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Dressed casually in a green polo shirt and tan cargo shorts, Marshall Hail addressed his new employees. The Hail logo, an H that used its cross member to make the top of the letter I, was embroidered in gold thread on his breast pocket. “I want you to drive a garbage truck.”
“Excuse me?” Topher responded in astonishment.
They had been escorted by the young pilots to the ship’s conference room. The men found themselves seated in a space comprised of a mishmash of wheeled office chairs and a large banana-shaped, stainless steel table. The floor was of well-worn iron plating covered with a thick coat of gray paint. Two portholes were sunk into the thick metal walls.
Marshall Hail and Gage Renner sat on one side of the table with their three new recruits seated facing them.
“I know it doesn’t sound glamourous but it’s an important job,” Hail told the men.
“Do we look like garbage men?” Marcus Walker asked Hail, daring him to say yes.
“That’s not what this is about,” Hail explained. “Do you men know anything about the country of Togo?”
Topher recited, “Togo is a West African nation located on the Gulf of Guinea. It’s known for its palm-lined beaches and hilltop villages. Koutammakou, inhabited by the Batammariba people, is a traditional settlement of fortress-like clay huts dating back to the 17th century. In the capital, Lomé, is the multistory Grand Marché bazaar and the Akodessewa Fetish Market which offers traditional talismans and remedies relating to the voodoo religion.” Topher made little quotes with his fingers when he said the word voodoo.
Hail was stunned into silence.
Topher followed saying, “I do very well in Jeopardy, thank you.”
“I can see why,” Hail said.
Hail composed himself and continued, “Besides everything Topher just said, Togo is also an extremely dangerous place. The country has seen an uptick in violent crime including the use of machetes, knives, firearms and makeshift weapons. The locals use ruses and trickery to lure victims, and foreigners are targeted for robbery. There have been sophisticated armed robberies, often committed by organized transnational criminal groups. In retaliation, the criminals themselves are sometimes targeted for vigilante justice or lynching.”
“And why should that matter to us?” Damon Hooper asked.
“Because you are my newest tactically-trained employees; I can’t send my young kids out in an environment like that. They don’t have any military training and would be sheep out there. Even the driving conditions are hazardous, due to the crazy pedestrians and motorcycles that don’t follow any traffic laws. There is livestock on the roads, and the roads themselves suck. They are riddled with mud and deep potholes.”
“And what does that have to do with us?” Hooper repeated.
“I just told you, my kids don’t have any experience driving or surviving in those types of conditions.”
Dubiously, Hooper asked, “And why would they be driving in this country anyway?”
Renner said, “We are in the process of building a railroad that runs straight through the heart of the country.”
Walker asked, “Why?”
Hail said, “Because we’re installing a wave reactor in the town of Sokodé. We need to transport massive preconstructed components. Building, actually rebuilding, what was once an active rail line is the most economical option to move our supplies and components.”
Renner added, “And when we’re done with the rail system, it will be given back to the country to use for transportation.”
Walker responded by saying, “I think we need to address the elephant in the room before we start talking about driving garbage trucks.”
“What would that be?” Hail assumed he knew what was coming.
Walker angrily snapped, “You got us dishonorably discharged from the Marines.”
Hail retorted, “I asked you to land your helicopter on the Washington Mall next to The Five Memorial. It was your choice to land there. I didn’t force you to do so.”
“You pressured my crew into it,” Hooper countered.
Hail took a moment to decide on how best to proceed. The men were right. He had done exactly what they accused him of and he did regret it. He’d failed to consider the fallout. When you had billions of dollars and were no longer used to being questioned, it was difficult to assess how your actions could be perceived by others.
Hail said, “You’re right. You are right, and that’s why I asked the President for your contact information. I wanted to hire you guys in an effort to make amends for my shortcomings and the consequences it had on your careers.”
Walker hadn’t expected Hail to acknowledge responsibility so quickly and it put him on his heels. The young Marine was ready for a confrontation. Hail had effectively taken the wind out of his sails.
Hail said, “Listen, guys, I’m hardheaded, and some people, like my friend Gage here, think it’s one of the reasons I have been somewhat successful in life.”
“I never said that,” Gage Renner said with a smile.
Hail ignored Renner and continued, “That was a stupid thing for me to do, and I wish I could take it back. There are countless things in my life I wish I could have a redo, and that was one of them. But I have learned that you have to move on and try to make things right with those you’ve wronged.”
The three Marines said nothing. Each of them had lost something. A career, a girlfriend, and a lifestyle that they either liked, or in Topher’s case, tolerated.
