The Methuselan Circuit (30 page)

That was the last day Professor Nussbaum allowed any discussion in his class. His hour became pure lecture followed by a quiz. There were no questions, only a regurgitation of the material he taught. Even the quizzes lacked the usual essay questions, stressing instead definitions and protocols. To say it was tedious would be like saying space was a rather large place indeed.

To Alexander’s surprise, Lt. Mortimer seemed to be unphased by it all. She noted that he was back on track, and took him aside to tell him how pleased she was to have her old student back. When he asked her what she thought about all this, she smiled and said, “We go through these cycles, Cadet Wolfe. Don’t worry, in the new world order I think you’ll probably be exactly what you want. Your profession will be chosen with mathematical precision to coincide with your tastes and talents. If manipulated correctly, the efficiency and happiness of a society might actually improve.” She laughed at his expression. “That’s called sarcasm Cadet Wolfe, I’m just trying to lift your spirits; you look awfully concerned over this—don’t be. There’s nothing a cadet can do about it anyway.”

Apparently, his short discussion had some affect on Lt. Mortimer, much to the chagrin of her students. She introduced a new subject, socio-calculus. It was above their heads, way above their heads, and initially it was all just a bunch of equations to Alexander and his friends. That only spurred Lt. Mortimer on to show them how she could relate mind boggling mathematics to human behavior.

James expression provoked a smirk from Lt. Mortimer, and she asked, “Cadet James Jameson,” she somehow knew how much he hated anyone putting his first and last name together, “Can you tell me what you find so amusing about this exercise in mathematics?”

He gulped, not being used to attention from his professors, in fact he steadfastly avoided it. Of course, the attention was coming from Lt. Mortimer and that only added to James extended silence.

“Well Cadet Jameson?”

“Well, Lieutenant,” he stammered, and he shrugged, apparently thinking he might as well be honest about it. “How am I supposed to understand any of this if I’m having trouble with the basic orbital geometry you’re teaching? You might as well be speaking a different language.” Her finely plucked brows rose in surprise. “Is any of this going to be on the next test?”

Lt. Mortimer did the last thing anyone expected—she laughed. “A very good point, Cadet Jameson, and no this won’t be on a test. Still,” she turned and went to the blackboard, which at the Academy was an electronic version of the one they used on Terra. She continued writing her equations for about ten minutes. When she was finished, she took her compad and covered the end of her equation. With her pen out of sight from the students she wrote something behind the compad.

“I’m curious as to how many of you really thought this was going to be on the test and were furiously taking notes while I was writing down my theorems on socio-mathematics—be honest now. Raise your hands if you thought it was going to be on the next test.”

Alexander looked down at his compad. There was no denying it. He acted before he thought about it and was taking notes. It simply never occurred to him that Lt. Mortimer might have another point with her work. He raised his hand.

She counted the hands, announcing, “Seventy-five percent, how interesting, that’s about what I came up with.” She removed her compad. On the board was the number, “73.7524%.”

“You see, as I told you at the beginning of the semester there is a Frisbee in everything!”

Lt. Mortimer’s skill at prediction didn’t do anything to allay Alexander’s fears. He couldn’t forget Katrina was down on Terra and she was scared, but that sparked a thought. “Lt. Mortimer, Professor Nussbaum has been briefing us about the civil unrest on Terra. Can your math actually show whether this unrest could be predicted and how long it may last?”

She smiled, but in a feral way, showing Alexander that she was supremely confident that the mathematics could do exactly what he asked. “There would be some margin of error because we have to make assumptions, but I can give you a date within a few weeks time. Consider that, my homework for tomorrow. Now, as to your homework . . .” She rattled off the usual impossibly long assignment and dismissed them, but Alexander wasn’t thinking about the homework.

“Lt. Mortimer’s calculations can tell us how much time we have! Meanwhile, I’ve got to get in contact with Khandar. I’ve got to convince him to help us.”

