Darkside

based on the characters created by

Aaron K. Carter

Darkside

Copyright © 2019 by Aaron K. Carter. All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any way by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the author except as provided by USA copyright law.

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, descriptions, entities, and incidents included in the story are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, events, and entities is entirely coincidental.

Contents

Chapter 1             7

Chapter 2             16

Chapter 3             26

Chapter 4             38

Chapter 5             52

Chapter 6             61

Chapter 7             69

Chapter 8             81

Chapter 9             89

Chapter 10             103

Chapter 11             112

Chapter 12             125

Chapter 13             142

Chapter 14             155

Chapter 15             161

Chapter 16             171

Chapter 17             181

Chapter 18             195

Chapter 19             202

Chapter 20             218

Chapter 21             226

Chapter 22             239

Chapter 23             252

Chapter 1

H ello, Who are you? I wonder how you can see me.

I can’t see you, but I can feel you here with me. this is interesting. It’s never happened before to my memory.

Oh well, you don’t seem to be doing any harm. I wonder if you’re in my head or I’m in yours. I could be a complete figment of your imagination or you of mine. I really don’t know. but then both of us must exist, mustn’t we? Because I’m here talking to you, and you’re there listening to me. so even if I’m only in your head or a chimera, some shape of a phantom in time, then I must be real. And you must be as well. for if we believe that something exists, then it’s real. Even if it isn’t. take the quintessential concept of love. It’s nothing tangible, yet we believe it exists. We don’t use it to describe a feeling, feelings are lust and cupidity and romance, those are feelings.

Love is something else. Something like you or me.

Something we believe in and feel and may even hear or see in our heads but it doesn’t exist by most practical definitions. That’s what love is. And that’s what you and I are. There aren’t any words to describe me to you because I simply don’t exist nor do you to me. but we both know the other is there. I wonder if we couldn’t exist without the other? Could we have before, or can we fail to exist without the other now? I’m sure not. now that you’ve met me, you can’t get away from me. you’ll remember this conversation so I’m imprinted in the fabric of your being and you in mine. Scintillating this. I do love a good enigma.

I’ll think about you sometimes when I’m bored, and I do get bored often, you’ll find. So do you I fancy. So think of me, won’t you?

Is it only me? am I special to you in some way, or can you see the others? I don’t know. you’re the only one I’ve ever known about. but maybe you’re not unique. Maybe there are dozens of you and I can’t tell you apart from the other. So I’m speaking to mass or an individual, and I can’t tell the difference. That would be good for stage fright if I had any. I don’t. I’m not frightened of things. If I can’t tell you apart, can you tell us apart?

I wonder if anyone else knows about you? probably not. I’m not like most others, but you’ll find that out soon enough. if you can’t tell us apart, I’ll bet you can tell ME apart from them. I’m not like them, I’ve found. In fact, I’m nothing like any of them at all. I sincerely don’t know why. I’m amoral, a renegade, always the outsider even in my own circle. I never fit in. I’m cut from a different cloth than the rest of them, I don’t know why. And I hate it. I hate not knowing things. I don’t mind being singular, sui generis if you will, but I don’t know why I am and that irks me because in all these years I still can’t figure out why. At least, I don’t think there is anybody else like me.

As I said, you can be the judge of that. see what you think of them as opposed to me. it looks simple to be them. and I don’t like simple things. But come on. it’s time for me to go now, no more ruminating.

Come along with me, won’t you? I promise it will be a fun ride if nothing else.

Intrigued? I know I am. Let’s go.

I line up with the rest, chin up, eyes forward, hands tight, there is shoving all around me shouting of corrections from our officious MTIs. Cries of explanation from befuddled cadets. I am not phased by either.

Because I know I am right. I have studied endlessly for this. Never have I wanted anything in the universe but to be a spaceman. But more than that, I want to be a pilot. I want to fly through the stars. A voice boom in my ear followed by a string of insults, that would be a chastisement for my unfortunate, bunkmate, a Logan King, a rather rotund, palled individual who is mastering failing at nearly every course of study presented to us here at Kepler’s officer training school for future Spacemen. For the past eight hundred years, humans have settled Kepler 52b, and fleeing an overpopulated Earth in droves, to form a nice, neat society here, in New America. There’s New Russia as well but we don’t like to talk about them in the history books. we’ve done pretty well by ourselves as a race, we aren’t polluting this planet half as much as we did the last one, and we’ve succeeded in fending off the locals, alien life forms known to us as Isylgyns (somebody without an affinity for vowels christened them that). These creatures call Kepler and the surrounding planets home, have their own space ships, which look faster than ours though I haven’t proved that yet, and seem relatively innocuous, other than their tendency to squirt acid at things and suck the blood out of people. But that’s what we’re here for, the Space Forces, we defend Kepler from the Isylgyns and human smugglers and if necessary New Russia, keeping the skies free for new refugees from Earth, and for us to settle other planets in the fabled ‘Goldilocks zone’ capable of supporting human life.

So, now you know what we’re doing here.

Back to the present, there is the usual torrent of tears which generally follows any instructions given to the unfortunate cadet. As I said, he’s not very strong-willed. Or clever. Or athletic. Or anything befitting of a spaceman. I don’t see why he’s here, but then again I’m not in charge. Yet.

“CARD!!!”

“Yes, sir?” I wake myself from my comfortable thoughts, attending to the maledicent pile of man in front of me, his face something like three inches from mine.

“If you’re so goddamn PERFECT all the time, why didn’t you show Cadet King how to make his rack?” An MSgt. Ebbel, a brute of a creature who I am almost convinced is at least half or two-thirds dog, says. he takes great delight in shouting my name at the highest of decibels, preferably when I am doing nothing wrong.

I am planning to murder him.

It’s been two weeks already and I simply cannot bring myself to imagine another two with this person existing---in a space---near to me. there are plenty of others I loathe. But his voice is particularly grating.

So he shall die.

I’ve been planning it since the day I arrived. It is complicated, certainly, but basic training and my imprisonment thereafter were so mind-numbingly dull I had plenty of time to work out the general philosophy of the murder that I wanted to commit. Now I have selected a victim.

It’s been fun, scouting out a place, watching for behavior patterns, studying camera angles. Waiting for those dead quiet moments where there’s nobody around to hear you scream. I’ve only killed once before and that was a spur of the moment. Messy at best. I am a perfectionist in everything. I must do it better this time. neater, cleaner. That was a sleight of hand, a party trick, there had been every chance I would be caught. Not this time. this time I will be smooth and clean. It’s my treat to myself, after enduring the vapid drudgery that has been training so far.

But soon we will get into our MOS schools and I want at least half of my brain for that. so, I shall end this little activity, and soon. But not quite yet. for now, I still need to make the bed.

“Sir, we practiced yesterday, it was my understanding that Cadet King was appraised of proper bed making,” I say, resisting the urge to glare at King, who is still sniveling.

“It was your Understanding???” he also makes my elevated rhetoric the brunt of his base rants. This is another reason he shall die. “Well, then why don’t you appraise”

See?

“that he needs you to check his work? You are both Spacemen. That’s what you do”

so descriptive please dear God use fewer proper nouns.

“so appraise him of how to fix it. now!!”

He turns his back to leave and King moves to wipe his runny nose. I just pull his arm down to the proper position before Ebbel turns and walks backward, shouting that we have an hour to get the barracks clean.

“Here,” I say, once we are released, “Let me show you again.”

“I tried to do what you said,” King snivels, wiping his nose on his sleeve before I can stop him.

“Well you clearly didn’t succeed,” I say, undoing the sheet and offering him an end to pull tight. He crumples it between his hands nervously.

“Be nice, Titus,” a voice says, from behind me, surprising me not only because it is my first name, but also because have been longing to hear that voice. It’s the girl I was paired in Combat training with yesterday, she’s a few bunks down, I knew, but I didn’t expect her to notice or speak to me. Although I wanted her to. the lovely Nicole Tom. she’s not like other girls. Not to me. something about the way she says my name. I want to listen. That’s it. I want to listen. I don’t generally. But I do to her. She’s an Academy Commissioned Cadet, tall and well-muscled, with the typical shaved head and short fingernails, she doesn’t stand out in any way. except for me. I am not typically prone to flights of romance let alone sexual attraction but Nicole Tom is my opulent exception.

I burn when her quick eyes turn so fiercely upon me. never before in my life have I cared to be in someone’s good graces for anything other than material gain. But I do now. oh, how I do. love is terribly inconvenient, don’t you think?

“He’s upset, it’s not easy you know, and he’s just gotten shouted at you could be nicer,” she is saying, casting me a disapproving look, “Here, King, we’ll take one side and Card will take the other, it’s much easier when you have more than one person.”

“I’ve never had to comfort someone before. I didn’t know it wasn’t nice,” I mumble annoyed that I’m explaining myself to her and unable to clearly articulate words in her presence. I bite my lip, I don’t elucidate myself, especially not with the truth. she’s my exception again, it seems.

“Well, now that’s something you know,” she says, curtly.

“Yes, it is,” I say, not daring to look at her but instead looking down at the sheets, which we are pulling tight between us.

“H---how do you know how to do it so well?” King asks, biting back the last of his tears and moving to help.

“I grew up at the Academy; they taught us this, as well as marching,” Tom says, kindly. Ah, so she’s Academy bred as well as educated. The rich can pay to have their children admitted to the prestigious Space Forces Academy for the last four years of their education, then a chance at a commission in the Space Forces; the poor and clever children get partial scholarships; then there are the Project 10s. Project 10 is essentially a breeding project, whereby those with a certain IQ are matched with potential mates, and through in vitro fertilization, a child is conceived. That child is the property of the Space Forces, they grow up at the Academy and receive all their education there. Tom said she grew up there, and so she is a Project 10. King is here on straight commission, hence his general ineptitude. He went to a public university but got selected for stellar academic achievement.

“Oh, that makes me feel better, I feel stupid sometimes,” King says, cheering up a little at Tom’s kindness.

“That’s absurd, you’re cleverer than half of them,” I say dismissively. He is. He’s a terrible spaceman, but I know he tested in as a civilian from a second rate university, which is no easy task. Make no mistake, he’s still a complete idiot, but I’ve found most of my fellow cadets are.

“Really?” he asks.

“Yes—pull that tighter, here,” I reach up to my bunk. I’m on top since I am small and lithe and can crawl places. King falls down from places. I pull a pair of pins from the bottom of my mattress. “Use these to hold it in place while I tuck this side.”

“Where’d you get those?” King asks.

“Our dress whites, from the alterations, I thought they’d be useful,” I say, kneeling to complete a corner.

“That’s clever. Did you go to the Academy---only you don’t look familiar,” Tom asks, her tone is kind she regrets her harsh words earlier? But of course, it is the question I am loathed to answer. But I cannot lie to her. she’ll find out eventually after all.

“No--- I ---ah, went to BMT,” I mumble, again. arg. I am not a mumbler. I seriously considered just saying ‘no’ but knew she’d a) find out b) she was asking nicely so I didn’t want to be curt c) I liked it when she smiled a little at me like that and I didn’t want it to ever stop.

“You did?” Logan asks, surprised.

“Yes,” now I’m curt.

“You did? I thought you were our age?” Tom asks, surprised. Of course, I look every bit my sixteen years.

“I am, at the end of the training, you take final exams, and if you do well enough you get the chance to test into OCS,” I explain, finishing my side. what this means is that I’ve never been to university. When children turn eleven, they either enter university, bound for higher careers like Space Forces, or law or medicine or teaching. Or they go to a public trade school to finish out their education. I am from a disgustingly poor family. there was no money to send to me the Academy, even on the copious scholarships I was eligible for. so I went to a trade school, for mechanics. That was the opposite of enthralling. But anyway, the moment I turned fifteen, I was at the recruiter, applying to join the Space Forces. The reason Tom asked about my age is that it is less common to test in, and more common to return to OCS after completing a three-year commitment and gaining credits to be used towards OCS.

“Oh, yes, I’d heard that that could happen,” Tom says, lightly, even though I am sure she now thinks less of me. I’ve never been to a proper school, I’m clearly just a poor boy. “I didn’t know it ever did happen, though. thought it was just a gimmick.” Judging by the number of people it took to process my paperwork, as well as the number of people who had no idea how to process my paperwork, a great number of people think it’s just a gimmick.

“So you didn’t go to university?” King confirms, still surprised he actually has one up on me. I am annoyed he knows. Tom won’t do anything with it, I think. He might.

“No,” I say.

“What sort of scores did you have to get to test in?” Tom asks as we fold the comforter between us.

“I don’t know, they didn’t tell me. they just said I got to go,” I say. that’s true, well a part of it is. They did not tell me how high the scores needed to be to test in. because it didn’t matter. I didn’t miss any questions, achieving a perfect score. apparently, that’s never happened before. I know that because I was in a military prison for two weeks while they tried to figure out how I cheated. Then they couldn’t figure it out, because of course, I hadn’t. so they rewrote a harder test and sitting in the prison, I took that. and I still made a perfect score.

So they set me free.

Their mistake.

“That’s really cool, I bet you were surprised,” I say, his face has gone terribly dark all of a sudden. I don’t like it like that. he’s got a lovely face, still baby fat on his cheeks, a button nose, freckles on it. and the most unimaginable blue eyes, like the sky, reflected in the sea. a stormy sky. And a stormy sea. there is something about him. some loneliness that makes me want to hug him. yet there is a darkness that makes me shiver. I shiver a bit to look at him when his eyes go dark as they did just now. he’d never been to University, was it really wise just to toss him in with us? He didn’t fit in, the others would have a great time with it if, when—they found out. he’d be bullied, and surely he was terribly clever. He must be shouldn’t they---do something with him rather than throw him in with us? I feel awful to think about it. but I know I’m right.

“Yes, I was quite pleasantly surprised, as I’m sure our classmates will be,” he says, dryly. He also anticipates the bullying that will ensue.

“I won’t tell them,” I say.

“Thank you,” he says, graciously, so formal, he’s too old for his age one could say ancient, “But they’ll know soon enough, once we get our SBUs. My rank’s sewn on. the rest of you will be slick sleeved.”

“Yes, you’re a Spaceman Basic,” I realize of course he completed BMT he would be.

“Yes, I absolutely cannot wait till Ebbel realizes he has to address me as such,” he says so dryly King and I both laugh.

“Can’t you just hear him ‘Spaceman Basic Card you’re out of step!’,” he imitates Ebbel almost perfectly, sending us laughing again and laughing himself this time. nervously, though, like he’s not well-practiced at smiling or making people smile.

“I can, that’ll be awful,” I laughed.

“It’s all right, I love being a Spaceman, that’s what I’ve wanted---my whole life, to fly out there,” he says looking up at the heavens as though they are waiting specifically for him.

“Me too,” I say, smiling a little and he returns it. just a little.

Chapter 2

A fter the excitement of being insulted on our folding and tucking abilities, the rest of the day drags on. we are sorted into our flights, which should be quick because it is based off who we bunk near, but of course, it is not quick in any loose military sense of the word. It is long and arduous and increasingly dull.

Inspections didn’t go as badly as I thought they would. At least I did everything mostly right. I’m nearly immune to their taunts. After living with verbal abuse for years before my mother finally broke free I possess the unique talent to ignore most all verbal jabs, as well as to recognize toxic personalities. Speaking of toxic personalities I fear that boy that bunks with King is no good. I only know Logan King in passing, we were in the same district growing up and went to the same university on scholarships. He’s not a bad sort just generally incompetent. I heard him being bashed rather badly this morning and I’ve seen the face of that boy who bunks above him, Card I think Ebbel was shouting, yes Card. His eyes remind me of my sister’s, almost the exact same blue, which I hate because I love her and I suspect I will soon hate him. he didn’t do poor Logan any good, and he’s stuck up about something or other the way he talks and----I can just feel it. he’s trouble. he’s got the look of somebody waiting to kick a sleeping dog. I know that look too well to miss it even in passing. But stop. don’t think of home, don’t think of your past. The card isn’t your problem. You are your problem just get you through this and you’ll be fine and you can go home and have money and maybe we can have a better flat and Genny can go to university real university and not worry about scholarships all the time and you---you can be a Spaceman.

