Divergent

More than two years on from being sentenced to life in military service, whatever that means because obviously it’s impossible for anyone in their sixties, seventies, eighties, etc to serve in the military, O’Shea Alvarez might be getting out.

You see six months after his forced military service began it was revealed that the moon had been destroyed and that this destruction was the cause of a string of tidal issues on Earth that occurred immediately after. This includes the underwater swells which took the lives of the engineers who’d been down in the Western Trench with O’Shea. Yet, the destruction of Earth’s sole natural satellite is claimed, by authorities, to have not been intentional even though it was caused by aliens. Yes, actual, literal aliens.

Still, as yet no one has publicly seen or interacted with these extraterrestrials. In fact, the only reason they are known to be real, and not some fabrication, is due to the various telescopes, professional and hobbyist, which have been pointed toward where the moon once hung in the sky.

In its place is a massive oval shaped object which has a striking resemblance to an egg, save for its colour which is a cobalt-grey.

Sadly, this news didn’t bring an immediate examination into the sentencing of O’Shea who over the last two years has been deployed to a number of battlefields and warzones.

He’s killed a recorded forty seven combatants, been awarded medals and sought medical aid a handful of times largely for minor afflictions that did not affect his battlefield performance. Still, he can’t say, as he is stood in full military uniform awaiting his name to be called for the arranged hearing on the matter of his discharge, that he is thrilled it’s taken this long.

And yes, he bears a grudge, as you might imagine. Though, he isn’t inclined to seek retribution for the crimes committed against him. No, truthfully he simply wants his life back. Too many times he’s been heading down a path only for it to diverge and see him shoved down an avenue not of his choosing. And so…

“Sergeant O’Shea Alvarez!” A booming female voice, not quite angry but definitely impatient, roars at the top of their lungs to signify O’Shea’s hearing is set to begin imminently whether he shows his face or not. How the latter might work is anyone’s guess and not wanting to risk his chance O’Shea isn’t inclined to test it and find out. So, with his name having been called the ex-con come soldier who bears more scars as a result of his deployments than he already did checks himself over in a heartbeat and then marches for the set of doors through which the voice boomed.

Once at the sheer face of stained wood he, without hesitation, wraps on the surface. A snap of your fingers later one of the doors is pulled open barely wide enough for him to squeeze through.

Unsure if he should proceed, he waits a moment and then, convinced nothing is going to be said or done, crosses the threshold into the room beyond. Inside he finds a military court almost empty but not quite. A woman stood, with door handle in her grasp, eyes him curiously from beneath her military issue cap only to soon flick her eyes toward the other occupants of the room. These three figures, two women and a man, sit in a line, elevated off the floor, dressed as in uniforms which denote them as being generals.

Without a word O’Shea marches forward toward a line he’s spotted marked out on the floor, he assumes that is where he is meant to stop. Once at said line he offers a salute and waits patiently. He isn’t left to for long.

“Sergeant Alvarez?”

“Yes sir.” Is the quick reply that he offers in response to the woman on his left who has uttered the query, confirming that he is indeed the man whose name has been called.

“You have quite the record Sergeant; proved to be a good soldier despite your early life indiscretions. Yet, it could be you should never have been forced into our hands in the first place. Can’t sit well with you that…” The only male of the trio, off to O’Shea’s right, is clearly trying to make a point. The ex-con come soldier understands it but offers no reply. It could be a trick, meant to lure him into an argument that could extend his, or give reason for added, service.

It hasn’t escaped O’Shea that the male general might be linked to UUSPG in some manner. It wouldn’t surprise him. It’s seems the energy corp. has allies at every level of society. Not that it matters or changes why he is here, which is to regain freedom wrongly taken from him.

“Phearson, do you ever stop trying to get a rise out of the men and women that come through those doors? Grow up, and act like the general you’re supposed to be. You’re not a corporate asslicker anymore, so stop acting like one.” The chastising comes from the woman sat dead centre of the trio. Her face is stern, like a mother irritated by childish attempts by her children to instigate something entirely unnecessary purely for the purpose of wishing to look more adult than they truly are.

“Apologies General Yanish…” Phearson’s voice is flat, monotone. It makes clear that he is in no way sorry for his actions, yet not so arrogant as to feel it appropriate to argue or fire off a roll of his eyes which might prove as such.

General Yanish meanwhile looks to the other woman of the trio, General Charleston, and rolls her eyes making her frustrations known, albeit silently.

To her credit the elder General Charleston offers no response other than a curt, professional nod. Not in agreement with the younger and equally ranked Yanish’s reaction but rather to usher proceedings along.

Teresa Yanish agrees with her elder counterpart, clears her throat, shuffles papers knowing it’ll grate with Phearson and then begins.

“Sergeant, we are here today to discuss your discharge. Regrettably, it seems you were forced into our service wrongly. This panel sat before you have combed through the evidence provided to us by, largely, the UUSPG and find you owe no more service to the military. As such you are free to remain or seek discharge from your station, as you see fit.”

The ex-con come soldier can scarcely believe his ears. To be honest he thought this would be some drawn out affair where he’d need to fight every inch of the way. By that, apparently, isn’t the case at all. The military are freely admitting that what was done to him was wrong. Sure, they can’t reimburse him for his lost years, not that he expects them too, but the revelation leaves him lost for words all the same. Because never in his wildest dreams did he think he’d swan in and within the first line be granted his freedom. He doubts anything like this has ever happened before, though he can’t be sure. Regardless, he isn’t about to argue with the ease with which his life has been returned to him, even though it was aliens who put him in this mess, unknowingly.

