Chapter 17: And Gladly Teche

“And gladly wolde he lerne, and gladly teche.”
― Geoffrey Chaucer, The Canterbury Tales

As the voyage continued, Whitefeather’s training regime continued, in both ends of the ship. Sometimes he led joint classes, appearing as a hologram to the Marine recruits in the rear half of T’kliktguul. Other times a corporal or Sergeant Hopson would do the instructing. When it was someone else, Whitefeather would always carefully monitor the class – he knew nobody on board but him was a combat veteran, just as he was painfully aware that within mere weeks his life would likely depend on these rookies. He wanted them trained as well as he could manage in this artificial world of metal bulkheads and canned air.

And he had discovered that as well as you learnt something in a sleep trainer, that device was no substitute for actually doing or working with whatever you were learning about. It just made such training quicker, the comprehension of the topic more thorough, and information retention longer.

He brandished the weapon over his head. “This is the RLI-1. That’s ‘Rifle, Laser, Infantry – Mark One’. It’s a lightweight, man-portable weapon, capable of firing in single-shot mode as fast as you can pull the trigger. We call it a rifle, despite the fact the classic rifle fires metal bullets down a hollow tube that has spirals cut into it, and this fires a packet of energy. The other differences are the speed of each shot – at or close to light speed, as opposed to just over the speed of sound – and the accuracy. It has greater range in a near vacuum than it does in a thicker atmosphere due to scattering as it encounters gas molecules. And it has the same two fundamental flaws of any assault rifle. Can anybody think what that is?”

One of the Marine privates raised his hand.

“Thompson.”

“Limited ammunition and ... uh...” He grasped for a second reason.

“That’s one. This is its ‘round’.” Whitefeather held up a cylinder that looked like an oversize AA battery. “It’s a crystal that contains enough energy for a single shot. Then, like an assault rifle, the crystal gets extracted and another gets picked up from the magazine. The typical magazines we’re currently using contain thirty rounds. The second?”

Everyone shrugged their shoulders, mystified.

“The operator. You fire blindly, you’ll waste your shots. You fire before the enemy comes into range, you waste your shots. These are accurate weapons, more accurate than the M-16 and far more accurate than the Kalashnikov. But if you’re firing it when you’re over-eager, or panicky, or careless, you won’t hit the broad side of a Pennsylvania Dutch barn from twenty paces. Fortunately, our enhancements allow us to control our physical responses better than we could as Earth humans, but still...”

He shook his head. “You hear those fools and idiots going on about guns back on Earth – how they’ll blow away the bad guys, and that’s why they should have guns. Frankly, they’ve never been in combat before, and haven’t been trained for combat. Every time you put one of those yahoos in a firing situation, they’ll have to be right on top of their target to actually hit them – the adrenaline in their system would make them pull rather than squeeze the trigger, and their panting would mean the barrel was dancing all over the landscape. Plus, with each shot, the barrel gets pulled upwards, meaning they’re actually aiming for the fucking Moon. Anybody ever hear of the North Hollywood shooting incident?”

Everyone shook their heads, even Sergeant Hopson.

“A couple of heavily armed, armoured thugs tried to take on the cops. The bad guys had assault rifles, the boys in blue had mostly service revolvers and a handful of shotguns until the SWAT team showed up. Both sides fired off several thousand rounds with a clear intent to kill. One bad guy shot himself, the other died of his wounds – which weren’t many. The cops had a handful of wounded, no dead. Most rounds went into walls, cars, dirt, trees, God-knows-where. And that’s with trained, experienced police officers. An untrained or barely-trained civilian wouldn’t have had a prayer of putting a round anywhere near the crime scene.”

There was still a note of scepticism from his recruits. This had to stop, he realized. Time to call in Hogan.

Two other pairs of T’kliktguul’s cavernous internal cargo bays were also in use at that moment. Each pair consisted of a storage bay forward of T’kliktguul’s command ring and a second, identical storage bay located abaft. In one, concubine Julie Whitefeather had about twenty kids ranging from seven to ten years of age, practising for a children’s choir. Christmas would be here soon and she wanted to give the passengers and crew of T’kliktguul a concert appropriate for the Yule season. The boys noted that every time their shift-clad conductor raised her arms, her pussy was on full display.