Inspections this morning were trying, at least we had a laugh with Titus, though. I don’t mind him so much now, in fact, I regret how harsh I was to him. but I suppose he deserved it. I look around at my other classmates. It’ll be interesting to get to know them. the people I’ll spend the rest of my life with, probably. Some of them. I wonder who? It’s all interesting to me, in that I’ve been trained raised bred my whole life for this, just this, thought of before I came into being and now here I am acting it out. playing my part. well, I don’t want to. not completely. I want to be me and be a kid and have fun and laugh like we did this morning. Just a little. Maybe we can. Maybe we can be sixteen-year-olds, together, see if we can have fun. We can if we help each other, I know the folding and the marching, and others have other strengths, if we work together this can be easy and we can have good times. For the first time, I begin to get excited about training.

After such a miserable morning I thought my day had to improve but I haven’t. they just keep yelling at us so much I have to tune it out. I’m trying to be like Titus he doesn’t seem to mind he just stands there stone-faced. I wish I could; maybe he learned in basic I hope so then maybe I’ll learn. Tom said that now that we’re on flights we’ll get our SBUs with flight insignia sewn on. I’m excited about that. I can’t wait to send a picture home of me in my SBUs to my mum. She’s so proud of me. I just don’t feel like I deserve it. there are so many of them that are so much better at all of it than me. and I don’t want to pull our flight down and I feel like I do I already got Titus yelled at by that Ebbel person and Tom was cross with him as well when it wasn’t his fault. he did show me how to do it. not very patiently or slowly but he doesn’t do anything patiently or slowly nor does he expect it that’s just him and I don’t fault him for it. being him is why he is so good at this and being me is why I’m not. But I am. even if I’m not the best, at all this, who said I had to be? I can be the best at computers, they’re what I’m good at. And that’s why I got chosen. And that’s why I’ll succeed. Because I am good at some things. Just not all but nobody’s good at everything I’m sure Titus is bad at something I can’t think of what but I’m sure he is. And in a few minutes, we get our uniforms that we are all worthy to wear. I smile a little just to think about it.

We get our SBUs now. lovely. Now my secret is out. I stand in line, stone-faced, waiting for my bag. King looks excited. he would be. He’s not about to be identified as the only non-university graduate in the conclave of cadets.

I open the bag and reach in, stroking the blue and black mottled fabric. A small pterodactyl, our squadron’s symbol, and of course my single stripe. I find myself smiling. I am a Spaceman. They aren’t. I am. I made it already this is all just extra. Now to train, to learn to fly. All my life I’ve focused a part of my mind on flying, learning to fly, everything there is to know about it. Planning how to get into space. Now I’m here. and one day there will be gold stars on these lapels instead of a stripe on the shoulders. I’ll be a Major someday, a General, the best pilot in the force. A legendary spaceman. And they’ll all know my name.

“card!!”

Not today though.

“Get suited up now, then come outside,” an MTI I don’t know barks. I hurry to obey as the others in the locker room also begin to change, too enamored of their new uniforms to ogle each other like we usually do.

I have done it before so I am faster to put on the stiff SBUs, then I proceed out to the main area, as ordered.

“Cadet Card reports,” I say, standing at attention. The MTI, a female Staff Sergeant, stands in front of me. Wilde her name tapes say.

“So, you’re our special child, eh Card?” she asks. She’s holding my file.

“Yes, ma’am,” I say, smothering my annoyance. She thinks I’m funny.

“You’re tiny, you barely fit in these things,” she inspects my SBUs, “I’ll have them get you fitted ones, next week.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” I say, emotionlessly.

“You don’t flinch, do you?” she asks, standing unnaturally close to me to see if it’s true. it is. “Basic teach you that. Or two weeks in solitary in the brig?”

“Ma’am, basic,” I say, as she looks down at her tablet.

“Did you get to go to space, then?” she asks, she’s more intrigued by me, as she reads my file.

“No, ma’am, I did not go,” I say, stopping the anger from flashing in my blue eyes. they ripped me out before I could. I was supposed to the very next day but as my flight went up out into the heavens I was being booked for treason.

“What, they locked you up right away? That’s a shame,” she says.

“Yes, ma’am,” I say.

“All right, then, Card, did you ever march a flight in basic, or did they think you were too small and wouldn’t be loud?” she asks.

“Ma’am, I couldn’t say what they thought.” That’s exactly what they thought. “However, ma’am, I have not marched a flight.”

“Well, then, you will today,” she says, with a smile lurking on her lips, “You’re Cygnus Company’s flight leader.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I say. a flight leader is in charge of marching the flight, that is calling cadence and directing where the element leaders, the first spacemen in a column, march the flight.

“Ma’am, have you assigned me, element leaders?” I ask.

“That’s up to you, you go get them formed upon the drill pad, you have two hours to get them into shape before you march them to dinner, and use your time wisely because we will be pulling 314s,” she says. 314s are ‘write-ups’ where we get a little lecture for being bad little Spacemen. They think that these small slips of paper affect me. it’s actually sort of entertaining. “any questions?”

“No, ma’am,” I say.

Titus strolls back into the room with the constellation pin on his lapel as arrogant as though he’d been made President. I don’t blame him. at least he’s getting credit for having been to basic. The others look less than pleased, however, at the prospect of being bossed about by him, a poor boy who’d probably never even stepped foot in a university. Still, I’m sure he was pleased.

I am less than pleased. Now this will cause undue ridicule and attention. My new position makes it much harder to murder Ebbel. But then I was needing a challenge, don’t you think?

“Quiet,” Titus says, very loudly, and the chatter abruptly ceases. We all turn to look at him. he stands in the middle of us, his uniform just a bit too large, blue eyes flashing in defiance of their chatter. He raises the heels of his hands to his forehead, pressing them against it, his fingers twitching.

“Tom, you’re my first element leader,” he says, nodding at me. I wonder why he has chosen me, of all people. I’m not the strongest marcher, and I’m sure he knows it. I am doubting there is little he doesn’t know.

She’s not the strongest marcher, but I want to look at her and I won’t get to if she’s in the middle of the whole bloody flight.

“And Long, you’re my second element leader---guidon bearer, actually, we fall to the drill pad and drill until our DP, everybody understands? Speak now if you don’t,” I look in their eyes. they don’t understand. But they will. “NOW MOVE IT!!!”

I wave my hand and go to the doors, holding it for Tom and Long who hurry to obey, surprised, but not insubordinate. Good. Long is the only one shorter than me, and he’s got the best rhythm of all of them. He’s a Project 10 but he doesn’t know most of the others, different dorm or something like that. Tom’s solid Project 10 so she fits in, he seg ways from me to her. a nice little chain of acceptance trickling close to me.

We fall out into the sunlight and the cadets stagger to size up, amusing little clones in their matching uniforms. I did not anticipate how funny they would look trying to grudgingly jump to my surprisingly loud orders and I have to suppress laughter.

I call the sizing commands and appropriate movements to get the littlest of them at the back and the tallest at the front, save the element leaders who stay at the front. I enjoy how cold my voice sounds in the clear air, echoing off the pavement. I think they are less put off by it than they thought as well, for they try to obey.

The optimum word being try. they are not in sync. I can tell already. Not with each other, not with me. they anticipate my commands and jump before I call them, tripping over each other. Even so, we have to start somewhere. It’s going to take two whole parts of my brain to get them together. but it’s worth the challenge.

I try to take them around the drill pad once, just once, with the appropriate left and right marches, no about-face, but they keep falling out of step, particularly King. And the others just anticipate what I’m going to say, more often than not incorrectly.

“HALT,” I call. I need to think of something. Every one of them can do this. Except possibly Logan he may actually not be able to do this. But the rest of them can. But how to get them there?

“AT EASE,” I call so that I can also go to ease. I grind my hands into my head, immune to their stares they probably are staring at me like I’m a freak I don’t care think how to get them in step for good my hand’s press so hard I can’t feel the palms.

“Okay----King, you’re just not in step, you’re thinking too much about it, you just need to feel the rhythm,” I say, my hands still grinding into my head, trying to think of another way to say it to him.

“I’m trying,” he says, looking close to tears. Again.

“No, not now .. you just .. Cadet Long, can you explain to King how you keep in step?” I ask.

“Ah...I don’t know, just sort of listen to it, you know?” he says, shrugging.

“It’s a beat, like a dance, or tapping your feet to a song,” Tom says, helpfully.

“That’s it!” I say, grinning and snapping my fingers at her, then snapping them as I bring them back. I can do this. I can complete the murder and get them in step all at once. If I do this, I’ll get in trouble, which will get me in detention in the brig which puts me in the perfect spot to murder Ebbel.

“I’ve got it, okay---we’re going to do this,” I remembered a song, my sister used to play it all the time on her little radio. “Everybody---Listen up. From now on, I am God. You hear nothing but my voice. MTIs yell, that’s at me, not you. I will make any and all corrections. I call all commands, you don’t move till I speak, got it?” I ask.

“YES sir,” a little grudging there it’s okay give them time. they’ll see the truth.

“forward harch,” but instead of counting cadence I begin to sing, as loudly as I can, “left-right and left-right da da da” I do not even remember all the words to the song but the beat is all that matters “King.. you’re instep now .. just listen to me now da de da---da de da---”

they are all in step now and their overall rhythm is much more fluid.

 I›ve never tried to sing before in my life considering that I sound really quite pleasant, they are smiling but I don›t call them on it.  I sing a bit quieter but they all chuckle, they like me more now, they know I just got in trouble to teach them.

“Flight---HALT,” I call, stopping innocently. Technical Sgt. Harris, my second to least favorite MTI walks up to me.

“Put your flight at ease,” he instructs me.

“AT EASE,” I call, though they don’t dare shift much.

“CARD! What is it you think you were doing?” he asks, folding his arms and standing in front of me, daring me to make eye contact.

“Sir, singing them the song of my people,” I say, completely seriously.

“Why may I ask were you doing that?” he asks, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Sir, to help them remain in step,” I explain.

“How many of you think Card is allowed to sing to you? Raise your hands,” Harris says, turning to my flight.

No hands, of course not. I broke military bearing I should really spend the night in the brig so I can go, murder somebody, now shouldn’t I?

“Well, you’re all wrong. This is a training exercise, Card was perfectly justified, 314s, all of you, for insubordination; not one of you was willing to back up your leader,” Harris snaps his fingers. They stare, dumbfounded and vitriol, then they start sorting in their pockets for their 314s.

“Sir, I will take the blame,” I say, pulling my own 314 from my pocket.

“They didn’t support you,” he growls, turning back to me.

“Sir, that means that I did not inspire confidence,” I say, calmly.

“Fine,” he pulls the 314 from my extended hand and walks away.

I stare at Titus. I can’t believe he didn’t care about getting in trouble. let alone that he was willing to get in trouble for our sakes. The 314s go in our cadet file, too many and you could get dismissed. And Titus had just taken one as though it was nothing---more than that he’d talked himself into one.

“All right, let us continue,” I say with the smallest of smiles. They are still staring at me, nonplussed. I am pleased. Now they know how much more I am than them. now they know I am the unexpected. But they have nothing to fear. I am on their side.

for now.

“What’s wrong?” I ask as Harris walks slowly over to where I stand with a few other MTIs. He is staring blankly at a 314 in his hand.

“I just pulled this on Card,” he says, putting it in his pocket.

“Card---the one who swallowed a dictionary?” I ask, frowning.

“Yeah, that’s him,” he says.

“So?” I ask. The kid is smart. He knows it too much though, that’s what bugs me about him. and tiny, he’d do no good in actual hand to hand combat. But Wilde made him her flight leader, she likes the little devil.

“I didn’t want to,” Harris says.

“Then why did you?” I ask, wondering what is wrong with him.

“I don’t know---when he spoke---it made sense,” he says, shaking his head.

“Write him up for insubordination, then,” I say, helpfully.

“I can’t---I am---that’s what he wants me to do,” he says.

“Does he want to spend the night in the brig?” I ask.

“I—I don’t know, why would I put him in there?” he asks.

“You’ll think of something before nightfall,” I guarantee.

I wonder what our little Spaceman Basic got himself in trouble for. his flight is doing better than ever. They look smooth and clean. Harris was certainly shouting his name at full volume, though. I feel a bit bad for him, he’s probably an outsider even more since he tested out of basic or whatever. I’m just public university trash. But Ebbel did make me flight leader. I will prove to them I can do it. No matter how hard it seems. I’m hardly telling my mother and Ginny that I failed. I’m not going to fail. I glance up at the sky, as ships whizz overhead. That’ll be me someday, I promise myself. But now to work. Card’s flight is looking better every time I turn around and sneak a glance at them. mine is---well it’s getting there. we’ve got a lot of work to do before the dinner DP.

Chapter 3

F inally, the interminable drill practice ends and we are to march to our dinner DPs. I want to pull Tom aside and ask her if she wants to sneak out again tonight to go and practice on the simulator. She did once before. But I’ve annoyed her since then. But I did take a 314 for her, and she had fun last time. at least it seemed like it. I know I did. but I cannot pull her aside. As a flight leader, the MTIs have their eyes on me, especially after the singing stunt. Sadly, one single 314 doesn’t me any closer to the brig, and MSgt Ebbel’s timely demise.

I did teach the little uncoordinated dregs how to march, however. They are much better, King is actually in step half the time. and their spirits are up, which is important. And they get better by the minute. Even when I’m not singing to them, they still keep a jaunty step and their rhythm is ten times what it was this morning.

I am relieved, though, when we file in for dinner. And I am hungry, and through with devoting mental energy to calling cadence and facing movements when I could be doing other things with my mind, like thinking about flying. As soon as the last of my flight is inside the doors, my job is done, and I join the line for dinner. I happily devote ½ my brain to thinking about flying, ¼ to Tom, as is my current customers and has proved quite relaxing, 1/8 to what I am currently doing, and 1/8 to what I could be doing better. I’m not going to be in the brig tonight, so Ebbel cannot die. So I might as well rest and enjoy myself in my own head. which I do.

“Captain Thorne, I thought you were still down at basic,” Stg. Wilde says, smiling at little at the sight of me.

“I was---I am,” I say as we walk into the DFAC together, behind the last group of scurrying cadets. They are eating like wild things, and my own stomach turns at the familiar smell of processed food. “I’m still not cleared for flight yet so I’m teaching basic for a few more months. But I thought I’d come, visit you—all here---see how things are---you know---warn you about something,” I finally spit out the last bit, looking away awkwardly. I feel stupid I never should have come here.

“What?” she asks, laughing a little.

“Ah---you’ve got one of my Spacemen---who tested up---in your flight, don’t you---scrawny little underfed thing that uses big words, only drinks milk, blue eyes, name’s Card?” I ask, my voice tripping. I really should not be doing this. I never should have come here this is stupid of me. just let it go. Let him go. I can’t. I already know I can’t my feet won’t carry me away.

“Yes, he’s my flight leader, in fact, he’s quite bright,” she says, frowning at my nervousness. “one of our best, I’d say.”

“Yes, yes, that’s the thing, definitely, he’s brilliant---but you must understand a dark cloud follows that boy. Things are going to start happening, here, strange and terrible things----he’ll never be remotely responsible, never be involved, never be implicated, but you must believe me, it’s him. a strange, evil walks with him,” I say, desperately. There I’ve said it. it’s over, I’ve warned her. I’ve done my bit for the fate of the universe. I relax a little at having finally said it.

“What?” she almost laughs. She thinks I’m joking. I’m not.

