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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 then voices. The others were speaking
over the ship-to-ship system. He half paid attention to them as he
bent over his controls.
"What's the hurry?" came Booz's voice.
"Just testing the possiblities," said Barr.
North suspected that it wouldn't be possible to go at that speed
for very long. Even at 90% speed, North noticed his energy level
dropping rapidly. North notched it up to 95% speed. A warning
indicator flashed. Time to slow down. North dropped to 50%. The
energy level picked up again. He checked the other ships. Barr was
going at 105%, no, 108% of top speed! What was the man doing?
He's insane!
A little reckless, maybe, Mr. Dustin. But I suspect Cadet Barr
has a purpose.
Ignoring the screaming alarm indicators, Barr kept up the speed
for over a minute. Then he dropped back down to 70%. There appeared
to be no damage to the ship. Barr had wanted to learn the limits of
the Starside Class Deep Space Cruiser. He didn't particularly think
his score would be hurt, as his simulation ship was undamaged. And he
did like to pump up the speed.
Now the screen seemed to blink, and North found himself lined up
with the other ships, at zero velocity, and a new message came onto the
screen. "Mission: approach the planet, and skim across the upper
atmosphere."
North increased speed to 30%, and looked about at his objective
screen, setting the course. Then he went back to the window screen,
and adjusted the direction and zoom so that he could see the
approaching planet. His objective view, he quickly learned, was great
for locating objects in space, but it wasn't very good for actually
seeing them. Getting the appropriate headings from the objective
screen, North set the window viewer for the planet. When he got the
zoom adjusted, he whistled.
"Beauty, ain't it?" he heard Booz remark.
It was an enormous gas giant. Its red streaks was so bright,
they seem to leap out at him. North checked the range finder. He was
coming up on it. The other ships were speeding ahead of him. North
frowned, reading the mission assignment. It hadn't actually said "get
there first", but North was not entirely sure what was being graded
here. He increased speed, to 85%. Now the planet was coming up
quickly.
Barr was the first to reach it. He had gone in at 100%, and saw
no need to decelerate. "I'll wait up for you guys," he transmitted.
"Just don't crash," came Cassra's voice.
The gas giant was enormous, and it had a commeasurate
gravitational pull, but at Barr's speed his ship was less affected by
it. Barr checked the objective screen. The pitiful fools were all
behind him. Then he looked forward. The planet loomed large in the
window screen now. His course setting would bring him right into the
upper atmosphere. No need to make any adjustments.
The others closed. North was about even with Cassra, Wong, and
Booz.
Barr noticed his ship starting to jostle as it skipped across the
atmosphere. No, he was plunging into it. He tried to make a course
adjustment, but at that speed, altering course was difficult. Warning
lights made their presence known. Suddenly, before he could do
anything, his window screen went blank, the controls went dead, and, on
the objective screen, his ship flared, and went out.
What happened?
He came in on the atmosphere at a terrible angle and tremendous
speed. He burned up before he regained control, Mr. Dustin.
So is that it? Is he out of the game?
No. His ship will return when the others have completed this
particular task. He'll just have to wait for a minute or two. The
worst he's done is lost a few navigational points. He could even still
make navigator, if he learns from this experience. But that's the
point of it all, to learn.
The other ships did not immediately catch on. Wong and North
decelerated, but Cassra and Booz kept going at their current pace, a
speed of roughly 85%. Cassra, intent on her own navigation, had not
even noticed the loss of Barr. Booz did notice that Barr had
disappeared, but could not figure out why. Only Wong and North
decelerated, dropping to 40% and 32% respectively, for they both had a
pretty accurate idea what had happened to Barr.
Cassra and Booz also burned up in the atmosphere, and had to sit
the rest of the mission out. Cassra tried to make a wry comment, but
her ship-to-ship comm. system was also dead. All she and Booz had left
was their objective screen.
At first, time seemed to go slowly. Finally, they noticed the
slow, slow approach of Wong and North. They were both coasting along
at 20%, just enough to counter the strong gravity of the gas giant.
They both coasted along the upper edges of the atmosphere, coasting
along until they received the "Mission Accomplished" signal, and their
controls froze.
Lieutenant Commander Trailer's voice came to them over an
intercom. "I'm sure it's obvious to you by now that the ship is more
difficult to control at high speeds. In addition, you have to take it
slower in more hazardous areas, unless you are trying to escape from a
gravitational field. Any questions?"
"When do I get my ship back?" grumbled Barr.
Trailer said, "Right now. Don't feel so bad. Our statistics
show that nearly a third of new cadets lose their ship in this test.
But on with the next one!"
A new message appeared on all their screens. "Mission: Fly
within 100 SU's (space units) of buoy above gas giant. Bonus points
for firstcomers."
The ships reappeared, in a line, again a short distance from the
gas giant. North spotted the buoy almost immediately. It was in a
high orbit above the planet. There would be no need to tangle with the
atmosphere this time.
Barr started off first again, going at 90%. The others followed,
at speeds ranging from the mid 70's to low 80's. Barr accelerated to
93%.
Doesn't he ever learn?
He's not stupid, Mr. Dustin. A little reckless, but not stupid.
What do you mean?
Well, for one thing, he doesn't have to face the atmosphere
again, if he's careful. And, for another, he will get bonus points if
he's one of the first to get there.
But he loses maneuverability. He's going to have to decelerate
if he's to come within 100 SU's of that.
Yes... I do wonder if that has occurred to him too.
Barr checked the range finder. The range was closing, fast.
Time to decelerate.
Barr's ship streaked past the buoy, doing 60% at greater than
4,000 SU's out. He turned to make another pass, but he was still
turning at such a great speed that he passed by it again. Dustin could
see on the monitor that Barr's face was tight with frustration.
And he wasn't the only one. The others had decelerated, though
only Booz and North slowed down enough to have enough maneuverability
to make a go at it. North, with lightning reflexes, made minute
adjustments to the steering, but, even at only 15%, he missed the buoy,
going by it at 30% at his closest point of 250 SU's.
"Rats!" said North, momentarily forgetting his comm system was
active.
"Frustrated, North?" said Barr.
North did not answer. He had not totally bungled it. Due to his
reduced speed his turning arc was smaller than Cassra and Wong, who
were still turning at a heady 40% and 50% respectively.
Booz, coming up slowly behind him at 8%, did manage, for a
moment, to come within 92 SU's of the buoy, and his screen glowed with
a "Mission Accomplished."
North came around for another turn at a slow 5% and put-puttered
into the 100 SU zone. Cassra and Wong, making slower and slower
circles with smaller and smaller arcs, both managed to make it on their
fourth pass.
But Barr wasn't doing so well. Seeing that the others were
gaining the objective before he was, Barr tried to make one high speed
run after another to make up for lost time. Finally, seeing he wasn't
coming even close, he just gave up, reducing to 10%, and then he came
within the 100 SU zone. The others had been waiting for him for almost
five minutes, and he was the butt of more than a few jokes.
"Is Barr back?" said North. "Good, I can finish my nap later."
Laughter could be heard over the comm line. But Dustin could see
on the monitor that Barr hadn't taken the jest very well. His face was
a classic portrait of explosive rage. There were definitely bad
feelings between those two.
Laker, what's with him?
He wants to make Captain.
They all do.
Him more than most. And he resents the fact that North's going
to beat him.
So what do you do about such headstrong personalities?
The worst ones we expel, no money back, they agree to it in the
contract. But most of them work out. There is important peer pressure
to act properly. It also affects their scoring.
You also seem certain that Norman North's going to make Captain.
That's only because I know Norman North all so well.
The mission ended. "Speed isn't everything," came Trailer's
voice over the comm line. "It can be good for chase, or for escape,
but it's not very good for precision. Remember that."
The next mission was more difficult. They were to maneuver
through a set of space buoys that crisscrossed over the red giant.
Only this time the red giant sprouted a number of moons, and the path
of the buoys came very close to several of the planet's satellites.
This time no one started out over 50%. There was still a bonus
for finishing earlier rather than later, but the cadets saw what the
excesses of speed cost them. The buoys came in pairs, each
approximately 1000 SU's apart, and the cadets needed to navigated
between each pair.
The cadets got through the first pair quickly enough, but they
had to change course rather quickly to maneuver between the next set of
buoys, and they had to reduce speed. No one was going over 30% after
the second set of buoys.
And then it started getting tricky. The next set of buoys were
close to one of the moons. The cadets knew enough to adjust for the
gravity of the red giant: to add thrust when they were tacking away
from it, and to reduce speed when they were heading toward it. But now
they were also entering the gravitational field of one of the moons.
North checked his window view. It looked small enough; the
gravitational effect should be negligible. The others thought much the
same.
Suddenly, the five ships, all at roughly the same point, found
themselves swerving towards the moon.
"Size doesn't equal density!" North swore, wrestling with the
controls. "How could I have forgotten that?"
The others were shouting over the comm line. They all made that
mistake, but only North, Wong, and Booz, going a little slower than the
rest, were able to correct for it. Cassra and Barr swerved past the
rightmost buoy, failing to go between the two.
A message flashed on both their screens, reading "Go back."
Cassra turned the ship, reversing course so she would have some
maneuvering room to attempt to go through the buoys again. Barr
followed.
What happened?
They all thought that small planets implied weak gravity.
What about the other moons up ahead, Laker?
That's the challenge.
What about when they're playing the game? Will they have to
guess the gravitational pull of whatever object they're near?
No, no, if they do a capable job on the imagers, they'll have no
problem with that. But we haven't taught them how to use the imagers
yet.
Why not?
One thing at a time, Mr. Dustin. A capable navigator must be
able to quickly adjust to unexpected circumstances. I think that
lesson, in this mission, had already been well-learned.
Indeed, the ships now slowed down each time their course brought
them near a different moon. Too much caution and a ship was liable to
finish last; too much speed and a cadet risked missing a pass between
two buoys. Barr, predictably, took the faster option; North and Booz
were more cautious, and Cassra and Wong went the slowest. With each
new moon in their path the cadets steeled themselves to adjust quickly
to the pull that the moon exerted on his or her ship.
North ended up finishing first, just a few seconds ahead of Booz.
North had developed lightning reflexes as an enlisted man in the Battle
Games, and they served him well here. He quickly was able to adjust
his course and speed, more rapidly than the others could. Wong ending
up finishing third, followed by Cassra, and then Barr. Barr had missed
the buoy paths twice more, and, forced to reorient his ship, he lost a
lot of time.
So far Booz and North have each won one. I guess one of those
will be the navigator.
Perhaps, Mr. Dustin.
A new mission lit up on North's screen. This time the ships were
repositioned outside an asteroid belt. They were to maneuver through
the belt to a buoy on the other side. North frowned, checking the
screen. There seemed to be no obvious route through the belt. In
fact, there seemed to be no easy route through it at all. All the
asteroids were moving in different directions. But North examined them
closely. Now it appeared to him that some of the asteroids were moving
in groups, each group in the same direction, at the same speed. Barr
and Cassra entered the asteroid field. They decided to take the
shortest route through the belt. North clocked them going at 5%--they
knew that going any faster would have been suicide.
North kept sitting there, studying the belt. There! He saw what
looked like a clear path, or what looked like should be a clear path,
in a short space of time. Keeping in mind the pattern he had noticed
earlier about the asteroid movements, he calculated there would be a
somewhat clear albeit indirect path that would be opening up... in
seconds, over there. North angled his ship forward. Booz had
apparently already entered the asteroids, at a different point. And
where was Wong?
North checked his objective view. Wong was forty SU's behind
him, following him! North grinned. "Hey, Songsu, you wouldn't be
tailing me, would you?"
Wong also grinned. "How you say... I take your fifth amendment."
Wong followed North's ship. He had studied the asteroids, but
couldn't see any obvious pattern. But he knew that if there was anyone
who could, it would be Norman North. He tailed North's ship closely.
North and Wong entered the asteroid belt. It was just as North
figured. There was a small but clear channel through the belt. It was
not the most direct route to the buoy, but it would get him through.
Time to risk some speed. Bracing himself for sudden course
adjustments, he boosted to 10%.
Wong continued to follow, also increasing to 10%.
In another part of the belt, Barr and Cassra were also
maneuvering. They had both opted to go through the shorted part of the
belt, which also happened to be the most direct route to the buoy. But
they had to go slowly. Both of their ships were at 2%. At times they
had to halt and go in reverse to avoid oncoming asteroids. Some
asteroids were relatively large and slow, and easy to maneuver around.
But many others were smaller, some smaller than their ships, forcing
Barr and Cassra kept their eyes on the screens, constantly shifting one
way or the other.
Cassra saw a large asteroid looming ahead. Its spiraling jagged
outline was becoming rapidly clearer as it approached. Cassra steered
to the right. Suddenly, a small asteroid plunged towards her. She
steered away, but had to maneuver dangerously close to the large
asteroid again. Warning lights flared. Pulling up, Cassra put some
distance between her and the rock. She sighed; that had been a close
one.
North burst out of the belt. He made it! But Wong was no longer
so close behind him. He had had to drop back, forced to decelerate in
the face of asteroids that came between him and North. He still didn't
see the pattern of asteroid movement, and now was lost among them. He
studied them, looking for the pattern, when suddenly an asteroid came
hurtling towards him. He turned to evade, but he was too slow; the
asteroid smashed into his ship, destroying it.
"Crime doesn't pay," said North gleefully. He checked for the
others. Cassra and Barr were only now emerging from the belt. North
set his sights forward, aligning on the buoy. He found it; but what he
also found, just sitting next to it, was Booz's ship.
"You're not the only one who can see patterns, North," said Booz.
The other ships reached the buoy.
"Indeed, one should always look for patterns," came Trailer's
voice.
"What pattern?" said Barr. "I didn't see any pattern."
"It was complicated, but even if you had figured out parts of it,
you would have known that it was easier to cross the belt at a
different section. Sometimes the most direct route isn't always the
quickest."
What're you writing down there?
Just a note to our system engineers. We'd been getting some
feedback that this particular test is too difficult. We may have to
adjust it a bit.
The next mission came on North's screen. "Follow the spaceship,
and keep as close as you can to it."
A new ship appeared on the screen, in front of all the player
ships. Immediately, the target ship started moving. North and the
others pursued. The target ship seemed to randomly slow down, speed
up, shift left, up, down, or right, and players who were not quick
enough often overshot and had to reorient themselves.
And what is this testing?
Dexterity. One of the most important skills for a navigator.
And for all crewmembers, for that matter.
North and Booz were able to track the ship fairly well, keeping
close behind it without getting ahead of it. At times the others were
also close to it but never for long periods. North kept his eyes on
the ship he was following, constantly shifting speed and direction to
react to its moves. This kept up for several minutes before the
mission ended, and the players were ranked. North and Booz were one
and two.
It looks to be North and Booz. No surprises there.
They heard Trailer's voice. "I imagine you must all be getting a
bit hungry now, and perhaps a little fatigued. This may strengthen
your spirits: there is only one more navigation test to complete, and
then you'll fall out for a nice lunch and a rest period."
North braced himself. He was tired. What would the last mission
be? And then it came on the screen: "Keep a maximum distance from
your opposite."
The five blue player ships appeared on the screen. Now five new
ships appeared on the screen. Each one had a player initial, but these
were in red. The red NN ship immediately accelerated towards Norman
North.
North immediately plotted an evasive course. But the adversary
kept on his tail. The others similarly found themselves persued by
their opposites. None of them could shake their tails.
North, ignoring his pursuit for a moment, checked his screen.
They were near the red giant. North set his engines to 100%, and
headed straight for the red giant. Warning lights immediately came
alive.
What's he doing?
Not sure. Control, get ready to react. North's about to do
something unpredictable.
The others attempted to evade their ships as best they could.
Booz tried a series of quick accelerations and swerving maneuvers that
seemed to lose his shadow for a short time. But it soon adjusted to
his erratic flight pattern, and was with him again. Cassra was
successful in evading her adversary for short periods, but it quickly
adapted to her maneuvers as well. Wong and Barr were the least
successful, with their tails sticking close to them.
"If this were real we'd be blown out of space," muttered Barr,
looking at the tail keeping close to him.
"What North doing?" said Wong, too engaged to locate him on his
screen.
But no one knew; they were all too busy too look. North was
accelerating madly towards the red giant, followed by his pursuit ship.
What is he up to?
That's just it with Norman North; sometimes even we don't know.
The pursuit ship was catching up to North. It seemed capable of
speeds equaling or slightly exceeding North's ships, but he had been
watching, and its rate of acceleration was equal to his. Good. If the
adversary's deceleration was equal to his as well, maybe he could show
the chase ship a thing or two.
North approached the red gas giant. It loomed over most of his
screen now. North frowned; the trick was deciding just when to veer
off.
Now! North swerved away from the planet, increasing speed to
105%. Every alarm in his ship seemed to shriek now.
His adversary, only a short distance behind him, took a few
seconds to adjust, altering speed and course.
North's ship speeded away from the planet, just missing the upper
atmosphere. He cut speed, gradually reducing to a relatively lazy 50%.
The adversary was not so fortunate. Its ship burnt up in the
upper atmosphere, and instantly it incinerated into a small fireball.
In the monitoring room, a crowd of technicians had gathered
around the screen, and were now cheering.
What happened?
That was slick timing. I don't know how he did it.
What?
Well, North figured out that the other ship had similar
navigational capabilities. He then accelerated towards the planet,
only turning aside at the last minute. How he did that by eyeballing
it, without computer assistance, I'll never know. The chase ship took a
few seconds to adjust, but even that wasn't enough time.
Meaning?
Meaning that for the rest of the mission... seventy seconds...
North's chase ship will be recorded to be at a distance of... infinity.
So he won this particular mission, hands down.
Never underestimate Norman North, Mr. Dustin.
North sighed a breath of relief. His ship had been damaged by
his excessive speeds; his top speed had been reduced, and there was
assorted malfunctions. But all he had to do now was sit back and watch
the others.
When the scenario ended, and all the ships were frozen in place,
it was Cassra who noticed it first.
"Where's your chase ship, Norm?"
"Dunno," said North. "Guess I lost it."
"A clever piece of work, Cadet North," said Commander Trailer.
They looked up; he was actually in the room with them. All the players
turned to face him.
"Cadet North figured out a... novel solution to this mission. He
lured the chase ship into the gas giant."
"Yay, Norm!" said Cassra, who herself had come in second.
"I know I should follow you more," said Wong, a little less
elated.
"Great job, Norm!" said Booz.
"Yeah, good work," said Barr, with noticably less enthusiasm.
"I guess this means North is the navigator," said Booz.
"That's right," said Trailer.
They all froze. North realized he may have outsmarted himself.
He would never be captain now. Navigator was not a terrible position,
but it was definitely a subordinate one. For anyone else navigator
would be fine. But Norman North had high expectations to live up to,
others and his own. Had he been too clever by doing too well?
"That's right," repeated Trailer, grinning broadly. "You guess
he will be navigator. Your posts will be made clear to you when you
graduate academy. Not before."
And then North breathed again. He suddenly realized how foolish
he'd been. The only test that would determine whether he made captain
were the command tests. He could still be captain. And yet he
realized how keyed up he was by the prospect of not making captain.
Maybe he had put too much emphasis on the importance of making captain.
And yet, after commanding an army in the Battle Games, any lesser rank
would clearly be a let down. What would the guys at the Fort
Washington training camp in the Battle Games say if he only made
navigator?
I don't understand; he clearly was the best navigator, so why
doesn't Trailer just come out and tell them? Is it for the suspense?
Partially, Mr. Dustin. I see you are starting to understand us.
But that is not the main reason. Lieutenant Commander Trailer was
speaking the truth. Certainly, North is the best navigator. I also
suspect, in the course of the next few days, he'll be the best weapons
officer, best science officer, and best ship's function's officer. If
he's best at everything we can't appoint him to all positions.
Then how do you decide?
It's a complicated algorithm... which also takes into account
subjective evaluation on our part. But the rank of Captain, that
alone, is decided on who best fulfills the command tests. It's too
important not to give to anyone else.
So if North wins the command tests...
He's Captain. Look at his face, he's just realized that.
North did look more relieved. The others gathered around him,
talking about their tests. They headed out to lunch.
So, Mr. Dustin, what did you think?
Interesting. I thought these simulators would be simple shoot'em
up computer games.
There's nothing simple about them. At the same time they are
carefully calibrated not to be too challenging; we don't want our
cadets feeling frustrated.
They had a catered lunch, in Academy Park, by the rocket statue
they had seen the night before. It was a sunny afternoon day. North
and Cassra sat under a shady tree.
"Not one mission! Not one mission did I come in first!" fumed
Cassra.
"Easy, Donna," said North. "You came in second on that last one,
and that was a pretty tough mission."
"Yeah, second, once or twice, big deal?" she shook her head in a
gesture of denial. Dark strands of hair were momentarily propelled by
the wind.
"We can't all be good at everything," said North. "There will be
something you'll win at; just wait and see."
"Maybe I should have gone back to the Agency," Cassra muttered
darkly.
"That's nonsense," said North. He looked into her eyes. "Trying
something new is the only challenge. If there's one thing I can tell
you from my years at the Battle Games, it's this: if you just stay
with what you've already mastered, life gets boring, very quickly."
That's why he had left the Battle Games; that's why he was risking his
reputation on mastering a new realm.
They locked eyes, for a moment. Then Cassra smiled. "Maybe
you're right."
"Norman right," said Wong, sitting down with them. "He always
right."
"So is that why you were following me into the belt?" said North.
"Um hm. When in doubt, follow the best."
"It didn't get you such good results, did it?"
"Problem not in theory; only of... how you say... application."
North shrugged. "Ok, you're welcome to follow me as much as you
like. Maybe I can give you some pointers about ship's functions."
"No way! I expert at ship's functions!" Wong's eyebrows were
raised.
North knew he had pushed the right button. "Very well, then."
Booz and Barr joined them.
"Congratulations on that stunt you did with the gas giant, Norm,"
said Booz.
"Thanks," said North. "And you did a fine job with the
asteroids. Just how did you get through the asteroids so quickly?" It
wasn't idle curiousity. North always tried to learn from people who
did better than him.
"Me? Oh, that was easy. I simply landed on an asteroid I saw
that would take me through the belt. A bit of a bumpy ride, but a
quick one."
North whistled. "I never would have thought of that. You're
going to make one great navigator."
"You're going to be the navigator, buddy," said Booz. "I'm
gunning for science officer, or weapons."
"We'll see," said North, stretching out on the grass.
After lunch, the team reported to a different room, where again
each player was assigned to the console.
"Science post," North muttered, staring at the instruments.
"We're being tested on the imagers."
"Correct, navigator North," said Trailer. They looked up.
Trailer's little joke was not lost on any of them. "You're now going
to be trained on the imagers. Imagers, as you may know, are your
ship's sensors. You've had some experience with them in the
navigational simulator, but here you're going to be working with the
real thing. They will not always automatically identify objects for
you. That is your job. Again, most of the controls are self
explanatory, but I will elaborate a little. As you may know, your
imager sends out a beam which hits an object, and returns an image.
What you will be required to do is analyze the image and tell us what
you see. If it's a vessel you're looking at, you can hit the IDENTIFY
button and it will tell you if the image it sees represents any class
of ship, friendly or otherwise, that is cataloged in Space Command ID
records. Of course, the accuracy of the analysis depends on the
quality of the scan. If it's an unclear scan, the identifer won't help
you. There are many different ways of analyzing a scan, as you will
see. You can adjust the frequency and the wavelength of your imager
output as well."
"Why would we need to?" Cassra asked.
"Different objects react differently to imager beams. Some might
reflect shorter wavelengths better than longer ones. In routine
situations this sort of adjustment will not be necessary, but not too
many of your missions will be routine." Trailer smiled.
"Oh, and in case any of you don't find yourself with enough tasks
to handle, remember that the science officer also controls the probes.
Any other questions? No? Then we can begin."
North attended to his console. The controls were different now.
In additon to the propulsion systems, he now had imaging controls.
Taking in the zoom, North did a close up of the area of space around
him. The other ships were near him, all lined up, and there, in the
distance, was the familiar red gas giant.
North studied it under his window view. Adjusting the
magnification, he centered it on his screen. He was fascinated by its
angry red hues. North checked the imager scan. A whole body of
information appeared on the gas giant. Mass, chemical composition,
size... North flipped a switch, and the image of the gas giant was
augmented by wavy lines, curving into the gas giant. At different
points along the lines were certain numbers.
"A chart of gravitational pull at different points," said North,
mostly to himself. "Very interesting." He flipped another switch, and
now the planet glowed a soft yellow, and a number appeared.
North checked his controls. This was indicating the energy output
of the planet. North frowned; did planets generate energy? That must
be referring to the solar energy, the light the planet reflected from
its sun.
North tinkered with it for a few minutes. Then he turned his
attention to the other four ships. He put the closest one on window
view. It happened to be Booz's ship. North whistled. "Dave!"
"Yeah, Norm?"
"That's one sleek ship you've got!" Indeed, North could see, in
close detail, the shape and design of the ship. Most of the Starside
class weapon systems were in the front, he noticed. The drive unit was
a compact system in the rear. Where was the power unit? North turned
on his energy detector, and a simulated red glow settled about the
midsection of Booz's ship.
"This is really great," said North gleefully.
"You can say that again," said Cassra. This simulation reminded
her most of her work at the Agency. She enjoyed obtaining information
and analyzing it. And this console was an analyst's dream.
Now a new mission appeared on the screen. "Launch a probe to
gather data on the gas giant." Evidently the missions had not yet begun
to get competitive.
The ships all launched their probes. North had the option of
remote piloting it himself, or simply sending it to a preprogrammed
destination. He opted for the latter; as he didn't have his own
navigator, he didn't want to get too tied up in the operations of the
probe, just in case he had to get his ship moving. North was busy
enough. He flicked a switch, and his screen switched from the ship's
imager pickup to the data collected by the smaller imager in the probe.
North was acutely aware that in a real combat situation he would always
have someone watching the more powerful ship's imagers.
North studied the data collected by the probe. As it got closer
to the red giant North obtained more precise information about its
chemical content. In addition he got a closer view of its atmosphere.
Not that that helped; the thick atmosphere obscured even the prying
eyes of the probe.
After they had all played with their probes and, one by one, they
burnt up in the atmosphere of the gas giant, a new mission appeared on
their screens.
"Mission: be among the first to find the buoy with the fade
screen. It is within 100,000 space units, SU's, of your location.
Transmit its location on secured channel two when you find it."
They were in empty space. Empty. There was nothing around.
"Fade screen? Fade screen? What the hell is a fade screen?"
said Barr.
"Some kind of cloaking device, I'd imagine," said Norman North.
Is he allowed to help him like that?
Why not?
North scanned the region of space. His imagers could easily
reach 100,000 SU's, but they detected nothing. Nothing at all. No
objects of any kind.
The ships broke up. They each headed in different directions.
But they were all going at low velocities; they all knew that going
outside the 100,000 square SU ball would be useless.
North frowned. How were they to locate this buoy if it were
hidden from their imagers? Obviously they couldn't, if it were hidden
from his imager. Therefore his imager must be at least partially
effective, with some adjustment. North started fiddling with the
wavelength and frequency of the imager broadcast. The fade screen must
be absorbing the imager beams to prevent imager waves from bouncing
back, North theorized. But perhaps the fade screen couldn't operate as
effectively against different types of imager beams.
Cassra and the others had the same idea. Her ship cruised around
at a leisurely pace, searching for the buoy. But then Cassra had an
idea. She launched a probe, and sent it in a different direction.
Flipping back between her own imager and that of the probe's could be
distracting, but at least she could increase the search area. The
others saw what she was doing but opted not to follow her example; they
all thought they could best be served by concentrating all their
efforts on their own ship imagers.
Wong cruised around in his own ship. He was going slowly, very
slowly, at just under 5%. He studied the area in front of his ship,
his eyes glued to the window screen, his hands manipulating the
wavelength and frequency controls. There seemed to be no effect.
Suddenly, ahead of him, he saw an odd patch of space. He blinked. It
was gone. Wong immediately cut the drive. When his ship had come to a
complete stop, he stared intently at the screen, manipulating the
wavelength control. Nothing happened.
His hands turned to the frequency controls. Increasing the
frequency caused that area of space to shimmer again. Wong grinned.
He had them. Studying the coordinates, he made the transmission on
secured channel two.
He did it.
It was pure luck, Laker.
I admit, luck played a part, but skill was definitely involved as
well. But the mission's not over yet; there's still merit in being
number two, three, or even four.
North frowned; so far he hadn't found anything. He had
considered launching a probe, as Cassra had, but he didn't want his
attention diverted. What if he found the buoy on the ship's imager
when he was watching from the probe's data collector? What if, quickly
flipping back and forth, he missed some detail, some small clue? On
the other hand, what Cassra lost in quality she made up for in quality,
in the fact that she could almost literally be in two places at once.
But North wasn't personally comfortable with the tradeoff.
For a quick minute, out of frustration, really, North glanced at
the objective viewer. The other spaceships were still swirling around
in their search patterns. Then North noticed something interesting.
Wong's shipped had stopped. After a few seconds, it started moving
again. A false alarm? Or had Wong actually found something?
In a few seconds he would know. North's first instinct was to
head to Wong's location, at 25% speed. He would be there in seconds.
But this was a competitive mission, and if he did that, he would alert
the others. Better to try something else.
"Hey guys, I think Cassra's on the right track," said North. "I
think I'm going to launch a probe too." Sometimes, North thought, the
best way to distract attention to a secret purpose was to draw
attention to oneself, ostensibly for another reason.
"Yeah yeah," said Booz.
"Now who following who?" teased Wong.
North smiled grimly. If he was right, he would be following Wong
much more closely than he thought. This time North took personal
control of the probe's navigation, disregarding, for a few moments, his
own imager. He steered an indirect circular course towards the
location that Wong was now rapidly abandoning. North grinned. Wong
was going at 18%. In his urgency to steer the others away, he was
drawing attention to himself. All the other searchers didn't exceed 8%
or so.
Barr and Booz, busy in their own searches, did not notice
anything. But Cassra did. She thought it suspicious that Wong was
moving so quickly. Had he found something? No, he seemed to be
heading to a region of space that Booz had already combed. What was he
up to? And then it occurred to her: Wong wasn't going to a place, he
was going away from a place. Perhaps, just perhaps, he had found the
buoy. She studied the other player ships. They all seemed to be going
in their same slow, plodding search patterns. But North's probe was
heading... where was North's probe heading? Cassra's eyes narrowed,
and she thought furiously, her own search all but forgotten. That
clinched it; North's probe was heading to Wong's region of space. But
if Wong had found the buoy, where had he found it? She had picked up
Wong's ship only when he had travelled a good distance from his search
site.
And suddenly Cassra smiled, and everything was all right. Norman
North would lead her to the buoy.
North's probe reached the area of space where Wong had stopped.
He stopped the probe. If any of the other players were watching, it
couldn't be helped. He slowly rotated the probe in space. Nothing,
nothing. North sorely realized that the probe's imager was not as
strong as a ship's. North turned the probe again, adjusting the
wavelength and frequency of the imager beam. There! It took several
more adjustments, but North found and plotted the wavy region of space.
He transmitted the coordinates, and sat back relieved.
And then he sat up. There was still one more job to do. He
turned his probe hard about, intending to get it out of the area
quickly... and almost collided with Cassra's probe. He checked the
larger screen. Barr and Booz were heading there at full speed. It was
all over.
"I say again," said Wong. "Who following who?"
"You said it, Songsu," said North. "You're going to make a great
science officer."
"No, no-"
"Ship's functions, I know, I know" North sighed. He addressed
Cassra. "And you, young lady, were following me."
"You owed me, for using my 'good idea'," said Cassra.
There was scattered laughter over the comline.
"That was very good," came Trailer's voice. "You all almost set
a simulator record for locating the beacon. Of course right now you
are all adversaries, but you will find that on a real Starside DSC
class ship, you'll discover things a lot more quickly when you work
together. For example, I noticed, by silent agreement, that you all
seemed to head in different directions, parceling out different regions
of space between the five of you. That was very good. I've seen
cadets who all bunch up together, and then none of them discover
anything. Congratulations, cadets!"
A wave of good feeling spread through the cadets. And a new
mission came on their screens. "Be among the first to find the beacon.
It is not hidden by a fade screen, and it is transmitting a signal that
you may be able to home in on. When you find it, transmit its
coordinates on comm channel two."
And then the ships were back in a line again. North checked the
imager. Nothing. This region of space was entirely empty. If it
wasn't hidden, why didn't it show up on the imager? Perhaps it was too
far away to be picked up by imager scans. North checked his comm
system. Nothing. Not a sound on any channel. How far off could it be?
They all started accelerating, in different directions. Had he
the option, North would have accelerated slowly, for he wanted to
thoroughly search the area he was cruising through. But he had no idea
how far away the beacon could be.
For some time nothing happened. Their imagers remained blank.
All that could be seen were distant stars. Why could they not pick up
the beacon? Wasn't it in plain sight? What was he missing?
And then North heard it. They all heard it. A soft beeping
sound. Five sets of hands attempted to adjust five sets of comm
systems. The beeping grew softer, despite their best efforts.
North and the others attempted to trace the signal. It was a
radio wave, so it must have a point of origin. But the best their
imagers could do was point them in a general direction. And then the
signal died again.
This was most odd, thought North. What could be causing the
signal to fade away? It had not stopped transmitting, as far as he
could tell; it simply faded. What could cause a beacon to fade? North
checked his navigational equipment. He had been going at 20%. Maybe
he should notch it up to 25%. And then North frowned. His controls
said he had been going at 21%. Odd. He must have misset it. North
increased to 25%.
Cassra was also puzzled by the mystery of the beacon. She saw
the others picking up speed. Maybe that would be the wisest thing.
Best way to cover more ground. She moved her hands to the navigational
controls--and stopped. She thought she had been going at 15%. Now it
said that she was doing 16%. That had never happened before. Still
puzzled, she increased speed to 30%.
North stared at the stars. That was all there was to see, aside
from his fellow player ships. The stars were spread out against the
dark sky. Some were clumped together, others were spread out. There
were also some dark areas where there were few or no stars at all.
North raised an eyebrow. He just had a fleeting thought. But, try as
he might, he couldn't remember what it was.
Just where is this beacon thing? I thought it was out in the
open.
That's not what we said. We said it simply wasn't hidden by a
fade field.
These missions are tough.
It's not everyone who makes a Space Command Blue, Mr. Dustin.
North kept watching the imager and checking the comm channels.
The signal came back at times, only to quickly fade away. North could
never get a good lock as to its point of origin. The only thing he
could discern was the general direction it came from. It seemed to be
originating from a roughly starless area of space in the region he and
the other ships were approaching. North frowned again. If the beacon
were hidden behind a star, he could understand the interference. But
there were no stars in the area.
When in doubt, try something different, North resolved. He
decided to launch a probe. He didn't see what he had to gain from it,
but he had tried everything else, and was fresh out of ideas. Perhaps
it would be possible to triangulate the location of the beacon by
utilizing the probe as an additional receiver.
North launched the probe, and it raced ahead of his ship, into
the murky blackness of space. The probe went to 40%, then 50%, then
60%... when North noticed, he tried to slow it down. But he couldn't.
It kept accelerating. 70%... 90%... The probe broke up, and was lost.
North thought intensely. Could the probe have malfunctioned?
Could infrequent malfunctions be a part of the scenario?
"Hey, North, what happened to your probe?" Booz asked.
"Dunno," said North. He launched another one, this time keeping
an eye on its speed. At first it kept strictly under his control, but
then as it got farther and farther ahead of the ship it started
accelerating, almost on its own. North tried to slow it down, even to
turn it around, but he couldn't.
The second probe reached 72%. North knew that in seconds he
would lose it. The loss of one probe could be a coincidence. Two
could not. What was happening?
North switched to the probe's imager. He rotated the frequency
and wavelengths. Nothing. Nothing but empty, black space... North
jumped in his chair. He flicked a switch, switching to the probe's
gravitational scans. Enormous simulated lines of force were projected
in front of the probe.
From the sloping of the gravitational fields North could see that
it was a black hole.
It was if someone had traced the outline of it with a pen and
tracing paper. And now it was perfectly clear to him. The screen
winked out, as the probe was destroyed.
North snapped back into reality. Time to save his own ship. He
checked his own navigational instruments, and... he was doing 70%. In
his intense search for the buoy, he had neglected his own navigational
equipment. The speed had not gone high enough to signify an alert, but
he might already be too far into the black hole's gravitational field
to escape. North snapped the gravitational representation on the
ship's imager, studying how powerful the gravitational force was at his
location. He was already being pulled in quite strongly.
Even as North was resetting his imager he was also turning,
accelerating and turning, hoping to break free of the black hole's
influence. If he could escape he would know, in a very short time,
where the beacon was. That now was obvious to him. But would he be
able to escape?
His ship started to strain, and North saw that his course was not
altering. He pumped up the speed to 95%, and then 100%. Now the ship,
slowly started to turn away, obeying the helm despite flashing warning
signals. North thought quickly. Barr had managed to go at 108%,
albeit for a short time. North didn't know if the ship could take
108%, especially when it was under the strain of the black hole. But
the ship would have to pull away with more strength than this if he was
to survive. North increased speed to 105%. The image on the screen
buckled, and alarm indicators sounded, but North just ignored them. He
waited, waited....
Then he saw the signal--HULL TENSION, HULL IN DANGER OF
COLLAPSING. But he had no choice. He had to continue. After another
moment of stress, the ship started to turn away from the black hole.
Suddenly, with a jolt, it was free again, with only a small percentage
of the black hole's pull still on the ship. North, breathing a sigh of
relief, quickly cut speed to 50%. His ship had been damaged, but he
still had maneuverability. He still could locate the beacon.
North got away!
Yes, he did.
But what about the others?
The others hadn't noticed. They had had their hands full
monitoring their own imager and comm systems. North had had the
discipline not to cry out during his ordeal, so the others did not know
what had happened to him. Which was unfortunate, as they were all in
the same region of space. All were accelerating, to various degrees.
But no one had noticed yet.
It was Cassra who noticed first. But not by checking her speed.
By checking for Norman North. She had thought it wise to keep an eye
on him. "Norman North, where are you going?" she said, looking at the
objective viewer. North, at first going in the same general direction
as the rest of them, now seemed to be turning away.
"Just a little sightseeing," said North, trying to keep his voice
calm.
The others laughed. North's ship now turned, and seemed to be
heading back in their direction, although in a widening, indirect
course.
Cassra thought quickly. North's voice had sounded a little
forced. Could he have found the beacon, and was now heading away from
it? Perhaps. Cassra scanned that region of space. There was nothing
there. All the signals from the beacon pointed to the opposite
direction.
Cassra thought about North's tone. He hadn't sounded quite like
he usually did. If anything, his tone sounded... stressed. If he had
located the beacon he wouldn't be stressed. Now there was a puzzle,
Cassra thought. What would cause Norman North to be stressed?
