Return Fire Complete 1-3: Confederation Reborn Read online

  Every single one of their faces was etched with raw pity. They welcomed him, of course. They smiled kindly and said, "Hello, Professor," but it was as clear as the ringing of a bell. That day, William Cushing stood up out of his chair and put it in the corner and vowed to never use it again. He'd deal with the pain.

  Wine helps, he thought, shaking his head. He sipped the remains of his glass and pursed his lips. It was red and strong to the last, and he decided he wanted another. The label on the green glass bottle was faded yellow and crackled with age. He'd never had the heart to replicate a new one. "Chateau Auguste, Vandelans," he read aloud from the words printed across the top of the label and found himself smiling.

  Of course, the wine he was drinking was replicated. Many, many times over. The original had been presented to him as a gift by Ambassador Auguste upon his assignment to the Academy, so many years before that he now had trouble remembering whether he'd even recognize the taste of the original if he happened to find a bottle.

  He'd tried. There weren't any left. Vandelans was nothing but scorched earth after the Invasion, along with most of the European Continent. Reconstruction efforts on the home world had suffered as Confederation devoted increasing amounts of resources to maintaining its borders.

  Before he could fill another glass, his door beeped and Cushing turned around in his seat, wondering who would be bothering him at that hour. He set down the bottle and said, "Come in."

  The doors sounded as they whisked open, revealing an apprehensive-looking cadet, Liam O'Brian. O'Brian's lithe, muscular frame filled out his Confederation Academy uniform nicely. He was not tall, but he moved with grace and purpose. Something like a fencer or a gymnast, Cushing thought, with no slight degree of envy. The physical aspect of Confederation life had always eluded him, even when he was the cadet's age. He'd always secretly suspected his mother had sighed with relief when he accepted the position with the Academy and she no longer had to worry about him trying to command a starship.

  The cadet crossed the room toward the seating area and stopped, looking at the empty wine glass in Cushing's hand. "I hope I'm not intruding on you, sir."

  Cushing rattled the glass and said, "I always enjoy a drink after teaching that particular module. I suppose it is my attempt to gain some sort of perspective." The cadet nodded silently. Clearly he had no idea what the old man was talking about. Give it time, son, Cushing thought. If you live long enough, you'll find all the perspective you can handle. He waved his hand and said, "What can I do for you, Liam?"

  "Tomorrow's my time," the cadet said nervously. "For the Test, I mean."

  "So it is," Cushing said. "And what have you done to prepare yourself for the big day?"

  "Besides come here, you mean?"

  Cushing smiled softly and said, "For the record, I am forbidden from telling you anything about your final exam. Anyway, your grandfather would never forgive me."

  Liam held up his hand in protest, "That isn't what I was asking, Professor. Honestly. I just wanted someone to talk to. Someone I could trust." He pointed at the glass in William's hand and said, "Maybe, someone with a little perspective."

  "I see," Cushing said. His leg stiffened again and he massaged it, working the knot of ruined muscles and cybernetics spread across his thigh and knee. "Well, when I was your age and took the Test, it was still the old Korgon scenario."

  Liam's eyes widened in surprise, "Really? You're kidding."

  Cushing nodded and said, "Seems a little moot now, doesn't it? I doubt any of you have ever even seen a Korgon. Nothing makes me feel quite so old as telling people I took the Korgon scenario for my Test, and they can't understand how an almost-extinct race could ever pose enough of a threat to bother with." He shook his head and continued on, "Anyway, I was on the committee that proposed changing the scenario. You would not believe the resistance we faced from the senior faculty. Some traditions die harder than others. No one wanted to admit that such an important part of their youth had become obsolete."

  "But you did change it, obviously," Liam said. "All of the postings I've seen talk about different scenarios that are randomly chosen. It could be the Dormotae, or the Thracellians. I guess the obvious choice is … " the young man's voice trailed off.

  "The Ovan," Cushing said quietly. "It's all right, Liam. You can say it around me."

  "Yes, professor," Liam said. He glanced at the professor's leg and then looked down at his hands. "I'm sorry."

