That evil empire was gone now, or at least defanged for the moment. In its place, there was no single, unifying foe with which to threaten the graduates of Nathan’s class. There wasn’t even a national goal or agenda. Scott had grown up with the challenge of Kennedy’s race to the moon, LBJ’s Great Society, and the Civil Rights movement, too. And though the world seemed to be on the brink of something monumental, something important, Scott had no idea what that “something” was. When he discussed this very issue with close friends, it became apparent that everyone was at a loss to describe where, exactly, the world they were living in was headed. Like survivors of another planet cast away in a strange new land, they were all searching for a new direction, a new cause to guide their footsteps.

Looking around at the faces of the young graduates, Scott was suddenly reminded of other young faces that were now little more than memories. While most were still alive, pursuing their own careers in a world they had helped mold, others had fallen along the wayside, victims of that long, arduous march that had brought him to this place. Surely, Scott told himself as he realized that the superintendent of the Institute was already launching into his introduction of him, he could not go in front of all these eager young graduates with such dark, foreboding thoughts setting the tone of his subject. No, Scott told himself. He would need to find a theme fitting for the occasion. It was his duty as the commencement speaker, and duty was something that Scott Dixon understood.

“General Dixon’s faithful and loyal service to our nation,” the superintendent declared briskly as he swept on to the conclusion of his introduction, “both in peace and in war, is an inspiration to us all. Ladies and gentlemen, graduates and guests, I am pleased to present Major General Scott Dixon.”

Scott didn’t really hear the applause. Nor was he very conscious of his actions as he stood and walked slowly to the podium where he shook the hand of the superintendent. Grasping the podium to steady himself, he thrust out his chin and looked out over the heads of the audience at the outline of the distant mountains that protect the Shenandoah from the outside world. As he gazed at those hills, he collected his thoughts as quiet returned. Only when all was silent did Scott lower his eyes and sweep the audience with them as if he were inspecting troops during a grand review.

“Ordinarily,” Scott began, sporting an impish grin that he shared with his oldest son, “I would open my remarks with an off-color joke. Unfortunately my wife’s in the audience.” He paused long enough to allow a few people in the audience to chuckle. “You see, with Jan, I’m faced with a real problem. Not only is she my wife, she is also a journalist. As a member of the fourth estate, she would duly castigate me for my political incorrectness and insensitivity to whatever group or faction bore the brunt of my humorous remarks. But it’s in her role as my wife that she’d really heap on the righteous hellfire and damnation for being so crude and tasteless. So, in line with our Commander in Chief’s policy of preserving domestic tranquillity at all costs, I will skip the joke and cut right to the chase.”