She was still puzzling over this as she watched his course. He
was heading back, approximately in his original direction, but was
going in quite a roundabout way. Just out of curiousity, Cassra did a
quick closeup scan of North's ship. She wanted a more precise
indication of his vector.
She got that, and much more. She gasped when she saw the crushed
part of North's hull. His ship had been considerably damaged. Who or
what had done that?
Cassra stared forward. North had been ahead of her, and then had
turned away, and now, indirectly, was turning back again. Into the
blackness. Cassra didn't need to check the gravitational reading. She
glanced at her speed. She was doing 55%, when minutes before she had
been at 30%. She reversed course, increasing speed to 95%, hoping she
wasn't too late.
The others noticed Cassra turning around, but thought little of
it. She wasn't heading towards North; North seemed to be heading in
his own direction.
Cassra breathed a sigh of relief. She had pulled away. Now that
she knew what she was facing, she, too, had a good idea where she could
find the probe.
It was several minutes later when Booz said, "Hey, what's going
on here?"
"What?" said Barr.
"My speed--I'm going at 80%!"
"Why don't you just slow down... wait, I'm at 85%!" There was
panic in his voice.
Wong adjusted his imager. He immediately knew what had happened.
"We caught in black hole!"
"I can't turn!" "I'm caught!" they heard. The ships were
sucked into the black hole, and were crushed. Wong's ship was last;
and, before he went, he transmitted, "North! I knew I should follow
what you do!" And then his ship faded out.
That was kind of cruel, wasn't it?
You learn by doing, Mr. Dustin. Though, I have to admit, this is
the mission that usually engulfs the most cadets.
Why do you make it so hard?
So they'll appreciate the risk. None of the other missions
testing this particular skill will cause as many losses as this one
did, but the cadets won't know that. They will always have the fear
that they will lose, and, knowing that they can lose, their victories
won't be hollow.
(Pause.) That's very clever.
Thank you, Mr. Dustin.
Only Cassra and Norman North were left. North was trying to
maneuver around the edges of the black hole's influence, as was Cassra.
North had gotten a head start, but his ship had been damaged, and he
could only do 70%, and that at top speed. Cassra was accelerating at
90% to catch up to him.
And then, when North had approached the black hole from a
different side, he heard it. "Beep beep beep". It was long and
continuous, now that the black hole could not block the transmissions
from this angle.
Cassra heard it too. She was tracking the signal just as well as
North was. And she had superior speed. In a minute she would overtake
North's ship, and undoubtedly locate the beacon first.
North cursed, increasing speed to 75%. Warning indicators flared
so violently that he was forced to take it down to 70%. So close!
Another minute or two, and he would have located it first!
Being first was important to Norman North, especially when he was
this close to victory. He ignored the fact that surviving this mission
at all was a mark of achievement.
He also ignored Cassra's rapidly approaching ship as he pressed a
button, launching a probe. He took complete control of the probe,
ignoring his own ship's controls.
North pumped up the speed of the probe to 80%. He checked for
the signal. It was close, now. Alarm lights lit up on the probe. The
probe was going too fast. Disintegration was imminent.
There! North located the beacon. Suddenly, the screen went
blank. The probe had vaporized. He was back to his ship's imager view
now. North closed his eyes. He had seen the coordinates, but only for
a few seconds. Could he remember? His hands, almost shaking, moved to
the transmitter.
Cassra closed on the location. The sound from the beacon was
very strong now. There! She passed North's ship. Scanning...
scanning... Cassra located an object, moving rapidly. But then it
disappeared. She frowned; could that have been the beacon?
No, there it was! Cassra located it, calling in the coordinates.
The minute she finished, she looked at North's ship in the imager.
"Take your time, North," Cassra laughed. "I'm done." For once
she had beaten the great Norman North.
"About time," came the response. "I've been waiting a while."
The scenario ended. Their screens froze, and reset.
Cassra's eyes widened. "What??? How??"
"He launched a probe," came Trailer's voice. "But in his haste
to beat you to the target, cadet North forced it to go at unsafe
speeds, and it quickly distintigrated."
"But not too quickly," said North, casually stretching his arms
as he sat in the chair.
That was quite a risk that North took. What if the probe had
been destroyed before he had located the beacon?
Then he would've been second to locate the beacon, the same as if
he didn't risk the probe. I'll admit, thought, that it was a little
touch and go for a while there.
Trailer was still lecturing them. "I trust you see the
usefulness of watching all your instruments, cadets Barr, Booz, and
Wong. "
"Whoa," said Barr. "In the simulator, we only have one post
each. Here we were navigator and science officer combined." It just
wasn't fair; how could they be expected to do two things at once?
"Cadet Barr, did you ever consider that in a crisis situation
that you might be called on to carry out two tasks at the same time?"
said Trailer. There was a silence.
"Cadet Barr, I asked you a question."
"Yes, yes, but it's not easy." Barr looked grumpy; he still
didn't think it was quite fair.
"Only the best become the Blue," said Trailer.
Shortly a new mission objective appeared on their screens. "Be
among the first to locate the SCS Floater, believed to have crashed
into an asteroid."
The five ships were now lined up outside a large asteroid field.
"How can we hope to find anything in that?" groaned Barr. "It'll
be hard enough just navigating in there!"
North wondered the same thing. The asteroid field was indeed
very large. It would take hours to search it all thoroughly.
Obviously there had to be a shortcut.
What could it be? Radio? North listened over the comm. There
was no distress signal. What, then?
The players cautiously moved their ships into the asteroid belt.
The danger to their ships were not as great as it may have seemed; most
of the asteroids were barely moving, and there were wide passageways
for ships to maneuver through. This gave the players free time to use
on their imagers, scanning for any signs of the lost ship.
North roamed among the asteroids, scanning every rock he came
into contact with. A close scan was required to ascertain whether any
ship had crashed or not. And a close scan of every rock would take
forever.
North lifted his head up from the window screen. What was he
missing? He broadly scanned the asteroid field, checking for power
sources. Nothing. If the ship was emanating power, North was too far
away to detect it.
The others were busy scanning rocks. But Cassra was doing more
thinking than scanning. A crashed ship, a crashed ship, a crashed
ship, what were the characteristics of a crashed ship? Nothing that
she could detect. No energy, no gravity... just a lump of metal... a
lump of metal on some rock... Cassra sat upright, as if struck by
something. She scanned several rocks, just staring at their physical
appearance. They all seemed to be relatively dull rocks. But if a
ship crashed on one of them, its metal frame might reflect... Cassra
immediately broadened her scan. There, on the other side of the
asteroid field, was a distinct glinting, a reflection of solar light.
She made her way there, half expecting Norman North to be at the
crash site waiting for her. But when she found the crashed remains of
the SCS Floater she was alone. If North had gotten there first he had
already come and gone.
Cassra radioed in the coordinates and prepared to alter course to
head away from the wreckage. Suddenly, she saw North's ship, coming up
on the accident site. Evidently he had had the same idea. But she had
gotten there first.
"Any luck, North?" said Cassra, aware that the others were
listening over the comm channel.
"No, no luck," said North, momentarily switching channels to
radio in the coordinates. He could control his voice, but he could not
stop the grinning, from ear to ear.
"Well, you're always going to be there first, so maybe I'll just
follow you," said Cassra, angling her ship behind North's as he headed
away from the lost ship. She was barely able to stop herself from
chuckling.
"Yes," said North, grinning, "But I'm not always first."
After the mission had ended, Cassra said, "Well well, good to
give someone else a chance at the top spot."
"Got anyone in mind?" North teased.
But Cassra would not fall prey to teasing. She was very pleasd
with herself. She had finally come in number one in a mission. She
had even beaten the great Norman North at something.
The next set of tests measured their dexterity. An object would
appear on their imagers, and the cadets would have to zoom in and do a
quick scan of it. The person who was quickest would win that
particular round.
North found that he had a mechanical aptitude for this sort of
thing, and on average he was quicker than the others, even when the
tests got harder and several objects were appearing at once.
Finally, after ten minutes, the last dexterity test faded from
the screen.
It looks like North is going to make science officer.
I thought you said he was going to be navigator.
That too.
"I realize you must all be a little tired from that last test,
but there is still one more test to go," said Trailer. "You've all
done splendidly so far, and I trust you won't disappoint me, but feel
free to give up if this last test is too difficult."
Every player suddenly thought: oh oh, this would be the worst
one.
Ok, what's the catch for this test?
A big one. If they're to win, they have to work together.
A message appeared on North's screen. "Locate the buoy. It is
nearby."
North scanned the space around him. It was empty, totally empty,
except for the other ships. Nearby? How near was nearby?
They all started to use their imagers. They were all quite aware
that the buoy could be hidden by a fade screen, or another black hole,
or anything like that.
Cautiously the ships fanned out, each going in different
directions. But Wong was following North.
"Again?" said North. "Why not follow the champ? Cassra's going
that way!"
"I am following champ," said Wong.
North sighed. He studied his imager. Nothing, nothing! Where
could the buoy be?
And then, he saw it. Just for a second. It flickered onto his
imager, and then faded out, even before he could see where it was.
This happened several more times over the course of the next several
minutes. The other players noticed this too.
"Hey, what's with this thing?" Barr complained. "It won't stand
still so I can get a lock on it."
The others were complaining too. The buoy would wink into being,
and then wink out before the players could establish a full lock. The
players couldn't even agree on a general direction to follow. Each
thought they saw the beacon in a different area of space, and were
racing to different parts.
North cut his engines.
As usual, Dustin, Norman North will figure it out first.
North checked his imagers. Gravity, power, mass, nothing. But
there it was again, flickering in and out. If only it stayed longer,
he could get a more concrete lock on it.... But if it couldn't stay
longer, the next best thing was to view it from another perspective.
North launched all six of his ship's probes. He had a difficult time
controling all of them, and finally had to settle for leaving them
hanging in different parts of space. When the buoy appeared again,
North was unable to view the appearance from all the different probes
before the buoy flickered out again.
Close, Cadet North, but not quite.
"North, what you doing?" said Wong.
North was silent. There was no way he could locate the buoy.
"North, what happening?"
No way he could locate the buoy. But maybe they all could,
working together. It would mean collaborating with the others, meaning
that no one could finish first. But if collaborating with the others
was required, therefore the real points must go to the one who suggests
collaboration. North chuckled. He could win the scenario, right now,
and it was as simple as opening a comm channel.
"Hey guys, guys," said North, over the general ship to ship
channel.
"Yeah, what'd you want?" said Barr. "I'm busy."
"Yes, Norm?" said Cassra
Wong and Booz also checked in.
"Have any of you had any luck?" North inquired.
"Wouldn't you like to know," Barr sneered. He sensed a hint of
desperation in North's voice. Maybe the great Norman North was
stumped.
"I'm making progress," Cassra lied.
"Um... me too," said Booz, less convincingly.
"Well, I'd hate to interfere with your own lines of research, but
I do have an idea... but it would require us to work together....."
North dangled the idea before them, almost as if he were reluctant to
even offer it.
"Forget it," snorted Barr, seeing a ploy in everything North did.
"You just want to play Captain."
"I willing," said Wong immediately. Ploy or no, he was willing
to follow North.
"Ahhh... ok," said Booz. He was getting nowhere on his own.
"Donna?" said North.
"Oooh, all right. But this better be good, Norman North!" Her
instincts said not to trust him, but inwardly Cassra felt pleasure at
the idea of working with North.
North had them set up their ships, spaced apart, roughly in a
circle, encompassing a large region of space. "When you see the buoy,
report all your scientific information."
"What?"
"Look, we obviously each get only a partial lock," said North.
"But by pooling our observations from our different vantage points we
may be able to triangulate the location of the buoy."
"What if one of us lies?" said Booz.
"Don't lie," said North. "We have to trust each other."
"If we find it, who reports it in?" Cassra asked. This was a
crucial sticking point.
"We all do. Simultaneously," said North.
"You believe that?" Barr laughed. He still did not participate.
He was still convinced that this was a trick on North's part, and that
Norman North was just using the others for his own ends.
Barr's verbal thrust went unanswered. The buoy suddenly
appeared, and all eyes were glued to the screen. Then, it disappeared.
North got the general coordinates, one by one, from the other
three players. When he added his own the answer was obvious. "The
buoy is at... 24 by 17 by 11."
All eyes went to the imagers. That area of space was empty.
"There's nothing there," said Booz.
"Surprised?" said Barr.
"It's there," said North. "They never said it would be wholly
visible."
"Are you sure?" said Cassra.
"Call it in," said North. He spoke with a convincing authority.
They all radioed in the coordinates, all except Barr.
And they weren't rejected! They were right!
There was laughter over the comm link.
"Hey, what's so funny?" said Barr. Five minutes later he gave
up, but he still didn't think it was funny.
Trailer addressed them over the comm link. "Good work, cadets.
That was a tricky assignment. You'll be pleased to know that only 19%
of teams performing this simulation ever locate the buoy."
"But why couldn't we see it?" said Booz plaintively.
"It was trapped in another dimension, and only intermittently
appeared in your area of space."
"Dimensional distortion, of course, that's why our readings were
fouled up," said Booz. It seemed so simple now; why hadn't he thought
of that before?
"But who won this test?" Barr asked. That was the only important
question. They were still in competition with each other.
"It's not a matter of who wins; it's a matter of who learns,"
said Trailer.
No one won that test?
Norman North won that test.
You lied to them.
Of course.
Now Trailer was in the room with them. He studied them, as if
he was taking gauge of their strength. "You all could probably use a
rest. Take a half hour rest break. We're testing you on weapons at
four o'clock, and then we're done for the day." He left.
"Norm, just how did you survive that black hole?" Booz asked.
"I almost didn't," said North. "I pulled away, just in time."
"You could've warned us," said Booz jokingly.
"When we're working together as a team, then we will all warn
each other," said North seriously. He hadn't any choice; the rules of
the game, at this point, obligated each player to compete with each
other. Inwardly North felt this created a negative side effect, namely
friction between players who should be working together.
"When we working together on your team, Captain North" said Wong.
Coming from Barr, it might have been an accusation; but Wong meant it
in a different way. North was convinced that Wong wanted him to make
Captain. He realized it would be best for the team.
"No, North's going to be science officer," said Cassra, a bit
regretfully. She had done well on the science tests; in fact, she had
outperformed all the others. Except for Norman North.
"Captain," Wong insisted.
"Wrong-o," said Barr. "Haven't you guys figured out that being
handy with an imager doesn't make you Captain?"
"Or quick at the helm?" Booz inquired.
"That's not what a Captain does. A Captain... well, he leads.
He decides." Barr struggled to put it into words. But inwardly, he
was unsure. Precisely how were ranks allocated at Space Command? He
just didn't know.
"Then perhaps you will be Captain," said North simply.
Barr glanced at North. Barr was obviously jealous of him. North
expected that, and simply sighed inwardly. But the others also seemed
almost resigned to the fact that North would win all the tests. And
maybe, inside, they were a resentful too, just a little. North thought
furiously. He couldn't have them resenting him, even a little bit.
What could he do to alter their feelings?
"What's next?" Dustin inquired.
"For them, weaponry training," said Laker. "Come with me,
please."
"Aren't we going to watch?" said Dustin, trying to keep the
disappointment out of his voice. Much as he would be reluctant to
admit it, he was actually enjoying himself.
"You would find it pretty routine," said Laker, motioning for
Dustin to follow him through the maze of control stations. Again
Dustin caught glimpses and snatches of the other Grey zones.
"Got a problem with the Russian vice minister, he think the shoe
banging is a little bit overboard." "What do you mean, he wants to
declare war? He's not supposed to start the war until later this
evening." "There's a shootout at the underground complex. Agency
units overrunning positions at a rapid pace. Everything on schedule."
Dustin peered at that last monitor. Plainsclothes gamers armed with
pistols were storming down a corridor. "The files are in here!" one of
them shouted.
"Mr. Dustin," said Laker.
Dustin looked up, distracted.
"This way, Mr. Dustin."
He followed Laker down a series of winding halls. It was only
when they had arrived at the imager trainer, now emptied of players,
that Dustin thought to ask, "What are we doing here?"
"Teaching you how to use the imager."
"Me?" said Dustin skeptically.
"If you are to serve on a spaceship, even for a limited period of
time, it's only fair to your fellow cremembers that you be trained."
Laker paused. "Don't worry, we won't put you through all the rigorous
tests that Norman North's team went through. This experience will be
primarily educational, not competitive."
Dustin sat down. All the unfamiliar controls intimidated him a
little.
Laker spoke into the intercom. "Control, set up unit one,
training file."
Suddenly the objective and window screen came alive. A sea of
stars came alive on the screen.
"You see, these are your targeting controls, that's your zoom
control, and that's the identifier key," Laker instructed. "Try it out
on a star."
Dustin maneuvered the imager targeting device. He moved it
around, roving afar in the star field. Then he zoomed in on a dim star
in the distance, and pressed the identify button. A string of
information came onto the screen. It looked to be a white dwarf of
some sort. Dustin hunted through the control panel, finding the tuning
instruments. He performed an energy scan, and gave a long whistled.
That was some power output! Dustin turned his attention to scanning
other aspects of the star.
But no new information came onto the screen. "What gives?" he
cried out.
"You're too far away," said Laker. "You'd have to get closer to
obtain more information, and for the purposes of this simulation we're
stationary."
"Oh," said Dustin, a little disappointed. Then, thinking back to
the climax of the black hole exercise, he said, "Wait. Can't we launch
a sensor?"
"You mean a probe?" said Laker, impressed. It was only too plain
to him that Dustin was starting to get enthusiastic about the controls.
He smiled. "We're getting a little ahead of our lesson plans, but...."
"But nothing. Show me the controls." Laker wanted to baby him,
but Dustin would have none of it. It wasn't so difficult after all.
Shortly thereafter Dustin took control of the probe. Laker
didn't even raise an eyebrow when Dustin elected to pilot it manually.
With a minimum of beginner setbacks he had the probe targeted on the
distant star. As the probe got closer, more and more data appeared on
the screen. Information on the star's chemical composition and
gravitation pull filled half the commentary section.
Dustin glanced at the information, but he was really staring at
the white dwarf, now quite larger on the screen. Suddenly he checked
his acceleration, He was going too fast. Dustin attempted to
decelerate. But the probe only accelerated further, and, after a few
seconds the screen went blank, and the message "probe terminated"
appeared on the screen.
Dustin immediately figured out what had happened. "I fell into
the same trap, just like North and the other players."
"Don't feel too badly," said Laker. "Considering that this was
your first time on the imagers, especially with a probe, you performed
quite well."
Dustin grinned. "I'll bet you say that to all the reporters."
But Dustin really was quite pleased. He had never imagined just how
engaging the simulator could be. Of course, this was still little more
than an advanced computer game.
Laker briefly instructed him in the use of the different modes of
analysis, how to alter the intensity and frequency of the beams, and
how to separate the more useful imager data from the fluff. When they
were done Dustin was amazed to see that nearly two hours had passed.
"Ready for dinner, Mr. Dustin?" said Laker.
His stomach growled. He was. hungry. "What are the players
doing?"
"They will be at dinner as well."
"What happened at the weapons training?" Suddenly, Dustin's
suspicions were revived. Were they trying to hide something?
"Come. We'll see the highlights."
They again made their way through the rows of manned control
panels. Several of the screens were focused on a large parade going
through the Battle Games area. Several hundred green clad soldiers
were marching through a base camp. Tourists lined the sides of the
parade route.
"Is all activity monitored from this place?" Dustin asked.
"No, there are seven more monitoring areas like this. And two
more under contstruction. We also handle some missions here, but we
really do most gaming control in separate control rooms." Technically
all missions should be handled by Control, but, as Laker well knew,
there simply wasn't enough space. Additional control rooms were under
construction, but wouldn't be ready until the following year.
"Huh? Isn't this all the games?"
"No, these units, by and large, monitor the areas that tourists,
and players, can freely walk through. But there are more elaborate
control rooms that have a great deal of involvement in the running of
the games."
"The games?" said Dustin, still confused. "Haven't they already
started for North's team?"
"Technically yes," Laker admitted. "But until they board their
own ship for the very first actual mission, where they have a greater
degree of free action than they do in the trainer, they are under the
watch of the monitors in this section of Control. Because of the
greater flexibility the players are allowed, the games have to be
better staffed and specifically tailored to respond to their actions.
But you'll see all that later."
They sat down at a console. Laker pressed a button, warming up a
screen. "This is what occurred while I was instructing you in the use
of the imager."
Dustin saw edited clips of the players blasting away at
stationary targets.
"The beams are the lasers," said Laker. "The dotted streaks are
the proton ray lines. And those blips, with the rocket glow at the
ends, are missiles."
"What's the difference?"
"Proton guns are the most powerful, and accordingly they have a
longer range. Lasers are relatively less powerful. And missiles,
well, they're of the shortest range, and they're slow. They can be
more easily intercepted."
"Then why have them?"
"They do pack quite a punch," said Laker. "If they're employed
correctly." He did not elaborate further.
They watched the screen. Now the targets were spaceships. At
first the vessels were moving quite slowly, but soon enough they
engaged in lightning quick evasive maneuvers. Proton guns were by far
the weapons of choice, with lasers being employed frequently as well. A
few players launched missiles when their targets got close, but the
target ships always quickly retreated out of range before the missiles
could acquire. Some of the players were very quick on their guns,
readily blasting targets. Other players were less accurate in their
aim, or fell for the sudden zig-zagging feints of the target ships, and
found themselves shooting off the mark.
After a few minutes of replay, the edited presentation ended, and
the screen went blank.
"How much did North win by?" Dustin inquired.
"Well, let's see," said Laker, pushing a button He frowned. On
the screen was written
TEAM TWO WEAPONRY DRILL SCORES FILE AA#55790
BARR 94%
NORTH 88%
CASSRA 85%
WONG 81%
BOOZ 81%
"North didn't place first?" Dustin said incredulously.
"It's possible," said Laker. But he was still frowning as he
said it. Laker leaned forward into a microphone and said, "Technician
to monitor 12."
"How can that be?" said Dustin. "I thought he was the big hero
of the Battle Games! How could he not be a better shot than the rest
of them?"
"It's very possible," said Laker. "Ability to shoot, especially
in a command position, is not necessarily a primary requisite in the
Battle Games. But I do seem to remember that North is a crack shot."
A man in a white lab coat appeared. "Can I help you, Mr. Laker?"
"Yes. Get into the confidental records core, my authorization,
and punch up the aramament utility rating for Norman North. Then, go
into some of those experimental projection programs we've been running.
See if you can extrapolate what his score on this test might have been,
notwithstanding his actual performance. Finally, perform a compscan of
the actual visual records to check for reverse cheating."
"Reverse cheating?" said the tech, with a raised eyebrow. "Yes
sir." He called over several other technicians to assist him.
"What's it all about?" asked Dustin, his journalistic instincts
aroused. "You think North is cheating? Or that someone is trying to
lower his score?"
"I'm not saying anything," answered Laker. And for several
minutes he would not utter a word.
After a time the lead technician turned back to Laker. "Our
analysis is complete, Mr. Laker."
"Report," said Laker, sitting forward.
"Compute projects that Cadet North's score should have been in
the 95%+ range. Review of the visual records show that he seemed to
deliberately pause at several points. Would you like to see a
visrecord?"
Laker nodded.
A prerecorded image of Norman North appeared on the screen. The
tape was set for slow motion. North targeted the enemy ship on his
imager, reaching over to the firing controls... and paused. North's
lips seemed to be moving silently. Dustin could almost read them.
One... two... three... they seem to be saying. And then he fired.
"He deliberately paused," said Dustin.
Laker nodded.
"So, what are you going to do?"
Laker's eyebrows slanted down. "Do? Why should we do anything?"
"He cheated!"
"He reversed cheated, Mr. Dustin. There is no provision in the
rules for punishing people who purposely lower their score."
"Hm." Dustin thought a moment. Something wasn't right here.
"Hey, why did North try to lower his own score in the first place?"
"Now you ask an excellent question." Laker dismissed the
technicians. He watched them walk down a row of consoles, returning to
their station.
"Well?" said Dustin, after they had left.
"First, I'll have to ask you to promise not to report any of
this." Laker's face looked strained.
"What? About the reverse cheating? Why? Don't want people to
know that you let favored guests violate the rules?"
"No. If anything, we make the games tougher for Norman North.
But you learned about North's... tactic through our confidential
records. I... ask that it not be included in your article."
Was Laker tying to protect Norman North? Or Grey's World?
Dustin couldn't tell. But he nodded. Cheating against oneself was
hardly a major scandal. If there were scandalous stories to be found,
Dustin would find the real ones.
Laker looked visibly relieved. "Now I will explain. In several
of his previous visits here, North has had to suffer... a price for
being so good."
"A price?"
"As a gamer, he is generally head and shoulders above his peers
in ability and acumen. This tends to breed resentment." Laker
remembered a time, two years ago it must have been, when North was
openly challenged by a rebellious company commander. The CC had a big
chip on his shoulder, and thought he should have been made army
commander. This was a big problem for North; if the company commander
disobeyed his orders, one quarter of North's forces would be out of
position. Under the rules North could have had the company commander
court martialed, but that might have engendered negative feelings in
that company. So North went personally to the company commanders tent,
and talked to him. Laker's monitors couldn't pick up their
conversation, but when they came out of the tent, the company commander
didn't give North any more trouble. Still, it had been a major crisis
for North, one that had distracted his attention during a crucial point
in the campaign.
"So?"
"Resentment can reduce the ability of a crew to effectively work
together. North knows this, and he has just neutralized any resentment
towards him."
"How?"
"By showing that he is not perfect. By not placing first in one
of the tests."
"But won't that ruin his chances?" Dustin was confused. North
seemed to be taking quite a risk.
"To make Captain? Not if he's careful. And he is. He figured
that he could just slow down a little so that he would place second in
this event. If he continues to place first in the other tests, he's
virtually assured of making Captain."
"How does he know he's going to finish first in the rest of the
tests?"
"He's Norman North," Laker said, as if that explained everything.
To this day Laker wondered just what it was that North had said
to that company commander in his tent.
The players were in the cafeteria. There were hot dogs and
hamburgers for dinner again. Norman chewed his hamburger mechanically,
deep in thought. He had done well on all the tests. In fact, he had
almost certainly outperformed the others. And yet he had let Barr beat
him on the weapon's training. It rankled, a bit. But it had to be
done.
"So, the hero is silent," Barr sneered.
"Did I hear someone whine?" said North, looking sharply at Barr.
It was obvious that Barr hated him, and nothing that North could do
would change that. It was better, then, not to sit and take it.
"Lay off, Barr," said Booz. "Anyone can get lucky."
"It wasn't luck," said Barr. "I was the best gunner." Nothing
would abate his enthusiasm; he had beaten all of them, even the great
North. He wasn't so great, Barr thought; people like him seldom lived
up to their overrated reputations.
"I was the best gunner," Cassra mimicked. "Norm won every single
event before this one. Did you see him boasting?"
"Oh, I'm just joking," said Barr, trying to play it down.
But you weren't, thought North. North knew that Barr had been
trying to rub it in. But North didn't mind. He knew, of course, that
he could have beaten Barr. He had arranged to place second or third.
It had been a little tricky, because if he plunged too far in the
standings his score as a whole could have been jeopardized. But it
had worked out perfectly, and he had placed second in the weapons test.
North hadn't known, of course, that Barr would place first.
But, oddly enough, although he was a little annoyed, North was
also a little pleased that Barr had won. North had sensed the
resentment building up against him, and now it was channeled towards a
convenient lightning rod: Barr. North was now free to do his best in
all the remaining tests without fear of a backlash--they would all be
too busy hating Barr. North grinned, taking another bite of his
hamburger. The food was plain, but good.
After dinner they followed the crowd of players heading to the
outdoor arena. "I wonder what we're going to see tonight?" said
Cassra, sitting down next to North.
The landscape of the previous evening had disappeared. Now they
could see an entire battery of complex machinery in the arena.
"What is that stuff?" said Booz.
"Looks like a planetarium projector," said Barr.
"No," said North. "It's one of those new holograph projectors."
The lights dimmed, and the audience went silent.
Suddenly, they heard a roar. In front of them, an image of an
enormous rocketship appeared in three dimensions. It floated above the
arena, and a plume of thrust jutted from its engines.
"What effects!" said Wong, stunned. The noises, of course, were
coming from loudspeakers, not the holographic iomage. The thrust died
down, and for a moment, everyone was silent.
Then they heard someone speak. "This is Captain Nomura of the
Space Command Cruiser Alberta." Suddenly, to the side of the ship,
they could see a holographic image of the ship's bridge. The man in
the center chair was the one who was speaking.
"I have been ordered to establish contact with the Volks, the
alien race that inhabits this region of space, and negotiate a treaty
outlining ownership claims in this cluster."
"Captain, picking up a ship approaching," said a crewmember.
"Scan for identification. Communications?"
"Receiving a message. Blon, of Vrek, welcoming us."
"Welcoming us?" said Nomura, raising an eyebrow. "They've never
been that polite before. Science, imager scan?"
"Does not conform to any known Vrek configuration," said Science.
"Computer does not match with any known configuration, for that
matter."
Nomura personally checked the imager. Nodding, he said, "You're
right. It doesn't appear to be a Vrek design." He rapped his fingers
on his armrest.
"Captain," said the ship functions officer. "I've been looking
into this. We've had such limited contact with the Vrek that it's
entirely possible that we are not familiar with all their ship
designs."
"Noted. Science, distance to Vrek ship?"
"20,000 SU's."
Nomura touched a button. "Attention Vrek ship. This is Captain
Nomura. Do you have the treaty protocols with you?"
A flat alien voice answered. "Yes."
Nomura cut communications. "Uh huh," he said, mostly to himself.
Then, more loudly. "Raise lightscreens," he said.
"Against the Vrek?"
"Now!" The Captain yelled. "There are no treaty protocols!"
Around the exterior image of the ship a gleaming field appeared.
Suddenly, on the other side of the arna , an opposing ship appeared.
A stab of light shot out from the Vrek ship, hitting the Alberta.
The bridge shoook.
"Return fire!" yelled Nomura.
A fantastic light show erupted, complete with sounds of
explosions and dizzying lights darting this way and that. The two
ships kept slugging it out, until the Alberta reached through its
opponent's weakened lightscreens. Proton rays carved into the alien
ship. One touched the drive section, and then there was an enormous
explosion. The viewing audience blinked from the brightness of the
light, and when their vision cleared all that was left of the alien
ship was scattered debris.
"Damage," said the Captain.
"None," an officer reported. "But lightscreen strength down
60%."
"How did you know that wasn't really a Vrek ship?" a crewmember
wanted to know.
"If you remember, we were warned in our briefing report that some
groups were opposed to our concluding a treaty with the Vrek," said
Nomura. "And, if you studied the computer records, you'd also know
that the Vrek are never, ever polite." He turned to the audience as he
said this, as if he were making a point to them.
North made a mental note to makes sure he thoroughly researched
his potential opponents. In advance.
"New ship approaching," said the crewman on the imager.
"Configuration?" said Nomura.
"Vrek."
Communications spoke up. "Sir, getting a transmission." Again
the flat voice could be heard. "Humans. We the Vrek are here and
ready to negotiate the treaty."
"Fine," said Nomura. "I'm ready to receive your shuttle."
"And I am ready for yours," said the flat voice.
Nomura sighed. "I was afraid of something like that. How about
a compromise site, on neutral territory?"
The holographic image of the ships faded. Suddenly a large
planetoid appared in the center of the arena. In the area where the
bridge was projected the audience now saw the barren surface of an
alien planet. Two beings were on it, Nomura and the alien. Nomura
stepped out of his shuttle. The gentle sunlight reflected off the
sliver stripes lining the shoulders and sleeves of his dark blue
uniform.
The alien looked basically humanoid. The Vrek was dressed in a
bright purple uniform, and had tentacles for hands, but otherwise was
quite humanoid.
"Captain," said Nomura.
"Human," the alien hissed. "This cluster is ours." It certainly
got down to business quickly enough.
"A rash claim. The Vrek have only colonized less than a quarter
of it." Nomura was not prepared to concede that easily. And he
doubted that the creature even believed its own claim.
"And humans even less!" roared the creature. "Our claim is
valid. We have put markers-"
"Yes, I know about your markings," said Nomura. "You leave them
around as casually as an animal does its droppings." He said the words
purposely, knowing the likely effect.
"Human, I kill you!" the Vrek screamed, tensing as if to charge
Nomura.
Quick as a flash Nomura had drawn his blaster and fired it at the
Volk's feet. A flurry of dust was kicked up around the site.
"I am ready to compromise," the Vrek quickly said.
Know the enemy, North realized. Nomura obviously understood that
the Vrek could be easily intimidated, and he had acted accordingly
Nomura quickly and skillfully wrapped up negotiations. The Vrek
attempted to haggle over certain points, but the fight was clearly
drained from him. When they had finished negotiating, they prepared to
depart.
"Live as long as you can," Nomura said, in proper Vrek fashion.
The creature grunted in response, returning to its own landing
craft.
The holographic image faded. Nomura's voice returned. "As you
can see, contact with aleins is a tricky business. You have to know
something about their culture and their society. You also need a
healthy dose of common sense. It's proper, even prudent, to be
cautious, but never be quick to jump on the trigger finger unless
you're certain you're in danger." He grinned. "Or you think you've
got a good bargaining ploy. Good night, cadets."
The image faded, and the lights in the arena grew bright as the
proud strains of the Space Command anthem played in the background.
Over the arena they could now see a holographic image of a rocket
spouting fire. The image of Space Command. The players in the
audience got up to leave.
"Some show," said Cassra.
"Um," said North, not really paying attention. He was busy
thinking of all the things he would have done differently if he had
been captain of the Alberta.
"No play clothes?" said Dustin, with a slightly cynical smile.
He, like Laker, was now dressed in a formal suit. It had all been very
mysterious. After dinner Dustin had been hustled by underground subway
to an undisclosed location where he had been asked to change costumes.
Reluctant at first, he became happier when he saw that he had been
provided with clothes that looked normal in the real world, a formal
suit. Dustin eagerly discarded his blue play-uniform. He wondered if
Laker planned for the two of them to slip out for a drink in
Alexandria. Dustin doubted it. The suit he was wearing semed too
formal for that.
When Dustin emerged from the subway station, the sun was setting,
casting a reddish hue in the evening sky. And then Dustin looked down
from the sky, and gave a gasp.
He was in Wasington D.C. He was standing in the Mall, not far
from the Washington Monument. The imposing white tower was surrounded
by a circle of American flags, flapping in the brisk wind, illuminated
by spotlights on the grounds. Dustin looked around. Down to his left
was the Lincoln Memorial, past the long shallow pool. To the right
was Capitol Hill, in the distance, flanked by the Smithsonian. The
subway ride had been short; could it have taken him to Washington? Did
the Grey's World subway hook up with the metro D.C. system?
And then, amid the uncertainty, Dustin scanned the surroundings
more closely. The Washington Monument, while tall, wasn't nearly half
the height it should be. And both Capitol Hill and the Lincoln
Memorial were a lot closer than they should be. And then Dustin
remembered. Of course. He was in the Presidency. Dustin knew of the
Presidency, of course, but he had never thought he would have been
fooled by it.
Suddenly Laker appeared at his side. "Like it?"
"It's ok," said Dustin gruffly, attempting to hide the fact that
he had confused it with the real Washington D.C. But he already had an
uncomfortable feeling that Laker had been watching him, and he knew.
"But it's a little small."
"Our entertainment engineers determined that the real Mall was
too large. So we reduced it a little. You'll still find walking the
length of it quite a hike."
Cute. They thought theirs was even better than reality. They
had an answer for everything.
"Is it all real?"
Laker looked at him oddly. "I'm not sure I know what you mean by
that. The Washington Memorial can be climbed to the top, and you can
see the Potomic from the Lincoln Memorial. Our Potomic." He paused.
"Capitol Hill and the White House can be visited. In fact, tourists
can get tours run by congressional leaders."
"And the President runs the White House tour too, I suppose."
"No, he's much too busy for that. The Vice President runs it.
But tourists do get to meet the President on the White House tour."
"Of course," said Dustin sarcastically. Did Laker think he would
believe anything?
"You seem doubtful. Would you like to see a brief tour of the
White House? We have time."
Eyebrows raised, Dustin assented. They started walking. "How do
you simulate the President and the VP? Holographs?"
Laker chuckled "That's much too expensive, Mr. Dustin. This
isn't Space Command, you know. Holographs would be out of
place.There's a much cheaper aleternative, anyhow. Actors with
physical resemblences to government officials are not hard to come by.
You'd be surprised how many potential Speakers of the House we turn
away every month."
"What about the Smithsonian?" said Dustin, changing the subject.
"Ah, the journalistic instinct to seek out flaws has sensed our
achilles heel. The buildings are real enough, but they house the
control centers for this zone. Closed to the tourists, needless to
say."
"Why didn't you recreate the interiors?" Dustin wanted to know.
"Too expensive?"
Laker shook his head. "Too boring."
"Boring?" said Dustin. "The Smithsonian?" It contained the
grandest works of America. He sensed that Laker was just making up an
excuse.
"Well, everything is relative," said Laker. "Boring, compared to
everything else at Grey's World we have to offer." Laker remembered
the surveys they had distributed, years ago. They had asked people
what they liked to do in Washington D.C. Superficially, nearly
everyone had said they liked the Smithsonian, but people seldom got
excited about it, like they did when the Washington Memorial or the
White House were mentioned. And Grey's planners were reluctant to
recreate an exact copy of the museums; if one wanted to go the musuems,
one could go to the real Smithsonian. When Grey's people reproduced
something, they always wanted to do it with a twist.
They approached the White House. There was a long line of
tourists waiting to get inside its heavily guarded grounds.
Laker approached the park ranger at the gate, who, flanked by two
Washington policement, was organizing the tours into the White House.
Dustin was forced to admire Grey's attention to detail. The fence, the
guards, even the park ranger... everything was correct, even down to
small details. If he didn't know where he was, Dustin might actually
have believed that he was outside the White House in Washington D.C.
Laker flashed a smile, and the guards at the gate nodded,
allowing him and Dustin to jump ahead of the line and join the next
tour group, which was just then going inside.
"You must have a lot of fun, always being able to go to the head
of the line," observed Dustin.
"When I get the chance," said Laker. "But I'm usually too busy."
Doing what? Dustin thought. You're just a glorified tour guide
anyway, aren't you? Laker was little more than a standard PR man. And
yet the moment Dustin thought it, it didn't seem to ring true. There
seemed to be more substance to the man than that. Thinking about it
more, Dustin doubted that Laker was a simple tour guide. Just what was
his real post at Grey's World?
Dustin's musings were interrupted by the sight of the figure
awaiting them on the steps of the White House.