That was to prove problematic. After working on the firing range the President came to the Academy the next day and they were restricted to quarters. This worked out surprisingly well as James was restricted to quarters anyway for taking a shot at Centurion Fjallheim on the firing range.

“Blasted fool,” the centurion growled after backhanding the cadet across the floor. “I could take you out to the airlock and shoot you this minute, why on Terra did you do that?”

“You know why,” James told him viciously. “You killed my mother. I know the investigation for the Luna murders points to Professor Strauss, but you can’t make me believe that fat, worthless autocrat could have taken out two government agents!”

The centurion stood over the cadet and asked, “Agent Jameson was your mother?” When James nodded, Fjallheim accessed his uniform screen. After a momentary search he shook his head. “There’ve been no further announcements, so how do you know? I can’t even access that information?”

James nodded to Alexander, and said with a hate filled voice, “Cadet Wolfe’s dad knew her; he told me.”

Fjallheim reached down and hauled James up by the collar. “Cadet Jameson when you shoot to kill at least switch the combat safety off! For the love of God, have you learned nothing from me?” Fjallheim gave him an F for the day and restricted James to quarters “For not following combat protocol. Blast it all cadet, mistakes like that get men killed!” All he said concerning James attempt to kill him was, “Cadet Jameson if I believed what you believe I’d have done the same, but I’d have done it correctly—now to your quarters on the double!”

If there was only one thing Alexander could learn from Centurion Fjallheim, coolness under fire was it.

Classes were taken in the dorms on the Holo-V. The only place they were allowed to go was the mess hall, and legionaries stood guard at the Tube so that the cadets had no choice as to where to go. To further complicate things Lt. Mortimer told them via Holo-V that due to the accuracy of her calculations the violence on Terra was already reaching a point whereby the government would have no choice but to act. Alexander was running out of time. It had to be the mess hall and it had to be now.

When Alexander got there he expected to be able to find and meet Khandar without being noted, but in this he was disappointed. Legionary guards watched the mess and Centurion Fjallheim made it quite plain that their assignment was to sit down, shut up, eat and get back to their dorms as quickly as possible. There was no conversation. The mess hall was a vast space of clatter and scraping but no talking. When James tried to whisper something about the strangeness of it all, Fjallheim was on him in an instant, handing out demerits. There was nothing any of them could do except eat.

Still, they had to wait for their turn in line. Meanwhile, Alexander and many of his classmates watched Terra through the large windows in the exterior section of the mess hall. The night side of the planet happened to be spinning beneath them, but they could see the cities of Pan Atlantis stretching from Oslo just beneath the Arctic Circle to Rome, Jerusalem and Cairo. The Mediterranean Sea stood was a huge irregularly shaped black pit with radiant edges of civilization tracing the coastline. The Red Sea had no cities or towns on its coast, but the green phosphorescence of the fast currents in the Suez Straight caused spectacular ripples and eddies in the black waters, highlighting the lifeless coastal islands and radioactive waters of the Arabian Whirlpool. The sight was a familiar one, or it would have been had it not been for the fires flickering in many of the cities and towns and the ominous blue haze that covered the planet—a blue haze fed by the pulsating blue beam emanating from the Academy.

Centurion Fjallheim apparently took notice of their rubbernecking and with the touch of a switch he turned the windows opaque. Soon after, it came time for Alexander and his flight to get in line for their mess. This wasn’t strictly neccessary; of course, the processors could just as easily have been strategically placed on the tables. However, like many things at the Academy the onerous process of getting into line, getting your food and returning to the table with time enough to eat was a learning experience. The mundane chore repeated three times every day drummed efficiency and discipline into what would otherwise be a wasted two-and-a-half hours a day. The Academy was not about to lose that time. Instead, the cadets followed exactly the same protocol used by legionaries on the most primitive battlefield conditions in the galaxy. In combat, there would be no time to think about such things.

