0300 Book 2 - 4. Chapter 4: Fleet School Sydney

Chapter 4: Fleet School Sydney

The admiral’s waiting room was unchanged except perhaps for a stronger odor of nervous sweat. That may have been my imagination. The aide was the same cold fish as the year before. “The admiral will see you, now, sir.”

I saluted the admiral and sat at his gesture. The aide brought coffee for me. Uh, oh. This is going to be a long meeting, I thought. I sugared and creamed the coffee. Might as well enjoy it.

“Paul, welcome back. I’ve reviewed your report. Well, the summary they let me read.”

He chuckled. “You promoted the entire junior mess. Outstanding. That happens too rarely. I hope you don’t mind if I mention this in the All-Fleet Bulletin. There will be emphasis on the quality of the training and the rigorous quality control you implemented, of course.”

“No objection, sir.” I said. I figured short answers would maybe get me in less trouble . . . and out of his office, sooner.

“What were the keys to your success?” he asked. “And I don’t want one-word answers, either.”

Oops. “First, I insisted that every officer and senior non-commissioned officer teach his specialty, and I demanded quality lesson plans from each of them. Those plans are included in the full report. I think that helped some of the crew remember stuff from their own training they’d forgotten or overlooked.

“Second, I made every duty shift for the boys an exercise or real-world classroom. No one just sat and monitored lights and numbers on a console. I did leave time for the adults to tell war stories, though. Some of those were better lessons than anything in the fleet curriculum.

“Third, I demanded that the junior mess cooperate with one another and train one another. I also put the senior ensign in charge of discipline . . . and made sure he understood that ‘discipline’ didn’t mean punishment or hazing.

“Finally, I personally evaluated every one of the junior’s progress monthly . . . more often if needed . . . and focused remedial training where it was needed. It wasn’t needed often, sir, for which I am happy.”

The admiral looked at his report, and then pushed a button on his communicator. The aide answered. “I want a meeting tomorrow, 1300, with the entire G-7 senior staff. No exceptions. And, I want Captain Stewart’s complete after action report in 10 minutes.”

He shut down the communicator. “Paul, I won’t ask you to be there. You’re going to have enough to do. I want you to know, however, that you may have changed all of the fleet’s training for the better. You’re going to have a chance to show that on a large scale. Your next assignment will be Commandant of the Fleet School, in Sidney.”

School commandant was the best shore assignment short of . . . short of Admiral Davis’s own. It was primo, plum! And Tobor didn’t tell me. Wonder if he didn’t know, or if the Admiral just decided—Oops, he’s still talking.”

“Now, other than promoting him, how did George work out?”

“Quite well, sir. He needed a challenge; he got it. Not just in the training program we offered, but as a real crewman on a real ship. He can teach himself by computer anything that we can offer in the classroom. The ship made all that real to him. He needed ‘hands-on’ experience.

“He needed a mentor; he got one. I’ve promised to be that mentor; he is content . . . no, happy, in that relationship.

“He needed someone he could share his happiness with, his successes, and his failures. He found that in my son, Danny.

I hesitated, and then added, “Danny and George became so close, they’re like brothers. George’s father was Fleet; he died before he could take George into space.”

The admiral knew about George’s dad. I sensed he was getting impatient. “I’ve adopted George. He and Danny are now brothers.

“They’re also boyfriends, and I couldn’t be happier with that. George shares his joy and the occasional sadness with both of us. Thank you for letting me take him, Admiral.” (I wasn’t ready to tell him that Danny and George were also my boyfriends.)

The admiral stood and offered his hand. It was the first time he’d done that. I set down the coffee cup, stood, and accepted his handshake. “Thank you, Paul, Bravo Zulu.”

We had two weeks shore leave between the Independence and our reporting date to Australia. After a week with Alex’s family in Morocco, I made the strategic mistake of asking the boys what they would like to do next. I’m not entirely sure if it was coincidence, or if they’d conspired, but Disneyland was at the top of their lists.

We could have used the veil to move to the head of the lines, but Danny found another way. He hacked the theme park’s computer, and created a list with directions and times for which rides had the shortest lines. He also kept a live link with Tobor to get updates. Danny’s a clever boy.

