Tucker's Last Stand Read Online Free PDF Page B

Yes, of course, those were the basic propositions of calculus. Mr. Galen then asked him if he knew anything about the subject of physics, and Tucker said only what he had read in a textbook. Which textbook? Tucker pointed to the book by Hatteras and Guy sitting on top of one of the desks in the classroom. Mr. Galen, who used that book for his introductory physics course, asked if Tucker had experienced any difficulty with the subjects covered in that book, and Tucker looked up at him with quite evident dismay.
    â€œDifficulty? What do you mean, sir?”
    â€œWhat do I mean? I mean just that. Some students have a problem with spatial mechanics, some with the introduction to electricity, some with theories of motion—did you have any problem with these?”
    Tucker still found it difficult to answer. He was obviously thinking about the social consequences of the fix he found himself in. He did not wish to appear boastful. He found the solution. He said brightly, “Sometimes I have a problem with Latin. For instance: I can never absolutely remember whether pre, in , and post take the ablative or the accusative case. I just forget.”
    Mr. Galen said nothing. Then he stood up and went to the bookcase behind his desk and reached for a large volume bound in maroon-colored cloth. He pulled it out and brought it to the boy, who obediently looked at its title and pronounced the title out loud: “ Theories in Advanced Physics . By”—he looked up at Mr. Galen. “Did you want me to read the names of all the authors? There must be ten, fifteen maybe.”
    â€œThose authors,” said Mr. Galen, “twelve men and one woman, are at the frontiers of the study of physics. Do you want to have a look at the book?”
    â€œOh, yes. Yes, sir. I promise to take very good care of it.”
    Mr. Galen, who stood six feet one inch tall, looked down at the fourteen-year-old boy. “Take it. And come back here next Tuesday, same time. We’ll see how you get on with it.”
    Tucker said thank you, extended his hand, and left the room, his heart pounding with excitement at the treasure carried under his arm. He remembered, on the way down the staircase, to recite a quick Hail Mary of gratitude in thanks for his good luck.
    The recruiting sergeant scanned the application.
    â€œThis your mother’s signature?”
    â€œYes, sir.”
    â€œYou might as well begin your training. I am not a ‘sir.’ I am a sergeant.”
    â€œYes, Sergeant.”
    â€œAnd this is your birth certificate?”
    â€œYes … Sergeant.”
    Sergeant Brisco looked at it. He then looked up at Tucker. “You were seventeen day before yesterday. On Pearl Harbor Day?”
    â€œYes, Sergeant.”
    Sergeant Brisco looked at him. “And you entered the University of Texas as a freshman last September?”
    â€œYes, Sergeant.”
    â€œThat means you were only sixteen when you came to Austin.”
    â€œYes, Sergeant.”
    At this point Brisco took the heavy lead ashtray on his desk, raised it and with all his strength struck it down over Tucker’s application form. “You know something, kid,” he said, his lips parting into something between a smile and a snarl. “I don’t think you are seventeen. I don’t think that ‘1924’ on your birth certificate was written by the registrar of public records in San Antonio. And I flatly doubt that your mother signed this piece of paper.
    â€œNow I’ll tell you where we go from here. One possibility is we go to the police, and they call the registrar in San Antonio and verify your birth certificate. Then we call your mother and ask if she signed this certificate. Then we take you to the juvenile court and suggest thirty days in the juvenile lockup for forgery. That’s one alternative.”
    Tucker stood, almost as if at attention.
    â€œYou want to hear the other alternative?”
    â€œYes,