  "It's quite all right. I learned a very long time ago that life goes on, regardless of what you lose or how you lose it."

  "Is that why you drink?"

  "To forget my wife and daughter, you mean?" Cushing said, purposely jarring the younger man with his blunt response.

  To his credit, Liam remained still and simply said, "Yes."

  "No," Cushing said. "I drink to try and gain perspective about losing them."

  Liam sighed and stood up, "I am sorry I disturbed you, professor. It was rude of me to come here."

  "On the contrary," Cushing said, "I feel honored. Cadets traditionally visit the Immersive Reality Room to seek guidance from Captain Kirn. Since he's the only one who ever beat the Test, they figure he might yield some of his secrets. But you chose me? That's heady company for an old man to be in, Liam. I'll take it."

  Liam winced slightly and said, "Actually, I already talked to Kirn."

  "You did?" William said, chuckling. "But of course. And what did the old swashbuckler have to say?"

  Liam raised his hands dramatically and spoke in a stuttering cadence, mimicking the hologram perfectly as he said, "I like no-win scenarios. I like…to see…the look on people's faces…when I…win them."

  William laughed, "Yes, well, the IRR was invented long after Kirn's time. They had to piece together his persona from old mission logs and the like. I'm sure the actual person was far more nuanced than the caricature we're stuck with. You'll get much better results from more modern people, the ones who were properly scanned with thought toward living on as an Immersive Reality construct to give guidance to the rest of us."

  "Do you have any suggestions?" Liam said.

  William picked up the bottle of Chateau Auguste and said, "Only one that comes to mind."

  Whoever used the Immersive Reality Room before him forgot to clear their list of preferences. Liam O'Brian only glanced at the selection, knowing that the entire area was under constant surveillance and having no desire to be reprimanded for intruding on someone else's privacy. But still, the choices were salacious enough to make him laugh under his breath.

  Selection: Night with a Rothian slave girl.

  Selection: Night as a Rothian slave girl.

  Selection: The Captain's harsh reprimand.

  The list went on, and Liam punched the buttons to clear the screen so he could pull up the program that Professor Cushing had suggested. He took a deep breath and looked ahead as the IRR doors slid open.

  A bright countryside greeted him, the sun so bright overhead that he instinctively raised his hand to shield his eyes and look around the rolling fields of green meadows, covered with white-petaled flowers.

  Chimney smoke trailed up from the stone roofs of several tiny cottages scattered below the hills, and the sky opened above him so bright, and blue, and filled with thick cumulus clouds that he stood staring in wonder at it for a moment, forgetting it was all an illusion.

  Liam walked across the hills, searching for the first sign of something important. Professor Cushing had not told him who or what he was going to see, only that it might help him prepare for the Test the next day. For all he knew, he was about to experience the first air raid of the Second World War, or the quiet moments just before the Great Invasion. He found himself spinning around in circles as he searched the sky for signs of movement, now wishing the enormous clouds were gone so he had a clearer view and would know when to start running.

  A quaking voice, filled with annoyance, called out to him, saying, "What do you want?"

>   Liam's head snapped sideways and the man he saw made him snap reflexively to attention. The man was much older than Liam ever imagined, and his face drawn deeply with craggy lines, but his gleaming bald head and prominent nose were unmistakable. Liam instinctively tugged down on his uniform shirt to adjust it and called out his name and rank, "Confederation Academy Cadet Liam H. O'Brian, sir! Senior year, command school, sir!"

  Ambassador Patric Auguste stared at the cadet disdainfully for a moment, then quickly turned away and started walking. He was dressed in a long, gray smock that was decorated with multiple splashes of paint. His arms and hands were caked with light blue and white, the same colors that were now running from the long paintbrush in his hand onto the grass at his feet. Liam watched the Ambassador shuffle away from him and called out, "Sir?"

  "No! Go away," the old man shouted over his shoulder.

  "But, sir!" Liam said, hurrying after him, "Professor Cushing sent me, sir. To speak with you."

