Life During Wartime (Ark Royal Short) – Snippet

This is a different sort of character from the usual Ark hero/heroine. Let’s see how it works.

Chapter One

“Richard!”

Richard rolled over, glanced at the sunlight beaming
through the window blinds and closed his eyes. 
It couldn’t be that late,
surely.  He’d been up half the night
playing Naval Command on his datanet
terminal and he’d only gone to sleep a few short hours ago.  He wriggled against the lumpy mattress,
trying to get comfortable again.  His
mother had taken his old mattress for the guests, two weeks ago, and hadn’t
bothered to replace it.  He had a feeling
she was hoping he’d forget that he’d ever had an older and softer mattress.

The door crashed open. 
“Richard Tobias Gurnard,” his mother snapped.  “Get out of that bed at once!”

Richard opened his eyes again.  There were worse things to see on waking, he
was sure, but his mother in a foul mood was probably worthy of a honourable
mention or two.  It was hard to see,
sometimes, why his father had married her. 
Richard loved his mother, but … they had very little in common.  There were times when he understood why his
father had joined the navy, putting dozens of light years between him and his
wife.  If he’d lived …

“This is my room,” Richard protested.  “You shouldn’t come in …”

“You are seventeen years old and on the verge of being
late for school,” his mother informed him. 
She rested her beefy hands on her ample hits, her eyes never leaving his
face.  “Believe me, I do not want another call from the
headmaster.  I certainly don’t want to sign another punishment slip.  If it happens again, I will …”

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Richard said.  He glanced at the clock.  Eight o’clock.  Stupid o’clock, really.  “I’ll be down in a moment.”

“You’d better, or your sister will have eaten your
porridge,” his mother thundered.  “And if
you go to school without breakfast, you’ll be starving until lunch.”

She turned and stamped out the room, slamming the door
behind her.  Richard sat upright and
sighed, wishing – again – that his family were wealthy enough to hire a private
tutor.  He learnt so much more from private lessons than formal schooling,
caught between apathetic teachers and fellow students who spent half their time
goofing off and the rest picking on him. 
Richard wondered, sometimes, why his father had insisted Richard carry
his name.  He hadn’t been a sadist,
surely.  Didn’t he know how easy it was for someone to make fun of the name?

Dad was a strong
man, Richard thought.  He’d seen his
father’s medals.  Anyone who laughed at him would be duffed up good and proper.

He stood and dressed, hastily.  The school uniform felt as crappy as always,
even though it was the last day he’d have to wear it.  Grey trousers, grey shirt, grey jumper, grey
socks … he’d rebelled, just slightly, by wearing black underpants.  Rumour had it the girls wore all sorts of
underclothes under their jumpers, but Richard didn’t believe it.  Wearing the wrong uniform wasn’t a harmless
little prank like plagiarism, bullying and drawing insulting caricatures of the
headmaster in the bogs.  It was
serious.  Any girl who wore the wrong
underwear would be lucky if she was merely
sent to a borstal.

His reflection looked back at him as he gazed into the
mirror, feeling a twinge of disgust at his appearance.  He was just a little overweight, enough to be noticeable; his blond hair fell
over a pudgy face that had yet to lose its baby fat.  He was condemned to six hours of PE a week,
thanks to the school-to-military pipeline, but it hadn’t done much for his
weight.  Richard was honest enough to
admit it hadn’t put much effort into it, yet … he’d never felt the urge to
engage in any sporting
activities.  What was the point?

He walked downstairs, telling himself that today would be
different.  He was getting his exam
results, the exam results he’d slaved so hard to get.  He’d already applied to a set of proper universities, places where
intellect was respected and barbaric physical sports simply didn’t exist.  He’d meet people who actually understood him, he told himself; he’d
meet intellectuals who could actually challenge
his thinking.  And, most importantly
of all, he wouldn’t be conscripted into the army.  He wouldn’t be called upon to fight in the
war.

The radio was blaring loudly as he stepped into the
kitchen.  Something had happened … he
caught snatches of babble about places he’d never visit and things he’d never
see as he picked up a bowl and filled it with porridge.  His sister Elizabeth was seated at the table,
reading a datapad as she finished her breakfast.  She was two years younger than him, with long
blond hair that was strikingly attractive when she wasn’t wearing the school
uniform.  He hoped she’d be fine, once he
left for university.  She was smart.  She’d have a good life if she didn’t let
someone sweep her off her feet.  Richard
sometimes wondered if that was what had happened to his mother.

“Better not be late today,” Elizabeth advised.  “You know how the Beast gets when someone’s
late for assembly.”

“Better to skip it altogether,” Richard said, as he sat
down and started to eat.  “It’ll just be
another boring lecture about who died and brought honour to the school.”

