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Hawkes glanced up as Wang stuck his head round the hatch of the rec room and waved frantically at the table where the young In-Vitro and the rest of the 58th sat.
“Mail shuttle’s in!” Wang yelled. He darted away.
Hawkes grabbed to save his drink from spilling as his companions exploded into action. Damphousse almost knocked Vansen over in the scramble to reach the exit. West lobbed his drinks can at the recycler at a run.
Hawkes himself sat morosely immobile, watching them depart. In-Vitros rarely got mail. No sprawling extended families to keep in contact with. No hordes of relatives sending birthday presents, monthly morale boosting food parcels, or updates on Aunt such-and-such’s new job or Cousin so-and-so’s wedding. Would he ever experience the kind of excitement the mail run engendered in the others?
It took him a few seconds to notice an anomaly: no-one else in the rec room had moved. Not a one. The other pilots went about their business, unconcerned, as if Wang’s announcement had never been made. Hawkes’ brows creased in puzzlement.
“You guys not want your mail?” he asked.
“Pick it up later,” said a skinny guy from the 33rd.
Hawkes’ frown deepened. That didn’t tally with the usual frenzied race to reach the shuttle bay. “But last month…?”
“That was then. This is now,” muttered a tall woman at the pool table. Everyone looked unaccountably depressed.
“So what’s different?” Hawkes asked cautiously, wondering if this was some natural born thing he didn’t understand.
The skinny 33rd guy sighed. “There’s no point hurrying. It’s almost February.” The man shook his head in despair.
“Huh?”
“He won’t understand it until he sees it for himself.” Pool table woman jerked her head towards the doorway. “Go to the shuttle dock. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
~~~
The shuttle crew was dragging the fifth mail bag out of the hold when Hawkes arrived. None of the previous four bags were open yet. The rest of the 58th waited impatiently. Vansen tapping her foot, Wang practically bouncing up and down in anticipation. None remarked on the absence of other marines.
Hawkes chose to lurk at the back of his comrades, still confused. Apart from the lack of a crowd, nothing seemed different from previous mail calls. Were the other squads playing some sort of joke on the 58th?
“Hawkes.” Colonel McQueen’s voice from behind surprised him.
He blinked as he turned. McQueen didn’t usually turn up at mail call; he had no more reason than Hawkes to expect a letter or parcel. Yet today the Colonel was beaming and rubbing his hands in expectation. Hawkes was about to ask why, when the first mail bag was unzipped.
“Okay, lessee what we got.” The mail crew leader scooped out an armful of packages and began sorting through them. “McQueen!”
The first parcel was tossed to the Colonel.
That was lucky, Hawkes thought, squinting at the five bulging mail bags. The Colonel didn’t have to wait for his parcel to emerge from the mountain of mail.
“McQueen!” A letter was tossed the Colonel’s way. Then a second parcel. Wow. Three things for the Colonel.
The crew leader continued to call names and throw mail. “McQueen. McQueen. McQueen. Smith, J.R. McQueen. Walters. McQueen. McQueen. Walker, R. McQueen. McQueen. McQueen. McQueen…”
This time, Hawkes’ puzzlement was echoed on the faces of the whole 58th.
~~~
“Sir?” Hawkes ventured.
“Ah, Hawkes. Hold these a moment, will you.” McQueen shoved several videos and a plethora of books into his arms, then turned away to rip open another of his innumerable packages.
“Sir, what is all this stuff?” D316 – Democracy: From Classical Times to the Present stated the label on the video at the top of the wobbling pile in his arms.
“Hmm?” The Colonel was pulling books and sheet after sheet of paper from the latest parcel. A205 – Culture and Belief in Europe 1450-1600 (Errata Sheet 1) fluttered to the floor unnoticed. The man glanced up. “Education, Hawkes. Learning!”
“But you already know lots of stuff.” Hawkes pinned D316 – Democracy: From Classical Times to the Present with his chin to prevent it sliding off the pile. Further down the heap, two volumes of Race, Education & Society were making a bid for freedom. The whole lot wobbled alarmingly.
“Yes, but where did you think I learned it? Not many philosophers down uranium mines.” McQueen waved a parcel marked URGENT: EDUCATIONAL MATERIAL around in an expansive gesture. An audio cassette flew off into the distance. “The Open University, Hawkes! The Open University! Open and equal! In-Vitro, natural born – they accept all.”
“Open University…?”
McQueen nodded enthusiastically. “Only 90 more credit points to go and I’ll have my second degree.”
“Second…?” Hawkes’ bewilderment threatened to go ballistic.
“And this year I’m tutoring on A423 as well as studying.” The Colonel opened another letter and briefly scanned the paperwork within. Leaflets about Student Association events in the Vespa region and adverts for OU t-shirts were added to Hawkes’ burden.
“A423?”
“Philosophical Problems of Equality.” McQueen paused in thought. “I wanted to teach Professional Judgement & Decision Making too, but all the tutors must go on special assignment. Some ship called Voyager has signed up their whole crew for the course…”
McQueen gathered up his own rather precarious pile of books, letters and videos and headed for the exit. Hawkes trailed after him.
“Sir, why did you start all this?”
“A little statistic I read about the Open University.”
Hawkes considered. “The ‘open and equal’ thing?”
“Nope.” McQueen stopped and turned to look at him intently. “They send out ten tons of mail a day, Hawkes… ten tons of mail a day! Now isn’t that every In-Vitro’s dream?”