Atk. Butterfly: Rust Bucket

“Dismissed…”

That final word hung over me for a moment before I fully comprehended everything. That final word meant the end for me getting into space as anything other than a paying passenger. The Commandant of the Space Academy was dropping me from the rolls. I stood there speechless for a few moments until Sergeant Clark gently took me by the arm and guided me out of the Commandant’s office.

“Son, you all right?” he asked.

I looked at him, still speechless with a painful lump in my throat. My eyes weren’t yet watering enough for a tear to fall.

He said, “Come along with me, Dave. It’s not the end. We’ll have some coffee or whatever and talk it out before you start packing. Then I’ll give you a hand there, too.”

I allowed him to guide me to the Dining Facility. We went over to the coffee dispenser and he filled two cups of coffee. While I wasn’t looking, or maybe I was without paying attention, he took out a small flask and poured just a capful of whiskey into each cup. He pressed one cup into my hands and continued to guide me by the elbow over to a table where we sat down on hard plastic chairs. He managed to get me to take a sip. The unexpected touch of whiskey choked me for a moment, but it was enough to break through the pain in my throat. I suddenly came to life again and started realizing what happened and where I was and why.

“Sarge, I could understand being dropped because my grades or my behavior were poor, but to be dropped because they’re cutting the military strength doesn’t make any sense. Please, explain it to me so I can understand. Isn’t seventh out of four hundred good enough to stay in?” I begged.

He replied, “Son, I know how you feel. I agree with you that it’s not fair, but neither of us makes the rules. What’s more, they’re not playing by any rules we can afford. They’re playing politics and money. The people that told the Commandant who to drop didn’t look at your grades or behavior. They looked at your family.”

“My family?” I said puzzled. What did they have to do with my being in the Academy?

The sergeant said, “You’re not a rich family’s son. Maybe I should say you’re not a rich enough family’s son. Even some of them couldn’t play the game. If there was a war going on, those rich kids would be the first to leave. You wouldn’t be able to see them go for all the dust they’d kick up. But there’s no war and when that’s the case, then the Union suffers because we get a bunch of officers who bought their commissions. If a war breaks out, we’ll be scrambling to get enough candidates in and through in time to make a difference.”

“What about the courts? Can they do anything?” I asked.

“You have the money?” he asked.

I answered, “No, but I was hoping that maybe one of the special lawyer bureaus would take my case if you think it’s possible.”

Sergeant Clark said, “The cold hard truth of it is that by the time they win the case for you, you’ll be too old to enter. Every family with a kid who was behind you will be hiring lawyers to present briefs just to be sure that it’s not their kid that you replace. The only ones who will sympathize with you will be those who have kids ahead of you in each of the four classes. By the time you beat some of these families down, a new class will have started. You’ll have new families out to protect their status. My advice is not to bog yourself down with a court case. Even if you got lucky and got back into next year’s class, you’ll have to repeat the first half of the year and you’ll be ostracized by just about everyone in the class. You’ll be lucky if you didn’t get booted out because of sabotage by some other rich kid whose friend you replaced. Even if you made it through to graduation, you’d get the dirtiest of assignments where you wouldn’t be able to advance in rank. That’s no way to start a career. You’d be resenting it even more by then. I don’t mean to say you’re not going to resent it now. I know I would in your non-skids.”

I said, “Then what should I do? I put all my educational efforts into getting into space.”

He replied, “There’s where I can help you. I’m going to write down a name and address for you. You can get a job in space with this woman on my recommendation. I’ll have that ready for you by the afternoon. Even without my recommendation, just a transcript of your grades here would convince her to give you a job. She runs a freighter service. The pay’s good. With what you know and can do already, you’ll get into space within a week.”

“A freighter?” I asked.

He replied, “Don’t knock it, son. They see more action than nine-tenths of these cadets ever will. That’s why the freighter companies pay so well. These rich families don’t know it, but they might have done you a favor. With your brains and skills, you could be breaking some of them in ten years.”

“Why aren’t you working for a freighter company?” I asked.

He said, “We’re talking about getting you into space, not me. Whether you decide to check them out or not, that’s up to you. The recommendation and a copy of your transcript will be ready for you this afternoon, regardless. It’s the least I can do.”

“Okay, I’ll think about it,” I said, as I took another sip of the laced coffee.

The sergeant said, “That’s all I’m asking you to do. I’ll also make out a list of things that I strongly recommend you get if you don’t already have them. That’ll be with the other papers. It’ll probably be the most important sheet of paper you’ll have until you have the items. Some of them won’t make sense to you, but you’ll need them or you’ll figure out when you need them at the right time. That I’m sure of.”

We finished drinking the coffee. Then the Sarge and I went over to the billets to start packing my gear. I think he wanted to help so that he could see what I might already have that he could recommend later to me to ditch or keep. While we packed, he made a few more recommendations right then on things to get rid of. A few items were sentimental, so I kept them anyway. The others, I took his advice on and dropped into the disposal. If nothing else, I earned credits for recycling those items. The extra credits would help tide me over a little longer until I had a job.

Later that afternoon, I stopped by Administration, picked up the papers that the sergeant prepared for me, and stuffed them into my pockets. It felt strange to be wearing civilian clothing again and to use my pockets for anything other than my card-keys and identification card. I was still in the habit of putting my cigarettes and lighter inside my socks on the inner portion of my ankles. I was about to leave the compound when I reasoned that I should at least take a look at the items the Sarge recommended I purchase. After all, I still had privileges at the exchange shop until midnight. Prices were definitely lower there than at the civilian stores.

I placed the duffle bag down, rather than stand there and hold it in the heavier gravity that we trained in. If nothing else, I was stronger than when I entered two and a half years ago. I pulled the papers out of my pocket and went through them to find the one with his recommendations. I don’t know why Sarge insisted on using paper instead of committing it to disk. Certainly, there was no need to make a paper copy of my transcripts. Surely, they’d be available over the Universal Internet to any employer who desired to see them.

The list seemed a little strange. An everlight I could understand. I wondered about getting a Fresnel lens. At least the Sarge listed next to it a size that he recommended. I wasn’t sure about the pocket knife. I hadn’t had one of those since I was a kid. The marker and note pad seemed downright antique in nature. I wasn’t even sure if anyone still sold those. There were other items such as a thermal blanket, thermal canteen, web hammock, and waterproof shoulder pack. I could see some use for a few of those items if I went camping, but in space? If I took the job he recommended, those items didn’t appear to be very useful. Rather, if I got the job, should I decide to apply for it. However, if there was anything about the Sarge I could say in his defense, not that he ever needed anyone to defend him, it was that he never recommended or said something without good reason in the two and a half years I’d known him. Then I got to the last item and almost couldn’t believe it. Sarge recommended that I purchase a projectile weapon. I’d only seen those in old movies and museums.