On our third day, I’d had about enough of Our Small World, when Alex begged for one more ride. The ride consisted of boats guided by underwater rails along a canal. Groups of crudely animated dolls resembling children from cultures recognizable only to a child, and certainly not to an anthropologist, sang constantly. The words (and the melody) of the song were incredibly banal. Still, they were catchy. I expected that they’d be replaying in my head for days, if not years, to come.

Okay, I’ll admit it: I was a sucker for whatever these kids wanted. So, we took one more ride. Alex and I were in the front seat; George and Danny in the back.

Something went wrong.

Between Japan and France, our boat took a turn into a maintenance tunnel. We’d been on the ride often enough that we knew this was different. The tunnel opened into a lagoon. The boat moved toward a dock. A man in a jump suit stood on the dock.

“Please step out of the boat. There’s a problem.” Danny’s shot got him in the bridge of his nose. George’s bullet was a microsecond later, and penetrated his left eye. The guy was dead well before their second and third shots reached his brain—what little was left of it.

I had pushed Alex to the bottom of the boat as I drew my pistol. My three shots in the guy’s heart were fractionally later than the boys’, and were probably unnecessary.

Alex was whimpering. It’s okay. He was only nine. He didn’t collapse or anything; he was still functioning. We stepped out of the boat and away from the guy’s body. Danny tossed a flash grenade into the boat. By the time we walked through an exit door, the boat was engulfed in flames. There would be no fingerprints or DNA evidence for Tobor to deal with.

We didn’t go back to the hotel, but took a shuttle directly to Geneva. A call to the hotel took care of checkout and ensured that our stuff would be on the next shuttle … after it was screened by Fleet Security. After we reached Geneva, and checked into quarters, I sent Alex to wait for us in the Officers’ Mess, summoned Danny and George to my room, and told them to sit.

“What did I tell you about head shots?” I asked.

“Paul, that’s for kids,” Danny said.

“We’re better than that, now,” George added.

“Give me your pistols, both of you.” There was no love, no giggles, and no cuddles in my voice. Danny and George were scared. They knew something was badly wrong. They unclipped their pistols, dropped the magazines in their hands, checked that there wasn’t a round in the chamber, locked the slides back, and handed the weapons to me, butt first. I set them on the table in front of me, and then took the magazines.

“What did I say about head shots?”

“Never, unless that’s the only shot you have.”

“Did I say never until you think you’re not kids?”

“No, sir.”

“No, sir.”

“Did I say never until you think you’re too good?”

“No, sir . . . no, sir.”

They were both crying, now. Tears flowed down their cheeks, but they weren’t sobbing. Their control or their hurt was too great for that.

“Will you ever disobey me, again?”

“Not about that,” Danny said. George nodded.

“Come here,” I said. I opened my arms, took one on each knee, and hugged them.

“I love you,” I said. “I’m proud of your accomplishments, including your marksmanship badges. You know there are some orders you can disobey, but only after you’ve thought about them and know the reason. Did you think about that when you were in the tunnel.”

“No sir . . . no sir.”

Now, they were bawling. I had a little boy head on each shoulder, shaking and wetting my uniform with tears. I pushed. Their sobs changed to sniffles. Then, I had the inestimably wonderful experience of kissing tears from their cheeks.

After several hugs, some more I’m sorrys, and some sloppy, wet kisses, they were okay. “Take your weapons,” I said. “You’re back on duty. I love you both.”

I waited until the next day before holding a formal debriefing. “Danny, you fired first so you get to go first. What did you think, what did you feel that caused you to shoot?”

Danny was understandably nervous; I sensed him thinking about head shots, and pushed love and encouragement. He felt it, grinned, and started talking.

“I knew something was wrong the instant the boat left the main channel and went into the other tunnel. There was an odd feeling from in front of us. It was like I felt just before I found Paul—scared and helpless rolled into one. I thought, maybe, there was a boy who needed help and he had made the boat take us to him. Then I saw the man standing on the edge of the channel, and knew the feelings were coming from him.

“As soon as he spoke, I felt danger. I knew that he meant to harm us—”

“Danny, forgive me for interrupting, but . . . think carefully. Show me . . . show us what you felt.”

