottery off the position.
North's experiences in the other realms, such as the Presidency and the
Agency, had helped to promote him from ranks of anonymity; but it was
his playing in the Battle Games that had set him apart. Everyone in
Control was curious to see how he would perform in Space Command.
"And how long will our training be?" asked Booz. All that he or
any of the cadets knew was that their stay at Space Command would be
exactly one week in length. They had arrived today in the afternoon
and, they were told, they would leave in the afternoon precisely seven
days from now. But the cadets had no idea what their agenda would be
for the upcoming week.
Trailer merely smiled. In staff training he had learned this was
the number one preferred way of responding to a question that touched
on classified information.
"Something else confuses me," said Booz. "Are you a player, or
an employee?" He was getting confused. There were players, and
tourists, and Grey employees, but it wasn't always clear who was who.
Trailer just smiled again, maintaining a practiced calm.. The
training manual had said that this was the first technique to be used;
if it still didn't work, there were different levels of verbal denials
that could be employed, depending on how persistant the player was.
Cassra saw they weren't about to get anything more on the subject
from Lieutenant Commander Trailer. "It's obvious," she said. "He's a
Grey's World employee. He wouldn't be our trainer, otherwise."
"Grey's World? What is that?" said Trailer, sitting down. "I am
Lieutenant Commander Martin Trailer, an officer of Space Command. You
are new cadets. It is my mission to guide your training."
"And do you play a part in our evaluation?" Barr asked.
"Naturally," said Trailer. "A part. You realize, of course,
that most of your evaluation will come out of your performance in the
training. Although, to be honest, your affect is also a factor. You
need to have a positive attitude, for example, to make Captain." With
this he looked straight at Norman North. "Isn't that so, Cadet North?"
North had been sitting there quietly, watching, listening,
observing. He noticed that for all his calm Trailer had been making
furtive glances in his direction. And now he had presented North with
a little test. North said, in an even tone, "I imagine so, Lieutenant
Commander."
"Good. I'm sure one of you will make an excellent Captain... in
just a few days." He started to get up.
"Ship's Functions," said Wong quickly.
"What?" said Trailer.
"Want Ship's Functions," said Wong, determinedly.
"In Space Command, anything is possible," said Trailer. Trailer,
of course, had already read the new cadet files, and knew of Wong's
desire for Ship's Functions. He also knew that the others, to varying
degrees, wanted to be Captain. But a little competition made things
interesting. "I will see you all bright and early tomorrow morning."
"Tomorrow morning?" said Booz. "It's not even eight o'clock.
What about tonight?" Were they expected to lie down and simply go to
bed? Could there be no evening entertainment in a place so exotic and
planned, down to the smallest detail, as Grey's World?
Trailer raised an eyebrow. He made a mental note to tell quality
and feedback control that some guests preferred to start training
immediately. "Well, if you're not tired from your long journey, there
is the battle exhibition in Academy Park. It starts promptly at 8 PM,
so if you're going to go, you'd better hurry. See you all tomorrow!"
And he left.
The team decided to take a look. They were all a little tired,
but they didn't want to pass up any chance to see something at Academy.
After checking a convenient wall guide for directions, they started
off.
How did it go?
You weren't watching, sir?
Laker, I don't have all day to watch the doings of irksome
reporters, even important irksome ones.
Sir, I may be making some progress. We had a long argument about
Grey's World tonight, and, while he definitely didn't agree with me, he
didn't seem to vociferously disagree with me either.
An open mind is all we need. Did you set up a time to meet with
him?
Yes, tomorrow afternoon, after the initial training session.
Good. And remember, I want to meet North...after he makes
Captain. Perhaps at the end of his mission
Sir, he may not make Captain. Just because he's done well in the
other realms-
He will make Captain. You know, I was watching him, tonight.
His new team was on him like a pack of piranas.
Oh, so that's why you were too busy to watch me handle Dustin.
Precisely. Anyway, you should have seen it. They were all so
disheartened the minute they laid eyes on him. After all, they knew
that with him on the team their chances of making Captain was nil. But
North turned it around, he told them the most important thing was team
spirit, Team effort.
So?
Laker, don't you see? He was subtly telling them that yes, he's
going to make Captain, but with him on the team, their whole chances of
succeeding had just doubled.
Sometimes I think you read too much into-
No, that North, he's a wily one. He's gambling everything he's
built up, especially in the Battle Games, to make a stake at creating a
reputation in Space Command. If he fails he'll be the laughingstock of
the gaming community, and he knows it. With stakes like that, don't
you think he has every action, every word, thought out in advance?
Just watch him, Laker, and enjoy the show.
Mr. Grey, sometimes I think you the only reason you created this
place was just to give yourself something to watch and be amused with.
Of course! It's the best sort of television, where I control the
script. You're going to tell me that you only now realized this?
North and his teammates rushed through Academy Park. By 8
o'clock it had gotten dark outside, but glowing paths illumated
walkways through the park. A special blue path led to the battle
exhibition.
North and Cassra walked together, with the others following close
behind. "I hope I didn't blow my chances back there," she said,
walking quickly. Her face was tight, a little grim.
"What do you mean?" said North.
"You know, when I asked Trailer whether he was a Grey's World
employee. I should know better than that. When you're in a Grey
Realm, you're supposed to act like that's the only reality."
Personality mattered, he said. Had she just blown it?
"Oh, I'm sure it was nothing," said North, and he meant it.
"While attitude is not unimportant--I'm sure, for example, that a
misanthropic beast could never make Captain--your primary evaluation
will be on the simulators."
"Aye aye--Captain." She gave him a sly smile as she said it.
North's face grew serious. "I wish you wouldn't call me that.
You have just as much chance as I do."
"And if shuttles had wings, they'd be birds," said Cassra.
"Don't get me wrong, I'm not bitter. In fact, I'm glad to have you on
the team. It means we all have a chance of doing better when we get
our mission." And she meant it. She relished the chance to serve with
one of the best gamers.
