Excerpted from The Guardians of Peace by Jeffrey Caminsky, published by New Alexandria Press.
from Chapter 3
Jogging down the rampway, his legs unstiffening with each step he took, Jack Markham didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved. Washing out of the Navy was not the achievement of a lifetime. He knew that sitting around, unable to do anything to protect his wife and children, would drive him crazy. On the other hand, he had lots of company. At least he wouldn’t have to face a lifetime of doubts and self-torment, just because he didn’t give it a try. Juggling his bag to keep it from falling as he ran, Jack smiled lamely at the young woman manning the turnstile, who was urging him on with a wide, beckoning wave.
Unfortunately, his duffle bag had other ideas. As he stepped up his pace, the seam in his bag gave way, spilling the contents along his path and tangling his feet among a cascading pair of sweatpants. Plunging headlong onto the rampway, he landed face-first at the feet of the pretty girl who was doing her best to keep from laughing at the young man who had just fallen in defense of his homeland.
“Let—let me—let me help,” she stammered, trying to let the washout keep as much of his dignity as possible. Reaching down to help collect his belongings, she couldn’t stand the strain any longer, and collapsed in laughter onto the ramp. The clearing bell sounded to announce the departure of the shuttle to Isis.
Rolling dejectedly onto his back, Jack reflected that this was one day he’d rather forget. His only accomplishments had been washing out of the Navy, and missing the ship home. It was a fine thing, escaping the chance to die at the hands of the Terries only to give his wife an excuse to kill him, for keeping her waiting at the spaceport.
“When does the next— ” he began.
“Not until tomorrow, I’m afraid,” said the young ensign, helping Jack collect his things.
“Is there any place— ?”
“Just go back to your barracks. They’ll be glad to put you up for one more day.”
“This isn’t— ”
“The first time this has happened?” She smiled and shook her head. “People miss their connections all the time. Of course, not many manage to do so with quite as much style.”
Jack felt his face turning red as he chuckled along with his companion. But everyone always said that laughing at yourself was better than letting others laugh at you alone. He was starting to have his doubts about that.
“This has to be the most embarrassing day in my entire life,” he said at last, hoping that his pretty young companion would take some pity on him. “Christ—I doubt very much more could happen to me today.”
“Actually,” began the turnstile keeper, only to stop in midsentence. Jack knew at once that he should let things lie. Despite what his wife and family said about him, he had a keen sense of people and his surroundings and sensed that the turnstile attendant was doing her best to spare him further grief. It was just that damned curiosity. That’s what always led him further into trouble. Not a general obtuseness, as his wife always told him.
“What?” he demanded. “What is it? You may as well tell me. Things can’t possibly get any worse for me, you know.”
“Well—you didn’t just miss the shuttle.”
“Of course I just missed the shuttle. Got tied up by some damn fool pencil-pusher with a wad of paperwork to fill out. Then I got shunted to the back of the mess line—only to have them run out of corn, leaving us standing for an extra twenty minutes while they boiled up some more. One minute earlier, and I wouldn’t have had to rush quite so much. And if I hadn’t been rushing.... ”
“No, I mean, the shuttle wasn’t all you missed,” the young lady winced visibly as she smiled. Jack could tell he’d regret asking, but couldn’t stop himself.
“So what else went wrong for me?”
“You missed him. He was here. He sometimes comes to thank the washouts for their efforts, you know. Today was one of those days. He stopped by to help send off the shuttle.”
“Who?”
“Well, the Admiral, of course.”
Jack groaned to himself. Now his day was complete. One chance to make the Navy—one chance to make it back home—and one chance, probably his only chance, to see the man trying to reconstitute the whole hash. Three chances up, three chances gone. Just like a game of rounders, except that rounders didn’t make him sick to his stomach.
“How often....”
The young lady smiled sadly. “Not very. Once a week, sometimes twice. Sorry.”
“Well,” Jack snorted, swinging his duffle over his back, “I hope the Navy has better luck with the Terries than I’ve had with the Navy.”
“Couldn’t be much worse, you know.”
“Thanks, Missey,” Jack laughed, starting back up the ramp toward the main concourse. “You’re a real boost for morale.”
“We each serve in our own way, you know.”
“Yeah. And I bet they don’t do it this way in the Cosmic Guard, either.”
“At least you got the lingo down pretty well.”
“It was the only thing about this ordeal that didn’t involve sending something spinning. Whether it was my brain, or various body parts.”
“Good luck to you.”
“These days, we all need some, Missey. The whole planet needs some.”
