by Andrew Gates
“Taken by who?” asked one voice.
“What of the captain?” asked another.
“We don’t believe Captain Gessetti was taken. The front of the craft was broken by the force of the water. Apart from the damage done from this, the captain’s seat remains perfectly intact. It is likely she escaped the craft beforehand, perhaps attempting a daring ascent to the surface.”
“And who do you think attacked it?” asked the first voice again. Sanja shook her head and let out a sigh. This was finally the point where she stopped having the answers. She did not know where the voice came from so she simply looked up towards the center of the table.
“To that, I have no answer. But whoever they are, their military capabilities are beyond our own. The technology they possess outmatches anything we have, at least to my knowledge,” she replied.
A hush fell over the room, quickly followed by quiet mumblings. Within moments, everyone in the room was busy with their own private conversations with the people sitting next to them. Only Commander Jordan Grey and President Bernard Ortega sat resolute, not leaning over to engage their neighbors on the subject.
“It must be the Pacific Station!” someone finally yelled. Sanja was surprised to hear yelling in an official meeting like this. It was as if order had broken down.
“The Indian Station!” another hollered. “They’ve always been the least equipped. They’re desperate!”
More voices began to chime in and each person’s shouts were swallowed by the next. Sanja remained resolute, standing still, trying to avoid getting caught up in the chaos. She turned around to see what her team was doing but they were lost in the crowd.
“Enough!” shouted Jordan. Sanja’s head snapped forward as he said this. His voice rang like a call to order, piercing through the chaos. She noticed that he was now standing, leaning over the table with both arms pressed firmly against it. “We are the Security Council, not a pack of school children. Those seated are given priority to speak. You all know the rules.”
The room was silent again. Sanja wondered if this was her time to speak or if Jordan was waiting for someone else to jump in. Answering her question, Peter Skylar took a deep breath and looked up towards her.
“Dr. Parnel, if our crewman was taken captive, why have we received no ransom?” he asked calmly.
All heads turned from him to her.
“Because Lieutenant Saljov was taken dead, not alive. The craft was breached well before it reached the bottom. There’s no way he could have survived the pressure. Whoever took him took a corpse,” she explained.
“And what would they want with a corpse?” the commander asked.
“I can’t say. We still don’t know who took him.”
“I’m more concerned about this plasma cannon,” Linda Faulkner cut in, raising her hand up as she spoke. “And so close to our station. Was this probe intended for surveillance? Offensive measures? Defensive measures?”
“I cannot comment on the probe. My team studied the submarine’s wreckage, not the device. Commander Grey can offer more insight onto-” Sanja was cut off before she could finish her answer.
“Why did it take so long for us to convene this meeting?” asked the older woman across from her. “Our Navy came under attack ten, 11 days ago yet we are just now holding this meeting.”
Although she directed her question towards Sanja, Jordan jumped in. This was a question better handled by the man who had organized this meeting in the first place.
“A meeting was held when we first lost contact with the crew. Only top officials were invited. President Ortega was in attendance but he did not feel his aides were necessary, Mrs. Walter. If you wanted to attend the first meeting, you should take it up with your boss. This is not an issue for the Navy,” he answered sternly. This confirmed Sanja’s suspicions of the woman. She was part of the President’s staff after all.
“But why so long?” she asked.
“It took my team several days to organize the operation and locate the craft,” Sanja responded. “And after recovering our data from the scene it took another five days to compile and analyze the evidence. We’re talking about a deep sea wreckage investigation where we were unsure of the craft’s crash site. You’re lucky we got this done in 10 days.”
“What Dr. Parnel is trying to say, is it was the opinion of the Atlantic Navy that a response meeting should not be held until all the data was analyzed. We wanted to come in with information so that nosy political aides like you could have your questions answered,” he responded, this time with a hint of distaste in his tone. Sanja knew Jordan was never fond of politicians, especially pretend politicians like political aides.
The obese man sitting next to her became visibly offended. His cheeks turned rosy and he squinted his eyes like a fat child staring at a bright monitor. The image made Sanja chuckle, though she knew it was out of place to laugh. She wondered if anyone else saw him the way she did.
“Commander,” the large man proceeded, “with all due respect, I don’t think you are treating this topic with the severity it deserves. We have just come under attack for the first time in centuries. Let’s not forget that. And we still don’t know who this attack came from. I think instead of insulting my colleague, it would be better suited for us to spend our time addressing the issue at hand.”
“With all due respect,” Peter Skylar said mockingly, “I believe we were discussing the issue at hand until your colleague questioned the commander’s actions and derailed our meeting.”
Sanja appreciated Commander Skylar coming to Jordan’s defense. She glanced over at Jordan to gauge his reaction, but his face was as emotionless as always.
“Commander, please. Let us get back to the meeting,” he said.