"Well, if that's what you want to believe," said North, sighing.
The others walked a few feet behind them. "I wonder how long
we'll be in training," said Booz. He envisioned, in a nightmare
scenario, six and a half days of training, ending with just a few scant
hours of game playing. Booz knew that training wouldn't be that long,
but he would have been comforted to know just how long it would be.
"Can't be more than a few days," hazarded Barr. "We're only
going to be here a week."
"I wonder what the training will be like," Booz mused. Would it
be like how they trained the astronauts? Zero gravity movement,
spacewalks, and learning complex instruments? Booz just didn't know.
All the travel brochures had been purposely vague on the subject.
"It's all about spaceship command," said Barr, shrugging.
A meaningless statement, North thought. His estimation of Barr
went down a notch. He obviously had no idea what he was getting into.
Wong watched the exchange, but he was deep in thought. He was
still wondering whether he could get Ship's Functions. He knew that
the SF officer had to be versatile with a computer. And yet all posts
theoretically could be manned by players with minimal experience, so
extensive computer experience couldn't be an overwhelming advantage.
Still, Wong couldn't believe that all his years of computer experience
wouldn't help him in the trials.
They reached the site of the battle exhibitions. It was a small
outdoor arena circled by spotlights that played down on the field. The
sound of the night crickets were drowned out by the noise from the
arena as the cadets took their places.
North and his team had arrived just in time, for the exhibition
started even as they took their seats. In the ring below them was a
lightly wooded field, with a partially buried spaceship at one end.
The spaceship looked as if it had crash-landed, and there were deep
ruts in the ground behind it. The field was bathed in a clear light
from the powerful lamps above the stadium.
"Cadets, welcome!" said an announcer. He wore regular clothing;
he was the first person who North had seen at Space Command who wasn't
dressed like a Blue. "I trust you'll find this exhibition interesting.
I think the familiar faces I recognize from yesterday will attest to
that. What you are about to see is a simulated repulsion of an enemy
attack. As you know, one of the biggest threats to Earth in this day
and time is the Raster menace. As humanoids, they are overtly similar
to us, but there is one important different." And the announcer
paused. "They are hostile to Earthpeople. What you are about to see
is what happens when they come to Earth. Here. RIGHT NOW!" And that
last was shouted. And then several things happened at once.
There was a mighty sound of an explosion, and the hatch of the
spaceship blew open, flying a whole four feet into the air before
smashing to the ground. A bright light from the craft momentarily
stunned the eyes of the audience, and then, when their vision had
cleared, they saw that several Rasters had jumped out of the spaceship.
One, two, three of them popped out of the hatch. They did look like
normal human beings, and North strongly suspected that they were Blue
officers during the day. But now they had green faces and they were
wearing orange jumpsuits. All of them were armed with some sort of
laser pistols. They wandered around the field slowly, snarling at the
audience. One of them stepped up to a remote mike and, waving his gun
wildly, spoke incomprehensibly in a harsh angry tone.
The announcer, who by this time had made his way to the other
side of the field, was rapidly speaking into something, probably a
communicator. Over the speakers in the stadium they could hear what he
was saying.
"This is a perimeter alert! I repeat, a perimeter alert! We
must have help!"
The aliens, hearing what he was saying, approached the announcer.
The announcer panicked, yelling into his communicator, "Space Command!
Send help, quickly!"
A Raster raised his gun, there was a flash, and the announcer
fell. A puff of smoke rose from the ground where he lay. There was a
stunned exclamation from the audience
Suddenly a Space Command patrol car burst into the stadium, onto
the field. Blues poured out of the vehicle. The Rasters never had a
chance. Two of them were gunned down immediately, stabbed by the red
lights of the Blues' lasers. The third ran, darting back into his
spaceship. The Blues cautiously closed, while one stood to the side,
and addressed the audience. North and his team recognized him.
"I am Lieutenant Raul Jamez, of Academy sector patrol. How many
Rasters did you see coming out of the ship in all?" he asked. His
silver stripes reflected the bright lights shining down on the stadium.
"Three!" The audience shouted at him.
He nodded. "Ok, men, approach with caution." He took the lead,
as was befitting a Blue officer.
Jamez and his men, in groups of twos, approached the Raster ship.
There was still one Raster left inside, and he was undoubtedly armed.
North, watching avidly, could not help but be reminded of his
experience in the Battle Games. He approved of Jamez's tactics, but...
his men were too close together. They had come up to the ship in a
cautious approach pattern, in three groups of twos, but then, at the
entrance to the Raster ship, they circled around the entrance, all
bunched up. One started to dart into the ship-
And was flung out. Rasters started to pour out of the ship.
Jamez's men fired at them, but only downed one or two. The aliens
quickly overwhelmed the Blues. North counted well over thirty of them!
The Rasters dragged the bodies forward, and, surprisingly, one of
them rasped, in English, "This is what we do to you Blues!" He lowered
his gun at one of the bodies, firing.
The audience hissed. Cassra felt a rage burning within her.
"Boooo!" Booz yelled.
Suddenly a communicator on one of the dead Blues crackled, coming
to life. "Patrol team, report. Report!"
The Raster who had spoken in English picked up the communicator.
"Report this!" he said, flinging it to the ground. He fired his
weapon, blowing it apart.
"This is what we do to you Blues!" the Raster rasped again. "The
whole Earth will be ours!" And the Rasters, shrieking loudly, started
to wiggle about in a sort of victory dance.
Their celebration was short lived, however, as a van burst onto
the scene. A heavy gun was mounted on top of it. It came crashing to
a halt, and heavily armed Blues, some with pistols, some with rifles,
piled onto the field.
The Rasters immediately took defensive positions.
