2065 - The Academy
Something about the tone in which these words were spoken made David’s blood run cold.
It wasn’t just the words themselves; there was something deeply unsettling about the way General Howard was looking at them. Victor’s gaze may have occasionally contained an air of possessiveness to it, but that was nothing compared to the look in Howard’s eyes.
David wasn’t quite able to place the source of his discomfort at first—a deep sense of unease that burrowed to his core—but the longer he stared, the more he recognized it.
He realized he’d never seen General Howard alone before. He’d always been surrounded by an entourage—aides, officers, faculty, cadets—all standing at attention, vying for a look or a glance or a nod. But now, in the absence of others, David saw him as he truly was.
Gone was the formality and code of conduct which had clearly been holding him back. This was no officer standing before them tonight; it was a gangster, and the proper kind, at that. The only thing distinguishing him from any other was the presence of a uniform.
For the first time, David realized that while military life could be restrictive, it also served as a form of protection—one he knew, as he gazed into those eyes, would no longer be afforded. And as that knowledge dawned, he became truly frightened, because the punishments outlined in the Academy’s rules paled in comparison to whatever General Howard had in mind.
“Why are you all staring at me like that?” he asked. “Don’t bother with that nonsense. Have a seat.”
There was a long pause, and that smile never left his face.
“You all look like fools, standing there,” he continued. “Not that you aren’t, of course, but it’s best not to look it.”
None of them moved, and his smile disappeared. “Sit your disrespectful asses back down in those chairs, or you’ll wish you’d never been born.”
They scrambled to comply. Once they were seated, that smug grin returned, and he clasped his hands behind his back and began pacing in their direction.
“Is this whatever form of initiation Xi-Rho’s come up with this year?” he asked as he slowly crossed the room. “Because I’m not amused.”
They were all very quiet as he approached.
“That’s it, isn’t it?” he asked as he circled the table’s perimeter. “You’ve all come here for a bit of fun. Well, who am I to disrupt it, then? Carry on.”
None of them said a word.
“No?” he grinned. “What’s the matter, lost your taste for it?”
They remained silent, avoiding his eyes.
“Well, that won’t do at all, now, will it?” He reached out, took the liquor bottle, moved the glasses directly in front of them, and filled each one. “Go on, then. Have a drink.”
Captain Bartlett took a deep breath. “Sir, I don’t think—”
“Do it. You first, Bartlett, since you seem to be the facilitator of all this.”
He nodded, and as Howard looked on, he threw back the shot in an easy, well-practiced move which proved it wasn’t his first time drinking in such a manner.
However, the same couldn’t be said for David.
As Bartlett set the empty glass down, Howard nodded at the rest of them, and they obeyed. David coughed as the liquid hit the back of his throat, spraying a fine mist before him as he reflexively leaned forward.
“Good,” Howard smiled as their empty glasses were placed back on the table. “Have another.”
And he filled them again.
David closed his eyes and did as he was told, lifting the glass with a trembling hand. This time though, he nearly choked. The liquor took far too long to go down, burning as it went, and he feared it wouldn’t stay there. He set the empty glass aside, just as he’d done before, but Howard gave them no time to recuperate.
“Again,” he said, filling their glasses once more.
David hesitated. His hand shook. He slowly raised the glass, then lowered it.
“I can’t,” he whispered.
“Yes, you can,” Howard replied. “All of you—now.”
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David complied, but instantly regretted it. Most of the alcohol went down, but the last bit tasted like poison, and as much as he tried to suppress that sick feeling, he simply couldn’t. There was a brief pause while he sat delaying the inevitable, then all of it came back up as he leaned over and vomited on the floor. Victor recoiled in the seat next to him, and General Howard flashed a satisfied smile.
“Having fun yet?”
He was met by eight silent, guilty stares. And he allowed them to remain that way for a while, before nodding in David’s direction and motioning toward the door.
“You can go.”
David knew that questioning this offer would be unwise. He nodded, pushed the glass away with a trembling hand, and gingerly rose to his feet.
“Why does he get to leave?” the judgmental upperclassman asked with a frown.
“Because there’s always one who simply didn’t know better, and I think we’ve found him,” Howard said. “I know this wasn’t his idea, and he seems to have learned his lesson well enough. I’ll cut him loose.”
David remained stationary for a few seconds, then shook his head and sat down.
“No?” Howard asked.
“No,” David replied in a raspy tone. “I chose to come down here with the rest of them. It’s not right that I should leave first. I’ll stay.”
Howard shrugged. “Honor amongst thieves. A rare and admirable trait, though one I fear is rooted in naivety more than anything else. Fine, then—stay.”
