The Reign: Destiny - The Life Of Travis Rand

by Lance Berry

  David Jeremiah Blaustein had taught Higher Principles and Ethics for nearly twenty years. He had switched from teaching Applied Higher Mathematics Within 3rd & 4th Dimensional Space almost thirty years earlier, because he just wasn’t encountering any “thinkers” anymore. Thanks to what he called the “ongoing, miserable dung-heap of a war”, it seemed that every level of school imaginable–grade school, middle school, and upwards–was bent simply on turning out more soldiers for the military. More marionettes to have their strings pulled by UEF Command, more cannon fodder for the War Machine. Hell, legitimate colleges were virtually nonexistent anymore…the military had bought and converted most of them outright, so they could turn out more efficient, lobotomized killing tools.

  It reminded Blaustein (“D.J.” to his old college buddies–real college, that is. God bless good ol’ Stamford U!) of an old, old vid his greatgrandfather had shown him once. A “rock musical”, he had called it. The scene which would always stand out for him (both as a young boy who used to hate school, and in his later years as a world-weary professor who hated the military’s bastardization of education), was that of a line of kids on a conveyor belt, being dropped one by one into an oversized meat grinder. The kids came out the other end as strewn out strings of beef, while a sadistic teacher in cap and gown gleefully looked on. That, more than anything else in David Blaustein’s life, was how he always pictured military training centers such as the UEF Academy, or any of its extensions. He had seen many great young men and women full of life, potential, and a healthy glow of the soul, graduate from Virginia North High School and head off to the Academy or one of its Hydra-like subsidiaries. Some of these students, he never heard from again. Some he had heard from or more accurately, of: Blaustein was a favorite among the students, and had found himself invited to numerous funerals of former pupils over the past two decades. Some were still alive, of course… shipped back to Earth with missing limbs or placed in mental institutions. Some hung on by a thread, having lost family members to the war, or fellow soldiers they had fallen in love with and foolishly married, hoping against all reality that the war with the Calvorian Alliance might end in their lifetime.

  Blaustein had no such expectations. He knew he would be long cold in the ground before the war with the Alliance ended. It had been going on almost as long as he’d been alive, and war was always good for an economy, especially a unified planetary one like UEF–so why stop now? Hell, maybe they’d make a sitcom out of it one day.

  Some time ago–he didn’t know when it happened, exactly –Blaustein was surprised to find he was immensely relieved that he hadn’t heard from any of his former students in a good long while. He didn’t know whether to be ashamed of this emotion or not, so he simply decided to let it be.

  He sighed resignedly now, and leaned back in his comfortable, highbacked chair; a gift from the faculty upon reaching his thirtieth year of teaching. He steepled his fingers as he took a good, long look at the young man sitting across from him. He exhaled again…let out a long, slow gust of air. “Are you truly, absolutely certain about this, Mister Rand?”

  Travis Rand nodded affirmatively. “Yes, sir, I am. Mister West has already given me a notarized voucher stating that I’ve excelled in Phys Ed this past year,” the young man said with no small degree of pride in his voice. “I’ve talked with all my other teachers and they’ve assured me that I’ll get all A’s and B’s in my courses… well, except for theoretical physics. I got a B-minus in that,” he said, but his voice dipped only a little in tone. He was obviously high on his other successes, and his voice went back up as he continued, “Besides, I don’t really need to know theoretical physics for the route I’m trying out for–I don’t want to go out for anything in engineering.” A somewhat hopeful, somewhat hesitant look crossed Travis’ face as he said, “Mister Blaustein, I’ve really thought about this for a long time. Out of all my teachers, I respect you the most. You’re the only one who never treats your students like just cogs in a machine. I always feel that you give us the whole deal, ‘straight up with no chaser’, like you say. It would really, really mean a lot to me if you were the one who wrote a letter of recommendation for me, to make it easier for me to get a slot in the Academy this coming year.”