"This is Lieutenant Commander Mitchell Verison," said one of the
Blues, bravely--or foolishly--standing forward. "You will surrender at
once!" A glint of light shined off his silver stripes.
"Ha!" said the lead Raster. "We outnumber you, you stinking
Blues!"
And outnumber they did. There were over 30 Rasters, and little
more than 20 Blues. The Rasters started to laugh.
"We are elite Space Command troopers. Numbers are irrelevant.
You will surrender now. This is your last warning," said Commander
Verison. He spoke coldly, with calm confidence.
That stopped the laughter. The Rasters screamed something
unintelligible, and opened fire. The Blues responded.
The battle continued for some time, with both sides, deeply dug
in, trading shots. The sound of laser fire filled the air. Lights
danced back and forth, like an exotic laser show. At times laser
bursts struck the ground, causing puffs of smoke to arise. When Blues
or Rasters were hit they invariably yelled, and collapsed. The
audience cheered when a Raster charge was cut down by Blue defensive
fire. But they also cried out when a Blue, trying to outflank the
Rasters, was hit by alien fire. North urgently wished he could be in
the battle, directing the Blues.
The results of the battle appeared to be inconclusive. Both
sides were still firing on each other, but neither appeared to be
making any headway. North, seeing that there was little room to
maneuver, concluded that an attempt to outflank one side would not
succeed. The only solution, it seemed to him, would be to mount a
concentrated attack at one point in either line. The Rasters, by
virtue of their greater numbers, seemed more likely to have any
prospect of success in such a maneuver.
And that's what they did. Two dozen strong of them, jumping up
and charging all at once, swamped Commander Verison's Blue line. The
Space Command troopers fired back, but the Rasters punched through.
The audience at once realized that the Blues' chances of surviving had
been cut in half. Would the Grey's World planners really let the
Rasters win?
In the heat of battle, with lasers flashing and smoke wafting up
into the air, it was not immediately apparent who was winning. But
more Rasters seemed to be falling. A group of seven or eight Rasters
took on five Blues. The Rasters, firing wildly, missed the Blues. The
Blues took out four Rasters with pinpoint firing. The other Rasters
ran off, only to run into the line of fire of another team of five
Blues.
The Blues were operating as independent units of five, North
realized. The Rasters had been organized as a massive attack wave, but
when it came to combat with smaller units, they were totally
disorganized. The Blues organized lanes of fire and decimated Raster
soldiers who came into their gunsights. North smiled; he also
understood the other lesson being taught here. He doubted that it was
coincidence that the units working together were in teams of five. The
same size of North's player team. Nor was this message lost on any of
the other players in the audience.
A few Blues fell, but this was the exception, not the rule.
North watched, as, almost comically, one of the Rasters tried to flee
to the safety of his ship. He ran towards it, only to have the ground
in front of him kicked up in a flurry of dust particles by a volley of
laser fire. He ran back, only to have his retreat cut off by a similar
volley. The Raster turned to the audience, for a moment, shrieking in
frustration, before a Blue laser cut him down.
All the fleeing Rasters were eliminated. All except one. It was
their leader. He reached the entrance to his spaceship, and yelled,
"Blues, it is not over," and dodged inside.
The surviving Blues started to follow. Commander Verison, who
had survived the battle, yelled, "Halt!" He evidently was not going to
make the same mistake as Jamez did. He only had about ten of his men
left, and he had no way of knowing for certain how many were in the
Raster ship.
Suddenly, there was a low grinding sound, and something started
to emerge from the top of the Raster ship. It was a weapon of some
sort.
"Take cover!" Verison yelled, jumping to the ground.
A large gun now protruded from the top of the Raster ship. In
the gunnery position they could see a Raster, grinning gleefully.
There was an enormous sound, and a large beam ripped out, blasting a
deep hole only a few feet from two Blues.
The Raster fired again. And again. The Blues lept out of the
gun's path. Suddenly, the audience heard a call. "Raster!"
It was Lieutenant Commander Verison. He had climbed atop the
Blue van and had mounted its laser turret. The Raster started to turn
its gun, but it was too late. Verison fired, sending a beam directly
into the Raster ship. There was a huge explosion. Dust was kicked up
into the air, preventing the audience from seeing anything for a
moment. When the dust had cleared, the Raster ship had disappeared.
What remained was a huge blackened crater in the ground.
"Victory for Space Command!" said Verison, putting his fist into
the air.
"Victory for Space Command!" said his men.
The audience started to cheer and clap wildly. They were still
clapping when the dead Blues and vanquished Rasters sprung up to take
their bows as well. Even Dustin, sitting three rows behind North's
team, found that, to his own amazement, he was clapping wildly.
And then the Raster commander, who had somehow managed to slip out
of the blackened crater, took the mike.
"We wrong," he said. "You Blues... you good," he said, grinning.
The Blues, in the audience and on the field, all cheered.
Afterwards, when they was filing out of the stadium, Cassra said
to North, "How did they do that?"
"Do what?" said North. So many events had occurred, that she
need to be more specific.
"Everything," said Cassra. "For starters, the crater. How did
that get there? And where did the ship go? I think I figured out how
some many Rasters filed out of that little ship. There must be a
tunnel, underground, that lets them all in."
"Correct," said North. "You noticed what happened when their
lasers hit the ground? There were little explosions. I imagine there
were sensors embedded in the ground that detected the light from the
guns, and set off small charges."
"But how did the actors avoid being hurt?" said Cassra. She
suddenly noticed Wong walking behind her.
"I'm sure the charges are small, and carefully marked on the
field," said North. "And I'm sure these actors must be well rehearsed.
But as to your main question, concerning the explosion that destroyed
the Raster ship, I don't think there was an explosion. We heard the
sound of an explosion, of course, over hidden loudspeakers, and we saw
a lot of dust being kicked up, but what I think really happened is that
a platform lowered that section of the playing field underground, and
raised another platform up in its place."
