A Learning Experience

  A Learning Experience

  Christopher G. Nuttall

  http://www.chrishanger.net

  http://chrishanger.wordpress.com/

  http://www.facebook.com/ChristopherGNuttall

  All Comments Welcome!

  Cover Blurb

  Earth is not alone. There is a towering civilisation out in the galaxy, far greater than anything we can imagine. But we are isolated from the galaxy ... until now.

  When a bunch of interstellar scavengers approach Earth, intending to abduct a few dozen humans and sell them into slavery in the darkest, they make the mistake of picking on Steve Stuart and his friends, ex-military veterans all. Unprepared for humans who can actually fight, unaware of the true capabilities of their stolen starships, the scavengers rapidly lose control of the ship – and their lives.

  To Steve, the captured starship represents a great opportunity, one to establish a new civilisation away from Earth and its increasingly oppressive bureaucracy. But with the aliens plotting their revenge and human factions suspicious of the new technology, it will be far from easy to create a whole new world ...

  [Like my other self-published Kindle books, A Learning Experience is DRM-free. You may reformat it as you choose. There is a large sample of the text – and my other books – on my site: chrishanger.net. Try before you buy.]

  Dedication

  To Ed and Mongo.

  Prologue

  Fnfian Horde Warcruiser Shadow Warrior

  Earth Orbit

  “You are sure this is the correct planet?”

  Alien Savant Cn!lss barely refrained from clenching his clawed maniples in irritation at his superior’s doubt. Subhorde Commander Pr!lss wasn't remotely qualified to serve as anything other than an expendable warrior, at least in Cn!lss’s opinion, preferably one sent to charge over barren ground towards an enemy plasma cannon nest. It would have improved the genetic reserves of the Fnfian Horde considerably if Pr!lss got himself blown away before he had a chance to sire children. Unfortunately, the universe being what it was, Pr!lss happened to be related to the Supreme Horde Commander, a qualification that had ensured his promotion to Subhorde Commander. It wouldn't have galled Cn!lss so much if he hadn’t been convinced that his superior’s arrogance would get his entire crew killed one day.

  He hastily bent into the posture of respect when his superior’s claws started to twitch, threatening immediate violence. Cn!lss was one of the few Hordesmen to understand, on more than an abstract level, just how far advanced the rest of the universe – or at least the significant part of it - was over the Horde. Indeed, one of the reasons for his commander’s near-constant irritation was the simple fact that Shadow Warrior had been designed for creatures of a noticeably different build. The Tokomak Warcruiser had had most of its original furnishings stripped out, but most of its bulkheads and internal passageways couldn't be replaced. If the Hordesmen tried, it was unlikely they would be able to put the ship back together again.

  “The data we recovered from the Varnar was precise, My Liege,” Cn!lss said. “This is the origin world of their damnable cyborgs.”

  He allowed himself a faint smile. Years ago, the Varnar had started deploying a whole new force of cyborg warriors onto the battlefield. Their enemies had been driven from a dozen worlds before they had finally realised that the cyborgs were derived from a whole new race, rather than any of the known Galactics. And it had taken months before the Horde had been hired to track down the homeworld of the new aliens and kidnap samples that could be turned into new cyborgs.

  “This is a primitive world,” the Subhorde Commander snarled. “They don’t even have fusion plants, let alone a proper space program!”

  Cn!lss shrugged, clicking his forelegs together. There was no law against trading technology to primitive alien races – it was how the Horde had acquired their first starships – but it was clear that the Varnar hadn't bothered to share anything with their human slaves. Indeed, it looked as though they’d never attempted to make open contact with the humans, even though they’d taken humans from their homeworld. But then, given how effective their cyborgs were, it was quite likely the Varnar wouldn't want to do anything to draw attention to the human race. If the laws against genocide hadn't been the only laws to be universally enforced, he suspected that Earth would have met with a fatal accident years ago.

  “This is their homeworld,” he repeated. He could have pointed out that the Horde was still primitive and yet they flew starships, but it wouldn't have impressed his commander. Like most Hordesmen, the Subhorde Commander sneered at the Galactics, rather than admitting that the Galactics were centuries ahead of the Horde. “All we have to do is capture a few samples and take them back for study.”

  He looked down at the torrent of information flowing into the computers. For a primitive world – and one that seemed to be caught in a socio-political trap that had prevented them from settling their solar system – there was an impressive amount of electronic noise flaring away from the planet. The computers could translate the signals, but the tiny fraction Cn!lss had reviewed made absolutely no sense. It seemed as though the human race was completely insane.

  “This section of their homeworld is the most developed,” he commented, tapping one large land mass on the display. “It will serve as a rich source of educated slaves.”