Danny thought, and then sent the image to George and me.

“George, did you feel this, too?”

George thought. “No, but I felt something from Danny, and knew . . . And before you ask, yes, I was absolutely sure.”

I blocked hard; I didn’t want them ever to see that I’d not been absolutely confident in their judgment. “Thank you, boys. You saved all our lives. You did what had to be done. I am sorry, though, that you had to kill him.”

Danny and George jumped up and tried to sit in my lap at the same time. Alex looked on in obvious astonishment. I cuddled the two boys.

“I think you just wanted an excuse to hug us,” Danny whispered.

“And kiss us,” George added.

After the boys went back to their own seats, we continued the debriefing. We reached some tentative conclusions. The man in the tunnel, just like the cop and just like the abbe, had been under the mental control of someone inimical to us. He was likely a “stooge,” who either had no meta abilities or had just enough to be controlled. It was nearly certain that there were other metas, and that they knew about us. We were under attack and at war; our survival was at stake. There would be no quarter from them . . . or from us.

(I was still convinced of our invulnerability; that there might be someone out there whose push was stronger than mine was not something I thought about. It took another attack before I was willing to believe that the others might be more powerful than I was. Hubris? In hindsight, probably.)

Danny took our conversation and put it into the kind of language that Tobor could parse. Then, we linked to Tobor by secure teleconference. Tobor rendered himself on the computer screen as a 12-year-old boy—George and Danny’s age. Interesting, I thought, and then dismissed it as Danny began talking.

“Tobor, please take the following parameters as fact:

“There are some people, including Paul, George, Alex, and me, who are significantly smarter and stronger and with faster reflexes than most other people.

“We can communicate mind-to-mind; most other people cannot.

‘We call these physical and mental abilities, meta abilities, and ourselves meta-humans.

“There are other meta-humans.

“Three of us were in Fleet when we discovered these things about ourselves, suggesting that Fleet may be a fertile ground for our development. I was not in Fleet, suggesting that Fleet is not the only place we may be found.

“Some meta-humans are inimical to us; they have attacked us four times. Use data from files ‘Seattle Policeman,’ ‘Scotland Abbe,’ ‘Kenya,’ and ‘Disneyland Boat.’

“Tobor, please undertake the following tasks:

“Keep all information related to meta-humans secret from everyone except the four of us and others we may identify to you in the future.

“Search Fleet personnel records for other meta-humans. Correlate their locations with the three attacks and provide likelihood that they were involved in the attacks. Notify us of all meta-humans you discover in the Fleet records.

“Tobor, please respond.”

The boy on the screen nodded, and in his flat, emotionless voice said, “You are not the only meta-humans. I have identified in Fleet sixteen others who may be. None could have been involved in the attacks on you. None of the others have been attacked. Fleet personnel records are privileged. I may not reveal them to you, or reveal you to them.”

“Nova sol!” Danny said. He tried to override the confidentiality of personnel records, but could not. It was deep in the core programming that even he could not reach. After two tries, I stopped him. In a way, I was glad he couldn’t get the info. If Danny couldn’t hack something, no one could. I wasn’t entirely happy, but realized that we would have at least the same protection Tobor provided the others.

Fleet School Australia competed in academics, military skills, and athletics with the other three principal schools—Edmonton, Cardiff, and Geneva—as well as the smaller, specialized schools in Quebec, Charleston, Nazca, Bayreuth, and Shemya. As commandant, I would be expected to travel with our teams. My security detail, Danny, George, and Alex, would travel with me. Yes, I’d given Alex a weapon and a lot of training. Alex fell in love with the 50-caliber sniper rifle, which was as long as he was tall. I told him he’d have to grow into it, and to stick to the Sig Sauer 9mm pistol and the issue MK-7 rifle when he was on duty. I felt his disappointment, so I had one of the 50-cals issued to me and kept it in my quarters except when I took Alex to the range. He got quite good. I hoped that wasn’t a portent of things to come.

It wasn’t long before Danny and George demanded I allow Alex to visit me alone, including sleepovers. I made it clear that sleepovers didn’t mean sex stuff, and they looked at me like I was crazy.

