Learning Curve.. second and third draft.

The new orders came via his wrist-phone. “Report to the Holding station, in sector one seven Zulu four.” And being a good, solid minded, soldier... in point of fact, a sergeant of the fourth battalion of the Tern high command. He reported first to his base commander, and then, after packing his kit bag, he took the next available shuttle from the Titan colony.
Sergeant John Stephen Daniels hadn’t been to the holding station before. Though he had heard rumours about its’ existence, from a “Joe grunt” who was just coming off “The wire”. “The wire” was slang in his dry dust filled billet (and many other billets besides his.) for the “Temporal Holographic Network” officially known as T.H.N.
T.H.N: An informal, non-political, three dimensional imaging stream; worked by sending images via minute variants in the threads of quantum string, where they were compressed through man-made miniature black holes’, that, when linked together, became wormholes though space, like the minute threads from a spiders web. That way the messages crossed vast distances, in less than a fraction of a second.
The images were collected and sent to the soldiers in the field, via small grey and black oval disks, no bigger than six centimetres across.
The discs also had three long silver wires, which, when connected around the forehead on little suction cups, sent high intensity alpha waves directly into the occipital lobe; thus inducing a vivid, but semi-controlled dream state in the user. In this state, the users could enter an inner world where anything and everything was possible...and nothing could be denied. However, the side effects from frequent usage also had a disturbing effect upon the human mind... to start with those who used the wire more frequently seemed to react in a similar way to those who frequently used hallucinogenic drugs; and that eventually led to a slide into full mental collapse.
Despite that, it was open and free to all military personnel and their loved ones and was tolerated by the Tern Federation, as an aide to morale; however, many high ranking officers at Tern command felt that it was a potential breech in security, and frowned upon it.
But John never used the wire. John never got drunk or stoned, or fucked, -simulated or otherwise-. For John was clean, clear and in control. And he was proud of the fact.
Now... He thought as he took his seat; shuffled and thankfully managed to get comfortable. He then habitually rubbed a hand across his well shaved angular jaw; ...What was that Joe-grunt’s name..? ...Martinez... yes... that’s it Martinez..! He looked to his left out of the semi-circular window, out towards the endless night. Whilst outside the shuttle lifted silently from the staging platform to begin to serenely slide through the eternal night of space.
John hated Martinez’s.
He hated his slow speaking drawl; which essentially was his New Mexican accent; (and John hated New Mexicans.) John hated the fact that Martinez had greased back, thick black hair; -which was over long- and the red bandana that he wrapped it in, and the fact that Martinez, very pointedly, refused to have it cut to a regulation length.
John also hated Martinez’s black, pencil thin moustache, -also non regulation- that just curled above his wide, thin, upper lip. Martinez was also from the Delta four Martian Colony; which was another reason to hate him, as John, being a Lunar Colonist, and therefore closer to earth, considered himself, a class above the “Trash that had been exported to Mars.” A phrase that he had once heard from a lunar official, and had privately agreed with.
Essentially, John thought, Martinez was a lazy, greasy “Joe-grunt”; that never really looked after himself properly and therefore, was potentially dangerous in the field of battle; which was why he made the little Joe-Grunt suffer. If the latrine needed cleaning... Martinez... if there was an extra sentry duty to perform... Martinez... if the spuds needed to be peeled...Martinez... If there were extra shitty duties anywhere... Martinez... John made Martinez life unbearable; because John hated new Mexican Martians, and lazy shits who wasted pay getting smashed on the wire. And Martinez’s head was almost permanently attached to the array of neural transmitters.
About a month ago, they had almost come to blows one evening when he had come back from a sentry duty. But it had failed to happen, because Martinez was suddenly called up to station headquarters. A week later, Martinez’s bunk had been given to another Joe-Grunt, and that was fine by him. People came and people left. Sometimes in body-bags, sometimes not...
Now, six weeks later, as he entered Earth space for the first time since his basic training, he stared out of the shuttle window; wondering what had happened actually to Martinez. Though, he privately guessed that he had very probably sim-fucked himself to death.
He looked with grim expectation, as he stared at the slowly revolving, enormous grey, blue, semi-spherical station as it came into view. He took mental notes of the image, as it curled out, then retracted its’ extending arms. Instantly giving him the impression, as it shone in the earth-light, of an old, twisted, venomous spider; preparing to pounce.
To take his mind off this, because he was terrified of the twenty foot spiders he had to kill on Titan, he recalled his history lessons. All those stifling hours spent in the glass sided cubicle with the white floor, and the holographic projector that had been his educator for six days out of the nine day week. He recalled from the cube, that there was a time so long ago now, when space was for the elite...where humankind aspired to; where technology and determination, could forge a new future for all of humankind.
But that was two centuries past. Now Earth was the paradise. Earth was the place that humanity’s lost children aspired to; and you couldn’t get there! Unless -of course- you had the right genetic makeup; or worked for the Tern Federation as a soldier, keeping the colonies free from the Spiders on Titan, or the Cree, on Prosperone 4 whose face he’d never seen, but had heard that if he were to stare at one, it would drive a man insane...