  His commander clicked his maniples in disgust. Education wasn't something that most Hordesmen took seriously, not when they could be drinking and fighting instead. And besides, most of them had an unspoken inferiority complex when they considered what the educated races had done. It didn't stop them taking and using educated slaves whenever they had the opportunity. Indeed, Cn!lss had to admit there was great potential on Earth, once they taught the humans who was boss. A few strikes from orbit and the humans would be forced to surrender.

  But, for the moment, they had other priorities.

  “Find me some humans,” the Subhorde Commander ordered. “And then dispatch an assault shuttle to take them onboard.”

  Cn!lss bowed his head in obedience.

  It honestly never occurred to him, or anyone else on the Horde starship, that the information they’d obtained had been rather more than just a little incomplete.

  Chapter One

  Montana, USA

  “Absent friends,” Steve Stuart said.

  His friends nodded in agreement as they sipped their beer. It had been a long walk from where they’d left the van to their camping site, but Steve had to admit that it had been worth it. Instead of going to one of the state parks, they’d chosen to walk out into the wide open spaces of Montana and set up a campsite of their own. Now, they sat around the fire and watched the flames flickering as darkness fell over the land.

  “Absent friends,” his friends echoed back. “May they never be forgotten.”

  Steve sighed, feeling – once again – the pain of loss. It had been seven years since he’d quit the Marines, seven years since he’d put his uniform away for good, but the memories refused to fade, no matter what he did with his life. Death was a part of military life, for good or ill, yet there was a difference between losing a soldier to enemy action and losing a soldier because politicians had tied the military’s hands. It would have been easier to take it, he suspected, if the enemy had simply killed his friends in honourable combat.

  He forced the depression away and looked around the campsite. His brothers Mongo and Kevin, both taller than him, but possessing the same fair heads and facial features as himself, almost to the point where their faces could have been mistaken for triplets. Beside them, his oldest friends Charles Edwards – another former Marine – and Vincent Hastings, a retired Navy SEAL.

  Military service ran
in the family. The Stuarts had served the Kings of Scotland, then migrated to America and joined George Washington’s army, then fought in almost every war since the United States had won its independence. Hell, there had been Stuarts fighting on both sides during the Civil War. But now ... in truth, Steve wasn't sure if he could advise his sons – or his daughter – to go into the military. Defending the United States was important and there were few higher honours, yet ... was it worth making such a commitment when one’s political leaders were worse than the enemy?

  “He’s brooding again,” Mongo said. “Someone poke him, please!”

  Steve smiled. He could always rely on Mongo to cheer him up. “I have a gun and I’m not afraid to use it,” he said, quickly. “And I am not brooding. I am merely thinking deeply contemplative thoughts.”

  “A likely story,” Edwards said. “Don’t you know contemplative thoughts are strictly forbidden in the Wolfpac?”

  “Yep,” Kevin put in. “We wrote a ban on them into the charter.”

  Steve rolled his eyes. He’d started the Wolfpac – a band of amateur rocket scientists – as something to do after his retirement, but it had grown into a hobby. Building rockets and firing them into the air was surprisingly fun, even though they had never come close to their dream of building a manned rocket. But then, even if they had, somehow he doubted the government would have allowed them to launch it. It was bad enough when federal agents came sniffing around to determine who was purchasing rocket components and why. They never quite seemed to believe that the club was completely innocent of anything other than trying to have a good time.

  “Then we should have barred you,” he said. Kevin was the black sheep of the family; he’d gone into combat intelligence, rather than the fighting infantry. But long experience in Afghanistan had taught him that HUMINT could be just as important as raids and roadblocks when it came to countering an insurgency. “You think too much.”

  Kevin made a one-fingered gesture, then poked the fire meaningfully. “You think too little,” he said, as Steve passed him the marshmallows. “These days, thinking men are required to win wars and rebuild societies.”

  Vincent snorted, rudely. “We may be doing it in America soon enough,” he said. “Did you read the email from Tony?”

  Stuart nodded. Tony, like Steve and the rest of the Wolfpac, had left military service and gone back to the civilian world, but unlike them he’d opened a grocery store in Chicago. And then there’d been a riot – the food stamp system had broken down for several days – and Tony’s store had been robbed. Worse, he’d been threatened with arrest for attempting to defend his property with a shotgun and a bad attitude. It wouldn't be long, Steve suspected, before Tony abandoned his store and migrated to a state with a more robust attitude towards lawlessness and self-defence.

  But it was something that nagged at his mind, whenever he let it. He’d been in Iraq, Afghanistan and several countries it would have surprised American civilians to know their troops had been operating, yet his country sometimes felt more alien to him than any of the foreign nations he’d visited. The old values, the ones he’d imbued along with his mother’s milk, seemed to be fading away. Duty, honour and loyalty were just words, self-reliance a joke ...

  “Brooding again,” Mongo snapped. “Tony will be fine. He always is.”

