Saber Rider characters belong to their specified animation and branding company. All OCs belong to me. Please don't sue me. I sincerely hope you enjoy this story. This stemmed from a dream I had while sick and taking cough syrup. Please review if you feel so inclined, I appreciate feedback.
"You want me to what, Sir?" Saber asks incredulously, one eyebrow raised in surprise.
"Teach," comes the reply, the general doing his best not to make obvious his pleasure at the other man's discomfort. "It should be no more than a year, two on the outside. The Outriders have been defeated, but we have intel that some who escaped here before their world was destroyed may be trying to blend in at some of the schools hoping to later infiltrate here. And let's face it, Shinji and April could not play a teaching role. And Mr. Wilcox…"
Saber laughs and gives a slight nod. "I see your point, Sir," he begrudgingly concedes. "And just what would I be teaching?" he asks after an extended silence. "And where?" he adds as an afterthought.
"The new university outside of Glencoe. I thought you'd like to be someplace that is similar to your home."
Saber goes to make some retort, but thinks better of it. "My Father would certainly have been proud. He always hoped I'd become a professor, rather than a soldier," he finally says, as close to an agreement he's willing to give. "You still have not told me what I'd be teaching. Or when."
The general stands and goes to the large windows behind his desk, from the fourth floor of the Command Center, the workers and vehicles moving about below look like toys. He studies them as he debates how to share the next part of this assignment. "There are a few subjects you are technically qualified to teach," he says cautiously, as the young man joins him beside the window; his hands clasped at the small of his back, his posture straight, guarded. "The ones that seem to have brokered the most interest are Ancestral Studies, Literature and Celtic Mythology."
Saber's head jerks towards the other man's direction, his intake of breath sharp. "Please tell me you're joking."
"I thought you'd enjoy such lessons," he replies thrown off by the response.
"I would. Yes. But teaching it to those who don't give a damn about it...I'm not sure how I'd fare, Sir."
"You would be teaching those going for their doctorates and master's degrees, so they would share the interest that you do."
Again Saber balks. "And what pray tell qualifies ME to teach these scholars. I'm a soldier, Sir. I hold no higher degree in such studies. My masters and thesis were in cyber forensics, intelligence and security."
"Do you remember the project you did when you first came here?" the older man asks slowly.
"Which one? There were several papers done to get admitted to here."
"Your history and that of your clan."
Saber chokes down a laugh. "Someone actually read that drabble?!"
"I mentioned to the headmaster that I had someone that I felt would be suited to teaching the classes there. Their recent professor just recently had a stroke and is unable to continue teaching. Some other teachers are helping to finish out this current term," he explains. "I know that it would allow you to be in one place for once and that they were in need of a professor, the good Doctor asked me why I thought a mere soldier was qualified to teach HIS scholars."
"And that has what to do with me exactly?" Saber asks hesitantly, still not clear on the actual situation.
"I sent him your essay," he replies matter-of-factly. "Sent him the whole entrance exam, actually. He called me within an hour to discuss signing you on."
Saber turns once more to his commanding officer. "Based on what?" he asks flatly as every warning flag flies up in his mind. This is most definitely a prank.
"The fact that your paper as a soldier was better written than most of the thesis papers they've received from graduates. And yes, I told them that was nearly fifteen years ago."
Saber shakes his head, a small rueful smile on his face. "Then we're in real trouble if that holds true. I could do far better now."
"I read your reports. I have no doubt of that," the other man confirms. "I hear you're brutal on the students here, and that is just for their technical writings and practice reports. Yet, you have even the most troublesome students who respect you. That being said, I should let you know that they want to give you an honorary doctorates in Heritage Studies and Celtic Mythology."
Saber studies the man before him. Now certain someone has dragged him in on some well planned joke. He lets out a rather undignified snort and heads back to the seat he vacated a short time before. "So just who put you up for this?" he asks slowly, watching his commanding officer's body language closely.
His commanding officer turns and gives him a questioning glance.
"Who put you up for this?" he repeats. Surely it wasn't Colt. This would be rather complex for his tastes.
"Put me up?" the general asks slowly as he heads back to his desk and takes a seat. "Put me up to what exactly?"
"This elaborate prank, Sir." Saber replies. "For a brief moment, I actually believed you, but...No," he says with a shake of his head. "There is no way I could ever teach such subject matter."
"You think Mr. Wilcox or even Shinji could get me to pull some sort of prank on you?" he asks as looks at the young man before him. "I assure you, this is quite real. This may actually be one of your most difficult assignments. You'd have little to no contact with us. Your other teammates will be told you resigned to return and oversee your estate affairs. Especially after the incident a few months back."
Saber flinches slightly at the inadvertent mention of his broken betrothal from a few years prior. His former fiancée showing up out of nowhere and making a scene of returning his ring. Saying she had married someone else and wished to never see him again. Choosing the most visible venue to make such statements. A subject he'd rather continue to ignore.
The general sees his reaction and gives him an apologetic glance. "This could be a way to clear your head," he replies as he picks up a folder and slides it across the desk. "You were once a covert agent. Think of this as returning to your roots. Here is all the details of your cover, Professor Richard Lancelot. You shall report to the Headmaster on Monday, August third. That gives you a month to acquire housing and transport. Everything you need should be there to take care of what you need."