"With pre-made crater on it," said Wong, grinning. He had
thought about it too.
"Precisely," said North. "Still, an interesting show
nonetheless. I never saw those kind of demos at the Battle Games." He
said it with a touch of regret. The mock wargames at the Battle Games
used to impress him. But Grey's World just kept topping itself.
"Nor I at the Agency," said Cassra. She looked behind her.
"Looks like Barr and Booz got separated from us."
"We'll see them bright and early tomorrow," said North, not at
all disturbed that they had lost Barr, at least.
They were walking through Academy Park now. North was tired. It
had been a long day. He checked his watch. It was still only 9:30.
Still kind of early to go to sleep, though. He looked up at the stars,
the glowing gems dotting the sky, and took a deep breath. They walked
along the illuminated paths for a little while. The walkway glowed a
soft light, and several of the trees along the path were also
spotlighted.
"Must remember to have a look at this park sometime, when I'm not
so tired," said North. The way the night foliage was illuminated was
very beautiful.
They were all tired, but they meandered a bit, taking an indirect
route back to Academy, so as to see a bit more of the park. In a
clearing they came to a statue of a tall rocket, illuminated by a
bright spotlight. Wong read the inscription at the base of it.
"Go Blue," Wong read.
"Simple, but to the point." North smiled, and looked at Songsu
Wong as if he were seeing him for the first time. This could be a good
opportunity to learn a little more about the crew. "So you want Ship's
Functions. Why?"
"I like computers. When came to America first thing I see was
computers, and I like." That was an understatement. Wong had been
simply fascinated by them. He saw their enormous potential to handle
immensely complicated tasks, and he immediately started studying their
design in grad school. Over the past few years he had successfully
designed and created several of the major subsystems for ElectroComp's
new Flashtron miniaturized mainframe computers.
"How long have you been here?" said North.
"Sixteen... seventeen years. Came from Thailand. Before that,
China." He was always prepared to say that. Most people thought that
if someone came from Thailand, he was a Thai. But there was a large
and prosperous Chinese minority in Thailand as well.
"O ho!" North said, getting a far away look. He quickly spoke a
few words in Chinese.
Wong, surprised, answered him. Then, in English, he said, "You
know my language?"
"Just a few," North chuckled. "I had a few Chinese friends in
college. All I can say is 'Hello' 'How are you' 'I never go to class'
and 'No, the other one'. Your command of our language is appreciably
better."
"Thank you," said Wong, looking pleased.
They started back for Academy. They were all tired, and even
North felt his mind turning to mush. Idle banter was all he was
capable of now.
"What do you think is going to happen tomorrow?" Cassra asked.
"Like they said, we start on the trainers, testing us, seeing
what rank we'd be best at," said North. He said it casually, but a
small knot in his stomach started to form. Several hurdles faced him:
making captain, keeping the team together, and winning the scenario.
It wouldn't be easy. he would have to take things one step at a time.
"I don't mind that I've been knocked out of the running for
Captain," Cassra remarked suddenly. "I'm glad to have you on the team.
Your teams not only win, they win big."
"I think same too," said Wong. "Want only ship's services."
"So you've been telling us," sighed North. Well, with all this
built up expectation, he had just better make Captain! North knew that
if he didn't make Captain, he'd be the butt of more than one joke back
at the Battle Games. They would say that North, the great Battle Gamer
General, couldn't even make Captain in the Space Command Navy. North
could live it down if he didn't succeed, but it wouldn't be pleasant.
Norman North did not like to disappoint his fans.
Day Two
The cadets were awakened at 8 A.M., bright and early. By 9
o'clock they were in for their first briefing. The instructor, a Blue
with two and a half bars on his shoulder and two and a half silver
rings around her wrists, began by introducing herself.
"Good morning," said the officer, a blonde woman with long
straight hair that flowed down the back of her uniform. "I am Captain
Laura Roberts. I hope you all had a good night's sleep; you're going
to need all your energies in the day ahead. I should start by saying
that everything you do in training, and I do mean everything, is being
evaluated. But don't be constantly thinking about it; you'll only
become distracted, and that will reduce your efficiency." She grinned.
"Also, feel free to ask questions at any time, you're here to learn,
not to slack off."
Captain Roberts took a deep breath. "Now, the first thing to
emphasize is that you are all about to become officers of Space
Command. The number one thing to remember is that you must always obey
the orders of your superior officers-"
A hand shot up. None of the cadets expected it, and it appeared
that Captain Roberts was a little surprised as well. "Yes?" she said.
"We must always obey the orders of superior officers?" said a
cadet who was not familiar to North. "What if our Captain orders us to
do something foolish?"
"Foolish... hm...." Captain Roberts seemed to be thinking. Some
of the cadets hissed at the player who had asked the question.
"No, no, it was a valid question," said Captain Roberts. "No
doubt most of you will feel, at one time or another, that your Captain
has just given you a ridiculous, unwise order. You can, of course, try
to reason with him or her. But you cannot disobey an order. Is that
satisfactory, cadet Barnes?"
The cadet seemed taken aback that Roberts knew his name. But he
said, "Well, what if the Captain orders us to self destruct, or
something that is unambiguously wrong?"
"In that case you may disobey his order." She cut off a further
question, and continued.
"That guy is lucky if he makes junior assistant trainee," Cassra
whispered.
"Don't be to certain," said North. "In the Battle Games we had
these kind of dilemmas all the-"
"Is there something you would like to ask, Captain North?" said
Captain Roberts. She used that title, North judged, to deliberately
tease him. All the Grey's people knew that he wanted to be Captain.
They knew how important it was to him. And they enjoyed watching him
struggle, watching him fight against every barrier they put up against
him.
With his face a perfect mask of calm, North corrected her.
"Cadet, Captain, I'm just a cadet, Ma'am," he said. "No, Captain."