“Don’t get me wrong, he’s probably the best Spaceman we’ll ever have. he’ll probably save us all one day---he’s cleverer by far than the rest of them put together, I don’t deny that. We’re lucky to have him, he’s amazing his mind is a sharp and fast as one of our computers, yet he’s more powerful than a machine he can improvise, create, adjust, he’s astounding. But for such a gift, humanity must pay a terrible price, and that price is the soul of Titus Card,” I say, taking her hand then thinking better of it. my own hand is shaking.

“James have you----”

“I only tell you because I care about you---I care about this Space Force---and I don’t want anything to happen---please, just take care with him, how you handle him---please?” I beg.

“You’re talking nonsense, have you been drinking?” she asks, her eyes concerned.

“No, God no---I know I am, just remember what I’ve said,” I plead.

“Stay a few days, if you’re concerned---but, go to your barracks now, please,” she says, kindly. She thinks I’m drunk or out of my mind. well, I feel out of my mind.

“I’ve not been drinking, I promise you,” she doesn’t believe me, I can tell, “Let me have a word with him, please, just let me see him.”

“I think it would be best if you went to your quarters now, you can talk to him tomorrow,” she says, still looking at me with concern. She doesn’t believe me. It’s all right. She’ll understand someday. Or not. I pray not. I pray every night I’m terribly, terribly wrong.

“Who’s that talking to Wilde?” I ask. Titus, Logan, and a girl I know from the Academy, Tsegi, and I are sitting together. We don’t have tight dinners so we can talk, quietly.

“My old drill instructor, Thorn,” Titus says, drinking from one of his glasses of milk. He always gets exactly three glasses of milk. Which he drinks, slowly. unless there is some sort of cookie or biscuit available he never eats anything. It’s actually very disgusting to watch after a while.

“What would he be doing here?” Logan asks.

“I suspect it’s to do with me, he wasn’t fond of me,” Titus says, unconcernedly.

“Why though?” I ask Titus, he must have a reason to think it.

“He’s probably just here on business,” Tsegi says.

“No, he’s coming over here now, Tom helps King make his bed tonight and changes into his PT things, all right?” Titus says, hurriedly standing at attention as the Captain comes up.

“I can dress,” Logan hisses.

“Actually, I have empirical evidence that you can’t.”

“Cadet Card, come with me,” Thorne says, motioning for me to follow him.

I obey, with an emotionless, “Yes, sir.”

He leads out of the DFAC and out onto the now-empty drill pad. The night is beginning to fall and I can still hear the clamor of clinking dishes as cadets hungrily eat while ostensibly making as little polyphloisboian as possible.

“At ease,” he says, stopping and turning to face me. then he too goes to at ease. “How are you settling in?”

“Sir, quite well,” I say, revealing nothing. feels guilty. He thinks I blame him for my imprisonment. I don’t. I blame him for existing.

“Good, that’s ... ah ... good,” he says, awkwardly. “I’m sure you ‘ll do well---fit in here, with all the smart ones, eh?”

“Yes, sir,” I say. I give him nothing else.

Why won’t he give me anything else? What have done to him? I’m trying, just give me some emotion something real.

“Do you like it here?” I ask.

“Yes, sir,” he says, his eyes still straight forward like they should be but I’ve put him at ease.

“Do you miss home, much? I’m just asking sometimes----I mean I’m not your instructor anymore---I know---it can get lonely here, you know. with nobody to talk to and you’re going to training twice as long as everyone else---inadvertently, I just wanted to make sure you were keeping well,” I say, kindly. Please. Please be a sixteen-year-old boy. Smile a little. Tell me you miss your mum. Give me a little flicker of the child I know you are.

I give him nothing he doesn’t deserve it.

“No, sir, I am quite well,” he says, flatly.

“That’s good, good, I’m glad, you know, I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself I thought you would---you’re a flight leader, Wilde says, that’s fantastic, I’m glad for you,” I say, haltingly. I don’t even remember why I thought it was a good idea to come out here. I don’t remember what I thought I’d get done by talking to him. but something in me makes me want to try. Try to reach him. Try to do something to stop it. What is it? this great unforeseeable it. I can feel it. but I can’t stop it from coming yet I feel like I must try. somehow this boy is the key though I don’t know-how. if he’ll save us or condemn us or some combination of both.

“Thank you, sir,” he says, still emotionless.

“You’re welcome I ah----” what else to say why am I even here?

What on Kepler is he doing? He’s acting drunk I can smell it on him. alcohol. The one time in my memory that I saw my father, he smelled like that.

Just say it you’re all the way here you’re standing out here in the dark with him just try. “I know it can get lonely sometimes---especially for someone like you since you’re cleverer than the rest. And I want you to know that however, I may have treated you in basic---that’s what we do it’s what we do to everybody it’s not really what we think it’s---it’s just a thing it’s not us----I want you to know that I think you’re a great Spaceman. And that you’ll be a great Spaceman. But I just want you to---to try for me---don’t get so wrapped up in being a Spaceman, that you forget to be a great man as well. because you can be. I believe you can be. and I think that that’s more overwhelming---that part will be harder for you than anything else. but I wanted to tell you that I see that in you and I want you to try.”

Really? Do you now? why is this? Because he thinks I’m clever? No. oh no. because he knows I’m clever. He knows I’m clever now he’s seen my test scores so I’m a clever little thing so now he’s being nice to me. why? Does he want my affection? Since I’m worthy of it now because I’m smart so I get to be one of the boys? Not before. Not when he walked down the line. Not when he looked at me when I lined up with all the others my rack perfect and my clothes perfect and I was standing so straight and neat. No. not then. I was just one of them. I was a stupid little kid like the rest of them. nobody worthy of praise nobody worthy of any attention. But now I’m clever. So now I’m interested now you want to be a father to me.

Well, fuck that.

My father thought the same thing. He thought I was an annoying little child. He thought I was a waste of space a waste of money. Well, now I’m not. now I’m not just one among the rest. Now they know who I am. so now I’m interesting. Now oh now I get it. now you give it to me freely. Affection. So sparsely given among men, women too though they’re trained to be kinder or are in their nature. Like Wilde, she smiled at me. like my sister she used to smile at me didn’t she? No not the men. Not until I prove I’m one of them. well fine. so be it.

You didn’t want me to play your game before. Not when you thought I was just a boy. Then you weren’t interested in me. but now you are. Because you know half of me, in that you know I’m clever. Well, I’m different from you. I have my own game. And it’s better. And it’s more fun for me. and I really don’t care about you now, do I? Why should I? because spoke kindly to me now? You didn’t before. So I already don’t care. You lost me before you even knew what I was worth to lose. Just like my mother. she slapped me when I was little. Once she tied up my hands so I wouldn’t put them to my head as I do. because she didn’t want anyone to think I was retarded. well, I’m not. they should wait they should see that and if they don’t I don’t care. She lost me back then. I’ll never speak to her again and I don’t care. Because she didn’t care then. So I don’t know. that’s how my game is played. It’s different from their game I’ll admit. I don’t want to play though. I thought I would. It’s a little depressing really. I thought I would be like them. I thought I’d want to be like them. Thorne, Ebbel. I thought they’d see how clever I was and then I’d have fun and get to be just like them. but I’m not. I don’t. I’m still different.

And now it just makes me sick. Him talking to me him looking at me. I’m different from you. I want to scream. I’m different from you. He’s repulsive to me now. he’s standing there waiting. Ready to let me in. but I don’t want to come in. I’ll stay out here in the cold. it’s all right I’m used to it now. I’m different from you.

But I don’t say any of that. It’s against the rules of my game.

“Titus?” I ask, gently, his face is twitching, ever so slightly, but he’s motionless and he doesn’t make a sound.

“Yes, sir?” He asks.

“All right, well, go on now---about your duties,” I say, helplessly. He’s not letting me reach him. he heard it at least. At least it was there. at least I said it. I said something I did something. “I just wanted to see, that you’re doing well.” I leave before he can give me the appropriate greeting. He’s still the same. Eyes dead to the world. He’s lost to us now.

and we’re the ones who lost him.

and we’ll be the ones who have to deal with what we find.

I am relieved Thorne leaves. I take a deep breath. It took a lot not to say all of that. it took more than I expected. I sigh. I wanted to answer him that is what disturbs me. I wanted to believe what isn’t true. I wanted to break the rules. my rules are better. My rules keep me safe. My rules are true. his aren’t. they break and they hurt and people leave and people die. And fathers walk out on mothers and six hungry children and sisters lay dead and cold in alleys and nights are cold and dark. And so alone and the only thing that stays the only thing that is constant is your own mind and what’s in and that’s always mine and it’s always free and true and always that peace can be found down there somewhere within my own head.

I straighten a little and turn to go back inside. Tom will be in there. and I didn’t finish my milk. I want to go back in. and I want to ask her if she wants to go and use the simulators tonight and watch her laugh as we stagger out legs jelly and eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep. Even if it isn’t real and won’t last it is nice. And I like it and I like her and I want it and I want her. even if it won’t last. Even if I know it won’t even happen I give in and I want it just for a second.

“Cadet Card, you are to spend the night in the brig,” hands clamp on my shoulders. Oh well, what did I tell you? on with the game.

I wonder why they pulled Titus out? now he isn’t coming back and Ebbel is about to march us to our barracks for the night. For some reason, I feel dread. Titus wasn’t concerned. But then, he never seems worried. Yet he seemed to know why his old MTI was there. and he’d known he wasn’t coming back. I wonder what he is hiding.

They march me to the brig, sealing their fate. I resist a smile as they click on the cameras. I’ve spent enough time in these places to memorize the loop. You see, they can’t watch everybody locked up in here, so, it’s on a loop. Depending on how many are locked up, that’s how long the loop is. Ten seconds per cell. Six people inside? ten seconds each, there will be fifty seconds before it’s back to you. Maximum is ten people before they need another guard and another monitor. I look at which cell they select. I’m cell 8. So before the image is back to me, I have 70 seconds to get out and in.

I need 40.

Ebel’s fate is sealed.

First, I must find out where I am on the loop. Second, I wait for Ebbel to check that I’m behaving. Third, I kill him. Fourth I hide the body. fifth, I sleep.

I don’t see how my plan will fail. That’s because I don’t take into account the infinite fatuousness of humanity in general, specifically my flight mates.

The march back to the halls is tedious at best. Without Titus’ admittedly soothing voice calling cadence, Logan falls out of step every few minutes. Since I’m still guidon bearer, I don’t actually see it, but I most certainly hear it, or rather I hear Ebbel’s reaction to it. suffice to say we are all relieved to reach our barracks. Since we are officer cadets, we are mostly left to our own devices to get ready for bed and study and in Logan’s case cry. We are allowed to write home as well if we have a home to write to. not friends at the Academy, their network is sealed. Just home. parents. If you have them. I don’t.

“I wonder what happened to Titus?” Tsegi says as she and I get our uniforms and Logan’s ready for tomorrow. As Titus predicted, he cannot dress.

“He didn’t seem surprised,” I say, shrugging. He’s not the sort of person to worry about. that smile...like he’s always got five different plans to get himself out of the trouble he’s still thinking up.

“I feel bad,” Logan says, sniffling a little. “He was only helping us march, then he got us out of trouble.”

“Maybe it’s just a flight leader meeting,” I say, crawling into my bunk. I am tired all of a sudden and the miserable bunk seems awfully inviting.

“Is Cadet Card your flight leader?” a girl comes up to us. she is still in SBUs and the planet pin on her lapel signifies her as the Kepler flight leader.

“Yes, ma’am,” I say, standing back up. So he’s not at a flight leader meeting. Now we know.

“I wanted to let you know---Cadet Card was taken to the Brig,” she says, and several rows of bunks are silent.

“He was?” I ask. I immediately imagine him there, locked in a room, trapped with his own thoughts. Rubbing his head obsessively as he does. I shudder. He’s the last person who should be locked up like that.

“Yes---I was receiving one of my cadets who was just getting out and I saw them lead him in. I thought you’d want to know,” she says.

“But it was us that was wrong, not him, he was protecting us, that isn’t fair,” Logan says, sadly.

“He did talk back,” Peter says, from his top bunk. There is the general mumbling of dissent from the other cadets.

“I don’t know what he’s done, I just wanted to let you know,” she says. I remember her now, from the Academy, her name is Liesel. Liesel Stowe.

“Thank you,” I say, sitting back down and trying not to think about Titus in there. or that I wish he was here. the other mutter to each other, as they get out their tablets to write messages home. I don’t bother. I don’t have a home.

Project 10ers, like myself, fall into a couple of categories, lucky, a bit loved, and forgotten. The lucky, their parents pay for visitation rights, sure they’re kept and bred like the rest of us, but their parents one or the other, comes around and gets them out for holidays and plays with them. the bit loved, their parents are poor and needed the money, but they give a damn that they had a kid, and once we reach sixteen, we can contact them, they can leave little messages on this webpage, and we can get their information and contact them. and they are all glad to see that their kid is alive and okay. Liesel is one of those. Her parents had no money but they were both glad enough to know she was alive and well, sent her the odd present or something, wanted to come to her graduation. Tsegi, only her mother left information. She had sent pictures, begged to meet her, wanted her to meet her other daughters, sent her a newer tablet so she could write home. That sort of thing. Me? I’m one of the forgotten. Nothing on the page. No contact information is given. Give us the money, we’ll give you the genetic material to have a kid who will be a Spaceman one day. and we don’t even want to know her name. Peter’s one of the forgotten as well. our parents, they forgot we existed.

I didn’t think that was very nice. They were still my flesh and I was them. the least they could have done was check, make sure I was all right. Not much. Get a look at me. it was there fault I was here, after all. but no, they didn’t care I existed. Nobody did.

As I lie in the hard metal bunk I think of Nicole Tom. Before when I was locked up, I hadn’t met her, so then I didn’t know I loved her and now I that I do it is terribly interesting. I am trying to determine if I ever loved anything before and I don’t think so.

Now I get every waking moment to look forward to looking in her eyes. it’s terribly odd, this feeling, this wanting to hold her all the time. at first, I didn’t like it. now I do. It gives me something to use part of my brain for. all that time I spent lying in the brig before, I’d just had me to entertain myself. I’d thought up everything, ways to kill and destroy all of them. but it was only so fascinating because I couldn’t do anything. now I have her. now that I’ve seen her, heard her say my name, I’ll always have her.

Chapter 4

I pull out my tablet carefully, cradling the smooth plastic in my seemingly clumsy big hands. It’s new and I’m not used to it. I have no idea how my mum afforded it I’ve never owned one before. But she wanted me to be able to call home and the signal to work properly and she knew they would provide us with crap ones if that. but I feel like I’m going to drop the thing, and it’s expensive and I know for a fact we couldn’t afford it. but that doesn’t matter. Soon I’ll be making enough money for all three of us.

Ginny answers immediately of course.

Quentin, she types my name into the message board excitedly. Our home tablet is slow compared to this and she glares at it as she taps on the screen.

I love you, where’s mum I ask, pressing my forehead against the screen so she sees only my face in the picture and not these awful barracks.

working late she was sad didn’t want to miss your call she types, her dark hair filling the screen as she too presses close, like the thin screens we face are all that is keeping us apart and not a thousand miles and walls and fences with wire.

i can call almost every night promise I say, smiling. I can; they said we’d have communication privileges from here on out and I am not going to lose them. I’m my flight’s leader look i get to wear this pin I hold up the pin from my lapel to show her, we are the dental flight.

that is so cool she grins.

less cool to get yelled at but it’s okay, I tell her.

miss you her blue eyes sparkle. I know what she’s thinking, I know her mind like know my own.

STOP IT I type, just as she levitates the pin in my hands, making it spin. I catch it out of the air, unable to keep a smile off my face. she is psychic. Some people are I’ve no idea why, but she is. And of course that’s not exactly the sort of thing one wants to be public information. Our mother had heard tales of people like Ginny being locked up to be studied by scientists and kept in cages and all that. but then she had tales about lots of things. Mums tend to.

but I miss you and then I don’t feel so far apart she says.