He ate quickly, knowing better than to press his
luck.  The Beast – Headmaster Gordon –
was a former military officer who had no qualms about meting out harsh
punishment to boys and girls alike.  Some
people claimed he’d been kicked out of the army for unacceptable
brutality.  Richard didn’t believe
it.  He’d always thought that
unacceptable brutality was the way people got ahead in the army.  Richard
had once spent several hours trying to match the headmaster’s name to the army lists,
only to draw a blank.  He had a private
theory the headmaster was a Walt, a poser, but he’d kept it to himself.  The Beast wouldn’t have hesitate to beast him
if he’d heard even a hint of the
theory.

“Don’t forget your bag,” his mother shouted from up the
stairs.  “And go now!”

Richard groaned, grabbed his coat and bag and hurried to
the door.  The black mark on it signified
that someone in the family had made the ultimate sacrifice and given his life
for his country, but no one outside the family itself seemed to care.  Too many men – and women – had given their
lives in the last five years of war. 
Richard wanted his father back, not a meaningless medal and a fatherless
life.  His greatest fear, the one he
wouldn’t admit to anyone, was that he would end up just like his father.

Elizabeth joined him as they half-ran onto the streets
and joined the others heading to school, a stream of grey-clad teenagers who blurred
together into a single mass.  Richard
tried not to react when he spotted a handful of sporty kids amongst the throng,
chatting happily as they tossed a ball during the walk to school.  He’d long since grown used to being picked
last for teams – he’d never liked sports – but he would have been happier if
they left him alone.  They actually liked school, somehow.  They saw sporting careers as their only way
out of poverty.  Richard had looked it
up, when one of the school bullies had bragged he’d be playing for a famous team
within the year.  The odds of him
suceeding – of anyone suceeding – were lower than the odds of winning the
lottery.

The throng grew larger as the school came into view.  Richard glanced at his sister, then waved
goodbye and headed towards the boys side of the playground.  The handful of climbing frames looked as
cracked and broken as ever, despite endless promises from the council to repair
them.  He’d never dared climb to the top,
not when there was no shortage of wankers who’d try to pull him down.  The concrete below the frame promised a hard
landing and a week or two in hospital for anyone unlucky enough to fall.  Richard had heard PE teachers claim that
suffering built character, but he wasn’t going to risk it.  He already had quite enough character.

A couple of boys kissed their girlfriends, then ran
towards the growing lines as the school bell rang.  Richard felt a stab of envy, mingled with an
odd sense of disdain.  He’d promised
himself that he wouldn’t remain trapped in the grim town, that he’d find a job
and build a life for himself somewhere else. 
London perhaps, or Edinburgh.  Or
even Manchester, somewhere where there were jobs for intelligent students too
smart to waste their time playing games. 
He joined the line as the whistle blew, ducking his head to avoid
catching the teacher’s eye.  The teacher
at the door was already holding a datapad, ready to record the names of anyone
who came late.  They’d be for the high
jump at the end of the day.

It’s the last day
of school, he thought, as the line began to move.  Can’t
they give us a break?

The door loomed up in front of him, a solid metal
structure that looked as if it belonged in a prison.  The school really was a prison … he winced
as he pressed his hand against the bioscanner, trying to ignore the prick of
pain as the scanner sampled his blood and pronounced him clean.  He’d always wondered what would happen if the
scanner reported he did have the
alien virus, although he was pretty certain it was just security theatre to
keep the proles under control.  The virus
was airborne.  If he had it, he’d have infected
the entire line of prattling boys by now. 
He’d read as much on the dark web. 

Richard tried to breathe through his nose as he stepped
through the door, into the school, and walked down the corridor to the assembly
hall.  The school stank of stale cabbages
and quiet desperation, the sense that most of the students wouldn’t go on to
long and prosperous careers.  The smell
grew stronger – the stench of too many sweaty bodies in too close proximity –
as he found a place to sit in line and sat down.  There were no seats in the hall, not even for
the older students.  He’d heard the
teachers were scared of having chairs hurled at them.  He would have liked to believe the rumour,
but it was probably another cost-cutting measure.  The assembly hall did double duty as the
indoor gym.

A figure sat down next to him and sniggered.  “Hey, dickhead!”

Richard groaned, inwardly.  Colin. 
He hated Colin.  The asshole didn’t have a single working
brain cell, as far as Richard could tell, but that didn’t stop him leading a
charmed life.  Girls loved him, teachers
made allowances for him … he wouldn’t have been allowed to get away with so
much if he hadn’t been a star on the sports field.  Richard was sure Colin would have been expelled by now if he hadn’t brought in
the medals.  Colin was too stupid to know
it, but his charmed life wouldn’t last. 
He wouldn’t go on to fame and glory, not if there was any justice in the
world.  Or so Richard told himself.

He did his best to ignore the taunts as the remainder of
the students filed into the vast chamber. 
Really, did Colin think he was the first
person to remember that Dick was
short for Richard?  Or that dick was slang for penis?  He probably did.  He wasn’t smart enough to realise the joke
was older than the Beast himself, older than the oldest person still
alive.  Richard hated his name, more than
he cared to admit.  He intended to change
it as soon as he got his majority.