"Then I may proceed," said Roberts, winking at him. "As I was
saying, you must obey the orders of all superior officers, as well as
regular personnel aboard Space Station Victory. Your missions will
primarily be of an exploratory nature, although there may come times
when you will have to go into combat. Let me stress to you that you
are never, ever to open fire on another vessel unless you are fairly
certain that they are hostile, or engaged in some unlawful act."
The problem of identifying the enemy was one that North was not
unfamiliar with. In the Battle Games, campaigns in the forest often
made it difficult to see the enemy. If a squad on recon saw some
troopers hiding in the bushes, it would not be immediately clear if
this was the enemy, or a recon unit from another allied platoon.
Battle Gamer uniforms did not differ much from one side to the other;
sometimes, especially in the dark, one had to get pretty close to see
who was there. Of course, if it turned out to be the enemy, one was in
quite a vulnerable position. But troopers could, and sometimes did,
end up firing accidently on their own forces. It was terrible for
morale when it happened. North suddenly blinked, snapping back into
the conversation.
"But if we run across an unknown ship we can't communicate with,
what do we do, just let it get close enough to pound us?" one cadet
asked.
"Then it would be a tough call," said Captain Roberts. "One that
only an experienced Blue officer could make. Or a top Academy
graduate." She winked again.
She continued, explaining the present situation. "As some of you
who read newspapers may have realized, our number one foe is the
Rasters. They're human, or just humanoid enough to be similar to us.
We started encountering them only a few months ago and ever since then
they've been raiding our area of space. While their anatomy is similar
to ours, aside from the green complexion, their technology is very
different. Their ships tend to have better armor and weaponry than our
own do. We're hoping that the new Starside Class Deep Space Cruisers
you'll be flying will even up the odds a bit."
"Be warned that your mission, whatever it will be, may not
involve the Rasters. It might involve another adversary. Or there
might be no adversary at all. We're always encountering new races, and
diplomatic skills, rather than military maneuvering, has been called on
more than once."
North immediately recognized the implications. In the Battle
Games, there were only two sides: us, and them. Space Command
missions, then, would be much more nebulous. Something like Agency
missions, perhaps.
"And now to the ships. As I've just told you, you'll be crewing
one of the new Starside class Deep Space Cruisers. I will now review
the specs of your future command. Don't worry if you don't catch
everything; the materials in your packets summarize this lecture."
Captain Roberts touched a button, and a three dimensional image
of a ship sprung into life over a tabletop. It was roughly a spherical
design, but it was not without features; even North's unskilled eye
could pick out weapon turrets and missile launchers.
"The ship, at its top speed, can go at seven times the speed of
light. It has a top of the line imaging unit, as well as probes, and
the newest ANALYTIC class ship's computer. There are weapons, of
course, and you'll become very familiar with those very soon, but
suffice to say there are three broad types of armaments on a Starside
class Deep Space Cruiser: missiles, lasers, and proton weaponry. The
Starside class also has the latest Davidson lightscreen unit to protect
it from its foes. And last, but not least, there is one shuttle on the
ship, for those of you who enjoy planetside excursions."
The Captain grinned. "Write this down in big letters for your
notes: Starside class ships cannot, repeat, cannot land on planets!
The last cadets who tried that made a mess over Norway."
She touched a stud, and the holograph image changed. "What you
are now looking at is a schematic of the bridge of a Starside class
ship. The ship is largely automated, so there is only need for five
crewmembers. There is, of course, a Captain. He's the one who gives
the orders. Got that down?"
There was some muted laughter.
"At his console you can see a ship to ship communicator. It is
usually, but not necessarily, channeled through the science station.
You can also see an imager interface. All bridge posts have imager
interfaces."
"The science officer, rank of commander, is the officer primarily
responsible for the imager, even if all five crewmembers are on it at
once. He also doubles as the deputy weapons officer."
Roberts paused. "The weapons officer, rank of lieutenant
commander, is next in the chain of command after the science officer.
In a neat bit of symmetry, he also serves as deputy science officer.
Although, as you already know, the imager interface is available to all
officers."
North noted that. Imaging was probably a very important game
function. But just what in the world was it?
"The helmsman, rank of lieutenant, is in charge of navigation,"
said Roberts simply. "He's in the driver's seat, so to speak. But
it's not always as easy as it sounds."
"And, last but not least, we have the ship's function's officer,
also of lieutenant rank. The SF officer is primarily in charge of
allocating energy to the ship's systems, especially the lightscreens.
He's also in charge of assessing, and perhaps repairing, any
accumulated damage. The SF officer also has a link to the ship's
computer. And, if these duties don't keep the SF officer very
occupied, he even has an imager to keep himself busy. Yes, a
question?"
It was Booz. "How does the SF officer find the time to do all
these things?" He was overawed; if by some misfortune he became the SF
officer, how could he allocate his attention?
Cassra was wondering that herself. And when did the science
officer double as the weapon officer? The weapons officer as the
science officer?
"It's the officer's discretion, and the Captain's. One of the
Captain's primary duties is to tell the officers what they're supposed
to be doing. If you're in battle, chances are you'll want the SF
officer tending the lightscreens, not the computer. If you're not in
battle, you might want more of your people, including the weaponry
officer, on the imager. Confidentially, when you're not in battle, the
weapons officer is quite usually on the imager," said Captain Roberts
with a grin.
"What happens if the three senior officers perish, then which
lieutenant takes over?" one cadet wanted to know. "SF, or navigation?"
"When that happens, just flip a coin," grinned Roberts again.
Tell them as few rules as possible, she thought. That's what they said
in the trainer's briefing. For newcomers he ship's systems were
complicated enough. Let them figure out their own nomenclature for
using them.
"I have a question," said a cadet. "Why all this militarism,
drilling on weapons. Isn't there more to Space Command than that?"
They all turned to look at the cadet. None of them recognized
him.
It was Dustin.
In Space Command Control, the supervisor groaned.
