"Mos Maiorum"

[LtGeorgeMcLean 0]

McLean’s Logs

Lieutenant George McLean

“Mos maiorem”

0404.19

 

 

George simply could not believe it. There he stood on Terran soil for the first time in a very long time. Just a couple weeks ago he was preparing himself for death, but today, he was basking in the fullness of an abundant life. What was the fullness of abundant life to George? Being back in his hometown of Kokomo, Indiana, among the stalks of corn. He smiled as he looked out over the horizon. It was dusk and all the farmers had gone in for the evening. The moon was already shining brightly overhead. Visibility was spectacular. In every direction, there were miles after miles of nearly ready to be harvested corn.

 

Your average spaceman had the inability to really appreciate this George surmised. The average gung-ho Star Fleet officer would find such a scene far too grounded, for he hates to look anywhere but up. He fails to find the beauty of the horizon. In essence, he is so heavenly minded that he is no earthy good. Yet, George was learning to love both. Sure, the adventures of space exploration were exhilarating, but George equally loved the thrill of standing in his hometown seeking out not new life and civilization, but rediscovering old lives, long gone, and civilizations left behind at the expense of human progress.

 

 

“It’s beautiful isn’t it,” spoke a deep soothing voice from behind him.

 

“Yeah…,” replied George not turning around.

 

“We’ve missed you around here George.”

 

“I’ve missed this place…”

 

The man behind him kept quiet for a few moments, and then he drew upon his internal frustrations.

 

“You know, we’re a dying breed here…on Earth. Despite all the attempts at appeasement, the agricultural community here is still being trampled. With replicators in almost every household, no one cares about the real thing anymore.”

 

George smiled, “I still care….”

 

“Bah,” replied the man, “you’re a rare breed. The vast majority of humans don’t care anymore. The aliens, even less, for the culture that man has built for thousands of years.”

 

George responded, “Can progress be achieved without sacrificing the mos maiorum?”

 

“Can a man, transformed, be really transformed with the old man not slain?”

 

This comment striking George, “What do you mean?”

 

“George, there’s something different about you, something that has changed. I see a renewed sense of hope in your eyes, I see life in your steps, yet, I do not see this played out to its completeness.”

 

George smiled, “Yeah, I sort of had a…transformation back on Reaent a few weeks ago.”

 

The man waited for a few moments to ask, “What have you discovered?”

 

George shook his head, “I really don’t know…all I know is, I’m not alone anymore.”

 

“Are you involved again?”

 

George laughed, “No! It’s not like that…gosh…”

 

“I’m sorry George, I didn’t know,” replied the man regretfully, “I guess I never thought you the real philosophical…err…even religious type.”

 

“I’m not…really. Something has just changed. It’s almost as if I’ve been granted a second chance. I’m one of those guys who believes that I don’t even deserve a first chance. It’s a miracle I guess.”

 

The man applied his hand to George’s shoulder, “Whatever makes you happy.”

 

George pondered on this, “No…I can’t even express what I’m feeling. It’s far beyond the shallowness of utilitarianism. I need to talk to someone.”

 

The man did not respond, he was almost in awe of George’s internal changes.

 

George turned abruptly, “Is Bill Connolly still alive?”

 

“I don’t know George…why do you ask?”

 

George chuckled, “I want to see him…”

 

 

George and the unnamed man walked down the paved road toward a dwelling a few miles off. George found symbolism in this journey. There was something that Bill Connolly had that he thought he needed, some unexplainable link to his mos maiorum. He had always liked Bill, despite his lack of exuberance for the progress of mankind. Yet, George felt ready to discover the past; something he knew would alter his future.

 

The sun is almost set, the dawn waits with expectation.