  Blaustein considered him silently for a long moment, then slowly shook his head remorsefully. “Travis, you don’t need my help getting into the Academy–“

  “Yes I do,” Travis said sharply, then bit his lip anxiously, realizing he had interrupted. “Sorry,” he said, but continued on, “But everyone knows that teens with a written, notarized recommendation from a teacher have an easier time getting into a military school and straight into the military afterward…especially if they want to transfer in before their senior year begins.”

  Blaustein reached under his horn-rimmed glasses and rubbed his eyes in exasperation. “Travis, if you want to get into the military so badly, why not just wait until the next set of planetary drafts rolls around? The designated age is sixteen in any case, and I hear UEF is probably going to work their way from North Carolina up through Pennsylvania to fulfill the U.S. quota, anyway. I’d bet anything your number’s bound to come up.”

  “But it might not, and I want to go this year, not next year.”

  Blaustein uncovered his eyes and shrugged in puzzlement. “But why me? You know how I feel about this war. Why in the world would you want a recommendation from a teacher whose remarks on his own government’s role in this conflict could be considered ill-mannered if one were being generous, and outright treasonous if not?”

  Travis leaned forward and locked eyes squarely with him. “Because you never told us anything but what was on your mind, and you always gave us the facts about this war’s history. Even though you told us that you felt the war could’ve been avoided through diplomacy when the Calvorians arrived at Earth, you never colored your argument. You always told us both sides of the story, made us look at the war from an even plateau. To be honest, I never really agreed with your anti-military stance, but I understood it because you helped me to. I respect your right to it, because you made me understand how the death of freedom on any level–even the right to disagree on a political or social stance–is just as bad as if the Calvorians did manage to conquer us.”

  Blaustein’s eyes widened a bit. “Jesus Christ, you actually did listen in class.” The elder man rose, and slowly paced around his desk and Travis as he said, “Are you aware that the Academy–whatever branch you’re assigned to attend–won’t be anything even remotely resembling a picnic? At least your first four or five years in the military–if you graduate from their school–will be spent as a groundpounder, being shuttled from worldto- world, engagement-to-engagement as needed? Fighting and shooting across missile-and-mine-blasted, dusty terrain? Did you know that gropos are 70-80% more likely to be killed in combat than soldiers aboard Heavy Cruisers?” His voice rose a notch on several key words of this last statement, as he tried desperately to drive his point home.

  Travis was unshaken. “I’m aware of every point you’ve made, sir, and then some.” He paused a long moment, then finally made the decision to tell him, “My mother was killed by the Calvorians when I was four years old. She was on a commercial transport, on its way to Alpha Base on the moon. There were forty or so other people on board. The Sol system was supposed to be safe at that time.” His voice was on the verge of trembling, and Blaustein stopped pacing as he realized that it was quite possible Travis had never told this story before without crying. He said nothing, and simply leaned against his desk and listened patiently as the young man went on. “ It was one of the first times the Calvorians had ever penetrated into Sol. No one saw it coming. Three columns of Skimmers dropped out of light speed and opened fire on civilians, because we were at war. The transport was destroyed in seconds, and my mother was dead. My father checked with the base commander later, after Alpha’s DFC pilots blasted those bastards out of the sky: Telemetry reported the Skimmers had come out of
light speed just far enough away, that they could have easily scanned the shuttle’s configuration and realized it was a civilian transport. It wasn’t an accident, they didn’t mistake the shuttle for a weapons transport–they knew. But just because we’re at war, my mother and everyone aboard that shuttle had to die.”

  Blaustein exhaled lightly. “And that’s why you want to go into the military? To get revenge? Payback for past wrongs?”