  "Ah," the old man sniffed. "In that case, double-triple-no and also, go away!"

  "What the hell?" Liam whispered to himself.

  Auguste stopped walking and turned back on Liam, scowling, "Tell William that he should know me better than to send some wet-behind-the-ears cadet to try and lure me back to the Academy. I shall not return. Ever. I intend to live out the rest of my days right here in Vandelans. Good afternoon to you, and goodbye."

  For an old man, he certainly moved well, Liam thought, having to hurry up to catch up as Auguste began walking again. "I didn't come to lure you back anywhere," Liam shouted. "I just want to talk to you."

  "No time! Too much to do, I'm afraid!" the old man said. He was walking toward an easel that he'd erected against a tree, one that gave him a perfect view of the landscape and the sky, but when he saw the image painted on it, he slumped forward and sighed. Auguste threw down his paintbrush in disgust and said, "Utter rubbish. You would think that after all these years practicing, I could paint a simple French countryside, but alas, my hands and vision betray me. This is what it is to get old, boy. I do not recommend it."

  "You could always get your eyes re-focused," Liam said. "Or your synapses enhanced to compensate for old age."

  The old man's face wrinkled into a scowl as Liam spoke and he said, "Are you a medical student? I thought you told me you were in Command School."

  Liam looked past the Ambassador at the painting and said, "It's really not that bad, sir. I think it looks pretty good."

  Auguste looked back at the painting and reconsidered it, moving to where Liam was standing, and he pressed his fist under his chin and studied it. "Perhaps," he muttered. "I suppose that if one stands at a certain angle, this piece has a certain kind of rustic charm. What did you say your name was, my boy?"

  "Liam O'Brian, sir. Starfleet cadet."

  Auguste extended his hand and said, "Patric Auguste, and stop calling me sir. I am a private citizen. Also, I am dead, in case you were not aware, so please stop, it's embarrassing."

  Liam cocked his head and said, "Sorry, sir?"

  "Dead," Auguste said happily. "Or did you really believe me to be standing on this hill with you? According to Confederation records, I died thirty years ago." He eyed the young cadet warily, "You do know this is a computer simulation, don't you?"

  "Well, yes, of course I do," Liam sputtered. "I-I'm just not sure you're supposed to."

  Auguste waved his hand dismissively and said, "It was one of my requirements when I consented to let them hook up all their probes and scan and graph every corner of this old brain. I insisted that they make me cognizant of the fact that I am not alive and that none of this is real."

  Liam let out a long, slow breath, trying to take it all in. "I can't imagine what that's like, to be honest."

  "It's great fun," Auguste said with a quick smile. "Something I never allowed myself enough time for while I was alive, so I insist on having as much of it as I can now that I'm dead. I told them, if you're going to keep me alive inside some damned machine for all eternity, I want the opportunity to do all of the things I missed out on. I have a very full death, you see. I go dancing, and sailing, and now I'm trying to learn how to paint a truly decent landscape."

  Liam looked at the hologram in confusion, "So if you knew this is all a hologram and you're not really here, why were you just yelling at me that you don't want to go back to the Academy?"

  "Just to keep you guessing," Auguste said, tapping Liam on the arm. "I don't get as many visitors as I used to, so when they show up, I have to think of new ways to amuse myself. So, what can this holographic rendering of an old man long since dead do for a strapping youngster such as yourself, then?"

  Liam took a deep breath and said, "Professor Cushing sent me to talk to you because I have to take the Test tomorrow. He thought you might be able to give me some tips for command."

  "I see," Auguste nodded.

  "Well? Do you have any tips?"

  "That is why you came?"

  "Yes, of course," Liam said.

  Auguste's eyes narrowed on Liam and he said, "Just because I am dead and have immeasurable amounts of time does not mean I enjoy having it wasted."

  "I'm sorry, sir. Professor Cushing said you could help."