It was the Vice President of the United States.
Dustin looked closely. He had actually met the Vice President
once. This was not the same man. This man's chin was a little more
angular, and this VP was a little taller. But only someone who had
really looked at the real Vice President would have noticed the
difference.
"And we have four more just like him," Laker whispered in his
ear.
The VP spoke. "Welcome to the White House. As some of you may
know, we don't normally give evening tours. But the President
relented, as a special favor to Mr. Grey."
The audience laughed. Dustin groaned inwardly. The Vice
President proceeded to talk about the rooms he was escorting them
through. "And here we come to a gift from the Chinese. The Chinese
knew that the President likes animals, but, being a chief executive ,
didn't have a lot of time to walk them or take care of them. So they
gave him Fu dogs," he said, indicating two squat statuettes. The
tourists laughed.
After they had gone through several rooms, Dustin had to concede
that they had done a good job. This was an exacting copy of the White
House, down to excruciatingly small detail. The next room they entered
even had an occupant: the Secretary of State, sitting by a fireplace
and reading the Wall Street Journal.
"Well, hello Jim," said the VP
The Secretary looked up with mock surprise.
"Oh, hello there Paul," said the VP.
The Secretary greeted the tourists. In short order he was
fielding questions from the visitors. He certainly looked like the
real Secretary of State, but Dustin noticed an immediate difference;
this one was much more personable.
"The Prime Minister of Sweden?" said the Secretary, in answer to
a question. "Oh, he's very nice--especially after a few drinks." He
winked. The tourists chuckled.
The Secretary fielded another question. "How's the European
treaty coming?" someone asked.
"Fine, fine," said the Secretary. "It's going a little slow,
though. Everytime we get the British to agree on an issue, the French
say no. And when we get the French to agree, the British say no. So
now we're concluding agreements with the French by telling them first
that the British dodn't agree, and vice-versa." That elicited a round
of laughter. Two little boys even rushed forward to get a picture with
the Secretary.
"When the old Secretary suddenly resigned a year ago, we had to
scramble for new actors," whispered Laker. "We must be historically
accurate, you know."
After the photo opportunity was concluded, the tour got going
again. The Vice President started to tell them a humorous story about
an urn donated by Finland. But all of a sudden, the tourists heard a
tremendous crash. Alarm bells range in the background. The Vice
President looked genuinely startled. Had something gone wrong?
Dustin heard yelling, and a loud pounding of feet. Suddenly,
three masked men rushed into the room. They were all armed with wicked
looking submachine guns. One of them fired several shots into the
ceiling. Dustin, along with the others, instinctively ducked. But he
was shocked when he looked up at the ceiling and saw some very real
looking bullet holes. Were these real terrorists? For a moment Dustin
forgot where he was, and a thought struck him: They're after the
President.
"Get up!" said their leader. One of his men reached forward, and
grabbed the Vice President. "Well, well, what do we have here?"
"Get your hands off me," said the Vice President, jerking his arm
away.
"Take us to the President," said the leader, pointing his gun
squarely at the Vice President.
"I will not lead terrorists to the Chief Executive," said the VP,
as if he couldn't care less about the gun pointed at him. There was a
steely look in his eyes, as if he would not be intimidated. He glared
at the terrorists.
There was a tense standoff, for a moment. And then the leader's
finger seemed to tighten on the trigger.
A shot range out. The leader, grabbing his shoulder, dropped his
gun.
"Freeze!" said a voice.
A squad of heavily armed plainclothesmen had burst into the room.
The terrorists dropped their weapons.
"Are you ok, Mr. Vice President?" said an aide.
The Vice President nodded, dusting himself off. The terrorists
were hustled away.
And then, the shocker came. The tourists clapped.
They actually clapped.
"A game?" Dustin seethed. "This was all a game."
"Not in a formal sense," said Laker. "Our games, of course, are
a lot more elaborate."
Dustin seemed embarrassed that only he had thought it had been
real. "But..."
"Oh come now, Mr. Dustin, would terrorists really come looking
for the President in a White House in Grey's World?"
"No." Thinking on it now, Dustin could not recall precisely what
it was that caused him to believe that it had been real. It must have
been the general atmoshpere. This looked like the White House. This
place had the feel of Washington. Their guide looked like the Vice
President. And then there were the bullet holes....
"What about the bullet holes in the ceiling?" whispered Dustin,
looking up. And then he looked more closely. The holes seemed almost
illuminated.
"A sound of gunfire, and a holographic projection," said Laker.
"You wouldn't, of course, expect us to risk harm to our guests by
allowing the use of real ammunition."
Meanwhile the VP had finished apologizing for the "interruption"
and was concluding the tour.
"Let's see, is there any room I've missed," sai the VP, frowning
in mock concentration.
"The Oval Office!" several kids screamed.
"Oh yes, that's what I forgot," said the Vice President
sheepishly.
They entered the Oval Office. The President was waiting for
them, of course. And, of course, he looked and sounded like the real
Chief Executive.
"Well hello," he said. "I hear you've had a bit of excitement on
the way here." He smiled genially.
At the end of the tour, the tourists started to file out. Dustin
could hear them cheerfully babbling.
"-wasn't the President just darling?" "I did the tour yesterday,
and I thought these terrorists were more convincing."
Dustin started to file out along with the rest of the tourists,
but Laker gently took hold of his arm.
"We're not leaving? But isn't it over now?"
Laker nodded. "Yes, but I thought you might also like to see an
actual game in progress here in the Presidency."
Dustin was confused. "This wasn't it?"
Laker smiled. "My dear Mr. Dustin, this was merely an
exhibition, a showcase for the tourists. The actual players have their
own game." It was obvious that Dustin didn't understand. He thought
that any small dramatization was a game. It was incomprehensible to
Laker how Dustin had written a scathing article about Grey's World when
it was obvious that he didn't know the first thing about it. But
perhaps that was the explanation. If he had more than a passing
knowledge about Grey's World, he would have written a different piece.
So thought Mr. Grey.
"The players?"
"The cabinet officials, the senior staff, and, of course, the
President. Follow me, I'll show you."
Laker went to the foyer and entered a broom closet. Dustin,
following, saw Laker reaching up to a box on the wall and punching in a
code. A wall slid open to the side, revealing a passageway sloping
downward.
"You're full of surprises," said Dustin. "Where are we going?"
"To one of our player White Houses."
White Houses? "How many do you have?" Dustin almost imagined
dozens of White Houses, dotting this little Washington D.C. But they
had only seen one coming here. How where the rest hidden?
"Currently we have six. But we're building four more to help
ease the tremendous player waiting list," said Laker. "The difficulty
isn't in the physical construction, of course, but installing the
necessary electronics and training the crews to administer the
scenarios."
"Oh."
The tunnel reached a junction where it branched off in several
directions. Laker guided him down a corridor bearing the sign "White
House 3". The corridor started to slope upwards.
They soon found themselves exiting from another broom closet.
"Oh, one thing I must stress to you," said Laker, halting for a
moment.
"Many of the people you'll be seeing are actual players enjoying
their game. You are not to make reference to the unreality of the
game, or that fact that you and are from another zone." This was
important. Laker didn't want Dustin pulling another stunt like he did
at the Space Command briefing. He could see Dustin going up to the
President and asking, "So, what is it like to be acting as President?
Are you enjoying playing your little game here?" The most important
directive at Grey's World was that players be allowed to enjoy their
game. No one, certainly not an impetuous reporter, should be allowed
to interfere with that.
Dustin was perplexed. "Then how do we explain our presence?"
"We're reporters," Laker said. "Not a role that will be entirely
unfamiliar to you. You can even tell the truth, that your paper sent
you. Of course, they'll think you're part of the game, and not a real
reporter." Laker seemed to delight in that little irony.
They existed the closet. Immediately they heard the hustle and
bustle of staffers running back and forth in the building.
"What's going on?" Dustin asked.
"Madagascar blockade," whispered Laker. They entered a situation
room. Several men in suits were sitting at a long conference table,
and a few of those were in military uniforms. Dustin noticed an
imposing map of the Indian Ocean along one of the walls.
Laker and Dustin approached the head of the table. The
President, a young fellows who appeared to be in his early thirties,
was engrossed in a conversation with an aide. The President was
arguing about a computer printout in his hands, but he looked up when
Laker approached.
"Yes?" he said, sounding busy but trying to be polite.
"Mr. President, we're from the White House Press Corps, and we
were wondering if we could ask you for the latest news on the crisis,"
said Laker.
The President sighed. Another aide signaled for his attention.
"Mr. President," began a general.
"Just hang on," said the President. "I'm gonna hold a news
conference in an hour or so...." The President's voice trailed off as
he went into a huddle with several of his aides.
Dustin studied the conference table. Each participant had a
place card by their seat. The participants included the Secretary of
State, the Secretary of Defense, several assistant secretaries and
their aides, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, and several of his aides
as well. Each official had a compute terminal at his side. Dustin
peered at several of them. One of them displayed the latest situation
map in the waters off southern Africa. Another listed a chart of troop
strengths in the area. A third displayed political intelligence from
the region. Dustin looked up a the big situation map on the wall.
Little red, white, and blue units, presumably allied forces, were
closing in a tight knot on Madagascar. Other, unidentified purple
units were approaching the allied forces.
"Getting a communique from the leader of the Southeastern African
bloc," said an aide.
"Put it on the big screen," said the President.
A figure appeared on the large screen. "President Marsten," he
said, with only a hint of an accent.
"Chief Minister Toman. What can I do for you?" the President
asked, as if this were an idle call. It wasn't. He had spoken with
the Chief Minister only twice before, and each call had been laced with
tension. If the President made a mistake, it would only rebound to the
other side's advantage.
"I am wondering if you have come to your senses," said Toman
bluntly. "Surely you realize that Madagascar is geographically linked
to the Southeast Union."
They had heard that argument before. Marsten had had his
researchers working overtime on a white paper detailing why that wasn't
the case, taking into account the history of the region, compelling
public policy reasons, and the wishes of the Madagascan people. For
now, though, the most overwhelming reason was obvious.
"The Madagascans don't quite see it that way, Your Excellency,"
said the President.
"So? In any event, I propose a compromise."
"By all means," said the President. Toman had proposed a
"compromise" twice before. Each one had been little more than a
propaganda ploy designed to court world opinion. But Marsten was
prepared to listen carefully; it was always possible that with the
arrival of US forces, Toman would have a change of heart and suddenly
be prepared to bargain reasonably.
"You are the aggressor. Yours is the outside military force.
Withdraw them, and our forces will in turn withdraw to our bases."
"Certainly," nodded the President. Toman expressed surprise; he
hadn't expected exceptance. Several of Marsten's aides looked shocked;
one put his hands over his face. Now that he had everyone's undivided
attention, Marsten smoothly dropped the other shoe. "Once you
publically accept Madagascar's right to self-determination and pledge
not to interfere in its affairs."
"This cannot be. It is a part of our own region. Would you
pledge not to interfere in your own Vermont?"
"No, but Canada is part of North America, and we do not dictate
that they pay tribute to the US."
The Chief Minister frowned. An aide whispered something softly
in his ear. Toman slammed his fist down on the table. "Mr. President,
you must take action to defuse this. I am being forced by
hardliners... forced by hardliners to adopt a confrontational
attitude." He looked at the President, imploringly.
But Marsten's face was hard. "Then I suggest, Mr. Chief
Minister, that you direct your attention to getting your hardliners
under control." The picture faded.
The President's staff blew a collective sigh of relief, and
several of them spontaneously started to congratulate the President.
"Good work, sir!" said the National Security Advisor.
"You played him like a card," said an Admiral.
"But what if he is being pulled by hardliners?" said an aide at
State. He was concerned that Marsten had been too inflexible; perhaps
he had passed up a genuine opportunity to compromise.
"No dice," said the CIA chief. "He's the leader of the hardliner
faction. He's not pulled; he does the pulling." His sources, though
conflicting in on other matters, were nearly unanimous on that point.
"Still maybe his peace proposal had some merit," said the aide
from State.
"No," said the Admiral. "If we withdraw, it takes us three weeks
to get back into position again. It would take them only two days."
If they were to settle the crisis, they needed a complete and secure
solution. And the Admiral was hardly prepared to accept the word of
Toman, especially without any guarantees.
"We could leave a few subs behind." This was from the Secretary
of State, who was musing thoughtfully. That would, at least, hamper a
sea invasion.
"No," said the President. "We will not make a visible reduction
in our strength. It's important that we stop this aggression here and
now." He paused, taking a deep breath. "Bob, I want you to prepare a
statement for the news conference. Tell them about the compromise I
offered and how it was rejected. Make sure we get the national and the
international press to cover this." If Toman could play to world
opinion, so could Marsten.
The President turned to the CIA man. "Jim, get me profiles of
possible dissidents in the CM's organization. Let's see if we can't
stir up some trouble for the other side."
"Right, Chief."
"And the disposition of forces, Mr. President?" asked the
Secretary of Defense. His fleet commanders were constantly badgering
him for orders. Up to this point the situation had been so fluid that
it had been difficult to give long range orders to the fleet.
"Close the defensive blockage of Madagascar. I don't want even
one of their ships to get through." If one did, that could start the
fighting. And if fighting did start, Marsten preferred it to start at
sea, where the US had the advantage.
"And if they try?" said the Admiral quietly.
"Try to discourage them," said the President, with a look that
conveyed a deeper meaning. "But if we must shoot... we will. I see no
other way."
Laker started to gently nudge Dustin out of the room.
The President turned to another aide. "Melinda, get me the
President of Madagascar. Bob, I'll be wanting to see the force status
report after that." The babble of voices started to rise as Dustin and
Lake made their way out of the room.
"So what did you think?" Laker peered at Dustin intently. They
were back on the subway, returning to Space Command.
"It's... intense. How long does the game run?"
"That one, three days."
"Three days???"
"There's a lot to do. There are a half dozen major powers
involved, all with officials that need to interact. The deployment and
strategy of the armed forces have to be attended to, the intelligence
reports have to be analyzed and digested, and the diplomatic efforts
have to be thought out and coordinated."
"The President does all that?"
"No, no," said Laker, with a wave of his hands. "The President
sets the broad policy. If he tells state to negotiate an agreement
with a minor power to secure our right of passage, he leaves all the
details to the Secretary. If he tells the Joint Chiefs to get battle
ready, most of the disposition of the fleet is in their hands, as well
as the Defense Secretary. There's a proper level of delegation of
authority. Otherwise the President would be swamped. Well, more
swamped than he already is."
"Just like in real life."
"We strive to present reality, our reality, with a certain amount
of accuracy," said Laker. "If it doesn't detract from the enjoyment of
the game." Enjoyment of the game was the number one priority. Before
each realm got off the drawing boards there were extensive months of
game testing to make certain that the scenarios would have strong
appeals among potential players. If players seemed bored, then the
scenarios were reworked, or the scenarios were scrapped. Laker
remembered years ago when they had discussed making a "scientist game".
The idea of the game would be for players to pretend to be scientists
who create inventions. Their tests had shown that the idea would have
broad appeal, but the actual mechanics of the game turned people off.
Laker had shown the test results to Grey, fearing an explosion; they
had already hired builders, and started putting in the foundations.
But Grey had just laughed, and terminated the contracts. Now Space
Command stood where the "Science Lab" was to have been.
Dustin asked a queston he had been mulling over. "Which ones
were the players?"
"And which were our people?" Laker smiled. "Couldn't tell, could
you?"
Dustin nodded.
"Think the President was one of ours?" This was a concern for
Laker. He always wanted, where possible, for the Grey's employees to
blend in with the players.
"Probably," said Dustin. "It makes it easier for you to control
the game." Control was very important to them, Dustin knew. All the
games were rigged anyway; that was another reason why Grey's World was
such a fraud. And if Dustin discovered evidence that the games were
fraudulent, it would make for a great series in his paper. The Grey's
people had been stupid, really stupid to invite him here. If they
thought they could intimidate or fool him they were mistaken.
Obviously the President would be a Grey's man.
"Nope," said Laker. "He's real, all right. A real player, I
mean. It wouldn't do to have the chief player decisionmaker be a
Grey's man. If the players even suspected that, they would walk out."
That was an understatement. No one wanted to play a game if they
thought they were taking orders from a Grey's man.
"Why?"
"Game manipulation. When they play, players have a firm sense of
us against them, "them" usually being Grey's World management. Of
course, we could stack the deck as much as we like by determining the
conditions of the scenario, but at least the players can be certain
that the decisions they make in the course of the game are wholly their
own."
"So who were your people? Some of the minor aides?"
"No one you saw in that room was minor. They were all players.
Our people were the ones who appeared on the screens. And some of
those aren't even people."
"What?"
"Prerecorded computer messages. Obviously a particular scenario
is as standardized as it can be." Cost was a factor, although hardly
an overriding one; appeal was the primary factor. Laker had often had
long discussions with Grey about the construction of new realms at
Grey's World. Laker had been pushing for them to build "Police
Academy" instead of Space Command; building would be cheaper, and they
would recoup costs more quickly. But Grey had overriden him; they
already had the Agency, and besides, he wanted a Space Command. And
what Mr. Grey wanted, he got.
Back in his room at Space Command, Dustin prepared to go to bed.
It had been a long day, and he was exhausted. Dustin reflected on what
he had seen. Grey's World was lavish, he had to give them that. But
it was still a waste of money. If people wanted a real vacation, they
could go to the real Washington D.C. And yet...
everything here was so realistic. Dustin actually felt as if he had
spent an evening in Washington DC. And the situation room... well, if
that wasn't really how the real President dealt with a crisis, it would
seem real enough to the players. As Dustin drifted off to sleep, he
wondered what sort of training one had to go through in order to become
President....
Day 3
The power had failed. The ship's defenses were on the brink of
collapse.
"We need power!" North yelled. For some reason, no one heard
him. He was alone, on the bridge. The alien ship loomed large on the
viewscreen.
North targeted the ship, pressing the fire button. Nothing
happen. Then a burst shook his ship, and it exploded, breaking into
little pieces....
The next morning, Norman North sat at breakfast with his fellow
cadets. They looked a little tired; yesterday had been a long day.
North was especially tired; he had had a nightmare again, about Space
Command. He couldn't quite remember the specifics, but the thought of
it filled him with dread.
The other cadets seemed happy enough over breakfast. They were
looking forward to the day's training.
"What'll you think we'll face today?" said Booz, his mouth half
full of cornflakes.
"Dunno," said Cassra. "We don't even know how long we'll be in
training."
"Can't be much longer," said Barr. "What's left to learn?"
North tried to conceal his contempt. There was still plenty of
things that a real spaceship crew would be taught. They hadn't even
dealt with ship's functions yet. There would also, he guessed, be some
training in combat and diplomacy.
But this was the third day. North felt a degree of impatience.
When would they actually get to play the game?
After breakfast, the cadets garthered in one of the simulators.
The command simulators.
I was wondering when you were going to get around to those,
Laker. What's it all about?
There, on the screen in front of them is a mock simulator crew.
They will perform all the necessary functions.
And what does that leave the players to do?
Each player will be the Captain of his or her simulator crew.
They will have to give orders and delegate authority.
North absorbed the instructions. It irked him that he would not
be allowed to perform the individual functions himself. He would have
to rely on the simulation crew to do that. If they were slow or
inefficient, there would be little that North could do about it.
However, because the control panels were, to a certain degree,
multipurpose, he could reassign crewmembers to and from different posts
as the situation warranted.
A mission appeared on the screen, and the simulation began.
Ostensibly he was ordered to approach and study a particular binary
star, but North was certain it wouldn't be as simple as that. North
set one of his crew to navigate towards the star. The other three,
however, he put on the imagers. He briefly considered leaving a
crewmember at weapons, but there was currently nothing to fire at. And
an extra pair of eyes on the imagers could neve hurt. North understood
that, under the rules of the game, the more people he had on the
imagers the more likely he was to spot anything out there.
North's ship closed on the binary star, and the navigator
obediently slowed down as they reached the designated location. North
watched the ship shed speed. He took nothing for granted. While he
did not expect the navigator to suddenly accelerate into the heart of
the star mass, Norman North was not overtrusting.
He set one of the imager crewmembers to monitor the binary star,
and the others to continue on general scan. Data started to flow into
the imagers. North glanced at the input, from time to time, to ensure
that the stars were not emitting any dangerous pulses. But for the
most part North kept his eyes glued to the reports from the general
sweeps. That, North felt certain, was where the trouble would come
from.
The sweeps were slightly distorted by the static emissions from
the binary stars, which were also reducing imager efficiency and range.
Suddenly, there was a blip... no, then nothing.
Then the blip returned again. North detacted one of his general
imagers and ordered him to focus on the blip.
Whatever it was, it was approaching, and fast. North had the
lightscreens up even before he had the positive I.D. It was a Raster
ship.
Forgetting about the star, North took the crewmember off the
imager scan of the binary star and put him on weapons. He also took a
general imager and put him on weapons too. North told the navigator to
lay in an evasive course towards the Raster ship.
The ship accelerated, maneuvering. Good. It would present a
more difficult target for the enemy. North happened to glance at the
lightscreen indicators. And then again. The lightscreens were still
down! Hadn't he ordered them raised?
North ordered them raised again, watching carefully until the
screens were fully up. Then he quickly shifted his attention back to
the imager reports. It was a Raster destroyer. And it was now coming
into effective weapons range.
North ordered his gunners to open fire, but the Raster ship
opened fire first, hitting North's ship with laser beams. North
checked his gunners. They were only now preparing to fire! They were
so frustratingly slow! But after what seemed like an eternity the ship
opened fire on the Raster destroyer.
North and the Raster ship kept slugging it out. North's ship
started to accumulate damage. Keeping two crewmembers on the weapons,
North diverted the navigator to damage control and ship's functions.
The forth crewmember he kept on the general imager watch.
Why does he take off his navigator when he has a crewmember on
general imager scan doing nothing? The others have diverted three or
even all four of their crew to weapons.
Norman North knows what he's doing. He really outclasses the
competition.
What do you mean?
The others respond to our moves. Norman North anticipates our
moves and responds before they occur.
What?
Watch and see.
North kept slugging it out with the destroyer. The destroyer's
weapons were not so powerful, but they managed to breach North's
lightscreens in several places. North kept a crewmember on ship's
functions working to keep the screens energized. The destroyer was not
faring nearly as well; its screens were close to failure, and it had
already sustained considerable damage.
North monitored the battle closely, but from time to time he
quickly glanced at the reports coming in from the crewmember on the
general imager scan. North blinked; there was now a new blip, closing
fast! North put a weapon's officer on navigation, and moved to
reposition his ship.
Cassra and Wong, each in their own version of this scenario, had
kept an imager on general duty, and, similarly noticing the newcomer,
and had taken actions to redeploy their ships. But Barr and Booz, with
all their crew on weapons control, first noticed something was wrong
when the energy weapons from the second Raster ship slammed into them.
North busily turned the ship about, maneuvering so that he would
not be sandwiched between the two Raster ships. The new Raster ship,
another destroyer, suddenly split off, becoming three blips, one
larger, two smaller. What was this? The imager report came in,
causing North to send his ship into a full retreat. The second
destroyer had launched two fighters. If North stayed, he would be
totally outflanked and encircled. North gunned the ship at full speed,
heading away from the fray, and especially away from that fresh
destroyer.
The destroyers couldn't maintain pursuit, but the fighters could.
They were gaining on him.
North smiled. They had fallen for it. The old divide and
conquor strategy. Now he could deal with the fighters without being
interrupted by the destroyers. North set one weapon's officer to
target each fighter. He would give each of them his full attention.
The fighters fired, and North's crew launched a laser volley of their
own in return. Without the distraction of the now distant destroyers,
North's crew was able to quickly wipe out the fighters in short order.
Having accomplished that, North examined the imager reports.
Only one ship was showing up.... North quickly added one of his
weapons officers to imager duty. Suddenly the other ship appeared.
Both were pursuing him. But the damaged one lagged far behind the
newer arrival. North slowed his speed, allowing the newer destroyer to
overtake him.
Because of his tactics, and because he had kept an officer nearly
continuously on damage control, North's systems were more or less
intact. In short order he polished off the pursuing destroyer, and
then went back to finish off the original damaged Raster ship.
All the cadets defeated their enemies, but only North's ship
survived the combat relatively unscathed.
He really is head and shoulders above the others.
North knew he had done well. As he saw it, he was still headed
towards the Captaincy. But he did not discuss his performance with the
other cadets. He wanted to be low key about it. All he would say was
that he had done adequately. Barr thought this was a signal that North
had done badly. But Cassra knew better. Taking North to one side, she
said, "You did it again, didn't you?"
"Did what?" said North innocently.
"You... you... Norman North," said said, smiling at him.
North grinned lightly in reply.
Trailer entered the room. He spoke with each of them briefly,
discussing their performance. When he called Norman North, North said,
"How'd I do, sir?"
Trailer just looked at him, as if he were considering what to
say. He seemed at a loss for words. Then, finally, he said something
to North in a low voice.
When he left, Cassra approached North. "Norm? What did he say?
That you need to delegate more? Or more closely supervise?"
"No," said North, making sure the others were not listening.
With a perplexed expression, he said, "All he did was grin and tell me
to keep up the good work."
North was going to make it. He could feel it.
The next set of tests involved shuttle piloting. Laker and
Dustin watched the cadets' performance on the monitor screens. "Looks
pretty easy," Dustin remarked, watching their progress.
Laker chuckled. Dustin's lack of knowledge amused him.
"What's so amusing?"
"In reality, shuttle piloting in an atmospheric landing situation
like the one you see here would be incredibily difficult, perhaps the
most difficult task a real space ship pilot might be called on to
perform."
"Then why do you make it so easy?"
"We can't have our players burning up in the atmosphere, can we?
The real reason is that piloting is not a skill we're stressing in the
game. We want shuttle piloting to become relatively routine, so the
players can focus their attention on some more important and more
interactive aspects of the game." Similarly, other low key tasks such
as tending to life support systems had been written out of the game.
The emphasis was focusing player attention on the most interesting
aspects of the simulation.
The cadets settled in for lunch. If there was one predictable
thing about Space Command, it was the food.
"They're always serving this this basic stuff," said Barr,
picking up a hotdog bun. "Hamburgers, hot dogs, tuna... it's just like
sleep away camp."
"Or a military cafeteria," North observed.
"I really enjoyed shuttle piloting," said Booz, changing the
subject. "I wouldn't mind being navigator." He had started out
wanting to be weapons, or possibly science officer. But blasting
targets in the trainer hadn't been as enjoyable as piloting had been.
"I thought you wanted to be weapons officer or something?" said
Cassra.
"So I'm flexible," he shrugged, spooning out some jello.
"I glad I not be Captain," said Wong. "Did not like morning
tests very much. Too confusing controlling many peoples." Wong never
had the urge to give orders. All he wanted was to deal directly with
the ship's systems. Let someone else give the orders; that would leave
Wong free to tinker with the controls.
"I know what you mean," said North, nodding. "I kept getting the
urge to do each job myself." In fact, it was difficult to restrain
himself. When he had been an army commander, it had been relatively
easy to direct the campaign by giving broad orders to his company
commanders. But North felt that this game left more opportunities for
leaders to engage in more micromanagement, because of the complexity of
the instrumentation.
"Why didn't they let us?" said Cassra.
"They want us to learn to work together," said North.
Wong was elated. Everyone else groaned, but Wong was elated. He
was so excited that he clapped his hands together.
They had just settled in for the afternoon tests. Ship's
Functions.
"What are we supposed to be doing anyway?" said Casra. She had
never really understood SF in the first place, and didn't really want
to. She half seriously considered asking if she could sit this test
out; she didn't want to be SF officer anyhow, and wouldn't mind giving
up the opportunity.
They soon found out what they were to do. Each of them were
guided to their own familiar cubicles. A demo appeared on each of
their screens.
"The ship's functions officer has the most varied dusties of any
officer post on the ship--except for Captain of course," came Trailer's
voice. "There are no fewer than four primary functions of the SF
officer--power allocation, light screen maintenance, computer
interface, and repair. The SF officer can also take a spin at imager
duty as well."
North gave a low whistle. That was a lot of work.
Commander Trailer launched into a discussion of the first two
duties. North learned that the SF officer was responsible for
allocating the proper amount of energy to the ship's systems--the light
screens, the weapons, the engines, and the imagers. The SF officer was
also responsible for setting and resetting the energy levels within
different sections of the lightscreens. The lightscreens, North
realized, would be their primary means of defense. If they were
weakened, it would be up to the SF officer to shift compensating energy
to the affected areas. The demo showed how this could be done.
The training unit ran the cadets through a series of exercises,
testing their ability to shift energy from lightscreen to lightscreen
and lightscreens to other ship's systems. North learned several
important lessons from this. The ship, he noted, could be damaged by
hits even when the lightscreens remained nominally intact. North also
began to get a feel for the relative energy needs of the different
ship's systems. The imagers needed little energy to function
effectively--although more power would improve their performance, up to
a point. The engines needed a fair amount of energy, of course, but it
was the weapons systems that required the most power--especially the
proton guns, if they were to be used to their full effectiveness.
Next they were tested for their skill in operating the ship's
computer interface. "You will be graded on your speed and accuracy in
arriving at the correct solution," the simulator warned.
A question appeared on the screen. "What do Narloens use for
spaceship fuel?"
Norman North immediately typed NARLOENS on his screen.
Immediately a long list appeared.
NARLOENS
ART
BIOLOGY
CULTURE
FOREIGN POLICY
GEOLOGY
GEOGRAPHY
GOVERNMENT
HISTORY
LANGUAGE
TECHNOLOGY
ZOOLOGY
North entered the technology folder, and typed in "spaceship and
fuel", and pressed the SEARCH key. Text immediately flowed onto the
screen.
POWER SOURCES. NARCOLEN SPACESHIPS are powered by two megawatt
generators on the starboard side of their vessels. The fuel that
powers these generators comes from a substance known as Arconen, a
chalky mineral-like substance found in abundance on the homeworld....
North typed in Arconen.
CORRECT flashed on the screen.
That was easy enough, North reflected.
But the search topics quickly became more arcane and complex.
After a series of searches increasing in difficulty, North was asked to
seek out the force strength of the variable gravity field of Larcenus.
It took North several precious moments of searching to realize that
Larcenus was a binary system and that he, North, was focusing on the
wrong system. It took him even more time to locate the appropriate
stellar body in the correct system.
And when North finally located the right planet in the database,
the battle was only half won. "What the hell is force strength?" he
said, mostly to himself. He scanned the astrophysics section of the
Larcenus database. The unfamiliar scientific jargon was dizzying.
North entered a search for the term "force strength."
Nothing.
Nothing. How could that be? North frowned. He proceeded to
plough through the screens and screens of astrophysical information in
the database. Then he stopped. This was slow, and inefficient, and
getting him nowhere. North quickly scanned the adjacent folders in the
database. It did seem that he had selected the most appropriate file.
Therefore, if he was in the right file, he wasn't employing the correct
search term. He must be looking for a synonym, North reasoned. Force
strength of the variable gravity field.... North typed in
"gravitational pull" Immediately, two entries came up. North read the
first one:
THE GRAVITATIONAL PULL OF LARCENUS IS 8.43 UNITS. THIS IS
DIRECTLY CORRELATIVE TO THE MASS....
North paused, but just for a second. He was under a time
pressure. Need he check the second entry? Deciding, he toggled a key.
...GRAVITATIONAL PULL IS ALWAYS ADJUSTED UP TWO STANDARD UNITS
FOR SOLAR FLUX FROM THE BINARY STAR....
Grinning, North sent the answer in: 10.43 units.
Norman heaved a sigh of relief as the CORRECT flashed on the
screen. He had almost missed it.
Lieutenant Commander Trailer's image returned to the screen after
the final interface test. "The time pressure makes it interesting,
doesn't it? It's especially crucial when you're retrieiving
information in the heat of battle."
He paused. "But now we more on to the final skill required of
the SF officer: repair."
The cadets were taken to a different set of cubicles. Each of
these were larger, about the size of small rooms. But there were no
controls. Instead, the cadets found themselves surrounded by a maze of
machinery. A keyboard was set next to a small screen mounted on the
wall.
And there was a message on the screen. "Objective: use the
diagnostic center to effect repairs." A set of instructions appeared
on the screen. Sighing, North got to work.
"How come we're not watching the cadets?" Dustin asked. What was
Laker trying to hide? Was there some unglamorous aspect to Grey's
World that Laker didn't want himt o see?
"They're engaged in Ship's Functions training, which isn't very
much fun as a spectator sport," said Laker truthfully. "Be assured we
will rejoining them in time for their field training."
They had taken the underground tram again. Dustin didn't need to
ask where they were going; he had been provided with green fatigues to
wear. That could only mean one thing.
The Battle Games.
"Why?" said Dustin simply.
"To give you the flavor of our other zones."
"I disdain militarism," said Dustin. "I think playing war is
sick."
"I know," said Laker. "I read your column."
They surfaced in the forest, at a supply depot. Tourists,
evident by the white stripes around the middle of their fatgiues,
milled about. Some posed by artillery pieces as relatives got
pictures. Above them all loomed a tall tower. Laker motioned Dustin
towards the elevator at the base of it.
The view from the top was incredible. The entire valley was
exposed below them. The trees formed an elegant green roof over the
valley floor, sloping up and down with the run of the land. Laker
handed Dustin a pair of binoculars.
Dustin scanned the valley floor. "What am I looking at?"
"The Defender Campaign," said Laker.
North started to spot the troop emplacements. Scanning more
slowly now, he saw organized groups of soldiers spread out all over the
forest. Gradually he located the overarching positions that each side
controlled. They were positioned, opposite each other, all across the
width of the valley.
"Hm," said Dustin, studying the forces arrayed below. "Just how
many are there?"
"500 on each side," said Laker. "At least, there were, two hours
ago."
The numbers boggled Dustin's mind. "500? That's...."
"Battallion strength. It makes the game more interesting. This
is one of the ground campaigns."
"But how are the players organized?"
"As an army, naturally. There's a general in charge of each
force, of course, and a major in operational control of the battle
batallion. Then there are four captains underneath him, each
controlling a company of 120 men. In turn each company is composed of
three 40 man platoons, and so on, and so forth."
"And they all follow orders from the top? Dustin was fascinated
that a bunch of civilian players would work together on such a massive
scale.
"By and large, yes. We screen and train our officers most
carefully. Actually, confusion is a greater problem than volition."
Laker grinned. "The fog of war, so to speak. Platoons getting lost,
orders getting crossed, companies misdeploying, and the like."
Dustin studied the ground below. In one area of the valley he
saw elaborate fortifications manned by a group of defenders. Several
lines of manned trenches were reinforced by a number of pillbox
emplacements. Which were in the process of being stormed. Dustin
could see the forms of troopers rushing up to the enemy lines. Some
fell in mid charge, but many more made it, engaging in close combat
with the defenders. Mindless! It was so mindless! They were just
playing soldier, all of them. Didn't they realize how silly that was?
All they did was shoot each other. Real big fun. And suddenly Dustin
got a thought. He wondered how the players knew when they were dead.
Then he saw the flashes from their guns.
"Real guns?"
"Laser guns," said Laker.
"Real laser guns?" Dustin was confused.
Laker pulled Dustin to a corner of the observation post, and
spoke in a low voice. "Of course, they are only light projectors."
"But how to the troops know if they're hit?"
"Come," said Laker. He checked his watch. "You will find out,
first hand. We're going to put you into a scenario."
They took the elevator down. "Me?" said Dustin, surprised.
"Fear not," said Laker, with a chuckle. "This is a tourist game.
It's one of our latest innovations. Tourists, of course, enjoy
watching the games. But they would also love the chance to play one of
their own. So we set up short scenarios for them, usually under two
hours in length."
They exited the elevator, and started down a forest path.
"But... but... I've had no training." Dustin was flabbergasted.
Laker was going to put him into a war zone?
"Neither have the tourists who will be playing with you," said
Laker soothingly. "You'll all get an abbreviated training, don't
worry. Ah, we're here." They arrived at clearing where the tourist
games were being organized.
Dustin joined the line, patiently waiting for several minutes as
it moved forward. He turned to ask Laker a question, but his guide had
vanished. Where had he gone? Around him the excited babble of
tourists was nearly infectious, mellowing Dustin's irritation. But
Dustin wished he were somewhere else. He belonged in the Battle Games
almost as much as a pidgeon belonged in a goldfish bowl.
In a short while he reached the head of the line. Dustin was
handed a garment to put on over his green uniform. He felt a mixture
of curiousity and apprehension as he put on the nearly transparent wire
mesh over his clothes. He wondered what its purpose was. As the line
winded its way forward Dustin reached the armory counter, where he was
offered his choice of weapons. There were several varieties of pistols
and rifles. Dustin, a little overawed by the selection, chose a basic
pistol. The armorer keyed it for Dustin's use, in a way Dustin did not
fully understand, and then handed it to him. Dustin examined it
closely. It had no moving parts, aside from the trigger. It looked
like a real gun. Taking no chances, Dustin gingerly holstered the
weapon. He had no intention of using it. He was only here to observe.
"What do you mean, grenades are off limits?" someone said, in a
slightly annoyed tone.
Dustin looked up. Someone behind him in line actually appeared
to be dissatisfied by the arsenal's choice of weaponry.
The armorer spoke. "A grenade is an indiscriminate weapon for
military combat, friend. You've been assigned to a hostage rescue
mission."
The word quickly went down the line. "All right!" "Yeah!"
"Man, we got ourselves a real mission!" The sense of excitement was
palpable.
The tourists filed outside to an outdoor auditorium. A man in
green fatigues stood on the stage. When the tourists had seated
themselves on the rows of logs facing the stage, he spoke.
"Welcome. I am Captain John Carey of Special Forces. We have a
terrorists situation on the north ridge. Terrorists have holed up in a
cabin, and they're holding four hostages. It's your job to go in there
and rescue them." Carey said his lines forcefully. As a Grey
employee, he had just rotated on this position from a spot as an Agency
trainer in Grey City. This was only the third time he had played this
particular part, but he thought he got the lines down smoothly.
The tourists started murmurring to themselves, so Carey knew he
had achieved the desired effect. When their voices died down, Captain
Carey continued. "Here are the ground rules. Ther must be no personal
contact, repeat, no personal contact, with ANYONE. Tackling or any
other sort of physical combat is forbidden. You must make all your
kills with your weapon. Your weapon, whatever the variant, is modelled
on the advanced Lancing Beamer 2000. It is designed to shoot a narrow
beam of energy at your opponent. It only fires a single shot each time
the trigger is depressed, but for the purposes of this mission your
ammunition is unlimited. Your opponents are similarly armed. The
metal mesh which you and your oppoents are wearing is sensitive to the
light beams emitted by your weapons. If your torso gets hit by the
beam, you're dead. Sit down, be quiet, and wait for the medics to come
and retrieve you. You'll know you're dead because your transparent
mesh will turn red, and your gun will refuse to fire. He grinned.
