Specialist Rank

The outside world was unknown to her, but she could see a glimpse of it through the window in his room. I can see her trembling. Not from the apocalyptic world outside the window, but from sitting in front of the Colonel. The man who court-martialed two of our classmates and sent them outside to their deaths.

While Amber is falling apart, I need to hold it together. At least until I find out why we are here. I hold her hand. In the far distance outside the window I see a shriveled corpse.

“Harper. I notice you looking out the window too,” the Colonel says, gold and platinum pins on his lapel showing his rank. “Delta platoon has protective gear to do patrols out there.”

“Jouning Delta platoon is one of my goals, sir, in addition to making it to Mars,” I say, “And taking care of her of course.”

Amber is still trembling. She has Grassian syndrome, caused by the perflourines–forever chemicals–that have built up on the planet. We all need to take care of one or two victims assigned to us by our government.

“Windows.” He taps on the window. “Most people don’t know light doesn’t actually go through them.”

“It doesn’t, sir?”

“The light hits one side. The vibration causes another light particle to pop out the other side. What you’re seeing is actually an illusion. The window is a solid wall.”

“Interesting,” I say, though I’m not interested in science to be completely honest.

“It protects us from the radiation.” He sits up straight and pauses for a moment. “Ensign Harper, I called you here today because I have nominated you for promotion to the rank of Specialist.”

“If the Executive Council allows it, sir. I would be honored.”

It's good to find out I’m here more than a boring science discussion. The bottle of Jameson whiskey on his cabinet had been distracting me. Without grain, the country hasn’t produced natural liquor in decades. I wonder what it tastes like.

The Colonel continues. “Your service up to this moment has been commendable,” he says, “The one thing I ask from you is you do not embarrass me after making this decision.”

“Understood, sir.”

He taps his forehead. I salute the Colonel and then tug on Amber. “Come on, let’s go, Amber.”

Amber stands up and follows me out. On the door, I see Base Henderson’s slogan, “No One Left Behind”.

Back in our bunk, Amber begins to cry from the accumulated stress of the meeting. I know what to do. There is no higher service than assisting our most vulnerable members.

“Don’t worry, Amber. Just think about it. You will meet your parents someday soon, on Mars.”

“Mars.” She smiles again. Amber’s moods shift quickly.

“Patrol in 15,” I say. She begins to get ready.

Our main mission as military cadets is patrol. Most of the world’s population now lives underground to get away from the mutagenic environment above, so wars are fought via tunnels.

We must be alert to the risk of a breach at all times. Before exercises, they show us recreations of the Battle of 2074, when the rebel state of California dug a 150 mile tunnel straight through the DTZ and launched a surprise attack on Mount Charleston.

Even with today’s advances, no one has found a sure fire technology to detect enemy tunneling. It’s an endless war of measures and countermeasures.

There’s been a carbon dioxide anomaly in Lower Chamber 37.

“Come on. Let’s go, Amber.”

We start on the 45-minute journey through the hydroponic farms and the abandoned mining tunnels. Amber keeps up with me physically, but I need to guide her emotionally.

“This will be fun. We haven’t been down there in a long time.”

“Fun.” Amber’s eyes brighten.

We descend deeper through the darkened tunnels. Our headlamps illuminate objects a few feet ahead in the endless abyss. Descending the ladders is the most treacherous part. I’m careful to keep one hand on a rung tight at all times.

When my bottom half drops into the vastness of Chamber 37, It feels if a whale might swallow me from below.

Mining ended here years ago, and with the lack of ventilation, the natural gas venting from rock faces is the most likely cause of the carbon dioxide anomaly.

I move Amber in front of me. I need to keep an eye on her. This area was excavated with room and pillar mining, and the pillars create hiding spots everywhere. Unmaintained, day by day it has been falling into decay.

“We need to be careful not to dislodge loose rocks from the ceiling,” I say, “They probably should use this area to increase our food production, but…”

Amber screams.

I pull out our gun and look around her shoulder.

With my headlamp, I scan the aisle between the pillars. I put one hand on Amber and check our 360, and then peer ahead in the direction Amber is looking.

In the distance, I see a flicker. Then again. I see the shimmering watchful eyes of a stray cat.

With a sigh of relief, I giggle at Amber. “A cat. Amber, screaming is not what to do.”

Amber shakes her head and looks worried. I remember Grassians can’t process negative sentences.

“Always stay silent on patrol,” I restate.

She nods.

We return upstairs and put in our report to the Specialist on duty. The Specialists walk and talk with such authority. Maybe it's because they are on their way to joining an evacuation flight to Mars. I can’t believe I might join them soon.

With all the world’s major business leaders now on Mars with its clean environment, it’s far wealthier than Earth, but they still need us for Neodymium and Yttrium. They don’t call them rare earth metals for nothing, right?

As weeks roll by, we continue our regular routine patrols and I even manage to make progress teaching a few more words to Amber.

I’m lucky to be a cadet. It matches me. Other people work in hydroponic farming, but most are rare earth miners. With all the machines, mining is an easier job, but they have the highest rates of Grassian Syndrome. Even through dozens of feet of solid rock, the perflourines have infiltrated everything.

On Friday morning, I’m called to the Colonel’s office. The message says to come alone.

“Congratulations ensign. The council has approved your promotion. Your pinning ceremony is today at 15 hundred hours.”

“Thank you sir!”

“Let me pour you a glass of that whiskey I saw you staring at last time.”

He gently pours a splash of the mysterious walnut brown liquor into a heavy glass and pushes it to my side of the desk.

“Have a sip, you deserve it.”

It burns my mouth just like the synthetic vodka, but has a pleasant smokiness I’ve never tasted before.

“You’re one of us now.” The Colonel relaxes in his chair and looks more like a normal person. “We keep patrolling, but there hasn’t been a transmission from the other bases now for over ten years. Most people think they’re all gone.”

“So, we won’t be attacked?”

“No, doesn’t look like it.”

“The last window,” he pauses, “The last window for a Mars launch, closed about 7 years ago, when you were 9. Mars shot down the last shuttle we sent their way.”

“Shot down?” I am now seriously confused.

“They said we have too many perflourines in our craft. That even our bodies will contaminate Mars.”

I look at my arms. Do they have perflourines in them? I can’t feel them.

“So why do we keep digging up Rare Earth Minerals to export to Mars?”

“These people I oversee need jobs,” the Colonel says, “Look at the bright side, maybe Mars will change their mind, one day.”

“I hope so.” I’m now processing my childhood dream of making it to Mars being shattered at the same time I’m tasting the burning ash of the whiskey.

“I need to remind you, this information is Top Secret.”

“Yes, Sir,” I say instinctively.

“Dismissed, Ensign Harper.”

My head spins as I leave his office and its window in a daze. What’s the point in our existence here? I consider simply walking out the airlock without a protective suit and not coming back. Maybe everyone’s wrong about the perflourines.

Amber pulls my hand, she’s always attuned to my emotion. She grins and makes silly faces at me. We go back to the galley, make lunch, and then start with our daily errands.

At the promotion ceremony, the Colonel reaches over and hands me my pin, and for the first time ever, addresses me as Specialist Harper. I stand tall. I join everyone in singing No One Left Behind and salute the flag of the United Central States. As soldiers, we must always maintain vigilance and hope.