2073 - Space Corps Central Command Office

Victor shrugged. “I’m applying for a job.”

“How dare you?” Harlow asked. He tried to stay even-tempered, but found it exceedingly difficult to keep the vitriol out of his voice. “You slipped that application in at the last minute, didn’t you? You knew if I saw it, I’d throw it right in the trash where it belongs and have you escorted out by security.”

“Security?” Victor said. “Seems a bit of an overreaction, don’t you think? I pose no threat to you, and I never imagined you’d be so petty.”

Harlow stared back. “I wasn’t much of a threat either when I was a cadet, but that didn’t seem to make a difference, did it? They sent two armed guards to pull me out of class, right before . . .”

He trailed off, and a long silence followed.

“I still have a record, thanks to you,” he finally said. “It was never expunged; it’s still there in my file.” He took a deep breath. “You knew me back then—I barely looked older than a boy, and I couldn’t have hurt anyone if I tried, but I still received the same treatment as violent criminals who’d been in prison for decades.”

There was no reply, and the silence persisted until he spoke again. “I guess it mattered to you, though, because you were fully aware of how naive I was, and you took advantage of me.” He leaned forward and met Victor’s eyes. “Why are you really here? Tell the truth, for once.”

“I told you—I’m applying for a job.”

Harlow looked away and sighed. “You can’t do anything but lie, can you? What makes you think I’d tolerate this even for a second?”

Victor nodded at the disorganized stack of applications on the desk. “Because I’d do far better than any of those junior officers, and you know it. I handled the same workload you did at the Academy. We were both honor roll students, remember? And from what I understand, most of the interest you’ve been getting in this position has been lacking, to say the least. There were quite a few interviews before mine, and if they’d been promising, I think I’d know. I even heard you had to fire someone. It’s not going well for you, is it?”

Harlow took a deep, ragged breath. “You’re just trying to worm your way back into my life, and I don’t appreciate it. But yes, things could be better. I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but there’s a war going on, and the state of it seems to be worsening daily.” His voice shook, and try as he might, he began to lose his composure. “Do you understand the full gravity of that responsibility? The weight that’s been placed on my shoulders?” He stared into Victor’s eyes. “Do you understand what’s expected of me in this office? Do you know . . .”

He stopped abruptly and looked away. He dared not say more.

Victor didn’t respond. Instead, he shifted in his chair as if he’d suddenly grown very uncomfortable.

Harlow closed his eyes and inhaled deeply as he composed himself. “As the newest member of our general staff, the war and all things related to it are now my responsibility to manage, and the last thing I need on top of that is . . . this.” He gestured across the desk.

Victor averted his eyes, rested his elbows on his knees, and stared at the floor. “I understand why you hate me,” he finally said. “But that doesn’t impact my ability to do my job, and do it well.”

“I don’t hate you, Victor,” Harlow replied. “I’ve learned how to forgive and move on. However, that doesn’t mean I have to entertain any of this. There are some types of hurt that go so deep, there’s no coming back from them.” He shrugged. “I wish you wouldn’t try to disguise your intentions. I know what you really want. But even if I give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you’re trying to make things right, this isn’t how to go about it.”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“I’m applying for a job, and I plan to do that job. That’s all.” Victor leaned forward, and his voice softened a bit. “Listen, David—”

“That’s General Harlow to you.”

Victor looked as if he was about to respond, but Harlow wasn’t through.

“The only thing you do is destroy lives.” He leaned forward and stared at him. “I went to prison because of you. Do I really need to recount the full story? To jog your memory, since you seem to have forgotten? To make you understand the full impact of what you did? Because it seems to be lost on you.”

A profound silence followed. Victor seemed as if he might have more to say, but then he shook his head and looked away.

“If you’re considering apologizing, now would be an excellent time,” Harlow said.

Victor shrugged. “No.”

Harlow inhaled sharply, but before he could respond, Victor continued. “None of that was my fault. You were aware of the rules, and you chose to break them. I wasn’t the one who kicked you out of the Academy, and I didn’t send you to prison. If you’re looking for someone to blame, maybe focus on those among our senior leadership who used your case to set an example—those you’ve now chosen to ally with, I might add.”

Harlow regarded him with a stone-faced demeanor, which had become a very well-practiced trait by now.

“You lied,” he said. “You lied under oath, during a court martial, to avoid prison. You were more than happy to send me there instead.”

Victor took a deep breath, and for the first time since he’d arrived, he appeared to show the slightest hint of guilt. “I did,” he said quietly. “And for that, I’m sorry.”

“At least you acknowledge it. But as it stands now, I don’t even want to look at you.”

Victor shrugged. “Neither does anyone else. It seems there’s no place for me here.”

“And whose fault is that?” Harlow snapped.

A long silence settled over them.

“If you’re searching for sympathy, I suggest you be a bit more contrite,” Harlow finally said.

“I’m not searching for anything but a job,” Victor replied. “I know you’ll never take me back, and I don’t expect it, but you need help, so I thought this could be a mutually beneficial—”

“Stop,” Harlow interrupted, cutting him off. “No one can stand you, Victor, and there’s a reason for it. Your greatest talent is burning every bridge you’ve ever crossed, and some of those in front of you, as well.” He glanced at Victor’s jacket. “I know why you’re wearing enlisted stripes. You graduated in such poor standing, you weren’t awarded an officer commission.”

“Yes, because Howard hated me too.”

Harlow leaned forward and smiled. “With good reason.”

Victor scowled in reply as Harlow continued. “I haven’t kept close track of you because I’ve got better things to do with my time, but from what I understand, you’re not even doing well in enlisted roles, are you? You’ve been transferred around quite a bit—far more than what’s normal—and every single one of your commanders seems to have been in a hurry to get rid of you. It’s damn near impossible to discharge anyone these days, but you’ve come close, haven’t you? That’s why you’re here. You’re in danger of being removed from the Corps altogether, and you’re running out of options, so now you’re hoping to appeal to any lingering sentiment I might have in order to save your career, and you’re not doing a very good job of that either.”

He stared at Victor intently, and the look he received in reply indicated he’d been entirely correct.

Victor shifted again, then looked away. “Maybe I’m just trying to prove I’ve changed,” he said quietly. “I don’t care if I leave the Corps—I never liked this place—but there are some loose ends I can’t leave undone.” He sighed. “So, there you have it. I’d like a second chance. I know I can do better, although I doubt you believe me, and I don’t blame you.”

By his tone, Harlow knew he was speaking the truth. It was the first honest thing he’d said since walking through the door.

But the stone face prevailed.

“The time for that was years ago, not now,” he answered.

Victor said nothing in reply.

After a few seconds’ pause, Harlow took a deep breath and leaned back in his chair. “I regret to inform you, Victor, but there’s nothing of the sort to be found for you here. My advice is that maybe it’s time to cut ties with whatever remains of your career, and I hope that wherever you go, you’ll do more with your life and become a better person. Now, this interview is over. You should leave, and I never want to see you again.”

He wore a look of forced indifference as they stared at each other. He thought Victor might speak again, or retaliate with some well-crafted retort, as he usually did. And indeed, Victor seemed to be considering it. But then he simply gave a resigned nod, stood up, and left without another word.

After he’d gone, Harlow closed his eyes and sat there for a long time. The ghosts of the past had come back to haunt him, and such phantoms of memory weren’t easily dispelled.

He allowed himself to remain that way for a while, then abruptly rose from his seat and crossed the room. Where he was going, he didn’t even know; he just wanted to leave this place. As he entered the hall, though, he tossed the folder into the trash with an emphatic, deliberate gesture on his way out.