2066 - Space Corps Minimum Security Detention Center
General Howard was rarely wrong, but this time was the exception.
And so, late in the morning of February 28, David sat in a tiny prison cell, where he’d already served three weeks of a six-month sentence.
He was wearing a nondescript jumpsuit and sitting on a hard metal bench that was bolted to the wall. He wasn’t alone, though. Someone had come to see him today—the first visitor he’d had since he arrived.
General Howard sat across from him in an equally uncomfortable chair, leaning forward with elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped in front of him, and an expression fraught with guilt.
They were both silent for a while, then Howard looked away and shook his head.
“Damn,” he sighed. “I thought I’d be able to get you out of it.”
David merely shrugged.
“It’s not your fault, it’s mine,” Howard continued. “I should’ve been able to spare you this, but I wasn’t.”
“Don’t blame yourself, Sir,” David said.
“No, in this case I think it’s entirely appropriate. And you don’t need to address me that way anymore, as I’m no longer your commanding officer.” He sighed again, and his voice grew quieter. “I’m sorry, David. I thought I’d be able to do better. This was a harsh lesson for both of us that there are powers greater than myself here, and they’re not to be defied, not even by me. I tried standing up for you—I really did—but I’ve been informed that if I were to intervene in such cases in the future, they could have my rank for it.” He looked down and studied the floor. “I didn’t realize quite how fanatical our leadership had grown on this issue. Previously I thought it was a case of overzealousness, or rules that were a bit too rigidly enforced, but now I know better. This was a purge, and you were unwittingly caught in it.”
David closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall. “Why?” he asked. “Why do they care so much?”
“I don’t know, because I’ve never understood it, but they do,” Howard replied. “I don’t think someone like you was even their intended target, but that doesn’t seem to matter. Those making the rules view collateral damage as a necessary sacrifice for the advancement of their goals.” He took a sharp breath and looked away. “Monsters.”
David raised his eyebrows, and Howard glanced at him.
“I know I shouldn’t say such things, but I’m done holding back,” he continued. “You were one of our best, and they tossed you out for nothing; cast you aside for something that shouldn’t even matter. What business is it of theirs if two cadets have gone off buggering each other? They don’t seem to care when it’s a man and a woman—far worse has happened in those relationships, but no one’s ever gone to prison for it—so why are they so bothered when it’s a man and another man?”
He paused and let out a long, slow breath. “In essence, though, they may have done you a favor. I know that as a cadet, you were never exposed to the inner workings of senior command, but it’s getting worse by the year. Half that Council would gladly sell their souls for a paycheck, and the other half would negotiate that deal for them. The truly vile among them are finally becoming emboldened enough to show who they really are, and it’s a grim picture indeed. Trust me when I say you want no part of it.” He drew a deep breath. “At least you’ve been given the opportunity to leave before you come to regret several decades of service.”
“Do you really regret it, Sir?” David asked.
Howard met his eyes, then shook his head. “No,” he replied. “I don’t regret anything that’s led to the point I’m at now, but I regret the things they’re asking me to do. They’ve made it abundantly clear that only monsters will be tolerated, and they seem intent on turning me into one.” He paused, as if gathering his thoughts. “Maybe that’s why I’ve come here today—to prove I’m not. But I think I’ve made it worse, haven’t I? You’d rather not see me at all.”
“That’s not true, Sir.”
“David,” he said quietly, “we both know that’s a lie.”
A weighted silence settled over them again, and they sat that way for a while. This time, though, David was the first to break it.
“What happened to Victor?” he asked.
Howard let out a frustrated sigh. “He was shown a tremendous degree of leniency. You heard his testimony; he sat in front of that disciplinary panel and said all the right things. Cried, even. Claimed he was coerced, and that none of this was his fault. According to him, he wasn’t aware it was against the rules. He’s deeply sorry, and he’ll never do it again, if given a second chance.”
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“And they believed him?”
“Of course they did. He spent two weeks in confinement, which is effectively a slap on the wrist in cases such as these, and he’ll be allowed to continue his studies at the Academy contingent on the promise he won’t engage in relationships with other men—a provision he readily agreed to.”
“How?” David asked in a tone laden with defeat. “He was always the instigator, and everyone knew it.”
“Yes, but you’ve got to understand that those who undertake such moral crusades only believe what they want to hear, and Victor’s very good at pandering to that sort. That’s why there was such a discrepancy in your sentencing. You told the truth, and you were punished for it. He didn’t, and he was shown mercy. It’s not fair, but there’s nothing to be done.”
These words stung, because David recognized truth when he heard it. He closed his eyes to stymie the memories, but vivid images of the trial flooded back into his mind, unbidden.
