The Waiver 2
"Is that all you're going to do all day?"

Cassie loomed over me, her hands on her hips. I looked up at her sheepishly.

"Um . . . yes?"

I was sitting on the couch in my apartment watching the "transvestite stud" tell his/her boyfriend he was cheating on him with a traveling carnie. Cassie had walked in with a bundle of mail under her arm. (I had long since given her a duplicate key.)

"Look at this, Jake. 'Department of Defense . . . U.S. Army . . . . U.S. Air Force . . . United States Military Academy-

"But that's in New York!"

" -National Security Agency . . . CIA!'." She glared at me. "Jake, you are getting a job," she said sternly.

I sighed. "But why? I have enough money from that book to live, quite comfortably, for decades. What the heck do I need a job for? Loose my Medicare benefits?"

Cassie sat down next to me. "Jake, what's your purpose in life now? What's your reason for getting up every morning."

I sighed and looked away.

"Seriously. I know you worked hard, we all did." She stopped for a moment to let that sink in. "But, that doesn't mean you can just waste the rest of your life sitting on the couch and hanging out with your friends."

I figited. "Cassie, I always . . . I mean, since we got back together, I just sort-of assumed, . . . you know.

She smiled at me. "Yeah, I planned on us marrying too. But there's no way I'm gettin' 'hitched' to slacker-couch-potatoe. End of story."

I looked up at her half-pleading (and half-serious) "B-But, but-"

"No 'but's" Mister." She said playfully.

I slumped my shoulders in defeat.

I had to get a job.

Reaching over for the remote she muttered: "What is it with you and the Jerry Springer, geeze..."

The tour guide led me deeper into the complex. The tour guide being an Army Captain. We turned the corner and passed through several security checkpoints before reaching a lage metal door, which looked like it could withstand a nuclear blast.

"- and if you accept the army's generous offer," he said in true sales pitch style. "This would be your office, Sir."

He swung the door open and offered the room a broad sweeping gesture with his arm. Something told me this guy was getting a serious commision if he managed to hire Jake Berenson.

It had been three weeks since I was on my couch.

Happy.

Now, I roam place to turning down offers left and right. After this I had two more stops to make on the serious offers before I turned to the "B" pile. The stack of letters whose jobs were a little less tempting.

"Non-Commisioned Officer in Charge ofMarine Recruiting" (anotherwards doing promos for the Marines as a celeb.)

"Basic Training Unit Commander" (the last thing I needed was to get attached to even more kids and then send them out into the world.)

"Commander- U.S. Aircraft-Carrier 'Yorktown'" (In my book I described part of the mission on the USS George Washington, now the Navy thought they stood a chance.)

Well, the main point is, that the world saw me as the toughest human alive and every service wanted to boast that "Berenson the Badass" was their boy.

"Now, how exactly would I qualify to be an Army Public Relations Specialist?" I asked plainly. "I haven't graduated high school, Captain."

He smiled broadly. "Well, I'm glad you asked that, Sir. See with these new, shall we say, immigrants to our society, U.S. public opinion is swaying from the military. They say there's now need for us right now." He laughed nervously. "We've been, well, getting some misinformed press releases that denounce some of our more potent programs we've been develping."

He coughed and cleared his throat. "Now with these Andalite-whose-a-whatzits running around spreading THEIR ideals into human culture, Americans no longer see it acceptable for the government to have classified programs."
He patted my shoulder. "But with your support, hopefully they'll acknowledge that things are kept top-secret for they're own personal safety.

I pondered that for a moment. "So you want me to use my good public standing to tell the people that the military is a big brother to them? Keeps them out of trouble? I don't think they'll respond well to that."

The Captain just laughed. "Sir, our studies, here at the Pentagon, show that since you've never endorsed anything before, whatever you say is gospel." He looked back down to the clipboard he was carrying.

"What's the first program I would be supporting, anyways?"

The Captain looked up. "Huh? Oh!" He quickly sorted through his papers. He stopped at one. "Here it is. Um . . . 'Bio-Weapons Testing in the North Pacific". See, these enviromentalist people are- Hey! Where are you going? Sir!"

Cassie would have killed me.

I arrived at the Twenty-nine Palms Marine Base by Hum-vee. Lately, terroism had grown into a serious problem.

It was anti-govermentalism regime who called themselves 'R.E.B.E.L.', (Radical Elements Boycotting Elitist Lies) against the DAA (Department of Andalite Affairs) REBEL believed that the DAA was slowly working the Andalites into our society to take over sneaking through the back door, Yeerk-style.

