He dashed into his bungalow, had a quick shower and arrived at the stadium with two minutes to spare. He had his breakfast with him, two huge bananas that he devoured while waiting in the sun. He looked quite festive – no shirt, bush hat with imitation leopard skin band; chomping a foot-long banana. All two thousand employees of the space program were present, milling around in anticipation.
Dr. Althorpe, head of the project, tapped his microphone for attention. As silence fell he spoke. “I apologize for disrupting your Sunday but I have some rather urgent news. As some of you know, the regular supply ferry, ‘Mboka’ is three days overdue. Also, due to a failure in our short-wave transmitter, we have had no radio contact with Kisangani for more than a week. We have to assume the vessel has broken down again and that it will be some time before it is repaired.
The alternative boat, ‘Congo Queen,’ has been out of action for two months and is unlikely to be repaired in the short term.” His voice dropped and he continued soberly.
“Although I believe alarm is premature, it is important to bear in mind that we are temporarily cut off from the outside world and that there is a war raging in large parts of the country. Because of this, we need to observe security regulations more closely, and brush up on our defenses. John Gilmore, head of security, will explain the procedures and requirements in detail.”
James didn’t like John Gilmore; he was abrasive and self-opinionated, strutting around in his uniform like a dictator in waiting. It was unfortunate the situation warranted giving him a platform at all.
Gilmore started his address by running through existing precautionary procedures; they sounded a little inadequate to James.
“Although most of you resent the idea of weapons-training, the assumption that the revolutionary forces will leave Orion Base alone indefinitely is naïve.” He shouted at the top of his voice as if he had no microphone. James thought he looked like a Maltese poodle barking at the moon. “Dr. Althorpe and I cannot overstress the importance of self-defense; please trust our judgment on this matter.”
He shuffled a paper, and after studying it importantly for too long, started ranting again. “I have drawn up a weapons-training roster which will be posted in both gymnasiums and at all five canteens. I expect everyone to attend their scheduled sessions which will include emergency procedures as well as weapons drills. Remember that defenseless untrained staff are a liability to others as well as themselves.”
He eyed the crowd for a few seconds as if expecting someone to argue, then spun on his heel and marched back to his seat.
Dr. Althorpe got up. “It is important to be conscious of base security and participate in as much of the scheduled activities as possible. Thank you all and enjoy the rest of the day.”
For some time animosity between scientific and security staff had been growing. The scientists and technicians were a mixed bunch of liberals radicals nerds and social-misfits, but most were pacifist and un-confrontational. Security staff often chose the profession for the uniform and accompanying authority; many enjoyed inconveniencing transgressors of petty regulations.
James didn’t fully identify with either group but understood both. Although a mechanical engineer by trade and computer programmer by choice, when he was much younger he had spent three years of compulsory military service in Zimbabwe, his country of birth.
He had many fond memories of his childhood, and had acquired a deep appreciation of all things African, including the volatile, often brutal nature of conflict-resolution. Most of the other residents of Orion were born and bred in the United States or Western Europe, with little experience of African wildlife and the raw, untamed character of the continent.
He had limited tolerance for bossy security staff with poor training and no combat experience. He felt they were more of a danger to themselves and others than they were protection. Most of the scientific fraternity was too engrossed in their activities to take any notice of external phenomena like wars anyway.
Ironically James knew Gilmore was right this time. There was a very real, growing threat, and security was far from optimum. Twice in the last few weeks he’d woken in the middle of the night convinced he’d heard gunfire in the jungle beyond the wharf. This region still operated on the primitive, savage principals of aggression and survival that most western societies had mostly forgotten. The security system at Orion was designed primarily to prevent the hundred or so natives employed as casual labor on the base from pilfering tools and foodstuffs. It would need a major overhaul if it was to secure the lives of the inhabitants.
He made a mental note to clean and check his personal L1A1 / SLR assault rifle as soon as he got back to the bungalow. Years ago in Morocco, on a whim and because the price was so enticing, he had purchased the ex-Nato weapon. He didn’t know if he would ever get the opportunity to use it, but brought it to the base as a ‘sporting rifle’, even though it was fully automatic.
Some of his colleagues knew of its existence but didn’t know the difference between a tank and a water pistol and weren’t really interested. Because of the potentially neurotic reaction of the security staff, he had kept it well hidden and partly disassembled in his luggage.
The long-barreled weapon is similar to the Belgian Fabrique Nationale (FN); each of its four extended-magazines holding thirty 7.62mm intermediate cartridges, the same as those issued to many armed forces around the world.
James had noticed that Gilmore and his staff were equipped with the NATO G3 rifle which used the same ammunition as his SLR. Hoping to get some practice, he ambled across to the security block to talk about the weapons training. He knew that, to accommodate Gilmore’s sense of self-importance, he would have to pretend to have little knowledge of firearms.
The security building nestled close to a grove of palm trees sagging under the weight of ripe, yellow fruit. The troops of monkeys that used to feast on the fruit prior to the construction of the compound, and relieve the burden on the palms, had all been chased away by children and security guards with catapults and sticks.
A guard languished against the low white wall, his long unkempt hair hiding his grimy collar. James pretended not to see him and walked quickly past, hoping to avoid filling in forms and the petty ‘interrogation’ about the purpose of his visit.
John Gilmore was pacing in front of a large wall map of the base. The opposite wall had a topographical map of eastern Congo, with colored pins marking Orion and the nearest towns. The gaps between the pins were huge, an indication of the size of the country and sparseness of formal population centers.
He ignored James provocatively for a few seconds before turning casually. “Can I help you?” He knew James but pretended otherwise.
James overlooked the obvious affront. “Hi, John, I just wanted to say that I totally agree with you about the training and would like to volunteer for the first session.” He gauged Gilmore’s response before continuing. “I know a little about guns but I’m keen to learn more.”
Gilmore rose to the bait. “Sure," he said looking up and down at James’s casual attire with distaste. “The first rifle drill and range practice is scheduled for Tuesday.”
James briefly contemplated volunteering to assist with other sessions, on the basis of his military experience, but thought better of it. He needed to avoid the temptation to show up Gilmore and his lack of practical military experience.
He studied the impressive wall map intently, absorbing relevant detail as fast as he could until Gilmore cleared his throat loudly. “Will that be all?”
“Yes, thanks. I’ll see you on Tuesday.”
James was looking forward to the training as he strolled back to his quarters along lush, tree-lined avenues. He really appreciated the huge landscaped park that made up the residential and work sectors of Orion, marveling at the great lengths the designers had gone to incorporate as much local flora as possible.
The residential area was divided into married