He pulled a chair from beneath the table and sat down with them. “Now, here’s what’s going to happen. You’ve all committed at least three infractions worthy of court martial simply by virtue of being here, and I don’t think any of you would walk away from that with less than a suspension. And that would be particularly embarrassing for those of you here on legacy scholarships, wouldn’t it?” He cast a glance at the upperclassmen. “However, some of you are among our top achievers this year, and I’d rather not resort to such measures without providing an opportunity to redeem yourselves. I’m willing to give all of you a second chance and extend a small degree of grace, but you’ll have to earn it.”
As they looked on, he took the deck of cards from the center of the table and moved it toward Captain Bartlett.
“Deal me in.”
Bartlett frowned, but did as he was told, and General Howard gave an approving nod. “And we won’t be drinking any more, because something tells me that Bartlett over there could finish off most of that by himself.” He glanced in David’s direction. “In case you’re wondering why it made him vomit immediately, you boys found my leftover bottle—the repository where I dump the last few drops from my near-empties so I don’t have a dozen of them sitting around. Lord knows what’s in there, or how old it is. Take this as a lesson not to touch things that aren’t yours, and certainly not to drink them.”
There was a pause as Bartlett shuffled the cards, and Howard smiled again.
“You know, there’s something they don’t tell you about promotions,” he said absently. “No matter how high you get on the command ladder, there’s still going to be that nagging voice inside saying you don’t deserve it. Then you’ll get angry at your own perceived inadequacies, however self-inflicted they may be, so you’ll start drinking, but all that serves to do is make you angrier. And then, in your overzealous attempt to prove yourself, you’ll do things that flout all sense of conventional wisdom, such as agreeing to teach a class on top of your regular administrative duties. And when the outgoing chancellor advises against it because that workload is nothing short of lunacy, you’ll take it as a challenge and resolve to prove him wrong. He wasn’t, though, and by the time you realize just how much you’ve overcommitted, you’ll have drunk damn near everything in your office. And where else is there to find alcohol this late at night, but whatever vile nonsense you’ve got stashed away in that blasted classroom of yours? So you come down here, only to find it occupied by you lot, because of course, you gossipy brats knew of it too.” He glanced around the table. “And now, rather than engaging in the time-honored tradition of drinking myself to sleep, I’ve got to deal with this, so I might as well make the best of it.”
He studied the cards before him as Captain Bartlett finished dealing their hands. “Now, here’s my offer. I wouldn’t mind having a junior assistant—or several—to relieve me of some of my more mundane duties. There’s no space in the budget for it, of course, but I don’t think any of you are in a position to complain about lack of compensation. So here are the stakes. We’ll play our game tonight, and the winner can keep whatever they’ve stolen and return to the dorms. We’ll never speak of this again, and no one will be any the wiser. And as for the rest of you, you’ll be cleaning my classroom, sorting my paperwork, grading my assignments, fetching my tea, running my errands, and doing whatever else I say for the rest of the year.”
Edgar frowned. “But . . . what if you’re the winner, Sir?”
“Then you’ll all be doing it. Seems a fair trade, don’t you think? You lot won’t be suspended, and I’ll have gained a few cadet slaves to do my work for me. Now, are there any objections?”
None of them said anything, but Victor frowned, and Howard nodded in his direction.
“You seem to have some.”
Victor hesitated, then shrugged. “I’m no one’s assistant.”
David gasped at these words, but Howard didn’t seem the least bit phased, and barely looked up as he sorted his cards. “Maybe not, but you’re certainly someone’s bitch, aren’t you? I’m surprised you left the men’s room long enough to do anything else.”
Weasel let out a barely suppressed laugh at this, but a glance from Howard put a stop to it.
“You’ve got a serious problem with authority, don’t you?” he asked, turning his gaze back to Victor. “Fine, then—since it seems second chances are wasted on you, would you rather be subject to a court martial right now, while you’re half-drunk, presided over by myself?” He leaned forward and looked him in the eye. “Because I can do that, and whatever punishment I come up with will be followed by a slap across the face. Lord knows, it’s well-deserved, and I doubt anyone here would come to your defense, as they likely share my belief that you’re an insufferable twat.”
Victor’s scowl darkened.
“No?” Howard asked as that smug grin returned. “You don’t like that? Because it’s suspension or agreement to my terms. Take your pick.”
Victor thought this over for a moment, then shook his head and looked away.
“Good,” Howard replied. “I’m glad that’s settled, then. Now, let’s get on with it.”
“But Sir, is the poker game really necessary?” Bartlett asked as he set the remaining cards aside. “We’ve already agreed to your terms.”
Howard glanced at him with the faintest hint of a smile. “I said we’d be having fun, remember?”
David studied the cards before him, then leaned toward Victor and lowered his voice.
“He’s going to win, isn’t he?”
And Victor simply stared straight ahead and nodded.