by Peter Parkin
Also, after each lecture he did something that most professors never bothered to do—he held informal chat sessions with any students who were able to hang around for a while before their next classes.
One of the kids would always run out and get coffees for everyone—or tea, if that was their vice of choice—and they would all just chat together.
The students loved it; loved the informality of it, and really enjoyed the chance to just have a conversation with a famous and esteemed professor.
Professors were usually seen as being above such frivolity, but not Sandy. He loved young people—their energy and even their naivety—and it was stimulating for him to interact with such curious brains. He fed off it—got his motivation from it. It helped convince himself that he was doing something worthwhile.
“Sorry, son, I don’t remember your name.”
“It’s Jonah, sir.”
Sandy took a sip of his coffee, and scanned the six pairs of enthusiastic eyes that were hanging on every move he made.
He crossed his legs and gestured with his hands.
“Well, Jonah, look at this lecture room we’re in. It has structure, design, a certain discipline to it. You’re used to that, and you’d probably be lost here at university without some kind of structure. You call me sir or Professor, but I’m a normal guy just like you. Our lives are full of regulation and protocol, and without those things we’d wander around aimlessly. And—it would be a very dangerous world indeed, wouldn’t it?”
Jonah nodded.
An attractive blonde girl raised her hand.
Sandy laughed. “You don’t have to raise your hand anymore. We’re just chatting here.”
She blushed. “Sorry, Professor. I’m Janice, by the way. These drones you were talking to us about—aren’t they just toys, though? Can’t we trust common sense without a whole bunch of rules? I was going to buy one, but then I read the regulations and changed my mind.”
“What I tried to share with you guys in the lecture today was the technology itself, how far it’s come. It’s one of the examples of physics at its most sophisticated state. But, while you may just use a drone as a toy and fly it around in a field, not everyone would be that responsible. And, believe it or not, regulations are still not set in stone. States are involved, the FAA is involved, and they’ve just recently released draft regulations that have taken ten long years to prepare. Can you imagine? Ten years to prepare a draft on equipment that has been in use for that long already?
“Amazon is frustrated, and they should be. They were planning to launch a home delivery program using UAVs, but the new regulations are clear—there has to be an operator who can keep the vehicle in “line of sight.” Which, of course, completely screws up Amazon’s plans to have a fleet of drones operating across the country using remote operators.”
Janice frowned. “But, doesn’t the military use remote operators for their drones?”
Sandy nodded. “Yes, they do. But, that’s a different category entirely. Intensive training, and the technology in the drones that the military uses is far more advanced than the commercial or backyard drones that are being sold on the wide market. Personally, I thought Amazon’s plan was stupid. I couldn’t even begin to imagine a bunch of unmanned drones delivering parcels across the country. A recipe for disaster, and right out of The Jetsons.”
“The whats?”
Sandy chuckled. “Sorry, I’m dating myself. It was an old TV show, before your time. Futuristic nonsense, but, fun.”
A preppy young guy, dressed in a suit and tie, jumped in.
“Professor, I’ve been reading and seeing a lot on the news about drones lately. It seems to have become an election issue—how they’re being used in Afghanistan, Yemen, and other shit-holes like that. Sorry—excuse my language.”
“That’s okay. What’s your name?”
“Kyle.”
“Well, the first thing I would say, Kyle, is that those places aren’t “shit-holes.” They’re important cogs in the history of the world, and if they’re in a sad state right now it’s because we’ve made them that way. We’ve destroyed them; interfered with their governments, economies, and their religions. We’ve made all sorts of excuses—mostly lies—to wage war against these countries, and the agenda has far more to do with economics and global power than it does with Islamic terrorism, believe me.
“Secondly, it’s only natural that drones would become an issue in the election. They’re causing horrific casualties wherever they’re being used, and it’s not only a foreign relations issue now, but, a moral one as well.
“Each of the two main parties will try to differentiate themselves on issues like the Middle East. You’ve probably been watching the speeches—the Republicans tend to be the war party, defending interventions everywhere. The Democrats, on the other hand, concentrate more on diplomacy and domestic issues.
“And, Republicans also believe in less government, fewer regulations. It’s no surprise that their laxness over bank governance led to the Great Recession of 2008. That happened on their watch.
“They believe in de-regulation, favoring Wall Street, inadvertently allowing sloppiness to creep into the system. They’re the ones who also believe everyone should be allowed to run around with machine guns.
“The Democrats, on the other hand, believe in tighter regulations, bigger government, and less war.
“If the Republicans win the election, chances are that drone regulations here in the U.S. will become non-existent. So, Amazon will be very happy. You can probably guess who their CEO is supporting.”
Kyle frowned. “I think all politicians are crooked. They all seem to lie, say whatever it takes to get elected. I find it hard to follow this stupid election cycle. It’s confusing, and it’s so long. It goes on forever, and I’m sick of hearing about it. I guess students who take political science understand it, but to me it all seems nuts.”
