Star Force: Trailblazer (SF4) Read online

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  November 12, 2044

  Sean Davis sat in his Atlantis office, leaning back in his chair for a few brief minutes in between administrative paperwork and looked out at the heavy tropical downpour that was soaking his nearly complete city along the workers finishing up the last bits of major construction. Unique to all of Atlantis’s buildings, the spire in which Davis’s office was located was the tallest of the lot, standing a good five stories higher than any of the others, though to be honest the entire artificial island was one single, humongous building, but the individual units on the surface were, in their own right, miniature buildings, of which his afforded him an unobstructed view of the cityscape beneath the heavy rain.

  His office was a perfect circle, with his simple desk little more than a clear sheet of smoothly curved glass, held aloft by equally clear, spindly support struts, giving the office an anti-cluttered effect which, combined with the 360 degree windows that ringed the mushroom-like top of the spire, imbued a vastness to the workspace that Davis felt both necessary and symbolic of Star Force’s grandiose mandate. The view reminded him of the sheer magnitude of his self-assigned undertaking and of all that was at stake.

  The center of the office had three heavy support struts that shot up into the ceiling to support the top of the spire where the endless window wouldn’t, in the center of which was a simple twisting staircase leading up from below. A man dressed in the rare white uniform of the elite trainers that Davis had hired from all corners of the globe quietly walked up into the office as Davis’s back was to him, his mind and eyes on the city beyond the windows.

  His hearing, however, was not distracted and even the soft footsteps of his lead trainer were enough to prompt him to spin around in his ergonomically small, yet flexible chair.

  “Wilson,” he said in greeting, sizing up the man and guessing as to his mood. “More trouble I take it?”

  “Frustration is more the word,” the tall and muscular former Olympic Decathlon triple gold medalist said, emphasizing the point by placing his balled hands on his hips. “The flight training is progressing well, but the naval challenges are a joke. We’ve got the trainees chewing us out about them not being hard enough…or accurate enough. They’re picking out flaws left and right, and the stupid programmers you sent me aren’t keeping up. Honestly I don’t think they know what they’re doing, and I don’t know how to explain it to them because even I don’t know how the hell you’re supposed to fight in space.”

  “And therein lies the problem,” Davis said, standing up and crossing his arms over his chest while still half looking out the windows at the storm. “We don’t know how to fight in space, and what little information we’ve retrieved from the pyramid’s databanks has been mysteriously devoid of any references. We know what their ships look like, and their approximate capabilities, but nothing about how they’re used.”

  Wilson’s eyes narrowed. “You have ship schematics? Why wasn’t I given that information?”

  “Because I don’t want to give the trainees anything in simulations that we can’t produce,” Davis said, showing mild frustration of his own with the never-ending torment of their technological inferiority.

  “They need a challenge,” Wilson reminded him. “What simulations that we have that are fully functional are downright boring…like playing chess where all that matters is the strength and position of the pieces in the game. We’ve trained them to be fighters, and now we’re giving them crap that some 8th grade geek could handle. Something has to change, and soon.”

  “Do you have any suggestions?”

  “A few. Higgins thinks he can rework the gunnery simulations if you can send us some game designers.”

  “You already have some game designers on the team,” Davis pointed out.

  “Aside from Robbins and Mendez, that entire team is a failure. We think it’s time to clear house and start over with a new group.”

  “Are you wanting to keep those two?” Davis said, finally turning his attention away from the rain pelting the window.

  “Yes.”

  Davis nodded. “Alright. What else?”

  “The navigational interface has got to go. It feels like math class, not combat.”

  “It’s the same we currently use in the field.”

  “Well it and a lot of other things the trainees are complaining about, and I can’t say I blame them. The whole program feels wrong. We’ve got to do a major overhaul, and even the trainees are so bored they’re starting to design their own challenges and send us the recommendations…and I really hate having to admit to them that they’re right.”

  Davis raised an eyebrow. “They’re telling you how to train them?”

  “Unbelievably annoying…but I can’t fault them on this. We’ve dropped the ball, big time.”

  Davis began slowly pacing around his desk. “Then let’s turn this to our advantage,” he said, ideas beginning to flow. “I’ve always planned on having them design our military, especially the warships, which is why we’re holding off production until they can provide us with the basic designs. So let’s give them some challenges along the lines of mission parameters and let them design their equipment and tactics sufficient to complete them.”

  Wilson considered that. “Possible. The basic physics engine was never the source of their complaints, it was the application of it by the designers. The trainees said they were creating ‘cheat units’ that didn’t match up with the physics when they ran their own calculations, so maybe they are smart enough to use it on their own.”

  “Would you agree that they prefer to work with modern entertainment tie-ins?”

  “Definitely,” Wilson confirmed. “They reference them all the time. Hell, I’m pretty sure they got the idea for their hand code from one of their games.”