"That's right, your gun is keyed to the status of the metal mesh that
you're wearing. That's to ensure that you don't accidentally continue
firing once you're hit."
Captain Carey cleared his throat, becoming more business-like.
"Be certain that you do not shoot captives. They can be felled just as
easily by your laser beams as the terrorists. You will also each be
provided with a map of the terrain. Any questions?" There were
usually at least one question. Tourists always had questions.
There was one. "Who will give us our orders in the field?"
Carey cocked an eyebrow. "No one. The 40 of you can elect your
own leaders, work together, in small groups, or as individuals. We
haven't had time to drill you intensively in command structures and
tactics, so you're on your own. Any more questions? No? Good. You
will now be escorted to the practice range. After 20 minutes of target
shooting, you'll be ready. Ladies and gentlemen, good luck." Carey
looked at the back of the crowd. His assistant gave him a discrete
thumbs up. He had done a good job.
The tourists filed out towards the firing range. "This is
crazy," Dustin grumbled, mostly to himself. "Unless we get organized,
we'll be chopped into mincemeat by the terrorists." He didn't care, of
course; he was only here to observe the mindless violence that Laker
and others were promoting as great fun. But if he had to be stuck here
for the next two hours it would've made sensed to have a better
organized game.
"They have a good reason for structuring the game this way," said
a tourist. "Like Carey said, we haven't had training in accepting and
giving orders. Half this group of young bucks are going to run off on
their own regardless of what Carey says."
"You talk like you're familiar with the setup," said Dustin, a
little suspicious. Could this be one of Laker's minders?
"I am," the tourist grinned. "I'm really a player."
It was then that Dustin noticed that the telltale white stripe
was missing from the fellow's green fatigues. They walked to the
weapon's range, and Dustin stood in an adjacent row to the tourist-
turned-player.
"So if you're a player, what are you doing here?" Dustin asked.
He drew his weapon. A traditional "circles within circles" target was
at the other end of the range, 20 feet away. Dustin aimed carefully,
lining his gun up to the target.
"I'm on my last day. I just finished a war game, and had a
little free time."
Dustin fired. He heard a loud frying sound, and the chamber of
the gun flashed. Looking at the target, he saw a hole at the outermost
ring. "How...."
His companion chuckled. "Don't worry, you didn't actually fire
anything. These paper targets are a little more complex then they
appear. The target registers your beam of light, and the target
changes color at the appropriate point. If you could see the target up
close, you'd see that your 'hole' was actually a shade of dark brown."
Dustin regained his composure, firing again. Thie time he missed
the target entirely. He looked over at his companion. The player had
scored a number of hits near and on the bullseye mark. Dustin
whistled. "Aren't you tired of all this, if you've just come off of a
campaign?"
The player chuckled. "You see---hey , I didn't catch your name."
"Dustin."
"Thayer," said the player. "You see, Dustin, this is a rest.
You'd think they'd tool a short tourists game to the same level of
difficulty of a player campaign? Do you think we practice on targets
only 20 feet away or have unlimited ammo in our games? Compared to
what I've been through over the last week, this is going to be a
cakewalk." He looked over at Dustin's target. The outer ring had been
touched in two places, but the target was otherwise unharmed.
Dustin looked embarrassed. "I'm not very big with guns. In
fact-"
"I think I can help," said Thayer. "For starters, aim your arm
in a line from your eye. Yep, that's it. Steady on the target... yes,
fire!"
Dustin pulled the trigger. A dark splotch appeared in one of the
inner rings. Dustin grinned.
"No magic to it, Dustin," said Thayer. "Just gotta practice."
Dustin, he saw, was a typical tourist. Inept. But with a little
training, anyone could improve. If they had the right attitude.
But their training was abruptly halted. The instructors called
them into action. They were each given a simplified map of the area,
and taken through a clearing, and there they were.
The tourist "anti-terrorist platoon" found itself at the bottom
of a long steep hill. At the top was a cabin, and on the porch they
could see a man clad in black. When he saw them filing through the
clearing, he raised a loudspeaker.
"Stay away!" he yelled. "Stay away, if you want the hostages to
live." He enjoyed his role. It was one of the more coveted positions
at Grey's World, aside from the creative parts available for the real
games, of course.
The platoon pulled back. Then they heard, "You have one hour to
capitulate and deliver the governor. If you fail, we will begin to
execute the hostages, one at a time."
The tourist soldiers started murmurring to themselves. "What do
we do?" "Negotiate?" "No, we tried that when we played this
yesterday. These guys don't negotiate." "We'll have to storm them."
"Yeah!" "Yeah!" Soldiers ran off, this way and that, all toting their
guns.
Dustin looked confused. He didn't know what to do next. He
spotted Thayer in the crowd. He was talking to three other soliders.
Thayer was speaking. "-so, if we came up on this side, see--
Dustin? Care to join us?"
Nodding, gratefully, Dustin joined the team. He found that he
instinctively liked Thayer. He had a sort of quiet confidence; he
always seemed to know what he was doing. In a small way, Thayer
reminded Dustin of Norman North.
They studied the map. Thayer was saying, "Yes, of course, if we
go straight up, we'll be caught. But if we go around, through the
forest, we may get in close enough."
Other tourists were having the same idea, and were already
starting the roundabout trek through the adjoining forest. Every so
often they would see men in white, often peering at them through
binoculars.
"Referees," explained Thayer.
They marched for nearly a half hour, marching under the cover of
the trees, their feet crunching fallen twigs. Other tourists marched
with them, but only three of them were formally in Thayer's group. One
of them struck up a conversation with Dustin. He introduced himself as
Roger Olren.
"You're a tourist too?"
Dustin did not deny it.
Olren seemed satisfied by his silence. "Well, hey, have you been
to the Presidency yet?" Olren asked.
Dustin admitted he had.
"I took my kids on a tour of Capitol Hill. They really loved it.
It so happens that we're from the Speaker of the House's district, and
we've seen the fellow on TV before, so it was a real treat for the kids
to see him. They really loved getting a chance to testify before a
congressional hearing, you know, in front of the cameras and the
audience."
Dustin nodded. "Where are your wife and kids now?"
Olren waved his hands dismissively. "They're taking it easy in
Sanctuary Park. They don't go for this rough and tumble stuff. I'll
tell you, though, it wasn't easy tearing myself away from the Park.
Especially the kids. They really love it."
Dustin had heard of Sanctuary Park, but he didn't know too much
about it. He understood that it was a nature preserve of some sort,
but Dustin sensed that there a little more to it than that. If there
was one thing that Dustin had learned, it was that nothing in Grey's
World was ordinary.
They quickly reached the point where the forest made its closest
approach to the cabin. Dustin peered through the bush. There was
stretch of clear land, about thirty feet, between the cabin and the
edge of the forest. A few boulders spotted the path to the cabin.
Thayer raised his hand, gesturing for them to halt
Suddenly, four tourist soldiers from their platoon rushed out,
dashing down the path. They had not gotten more than a third of the
way there when two men in black popped up from behind the boulders, and
started spraying them with laser fire.
The tourists immediately beat a hasty retreat, but the terrorists
picked off two of them as they ran. Dustin was watching one of them
when it happened. A beam flashed out from a terrorist's rifle, and the
tourist exclaimed; he tripped, and fell, and when he sat up, Dustin saw
that his green uniform was now a bright red.
"It's hopeless, man," one of the two survivors gasped as he ran
past Thayer's team.
"Maybe we should circle around to the other side," said one of
Thayer's men.
"No time," said Thayer. "I'm sure some of us are already on the
other side, in a similarly pinned down position."
"What do you suggest, then?" said Olren. He knew, they all knew,
that Thayer was a player, a seasoned Battle Games participant.
"Well, normally they would expect us all to charge," said Thayer.
"Some of us would get picked off, of course, but many would get
through."
"What do you mean, some of us?" said a soldier. "Didn't you see
the way they picked off those guys?"
"As a matter of fact, I did," said Thayer. "They could have
easily picked off all four of them, before they got halfway back. The
terrorists realize that this is just a tourist game, and that you guys
aren't "A" troopers."
"You said there was another alternative," said Dustin.
"Yes," said Thayer. "Something they would hardly expect." He
unslung his rifle, steadying it.
"From here?" said a tourist. "You think you can hit a target all
the way over there, from here?"
"Yes," said Thayer coolly.
"How do we get them to show themselves?" Olren asked, already
having an unpleasant idea how this might be accomplished.
"Someone will have to run out and draw their fire." Thayer said
it, matter of factly, as if he were discussing the weather, or what
they were going to have for lunch.
"No way!" "Not me!" they cried.
"I'll do it," said Dustin. It wasn't that he was being brave;
rather, he just wanted to break the impasse. Thayer looked at him, and
nodded. Dustin moved into position, at the forest's edge.
"Move quickly and try to get under cover of one of those close
boulders," Thayer advised. "Good luck." Thayer figured that Dustin
had maybe a 50/50 chance of surviving. But someone needed to go out
there, and it couldn't be Thayer; he was the best shot.
Dustin took a deep breath. There was a close boulder about 15
feet away. Dustin dashed off, taking a running jump to propel himself.
Before he had gotten ten feet out of the forest covering, a
terrorist popped up, gun ready. But even before the terrorist could
aim his weapon, a flash of light struck him and the terrorist turned
red, dropping to the ground.
The soldiers in the forest cheered. "That was good shooting!"
Olren cried.
Dustin sank behind the boulder, gun in hand. The terrorists were
only 15 feet ahead, and he could hear them stalking.
"Shit! I got hit!"
"From the guy behind the boulder?"
"No, from the forest!"
"From the forest? Are you sure?"
"Yeah. Must be a sharpshooter, or a player."
"I'll keep an eye on the forest. Any possibility of
reinforcements?"
"No. There're hitting the other side of the house pretty hard.
But we've still holding them, last I heard."
Suddenly, a thought occurred to Dustin. If the other terrorist
kept his attention fixed on the forest, someone might be able to crawl
around and surprise him from behind.
Getting on his hands and knees, Dustin started to crawl. The
others in the forest could see what he was doing, and they kept up a
staedy barrage of fire to keep the remaining terrorist occupied.
Dustin crawled on, reaching the large boulder that he believed the
terrorist was hiding behind. But if the terrorist poked his head up
now, he would see Dustin immediately.
But he didn't. Dustin slowly crawled behind the far side of the
boulder. Silence was very important now. At this distance, even a
snapped twig could alert the remaining terrorist. Dustin crawled
carefully, making sure he didn't crawl over any leaves or twigs. In
fact, his attention was so fixed on the ground below him that he was
very nearly surprised when he looked up and saw the terrorist .
It was the dead one. He just sat there, in his now red
fatigues. He seemed surprised when he saw Dustin, but Dustin knew that
it was all over. His partner was only a few feet away, just a little
bit beyond the curve of the rock. The dead terrorist would yell and
alert his companion.
But he didn't. When he saw Dustin, his surprise turned into a
smile, and, with a wink, he helpfully pointed Dustin in the direction
of his comrade, whose back was still turned on the both of them. And
then Dustin understood. As a dead terrorist, he wasn't permitted to
interfere, even to give a warning to his companion.
The live terrorist was just beyond the bend of the rock. Rather
than crawling forward and risking detection, Dustin drew his gun again
and aimed it. Then he yelled, "Hey!"
The other terrorist jumped backwards, coming into complete view.
Dustin fired off three shots in rapid succession. They were poorly
aimed shots, but at this range, it hardly mattered.
"Nice going guy," said the terrorist, as he dropped.
Dustin got up. He was covered all over with dirt. Dusting
himself off as best he could, he waved to the others, who cheerfully
ran down the path.
The approach had been secured.
"Good work," said Thayer. "I didn't think you had the guts to do
that."
"Neither did I," grinned Dustin ruefully. He suddenly remembered
that he hadn't intended to get involved. Somehow it had just happened.
Thayer's men approached the cabin, coming at it from a windowless
side. Peering around the corner, they saw a terrorist on the front
porch, standing on guard duty.
"What'll we do?" whispered Dustin.
Thayer considered. "We'll have to rush him-"
But no sooner had Thayer said those words than they heard the
yells. Several tourists not part of Thayer's group who had breached
the perimeter with them were rushing to the front of the house. The
terrorist wheeled about, firing rapidly, downing one attacker before he
himself got picked off. Three yelling tourists kicked in the front
door and rushed into the cabin. Thayer's people, seeing the endgame
near, rushed in behind them.
The cabin was big; it was a veritable maze of rooms. Thayer's
sense of apprehension increased when they found the red clothed bodies
of two tourist soldiers in one room.
"Who did this to you?" said Thayer, motioning his people to stop.
One of them started to answer, but he was interrupted by the
sound of laser fire coming from the next room. Thayer's people rushed
in, only to find the third tourist lying there. "The bastard popped up
out of nowhere," he swore.
"Stick together," Thayer yelled. His team, five in all, burst
into the next room. It was empty. But there were no other doors.
They had run out of rooms. Where did the terrorists go?
Suddenly a soldier on Thayer's team was lasered from behind.
"Behind you!" Thayer yelled, blazing away. The terrorist ducked
behind the doorway. Thayer leapt past the doorway, spinning around to
blast the terrorist at point blank range.
"Where did you come from?" Thayer demanded. For they had covered
all the rooms in the cabin. Or had they?
Carefully they retraced their steps. All the rooms were now
empty.
"Where are they?" said a solder. "We've only got ten minutes
left!"
Suddenly a terrorist appeared out of nowhere. They blasted him,
but not before he had fired a shot. Dustin saw the gun leveled at him,
and he instinctively ducked. But he knew that his motion was too
little too late. He wouldn't be able to get out of the way in time.
And he didn't. But another allied soldier was in front of
Dustin, and absorbed the hit. He went down, his green uniform
instantly turning red.
Dustin looked up. There were only three of them left now.
"Where are they coming from?" Thayer said.
"I have an idea," said Dustin. "Cover me." Holstering his
weapon, he started knocking on the walls.
Thayer instantly understood. But instead of covering for Dustin,
he and Olren, who were the only ones left, started knocking on the
walls themselves. "We've only a few minutes left," said Thayer
urgently.
It was Dustin who found it. He heard a hollow sound at one
point. Looking closely, he even found a small latch embedded in the
masonry of the wall. Snapping his fingers, he got the attention of
Thayer and Olren, who both drew their guns.
They found themselves going down a squeaky set of stairs. There,
at the bottom, under a spotlight, were four people tied up and gagged.
And a sole terrorist witha gun pointed straight at the captives.
"Hold it!" he cried. "Or they get it."
"You can't get out," said Dustin, thinking, keep him talking. If
he's talking, he's not firing.
"Drop your weapons!" the terrorist cried.
"Drop our weapons?" said Dustin, stepping forward, slowly
lowering his gun. The terrorist eyed him as he approached. Good,
good, thought Dustin. Watch me.
"Drop it!" the terrorist said again.
"You want me to drop it?" said Dustin, slowly. "So I'll drop
it." He tossed the gun at the terrorist's feet. The terrorist looked
down. Dustin dodged out of the way. "Now, Thayer!"
The terrorist was all red, almost before he looked up again.
The captives were all overwhelmingly grateful when they were
ungagged and untied. The men feverishing pumped their hands. Dustin
felt a little embarrassed when a woman insisted on hugging Dustin.
It's only a game, he thought. And yet he genuinely felt that he had
accomplished something. Something challenging.
They all walked upstairs, out of the cabin, and were almost
surprised by the reception waiting for them.
Captain Carey was there, along with the rest of the rescue
platoon. About 25 of the 40 member unit were red, but all were
estatic when they saw the captives, unharmed, stepping out onto the
front porch.
"Thank you, oh thank you very much," said one of the captives,
and the crowd cheered. Captain Carey read the names of the soldiers
who had rescued the captives: Thayer, Olren, and Dustin. And then the
tourists cheered again. Dustin again felt a little embarrassed.
Turning to Thayer, he saw the player grinning at him.
"Thanks, Thayer," said Dustin.
"Thank you," said Thayer. "You make a great target, buddy."
Slapping Dustin on the shoulder, he headed off into the crowd. Dustin
also saw Olren, waving goodbye to him, and he returned the gesture,
feeling good.
After a few moments Dustin jerked, as if he were coming out of a
trance, and he looked about, as if he were searching the babble of
conversations and faces.
"Having a good time?"
It was Laker, of course. Wherever he had secluded himself, it
obviously hadn't been far away. Dustin had an uncomfortable feeling
that Laker had been monitoring him throughout the course of the
scenario. But Dustin nodded.
"Oh? What happened to the author of the article, 'Grey's World
Promotes Mindless Militarism'"?
"It does," said Dustin. Then, breaking down with a grin, "But it
is kind of fun."
They walked down another forest path. Dustin ignored the scenary
as he tried to reconcile his inner thoughts. He was convinced that
Grey's World did sanitize, even glorify violence. And yet Dustin had
to admit that it was fun.
"Games don't kill; people do," said Laker, sensing his thoughts.
"We've done empirical studies confirming that our players do not become
more violent after they experience Grey's World."
"But glorifying violence...."
"What do movies do? Television? Ever taken karate lessons, Mr.
Dustin?"
Dustin shook his head.
"I used to, in my youth. Turned out that the people who knew the
most about violence never started a fight. Ever seen a black belt get
arrested? There are a lot of people out there who can responsibly
separate reality from play. And there is a real need for this play, a
need that we fill."
Dustin found it hard to argue with him. He knew that man's basic
nature was violent. Perhaps this was a harmless way of channeling it.
But somehow it didn't seem so simple. It was as if his mind was
muddled, and he couldn't properly think arguments through. Perhaps
because he was tired from the game.
They arrived at a military base on the edge of the forest. It
was a large, fenced-in enclosure, with a sign over the front guardpost
that read "Fort Washington."
Two guards snapped to attention at the gate when they saw Laker,
allowing him and Dustin to pass.
"Does everyone know you?" asked Dustin. There must be thousands
of employees at Grey's World, he thought. Did they all know Laker on
sight? Did they know all tour guides on sight?
"Not everyone," said Laker. "But my job does take me around a
lot."
"Giving tours and the like." It was a statement, but also a
question.
"And the like," said Laker, giving an enigmatic grin.
Troops marched around the base in rigid formations. Others ran
through obstacle courses, encouraged by the shouts of their officer-
instructors. Other soldiers were practicing target shooting, and
Dustin could also spy several platoons performing calesthenics--jumping
jacks, push ups, sit ups, and the like.
"What is this place?" said Dustin. "For the tourists?"
Laker laughed. "Fort Washington? This is the training base for
the players. Everyone, from the lowest private to the command generals
train here." Technically that was true. Laker didn't tell Dustin that
once officers completed basic training they were segregated from the
troops, so they would not be distracted by drill maneuvers during the
grueling officer candidate training.
Dustin spotted some flashes of light in the distance.
"What is that?"
"Grenade and mortar training."
"Grenades and mortars? How do you simulate those?" What next,
tanks and artillery?
Laker showed him. The basic grenade was a lightweight oval bulb.
When the pin was pulled it would "explode": four seconds later, it
would briefly glow with a brilliant light. The light it gave off
triggered the red effect in any nearby uniforms, and anyone within four
feet would get "fragged". The bulb was plastic, so that it would not
crack on impact, and, after the game was over, it could be reset and
used again.
The mortars operated on a similar principle. A grenade was put
into the launching tube, and then a chamber of compressed air shot it
out in an arc towards the enemy positions. The advantage over grenades
was obvious: mortars had longer ranges, and could go over objects.
"Doesn't that hurt if it lands on someone?"
Laker reached down, picking up a defunct grenade. Tapping the
hollow plastic bulb lightly, he said, "Only their pride is hurt."
They entered one of the buildings in the center of the base camp.
To Dustin's surprise they passed several classrooms. They entered a
room with a sign over it that read "Platoon Tactics."
The instructor had already begun. "-you should, you must
coordinate with the other platoons in your company. If you don't work
with your company commander, you're liable to screw up the whole
position. Having said that, I must reiterate that you're in control of
an independent battle group. What, with only 40 men, you say? What
good is that when you've got an enemy company coming across the ridge?"
"A platoon is capable of holding off an entire company. If it's
properly situated and dug in--yes?"
There was a question. "Sure, we can defend, or be overrun. But
we can't fight 120 soldiers with one standard rifle platoon."
"Au contrare," said the instructor. "Such a situation occurred
only two years ago. An entire company had a platoon pinned down. Know
what happened?" The question hung in the air for a moment.
"When the company attempted to encircle and outflank the lone
platoon, there were certain gaps in their lines, due to a lack of
coordination between the attacking company's platoons. The encircled
platoon noticed this, due to the work of efficient scouts, and,
concentrating all its forces on a weak point, the platoon punched its
way through the enemy's company."
There was a soft murmur in the audience.
"Of course, in such a situation your chances of survival are not
great. Which is why you need to work with your fellow platoon leaders
and the company commander. Let's take another example. Cadet
Lieutenant Treecher, what would you do if-"
Laker propelled Dustin to the door. In the hallway, Dustin
asked, "Did that really happen? The bit about the platoon escaping
from a company?"
Laker nodded. "In war, there is often uncertainty. Often a bold
stroke, even in the face of overwhelming numbers can win. Why, I
remember a time, five years ago it must have been, when a young
lieutenant, commanding a lone platoon, actually defeated the better
part of a company singlehandedly."
"No, come on! How could that be done?" Dustin couldn't believe
it. Laker was telling tall tales.
"You'll have the chance to ask him yourself. In a few days you
will be in the Space Command simulator with Norman North."
"The feedback circuit is still malfunctioning," North read on the
screen. Sweating, he turned back to the circuitry. He was acutely
aware that the clock was ticking. North touched a probe to a circuit.
The data flow seemed normal. He looked back at the screen. The
machine still insisted that the feedback circuit was malfunctioning.
But the probe data insisted that the information flow was regular. All
the other related systems seemed to be functioning normally. The
entire system was now working perfectly.
"The feedback circuit is still malfunctioning," the screen still
insisted.
North thought furiously. The system was working, but was
registering a malfunction. That must mean... hm... quickly, he put the
probe to the monitor circuit, which was responsible for checking for
malfunctions. Probe data, glaring red, flowed onto the data panel.
North quickly made the necessary adjustments.
"Correct!!!" flashed on the screen. "The scenario is over."
North slumped down on the ground. He wasn't cut out for repair
work.
He looks exhausted.
He'll recover.
How'd he do while we were gone?
In energy transfer, computer library skills, or repair?
All of them.
Norman North came out first.
Oh.
But it was close, very close Wong came in first in some
subcategories. He earned a very close second. Wong may yet attain his
goal.
The cadets were given a half hour to rest, for which they were
grateful. They slumped down on a bunch of couches in an Academy
lounge.
"I'm pooped," said Booz. "What time is it?"
"Almost three o'clock," said Cassra. "That last test was tough."
She hadn't felt that she had done especially well. Her heart just
wasn't in it; SF work didn't excite her.
"Not so tough," said Wong. "For me, was easiest test." Wong, of
course, had had a good time. For him, it was all one big puzzle. He
enjoyed reconfiguring the pieces to make the entire system function
correctly. It was like setting things right.
"Gentlemen," said Booz, "I believe we have our SF officer."
"But what's next?" Cassra wondered. "How much longer does the
training go on?" They were only going to be here a week, after all.
"It can't be very much longer," said Barr. "It feels like
they've trained us for everything."
"This time I would tend to agree with you," said North. "I do
think our time at the Academy is nearly at an end."
Are they right?
Didn't you hear what North said?
That doesn't answer my question.
Today is their last day of training.
North and the other cadets were outdoors now, in a hidden grove
behind Academy. This was surprising. All their previous tests had
been conducted indoors, in the little cubicles. And then North saw the
shooting range, and the neat line of blasters, and his heart gave a
little leap for joy. It was like coming home for him.
They practiced target shooting for some time. North was
exceptionally skilled in this regard; his years of experience in the
Battle Games would serve him well. His shots rarely strayed far from
the bullseye. But Booz and Cassra also proved to be capable shots.
Wong usually managed to hit the target as well, but Barr's shooting was
most irratic.
"What's wrong with this thing?" he yelled, shaking the gun.
The operator, North was tempted to say.
Barr, fiddling with the gun, accidently pulled the trigger,
shooting himself. His entire uniform turned red.
"Hey, what the... what's going on?" he demanded.
"You did manage to hit something after all," Cassra said
brightly.
An instructor approached. Looking at Barr, he shook his head.
He activated a device, pointing it at Barr. The transparent mesh that
Barr had donned now turned transparent again, allowing the blue in his
uniform to come through again.
Barr, ignoring the laughter, returned his attention to the
'range.
After the practice session, the cadets were tested for their
knowledge of battle tactics. Lieutenant Commander Trailer appeared,
carrying a clipboard in hand.
Why are you testing them on this? This isn't the Battle Games.
No, it isn't. But there may be combat situations, especially
when the crew goes down to planets or boards other ships. In any
event, though, it will not be a major part of the game, which is why
they're only being taught basic combat tactics. There will be no
platoon training here.
"Gentlemen!" said Trailer. "And lady," he added, nodding
deferentially at Cassra. "It is time. Please make your way through
the rocks over yonder."
Cautiously, blasters raised, they started walking forward. North
saw immediately that they were too bunched up. "Spread out," he
hissed, waving them away.
But it was too late. Several humanoids, clad in organe
jumpsuits, pooped up from behind the rocks and opened fire on them.
Cassra and Barr were immediately hit, and Booz went down a moment
later, even as he dove for cover.
North hugged a rock. In the confusion of the attack he had had
only a glimpse of their attackers, but that was enough; there were
three of them, and he knew their general locations. Picking up a
pebble, he tossed it up against a far rock. Immediately a head popped
up. North pulled his own trigger a second later, and was turning and
firing again even as the first attacker was falling. He missed the
second one, bu the first alien had definitely turned red.
North had been spotted. He had nothing to lose, then, by
revealing his location.. "Wong!" he called. "Split up and head for
the end zone!"
Immediately two sets of heads popped up. North got one, and he
was turning to train his weapon on the other, when the second alien
turned red and fell. Wong stood up from behind the alien, grinning.
"They fall for that one," he said.
Now they all got up, and their uniforms were restored to the
normal blue.
"That was so unfair," raged Barr. "They came out of nowhere!"
"Now you're warned," said Trailer. "Now do it again."
The cadets exchanged looks. North crooked a beckoning finger,
and they went into a huddle. Lieutenant Commander Trailer, curious,
looked after them.
In the monitor room, Laker spoke a few words into the microphone.
What're you doing?
Adding a few more assailants.
Why?
They weren't supposed to win that first one. We have to adjust
for the Norman North advantage.
This time North briefed the cadets as to what they should do if
they were ambushed again. But at the end of the test only three had
made it through: this time Wong and Barr had been shot.
But Commander Trailer nodded approvingly. "You made it through
again. Very good. Now, one more time."
The cadets went into a huddle again. Norman North knew it would
be even tougher this time. And he was angry that they had taken any
casualties at all. An idea coalesced in his mind. North explained his
idea, and, after a few short seconds of debate, they started off.
"Hey!" said Trailer. "Where're you going?"
For the cadets had entirely avoided the entrance to the rocky
pass, and were running in a different direction. In a few seconds it
was obvious where they were going: to the exit from the rocky pass, at
the other side of the course.
Trailer quickly reached for his walkie talkie, but stopped when
Laker suddenly radioed him. "Let it be. If they're ingenious enough,
let them have their fun."
There was a series of surprised exclamations from within the
rocks as the cadets took their attackers from behind. In a few minutes
the cadets emerged from the rocks. And they were all blue. Trailer,
looked at his clipboard, debated what to write. Then he said, "Aw,
heck with it," and just tossed it into the air, and started laughing
with the cadets.
Dinner was a joyous occasion.
"Did you see the look on their faces when we came in from
behind!" Booz said.
"One of them kept saying, you're coming from the wrong way, the
wrong way!" Cassra cried, chuckling. They all laughed hysterically.
Suddenly, an officer approached their table. A full Captain,
North saw, noting the rank on her sleeves. It was Captain Laura
Roberts, the officer who had first briefed them yesterday.
"Cadets," she said, in a grave tone, and the laughter ceased. "I
heard about your little hijinx on the testing range this afternoon."
She looked stern. Then, her face melted into a grin. "I just want to
let you know that your cadet group has the highest composite score of
any group currently here this week."
The cadets cheered. When they calmed down, the Captain
continued. "If you're up for it, there's an evening test as well. A
final evening test."
"The final test?" said Csasra.
But the Captain only smiled as she walked away.
They were in another outdoor compound, surrounded by large
hedges. It was starting to get dark, but large floodlights illuminated
the area.
Each cadet was handed a small device.
"What is it?" said Booz, studying the indicators on the front.
There was a small display screen, and a number of options beneath the
panel: energy, life, minerals, motion, and chemical. There were also
directional and range controls.
"This is your hand scanner," said the instructor. She explained
how the settings worked, operating in every mode. North was especially
pleased with the motion detector. That could prove useful in combat,
especially when coupled with the life detection index.
I'm impressed.
Why?
You've spent some real money there. Apparently those little
machines can detect all those different sorts of things. Very
impressive.
Well, not really. The hand scanners are actually receivers.
Receivers?
Yes, in the sense that they receive, by airwaves, whatever they
are told to by the central computer.
So the central computer analyzes the objects?
Nothing so complex. We know where every cadet is in the terrain,
and we know what area they are scanning with the hand units.. There
are seldom more than two dozen different objects in a particular
terrain. Once the computer has figured out what the cadets are
scanning, it simply recalls the stock answer in the computer bank. For
example, do you see Cassra, there, pointing her scanner at that rock?
The computer knows that her scanner is on mineral mode, and where she's
scanning. The stock answer for that particular rock is drawn up out of
memory storage and relayed to her scanner. Similarly, if she had
scanned it for another aspect, such as energy, a different answer would
have appeared.
What about scanning for people? People are mobile objects; you
can't have one set map telling where people are.
No need to. Each player, in addition to our own people, have
built in homing beacons in their uniforms. We always know exactly
where they are. And so does computer.
Very slick.
That's a high compliment, coming from you, Mr. Dustin.
Surprisingly, they were not drilled on scanner tests. After
several minutes of fiddling with the instruments on their own, they
were each handed another object; a blaster, complete with a belt
holster and a compartment to carry the scanner in.
"Prepare for your first and only practice mission," Trailer said
simply. He pointed to the end of the hedge, to a waiting shuttle.
The shuttle was surrounded on either side by tall hedges, so they
couldn't see beyond it. The five cadets climbed into it. North
couldn't help but feel a little apprehensive.
The cadets saw that the pilot section of the shuttle was sealed
off, by a glass partition, which sealed them off from the complex
instrumentation. Above the compartment, a sign, "Automatic Pilot Laid
In", was lit.
The cadets reclined in the deeply padded acceleration couches.
"Very comfy," Booz remarked.
"Our first mission," said Cassra, a chill going through her body.
"Even if it is a practice one."
The shuttle door slammed shot, and sealed itself. They heard the
roar of the shuttle's engines, and the floor shook as they took off.
"This is it!" said Cassra, exchanging a long look with North.
North smiled. In a small way, their adventure was about to begin.
"Look!" said Booz. Through the glass barrier, they could see
outside the cockpit windows. The shuttle were already racing through
the stars.
But it hasn't moved. I'm looking at the exterior monitor, and
the spaceship hasn't moved.
The shuttle has not moved, that is correct.
How did you do it?
Oh, come now, Mr. Dustin, even you should have been able to
figure that one out. What are you referring to, the floor trembling,
the sound effects? That's too simple to even discuss.
What about the stuff they're seeing outside the cockpit window?
Ah (sly smile). That's a new technology. A very special kind of
window. How thick would you say the cockpit windows are?
Hard to tell... maybe two inches.
More like a foot and a half.
What?
Or rather, two windows a foot and a half apart. And a very
sepcial kind of glass. In between the glass we project the image we
want them to see, and give it the illusion of depth.
Impressive.
A voice came over the speaker, announcing the start of their
mission briefing.
"Cadets! Welcome. You are about to embark on your final test--
the practice mission. Your task is to conclude a formal treaty of
diplomatic recognition with a new alien race known as the Crenans. The
Crenans are a moderately advanced, generally peaceful race-"
Cassra tuned out for a moment, as she felt the shuttle
accelerate. Slowly, it started to tilt slightly to the right.
"-just concluded a peace treaty with the Cellans, a neighboring
group that superficially resembles the Crenans but are actually quite
warlike-"
The ship shuddered, and the whine of the engines softened.
Cassra noticed that they were slowing down. Ahead of them, out of the
cockpit windows, she could see a planet, rapidly growing in size.
"--a final word of advice--you may want to select a group leader,
to coordinate your actions. Remember, think before you act. Good
luck."
The shuttle started to weave its way through the atmosphere.
"A leader?" said Cassra. Choosing one could be more difficult
than surviving the mission itself.
"I nominate Norman North," said Booz promptly. He knew that he
could never make captain, and Booz inwardly acknowledged that North was
the best candidate. Besides, if North wasn't picked, it might be Barr.
"Wait!" said Barr. This is a command test, don't you see?"
"What do you mean?" said Cassra, fully understanding what he
meant. But, like Booz, she wanted to insure, at all costs, that Barr
wasn't made Captain. She despised him, largely because of his conceit,
but also because of his biting, acerbic comments.
"Whoever we elect as leader has a boost when it comes to picking
the real Captain!"
"So what you suggest?" Wong asked. "You be leader?" Like the
others, he would never stand for Barr to be leader. The man's
personality simply grated on him. And besides, Wong liked North.
"No," said Barr. He really meant yes, of course, but he knew
that the others would never even nominate him. But perhaps he could
keep North from being elected Captain. "I suggest we coordinate our
actions, without electing a formal leader."
The shuttle engines roared as the ship started to touch down.
"I say we nominate Norm," said Cassra firmly.
"You would," Barr sneered.
"Ok," said North. "We don't have time to argue. We'll
informally coordinate, as you suggest."
Barr, surprised, nodded his agreement.
But Norman North was no one's fool. He knew that in a crunch,
his authority would be accepted,de facto. It was obvious in their
faces. There was no need to make an issue of it. At this juncture, at
least.
There was a gentle thump, and the engines died entirely. They
had landed. A door on the shuttle uncycled, and opened. North noticed
that this door was on the other side of the shuttle from the side they
had entered.
They haven't moved an inch. They're just exiting the other side
of the shuttle, the other side of the hedge. They'll know immediately
that they haven't gone anywhere.
Of course. That's what we want.
What you want?
We don't want to make it quite as real as the real game they will
be playing. That's why the aliens will again be clad in simple plain
orange uniforms. We want the players to be able to distinguish between
the training and the real thing.
Your version of the real thing.
I stand corrected.
The cadets exited the shuttle. They knew they were just on the
other side of the hedge. The stars were out in force in the night sky.
But enormously bright flood lights illuminated the area, a sandy
boulder strewn quarry, giving the locale an overbright, alien feel.
"Which way do we go?" said Booz, trying to peer through the field
of boulders.
"Let's go that way," said Barr, starting off in one direction.
"Hold it!" said North. His voice had the tinge of command to
it. "Think! Doesn't this field of boulders trigger a familiar
memory?" Were they blind? Couldn't they see it? And then North
remembered: these weren't Battle Gamers. They didn't have nearly as
much experience as he did.
"The ambush training," Cassra said quietly. Now they understood.
"I suggest we use our hand scanners," said North. "Set them to
life detection. If there is an ambush waiting for us, we'll find out
soon enough."
They all spent a moment scanning the surrounding rocks.
"Nothing," said Booz, shaking his head.
"Nor here," said Barr, making a general sweep.
"Got something!" said Wong, who had been scanning more afar.
"Five life units!"
"Type?"
Wong unexpertly jiggled his scanner, looking for the right
button. Pressing the IDENTIFY key, he read the readout. "Crenans.
Confirmed."
"I got them," said Booz, swinging his own scanner into play.
"Thirty five feet to the east." He studied the little blobs on his
scanner display.
"Ok," said North. "Booz, Barr, keep looking for general life
scans as we go forward. Wong, Cassra, feel free to perform different
sorts of scans."
"And what you do?" said Wong.
"Keep my gun ready," said North. "I'm only the gunslinger. You
guys are the smart types," he grinned.
"Hey, what gives!" said Barr. Suddenly, North seemed to be in
command. "You're giving orders-"
"Stuff it, Barr," said Cassra, reflecting the general opinion
towards him.
Now all of them were grinning, except for Barr. Silently, they
moved forward. As they moved through the narrow rock passes North kept
resisting the urge to draw his weapon. It would be undiplomatic to
arrive with guns drawn, and a drawn weapon would only save a second or
two at most... although a second or two might make a difference...
"Any readings, people?"
"Nothing," said Booz. "No life immediately around us."
"Nothing here," said Cassra. "I'm picking up some info about the
rocks, but nothing interesting." She studied the rocks on her readout.
Basic iron ore deposits, appproximately two million years old... also
traces of zinc, copper, and altarium.
Wong studied his readout closely. "Scanner machine unable to
deeply penetrate into rocks. Need stronger scanners," said Wong. And
he was just the man to design them. If they got some time, Wong wanted
to take the scanner apart. Maybe he could improve on it.
"Um," said North, keeping a constant eye on their surroundings.
In a few seconds they entered a clearing, where four orange clad
humanoids awaited them. A fifth, clutching a device, hovered in the
background.
"Greetings, people of Earth," said their leader, in a slightly
stilted accent. "I am Loorlash, of Crenan." Loorlash was a tall,
blonde humanoid with wavy hair and a mischievious grin on his face.
"I am Norman North, representing Space Command," said North. "We
are here to conclude the treaty of diplomatic recognition with you."
Loorlash snapped his fingers. An aide came forward with a
document. "As you requested, it has been written in your language.
But come, my aides will amuse your people while you peruse the
document. Come!" He clapped his hands.
North sat down, started to read the document. Cassra looked over
his shoulder. Barr, never much interested in those sorts of things,
sat down to watch the Crenans perform a dance ritual. Wong and Booz
joined him. They sat and watched while two Crenans weaved back and
forth on the desert sands.
North read the document, softly. "-Treaty of friendship, in the
hope of good relations, so that our mutual peoples can reach the
satisfaction in knowing that the contact that we have established is
proper and just-" North broke off, sighing. "These people are the
master of the run-on sentence."
"I wish it would get to the point," said Cassra. "There are
several full paragraphs like this."
The dancers in the sand waved their arms this way and that as
they jumped up and down at odd times. They would also make very loud
"lipliplip" sounds in high, screechy voices. "Very talented," Barr
cynically commented to Wong.