Marcus Walker came from a broken home. His father was an enigma to him, and his mother had worked twelve hours a day in a commercial laundry. When he was young, Marcus Walker was a latchkey kid. He had no other siblings and had been lonely most his life. He had excelled in school and had opted to take ROTC in high school. After that, it had been military, military, and more military, all the way up the line until he had become a Marine pilot. There were only 130 African-American Marine pilots in the entire corps; less than one percent were black. He had broken the frickin’ mold, thwarted the odds, and he had made it. He had flown with the best of them; yet all it took was one five-minute chopper ride with Marshall Hail before he was squeezed out of the corps like a turd from of a goose. Walker was mad as hell and he wanted Hail to know it.
Walker said, “The only reason I’m here is because I’ve got no place to go. I will take some of the blame. We should never have landed our chopper on the Washington Mall, but for some reason, God help us, we thought you were important. Therefore we thought that our little ‘drop-and-go’ would go unnoticed. Certainly unpunished.”
Hail was quiet and let Walker’s words resonate through the room.
As if a switch had been thrown, Walker was all jacked up again.
“But that doesn’t mean that I’m going to be driving any goddamned garbage truck for you or anyone else for that matter. That’s an insult.”
Gage Renner, Hail’s oldest friend and MIT bithead responded on Hail’s behalf.
“It’s an important job. Every job performed on this ship is critical to the team’s missions, which is why everyone on the cargo vessels puts aside feelings of self-importance. Hell, I would drive the damn truck if I didn’t think for a moment I wouldn’t be pulled out and killed by some ragtag bunch of Togo thugs.”
The three Marines stared at Hail and Renner and said nothing. It was apparent to Hail that the men were sizing them up and trying to make up their minds if they wanted to stay or leave. Hail suspected the men could find jobs in the States, but what type of job? What kind of job do dishonorably discharged vets find and qualify for on the outside? Certainly not flying jets or helicopters, and Hail could offer them those opportunities. Hail could put their military skills to use if they wanted to stay on board and play ball.
Topher had been the quietest of the three Marines. Hail perceived there was something different about him. He looked different from the others. He was small, thin, and wore wire-rimmed glasses. Hooper and Walker were larger men with rugged jaws and strong faces. However, behind those spectacles, Hail detected a difference about Topher, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Hail had his suspicions and would try to flesh them out as he got better acquainted with him.
“What do you do exactly?” Hooper finally asked. “I mean exactly?”
Renner answered.
“Marshall owns Hail Industries and supplies traveling wave reactors and reactor cores to energy-challenged nations at bargain prices.”
“Damn, are you the Hail Industries spokesperson?” Hopper demanded of Renner.
Renner looked hurt but said nothing.
Choosing to ignore the last exchange, Hail asked, “Topher, what is string theory?”
Without the briefest of pauses, Topher responded, “It’s a theoretical framework in which the point-like particles of particle physics are replaced by one-dimensional objects called strings. It describes how these strings propagate through space and interact with each other.”
Hail smiled and asked him, “And do you know what all that means?”
Topher looked somewhat embarrassed and responded with a mumbled, “No. I read it on Wikipedia.”
Hail looked at Renner, leaned over, cupped his mouth with his hand and whispered, “It is obvious he has a photographic memory. He remembers anything he has ever read or seen. That’s why he’s good at Jeopardy.”
Renner whispered back, “That could be useful.”
Hail responded sotto voce, “Yeah, but I’ve known guys like Topher at MIT who couldn’t tie their shoes.”
“What’s with all the whispering?” Marcus Walker interjected.
Hail made a face of contrition, “We were just talking about how smart your buddy is.”
Hooper mumbled, “He’s book smart, but that don’t mean he knows shit.”
“I’m right here,” Topher said. He waved his hand around. “I would prefer being insulted when I am out of earshot, thank you.”
Hail said, “Listen men, I am sorry about what happened in D.C. It was selfish for me to have leveraged my meeting with the President to make you guys drop me off at The Five Memorial. Thinking back, I took advantage of your goodwill. I can’t change that, but what I can do is offer you jobs and the opportunity to fly again. I don’t know if I can get my hands on real jets, but that’s not what we really do here. We fly drones: all types of drones, all sizes of drones, and believe me, flying some of these prototypes can be just as challenging as flying the real thing.”
Silence followed Hail’s revelations, each lost in his own thoughts, contemplating what they wanted to ask Hail.
Hail thought Topher appeared to be along for the ride and would do whatever the others did. He couldn’t determine which of the other two was the alpha dog. Both seemed equally imposing.
Almost in an act of resignation, Damon Hooper puffed out his cheeks and let out a long breath, letting his lips flap together. He literally had nothing to go home to. He had lived in military housing and had been clothed, fed and paid by the military. Now all of that was gone. He had one small box of personal items he had left in the helicopter. His most prized possession was an old Polaroid of his father—a man he couldn’t remember—so the photo was his only connection to him. His mother had passed away a year ago after succumbing to a terminal case of the big C. In the end, she hadn’t had enough money to effectively fight the disease.
Hooper placed his elbow on his knee and rested his chin in his hand saying, “I can’t believe I’m asking this, but tell us more about this garbage truck of yours.”