“They’re compensating for something,” said Cap. “Let’s just call him junior.”
“To junior,” said Ben, raising his beer.
Logan and Cap raised their glasses and repeated, “To junior!”
Hector shook his head. “Two ground pounders and a bird turd. You boys are not navy material, that’s for sure.”
As they took a drink, Logan noticed a view screen mounted in a corner was showing images of burning homes, cars, and shops. He walked toward the screen, and the others followed. The repetitive, pounding music coming out of the bar’s speakers was too loud for them to hear what was being said, so they read the news script running along the bottom of the screen.
Ben shook his head. “More clan raids on the frontier,” he said. “When are we going to put a stop to this shit?”
“It’s getting pretty bad,” agreed Cap. “Things have just settled down on the southern border and now this is flaring up. We can’t catch a break.”
“You would think we could handle these clans,” said Hector. “But they just keep raiding and we keep letting them get away.”
“Is that all there is to it?” asked Logan. “Just clan raids?”
“What do you mean?” asked Ben, a little annoyed.
“I’m just asking,” replied Logan. “If we’re so much better organized and better equipped than they are, why can’t we prevent the raids?”
“The border’s too porous,” said Ben. “We need to tighten it up.”
Hector nodded his head. “Agreed. These frontier territories joined the Republic about…what… fifteen years ago? Obviously, they’re better off now than they were, but they need stability to really get going. More troops on the border would help.”
“More troops?” asked Logan. “We’ve got troops all along the frontier.”
“What are you getting at?” asked Ben.
“Nothing,” said Logan. “I’m just saying we’re hearing how these disorganized clans from the Waste are somehow sneaking thirty, fifty, a hundred kilometers into our territory, raiding small towns, burning a few barns, and then running back. Sometimes we get them, but usually we don’t. Why is it so hard for us to put a stop to it?”
“They blend in with the population,” said Hector. “We can’t tell who’s who.”
“I don’t know about that,” said Logan. “Seriously – why can’t we locate and destroy a bunch rifle-toting goat herders dragging loot fifty klicks back to the far side of the Mississippi?”
“They know the area like the backs of their hands,” said Cap. “They probably have a lot of secret paths in and out.”
Logan shrugged. “All I’m saying is either the clans are a lot more sophisticated than we give them credit for, or we are not as effective as we think we are.”
“I get what you’re saying,” said Hector. “It’s too easy for them to move in and out of PRA territory. The SPD needs to tighten internal controls.
Ben nodded. “I hear they’re deploying Republican Special Forces in the frontier territories to help the SPD.”
“That should help,” said Hector. “Of course we need to get at the real problem, the so-called League of Free Cities out there in the Waste. They’re supplying and controlling the clans.”
Looking at Cap, Hector said, “I hear the League’s scraped together some kind of air force. You ready for a little action out west?”
“I’m always ready,” said Cap with a grin.
“What about you, Logan?” asked Hector. “You ready to put some hurt on the League and their clan cronies west of the river?”
“Sure,” replied Logan. “But I think we should figure what’s going on in the frontier before we go marching across the Mississippi.”
“I just told you,” said Hector. “The League and their clan minions are the source of the problem. Take care of the League, and we take care of the clan raids.”
“What if the clan raiders aren’t really getting away across the Mississippi?” Logan asked. “What if they’re staying on this side of the river?”
Ben scoffed. “You mean PRA citizens? Why would they do that? After joining the PRA their lives got a hell of a lot better. Steady food supply and clean water. Education for their kids. They would have no reason to be raiding.”
“They haven’t been citizens that long,” said Logan. “Maybe they need time to see the benefits of life under the Guardians.”
“I don’t want to hear any shit like that,” said Hector, noting the sarcasm in Logan’s voice. “We’re trying to pull this country back together again after a hundred years of chaos. We’re not going to let the League or a few raggedy-ass clans stop us. I think it’s time we put the boot down on the League, the clans, and maybe even the fuckin’ frontier territories.” He took a quick drink of beer and looked away, his face flushed red. He swallowed and raised a finger at Logan. “One people, one nation.”