"Very strange," said Wong, who was fumbling with his scanner. It
wouldn't come apart. He started playing with the controls again.
North spent several minutes scanning the document. Finally,
looking up, he said, "It seems ok."
"But what does it mean?"
"Not very much. Just like it says, this is merely a treaty of
diplomatic recognition. There's not a whole lot of substance to it,
aside from the joy that both sides feel in concluding this momentous
agreement." North gave a wry grin. "I think we can wrap this up-"
Suddenly, there was a yell. North immediately looked up.
Instantly his weapon was out of its holster and in his hand.
The dancers had stopped, looking disturbed. Wong and Barr, who
had been sitting there, lept to their feet.
"Where did that shout come from?" said North. "Where's Booz?"
"He went for walk," said Wong. "Dancers bore him."
They yelled, calling out Booz's name. But there was no response.
"Great," said North. "Did anyone see which way he went?" He
visually scanned the area. Booz was nowhere in sight.
They shook their heads.
North approached Loorlash. "Loorlash, one of my people is
missing. Do you know where he might be?"
Loorlash nodded. "A place, my friend, is only as good as a
location to one another."
North took a deep breath. "Right. Scanners, everyone. Set them
to life detection."
For several minutes they were all silent, as they scanned the
surrounding area. But they found nothing.
"What's wrong with these things?" said Cassra, irritably shaking
hers.
"Either we're not using them right," said North, "Or Booz is
dead." It was an unpleasant conclusion. But it seemed likely.
Already they had lost one crewmember. And no sign of the threat had
yet asserted himself.
"Dead?" said Cassra.
"Dead," said North. "This is a game, even if it is a practice
one. And players die. Don't worry, he's not killed off for the real
game, just for the purposes of this particular test. If he is dead.
Hm... in the Battle Games, when someone died in a training exercise,
they usually fall where they die, until they're discovered.
"How do we find him?"
"We search," said North. "We'll split up into groups of two.
Yell if you find him. If we turn up nothing in about ten minutes,
we'll rendezvous back here." North adjusted the setting on his
blaster. "Set your weapons to stun, for now. But keep them ready."
Cassra went with North. North kept a sharp lookout, but inwardly
he was in turmoil. Booz should have checked with him before he
wandered off. None of them should have gone off alone. But North,
distracted by the treaty, couldn't keep an eye on everyone.
They wandered through the rocks, both with their weapons drawn.
North walked forward, his weapon at the ready. Cassra followed close
hehind, taking soft steps as she scanned the surrounding area. "I
wonder if the others are having any luck," she said. "It isn't a large
area, but there are a maze of passages through these boulders."
"Yes, if only we had some way of tracing-" North broke off
abruptly, taking out his scanner. He set it for energy detection.
Sure enough, at close range, he detected four sources: his weapon and
scanner, and Cassra's equipment. Scanning farther afield, he saw
another four sources in motion. Undoubtedly Wong and Barr. There were
also an energy source coming from back in the clearing, but North
ignored that for the moment. He zoomed in on a stationary double
energy source. Only about a dozen feet... south. He quickened his
pace.
They found Booz, lying there, against the rocks. His uniform was
red, of course. Booz didn't speak; it had been impressed upon them
that once they died they should sit, motionless, waiting to be taken
away by one of the Grey's World monitors. Nevertheless Booz looked up
at them with a pained expression on his face.
"What happened?" Cassra asked.
"Never mind," said North. "He can't answer, remember? But I
think...." he looked around, trying to determine where the assailant
had come from. Looking down at the ground, North perused the area.
"What're you looking for?" Cassra asked.
North scanned the ground further. Shortly thereafter he looked
up. "Nothing."
"Nothing?"
"No sign of footprints. Other than our own. Not a single
print!"
"Why did you... wait a minute, that's impossible!"
"Interesting, eh?" said North, cracking a grin. They had a
little mystery on their hands. Could they have encountered an alien
who left no tracks? Possible, but unlikely.
"Do you think he shot himself?"
"Unlikely. Look, his gun is still holstered." All Booz had in
his hands was his scanner. "He must have been looking for something...
something must have attracted his attention." North considered for a
moment, then said, "It's time to get back to the clearing. Let's go."
Barr and Wong were waiting for them.
"Did you find him?" Wong asked.
North nodded, relating to the others how they had found Booz.
"Do you think the Crenans did it?" Cassra asked. She glanced
over at them. They were just wandering aimlessly, with not a care in
the world.
North looked at his scanner. "They're still the only lifeforms
registering besides ourselves. In all probability it is them. And
yet...."
"What?" said Barr.
"Even Crenans leave footprints," said Norman North.
They approached Loorlash. The orange suited alien was smiling
innocently to himself. Three of his followers milled about.
"Loorlash, one of my men has been killed," said North. "What can
you tell me about it?"
"He was here." Loorlash's smile broadened. "And now he is not."
"Maybe I'll send you away," growled Barr, raising his blaster.
He didn't like being toyed with. Maybe he could get the alien to talk
straight.
"Hold it!" said North, pushing Barr's blaster arm down. "This is
exactly-"
"Hey!" said Wong. "Look, there!"
In the rocks they saw a flashing light. The flash was
intermittent, making it difficult to spot its precise location, but it
was definitely there. North checked his scanner. "Not getting
anything on the energy index."
"Nothing on life," Wong confirmed.
"Then just what the hell is it?" said Cassra.
"Let's go!" said Barr, rushing forward eagerly. He would get to
the bottom of things. He sped into the rocks, weapon drawn and at the
ready.
"Wait!" cried North, calling out to the fleeing figure. He
turned to the others. "Ok, everyone else, stick together. Loorlash,
come with us, please."
They warily made their way through the rocks. The party steadily
made its way closer to the flashes. But the flashes were coming more
infrequently now, and when they were deep in the rocky area the flashes
ceased altogether.
"I was afraid of this," said North, making a 360 degree visual
scan. He knew that an ambush could come from any direction. "Wong,
which way did Barr go?"
Wong checked his life scan. "Detect single life unit, human, 15
meters-"
They heard a piercing noise, like a weapon firing.
"Which direction?" said North.
Wong looked up, his face grave. "Signal gone now." That could
only mean one thing. And they all knew it.
Suddenly they all heard someone cursing. Loudly. Barr rushed
into view, his uniform all red. "Rats, I'm shot, I'm shot!"
"Quiet!" North commanded. "You know that if you're shot, you're
supposed to lie still and keep quiet. Or do you want to lose any more
points?" Maybe that would be an incentive for him to keep quiet.
Barr opened his mouth as if to say something, thought better of
it, and then slumped down, looking thoroughly wretched.
They were silent for a moment. Then Wong said, "Getting a
reading. Close by!"
"What?" said North, raising his blaster.
"Coming to us, no, yes-"
Out of a side path came a Crenan. He was holding a metalic
device in his hands. Smiling, he waved to the players as he started to
raise the device.
"Stop!" North yelled, rasiing his blaster as he instinctively
crouched into a steady firing position.
Looking confused and hurt, the Crenan lowered the hand holding
the device. Cassra came forward and plucked the device from his hands.
"What is that?" North demanded, turning to Loorlash.
"A mere image recording device," said Loorlash, for once giving a
straight answer.
"Cassra?"
She studied the device. "A camera? Could be. Only one way to
find out." Aiming it at a rock, she depressed the activating stud.
There was a click. And that was all.
"Maybe you're not using it right," suggested Wong. He took it
from Cassra, looking it over.
Cassra shrugged. "Doesn't look to be any other controls."
"Forget it," said North. "The Crenans are innocent."
"What makes you say that?" Cassra asked.
"Look at his feet," said North, pointing to the ground around the
'camera man'. "He leaves footprints."
Excellent! Really excellent!
In what way, Mr. Laker?
They almost always make the mistake of shooting the camera man.
"So what do now?" Wong asked. He had looked over the camera
device, but couldn't discover anything more about it.
They were all looking for North to lead. He didn't disappoint
them. "Let's follow a set of footprints we do have," he said, pointing
to Barr's footprints. "But, just in case, Songsu, cover our guests."
He indicated the two Crenans.
One by one they filed by Barr. He glared at them wordlessly as
they walked by. Cassra cheerfully waved goodbye to him.
They followed Barr's tracks closely; they could immediately tell
at what point he had been shot. The ground around the area was a swirl
of footprints, as if, in a pique of rage, Barr had jumped up and down
in anger.
"But still no other footprints," said Cassra, closely inspecting
the ground.
"Not quite," said North, looking a little farther a field.
"Look."
Cassra came over to where North was. "But--I recognize those.
Our prints."
"And Booz's. This is where he was shot as well. Interesting,
don't you think?" North felt, for a moment, like he was doing Agency
work. He had participated in a few Agency scenarios over the years,
and they all came down to solving puzzles. Usually, the solutions
became obvious, once North put his mind to them. But this one was not
so easy to decipher. What had occurred here?
"What mean?" Wong asked.
Suddenly they saw a flash, from a rock just a few feet away.
"Down, everyone!" North cried, hitting the ground. They heard
the sounds of weapons fire, coming from the area around a boulder.
"Anyone hit?" North cried, after he had crawled behind cover.
"Am ok," said Wong.
"Me too," said Cassra. She looked down at her uniform. "Oh,
cripes, change that. I'm dead." She abruptly went silent.
"Songsu, stay under cover," said North. "Check the scanner.
Look for lifesigns around that area of that rock."
Wong checked the scanner. "Nothing, North, is nothing there."
They heard the wine of a weapon discharging. North saw a flash
of light playing on a rock only a foot away from him.
Ducking his head, North said, "That's not nothing!"
"How can be? Is attacker a machine?"
"Checking for energy." North adjusted his scanner. "Still
nothing."
"What going on?" Wong yelled, as another shot was fired.
"I don't know," said North. The only alien beings registering on
the life scanners were the two Crenans. And they were lying on the
ground next to North. There was nothing detectable from anywhere
around the rock.
Around the rock?
Around the rock?
In the rock.
North set his blaster to maximum. Aiming carefully, he fired at
the boulder. he didn't know whether this test would allow him to shoot
rocks; indeed, he was just acting on a hunch. But he wasn't very
surprised when he fired, and a chunk of rock was blasted out of the
side of the boulder. North could now see a crevice inside. And he saw
a flash of weapons fire from within its dark interiors, and heard the
whine of a laser. Taking aim, North fired again, this time at the
laser flashes.
There was a yell, and an orange suited alien plopped out of the
rock, falling foward. His uniform turned red before their eyes.
After a long minute, North got up. Approaching the crevice, he
saw the fallen body of their attacker.
"It was the aliens!" Wong cried.
"A Cellan, I expect," said North. He noticed a mirror in one
hand. That accounted for the flashes. It was all coming together now.
"Cellan?"
"Didn't you listen to the briefing on the shuttle? About the
Cellans, the nearly identical aliens who are hostile to the Crenans?"
"Oooh," said Wong, remembering.
"You speak rightly," said Loorlash, dusting himself off as he got
up. "This our enemy, trying to disrupt friendship treaty between us."
"You suddenly started speaking more clearly," North noticed.
And then they heard a beep, coming from within the crevice. They
all froze. There was another beep. And another. North slowly looked
into the crevice.
There was a metalic device in there. Topped with a red light
that flashed in time with the beeps. "Looks like a bomb," said North.
"Everyone clear out, evacuate."
"No, no!" cried Loorlash. "It will destroy my pavalion."
"That bunch of tents?" said North skeptically. But he
immediately understood. They had to deactivate the bomb. He sighed.
Some mornings, it just didn't pay to get out of bed.
"Maybe shoot it?" said Wong.
"Maybe blow up in our faces," said North. Examining the device
closely, he saw three levers. "Which one, which one," North muttered.
Setting his scanner to the energy index, he placed it up against the
bomb. He saw a general energy detection, but nothing specific.
"Swell," North said.
We didn't consider that. We'll have to program for that in
future scenarios.
North made a visual inspection of the device. It was basically a
bright oval sphere with a blinking timer built into one side of it. No
help there.
"I'll just have to pull a lever. Everyone get back." The
Crenans drew farther away.
"No, North," said Wong. "I good at SF. I do!"
"Very gallant of you, Songsu, but I'll handle it." North smiled.
"Think of what would happen if you died and I was the only one left.
I'd never hear the end of it from you guys. Now go back."
Wong nodded, pulling back. North turned his attention back to
the bomb. "Where to start? Might as well go with the first lever."
His hands were sweating. He knew the practice mission was almost over,
and even if he died, the mission would end in a scant few minutes.
But North did not want to fail. Slowly he pulled at the first
lever.
The beeping increased. North quickly moved the first lever back
into its original position. The beeping slowed.
He pulled at the second lever, a little. The beeping increased.
He quickly put it back the way it had been.
The third lever. That must be it. North pulled the third lever
a little.
The beeping increased.
Rapidly moving the lever back into position, North frowned. How
could that be?
"What wrong?" Wong cried in the distance. He hadn't heard an
explosion, so that was a good sign; but North obviously had not
deactivated the bomb.
"The levers don't work," said North. This was trouble. He was
sure his score wouldn't increase significantly if the bomb blew him up.
But how was he to solve this? He was a Battle Gamer, not an engineer.
"So what can do?"
North frowned, biting his lip. Well, he had to try something.
"I'll have to get a little bit creative." North had seen a bomb
deactivated in an Agency scenario, once. But the bomb hadn't looked
anything like this. What to do next? Well, anything was better than
just waiting. North slowly started to pull the first and second lever
at the same time. The beeping increased. North reversed his actions.
He tried the first and the third.
He tried the second and the third.
When all these attempts had failed, North actually smiled. "Only
one combination left," he said, mostly to himself.
Suddenly, the beeping started to increase again, of its own
accord. Time was running out.
Slowly, North pulled on all three levers at once.
The beeping slowed down.
Pulling all the way, the beeping came to a stop. The bomb's
activation light went out.
The bomb was deactivated.
There was never any doubt in my mind, Mr. Dustin.
"You have saved us from the Cellans, thank you, thank you," said
Loorlash, profusely appreciative.
"You're quite welcome," said North stiffly. But he had lost most
of his crew. He hadn't been in charge, not officially, but still he
thought of them as his crew.
He and Wong boarded the shuttle, and began the trip back.
"Good work," said Wong.
"You too," said North.
When the shuttle touched down, Barr, Cassra, and Booz were there,
waiting for them.
"Good job, good job guys!" they cried.
"How you know?" Wong asked.
"They allowed us to watch on the monitors after we exited the
scenario," said Booz.
"And quite a show it was," said Trailer, approaching. "You all
did quite well... but Cadet Barr..."
"Yes?"
"You know the rules on dying. When you're dead, please act
dead." Barr's performance had irritated everyone in the monitor
station. The man had a distinct way of alienating people, Trailer
noticed. But everyone enjoyed watching North, especially at the end,
when he was trying to puzzle the bomb out. At first, when he pulled
one lever at a time and got nowhere, some of the monitoring crew
thought he would be stumped. They watched, on their screens, as North
sat there. They could almost see the wheels turning in his mind. And
then, with some careful thought, North had figured out how to
deactivate the bomb.
"What happens next?" Cassra asked.
"Tomorrow morning you get your assignments, and your
commissions," said Commander Trailer. "Try not to oversleep," he
joked, departing.
They slowly walked back to the academy. "What happened to you,
David?" North wanted to know.
"I saw this flash in the rocks, and I went to check it out."
Booz grinned sheepishly.
"No one should never be alone on unsecured terrain," said North.
"That's one of the first rules I learned in the Battle Games.
Especially when there's only five of us."
"How did you figure out to look in the rock?" Barr wanted to
know. "Our scanners detected nothing."
"That in itself was a clue. We detected nothing, couldn't even
find any other footprints. Songsu had commented earlier that our scans
could not deeply penetrate the rocks. After a while the answer came to
me: our assassin was shielded by a rock formation." And, North
thought ruefully, he should have thought of it earlier. As a
lieutenant in the Battle Games, he had more than once directed squads
to route out snipers hidden in remote places.
"Oh ho," said Booz. "Clever, clever! But why did they train us
on scanners and then put us in a scenario where scanners didn't work?"
"Au contraire," said North. "The scanners were invaluable in
eliminating all the other possibilities. Surely you know the old
saying about how when you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains,
however improbable, must be the answer."
Booz nodded. He saw now that he would never make captain; he
simply didn't have the knack of figuring out these kinds of problems.
They reached an entrance into Academy. "So this is it," said
Cassra. "Tomorrow we get our mission, our real mission."
"And if we die, we're out of it for the rest of the game," said
Booz dryly.
"Don't feel so bad," said North. "This was only a training
exercise, remember? They won't be so quick to kill us off in the real
game." Although North wasn't really so sure. Perhaps the game
programmers would consider he, North, a special challenge, and take
extra efforts to eliminate him.
"I wonder what our mission will be," said Cassra.
"No use thinking about it now," said North. "Might as well just
relax."
"As well you might, Captain," said Barr, a rather nasty tone in
his voice. "We also get our ranks tomorrow."
"Norm deserves to be captain," said Cassra, her dislike of Barr
growing stronger than ever. He always seemed to have that leer on his
face, always seemed to be striking out at people, like a snake.
"Yes, you would say that," said Barr, glancing slowly at her and
then at North.
"I say it too," said Booz. He wasn't afraid of Barr. "Norm
would make the best Captain. What's fair is fair. Even forgetting
that he's practically a legend at the Battle Games, he's the best
leader, and there's no disputing that." Booz wouldn't have minded
making captain, but, objectively, he knew it wasn't in the cards.
"Says you," Barr sneered.
"And if you lead us, Barr, we'd crash the ship or self destruct
in the first hour, no doubt," said Cassra. She could see that Barr
really needed to be cut down to size.
"We'll see," said Barr, stomping off.
Wong looked thoughtful. "Definitely not, how you say? Officer
material," said Wong.
They all looked at Wong, surprised.
"Did I not say it right?" he asked.
It wasn't even 10 o'clock, but they were all tired, and made
their goodnights.
But North was restless. He had almost failed on that last test.
If he had been blown up he might also have blown up his chances of
being Captain. And if he didn't make Captain... he was sure that his
fans wouldn't understand. He would be labeled a failure. The fact
that he had been that close to disgrace shook him. North turned away
from Academy, and headed for the park. He saw a shadow behind him, and
slowly turned.
"Going for a walk?" Cassra inquired, quickly walking after him.
North nodded, breathing in the night air. It had a theraputic,
calming quality. "Want to join me?"
They walked through the narrow paths. It was night, of course,
but the paths were well lit. Even the surrounding foliage was
illuminated. North admired the way the nightlights played off of the
trees. The leaves seemed even greener than they appeared during the
day. They waved a little in the gentle night breeze.
"You did well today," said Cassra. She looked up at North, with
a little bit of anxiety in her face.
North nodded. "I try." He was staring straight ahead, lost in
some deep thought.
Cassra smiled at him. "And you always succeed."
"Not always, not as much as I might like," said North. "I win,
but there are different degrees of victory. You might say that I'm a
terminal perfectionist."
"But you enjoy the game."
North looked sharply at her. "Oh yes. I can't think of anywhere
else I'd rather be." And he meant it. He was a player in Grey's World
upwards of four times a year. His expertise bonus always got him in,
bumping him to the top of the waiting list, and for that North was
grateful.
"I really like it here too." Actually, though, she wished there
would be an opportunity to tour around Grey's World. For one thing,
Cassra wanted to see Grey City again. Ostensibly a city for the
tourists, it was also the base of operations for the Agency. Cassra
had played in three Agency scenarios over the years, rising in her last
adventure to the rank of team leader. She simply loved the cloak and
dagger excitement of a good mission.
As she walked through Academy Park, though, it was not the Agency
that was foremost in her mind. It was Sanctuary Park. Cassra very
much wanted to go there again. Grey's World billed it as the most
advanced demonstration of landscape engineering in the country, but
that was a cold, abstract way of describing it. Cassra smiled as she
recalled Serene Lake, complete with its swimming, boating, submarining,
and underlake hiking. She also enjoyed riding the escalator up to the
top of Mount Grey, which offered a splendid view of the area.
North, too, would have appreciated a chance to see Sanctuary Park
again. But he also had a hungering to visit his old outfit, the Battle
Games. He would be recognized, of course; it was hardly possible to
avoid his reputation. But North wanted to see the base camp and Fort
Washington. He also wanted a look at some game fortifications, if no
campaign was in play. In his last campaign he successfully laid seige
to and captured one of the larger forts, after a fierce and prolonged
battle.
But right now he was just enjoying the walk, staring at the
brightly illuminated foliage that lined the path.
They stopped at a rocket monument. Its bright steely color gave
off a very shiny reflection. North whistled. "This is one of those
really ancient jobs. A Titan rocket, I think."
Cassra peered downa t the baseplate. "You're right. I would've
thought it was a Saturn rocket. You really know your stuff, Norm."
She peered around the statue. "Hey, look at this."
"This" turned out to be a path, leading to a small shed. A small
tracking dish was mounted on the top.
The shed was small, and it was cramped with scientific devices,
and control panels, all of which were locked off. A sign over the
equipment read "Space Tracking Station."
"Look," said North. He pointed to the orbital imager display.
There, circling the Earth, was Space Station Victory. North gave a low
whistle. "That thing is big."
"Space Station Victory?"
"Victory, I gather, is the tourist attraction for Space Command.
It's also, I understand, where we board our ship for the mission."
North wondered what the Space Station would be like. There was
artificial gravity, of course, so people could walk around. There also
would probably be a pretty good view of the Earth. North understood
that the station possessed advanced imagers that allowed it to peer all
over the galaxy. He had also seen in the brochures that Victory was a
disembarking point for tours of the Earth's Moon, and a rocket trip to
the alien ruins on Tau Ceti. And these were just the tourist
attractions. It should be a really fun time.
They left the shed after several minutes. Cassra looked up at
the night sky.
"I've always wanted to get into Space Command," she said. "When
they first announced they were building it, five years ago, I kept
bombarding my travel agent to get me a ticket. I've always been a big
science ficiton fan."
"Me too," said North. "When I was a kid, I used to dream about,
you know, being in a Star Trek movie, being on the bridge...."
"In command?" said Cassra quietly. "Oh, Norm, you don't have to
pretend with me. You're going to be Captain, and you know it."
He just stared at her, a thoughtful expression on his face.
"You were born to lead. You showed that in the Battle Games."
She paused. "I don't mind not making Captain, not really. I've
resigned myself to navigation." She knew, of course, that North would
make Captain. Barr and Booz would get science and weapons, one way or
the other, and Wong would get his cherished SF, leaving navigation for
her.
"Nothing wrong with navigation," said North quickly. Perhaps a
little too quickly. He thought her performance on the trainers were
good, but was't sure whether she topped Barr and Booz.
"True, but if I can't make Captain, I'll probably wind up there.
I'll bet Barr or Booz will get science. Just how are you going to deal
with Barr anyway?"
"Haven't got a problem yet," said North. "I'm not Captain yet."
He turned his face away, involuntarily wincing. He didn't want anyone,
especially Cassra, to see him concerned. If he looked like he was
worried about even making Captain, the others would lose confidence in
him. But Cassra was right; he had been thinking about how he would
handle Barr, when the time came.
"Oh, come on, Norm. The others may buy that, but I don't. How
you're going to act as Captain is all you've been thinking about."
North paused. She was beginning to understand him. Then he
slowly said, "I confess I have considered all contingencies. As for
Barr, well, if he becomes a problem, I suspect he'll handle himself.
Troublemakers have a tendency to do that."
"And I suspect you'll have everything under control," said
Cassra, reaching for and holding North's hand.
North, grasping her hand tenderly, stared deeply into her eyes.
"Don't worry. Things will work out."
"I know," said Cassra quietly. "I just can't wait until
tomorrow."
"Patience," said North, reaching down to gently kiss her, "is a
virtue."
The crickets in the park monopolized the night silence.
Day 4
Dustin rubbed the sunlight out of his eyes. "Aggghhh! What am I
doing up so early?"
They were at the monitoring station. Laker looked at his
companion quizically. "Isn't there a saying about the early reporter
catching his worm?"
Dustin resisted the impulse to yawn. "I think you just want to
tire me out so I won't be so inquisitive."
"Impossible to do with you," Laker laughed. Although he wouldn't
have minded dulling Dustin's aggressive edges, just a bit. "No, the
reason you are up so early is that the cadets are up so early. You
want to follow the cadets and we are just giving you what you wanted."
He seemed to delight in saying that.
"Oh, so you've got them up so they can get a head start on test
#157, eh?"
Laker shook his head. "Haven't you been listening? Aren't you
fully awake yet? The time for tests are over. This morning we
announce ranks and missions."
Dustin yawned again. "But why so early?"
"The cadets couldn't sleep."
That was an eye-opener. Dustin was shocked. Laker had earlier
said that the cadets had privacy in their own rooms. He opened his
mouth to speak, but Laker was quicker.
"They never can, before the mission is announced. That's why we
get it over with early on."
Oh. So they didn't actually monitor them in their rooms. At
least, they didn't admit to doing it. Dustin had a hard time believing
that there was anything at Grey's World that wasn't monitored. Dustin
shook his groggy head, trying vainly to fully wake up. He tried to
think about what Laker had just said. "Why didn't you not have told
them what was coming today, and simply give them their ranks later
today, so we could all have slept some more?"
"Anticipation, Mr. Dustin, is the spice of life."
The cadets filed into the academy auditorium. There were 50
cadets in all, ten mission teams graduating at once.
A Space Command lieutenant took to the podium. "Cadets, this is
your big day! I now give you... the Commandant!"
A thin, balding man in Captain's stripes approached the podium,
to great applause. He lowered his hands gentling, signaling for quiet.
"Cadets. I am Commandant Elias Pierson. I am here to announce
your ranks and duties. First, I must say, you have all passed."
That triggered a round of applause. The cadets knew it was
nearly impossible to fail out, but the statement of a certainty, any
certainty, only served to cheer them.
"You have all passed difficult tests. You have all shown your
courage and ability in navigation, helm control, weaponry, ship's
functions, and, of course, in command. You are the best and the
brightest, our greatest hope for the next generation of Space
Commanders. I say to you, go forth and explore!"
Another round of clapping.
"I will now announce your ranks. As I have said, you have all
performed well. Our method of evaluation is not an exact science.
Nevertheless, there can only be one Captain in each team. You can, you
will have a responsible post regardless of your position." His voice
lowered. "Perhap more responsibility than you can handle."
Pierson cleared his throat. "The following are the ranks and
assignments for Team One." He read off a list of names.
Then he turned to Team Two. "That's us," Cassra whispered.
The tension was palpable. Booz was figeting with his hands;
Cassra looked grim, Wong was tapping his leg, and Barr loked like he
was going to throw up. Only North looked outwardly calm.
"Team Two," said Pierson. "Ship's Functions: Lieutenant Songsu
Wong."
Wong positively glowed.
"Navigation Officer:"
Cassra took a deep breath.
"Lieutenant David Booz."
Booz looked a little crestfallen, but still pleased.
"Science Officer... who is also First Officer."
Cassra took another deep breath.
"Commander Donna Cassra."
Cassra literally yelled with glee. She had made it! Science
officer, her first choice! And as a full commander!
"That leaves, let me see... weapon's officer, and Captain."
Cassra stopped cheering. Only North and Barr were left. Could
Barr make Captain? Were the Grey's World people, resentful of North's
success, going to punish him by putting him under Barr? In that split
instant Cassra thought of the horror of a Captain Barr, of having to
endure the revulsion and humiliation of serving under him. She stole a
glance at North. He was expressionless. Too expressionless.
"The Captain is... is..." Pierson frowned, looking at the name.
Was there a mistake?
"Well well well. It appears that we have a rather special cadet
with us. Team Two is to be led by Captain Norman North."
The auditorium cheered. North smiled, turning a little red.
Barr looked positively sullen.
Through the noise they could hear Pierson still speaking.
"-Lt. Cdr. Eric Barr is the weapons officer, as well as the
second officer, and Team Two is assigned the Starside Class Deep Space
Cruiser Explorer."
So North made it.
Did you ever have any doubts?
(Pausing) Hey, you announced the ranks in reverse order!
Yes.
Then why did you announce Barr's rank after Cassra? She outranks
him. Logically, it should have come down to Cassra and North.
Correct. We switched the order around precisely because we are
aware of the antagonism between the two of them. We also knew how much
Barr's teammates disliked him. Quite confidentially, Barr never would
have been made Captain, regardless of his score, because of his acerbic
personality.
So you announced it that way on purpose.
Suspense is the spice of life.
I thought you said that anticipation was.
What can I say? There are a lot of spices to life.
The mustering out parade was grand. Each cadet was now wearing
not only the silver stripes of graduated students but their insignias
of rank as well. When Team Two was called, North and his crew marched
smartly foward. A platoon of musicians played the proud Space Command
anthem in the background. A tourist audience provided sporadic
applause as each team was announced. After all the teams had been
mustered Commandant Pierson officially congratulate the cadets. They
all gave a deafening cheer, one which did not die for several minutes.
North found himself hugging Casssra. "We did it, Norm, we did
it!" she said. "And you're Captain, and I'm your first officer!" She
glanced self consciously at the silver stripes that lines her sleeves,
from the wrists up to the shoulders. And around her wrists were the
double solid lines of a full commander.
"I couldn't have arranged it better," said North.
"Happy, Captain North?"
North turned. It was Lieutenant Commander Martin Trailer, in the
company of Captain Laura Roberts. "Yes, thanks," said North.
"No thanks required, sir," said Trailer, grinning. North now
outranked him. "You did it all on your own." And did he ever.
North's combined score was 25% ahead of his nearest competitor, Donna
Cassra. Barr, although a much better weaponry officer than Cassra, had
a combined score significantly below her's. Wong and Barr and both
done well, about average for first time Space Command players, although
Wong had shown an unusual aptitude for SF work, which, given his
inclinations and real world experience, hadn't been surprising.
Trailer had been working for some time with the evaluation teams, and
placing this crew had been rather easy. His only regret was that he
was't going to be a handler on Norman North's game. That would've been
interesting to watch.
"Congratulations, Captain North," said Captain Roberts. "Perhaps
I'll see you on Victory."
North notched an eyebrow. "You're not staying here?"
"No, I've been transferred up to the Station," she said. Roberts
had just reached the end of her rotation. Grey kept moving people
around, so they wouldn't quickly become bored with any one job.
Roberts was moving from cadet trainer to player supervisor onboard the
Victory. It just so happened that the move allowed her to retain her
same persona. "Good luck, Captain North."
North nodded. "I just have one question. About that planet
simulator. What percent of teams manage to find the assassin and
deactivate the bomb?"
Roberts and Trailer exchanged glances. The scenario had
purposely been made more difficult because of the presence of Norman
North. Any response they gave would simply not be credible. "Um, we
don't have exact statistics," said Roberts delicately. "Most teams
manage to complete part of it, at least. It's a learning experience."
"But now you're going into the real thing," said Trailer,
tactfully changing the subject.
"Uh huh," said North, as if he saw right through them. Suddenly,
someone hailed him. "North! Captain North!"
It was Lieutenant Jamez, the officer who had marched them into
Space Command. "Congratulations," he said, shaking North's hands. "I
just heard."
"Thanks," said North. "Wait a minute, aren't you dead?" He was
referring to the show in the arena, on the first night, where the
Raster aliens had gunned him down.
Jamez grinned. "It's just the part I was assigned. We all take
turns doing it. It's great fun, really. Why, I remember the time-"
After several minutes, they made their goodbyes, and headed off.
North found himself alone. He found Cassra, on the other side of the
room.
"So when do we blast off?" she said.
North checked their printed orders. "Hm... let me see... 7:30
tonight."
"7:30? What are we supposed to do until then?"
More anticipation?
Now you're starting to understand.
But what will they do all day? Twiddle their thumbs? It's not
like you to leave them nothing to do.
The proper question is not, what will they do all day, but
rather, where will they begin?
They were on the underground subway to Grey City. North was
proud of the fact that he was permitted to go in full uniform, complete
with his silver stripes and Captain's rank. Grey City, though
technically the gaming area for the Agency, did not have a strict dress
code like Space Command or the Presidency.
He had made it! He was Captain! Of course, he always thought he
could do it, but there had been some doubt in his mind. Space Command,
after all, was not the Battle Games. But he did it! In less than a
day, he would be in space, with a ship of his own, and in command! He,
North, would be making the decisions. He wouldn't have to sit back and
watch someone else's mistakes. Finally, after years of waiting, and
then getting a ticket, and then coming here, and then surviving the
training, he had made it!
But a chill went down his spine. His task had only just begun.
Yes, he had made Captain. But he still had to survive the mission.
Anything less than that would still be a large blow to his reputation.
Now that he was in command, North would be held fully responsible for
the failures, as well as the successes of his team.
Cassra and Wong were to his immediate left and right. Booz had
opted to visit a friend in the Presidency, and Barr... well, Barr had
just gone off in a huff. North wondered if Barr had ever believed he
had had a serious chance of making Captain. North had bested him in
nearly all the tests. More importantly, it must have been obvious to
everyone that Barr didn't have the interpersonal skills necessary to be
a good leader. But that strategic pause at the end of the Commandant's
announcement must have given Barr some hope. The hope that was now
crushed. But North could not muster very much sympathy for the man.
He, North, had worked hard, used his ability and experience, and really
was the best choice for captain.
When they got out of the station they stood, again, at the
entrance to Grey's World, at the edge of Grey City. Thousands of
tourists were milling about, in the streets, in the stores, and in the
little parks below.
As they disembarked and got down to street level they found
themselves in a relatively undeveloped area. It looked like a large
campsite. Primative but tidy huts dotted the area along the unpaved
dirt road heading deeper into the city. There was also a good deal of
farmland off to either side of the road. Men and women clad in rough
leather garments worked the fields with crude farming implements. A
huge sign loomed over region, at the entrance to the City.
"GREY CITY" it read. And, a smaller sign below it read "Zone I:
18th century America."
"These are supposed to be colonists," said Cassra.
They casually walked by the huts. They saw a candlestick maker,
repeatedly dipping her string into a steamy hot bowl of geletineous
fluid. Next door was the baker, rigorously kneeding loaves of bread.
North eyed the assortments of breads and pastries laid out on a simple
wooden table. In a few short minutes the three of them were munching
on fresh hot corn muffins.
"Umm!" said Cassra, as they walked. "Why can't they make the
food at Space Command like this?"
"It all fits in with the genre," said North. "You didn't think
we had elaborate seven course meals at the Battle Games, did you?" In
fact, though, the food wasn't bad at the Battle Games. There was
always a temporary cafeteria at each side's headquarters. But if a
team was out on the front, they always carried sandwiches or snacks.
They passed by a smitty, banging away on a horseshoe with his hot
metal tongs. The horseshoe glowed a cherry red; those standing near
the front could feel the heat. North, Wong, and Cassra joined a crowd
watching him at work.
"It's really great fun," said the Smitty. He motioned a child
closer. "Care to have a go, youngster? Just lift the hammer, and bang
like... that!" The child swung the hammer, under the supervision of
the smitty. It came down with a thunderous bang against the hot semi-
circle of metal in the pit. The audience clapped. The Smitty, looking
up, grinning, saw Cassra, and winked.
They walked on. "What was that all about?" said North.
Cassra blushed. "I'm surprised he remembered me. I had an
Agency mission here, nearly a year ago. The smitty you see was a
grocer in the 20th Century Zone of Grey City, and he was...
instrumental in providing us with some useful information."
"Don't understand," said Wong.
"Grey City is the crown of Grey's World, from a tourist's
perspective," said Cassra. "But it's also the playground of the
Agency. All the shops, all the games and attractions you see are also
the competition areas for the different Agency teams. Spys and spying
can't exist in a vacuum, you know. You need a lot of innocent people
so you can blend in." Cassra wished she could take a peak at the
Agency training centers. But they were off limits to anyone who was
not a current player.
"And Smitty was player?"
"No, silly," said Cassra. "An employee. During the course of
the game we're led to Grey employees who give us certain information.
For example, in that campaign, a special password-" she instinctively,
for no rational reason, looked over her shoulder, "-'timber', when said
to certain employees, obligated them to spill their guts."
"Sounds easy," grunted Wong, chomping down the remainder of his
muffin.
"Huh! Yeah, when there are literally hundreds of employees in
Grey City alone, and not all of them obviously work here, see?. Some of
them act like tourists, you know. Makes it more difficult to find
them. Anyway, even getting the password was quite a job. Well, let me
tell you-"
They walked for some time, past the gardens, past the archery
exhibitions, straight through the path heading deeper into Grey City.
Suddenly they were out of the undergrowth, and on a cobbled city
street, with one and two story building to either side of the road.
Horses were tied up on posts, and people in cowboy uniforms sauntered
about.
They immediately spotted the sign. "Welcome to Zone II: the
Wild West, cerca 1875."
A cowboy approached them. "Howdy pards," he said, with an
affected accent. "Them mighty fine duds you wearing there. Where
ya'all from?"
Wong was about to say "Battle Games," but North cut him off.
"We're from Australia," he said, grinning, acutely aware how out of
place their Space Command clothes were. But almost everyone here wore
uniforms of some sort: there were blues, like North, visiting from
Space Command, and greens, those taking a break from the Battle Games.
There were also people in ordinary plainsclothes, either day visitors
or guests from the Presidency. The cowhand knew that, of course; he
was just giving them a hard time.
"They shoot guns in Australia?" said the cowboy.
A crowd had started to form. They sensed that some entertainment
was in the offing; street performers were common in Grey City.
"Some," said North.
"Think I could hit those three bottles on the fence over there,
yonder north?"
North didn't display any immediate reaction. The geographical
reference may have been accidental, but he didn't think so. Turning,
casually, North said, "It's a bit far to hit."
"Don't think I can do it with a six shooter, eh?" said the
cowboy, ready to demonstrate. He started to raise the weapon, to
validate his claim. The crowd got out their cameras. This was what
they had been waiting for.
"Oh, you surely could do it in six shoots," said North. "But I
could do it in three."
The crowd focused on North, for the first time. This was
obviously a tourist bent on making a fool of himself, they thought.
And yet North's level tone and confident expression made some of them
pause.
The cowboy lowered the gun and paused, seeming to touch something
in his ear. After a short pause he looked at North and said, "Care to
have a try, partner?"
He handed North the old style revolver. Its grip was slightly
unfamiliar to North, after working out with a blaster, but it feel very
different. Getting into a firing stance, North faced the targets,
aiming. People were walking in his general line of fire. That didn't
bother North; the gun, of course, did not fire real rounds. But if he
missed he would be made to look foolish.
Still, he thought he could do it. He had practiced on targets at
longer ranges than this at the Battle Games. This should be easy.
Lining up the weapon, North pulled the trigger once. Then a
second, then a third time, in quick succession.
