Page 46 of Bred

“Well, uh...”

“Get me a shot glass.”

When a grand admiral tells you to get a shot glass, you get a shot glass. Even if it turns out to be a mug with someone else’s cat’s face on it, which is what I end up with.

Tomas Venice pours me the equivalent of at least three shots. He downs one. I take the other. Then we play for the third by pouring two more and seeing who can down them the fastest.

Maybe I’m going to like retirement.

* * *

Several weeks later...

“I remember when the rockets used to use a petroleum-type fuel, like oil from the Earth. We used dinosaurs to get into space in my day.”

“Yeah?”

“Want some booze?”

“Sure, why the fuck not.”

We’ve been drinking a lot lately. And by a lot, I mean every day. Major Tom, as he insists on being called, even though that title in no way resembles him or his name, doesn’t have anyone left, and I just plain don’t have anyone. We make a remarkably miserable team, and the staff know it. I’ve been hearing rumors that they’re thinking about moving one of us to another wing. Only problem is, Major Tom would put up a major fuss if they moved him, and they know I’d just go and find him anyway.

“You swear too much for a young’n.”

“I don’t swear enough,” I say, throwing back a shot of something that burns. “After all I’ve been through...”

“What have you been through?”

“No fucking clue,” I say, downing another shot.

“Hah, me either. I just make it up, stories. Sometimes it sounds to me like some of them might be what happened. It doesn’t really matter anyway, young people don’t care what you did. Could have split the atom in my underwear and they wouldn’t give a damn.”

“That sucks.”

“It does,” he agrees.

“If it helps, you were the grand admiral of the entire space fleet,” I say.

“I was? Well. I guess I did pretty well for myself.”

“I’d say you did.”

I have the saddest feeling in the pit of my stomach. He was instrumental in so many great things, and yet even he has forgotten them, and himself. He’s tucked away here in this hole at the end of the world and when he takes his last breath, that will be it. There’s nobody with him besides the nurses who tend to us with a mixture of disinterest and patronizing concern.

“Let me tell you what you did,” I say, bringing up the history of his career on my tablet. There is a very large Wiki entry on this man, a hero in so many ways. As I read through it, that feeling of sadness only increases. This is one of Earth’s true heroes, and he is being treated like a useless old man simply because the stupid people who think they’re in charge now don’t have memories that go back any longer than the last election.

“What does it say?” He’s interested.

“Says here you womanized half the planet.”

“Well, that’s true,” he admits with a scoffing laugh. “I hope it is.”

“Says you flew test missions out of the Gobi desert.”

“Hell, yes, I did. Flew on the back of a big golden bird. Its name was...” He trails off. “Now what was that damn bird’s name?”

I’m starting to get angry. What happened to me wasn’t fair. What happened to him wasn’t fair either. We’re used up and we’re stuck in boxes and forgotten about. Major Tom deserves more than the mockery of the title he’s been lumped with, and I deserve more than being stripped of my career, my home, everything that mattered to me because of one anomalous accident.

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