“One plus one equals one,” agreed Ben, nodding his head.
“Hector’s right Logan,” said Cap. “We’re going to pull the country together again. That’ll put an end to the raids.” He clapped Logan on the shoulder. “Tell Hector he’s right.”
Logan looked into Hector’s eyes and saw the anger boiling beneath the surface. Then he smiled and said, “Yeah. Of course Hector’s right. We need to pull the country back together. That’s what they’re training us for, right?”
“Right,” said Cap. “Let’s have another beer.”
Ben and Hector left after drinking the next beer. They embraced Cap and clasped hands with Logan but without great enthusiasm. As soon as they were gone Cap looked at Logan. “What the hell was all that about?”
“What?” asked Logan, his eyebrows raised in surprise.
“All that fifth column, enemy within bullshit,” said Cap. “You know that Hector’s brother was killed chasing down clan raiders, right?”
“No. I didn’t,” said Logan.
“It happened last year. They ambushed his company someplace near Nashville,” said Cap.
“They ambushed his company?” asked Logan. “That’s a hundred fifty or two hundred troops. Clan raiders ambushed that many PRA soldiers? Inside the PRA?”
“Let it go,” said Cap. “You’re letting this get too personal.”
Logan didn’t answer right away. Then he nodded. “You got to move, right? Move on.”
“That’s the first intelligent thing you’ve said all night,” said Cap. “Let’s get out of here. I hear they’ve got a good rev band playing at the Billy Goat.”
“Asynchronous reverberation and growling lyrics. Can’t wait,” said Logan unenthusiastically.
“There will be women there,” said Cap encouragingly as he pushed Logan toward the door. “Lots of beautiful crazed dancing women.”
Chapter 8
Professor Garrison heard a light knock on his office door and looked up from the hard cover book he was reading to see Logan standing in the doorway.
He removed his reading glasses and said, “Mr. Brandt, come in.”
Logan smiled and entered. It was a small windowless room just large enough for a desk, two chairs, and a filing cabinet. There were a couple of framed prints of colorful impressionist paintings hanging on the wall, but the room was otherwise a uniform shade of beige. Logan sat down in one of the chairs.
“I know I said I’d have office hours today, but I have to say I’m surprised to get a visitor now that everyone has their grade. Pleasantly surprised, though,” he added, smiling. “What can I do for you?”
“I wanted to show you something and get your opinion about it,” said Logan as he reached into his pocket. He removed the medallion his grandfather had sent him and placed it on Professor Garrison’s desk. “It’s a family heirloom that my grandfather passed down to me.”
Garrison put on his reading glasses and picked it up to examine it.
Logan continued. “I’ve already looked this up on the net, and I’m pretty sure the man on the chariot with the torch is supposed to repr
esent the Greek god Apollo, but I wasn’t able to find any references to the arrow pointing up or the dot its flying toward.”
“I see. You could try the academy’s reserve hardcover collection,” replied the professor as he held the medallion under the light of his desk lamp, turning it to see it from different angles.
“I was just there. Nothing,” replied Logan.
“Not surprising, considering we don’t teach art or ancient history here,” said Garrison.
The professor held the medallion at an angle. “I agree the man with the torch is supposed to represent the Greek god Apollo, but I don’t know if this is an arrow flying toward the dot. It might be a shooting star or a comet.” He rubbed his thumb over the intricate swirling design on the other side. “What are these grooves for, I wonder,” he said, half to himself.
“I don’t know,” said Logan. “They’re definitely a different artistic style than the image of Apollo.”
“Hmm,” said Garrison.
Garrison handed the medallion back to Logan. He removed his reading glasses and leaned back in his chair. “Your family heirloom certainly predates the Impact, but I’m sure you’ve already guessed that.”
Logan nodded his head.
