A Learning Experience

Chapter Six

Virginia, USA

Kevin parked the car outside the house, then took a long breath. Making contact with potential sources had always been part of his job as an intelligence officer, but it had also been fraught with danger. A source might turn out to be a double-agent or nothing more than bait in a trap. And now, even with the headband hidden under his cap, he couldn’t help fearing what would happen if his target took what he said to the government. Bracing himself, he walked up the path and knocked firmly on the front door.

A middle-aged man opened it, lifting one eyebrow. Kevin felt an odd spurt of hero-worship — he’d grown up reading the man’s books — which he firmly suppressed. There would be time to ask him to autograph his copies later. Instead, he held up the faked ID card and waited for the man to examine it.

“I’m Kevin, Kevin Stuart,” he said. “We spoke briefly on the phone. Mr. Glass, I presume?”

Keith Glass nodded, stoking his beard as he studied the card. “That is I,” he said. “What can I do for you, Mr. Stuart?”

“Just Kevin, please,” Kevin said. “My… employers have a proposition for you.”

Glass nodded and turned, leading the way into the house. Kevin followed, keeping his hero-worship under control. Keith Glass had spent ten years in the USN before retiring and starting a new career as an author. His work might not have won any Hugo Awards — they were delightfully politically incorrect — but they had a loyal fan base which grew larger every year. It had crossed Kevin’s mind that recruiting Glass might put a dampener on new novels, yet they needed someone with military experience and a libertarian bent. Glass seemed to fit the bill nicely.

Once they were in the study — he couldn’t help admiring the computer and the massive shelves of books — he opened his briefcase and produced a piece of paper. “I’m afraid we have to ask you to sign this before we can bring you onboard,” he said. “It’s a standard security agreement.”

Glass ran his eyes down the agreement. “This isn’t standard,” he said. “I would be surprised if it was even legal.”

Kevin shrugged. “Consider it a standard government-issue non-disclosure agreement,” he said. “There are no protective safeguards because there is nowhere else you could acquire the data which will be disclosed to you. Should you break the agreement, for whatever reason, the consequences would be dire.”

“I see,” Glass said. He placed the contract on the desk and looked up, meeting Kevin’s eyes. “Why should I sign this agreement?”

“Because this represents an opportunity that will never come your way again,” Kevin said. He’d targeted Glass first because he admired the man’s writing skills… and his innovative approach to old problems. But there were other science-fiction writers. “This is a chance to join a working group that will have a decisive effect on the world.”

“I was told that before, back in 2003,” Glass said. “If we had any effect on the world, beyond wasting thousands of valuable trees to print out our reports, I didn’t see it.”

Kevin scowled, inwardly. Glass had other qualifications than just being a writer used to considering the possibilities of space combat. He’d been involved in the Bush Administration’s attempts to light a fire under NASA’s collective hindquarters and get the human race heading back out into space, then a civilian attempt to work with commercial space developers to establish bases on the moon. All of those attempts had failed, killed by bureaucracy and the simple shortage of money. The experience had left all of those involved more than a little bitter.

“This is different,” Kevin said. He leaned forward, throwing caution to the winds. “I tell you, sir, that this is one opportunity you won’t want to miss.”

He tapped the agreement. “Should you sign, you will be told the full story,” he continued. “If you don’t want to be involved after that, which I highly doubt, you will be free to go as long as you keep your mouth shut until full public disclosure. After that… you will spend the rest of your life wishing you’d made a different decision.”

Glass met his eyes. “Alien contact,” he said. “A crashed UFO?”

Kevin merely smiled. “Sign the agreement,” he said. “Sign the agreement and all will be revealed.”

Glass picked up a pen and signed it with a flourish. Kevin took it back, stuck it in his briefcase, and produced a cell phone. Glass eyed it, puzzled.

Kevin flipped it open, unable to resist. “Scotty,” he said. “Two to beam up.”

“You have got to be fucking…”

The world dissolved into silver light, then reformed.

“…Kidding me,” Glass finished. “I…”

Kevin smiled. “Welcome onboard, Mr. Glass,” he said. “We have a lot to show you.”

“It seems to have worked,” Mongo said. “The cops haven’t raised any awkward questions about the accident.”

Steve smiled, humourlessly. Mariko had used the medical kits on the starship to repair the damage to Vincent’s body, then they’d placed it in one of his old cars and deliberately crashed it off the road. The body had been discovered several metres from the crash site, having been hurled right out of the car and into the ground hard enough to break his neck instantly. With nothing suspicious about the corpse, it would be soon handed back to Ginny and cremated, just to make sure there was nothing left for a later investigation.

“Glad to hear it,” he said, finally. One day, the world would know that Vincent had been the first casualty of a war that threatened all of humanity. Until then, people wouldn’t raise too many different questions. Everyone who’d known him knew about his hobby of driving old cars. “And Ginny herself?”

“She seems to be coping,” Mongo said. “Jayne’s staying with her at the moment.”