I knew he would screw things up. Please, Mr. Laker, let me pull
him out now.
No. We go according to plan.
But he's ruining it for the other guests!
We go according to plan. We're keeping him isolated on the
trainers, he can't do that much harm. And if Captain Roberts can't
field a hostile question or two she deserves to be busted down to
cafeteria duty. Remember, employees, like players, are awarded rank
based on ability.
Dustin knew it was a hostile question, and he meant it that way.
Everyone was entirely too docile here, too accepting of this false
reality. Dustin has been thinking seriously about the exhibition of
the previous night. He had enjoyed it at the time, but, upon
retrospect, he had began to wonder if it all wasn't just glorifying
militarism. After hearing this lecture about the ship's weapons, his
suspicions were confirmed: Space Command was little more than a
violent shoot'em up game.
Roberts knew who Dustin was; she had been well briefed. But she
was the only one in the lecture hall who knew his true identity, so she
was conscious of the fact that she had to answer carefully. The cadets
had groaned with disgust when Dustin phrased his question, but a
misstep could turn the tide against her.
"Militarism, cadet?" she said. "Weren't you here when I lectured
on rules of engagement? We fight only when we have to."
"But your scenarios are constructed for battles," said Dustin.
His voice wavered a little, but he stood his ground. He knew that
Roberts was trying to put the best spin possible on it, but he wouldn't
back down.
But now the class was getting visibly angry at Dustin. He wasn's
supposed to make reference to the fact that it was a game. There was
an angry murmur from several of the players.
"Scenarios?" said Roberts, pretending to look confused. "Oh, you
mean the training exercises."
"No, I mean the scenarios," insisted Dustin stubborning. "Of
this game!" He wouldn't be intimidated. If Laker thought he would
just sit here and go along with all this, he was mistaken.
The angry buzzing increased in intensity. "Why is he ruining
our experience?" Cassra hissed. Just who was this idiot?
"Game?" said Roberts, still feigning puzzlement. She wanted to
kill Dustin slowly, but she was careful not to let it show. "I just
hope that the crew that you join up with isn't vaporized because you're
too busy keeping score."
That broke the tension with a wave of relieved laughter. It was
aimed primarily at Dustin, but it was less hostile than the atmosphere
had been moments before.
"And now, if we're done with the philosophy session, we can begin
your training. Team One, report to room 101. Team two, to room 102.
Team three-"
The players started to shuffle out of the room. Only Dustin, who
was not assigned to a team, was left at the end, facing Roberts. She
now had a very angry look on her face.
Dustin wanted to ask her where he should be going, but thought
better of it. Suddenly Laker marched in the room, in a rush, so it
seemed.
"Cadet Dustin, please accompany me."
And that was all he said, until they were along in an empty
conference room.
"Just what do you think you're doing?" said Laker angrily.
"Hey, I'm experiencing Grey's World, just liked we agreed."
Dustin hardened his tone. He wasn't going to be intimidated.
"That's not what I'm talking about! You're ruining the
experience for the other guests!" His tone was loud and unrelenting.
Laker's anger was so strong, that Dustin involuntarily took a step
back. Laker looked like he wanted to grab Dustin and take him apart,
piece by piece.
"Hey, I'm a reporter, I'm here to ask questions!" he shouted.
"There are limits!" Laker shouted back. "There are rules here,
even for you, and you will obey them, or you will be ejected from
Grey's World this instant!" At that moment, Laker looked as if there
was nothing else he would rather do.
Dustin, as a hardened newspaper reporter, was used to dealing
with hardnoses himself. "Hey, my paper paid good money to-"
"We do not give refunds to people who violate the terms of our
agreement," Laker said, in a chilling tone. "And agreement number one
for anyone who comes here, anyone, is that the reality of Grey's World
is not to be alluded to. It totally ruins the game for everyone else!"
He was totally irritated by this reporter's attitude. It was obvious
that the only thing Dustin cared about was his story. And making
Grey's World look bad. Well, he could do that, if he wished. But
Laker had put a great deal of his life's work in making Grey's World,
and while Dustin was at Grey's World he would follow the rules, or
else.
"So, you're going to boot me out and pocket the money. That
should look good in my five part front page article on Grey's World,"
Dustin shot back. He would show them who could play hardball. Grey's
World would regret treating him this way.
Laker's eyes flared, and he looked as if he were about to strike
Dustin, even though the reporter had a good four inches and thirty
pounds on him. Things might have gone for ill, had not a device in
Laker's pockets buzzed.
Distracted, he turned away, putting something to his ear.
"Yes sir?" he said. Then, presently, "Yes. Yes sir. At once."
He put the device back into his pocket, and turned to Dustin. "Come
with me." He didn't say please.
Dustin followed. He paid little attention to the path that Laker
was taking; he presumed he was being led out of the park. Dustin
didn't even take any surprise when they went through a hidden door in a
wall, down a flight of stairs and into a private travel tube.
Laker was silent the entire trip, though he glowered at Dustin.
Still, he seemed to be calming down somewhat, and by the end of their
trip his anger, though still present, seemed better under control.
"This way," he said, gesturing Dustin into an elevator.
"You're not coming to see me off?" said Dustin, with just a touch
of sarcasm. The sooner he was out of here, the better.
"You're not leaving," said Laker harshly. The door suddenly
sealed shut. There were no buttons on the elevator. For the first
time a hint of fear started to creep into Dustin's mind. Would there
be an attempt at foul play, to silence a prominent critic of Grey's
World?
When the elevator opened again, Dustin had his fists up. He
wasn't going to be taken, not without a fight.
But there was no one waiting for him. He stood at the entrance
of an office, an old, old office that had not been dusted in a long
time. Most of the furniture were antiques. But very futuristic
monitor screens lined the walls.
Someone chuckled. Dustin heard a tired voice say, "You have
nothing to fear, Mr. Dustin. I'm a little old for fisticuffs."