Sandy laughed. “That’s because you’re studying to be a scientist, Kyle. To your mind, everything has to be logical. Politics is the most illogical process in the world. And, yes, it goes on forever here in the United States. The only word that could be used to accurately describe it is marathon. It’s an endless marathon that actually starts right after a president is elected. Both parties begin posturing for the next election four years hence. It’s ridiculous. They spend more time trying to grab power, or hang onto power, than actually governing. That’s one of the reasons why the country is in such a mess right now. No one’s paying attention.”
Jonah leaned forward. “I have to admit I haven’t been paying attention all that much, either. When is the actual election, Professor?”
“Next November. But, primary elections start, state by state, in February. That’s the process that each party goes through to select their eventual nominee for President. That takes several months and concludes in the summer. Then, the two main parties’ candidates square off for the remaining three months to actually compete for president. In addition to that, there are primaries and elections that take place to choose senators and congressmen.”
Jonah shook his head. “Ridiculous, and what a waste of money.”
Sandy nodded. “Yep. Billions are spent every four years on this. Think how far that money could go for other things.”
“How many senators are there?”
“A total of 100. Each state gets to have two senators. And, the House of Representatives has 435 members—those are allocated state by state based on population.”
Janice crossed her legs. Sandy noticed Jonah stealing a sneak peek, which didn’t surprise him. He had to admit she had shapely legs, and he suspected that Jonah might have stuck around for this coffee chat just because she was there.
She pursed her lips, apparently pondering something to say.
“What is it, Janice?”
“You seem to know a l
ot about politics and the world. We’ve all noticed that, just from chatting with you or listening to your lectures. Have you ever thought of running for senator or—president?”
Sandy quickly shook his head. “No, Janice, I haven’t. I think I’d be frustrated. Too much of an idealist.”
“But, you’re so smart, and you speak so well. It seems that these days public speaking and image are the only skills they pay attention to. After every speech from a candidate, the journalists seem to be totally obsessed with how well they spoke, what they wore, how loud they were, or how they gestured. They seem to ignore what they actually talked about. It seems so silly—and so shallow to me. No substance.”
“Yes, you’re right.”
She persisted. “It seems to me that for a smart, honest person like you, who also speaks far better than any of those other clowns, you’d be a shoo-in.”
Sandy smiled. “Aww…that’s so nice of you to say. I appreciate it, I really do. But, no, politics isn’t for me. I enjoy what I do too much to jump into that circus. And, I don’t think I’d even have the energy for a brutal marathon like that.”
Janice pouted slightly, just before a frown crossed her face. Sandy knew she wanted to say something else.
“What is it? What’s troubling you?”
She sighed. “I don’t want to insult you, but in the short time I’ve been exposed to you, I’ve seen you as kind of a father figure.”
He smiled. “That’s a compliment, not an insult.”
“Can I ask you a personal question?”
“Well…sure. If I don’t want to answer it, I won’t. So shoot.”
The young woman was turning beet red. “I lost my father when I was very young, so, because of how I felt about you—uh, I’m so embarrassed—I read up on you. I know what happened a couple of years ago. You lost your family in that terrorist attack. You’re a father, who’s no longer a father. I really felt terrible about that. I’m a daughter without a father, and you’re a father without your children.”
Jonah looked at her curiously. “I didn’t know that.”
A cramp was starting to form in Sandy’s stomach. He shifted in his seat. “That’s okay, Janice. What was your question?”
She paused for a second to bite on a fingernail.
“I’ve seen the campaign ads from that candidate—I forget his name—Washington?”
“Close. It’s Lincoln. Lincoln Berwick.”
“Right, that Lincoln guy. He’s using you in one of his campaign ads. It shows a clip of you from a few months ago, on a stage, throwing a medal at some soldier. Uses a caption something like: “A disgraceful excuse for an American.” Then the ad goes on to show bombs dropping in some country and soldiers being taken away on stretchers.”
Jonah’s mouth was hanging open in shock. “God, I better watch TV more often. I haven’t seen that ad yet.”
Sandy glanced at his watch and stood. “Guys, I have to get going. Have another lecture in a few minutes.”
Janice stood as well. “I’m so sorry, Professor Beech. I’ve upset you, I think.”
“No, you haven’t, Janice. It is painful to remember, but I’m okay.”
She touched his forearm. “Can I still ask my question?”
“Sure.”
“Can’t you sue that bastard? How can he do that to you? Using you in his ad, dredging up the horror you went through? I don’t blame you for not accepting that medal. They were so rude to you, so insensitive.”
Sandy grimaced. “No, Janice, I can’t sue him. That was a public event, and I made a spectacle of myself. I should have expected that clip would pop up somewhere in someone’s propaganda. My speech was all over the news after I did that event this past summer, and things eventually died down. But, now, with this presidential campaign, I should have expected it would come back to haunt me. It’s just the type of thing these war-hawks would use.”
