Chapter 16: Bound For Life and Education

“My noble father,

I do perceive here a divided duty:

To you I am bound for life and education;

My life and education both do learn me

How to respect you. You are the lord of all my duty.”

- Desdemona, Othello, Act I, Scene iii

The standing order regarding messing was that use of the mess rooms was optional for breakfast and lunch, but mandatory for supper. It was also expected of all passengers – including concubines and dependants – that they would arrive before the designated time that supper began and stay for at least two hours. Not even an urgent desire for sex was permitted to violate that, and often a sponsor and concubine – and occasionally two sponsors or two concubines – would have a very public sex session. By the time the three ships had engaged their FTL drives, the children on board had become inured to the sight of couples openly copulating. As ever in the Diaspora, life for the typical dependant was one long and quite graphic sex education course.

The Whitefeather clan were supping at the same table as the Hopson clan. Whitefeather and his ladies were dining on a fine London broil, with garlic mashed potatoes and glazed carrots. The ladies had gotten into the habit of eating whatever William chose when they were out together, and today was no exception. The coffee wasn’t great – there was a definite metallic aftertaste that a double helping of sugar and creme could not disguise – but other than that, the meal was quite luxurious and relaxing. There was, of course, no appetizing alcohol available.

Sergeant – formerly Major – Lincoln Hopson had managed to pick up as his second concubine the lovely Roberta McPhee. She and Callie had been in the all-female Hamlet production together back in September and October, which now seemed like a lifetime ago and not six weeks. She now sat across from Lincoln, with his and Kristina’s two daughters beside her. Eleven-year-old Kerri was busy with food – a lady must have priorities, and besides, she was trying to give off an air of adult sophistication – but little sister Sherri was staring at the carnal goings-on at several nearby tables with open-mouthed curiosity.

“Sherri, honey,” Kristina said, trying to take her youngest offspring’s attention off the bacchanalian displays around them, “your burger’s getting cold.”

“Yes, Mom.” Sherri’s eyes didn’t budge from the couple coupling one table over. The woman – in her 30’s, if William remembered correctly – was sitting astride the man’s lap, facing him and looking down with a face where lust and love combined. From his shudders, it was obvious that he was filling her with his seed. Sherri could clearly see from her position how his Part A fit in with her Tab B.

“Sherri-”

“Mom,” Sherri interrupted, “they’re makin’ babies, aren’t they?”

Kristina’s sable skin took on a darker hue as Lincoln and William’s eyes met. Both men were enjoying Kristina’s discomfiture. “Yes ... ah ... yes,” Kristina gulped. “They’re ... they’re making ... babies.”

“Oh.” Happy to have her guess confirmed, Sherri returned her gaze upon the pair and resumed masticating on her burger.

Kristina relaxed, but stiffened again when Sherri turned back. “That’s how you and Dad made me and Kerri, right?”

Lincoln’s only reaction to Kristina’s silent plea for help was a simple, “You’re doing fine so far, babe.”

“Yes, honey, that’s how we made you. With lots of love.”

“Looks like she enjoyed it,” Sherri observed. She took another couple of chews, and stopped again. “We’ll be doing that someday soon, too, won’t we?”

Kerri, who had been snickering at her mother along with the adults, broke in at this point. “Oh, yes, soon – too soon for some people. Right, Mom?”

“Yes,” Kristina bit out as she glared at the youthful kibitzer. “Far too soon for some people I know.”

“Mom, how soon is ‘too soon’?” Sherri persisted.

“Any time before we turn thirty,” Kerri advised helpfully.

“Thirty? That’s like, really OLD!”

William was now finding it hard to keep from laughing aloud.

“Sherri, your mother is 35,” Lincoln advised his youngest daughter.

She pondered this fact for a long minute. “Wow! That’s really old, like Grandma!”

As their dining companions’ remaining composure dissolved in shrieks of laughter, Kristina rolled her eyes. “Thanks ... thanks a lot.” She then addressed the ceiling, “Guildenstern, did you record that? We’ll want to forward this little conversation to her grandmother. She’ll be tickled to be only 35 in her granddaughter’s eyes.”

“Permission granted,” Lincoln quickly confirmed.