He remembered Captain Bartlett, who’d been called to testify, sitting on the edge of his seat in the witness stand, then looking away after recounting his testimony, as if he couldn’t stomach his own guilt.
Victor had sat there next, tears running down his face as he swore, under oath, that he’d been coerced into such actions—extorted by threats, manipulation, and seduction—then affirming multiple times that he’d failed to understand the full meaning of what he’d been asked to do, or the repercussions of his behavior.
David had listened as Victor recounted a story he’d never heard before—the true version of his life, as told to the court. The tale of a young man from a happy home with a promising military career ahead of him, and a long history of dating girls. He claimed that David had been his first encounter with a man—a risk he’d decided to take, and later regretted.
All of it, a lie.
He recalled General Howard’s statements as a character witness, asserting that David was an excellent student who’d maintained above-average grades, was well-respected by his peers, showed promise as an athlete, and had been above reproach save for that night in the classroom, which Howard had personally elected not to press charges for.
Upon learning of that incident, some members of the disciplinary panel expressed interest in prosecuting him for it anyway.
“General Howard, I find the degree of leniency you’ve shown to be a bit disturbing,” one of them said. “It’s unbecoming of an officer of your station—and very unlike you, if I may be so frank—to provide excuses for such flagrant insubordination.”
“Quite right,” Howard replied. “Normally I’d agree. But allow me to point out, ladies and gentlemen, that if one student is going to be held accountable, then all of the cadets who were present that night should be subject to the same penalties as well. There were eight of them seated around that table. How would it look if we only prosecute one? And the least responsible party, I might add?” He nodded across the room. “Captain Bartlett over there set the whole thing up. It was his idea, and he made all the arrangements, including circumventing our security measures, breaking into my desk, stealing alcohol, and furnishing it to other cadets. Not only that, but thanks to his leadership role, he’s held to a higher standard. Care to prosecute him for all that?”
There was no reply, and after that, all talk of additional charges was dropped.
David remembered Colonel Lin watching from the justice row, where he sat among the other presiding officers with a smile on his face—a wicked grin which signaled the moment he realized the outcome was predetermined.
Howard’s testimony had been rendered moot before he even said a word.
But even more striking was Victor’s reaction.
He’d sat there with a blank expression, gaze pointed down, avoiding their eyes. As soon he left the witness stand, the tears had disappeared.
David wondered how the man who’d proposed marriage could’ve done this, and what else he must’ve lied about.
He was abruptly drawn back to reality as Howard drew a sharp breath.
“The administration’s going to be watching him very closely, and I’ll be throwing him out the first chance I get, the miserable twat.”
He glanced at David again, and his voice grew quieter. “That doesn’t help your current predicament much though, does it? I could spend the whole day ranting away in here, but what’s done is done. We both know Victor’s a waste of space, so there’s no use going on about it. At any rate, that’s not the purpose of my visit.” He shifted in his chair and pulled a small paperback from his pocket. “I’d come to give you this.”
“A book?” David asked.
Howard nodded. “You’re going to need something to do while you’re here, so it might as well be something productive.”
David glanced at the cover, then shook his head. “I can’t accept this.”
“Of course you can. I’ve already read it twice, so it’ll do you far more good than me. I’d much prefer it be here, rather than gathering dust on a shelf for the next ten years or so.”
He held it out, and David hesitated, then reluctantly reached forward and took it.
“I know you’re going to need more than that to keep you occupied, so I’ve got a proposal for you,” Howard said. “Finish that, and I’ll bring another. And once you’ve completed that one, I’ll bring a third.”
David shrugged. “You’re a busy man, Sir. I don’t expect you to take time out of your schedule for me.”
“Nonsense. My schedule keeps me fairly well occupied, but not so much that I can’t make time for you. I’ll come by every few weeks; check in and so forth. Bring another book and see how you’re doing.”
David slowly nodded. “I’d like that.”
Howard nodded back, then let out a long, drawn-out sigh. “I’m sorry, David. I wish I could’ve done more.”
David merely shrugged, because he had nothing else to say.
“Read that,” Howard finally said. “I’ll be back to see you when I can.”
“Thank you, Sir,” David said quietly.
“I’m not ‘Sir’ to you anymore, so don’t call me that.”
David leaned back against the wall as the heavy silence returned, and General Howard lingered a moment longer. He looked as if he wanted to say more, but was unsure how to go about it. Eventually he stood as if to leave, but then he hesitated.
“It’s just six months of your life, David, then you can go on your way. And I hope that wherever you end up, you find better, because Lord knows, we’ve failed you.”
Then he turned around and walked out, leaving David alone with his book and his thoughts.