  Travis shook his head, and his lower lip jutted out a bit. He was indeed fighting back tears as he answered, “For a long time, my answer to that was ‘yes’. But revenge isn’t enough to carry anyone. You’ve said it often enough in class: any truly worthy struggle, whether it’s for love, personal success or victory in war, has to carry with it a heartfelt, personal hope for something better, or it means nothing. Mister Blaustein…I loved my mother more than anything or anyone in my life. This war might not end in my lifetime–hell, it probably won’t–but I hope that by joining the military, I can make a difference somehow, for the sake of our species. I hope that I can do something to prevent another four year-old from losing his parents.”

  Blaustein regarded Travis silently for what seemed like several minutes. He then slowly walked over to the large bay window that overlooked the auditorium-like room where he taught. That room was empty at this time, as he had no class this period. He stared out at the empty chairs and the window within the classroom itself, which in turn looked out onto the now-deserted quad. “I was three years old when the Calvorians came to Earth,” he said in an almost wistful manner. “I don’t remember what the news reports were like, or what President Belin’s speech was when it was announced that other life existed in the universe, and that it was headed our way. I’m assuming, of course, that Belin made a Grand Speech…you’d think that an event like alien life being discovered would call for it. Tell me, Travis: Was Belin the first, second or third Black president?”

  Travis answered without hesitation. “The second, sir.”

  Blaustein didn’t look back, but nodded in gratified acceptance. “There’ve only been three others besides him. God only knows why. Supposedly, the horrors of this war have drawn humanity closer together now, and we’re supposed to be a more enlightened people. I’d rather bet against the house in Vegas on that one, though. But anyway,” he said, and turned to face the younger man, “though I don’t remember The Big Event, for some reason, I do recall what the world was like before the Calvorians came.

  “We had achieved a measure of world peace. Nations had pretty much stopped fighting one another. Nuclear missiles were being decommissioned at an astonishing rate. The AirKar, which your generation takes for granted like the air you breathe, hadn’t come out on the market yet; people still drove around in grounded cars. The Internet hadn’t yet expanded into the Overnet. My God, United Earth Force didn’t exist yet!” He bowed his head slightly. “I never said I don’t believe in the cause, Travis…I do believe you may have misunderstood me on that point. I just wish we could have found another way. I still believe, and always will, that if we simply hadn’t responded force-for-force when the Calvorians initially attacked us…if we’d only asked ‘why’, they might have stopped to listen, maybe answer the question. Dialogue might have carried us further.” He sighed. “But eventually, there comes a wall that peace can’t always climb over and its brother, war, must avail in its stead. I don’t want another child’s mother to die either, Travis.” He stuck his fingers beneath his glasses once more and rubbed his eyes. “Just promise me two things…”

  “Sir–?”

  Blaustein turned once more to stare out his office window at the one in the classroom, and to the quad beyond. He had no idea at all that the young, pretty girl crossing the courtyard was the same one whom had given Jared LeVoy the finger only a half-hour or so earlier. “First, always remember that you’re not fighting to kill. You’re fighting to save lives…on our side and theirs. None of their children deserve to lose a parent, either.”

  Travis thought about it and nodded. “Yes, sir. And the second thing?”

  “Keep your head down, son. Keep your head down, and be careful.” Blaustein turned to face the younger man, his own eyes filled with tears. “You’ll have your letter in the morning.”

  INTERIM ONE

  Dear Sir or Madam;

  For your consideration for entrance into your institution, I present Mister Travis Xavier Rand. Mister Rand is a junior at Virginia North High School in Ashburn, Virginia, and is about to proceed into his senior year. He is a healthy, intelligent young man 16 years of age, and a loyal patriot of the United Earth Force.

  Mister Rand has asked me for a letter of recommendation to your institution, and I have deemed it a worthy cause and expenditure of my time to provide him with such. He is an outstanding young man, and if you will permit a personal observation, UEF Military could use more like him. As you will see from his enclosed academic records, Mister Rand has excelled in the majority of his classes, and as attested by Mister Joseph West and Roberta Berkman (our Physical Education teacher and school nurse, respectively–please see enclosed letters), he is in excellent physical condition. Mister Rand has not missed any days in the past two years due to physical illness of any kind.

