I nodded. “And, the Senior Chief continued, “if you have the rank, you’ll be well placed to help others in the same position. Years from now, perhaps, you’ll be consoling the younger generation of officers. They’re going to need you, aren’t they?”
“Yes,” I admitted, grimly. “Thank you for everything.”
“I haven’t finished,” the Senior Chief said. He reached into one pocket and pulled out a small golden badge, shaped like the Jacques Delors. “Do you know what this is?”
“An icon,” I said, puzzled. “Why…?”
“Here,” he said, passing it to me. “You may have noticed that the Peace Force doesn’t really care for traditions at all, but this one even the Political Officers can’t ban. A memento of your first starship… and perhaps something else.”
He held up the badge and showed me the tiny computer chip built into the underside. “There are those of us who try to keep the system from screwing up our lives and that of everyone else,” he said. I felt a numb burst of shock. “You wouldn’t be seeing this if I didn’t feel that you were trustworthy. The Brotherhood would kill the pair of us if they felt that they had a security breech. Take it.”
I took it, staring down at the golden shape. “Why… how?”
The Senior Chief grinned. “Take it to a terminal, one disconnected from the main starship’s computer, and use it,” he said. “You’ll find it very useful indeed. If you want to drop me a message… well, did you know that there’s a regulation that all electronic messages have to be a particular length?”
I understood. Anything could be hidden in the right place.
“Thank you,” I said, surprised. “I’ll be careful with it.”
“Make sure you are,” the Senior Chief warned. “Now… what are you going to be doing on your week of shore leave?”
“I’m going to go home,” I said, seriously. “It’s been three years since I set foot on Earth.”
The Senior Chief frowned. “Good luck,” he said. “Earth is not quite what it used to be.”
Chapter Nine
It is difficult for anyone to comprehend the state of Earth under the UN. The once-great cities are crumbling away into dust. The lives of the ordinary citizens are controlled by thousands of bureaucratic laws and regulations that attempt to dictate every aspect of their lives. Crime is permanently on the increase and law and order is a joke — indeed, the criminals have more rights than their victims. Unemployment, always the curse of history, stands at 70% and rising, worldwide. The tragic irony of the UN’s attempts to legislate a perfect state into existence is that it has, with the best will in the world, created a nightmare.
I had forgotten what Earth felt like, but I was reminded the moment I stepped off the shuttle from Orbit Nine onto the North American Orbital Tower. The two security guards — armed with nothing more intimidating than stunners — insisted on frisking me twice before reluctantly allowing me passage to the surface. The orbital tower itself was showing signs of decay — it was over two hundred years old and the paint was fading away, along with most of the machinery — and I couldn’t understand why a team of engineers hadn’t been assigned to fixing it. If we had left the Wardroom in a comparable state, the Captain would have had us all on punishment duty for the next month, but here…no one seemed to care.
It wasn’t a particularly reassuring thought, I realised, as I took my seat on the elevator. I had forgotten how much everything cost as well and I was immensely grateful for the foresight that had convinced me to bring my UNPF credit card as well as a handful of paper money. Very few people used paper money these days — the odds of being mugged and robbed were too high — but the bartender was glad to have it. I purchased a small sandwich and a drink and discovered, very quickly, that the meat in the sandwich had probably been slightly unhealthy. There was no point in complaining — the customer was never right — and I put the rest of it aside. My drink was flat, but at least it didn’t taste funny. The ride down the orbital tower took hours and I tried to sleep, but I couldn’t because of the music several of my fellow travellers were playing. I hadn’t caught up on the latest music since I had gone to the Academy and there was definitely nothing to recommend it; the undertones of rebellion in the music seemed to suggest a definitely hopeless slant. I couldn’t understand why the singer hadn’t been banned yet, but perhaps it was just another example of what the Senior Chief had called harmless rebellion.
“People need to let off steam from time to time,” he’d explained, during one of our long discussions. “The UN is very good at identifying something they can do without causing real problems for the state.”
I studied my fellow travellers with some interest, although most of them were minding their own business with an intensity that surprised me. We’d been taught to help out our fellow Ensigns if they needed help, but few people on Earth would lift a finger to help someone else unless there was something in it for them. The vast majority of them seemed to be businessmen with interests in space, but others seemed to be nothing more than thugs, or perhaps even a handful of colonists visiting the mother world. Somehow, I suspected that when they got home, they’d be telling them how much better Terra Nova was than Earth… and they might even be right. It had been too long since I’d set foot on the planet.
A group of young women were chattering away and I eyed them with interest. Spacers developed new standards of beauty after a year away from accessible women and they were beautiful by any standard I cared to name, but the giggles! They giggled about everything, from the worlds they’d visited on the Grand Sneer — whatever that was — to the servants they had tormented down on the ground. I couldn’t understand why they were on the orbital tower at first, and then it dawned on me. The girls were slumming it with the rest of the population. The dank smell of urine touched my nostrils and I grimaced, but the girls only giggled louder. They were touching real life, but not in any way that could get them hurt. Even the most unpleasant gang of thugs would think twice about hurting girls from the upper class. It wasn’t as if they were just common or garden citizens. There would be consequences if they were harmed in any way.
The capsule finally hit the ground and I allowed myself a sign of relief. It really wasn’t that different from an elevator. It could have drawn thousands of tourists who wanted to see outside, but there were safety regulations that prevented the capsules from having any viewing ports. I didn’t understand it. Modern materials could keep the passengers safe and people didn’t have to look out if they didn’t want to, but the beauecrats had triumphed again. I was on the verge of composing a letter explaining just how foolish this was — and how much money could be made from selling the ride as a tourist attraction — but I knew it was pointless. Safety came first. It was something that had been hammered into our heads from early life.
“This way to the exit, please,” someone was shouting. The doors were hissing open and I caught my first whiff of Earth. It stank even worse than I remembered, the sour smell of automobiles, machinery and thousands upon thousands of human beings. The population of Earth, according to official figures, was dropping every year, but the Senior Chief said otherwise and I believed him. The Welfare State provided food for each new child that came along and there had been a massive population explosion. “Follow me to the exit.”
They didn’t just let us out onto the planet, of course. That would have been efficient. Instead, there was a long passage through a handful of overworked security guards — I was searched again, not particularly well — before we were allowed out onto the concourse. I looked back at the orbital tower, stretching away into the sky, and felt a moment of dizziness that I tried hard to suppress. I had seen more impressive sights out in space, but the tower was something special. It had been built in a very different age.