I know I type. I feel her in my head. she can get in there if she wants to. if she really focuses. Needless to say she practices all the time with me. and now that we’re apart I feel her do it throughout the day. I can even hear her voice sometimes. But I don’t encourage it. It hurts her if she does it too much, and I don’t want her to get caught---somehow. I’m in a government facility it feels like they could catch her. if people try to catch people like her. which I don’t know that they do but they might and it’s not the sort of thing one risks.

I’m gonna be done with training before we know it I type and I get to write home it would be worse if we couldn’t talk

(we can always talk)

I smile I know so it’s ok, right?

right you were sad earlier she writes.

I know it’s kind of lonely here sometimes but I’m okay, I type. I am, really. even if the mites shout at us. so what? it’s not like we’re going to die or anything. it’s not like anything bad is going to happen

I pace my room, drinking from the flask I don’t remember packing but am infinitely glad I have. I need to take the edge off. to relax. To stop thinking about this.

I pick up my tablet and on impulse pull up messages to Hawking. She’s offline but I can still leave her a message. She and I were bunkmates together a million years ago in OCS training. Her last message to me was at nine this morning.

are you ok?

She knows there’s something wrong with me she can always tell I’ve only told her what I’m thinking in bits she wouldn’t believe me. nobody will. But I have to tell someone. And she’s a million miles away, patrolling the North rim, where I am stationed with her or was until my crash.

I’m ok, still recovering. they say I’ll be all right in a few weeks. I sigh and keep going. I’m up at ocs school. one of my cadets tested up. I wanted to check on him. on things. Wilde, your lovely fiance, is beautiful as ever, I guarantee you. how I wish our places were traded. I cannot stand to be on the surface these days I feel as though my every step is haunted now. you know how I wrote to you that I feel I have found the edge of hell.

well now I can tell you the feeling has not changed, it worsens by the day. I read and drink alone each night, I know you’ll think I’m spending far too much time alone here. but I cannot shake this from my mind.

I fear not even returning to space, and to your company my dear friend, that will not free me. I’ve warned wild I told her some of what I believe but she doubts me as I am sure you will.

but you see I’ve been studying the end times and I believe we are witnessing the coming of the second beast. he will kill me someday. we are all just players in the game you know that none of it matters I suppose.

but enough of this drunken rambling. you’ll fear for my mind as I fear for my soul. but no matter. I’ve calculated the numbers of the beast and we have years until the false prophet falls and mankind is plunged into the apocalypse. that is all to come much later but he will kill me someday. if only I did not know. I would sleep so much easier in my bed. ignorance truly is bliss, my dear friend. I hope you too are well.

I press send and sink down on the bed, realizing I’ve been pacing this whole time. and my hands are shaking. I lie back and close my eyes, holding the tablet in my hands, waiting for it to buzz, a message out of the ether to comfort me in the darkness. It does not come before I sleep. And in my drunken sleep I do not wake.

I hate sleeping. It’s like disappearing into yourself forever and your mind closes up and you can’t control it or where it takes you. and it takes me places. Hiding in my room at night under quilts, my hands pressed to my head, wanting nothing more than to think but my brain overwhelming me with sleep then my mother finding me, her hands prying my hands from my head and then taping them behind my back and I can’t think anymore and I scream. And scream. And I scream till I wake up. Or I’m in an alley, looking down at my sister’s dead body as my cold hands shake and look at the bruises on her neck. Her mocking voice ringing in my ears. “don’t be stupid, there’s nothing wrong with you,” she rolled her eyes.

“Yes, there is,” I said.

I stare at my tablet and pretend to type. I sent a message yesterday to my mother that all was well. my father has not responded to any messages since I first arrived. So I quit sending them after the second one. My mother told me to tell her I was all right. And I did. but I’m not going to bother her every night. she has other children. a husband. I don’t know if he knows about me. surely that’s all strange. She says she does love me. that she always wanted to know me. but it’s not like she doesn’t have a life. Surely she doesn’t want to be bothered in the middle of the night. and I don’t have anything to say. I’m so alone here. I’m different now from half of my flight mates because I do have family that half cares about me so the forgotten are jealous which they know it isn’t my fault but they still are and I don’t blame them. I am glad to know. but it’s more confusing now than ever.

My mother said she would come to my graduation. Said she was proud of me. I haven’t met her. my sixteenth birthday was two days before I shipped off here, so I didn’t have any real chance to see them.

my father wanted to know about me, but he didn’t tell me much about himself. He said he would come and meet me once I got out of training if I wanted. That he cared about me and thanked me for contacting him, wanted to know what my SFSC was. but he hadn’t answered my last message saying I’d made it to OCS all right. I wondered why. He hadn’t even sent me a picture of himself either. My mother had a picture of her and of her two other daughters. My sisters. She said they all three couldn’t wait to meet me. my father had said he wanted to meet me and had asked for a picture of me, as well as my full name. but he hasn’t sent me his picture. Maybe he is married and doesn’t want his spouse to know he’d had me. or he wasn’t really all that interested in me anymore maybe he just felt guilty and now that he knew I was okay he didn’t care. It’s okay. I guess. I mean it’s better than what Tom or Long have. they’re both forgotten, so they know their parents don’t give a damn and never did. at least mine wanted to know who I was. I should be glad. But somehow, I’m just more lonely.

I’m lonely because I have sisters I’ve never met. And I’m not at home being tucked into bed and never was. and even if they want to know me it hardly matters because I’m grown up and gone now. and they missed me. and I missed them.

But I have a little. It’s not much, but it’s a little to cling to in the night. the knowledge that I was in some small way loved. some didn’t have that.

Ebbel still isn’t coming to check us in the brig. it doesn’t make sense. He usually does his rounds by now. I know the MTIs have lights out at 0 dark, while we cadets, 2300, so he would have come by now except he isn’t which means something is different tonight, but what? I resist a moan. I hate the unknown. That one variable I can never account for because I don’t even know it exists. I hate that. hate it. hate it so much it burns the inside of my brain. Something is different and I don’t know what because I’m stuck in here.

I press my hands into my head and lean back. at least it’s quiet. At least I’m alone. even if I can’t read or anything the quiet is nice. The alone is nice. I never had a room all to myself until they put me in the brig. I thought that was funny. When they threw me in there, the first time, I stood in the middle of the room, staring at the bed, laughing and laughing for a solid hour. Because I’d never ever had a room to myself in my entirely, lonely life, and here they were gravely ‘punishing’ me for this picadillo, which I didn’t even do and I got one, a room all of my own. Even if it didn’t have any books. I wanted books. I’d always wanted a tablet of my own. I’d stolen one several times, tried to sleep over at school so I could read, I’d given that up because I always got caught and my mother made my life worse.

Well, not anymore. Once I get out of here, I can buy my own tablet. And I will have my own room. and I will fly. And everything would perfect. no. everything won’t be perfect until Nicole Tom kisses me. I wonder if she will. I wonder if she would if she knew I was going to kill Ebbel. Had killed Ebbel, for after tonight he wouldn’t be alive, if he would ever come.

There are a thud and bang. I sit up and lookup. That was coming from the air vents. So, I’m not the only one who knows those are conveniently sized for crawling about.

“Shh quiet, Tim.”

“Well, you hurt me, Tim.”

“We’ve got to be there, now, Tim.”

“Quit kicking me, Tim.”

I stand up, there is distinctly something wrong with this air vent, “Shh, now am I suffering some sort of traumatic brain injury, or are there two of you in the air vent, and you’re both named Tim?” I hiss.

“That sounds like him, Tim.”

“It’s got to be, Tim.”

“Let’s go with the latter, what on Kepler are you doing?” other than ruining my perfectly good murder plot. There is a rattling and air duct cover is pulled up into the vent.

“It is Titus! He used a word I don’t know so it is him,” ahead leans out of the air vent, and a cadet dressed in PT gear leans down, holding out his hands, “Tim’s got me, here, Titus, take my hands, I’ll help you up!”

“You do realize that there are security camera’s on us?” I ask, sitting back down as the time is almost up I’ll be back on the screen in a minute.

“Did you hear that Tim?”

“I told you that’s why we needed Titus!”

“But he’s here!”

“We still need him, Tim.”

“You’re right, Tim.”

During all of that one, Tim pulled the other back into the vent and I lay back down. I roll over and put my face into the pillow so that I can talk.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, a little disappointed that this will almost definitely ruin my plans for the evening.

“We came to get you out,” one of them says, helpfully.

“But how are we going to do that if there are cameras?” the other one asks.

“I didn’t think about that, Tim.”

“Neither did I, Tim.”

“We’ll go then---”

“No, wait---there’s a gap in the camera coverage, where we can move around,” I say, quickly, before these two morons decide to leave.

“Really?”

“Well then, we’ll get you out!”

“No! It’s not happening right now---and anyway, what did you think you’d do with me once you got me out?” I ask, suddenly suspicious. Am I the only murderer here? Suddenly I wish I weren’t face down into the cot. The hairs on my neck crawl. But then the inevitable temerarious reply comes.

“Go back to the barracks of course.”

“And go to bed, it’s late and we’ve got PT in the morning.”

“I’m going to regret asking this---didn’t it occur to you that the guards would notice if I weren’t in the cell in the morning?” I mumble, into the cot.

“Oh.”

“We didn’t think about that either, did we, Tim?”

“No, we didn’t, Tim.”

“We shall just leave then—”

“NO,” I cry, nearly sitting up in annoyance. “Just because I can’t leave the cell for long doesn’t mean I can’t leave. And it doesn’t mean we can’t have some fun, either.”

“What do you mean?”

“Fun?”

“Yes, fun as in games,” I say, using simple words so that they will understand me. “Good ones, ones I’ve thought up, they’re the best kind.”

“Really?”

“Like what?”

“I’ll tell you, now listen carefully, because I’ve got twenty seconds left till the cameras are off of me again and then we’ll have to move quickly and perfunctorily,” I begin, a smile lurking on my lips. Even if I can’t kill Ebbel tonight, I still may have some fun.

It’s so lonely here in the dark. I’m mad at how much I wish Titus were here. we could sneak off to the simulators and have fun. Like you’re supposed to. all I’ve read of popular fiction as well as scientific articles tell my sixteen year olds are supposed to have a decent amount of fun. Not play soldier day in and day out. I pull out my tablet and message Peter. He’s still awake and online. My other forgotten with nobody to write home to.

“Hi,” I type.

“Hi,” he sends.

“I wish we could write home I” tell him.

“Me too. I know most people’s parents don’t even want to meet them or have all that much to do with them, but it would be nice to know” he writes.

“That’s what I wish. I’m sick of being nothing but a spaceman, even if its rotten to say. I want to have a good time here, but I’m lonely” I write.

“We’ll have fun. Titus certainly isn’t boring” he writes.

I’ll say I miss him more than I care to admit, and it’s only been a few hours. But he has this energy about him. It comes into the room with him and it’s dark and dangerous yet I can’t bring myself to ignore it and you know you can’t escape it so you might as well go along with it.

“I think we’re in for a good time, considering he’s only been flight leader for six hours and already he saved us all a 314 and got himself in the brig, whatever got him to put in there will surely be entertaining,” he writes.

“I wonder why he doesn’t care about getting in trouble,” I ask.

“I think he’s having fun, honestly, you saw him singing to us, he’s cut from a different cloth than the rest of us, maybe that’s what is normal is but I don’t think so, we’re not normal cause we’re projecting 10, but he’s not normal cause of something else in his head, but whatever it is, its gonna be interesting” he says.

“Yeah you’re right, I don’t know what it is, it’s like he knows what everyone is thinking and doing all the time and only occasionally cares,” I say.

“That and that he swallowed a dictionary peter says ill be he doesn’t know what half those words mean.”

“I’ll bet he does,” I say.

“Release my calcaneus, you pusillanimous prig!”

“Ummm...I don’t know what that means.”

“It means to let go of my foot you stupid idiot,” I hiss, resisting the temptation to kick a Tim in the head. it’s a really horrible temptation, by the way.

“Oh, sorry. I thought that was part of the wall.”

“Well it wasn’t it was my foot,” I say, tiredly, squeezing myself the rest of the way down the pipe. We have twenty-three seconds until I have to be back. without either of them behind me, I can make it in ten. “Now, you see where this comes out? You’ll go straight over there, and then come and report back to me when it’s done.”

“Okay,” one Tim, the one in front of me, says, looking where I point. We are at the intake for the air system, which faces the academic halls. My cell is conveniently located near the end, so the crawl is short. However, it took much longer than I anticipated since the two Tims are not very good at crawling.

“We’ll report back, sir,” the other Tim, the more talkative one who I am almost completely positive was chewing on my ankle, says.

“All right, good luck,” I say, slithering backward so quickly, it doesn’t occur to me until after I’m gone that I ought to have asked them what on Kepler possessed them to come try to break me out.

I pull out my tablet. The cadets are all asleep, or pretending to be, at least. So I can sleep. The four-thirty wake-up call comes early even for me. I feel I’m getting too old for this. But they must be too young for this. Why does it have to be so goddamn early? I sigh. Hawking isn’t online. Of course not, it’s hours and miles away where she is. But I still send the message anyway.

I know you’re busy but have the chance to write now. I miss you more each day. Things are increasingly odd here. Your old wingman, Thorne is here to visit. I worry about him, do write to him, I think he needs a friend right now.

He was drunk when he came, rambling about some dark cloud about to come over us. I sent him to his quarters, but I fear he’s not well at all. It’s doing him less good to be grounded than if they’d let him stay in space.

Say something I don’t know what. But tell him something to soothe him, remind him he’ll be flying again. I’ll keep an eye on him. I’ve told him everything is all right and to stay here for a bit, but I don’t know if he’ll listen.

Someday we’ll all be together in the stars and things will be better. Things are always better out there. And with you so far from me, I feel as though his rambling prophesies of the end times may be true. But I know its all just loneliness. Me for you, my love, him for his love of the stars. We shall all be all right in the end, I think. But don’t let me worry you, I am well. Just missing you. Missing life stuck in here each night. But morning comes early, I should sign off.

I send and then switch to the other feed. My son, a Project 10, was a couple of classes before this one, he’s doing his space training on the Ulysess several thousand miles above my head.

no new messages.

I hope he’s enjoying training, enough anyway. I tell him to talk to me, but I’m afraid he won’t tell me if something’s wrong because he’ll think he’ll sound weak because I’ve done it all already and so I won’t sympathize but I will and I’ve told him I will. I wanted to keep in contact with him after he was born. His father, whoever he was, didn’t. I think that hurt him since after all, it’s no good not to be wanted. I’ve visited him as often as I could while flying missions, and I’ve done my best to make sure he never really wanted for anything. but still. I’m afraid he’s lonely. Well, I’m lonely. He must be.

Hey kiddo, how are you hanging in there? I type, waiting for him to come online. He isn’t. He’s probably busy. I sent him a message this morning he hasn’t answered that either. But I know they work long days up there and he probably hasn’t had a moment to go back to his bunk. Poor thing. He’s bound to be tired. I never really wanted him to be a mechanic. He tested in for it, of course, but I never thought he was a good fit for the space forces. Whatever DNA said. He was too gentle, too quiet. Tony, talk to me if you’re feeling down okay? I know how rough it can be sometimes---it’s kind of rough down here too. Hopefully, after this class graduates, I can come up to the Ulysses and we can see each other more, huh? Get some rest

Just as I type it there is a knock on the door. I hadn’t actually planned on signing off I wanted to tell him something that would make him feel better. But I can’t think of anything on Kepler that will make him feel less alone out there when I feel so alone myself. I sit up, buttoning my blouse, “Come in.”

“Hey, I was gonna go and check on the little hooligans in the brig,” Ebbel leans in. We went through basic together, so there’s an affection there, however remote. He’s a rough, boorish sort, but not all bad, more bark than bite, and for some reason he’s always liked me. I think he had a sister who died though I’m not sure, but for some reason he generally holds an affection for me. “But I saw the list and thought I’d let you know, your Card is in there.”

