2066 - The Academy
“He’s going to graduate, isn’t he?” David finally asked.
Howard shrugged. “Yes, probably so. In a few years’ time he’ll walk across that stage wearing that smug grin of his, and I’ll hand over that diploma, shake his hand, and say ‘congratulations’ even though I hate him, the smarmy bastard. And I won’t be handing over yours, and I’ll hate that too.”
David frowned. “Please excuse me, Sir, if I don’t fully understand. You speak as though you’ve got no authority here, but you say it from that chair, in this office, with those stars on your uniform. If that’s the case, what’s the point of all this? You claim this is unjust, but who’s in a better position to change it?”
Howard gave him a look that said he ought to know better. “David,” he began, “we’ve already been over this. I’m the newest member of that Council, and the youngest by far—not that forty-seven is usually considered young, but it might as well be in that room. Not only that, but the position of academic chancellor is considered a lesser appointment, and I’m only in my second year. If I decide to re-admit you, some might call for my resignation over it, and very few would come to my defense.”
David stared back. “You’re afraid, then.”
“No, not at all . . .” Howard began. But he trailed off because he couldn’t think of a good way to finish that sentence.
David could, though. “You say it’s not that simple, but I think it is. Someone gave you those orders, and they’ll be attending that graduation ceremony, won’t they? They’ll have come to see their families, but they’ll be watching you, as well.”
“David, you’re treading in dangerous territory,” Howard warned.
David shrugged. “I’ve been in dangerous territory. Do you think prison was safe for me? What else can they do, that they haven’t already done? I’ve had lots of time to think about it, Sir, and I couldn’t help but notice that several of the legacy cadets were in danger of being expelled when all of this happened. Was that timing truly a coincidence?”
Howard shifted nervously, and his silence was his answer.
David studied him for a moment, then nodded. “I saw what Xi-Rho was up to. They’ll break any rule they want, and I’m sure they didn’t stop despite all the chances you gave them. You don’t want them here, but I’m guessing you weren’t given a choice. The purging of the ranks served two purposes, didn’t it? It created a distraction from the incompetence of senior command, and it eliminated competition for under-performing cadets—and officers too, because they’ll need jobs once they graduate and get those guaranteed promotions. This was never about anything but protecting their own, wasn’t it?”
Howard had nothing to say.
“I know the truth,” David continued. “They didn’t care that I broke the rules. Not really. They just wanted a pretense to get rid of me.”
Howard sighed. “I’m amazed you’re not angrier.”
“I was for a while, but not anymore. I realized that holding on to anger allowed those people to hurt me again and again, long after they were gone, and at some point I was just hurting myself.”
Howard shrugged. “No matter how justified your anger may be, it often seems to turn inward, doesn’t it?”
David nodded. “Besides, who would I even be angry at? The senior officers who put those policies in place? I don’t know what measures I could possibly take against them, and most are probably close to retirement anyway. Would it be their children, who they allegedly did this for? Because I’ve met them. They’re stupid, but they’re not evil. No, if there’s anyone I’m frustrated with, it’s those who were silent while all this happened; those who sat by and watched, then allowed it to be forgotten. But that seems to be nearly everyone, doesn’t it?”
Howard nodded in agreement, and after a brief pause, David spoke again. “All I want is to move on. I’d like to try again, and I’d like a fairer chance.”
“I understand,” Howard said. “But be aware that even if I were to let you back in, those policies are still in place, and those same people are still there. It wouldn’t be all that different, except many of the good ones are gone now.” He let out a ragged sigh. “Speaking of, I don’t know if you’d heard, but Bartlett’s . . . no longer with us.”
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David frowned. “Why? I thought he’d be the last person they’d get rid of. Did he decide to leave?”
“It’s not quite like that,” Howard said quietly. “He died.”
“What?” David gasped.
Howard nodded. “I wouldn’t normally speak of such things, especially in a meeting like this, but I thought you deserved to know.”
“How?” David asked. “How did it happen? He was young and healthy—”
“He took care of that himself,” Howard interrupted.
There was a long silence, and finally, Howard sighed. “He’d been called to testify at several of those trials—yours, Victor’s, and quite a few of his friends. They faced expulsion thanks to his testimony. He watched them disappear one by one, and he was legally compelled to be part of the process. I think it was too much for him.” He looked away and spoke quietly. “He was at home when he did it. Used his father’s service pistol. His parents found him. I spoke at the funeral.”
