by Lance Berry
Before long, he found himself back at Brigand. It was almost lunch time, but he wasn’t hungry. He didn’t care to be around his friends, and listen to their haughty stories about how they had all made the cut and were going on to their chosen fields. He certainly didn’t want to be around his cadre, and have to endure the half-hearted pity of Danielle or Drake. Dammit, the thought suddenly came to him, even Cavanaugh probably got the flight posting he wanted!
He was in the process of looking for something to throw, ready to put on a world-class tantrum worthy of the most stubborn two year-old, when there was a knock on his door. He turned in anger, but had to force himself to calm down when he saw it was Colonel Wentwell standing in the doorway.
“A moment of your time, Cadet?” Wentwell said, more a fact to be dealt with than a question posed. Travis nodded. “Of course, sir.”
Wentwell stepped into the room and immediately sat on Francis Horatio’s abandoned lower bunk. “I just had a conversation with Professor Ivanston via vid-link. He said you weren’t too happy with his decision to remove you from pilot consideration.”
Travis rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Jesus Christ, don’t any of you have anything better to do than talk about us cadets behind our backs!” At Wentwell’s glare, he immediately realized he was in the wrong, but he kept silent, refusing to apologize. In turn, Wentwell gestured to Travis’ own bunk across the way. “Have a seat, Cadet,” he ordered.
Not enough of Travis’ old stubbornness had returned for him to choose to defy Wentwell. He sat down on the bunk as ordered, and had to force himself not to avert his eyes in embarrassment at his own stupidity. Wentwell leaned forward just slightly, and the familial tone which Travis had heard only a few times over the years was in his voice as he spoke. “Let me give you a couple of facts of which you may not be aware, before you decide to go flying off the handle again and say something which may end up getting you kicked out of here altogether. War isn’t played out in the same way that it was in the 20th Century–hell, it doesn’t run the same way it did even a century ago, or even forty years ago. Do you realize that DFC pilots only see actual combat twelve-to-fifteen percent of the time they serve aboard a Heavy Cruiser?”
Travis looked at Wentwell askance, uncertain for a moment whether or not to believe him. He quickly pushed his skepticism aside; in all the time he’d known the colonel, the man had never dissembled to him. “I didn’t know that,” he said quietly.
“I didn’t think so,” Wentwell countered. “Look, Travis…if you’re looking to prove yourself in combat, if you’re here because you sincerely want to help keep the enemy off our home world, then short of being an HC captain, there’s no better way to do it than being a part of the infantry. Ivanston says you don’t care about moving up in rank.”
Travis shook his head. “Couldn’t care less.”
“Don’t sell yourself short,” the colonel warned. “You may not give a rat’s ass now, but trust me, come two or three years, you will. Every soldier does at some point. Being in infantry is a sure way to move up the ranks, maybe become a captain one day…and then being able to make the big decisions on your own. With the exceptions of specific orders from the Joint Chiefs to head to different engagement areas, HC captains are given a lot of latitude and discretionary powers about where their ships are best needed. That’s something to think about.” He stood and pulled a folded sheet of paper out of his pocket. He walked over and handed it to Travis. “Postings aren’t due up until graduation day, but as your den-father, I was able to pull a few strings. Take a look.”
Travis looked down at the sheet in his hand and slowly unfolded it. It was an advanced copy of the assignments for the firstie graduating class. Travis forced himself not to look at the postings for his friends as he skimmed the alphabetical listing of names–he didn’t want to risk blurting anything out later, and spoiling his friends’ surprise. He finally found his name, and read the assignment twice before it finally sank in:
NAME: Rand, Travis X.
RANK: Private.
POSTING: Outpost 339, Argones IV.
ASSIGNMENT: Security.
Travis got to his feet, looking at Wentwell in puzzlement. “What is this? I’ve never heard of Argones Four.”
A thin smile crossed Wentwell’s lips. “It’s a brand new base on the outer fringes of our claimed space. Only a year old, in desperate need of our best marksmen. It’s come to UEF Command’s attention that the Calvorians may have recently found out about it, so they need all the security they can get. As a member of the assignment committee for our school, I help decide who gets sent where. And if you ever do decide to fork over that rat’s patootie in favor of possible advancement, then this is a good place to start,” he said as he tapped the edge of the sheet lightly with his finger.
Travis nodded slowly and glanced down at the floor, ashamed at his earlier behavior. “Sir, I…I don’t know what to say…”
Wentwell placed a friendly hand on the young man’s shoulder. “I’ve always had faith in you, Travis. Even through the times when I might’ve wondered why I should. I know that you will go out from among us and do great things…Private Rand.” Wentwell removed his hand, came to attention and saluted. Travis couldn’t help but smile as he came to attention and returned; all at once, he felt as if his life was back on track.
Later that night, after Travis and Marion had made love in her quarters, he decided to tell her the decision he had been holding back on revealing for so long. To say that she wasn’t pleased would have been an understatement of immense proportion. “What do you mean, you’re staying in the military, Travis? We had an agreement!”