“It hurts me to see you being used that way. Isn’t there anything you can do?”
Sandy slouched slightly and lowered his head for a second, hoping to hide the sadness in his eyes. Then he pulled himself together, stood erect, and clapped his hands.
“Okay, kids, we’re done for today. Get along to your next classes.”
As they were leaving the lecture hall, Kyle stopped and looked back at him.
“What are you, Professor? Republican or Democrat?”
Sandy opened his briefcase and stuffed his tablet and phone inside.
“I’m a registered Democrat, son. But, in reality, more of an Independent.”
Kyle smiled. “Good.”
7
John Nichols fired up his computer, then sat and waited while the old machine took its usual five minutes to come to life. He knew he needed to replace the damn thing, but that would cost money—and he didn’t have any.
He googled the restaurant where his meeting would take place tonight. Well, it wouldn’t be in the restaurant itself—instead it would be outside the front entrance. Nice and public. Nice and safe.
John had asked for $200,000. Been second-guessing himself ever since, though. Should have asked for more. But, he wanted to make it easy for the prick to pay him. Didn’t want any delays and didn’t want to risk asking for too much, either. He was pretty sure he was safe, but you never knew. He had kept his address a secret, and since he didn’t have a credit card or anything like that, he wasn’t easy to track down. And he’d rented his basement apartment under a false name—same with his phone and utility payments.
That kind of money was going to change his life. Sure, he wouldn’t be rich, but he’d be able to live in a better place than the shit-hole he lived in right now. Might be able to pay off some debts, buy a car, and have enough left over to travel a bit.
And, most importantly, give a lot of it away to two special people.
What the hell, maybe also stock up on some good whisky rather than the cheap stuff he was drinking tonight.
The same cheap stuff he drank every night.
He poured himself another full glass of the poison. Then guzzled half.
It didn’t even sting any more. He remembered when he first started drinking heavily a lifetime ago, the strong liquid used to take his breath away. And burn his throat. Now, he didn’t feel a damn thing.
He knew full well that it had affected him in other ways, though. His brain just didn’t think as fast as it used to. Things took a lot longer to process now. And, because the stuff didn’t have the same drunken effect on him as it had years ago, he ended up drinking more in one sitting than he used to. Which meant his brain was taking more of a beating with each session, because his natural braking system had long since failed. There were no brakes anymore.
John glanced at his watch. A couple of hours to go. Judging by the google map, it would take him an hour to get there—one bus ride, followed by a short stint on the subway.
He sighed, pushed his wheeled chair back from the computer, and looked up at the mantle. Two pretty faces smiled down at him from behind the glass of a picture frame. His ex-wife, Judy, and daughter, Cynthia. They were both long gone now, and he hadn’t seen them in at least a decade.
He’d phoned them many times, but that had been the extent of it. Judy wanted nothing to do with him. Cynthia, however, was always pleasant enough to him over the phone, and he always made sure to send her a birthday card each year.
She’d be fifteen in a couple of months.
John grabbed a pen and wrote out a reminder to himself on a sticky note.
He still loved them, but the damn booze had ruined everything for him. Judy urged him to get help, and he’d tried real hard, too. But…every time he climbed onto the wagon he just fell right off again. She finally gave up—packed some suitcases, took his daughter and left. They still lived in New York City, but he’d been respectful enough not to visit them.
Always the same question: “Have you stopped drinking?”
And he always answered the same way: “No.”
John was never able to lie to her, and he’d never been violent with his family. Even though he’d been trained in skills that would curl the toes of even the most hardened soldier, he’d never used those skills.
He knew their address—they’d moved a couple of times and Judy trusted him enough to always let him know. They lived in Queens now. He lived in the Bronx.
She still loved him. He felt that. And he loved her, too. Always would.
A few hours ago, he’d sent her a package in the mail. Even though his brain wasn’t working all that well anymore, he’d remembered to cover his bases. The package was one of those padded envelope thingies with a note and a cassette tape contained inside. The note was a short one—just long enough to tell Judy that he’d have some money for her and Cynthia shortly. Enough to make their lives a little better. Actually, a lot better.
But, in case something happened to him, he told her in the note to keep the cassette tape safe and sound. He didn’t want her to listen to it, but instead to get in touch with an old friend from back in his West Point days. He wanted Judy to give him that cassette tape, a recording that had been made without a certain other person being aware.
In his note, he told Judy that in the event he died, the cassette had to get into his old friend’s hands. Without delay.
It was the original. The copy he had in his pocket, ready to exchange tonight for $200,000. He wondered if the asshole would come in person. He doubted it. He was an important senator now, so John was sure he had “people” who did this sort of thing for him.