2066 - The Academy
David had speculated correctly that day in prison.
Howard possessed a keen instinct for these things—an acute sense for the truth of a situation. It had saved his life on several occasions, providing a subtle, subconscious eye to things the waking mind wouldn’t normally see. It once told him that a bomb was about to go off despite the fact that nothing looked amiss, and another time it warned that a group of men on the street wanted to kill him, even though they appeared to be minding their own business. He’d avoided them out of caution, and the next man who’d crossed their path had received a bottle to the head.
Now he felt it again—that hair-raising sensation that started in his gut and seared its way deeper—followed by a silent, internal voice screaming a single message.
He knew, with the greatest certainty he’d ever felt, that allowing David to leave this room would be one of the worst mistakes he’d ever make.
Just as David had conjured a glimpse of the future—years of time revealed in a single instant—now Howard was subject to the same.
He saw himself going to bed that night, sick with regret, wondering what had become of the former cadet who’d been brave enough to travel to his office. This would be repeated every night until he finally retired a few years later from an organization steeped in dirty politics and nepotism, leaving it no different than it was before. David, meanwhile, would be out in the world somewhere, but Howard would never learn his fate because he’d be too cowardly to try to discover it.
The remainder of his life would be defined by “what if,” and he’d die wondering.
His vision for a better future was realized in this young man, and if he were to go, it would disappear forever.
“Wait,” he said.
David stopped, then turned toward him. “Yes, Sir?”
Howard wasn’t sure what to say. He sat there for a moment, and when he glanced up, he found himself staring at one who possessed a maturity far greater than the nineteen years he’d lived.
“Why?” he finally managed. “They’ve treated you in a horrid manner, yet you’ve come back to make this place better all the same. They don’t deserve you.”
David shrugged. “What do they deserve, then?”
“Certainly not the grace you’re willing to extend to them.”
“Does anyone ever deserve it?”
“Some more than others,” Howard replied.
“I don’t think it’s my place to make that judgment.”
“Well, it should be.”
David merely shrugged at this, and Howard scrutinized him carefully. “What is your place, then? Why are you really here? Is this an elaborate ploy for revenge, or do you sincerely mean those words?”
David shook his head. “All I want is to do my job, Sir—whatever the Corps has for me.”
Howard studied him closely, then looked down at the desk. “I don’t even know what to say,” he began. “I just... I’m sorry, David. I wish I could make up for the shit parents you have, and the shit relationships you’ve been in, and the shit lot you’ve been dealt in life. I’d do something about all of that, if I could.”
David shifted uncomfortably, but said nothing.
“There’s something else that deserves mentioning, though,” Howard continued. “There’s the shit education you’ve had—mostly due to the way this school’s treated you—and I can do something about that. Yet here I am, afraid.” He took a deep breath, and his voice faltered. “You were right. I’ve got no business sitting here if I’m unwilling to make hard choices. You deserve better. You deserve a chancellor who’d right those wrongs for you, but all you’ve learned today is that they’re not to be found here. You came all the way back just to talk to me, despite the risks—despite all you’ve been through—and I’ll be damned if that journey was a waste of time.”
David frowned, but was met by a resolute expression lacking all the hesitancy and contrition which had been on full display earlier.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
Howard studied him closely. “Well, on top of the obstacles I’ve already mentioned, the only way you could be readmitted is with an exemption I’ve personally signed—one allowing your enrollment with the chancellor’s seal of approval, bypassing multiple rules in the process. And it shouldn’t bear further explanation as to how that would reflect on me, should I allow it.” He folded his hands on the desk in front of him. “So make it worth my time.”
“You’re serious?” David whispered.
Howard nodded. “I’ve changed my mind.” He motioned at the chairs in front of the desk. “Sit down.”
David hesitated for a moment, then crossed the room again, and once he was seated, Howard continued. “They told me to throw you out, but they never said I couldn’t let you back in again, so technically I wouldn’t be defying any orders, although I’m sure they won’t like it.”
“You mean it?” David asked.
Howard nodded. “There’s certain benefits granted to the chancellor’s office, and that’s one of them, although as I said, it might very well represent the end of my career. But I’m doing it anyway, and I hope you appreciate the substantial risk I’m taking.”
David nodded back, and he seemed to be at a loss for words.
“There’s a provision in the Academy’s charter granting the chancellor power to overrule the admissions board for a limited number of spots each year,” Howard said. “I have the authority to write a waiver overriding a cadet’s rejection, so long as there’s proper justification for it. It’s rarely used, though, and for good reason—it’s damn near an abuse of power. It’s traditionally reserved for students who fail to qualify for some reason but are otherwise good candidates, or those with a connection to someone in senior command. To my knowledge, it’s never been used to readmit a cadet who was expelled with a criminal conviction. The board can appeal the decision, too, so I’ll have to convince them you deserve it.”
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“How do you plan to do that?” David asked.
“In your case, I’ll use your grades, placement exams, and athletic awards prior to expulsion as the justification, as well as your impassioned appeal in this meeting, and I’ll tell them that as one of our top-scoring cadets you deserve another chance, so long as you can replicate that performance.”
David gripped the sides of his chair. “Thank you, Sir,” he said, and his voice had a slight waver to it, now.
Howard leaned forward and stared at him. “I’m going to warn you, though—such a decision won’t be popular, to put it mildly. It helps your case tremendously that you were one of our best students, but even that might not be enough. I can’t say if my waiver will be contested, but regardless, your enrollment will be reassessed on a semi-regular basis, and rather than needing cause to throw you out, they’ll now require proof that you deserve to stay. Your performance can’t merely be adequate; it needs to be exceptional, such that they can’t come up with a reason to expel you even if they try—and they’re going to.”
“Yes, Sir,” David said. He looked as if he was holding back tears, although he tried to hide it.