  Mister Rand is very eager to transfer his credits to your institution, in hopes of pursuing a military-oriented academic and personal career. It is his eventual goal to become a DogFighter Craft pilot, and I am certain that whatever tasks you set to him, he will surpass your expectations at the execution of all such duties. I am certain that with the proper guidance and training, Travis will one day be an invaluable member of United Earth Force.

  Should you have any questions or require further transcripts of any kind, please do not hesitate to contact me.

  Sincerely,

  Professor David Blaustein

  Overnet Address: DJB@BR546-op1_75B

  CHAPTER 2

  (2175 – Summer)

  “What’s on your mind?”

  Travis looked up from his plate of swiftly cooling pasta and stared into his Aunt Lisa’s concerned face as she watched him carefully from across the dinner table.

  She had asked him variations on the same question for the past three weeks, everything from “penny for your thoughts” to “you look like you’ve got kittens crawling around in your head” (he had never really understood that one, but the image had always made him laugh as a child). He had managed to dodge the question with shrugs, polite silence and simply avoiding eye contact for nearly a month. But tonight was their last night together, and he would be heading back to Garrison in the morning. He would either have to tell her the truth now, or face the possibility of angering her–or worse yet, seeing hurt in her eyes–when she’d find out later on. “I have something to show you,” he said softly. Lisa said nothing, and barely managed to keep the surprise off her face when her nephew finally acquiesced to her gentle prodding. She nodded wordlessly. With a somewhat trepidant exhalation, Travis pulled his maroon and yellow school jacket off the back of his chair and reached into the pocket. He pulled out an envelope and a folded piece of paper. He handed her the folded paper first, and she opened it up. She began to scan the contents, her eyes widened, and she re-read the first few lines before continuing. She paused to glance at him only once then went back to reading. When she was done, she neatly folded the sheet once more and handed it back to him.

  “Mister Blaustein really seems to think highly of you,” she said in a subdued tone.

  Travis didn’t answer her. He nibbled his lower lip slightly as he set the copy of Blaustein’s now notarized letter on his lap, and handed her the envelope. She seemed to hesitate a moment before accepting it, but it was only a split second–he might have imagined it.

  Lisa Pfeiffer’s lips curled up together slightly in one corner–an attempt on her part to control an anxious grimace–as she ran her finger over the embossed return address from San Diego. The envelope had already been opened of course, as it was ad
dressed to Travis. She pulled out a folded sheet of gold-tinted paper and read the second letter, her heart feeling heavier with each successive line. She was only vaguely aware that she gulped audibly as she finished it. She tucked it back in its envelope, but instead of handing it back, she set it on the table beside her fork.

  She coughed lightly–it had been a high pollen day, and her throat had bothered her a bit–and nodded once before asking Travis, “So, have you talked to your father about summer school?”

  Travis watched her a moment more, anxious instead to talk about the letter. “No,” he answered in resignation. “I haven’t told him about any of it. We haven’t had any vid-communications for a week, anyway. He’s still going through debriefing on his ship’s mission to Altair.” He glanced down at the floor a moment, then looked back at her as he haltingly said, “I just wanted to tell you first, is all…’cause I love you.”

  Lisa smiled, touched by his sincerity and shyness. It was never easy for a young man on the cusp of adulthood to tell any woman they owned a piece of his heart, even if she was a relative. “I love you too, Travis,” she said easily. “I just worry about you, that’s all.”

  She took a deep breath, let it out, and tapped the envelope with her finger. “Somehow, I always knew this would happen. You try so much to be different from your father, and yet you’re like him in so many ways. And when I say that, I mean that you do take after the best parts of him– the parts I like. And worry about.” She was pleased to see her last statement brought a smile to his face. “So… conditionally accepted into the Sanderson School for Advanced Military Discipline,” she finally acknowledged, and even she was surprised to hear a hint of pride for him in her voice.