The Beast stepped onto the stage, his mortar board so
perfect he could have stepped off a recruiting poster for schoolteachers.  He was a sour-faced man, his long black robes
cut to hint at his powerful body. 
Richard did his best to pretend to pay attention as the headmaster
started to speak, praising the former pupils who’d given their lives in battle
against the alien foe.  Richard winced,
inwardly, when the Beast mentioned a handful of familiar names.  It wasn’t common to know students who were
more than a couple of years older or younger than oneself, but he’d known a
handful of older boys on the block.  Two
of them were now dead, according to the Beast. 
Richard would have liked to think he was lying.  It wouldn’t be the first time the headmaster
had lied to the school.

The speech went on and on, to the point that even the teachers started to look bored.  Richard amused himself by mulling over the
Beast’s military credentials, wondering if the headmaster really had been in the army after all.  If he’d been a high-ranking officer, surely
he would have kept the title … right? 
He’d openly claimed to have killed men in combat.  Maybe he’d just been a cook, a cook who’d
poisoned the poor bastards who’d had to eat his food.  He’d seen that joke in a TV series that had
been banned long ago.

He was relieved beyond words when, after a cursory and
compulsory rendition of God Save The
Queen, the younger students were dismissed. 
The older students waited, shuffling uncomfortably as the Beast informed
them that their exam results had been returned from the board and some of them had interviews with guidance
counsellors.  Or consolers.  Richard groaned at the pun, then managed a
fake titter with the rest of the students. 
The Beast had earned his nickname, whatever the truth behind his
military service.  It wouldn’t do to draw
his attention on the final day of school.

“And I trust, when you have made something of yourselves,
that you will remember what made you,” the Beast said.  “Dismissed.”

I’ll remember you,
all right, Richard thought, as he stood. 
The headmaster had no shame.  It
was really too early to start hitting them up for donations.  And
I’ll donate a rusty penny if you try asking me for money.

He held back as the students tried to cram themselves
through the doors and push their way into the lobby.  There was no point in running, not when he was
already in the midst of the crowd. 
Instead, he forced himself to calm down as he followed the rest of the
students up the stairs, past classrooms they’d never have to enter again and
down a corridor to the notice boards. 
The building really did look like
a panopticon prison.  A man standing on
the top could look down at the lobby, without being seen by the people below
him.  But there were laws against
treating prisoners so badly.  Richard had
once considered trying to make a formal protest.  Being sent to school in such a building
probably constituted cruel and unusual punishment.  He hadn’t bothered, in the end.  It was unlikely that anyone would pay more
than a moment’s attention to him.

He felt his heart twist as he made his way down the
corridor.  It would have been nice to have friends, it would have been
nice to have someone he could be
himself around … he shook his head.  It
would have been nice, yes.  And while he
was wishing, he’d like a pony.  He
glanced up at the library, his hiding place while classes were out of
session.  He couldn’t wait to go to university.  He’d sell his soul for the chance to actually
make something of himself.

Colin waved at him. 
“I’m going to the army!  And I’m
going to shoot assholes like you!”

Richard bit down the reply that came to mind.  Colin was good
at mindless brutality.  No doubt he’d
fit right in.  Richard was a more sensitive soul. 
He ignored the whoops and cheers as Colin and his friends headed for the
exit, ready to spend a week of freedom before they reported for training.  They didn’t matter.  All that mattered, right now, was getting out
of the dump before the poverty sucked him back in.  He told himself, firmly, that he’d made it.

He found the exam results and skimmed through to find his
name.  A student needed 95% – whatever
that meant – to go to university. 
Richard had already filled in the paperwork and filed it, but without
the result he’d get nowhere.  He passed over
a handful of names – he felt a flash of vindictive glee as he noted Colin had
only scored 15% – until he found his own. 
He could hardly bare to look.

His heart skipped a beat. 
94%.

Richard stared, feeling his legs start to sway.  He barely caught himself before they buckled
and he hit the floor.  94%!  He was dead. 
He was … his head swam.  He was
going to join the army and do his national service and … probably get killed,
blown away by his squadmates before the infected zombies ever got a shot at
him.  Colin had made it clear, time and
time again, that he’d kill Richard if he ever got a chance … Richard told
himself that he must be mistaken, that Colin was merely being an asshole who
made normal assholes look bland and boring, but he couldn’t believe it.  He was dead. 
The tiny note ordering him to see the guidance counsellor mocked
him.  The man was probably going to
measure him for his coffin.

He thought, briefly, about skipping the meeting and going
home.  Perhaps there were other
options.  Perhaps … he couldn’t think
of any.  There were stories about
underground organisations that claimed to help draft dodgers, but he didn’t
have any contacts.  And the rackets
wouldn’t help him either.  He didn’t know
who to ask …

… And he was too much of a coward to try.

Helplessly, tasting bitter defeat, Richard made his way
to the guidance counsellor’s office.