Homeworld: A Military Science Fiction Novel (34 page)

“And…”

“And, I’ll be recommending you for the ID Program.”

Peter jumped up so quickly that he startled her. He shook her hand enthusiastically. “Thanks, Doc. I really appreciate it. I won’t let you down.”

“You worked hard, Peter. Of course, my recommendations are only recommendations. Major Lewis will read them and make a final decision.”

Peter suddenly felt awkward. “Well, Doc, I guess this is it.”

He was confused by the consequent expression on her face. If he wasn’t mistaken, it was…amusement.

She chortled, “Oh, no, Peter. This isn’t goodbye.”

Peter stood there, some of the wind obviously taken out of his sails.

“I-I don’t understand.”

“Peter, if Major Lewis approves you for the ID Program, you’ll definitely need to be continuing sessions on an ongoing basis. I’ll need to evaluate your ongoing mental status and fitness for duty.”

“I still don’t understand.”

“Major Lewis will explain everything to you. In the meantime, you’re due for some R&R. I recommended some leave time, and if Major Lewis approves it, I suggest you take it.”

He was not sure what to make of any of this. “Yes, ma’am. And thank you.”

Peter left her office a new man, although he was unsure of what was in store for him, but he was grateful to Captain London and what she did for him.

In the days that followed, he anxiously awaited Major Lewis’ response. He was lying in his bunk when his com unit beeped…he had a message.

He touched the screen. It was from Major Lewis. Excited, he opened the message. It was the approval of the leave time. That was it. No mention of the ID Program or Captain London’s recommendation.

He was disappointed, but no news was no news, not bad news. He decided that he would go out, raise some hell, and worry about the ID Program, whatever it was, when he returned.

He had the ominous feeling that he was going to get what he asked for, but he was not exactly sure if he wanted it.

Peter pulled up in a cab to his childhood house. It was late and the block was quiet. Living room windows flickered with television light, like fires in hearths.

He swiped his Mini-com over the payment kiosk in the back of the cab and thanked the driver. Shouldering his duffle bag, he closed the door quietly and strode up the front path as the taxicab pulled away.

The living room was dimly lit from some secondary light source—his parents must have been in the kitchen.

He paused before he reached the front door. He took in his neighborhood. Once the stomping grounds of his youth, the block felt familiar, but no longer like home.

He stepped up to the front door, placed his palm on the security lock panel, and it registered his print. A soft tone sounded, and the door lock disengaged.

He quietly slipped into the house. He heard conversations coming from the kitchen table. He silently crossed the living room and stood in the archway to the kitchen, placing his duffle bag quietly on the floor.

His mother, sitting at the kitchen table facing him, was the first to notice. She stood up and put her right hand to her mouth as if to silence an outcry.

“Oh, Peter, you’re home.”

His father was sitting at the table with his younger brother, Carl. She ran over to him and threw her arms around him. “Oh thank God you’re alright.”

“I told you it wasn’t that bad, Mom. A little physical therapy and I’m good as new.”

His father came over and put his arm around him. “How’s my man doing?”

“Fine, Dad.”

His father backed away, making room for Carl, who stepped up and hugged his brother. “How’s the army treating you?”

“Shitty as usual, Carl. How’ve you been?”

“Well, we were just discussing that,” Peter’s mother interjected rather tersely.

“Now, Marla, we don’t need to burden Peter with Carl’s…situation,” his father admonished.

Peter wondered what kind of conversation he had just interrupted. “Why? What’s going on with Carl?”

Carl put his hands up in exasperation. “They just don’t understand, Pete. Maybe you can help me explain it to them.”

Peter leaned against the kitchen counter. “Explain what, Carl?”

“He thinks he’s dropping out of school and joining the military, Peter.” His mother’s eyes were welling up with tears.

“No, not dropping out,” Carl corrected, “just postponing.”

Peter didn’t understand. “Why, Carl? I thought you liked school.”

“I do, Pete. It’s just that I’m halfway through, and I can’t afford it anymore. And Mom and Dad can’t afford to help me out either.”

This was happening all over again. The first two decades of the new millennium saw a freezing in credit, an exponential increase in college tuition, and predatory lending from banks with double-digit interest. On top of that, unemployment had been hovering between nine and fifteen percent over the years in what economists were calling the Rollercoaster Recession.