Bam bam bam! The bottles fell off the fence. North knew of
course, that sensors had detected the hit, and lowered the bottles, but
it was irrelevant; he had won.
The crowd clapped appreciatingly.
"That's mighty fine shooting, partner," said the cowhand, taking
back his revolver. "Where you learn how to shoot, fella?"
"My auntie taught me everything I know," North said.
The cowboy reached over to whisper something to North, then
slapped him on the back, departing.
"You're a real sharpshooter, Norm," said Cassra admiringly. She
felt she could better picture him, now, in a Battle Games uniform,
leading his soldiers to victory.
North shrugged. "I've just practiced a lot." That was an
understatement. In addition to years of practice, North had logged
weeks of war gaming time in his Battle Games career. Even as a senior
officer he had had occasion to use his weapon. Most recently, as a
general he personally shot an assassin that had inflitrated his base
camp, looking for him.
"What did cowboy say to you?" Wong wanted to know.
North blushed a little. "It wasn't nothing."
"What?"
"Well, he said it was an honor to see General North in action,"
said North, turning away. He didn't want to make a big deal out of it.
They took their lunch in the 19th century zone. North, looking
at his watch, requested a window seat. "It's nearly 12," he said
excitedly. Cassra grinned.
"What happen at 12?" Wong asked. But they wouldn't answer.
Their food was promptly served. But almost as soon as they had
started eating, they heard shots firing. Looking out the window, they
saw that the bank across the street was being robbed.
"Just like clockwork," said North, spooning some soup into his
mouth as he watched the action. Three robbers rushed into the bank.
There was some shooting, and when they emerged, they were carrying bags
of loot. Suddenly, the Sheriff and his men showed up, and started
firing on the robbers. One of the robbers, hit, fell to the ground.
"Did not become red. How know was hit?" Wong wanted to know.
"This is not a player game," said North. "It's simply a
dramatization. The people on both side's are Grey's employees, going
along with a carefully planned skit."
The sheriff and his men continued to shoot it out with the
robbers. In the meantime, a small crowd of tourists had gathered,
watching the spectacle.
"Look," said North, pointing out two people to Cassra. Two
people in the crowd were not watching the spectacle; instead, they were
quickly talking to each other in hushed tones. Then one passed a bag
to another. Instantly three people melted from the crowd, and started
to approach the original two. The two, immediately noticing the other
three, turned to flee.
"A drop!" said Cassra. "A drop, in the middle of a crowd!"
"What mean?" said Wong. "Part of show?"
"No," said North. "A game, within a game. As you know, the
Agency is active in Grey City. What we saw was undoubtedly part of an
Agency scenario."
"Oh. Player game," said Wong, understanding.
"But in the middle of a crowded street?" said Cassra.
"Why not?" said North. "They knew when the bank was being
robbed. It was the perfect time and place to be unobserved. I'd bet
they would've succeeded if one of them hadn't been tailed." North
smiled, recalling his own Agency days. It really was a lot of fun.
He'd have to sign up for another Agency game, sometime.
After lunch they walked on to the next zone, America in the
1950's.
"Dull," said Wong, in a word, as they walked the sedate streets.
The cement sidewalk was hard under their feet. The buildings still
weren't very tall here, but were built with modern brick. But the
place did have a... plain, hometown feel to it. As if it were
familiar, somehow.
"Maybe it's dull, but it is necessary," said Cassra, with a
smile. "This is where the training center for the Agency is. In
addition, this is where most of the Agency action takes place. We
can't do cloak and dagger operations very well back with the colonial
era, you know."
As they walked by several shops Cassra identified their
significance. "See that souvenir store? That's almost always where
we're sent to get our first contacts. And see, there, the malt shop?
That's where one of the entrances to the underground complex is."
"How can play again if know where entrances are?" said Wong.
"Different scenarios only let you access the underground from
different locations," said Cassra. "This way old timers like me don't
have too much of an advantage over new players."
Cassra yawned, stretching her arms. "Oh, Norm, I'm so glad that
Barr didn't make Captain!"
"The thought didn't please me either," said North. "But I gather
you're happy you got Science?"
Cassra nodded. "That, I felt, was my primary skill to begin
with." She was, she felt, extremely good at analyzing information.
Somehow Cassra found it easy to piece things together. Using an imager
was very different from anything she had ever done before; but in
Cassra's mind it was quite a familiar tool, kind of like a magnifying
glass that detectives used.
"Just remember, if anything happens to me, you're Captain," North
grinned.
"Oh, Norm, nothing's going to happen to you," said Cassra. "I'll
see to that."
"Me too," said Wong. "You find your ship's functions to be
excellent, Captain North." And he wasn't boasting. He would be the
best SF officer Space Command had ever seen.
"I'd be surprised if you weren't," said Norman North.
They were walking in the middle of the street, only having to
move out of the way for the occasional tourist tram, but soon they had
to move to the sidewalks to avoid a team of walking musicians heading
up the road. They were playing a march that North found encouraging.
It strengthened him, giving him enthusiasm for the tomorrow that was
soon to come.
"My feet getting tired," said Wong. They had walked a
considerable distance.
"We're almost at the future," said North. "Look!" Across the
street they could see it.
They had reached the future zone. The colors here were all bright and
metalic, the buildings, usually glass and metal combinations, loomed
imposingly to their sides.
They stepped onto a moving sidewalk, which took them past the stores.
Cassra read off the names as they passed: "Electrolights... Hologram
Photography... Future Athlete... Robotware... they've really been
expanding things since I've been here last!"
"What robotware?" Wong wanted to know. They got off the moving
sidewalk and had a look. It turned out to be a clothing store for
robots. Robots, naturally, came in different shapes. North noticed a
four armed mannequin that was wearing a formal dress shirt. Underneath
it read "Dress your robot for success."
"Who are they kidding?" said Cassra.
"No one," said the salesclerk, rolling forward. "How may I help you,"
it said, flashing its eyes suggestively at Cassra.
Cassra laughed with glee. She knew that the "robot" was under the
remote control of a human, probably from a remote location, but the
idea of a robot salesman still amused her. "You sell robot clothes?"
she said, staring it straight in the eye.
"And why not? You wouldn't want your maid to go naked, now would you?"
Cassra had to admit that she wouldn't.
"Then why would you make your robobutler suffer a similar indignity?
As you know, the 2000 series and above are programmed with simulated
emotions. You wouldn't want to give your domestic a simulated
psychological breakdown, would you?"
"But... but... it's just a machine," said Cassra, overlooking for the
moment that mechanical servants didn`t even exist.
"But if you buy it this lovely ensamble, only for 3000 credit units, it
will be your friend," said the salesmachine.
Wong broke out laughing.
They returned to the moving sidewalk, and let it take them indoors.
They were going into some kind of futuristic mall. The tall ceilings
were made of a clear glass, so one could see the occasional cloud
swirling across the sky. The floors were uniformly constructed of an
exotic marble. And the walls were a shiny metalic blue. As they
rolled along on the sidewalk they heard the sounds of music. The
sounds got louder and louder as they approached its source. Stepping
off the sidewalk, North and his friends decided to investigate.
They was a band, playing requests from the crowd.
"What shall I play next," said an inhuman voice.
"Star Wars!" a youngster shouted.
"I do not know Star Wars," the mechanical voice admitted.
(In Control, a quality control expert jotted down on a pad 'program
John Williams score into mall orchestra')
"Stars and Stripes Forever," said someone.
"This I know," said the conductor. He lifted a stick, and said slowly,
"And a one and a two and a three..." And the band played a perfect
rendition of the Stars and Stripes.
But the band was robots. All robots. Robots on the clarinet, robots
on the violins, robots on the flutes, robots on the drums.
North, Cassra, and Wong stayed for a while, half admiring the music but
keeping their eyes glued on the robots as they played. North noticed
how the cheeks of the horn player actually expanded when they blew into
their instruments. The violinists' arms seem to move uneeringly back
and forth over their instruments. In fact, one violinist, a four armed
model, was playing two instruments at once! And all the while the
conductor was waving his stick, back and forth, as though it were even
a necessary of the performance. From time to time he rotated his head
all the way around to the audience and winked to the crowd.
Beyond the band was a large fountain. It was built inside an enormous
sculpture, which looked like an enormous piece of yellow swiss cheese,
with the bursts of water coming out of every hole. There was a sign on
the fountain "Please no monetary units. But rodents appreciated."
Underneath the pool of water North saw mice at the bottom. He
chuckled, unable to contain his laughter. What else would one throw
into a pool of swiss cheese?
They walked along for a while. They noticed robots wandering about in
the Mall. Often they would approach tourists and converse with them.
A small robot on wheels, barely the height of North's waist, wheeled up
to him.
"Hello Norman North," said the smart alecky machine.
North bent down to inspect the machine more closely. He heard a whir
as its camera readjusted to face him. Obviously someone in Control had
recognized him. Well, maybe he could play a game on them. "Shh! I'm
in an Agency scenario. You'll blow my cover," he said. Behind him
Cassra and Wong were barely containing their smiles.
The machine took that in for a moment, and then replied. "In a Space
Command uniform?"
"Ah, yes," said North. He hadn't thought about that. "That's my
cover. That I'm in Space Command."
(Back in Control, the operator depressed a series of keys.)
"My memory banks indicate that our official records have you enrolled
in Space Command," said the machine. "You can fool only some of the
remote units some of the time, Norman North."
North said, with mock anger, "Just what is your job anyway, to harrass
innocent tourists?"
"I am most definitely programmed to harrass innocent tourists," said
the machine. It gave a high pitched whistling sound, and said, "Hey
units, over here!"
Three more mobile units approached, all shouting "Hey, it's North,
Norman North! Hey North! Hi! Can I get your autograph?"
Tourists watched, amused, as the machines crowded around North
and his friends. North sighed; this was Control's way of getting even
with him for trying to trick them. Cassra was laughing raucously; for
some reason she thought the whole thing was hysterical. Meanwhile Wong
was examining one of the robots, trying unsuccessfully to dissemble it.
"Hey, you can't do that," said the machine. "I'm private property!"
Meanwhile the tourists had heard the name of Norman North called. A
number of them, notably tourists in Battle Games fatigues, zeroed in on
him. "Norman North? You're Norman North! Wow, can I have your
autograph?"
North groaned. "Now look what you've started," he yelled accusingly at
the first robot. He was now swamped with autograph seekers.
"I'll fix," said the mechanical unit.
(In Control, the monitor said, "Activate public activity #4")
Suddenly, there was a siren, and a voice came over the loudspeakers.
"Alert! Alert! Rogue robot on the loose! Alert!"
A humanoid robot, undoubtedly a man in costume, started to run wild.
Security forces, firing bolts of light, chased after him. The crowd
around North evaporated instantly as everyone's attention was fixed on
the chase.
"Thanks," said North.
"My pleasure," said the little machine.
He turned to Cassra. "What was so funny?" he said.
"You," she said, smiling.
"Hey, where's Wong?" he turned around. Wong was still busy trying to
dissemble one of the mobile units.
"No, no, you'll make me go to pieces," the machine implored.
"Songsu, stop that!" said North, making a 'there there' gesture with
his finger.
Wong gave a wicked grin. "Just trying to see what make it tick.
Really is fascinating machinery." He would have loved to get at it
back home with his power tools. He was certain he could redesign the
mechanisms to make it more efficient.
"Now, where do we go from here?" North checked his watch. It was
almost 2:30, and they didn't have to be back at Space Command until 7
o'clock, at the earliest.
"Sanctuary Park," said Cassra.
"Hmm... there's not much time for that. Why don't we save the Park for
another day?"
"Will there be another day?" she said, standing close to North.
"Well, I can tell you, in the Battle Games we always got shore leave,"
said North. "I'm sure we're not going to be in the simulator 24 hours
a day. How about we go to the games Tower? Isn't it somewhere around
here?"
"Make a left, then a right, then a left," said the friendly mobile
unit.
The Games Tower wasn't very tall; indeed, it wasn't even a tower. It
was more like five squat buildings, each not more than a dozen stories
tall, covered with opaque glass from bottom to top, just like an office
building.
There was a directory at the entrance. "Hmm," North said. "Indoor
sports, floors one to three... future games, floors four and five...
mind games, floors six and seven... athletics, on the roof. Are you
guys up for a game of baseball?"
"Baseball!" Wong exploded. "Did not come all the way to Grey's World
to play baseball!" He had gotten his ticket through the Grey lottery,
and didn't want to waste a minute of his stay here on the humdrum or
the mundane.
North winked at Cassra. "I think you'll like this baseball."
The roof was seeded with a thick field of grass and even a few trees at
the edges. If they hadn't known better, they might have believed they
were on a plateau of Mount Grey, and not on top of the building. The
view of Grey City was tremendous, but that wasn't what gripped Wong's
attention. He was admiring the home team.
"Robots... they all robots!" he said.
Indeed they were--in a sense. They were all remote units under the
command of the Central Control. But it was their construction that was
most interesting. They were all on wheels, of course, but they had
thick spiked wheels so they could move around in the outfield. Others
had treads. All the robots had wire baskets attatched to the front of
their torso's. North watched as they practiced. One robot shot a ball
out of its mouth. It went in an arc--to land right in the basket of
another! The robots moved around so that they could catch the ball in
their baskets. North wondered what happened if the robots missed. The
robots had thin feather-like appendages, but they were only good for
tagging baserunners; the robots could not pick up objects with them.
And then when a robot shot a ball out of its mouth and another robot
missed, North saw what happened. The robot who missed simply backed up
and rolled over it. In seconds it was spewing the ball out of its
mouth. It must use suction, North thought.
North didn't know it, but the whole thing had been one of Grey's
ideas. He liked sports, but he had said, "Laker, they've been playing
these sports the same way for generations. It's time for some
improvements." And then he had suggested the use of robots. He liked
the idea of people playing against machines. Actually, constructing
the machines had been the easy part; it was training their human
controllers that had proven most challenging. As it turned out, the
human controllers had to use computer software to assist them in
calculating throwing trajectories. But after a period of training the
baseball crews were now expert, and able to match any level of tourist
ability.
"Shall we play a game?" said the pitcher, in a stilted voice. By now a
sizable number of tourists had approached the field.
The umpire approached them. Of course, he was a robot too. "Humans,
you must organize your team."
They quickly selected positions. The tourists (along with a sprinkling
of players), were up first at bat.
(In Control, a monitor said, "Analysis complete. Human team is
composed of 80% tourists, 20% players. Set initial difficulty level at
Intermediate 1.")
The first batter was a Battle Games tourist. The robot pitcher shot a
ball out of its mouth, and the batter swung, and missed.
"Ha ha human," said the pitcher.
The next pitch came, and the batter swung again, missing. But he
connected with the third pitch. The ball flew into the air... and
landed a foot away from the left fielder, who had been rolling towards
the impact spot at top speed. It rolled under the ball, and in seconds
it was out of the left fielder's mouth and shooting towards the first
baseman. The ball landed, squarely in the first baseman's basket, just
as the batter touched base.
"Safe!" cried the robot umpire.
"What do you mean, safe?" said the pitcher. "Your visual circuits need
checking!"
The tourists laughed, enjoying this exchange.
The next batter struck out, and the next one after that hit a fly ball
that was caught by a robot basket, but the two hitters after that both
got on base.
"Bases loaded. Two outs. Next batter," said the umpire.
North stepped up to the plate.
(In control, the monitor said, "Who is that? Isn't that Norman North?
Quick, punch up his Battle Games athletics score.")
The pitcher slowly toyed with the ball, as if he were in no hurry to
toss it. "Hey, hey," the tourists started to cry, wanting the pitcher
to get on with it.
("Got it. An A- rating in intra-military softball. He's definitely a
cut above. Let's give him a little fun.")
The pitcher stopped toying with the ball, and aimed its face at home
plate. Suddenly, it spewed out the ball at a faster speed than it had
before.
North, caught by surprise, swung, not connecting in time.
"Strike one," said the umpire.
North immediately realized that the pitcher was acting differently.
North psychologically readjusted, preparing himself for anything.
Another rapidfire ball spewed out of the pitcher, but this one was low.
Norman North didn't touch it.
"Ball one," said the umpire.
The next pitch seemed to glide along, almost at plate level--but then
it dropped, almost straight to the ground, before it reached North.
"Hey, no fair!" Cassra cried, seeing what the machine was doing.
But North had checked his reflexes. "Ball two," the umpire cried.
"What do you mean, ball?" said the pitcher.
"Ball, I mean ball!" said the umpire.
The pitcher approached the umpire. The umpire rolled forward.
"That was a strike!" said the pitcher.
"That was a ball!" insisted the umpire.
"Would anyone like my opinion?" North chipped in.
"Quiet, silly Battle Gamer," said the pitcher.
North groaned. He had been recognized. Again
The pitcher faced the umpire. "You need glasses."
"Did my audio circuits hear correctly?" said the umpire.
"Your mother was a can opener," said the pitcher, bumping into the
umpire.
By now everyone was laughing hysterically. But the robots just ignored
them.
"You recycled junkheap," said the umpire, pushing the pitcher.
They pushed each other, back and forth. By now several of the tourists
had dropped to the ground, unable to stop laughing. Finally the umpire
gave a big shove to the pitcher, sending it bouncing back a foot. "Ok,
ok, it's a ball," said the pitcher, slowly rolling back to the
pitcher's mound, his head slunk down.
This time, when the pitcher retrieved the ball, it just stared at
North. Just stopped, and stared. North stared back. They locked,
confrontationally, for a second. Then North nodded, just a fraction of
an inch, and grinned. They knew who he was, and he knew they knew. He
was ready. For anything.
A rapid fire pitch came straight over the plate. Crack! North sent a
grounder smashing down right field. The right fielder scooted to
intercept it, rushing to get it under its wheels. Meanwhile North
raced to first base. The other runners were similarly advancing by a
base. The runner at third touched home plate, and everyone cheered.
North raced to first base. Ahead of him loomed the first baseman.
North instinctively found the large robot intimidating, but he forced
himself not to slow down. The first baseman rolled backwards off of
the base, and suddenly the ball, tossed by the outfielder, sailed by--
and past the first baseman.
North immediately raced to second base. The first baseman retrieved
the ball, and aimed it at the second baseman. North saw this, and
skidded to a halt, as the ball, launched through the air, flew towards
the second baseman. North started to turn to run back to first, but it
seemed only an instant later before the ball was back in the air on a
trajectory towards first. But, as luck would have it, the ball fell
short of the mark, forcing the first baseman to waste precious time
running forward to get the ball, allowing North the time he needed to
turn around and make it safely to second.
The human players broke out into spontaneous applause. North grinned
sheepishly. He knew that sheer chance had allowed him to escape.
The next batter approached the plate. North slid forward, going a foot
or two off second bae. The pitcher turned around. North moved back to
the base. The pitcher turned forward. North moved off the base. The
pitcher turned around again.
He must have eyes in the back of his head, North thought. Or, more
likely, the human operators coordinating the robots were working
together effectively.
The next batter struck out, and the humans went to field. North was
disappointed that he didn't score, but the team had gotten two runs.
The human player assumed their positions. This inning Cassra was at
second base, and North short stop. Wong wasn't able to get a position
in the field this inning.
They were puzzled, when, even before the first robot batter approached
the plate, a new line of robots rolled onto the field. These had arms,
and...
"They're wearing skirts!" Cassra exclaimed incredulously.
The cheerleaders came to a halt along the first base line. Then they
started to chant.
"Give me an R"
"Give me an O"
"Give me a B"
"Give me a O"
"Give me a T"
"Give me an S"
"What does that spell? Robots!"
"Yay Robots!"
they cried, waving their arms. They ended with a coordinated leap into
the air that caught nearly everyone by surprise. The gust caused by
their leap caused their skirts to momentarily lift, and, before they
hit the ground with a loud thump, the humans could see that underneath
they were clad in...
"Polkadot underware," said Cassra, disgusted. "On robots?"
"And what do you wear, human? asked the robot umpire, as it idly rolled
by.
The second part of the first inning began. The robots did well,
scoring four runs, including two home runs. At one point a speedy
grounder sped right by North, Cassra, and the centerfielder, all in
quick succession. Every time the robots scored a run the cheerleaders
would chant, "Yaaaay Robots!"
After the robots had scored their forth run, North signaled the pitcher
to hold off for a moment. "Hey, hey guys, let's get our act together.
Fielders, let's all try to be moving towards the ball while it's still
in the air. And everyone, let's call our catches!"
The tourists, a little surprised at North's take charge attitude,
nonetheless murmurred approval; he did make sense. "Yeah... yeah...
let's do it!" they said. The next batter hit a ball into the right
field. The right fielder ran up... and caught it, on the fly.
"One out!" the ump called.
The humans cheered.
That was the turning point. Very quickly two other robots were struck
out, and the humans went up to bat again. The cheerleaders were
crestfallen.
When Wong got up to bat, he hit a grounder that allowed him to get to
first. He also managed to get to second, dodging around the short stop
who unsuccessfully tried to tag him with one of its feather like
appendages. Another good hit got him the rest of the way home, scoring
another run for the team.
The first time Cassra came to bat, she was struck out by the pitcher.
But she got a second chance, slamming a hit that got her a very
respectable triple, and, a few minutes later, she scored too.
When, later in the game, North came up to bat again, he was prepared
for any surprises from the pitcher. After calmly rejecting several
curving balls that whizzed by him, North calmly selected a speeding
ball that seemed just right for him. He smacked it towards center
field, over, over, over... it was a home run. North ran around the
bases, to the cheers of his team.
Every time the humans went to field they rotated positions. Wong, as
second baseman, seemed to delight in tagging the robots out. It took
some courage to almost run into a huge metal behemoth that was surging
towards him, but Wong enjoyed "deactivating" them, as he put it. One
time he scored a double play by tagging a robot leaving second and then
getting another one coming from first. But Wong stumbled, falling face
first into the runner as he tagged him.
(In Control, a monitor immediately sat up, activating the zoom controls
rapidly.)
North, at first base, ran up, helping Wong get up. "Are you ok?" he
said anxiously, half fearing to look at Wong's face. At the very
least, it would be very bruised.
But Wong's face was only a little red, and even that was fading. "Am
ok. Not hurt."
"How....?"
Wong touched the runner he had collided with. His finger touched the
metal exterior and pushed in. "See? Outside only looks like metal.
Actually heavy padding."
"Sorry about that," said the runner, a sound of genuine concern coming
from its voice box. "Are you sure you're ok?"
"Yes, am fine," said Wong. "And you are out."
North later even got a chance to pitch. The robots were pretty good
batters, and it was hard, even with quick curving pitches, to strike
them out. But then came a moment that North had relished for the
entire game. The robot pitcher came up to bat. "I will score a home
run, human," it announced.
North was worried. He wasn't at all confident in his ability to strike
the robot pitcher out. And after that challenge North simply couldn't
allow him to score a home run. "We'll see," said North tightly, as he
prepared the pitch.
He threw a ball, with a lot of spin on it, aiming high. Technically it
would be a ball, but North was curious as to whether the pitcher would
go for it.
It did. It connected with the ball, causing it to go in a high
parabolic arc, over the third base line.
"Foul ball," the umpire called, and it was then that North knew that it
would try to hit virtually anything that he threw it at. And North
knew that no matter how bad his pitches were, the robot pitcher would
sooner or later make a solid connection.
North received the ball. A little smile played on his face. He had an
idea. He looked at the robot. The robot looked at him. It's
controller was probably enjoying this. North wound up for the pitch.
Spinning the ball forward with all the force he could muster, North
sent a low pitch--but it didn't even go over the plate. Instead, it
hit the robot in the treads, bouncing off with a resounding thunk!
"Walk!" the umpire cried.
"Better luck next time," North smiled, as the robot glared at him.
In the end, the humans ended up winning the game, by a wide margin.
After the humans gave a team cheer, each team lined up against the
other, and slapped each others hands (or appendages).
"Good game, human," said each robot as each player passed. But when
North passed the pitcher, it said, "Good game, Norman North", and it
actually seemed to wink at him.
North rejoined Cassra and Wong. "That was great!" said Cassra.
"We beat the machines," said Wong.
"I rather enjoyed that," North admitted. It was a good break from the
rigors of Space Command. He checked his watch. It was nearly 4:30.
"Why don't we have a look at the other games?" he suggested.
Before they left the roof they had a look over the edge. On the other
four adjacent roofs different games were being played. Several games
of robot vollyball were being held on one roof. On another roof, a
lively robot soccer game was taking place. On the third roof, a robot
kickball game was being played against a group of children. And on the
last roof they could see the robot olympics. This last game was not a
participatory event for humans; tourists merely watched as robots lept
over tall barriers, or tossed discus, or maneuvered their way through
obstacle courses.
Looking afar they could see Grey City in its entirety, from its
relatively undeveloped end to the metropolis of the future zone. They
couldn't make out any of the game zones, not from here, although North
knew that the valley to the northeast contained the Battle Games. But
to the northwest they could spy Sanctuary Park. There the expansive
forest opened up into the Serene Lake. North could also make out the
trails leading up Mount Grey. North suddenly had a longing to go there
again. But, he reminded himself, there wasn't time for that today; in
a few short hours they had to report back to Space Command, and one
simply didn't makle quickie visits to the Park. People who came to the
Park often found it difficult to leave. Very difficult.
North and his friends took the stairs down, taking a peek at what was
doing on each floor. On the uppermost floors they saw mindgames being
played. Some involved memory tests. In one room they saw tourists
watching a wall flash in different places. Then the tourists had to
press the same parts of the wall in the identical order it had flashed.
Other games involved logic puzzles. One whole floor was devoted to a
maze, one with hidden passages that could only be accessed by solving
certain riddles and brainteasers.
They passed through several more floors, filled with all sorts of
exotic games. They would have stopped for a closer inspection, but
time was pressing. North did notice one whole floor laid out like a
city street. Tourists, wielding light guns, were going around shooting
crooks, terrorists, and even the odd goblin or two. Everytime an
assailant was hit, it would make an "aaaggh!" sound and fall down, only
to pop up again minutes later.
On the lower floors they found more conventional games.
"Look, basketball!" Cassra pointed. "Oh. It's people against people.
I kind of thought they would have done something to make it more
imaginative."
"Look more closely," said North. "They did."
Two teams of tourists were playing against each other. But as North
and his friends got closer it became immediately obvious what was
different about the court. The floor was rubbery and soft; in fact, a
person could sink nearly half a foot everytime he walked. But the
tourists were using this to their advantage. Taking a running jump,
they could propell themselves up (and forward) at great speeds, often
taking defensive guards by surprise. It was kind of comical, though,
watching the tourists jumping around, sometimes several feet into the
air.
On another floor they saw a game of miniature golf. Literally one
game. The whole course took up half a floor, and there was only one
beginning, and one end. The game also took place on several different
levels; sometimes the ball would go into the mountain ranges, and
players would have to climb up stairs on the side to get into a
position to swing again. Part of the course looked like a smaller
version of outdoor terrain; there were mountains, and hills, and pools,
and grasslands. But there were also some interesting differences. At
one point, at the edge of a cliff, there was an elevator that,
activated by the entry of a ball, would take it down to the bottom. At
one point the ball also had to go into the mouth of a huge beast, and
it would come out of one of its legs--but this beast had twelve. At
another point the ball could enter a spaceship which, on a wire guided
arc, would take off and land at another point on the playing terrain.
Wong was particularly fascinated by this game, and he wanted to play,
but they simply didn't have the time.
Finally they reached the first floor, and the exit. But before they
left they saw a series of nets, nearly a dozen in all, suspended from
the walls at varying heights. The highest net was at one end of the
room, the next lowest net was adjacent to that, and lower and lower the
nets went until they reached bottom at the other side of the room. At
the end of the room with the highest net there was a ladder. North saw
people climbing up to the top, where they stood on a gangplank. Then
they jumped, falling three feet down into the first and most highest
net. Climbing out of that, they jumped into the next net, which was
three feet below that. And so on, down to the ground.
This also had been Mr. Grey's personal idea. He liked the idea of
being able to defy gravity, even for a short time. The gaming
engineers had been skeptical, at first; they didn't see that it would
have any appeal. But it turned out to be one of the most popular
tourist attractions in the Gaming Tower.
"This place really good, but also really weird," said Wong.
"Why?" said North. "You wouldn't like to try it?"
"No time, remember?" said Wong, grinning.
It was now five o'clock. They just had time to grab dinner and make
their way back to Space Command. North felt a thrill. He had almost
forgotten about the adventure that still awaited them. But his face
also clouded. This was to be his greatest challenge since he had left
the battle games. It was ironic that everyone--his fans, his crew, and
presumably Park officials--had so much confidence in him, when the one
person who had the most doubts was North himself. He felt it was very
possible that he would fall flat in the simulator. After all, it
wasn't the Battle Games. North had done well enough in the Agency and
at the Presidency, but hardly phenominally. There was no guarantee
that he wouldn't fail at Space Command.
Cassra, seeing him frowning, smiled at North curiously. North forced a
reassuring smile in return.
They had dinner in the future mall, since it was close. North and his
friends sat in a futuristic restaurant overlooking the Swiss Cheese
fountain. The place looked weird, but the menu looked normal enough--
burgers, chicken, salads and the like, so North ordered a hamburger and
a coke, and hoped for the best.
The tables in the restaurant looked like large steel desks. Video
terminals were built into the center of them for anyone who cared to
watch Grey's World TV. North watched as a panel opened in the wall and
trays of food caming sliding out to them. He opened the box containing
his hamburger-
And found twenty little square shaped bitty burgers waiting for him.
They were tiny, about the size of hoerdurves, with coverings of bread
on the top and bottom, and a little bit of meat in the middle. "This
is a hamburger? How'm I supposed to eat these?" said North, sifting
through the wrappers. There, there was a fork.
"I know what you mean," said Cassra. "I ordered a steak standwich, but
I've never seen one quite like this." Cassra indicated a large bread
ball sitting in the middle of her tray. Taking a bite, she quickly
discovered that the meat was within. "Ummm! It may look like its from
another planet, but it does taste good. How's the chicken, Songsu?"
"Not sure," said Wong, biting into a little breaded chicken triangle
the size of his thumb. "Where the bones?"
One of the things that the Grey's World people had been most concerned
about was the food they would provide the tourists. In most cases they
wanted to provide simple, quick, good quality food. But somehow that
just didn't seem to be enough for the future zone. With the change in
architecture and fashions, the gaming engineers thought it would be
unrealistic to assume that eating tastes would be unchanged. But Mr.
Grey nixed the idea of designing new sorts of food; it would be too
alien to consumers, he said. He directed the planners to make a menu
which was the same, and yet different. So they had come up with the
idea of changing the shapes of common foods. Grey psychologists had
confirmed that such minor changes would not alienate the tourists and
yet still remind them that they were in a different culture.
North had to admit that his hamburger tasted good. It's just that the
change of shape made everything look different. He turned to take a
sip of his coke. The coke cup was in the shape of an hourglass, but
the coke itself was coke, much to his relief.
Cassra pointed at North's drink. "Is the coke half full, or half
empty?"
North grinned. "It's really amazing how different they can make things
simply by changing the shapes."
"You got it, Norman North," said a robot, wheeling by.
"Can't a man have any privacy while he's eating his hamburger bits?"
North thundered, as they all laughed. North was convinced that
everyone in Control knew about him.
"So where are we going, Grey City?" Dustin asked. It was still early
morning. The cadets had just been graduated minutes before, and Laker
was very tightlipped about where they were going. They were in the
underground subway, so it wasn't Space Command, but Dustin hadn't been
given another costume to don.
"I hope you get the opportunity to see Grey City, but I'm pessimistic
as to whether we'll have the time."
"The most famous part of Grey's World? The centerpiece of the realm?"
"Yes, it is splendid," said Laker. "And, in addition to being very
popular with the tourists, it is the action area for the Agency. But
at the same time there is still so much to show you, and you do insist
on monitoring North's team every minute they are in the game. In
addition, we are going to insert you in his game at a later point. Or
hadn't you remembered that?"
Dustin nodded. They wanted him to see the game from all perspectives.
That meant actually playing a game. "Just what post will I have?" he
asked. "I don't want to mess up the game for them."
"You'll be assistant science officer. We've tested you on the imager,
and found you to be adequate for the job. And don't worry, their
mission can be comfortably completed without your help, so you will not
be a decisive factor, either way. You will perform no essential role.
But anyway, it's not real, remember?"
"I know it's not real," said Dustin. "But it is their game. I just
don't want to ruin it for them."
Laker allowed himself a brief smile. "You won't."
They exited the subway at Grey City. "I thought you said we weren't
going here," said Dustin.
"We're not," said Laker. They continued walking.
"Well, I've seen Space Command, the Presidency, and the Battle Games.
I presume we're not going to the Agency. What does that leave?"
They approached a door along the corridor. Laker punched in a code,
and they entered. "Actually, you've only seen a small part of each of
those realms. But now you're going to see it all from the inside.
You're going to see how we make all this."
They were definitely now in a region for employees only. The area
consisted of underground offices and meeting rooms. Everyone seemed to
know Laker; he must have brought many VIP's through here.
They stopped at a door marked "Personality Training Area", and Laker
turned around, facing Dustin. "You are about to see how we train
employees to work in Grey's World. Unlike the player regions of the
park, you should feel free to look at anything you like and ask anyone
any question you wish. You are one of the few outsiders who have been
privileged to go through this door." And with that, they entered.
"No No No No!"
They were in a classroom. A teacher was remonstrating with someone,
standing in front of the class. The teacher spoke again. "You're a
dictator, not Mickey Mouse. Let's hear it again."
The student paused, then said, "I will delight in the destruction of
your American forces, Imperialist fool," in a low gutteral tone.
The teacher nodded. "Better. Remember, speak slowly, forcefully. If
you rush your lines, it will just sound like you're reading from a
book. Now, I want you all to practice from worksheet three of
threatening statements. We'll start with Martin. Martin, threaten
me!"
A student said, "You will die, at this minute, unless you surrender.
Immediately!"
"Good, good," said the teacher. "You see, class, that was low key, but
excellent. Martin didn't yell his lines; he just acted like he was
stating a fact. Never, ever, overdo your lines. Johnson, you're
next."
Laker led Dustin on to the next room. "We recruit only seasoned actors
for our prime roles. Even then, they can spend weeks in rehearsals
before they get their parts right." The hardest roles to prepare for
were dictators. Actors had to be able to project a mean, villainous
persona, that not many actors were capable of doing well. But Grey's
World had talent scouts around the country, always looking for new
blood.
In the next room Dustin saw students sitting in small cubicles,
listening to a central broadcast. "You will note that speaking with a
Raster accent requires one to pronounce c's with a ch sound. That
coupled with the rolling r sound can make it challenging. Repeat the
following words: rich ranchers reached an accord."
The students obediently recited the sentence as Laker and Dustin headed
into the next room. "We have to give our aliens a little flavor," said
Laker. "You'd be surprised how much an exotic costume and a bit of an
accent can help."
Laker and Dustin took seats in the next classroom. This was evidently
something that Laker wanted Dustin to get more than a glimpse of.
The instructor was drilling his class on scenario facts. "Beta Antares
is in-"
"Raster control," said the class in unison.
"After the player tangle with the nebula, you're to open fire on them-"
"After they get 40,000 SU's out," said the class.
Laker whispered, "These are the future actors and controllers for an
upcoming Space Command scenario. They have to be sure to have their
facts down." Of course, the computers ran all routine aspects of the
scenario. But if the players somehow deviated from their predicted
actions in an unforeseen way, the human controllers had to be ready to
react. In addition, when communicating directly with players, they had
to be ready to answer nearly anything. This was why Grey actors had to
be well briefed.
"If the players ask you to negotiate-"
"We agree, and then attack them."
"Not very sporting," Dustin whispered.
"The Rasters rarely are," said Laker.
"All right," said the teacher. "Very good. As it should be, since you
all go on line in a week. Now, look at this," he drew a box on the
board. "This is all the mission facts that we've drilled into your
heads. It's also on computer in case you somehow forget something.
But what if the players ask you something that isn`t in your mission
kit? Winston, what if you're asked, before the Nebula event, where the
Kromen are?"
"Um, um, I'd say I didn't know."
"Um, um, I don't know," said the teacher. "Correct answer, inadequate
expression. How about, 'research has been unable to locate the
source'?"
"Yes sir."
The teacher turned to the class. "If you don't know the answer to
something; if you're unsure about something, it doesn't matter so much
what you say as how you say it. You must always sound certain, unless
the script calls for you to sound uncertain. Rayner, what if you're
captured and interrogated by the players, and they want to know where
the Kromen originated from? Would 'I don't know' cover it?"
"No sir," said a young woman. "I would say Alpha Malguri."
The teacher pursued the question. "And why would you say that?"
"That's the first name I thought of at random, sir. By the time they
went to check it out on computer, we would have the entry inputted."
"Precisely. Precisely! Clever improvinization, Rayner." The
instructor clapped his hands. "I want you all to look now at the eight
standard methods of being evasive, and tell me which are best, and
when. Five minute break." The instructor headed to the back of the
room to greet Laker.
"Dr. Laker, how're you doing," the instructor said, vigorously shaking
Laker's hand.
"Fine, fine, Chet. How's the latest crop coming?"
The instructor waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, they're coming along
fine. They've got the script down, and they're just working on
improvising. I think they'll make great Rasters." He should know.
Chet had been training people to be Rasters for the last two years. He
was know the acknowledged "Raster expert" of the training section.
Chet knew almost better than anyone how they behaved and responded to
different circumstances. In fact, game planning used him as a
consultant when constructing their Space Command scenarios.
Laker turned to Dustin. "Mr. Dustin, this is Chet Jenner, one of our
personnel trainers. Chet, this is Mr. Dustin, a newspaper reporter."
Dustin immediately jumped in. "You're training these people to be
aliens?"
"Yeah, the players have got to have someone to interact with, don't
they?" said Chet Jenner. "I came over to Space Command just about two
years ago. Worked before that on training our people for the Agency.
That was harder, believe it or not. There's a lot more person-to-
person interaction in the Agency. Got to teach them a whole mess of
things--body language, attitude, movement, ploys, strategems. Takes
weeks to train for a part, at least. Believable characters are the
most important part of a scenario, don't you know. Rasters are easier.
People don't know what to expect. As long as their mannerisms are
different, and they act consistently, it's going to be ok."
Dustin nodded. "So for all these years, you've been working
underground, here...."
"Oh, when you're watching on the monitors, it feels like you're
outside. I'm also on a quality control team, you know. Constantly
keeping an eye on the goings-on outside, making sure things are going
right."
Dustin considered that. "Any complaints?"
Dustin caught a sidewards glance at Laker, but Jenner's face remained
steady. "No, not that I can say. But that's what Dr. Laker always
asks me. Always expecting me to find something at fault, even when
there isn't any." He checked his watch. "Well, I better be heading
back. We've got a new scenario to launch in a week, and I'm sure I'll
have to pull overtime to work out the kinks." He returned to his
class.