© 2012 by Jeffrey Caminsky
Jogging down the rampway, his legs unstiffening with each step he took, Jack Markham didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved. Washing out of the Navy was not the achievement of a lifetime. He knew that sitting around, unable to do anything to protect his wife and children, would drive him crazy. On the other hand, he had lots of company. At least he wouldn’t have to face a lifetime of doubts and self-torment, just because he didn’t give it a try. Juggling his bag to keep it from falling as he ran, Jack smiled lamely at the young woman manning the turnstile, who was urging him on with a wide, beckoning wave.
“Hurry!” she shouted. “You’ve got just enough time to make it!”
Unfortunately, his duffle bag had other ideas. As he stepped up his pace, the seam in his bag gave way, spilling the contents along his path and tangling his feet among a cascading pair of sweatpants. Plunging headlong onto the rampway, he landed face-first at the feet of the pretty girl who was doing her best to keep from laughing at the young man who had just fallen in defense of his homeland.
“Let—let me—let me help,” she stammered, trying to let the washout keep as much of his dignity as possible. Reaching down to help collect his belongings, she couldn’t stand the strain any longer, and collapsed in laughter onto the ramp. The clearing bell sounded to announce the departure of the shuttle to Isis.
Rolling dejectedly onto his back, Jack reflected that this was one day he’d rather forget. His only accomplishments had been washing out of the Navy, and missing the ship home. It was a fine thing, escaping the chance to die at the hands of the Terries only to give his wife an excuse to kill him, for keeping her waiting at the spaceport.
“When does the next— ” he began.
“Not until tomorrow, I’m afraid,” said the young ensign, helping Jack collect his things.
“Is there any place— ?”
“Just go back to your barracks. They’ll be glad to put you up for one more day.”
“This isn’t— ”
“The first time this has happened?” She smiled and shook her head. “People miss their connections all the time. Of course, not many manage to do so with quite as much style.”
Jack felt his face turning red as he chuckled along with his companion. But everyone always said that laughing at yourself was better than letting others laugh at you alone. He was starting to have his doubts about that.
“This has to be the most embarrassing day in my entire life,” he said at last, hoping that his pretty young companion would take some pity on him. “Christ—I doubt very much more could happen to me today.”
“Actually,” began the turnstile keeper, only to stop in midsentence. Jack knew at once that he should let things lie. Despite what his wife and family said about him, he had a keen sense of people and his surroundings and sensed that the turnstile attendant was doing her best to spare him further grief. It was just that damned curiosity. That’s what always led him further into trouble. Not a general obtuseness, as his wife always told him.
“What?” he demanded. “What is it? You may as well tell me. Things can’t possibly get any worse for me, you know.”
“Well—you didn’t just miss the shuttle.”
“Of course I just missed the shuttle. Got tied up by some damn fool pencil-pusher with a wad of paperwork to fill out. Then I got shunted to the back of the mess line—only to have them run out of corn, leaving us standing for an extra twenty minutes while they boiled up some more. One minute earlier, and I wouldn’t have had to rush quite so much. And if I hadn’t been rushing.... ”
“No, I mean, the shuttle wasn’t all you missed,” the young lady winced visibly as she smiled. Jack could tell he’d regret asking, but couldn’t stop himself.
“So what else went wrong for me?”
“You missed him. He was here. He sometimes comes to thank the washouts for their efforts, you know. Today was one of those days. He stopped by to help send off the shuttle.”
“Who?”
“Well, the Admiral, of course.”
Jack groaned to himself. Now his day was complete. One chance to make the Navy—one chance to make it back home—and one chance, probably his only chance, to see the man trying to reconstitute the whole hash. Three chances up, three chances gone. Just like a game of rounders, except that rounders didn’t make him sick to his stomach.
“How often....”
The young lady smiled sadly. “Not very. Once a week, sometimes twice. Sorry.”
“Well,” Jack snorted, swinging his duffle over his back, “I hope the Navy has better luck with the Terries than I’ve had with the Navy.”
“Couldn’t be much worse, you know.”
“Thanks, Missey,” Jack laughed, starting back up the ramp toward the main concourse. “You’re a real boost for morale.”
“We each serve in our own way, you know.”
“Yeah. And I bet they don’t do it this way in the Cosmic Guard, either.”
“At least you got the lingo down pretty well.”
“It was the only thing about this ordeal that didn’t involve sending something spinning. Whether it was my brain, or various body parts.”
“Good luck to you.”
“These days, we all need some, Missey. The whole planet needs some.”
© 2012 by Jeffrey Caminsky
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