“My Card? Cygnus’ flight leader?” I realize I have been very successfully putting him out of my mind.

“Yeah, Harris was ticked off with him earlier, I made some quip about putting him the brig didn’t actually think the idiot do it,” Ebbel says, leaning in the doorway, “Figured you’d want to know.”

“Yes,” I say, standing up, annoyed, “Why would Harris do that?”

“Card did something stupid being the arrogant little walking dictionary he is and pissed Harris off, 314 would have been enough but eh,” Ebbel shrugs, “You want to go and get him out?”

“Yes,” I said, trying my boots, “You---you are aware that that----child spent three weeks in a military prison after basic?”

“What?” Ebbel asks.

“Those morons thought he’d cheated on his final exams, his scores were so good. so they locked that poor boy up for nearly a month till they realized he was cleverer than them,” I say. anger floods my mind. I can’t help but think of how I would feel if Tony were locked up in there for a single night, let alone twenty-one. Titus reminded me of him, small for his age same dark hair---he was a child. They were children they weren’t soldiers let alone criminals. It was okay---training them. waking them up early, giving them a bit of a hard time---I got it, all that it was molding them. but they weren’t criminals. They were kids. Kids who needed warm beds and meals and books and blankets and a window---and everything those prison cells didn’t have. I personally refused to put cadets there unless they were criminally violent. It was a jail cell. This wasn’t a game.

“Huh, no wonder he’s got such a bad attitude,” Ebbel says, nodding, “I would be too if they’d done that to me.”

“Yes, and he hardly needs to spend another night in there, we’re working them hard they need a good nights sleep,” I say, standing, “He’s fifteen---just turned sixteen years old most kids his age are at home with a warm dinner watching a tablet with his mum---not marching for sixteen hours then lying on a metal bunk without even a blanket.”

“Hey, hey, I agree with you, that’s why I came to tell you,” Ebbel says, holding up his hands, “Let’s go find Harris.”

“Yes, let’s,” I growl.

Chapter 5

I lock the door to my room behind me, forcefully. Finally those blasted security rounds are done and I have a moment of peace. I unbutton my blouse, sighing and turning around to look at the closed door. Locked, closed, I’ve been so on edge of late. mostly because I’m semi-retarded. that’s a true statement, if I were not semi-retarded I would not be in this situation. I turn on my tablet. No new messages. I’m disappointed which is profoundly stupid because there is no reason I would have any considering I haven’t sent any. I sink down on my bunk, holding the tablet and accessing the conversation with my daughter. Her last three messages, all of which I left unanswered.

I made it to OCS checking in.

All is good here we get our tablets every night to write home just wanted to let you know. They said families could come to graduation I can send you the information if you wanted. If you’re busy I understand.

No, no I’m not busy, sweetheart. I scroll down and look at the picture she sent. In her student’s uniform, a hat on, hair pulled back from her face, a sweet, shy smile, and deep pale eyes that don’t smile, guarded, lonely, grown-up eyes. I should have answered her. it was ridiculous. of course she would think I’d forgotten about her. but I’m afraid. what if they’re monitoring the outgoing messages? Whoever in God’s name ‘they’ are. What if they saw? What if they’d already seen? I’d be court-martialed on the spot.

The day before training started, they asked all of us, knowing we might be involved in Project 10 if we had been contacted by any children. and those of who’d participated had to sign off on a form, saying we hadn’t been contacted. It would be a breach of ethics for us to participate in this training class if we had family members in it. we would be temporary reassigned.

But being a brain-damaged moron, I lied.

I said she hadn’t chosen to contact me. when she had. I wasn’t going to. I’d planned on telling the truth, and then just coming to her graduation like you were supposed to. but when it got down to it, I couldn’t. I didn’t want to wait for weeks to see her. I wanted to see her the next day. more than that, I wanted to protect her. I couldn’t before, not until now, and she’d reached out, she’d been brave enough to trust me. to reach out and hope that I cared about her, this selfish, miserable excuse for a human being that had sold her into this.

So I couldn’t abandon her. when all it took, just a tick of a box, and I got to be here, right here, with her, watching over her every day, making sure none of the others yelled at her too harshly, making sure she never ended up in the brig. Nothing like that. not for her.

In my defense, well there’s very little in my defense but the one thing that is there is I’d hoped I had a son. A boy would be all right with all this foolishness. Boys liked things like flying and space and marching around it was good for them. not a girl. A precious little girl who should be protected. She needed me, she needed me to teach her how men should treat her, to protect her, to make sure nobody ever tried to hurt her. it was scientifically proven women develop less muscle mass than men, meaning, they can’t defend themselves as well, meaning they need special care. And I’m the one who’s supposed to take care of her. forget all this equality nonsense. Girls are sweet and gentle and need to be loved and cared for not shouted at and shoved about.

But now I am afraid. if they find out what I’ve done I will be out for good, and probably serving time. and I’ll have abandoned her again. when I was younger and stupider than I am now, something that doesn’t seem possible given my current predicament but apparently it is, back then Project 10 seemed like a good idea. Well, not a good idea, but I’d needed the money. I had a high enough IQ to qualify, and the money, it was good money. I was sixteen years old, waiting for a class in Basic training to open, no job, two younger brothers, and my father was ill, my mother worked off her feet to support us. we could barely afford rent and my father was so ill bills were piling up.

I never told them where I got the money. I told them I’d gotten odd jobs, and I’d leave every day looking for work but rarely find it. and when I left used the rest of the money to pay rent for the next several months. I didn’t know that military members get free visitation with their 10s. If you participate while enlisted. Since I did beforehand, I wasn’t eligible. And my daughter was lost to me for the last sixteen years. Every year that’s haunted me. I think of her daily. I didn’t think I would. But it’s like she was a ghost to me. this child, out there, somewhere, existing, not knowing, who was, I would lie in bed at night wondering if it was crying or lonely or sick or hungry or what sort of toys they gave it and wishing I could just meet it. Just once. Just once I would pray just to know that it was all right. One two three years old does it know how to walk yet? Talk? How old are children when they learn to talk? The middle of the night I’d go, look stuff like that up, what sort of books did they read it? Did it get little toys, what sort? Four years old, five, six, seven, eight. Does it wonder who I am, yet? Why I’m not there? Has she asked about me? Ten, Twelve, thirteen, fourteen, does it have a boyfriend, girlfriend? Does it like science, numbers, counting like me? Is it angry with me for not being there? Fifteen, one year to go is it waiting too? But on her sixteenth birthday, bless her, that sweet child, she wrote to me. Shy, sweet. She’d said she was my daughter and asked if I still wanted to know who she was. yes, dear god yes sweet one. And so I met the only family I have.

My father is long since dead, my mother died two years ago. I never told my brothers, and that never mattered because one of them died on the North Rim not long after my mother died. the other brother, I’ve not spoken to in years, he’s gotten arrested several times, I really don’t know what became of him. I haven’t heard from him since my mother’s funeral, which I arranged. Granted I’ll probably see him in prison when this is all out so you know there is that.

I sigh and run my fingers over my daughter’s image. A family. we have each other now. I’m not going to let you go. I promise silently. I have a flat in the Capital. It has a room set up, a tablet, a video screen, a bed, dresser, pillows, everything I thought a sixteen year old would want. I got the flat years ago, and started setting up the spare room. waiting, waiting for the day my child could come home. The flat, everything in it’s for her. It’s hers whenever she wants to go home there, for as long as she likes. She doesn’t have to stay enlisted if she doesn’t want to, she can live there and go to University after this commitment is done. Whatever she wants, I’ll help her do. that’s what I’m here for.

At least I’ve gotten to see her. even if it is at the peril of my own career and livelihood. I’ve seen her. she’s well. she’s tall like me. she does well here, Ebbel made her flight commander. I wish I were in charge of her flight, but I’m a moron, so I probably would just stare at her and be obvious or worse creepy and they’d all know and court-martial me but God, they probably will anyway.

“HARRIS,” I bang on his door, tiredly. I really wish I were in bed by now. if the cadets weren’t enough trouble put together, I have to manage the MTIs as well.

“Maybe he’s still doing his rounds,” Wilde says, pulling a string off the cuff of her blouse.

“He’s not, he’s an idiot, but he knows when lights out are, harris open up,” I yell, banging on the door again.

“Yes, sir?” he asks, opening the door, his eyes white with fear if I’m not much mistaken. He’s in his shirtsleeves and still has his boots on. no sign of a tablet laying out either, what’s he doing just sitting there staring at the wall drooling? Actually, that’s possible.

“Why’d you put Card in the brig?” I ask, leaning on the doorway and not bothering with customs and courtesies it’s too late and I’m far too tired.

he was staring at my daughter while they were in the food line, or the girl next to her I’m not positive but it was one of them and I know he doesn’t bunk far from them, and so I’ve been looking for an excuse to write him up or do something all day, and yes I know it’s completely irrational and this is why I shouldn’t even be here but here I am. but she’s my daughter and frankly he’s kind of creepy. Yeah I am not going to say that.

“Sir, he was----ah---insubordinate,” Harris stutters. And here I make jokes about him not being able to form complete sentences. It’s actually true.

“How so?” Wilde asks, folding her arms.

“Sir, he tried to talk me into taking his 314 instead of his flight’s it just got on my nerves, let him out if you like,” Harris stumbles, almost relieved, “It doesn’t matter---at all—just teaching him a lesson--- as you do.”

“They are just kids, and they’ve got a big day ahead,” I say, “Let’s let him out, eh?”

“And he’s my flight leader, tell me next time you do that,” Wilde says, annoyed.

“Yes sir, fine,” he hands me Card’s 314, “Sir, goes ahead, let him out, or I will.”

“No, I will, you’ve done enough---and get to sleep,” I say, turning around before he can close the door.

“That was odd,” Wilde says, following me down the hall back towards the entrance.

“He usually is, there’s something wrong with that one,” I say, rolling my eyes. I’ve had to work with him a few times, he’s always an idiot, not in a detrimental way, but in a more waste-of-valuable-oxygen sort of way.

This---this is why I am so not cut out for a life of crime I get too nervous. When I heard them knocking I was certain they’d found out my secret but in fact, it was nothing but that stupid Card. Nothing. nothing at all. Nothing to worry about nothing to do with me. they’ll never know. I take a deep breath. They’ll never know unless I give myself away which, apparently, I’m quite likely to do, since I nearly hyperventilated just opening the door for Ebbel. That idiot. If his voice weren’t so very loud I wouldn’t be so frightened of him. That’s why they hired him, I guess, his voice is so very loud. But I’m safe. Safe for now. even if Card is back in the barracks. It’s not like he’s actually dangerous.

If only Ebbel would do his rounds already what’s taking him so long? I got rid of those incompetents and now I should have had plenty of time to do the deed and hide the body. but no. He’s late. an hour late by my count which isn’t usually wrong, I’ve been counting the seconds with an eighth of my brain usually it works very well, I see no reason why it would be off now but the conversation with the Tims may have thrown me off. but I doubt it. I don’t get thrown off not even when my imbecilic brothers would talk to me or try to ruin one of my perfectly good plans to aggrandize all of our incomes, I still didn’t get thrown off. not then so I highly doubt if it happened now. but where is Ebbel? Doesn’t he know I’ve set up a nice blind date with the devil for him? I laugh at my own dark humor. I might as well, nobody else makes me laugh I’m all alone here. at least I’m funny to me.

That makes me sad. I wish I had somebody who I could tell all of my supercilious plans to. It would be much more interesting if I had a coconspirator. But I don’t. I wonder if Tom would be? I doubt it. I’ve lived quite a long time now and I’m sure there aren’t so very many people like me. in fact I’m almost certain of it. I haven’t come across the one. And that makes me sad.

“Here, let’s check the cameras first,” Ebbel says, leading me into the control room.

“Why?” I ask. I don’t see why we don’t just get the kid out of there, let him go to bed, and go to bed ourselves. At the moment I felt worse for us than for Card, at least the boy was asleep, we had not even gotten out of our SBUs yet.

“Idle curiosity, I like to see what they’re up to,” Ebbel says, banging open the door, “Wake up, Kip.”

“Sir, I’m awake,” a very sleepy looking Spaceman first class sits up quickly.

“Whatever,” Ebbel says, going to stand in front of the monitors. “Where’s Card’s cell?”

“Sir, it’s on a loop, it’ll be back in a minute, Good morning, ma’am,” he says, fighting back a yawn and addressing me for the last bit. he certainly looked like he’d been asleep.

“You don’t monitor them all the time?” Ebbel asks, frowning.

“No, sir, at most, it’s like a minute and a half before it’s back around,” Kip says, unconcernedly. “What could somebody possibly do in a minute and a half?”

“We’re all done!” Tim’s cheery voice calls through the vent. So my mischief is over. good. that shall be diverting tomorrow morning.

“Very good,” I say, stretching and rolling over since the camera is off of me now anyway I might as well look up at them. “Now, you can go on back to your barracks if you’d like.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“But you’re here.”

“Yes, yes I’m still here,” I say. then I remember what I’d meant to ask them. “Why did you come to get me out, to begin with?”

“Well, you were all alone in here.”

“And we didn’t think that was very nice.”

“Not after you got us out of trouble when you were only trying to teach us to march.”

But I wasn’t. I was trying to get into trouble then I got them out of the trouble I’d meant for me. but I don’t say that. Instead, I just say, “I see.”

“So we came to get you out.”

“Because it must be rotten to be locked up in here.”

“Especially when you didn’t do anything.”

“So we came to get you out.”

“Because you oughtn’t to be in here.”

No, no I should be. because I did do something and I will do something. and it is rotten in here but if anybody belongs in here I do. because it might not be Ebbel tonight it might be one of you. just as easily. So no, I shouldn’t be out.

“Except Tim and I didn’t think of the cameras.”

“I,” I correct automatically. I think he used the wrong ‘accept/except’ to but for a change of pace I might be wrong.

“What?”

“Something’s wrong with your eye?”

“No, no, it’s all right, go on back to the barracks before you’re caught,” I say, heavily. Yes truly alone here. truly and deeply alone. alone with my thoughts alone with my games because nobody else even knows we’re playing and if they did they wouldn’t want to play with me. I’m alone in the barracks too that’s what they don’t realize. I’m alone there because I’m the only one nobody, nobody knows what I’m thinking I am the unknown, to them. but that’s a good thing because if they did know I’d be locked up. Well, I am locked up. And here look at me, still playing just as well as ever. So I’m locked up, and I’m still alone in here.

well, not completely.

You’re still here, aren’t you?

Chapter 6

“W

hat’s he doing?” I ask, wanting to pace but I don’t want to betray my anxiety tonight.

“Looks like he’s just sitting there,” Kip says. He’s already dropped his customs and courtesies and looks like he wishes we’d just let him go back to sleep.

“He’s pressing his hands against his head, like some kind of mental patient,” Ebbel says, staring.

“Yeah, he’s been doing that the whole time, he does it in his barracks too, haven’t you noticed his forehead will be all red in the mornings?” Kip asks, lazily, “It’s just a thing.”

“What’s wrong with him? anything in his file?” Ebbel asks.

“He’s a kid, kids do stupid things, let’s just get him out and then we can go to bed ourselves?” I sigh. I don’t know why Ebbel is so interested. Or why he’s so energetic.

“Nope, nothin’ psychologically evaluated beyond the usual that they give us when we enlist,” Kip says, shrugging, “Which he answered all the right answers to, by the way.”

“Huh, there’s somethin’ weird about that kid,” Ebbel says, standing up, finally, “Don’t know what, though.”

“You’re the second person who’s said that,” I say, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. he’s a kid. A child. Children aren’t intrinsically evil.