“Sergeant Lincoln Hopson, the recording has been copied for onward transmission when we emerge at our destination. I recommend that you append a note of explanation to the file.”

“Thanks. Have the pod’s AI remind us when we return home.” Hopson looked over to find his head concubine’s eyes growing soft for him.

“Aye aye, Sergeant Lincoln Hopson.”

“Linc,” Whitefeather spoke, taking another sip of the almost undrinkable coffee, “we’re going to have to review the training schedule for tomorrow. I want to think up some last-minute challenges for the recruits.”

Lincoln Hopson didn’t know whether to be amused or anxious about what mischief that Whitefeather could dream up as a challenge, and so merely meekly replied with, “Aye aye, Sir.”

“And we’ll need to keep the children’s education going. We’re going to have to borrow your daughters.”

That Whitefeather was intensely interested in working youth into any of his evil training schemes – a trait matched by his partner-in-crime and occasional rival – was a fact that Hopson knew all too well from personal experience. This time he DID shudder and turned to look at his family. Kristina was regarding him with concern, while Kerry’s smile was positively feral.

The 96 men and women, all with bodies modified to the Marine-standard 2-metre height and linebacker build, sat or stood in two mess compartments that Whitefeather had borrowed as lecture halls, Mess Hall Forward Three and Mess Hall Aft Two. The 94 trainees wore the standard armour designed for Marines operating in reasonably benign environmental conditions, ones with a breathable atmosphere, and each held a laser rifle with a tiny camera attachment on the bayonet mount.

In the centre of each compartment, a hovering 3-D model of T’kliktguul slowly rotated around a vertical axis. The ship’s bulkheads had been rendered transparent, so the corridors and various compartments were visible. Certain compartments, deemed as essential for the continued functioning of the ship, were outlined in red. Others were in a blue shade.

Whitefeather himself stood in the forward mess compartment, while a hologram of him stood in the equivalent position in the aft compartment. In both cases, the walls showed the occupants of the other mess, so that it was as if all were in a single lecture hall.

“Everything in blue are designated training areas,” Whitefeather explained, using a long pointer. “The red parts are no-go zones – the hatchways won’t even open for you. We will be pretending we’re in battle against the Swarm. The ship has been boarded and we have to fight them off to keep our families safe. Your laser rifles are set with dummy training rounds that will enable Guildenstern to register hits, and if you’re the one ‘killed’, he’ll lock your armour until the drill is over.” He looked at the four temporary corporals, two forward and two aft. “You four will be free to take whatever steps you think necessary to repel the boarders. When we think you’re ready, we’ll unleash our ersatz Swarm on you. Any questions?”

“Yes,” some brave idiot replied, holding his hand high. “Will we recognize them?”

As the laughter at the stupidity of the question died down, Whitefeather smiled. “Don’t worry. You won’t be mistaking your targets for Confederacy Marines. Just ... expect the unexpected.” He turned to Sergeant Hopson and exchanged salutes. “Carry on, Sergeant. Begin the drill. Guildenstern, make the announcement as discussed.”

“Aye, aye, Lieutenant William Whitefeather.” T’kliktguul’s deep bass voice then rang through his corridors and compartments. “All hands, all hands. The Confederacy Marines have commenced Training Exercise ‘Kodomo’ as of oh-eight-thirty hours, with an estimated completion of twelve-hundred hours. All passengers and crew not involved in the exercise are to remain in the Red areas – pods, command and engineering sections – until the exercise has been completed.”

There was a brief pause, and T’kliktguul reported, “Lieutenant William Whitefeather, all is in readiness. You may proceed with your exercise.”

Behind Whitefeather, both pairs of corporals gathered their men around the model of the ship and began the task of assigning posts and working on taking the ship back from the “invaders”.

Captain Doroshenko and his harem sat in his quarters in the Command Section, watching the proceedings with fascination as some groups of Marines guarded key points and others worked to clear the infested compartments. To his children and concubines this was wonderful entertainment piped in live from his vessel’s own corridors, but he realized that this could be reality all too easily.

Those with bridge and engineering duty were also permitted to watch. While T’kliktguul was flying through hyperspace, it wasn’t like they were exactly under a crushing workload.