Ruined Worlds

Chapter 3 – Symbols

Chapter 3 – Symbols

Jerry arrived at Fort Chapman the next morning. He made his way to the Rifle Intelligence building, was directed to General Gardener's office, and knocked on the door.

“Come in.”

Jerry entered. “Sergeant Jerry Harper, sir, reporting as ordered.”

Gardener rose from behind his desk and strode towards him. “Excellent. Right on time.” He gestured to the door. “Walk with me, Harper.”

Jerry and the general left the office and walked down the hall. They took the elevator to the ground floor and made for the lobby.

“Your case is an unusual one,” Gardener said, glancing over at Jerry, “as I'm sure you're aware.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Actually, I'd even say it's unique. I doubt Homestead's ever had a similar situation with a Rifleman before.” Gardener waved to the Auxilian manning the front desk and continued out the front door of the building.

Jerry followed him outside. It was late summer, and the mornings were getting cooler, but it still looked like it would be a nice hot day. After his adventures in the cold Chakros River valley on Cortex, the heat felt good. It felt like home.

“As a result,” Gardener continued, “Ealdorman Brewer and I have been discussing you at length. We've finally decided what to do with you. We're going to start by stripping you of your rank.”

Jerry's mouth fell open, and his stomach lurched. He stumbled for a moment and had to hurry to catch up. “Sir, say again?”

“You heard me. You're no longer a sergeant in the Homestead Volunteer Rifles. Ealdorman Brewer issued a warrant for your psychic ability this morning.”

“A warrant, sir?”

“That's right. You are now a warrant officer. Actually, you've been one for a little over an hour now. Congratulations, Mister Harper.”

“Thank you, sir.” Jerry had no idea what to think of this new development.

“You'll see the terms of the warrant soon enough, but here's the gist of it. Brewer and I aren't completely sold on your utility as a sort of psychic soldier, so you will continue to lead infantrymen as a squad leader just as you've done before. That's your default role. However, you will be expected to use your psychic ability in the most effective manner you can when it's convenient for you to do so. While aboard ship, you are charged with shutting down the shields of enemy vessels, disabling their engines, and whatever else falls within your capabilities. Basically, take your electrokinetic opportunities as they appear. Use your best judgment. Only you know what you're truly capable of, if even you know it, and that makes it difficult to give you more specific orders. But you're expected to do your duty as best you can according to your land oath. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

Gardener turned down a street that led towards the center of Fort Chapman. “The break-in at your home has been something of a wake-up call for all of us. Sheriff Fry is still investigating, but I suspect he'll find out that the intruder was paid by a foreign power to eliminate you. It could also be a home-grown nut with a grudge. We simply won't know for a while. We've got his money card, and maybe that will turn up some clues. In the meantime, we're raising the internal security threat assessment level. If there's one foreign agent among us, then there will be more. I'd like to root out as many of them as possible before this war breaks out for real.”

“Sir, if I may...”

“Go ahead.”

“Sir, do you really think an all-out war is inevitable at this point?”

“Brewer's still holding out a slim hope for a peaceful resolution, but neither of us have any illusions after the events on Cortex. They fired on Auxiliary ships, Harper, and that's a line that can't be crossed. The Mentarch observed the treaties during the Claim War, but those treaties are history now. The galaxy's about to tear itself apart, and it doesn't look like there's any way to prevent it.”

Jerry shook his head. So much for the “rules of war.” All that progress from the past, gone. The coming war threatened to be brutal in ways not seen in generations.

“You're heading upstairs tomorrow, Harper, under an assumed name. That's for security purposes due to the break-in. Once your ship jumps to cross-space, you can use your real name. Until then, though, you're Private Randall Fielding, a new recruit. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.” Jerry's head was swimming. He was deploying tomorrow? And under an assumed name? It wasn't much of a heads-up. He had landscaping duties. He'd have to call Miss Carpenter and hope she could handle all the arrangements of his absence herself.

“You'll spend a few days in orbit getting your space legs back. It'll be like Space Camp all over again.”

Jerry grimaced. Space Camp had been tough enough when he was younger and fitter.

“You'll be deployed on a corvette, the A.C.S. Raymond Shepherd. Its CO is Lieutenant Commander Bruce Taylor. He's a bright young fellow, and a capable officer, and he knows your full story. Well, he doesn't yet. But he will soon enough.”