  “Good…we can use that as a basis then. I’ll get you a new team of programmers, then go through as much pop culture space fiction as you can get your hands on and see if you can copy it into some real life applications.”

  “That’s not the best description you’ve ever given,” Wilson noted, “but I think I see where you’re going. Challenge them to make the fiction reality.”

  Davis smiled. “Well put.”

  “Thank you…oh, and as far as the new programmers…they went and made a list for that too.”

  “They did? How?”

  “Seems they did a little internet research and compiled a list of names based off the video games they like.”

  Davis chewed on his lower lip for a moment. “I don’t like using non Star Force personnel, but if our people aren’t up to the task maybe I can lure a few of the commercial ones over to our ranks. Actually,” he said, glancing over his shoulder as if a good idea just manifested itself off to his right, “if we can pull this off we’re going to have to create dozens of games worth of scenarios for subsequent classes to run through, which is more than enough work to keep them employed for the next 10 years creating the ultimate video game. I think under that heading I can attract a professional crew…and I have no doubt with the trailblazers running the show they’re going to give us a lot of ideas to flush out.”

  “You want them designing the challenges for the second class?” Wilson asked.

  “Why not? We chose them for their improvisational skills.”

  “I want to reserve final judgement on what gets added to the training lexicon,” Wilson insisted.

  “Of course,” Davis said, nodding.

  “Sounds like a plan, then.”

  “How are they dealing with Vermaire?” Davis asked, changing subjects.

  Wilson smiled slightly. “They’ve come close a few times, but he’s learning as much from them as they ar
e from him, and I think that’s really getting under their skin. They’re used to adapting to the scenario, not having the scenario adapt to them. Personally, I’d bet they don’t take him down prior to graduation…and the second class hasn’t got a prayer.”

  “Still underperforming?”

  “They’re doing well enough, but they’re not nearly as good as the others.”

  “That’s to be expected,” Davis reminded him, “we had to water down the prerequisites just to get a second class. We were barely able to field 100 of them the first time.”

  Wilson shook his head. “It’s more than that. The second class has had a year to get it together, but they’re not gelling the same way. They’re meeting all the necessary standards, but the first class came together within a few weeks and have been damn near telepathic ever since. We’re not seeing the same thing with the next generation, sadly, which makes them less fun to pick on.”

  Davis laughed slightly. He knew competition was a key component in training, but he’d never expected the trainees or the trainers to carry it so far. “Do you think we should reconsider keeping them separate? Maybe social intermixing would do them some good.”

  “Absolutely not,” Wilson said, nixing the idea immediately. “They may all be trainees, but they’re separate groups. They’re not going to mix any better than oil and water, and to be frank, it would probably just slow down the first class, which we don’t want to do, even if it would help the second.”

  “They’re going to have to work together later,” Davis argued.

  “Yes, but that’s later. Right now I want each group focusing on their own training. Bringing in others would be a distraction.”

  “If you say so, I’ll trust your judgement there, as long as the second class is meeting with your expectations?”

  “My expectations have been attuned to the first class, so no, they’re not. But they are passing the benchmarks we established, though at a slower rate. I estimate it will take them 4 years to graduate, whereas we’re looking at two and a half for the first class.”

  “How goes the prep for the third?”

  “I think we could handle three groups simultaneously with the current personnel, but I want to get my trainers experienced before we dilute the squads with more newbs. Besides, doesn’t look like we’ll even have a full set by the time the first class graduates…unless the numbers have changed recently?”

  “Unfortunately no,” Davis said, referring to their A7 recruitment efforts, which technically were A7b now, though that was never posted. “We’ve only got 22 candidates on standby at present.”

  Wilson nodded. “I don’t suggest lowering the standards any more than we have, otherwise we’ll run the risk of washouts, and that’ll pull down an entire class on the morale front. Better to have a cohesive group fighting their way through and succeeding than to have a Darwinian approach with individuals.”

  “I didn’t want to diminish the requirements the first time,” Davis reminded him, “but we sucked the talent pool dry. It was either that or wait another 10 to 20 years for it to replenish.”

  “I’m confident the second class will make it through, and a few of them are as individually skilled as the others, but it’s the team aspect that’s really lacking. I suggest we hold off on the third class in favor of quality over quantity.”

  “You think that’s why the trailblazers are so cohesive?”

  “Honestly, I think they’re sort of a fluke, but yes, I do think that’s part of the equation. The rest I doubt we’ll ever really know.”

  Davis considered that. “Do you want to increase the standards again?”

  “Ideally yes, but not if we don’t have the people to choose from.”

  “We’ll table that discussion for later down the road then. Do you have that programmer list?”

  Wilson fished inside a hidden pocket and pulled out a datachip. “It’s rather long,” he said, handing it to Davis.

  “I’m sure it is,” he said, knowing how thorough the trailblazers had become. “How’s the rest of their training proceeding?”