  "I am not talking about Professor Cushing!" Auguste snapped. His eyes hardened to sharp points and he seemed to grow before Liam's eyes, rising up to his full height so that he loomed over Liam with all the power and command of a battle-hardened veteran. "Now, I invite you to tell me what the real thing is that you carry in your heart, Cadet, for I can see it written on your face as plain as day. What is this burden? Spit it out, or I will throw you out. Be quick about it!"

  Liam felt the air escape from his chest, realizing his carefully erected wall of defense had just been undone by a computer projection. He looked down at the ground and said, "I'm thinking about quitting."

  "Ah, there it is," Auguste sighed. He shook his head and said, "Because you are afraid of the Test tomorrow?"

  "No," Liam said. "I'm not afraid of anything."

  "Of course, of course. None of us was at your age. So what is it, then?"

  The words felt bitter in his mouth, like he was trying to speak through a mouthful of dry sawdust, but he managed to mutter, "I think I do not believe in the Confederation anymore, sir. It's as if, as if the Great Invasion stripped us of who we are. All I see is nostalgia for the past, this kind of forced insistence that we're still just as good as we were before, like when you were there. But we're not. We're broken and I don't see any possible way of being fixed."

  Auguste was silent after that, carefully considering the young man's words. Finally he said, "Go on."

  "I don't want to spend my life serving a dying organization. The Confederation is only one fourth the size it was ten years ago. The Korgons are gone. The Vulkar have withdrawn from outside contact. This entire galactic region is nothing but one massive graveyard. I feel like, what's the point, really? Maybe I'd be better off joining a merchant fleet and getting away from all this."

  "I see," Auguste said.

  "No you don't. How can you? Do you know what they call your era in the history books? The Golden Era. Your generation had the best technology in the galaxy. The best fleets, the best organizational structure, and nothing could stop you. My time is nothing like it used to be."

  "So quit."

  "Quit?" Liam said in confusion. "That's your big advice?"

  "Yes, you should quit. Don't hesitate. Don't stand there talking to me. Go, turn in your uniform and tell them you quit. Do you know why?" Auguste said.

  "No, tell me."

  "Because in my time we had no idea, not the slightest shred of a clue that we were living in any Golden Era. When I was in the Academy, all I heard were pundits lamenting that the Age of Exploration was dead. It's all been seen and done, they whined, so why should we bother? But of course, there were new things to seek out and find. Of course there were great perils to be faced and great adventures to be had
, but if I'd listened to them, I would not have been worthy to face any of it. And if you believe any of that nonsense, you are not worthy either, so do us all a favor and quit because the future of our very existence depends on it!"

  "I didn't mean it like that," Liam said.

  Auguste thrust his finger at Liam's chest and said, "What all those naysayers failed to see, what you now fail to see, is that the Confederation is only as strong or as weak as those who serve it, Liam. When it is just you sitting in that chair, facing down an enemy intent on destroying you and the thousands of men, women, and children aboard your ship, you will see what you are made of, believe me. That is the way it has always been, and that is the way it shall always be. Someone must be willing to stand between everything we know and love and the forces of chaos. So, quit if you must, and get out of the way, lad, for surely there are sturdier men eager for the chance to secure a better future."

  Liam looked down at the rolling hills and felt his throat tighten slightly. "I never thought I'd ever get yelled at by the hologram of a dead guy."

  Ambassador Auguste put his arm around Liam's shoulder and said, "You are not the first person to have doubt, Liam. That is what the Test is. It is just like life. It is designed to break you. To make you quit. All that matters is how you face up to that challenge."

  "But no one ever survives the Test, no matter what they do, sir."

  Auguste's eyes glittered over a wry smile and he said, "Exactly as I said. It's just like life."

  Liam took a deep breath, "Maybe I didn't really want to quit. Maybe I just wanted to have someone give me a reason to keep going."

  "And so you should keep going, my boy," Auguste said gently. "You should keep going, indeed."

  Liam woke the next morning at zero-six-hundred hours. Rather, he would have woken up if those several hours had amounted to more than just flopping around uselessly in bed until it was finally time to get up. He whipped off the blanket and swung his legs onto the floor, calling out, "Lights."