“Sergeant, this is where you have to say something.” General Patricia Charleston, with her deep wrinkles and tufts of thick white hair peaking from beneath her hat, says barely able to suppress the smile which has found its way across her lips as she speaks in a soft voice. It’s the sort of tone only an elderly woman can manage, which in itself is astounding given that the woman has spent decades in the military, out on battlefields fighting for her life. You would think she’d lose her soft tenderness but she has not. Yet, below the surface she feels a seething anger for it is clear that UUSPG have gone too far this time. And following this debacle an immediate, and private, review of all sentences will be undertaken to ensure no other poor soul has been put into their ‘care’ without proper grounds.

“He’s a thug; whatever he says won’t be worth the air. He’s got what he wants… You’re dismissed sergeant.” General Abagnale Phearson decries waving O’Shea off with all the disdain he can muster without making it look as though he is putting any effort behind it.

More than anything Abagnale doesn’t want this ex-con to think he’s important. He’s not. And if it were not for bleeding heart liberals this Sergeant Alvarez would remain in military service whether he likes, or deserves, it or not. Ultimately, he is a criminal. In Abagnale’s mind you can never be reformed. Once a degenerate drain on mankind always a degenerate drain on mankind, and yet without people like him the military would be struggling for servicemen and women to fill their ranks. Still, no matter what someone like this O’Shea might do, he should never be called a hero. You can’t make heroes out of villains.

“Phearson, if you open your mouth once more I’m going to see you demoted or so help me…” General Yanish begins only for General Charleston to interject, “Both of you, stop acting like children.” A damning glare is added and aimed at both of them for good affect.

The issue between them is that they used to be an item until some indiscrepancies put pay to whatever they’d had.

With her point made General Charleston turns her attention toward Sergeant O’Shea Alvarez and offers a kind smile. She feels sorry for the man. Not only because of his tragic upbringing, which in truth is a lack thereof, but because he strikes Patricia as a battered soul undeserving of the hand that has been dealt to him. Still, she can do nothing to fix the past, no one can.

“Thank you for this. I don’t know what else to say. I’m not a man of words.” O’Shea shrugs and then adds, “Thanks, I feel, is all I am capable of giving, but it is sincere.”

His reference to sincerity is a very thinly veiled jab at General Abagnale Phearson who himself had used the word as part of his offensive outburst. The one he thought O’Shea wouldn’t be bright enough to understand but most certainly is.

This, in turn, elicits a twitching lip from the man sat to O’Shea’s right but nothing more, unfortunately. And so General Yanish nods and then gives what she suspects will be the final order the sergeant ever receives while in uniform, “You are dismissed Sergeant.”

With that the tall man with piercing blue eyes fires off a salute, turns and marches out of the courtroom leaving the trio of generals, a subset of whom do not get along, the woman with the loud voice who still has hold of the door handle as though she never let go of it, which he doubts is the case, as he crosses the threshold and steps into the corridor he had been in previously. It’s ornately decorated and furnished liberally with carvings, paintings, busts and statues depicting all manner of long dead military heroes, battles and units.

The ex-con and soon to be ex-soldier ignores them all, marches down the wide corridor with its polished wooden floors stained and slippery like ice to a call point. Paying no mind navigates the touchscreen menus until finally hitting to dial the number listed and labelled as UUSPG. Four rings are followed by his call being shoved into a queue. By the time he finally speaks to an actual person forty minutes have passed and by sounds of things he might have been redirected around the globe at least once. Still, he gets a sweet sounding woman on the other end who asks what he needs help with. He explains and gives his employee reference number. The keyboard clacks loudly for a while until she advises, quite out of the blue, “I’ll need to put you through to special requests.”

O’Shea’s brow furrows at the mention of a department he neither knew existed of until this very moment, or sees what it has to do with his reinstatement. Nevertheless, before he gets chance to say a word the line ends and his call is sent elsewhere. He didn’t even get chance to thank the woman for her aid. He shrugs accepting the fact and waits.

Another fifteen minutes of silent waiting follow before, “Special requests; how may I be of service?”

“I’m O’Shea Alvarez, employee number 6432199700143A. I’m calling for reinstatement.”

More clacking of keycaps follows. During it O’Shea is asked a series of questions. He answers them all, including explaining, in brief terms, why a man showing as sentenced to lifetime military service is requesting a reinstatement at UUSPG.

With that all said and done the woman advises ultimately, “Apologies, but that isn’t possible.”

“Why not?” Try as he might he couldn’t keep the surprise out of his voice.

“We are not at liberty to disclose such information.” Is the stonewall reply O’Shea is met with. It confuses him further, though doesn’t stop him uttering, “But I’m the guy you’re refusing. I have the right to know. And you’ve got my details. Even forwarded you a copy of the discharge on my digital record which shows it’s been updated. I know because I’m looking at it too.”

“That is all well and good Mr Alvarez but I’m following our protocols, and they say you are not to be reinstated.”

The ex-con feels he’s being screwed by UUSPG yet again, he doesn’t like it and so murmurs, “Because some asshole thinks I might what, come for revenge; dipshits. Fine, stick the job; use against me whatever bullshit reasoning is written on that file. I’ll stay where I am; at least I’m valued in the military.”

With that O’Shea ends the call, selects he will not be taking discharge, turns and marches off heading for his bunk. At times like this, as few as they have been in his life, he wishes he were a vengeful man.

On his march he back to his bunk he begins to wonder if all the claims about the alien’s above being peaceful are true. He suspects he’ll likely be one of the first to find out. And will do so surrounded by people who, bar General Phearson, value him and his contributions.