David was quiet for a long time.
“He had such a promising future . . .” he finally began.
“No, it was much more than that,” Howard interrupted. “We don’t get students like him very often. He was the new face of the Corps—a high achiever who looked the part, and sounded even better. That boy would’ve been a general by forty if he’d continued on his current trajectory. He’d already settled into the ambassador role, representing our branch better than we ever could’ve asked.” He sighed again. “I’ve got to be honest—I was never particularly fond of their family. But due to their status, I wasn’t allowed to say a single word against them, not even to discipline a cadet. I thought he’d grow up to be the most arrogant sod I’d ever seen, but it never occurred to me that he might not grow up at all. Not at this stage in his life, during peacetime. And even during a war, they would’ve made sure no one ever touched him. He was guaranteed non-combat roles for life.”
He took a deep breath. “They couldn’t protect him from himself, though. I thought he’d die a hero, but instead he died forgotten. It wasn’t the enemy who killed him, it was us. We killed that boy—did all the work, short of pulling the trigger. But we can absolve ourselves of responsibility because he did it himself. And when I say ‘we,’ I’m referring to the whole of senior command.” There was an abrupt pause, and he felt as if he might choke on his next words. “I should’ve seen the warning signs, David. I should’ve seen it, and I should’ve done more, just like they should’ve done less. They should’ve left well enough alone, but they didn’t, and now a young man’s dead because of it.”
David’s face was blank as he stared at the floor, and Howard knew he was thinking the things they were both afraid to say.
After a long silence he inhaled deeply, leaned back, and drummed his fingers on the desk. “So there you have it. You may not be able to put a face to all this, but I can. If there’s blame to be had, it lies solely with the Council. You don’t know these people, David, and you don’t know what they’re willing to do. I’d almost rather not speak of it, but high command is rife with nepotism, and now, as a result, they’ve got more officers than they know what to do with. It seems the only way to get a promotion these days is to be related to someone important, but now there’s so many sons and daughters and nieces and nephews and cousins and what-have-you, they’re creating jobs just to fill them.” He shrugged. “There’s always going to be those who aren’t related to them by birthright, of course, but they’re too busy riding the coattails of power to ever disrupt the system. I appealed to quite a few of them on your behalf, and I was stunned by the lack of support. You’re right—most probably consider themselves to be good people—but when it came time to prove it, they did absolutely nothing. A few even said you deserved it since you broke the rules, as if those rules weren’t created with the sole intent of being harmful and punitive. The only explanation I can come up with is that this benefited them in some way.”
“They’ve got to know they could be next, though, right?” David asked. “If senior command was willing to do it once, they’re willing to do it again. How can anyone live with that knowledge and still pledge their support? How can they sleep at night knowing that someone else was discharged and sent to prison just to make room for a general’s nephew? What makes them think it couldn’t happen to them?”
“Because they never seem to consider that—not until such measures are turned against them. Then they become very vocal about injustice all of a sudden, after ignoring the warnings others were screaming for years. They support these policies under the assumption they’ll be the eventual benefactor, and never once consider that those in power view them as equally disposable. That’s why they’re always shocked when they’re tossed aside like everyone else.”
He took a deep breath, then looked away. “And as for this current situation, that’s exactly how it went. They wanted me to fix this problem without actually solving it, since that would require increasing our staff budget. Instead of lowering the number of officers by any sort of merit-based assessment, they started getting rid of those they deemed undesirable. My orders were to reduce the number of graduating cadets while preserving the legacy scholars. But how am I to do that when they’re the most entitled bunch of cun . . .”
He trailed off as David glanced at him.
“Pardon my language,” he continued. “But you see the position I’ve been put in. They expect me to kick out honor roll students so those on academic probation can graduate, and if I won’t do it myself, they’ll go over my head and do it for me.” He sighed. “But what’s to be done? They’ve stripped my authority to do all but enforce their directives. That’s a large part of the reason I won’t allow you back—doing so would send a very strong message that their decisions can be subverted. So I hope you understand that I’m not arbitrarily following some set of rules or rejecting you for no reason. I’m trying to protect you. Ask yourself, do you want this to be your life?”
David shrugged. “Why have you made it yours, then? Why haven’t you either left, or done something about it?”
Howard paused, then leaned forward and spoke quietly. “Well, on that note, I want to tell you something I haven’t told anyone, not even my closest staff.”