2066 - The Academy
Howard hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “You boys were correct that night. I’d only viewed this position as a bridge to retirement. I’d gotten my promotion, and I didn’t see much else left to accomplish in my career. I was going to stay a few years, then quietly make my exit. But now?” His mouth drew into a tight line. “They’ll have to drag me out of this office if they want me to leave. For a time, I debated resigning in protest over the purging of our ranks—I never thought they’d go as far as they did, and we lost quite a few good people—but I won’t be doing that either. If I go, what then? My protest would be forgotten in no time at all, and they’d just replace me with someone worse. No, they’ll have to haul me out or bury me, one of the two, but I’m not leaving. Not until I’m confident this place is in a better state. I didn’t spend thirty years here just to leave it in a shambles.” He took a deep breath, and his voice softened. “I still don’t want to re-admit you, though, because I’m afraid it would incur a significant cost—more so to you than to me.”
David stared back, and his gaze was unwavering. “I’m willing to accept that risk.”
“David, this is foolishness,” Howard replied. “What motivation could you possibly have? Why do you want to stay somewhere you’re so vehemently hated?”
“I don’t think they hate me—at least, not most of them. I think they’re simply ignorant.”
“Yes, but you have to ask yourself, at what point does ignorance become malice? Because I’d say it’s when the truth is standing right in front of you screaming to be heard, but you close your eyes because you’d rather not see it. They knew your truth, David, and they chose not to see. It’s admirable that you’ve chosen not to hold it against them, but don’t think for a second that they didn’t know. They weren’t silent because they were unaware of your suffering, but rather because they benefited from it. When I told them what happened to you, I received the same response again and again—they didn’t want to become ‘embroiled in politics,’ as if ruining lives for personal gain was a political matter. Theirs was a willful, pointed ignorance, rather than the uninformed kind. Never conflate the two; don’t afford them that benefit. Recognize them for what they are.”
It was David’s turn to be silent, but then Howard sighed. “I don’t know why in God’s name you’d want any part of this. They don’t want you here, and they’ve made it abundantly clear—so much so, I have to wonder if there’s more to the story. Tell me, why’d you really come back?”
The look in his eyes demanded the truth, and David hesitated.
“Honesty, please,” Howard said.
David returned a nervous shrug. But Howard didn’t break his stare, and David finally closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
“This is all I want, and it’s the only career I ever planned for,” he began. “I never felt like I belonged anywhere else, and my home wasn’t much of a home, if you know what I mean. But here?” He sighed. “I can’t explain it, but I want this more than anything. I want to go to space, and I want to make this place better. It’s the only future I’ve ever seen for myself, and I’m willing to work harder than anyone else in order to achieve it.”
Howard shrugged. “The fact that you’re sitting here in front of me is testament to that. But I have to ask—” he leaned forward and met David’s eyes, “—is that really all there is to it? Or are you here because you’ve got nowhere else to go?”
David didn’t respond, and after a while, Howard leaned back in his chair. “If that’s the case, then Lord knows, I’m full of sympathy. You wouldn’t be the first—we’ve had quite a few cadets who only joined because they haven’t got a home to return to. Granted, your appeal is a bit more desperate than most, but if you need help, you don’t have to resort to this. Is that your situation?”
Once again, David was silent.
Howard studied him for a moment more, then looked away. “I understand better than I should,” he said quietly. “It’s not something I speak of very often, especially to cadets, but I joined at your age for a similar reason. My father was an abusive drunk, and my mother was dead.” Their eyes met again. “Is that it? Do you need help, David? If so, just ask.”
David shook his head. “No, Sir, it’s nothing like that. My parents’ house is always open to me, although I doubt they want me there. But I could go back, if I wanted. In fact, I did for a while—I went several places after I got out of prison, but it always felt like I was just passing through. Nothing was particularly wrong with them, but nothing was right, either, if you know what I mean. There was just this sense of... hollowness that followed me everywhere.” He paused and looked away. “Do you know that feeling? When you’re sure—more sure than you’ve ever been about anything—that a place holds nothing for you, and never will? As though you’re not meant to be there, and every moment you stay feels like a waste? For me, that was everywhere but here. This is the only place I’ve ever wanted to be, and it called to me despite everything that’s happened.”
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Howard sensed genuine sincerity in his tone, and nodded. “It doesn’t make rational sense, which is difficult to explain to the head of a military institute which values rationality above all else. But yes, I know exactly what you’re speaking of.” He sighed. “Unfortunately, though, I doubt many others do. You’re aware of what could happen if you come back. They’re liable to throw you out again, and it wouldn’t be a half-measure this time. I’d genuinely fear for your safety, and if anything were to happen to you, I’d hold myself responsible.”
David stared back. “If I was afraid of them, I wouldn’t be here.”