“Of course not!” George said. “But you know Alex needs daddy-hugs and cuddles, and you left his daddy on the Independence!”

“That wasn’t my idea,” I said. I had offered Alex’s father a transfer, but Don asked to remain on the Independence . . . he wanted Alex to go it on his own for a while.

I needn’t have worried. About Alex and sex stuff, that is. The first time he came over for an evening, he spent most of it cleaning the already-clean rifle. After a few visits, he learned to clean the rifle in less than 5 minutes, and spent the rest of his time getting hugs and cuddles.

It didn’t take much pushing to get the school staff to go along with the changes in the curriculum. My boys seemed to get along with the boys in their Element and most of the boys in the other Elements of their Flotilla seemed to remember them, despite the veil. I was happy that they had each other, and hoped for more, soon. Tobor was, of course, silent on that subject.

My job was easy: the staff knew their jobs, and did them well. If I hadn’t been busy recruiting metas, I would have gotten bored.

Will showed up at my office one afternoon.

“Come in, Will. My aide said you’re on the yearbook staff, and have some questions.” Danny had screened the kid, and passed him through, although there was a hint of confusion in Danny’s mind. I kept on guard.

“Sir, yes, sir,” the kid snapped as he saluted.

I returned his salute, and then said, “Will, the first thing is for you to relax. Please, sit.”

“Uh, yes, sir.”

“So, what can I do for the yearbook?” I asked. Is he going to want a picture? I’ll have to give him the one that makes me look 40 . . . it would never do for him to take one of me, the veil won’t . . . He was talking.

“We have your official photo, sir, but I wanted to talk about your bio. You see, I wrote home to say we had a new commandant. My aunt wrote back that she recognized your name, and sent me a newspaper clipping from the local paper. It was a real newspaper in a real letter, and took three whole days to get here! And it had a real postage stamp on it.” He was quite taken with the uniqueness of a hard-copy letter.

“She said she had known your mother and father, and remembered when you were born—”

I fought to keep my face expressionless, and interrupted. “Where does your aunt live?” I asked.

“In Marfa, Texas, now, sir, but she used to live in Valentine, where you were born. Here’s the clipping, sir. It matches what’s in your biography—father and mother’s name and all. My aunt wrote April 15, 1989 on it … which is impossible, of course. She must have meant 1969 or 1959, and just got the year wrong.”

I read the clipping. It was from the Valentine Texas Weekly, a paper that apparently never had been digitized. For this, I was grateful. It’s likely that there were no other copies of this clipping in existence. Will’s aunt must have kept it between the pages of a book; otherwise, it would have disintegrated or faded to illegibility, even in the few years that had elapsed.

Births: Paul Alexander Stewart, son of the late Commander Alexander Stewart and his wife, Alice Goodson Stewart of Valentine. Commander Stewart was killed in action at the Battle of Novosibirsk two months ago. I looked up to see Will holding out another clipping.

“I . . . I don’t know, sir” he stuttered. I felt his anguish, and knew what he held.

“It’s the report of my mother’s death, isn’t it, Will?”

Will nodded. I saw moisture in the corner of his eyes. Nova sol! He’s one of us. Are we all crybabies? I pushed aside that thought and replaced it with another: not crybabies. There’s no one stronger than my boys. But we do wear our hearts on our sleeves.

“Will, I know about that. I know that she died shortly after I was born, and that it was likely due to complications from childbirth. I’ve gotten over it, and I’ve gotten over the six years I was in an orphanage before I entered Fleet schools.”

“Your bio doesn’t say much about that, sir, just that you attended Fleet School . . . but which one?”

“More than one, Will. I kept having to switch. Edmonton, Cardiff, Nazca, Shemya.”

“Why did you switch so much?” he asked.

“Didn’t . . .” I almost said, “Didn’t play well with others,” but that would have been a flip answer to a serious question, so I said, “I didn’t get along with the others, Will. Couldn’t make friends. Didn’t make enemies, either. I kept hoping I would connect with someone at another school. It didn’t work.

“And now, you know more about me than anyone except my sons.”

Will drew a deep breath. I saw him shudder and felt his loneliness. “Why did you tell me, sir?” His voice was nearly a whisper.