A thought occurred to Jerry. “Uh, sir, I don't know how much you know about the Masters, but they can watch everything in the galaxy. Some of them might be spying on us for the Mentarch right now. I'm not sure how effective it will be to try to keep my identity a secret. Maybe we should—”

“Let me worry about that, Harper.”

“Yes, sir.”

“It's a big galaxy, and lots of things are going on. Things you don't know about. Ealdorman Brewer has personally met with this 'Master Senzon' fellow, and he's aware of more than you might guess.”

“Yes, sir.” Jerry gulped. It was a big galaxy, especially if world leaders were conspiring with Masters. He suddenly felt small and insignificant.

Gardener stopped walking. “Here we are. I thought you might want to see this.”

Jerry looked. A site in the middle of the intersection had been roped off for construction. There was a sign in front of the rope:

FUTURE SITE OF THE LOCUS PEACE TALKS MEMORIAL

This location is the future site of the Locus Peace Talks Memorial, a monument dedicated to the Agrarians who lost their lives on Cortex during the time of the Inquiry Hall assassination attempt. The base of the statue will bear the names of our honored dead. The statue itself will be of Shepherd of Homestead Corporal Brandon Woods, 3rd Regiment, Company D, Homestead Volunteer Rifles. He will bear an upraised sword, and at his feet will lie the body of the Harowaith he slew in the Battle of Third Blackshoals. Monument commissioned by Philip Brewer, Ealdorman of Homestead, and constructed by D. Cliffside and Sons, Artisans.

Jerry finished reading and raised his gaze to where the statue would be, imagining what it would look like. It was a little strange to think of goofy, dim-witted, easy-going Brandon as a hero. But heroes didn't always look heroic, did they? They were just ordinary people who did heroic things. Like kill Harowaith and save the lives of world leaders.

Jerry shivered. That Harowaith memory was the worst. He'd been paralyzed with fear. He could handle boarding, taking fire, and sword fighting. That was typical soldier stuff, the challenges he knew he would face when he signed up for military service. He'd still been scared, of course, but he always found a way to push through that fear. Only one thing had broken his courage and rendered him completely helpless, and that was meeting a Harowaith in combat. Hopefully it would never happen again.

“It will be a symbol of noble self-sacrifice,” Gardener said, nodding at the sign with obvious pride, “and that's important, because people need such symbols, especially in times of war. Teenage boys don't join the Volunteer Rifles because of the pay, or the travel, or because they think it will help them get laid, or anything like that. They may say they do, because they're embarrassed about showing sentimentality, but they really do it for something deeper, something more fulfilling. That's what this memorial is all about. Brewer wants it completed as quickly as possible now that there's a war coming. He wants the people of Homestead to have it as a motivator for the difficult days ahead.”

Gardener turned and gave him a grim look. “Never forget the power of symbols, Harper. Whether it's this statue for us Homesteaders, or Mount Ch'taia for religious Felids, or the Tower of the Pinnacle for the Paragons, or the Temple of Kota for the Reliants, all the peoples of the galaxy have their cherished symbols. It's what brings them together, what makes them a people rather than just a Breed or a bunch of atomized individuals.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And don't forget that you're one of those symbols now, too. Everyone knows you played a big role of some kind on Cortex. And they'll soon know about Skytower as well. Rifle Intelligence will make an announcement about that in the coming days. Once you jump to cross-space, you'll be allowed to wear your true uniform, and it'll include the Rifleman's Star you were awarded after the Skytower mission. You'll be around men who will see that award and look at you in a new light. They'll have high expectations of you, and it won't be an easy thing to live up to. But you must try. You might just be the public face of Agrarian patriotism for the entire Breed now, and that makes you vitally important for morale. That patriotism may be what keeps us going when nothing else will, and it may be what saves us in the end.”

Jerry nodded, though as he stared at the sign and the roped-off site, he wasn't thinking about such loftier sentiments. Brandon's memorial was personal for him, not political. It was simply a great honor and a nice gesture for an old friend.

“You're spending tonight on base,” Gardener said. “I doubt you'll have home invasions two nights in a row, but no point in taking chances. The Auxilians will set you up. The rest of today is yours to do with as you please so long as you don't leave the base. Enjoy the free time while you can, because starting tomorrow, it might be a long while before you get another break.”

“Yes, sir.” Jerry stared at the sign, no longer really seeing it. All he could see were the images in his head, images of space battles and boarding parties and severed limbs and gore-splattered bulkheads and other horrors of war.