Lance Alone

Part 12 (Lance)

Two hours after his arrival, Lance sat with a towel wrapped over his shoulders, dressed in an old Garrison uniform. There was still some goo in his hair from the shower, but the medics declared him the picture of health--finally, the first good news he had since coming back. Water sloshed in his ears and he shook his head to try and get it out. His old clothes sat in a pile, probably ruined from the shower--as tired as he was of wearing those same clothes almost every day, that was his favorite jacket. The orange of the Garrison uniform just wasn't his color.

Two hours and no one had come to talk to him yet. They just tossed him in these old Garrison barracks--what were they waiting for? Didn't they want to hear what he had to say? He had half a mind to sneak out--he knew the secret passageways of this place like the back of his hand--but it was unlikely he was going to win any respect by sneaking out on him. Iverson still viewed him as an unruly cadet, not a defender of the universe. At least he believed him about the lions. Sitting here, waiting and waiting and waiting, it felt like he was being sentenced like a prisoner. Why couldn't they at least let him call his family?

The door opened, casting a line of florescent light into the room. Lance looked up--Iverson stood there, permanent frown in place, his eye squinted shut as always. "Come with me to the Instructor's Lounge," he said. Lance gave his hair one last good rub with the towel, tried to fix it in the mirror, and then gave up. It stuck up in all sorts of directions, and no amount of preening was ever going to make him look presentable.

Iverson marched down the hallway, his stride long. Lance followed along behind, trying to keep up, but Iverson always had this way of dominating wherever he was with his wide shoulders and scowl.

"Can I at least let my family know where I am?" he asked, almost jogging to keep up.

"There are too many other people that want to talk to you right now. More important people," Iverson growled.

"More important? What could be more important than family?" After they stopped at the Instructor's lounge door, Iverson swiping his ID to unlock it, Lance saw exactly who was more important. Ten imposing adults scattered around the room, talking in small groups. Lance didn't recognize any of them, but they all exuded auras of importance. The moment he entered, the upturned noses, raised chins, and frowning eyebrows all focused on him. General's badges glinted from one man's chest. One man wore his sunglasses, even though they were inside. The curl of a transparent cord dangled from another man's ear. Government officials? CIA, FBI, NSA?

"This is Lance McClain, former Garrison cadet. Found this morning crashing an alien pod on Garrison property," Iverson introduced him. Lance's stomach turned. Crashing the pod? That was a perfectly smooth landing! "Tell them what you have to say, kid."

With all these eyes watching him, Lance froze. The whole trip here, he had been rehearsing what he was going to say to whoever would listen. He pictured a huge town hall, all sorts of folks gushing to hear his announcement. "Lance is here to save us!" they said, "Our very own Lance--defender of the universe!" But these people weren't like that. To him, he was just a bug, a curio. Another name on a list of names, and that list was labeled above top secret. People who knew about aliens. These people were never going to let the public know they were in danger.

"Uh, hi," he started out, "so you've probably been wondering what happened. It's a really great story, I promise." But no one seemed too impressed.