By this time, I’d read enough of Will to know that he was one of us. The note that Tobor put on my computer screen had been unnecessary confirmation.

Rather than answer his question, I posed one to him. “Will, what if your aunt didn’t write the wrong date? What if I really were born in 1989?”

I could feel Will pushing aside the veil. It took zero time for him to subtract one date from another to figure my age—another indication he was one of us—and less time than that to realize the implications. “You’re . . . you’re just a kid?”

I gave Will a few minutes to assimilate what his mind had taken a few nanoseconds to process, and then said, “Yes, Will, I’m only a few years older than you, and a lot younger than any other Captain. I’m different. So are George and Danny and Alex.

“So are you, Will.”

That started his mind on another path that took several more instants. Then, “What are we?” he asked.

Will’s voice held no hesitation and no fear. I offered an explanation, and reinforced what I said with thoughts: words and images send directly to Will’s mind. When I finished, he sat quietly for a moment.

“There must be something in our DNA,” he said, and began to rattle off a lecture on organic chemistry. Not general organic, which involves just about any molecule that includes carbon, but organic as it applied to the human genome and the human nervous system. I held up my hand.

“I take it you’re a whiz in biochemistry,” I said.

Will blushed. “Whiz is a polite way of putting it. Most of the guys just say I’m a geek.”

“Then you’re going to fit right in,” I said. “There are four of us here—five now, counting you. Danny’s a math and computer geek, and proud of it. George is a physics geek, and Alex is . . . well, I’m not sure how to classify him. He’s got an innate knack for space, shape, and color and their relationships. We’ll call him our art geek for now. It looks like you’re the chemistry geek on our team . . . if you want to join, that is.”

I held my breath. He now knew too much to let him walk away. I thought I could wipe the critical memories without destroying his personality; but I wasn’t sure. Nova sol! I hope I’ve made the right decision.

Will’s answer was carefully constructed. “Sir, when I found out that you were an orphan, I was very sad. Actually, I cried. I cried until I was sick—I threw up in the toilet. Then, I realized that I wasn’t crying for you, but for me.

“I wasn’t an orphan, but I might as well have been. My parents ignored me. Sometimes it was as if I wasn’t even there!”

The veil, I thought. It was a side effect of the veil. No wonder we’re so hungry for a hug, for a kiss, for companionship, and for love.

“They didn’t give me presents at birthdays or festivals; but they gave my brother and sisters presents. And no one seemed to think that was odd.

“When I was eight, I ran away from home. I hitched to Houston. I was wandering around, looking for a safe place to sleep, when I saw the Fleet Compound.

“I knew about Fleet Schools, and I knew that sometimes, adults would believe what I told them, even though I lied.

“I figured nothing could be worse than being alone, so I went to the gate. I told the Marines on duty that I was supposed to report to Fleet School. I figured at least I’d get supper.

“They called someone, and a few minutes later, a shuttlecraft landed. The Marines escorted me to the shuttle. Four hours later, I was here.

“That’s where I’ve been since then. Here, and alone.”

I stood and opened my arms. Will hesitated for only an instant before he rushed to me.

“Will, you’ll never be alone, again. Not if I can help it.” It was an excellent hug, even though Will soaked the front of my uniform with his tears; but, they were what Danny called happy tears. I was glad Will wanted to share them with me.

As soon as Will found out that Danny, George, and Alex had service weapons (I had given them officers’ Sig Sauer 9-mms rather than the standard issue Glocks), he wanted them, too. I requisitioned the weapons, and gave them to George with strict instructions about safety training. George answered with an “Aye, aye, sir,” which told me he took my instructions seriously.

I also felt the glow of his pride in my confidence in him. It was good to be a daddy! Now, I thought, there are four geeks . . . five counting me, I guess . . . armed geeks . . . Geeks with Guns! I was careful to screen that, but not careful enough. Danny picked up on it the following weekend when we were all on the range. The boys loved it, and would have had T-shirts imprinted if I hadn’t cautioned them of the need for secrecy!

Our next recruit came after something of a crisis that threatened the veil. The school Comm-O came to my office; his message said the visit was urgent. I offered him a seat and raised my eyebrows. That was enough to get him started.

