Chapter 3
The choice wasn’t much of one though. The town I graduated in had less than 1,000 people in the entire county. The job prospects were awful; if you walked around, you would think you were living in the year 2000 with how “old school” things were. There was a single market, a gas station, a few restaurants, and only one doctor's office. You could do manual labor, or work at one of the small shops in town. Many people worked in surrounding towns, but the pay was so low that many people lived in trailers, mobile homes, or houses that were not in the best shape. You would be lucky to find anything built in this last century, everything looked so dilapidated.
So I took the only out I had - I could attend college an hour away for no cost if I joined an Air Force Reserve Officers' Training Corps (ROTC) program. While the nightmare from seeing my father still haunted me, by this time… 12 years distant, the impact was much less on me than one would expect. The desperation of my situation broke through any fear I might have had - I would be damned if I would live and die in a place like this.
Off I went to a place called Petoskey, Michigan, joining a small ROTC unit at the local community college. I completed a two year degree, focusing on Digitial Framework in the 21st century. Thats a bullshit degree, not going to lie, but it was… something. I spent far too much time hanging with friends, drinking, and playing “Dungeons and Dragons” to give a shit if I learned anything. For once in my life I felt in control, and I was happy, but it was short lived.
See, part of the college ROTC programs is the goal to get someone to join a service as an officer. But they expect certain… things from you. Punctuality, honor, service, volunteering… I did the bare minimum to stay in the program, and after getting a two year degree, decided fuck this I was done with school. I wanted to live life.
This choice, well… it was fucking stupid. Much like my mother, I began working menial labor; checking stock at warehouses, Amazon courier (for “high priority” packages), you name it, I did it. Floating job to job, while barely affording what could be called an "existence". A one bedroom hab in a tourist town isn’t much of a life, I can tell you.
This is what brought me, at 25 years old, tired, and scared for what the future may have in store, to the steps of the Petoskey Military Recruiting Station, and where this… journey… begins.
Knock, knock, knock…
No answer.
Knock, knock, knock…
I could hear the muffled sounds of what sounds like someone on a phone on the other side. Well, that's a good sign, the last two times I tried to come here the damn Marine recruiter kept trying to drag me into his office.
“I’m not interested, thanks anyway!” doesn’t stop a Marine, I've learned. The only way I escaped with my sanity, and not signing my life away, was pretending to take a call in the hallway and sneaking out of the office. I’m just lucky there's two recruiters… I didn’t have an out if it happened again.
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The door suddenly opened, revealing someone much older than I expected to see. He had to be in his mid to late 30’s, his high and tight blonde hair immaculately maintained. His bright blue eyes had a hint of sadness in them, but was belied by the grin he had plastered over his clean cut features as he opened his door.
“Ah, hello there! Sorry about that, I was on the phone with one of my recruits, and didn’t hear the knock! Please come in, I’m Technical Sergeant Joey Mathias” he said as he gestured inside his door, holding it open wide from inside the office.
The office was small, with United States Air Force posters plastered all over it, displaying smiling service members next to various aircraft and machines of war. I spied a couple fighter aircraft, some hover drones, and one that looked oddly like a traditional UFO you would see on an episode of “Alien Encounters”, that goofy show from the early 21st century.
In the center was a small desk with a holo display and a very comfortable looking chair. Across from the chair sat two chairs opposite, obviously for potential recruits and discerning parents that needed convincing.
“Thanks, my name is James,” I mumbled, taking a step in.
I’m a bit of a “tall drink of water”, I've been told. 6 foot and a few inches, with a rather thin build for my height, I was never much for sports or working out; only doing it begrudgingly when I had to. My brown hair was generally disheveled, but today I made sure it was at least combed and presentable. My eyes were a dark blue that “changed shades” I was told, underneath thick brown eyebrows. I had a bit of a unibrow, but I made sure I shaved it weekly; while I hated shaving, a unibrow was no-go territory for me. Speaking of shaving, I had a pleasant face, my mouth framed by a dark goatee.
Generally I preferred to wear heavy metal T-shirts from 2000’s bands like Lamb of God, Hatebreed, or my favorite Chevelle, but today I wore the only button up polo I owned, a hoody, and my “nice” jeans. I made quite the cutting figure, and I wanted to make sure the recruiter would like me.
I took a seat across from the cushy chair, noting how painfully stiff it was. But I didn’t say anything, waiting for the gentleman to get back to his side of the desk.
Joey’s smile had not waned a single iota as he took his seat across from me, ensuring the holo display was cleared off so we had a clear line of sight to one another, and he launched into his… pitch.
If you’ve never sat through a military recruiters pitch, these guys could sell a Ferrari to a homeless man if they were so inclined. They make EVERYTHING sound grand, epic, like by signing on this dotted line you’ll be saving the world in no time.
However, I wasn’t much listening, as I had already made up my mind to sign the line regardless. I wanted more for myself, and I wanted out of… here.
Unlike the “retro military”, as the Web is so inclined to call it, there isn’t a tremendous amount of travel involved. However, there are many “hubs” you can sign up for based on which branch you join - the list is quite vast, but each hub contains around 3,000 members in a small localized community. Think of it in terms of a giant apartment complex where all your neighbors are coworkers, but when you sign up you can choose from any available hab anywhere in the United States. Most of them are in majorly populated areas, where another massive hab complex wouldn’t stand out among all the others.
While terrorism and actual physical attacks weren’t very common, they could still occur. There were groups that saw Babylon as slavery for military members around the world, and that it limited the options of those members. They saw it as praying on the young and impressionable to fuel the war machine that should no longer exist after WWIII.
All that to say, I was set and primed to take whatever he offered.
Joey finished his pitched, and flicked his wrist, bringing back up one of his holo screens. As I finally focused on what was happening, I realized he was showing me a list of jobs I could sign up for.
“So James, how does this all sound? Are you interested?” Joey said, and I noticed his sad eyes had a bit of a glimmer in them now.
I looked him square in his equally blue eyes, smiling myself for the first time since stepping in the office. “Absolutely.”