Ebbel could come and get murdered already. I’m getting very pent up in here with nothing but my six equally fantastic murder plans to think about absolutely no way to enact them. first the Tims throw me off, now Ebbel is decidedly late. and I’m not going to sleep. I hate sleeping. My whole brain shuts down and I can’t think and I hate it. I do it as little as is possible, which usually amounts to once or twice week. That was when I was a boy. Now I try to average four hours every other night. my eyes get bloodshot though, and I don’t want them thinking there’s something wrong with me. I laugh. There is clearly something wrong with me but then they’d know it. they’d probably send me to an eye exam, when that’s the last part of me that needs to be examined. I need my head examined.

No, I don’t.

I like it the way it is. They’d want to examine it through. they will when they find out. if they find out. ever. I hope they will. I want them to. sometime. Somehow.

But not just yet.

I haven’t had enough fun yet.

“Card,” I say, opening the door, “You’re free to go.”

“Good morning, sir,” he says, sitting up and coming to attention immediately. He wasn’t sleeping. As Kip noted, his forehead is red from rubbing the heels of his hands on it. he wasn’t asleep. What kid doesn’t sleep after eighteen hours of marching?

“Come on, you’re to go back to your barracks,” I say, nodding for him to move.

“Yes, sir,” he says, picking up his blouse and putting it on. he’s sweating. It’s freezing in here.

“Card, are you feeling well?” Wilde asks, from behind me.

“Good evening, ma’am—yes ma’am,” he says, nodding.

“No you’re not, you’re sweating, come here,” she says, nodding for him to come closer. he obeys. She puts a hand on his forehead. The jumpy kid nearly recoils but only just thinks better of it. then I pity him. didn’t his mum ever put her hand to his head like that? No, he’s been hit if anything. he expects to be hit. “You’re burning up. Go to IDMT in the morning if you’re still not well.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, obediently, going back to buttoning his blouse.

“You’re not to run tomorrow, not if you’re ill,” I add. The last thing we need is him fainting or dying or something and his family suing us.

“Yes, sir,” he says, his eyes flashing with an odd light. I wonder what that was. fever more than likely, now that she mentions it, his skin is more pale than usual.

How dare he I live to run it’s as close as I get to flying that is it will so strangle him and put him a washer.

“Ma’am, I don’t want to wake the others,” he says, quietly, looking past as us as he should. But I swear he swayed a little. His fever is at least a hundred if not more.

“They’ll be fine, you just get some rest, so you’re well enough for training in the morning,” I say, following Ebbel out of the brig. I shudder at how dark it is in here. I don’t know how that man up there Kip stands being locked up in here all day.

Thank god the NCOs are leaving. Honestly who invented twelve-hour shifts without nap and snack breaks. A robot? And it’s not like the videos are exactly riveting if I’m lucky one of them talks in their sleep. It’s absurd. I pull out my crisps from where I stuffed them hastily in a drawer and settle back down, head on my blouse. Oh well, only a few more weeks of this and then back to Space. Where I do exactly the same thing. It’s a living.

I wake up in a cold sweat, my hip flask closed and in my hand. My first thought is that at least I had the mind to close it. my second thought is realizing what a hellish existence I have that I curled up to sleep clutching my booze and that what I was most concerned about was if I’d spilled any of it.

But at least I didn’t spill any the stuff is hard to come by and there’s a limit to how much you can buy and that’s disastrously below how much a tall man needs to get completely hammered on a nightly basis. God, I need to stop. I need to think. I need to get out of this I need to be back in space. But I can’t escape it. the event horizon of my conscious lurks before me and it has Card’s haunting all-knowing eyes. why is the devil incarnate in that boy? And why do I have to see it and know it and feel it? if I didn’t, it would be so much the better ignorance is bliss truly, ignorance, I see them, I see all of them, ignorant and happy and all is well in their minds and they don’t have to escape it because they don’t know it is where we are it is trapped in the maze in the dark—no not a maze. Mazes are simple, mazes are safe, with a maze there is a way out, there are turns you don’t know what’s coming.

It isn’t like that.

It is a path, a single straight path you can’t turn around any more than you can turn back time you can’t stray from it you can’t run you can’t scream you just keep walking towards it and you can’t stop you can’t turn away you can’t look away, there is nothing you can do but keep marching towards death but it’s worth than death it’s a horrible, slow painful death, you’re being sucked in and you can’t getaway. And all the while, Card is standing there at the end. The only one to have walked through and come back. somehow he came back from the dead and he’s seen the other side he is of the other side now. and he’s brought it back here. to infest us.

I fumble for my bible, which usually lays on my bedside table—but here it is on my chest. I was reading it, studying Revelation. I must study what I can do to fight it. the Beast. Isn’t it written that there is some way the three prophets combat the beast? And who are they? And how do I find them? Maybe that is what I must do, find them, find the three prophets---but oh yes. the Beast kills them as well.

the door to the barracks slams. I sit up, bleary-eyed. Titus walks back in, slowly, his cover in his hand. He looks worn out. in the dim light of the glow strips that mark the walkways, I see his face is pasty with sweat.

“What happened?” Peter hisses. We aren’t supposed to be talking. But absolutely nobody is here to notice.

“They let me out because I’m supposed to go to IDMT in the morning, I suppose,” he says, climbing up to his bunk.

“What was it like?” Logan asks, leaning out.

“Why are you supposed to go to IDMT?” I ask.

“Boring---Wilde thinks I’m running a fever,” he says, sitting on his bunk and slowly unlacing his boots. I come over and touch his head. he leans away almost automatically then lets me. his skin is on fire.

“You are running a fever,” I say, my hand comes back sticky with his sweat.

“I’m fine,” he says, shrugging, “I’ll go to IDMT if they like, I’ll only miss PT.”

“No, you can’t go,” Tsegi speaks up from beneath me, “It’s our doctor from the Academy, I heard he transferred here.”

“Who?” Liesel asks, she’s a few bunks down but needless to say, everyone has heard our conversation by now. “Not Dr. Truth Juice?”

“Yes, he left the Academy and transferred here,” Tsegi says.

“Oh, God, they’re right, you can’t go,” I groan.

“What?” Titus asks, extremely alert now.

“He’s this insane old dude who dopes up all of his patients because he’s convinced they won’t tell the truth if they aren’t high,” Peter puts in, “He was in charge of our dorm, I remember, even if you had a paper cut, he’d put you on the juice.”

“What juice?” Titus asks.

“Some concoction of barbiturates,” Tsegi clarifies, “Somebody gave him a license to use it and he’s out of control with the stuff.”

“What? No,” Titus says, actually concerned, “I mean---I don’t want that. I’m not that ill, I’ll tell him what’s wrong, can’t he be reasoned with?”

“No he can’t; it’s stupid,” Liesel says.

“Really, every freaking time you go in there he’s like ‘here’s some juice boy, just a little juice’,” Peter imitates the doctor rather well.

“Here,” I say, going to the end of my bunk and sorting in a pocket of my SBUs. “Take these, they give them to us girls for cramps but they’ll reduce your fever.”

“Thank you,” Titus says, taking the tablets gently from my outstretched hand.

“I’ve got some as well, if you feel it coming back later,” Tsegi says, handing him a couple more, “That way you don’t have to go see that nutcase.”

“Thank you,” he says, looking a bit surprised, tucking the extras into his pocket.

These touched her hand which was a little bit sweaty now I get to put them in my mouth. And here I was lamenting how my night was going. I smile as I let the chalk pills dissolve just a little on my tongue before swallowing them. I want to taste every last bit of her off of them.

“Anytime,” Tsegi says.

“Yeah, you do not want a run-in with that guy,” Peter says, lying back down.

“Do you feel sick?” Logan asks he’s been quiet through all this.

“No----not that I noticed---I didn’t think of it---I suppose it is warm in here,” Titus says, swallowing the pills slowly.

“Why’d they put you in the brig?” Liesel asks.

“Ah, search me,” Titus says, shrugging, as he lays down, “It was Harris’s orders, I think, I didn’t get a good look at the 314.”

“Why? Because of the singing—thing?” Peter asks.

“That and I was a bit audacious,” Titus says, “It was my fault, really.”

“You still didn’t deserve the brig,” Liesel says, resolutely, “They oughtn’t to pick on you just because you aren’t Academy.”

“They oughtn’t to do a lot of things,” Titus points out.

“True enough, glad you’re back here, though,” Peter says.

“Me too, I was worried about you,” Logan says.

“Logan, there are plenty of things to worry about in this world, I am most certainly not one of them,” Titus says. he means it as well. I wonder why.

Chapter 7

D ay dawns dark and early here at OCS. We are greeted with the usual screaming and shouting from MTIs whom I saw far too recently. They do not look so effervescent, though, their eyes are bloodshot and their uniforms aren’t all that crisp. Unlike mine. I woke up early to iron mine, since it was wrinkled from spending a few hours lying in the brig.

Did that little twerp Card seriously iron his uniform? If so can I prove it? probably not. a shame, I’m sure he broke the rules and got up too early. At least his fever is better, that should soothe Wilde’s maternal instincts towards the little cur.

Titus looks remarkably well rested and his fever is down with the pain relievers in his system. He looks very cheerful, I wonder what he’s got planned? He can’t possibly be this enthusiastic just to go and run three miles, no matter how much he likes running.

At least Card is looking better, he did seem loath to go IDMT. He’s not sweaty and his color’s a bit better.

“Card, do you still need to go to IDMT?” I ask, stopping in front of him.

“No, ma’am, I am quite well this morning,” he says, adamantly.

“Will you be able to participate in the run?” I ask.

“Yes, ma’am,” he says.

“Very good, carry on,” I say, walking on.

“Good morning, ma’am,” he says, politely, before returning to lacing his boots.

I’m actually looking forward to PT. at least we get to be outside in the fresh air with our thoughts. I’ve always loved the mountains, even growing up in the City, any chance we got, our mum would take me and my sister out there, let us run around, play hide and go seek in the trees. At least now I can remember those times. Happy times, at peace in the quiet woods. And running feels good, stretching getting out and moving in the cool morning air is relaxing after literally all day in classrooms or marching in circles on dill pads.

Ebbel is shouting orders as to how to put our oxygen tanks on. The air on Kepler has less oxygen than that on Earth, apparently, I’ve never experienced it myself, however from meteorological reports I’ve read, I know its thinner. So when we have a lot of physical exertion, we have to carry oxygen tanks with us and breath from those. Even with the orders being shouted, and having done this for about two weeks, Logan still can’t get his on without my help.

I don’t mind running, Titus loves it, though, and after last night I’m sure he’s anxious to get going. I miss some of the tracks around the Academy. I used to wander out there every chance I got, especially when I was small, and we were on vacation and we’re just supposed to study or read in the library or something. I would go outside, look around, pretend I was playing with my brothers and sisters. And they were hiding and I couldn’t find them. of course, I never found them. God, that’s depressing. Oh well, I have friends to run with now. and the MTIs are all old and can barely keep up, so we can talk a bit and not get into trouble.

Titus looks better with the pain killers the other girls lent him. He probably shouldn’t be running, though, but I doubt if he’ll leave his flight. He seems curiously devoted to being a flight leader. I mean, I enjoy it, but it’s actually a bit more trouble than it’s worth, making sure everybody’s in line and all. I’d much rather just keep my head low and get on through this. There’s that Harris who Titus thinks wrote him up. He does look like an idiot. He’s doing less shouting than the rest, walking around and staring at us. come on. we all know how to put SBUs on and oxygen masks on by now it’s not like we were born yesterday. Oh, okay, Titus’ bunkmate actually doesn’t know-how. well the rest of us do.

It sounds really horrible but honestly, all of them do look alike with their shaved heads and their matching SBUs and their faces tucked down as they tie boots and fiddle with equipment. I try to pick my daughter out from the rest I thought I knew which bunk she was in but apparently not. they all do look alike.

I think Ebbel wants to torture me. or kill me. I don’t actually care which. Join us for waking up the recruits, he said. The fun he said. That moron knew I was hungover, damn him. My headaches with every shout and slams as the cadets hurry to put on their SBUs. I slept in mine and I have no shame, clearly, or I would not be here hungover and miserable standing in the middle of a room full of teenagers. I’m trailing behind Harris, who may be an idiot, but has a really loud voice. I trail farther behind him as he goes down the rows shouting. I whisper ‘just get dressed, please’ and ‘good morning lovely day to be in the Space Forces’ and other equally sarcastic things to the cadets, some of whom grin, some of whom are too afraid to grin.

I run a hand over my freshly shaven hair. I’m so used to tying it up in a bun my morning ritual seems awfully short now. I look around at the other girls. They too seem to feel out of place, and it’s much harder to pick my friends out, now that all of us are dressed in our SBUs and our hair is identical. I catch sight of Wendy, a girl I knew in the Academy. She used to have curly hair, she’d let me tug the curls sometimes, and we’d laugh, but even with it shaved off, I still can’t take my eyes off of her. she has a thin, willowy body, which curves just enough, I can just see it past the bulky SBUs, and her neck is long and slender, and her hands as thin and smooth as the rest of her body, she’s always seemed like a tree to me, thin and smooth and strong, withstanding any wind yet gentle enough to give you shelter.

I try to smile at her but she doesn’t see me.

“Who are you smiling at, Liesel Stowe?”

“Titus, don’t scare me like that,” I say, jumping a little, as he sits down on the bunk next to me to lace up his boots, “What are you doing over here?”

“Oh, it’s harder to strangle Logan with this from over here so I thought it was best,” he says, holding up the tube for his oxygen tank, which he already has on his back. Poor Logan is struggling. “I tried to help him, but now it’s just getting hazardous to his health. Anyway, who are you smiling at? The lovely Wendy Ripley?”

“Yes,” I admit, glaring a little at him on principle, “How do you know?”

“I’ve seen the way you look at her,” he says, half-smiling a little.

“Why? Is it the same way you look at Nicole Tom?” I ask, slyly.

“Touché,” he says, nodding his head appreciatively, “Our crushes aren’t so secret, then?”

“Apparently not, do you think they know?” I ask, a bit worriedly.

“I should think so if both of us do,” he says, shrugging.

“It would make things simpler,” I say, with a sigh, “I don’t even know if she’s gay, though.”

“I don’t know if Tom is straight, but that’s not going to stop me from making a pass at her when I get the chance,” he says, self righteously, making me almost laugh. “You should tell her how you feel, possibly more subtly than I plan to.”

“I’ll leave her a note or something,” I smile.

“That might not be the best idea,” he says.

“Why not?” I ask.

There are idiots like me around who think that it would be disastrously funny to mix up love notes. “Don’t know, just being forward is my approach---but then as I said I plan on making a pass as soon as is convenient and will probably get slapped, so you know, maybe you shouldn’t listen to me.”

“I don’t know,” Liesel says, shrugging a little, as she starts on her second boot.

“What do you think of her?” I ask, nodding at a girl two bunks down form us. she’s got red hair and has noticeably the best figure of all the girls here, and that’s really saying something about her figure because our clothing is far from flattering but she’s still rather eye-catching.

“Darla? She’s got a thing for Tyrell, has since the last term,” Liesel says, “She’s a looker, though.”

“Who’s Tyrell?” I ask.

“The other flight leader, it’s you me, a kid from University I don’t know his name, he’s flight leader of Deneb, and Tyrell Nolan, he’s flight leader of Coruscant,” Liesel explains, “he’s a bit of a trouble maker, but then again, so’s she. She’s decidedly straight though, thankfully I didn’t find that out the hard way.”

“Interesting,” I say, looking at Darla and Tyrell, as Liesel nods at them. I like trouble makers. I ought to, I am one. But I’ve arranged to meet our other flight leaders properly later, at least I hope so. that was my intention we shall see if it works. “Anyway, I think you should tell her how you feel.”

“I will, soon,” she says, shrugging.

“Despite the kakistocracy, let’s try to have some fun while we’re hear and at least make out, eh?” I ask, smiling conspiratorially.

“You’re on,” she says, fist bumping me.

