Hegemony (37 page)

Zandy was silent, floating at attention, trying to show nothing on her face.

"The residence zones," the instructor said, at length, "are a functional mechanism to contain excess population. That's the
best
that can be said for them, but that's enough. They are not, contrary to some well-meaning idiots, any sort of kindness to the people who live in them. They are not
fair
to the people who live in them, not to their benefit, and not any sort of indication of the generosity of the planetary or Central Throne governments towards the 'less advantaged.'

"However, they are better than the alternative, Cadet Neel, which would be a massive underclass of unskilled, easily manipulated people, left lying around like an explosive device for any number of 'liberation movements' or would-be demagogue 'people-power' strong-men. The residence zones suck in people who cannot cope with modern Hegemonic society. They make sure these people are fed, housed and carefully monitored to prevent gang rule and self-consuming violence. But that's just the decorative trim. The purpose of the structure is to remove those people from the reach of forces that could compromise the stability of a Hegemonic world. But it is surely unfair to the people who wind up being born in the zones, like you."

"Sir," Zandy said, not sure where this was going, feeling unsteady in free-fall for the first time in several thousand hours.

"However, you, Cadet Neel, are an example of why the zones work. Do you understand that?"

"Sir? No, Sir."

"That's OK, Neel. I'll explain. The purpose of the zones is to secure the population that would otherwise be a source of instability. We, that is to say the Hegemony, do that by parking them in somewhat restricted locations and making sure that their lives are decent enough not to breed actual despair."

Ishida's eyes focused on Zandy's as he went on. "Nothing actually holds a zone resident in the zones, except that staying in the residence zone is the path of least resistance. There are no travel restrictions except simple economic ones, and minimal but adequate education is available in all of the zones.

"And what happens, Cadet Neel, is that the zones act as a filter. Individuals who are ill-suited to the static life in the zones move themselves out of that life.

"People with minimal ambition, especially ambition for power, are co-opted to manage the zones from within. They get minimal status, which is what they want, and the government gets to keep an eye on them, and restrain any abusive impulses they might have by threatening the loss of the status they so badly want.

"Others, people who are innately capable of something better... the individuals with high degrees of personal intelligence and initiative... they remove themselves from the residence zones entirely. They push past the limited, deliberate barriers that the zones are designed to put up. They get real educations, get real jobs, move into the normal Hegemonic economy and society.

"And, in rare, extreme cases, these people push so hard that they get a chance to make it into the elite, the
aristokratai
, by getting into a Service Academy." Ishida said, with a small smile. "Like you did."

---

Coming up on ten thousand hours, the great question for those that were left was Operational Specialty Training. The Fleet had dozens of basic jobs, hundreds of sub-specializations. For those that made it past Basic Selection, which was almost done now, the next phase of training would dedicate the cadets to doing one of those jobs.

Officially, any operational specialty was open to any cadet who qualified. Unofficially, the qualification courses that served as the final exam of Basic Selection tended to put most cadets into just a few specialties.

"Everyone knows you only get two real choices," said Lydia. The four cadets were in their room, relaxing in the hour before their scheduled sleep. Lydia was sitting in Gan's lap, with his hands idly caressing her shoulders. Phil was stretched out in his bunk already, though not asleep. There was little time to socialize apart from this. Zandy yawned and started to pull off her uniform.

"That's just rumors," she said.

"Reliable rumors," said Lydia. "Us
demoi
get two choices: interceptors or hoplites."

"Ah," said Gan with a wry grin. "It's a good thing I'm not a
demos
."

Zandy finished getting out of her clothes. The casual nudity barely registered for her anymore and the compartment was comfortably warm. She'd put on sleeping briefs if neither of the boys wanted sex... though it looked like Gan and Lydia had already paired off.

"I've heard the rumors," Zandy said. "Everyone has.
Demoi
have to go to interceptors or hoplites; the two specialties that need the most people."

"The two most dangerous ones," said Phil, with no disapproval in his voice. "The two that are most likely to get you killed."

"It's not actually true," said Gan. "There are
demoi
cadets who get into navigation, or engineering, or what have you. But it is rare."

"
'
Cause all you aristos have already filled up those slots," said Lydia, leaning back into Gan's embrace.

"More or less," said Gan. "Not me, mind. The smarter sort who pass their Examinations; the ones who elect Fleet service go straight to their Operational Specialty Training; no Basic Selection."

"So we get what they don't want?" said Zandy.

"That's the word," said Lydia.

"It's not official policy..." said Gan, sounding a bit apologetic.

"...It's just the way it works," finished Lydia for him.

"Makes sense," said Phil. "Aristos have influence."

"What about the ones who
want
hoplites or interceptors?" said Zandy.

"You mean the suicidal ones?" said Phil.

"It's not suicidal."

"It is dangerous."

"The whole Fleet is dangerous, Phil," said Zandy. "We're getting to the end of Basic Selection; if we don't wash out, they're going to run a million needles into our brains. Functionally, you're going to die when they do that."

"Functionally, I'm going to become a daemon. Biologically, this body is going to die, unless I can afford to get it fitted to be a biological avatar. But
I'm
not going to die."

"Right, but you can't say it's not dangerous."

"It's not really dangerous," said Gan. "Actually, I think it's a lot less dangerous than existing as a biological human."