Then, there was the Holy Order of the Fist who believed I was the anti-christ who prevented eternal bliss to be brought by Yeerks, against the Protectors of the Faith who believed I was the ACTUAL christ, risen again in the form of an unknowing child.

Add on to that all the racist, beer-slugging, shotgun-toting retards of the world . . . and you have a "serious problem."

I opened the door half-way and was about to hop out when, "Bam!" The door was slammed back shut. An appolgetic corporal said very politely, "Sir, we'd appreciate it if you remained in the vehicle until this area is properly secured."

I nodded and leaned back in my seat, watching the commotion. It looked like we were an attacked force, assalting the base. Everyone in the area had their military ID's checked, then their Classified Project passes . . . then their Social Security card . . . and Driver's Licence.

"Damn! How long is this going to take, corporal!" I demanded.

The corporal looked at me plainly. "Sir, a lot of very angry people want you dead. My job is to make sure they don't succeed. Please let me do my job, Sir."

Lord help me, I was starting to like this guy.

I smiled sincerly. "I just might do that corporal. My health is in your hands."

The corporal risked a quick, fleeting smile, then returned to the task at hand. Still it was taking too long.

Twenty minutes later . . .

"Okay, Sir! We're all set."

"Are you sure? Shouldn't you cavity search them first?"

The corporal moved to his left a bit, then hesitated. "Was that a joke, Sir?"

I blinked. "God, yes, it was a joke! Now let me out of this car! It's a hundred-ten outside!"

The corporal looked at me plainly. "But, Sir, it's a dry heat."

I glared at him, then, as if on command, we both burst out laughing.

I was escorted into a large hanger with jets and Black Hawks all arranged in neat little rows. In front of me was scattered metal folding chairs. In the chairs were a hard-looking bunch of soldiers in mixed uniforms. Some had arrived in camos, others sporting white belts with gold buckles and a snappy beret. One was actually in a full dress uniform (in this heat?), sloping hat and all.

The second I entered, all conversation stopped and I found thirty pairs of eyes staring at my in wonder and hero worship. I was standing in the opening to the hanger, with the sun shining behind me so all they could see was my silouette, I had my hands on my hips and my feet firmly planted wide. I realized that my dramatic posture probably wasn't helping things,
but I was a little tense starting my new job, and that's how I stand when I feel like a situation is about to smack me in the face.

From off to the side, someone gathered their wits enough to shout: "Atten-Hooh! Officer on Deck!" The men and women quickly jumped to thier feet and a man off to the side wearing a red beret (I assumed he was the one shouting) saluted me. I walked over to him slowly and returned the salute. "Sir! Test-Project 'Team Delta-Seven' Ready for this block of instruction, Sir!" He shouted quickly. I could hardly understand what he was saying. But, I had studied enough Army manuals before arriving to know what to do.

I addressed the class. "Take seats."

Twenty-nine people obediently sat in unision with one "Thud" while the thirty-ith ran to the back of the chairs and stood at attention. Apparently the Red Beret was my second in command. A teacher's assistant or something.

"As you know your governments have chosen you, each the most capable in your country, to participate in this project. My mission is simple, take the hard-trained soldiers given to me, and teach them the aspects of the 'Tactical use of Xeno-Warfare'"

I found that a chair had been set up for me and I eased down in to it, while still talking.

"Now, I would like to remind you, you've already been through all the physical and mental training you're gonna need. This isnot basic training. I am here to teach and evaluate. Not pulverize and embarass. This is just a class and it's gonna be the toughest class in your life. But, I have full confidence that with some hard work. We'll both be just fine."

A woman wearing blue camo's and a blue beret raised her hand hesitantly.

"Yes, you?" I said pointing to her.

She snapped to attention. "Uh, Sir? If your teaching Xeno-Warfare, does that mean we can call you 'Proffesor X'?"

A few people in the group had the courage to snicker. I glared at her until she was visibly nervous. (which only took about three seconds) and then smiled. "Well, duh. Of course, you can."

This time the whole class laughed, realizing that I was not the hard, tough bad ass, the press potrayed me to be.

"Alright, have you all been screened and processed in with the Escafil? Yes? Good." I slapped my hands together and rubbed them. "Let's do it."

They never wore uniforms to my class again

End of Part 2

J-Rae-- Read the story left a review. : Whips out bullhorn :
"EVERYONE READ SEQUEL/CONTINUATION OF #54!"
There, happy now?

Berry-- I think KA started making her characters "out of character"
(I know that impossible since she's the original author)
Since book 16! I'm just trying to get them back IN character!

Elfangor-- Oh! you think that, that's sweet: Gives Elfangor a
big sweaty hug :