Dustin stepped out of the elevator, feeling a little silly.
Coming into the room, he found himself facing a middle-aged man,
sitting behind the desk. The man had dark brown hair, neatly combed to
the side. He stared at Dustin without expression with a pair of
unwavering blue eyes.
"Mr. Grey, I presume?" said Dustin.
Grey nodded. "I had set up a meeting for us this afternoon, but
I thought it might be wiser to move it up a little. Sit down, sit
down, make yourself comfortable."
He made some adjustments on a control panel at his desk, and a
monitor screen on the wall came to life, showing a familiar set of
events.
"We do not give refunds to people who violate the terms of our
agreement," said Laker, obviously angry. "And agreement number one for
anyone who comes here, anyone, is that the reality of Grey's World is
not to be alluded to. It totally ruins the game for everyone else!"
"So, you're going to boot me out and pocket the money. That
should look good in my five part article on Grey's World," said Dustin.
Laker's eyes flared, and his whole body seemed to go tense.
Grey chuckled again. "I've never seen Laker angry, much less to
the point of being ready to strike someone. You have a certain charm
with people, Mr. Dustin, that I wish we could bottle and market for use
in the Battle Games."
"You seem to keep a close watch on everything that happens inside
your realm, Mr. Grey." So that was how the old-timer got his kicks, by
spying on everyone else.
Grey to laugh again, but only louder. "Got to, Mr. Dustin.
Simply got to. It's essential for quality control and improvement."
His laughter died. "You know, of course, why you got Mr. Laker so
angry."
"I'm a reporter! I have to ask questions!"
Grey continued, as if he wasn't listening. "It wasn't personal;
you could have insulted him a thousand different ways and he wouldn't
have reacted. But you stepped on his, on our most important priority:
the happiness of our players. We simply cannot allow you to interfere
with the player experience by directly challenging their reality."
He stared at Dustin with hard eyes. Dustin, withering under his
gaze, quickly looked away.
"I have a right to ask questions."
"That you do. And feel free to ask anyone any reasonable game
related questions. But touchy questions, and I'm sure you know which
those are, can be saved for Mr. Laker. Or other members of our staff
when they are not surrounded by players or tourists."
Grey was clearly offering a compromise. "Agreed," said Dustin
reluctantly, in a dull tone. He couldn't very well leave now, without
some greater provocation. But the week was only beginning.
"Good," said Grey, grinning broadly. "But now that I have you
here, tell me what you think of your experience thus far." He leaned
forward expectantly, as if this were his favorite part.
"There seems to be a lot of windowdressing," said Dustin slowly.
"As Mr. Laker explained to you, what you call windowdressing is
essential to the Grey's World experience. Ever been to an amusement
park, Mr. Dustin?"
"Yes," Dustin sighed, getting the unerring feeling he was in for
a lecture.
"What's in them? Rides, mostly. You just sit around, and watch
things happen. That's what our tourists do, mostly. But how does
interactive entertainment strike you, Mr. Dustin? Imaging a situation
where you are involved in the game, and your actions affect the
outcome. But who cares about the outcome? Admittedly, it's nice to
play a game, but it's even nicer to live a fantasy."
"That is what we provide. Free of all the hassles and risks.
There is no need to spend 40 years building a career to be President;
our waiting list is only two months now. Players in the Agency are
sometimes eliminated from the game, as per the rules; but no one is
ever hurt, or harmed. People can pretend to be spies without incurring
any of the traditional risks of spying, like capture, torture, and
death. What we do is take the best aspects of each profession and
focus on those--taking the wheat of life experiences, but not the
chaff, so to speak. And we make it believable, believable, at least,
in the context of the surroundings and circumstances we put our players
in."
"And that enhances the enjoyment of the game."
"Ah, so you do understand!" Grey looked terribly pleased.
"I understand. But I haven't made up my mind whether I agree or
not."
"That's all we want, an open mind." He was back to chuckling
again, only more softly, this time. Grey pressed another button and
Dustin saw himself on the screen again. It was the night before, and
Dustin was at the battle exhibition, cheering the Blues on. "And anyone
who likes a battle exhibition can't be all bad."
"Do you personally watch me all the time?" Dustin marvelled. The
man was a maniac. No one had any privacy in the whole of Grey's World.
"No, no, I have subordinates for that," said Grey, with a wave of
the hand. "Did we cover everything? No, there was your question about
the militarism that started all this. Yes, there is a lot of action in
Grey World realities. Space Command is structured, to some extent, for
space battles and combat, although there are other challenges as well.
The Battle Games are even worse; the only thing the players do there
day in and day out is try to shoot each other. If you want to call
that militarism, go ahead. But I submit to you that players will not
come here for a week to pretend to be grandmas knitting a shawl. Or
social workers hugging their clients. There has to be conflict, just
like in the movies. That's what attracts players. That's what
attracts tourists who watch players."
"Just because violence is pervasive in our society-"
"Oh? Do I sense just a little hypocrisy here? How many
incidents of violence does your paper report on every day?"
"That's not the same-"
"How many violent movies have you seen in the past six months?
What was the plot of the last book you read? The last television show?
Son, you need action, danger, risk, whatever, if you're to have any
sort of drama. Sure, I could send these kids at Space Command out on
spaceships to do a scientific survey on Venus. They could sit there
for a week and measure it's temperature, gravity, density, minerals,
whatever. Then Space Command would close the following week. Due to
lack of customers." His voice was grim. Grey's World had not been
designed and built on a whim; every detail, every design, had been
carefully reasoned out, debated, and debated again. Nothing got past
the planning stage which wasn't certain to have player appeal.
"We realize what're doing. Space Command is not all dedicated to
violence; there is definitely a scientific exploration side to it, even
a diplomatic one. In the game we do penalize players for
inappropriately firing on nonhostiles or neutrals. We do try to
channel it, to make them responsible Blues. They have to work with
each other, obey rules and follow orders. And who knows? Maybe this
helps make them more responsible people."