“I think it’s time that we adjusted that agreement,” he said as he sat up on one elbow, his eyes coming to a point level with hers. “Both of us are meant to be soldiers. It doesn’t make sense for me to take a job in the private sector, when Earth needs defending.”
“Whether it’s both of us in space or one of us isn’t going to make that much of a difference,” she said in an admonishing tone. “This is something you should’ve discussed with me a while ago. We had agreed that I would be the one to go off-world, since I’m the better pilot and I’ve already taken my final courses in command training. I’m the better soldier–I should go.”
“Hold on now,” Travis said, growing agitated. “I freely admit that you’re a better pilot than me any day of the week. But a better soldier–? I don’t think so. As for your command courses, they didn’t net you anything except being placed on a Heavy Cruiser’s service roster. You’re starting out in infantry, just like me.”
Marion looked at him curiously a moment. “What are you talking about? The goal of this school is to turn out soldiers for Cruisers. Where are you being posted?”
And Travis realized that he had let slip something he more than likely shouldn’t have. Yet now the damage was done, and there was no more to it than to let the cat all the way out of the bag. “I’ve been posted to security detail for Argones Four.”
Marion’s eyes shot wide open, and she threw her legs over the side of the bed as she sat up fully. She was silent for almost a minute, then finally looked back at him. “How did you get that?”
“What do you mean ‘how’? I deserved it.”
“You do not,” she said bitterly. “An off-world base, especially a new one like that, should be reserved for soldiers who’ve taken command courses or displayed exceptional skill in all areas of their training! You’re good, you’re real good…but…”
She trailed off, but Travis didn’t need to hear more; he understood exactly where she was coming from. He was taken aback that she was aware of Argones’ existence, but then again, having taken command courses would more than likely have put her “in the know” than him…but it was what she had implied in the sentence she couldn’t bring herself to finish, that had truly surprised him. “Just not as good as you, huh?” he finished for her. He threw the covers aside and brusquely moved past her, getting to his fe
et and searching for his pants amidst the tangled pile of their clothes. “I had no idea, after all this time together, that you thought so little of my skills.” He tossed her clothes aside angrily as he found his own uniform buried beneath hers.
“Travis…” she halted in her speech, searching for the right words to say. “I love you, baby. I really, truly do…but I just feel that I am meant to be a captain. I am the better soldier.”
Travis gritted his teeth as he grunted sharply; he wanted to say some very hurtful things to her, but knew in his heart that even under these circumstances, it wouldn’t be right. “Not according to my teachers, apparently,” he said as he pulled on his pants and tucked his shirt into them. “Which, by the way, some of them happen to be your teachers as well. Wonder what that could mean about your overall performance, Captain.”
He didn’t bother putting on his shoes. He snatched them up and headed out of her room, slamming the door behind him. The sound echoed like a concussion blast throughout the hallways, but he didn’t care who heard; it was the night before his last two days here, what could they do to him?
As Travis headed back to his room down the hall, he realized that what actually hurt more than anything Marion had said was the fact that she didn’t come running after him to at least try and calm him down and bring him back to her room.
The day before graduation was a blur. Travis spent most of the morning packing slowly, secretly hoping that Marion would stop by to talk to him and possibly apologize. He knew that she was just as proud as he was, but even so his hopes were still dashed when she didn’t come by. He was determined to not give her the satisfaction of stopping by her quarters however, and so he tried to push away the anguish he felt and concentrated on wrapping up his final affairs. He e-mailed the MacLean-Barque Institute and then Aunt Lisa, explaining what had happened and his subsequent decision. He then went to speak to Colonel Wentwell, and they talked about many things for a good while. When that was done, as per the colonel’s permission, Travis took his few bags down to the hangar bay. There were quite a few students who had chosen to take early assignments to their postings, and receive their diplomas and final commendations from the school via e-mail. For the first time, this seemed to make sense to Travis.
There were no transports going directly to Argones IV, so he boarded one headed for the Alpha moon base. From there he would catch a connecting shuttle which would take him to his destination, as per Colonel Wentwell’s approval. As the transport exited the hangar, he caught a glimpse of Corporal Joe DiTillo, inspecting an engine coupling on a DFC even as he took notes on a manifold. Travis smiled; there was a nice symmetry to the fact that the first career soldier he met upon his arrival to Sanderson four years earlier would be the last one he’d see as he left. The transport achieved its climb gradient as Travis peered out the side window, trying to keep what was now his old school in sight until the last possible moment. A pang of regret hit him sharply; he did not say goodbye to any of his friends. Yet it was necessary, so that he could leave with a clear conscience, and not debate the wisdom of what he was doing. He still loved Marion very deeply, but it was clear from their conversation the night before that she would never respect him as he was; and until she respected him as he did her, they could never be equals in a relationship, as he once thought they were. It was time to finally set out on his own path, to make a clean start…to set the wheels of his future in motion.
Chapter 25
Travis had to transfer from the lunar shuttle to a light cruiser near Pluto to make the final leg of his journey. Light cruisers had become all but obsolete at the advent of the Heavy Cruiser, and now usually only made transport runs to bring supplies and troops to stations outside of the Sol system. When the light cruiser Brigadier arrived at Argones IV, a troop transport brought Travis and seventeen other soldiers down to the surface.
