I take my seat at the front of the class, “Nervous but ready, sir.”
“One more thing,” he leans forward over his desk towards me. “I’ve noticed you’ve shown interest in my area by switching to Global Studies. As you can imagine, this curriculum also now includes our sister star systems. You could quite possibly, with such good grades, go abroad to a whole other planet, such as the capital planet of the Dolus System, Nova Terra. It would be the first program of its nature being presented by our Federal government.”
Damn, what should I say? I mean, educators have the authority to position us into internships and jobs they feel would best suit society—without any regard to the our opinion of course. So he’s suggesting, though indirectly, that I show interest, but more importantly agreement to his comment. All in all, I guess I should be humbled, he thinks I am good enough to work abroad. “That would indeed be a terrific opportunity. However, I would much enjoy learning more here on Earth, before traveling to a whole new planet for intern opportunities.”
“Of course, I get ahead of myself. You still technically have two semesters left after this before you achieve a BA,” says Mr. Martin, “You are just one of those very promising students.”
The bell rings and a law officer enters leaning against the wall near the door, and waits for our presentations with little interest. Such a shame they have to resort to this, if kids only studied adequately for midterms there wouldn’t be so many nut jobs shooting up the campuses after their poor evaluations.
The ship shudders from hyperspace travel jerking my head. “Fuck’s sake, Private!” shouts Sergeant Blake, “Secure your equipment!” I rub my neck from the whiplash and realize my XM-10 has bolted loose from its holster in between our packed seats, and hovers lazily in the air. My bandolier has also slid out, spinning before the face of the marine next to me. I retrieve the bandolier, and wrap it around my rifle barrel as I lock it back into place on the side of my seat.
The cold black figure of its metal barrel sucks the heat from my fingertips. I used to be against guns, I was even a member of the Freedom of Arms club on campus. But now I can take apart and reassemble this rifle with my eyes closed—and I know it can do the same to me. And now it talks to me. At first I couldn’t understand the language, until I realized it only mimics its master.
I can hear the gun repeating the Drill Instructor during demonstration. “This rifle, your life, is called the XM-10 ATAC—Adaptable to All Conditions. Black is its industry color, and as you can see here, a large butt stock to reduce kickback and to allow you to rest your cheek on while aiming. A top mounted hand bar for easy carry. Shock and weather resistant. Integrated scope above the hand rail. Lightweight. And universal ammunition for all of the XM variants; an LMG and Sniper can use my magazine if need be, and vice versa because all weapons share the same rifling blueprints. And like these rifles are the same in their one role: kill, every one of you will become a copy of the next in killing capabilities, so help me God.”
I was never part of a frat in college. The Marines fixed that. My frat is Easy unit, composed of two rifle squads and one LMG personal. Leading it is Sergeant Blake and his lower NCO Corporal Kaiden of the second fire team. We are part of Platoon L—Love Company—Tarnus its Captain, and god does he like to use the Company name to remind us of what we love. We Love the Core. We Love America. We Love the Party. We Love our rifles. We Love killing.
“Peter, how about you go first,” says Mr. Martin.
I rise, but a Party Representative pokes his head into the classroom. “Is this class course one-six-six-four-three?” Before Mr. Martin answers the Party Rep enters the room, his dark brown overcoat that goes down to his calf’s absorbing the indoor light. The overcoat’s monotone drab is parted at the waist line by a large gray belt, its buckle a blue star. At the thighs the coat splits down the middle for maximum movement. The Party Rep adjusts his white beret; the red letters of NFFP stand bold on the front with a single blue star of the United States resting below it. I wanted to join the Junior Party Representative Officers program in high school, but the requirement of military service first turned me off.
I sit back down.
“Yes sir it is. I am sorry, I forgot you were arriving,” says Mr. Martin.
“How long have you been a professor here?” says the Rep, coldly.
“Seven years, sir.”
“Interesting.” The Rep turns his attention to the class while taking a space near the wall with the officer. “I assume we have all said the Pledge.”
I glance at Mr. Martin to see a quick dash of dread wash over his face. “We were actually about to start it, sir.”
“Wonderful, commence.”
We all rise, facing squarely towards the two flags of the US and Party that adorn the front of the class wall behind Mr. Martin’s desk. This time I stare at the Party Flag. The flag is a white base with a large blue star and its gold trimming in the center. Inside the center of the star is the same red bold letters of NFFP that label all Party paraphernalia. Underneath the blue star is the Party motto also in red that wraps around the two bottom triangles of the star: Unity, Defense, Revolution. The Party Rep takes his beret off, and neatly holds it in his right hand over his heart while his free hand rises to a salute above his brow facing the flags.
We follow suit. I place my right hand over my heart, and being in perfect synchronization with the rest of the class, start the pledge.
“I pledge allegiance, to the flag of America.
I pledge allegiance, to the Party Creed and Morals.
And to the state, for which it stands, one nation under unity.
Indivisible, with security and prosperity for all.”
After this the Rep comes to the front of the class. “Remain standing to hear the Party Ideals,” and with excitement rising in his voice begins, “The pledge of allegiance is a pledge to the Creed and country.
It is a pledge to the ideals of our New and Global Founding forefathers. The men who rescued us from the horrors of the Terrible War. The men who rebuilt this great nation.
It’s a pledge to fulfill our duties and obligations as citizens of the United States. This duty is foremost to persevere and continue the fight for the Revolutionary Ideals, as instituted in our Constitution by the New Founding Fathers, on behalf of the Global Founding Fathers.
The Revolutionary Ideals are as follows.
Unity as one people and one state.
Defense of social morals, as outlined by the Doctrine.
And third, to always continue the fight against the ever encroaching evils of discontent and dissidence.
The pledge is also to uphold the principles of the Doctrine and Constitution.
And last but not least, it’s a pledge to maintain the four great securities cherished by all Americans.
Security to livelihood.
Security to peace.
Security from want.
Security from fear.
These make up the basic ideals of the State. God bless America and the Party.”
The Rep issues we can sit back down, and turns to Mr. Martin, “The class is all yours. I can’t wait to hear what your students have to show as completion of quarter annual education.”
Mr. Martin’s beckons me forward once again.
I touch the digital screen at the front of my desk to turn it on, and double tap a folder titled Peter, where I drag my presentation from it over to a drop box icon labeled MidTerms. My presentation with sources and supportive facts appears on the slide down screen behind Mr. Martin while I walk up to the front desk.