This was the same discussion Peter had with his parents several years ago, only he never entertained the notion of attending college. This was a wound for his parents that had not yet completely healed, particularly for his mother, and now his brother Carl was opening it up again and pouring on the salt.

“Carl…”

“Don’t ‘Carl’ me, Peter. You of all people should understand. My half scholarship is no longer cutting it. In order to take out a bank loan, Mom and Dad would have to cosign…at 22 percent. Twenty-two percent, Pete. I can’t let them do that.”

“I told you I’d find a way to pay it, Carl,” his father said. “The military is not an option.”

“It was for Pete,” Carl retorted.

“Carl, do you know what joining the military means?” Peter implored.

“So what, now you can do it, but I can’t hack it?” Carl was sounding hurt and defensive. So much for a nice, quiet visit home.

“Carl, in case you forgot, we are at war. A war on many fronts.” Peter had to be careful—no mention of Mexico. “It’s not like you’ll be at a base in training exercises all day. They’ll ship you off to Iran, Iraq, Afghanistan, or some other God forsaken part of the world where you’ll be shot at by the very same people you’re trying to help.”

His mother was pleading with Carl, “Honey, listen to Peter. You’ll be shot at, bombed. There are decapitations.”

“Well what am I supposed to do, live in your basement unemployed? For how long? There are no jobs. College is a waste.”

Peter sized up his younger brother. He was about as tall, but thin and soft from an easy life. He wouldn’t even survive boot camp. Then there were the horrors of war.

“Carl, if you enlist, you’d be putting yourself in harm’s way every day for people halfway around the world who don’t understand freedom or democracy.”

“So, is that how you feel about what you do, Pete?”

“Yes, Carl. Yes it is. It is exactly how I feel.”

“So, then why do you do it?”

Peter knew there were two answers to this question. He was doing it for freedom and democracy. He was doing it to fight villains all around the world who threatened the American way of life. Then there was the other reason, a much less romantic one.

“Carl, I wasn’t a good student like you. I didn’t have any other option.”

His mother glared at him. She apparently believed otherwise, but she had lost that argument years ago.

“Well, Pete, I don’t have any other option either. I only have two years of school under my belt, and there are no jobs.”

This was true, and in the past decade, many other young people found themselves in the very same shoes that Carl was standing in at that moment in the middle of his parents’ kitchen.

“There’s another way, Carl,” his father pleaded. “I’ll make some phone calls. I know people who owe me favors.”

“Carl, please. Listen to your father.”

“Mom, we’ve been through this already. There’s no other option for me. The military could train me in engineering. They need people, and it would be good on-the-job training.”

“For what?” his father asked. “The private sector? The private sector doesn’t give a damn about anything you learn in the military.”

“That’s not true, Dad.”

Peter was leaning up against the kitchen counter taking this all in. He had been here before, and this all resurrected memories of intense arguments over the dinner table and the horrible guilt of what he did to his mother.

He wanted very badly to shake his brother and discourage him from enlisting, but his brother was grown and this was not Peter’s fight. At the moment, he was content to be a noncombatant in this battle.

“Pete, I know you understand.”

“Carl, my situation was different.”

“Different? How?”

“It…it just was, Carl.”

Carl threw up his hands in surrender.

“Well, I see I can’t reason with any of you.” He stormed out of the kitchen, slamming the storm door behind him.

Peter’s mother grabbed his hands and squeezed them in hers. “Please, Peter. You have to explain to him…”

“What, Mom? What am I supposed to explain to him? What could I possibly say that wouldn’t make me look like a hypocrite?” Tears streamed down his mother’s face. “Mom, I don’t want him to enlist any more than you do, but what could I say?”

Her eye makeup was running down her face. Peter felt awful. He felt awful for what Carl was doing to her, and more so, he felt awful again for what he had put her through. He knew she suffered every day, worrying about where he was and if he was okay. She never admitted this to him, but his father had related it to him during quiet moments alone.

They heard the sound of Carl bouncing a basketball in the backyard. His father put a sympathetic arm around his wife. “Well, I don’t think Peter wanted to come home to this. Let’s give him a chance to settle in. He must be hungry.”

“Yeah, Mom. I’ve been dreaming about your meatloaf since the last time I came home. You wouldn’t have any of it handy, would you?”

