Christopher Nuttall - A Learning Experience

“We can extend you a credit line so you can buy older ships,” Friend said. “There is no shortage of vessels comparable to the one you captured. But we cannot sell you modern warships.”

“Understood,” Kevin said. “And the fabricators?”

“They will be provided,” Friend said. “In exchange for this, we want the humans on this planet within” — another pause — “four months, five days. Once they are here, they will be transported onwards to the war front. We will provide weapons, care and feeding.”

“They’ll want to be able to write home,” Kevin said. He couldn’t help wondering what was he sending humans into. What sort of role would a mere five thousand humans play on the battlefield? Or were the aliens thinking that they would serve as shock troopers? “And go home from time to time.”

Friend blinked at him. It was a disconcertingly human gesture. “Why?”

“Because they need that lifeline to fight,” Kevin said. He gambled, again. “It will make them far more effective soldiers.”

“Then it will be done,” Friend said.

There was a long discussion over the precise terms of the agreement. The humans would serve for five year terms — the aliens had wanted twenty years, but Kevin pointed out that few humans would be prepared to make a lifetime commitment. Then the aliens wanted the humans to become cyborgs; Kevin countered by pointing out that they’d need volunteers for that, but there would probably be no shortage. Steve had already created quite a few from volunteers. Combat intensity was up for discussion, but Friend noted that there could be no promises. Kevin wasn’t too surprised.

“Health care will become a major issue,” he added. “And pensions.”

That sparked another debate. The alien seemed confident that anything that wasn’t immediately fatal could be cured — and they would pay for it, if necessary. Pensions puzzled him, but he eventually agreed that human mercenaries would be paid a large lump sum upon their departure. And dead bodies would be returned to Earth if conditions permitted.

“Thank you,” Friend said, when he had finished. “We will honour your terms.”

Kevin hoped he was telling the truth. It would be difficult for Earth to haul the aliens into a court of law and sue them.

Friend stood. “Your supplies will be delivered to your ship, while the promised starships will be sent directly to your star system. And then you will send the troops here.”

He turned, then walked out of the room.

After a moment, one of the green aliens motioned for them to walk out of the building and back onto the streets.

It isn’t rude , Kevin reminded himself, as they started to walk back to the hotel. It’s just how they do things, really .

He said nothing until they were back at the hotel, where they stripped down and swept their bodies carefully for surveillance devices. Nothing was found, but as he reminded himself — again — that didn’t necessarily mean anything. The tools he’d used against the Taliban were primitive compared to the latest cutting-edge technology the Galactics deployed regularly. Grimly, he reminded himself to be careful what he said, then called the ship and made a full report.

“We will be sent the down payment,” he concluded. “I think we should spend several more days here, then head back to Earth.”

“We have to offload the other supplies anyway,” Jackson reminded him. “I’ve had to pay out quite a few bits of currency just to hire the shuttles. If we’d brought our own…”

“We would just have been charged for the landing pads instead,” Kevin said, rolling his eyes sardonically. Somehow, he doubted that Ying would become a noted holiday destination for human tourists. Or maybe it would. People went on vacations to dangerous places all the time. Some of them never came home. “Finish offloading the goods, then keep an eye on things.”

He looked over at Cn!lss. “Are you all right?”

“They could have killed me,” Cn!lss said. It was always hard to tell, but the Hordesman looked miserable. “They could have ended my life right there and then.”

Kevin felt a flash of sympathy. He’d never been the weak and friendless nerd — growing up on a farm had given him muscles and homeschooling had allowed him to avoid the worst of High School culture — but he understood just how intelligence could isolate someone from the less fortunate. Steve and Mongo were hardly stupid , yet they had a directness about them that Kevin lacked. But then, that very directness had worked out in their favour more than once. Kevin wouldn’t have had the sheer nerve to set up his own country, no matter how much he wanted it.

“They didn’t, though,” he said. “They won’t hurt you, ever again.”

He had a sudden impression of what life must have been like for the alien techie. He was needed, desperately, and yet he was also disdained, because the Horde weren’t smart enough to realise how much they needed him. It had never surprised Kevin that so many intelligence officers — particularly the lower-ranked ones who never left America — were so socially stunted and awkward. Or that they were easy prey for manipulation by outside intelligence agents.

They want to be part of something — anything — greater than themselves , he thought. But they lack the skills to make themselves part of that something, to pretend to blend in with the crowd .

He shuddered. It was impossible to be sure, but most intelligence officers Kevin had spoken to had believed that Edward Snowden was a Russian agent, no matter what he claimed to be. There were just too many KGB-style fingerprints over the whole affair to suggest otherwise, ending with Snowden’s flight to Russia. Had he chosen Moscow because he believed the Russians would never surrender him… or had he been pushed into choosing it by his masters? There was no way to know.

The isolated children, the outcasts, had always been easy prey for manipulators. And it was far too hard to counter it in each and every specific case. He felt a twinge of bitter guilt. What, if anything, had they done to Cn!lss? They’d practically made him the same offer of a home where he didn’t run the risk of dying because some Horde Commander was having a bad day. To him, it had to seem like an offer of paradise.

But it had to be worse than any merely human intelligence coup. Americans and Russians were human. Humans and Hordesmen were very different races. Cn!lss might never see his own kind again. He would never have a mate… well, he probably wouldn’t have had one anyway. Horde society assigned mates to the strong, not to the intelligent. And abducting wives was considered good sport.

“We will make a home for your people and change their society,” he said. “There will be Hordesmen raised in a very different culture, one that values intelligence rather than brute force and stupidity. And you will have a home there.”

“Thank you,” Cn!lss said. It was always hard to be sure, but he seemed unconvinced. “But my people do not change.”

Kevin had his doubts. The tests had suggested that most Hordesmen, like humans, shared the same basic level of intelligence. It was just stunted, quite deliberately, by their upbringing. Given a very different upbringing, there would be more Hordesmen learning to use their intelligence, rather than fighting their way through a finishing school that looked absolutely murderous. And who knew what they would become then? Perhaps, instead of building their own empire, the human race could build a United Federation of Planets.

He smiled. If nothing else, laying plans for the future would help to pass the time on the voyage home.