Outpost 339 was a fairly large base on the Argones IV moon within the Pollux star-system, nearly thirty-four light-years from Earth. The planet itself was quite small, but just the right size and distance from the Pollux star to have a nearly Earth-like atmosphere, although there was little surface water and mainly rocky terrain. Travis and the other soldiers–he felt a surge of pride every time he realized that he was no longer a cadet, but a soldier now–were led to an antechamber just after the main airlock in the launch bay. The group sat idle for only a few minutes before the egress doors parted and a tall black woman with very dark African features entered, accompanied by a shorter white male. Travis and the others immediately stood and came to attention, and the tall woman–the tallest woman he had ever seen, easily beating either Theo Booker or his old friend from Virginia North, Sophia Lattimore, in the height department– nodded in gracious acceptance.
“Very good, soldiers. I’m Lieutenant-Commander Laura Jones, chief officer in charge of security for this base. With me is Lieutenant Charles Finkler, my executive officer. I want you to all line up in two rows, and Lieutenant Finkler will call out your names. When he does, you will respond ‘present’. I will rarely ask you if I am understood, because I expect all my orders to inherently be so.” She nodded to Finkler, who quickly organized the two lines and began reading off names from his dsp. All the names were accounted for, and Jones stepped forward. “From now until the time you either die or are transferred off this base, either my or the Lieutenant’s orders are to be carried out without question. Your days of comfort at the Academy are over. You are soldiers now, and with that goes all the privilege and hardship of the duty you now bear. Lieutenant Finkler will show you to your quarters, take you on a tour of the base, and then you will assemble at the mess hall for morning chow. I’ll see you all later.” She turned on her heel and left, the doors closing behind her as Finkler–an unattractive man left with very little hair–gave the students an ungracious once-over. “All right, folks…gather your bags and follow me. The barracks are a good ten minute walk from here. Any stragglers get shipped home.”
As was the case when Travis arrived at the Sanderson School, he found himself looking everywhere at once in an attempt to take it all in. The launch bay was full of DFCs and transports, and soldiers were everywhere. Even the mechanics doing maintenance seemed to have a proud and purposeful bearing about them. When the group reached their barracks, which was segregated from the base proper by a long corridor, that turned out to be something of a disappointment. Travis had expected to share his room with three bunkmates, not five! There were six bunks in each room, two against the left wall, two against the right, and two against the far rear. There was one computer placed on a table which was set at a diagonal between the left bunk and the one against the wall. No windows, and the closet was set in the opposite corner, between the wall bunk and the right.
One of the soldiers made a remark of disbelief, and Finkler was on him in an instant. “You think you’re too good to share space with your fellow enlisted? Drop and give me one hundred push-ups, NOW!” he bellowed, and the terrified soldier did as he was told. As the soldier carried out his assigned disciplinary task, Finkler turned to the others and addressed them in a more casual tone. “Space here is quite limited. So we are forced to put you in tight quarters for a little while. We are looking into other alternatives, and are hopeful that by next year, we can get it down to four in a room. As for your luggage, when you are told which rooms to go to, you will immediately sort through your things, condense into one bag each only what you find you cannot live without, and then set the rest outside your quarters in one neat pile. Those articles will then be sent to the non-organic recycling plant where they will be broken down into reusable materials for future distribution as necessary.” He then turned to the soldier doing push-ups and suddenly slammed his boot into his back, bringing him crashing face-first to the floor. “I believe that you missed a count,” he shouted at the stunned young man. “Start over, and join us in the mess when you’re done!” Finkler turned to one of the other soldiers and ordered her to stand watch to make sure the pus
h-ups were completed. He then led the others out to the corridor, where he calmly read off their room assignments.
Travis and five others were in room 7-A9, which was very nearly at the opposite end of the only exit back onto base. The group all shared a disparaging look, but it was Travis who broke the ice once Finkler departed. “Hey, look…we all know this sucks, but we gotta live with it. We may as well make the best of it.” There were reluctant nods of agreement, then the young men began to introduce themselves to each other.
A few days later, Travis entered the mess hall, which was at least three times larger than the one at Sanderson. He received his supply of rations and was at least able to keep a frown off his face this time. Until he arrived at Outpost 339, he had no idea that bases stationed further away from Earth were given only rations to supply their troops, until an actual cook could be assigned and real food and storage units for it could be delivered.
As Travis searched for a table, he heard a familiar laugh which electrified his senses. He turned in its direction, and was astonished to see Danielle Keys and Tony Drake sitting with a group of fresh-faced pilots at one of the rear tables.
“Danielle? Drake?” he said as if he needed confirmation that he wasn’t hallucinating. The couple looked up, and their eyes mirrored his surprise and delight. “Hey, Travis!” Drake called out happily. Danielle was instantly on her feet and ran over to greet Travis with a great big hug, which he eagerly returned as soon as he set his tray down on a nearby table. Drake followed only a couple seconds behind, and the three of them shared a brief bear hug. “What are you doing here?” he asked, still shellshocked at their arrival.