Suddenly a hand was raised from the table. Sanja turned her head and noticed that it came from the President himself. He had not said a word throughout the entire meeting, as was typical for him to do. But now he held his hand high and the room held its breath.
“Where did you say this probe was found?” the President asked. Hearing him speak gave the question a certain amount of heaviness to it that she did not expect.
“The crew discovered the object at around 250 meters below sea level,” Jordan responded, as resolute as always.
“That’s incredibly close to the surface,” the President added, “closer than anything we’ve seen before, since the Descent at least. I know it may be unlikely, but I don’t think we should rule out the possibility that this object may have originated from the surface and not from one of the other stations.”
The room was quiet after he said this, and for understandable reasons. Sanja had not even considered the possibility proposed by the President. Judging by the reactions around her, most others had not considered this either. It was almost unfathomable, but given these circumstances, the advanced technology, the interest in a corpse and the proximity to the surface, the theory had potential.
“Dr. Parnel, do you think there is any possibility that this is true?” asked Jordan, breaking the silence after a few seconds.
“Uhm, yes sir,” she replied, caught off guard. “It is certainly possible. I will have to go about my investigation differently with this new theory in mind, but I regret to say I am no expert on surface history. I don’t know how well I can properly evaluate the theory with my limited understanding of the topic.”
“Is there a surface historian present at this meeting today?” Mrs. Walter asked.
“Negative,” Jordan replied. “We had not anticipated needing one.” As he said this, Jordan stood up again and looked over at Sanja. “Dr. Parnel, I want you to consult an expert on surface history. Add one to your team if you must. I want you to consider the President’s theory very seriously.”
“Yes sir,” she replied.
Jordan looked around the room.
“So now that that’s settled,” he continued, “we will open the floor for open discussion. This will be orderly and calm so I want
to see hands raised like grade school. Is that understood?” A few heads nodded. “Good. So are there any questions from those invited here to stand in attendance?”
And with that said, dozens of hands went up at once
IRIS WALKED DOWN THE HALL in her flat soled shoes, thankful that she left her cumbersome heels behind. As much as she liked the look and power that came with it, the heels were just too much for her, especially on a stressful day like today. She slowly phased out her formal attire as she grew more comfortable with the school and the school grew more comfortable with her.
The history teacher glanced up and saw Greyson rushing past her the opposite way, carrying a stack of transparent geometric shapes in his arms. Iris could only imagine what those were used for. She was never very skilled in mathematics.
She rounded the next corner and pressed on the glass door to Jorge’s office. The door opened easily, as if it weighed nothing at all. As she entered, she noticed that Jorge was distracted with his personal pod, staring at the glowing screen without even the slightest acknowledgement of Iris’s presence. He stood up behind his desk with the chair pushed in, as if he had left the room for a long time and only just now returned.
“Take a seat,” he said, not looking up. Iris did as he said, sitting down in a plastic chair across from his monstrous desk. This was not her first time in this room, but she studied it as if she had never been here before. It was the same as she remembered, plain and grey like everything else in the school.
“Jorge,” she began.
He put one finger up into the air, silencing her.
“One minute,” he said, reading. Iris waited quietly. He put his finger away after a few moments and looked up. At first he seemed surprised. She assumed it must have been due to her attire. Today she simply wore a plain white shirt tucked into a semiformal pair of black pants. Her face had a thin layer of makeup, much less than she had worn before. He looked much better by contrast in his clean tight brown shirt with a black tie and sleek dark pants.
“Iris,” he finally said, “Mr. Obsanjo and I have finished our meeting. I told you I would handle this controversy and I stand by that. I have no intention of putting any of this weight on your shoulders, but he has asked to meet with you personally.”
Iris adjusted in her seat, trying to find a more comfortable posture.
“What did he say?” she asked.
Jorge pulled his own chair back, placed his pod on the table and sat down.
“He wants to take legal action,” he said. “Clinton’s father plans to sue Harrison for teaching wrong information.”
“Is that even a crime?” Iris asked.
“I don’t know. Probably. But I’m no law man. The point is, Iris, he plans to sue. Fortunately, I think we can win this fight but my fear is that this move will inspire others to side with him. The last thing we need is this message spreading or we might have a major problem on our hands. We’re fortunate that, for now, Mr. Obsanjo appears to be the only parent particularly vocal on the subject. The rest have stayed quiet, and trust me there are others.”
“Well his son certainly seems to agree with him,” Iris added. She remembered when Clinton first raised his hand. The class had been going so well until then. He was the proverbial disturber of the peace. In hindsight, it could have gone a lot worse though, she considered.
“I’m not so worried about the student. I’m more concerned about the parent,” Jorge said.
“So what do I have to do with all this? I thought you were handling this side of the issue,” she replied. Iris paused after she said this. She did not mean to take such a harsh tone and realized how bossy she must have sounded. “I’m sorry,” she added, hoping he did not take it personally.
Jorge raised his hand in the air again and shook his head.