  Steve shrugged. He had his doubts. Fighting the enemy had been simple, fighting the bureaucracy that was slowly strangling America to death was almost impossible. He’d once planned to open a gun store, but the paperwork had been too much for him.

  “Look up in the sky instead,” Kevin suggested. “I think that’s the International Space Station.”

  Steve sighed as he watched the speck of light making its way across the darkening sky. He’d once had dreams of being an astronaut, perhaps of being the first man to set foot on Mars or Venus, but his dreams had been blown away by cold hard reality. NASA hadn't gone back to the Moon, let alone the rest of the Solar System, while the Space Program had become a political football rather than a viable project. There were no dreams any longer for humanity, no Wild West waiting to take the restless and dispossessed. Instead, there was a decaying society. And, in the distance, he could hear the howl of the approaching wolf.

  “That’s a satellite,” Vincent said. “I think NSA is peering down at us right now.”

  “Probably,” Steve said. “We’re a bunch of males out on a camping trip. Of course we’re a subject of interest.”

  He sighed. He’d had enough experience with combat surveillance systems to know that they were terrifyingly good. He would certainly have hated to be on the receiving end. Technology had its limits, he knew, but when the United States cared enough to send the best the results could be remarkable. Plenty of insurgents hadn't learned how to cover themselves before it was too late.

  “Could be worse,” Kevin said. “Did I tell you what we saw in Afghanistan?”

  Mongo elbowed his brother. “You mean what you saw while you were sitting in a comfortable armchair, sipping cappuccino, while we were slogging over the mountains?”

  Kevin ignored the jibe. “There was a bunch of Afghani men making their way towards the base, walking cross-country in pitch darkness,” he said. “Then they stopped. We thought they were setting up a mortar, so we focused sensors on them and primed the guns on the base to return fire. And then there was an odd heat source on the ground.”

  He paused. No one spoke.

  “And then there were five more, lying together,” he continued, after a long moment. “There we were, all puzzled, trying to figure out just what the hell they were doing. Were they laying IEDs for us? But we didn't normally patrol that area. Or did they intend to lure us into a trap of some kind?

  “And then we realised what they were doing,” he concluded. “They were having a communal shit!”

  Steve laughed, despite himself. “And to think I thought intelligence pukes had exciting lives,” he said. “Wearing black suits, chasing and screwing women, diving out of high buildings ...”

  “James Bond isn't real,” Kevin interrupted. “Although there was this time in Bangkok ...”

  “You banged your cock?” Vincent asked, innocently.

  “Oh, shut up,” Kevin said, as the group chuckled. “But I won’t deny that intelligence can get a little hairy at times. There was this village we visited ...”

  “We’ve been to Afghani villages too,” Mongo pointed out.

  “Yes, but you went in full armour and had a whole squad of tough buddies beside you,” Kevin countered. “I was alone, unless you count two more intelligence officers, one of whom was wearing a full veil.”

  “And no doubt invited to marry one of the locals,” Vincent said. “Was she?”

  “She talked to the local women,” Kevin said. “We told them I was her husband.”

  “Poor girl,” Steve and Mongo said together.

  “Guys,” Charles said, suddenly.

  Steve looked over at him, feeling alarm shivering down his spine. The last time he’d heard Charles use that tone, they’d been under enemy fire seconds later.

  “Look,” Charles said, pointing up towards the sky. “What’s that?”

  Steve looked up. A glowing light was making its way across the sky, its course erratic. “A satellite?”

  “Too large,” Charles said.

  “Maybe it’s a UFO,” Mongo said. He snickered. “Do you think they’ve learned everything they can from anal probes?”

  “Always knew you were a pervert,” Kevin said. He stuck out his tongue in a remarkably childish manner, then looked back up at the sky. “But it must be a plane, I think.”

  “A plane that’s coming closer to us,” Charles said, before Mongo could muster a rejoinder. “Why?”

  Steve stared. The glowing light was growing larger, coming down towards the campsite at terrifying speed. Instinctively, he reached for the pistol at his belt – he never went anywhere without it, no matter what the law said – as the light
started to take on shape and form. It couldn't be a helicopter or a plane, part of his mind insisted; there was no noise, not even a faint clattering sound. But he knew there were some helicopters, designed for commando operations, that were almost completely silent. And yet ...

  Why would such a helicopter come after us? He asked himself. His imagination could produce a few ideas, but none of them were actually likely. What do they want?

  “It’s not a helicopter,” Charles said. He sounded more than a little alarmed. “Look at it.”

  Steve half-covered his eyes as a bright light seemed to shine down on them. It was hard to see the shape of the craft through the light, but it looked to be a crude spacecraft rather than the smooth UFO he’d been expecting. Indeed, it was little larger than a small executive jet, yet it hung in the air with effortless ease. The floodlight swept over the campsite, then started to fade slightly as the craft slowly lowered itself towards the ground.