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Milty's Mag, December 1944
3
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Milty's Mag Page three The months passed by as he battled his way thru the Fleet School and the Sirian fleet came closer to Alpha Sector and then slowly began to be driven back. There were machines to be studied, maintenance and operation. Machines, existant not completely in a single solid space which plotted and piloted the ships in their faster-than-light courses. Months of weeks and days; months of learning and of expanding knowledge. Knowledge not only of the things they taught him, but wisdom of the people around him and of the ways that they had. Finally, inevitably, he had all that the school could give him, and he sat in the great spaship that took him from the school to the fleet base where he was to join the crew of a battleship. As he sat there in unaccustomed leisure, his mind went back to the time when he'd been nineteen years old, and again he was thinking furiously. Time passes and the aspect of things changes. Eternities ago it had been a kid, his guts busting with ideas of his own greatness, importance, differentness, uniqueness, his mind busting with the belief that he of all people had vision of the future and the wonders of possible civilization. And though he had entered the fleet service with a sense of great tragedy and impending doom, there had gradually come upon him peace and equilibrium of mind he had never before experienced. He had found that life was not instantly at an end, that there was not immediate blood and thunder upon entering the fleet, but that in a war like this there was need for a long period of knowledge gathering and technique acquiring, and that people like him, hungry for learning, lapped it all up and asked for more. Peace and mental equilibrium came from the anonymity of Fleet life, from the knowledge that within the framework of the rules and regulations he was his own master, an independent individual, with no one to question his actions as long as he kept out of trouble. He floated in a self-world of his own -- between the machine life of the fleet and his personal private life, the two never coalescing, but each remaining separate and distinct. And as he went along in his way, many others went
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Milty's Mag Page three The months passed by as he battled his way thru the Fleet School and the Sirian fleet came closer to Alpha Sector and then slowly began to be driven back. There were machines to be studied, maintenance and operation. Machines, existant not completely in a single solid space which plotted and piloted the ships in their faster-than-light courses. Months of weeks and days; months of learning and of expanding knowledge. Knowledge not only of the things they taught him, but wisdom of the people around him and of the ways that they had. Finally, inevitably, he had all that the school could give him, and he sat in the great spaship that took him from the school to the fleet base where he was to join the crew of a battleship. As he sat there in unaccustomed leisure, his mind went back to the time when he'd been nineteen years old, and again he was thinking furiously. Time passes and the aspect of things changes. Eternities ago it had been a kid, his guts busting with ideas of his own greatness, importance, differentness, uniqueness, his mind busting with the belief that he of all people had vision of the future and the wonders of possible civilization. And though he had entered the fleet service with a sense of great tragedy and impending doom, there had gradually come upon him peace and equilibrium of mind he had never before experienced. He had found that life was not instantly at an end, that there was not immediate blood and thunder upon entering the fleet, but that in a war like this there was need for a long period of knowledge gathering and technique acquiring, and that people like him, hungry for learning, lapped it all up and asked for more. Peace and mental equilibrium came from the anonymity of Fleet life, from the knowledge that within the framework of the rules and regulations he was his own master, an independent individual, with no one to question his actions as long as he kept out of trouble. He floated in a self-world of his own -- between the machine life of the fleet and his personal private life, the two never coalescing, but each remaining separate and distinct. And as he went along in his way, many others went
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