Chapter 5 - Major James MacAllistor

The Major and his friend Commodore Richard Cuthbert, RN, approached the trim little cottage in this small northern English town. A short, spare man in his 50's, trim of moustache and military of bearing, was crouched over doing something important with a spade and flowerbed. When he saw he had visitors, he arose to greet his guests.

"Commodore, fancy meeting you here, and whose this with you? James? Is that you? You look so... different. Say, I'd heard you'd been picked up."

"Do you mind us just dropping by like this, George?" asked James, kindly. "I'd hate to put you out."

"Oh, not in the least. It's just myself these days, since Mildred passed on, and I'm grateful for visitors. Come in, have some tea."

As George put the kettle on, James and the Commodore settled into chairs around the kitchen table. "Looks like you've settled into retired life, George," James commented as he looked around the scrupulously neat, surgically-clean kitchen.

"Yes, well, it's not the excitement of commanding a ship at sea, but I'm putting my days in," George responded as he poured three mugs of tea. He placed two mugs in front of his visitors and then brought over a plate of biscuits and his own mug.

The Commodore grew thoughtful. "Would you like to go to sea, if you could? Commanding a warship again?"

George had started to sit, but upon hearing those words stopped. He stared hard at the Commodore for several moments. "You aren't just asking, are you?"

"Maybe you should look at this, first," James advised him, handing over a small electronic device.

George didn't react when the device pricked his finger, nor for several moments later. Finally he handed the device back to James and asked, "What did you just do to me?" His tone was not accusatory, but rather held a gentle curiosity.

"Just planted instructions to not be able to discuss what we're discussing here, not on this planet anyway. The block will wear off in 72 hours. The Commodore wasn't just making conversation. We are here to make you an offer. Do you mind hearing us out?"

"It's your time to waste. I'm retired, I don't mind."

"I represent a special department within the Confederacy: Targeted Extractions. We look for those individuals who have certain desirable skills at certain colonies, and see to it that they get extracted and sent to those colonies. If they're willing, of course."

"Yes?"

"Well, we have a very special colony with a very special need. A need for captains of submarines - the best captains we can get. And as anyone with access to your service jacket knows, you were one of the best."

George took a thoughtful sip of his tea. "Why me? And what would I be doing?"

"Captaining a sub. And training raw recruits on the finer points of sub handling and tactics. And we're going after you not just because you were, as I said, one of the best, but because you are retired. We're not allowed to take current service personnel without special permission from your government."

"What class of sub would I get?"

"We're looking at giving you an attack sub, an A-1 class, although with your experience it might be smarter to use you on the L-1 class. As an instructor, you'll also have plenty of time alternating between an A-1 and a T-1"

"I have been away for awhile. I've never heard of them," George advised his old friend, scratching his head in puzzlement.

"They haven't even been built yet. We'll be working the bugs out of the designs and forwarding the specifications and plans to replicators on worlds across the galaxy, including Earth. The L-1 is intended for littoral waters, and the A-1 for blue water - or whatever colour it might be on those other worlds. The L-1 can launch amphibious assaults like the old Landing Ship Tank designs from World War II, except completely submerged. The A-1 is to be armed with missiles and torpedoes. There's another two classes of sub, the trainers called the T-1 and the carriers called the C-1 or Comedian class."

"Carriers?" George asked dubiously.

The Commodore nodded enthusiastically. "Think of this: an aircraft carrier that submerges and hides underwater. It can surface to launch conventional air-breathing craft, or stay submerged and launch specialized interceptors."

George blinked. "A submersible aircraft carrier? You're insane, of course."

"Blame it on the Swarm," suggested James with a wry grin.

"All right, let's say I let you talk me in to this mad plan of yours. How soon would I leave?"

"We'd walk over to the local CAP testing centre, right now if you're ready. They happen to be open today, by an odd coincidence."

"Yes, an odd coincidence that. They're only open one day a week. Not too much demand at the moment, we're a small town and most already have their CAP card. Oh, and here's mine, before you ask."

James took the card, which identified the owner as George Rideout, Cap Score eight point seven.

"Do you have any potential concubines yet?" James enquired.

"I assumed I'd never be extracted, so I never dreamt I needed any."

"Never assume," the Commodore chided, "it makes an ass of 'u' and 'me'."

"Never volunteer, either," a chuckling George reminded them. "Alright, I've broken the rule of 'assume', I might as well break the rule of 'volunteer'. Let's finish our tea, and go. By the way, would I have to get resized to your height?"

"No, in fact your height is an advantage from what I'm given to understand. I've been given the standard Marine package. The standard submariner package is about your height and weight to begin with. Those subs are quite, ah, 'efficient' in their use of space, even more so than their Earth predecessors."

"You mean 'claustrophobic', I think," corrected George, amusedly.

"You have no idea. Tall and bulky tends to mean thwacking your noggin on overhead piping. Now about to the issue of concubines, this IS a breeding colony, as well as a research facility and training base. Your CAP score entitles you to six, and if two of those six is already a couple with kids and one of your concubines rates high enough on the nurturing scale, you'll be permitted two more. You'll be expected to take any kids they already have, as well."