“Sir, I have received a report of unauthorized and perhaps illegal use of comm-electronics circuits. I’ve investigated, but cannot fully determine the nature. I thought to report it to Fleet Intelligence; but, since it involves your son, Danny, I thought to ask you, first.”

He hesitated. I waited. I tried to keep my face impassive. I did not want to either encourage or frighten him. Finally, he continued.

“Sir, my step-brother serves on the Independence. He is the Armorer, and his son is a friend of Danny and George. He has said some good things about you. I couldn’t believe you would allow Danny to do anything illegal and I didn’t want to blot your record by reporting this to the Intel guys.”

He seemed nervous, now. “I hope I’ve done the right thing.”

I pushed reassurance and trust, but not too much. I wanted him to know that his attitude toward Danny and me was his own idea, his own decision.

“My assurance that you did the right think has little weight,” I said. “However, if you would open a channel to the Fleet Mainframe, I will ask that you be given access that should provide all the assurance you need. Would that be satisfactory?”

“Yes, sir, it would, but it’s not really necessary—”

“Yes, it is necessary,” I interrupted. “Danny and I have created a conflict between your duty and your loyalty; we should not have done that. It is our responsibility to correct it.”

He opened the channel on the console in my office. I used voice commands: “Computer authorize Level 7 access to Communications Officer Stanley.”

Tobor responded, also by voice. “Level seven authorized Communications Officer Stanley Fleet School Sydney Australia be aware that your access to and knowledge of this level is classified Cosmic Top Secret please acknowledge.”

The look on Lt. Stanley’s face was priceless. I anticipated his question. “Yes, he speaks.

Stanley jerked his head in a quick nod. “Computer, I acknowledge classification. Computer, please confirm authorization for secure circuit . . .” He rattled off a series of numbers and letters. “ . . . for Cadet Danny Stewart.”

“At this level I am not computer I am Tobor specified circuit authorized by Captain Paul Stewart Commandant Fleet School Australia confirmed by Fleet G-6 knowledge of this circuit is classified Cosmic Top Secret please acknowledge.”

“Tobor, I acknowledge. Thank you.” Stanley turned to me. “Do I need to log off or something?”

“Thanks, Tobor. Good bye,” I said.

“No, a simple good bye is enough,” I added. “Please remember that knowledge of the existence of Level 7 is strictly need-to-know. I don’t think you know anyone who has that need, including my replacement next year. If you have any questions, access Tobor, yourself, and ask him, okay?”

He nodded, and I continued. “How did you find Danny’s circuit?”

“One of his classmates, Cadet Marty MacLaughlan, reported some unusual traffic. I checked it out.”

Marty was alone in one of the comm-electronic laboratories when Danny and George cornered him. Their manner wasn’t unfriendly; neither was it casual.

“You found my circuit to Fleet,” Danny said. “What made you suspect?” Danny asked.

Marty paled. “There was a high-speed link between the school and the Fleet mainframe that I couldn’t break into, and it was full of traffic. I traced it to your quarters. I could get a breakdown on flow, but it was really weird. It’s trinary, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is,” Danny said. “You shouldn’t have been able to get that much out of it. And why were you trying to break in?”

Marty shrugged. “It’s just something I do. Class is so boring and I already know all the tech manuals. I don’t have any friends. Everybody thinks I’m a geek.

“Um, how did you know I found it?”

“Sorry, can’t tell you that,” Danny said. “Who did you tell?”

“Are you going to kill me?” Marty asked. He’d pushed aside enough of the veil to see the pistols that Danny and George wore. Kids with service pistols? He knew that was wrong. His lips quivered, and tears poured down his cheeks.

“Oh, no!” George said, and pushed reassurance. “We don’t want to kill you, we want you to join us.” By this time, George had read enough to be sure.

“Join us? Join who? Are you spies or something?”

“No, Marty,” Danny said. “We’re your brothers.” He pushed knowledge along with love and understanding.

A light bloomed in Marty’s mind. He pushed the veil completely from his mind, and saw himself as he was. Danny held out his arms, and Marty stepped into a hug, the first hug he’d had in a long, long time.