Slowly, the twin doors upon the front of the spiders body curled open, and the shuttle slid through. There was darkness; then, for the first time in several days, an outside thud, as air was pumped into the docking bay. Before the floor beneath him curled sideways and his chair, being clipped from beneath slowly descended. In a moment, John unclipped himself, and then stood up. He walked in the semi darkness along a nondescript narrow hall way towards the two double doors; which curled back revealing two officers of similar rank to his own; their faces hidden by black battle-masks. Slowly John felt the tension rise, as he made his way through the gray black almost silent walkways of the station. Finally, they reached another door. It curled back and John almost gasped in incredulity.
There were people here. Hundreds of them, packed into a curved semi circular huge room. He couldn’t believe his eyes, and steadied himself, as with a determination and a strength that he didn’t know he possessed; he made his way through the masses of unkempt people; both men and women; who had huddled together for warmth and for protection amongst the long lines of occasionally busted, multicoloured high backed plastic chairs; which were, for safety and security reasons, welded to the floor in horizontal lines of twelve.
Their bodies were mostly hidden under blankets or dusted flight jackets or whatever they had to hand in the departure bay; where their eyes glared at him, with a mixture of icy fear and a heated desperation.
The bay itself reeked with the combination of the rich, onion scent of dirty unwashed bodies; that over-pinned the smarting stench of boiled or greasy food, stale urine and excrement; whilst the bay’s once pristine curved white tiled walls and floor, were now stained a dirty blue grey; littered with old food boxes, and rejected belongings, that other soldiers, all wearing battle-masks, picked their way through, like pitiless vultures; picking upon the bones of the dead.
He looked away from the throng of the hall and to his right; where the three rectangular treble- thick curved windows rested. He paused, for upon them he could see from the outside blue green glow, tiny greasy handprints. Some were so very small, that it brought a lump to his throat; as, he imagined, that these forgotten children had -at one time or another- stared down, with wide eyed wonder at the gloriously beautiful, blue white sphere known to all as earth. Now... where were they?
He looked away from the widow, and back at throng. As he did so, he wrinkled his narrow nose in disgust, partially hiding his angular features, then closed is deep brown eyes, to hide the shame and the guilt he felt within his heart at seeing humanity reduced to this. But this is what space is, he reminded himself, as he and two other federation officers either side, like him, anonymously dressed in the regulatory black deflector suits; made their way between the restless unkempt bodies that filled the hall. This is what you signed up for... and you of all people should know what it’s like to be a-. To be a..? His heart sarcastically chided him; forcing him to be angry at himself, to even be subconsciously thinking the word: “off-worlder?”
There was something in the sound of it, or was it the way he made it sound, that made him feel ashamed... ashamed, then guilty... and finally angry. Guilty for being poor, for not having descent human genetic traits; for not having the right parents, so he could live in the open, breathing pure, fresh, unrefined air.
He fought against himself with a discreet twitch of his upper lip, as he recalled the words of his father, a solar farmer and an elder of a free church, based upon the moon colony: ‘It’s the little words that rest within our hearts that either condemn us or set us free.’ The voice of his father inside him chided; and with that, he felt a bitter bee sting, as he recalled the conversation he had with his father almost five years ago now; in all its’ savage clarity...
‘Yes...’ His father had said, when he had told both of his parents that he had enlisted.’...It is a noble thing... and a life with the military can get you a free pass to earth... but...tell me... Is it worth making a deal with the devil?” He hated his father for that; and as said as much. He had friends, good friends -some of who were now dead- who had chosen a life in the military. It wasn’t something to be ashamed of, or made to feel guilty about, Just because he had not chosen the life of toil and drudgery amid the dry airless white dusted fields of a solar reflector station... Being a part of the Federation! Making a difference! Now that was something to be proud of... But what did he know? He was just a hick farmer, living off the remnants of the power he provided...
“The devil..!” He almost shouted. “...Well; better the devil you know, than the farmer you don’t.” He spat back, and instantly felt guilty and ashamed for saying it. He remembered his father’s face at that. The look of pain in his eyes, made John smile, but also cry inside; for he loved his father deeply.
John made his way through the crowd, and entered the side room at the end of the bay. The other two officers waited outside the door. The room was sparse and very white, as it was lit from above by three huge long halogen bulbs. It had a clinical cleanliness about it and smelt of detergent.
In the centre of the room was a long rectangular black glass desk, that had at its’ centre a slowly rotating image of the Tern Federation emblem; an ice blue double helix around a cross shaped sword.
There were also two large metal framed chairs, with large plump black cushions and a black floor plate which, He recognised, though only from the holo-monitors back at base, as being a tele-porter. This meant one thing. Whoever had arranged this meeting was coming from Earth central. He could feel his nerves slowly begin to get the better of him, as he had never met a man from Earth before.
The Tele-porter fizzed and then hummed into life. And a man, firstly made out of swirling glass, appeared in front of him. He was bald-headed, had a weeks’ growth of stubble on his lips and chin; and he was wearing the grey and black of a senior officer of the fleet. But the face... John felt the floor beneath his feet begin to turn to liquid as Martinez stared back at him.