  “Some of them are reaching tier 4 in their individual challenges,” Wilson reported with a note of respect, “and their academic schedule is nearly complete. They’ve still got a lot of team challenges left, but they’re passing them on the first or second try now, so I think it’s just a matter of scheduling now to get them to the final phase.”

  “I haven’t checked in a while. Who’s currently on top?”

  “The 7s have a narrow lead over the 2s, but the 6s have had a very good month and are closing in on both. Morgan is still the top trainee and I don’t see her relinquishing that spot. Her point lead has been steadily growing over the past 5 months.”

  Davis chuckled in amazement. “I still can’t understand how a girl is beating out all the guys.”

  “I’ll admit I’m a bit surprised too, but I’m actually glad. Physically speaking, males and females are nearly identical, it’s cultural differences that attribute for most of the discrepancy.”

  Davis’s brow furrowed thoughtfully. “I believe we had a similar discussion a few years ago about the odds of any women making the cut? You referenced something about Track?”

  “The Decathlon used to be a male-only event. The women had a shorter Heptathlon in its place…7 events to our 10 because they didn’t think the women could handle the full load. When the change was eventually made their scores were low, which is to be expected with new events, it takes time to adjust, but they eventually came up to respectable levels when some of the men and women began training together.”

  “But there was still a male bias, correct?”

  “Still is,” Wilson confirmed. “Women’s competition is inferior to the men’s.”

  “Then how do you explain Morgan?”

  Wilson laughed loudly. “That is the question of the century, and I’ve been turning it over in my head many a day. I don’t have a straight answer for you, but I think I can narrow it down a bit.”

  “Please, I’m all ears.”

  The three time gold medalist began to speak, then stopped himself as he noticed an odd expression on Davis’s face. “You know something, don’t you? Something from the pyramid?”

  Davis smiled. “Perhaps. Go on.”

  “Well, I was going to say that I think if the women actually competed against the men their scores would improve. Historically, the tougher your competition, the better you become, so women having their own sports division separate from the men actually does the elites a disservice.”

  “Which we don’t have to worry about here,” Davis pointed out.

  “No, but that was your policy from the beginning with all Star Force personnel,” Wilson remembered, beginning to connect the dots.

  “So it was.”

  “Also, I might add,” Wilson said, continuing on, “when young, say age 10 or 12, boys and girls sometimes compete against each other in individual sports and there’s not much of a difference in ability until they ‘mature’ later, or so the theory goes.”

  “You don’t agree?”

  “No, I think it’s mostly cultural. The guys work out, the girls socialize, so it’s no surprise who improves physically. The girls that do work out and dedicate themselves to improving end up beating over 90% of the guys anyway, but then they’re written off as flukes not symbolic of the whole.”

  “That could explain why women aren’t grossly inferior to men,” Davis countered, “but how can they pull even, or even exceed the men?”

  “You’re having fun with this, aren’t you?” Wilson asked suspiciously.

  “A bit. Please continue,” he prompted with a touch of sarcasm.

  “Alright…common knowledge says that testosterone is the key to muscle development. Men have it and women don’t…but in truth both do, the women just have less. But I know from experience that the best throwers have smaller muscles than the rest, but those muscles are superior when comparing fiber to fiber. The world reco
rd holder in the Shot Put beat out three druggies, discovered after the fact, in the 2028 Olympics even though his testosterone levels were less than half that of the cheaters. Scientists have never been able to explain why, but I think it has to do with the type of training he was doing.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Women tend to be smaller than men, on average, which is why they have shorter hurdles in Track, though that’s always seemed unfair when you have the 6’8’’ Marshal twins towering over most of the men and they get to run the short hurdles.”

  “Still a bit of sexism in the sport then?”

  “Yes, and that only adds to the misconception,” Wilson said, eyeing Davis. “Now, what do you know?”

  “Among the V’kit’no’sat’s Human slaves, there was no gender division…not a single reference in all the data that we’ve been able to decipher. Even the visual records show no height discrepancies. That’s not to say all the Humans were the same height, but there was no gender trend evident. Some of my people even went so far as to check every image on file and compile the statistics, which were dead even.”

  “Really?” Wilson said, not sure what else to say.

  “It’s still a mystery as to why,” Davis continued. “One that I’m interested in figuring out, and Morgan is the first clear sign that it may be true of present day Humans as well.”

  “Some sort of gender degeneration?” Wilson asked.

  “Possibly,” Davis admitted, “but if it is, it clearly isn’t irreversible.”

  “So are you saying that if we have to fight Dino-slave Humans, we’ll be going up against women that are as strong and fast as the men?”

  “So the records seem to indicate.”

  “Then why are you surprised by Morgan being at the top?”

  “I guess you could call it a combination of cultural bias and experience. Reading about ancient history is one thing…seeing it happen before your eyes is another. Then again, I’m not so much the athlete as you are, so maybe I’m a bit more ignorant as to the physical potential of the Human body.”

  Wilson raised an eyebrow. “I thought Vermaire would have opened your eyes by now.”