"Doctor Laker?" Dustin inquired. What was his degree, in personnel?
"Yes, that's one of the things I'm called," said Laker, giving an
enigmatic smile.
Laker showed him several more classes. Dustin was impressed by the
scale of it all; the whole place seemed like a huge acting school. And
it was all hidden underground, right under Grey City.
They spent some more time dropping by classes and talking to people.
On occasion when Laker was distracted Dustin got the opportunity to
talk to employees alone for the moment, he still got the impression
that they were genuinely satisfied. They had no gripes. As one
employee put it, "The hours are long, and the pay isn't great, but
where else can you be an actor or producer in your own little movie?
And you get to watch the players, and enjoy their reaction. They even
rotate us through different jobs every few months so we don't get
bored."
After Dustin had seen several more classes Laker took him to a
different area of the complex. Here there were fewer classrooms but
more boardrooms, and here the employees were older, and many of them
wore lab coats. Laker halted Dustin at the entrance to the door.
"Now, what you're about to see is one of the most top secret parts of
Grey's World."
"Then why're you showing them to me?" Dustin wanted to know. What were
they, afraid he would steal their industrial secrets? "I wouldn't
understand high technology jargon anyway."
"It's not technology, but something infinitely more powerful," said
Laker, pointing to his head. "Ideas. Here is where they are made. I
ask that you do not write in your article about any of the specifics
you hear in here."
"If it's nothing scandelous, fine," said Dustin, by now used to making
such pledges.
Laker studied him for a moment, seeing that he meant it. Then he
beckoned Dustin to enter.
There were four lab coated scientists, sitting around the table,
discussing something intently.
"I think they should hear it breathing first, say for... thirty
seconds."
"I think that's good, but it should be punctuated by blasts of fire
coming up the tunnel. If they hear breathing, that's not going to
scare them."
"Yes, it will. Especially if they pick up on the clues, they'll have a
good idea what they're about to face."
"But if we reveal it too far in advance-"
"It's good to reveal it! It gives them something to dread!"
The last speaker looked up, seeing Laker and Dustin standing in the
corner. "Director Laker," he said, forming a broad smile. "Why,
you've come back to us!"
Director Laker? North thought. Just what post does this fellow hold
here?
"Not at all, Hal, as you know so well," said Laker. "This is Mr.
Dustin, a reporter. I'm giving him the grand tour."
One of the lab coated men looked surprised. "Well Mr. Dustin, you're
just about the first visitor we've ever seen. Everything here is hush-
hush." Indeed, only people with the highest clearances could get into
this part of the complex.
"What's the problem, gentlemen?" said Laker. "Perhaps I can help."
They paused, and then one of them said, "Well, we could always use an
outside hand, especially your advice, Director. Here's the problem:
we're working on the first S&M scenario, you know, the part where...."
he glanced at Dustin.
"It's all right, Max, I vouch for him," said Dustin.
"Anyway, yes, we're coming up to the part where they meet the dragon.
And we're trying to decide how to introduce it to the players. Here,
listen to this." He pressed a button.
A loud snarling, wheezing sound came out of the speakers.
Instinctively it made Dustin's hairs stand on end.
"We were thinking of starting with that, to lay in that feeling of
dread, see? But some of the guys think it's not enough. I think a
blast of fire from its jaws would be giving too much away, especially
before they see the thing. What do you think, Director?"
Laker considered. "Naturally, we want to build up the experience as
much as we can. We can't simply have them go into the room and say
'here's the dragon'. On the other hand we could be going overboard...
I say go with the breathing. The fire would give it away too quickly.
It's good to build up their unease more slowly. Just think, if they're
in a dark tunnel, and they suddenly hear that sound, they're going to
jump out of their socks, at the least. Just where did you get that
sound anyway?"
"A tech sawing wood," grinned a scientist. "We just had them play with
the sound a little. We'll give it a try, Director."
"Good. And let me know how it works out in the testing."
Dustin and Laker walked out of the room.
"What was that all about?" said Dustin as they left.
"They were working on part of the very first S&M scenario which is why,
as you must understand, I needed to swear you to secrecy."
"S&M?" said Dustin, confused.
"Oh? Oh, I'm sorry. Swords and Magic. It's going to be our newest
addition to Grey's World, due to come on line in a scant year and a
half. As you can see, when we design a game we try to build up as much
anticipation as possible before a significant event occurs. We find it
heightens enjoyment of the game, giving players something to look
forward to."
"And part of the reason you gave shore leave to the Academy cadets
today-"
"Yes. We're trying to stretch it out. When they leave here, they will
remember playing for a week. But in reality they won't be in the
simulator for more than 15 hours."
"Fifteen hours?"
"Not counting the time spent training, or the time anticipating what
they will be doing, or time spent resting, or time spent touring the
rest of Grey's World. Space Command is very different from, say, the
Battle Games, Mr. Dustin. It's not the sort of thing that can be
played continuously for days on end. We can't afford to tie up the
hardware for that long, for one thing. The waiting list would reach
astronomical lengths, if it hasn't already."
"Still, it seems like your gypping them out of something you promised.
After all, they did expect a week-"
"In Grey's World. And that's exactly what they're getting. But come,
the cadets have already spent three days in Space Command in training.
That time surely counts for something."
"You think they enjoy that?"
"You think they didn't? If you like, I can have control reply some of
the tapes we made of them while they were taking the tests. A smile
isn't very difficult to interpret. Didn't you see the competitive
spirit between them, as they vied for the top posts? Didn't you see
how satisfied Norman North looked, when he solved a puzzle, or
outperformed the others?"
"Ok, ok." Dustin considered. There was something else he didn't
undersand. "But why did those designers call you director? And what
are you a doctor of?"
"To answer your last question first, I hold doctorates in psychology,
sociology, and gaming science. And as to your first question, I was,
until last year, the Chief of Game Construction for the past fourteen
years."
"Chief of Game Construction?"
"The scenarios, the realms, everything you see here... I supervised it
all, making modest contributions here and there. Of course, Mr. Grey
sets the higher policy, but as his second in command I managed to offer
some input now and then as well."
"You?" said North, eyeing the mild mannered silver haired fellow. "I
thought..."
"That I was little more than a glorified tour guide? I know. You made
it quite clear. No, now I'm an executive consultant to Mr. Grey. His
top troubleshooter, he likes to call me."
"Then what are you doing taking me around by the hand? Don't you have
better things to do?"
Laker gave a wide smile. "At the risk of being undiplomatic, Mr.
Dustin, you are a trouble I am trying to shoot."
And with that he continued the tour, as if nothing had happened. He
took Dustin into another boardroom where a number of staffers were
arguing over a complex diagram on the board. The diagram consisted of
a series of boxes, with labels such as "army" "communications" "spy"
and "leader". The game engineers immediately stopped what they were
doing when Laker entered the room. After introductions had been made
they explained what they were working on.
"We're trying to add a little more spunk to the Battle Games," said a
game designer named Bob. "For several years we've been experimenting
with the concept of spies, but never in pivotal roles, and never in any
significant numbers."
"Spies?" said Dustin. "I may not know much about this, but doesn't
that stuff belong in the Agency?"
"Precisely," said Bob. "We realize the potential for overlap exists.
But these are spies in a military context. They relay information to
the other side, and, on occasion, assassinate their own men."
"It's too much," said another game designer, name of Janet. "You can't
expect the men to fight together effectively when they constantly have
to worry that their buddy is going to shoot them in the back. What do
you think, Director Laker?"
Laker tossed the ball back to her. "I haven't been on the scene in
over a year. What have recent studies shown?"
Bob punched up some figures on the screen. "Post game interviews
showed that player concerns about spies were much lower down on the
totem poll. The top concerns, in order, was being outflanked, relying
on fellow soldiers, running out of ammunition... and then the
possibility of spies. We've hypothesized that in a battalion sized
game, where you've got five hundred people to a team, the odds of your
buddy, or even anyone in your particular squad being a spy is pretty
remote."
"But not all games are battalion sized," said Laker. "And then there
was the Kalnea Campaign."
The game designers nodded. "That was where, by luck of the draw, the
spy turned out to be a platoon commander," said Bob, explaining for
Dustin's sake. He looked down for a moment, as if he were remembering
something unpleasant.
"So what happened?" said Dustin.
Bob momentarily glanced at Laker, who nodded. "The lieutenant directed
his platoon into an enemy ambush. Half the platoon was immediately
wiped out. We had a lot of unhappy players at the end of that game."
"Meaning," said Laker patiently.
"Maybe the spy allocation shouldn't be so random after all. Maybe we
should rig it so no one higher than, say, NCO could be a spy."
"Why allow spies at all?" said Janet. "As someone said a minute ago,
if you want to spy, you can go to the Agency." She was very much
against mixing up elements of different realms. Janet thought that
there was enough excitement in the Battle Games as they were currently
structured, and that adding spies would only distract players from
their actual war gaming.
"Why allow spies in the Battle Games at all?" said Laker, his tone and
expression carefully neutral. "Bob?"
"Um, I think they're needed," said Bob. "We have the highest
percentage of repeat players in the Battle Games. We keep introducing
new technology, like the mortars, and new terrain, but there's only so
much variety you can add to both, especially for a player who's been
around nine or ten times." He had studied the exit surveys very
carefully. People were still satisfied with the Battle Games, but
levels of satisfactions among repeat players were not as high as they
had once been.
"Do people come back to the same game that often?" said Dustin,
surprised.
Bob nodded. "The Battle Games especially. Because it runs the largest
scenarios, the waiting list is the shortest for it. Every time we play
a major campaign we can put just about 1000 players on the field." He
turned to address Laker. "We do need the spies, especially where the
game needs balance. When you have only a third or forth timer fighting
against a Hikaru or a North, you need some unpredictability to the
game. It would serve to even things out a little. I agree that we can
safely expand the use of spies in the advanced scenarios."
Janet and the others nodded. "I see your point," said Janet
reluctantly. "Perhaps a modest expansion of spies would be
appropriate. At least, increased use in advance scenarios seems sound.
I saw some data a year ago showing that players were refusing
assignments to teams that were going up against Norman North. It's a
good thing he left the Battle Games."
"He's at Space Command," said Dustin. "Right now."
"Really?" said Janet. "Yeah, come to think of it, I had heard something
about that, a few days ago. Well, good riddance to him."
Dustin elevated an eyebrow. "Why?"
"He was always creaming any army we put up against him. When the word
got out, and it got out pretty quickly, no one wanted to take him on
anymore," said Janet.
"I would think the challenge-"
"Sure, sure, there were always players in the officers ranks who were
up for the challenge, as you put it. But never the enlisted men. Many
of them were on the waiting list for a long time. They didn't want to
blow their one chance by dying out on the first day. Which is what
happened a lot to the teams that went up against Norman North. In
fact, I'm glad that North's switched to a scenario where he's not
playing against other players--Director, they haven't started duel
participatory scenarios in Space Command, have they?"
Laker shook his head. "In any event, it seems you've worked out your
problem," he said, nodding with satisfaciton.
He and Dustin departed. Once they were outside the room, Laker said,
"It's always better to let them solve a problem of gaming psychology
for themselves. I sometimes help to frame the problem, but rarely like
to provide the conclusion."
"They seemed really bitter about North," said Dustin.
"Janet? No, she was just joking. But for a time there it did seem
difficult to pit players against Norman North. And, as a former game
designer, I can tell you that we are very involved in our games, and we
don't like to see our carefully designed scenarios go out of kilter."
Laker paused, polishing his spectacles. "You know, of course, that all
of them, Janet included, are big fans of Norman North, despite what
they say."
"How so?"
"He's the best. There's always respect for an artist's performance."
Laker led Dustin through several more meetings, just lingering at each
one long enough for Dustin to get a flavor for what it was all about.
Indeed, Dustin felt he had received quite an education. He never
realized just how much planning went into everything that went on in
Grey's World. Everything, down to the shape and color of a particular
building, was meticulously planned to elicit the proper psychological
effect.
Dustin learned, for example, that planners had purposely made the
uniform for Space Command a slightly darker variant of navy blue to
give players that "Navy feeling". As Laker put it, "We want the
players to feel they are going on a trip."
Dustin gave a sarcastic grin.
"Laugh if you want but we tested Space Command, a year before it
opened, using red uniforms, and satisfaction and believability levels
were both down almost 10%."
"You're telling me that the color of the clothes can make all the
difference?"
"Props, Mr. Dustin, can make all the difference," said Laker.
Dustin remained unconvinced.
At one point they entered a meeting concerning a new addition to the
Gaming Tower. "It's just like the NetFall, Director Laker, but in
reverse," said the planning coordinator. He showed them several graphs
of a ride that already existed at the Gaming Tower. The object was for
tourist to jump down from one net into another. The NetFall, as it was
called, had proven so popular, that game designers were working on
another variant of it. In this ride there would be a large series of
adjacent plateaus, each one foot apart in height. The plateaus would
be constructed of a springy material that would allow tourists to jump
up to the next level. "If we get allocations we can have it in place
by the next season," said the coordinator excitedly.
"Why would they want to?" said Dustin, studying the drawing.
"What?" said the coordinator.
"Why would they want to jump up those things?" said Dustin.
"Why Mr. Dustin, it's so elementary," said Laker. "Because it's there.
But in a larger sense it allows man, in a small way, to satisfy his
dream of flying."
"Again the pop psychology," Dustin grumbled. They put so much faith in
it, but Dustin couldn't help but wonder if it wasn't just so much
baloney.
"Our psychology," said Laker. "We have our own school that teaches
gaming psychology." Laker had helped set it up. The courses focused
on answering one simple question: what gave people pleasure? What
aspects of a ride or game were enjoyable? How could these aspects be
heightened?
Dustin was of mixed minds. He had to admit that whether these debates
were meaningless or not, he found them fascinating. These people were
making games, and it was clear how much they enjoyed it. Dustin and
Laker later sat in on a meeting with a number of game designers working
on an Agency scenario.
"They should have a shootout in the bar on day two," suggested one
designer.
"They always have a shootout in the bar on day two," said another.
"They can practically set their watches by it."
"Well, we can't have it on the first day, or the third," said the first
designer.
"We could hold it somewhere else, somewhere novel," said a third game
designer. "How about in the 18th century zone?"
"I have an idea," said Dustin.
Everyone looked at Dustin with surprise. "I have an idea," he
repeated.
"Let's hear it," said the first game designer.
"Lead them into a situation where they think they're about to fight-"
Dustin paused, playing with his idea as he went along.
"Yes yes, go on."
"But don't have them fight," said Dustin, his face a mask of
concentration.
"That's the idea?" said the second game designer, barely attempting to
hide his disgust.
"Well, that's not all, there's obviously more to it than that," said
Dustin, thinking quickly. He was also wondering why he bothered to
speak up in the first place. "I have it! Have them deactivate a bomb
instead!" He remembered how Norman North had taken out the bomb in the
training exercise.
"No no no," said the first game designer.
"I like it," said the second game designer.
"Why?" said the first.
"Here, look at these charts. A bomb threat would reach the approriate
tension level at the proper time in the game story, and a successful
deactivation would bring confidence along-"
"What if it blew up and they all died," said the first game designer
bluntly. "Players wouldn't be too happy being killed out on the second
day."
"Well, the bomb could be a dud. Or something could go wrong with it,
or something. If they succesfully deactivated it, they would never
know."
The first game designer nodded. "I kind of like it... it just might
work. Thanks, Dusty."
"Dustin," said Dustin. In a small way, he felt like he had contributed
to something. Something that would make people happy.
It felt good.
North looked out of a pasenger window of the transport shuttle. It was
almost 7:30, and the sun had set an hour ago. Sitting to his left and
right were his teammembers. Cassra, looking pleased, sat to his
immediate right, and beyond her was Booz. Booz told them he had had a
great time visiting his friend at the Battle Games. Inwardly North
felt a pang of regret. Had time permitted, he would've appreciated the
chance to make a return visit there. But now it was too late, and it
was unclear whether they would be permitted to take leave from Space
Station Victory.
Directly to North's left was Wong, and beyond him was Barr. Barr
looked sullen; he hadn't told the others how he had spent his day.
Knowing him, North thought, he spent his time crying over his lost
command. North raised his left arm, studying the two solid and one
dotted lines circling his uniform's wrists. And up by his shoulders,
where the silver stripes began, were the two and a half bars signifying
his rank. Captain. He still couldn't believe everything had worked
out.
He looked over at Cassra's hand, which was gently leaning against his
own. He studied the two solid circles around her wrist. It was good
that she was his first officer. Booz and Wong certainly could have
performed the job adequately, but privately North thought Cassra was a
cut above the rest. He just hoped that the tensions of the mission
would do nothing to drive them apart.
"Attention all hands, attention all hands," came a voice over the p.a.
"This is your Captain speaking. We are T minus sixty seconds from
launch. Our destination is Space Station Victory, I repeat, Space
Station Victory. If you're here for the Venus Shuttle, please see a
stewardess immediately."
There was some sporadic laughter.
The Captain continued. "Speaking on behalf of the shuttle crew, I wish
you a smooth and pleasant voyage. Our ETA with the Space Station is
fourteen minutes. That is all."
A few short seconds later the engines rumbled and the ship lifted off.
Is this really necessary?
Is what really necessary?
Why do you always put on the innocent act? You know precisely what I'm
talking about.
Precise? Try being a little more specific.
Why put them through this? Why not just lock them in a room for
fourteen minutes and be honest about it? They're not going anywhere,
you know.
On the contrary, they are. The shuttle simulator is moving a grand
total of twenty feet. Underground.
North studied the stars as they sped to the edges of the atmosphere.
Already many of the constellations were visible.
"Norm?" said Cassra. "Do you think our mission starts the minute we
dock with the Space Station?"
"I don't know," said North. "We'll have to wait and see. But from
what I've heard Space Station Victory alone will be quite exciting."
"For a tourist trap," she said, wrinkling her nose.
"Oh?" said North. "Just because it's designed for the tourists doesn't
mean its inferior. Didn't you enjoy the Gaming Tower today?"
"Oh, Norm, that's not what I meant," said Cassra. "It's just... most
people's journeys end at Victory. Ours just begins there." She still
couldn't believe it. They had finally made it. All their training was
completed, and soon they would be on a ship of their own. And Cassra
would be first officer to one of the most brilliant player minds of the
decade. They would be a powerful team to beat.
Seven minutes later, the shuttle docked with the Space Station.
"Welcome to the Space Station," said the voice over the intercom.
"Report to deck three for your rooming assignments."
They entered the main hub of Space Station Victory. The large,
circular room was alive with life as tourists and some players milled
about. North didn't get a chance to pay attention to details; he was
distracted by a viewport. A big one.
It stretched from floor to ceiling, and outside they could see the one,
huge object, that distracted everyone in that part of the station. It
was the Earth.
North studied the swirling clouds, the blue, browns, and swirling
whites that made up the planet. He had never imagined it would be
so... colorful. It looked like some beautiful painting, as though life
were imitating art.
"Would you look at that!" said Cassra, similarly stunned. Looking down
they saw North America. Cassra recognized the coastline stretching
from the tip of Florida going on up. Looking farther down beyond the
bright blue ocean she could see part of South America. Only the
westernmost part of Europe and Africa were present, and they were
largely obscured by clouds. Turning back to the continental US, Cassra
saw the complex ridges of the rockies to the west.
A short time later, they managed to tear themselves away from the view,
although Cassra quickly vowed, "We'll be back."
Instead they climbed up several decks to find their bunking
assignments. They were much the same as their rooms in Academy--small,
spartan accomodations, not larger than 10 feet by ten feet. There was
barely space for a bed and a chair in each room. But every room had a
viewport focused on the Earth.
There was also a terminal screen in each room. North's read, "Welcome,
Captain North. Prepare to be mobilized at 0800 hours tomorrow
morning."
North studied the terminal. He was fiddling with it when he heard a
knock on the door. It was Cassra. "There's your answer," said North,
pointing to the screen. "We're off until tomorrow."
"Ug! I can't stand the suspense!" she said. "It's only 8 o'clock.
What say we collect the gang and have a look around?"
Space Station Victory was a large place. There were six decks in all.
The lowest Deck One, where North and his friends entered the Station,
was where the shuttles to Earth and other destinations were docked.
The player spaceships, on the other hand, were docked on Deck Two.
Deck Three, according to North's map, was the communication and imager
center. Deck Four contained the restaurants, lounges, and even "the
only theater in outer space" that Victory boasted. The forth deck also
contained the enormous viewport of Earth that they had noticed earlier.
And Decks Five and Six housed the players, or "astronauts" as they were
called by Station personnel.
The station was starting to empty out, because tourists could not
obtain overnight accomodations on the Space Station, and the last
shuttle back to Earth was leaving at 9:30. (Shuttles normally flew to
and from Earth every half hour.) North and his team made their way
down to the lower levels. They had intended to survey the station from
bottom to top, but got stopped at Deck Two by a viewport. It was North
who halted first.
"What a beauty!" he whispered.
He was staring at an oval shape, about 500 feet long, that was docked
with Victory. The others rushed to the window.
"What is it?" said Barr.
"Look, see the name on the side?" said Booz.
It was Explorer. Their ship. North's ship.
North just stood there for some time, even after the others wandered
around the deck. He wasn't even aware that they had left, until Booz
returned. "Hey, it's really something. There are five other ships
docked here. But we can't get in any of them. Except for the
Traveler. But that's not a real player ship; that's just for the
tourists. Norm, North?"
North broke out of his reverie. He was just thinking about the ship.
His ship. "What? Yes?"
"Norm, you were-"
"Hey, guys, have look at this!" said Wong.
He motioned them to come down to Deck One. Tourists were boarding a
shuttle heading back to Earth.
The intercom chimed. "Now making final call for the 8:30 shuttle to
Earth. Final call, this is the final call."
People were rushing onto the deck, but not all of them were tourists.
Some were players, headed for the viewport on the deck. North, a
little puzzled, joined them. All he could see was the Earth. But a
better view of the Earth could be seen from the lounge, he thought.
The last tourist entered the shuttle, and the hatch sealed up. In a
moment the players on the Space Station heard a roar, and the steel
metal deck beneath them trembled.
"Look!" one of them shouted. Out of the viewport, they could see the
shuttle, engines flaring, as it soared away from the Space Station.
They watched, fascinated, as the shuttle made its Earth descent. Not
before the shuttle was a small dot in the Earth's atmosphere did the
players slowly disperse.
"It's just special effects," Dustin commented to Laker.
They were on the Space Station, standing in back of the crowd watching
the viewport. Laker, for some reason, had wanted Dustin to see the
Space Station firsthand, although Dustin had been content to watch from
the monitors. At least they hadn't had to take a shuttle flight; they
had gone down one of Laker's hidden passages, and ended up in a locked
broom closet on the Space Station. It always seemed that the hidden
passages ended up in a broom closet; whether in the White House, or
outer space, it didn't much matter.
Dustin had watched with some amusement as Laker had donned a Space
Command uniform. It only looked slightly more ludicrous on him as it
did on Dustin. There was no liberal dress code here: everyone, down
to the tourists, had to have a Space Command uniform. Of course the
tourists had no badge of rank, and all of them had the telltale white
stripes around their waists. Everyone had to be kept in their own
separate categories in Grey's World.
"But very good special effects," Laker half whispered. "And please
keep your voice down. Remember, we are very much in player territory
now."
"I thought you said that this was a tourist showcase?" said Dustin.
"Indeed. But we are also surrounded by players, and by 9:30 only the
players--and us--will be left here. Come, let me show you around the
station."
He led Dustin up to Deck Three, where players were sitting behind long
rows of screens and consoles. They watched some of the players at
action.
"What is this place?" Dustin whispered.
"Communications and imager center," said Laker. "The screens you're
seeing here are for communication only."
"Communication? With whom? Why?"
"Watch," said Laker.
They saw that Barr and Booz had taken seats at consoles just in front
of Laker and Dustin. Immediately the screens in front of the players
came to life.
WELCOME, SPACE COMMANDER
SELECT FORM OF CONTACT
1) COMMUNICATION
2) MONITORING
"What does it all mean?" said Barr.
"I don't know," said Booz. You press one, I'll press two."
Once they had made their selections, new queries appeared on each of
their screens.
SELECT DESTINATION
A) ALPHA CENTURI
B) GAMMA CANOPUS
C) MAGENTA STATION
D) NORCRON CENTER
E) PROCYON 234
F) BALLENTRIN'S PLANET
G) TAU CETI
Barr selected "A". Booz chose "G". Now they faced a new menu, but
each player had a different selection. Booz's read:
SELECT MONITORED BROADCASTS BY TOPIC
A) EDUCATION
B) SPORTS
C) WEATHER
D) ECONOMY
E) POLITICS
F) CULTURE
G) SCIENCE
He chose "B".
Barr's choices read
SELECT COMMUNICATOR
A) GOVERNMENT OFFICIAL
B) ACADEMIC
C) CHILD
D) GREEPZOID MOPULATOR
E) SCIENTIST
F) SPACESHIP PILOT
Barr selected "A".
JUST A MOMENT flashed on both their screens. And then...
Barr saw a green humanoid alien face appear on the screen. It had a
flat head, and bulging eyes, but otherwise looked vaguely human.
"Mush-lush, Mush-lush," it said. Suddenly a line on the bottom of his
screen flashed, ENGAGING TRANSLATOR.
"Greetings, greetings, human," said the alien.
"Mush-lush to you too," said Barr. "Who the hell are you?"
"I am Oolsh of what you call Alpha Centauri. I am a second level
Tridan of my government. And you?"
"I am Lieutenant Commander Eric Barr of Space Command," said Barr. He
should've been Captain, he thought, but at least he outranked two of
those nobodies, Wong and Booz.
"Greetings and peace to you," said the figure, nodding slightly.
"You say you're a... Tridan?" said Barr.
"There is no exact translation, but yes, I am a second level Tridan.
The head of our government is a first level Tridan. Each level below
him handles reduced responsibilities. Is this not how your government
works?"
"No, we don't grade our politicians according to their
responsibilities," said Barr. "For one thing, we have several branches
of government, which are co-equal."
"Yes, I've heard about that. An excellent experiment."
"This is preposterous," Dustin whispered to Laker, from behind Barr.
"It's obvious that this guy is just feeding him a load of bull."
"It's an amusement, Mr. Dustin, nothing more than that.," said Laker,
mildly sighing. "If you're looking for action and adventure, just wait
until the game begins."
Dustin considered. "I'll give you one thing," he whispered. "This
amusement, as you call it, must tie up an impressive number of your
personnel. If you have, what, ten different terminals, and, say, sixty
or so different combinations... you must have hundreds of people on
hand to respond to thse things."
"That's the beauty of it," said Laker, in a low voice. "At most, there
are ten."
"Ten?"
"One per terminal," said Laker. "The computer automatically alters
their voice and facial features. Quite a labor saver, isn't it?"
Meanwhile, Booz was listening to a sports broadcast from Tau Ceti. "-
yes, and the Shumbogs scored another victory over the Scrabogs in the
semi-finals. Here's the highlights from our remote camera." The image
of the announcer was replaced by a field where purple aliens were
engaged in a competition. One alien tossed a ball as far as he could
away from him. Aliens from the opposing team quickly rushed up to grab
the ball. In the meantime the alien who had thrown the ball ran around
a small circular track, making a revolution every few seconds.
Meanwhile an alien from the opposing team alien had retrived the ball,
and he moved to the center of the small circle that the first alien was
running around. The alien in the center of the track started to
rapidly toss the ball in the air and catch it, tossing it and catching
it as fast as it could. Finally, a whistle blew, and the alien running
around the track ran to the center of the small track, pummeling the
ball tossing alien to the ground.
"-and quite a tackle that was!" said the announcer.
"Weird," grumbled Booz, changing channels. Now he was listening to a
weather announcer. "-large tidal waves may threaten to sink part of
the central landmass again today, so make sure you take your spare
breather with you to work this morning. In other news, part of the
western continent is surfacing again, and workcrews are confident that
seaweed will be cleared up in just a few-"
Booz laughed, changing the channel.
"What's so funny?" Barr demanded to know.
"These channels," said Booz.
"Who are you talking to?" said Oolsh of Alpha Centuri, whom Barr had
neglected.
"You're boring," said Barr, changing channels. Suddenly a small alien
child was on the screen. "Who're you?" said the child.
"Who are you?" Barr demanded in return.
"I know who you are," said the child. "You're a human! I've seen a
picture of you in my exobiology class. But you look uglier in real
life."
In the background, Dustin suppressed a smile.
"Oh? Think you're going to win any beauty contests?" said Barr. "What
else do you learn in school?"
"That humans are weak. Is it true that you blow up in a vacuum?"
"Yes," Barr had to admit.
"Why do you allow yourself to do that?" the child asked.
"Hey, Barr, look at this," said Booz, pulling at his sleeve.
"Try it yourself, kid," said Barr, snapping the connection. "What?"
"You've got to see their politics," said Booz, pressing the REPLAY
button.
"-the Leader has made a new proposal, but the Shamburzi have refused to
ratify it. To see how the legislation worked its way through the
process, let's go to the videotape."
Suddenly, they could see an arena where a large purple humanoid was
flexing his muscles. Suddenly, he gave a scream as two smaller
purplish aliens came into view. "The Leader has just greeted the
Shamburzi," said the announcer.
The Leader roared, and grabbed one of the Shamburzi, tossing it against
the other. "The Leader is remonstrating with the Shamburzi for not
approving his legislation."
The Shamburzi, obviously stunned, nonetheless quickly got up and made a
two pronged attack on the Leader. But the Leader quickly grabbed one
by the foot, tossing him to the ground, while quickly smacking his arm
into the middrift of the other, causing him to exclaim with a yelp of
pain. "The Shamburzi are still not convinced of the merits of the
proposal," said the announcer.
One of the Shamburzi was now knocked out cold and the Leader was
twisting the arm of the conscious one. "The President is not above a
bit of arm twisting to get his legislation passed," noted the
announcer.
Suddenly, the Shamburzi cried out, and the crowd in the arena roared.
"There you have it, the President has gotten the Shamburzi to go along
with the legislation. That's the forth time this season that the
Leader has persuaded the Shamburzi to see things his way."
Barr and Booz were laughing hysterically. But Dustin looked miffed.
"I don't see anything funny," he said.
"Come," said Laker. "Let us see if we can't find anything that will
amuse you."
They went to the other side of the room, where Norman North, Cassra,
and Wong were seated at another set of consoles. Dustin found it a
little disconcerting that he was standing so close to Norman North, a
man, who, over the course of the past few days, Dustin had come to feel
that he knew very well. And yet North did not even notice him. North
glanced up, sensing he was being watched, but his gaze passed right by
Dustin and Laker. Quickly he returned to the console he was manning.
"What are they doing?" said Dustin, looking at the consoles. The
players were pressing buttons, and periodically pictures would come
onto their screens.
"These are imagers," said Laker. "But unlike the imagers in the
trainer, these provide full color pictures."
"Look, let's focus on the Horsecrab Nebula," said Cassra. She targeted
that region of the galaxy with her mouse, and doubleclicked rapidly.
Suddenly, a cloud of wonderous colors burst onto the screen. "That's
really nice," said Cassra. "Isn't it, Norm?"
"Um," said North. He was focused on Saturn, a popular favorite. The
rings of the bright yellow planet were of many different colors, and
made an interesting arrangement when combined with all the different
satellites that orbited Saturn. "Wish I could get a hardcopy color
picture of that," said North.
"Hey, look what I got," said Wong. They craned their necks to look at
his screen. His screen was focused on Space Station Victory. Its now
familiar cylindrical shape filled the screen.
North whistled slowly, studying the industrial design. "What a work of
art," he said.
"Wait. Maybe can do more." Wong doubleclicked on a certain part of
the screen. The map zoomed in even more.
They saw an oval shape, one they had seen earlier. It was Explorer!
But now they could see it in greater detail. There were three engine
units mounted to the drive section. Laser projectors bristled from the
sides and proton guns from the top; and, just below the proton guns,
they could spot the missile tubes.
"That's going to be a beauty of a command," said North. At this
moment, he couldn't have been happier.
"It's just a model, for goodness sake," said Dustin.
North glanced back, as if he might have heard what Dustin said. He
gave Dustin a dirty glance. Dustin shrank back.
Laker pulled him away, leading him by the arm. "They don't think of it
as a model," he whispered.
After a while the players made their way upstairs to Deck Four. This
is where the players sat about and relaxed. The deck was really one
large lounge, butressed at one end by an enclosed theatre and at the
other by the large viewport with the view of Earth. Not a few people
were seated by the window, in soft plush chairs, chatting with each
other as they took in the view. At different parts of the deck there
were mini-restaurants, strategically located around different clusters
of couches. Unlike the lower decks the floor was not composed of the
standard metal grates; there was actually real plush carpeting on the
floor. It gave the deck more of a welcome feel. In a pit at the
center of the deck were several musicians, playing a soft tune.
As they approached, the tune became more familiar to Dustin. "Ah," he
said, "The theme to Blue Danube."
"No," said Laker. "2001: A Space Oddessey."
"Oh," said Dustin, and that was that.
"Attention," came a voice over the intercom. "Now calling for the 9:30
shuttle to Earth. Repeat, this is the last shuttle to Earth for
tonight. Last boarding call."
"Shouldn't we be going?" said Dustin.
"Not yet," said Laker. "Not unless you want to."
"Then how do we... oh, shit, you've got me thinking like you," Dustin
groaned.
"Gotcha!" said Laker, taking a seat next to Dustin. "For a moment,
just a moment, you were believing. Don't try to deny it."
"It's just... the surroundings, the uniforms, the activities...."
"Precisely. That's precisely the atmosphere we're trying to engender,"
said Laker, making himself comfortable. "I've seen your newspaper
articles where you deride the different realms as 'unbelievable shams'.
But when you, the great skeptic, find yourself in the middle of one,
you become a believer in the game too."
"But just for a minute."
"And you haven't even gone through the training process. You haven't
spent the past three days striving for the privilege of being aboard
this station, young man. Look about you," said Laker, leaning back in
the plush sofa. His arm played over the soft material, a gentle brown
under the unobtrusive lighting. The musicians were playing Holst now,
doing a softer version of the "Mars" theme. "For years we've had an
image of outer space as a harsh environment, where man can barely
survive. Remember the old Space Lab images, of the astronauts in their
spartan, austere, and cramped environment? We've been able to build on
that, to retain some of that feeling, and yet put a little luxury into
it too. Do you feel like you're underground? No, don't answer that.
I'll tell you, from my studies, that people who spend any length of
time here feel like they are in space. Everything around them is
telling them that they are in space, from the moment they boarded their
launching shuttle." Laker waved his hand, and a waiter approached.
"Something for you sir?" he said.
"Glass of water, here. Anything for you, Dustin?" Dustin shook his
head. The waiter departed.
"Don't you see, that's the thrill of it. Being waited upon in outer
space. As if someone put a fancy hotel in orbit. The players love
it," said Laker. His eyes glowed; he looked very satisfied.
"Attention, attention," said the voice over the intercom. "All
tourists have now departed. I repeat, all tourists have now departed.
Special player session will be held on Deck Four at 10 PM. I repeat,
special player session will be held on Deck Four at 10 PM. That is
all."
Laker got his cup of water. Sipping it, he looked the very picture of
contentment.
"What's this?" said Dustin. "You sponsor special events after you
clear the tourists out?"
"Just one of those little extra touches for the players," said Laker.
And then, lowering his voice, he said, "After all, they are imprisoned
here until tomorrow morning. We always have an event after the last
shuttle leaves, to keep their mind off that."
"Why not just run shuttles all night?" Dustin wondered.
"The park has to close sometime," said Laker. "For cleaning and
maintenance and the like. But there's an even more important reason."
"Which is?"
"This is a space station, not a bus terminal. We can't have comings
and goings every minute. It would ruin the effect," Laker grinned.
"We want them to feel the isolation. Not much, but just a little."
"One more question," said Dustin, thinking about this entire
setup. "Why's it called victory?"
Laker's grin only grew wider. "It's a victory to get anything
into space, Mr. Dustin."
Several couches away, North sat in a plush chair, sipping a black
cherry soda as he listened to the performers. There were only eight of
them, but they were now doing a very credible version of the opening
title theme from "The Last Starfighter".
"Oh, Norm, isn't it great?" said Cassra, grabbing his arm. "Just look
at the view! I never--Norm, look!"
North quickly turned his attention to the large viewport. There were
astronauts, on the outside. Waving to them!
The players, all excited, quickly waved back. Evidently there was a
ledge outside of the viewport that the astronauts could walk on. They
were wearing bulky white spacesuits, slowly plodding along in zero
gravity. When they had gone halfway across the length of the viewport,
they turned, waved goodbye, and jumped off the ledge. Slowly they
started to fall downwards.
"Now how did they ever do that?" North wondered. Could they have
walked onto another platform which slowly lowered them?
"This place is just amazing," said Booz. "Listen, I hear that during
the day there are tourist trips to the moon and to Tau Ceti!"
"Yes, I remember reading about those" said North. "I'd like to see
them." And Sanctuary Park. And the Battle Games. And a more thorough
visit to the Gaming Tower. There was just so much left he wanted to
do.
The intercom system came alive again. "Attention all hands,
attention all hands. The Space Station is sealed. I repeat, the Space
Station is sealed. All nonessential personnel have been evacuated.
The executive command reception will now commence."
There was a loud babble, and then the musicians started to play a
lively tune. Waiters streamed out with trays of hoerderves. The
lighting turned into a soft tinted blue.
"What's happening?" said North.
"It's a party, silly," said Cassra.
Meanwhile Laker had disappeared, forcing Dustin to mix with the
crowd. He walked around, mostly feeling left out of it; after all, he
wasn't a player. Or a Grey's World employee. Dustin approached a
young woman who appeared to be intently studying a sheet of paper. She
had a serious look about her, and several rings adorned her sleeves.
Dustin was't sure what rank she was, but obviously this was a senior
player.
"Getting ready for a mission?" he said lightly.
"I wish," she said. "I'm going for my third and final day
tomorrow. I'm just checking my orders." She looked at him. "I
haven't seen you here before. Have you just arrived?"
Dustin recalled his trip through the underground tunnel and up
into the broom closet. "In a manner of speaking," he said. He
extended a hand. "Dustin."
"Calley. Captain Juliet Calley, of the SCS Swift. You? I, ah,
noticed that you don't have any rank."
Dustin checked his sleeves. Although he had been given a uniform
with the silver stripes of a graduated cadet, he had not been provided
with a rank. "I, ah-"
"A Grey's man. I understand," said Calley.
"No, not really... it would take too long to explain," said
Dustin. He realized that he had made an implicit promise to Laker not
to reveal to the others that he wasn't a player. "But tell me about
yourself. How has your... mission been going?"
"Ok." Calley sat up in her seat. "We were doing some routine
mapping of an uncharted star group, when we ran into the Rasters."