Oh dear god, he is smiling conspiratorially at her now. I knew that Card was no good. how do I keep him away from my precious little girl though---okay, calm down, calm down, for one thing, they are only laughing and talking that could mean nothing they are both flight leaders they could be talking about anything. for another, she’s how old is she? I’m thirty-three so she’s, yes she’s definitely sixteen. Sixteen is old enough to talk to a boy if she wants to. if he treats her well. he’d better treat her well. I’ll smash his head in if he doesn’t. simple. How will I know if he’s not treating her well? She’ll cry or look upset. Surely I’m observant enough to tell. and if she looks upset at all I’ll just disembowel him just to be on the safe side.

I’m really trying to pretend I don’t exist and am most definitely not here. not here not in uniform not hungover. I’m far away, in space, looking at the Nebula and listening to music and I am so not here. They don’t really need me to do anything anyway, I’ll just pretend I’m not really here and the massive headache I have doesn’t exist.

Or a cadet will be strangling himself in front of my eyes and I’ll have to save him, that too.

“Stop.. didn’t anyone tell you how to put these on?” I don’t say it in the ‘you’re an idiot’ sort of way I usually shout things but this time I actually want to know, the kid has it fouled up so bad. “Seriously, brother, we use these in civilian life.”

“Sir, Cadet Card did try to help him,” a cadet who is trying to help the suffocating one, says.

“Oh, Cadet Card was here, that explains things,” I mutter. Of course. The card was here and now somebody is dying on me and I can’t get on with my hangover. Of course.

“Sir, he did try to help, I sent him away because he was becoming more harm than good it was so frustrating,” she says, though she’s actually no help either, how did the cords get completely knotted around his neck??

And now I know I can strangle somebody in a room full of people and absolutely nobody will notice. Poor King. I honestly kind of hope they get him out before he actually dies. He’s not that annoying.

“Screw it, I’m just going to cut it---how did it get tied in a knot Cadet---who are you?” I ask, pulling my knife from my pocket and cutting the tubes, freeing the cadet who collapses to the bunk, gasping in relief.

“Sir, Cadet Tom,” the girl says, standing at attention.

“Right, who’s he?” I ask. I should pull a 314 for ruining equipment and I totally would if I could see straight or if talking didn’t cause my whole head to vibrate. Or that’s what it felt like.

“Cadet King,” she says.

“Keep an eye on him, all right, Cadet Tom?” I ask, walking away, “But be careful.” Don’t you die too.

“Are you okay?” Nicole sits next to me as I gasp for air.

“I’m so useless, Titus tried to help me put it on, but I messed it up,” I sob, my throat still aching.

“It’s okay, those things are tricky, at least the MTI got you out and he didn’t get mad,” she says, taking fresh tubing from her backpack and beginning to thread it onto my tank.

“Yeah,” I say, wiping my face with my sleeve.

“How are things?” Titus asks, coming to sit behind me.

“You were no help,” Nicole says.

“I tried, didn’t I?” he asks, innocently.

“You can’t get frustrated with him,” she explains to me. I nod innocently.

“I know, I’m sorry King,” I say, clapping him on the back. thank you for participating in Card’s macabre experiments please play again soon.

Very soon.

“Let me help you get it on, Tom go ahead and suit up yourself, I’m all ready,” I say kindly. That was too easy. Nobody even asked me how it had happened. But the real question is, will it work again?

“You don’t mind?” King snivels.

“Not at all,” I say. it will be a pleasure.

“Cadet Leavitt, get your boots on now!” one of the MTIs snaps.

“Yes, sir,” I shout, not even looking up. What does it look like I’m doing is what I want to say? I understand the need for speed and efficiency. I don’t understand the need for constant verbal harassment. I sigh. I miss home more every day. and there’s a long way to go.

“Ignore him,” a rather busty girl says, leaning down from her bunk. She’s only half-dressed herself but I’m guessing the MTIs like it that way.

“Ma’am?” I ask, surprised one of these lovely Project 10 is even talking to a natural-born civilian like myself.

“Ebbel, he likes to hear himself bark,” she rolls her eyes, “My name’s Darla, by the way. Darla Richards.” She points where her name tape should be, across her chest, then giggles because she’s not wearing her blouse. Or bra.

“Thanks,” I say, I do not like it here. I do not like being flirted with. I do not like these stuck up Project 10s who think they’re God’s gift to the Milky Way. I also don’t like being flirted with obviously.

“Don’t you have a first name, Leave-it?” she asks, cocking her head and pronouncing my name incorrectly intentionally. Like that will actually endear me to her? When in the history of bad ideas has to antagonize somebody actually gotten them to be sexually attracted to you?

“Not here,” I say, standing. I should go get my flight-ready. Deneb flight certainly needs work. she’s Coruscant, so hopefully, I’ll never have to speak to her again.

Great. They are almost all dressed and ready to go and now I can probably go back to bed for at least two hundred more years or until my head stops hurting whichever comes last. I lean against an unoccupied bunk and try not breath too heavily, that---wait for it---hurts my head.

Almost all of them are out the door, my Liesel is readying her flight she’s doing such an excellent job, I’m so proud of her she’s much more competent than I am, as is evidenced by the fact that I’m standing here in this situation. Good, things are going okay, though. I haven’t been caught yet. and a few moments after she goes out the door, I can follow make sure that idiot Ebbel doesn’t shout at her too much. Good, she’s walking out, I can walk out right now that would look natural, wouldn’t it?

“Sir, Cadet Card reports,” Card positions himself in front of me, at attention.

“Report,” I say, annoyed with him more than I already was.

“Sir, my wingman appears to be suffocating,” he says, and I look over at the bunk where a cadet is trying desperately to get an oxygen cord unwrapped from around his neck. His face is turning blue.

“How the hell did this happen?” I ask, immediately pulling my knife from my pocket and cutting the tube, freeing the boy’s neck which is red with marks from the tight piping. The boy gasps and sobs. Card crawls in next to him and holds his head, putting his own mask over the boy’s face to get him air.

“Here, it’s okay Logan, I’m so sorry, how do you manage to keep wrapping it around like that?” Card asks, sympathetically. Maybe he isn’t so bad he is being nice to the boy even if he could’ve been more urgent about asking for help.

“Take him to IDMT not you---,’ I say to Card, I spin around looking for another Cadet, “You—Cadet Tom, escort Cadet King to IDMT make sure he’s breathing all right, let them give him something to settle him.”

“Yes, sir,” Cadet Tom says.

“Sir, I feel responsible for him,” Cadet Card says.

“Go to your flight, damn it and stop telling me what you think you should do,” I snap, “Get your flight outside before I pull another 314.”

“What’s going on over here---Harris, what is going on?” Thron asks, coming up quickly upon seeing that Cygnus flight is still mostly gathered here.

“This cadet was wrapped up in his oxygen tubes,” I explain.

Card School of Asphyxiation is now at a close I’ve hoped we’ve both learned a little something from this. Namely that I can, in fact, strangle somebody twice in the middle of a room full of a hundred people and get away with it. that and I think there’s a broader comment about society in there as well. but the main lesson of the day was that I can, in fact, strangle somebody twice using the same weapon within a matter of minutes and not be implicated.

“Of course, somebody’s going to IDMT, IDMT, that’s not a bad idea,” I’m talking to myself in public now that can’t possibly be a good sign.it was a bad sign when I started talking to myself when I was alone, it’s really bad that I’m doing it public and can’t actually stop myself that’s really bad.

“Cadet---Tom, leave him, I’ll escort this Cadet to IDMT,” I say, taking the shoulder of the boy who was chocking, who still appears to be breathing heavily.

“Yes, sir,” she says, nodding quickly before running off to join her flight.

“Come on kid,” I say, as he sobs.

“Good morning, sir,” he says, past deep breaths.

“Ah, shut up,” I say.

Chapter 8

“W

hat are your spacemen doing with that ladder?!!”

I really don’t like ebbed all that much. I know it’s his job but---I really don’t like him that much.

“Sir, they are climbing on the roof,” I say, painfully.

“And why, cadet leave-it----” seriously? Won’t that get old? Apparently not. “Are they climbing on the roof???”

“Sir, because I told them to,” I say. I am so in the brig. So so so in the brig.

“And why did you tell them to climb on the roof???”

“Sir, because my guidon is on the roof, and I need it back,” I say, weakly. He was taking so long inside, I had been hoping to be done with the deed before he got out. Teaches me to hope.

“All right, can anybody else tell me why denab’s guidon is on the roof??? Anybody???”

“No, sir,” I say, along with everyone else, except for Titus, who is laughing really hard and pretending to be coughing.

I wonder how the guidon did get to be on the roof of the barracks upside down with TC written on it in blue paint. A complete and utter mystery. I have no idea who could be responsible for that.

“Do you have no shame?” I hiss under my breath.

“Clearly not,” he giggles.

“Well how do you plan on getting it down??” ebbel is an inch from my face.

“Sir, I did have a plan, and it involved the ladder,” I say. Just send me home now. And give me something decent to eat for god’s sake.

“Think again,” ebbel paces in front of all of us. “Now, I am blaming you, flight leaders, because one of you either did it, or your spacemen did it, which means you are responsible. Got it?? So the four of you are going to go up there, and get it down. Got it? Do you understand me???”

“Yes sir,” because I joined the space forces because I’m good at climbing on ladders and things yes of course.

Time to meet my other flight leaders. Let’s see what sort of fun we are going to have, shall we?

I wonder if somebody painted Titus’ initials up there to frame him. he looks like he’s coughing, but Nicole socks him in the arm as he leaves his flight, so he may have been laughing, I don’t know. But he was in the brig last night so how could he have done it?

As you’ve probably figured out yes, the Tims did turn out to be useful for something. right now they look scared. They needn’t worry. I won’t betray them. Yet.

This is foolishness. I don’t know why anyone would put a flag on a roof, and now I’m being blamed for it. it’s that stupid Leavitt’s fault probably. He probably did it to get the rest of us in trouble he’s University that’s how he would think.

I crawl up on the roof faster than the other three, I am small and used to climbing on things. Liesel is second fastest, she’s second smallest as well so that follows. The two boys are last, they look hot and flustered in their heavy SBUs. And we haven’t even started running yet.

“Nice to meet all of you, I’m Titus Card,” I say, sitting cross-legged on the roof and for all intents and purposes beginning to fiddle with a bit of the flag which is nailed to the roof.

“What----did you seriously put my guidon up here to meet us?” the owner of the Guidon says. Leavitt his name tapes say. he’s big and----conventionally good looking, with grey eyes and brown hair, dimples in his cheeks and a few freckles. He’s long-legged as well---- I remember him now, he’s the boy who ran faster than me. the only one. The only one who ran faster than me on the run yesterday. He loves running, getting away from everything with those long legs. I’ll cut them off one day.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I say, calmly. “I wouldn’t do anything like that.” I’d have somebody else do it for me. “I just thought as we were all up here away from MTIs prying eyes, we might as well get better acquainted, after all, it’s better we work together to get through this.”

“I agree,” I say, kneeling to untie a bit of the flag, or just rip it, “We all just want to graduate move on with our lives.” and meet our families. My mother is coming to graduation. And my sisters. I wanted to meet them. I wanted to throw my cap in the air and run to them and be hugged and have a family. a real family. if only for ten minutes.

“I---I’m sorry,” Leavitt stammers, to me, “I just thought---I’m sorry, I just assumed one of you put it up here, I was wrong. You’re right, we should just work together. to take this thing down and otherwise.”

“Very good, what’s your name?” I ask, looking him in the eyes.

“Leavitt,” I say, sitting down awkwardly to work on a corner of the flag.

“What’s your first name?” he asks, his eyes burning into mine. I want to look away but I can’t. I don’t want to answer him, but what’s the harm? He’s only asking and he is right. We do need to work together. we should be friends. Try to make to friends here, that’s my problem I never do make friends. Like that girl who flirted with me this morning. I brushed her off I didn’t have to. I don’t need to push people away as I do.

“Quentin,” I say. I haven’t said it since I got here. it feels funny now to say it. “My name’s Quentin.”

Now I own you. I’ll cut off your legs, Quentin. Then you won’t run so fast, will you? You won’t be able to run away from things and people, but mostly me. you won’t be able to run away from me.

“Hello, I’m Liesel, Stowe,” I say, to Quentin, because he and Titus are just staring at each other like hungry raptors.

“Hello, Liesel, that’s a nice name,” Quentin says, awkwardly, turning to me.

There you smiled and said hi to a girl politely, that’s very good. I berate myself. These are going to be my comrades. I should get to know them. quit resisting this.

(I don’t like them---except her she’s okay, I don’t like the guys)

and my ever helpful baby sister would decide mind stalk me right now. usually, I like her input but right now balancing on the roof I don’t.

(oh god don’t fall)

I wasn’t planning on it.

“Well I’m Tyrell Nolan, and I didn’t put your guidon up here either,” the other boy says. he’s the one Liesel said was a trouble maker.

“Ah good, I wonder who did,” Quentin says, awkwardly.

“Probably the MTIs, they like getting us in trouble for stuff they’ve done,” Tyrell says, calmly.

“Ebbel wasn’t very surprised,” I say.

“They wouldn’t,” Liesel says.

“I’m just saying, we should keep our eyes open, they could try to trick us, OCS has a high failure rate,” Tyrell says.

But does it have a high mortality rate? We shall see how our class affects those statistics, eh?

“I agree, we can’t be too careful, we’ll all get 314s for this, Ebbel won’t leave it at us simply taking the thing down,” Titus points out.

“Probably not,” I agree. I really don’t want to spend the night in the brig. Titus came back from there all feverish, and it can’t have been comfortable. And then I won’t get to use my tablet, which means I won’t get messages from my family that won’t be there anyway.

“He can’t do anything without just cause,” Tyrell says, confidently.

“I wouldn’t bet on it,” Quentin says, darkly, fiddling with his end.

“Well aren’t all of you depressing, it’s a lovely day, here we are on a roof in the sunlight, can’t we do something pleasant?” Titus asks.

“Like what?” Quentin asks, almost annoyed.

“Oh, I don’t know, plan how to drive the MTIs absolutely mad and never get 314s pulled, maybe I don’t know,” Titus says, innocently.

“They can pull 314s for anything,” Quentin says, suspiciously.

“Not for something they expressly told me I could do,” Titus says, “Let me explain to you, in song.”

“I leave you alone with them for five minutes and the next thing I know, they’re all on the roof,” I say, glaring at Ebbel.

“Only four of them,” he says, calmly.

“One of whom was running a fever last night---they could break their necks---what are they doing with that guidon?” I ask.

“That is the question,” he says, nodding.

“Ah---why are some of the cadets on the roof?” I ask Ebbel cautiously. I come out late because I don’t want to look like I’m stalking my kid which I am and now----of course. Of course, she’s one of the ones on the roof. The real question is, why did I expect her not to be one of the ones on the roof?

“’Cause one of them put a guidon up there and painted it,” Ebbel says.

“I admit one of them---probably one of the ones on the roof, is responsible but is sending them up there really the best way to get it down?” Wilde asks.

“Yes, what if they fall?” and break their necks or legs and die or are horribly disfigured or---oh hell I’ll just go and stand nearer to the edge in case she does fall.

“They’ll be fine,” Ebbel says, “They are kids, kids climb on stuff all the time, obviously considering one of ‘em put the guidon there, to begin with.”

“They’d better be,” I mutter. Things are getting out of hand. First, the cadet chocking, twice, now this. Thorne’s words come back to me---no. he was drunk and rambling. This isn’t some apocalyptic cloud or whatever he was talking about. this is just cadets and their antics stuff happens all the time, we once had a cadet try to run away, another tried to hack into the mainframe computers. They do little things, this isn’t that abnormal.

“Every one of you is spending the night in the brig,” Ebbel calls, as they one by one begin to descend the ladder. Two of them try to slide down it holding the rungs, like morons. Why are boys so stupid?

Lovely. Ebbel has just sentenced himself to death. Sure I’ll spend the night in the brig. Whatever you say.

I climb down, clutching my poor abused guidon carefully. It isn’t fair, I didn’t do it and now I’ll have to spend the night in that awful place and won’t get to call home.