‘Congratulations Captain.’ Martinez said coldly.
‘Sir?’ Asked John dumfounded, feeling the resentment in the sound of the word “sir” echo about the room.
‘I said congratulations.’ Martinez said coldly, as the door behind John suddenly slid open and the two battle-masked men entered; grabbing hold of John in a paralysing hold, they forced him into the left hand chair. Martinez smiled coldly, and pulled out a grey-black receptor disk, from his right trouser pocket, and with a slow, deliberate motion; he unwound the three sliver connector wires that surrounded it.
‘You know what this is?’ He asked. Not looking at John.
‘Yes.’ Replied John.
‘No... You don’t.’ replied Martinez, sadly; a strange smile worked upon his face, as he walked slowly over to where John was forced to sit. He then tapped him on the shoulder as if he was greeting a long lost friend and said: ‘It’s so much more! You see you’ve been recruited. You’re the best in your field... we can’t succeed without you... does that make you feel special John? Does it?’ He said with a delicate vicious bitterness.
‘My name is Captain John Stephen Daniels, NAASR Second class. Designation number: one bravo, bravo-‘
‘SEVEN SIX FOUR, THREE FOUR NINE!’ Martinez shouted at the ceiling; before looking down and then he turned and smiled at John with his cold hard green eyes.
‘Come on John, don’t you think we know that already..? We know everything... everything you know, we know, every little thought. Every little feeling... Its’ those silent words... eh John? Eh?-‘
John felt his head reel as he heard his fathers’ words spat back at him with venom, as Martinez continued.
‘Why do you think I was sent to that little puissant station on Titan? To check you out! You see John; you have never used this...’ At which point Martinez held up the disk once more, just in front of John’s eyes. ‘...And that makes you special...’ he paced away from where John was forced to sit, and then turned back again, walking slowly, making sure that John saw the disc clearly. ‘...In fact it makes you the only one left.’
Instantly John felt intimidated, threatened by this man who he had for almost six months almost destroyed with side comments, over work and cruel curses ‘WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?’ John screamed.
Martinez smiled coldly, as he sat on the table opposite him.
‘Your co-operation...’ He replied; as slowly and delicately, as if he was a surgeon, performing a delicate operation, he began to place the suction cups upon John’s head. ‘...There... ‘He said, with a gentle loving tone, as the last suction cup was placed in position; and switched the disc on.
Instantly the world he knew was suddenly changed; altered totally beyond recognition. He was floating, no flying, very fast, just above a plateaux of a great white cloud, that curled, and kissed him in delicate slender waves, before being swept away. Above him, in a clear blue sky, a great white sun shone down. Beneath his feet, huge rich ochre stone, mountains filled with groups of trees in lush green grass valleys rushed by, and caught between them, huge blue green lakes, shimmered with the white fire of the sun, as around him, strange triangular shaped beings curled, arched and twisted in throws of spectacular passion. He was flying amid some kind of animal... it was then that he recognised them... They were birds... he recognised them from his old history lessons; and they were beautiful as they swooped around and about, as if they were playing with him.
‘Do you see this?’ Martinez asked.
‘Yes...’ John replied, his voice barely a whisper. ‘It’s beautiful.’
‘Yes it is... This is Earth, and it is beautiful... now... When we arrived nearly four millennia ago, it looked very different. Mankind had filled it with cities, huge glistening skyscrapers’, enormous air replenishing plants, because the trees had been destroyed to make way for stellar-runways for your star-ships... ships filled the skies, making the air black...’ Martinez was silent for a second. He sounded as if he was crying. ‘... and we arrived; having scoured the universe, we had found no life anywhere in fifty million stars...Then we found your planet... and your planet was dying, as you waged war with each other, and other species in the universe, over things that didn’t matter. Because the one thing you can’t abide, apart from yourselves are species that are as intelligent as yours... And you are intelligent. So we came, through the air-waves, and we took your bodies, and we took your world, and placed many of you on your system planets, gearing you up for a phoney war, that will never happen...’ Martinez paused once more, before continuing. ‘Just because we wanted Earth for ourselves, but we were wrong; you see Earth belongs to your species, not us. And now, you are the last Earthman.
There was a clicking sound and John found himself in the white room once more.
‘So what do you want?’ John asked.
Martinez smiled. ‘A direct question, I like that; it deserves an honest answer, to be your friend.’
He said, honestly, sincerely, simply.
John stared at Martinez. He couldn’t believe what he had just heard. His face looked dumfounded; he expected to be tortured, to have his brain ripped from his head, to be left to starve like the people in the main hall. Be my friend? Be my friend? I don’t get it I just don’t get it his mind raced. This has to be a set up has to be.
‘Why?’
Slowly Martinez skin began to dissolve; as something within him pulled itself free. Then John began to scream and scream and scream.
Half an hour later, Martinez sat in the clean room alone; a single tear fell from the corner of his eye, Humanity has finally lost its’ learning curve, he sadly thought; he was the last, he may have not been the best, but that was all humanity had left... Now what do we do... Martinez turned, behind him, and through the open door that led to the holding bay he heard a chorus of screams that carried on and on and on.