"The Rasters?" The name sounded familiar to Dustin. Weren't
they the 'enemy'?
"Boy, you are new here, aren't you? The Rasters. The hostiles.
Anyway, before you know it, we were in battle. Us against a frigate."
"Was that terrifying?"
Calley looked thoughtful. "Um, it was a little jolting,
especially when we got hit for the first time. Actually , a frigate is
not that much of a big deal, but when you're in your first battle, it
takes a bit of getting used to . It turned out that my gunner's
systems malfunctioned, and we had to switch to the science console for
weapons targeting--all this in the middle of a battle. It was hectic,
to say the least."
"So, you're enjoying your stay, then."
She looked at him oddly. "What are you, some kind of reporter?
You bet I'm loving it! I was on the waiting list for over a year to
get into this place. The hardware support is fabulous here, simply
fabulous. It's even better than the Agency, where I got my first
gaming experience."
Across the room , Norman North was trying to remain unrecognized.
The last thing he wanted to happen was to be mobbed by a bunch of
fellow players who wanted his autograph. North chatted with a fellow
captain, a portly fellow named Raymond Baker.
"So, what was it like, being in command, I mean?" North asked.
Baker had told him that he was on the second day of his mission.
Baker took a swig of his drink and said, "Pretty cool. You ever
been in command before, Norm? An Agency team, or a Battle Games
company, maybe?"
He may have recognized me, North thought. But North was forced
to reluctantly nod yes.
"Well, it's kind of like the feeling you get when you're in
command in those other games, only it's different. You only have four
people under you, and yet you feel as if this huge hulk of metal, an
entire ship, capable of enormous speeds and armed to the teeth with
powerful weapons, is entirely subject to your whims. And you realize
that it's an awesome responsibility, and a really great one at that. I
mean, at the flick of a finger, you can order something blasted out of
existence. Or, you can triple your speed in a matter of seconds. It's
really an experience."
Baker took another swallow from his glass. "Why, I remember the
first time I ever commanded anything. I was a platoon leader, in the
April Campaign... hm, must have been ten years ago. Of course, I
wasn't very high then, Norm, not even a company commander, although I
did make Captain a few years later. Imagine the feeling, Norm. You
have 40 men,or , if you're a CC, 120 under your command. You give the
order, and they snap to it. You... did you say you had battle Games
experience, Norm?"
North admitted that he did.
"Well, then, you understand, maybe, how challenging it is to
command a company of men. The platoon leaders help a lot, but
ultimately the buck stops on your desk. The grand strategy is yours.
Of course, this was before they started those battalion sized games. I
always felt they were too large. Tried out for battalion leader once,
but never made it. I may be good, but I'm no-"
And he stopped, and looked at North. "What did you say your name
was again?"
"Norm," said North. "And if you'lll excuse me, it's been a long
day, and I think I'll call it a night. Goodnight." He headed to his
room.
North entered his spartan quarters, and collapsed on his bunk.
The minute his body touched the bed he immediately felt a wave of
fatigue grip him. It had been a long day, from the early morning
graduation to the walking tour of Grey City to the baseball game at the
Gaming Tower to his evening here at Space Station Victory. But it was
also the most fun he had had in a long time.
North heard someone talking outside his door. He had neglected to
close it fully, and it remained ajar.
"I know where I know him from," said a deep voice. He's Norman
North, the famous Battle Gamer." There suddenly came a knock on his
door.
North, inwardly groaning, said, "Ah, I'm a little tired, Ray.
Perhaps tomorrow-"
The door swung open. Cassra was standing there, smiling. "Too
tired for even one of your own shipmates?" she said, in an artificially
deep voice.
"You!" said North. "I had just begun to hope that I had narrowly
escaped from that predicament. How did you know?"
"Because I was there nearly from the beginning," laughed Cassra.
"It was difficult to hold back from laughing as your pal described what
a great company commander he was." Still chuckling, she sat on the
edge of his bed. Her foot idly pushed the door shut.
"You know, I liked it at first," said North. "Being famous, I
mean. And, at times, I still enjoy it. But sometimes it can be a
downright pain in the neck."
"Like now?" said Casra, leaning forward. "I know who you are."
North gently stroke her hair. "Of course, it also has its
benefits."
"Benefits?"
Leaning forward, he kissed her on the lips. She avidly
responded. At one point, though, North paused. "I just had a
thought."
"Yes?" said Cassra.
"Will you respect me in the morning?"
He got a pillow in the face for that.
Day 5
Good morning, Laker.
Good morning, sir.
How are things going?
Well, sir. The work on S&M is proceeding on schedule.
Accouinting ran into a minor snafu yesterday but we're working it out.
Recent receipts-
Forget abou the minor stuff. What's happening with Dustin?
(Pause)
What's wrong?
Respectfully, sir, I think you've attached way too much
importance to the man. I don't mind dropping my existing duties to
take him around-
Meaning you do. I realize, my friend, that you might better
serve Grey's World in your traditional capacity. But this isn't about
Grey's World; this is about me. A personal favor.
Which I am happy to carry out, sir. But, even excepting the fact
that his newspaper is important, this one reporter isn't-
He's important to me, Mr. Laker. He's the most prominent of my
critics. Did you read the articles? Grey's World, a fantasy land for
people who can't handle reality. A high priced fraud. A waste of real
estate.
Sir , we've been over this before. You can't hope to win over
all your critics.
No, but this man is thoughtful. He is open to other opinions.
His mind can be changed. Think of it as a challenge. I get so few of
them nowadays. Now, answer my original question: How has he been
doing?
Well, at first I thought we were making good progress. We ran him
through the Battle Games, and I think he was suitably impressed with
that. I also think he enjoyed the Presidency. As for the training at
Space Command, I think he is also impressed with the rigorous
introduction we put the player through, although he also feels that
it's still little more than enhanced computer games. And then last
night-
Go on.
Well, Victory did nothing for him. He wasn't impressed with it
at all. Respectfully, sir, I still think we should have sent him to
the Presidency. At least he'd be at home there, as a reporter-
Entirely too easy, Laker. So, he doesn't like Victory, hm?
Well, let's see what happens when we put him on a mission.
"Attention. Attenion. Stand by to receive command orders. I
repeat, stand by to receive command orders."
Instantly, Deck Four was silent. Every single player dropped his
breakfast fork, lowered his juice glass.
"Attention. The following crews will report to the following
locations at 0840. Team One, the crew of the SCS Arkansas, to Ready
Room 03. Team Two, the crew of the SCS Explorer, to Ready Room 04.
Team Three-"
"We've got less than ten minutes, crew," said North, looking
across the table at his shipmates. "Where's Barr?"
"I'm here," said Barr, clutching a muffin as he rushed into a
chair.
The palyers had little by way of an appetite, but North forced
himself to finish a roll he had started. Ther was no telling when he
would get a chance to eat again. Eight and a half minutes later, they
were at Ready Room 04.
"Good morning, crew," said a Space Commander, sitting at one of
of a long table. "Have a seat."
North and his team sat. North eyed the officer. If he correctly
understood the insignia, this was an admiral.
"Greetings. I am Admiral Mark Planner of Space Command
Operations. Let me see if I know your names. Captain North? Good,
good. Commmander Cassra? Good to meet you. Lieutenant Commander
Barr? Lieutenant Wong? Lieutenant Booz?" Each nodded in turn. North
appreciate the gesture; it was nice to be treated like individuals.
"Captain Norman North," began Admiral Planner, giving a tight
smile. Planner, of course, knew who he was by reputation. "You are
in command of the Space Command Ship Explorer. Explorer, as you may
know, is a Starside class Deep Space cruiser, equipped with the latest
imager scanners and the newest gamma glass engines. As for armament,
there are two proton guns, eight laser batteries, and two missile
launchers."
"What are our rules of engagement, sir?" said North promptly.
"The Admiral raised his eybrows and stared at his hands for a
moment. "That's a tough one. There's little I can add beyond what you
were told in basic training. But I will say this. You definitely
should not fire on friendly or neutral vessels, unless you are
convinced they are acting in violation of interstellar law. More
importantly, you should feel free to protect the lives of you and your
crew. No one will court marital you for firing first on an
identifiable enemy, such as the Rasters, for example."
"What is a court martial offense is disobeying orders from
command base," he said, staring at North, "Or disobeying orders of a
superior officer," he continued, now turning his gaze to the crew.
"Sir?" said Barr. "What if, hypothetically speaking, we're given
a stupid order?" They had been all through this before, at the
beginning of training. But Barr was trying to score a few points
against North.
"Hypothetically speaking?" The Admiral smiled, sensing the dig at
North's expense. Planner had been fully briefed on the animosity
between Barr and North. His tone grew serious. "You are to obey the
orders of your superior officers. If you disobey orders it will cost
you evaluation points, possibly a court martial. Now , if your Captain
orders you to fly into the heart of a sun, that's an order you can
disobey. but unless it is an order that will clearly threaten the
lives of the crew, you are to obey orders. Is that understood,
Lieutenant Commander Barr?" said Planner coldly.
"Yes sir."
Planner turned to North, a little more lightheartedly. "And I
trust that you, Captain North, will not carelessly order your ship to
fly into the heart of a sun. The cost of the ship would be docked to
your pay, and Starside class ships aren't cheap."
"Yes sir," said North, unable to resist a smile. "I'll keep that
in mind."
"See that you do. Any other questions thus far?"
No one expected any, but Booz raised his hand. "Sir, what if
something happens, and the crew is wiped out, all except me and Lt.
Wong? We're both of the same rank."
Planner sighed. "The Captain or your superior officer may opt to
place one of you in command over the other. Baring that, if you should
find everyone but the two of you wiped out, you could arm wrestle for
it."
"Sir?"
"What's wrong, out of practice? You could also flip a coin,"
said Planner. "Other questions?" He allowed a short silence. "Good.
Then I will now provide you with your mission orders. They will also
be encoded into your ship's computer, in case you forget them. He
turned to North. "Your mission, Captain North, is to take your ship on
a shakedown cruise within this sector, until you are recalled, or until
necessity forces you back to base. Patrol the area for any signs of
unusual activity; we've gotten intelligence reports of increased Raster
movements at this time. That is all." He stood up, shaking hands with
each of them. "You may now board your ship. The dock manager will give
you clearance to launch in thirty mintues, at precisely... 0930. You
have that long to familiarize yourselves with the ship. Good luck."
"This is it, Norm," whispered Cassra, as they quickly exited the
room.
Good morning, Mr. Dustin. Wlecome to Space Command Central
Control.
This place is large! This is where you control all your games?
No, Mr. Dustin. This is merely where we control most of the
Space Command games.
Most?
Our needs keep expanding. We are always building more control
centers.
I'm beginning to see why your entrance fees are so high. So what
happens now?
The game begins. If you'll follow me, please.
They walked to a section of consoles labeled SPACE COMMAND--SCS
EXPLORER. There were six people seated at different consoles. Laker
explained that one was in charge of monitoring events on the ship's
bridge. Another two were studying readouts from the ship's telemtry.
Whenever a player opeareted a control on the bridge, it had an
immediate effect on the telemetry readouts. Another two technicians
were in charge of monitoring the mission progress, as well as adversary
behavior.
And the sixth? Dustin noticed that he was in a glass booth,
separated from the rest.
He's communications. He will represent all the aliens that the
players will see on their viewscreen. The computer will give him a
different voice and appearance, but it will be him. Here, sit down
here. It's show time.
The crew entered the docking tube. It wsa a long, white sterile
passage. When they reached the other side, a closed door faced them.
"Name and rank," a mechanical voice enquired.
"Norman North. Captain," said North.
"Enter." The door slid open.
The ship was no very large on the inside. They entered a narrow
corridor lined by bright white walls. Fifty feet or so inside, they saw
a turnoff labled "Engineering".
Engineering was a small room loaded with power consoles, engine
system panels, and orderly rows of machinery. "Is someone supposed to
work down here?" said North, starting at the complicated dials. He
would hate to leave Wong alone down here while the rest of them were on
the bridge.
"Um, do not think so," said Wong. "Does not seem to be
operational controls here. Only good for maintenance and repair. But
would like to examine more closely when more time."
They left engineering. Just beyond engineering was a turnoff to
the right labeled "Shuttle Bay". A quick glance in that direciton
revealed a small shuttle cockpit, not unlike the one they had trained
on back at Academy.
Then they reached the end of the corridor, and found stairs
leading up. Climbing up, they found themselves near a food storage
are--actuall a small cubboard containing packaged rations, adjacent to
another cubbyhole that housed a toilet. Down another passage way they
located the main circuitry junction. Wong wanted to go in and take a
look, but North said, "Later. We've got less than twenty minutes to
get this show on the road."
Finally, they reached the bridge, at the end of a long hallway.
The doors snapped open as they approached.
It was gleaming white, like the rest of the ship. The control
panels were a dark grey, all studded with lights, controls, and
screens. The bridge itself was rectangular in shape. At one end was
the Captain's chair, complete with his own set of controls and imager
screen. Directly in front of him were consoles and seats for the
navigator and weapons officer. To the front and right of the Captain
sat the science officer, and to his front and left was the SF post. At
the far end of the box shaped bridge was the viewscreen.
"Where's the weapons controls?" said Barr. "I don't see the
weapons controls." He sounded most displeased.
"Over there," said Booz, pointing. "But this isn't your console.
It's mine."
"What?
"See? Your console has weapons control too, only you have
expanded battle controls."
North examine both consoles. "Lieutenant Booz is right. These
are, in many respects, multipurpose consoles." He raised his voice.
"You can all tell where your console is by examining its primary
function.":
"No problem here," said Cassra.
"Am in right place," Wong reported.
Barr gave North a dirty look as he assumed his seat next to Booz.
"Thanks, North."
"Captain North," said North. "You will henceforth address a
superior officer by his or her title."
"Well well well, the king ahas arrived," said Barr, loooking
contemptuous.
"You can, of course, choose to disobey orders and risk a court
martial," said North calmly. "But if you've ever been in Grey's World
before, you'd know that you're being graded on your behavior and
demeanor. But if your evaluation doesn't matter to you--then hey, do
what you think is best."
His evaluation did matter to Barr. In addition to being a
measure of performance in the scenario, they helped determine future
ranks in other games within the same realm. And he did want to return
to Space Command again. He was certain that he would make Captain the
next time.
"Yes sir, sir," Barr glared at him. He looked at the others.
There were backing North, he could tell. Well, just wait until North
led them into a disaster, then maybe things would change.
North attempted to familiarize himself with his own controls. The
primary function of the Captain was to issue orders, but he wasn't far
removed from the actual physical controls of the ship. He noticed an
imager unit in front of him, not as large as Barr's or Cassra's, but
undoubtedly it would prove useful. North also saw basic lightscreen
controls, and a basic communication interface. Next to that was an
emergency SOS button. North shuddered inwardly; he hoped he would
never have to use that. It would be a sign of defeat.
"I don't understand," Cassra mumbled to herself. Looking up,
North approached her station. "What's wrong?"
"The imager controls. It all seems to be functioning properly,
but I can't get anything on my screen."
"Just a minute, let me have a look," said North.
"Captain, need your help," said Wong.
"Just a minute," said North.
Sudddnely they heard a roar, and the floor beneath them
shuddered.
"What was that?" said North, turning around.
"Nothing," said Booz. "I just warmed up the engines."
"I gave no such order," North snapped. "You might have launched
us while we were still docked with Victory." Then, seeing the
crestfallen look on Booz's face, he said, "It's ok. Maye I should have
been more explicit. Everyone, listen up. Feel free to examine your
posts but do not, repeat, do not do anything which will have an effect
outside of this ship. This includes the use of the engines or" with a
sidelong glance at Barr "the activation of the weapons systems.
Deactivate the engines please, Mr. Booz," he said, turning back to
Cassra.
"I still can't get this imager operating," whispered Casra.
North looked it over. "Hm, looks like it should be working."
"Captain," said Wong. "Still having trouble figuring-"
"Just hang tight," said North. "I'll be there in a minute."
Suddenly they heard a buzz. "What was that?" said North.
"Transmission, I think," said Wong. "I trying to tell you,
unable to get communication system to function."
"Wait, just a minute," said North. The buzz rang out again. He
knew that it would be unwise to ignore for very long.
There! He pressed a button, and the imager screen lit up. "What
was the problem? Cassra asked, as North ran to Wong's post.
"You didn't have it focused on anything. That's why it didn't
light up," said North. He turned to Wong's console. The buzz was
heard again. North rapidly glanced through the unfamiliar console.
Buzz! Wait, didn't he have a simple communication system on the
Captain's console? North rapidly walked to his chair, and pressed the
communication button.
Buzz! Nothing happened.
Ha ha ha.
What are you laughing at, Mr. Dustin?
Him. All of them. It's so comical.
This is the first time any of them has ever been in the gaming
simulator before. Even their own training did not fully prepare them
for this. Those are all fairly complex instruments, which are still
somewhat unfamiliar to all of them. Give them time.
What happens if they can't figure it out?
Oh, if necessary we'll have a Sation member come aboard and give
them a hand. But I really don't think it will be necessary. They're
very bright; give them time, and they will figure it out.
North was genuinely puzzled. What was going on here? Time to
reevaluate the basic premise. "Lieutenant, are you certain that this
noise indicates that a communication is waiting?"
"That's what indicator says, sir," said Wong. "Fell fairly
certain." Buzz!
"Therefore, since your panel contains the primary access to
extraship communication, we will examine it. Everyone else, remain at
your posts."
Ignoring the resounding buzz, North quickly but methodically
examined Wong's communciation panel. "There, that should do it," he
said, pointing to a button.
"That one? Oh, maybe, yeah." Wong pushed the button.
Immediately they heard a voice over the speaker. "-Space Command Ship
Explorer, this is Space Command Central. I repeat, SCS Explorer, this
is Space Command Central. Do you receive-"
North, studying the console, pushed another button. "This is
Captain North, over." There was a bit of tension in his voice. Had he
correctly opened communications? Rats, he couldn't man all the posts
himself!
"Captain North, receiving you, over."
North breathed a sigh of relief. "What can we do for you,
Central Command?"
"We've been trying to get in touch with you people for several
minutes. Is anything wrong?"
Barr snickered.
"No," said North. "It's a new ship, a new crew, and we're just
familiarizing ourselves with the controls."
"Can you establish visual?"
North looked at Wong, who frantically examined his controls.
"Ah..." said North. Wong turned, quickly nodding yes. "We
certainly can, Central."
A picture came on the screen. It was a young Space Command
lieutenant. "Well, that's better," he said, looking them over. "SCS
Explorer, you are cleared for launch. We have now disengaged the
docking latches. You may launch at your convenience."
"Thank you. We will depart in the next few minutes," said North,
retaining his cool. The picture faded.
"Lieutenant Booz," said North. "Do you think you can launch us
without doing too much damage to the space station?" He said it
lightly, with just a hint of mirth.
"I'll try, Captain," said Booz. He wouldn't let North down
again. He scrutinized his controls one last time.
"But sir," said Barr. "We've barely had time to familiarize
ourselves with our stations."
"We'll learn by doing, Mr. Barr. I don't think it would look
very good to be hanging around the Space Station for the greater part
of an hour. And if anything goes wrong I prefer it to happen out
there, where the only damage that can be caused is to ourselves. A
shakedown cruise we were ordered to take, and a shakedown cruise we
will have. Go, Mr. Booz."
Booz activated the engines. "Engines activated," he reported.
"But at minimal power."
Power, wasn't that-
"Routing power to engines," said Lieutenant Wong. "With
Captain's permission, will set power allocation to automatic for now,
so SF officer can become competent in his post."
North nodded. He stood behind Booz, watching his every step.
"Getting power," said Booz. "What course shall I set?"
"Commander Cassra?" said North. "Will heading straight out at 0
by 0 by 100 give us clear flying?"
"Um... just a moment." Everyone waited patiently. "Yes, yes, it
will," she reported, studying her imager scans.
"Engage, Mr. Booz. Start us out at 1% of drive potential."
"One percent, sir."
The ship roared to life. Norht quickly took his seat as the
floor swerved slightly backwards. "Mr. Wong, can you get us a visual?"
A moment later they saw stars on the screen. "This forward view,
Captain."
"Accelerate to 10%, Mr. Booz," said the Captain.
"Ten percent, aye sir," said Booz, accelerating.
"Good job," said North quietly, momentarily putting his hand on
Booz's shoulder. Booz beamed. Now things were going right.
"Now, crew, we are going to figure out just how everything on
this ship works. But first, I want two people on the imagers at all
times. We definitely want to look out for collisions, and, as you
know, we're also here to patrol. Mr. Booz, with that first concern in
mind, I want you patrolling the area of space projecting out from the
front half of our vessel. Mr. Barr, you are to patrol the back half."
"But when will I get to test the weapons?" Barr whined.
"When I give you the order to," North assured him. He walked
over to Cassra's post.
"Yeah, put me on guard duty while you make out with your
girlfriend," said Barr. North looked at him. There was no sign of
unease in North's face; he was too used to command problems to allow
himself to show any expression in such a situation. He stared at Barr
calmly. Barr, matching his glance for a moment, flinched, looking
away. North said slowly, "Mr. Barr, you will not question my orders.
You will perform the duties assigned to you, or you will be relieved of
command. Is that clear?"
"Yes." North noted there was no "sir" forthcoming.
North approached Cassra. "He's going to ruin the entire mission
for us," she whispered. Indeed, the crew's dsilike for Barr was now
palpable. Wong gave him sharp looks, and Booz, who sat next to him,
acted as if Barr wasn't there.
All North would say was, "I'm certain that problems like these
will resolve themselves." But inwardly, he wasn't so sure. If Barr
didn't buckle down, there could be an explosive showdown in the near
future. North didn't relish that.
What are you writing?
A note, to policy administration. We should have more latitude
to weed out people who aren't playing the game right.
I'm forced to agree with you. I don't like that Barr character
either.
"Ok, I think I've gotten the basic hang of the imager. It's not
too different from the model we trained on," said Cassra. "Here, let
me get the zoom right." She adjusted a knob. "Ok, here we are, just
outside the orbit of Mars."
"Any ships in the area?" said North. Technically he could ask
Booz and Barr, but first he wanted to make certain that Cassra had a
handle on her job. As Science Officer she was supposed to be most
proficient on the imager.
"Ships? Um... let me see, what's that? No, that's the station."
She toggled a button. "Yeah, there's a lot of traffic, especially
coming and going from Earth."
"Ignore that. Examine the immediate area."
"Hm... wait, two blips within 100,000 SU's."
"Identification?"
She depressed several buttons rapidly. "Freighters. Both of
them. Earth registery."
"Very good," said North. "Are we going to cross the asteroid
belt?"
"No, we're going to miss it by a wide margin, Norm, I mean,
Captain North. I think I'm getting the hang of it. The only thing
remaining to experiment with are the imager output controls. You know,
working with altering the frequency and wavelengths of the scans."
"Good work," said North. "Carry on." He went to Wong's post.
"How's it going, Lieutenant?"
"Ok, Captain. Got lots of controls. Figured out why comm system
on your chair not work. Only good when signal patched in with my
board."
North nodded. It did make sense. "And?"
"Understand comm system now. Basic controls for adjusting signal
very easy. Power controls on automatic. Will not need adjust unless
we go to battle or at higher speeds. Examined computer interface, also
simple enough. And looked at lightscreen controls, but as per your
orders have not operated." Wong looked serious. "Would have effect
outside ship. And last, but not least, had no chance to go over imager
controls."
"You've done well," said North. "For now don't worry about the
imager controls. You have my permission to practice raising the
lightscreens and reallocating power. But be quick about it; in a few
minutes I want you and Cassra to switch positions with Barr and Booz."
North looked about, satisfied. Everyone was learning something.
Even Barr and Booz, on watch duty, were learning about their imagers.
"Think we could push it to 20%?" North asked Booz. "We're not
even out of the solar system yet."
"Can do," Booz grinned. The stars on the viewscreen started to
accelerate and North sank back into his chair as the ship gained speed.
North allowed himself a moment to relax. It felt like he was in a
real spaceship. When they accelerated, the ship shuddered, the floor
shifted slightly, and the picture on the screen changed appropriately.
Sitting there, surrounded by electronic instruments and crewmen dressed
as Space Command Blues, North almost felt as if he were really in outer
space. And he was in command. That meant a lot to him.
After several minutes had passed, North had the crew rotate,
putting Cassra and Wong on watch while allowing Barr and Blumbert to
practice on their instruments.
"Any ships in the immediate area?" North asked.
"None, sir," Cassra reported.
"You may commence firing, Mr. Barr," said North.
It was indeed spectacular, as the slanting rays of the proton
guns speed out of the ship into open space. The lasers, more
conventional light beams, also provided a spectatcular show. North
even allowed Barr to launch one of their limited supply of missiles.
But North still could not see any obvious use for them. They were so
slow as to be very easy to shoot down.
North made sure Cassra got a chance to fire the weapons too. As
science officer she also was assistant weapons officer, just as Barr
was assistant science officer. The imaging and weapons skills were
closely interlinked, for one needed to locate a target before it could
be fired upon.
The practice was good, but it could have been better. North
realized that all they were doing was firing into empty space. Booz
got practice rapidly changing course and speed, but it still wasn't in
the context of a battle. If North had been a Battle Games trainer, he
would have somehow managed to devise more realistic battle simulations.
Maybe something could be done to make it a little more challenging.
"Mr. Wong, how many probes do we have?" North inquired.
"Six, sir."
Well, they could spare one. "Launch a probe, Mr. Wong."
"Sir?"
"You will take navigational control of it, Mr. Wong. Your
objective is to keep it moving as unpredictably as possible. Mr. Barr,
you and Commander Cassra will periodically trade places shooting at it
with lasers. Set your lasers to one tenth of one percent power. We
don't want to lose the probe prematurely. Mr. Booz, you will navigate
the ship, keeping up as close as possible with the probe. North turned
to Wong. "Do you know a probe's maximum speed, relative to our own?"
"Don't know," said Wong. "Let me check computer."
Why didn't I think of that, North wondered.
"Computer say probes can do 60% of our speed."
That was quick. "Very well. Mr. Booz, you are not to exceed 60%
of our maximum speed. And wait for the probe to get out a distance
before you start chasing it. Lastly, I want the one of you, Cassra or
Barr, who is not in firing practice to keep an eye on the general
imager scan. We don't want anything creeping up on us while we're
practicing."
Very methodical, Captain North. Good, good.
The exercise commenced. Wong launched a probe. When it had
gotten a good distance ahead, they started to chase it. The probe
adroitly dodged this way and that as laser fire raked it. Barr was
obviously more skilled at tracking it down in his laser sights, but
Cassra did a capable job as well. Wong proved himself to be a credible
navigator, forcing the probe to artfully zigzag, but Booz proved the
better helmsman, matching ever maneuver, constantly closing in on the
probe.
Clever, clever.
What?
Using a probe for target practice. I don't think that's ever
been done before. That Norman North is going to make some Captain.
Yeah, but will anything ever happen? So far they've been out
there by themselves.
It's funny you should say that....
After taking turns on target practice, they completed the
exercise. Barr and Cassra had honed their skills, and by the end of
the exercise their aim had markedly improved. North wished he could
have tested the others as well, but he had a feeling that the time for
practice with the ship's systems was rapidly drawing to an end.
Already they had been out of the Space Station for nearly an hour and a
half.
"Location," said North.
"We're out of the solar system, crusing about in empty space,"
Booz reported.
"We're not too far out from Alpha Centauri," said Cassra.
"Nothing around... wait... no...."
"What?" said North.
"Not sure. Something keeps coming up on my imager scan, and then
winking out."
"Feed it to the main viewer," said North.
They all looked up, and saw an enormous cloud on the viewscreen.
It was a white, puffy cloud that seemed to go off for hundreds if not
thousands of miles in every direction. "Now what do we have here?"
said North. "Scan."
"I'm not getting a good reading on the imagers," said Cassra.
"There's some interference... it seems to be a gas cloud of some sort.
Getting the critical data...."
"Tie in to computer," said North. "Do we have some information
on this kind of phenomena?"
"Already on it," said Wong. "Not only do, but computer has info
on this specific cloud. Already charted back years ago. Is routine
gas cloud. Presents no hazard to ship."
North was impressed. Wong had managed to quickly search the
computer index to find out what kind of cloud it was. He was indeed
well-suited to SF work.
But North frowned. The cloud concerned him. "I still don't like
it. Navigation, steer us a course around the edges of it."
"Will do," said Booz. Then it was his turn to frown. "Captain,
unable to affect course."
"What do you mean?" said North, standing over Booz's console, He
set the course change himself. The board acknowledged it, and tried to
engage, but the instruments indciated that course and speed remained
unchanged. They were heading into the cloud.
"Wong?" said North.
Wong studied an indicator. "We have power, but not going to
engines. Unable to alter course."
"Get into the diagnostics. Time to impact with cloud perimeter?"
said North.
"Estimating one minute," said Cassra.
"Lightscreens up," said North, pushing the button himself. He
stared at his own imager. He had alrady figured out what was about to
happen.
"Why, Captain?" said Booz. "I thought the cloud presented no-"
"Remember the rocks, Lieutenant? This is prime ambush country,"
said North. They had to get control of the engines. But somehow North
doubted they would, at least, not before they entered the cloud.
"Wong, making any breakthroughs?"
Wong nodded. He had been rapidly flipping through display
screens detailing the ship's status. "Think I got problem figured out.
Malfunction in energy flow to circuits. Think a pathway shorted out."
"Can you fix it?"
"Will take more time. Most locate affected circuits."
"Impact with cloud in thirty seconds," said Cassra. "It's
starting to have an effect on the imagers. We're losing resolution."
"Try to counter by readjusting imager frequency and wavelength,"
said North. He paced back and forth for a moment. Something, there
must be something he could do.
"Ho!" said Cassra suddenly. "Getting something on the imager, in the
cloud... no, it's gone. Cloud interference. But there was definitely
something there, a ship."
North could only too well guess what was waiting for them. "Mr. Wong,
I need engine power!"
"Going to be few minutes, Captain. Must go to engineering," he said,
rushing off the bridge.
"Shall I assist?" said Cassra, half out of her seat.
"No," said North. "Keep on the imagers." If his hunch were right, he
would need everyone here. He stared at the shadowy cloud, and a
feeling of gloom pervaded him. It was fixed, all fixed, and there was
nothing he could do to avoid it. Engines, engines, they needed the
engines.
"Now entering the cloud, sir," said Booz. Their visual started to go
foggy.
"Still not picking anything up," said Cassra. She studied her imager
like a hawk, eagerly ready for the first blip to appear.
"Keep trying to change imager frequency and wavelength," said North.
"Mr. Barr, weapon's status?"
"All weapons charged. Missiles in the tubes."
"Lightscreens?" said North. Rats, Wong was gone. He rushed to Wong's
console. Lightscreens were up.
"Got something," said Cassra. "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?" What was the mystery
ship? And where was it? They were sitting ducks right now. North
fretted over this. At least, in the Battle Games he could always
redeploy his men away from a dangerous situation. North would feel a
lot better when they cleared the cloud.
"Ah, about four or five minutes, Captain."
"Keep your eyes peeled on the imagers, everyone. Keep trying to
alternate the frequencies and wavelengths."
A few seconds later Cassra said, "Got it!"
"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.
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 took in the controls.
"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!"
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.
"Wong reporting, sir," said a voice over the intercom. "Am in
engineering. Problem complex. Think about to restore speed control...
now. Course correction will--"
The ship was hit again. Cassra was thrown out of her seat. North
helped her up. "Are you all right?"
She nodded.
North leapt for Booz's controls, tripling acceleration to 60%. The
ship hummed as it started to accelerate. "Estimating cloud penetration
in... fifteen seconds," said North, mostly to himself.
"I can't figure this out!" said Booz, staring intently at the panel.
North ran to the panel. He was in a hurry, and there might be an
easier way to do it. "Computer, damage report."
North was racing back to navigation even as the computer spoke.
"Lightscreen two failing, lightscreen three nearly down, lightscreen
four 50% damaged. Minor damage to hull, and engineering steering
controls still not repaired," said the flat mechanical voice.
"Booz!" said North. "Allocate more power to the damaged shield areas."
~But-"
"If you can't figure it out, ask computer." North looked up at the
viewscreen. They were coming out of the cloud now. "If he follows us,
he should become visible. Cassra, how fast can you get a lock on?"
"Fast," said Cassra.
"Once you make the lock, relay the settings to Barr. Barr, when she's
ready, hit them with all the lasers and proton rays we've got." North
himself took watch at Booz's navigation imager. Suddenly, a shape
appeared out of the cloud... there!
"Got it!" said Cassra, punching a button.
"Firing!" said Barr.
On the viewscreen they could see the proton rays and lasers streaming
towards the target. And suddenly the Raster ship flashed.
"A hit!" said Barr.
"Sir, readjusting power to weakened lightscreens, but general power
failing," Booz reported.
"Get me a report on damage to the Raster ship," North instructed
Cassra. He turned to Booz. "Ah... of course, we don't have enough
power to keep the lightscreens at full strength and accelerate at this
speed and fire our weapons at full effectiveness."
"What is my allocative priority, sir?" said Booz.
"Wait!" North held up a hand. He needed more information first.
"Cassra?"
"Imaging... it's a Raster destroyer. And it's closing with us."
North pursed his lips. "Check for damage. And Booz, check computer-"
Wong stepped onto the bridge. "I think navigation fully restored,
Captain."
"-Wong, check computer for the maximum speed of a Raster destroyer.
Booz, back to navigation with you. Plot an evasive course away from
the Raster ship."
North felt better. With his full crew back on the bridge, he felt they
could fight more effectively. Booz was a lousy SF officer, but a good
navigator.
Cassra studied the reading from her imager scan. She saw the image of
the Raster ship. It looked intact, although the hard ring of the
lightscreen around it was fuzzy in several places. "No damage to the
Raster ship, slight damage to its forward lightscreens," Cassra
reported. "I think our weapons were fired from too far away to do much
harm."
"Which explains why they aren't firing on us right now either. Cassra,
range to Raster ship. Wong, also get me the effective weapons range-"
"They can outspeed us by 10%, and Raster weapon range about 80,000
space units," said Wong.
"They current distance between is 140,000 S.U,'s," said Cassra. "And
closing."
"Orders, Captain?" said Wong.
North thought rapidly. They could not outrun them, therefore-
"We have to fight," said Barr, arming weapons.
"For once, I agree with you, Mr. Barr. But arm proton guns only."
"Proton guns only?" said Barr. "Why, that's the stupidest-"
"Booz, cut speed to 5% and turn us about so we're facing the intruder."
Cutting drive would allow more power to be sent to the lightscreens and
the weapons. "Wong, full power to forward lightscreens and weapons.
Mr. Barr, you will obey my orders or you will be relieved of command."
Barr stubbornly kept both the lasers and proton weaponry armed. North
didn't want the lasers armed, at least not yet; even arming them could
drain power from the other ship's systems.
"Distance, 100,000 S.U.'s," said Cassra.
"Mr. Barr, you will disarm the lasers," said North. He glared at Barr.
"This is insane! You're not going to fight with everything you have!
That's an insane order!" He looked to the others for support, but they
all averted his glance, all except Cassra, who glared at him.
"This is your last warning," said North.
"You almost got us killed in the cloud! I'm not following you!" Barr
cried. Enough was enough. North was trying to be a daredevil, but
that was no reason they all had to suffer. Fight with one hand tied
behind their backs? That was pure insanity!
Barr's going berserk.
This is very unusual.
Mr. Laker?
Yes, technician?
Shall we turn off the attack and take Barr out?
Hm... No, I don't think so.
"Mr. Barr, you are formally relieved of command." North was
expressionless. "Commander Cassra, take over weaponry from your
console. Fire proton guns at my order."
"You're going to make her the gunner?" Barr said, almost choking with
laughter. "You've lost, man."
North ignored him. "Mr. Booz, you are acting science officer. Man the
imager at your station."
Booz was already staring at his imager. "Range, 80,000." Inwardly,
though, he wondered if Barr was right. Why wasn't North using all the
ship's weapons?
"Wait," said North.
The Explorer was hit again, but the bridge only shuddered slightly.
"Forward lightscreens down 10%," Wong reported. "Compensating." He
shifted more energy to the forward lightscreens. Since they had slowed
down, more energy was available for lightscreen reinforcement.
"Wait!" said North. He was gauging the strength of their weaponry by
the amount of damage the Explorer sustained.
The ship was hit again.
"Forward lightscreens down 20%," Wong reported. "Still can
compensate."
"Fire!" said North.
Beams stabbed out from the Explorer, hitting the Raster destroyer.
"Arm proton guns again, and the lasers," said North.
"They took no damage from our hit," Booz reported. "But their forward
lightscreens are down 80%!"
North turned to Cassra. "Fire at will, Commander." Now it would be
one big slugging match.
The Explorer was jostled by another hit. But the Explorer responded,
hitting the Raster dead on with proton guns and lasers. They saw a
flash on the screen as the Raster ship, now more clearly visible, was
hit. Like Explorer, it was basically an oval shaped ship. But its
hull was ripped open in several places, and fiery red explosions raged
at the forward end of it.
"Lightscreens down," reported Booz., analyzing the imager scans.
"Major weapons systems knocked out... engines functional."
"Weapons reloaded, sir," said Cassra.
The Raster ship was slowly turning, attempting to make a getaway.
"Fire again," said North.
This time when the beams struck the Raster ship, it blew up, and a
bright light flashed over the entire viewscreen for several seconds.
Then, there was nothing left but empty space.
"We did it!" said Cassra. She had always been insecure as to whether
she could do an adequate job at gunnery. But she had scored several
direct hits, despite the evasive maneuvering of the enemy ship. They
had beaten the Rasters!
"Ha!" said Wong triumphantly. He grinned at North, who grinned at
Booz, who grinned back at him. Only Barr looked sullen.
"Congratulations, crew" said North, looking pleased. "Damage report,
Mr. Wong?"
"Minor damage to hull, as reported before," said Wong. "Was able to
reenergize lightscreens, so they down only 20%. But no more damage."
Truly amazing. Truly amazing.
What, that he won?
No, he was supposed to win. That he won so easily.
A technician turned around. The battle's over, sir. Shall we call
them back?
Laker appeared to consider again for a moment. No, throw in a second
destroyer.
What? That's not fair.
That's life.
They were all talking about the battle, discussing their close call.
It was Booz, thought, with one eye on his imager, who broke the festive
mood. "Getting a new reading," said Booz. He pressed the IDENTIFY
key. "A second destroyer, closing fast."
"What?" said North, standing up from his command chair. He hadn't
anticipated this. "Where did it come from?"
"Don't know," said Booz. "Closing fast. At 100,000 SU's."
"Plot an evasive course to meet them," said North. "Cassra, ready
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