"There
are
accidents," said Zandy. Her tone was light, but she suspected that her friends could hear the tension in her voice. She could not shake the fear of what was going to happen, and it was going to happen soon.

"There are accidents crossing a street, Zandy," said Gan. Zandy supposed that for him, becoming a daemon was something that couldn't happen soon enough.

"So which one are you going for, Zandy?" asked Lydia. "Interceptors or hoplites?"

"Assuming I score equally well for both in the qualification courses?"

"Assuming," said Lydia.

"Interceptors," said Zandy. "I want space duty."

"Hoplites get space duty," said Phil.

"Hoplites get dropped from orbit into places where people shoot at them," Zandy said.

"Right! And interceptors get fired at enemy warships. You know what they call interceptors in the Fleet: 'suicide-fighters.'"

"And they call hoplites 'cannon fodder.'"

"Fact is, most places hoplites get deployed, they're up against humans with hand weapons. I'd rather be in a three meter tall armored combat avatar, loaded with firepower, than inside a missile that's being fired at an enemy warship."

"Hell, Phil, if I'd wanted to be a ground pounder, I could have stayed planet-side," said Zandy. "So I suppose you're headed for hoplites?"

"I think I'd prefer it."

"If you get the choice."

"Actually, Phil," said Gan, "unless there's a war, interceptors are safer than hoplites."

"I know. But when is there
not
a war? I don't mean a big one, like against the Coalition. But fights with smaller powers? Single system nations? We're fighting someone just about all the time... annexations or rebellions or backing up some client state in a trade dispute." Phil shook his head. "All the time. Besides, I'm good at
telestraal
, and hoplites get the best training. And from hoplites I can shoot for Special Operations... who knows, maybe even the Silver Shields commandos, one day."

"The Silver Shields, huh?" said Gan. "The ultimate elite, 'best of the best...' I suppose it is something worthy to aim for."

"What are you aiming for, Gan?" asked Phil. "You have a better shot at a choice than we do."

"Navigation, of course, and then Command."

"Why don't you have your hands navigate a little lower, Gan," said Lydia, sounding bored with the conversation, or maybe just bored with waiting.

Zandy smiled; as a pair Lydia and Gan were sometimes on, sometimes off; right now they were on, and she was proving a demanding lover.

"Phil?" Zandy asked, with a raised eyebrow.

"Sure, Zandy. My pleasure," said Phil with a slow smile.

"Mine too," Zandy said.

---

The qualification courses reminded Zandy of the Academy Tests back in school; the questions and simulations seemed almost random to her. She had learned to do her best on unexpected problems; it was almost traditional at the Academy to hit the cadets with the unexpected and see how they managed. If she failed now, she thought, it would be like salt in a cut, but she supposed that she would be able to get some sort of space-based job with the training she had already gotten. And she would stay human, a little voice in her head said.

She was not sure what to expect when she was summoned to meet with a senior instructor. Washing out usually happened with no ceremony; cadets who failed were hustled out of the Academy with no warning or delay. Of course, she might be on her way to a departing shuttle right after the instructor informed her of her failure... or...

"Cadet Neel, sit, please."

"Yes, Senior Instructor, sir."

"No need for formality Neel."

"Yes, sir," said Zandy, looking a bit apprehensive.

"No need for suspense either. You've passed the Quals. You're in."

"Thank you, sir!"

"You did it, not me. You asked for interceptors or ship navigation..."

"Yes, sir, better than hoplites."

"Better for some. You're in interceptors, and you scored well for that."

"Not well enough for navigation?"

"You scored well for navigation, Neel, and contrary to popular opinion, a
demoi
-born cadet
can
get a navigation slot. But you scored at the top of the curve for interceptors, and we like to send people where they score best."

The senior instructor smiled. "Do you know how you got into the Fleet, Cadet Neel?" he asked.

"Ah, I passed the Academy Test for Fleet."

"Right. I have your score here. Would you like to see it?"

"Uhm, yes, sir. I would."

"Here," he said and extended a secure data cable.

Zandy plugged the lead into the interface port behind her ear and focused on the data feed. She had never seen her test results, but looking at them now was... strange. The answers were hers, of course, but she was almost embarrassed by what she saw, and by the amazingly naive mindset the answers spoke of.

"I've learned a lot at the Academy, sir," she said.

"You didn't make it in on the strength of your answers, Neel. Think about it. The
aristokratai
rule the Hegemony..."

"Yes, sir."

"To become one of the rulers, you have to enter the service of the Hegemony. You have to serve. The children of the
aristokratai
are brought up to serve. What the tests are for, is to see which of the
demoi
are capable of serving. Most people aren't. That's OK, mind you, but most people focus on themselves, at heart. Even people who want to be selfless, or want to 'help out,' are psychologically ill-suited to Service. The tests screen for suitable mindsets, Neel, and the Academies confirm that suitability. That's why you got in, and that's why you stayed in.

"The qualification courses are the same way. You have no viable skill to be an interceptor pilot, or a ship's navigation pilot, or an astrogator or a hoplite. But you have a mindset that will probably make a good interceptor pilot. And that's what you have in front of you. If you accept."

"I accept! I'm not going to quit now," said Zandy.

"No... You did have the right to quit, just now, but you weren't going to. We'd have let you go a while ago if you were the sort who would have."