Garrison thought for a moment, tapping his glasses against his open hand. Then he said, “Logan, please close the door.”
Logan looked a little surprised but did as the professor asked.
After Logan sat down again, Garrison said, “As I said, I agree the man on the chariot is probably Apollo, the Greek god of the sun, healing, prophecy, and a number of other things. As for the other images, the flaming arrow or comet and the dot, I think they may refer to something that is not often discussed these days. In fact it’s quite taboo.”
He dropped his glasses on the desk, laced his fingers together, and rested them on his stomach, his elbows on the chair’s arms. He stared at Logan for a few moments. Then he shrugged and tilted his head a bit, as though answering a silent question.
“As you know,” said Garrison, “In 2031 a series of asteroids crashed into the planet. Not only was there significant damage at the impact sites, but the debris thrown into the atmosphere darkened the skies for many months. This led to the Long Winter, worldwide crop failures, and radically different weather patterns, which persisted for many years, even to today. You’re familiar with the turmoil that followed.”
“I’m familiar with it. Everyone’s familiar with it,” said Logan, surprised at his own terseness.
Garrison held up a hand and said, “Please. Be patient.” He cleared his throat and continued. “The social fabric was shredded. Soon after Impact there were the resource wars, the breakup of the United States, the Tyranny of the Nine, and so on. Finally, under the leadership of Malcom Weller the eastern part of the former United States regained some semblance of order and power was restored to the people and the Congress of Representatives. And of course we can’t forget the Guardian Council, which carries out the will of the people and enforces the laws passed by Congress. That’s all familiar territory for you.”
Logan nodded and added, “After the Impact, the western region formed the Pacific Federation and the south formed the Southern Union. The rest of the world experienced similar political and social upheaval and environmental pressures.”
Professor Garrison nodded. “As for here in the former United States, the Midwest was hit by several massive direct impacts and descended into complete chaos. We’re told it’s still mostly ruins and rain-starved scorched lands. The few people living there now have begun to reoccupy the ruined former cities, but politically speaking, they’re just a bunch of warring clans. A few cities have recently made a claim for legitimacy, calling themselves the League of Free Cities. But, we are informed their land can’t support even their modest population, so they are forced to raid our frontier towns for food and supplies.”
“The Midwaste,” said Logan.
“Exactly,” said Garrison. “Now, Congressional leadership and the Guardians assure us that we here in the People’s Republic of America have regained, and even surpassed, the quality of life enjoyed by citizens of the United States prior to Impact.”
Garrison looked into Logan’s eyes and said, “Now, before I continue, let me emphasize that as a professor of history, I am simply informing you of a minor line of academic theory. A very minor line. I do not personally agree with this theory.”
Logan nodded his head. “I understand.”
Garrison shifted in his chair and paused to collect his thoughts before speaking. After several moments he said, “There is a very small minority of fringe thinkers who believe pre-Impact society was much further advanced in certain aspects than ours. Orthodox teaching about pre-Impact society emphasizes street crime, injustice, income disparity, and the immoral self-indulgence of a rich ruling class. But the fringe scholars I mentioned think this view is overstated.”
Hearing footsteps in the hallway outside his door, Garrison stopped speaking. The footsteps stopped. After a few seconds there was a knock on his door. Garrison leaned forward and placed his hand over the medallion. He gave Logan a cautioning look and said, “Come in.”
The door swung open and a man with swept back white hair wearing a blue blazer and blue trousers stepped into the office. Under his blazer he wore a blue button-down shirt. A narrow red and green striped tie hung from his neck, running over the curvature of his round stomach and terminating slightly above his belt. “Excuse me, Professor Garrison,” said the man. “I didn’t realize you were in a meeting.”
“Not at all, Professor Ferrin,” said Garrison in a warm tone. “We were just discussing Mr. Brandt’s grade.”
“I prefer doctor Ferrin.”
“Of course,” said Garrison. “My apologies.”