George grew thoughtful. "There's the young couple next door, the Evans, they've got four kids. They've been hinting they want to be extracted, but haven't had any luck yet. They've also been so nice to me since my wife's passing. Other than that, I'm fairly new to the community so I'm not familiar with enough people just yet."

"There's a school concert tonight. Plenty to choose from there. Let's start off with getting you up to the hospital ship for your check-up and then see if we can't just grab you some concubines."

The school concert was, as usual, a success. The Headmaster noted a few parents he didn't recognize, though, all seated toward the back of the school's gymnasium/hall. Because the cavernous room lacked windows, nobody was aware that the entire school was covered by an interdiction field until some parents of younger children who had already entertained the audience tried to leave - and were firmly turned back by Confederacy Marines in full body armour. A dose of nanites injected while watching the hypnosis program on a hand-held ensured their silence. They were then given the choice between "the first-years' classroom" if they wanted to be extracted and "the fifth-years' classroom" if they didn't.

At the end of the concert, the Headmaster walked to the centre of the stage front. As the clapping died down, he addressed the crowd. "And now, ladies and gentlemen, we have one last piece of entertainment which is not on your schedules. I think many of you will find it enjoyable. Allow me to present James MacAllistor."

As mystified concert-goers clapped politely, a tall, dark-haired man with a magnificent handlebar moustache and Confederacy battle armour strode out onto the stage. "Ladies and gentlemen, thank you very much. I am Major James MacAllistor of the Confederacy Marines, and this is an extraction."

People began muttering among themselves excitedly.

"First, anyone with weapons, please stand and identify yourselves."

Nobody stood.

"Very well, anyone found to have a weapon on you will be stung after this point, without question. Now, would the following please identify yourselves and approach the stage. Make sure you have your CAP cards with you." He read out four names, three males and a female. The four individuals, all with a CAP score of between 6.5 and 6.9, approached the stage, CAP cards extended.

"Do you agree to volunteer to serve the Confederacy?"

Yes, they all did.

"If you've already arranged with individuals to sponsor them, let us know now. We're willing to go and pick them up if they aren't present here."

Two men had already chosen their first concubines - their wives. They still had a slot apiece to fill. The remaining man and woman had both slots empty.

"I suggest you watch our fifth volunteer, he may give you some ideas about filling your positions. Sergeant Matthews, can you help the lady? Corporal Hanover can help the men." A female sergeant stood beside the female volunteer, while a male corporal stood beside the men.

"Allow me to introduce newly recruited Confederacy Navy Major George Rideout. He gets eight concubines, and we'll let him go first in choosing his." He turned around to view the children's choir sitting behind him, most of them scared spitless. "Let's get the tableau set. The children will probably be best accommodated in another classroom. If you don't mind?" The children left, led by a Marine to one of the classrooms. "And those of you with zero interest in being extracted, please go to Classroom Four. Thank you. We'll give you a moment."

Not a soul stirred. "Everybody wants to go? Nobody wants to be Swarmie Snacks?" There were a few chuckles at that.

MacAllistor turned to the other volunteers, but kept the volume up so that the potential concubines could follow along. "Pay attention. The Major has already thought this through, so his logic may be useful in creating your picks. Now, first your purpose is to both fight and breed, so you need to pick breeding stock, to put it bluntly. It doesn't matter how they look, plain or fancy, fat or slim, short or tall, the Darjee medical technology can make them look like movie stars. It does NOT change how they are between their ears, although making them look like they want to may make them feel better about themselves."

The volunteers nodded.

"Next, marriages. Forget it, it's an instant divorce. Two of you have chosen your wives as concubines, you may want to rethink that. Your wives will be possessive over you, as you both are coming from a monogamous world. The world you are entering is a polygamous one, your now ex-wife will have to deal with sharing your bed with her sister concubines and working as a team to keep you happy and the kids under some semblance of control, and a lot of ex-wives have a problem readjusting their thinking. When a concubine acts up you have to discipline them or kick them to the curb, and if you dump them on a colony ship they get 48 hours to get picked up by somebody else or they get 'recycled', which is as ugly as it sounds. You can trade them, but it's usually best to not pick them up in the first place."

Neither man wanted to dump the mother of his children.

"OK, it's their funeral, not that we hold funerals for recycled concubines." Major MacAllistor rolled his eyes. Fortunately for him, he wasn't going with the volunteers so he wouldn't have to see the painful results. He hoped both of these concubines would clue in quickly enough. "Major?"

"Ah, yes. I get eight slots, as Major MacAllistor said. As even after augmentation I can only handle two ladies a night, I'm going to choose two couples and four females. That means that every night I get two women, and so do each of my male concubines. Now, to start, I'm going to choose my couples. Would Peter and Della Evans be here tonight? And can I have the remaining couples line up, in order of number of offspring under 14? And yes, those offspring are definitely coming with us. And while we're at it, togs off please."