“It won’t be an easy road for you,” Howard continued. “If you truly want this, you’re going to have to prove exactly how much. You’ll be under the strictest form of probation we have, and you’ll be granted no leniency for any infractions whatsoever. You don’t get to be late to class. You’re allowed no unexcused absences. Each assignment needs to be turned in on time, and completed above standard. Every review, evaluation, and competency test should exceed expectations. You don’t even get to be late to the mess hall, and you’ll be cleaning up the dishes after everyone’s gone. You’ll hold no position of leadership over any of the other cadets, and the administration will be watching you like a hawk. And since you’ll effectively be starting over, you’ll have to attend off-season classes as well if you want to graduate in a timeline even remotely resembling that of your peers. If you violate any of these provisions without good cause, you’ll be thrown out faster than you can blink, and there will be no further chances.”
He paused and took a deep breath, and when he spoke again, his voice softened a bit. “I’m not going to lie to you, David—I don’t want you to have unrealistic expectations. Admission is no guarantee of graduation, and even if you manage to do so, your career probably won’t go very far—not with a record like yours. You might become an officer, but I doubt you’ll ever make it past the rank of senior lieutenant, and if you do, it’ll take so long you’ll probably have a few gray hairs by then.” He met David’s eyes once more. “Are you willing to come to terms with that?”
“Yes, Sir,” David nodded, and he was smiling now despite all the grim warnings he’d been given.
“Good,” Howard replied. His voice had a subtle levity to it, as if a burden had been lifted. “I’ll be writing that exemption, then, and I’m signing my name to it. Any infraction you commit is now mine as well, because I’ve allowed it, so don’t let me down.”
David shook his head. “I won’t, Sir.”
Howard smiled ever so slightly. “I believe you. Now, go convince everyone else.” His smile faded a bit, and he sighed. “As much as I wish we could carry on, I’ve got another meeting starting soon, so I’m going to have to draw this one to a close.”
He leaned back in his chair and stood up, and David did the same.
“Thank you, Sir,” David nodded. He beamed with gratitude, and he made no effort to hide the tears streaming down his face. He looked as if he might grab the General for a spontaneous embrace, but stopped at the last second and saluted instead.
Howard returned the gesture, although he was a bit more composed about it. “I’ll have someone from my office contact you with instructions for re-enrollment, and I’ll see you on induction day. You’re dismissed.”
“Yes, Sir,” David replied.
Howard returned a polite smile and nodded at the door. David stood there for another moment wiping some of the tears away, then turned and walked out without another word.
After he’d gone, Howard sat down, drummed his fingers on the desk, and sighed. The full weight of what he’d just agreed to was sinking in, and he only had a few short minutes to contemplate it.
But for that brief period of time he wondered if he’d made the right choice, or if this would truly bring about the end of his career. Generals had a large degree of autonomy in the Space Corps, but this was the first time he’d openly disagreed with their leadership. He’d wagered his future on the performance of a nineteen-year-old convict, and he hoped he’d gambled wisely.
As for David, he returned home once more to say goodbye to his parents, inform them of his whereabouts, and discuss his plans for the future. Then he packed everything he owned and left their house, with no intent to return. He moved back into the dorms the first day they opened, and come January he began the year anew, as a freshman once more, repeating those same classes and re-earning the same awards which had been unceremoniously stripped the year prior.
He sat in Howard’s combat tactics class again and listened as his name was called from that list, and it was just as much of an impersonal formality as it had been the first time. But he heard a hint of something in that voice, now, as Howard read his name aloud—a slight intonation lying somewhere between recognition and gratitude, followed by a subtle pause before moving on.
Some of Howard’s predictions came true, and some didn’t. David eventually had his probationary status overturned, and even held a post as a minor cadet officer. He also earned several medals for the track team and served as president of multiple student organizations. He was never selected as track captain, though, nor was he valedictorian—those honors went to members of Xi-Rho. Despite this, David remained cordial with them, and neither party seemed to harbor resentment.
Officer training was a five-year program, but he managed to complete it in four—a feat that was only replicated a handful of times. And his senior year was quite possibly the least stressful of all, as Victor had already graduated. Although their time at the Academy overlapped following his readmission, David went to great lengths to avoid him, even going so far as to drop a class when he saw Victor’s name on the roster.
Victor’s departure represented the moment David felt as if he could fully reclaim the things which had been lost. The black cloud that had hovered over his educational career finally lifted, and he heard that same grateful note in Howard’s voice again when he walked across the stage to accept his diploma, and Howard squeezed his hand just a little bit tighter than the other graduates, and gave him a smile that was far more genuine.
Most officers, Howard included, knew that war was imminent, and assumed the Space Corps would likely be drawn into the conflict at some point. None of them could’ve predicted just how soon it would happen, though, or the manner in which they’d be thrust to the forefront, or just how quickly their leadership would reach a point of utter desperation, even verging on collapse. By the time David graduated, the situation had already become so dire, and the pool of potential officers had grown so sparse, that he only held the rank of junior lieutenant for a matter of months before being promoted directly to captain at the age of twenty-four.
Howard was correct about one thing, though. While no one openly called for his resignation, his act of defiance didn’t go unnoticed. He quickly became an outcast on the Council and found himself increasingly excluded from matters of policy, as his colleagues viewed him as something of a joke. Meanwhile, he grew even less popular among the Academy’s administration, who saw his actions as theft—stealing an admission spot from a more deserving candidate. He insisted he’d done the right thing, and he firmly believed it, but as predicted, few agreed. Sometimes even David himself doubted it, and he became an expert at tuning out those lingering, denigrating voices telling him that success was a stolen, undeserved thing—a skill he employed right up to the day he graduated with honors despite all the restrictions that had been placed upon him.