Steve nodded. Once the wives had been told, they’d brought in the children and a handful of relatives. They’d all agreed to keep the starship a secret, although not all of them had wanted to travel to the moon — or anywhere else, for that matter. Steve had accepted their word, then put the newcomers to work scrubbing the decks. The starship needed to be made safe for human inhabitation.

He looked up as Keith Glass stumbled into the compartment, a faintly pole-axed expression on his face. Steve smiled at him, then held out a hand and waited. Eventually, the stunned writer noticed and shook it, firmly.

“Welcome onboard,” Steve said. “Will you be joining us?”

Glass nodded, frantically. Steve smiled, inwardly. Kevin had been right. What sort of science-fiction writer worthy of the name would refuse such an opportunity?

“Then let me tell you what we have in mind,” Steve said. “Kevin, are you ready to proceed with stage two?”

“I think so,” Kevin said. “There shouldn’t be any unexpected surprises.”

“Keep a teleport lock on you at all times,” Steve warned. “But try not to hit the panic button unless there is no choice.”

Kevin nodded and left the compartment. “We’re planning to found our own nation,” Steve said, turning back to Glass. “Are you willing to help us?”

The Ashcroft Residential Home was, in Kevin’s droll opinion, a testament to the failure of the country to stick up for its wounded veterans. Some had been able to get the best of medical care, others had had no families or friends willing to assist them in overcoming their conditions and returning to civilian life. Kevin felt a chill run down his spine as he walked up to the doorway and stepped into the lobby. If he’d been wounded in combat — or Steve or Mongo — he might well have wound up in a similar place.

No, he corrected himself. Steve and Mongo would never leave me here.

The receptionist — a pretty black woman — looked up at him and smiled. “Can I ask your business?”

“I’m here to see Edward Romford,” Kevin said. “It’s concerning a possible placement for him in the outside world.”

“I see,” the receptionist said. “I’ll have to ask you to fill out these forms.”

Kevin sighed — there were four pages to fill in — and cursed the bureaucracy under his breath. He’d never had to rely on the VA for anything, but he’d heard horror stories about wounded ex-soldiers struggling with the paperwork or being penalised for simple mistakes that would have gone unnoticed in a more decent era. Patiently, he filled them in with his cover story and handed them back to the receptionist, who didn’t even bother to look at them. Instead, she pointed him towards one of the gardens and waved goodbye.

He rolled his eyes as he walked through the building, noting just how boring it had to be for the wounded veterans. There were televisions and DVD players, but there were also large signs forbidding smoking, drinking and gambling. He had a strong suspicion that the latter two were completely ignored, provided the veterans could get their hands on drink, money and cards. Someone sympathetic might well have smuggled all three of them into the complex.

Outside, the garden was depressingly morbid, despite some attempts to cheer up the veterans with flowers. A handful of wheelchairs were parked on the grass, evenly spaced around the garden, making it harder for the veterans to even talk to one another. They ranged in age, he noted; some of them were younger than him, others were old enough to be his father. He caught sight of the man he wanted and walked forward, coming to a halt in front of his chair.

Up close, it was clear that Edward Romford was no older than Kevin himself — and crippled, crippled beyond the help of human medical science. According to the reports he’d downloaded from the residence home’s computers — their security was laughable, although they had no conception of the threat facing them — Edward Romford would never walk again and, without a family to take him in, he had simply been abandoned at the home. But how long would the home be able to look after him?

“Sir,” he said. “I come with a proposition.”

“Married already,” Romford croaked. He wasn’t, Kevin knew. His ex-wife had left him long before he’d been wounded, yet another marriage destroyed by the strains deployment placed on it. “Fuck off.”

He paused. “Unless you have alcohol,” he added, in a softer tone. “Bitch over there says it destroys our brain cells. Why else would we want to drink it?”

Kevin smiled. “You seem to be mentally sound,” he said. “Listen carefully.”

He leaned closer. “There’s a new residence home for veterans, in Montana,” he said. It was the cover story they’d established, after they’d worked out that there were no relatives who could simply take Edward Romford away without permission. “They’re pioneering a new treatment. You may be able to walk again.”

Edward Romford looked up, torn between hope and wariness. He’d long since lost hope of being able to walk again, let alone have a full life. Kevin understood just how easy it would be to give in to despair and just waste away, no matter how carefully one was treated by the nurses. Now… Romford had to wonder if this was real… or if it was just a trick. But there was no motive to trick him or anyone else.

“You can come with me, now,” he added. “Or you can stay here for the rest of your life.”

Romford smiled. “Take me away,” he said. “Hell, just take me outside the walls and leave me there. I can get away from there on my own.”

Kevin winced in pity. The residence home was hardly a prison, provided the inhabitants could walk. As it was, they couldn’t get up the steps or out past the gates without help. To someone who had once walked all over Afghanistan, it was a prison, made worse by the fact the nurses were genuinely trying to help. Or were they? Kevin was a cynical person at the best of times and he couldn’t keep himself from wondering if the veterans in the garden were meant to catch cold and die. It would take a burden off the residence home’s nurses.

