The battle alert yelped and the prosaic images covering the bridge screens switched to a dynamic multitude of tactical displays and constantly shifting battlespace data.
The bridge crew linked their interfaces to the larger screens and awaited orders from their section officers.
Blips representing enemy vessels materialized on the displays. Near-space swarmed with the enemy.
Mingana flicked an eye to Gunnery. “Target incoming. Fire on my word.”
The gunnery officers acknowledged and began inputting targeting solutions.
U.N. Senior Observer Jason Helm entered the bridge.
Mingana gazed in the observer's direction, making no effort to hide her displeasure. “You're supposed to be in your quarters. I'm running a shipwide drill.”
“Carry on,” said Helm, with a bored look. “I'm an observer. I can't exactly observe if I'm cooped up in my quarters.”
“You should be observing protocol,” Mingana countered with an insolence that had not gone unnoticed by the bridge crew. They did a superb job of executing their duties without letting the observer know that they noticed.
U.N. observers posted on starships possessed a power and a mystique to match the dread they invoked. Everyone deferred to them, even captains. An observer reported a captain's every action, every decision to U.N. Command. That in itself was enough to make sure a captain kept him or herself in an observer's good graces. An observer could also strip a captain's authority and assume command of a ship based on whatever grounds the former saw fit.
Not showing the proper respect toward an observer served as sufficient grounds for dismissal. But Helm took no action. Dressed in a navy blue business suit and wearing trendy wraparound wire-frame glasses, the observer stood next to the captain's chair, his hands clasped behind him. “You do realize that we are unlikely to encounter or engage an enemy in this part of space.”
“The operative word being 'unlikely,'” said Mingana. “This drill will keep us on our toes so that we will be prepared if the unlikely becomes likely.” She gave a nod to Gunnery. “Fire forward long range DE (direct energy) blazers 5 through 10.”
“DE 5 through 10, acknowledged,” announced the lead gunnery officer. She initiated fire control and on a current-time tactical screen, a simulated blast of blazer energy whipped furiously across a simulated stretch of space.
“Direct hit on eight targets,” the officer reported. “Targets neutralized.”
“Good,” said Mingana, with eyes on the largest tactical screen. “Fire at will.”
“Switching to free-fire,” said the officer.
Mingana tapped her chair intercom. An image of a blond woman with an angular face projected in front of the captain. “Lt. Winter, Beta One.”
The lieutenant nodded crisply. “Right away, Captain.”
Helm scrunched his face. “A boarding action exercise? Enemy boarders breaching this ship is even less of a possibility.”
“Again, Observer Helm,” Mingana replied with as much patience as she could muster. “I'm keeping us on our toes.” She switched several displays to internal views. Images of Shipboard Marines in combat armor, wielding M82 assault rifles, beamed from the displays. Armored units on three levels deployed to areas of the ship where simulated breaches had occurred.
Mingana silently applauded their efficiency.
“Enemy vessels are in retreat, Captain,” Commander Povich announced. “Shall we pursue?”
“Negative, maintain course, extend sensor range to maximum, omni-directional active sweeps.”
“Omnidirectional it is, Captain.” Povich relayed her command to the sensor specialists.
Within ten minutes, Mingana declared an end to the drill and congratulated the crew on a job well done.
“In spite of my reservations,” said Helm. “I, too must commend you and your crew on such a fine performance.”
Mingana met the observer's smile with a guarded stare. She hated their lot and no amount of flattery from this pasty-faced specimen before her was going to change that outlook. “Thank you, Observer Helm. Don't forget to add what you witnessed here to your report.
Helm's lips compressed with stifled laughter. “Captain, I never forget what I see. Now, I may omit on occasion. But I never forget.”
***
Justine held her diploma in a firm grip, gazing upon as if it were a bar of gold. In so many respects, it might as well have been. The graduation ceremony had just concluded and Justine exchanged happy hugs with her friends. Even amidst the celebration, she took in the totality of her surroundings and realized how so very full the gymnasium was. Every student in her class had graduated. Not a single dropout. Her classmates were not the sons and daughters of privilege. Far from it. They were not destined to take the reigns of government, business, and academia. A prosperous future was never promised to Justine and her peers based on who their parents were: menial workers, scrabbling for just enough pennies to keep their families out of the bubbling muck of total destitution.
And now, having graduated from secondary school, they would soon be attending universities of their choices.
Justine embraced her mother and father. The pride on her father's face revitalized him. He once had ambitions of attending University to study engineering. But his parents could not afford the tuition. Even if they could, poor instructors hobbled his primary education. Justine inherited her father's deep interest in the field. She had always been been fascinated with air and space craft. The idea that she would have a degree in aerospace engineering in four years or less was as much a dream fulfillment for her father as it was for her. She had the Calaar to thank for that.
Five months after the Calaar's arrival, Earth joined the Calaar-led League of Sentients, an alliance spanning hundreds of star systems. The benefits the Calaar spoke of came to fruition when Earth became a member planet. The Calaar cured diseases, cleansed Earth's atmosphere of pollutants, repaired a damaged ozone layer, eliminated famine, and introduced wondrous technology beyond anything humans had ever seen.
The only 'payment' the Calaar asked for in exchange was that humans be willing to overturn their inequitable social and economic structures. With the Calaar's assistance, revolutionary but peaceful change, swept the globe. Doors of opportunity for billions of humans opened wide as old systems of gross inequality based on race, caste, gender, religion, class, and ethnicity faded away. The Calaar built millions of schools in every country, providing Earth's children with the type of quality education that would prepare them to take their places as citizens of the stars.
Justine became an enthusiastic beneficiary of alien benevolence, which only heightened her resentment of her own species. Humans could have granted what the Calaar gave so generously. But human hatreds, greed, corruption, bigotry, and all manner of destructive folly kept the masses of humanity locked in a desolate cycle of poverty and despair. As she looked to her future, she vowed that the opportunity the Calaar created for her and her peers would not be wasted.
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