Almost half of the kids were in the rear of the ship, which she did not have access to. However, she could have T’kliktguul project holographic images among their comrades in the forward compartment. They in turn would see her and the kids in the forward compartment as holographic people in their compartment. T’kliktguul’s sophisticated sound system was able to project the music as if everyone were in the same room.

“Very good!” she called as they finished Away in a Manger. “Relax for a second. We’ll do The Holly and The Ivy next.”

In the other pair of compartments, concubine Callie Whitefeather had several concubines and a handful of their offspring training to protect their families, using a variety of martial arts techniques carefully chosen more for effectiveness than sport. Another concubine with a brown belt in aikidō was assisting in the after bay. Callie was aware that T’kliktguul was helping. She was unaware that the freighter was observing – and closely. His mind was going down a dozen paths, each filled with fascinating questions and possibilities, some theoretical, some practical – and some philosophical.

“Again!” she commanded, and the class, a mixture of holographic projections of the students in the rear compartment and real kids and mothers in the bay she was in, performed the ikkyō, or “first technique”, again.

The afternoon was spent in the sleep trainers, bringing everyone up to speed on other weapons and basic tactics. William Whitefeather spent his time in the sleep trainer on far more advanced subjects.

When he awoke, as usual he felt far from refreshed. Sleep trainers never were good at both training you and letting you get some rest: it felt rather like you had been running a marathon, and often left you sweating. He looked across his little office at Judy, standing there nude.

“Massage?” she offered, seeing with concern the look of exhaustion on her sponsor’s face.

“Do we have time before supper?” William asked.

The pod AI responded. “Leftenant William Whitefeather, you have fifty-five minutes before mess call.”

“That’s enough time,” William decided happily. He adjusted his gaze down meaningfully at Judy’s crotch and leeringly asked her, “Maybe you can massage me using some inside muscles?”

As they left the office, he noted that the second sleep trainer was occupied. “AI, who is in the other sleep trainer?”

“Leftenant William Whitefeather, concubine Callie Whitefeather is currently in the other sleep trainer tube.”

“And what course is she taking?” William asked, more out of curiosity than anything else. When they first arrived, he’d given them carte blanche with regards to sleep training courses, as long as it didn’t interfere with their other duties.

“Leftenant William Whitefeather, the course that concubine Callie Whitefeather is taking is Advanced Combat Medical First Aid.”

That made sense, Whitefeather decided. Her score at her last test was 6.4, and therefore she was entirely capable with proper support to eventually CAP test into the sponsor levels. She’d need all the sponsor-level training he could let her get.

William and his women arrived at Mess Hall Forward One at the same time as Sergeant Hopson. The former major saluted the former captain respectfully.

“Join us for dinner?” Wiliam asked.

“We’d be delighted, Sir.”

William noted, “We need to circulate. After our meal, I’ll go off to Mess Room Forward Two for a half hour of kibitzing and getting to know the men. Can you go to one of the other mess rooms and do the same there? We’ll keep switching off mess rooms for the rest of the voyage.”

“Yes, Sir,” Lincoln responded.

“And tonight, we better get together and do some planning.” Whitefeather’s eager grin sent a chill up Hopson’s spine. “I’ve got some ideas I need to hash over with you and Guildenstern – and without the recruits’ prying ears. Bring your family with you, they can entertain each other while we talk.”

T’kliktguul broke in with, “Friend William, it would be my pleasure. I look forward to this evening.”

“Yes, Sir,” Hopson added. When your commanding officer invites you to his quarters, it’s not really an invitation.

“May I accompany you to Mess Room Forward Two, master?” Callie begged.

Whitefeather considered her nude form. “Probably a good idea. Try to talk to some of the other concubines there. I want to know how they’re taking this. Are we going to have any problems? Do we have anyone depressed, or still terrified, or cowed?”