“No matter. I try not to take these things too seriously, but it’s better to be accurate.” Dr. Ferrin smiled at Garrison and then looked at Logan.
“Discussing grades, eh? I hope you weren’t too hard on our dedicated citizen, Mr. Brandt,” he said to Garrison with a wink.
“Not too hard,” said Garrison.
“I must say I’m a little disappointed Mr. Brandt didn’t accept my invitation to take my course, Roots of Authority to Govern,” said Dr. Ferrin. “I think he would have found it stimulating, and his insights would no doubt have elevated our class discussions.”
Sensing Ferrin was waiting for him to speak, Logan said, “There are so many good courses and so little time.”
Ferrin smiled and lifted a hand. “Don’t worry. I’m not offended. I know you needed to prepare yourself for a lifetime of important military service. Advanced political theory is for politicians, not warriors, eh?”
Ferrin turned his attention to Garrison. “Can we expect to see you at the faculty meeting this evening? We’ll be discussing new initiatives for next year’s freshman class.”
“Of course,” said Garrison. “I’ll be there.”
“Great, great,” said Ferrin. He looked at Logan and then back to Garrison. “Well, I’ll leave you to your conversation about grades.” He flashed them a smile and closed the door.
Garrison stared at the door and listened to the sound of Ferrin’s fading footfalls. “As I was saying,” he continued, “one of the threads of this fringe theory includes a belief that society had achieved spaceflight. And not just spaceflight, that humans had visited the moon.”
Garrison leaned back in his chair and pointed at the medallion on the desk. “I believe your family heirloom refers to something called the ‘Apollo’ moon landing. I have seen some of the symbols these fringe believers have used over time, and the image on that medallion reminds me one used long ago.”
Logan looked at the medallion again, excited by the possibility that humans had overcome the engineering challenges and visited Earth’s ancient satellite. Returning his attention to Garrison, he said, “Okay, so the medallion pre-dates the Impact and might be evidence of a belief that we have sent ships into space and
perhaps even to the moon, but if it were true why would Congress or the Guardians not want that known? If someone told me that pre-Impact society had done all of this, I would be inspired to try and match or exceed the achievement.”
Garrison smiled and nodded his head. He held his index finger up and said, “Yes, if it were true. If it were true, the story could serve to inspire not just you, but many people to push the boundaries of our understanding.”
Then Garrison dropped his smile. He leaned forward and rested his folded hands on the desk. “But consider this,” he said in a serious tone. “Since the Impact, we have been through a lot. By many estimates, four-fifths or more of the world’s population died from the Impact and the natural disasters and crop failures that followed the Impact. The resource wars here and elsewhere in the world that followed killed even more. It has only been about forty years, just two generations, since we have enjoyed much stability here in the PRA. And that stability is due largely to the fact that a strong government emerged and created order out of chaos. Now that…”
Logan interrupted, “But can you imagine how excited people would be if they knew how much we had achieved before Impact and how much more we could be doing now?”
“Excited or angered by the gap that still exists?” asked Garrison. He leaned back in his chair. “I think you’ll find that whether people are content or not depends on how they see themselves compared to others around them. Neighbors envy neighbors for the slightest perceived disparity in wealth or privilege. They don’t care that they are no longer starving to death like people did after the Impact. People are not intrinsically happy, they are only comparatively happy. That’s just human nature. Now imagine if they knew that our supposedly great society is a mere shadow of pre-Impact society? That would only serve to upset social harmony.”
Logan shook his head, “People’s happiness depends on more than what their neighbors are up to. I think that’s narrow thinking.”
“To you it is, Logan. But if you’re in charge of running a government, don’t you think you’d prefer to have an obedient and relatively content society instead of a volatile one? Wouldn’t you prefer to govern a society whose attention is occupied by frequent military parades, so-called just wars, and the Rededication Games? Or would you prefer to govern a society that is constantly pressing for change because it is reminded of the superior achievements of the past?”
The Navigator (The Apollo Stone Trilogy Book 1) Page 4