“Just don’t say a word,” he said, as he took the handles of the wheelchair and pushed it forward, back towards the house. “I’ve already cleared the paperwork.”

Somewhat to his disappointment, no one tried to bar their path as he pushed the wheelchair through the building and down to the van. Finding a van designed for a wheelchair had been surprisingly tricky — it seemed that there were additional requirements to drive one — but he’d found one eventually. He helped Romford into the vehicle, secured the wheelchair in place and then clambered into the driver’s seat. No one shouted in outrage as they drove out of the car park and onto the road.

“A daring commando raid,” Romford observed. He chuckled, harshly. “Bitches never let us leave, even with an escort. I used to pray for terrorists or even muggers, just to put us out of our misery.”

“I’m sorry,” Kevin said. He felt another pang of bitter guilt — and rage. Surely their country could do better than this for their wounded veterans? No wonder Romford had prayed for death. Given the complete absence of security at the residence home, it was a minor miracle that terrorists hadn’t attacked the building already. “But it’s nearly over now.”

He parked the van — they’d been warned against trying to teleport away from a moving vehicle — and then sent the command to the interface. The world became silver — he heard Romford yelp in shock — then resolved, revealing the starship’s sickbay. Romford gasped and choked, then coughed violently as Mariko ran forward and caught him. Kevin watched, grimly, as she ran one of the alien scanners over his body.

“You’re an angel,” Romford said. He sounded dazed. “Am I in heaven?”

“You’re in a starship,” Mariko said, softly. She looked up at Steve. “I think he’s of reasonably sound mind, but there’s a lot of damage.”

She hesitated. “And I’m not sure about the ethics of some of the proposed treatments.”

Kevin could understand. Healing someone was one thing, but taking out their brain and inserting it into a cyborg frame was quite another. He wouldn’t have wanted to give up sex and the other pleasures of being human, yet if he was facing certain death would he still make the same decision? And besides, Romford wasn’t quite on the verge of death.

Romford produced a croaking sound, drawing their attention. “What sort of treatments?”

Kevin opened his mouth to respond, but Mariko beat him to it. “We can heal you, to some extent,” she said. “Or we can transform you into an inhuman cyborg. You would no longer be completely human.”

What an elegant sales pitch, Kevin thought, sourly. But did they really want cyborgs?

Romford hesitated. “You can heal me?”

“You’ll be able to walk again, yes,” Mariko confirmed. “It may take some time for you to get used to it, but you’ll be able to walk again. And we can fix the other damage at the same time.”

“Then please do so,” Romford said.

Kevin watched as Mariko helped him into the tube — for all her slight build, she was surprisingly strong — and activated the medical system. There was a long pause, long enough to make Kevin wonder if something had gone wrong, then the system came to life, scanning Romford’s body. He shook his head in awe. Even under the best circumstances, no human treatment could eradicate the effects of those wounds. But for the alien autodoc it was all in a day’s work.

“There would be people who would pay millions for this kind of treatment,” he said, softly. “We could approach them and…”

“We will,” Steve said. “But the vets come first.”

“Yes, sir,” Kevin said. After seeing the residential home, it had become clear that they needed to reach out for other suitable candidates. With a little effort, and some computer hacking, they could create a whole charity intent on transferring wounded veterans to the ranch, where they could be teleported to the starship. “But there are others we also need to recruit.”

“You’ll be off to Switzerland next,” Steve said. “Don’t forget your passport.”

Kevin snorted. He’d have given his right arm for the teleporter while he’d been in intelligence, if only to avoid border controls and hazardous journeys across bandit-infested mountains. Maybe the Marines and the Rangers did more fighting — it was hard to argue that — but the intelligence officers were often in more danger. Kevin had been in places where a single word out of place would have ensured his death.

But Switzerland was a reasonably peaceful country.

“I won’t need it,” he said. “How’s Keith settling in?”

“Reading as much as he can download,” Steve said. “I think his fans are going to be a little disappointed this year.”

Kevin sighed. “They’ll tar and feather me if they ever find out,” he said. Glass’s fans were quite faithful. They wouldn’t forgive one of their own for taking their writer away from his work. “Did we get a few samples produced from the fabricators?”

“They’re ready,” Steve said. “Have fun. And just think of all the air miles you’re racking up.”

“You mean teleporter miles,” Kevin corrected. “And I don’t think they really count.”

“Probably should,” Mariko said, from where she was watching the medical treatment. “Have you considered the long-term effects of having your body broken down to energy and then put back together again?”

“No,” Kevin said.

“Nor as anyone else, as far as I can determine,” Mariko said. “If it were up to me, I’d have the teleport restricted as much as possible.”

“We need it,” Steve said, quietly.

Kevin nodded and left the compartment.