“Don’t worry, it’s fine. Tim and I have been doing our best on our end but Obsanjo has made it clear he wants to speak with you. I told him curriculum-specific issues were to be handled by myself, but he was adamant. You are his son’s teacher after all,” Jorge explained.
“I suppose that makes sense.”
“It doesn’t matter what you suppose, that’s just the way it is. I understand you are not teaching another class for two hours today,” he continued. “Is that correct?”
Iris nodded. Schedules varied daily here. One day the students might have their history class first thing in the morning, other days in the afternoon and sometimes not at all. The school board thought that by changing the daily routine, the students would be more attentive. Iris supposed there was some truth to that but she understood psychology about as much as she understood mathematics.
“Yes, that’s correct,” she replied. “I am free for the next two hours, but I was planning to take lunch during this time.”
“Lunch does not take long. I need you to meet with Obsanjo now,” he explained.
“He’s still here?”
Jorge nodded.
“He is. I trust you will handle this situation professionally, right? I need to trust you,” he said.
Iris understood his fear. If Obsanjo became too outspoken and rallied more parents to his cause, they could have a serious issue on their hands. She hoped the lawsuit would stay relatively unpublicized. The last thing they needed was the media joining in.
“Of course,” she replied.
Jorge adjusted in his seat in the same manner Iris had.
“How do you like it here so far?” he asked. She took a deep breath. Iris had not expected the conversation to turn so informal so quickly.
“I like it. The people are nice. It’s a good job. I like the students,” she answered honestly.
“Is it what you expected?”
Iris thought about that for a moment. The real answer was no. The students were neither as informed nor professional as she had anticipated, the faculty did not come off as academics and the entire institution was less formal than she thought. I expected a university setting, she realized. I didn’t realize what I was getting into. Half the time she felt like a babysitter, more of a person to tell the students to calm down and pay attention than a teacher. But she did not want to say this to Jorge right now.
“It’s a little different,” she said, “but that’s to be expected. The students are nice, so are the teachers.”
For some reason the look on Jorge’s face made Iris think he did not believe her. Why does he have any reason to doubt me? She wondered.
“You don’t seem like it’s what you expected, Iris. In fact you seem surprised by a lot of this. At least, that’s what I think,” he explained.
Although he was right, Iris wondered why he thought that. Was it something she said? Or perhaps something she did? But more importantly, she wondered why it even mattered.
“Why do you say that?” she asked.
“You seem surprised by things. Like this whole controversy. But it’s more than that. The way you follow procedure, the way you always wait for me to speak. This is not a university, Iris. I understand you are a shy person but I think there is more to it than that,” he said. Jorge did not sound like he meant any insult by this, but he leaned forward and clarified anyway. “I don’t mean any disrespect. I’m just wondering if you’re aware of what you signed up for, that’s all.”
“I’m learning sir,” is all she said. She spoke quietly but without hesitation.
“Good,” Jorge replied. He leaned back in his chair. “I just want you to be comfortable here. I know how stressful it can be to have a new job like this. I understand.”
“Yes sir, it’s all fine,” she reiterated. Iris did not know why she suddenly decided to address him so formally but he did not seem to think anything of it, so she figured it was not a problem.
“When I first started working here, I was just a teacher like you, younger mind you. I was in my mid-twenties, though I can’t remember the exact age.” He stopped to think about the age. “Maybe 26 perhaps. Well, it’s not important. I was right out of school like
you and so full of ambition. I thought I could change the world. I thought I could change these kids. History was everything to me. And yes, you’ll have your moments when a student really gets it and falls in love with the class. It’s a great feeling. It’s a feeling of achievement. But it happens less than you’d like, Iris. Most of these students leave school and forget about their lessons. I just don’t want you thinking you’re going to change the world and get let down when you realize it’s not what you expected,” he said, finally getting to his point.
“I see,” she said. “I guess I hadn’t thought about it.”
“You can’t win them all,” he said, as if trying to warn her, “not even half.”
Iris thought about that for a moment. All her life she had been held back, mostly by her parents. Jorge might have been right to say this job was not what she expected but to suggest that she could not make a difference was flat-out wrong. To Iris, this was just another person in power trying to quell her ambitions. You can’t win them all, the teacher repeated in her head, not even half. She remembered the sea of hands going up in her classroom on the first day. Jorge was a teacher of modern history, but this was surface history.
This was a whole new game.
“I’ll take that bet,” she said. She felt excited as she said it. She felt her heart pound a bit faster. “I’ll get my students excited about history. I can do it.” She smiled as this newfound energy rushed through her.
“You sure do have your moments of courage, Iris. If only you can keep this up all the time,” he said, returning her smile. “But I like this goal. I certainly hope what you’re saying is true.”
“I do too.”
“That’s good to hear. For now though, you need only to win over one man. That’s your goal right now. Consider it a test,” he explained.