Grey stopped, wondering how much of this was sinking in. "Does
that answer your question?"
"And a half," said Dustin. "Now I will watch the progress of
your cadets and see how responsible they become." He didn't try to
keep the sarcasm out of his voice.
But Grey just ignored it. "Yep. I don't know if they told you,
but you're going to be watching Norman North. You'll find his team
very interesting, I expect. Well, if we've covered everything...."
Grey pressed a button on his desk.
Dustin got up to go.
"Oh, Mr. Dustin?"
Dustin turned.
"I'm much too old for fisticuffs." Grey raised his fists, as
Dustin had done on the elevator. "And we don't go in for foul play.
Much too messy." He grinned, knowing how foolish Dustin must feel.
An aide entered in the room, dressed as a Blue.
"Just follow the lieutenant there, and he'll take you to where
you're supposed to go, Mr. Dustin."
Dustin wordlessly followed the Blue out. When he had gone, and
the door closed behind him, Laker entered the room, from a side door.
Caught all that, Laker?
Yes, sir. Sir, I want to apologize-
No need. (A chuckle). I've never seen you get angry like that
before. You, of all people. Does he know what your job is here, your
real job?
No.
Well, if he thinks you're just a bonified tour guide, he's in for
a surprise.
Sir, he'll ruin the game.
No, he won't. He knows the limits, now, and he'll keep to them.
Trust me, this is going to work. Now get down there, I want you to
show him how we break in North and the others.
Dustin found himself in a control room of some sort. There were
rows and rows of consoles, screens, and operators. Dustin listened to
the babble of different voices. "Running SC scenario two in three zero
minutes... what do you mean, the fire button is stuck? Get a repair
unit in there immediately... Whoa, that's an inventive solution, give
him five extra points for that one! ...they want to know if they can
go outside the ship and make the repairs themselves?... tell them
there's an airlock malfunction."
Dustin was led to a relatively quiet section of the control room.
A bright line divided this part of the huge room from the rest of it,
and Dustin could sense that the tension was at a lower level here.
Above the area he saw a sign, "Training units".
"Sit here, Mr. Dustin." Dustin sat. He found himself in front
of a single screen which was automatically tracking five spaceships.
The ships had initials on them, and the initials were keyed to smaller
boxes on the side of the screen which showed the faces of the five
pilots, working at their consoles. He recognized one of them
immediately. It was Norman North.
"Ready for the games to begin, Mr. Dustin?"
Dustin turned. It was Laker. All traces of hostility were now
gone. Dustin nodded, and Laker, taking a seat, proceeded to fill him
in on what the players were about to do.
North and his fellow teammembers sat in the simulators. The five
members of team two sat at a long table containing five simulators,
each separated by a thin partition. But none of the players were
paying attention to the screens and controls in front of them; their
chairs were all turned to the sides, and they were facing their
instructor.
"Good morning, cadets," said Lieutenant Commander Martin Trailer.
"Welcome to the training units. This morning our topic is navigation.
You will each be in control of a simulated navigation position, and you
will each have to deal with a variety of situations. You will find
that the controls are self-explanatory, though, I must hasten to add,
the use of them is not. You will learn, as with everything else, by
experience. Before we begin, are there any questions?"
Barr said, "What about weapons? Are we going to be expected to
fight as well?"
Trailer cocked an eyebrow. "You'll find you'll be fully occupied
with navigating, Cadet Barr." Trailer turned and departed.
The cadets turned to their controls and their display screens.
The biggest screen, in front of them, suddenly came to life. North saw
stars dotting the screen. On the top it was labeled "window view
screen". Obviously this was supposed to be the view from the inside of
the ship looking out. On the sides of the screen were all sorts of
indicators--energy, velocity, and acceleration seemed to be the most
important ones.
On the side of the main screen was a smaller screen. It actually
showed a physical representation of his ship, and all the other objects
around it. It was labeled "objective view screen". North found that
he could zoom in and zoom out, getting closeups of celestial objects or
wide expanded views of the entire region around his ship. His "window
view" screen could also be adjusted in a similar way.
There was a beep, and North jumped. A message appeared on top of
his window screen. "Mission: Familiarize yourself and move about."
North complied. He pressed the acceleration key, and he heard
the hum of engines. He set speed to 20% of maximum and left it at
that. He could still see nothing but stars out of the window screen.
North turned to the objective screen and tightened the zoom band, and
still saw nothing... nothing but stars, surrounding his ship. Was he
truly out there alone? Hadn't Commander Trailer said that the others
would also be represented in this simulation?
North frowned. The stars looked awfully close to his ship. He
looked out his window viewer. The stars didn't seem that close. Ah!
North had a hunch. He adjusted the zoom on the objective screen,
magnifying up the immediate area around his ship. Immediately almost
all the stars disappeared, all except one. He was in a solar system,
one with two planets. His ship was not far from the outermost planet.
And, sure enough, four other ships were in space, just a few thousand
space units away, parallel to his.
"Well, hello there," said North, softly to himself.
"Hey North." "Hi." Came over the speaker. North almost jumped.
He was in contact with the others.
North toggled the IDENTIFY button. Sure enough, the ships lit
up, each with the initials of their cadet navigator. Booz and Cassra
hadn't even started moving yet. Wong was accelerating at a cautious
rate, and Barr was already zipping along at... 72% of maximum speed.
North lifted an eyebrow. Interesting.
In a short time all the ships were moving about. North quickly
discovered that as he increased speed he lost maneuverability. Pushing
it to 90% of maximum speed, greater than six times the speed of light,
North found that it was difficult to turn about smartly and set an
accurate course. North checked the objective screen. All the ships
were moving about now... wait, there was Barr, going at 100% speed!
North heard a crackle, and t |