“That's bold,” Howard said. "Bold, but foolish.”
There was another long silence, and Howard finally sighed. “You don’t even know the half of it, David. There have been quite a few changes since you left, and most of them weren’t for the better.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “You remember Colonel Lin, don’t you? From your court martial?”
David nodded.
“Well, it seems he’s poised to gain a Council seat soon. That’s what the rumors say, anyway, and I believe them. He’s been courting that position for a long time, and he’s demonstrated he’ll do anything in order to get it. Nothing’s off-limits, not even the worst sort of dealings, and of those who remain, few possess the willpower to stand up to him.” He sighed again. “I had quite a bit of disdain for the Council already, and this has all but destroyed my faith in it. Lin’s nastier than the rest of them combined, and he’s far more popular than I ever thought he’d be. I thought for sure his rhetoric was egregious enough that some of them would finally grow a backbone and put a stop to this nonsense, but it seems to have done the opposite—they’ll roll over and do whatever he says. Even if I did my absolute best to protect you, he’ll probably share a rank with me soon. He’ll be above any order I give, surrounded by sycophants who will gladly cater to his every whim, and he’s making it all the more likely by purging those he even suspects of speaking out against him. Is that who you want to contend with? Someone like that?”
David shrugged. “I don’t care what he does. I meant what I said—I won’t let him win.”
Howard’s expression was indecipherable, but he nearly seemed proud, in a way. “That’s the first thing you’ve said that’s come close to changing my mind, but I’m still not going to do it.”
“Who’s going to stand up to them, then? I mean no disrespect, Sir, but you’re in no position. I’ve got nothing to lose, and I’m willing to try.”
Howard closed his eyes. “Damn it, David, why’d you have to be brilliant? It’s easy to expel the riffraff—cadets who don’t give a damn about their studies and seem content to waste everyone’s time. But you?” He sighed. “This might just be the most difficult ‘no’ I’ve ever had to say. You might’ve had it in you to become top command material after all, and you’d probably be quite a bit better at it than some of those we’ve currently got.”
“So give me that chance, then,” David said. “The Corps has so much potential, if not for the corruption. Its mission is to serve humanity, but it only seems to be serving a small number of people. I want to change that.”
“How do you plan to go about it, though?” Howard asked. “You’re nineteen years old, and you’d be depending on those same officers for recommendations and promotions. They’d never allow it. Even in a best-case scenario you wouldn’t have much of a career, and at worst, your safety might be at risk.”
Their eyes met again, and as he studied David’s face, he saw an exposed, raw vulnerability there.
David took a deep breath. “Why do you think I came to your office, Sir, and not theirs? I know I said I’m not afraid of them, but I was terrified coming here today. It took a long time to work up the courage, and I didn’t know what would happen—if I’d be escorted out by security before I even made it to your office, or if I’d go through all the trouble only to be turned away because you were unavailable. But I knew that if I procrastinated too long, eventually my chance would disappear forever. And I nearly let it happen—I almost didn’t come here today, just like every other time I talked myself out of it. As soon as I arrived, though, that feeling went away, and I knew I was making the right choice. I understand that you have to say ‘no’—I already knew you would—but I had to try.”
He paused, inhaled deeply, and continued. “I know you want what’s best for everyone—not just for me, but for the Corps as a whole. So if you think it’s better without me, then by all means, just say so. If you think I don’t deserve a second chance, I’ll get up and walk out that door, and you’ll never see me again. But you were the only officer with whom I could guarantee that such a chance would be fair.”
Howard looked away. “You already know what I think, David. You deserve it more than most.”
He expected a response, but was met by resounding silence. He glanced up, and as their eyes met, an unspoken understanding passed between them that neither would budge in their opinion.
“You know what I’ve got to do,” he finally said. “Defying them is dangerous, and it’s my duty to protect you. I can’t allow this, as much as I want to.”
David looked away, and although he tried to hide it, his disappointment was palpable. “I understand, Sir.”
Howard glanced at the clock, more from habit than anything else. He still had four appointments remaining before the day’s end, and the next was due to arrive soon.
He was about to say more—that he was sorry he couldn’t accommodate David’s request, and he was glad to see him again, even if he wished it were under better circumstances, and he had a busy afternoon ahead of him, so he needed to send him on his way. But all of these words tasted like poison, so he said nothing at all.
And David seemed to know.
“Thank you very much for your time, Sir,” he said. “I know you’re busy, so I won’t keep you.”
Just as Howard had been spared the arduous task of beginning their conversation, he was now saved from ending it.
“I’m sorry,” he said, barely above a whisper. But it sounded as disingenuous as it felt.
David nodded politely, then stood on his own accord and turned to leave. But as Howard watched him go, a deep sense of unease rose within, and that feeling grew stronger with each step he took toward the door.