When it came time for Alexander and his flight he marched and stopped, marched and stopped with the rest of the cadets, thinking only about how frustrating it was to be helpless. Suddenly he stumbled and fell. The embarrassment was worse than the fall, and Alexander turned red at the laughter of those cadets who witnessed it. The embarrassment turned to anger when he saw the grinning face of Khandar. The Golkos had actually tripped him; with everything that was going on Khandar had tripped him like any adolescent prank!

Fjallheim was there in a flash, bellowing at Khandar that this was no time for such tom foolery. “I’ve about had my fill of you two! The President of Pan America is on board and you two are still going at it! You will report to my office at 2100 hours for disciplinary measures!”

“Yes sir,” they said together. Alexander seethed, but Khandar simply chuckled and sat back down. When he got his food and marched back to the table Alexander realized that he got his wish. Khandar and he would meet, albeit in Fjallheim’s office, but chances were that he would have enough time to do what he needed to do. He couldn’t have done any better. So was it fortune or did Khandar want to meet him as well? He’d have to wait to find out.

The day and evening dragged on. Alexander could think of nothing except how he was going to get the secret from Khandar. First, of course, he had to get Khandar alone. Of all people on board the Academy, Centurion Fjallheim was the most dangerous. He couldn’t afford to have the centurion suspect he was up to something or he’d find himself floating in space without a suit—like James, he was certain that Fjallheim was responsible for the deaths of the government agents and the Seer’koh Ambassador. The centurion wouldn’t balk at getting rid of one or two extra cadets.

It was the opportunity to be alone with Khandar that worried Alexander the most, but it turned out to be the simplest problem. Centurion Fjallheim solved it almost at once, though not for the reasons Alexander had planned. “You two and your rivalry are disrupting the smooth running machine that is my Cadet Corps. I won’t stand for it,” he told them dryly, leading them out of his office and marching them via back corridors—the Tube was off limits—to the armory. When they arrived he had them don simulation battle suits and gave them each a “Bang Stick.” Pressing a switch in the middle turned the ends red. He took Alexander’s and touched it to his side.

A sharp electric burn sliced through the armor and Alexander winced. Khandar laughed, but the centurion hit him in the stomach with the stick, almost knocking Khandar to the floor. The laughing stopped and Fjallheim handed Alexander his stick back. “The suits won’t stop it from hurting but they will prevent you from killing each other. Get it out of your system cadets—you have fifteen Terran minutes.” He marched to the door, but before leaving he turned a switch off on the comm panel. “I have no desire to listen to your screaming, and I don’t want anyone else to know how fragile my young cadets are. That’s a secret I’ll keep to myself. Keep that in mind. No one can hear you or see you. You have to endure fifteen minutes of absolute solitude with each other. Make good use of it so that I don’t have to deal with this in the future!”

As soon as the door closed, Khandar attacked Alexander.

CHAPTER 23: Revelations

Alexander blocked Khandar’s attack with his stick, cross-checking the taller Golkos in the chest. Khandar whipped his stick around, trying to get Alexander in the back with the glowing end of the stick. It grazed his shoulder, sending a buzzing burn down his shoulder and arm, but the Golkos boy left himself exposed in his effort to get in the first hit. Angry now, Alexander forgot about trying to talk to Khandar and whipped his stick from the left into Khandar’s helmet and then quickly back from the right under his exposed ribs.

Khandar winced, but instead of rolling away from the blow he clamped down on the bang stick with his left arm. His next move confounded Alexander. Khandar endured the burn so that he could grab Alexander’s bang stick with his left hand. That wasn’t going to work. All Alexander had to do was swing the butt end of his bang stick up to break Khandar’s hold, but before he did so Khandar shoved the head of his own bang stick at Alexander’s. The two heads touched, spitting crackling electricity, smacking and popping angrily.

“Ok Alexander hold on,” Khandar exclaimed, “truce!”