His mother wiped her eyes, sniffled, and nodded, smiling uncontrollably at her son’s flattery. “Yes, Peter. As a matter of fact, I do. I’ll warm some up for you.”

Peter smiled at his mother. “Sounds good, Mom.”

He shouldered his duffle bag and walked out of the kitchen, ascending the steps to his room. As he unpacked his bag on his old bed, he heard his parents continuing the discussion in hushed whispers as Carl dribbled the ball furiously on the patio out back.

Peter looked out his old bedroom window as Carl took a shot that hit the rim and ricocheted away from him. Had things gotten so bad that even his egghead brother was now considering the army? He was the one who was to become some kind of a doctor or engineer and make his parents proud.

However, part of Peter was relieved that he was no longer the black sheep who disappointed his parents. Now he was in good company, but that did not stop him from worrying about his little brother.

When he finished packing, he went down stairs and wolfed down his mother’s leftover meatloaf. She stood there clutching a cup of coffee and watching him eat with maternal satisfaction.

It was a small satisfaction, but some of the only satisfaction she got these days. She tried her best to be content at home, but she missed the days of working in the office. A casualty of the recession, she became a shell of her former self, smiling through her domestication and feeling helplessly inadequate.

Peter’s father was sitting with him at the kitchen table. “Peter, this accident you had…”

“Nothing that would happen again, Dad. A freak accident. The Major called it a ‘low probability event.’” He hated lying to his father. “I’m okay, really. So how’ve you guys been?” Change of topic.

“Good, I guess. The hardware store’s doing okay. Business has been a bit slow, but it’s a living. It’s good to see you again.”

His mother jumped in. “It’s always good to see you, Peter.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

All things being equal, Peter felt good. He was home, he was stuffed to the gills, and he was ready to hit the town. “I’m going to grab Carl. I’ve been itching for a night out on the town.”

He remembered his last night on the town with Apone and his squad.

His father put his hand on his shoulder. “Can I offer you gents a lift? Frisky’s I presume?”

“Yeah, Dad. Thanks. We’ll walk back.” Peter got up and hugged his mom.

“Be careful, Peter. Look after your brother.”

“Will do, Mom.”

He and his father went into the backyard to fetch Carl.

***

Peter and Carl got out of their father’s car and waved as their father drove off. Ah, Frisky’s. It was a local dive—small, smoky, a total dump—but it was theirs. Every single local knew Frisky’s, only some would ever admit to frequenting it, but the beer specials were unmatched.

Carl gestured for Peter to lead the way. Peter opened the front door and held it for his little brother, and they walked in.

Inside, it was packed, a typical Friday night. There were men and women, mostly in their twenties, and a few middle-aged husbands who snuck out of the house for the night to have some suds with the guys or just find temporary respite.

The MP3 shuffler was belting out a Wave Punk tune, what people in the 1980’s would have considered a blend of new wave and punk music. It was old wine in new wine skins, but it was the popular genre of the moment.

Peter led his brother to the bar where he ordered two domestic beers. Forty dollars. Couldn’t beat it. Townie bars had their merits. The boys sat there and canvassed the bar enthusiastically with their eyes. There were pretty girls everywhere, townies mostly, but that’s all there ever was around there.

Peter appreciated that one thing about the army. It got him the hell out of Texas. He mused that nine point five out of every ten patrons in the bar probably never left the state.

Carl was watching his big brother. He knew something was weighing heavily on him. “Pete, everything alright with you? You look like you’re carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders…”

No, just the weight of ten men and their families.

“…I’m sorry you walked in on that conversation.”

“It wasn’t that, Carl.”

However, Peter saw the look of relief on Carl’s face and didn’t want it to look like he was condoning Carl’s decision. “But I agree with Mom and Dad. You can do better than the army.”

“Pete, you’ve been in the army so long, you haven’t been keeping up with what’s going on in the private sector.”

“What private sector?”

“Exactly.”

“But, Carl, men die in the army. Good men like you.”

“So what do I do, hide away in safety in our parents’ basement? Pete, I’ve never been anywhere. You’ve been places, seen things.”

“You have no idea, Carl. I’ve seen many things. I’ve seen dead bodies. Not just of the enemy, but children…children, Carl. Comrades, friends, fellow Americans…good people.”

Carl was now starting to feel genuinely concerned. He knew his brother, and he knew there was definitely something wrong. “Pete, what happened to you?”