Those two idiots Card and Nolan slide down the ladder leaving me to clamber slowly like an old man. They wait at the bottom for me, though, or they’re waiting for Liesel yep, waiting for her, I stagger off on my own. I’m no good at climbing on things, I didn’t join the Space Forces because I’m good at climbing over and through things---well not man-made things. I’m good in forests, and I’m good with taking things apart and putting them together not ladders and not spending nights in jail cells. I pull my 314 out angrily. It isn’t fair now I won’t get to call home at all. And I’m already miserable here and now it will be even longer. And my mum was working late last night so I didn’t get to talk to her anyway and now I won’t get to till tomorrow night.

(it’s okay)

No, it’s really not.

(I love you)

I hate it here.

Chapter 9

“I

h—h-hate it here, I just want to go home,” the cadet and I are waiting in the IDMT for the doctor to see us. he is blubbering and I am massaging my head and squinting.

“Ah, me too kid,” I say, patting his head. By now he’s blubbering into my arm. I tried to stop that at first but now I’m simply not bothering. And as a result, he’s basically hugging me and sitting in my lap, but I care so little at this point it’s remarkable.

“Y—y—ou do?” he mumbles, looking at me through red eyes.

“Yeah, well, home is space for me now, space and warships, I wish I were out there,” I say, with a heavy sigh, “Everything’s so much more confused down here.”

“It’s s—s---so weird. I’m not an incompetent person—”

“I kind of think you are---”

“I can do things and I do good at school but here I feel like such a —failure,” he says, sobbing heavily.

“Yeah, well, at least you aren’t having waking dreams of your impending death,” I mutter.

“What?” he asks.

“Never mind,” I say. If I focus too long I can see it all hovering before me. the blackness into which I ‘ll eventually be drawn, my life’s blood draining from my body.

“You’re breathing okay to be bawling that hard, you still want to go?” I ask, leaning over to look at him a little. His neck’s all red and bruised. That can’t be good.

“Yes, I just want to go home,” he says, nodding.

“You’re not going home, half-wit,” I say, “Not for something like this it wasn’t your fault it was an accident. This isn’t real Space Forces, it’s totally different out in the stars. You’ll like it fine, then.”

“R—r-really?” he asks, sitting up and looking in my eyes, so very pathetically.

“Sure you will, everything is clearer out in the stars, and brighter. You can think and see and breathe again and it’s like---you’ve found your place in the universe,” I say, softly.

“That sounds nice,” he says.

“And nobody can say you aren’t good enough or smart enough, because you’re already there, out in the stars, the only one there so there’s nobody else to measure up to because it’s just you. you and space,” I say.

“Really?” he asks.

“Really, nothing but you and the stars and space, space everywhere, for everything, including you,” I say, “You’ll be all right. You’ll live. Not like me, you have a chance.”

“Sir, why don’t you have a chance?” he asks.

“I don’t---I don’t know, I just know, it’s over for me. not yet, maybe, not just yet, but I’ve been so far, I’ve seen the other side, a part of the other side—and it’s coming back to haunt me,” I say, shaking my head, “I don’t expect that to make sense.”

“It’s okay, I won’t tell anyone,” he says.

“Okay,” I say, smiling a little. He means he won’t tell anyone I’m crazy. That’s okay, I guess. They don’t need to know. “Our secret?”

“Uhuh,” he says, nodding and wiping his nose on his sleeve.

“Who’s next?” a doctor opens the door to his office, fiddling with a tablet and only looking up at us briefly through thick glasses.

“We are---come on,” I say, helping the cadet to his feet.

“Both of you?” the doctor asks, looking confused.

“Yes---well I’m escorting him, I just need some pain killers,” I say, walking past him into the office. I help the cadet sit on the examination table. he’s a bit too short to reach it by himself and the fellow has the table awfully high.

“Do you now?” the doctor examines me through his glasses, stepping closer.

“Yes---I have a headache,” I say, dismissively, “I just didn’t have any in my bag, I’m up from Milton from doing Basic down there.”

“I see, I see, well, we’ll just be sure of that,” the doctor says, going over to a corner. There is a tray of syringes laid out.

“What do you mean? I have a headache---I’m hung overall right?” I ask, I considered not saying it but considering this cadet---King, already knows about my dead dog, my last girlfriend, and the fact that I think I’m being hunted by the Beast, it really doesn’t matter that he knows I’m hungover. What can I say? We spent a really long time in that waiting room and the kid sobbing into my arm was actually kind of therapeutic.

“Yes, yes, well, let’s just be sure now---this will make everything better,” the doctor says, coming back with a syringe in hand.

“I don’t need any sort of injection,” I say, disgustedly, standing up.

“Now now, calm down just the juice my boy, it’s just the juice,” he purrs, following me across the room.

“Are you insane? No!” I try to wrestle away.

“All right, we’ll do the little boy first, just some truth juice my boy,” the doctor says, turning abruptly and going for the cadet.

“Do I really need a shot?” the boy asks, sniffing back his tears and looking afraid.

“No, you don’t, we’re leaving,” I say, going over to take the boy’s arm to pull him away from the doctor. I realize the moment the needle goes in my neck that this was the doctor’s plan all along. Almost instantly my head starts to spin.

“There there, feeling better already? So hard the mighty fall, just the juice now, a little more juice,” the doctors say, as the floor greets me with a slam.

“Sir! Are you all right?” the boy is very far away but his hot little hands are on my neck. Then they have pulled away and I’m here floating with nothing.

“There there, just some nice truth juice, feeling better on the juice, aren’t you m’ boy?” I’m being lifted onto a gurney but I can’t feel my legs or my head all that’s left of me is my heart. And it’s beating. So fast, so fast here in space, I feel like I’m going to explode.

“Run don’t---” but I feel another IV in my skin I get up and run away but the real problem with that is I can’t move.

“Now, tell me what hurts, let the juice tell me what hurts,” the doctor is floating above me holding his tablet, a strange moss growing across him as the whole world is consumed.

“My head---my headaches, I was hungover---I was drinking because of---the end times are here, they’re coming for me, the Beast walks among us,” I am saying that or I may be silent I can’t hear myself so I can’t be completely sure.

“Good, very good, so what’s really wrong? How about you, little one?” the doctor floats over to the boy, who is strapped next to me, to another board. But why are we on these boards? So that we can surf amongst the stars?

“Logan, my name’s Logan and I don’t belong here,” the boy says.

“Yes---stop you do, we do we both do they’ll drive us out---they’ll kill us for it,” I say, I try to reach out to hold onto him but he’s swinging away and then back. I am vaguely aware that I should be recovering not getting worse oh good—there’s an IV in my arm that explains everything, absolutely everything.

“Logan, look at me, we’re going to get out this is too real, the façade is much better, much better,” I say, trying to stand up but then I remember I don’t have a body anymore.

“Where are you going?” I follow Titus as he veers sharply off the path, the MTIs, don’t notice, they are old and trying to keep up, Titus and I are near the front so veering into the trees is quite easy.

“Never leave a man behind,” he says, between quick breaths, “Logan got taken to IDMT, with your Dr. Truth Juice, let’s go get him out, eh?”

“We’ll get in trouble,” I say.

“I’m already spending the night in the brig,” he says, as we run back towards the base. “You can go on back if you like.”

“No,” I say. this is what I wanted, isn’t it? to do something different, exciting? To have real friends? Screw all the rules and orders and always being good? “I’ll help you. like you said, we never leave a man behind.”

“Thank you, Tom,” he says, smiling and looking down so he doesn’t see me smile back.

Titus just hit me in the side and said ‘you’re in charge’, what does that mean? And what makes him think he’s in charge? Of what? The flight? Because I certainly can’t carry the guidon and call cadence and nobody else certainly knows how to carry the guidon. Well, Tim might be able to, one of the Tims anyway I forget which but I remember one of them learned at the Academy. But still, what does Titus expect me to do? other than take the heat while he is gone? And how am I supposed to explain where he went when I don’t know myself?

how do the little things run so fast? And why do they all look alike all the time? I should just be happy, Liesel got off of the roof all right. But I really hate running. And it’s hot, and the oxygen tank is heavy, and I’m still mad that she was on the roof, to begin with. I’m going to have to have a serious talk with Ebbel about endangering cadets. That was dangerous, my personal bias aside it was still dangerous. Okay, I might not care if Liesel had not been up there but since she was I care and it is, ostensibly, quite dangerous. I don’t like it and Wilde was annoyed he let them up there and---oh I swear to god we left with more of them than there are right now. I just hope Ebbel doesn’t notice.

“Weren’t there more of them a few minutes ago?” Ebbel asks.

“No,” I say, shaking my head, “Definitely not.”

I am most definitely strapped to a table I’ve worked that out. I’m doing well, working things out beautifully, see I can escape from here if I put my mind to it. if. Big if my mind’s in the way of things, seeing as how I don’t have a body anymore that’s all floated away I certainly can’t feel it.

“How are you feeling now on the juice, my boy?” a hand caresses my cheek ah so I still have one, very good.

“Let me go, I have to find them,” I mumble, trying to move away if I can feel him why can’t I move away from him? that doesn’t make sense. “Just let me go I don’t want the pain killers anymore.”

“Why? Is your head better?” voice grating haunting somewhere far away.

“No, no but it won’t be and I have to find them, the two of them,” I say, trying to sit up but it isn’t working.

“Who?”

“The two prophets, they alone can cast the Beast into the lake of fire and brimstone, he’ll kill me before then but I have to warn them, I have to---,” I struggle.

“Calm down now, have a little bit more of the juice, it’s just juice my boy, calm down.”

“No—no---no more, I have to go. As I said I have to go it’s urgent,” I struggle but to no avail. Avail. Titus used that word that’s how I got that word---he’s infecting my conscious. He’s everywhere, haunting me even now.

“You can’t knock out those nurses!”

“Clearly I can because I just did, now I thought you wanted to help?” I am annoyed with Tom, she’s being entirely too moral for this affair.

“They didn’t have anything to do with it,” she says, annoyed with me, hesitating to quid pro quo her blouse for the medic’s blouse, instead of propping the fellow’s head up on a nice pile of branches. The unfortunate pair were outside, smoking and having their break. Before I got involved. Now they are unconscious, I smothered them, one after the other, with their own SBU caps.

“Nor did Logan, they’ll be fine, now do you want to help him or not?” I ask, folding my arms. She’d better not be thinking of going and telling that I’m here. that wouldn’t do at all.

“All right,” she pulls off her blouse as I bend to undress the other medic, “But you shouldn’t have done that, what got into you?”

“They’ll be fine, I used to do it to my brothers all the time when I wanted a little peace and quiet,” yes, Card School of Asphyxiation has been in session for quite some time.

“That’s horrible, Titus, you shouldn’t,” she says, still looking disgusted but not sure what to do.

“Yeah, well, I probably shouldn’t do a lot of things,” like murder people. Oh well. naughty me.

“Let’s just go find him,” she says, taking an ID badge and pushing past me to badge into the hospital.

“Oh, don’t be cross,” I say, annoyed she’s so upset with me. and here I was hoping this would be an excellent chance to make a pass at her.

“I shall be if I like that was wrong now those two will get in trouble,” she says, as we hurry down the hall, our heads down and out of view of the cameras. Good thing we all look rather alike with our matching crew cuts.

“I’m already spending the night in the brig for something I didn’t do,” I say, self-righteously.

“You completely did that!” she hisses. Oh, I was hoping she’d forgotten that.

“All right, so I did, but I was in the brig last night for something I didn’t do, you should feel sorry for me,” you really ought to kiss me.

“I shouldn’t, I think you want to end up in there, the way you act,” she says.

“I’m used to it,” I mutter.

“What?” she asks, turning.

“Won’t you kiss me?” I ask, holding my arms open.

“You’re mental,” she says, staring at me.

“It was an honest request,” I say.

“Not the request, that we’re breaking into a hospital to get our friend out and that’s when you decide to ask for a kiss,” she says, annoyed. but she hasn’t said she won’t.

“So, to be clear, is that a no?” I ask, cocking my head pitifully.

“Yes, to be clear, that is a no,” she says, shaking her head at me.

“I really wish you would,” I say, following her down the hall.

“Why?” she asks.

“I think I’d enjoy it,” I say.

“Oh, do you?” she scoffs.

“Yes, yes I do, and I’d like to keep the option open for the rest of the day if you wouldn’t mind,” I say.

“No, doesn’t bother me a bit, but I’m not kissing you,” she says. I love her for it.

“Why? Because I smother people and hang flags upside down?” I ask, “Or because I’m a civilian and have never been to University?”

“No,” she says, rolling her eyes.

“No to which one I said four things?” I ask, innocently.

“No all four, that’s not why I won’t kiss you,” she says.

“Why? I worship you,” I say, honestly.

“Because of that because---,” she stops, “Because you’re beautiful---and different, and you’re not like anything else that walks this earth---you’re not real Titus.”

“I’m very real,” I say, stepping closer to her.

“No, I’m sure you’re not,” she says, shaking her head and continuing walking.

“That is without substance or meaning, do define it for me. I can aspire to be anything in this world and do believe I can achieve anything. and I would very much like to be the man you would kiss,” I say.

“Can we continue this conversation later?” she hisses, stopping short as a couple of nurses pass us, they barely glance our way, though of course we blend in and of course our conversation probably does too.

“I’d be happy to at any time you’re free,” I say, “But as I’ll be in the brig tonight it might be better if we did it before then. Then I can focus all night on the suggestions you’ve given me.”

“I’m not giving you suggestions,” she says, dismissively, not looking at me.

“Then it’s going to be very hard to win your heart, I must say,” I inform her. she really doesn’t seem to get where I’m going with this. She could be more on board.

“IDMT is right there, now do you want to get Logan out or not?” she asks.

“I’d much rather kiss you,” I say.

“We can’t always have what we want in life,” she says.

“No, but I’ll always want you, for my whole life,” he says. I want to kiss him now more than ever. but I don’t. because Logan is in there and this is insane and he is insane.

“Come on,” I say, tugging him across the hall to the IDMT doors.

“Just a minute, still got a few on the juice, what seems to be wrong my pretties?” the good doctor taps at his tablet and barely glances up at us.

“We’re here for our wingman,” I say, keeping well clear of him.

“Come on in and tell me all about it,” he says.

“We’re not taking any of your truth juice, Marrow,” I say, back around the corner of the room.

“I’d love some,” Titus says, walking straight up to him.

“Really, lovely, let’s get you on the juice, my boy---” the doctor pulls a syringe from his pocket and with frightening speed Titus grabs his hand twists it back, forcing the doctor to inject himself. In the mouth. In the tongue. Yes, it was very disgusting.

“Well played,” I say, stepping over the doctor as Titus lowers him to the ground, rifling his coat for another syringe full to inject, this time into his neck.

“Thank you, that should keep him out for a while,” Titus says, standing. “He got a good look at us, do you think he’ll tell the MTIs?”

“I doubt it, he’s the one kidnapping and drugging people on a routine basis, I doubt if they believe him anymore,” I say, opening the door to the backroom. sure enough poor Logan is there, strapped to a gurney, with an IV of the awful stuff running to his arm. It doesn’t look like anybody’s done a thing for his neck either, poor thing.

“Logan, we’re here to get you out,” I say, going over to start unstrapping him.

“Chin up mate, this can’t be as bad as being strangled, eh? –what I’m trying to cheer him up!” Titus says, adding the last bit when I glare at him.

“Who escorted him here?” I ask. We always have to have a wingman, “Wasn’t it one of the MTIs?”

“Thorne? Lord, yes, I’ll go wake him up,” Titus says, rubbing his hands together.

“No, let me,” I say, at the evil look on his face.

“This man woke me up every day with strings of profanity and insults, for ten weeks---I’m gonna go wake him up,” Titus says, looking in the other patient rooms.

“Okay, I’ll give you that,” I say. I didn’t know any better, then.

I am spinning in the dark. This isn’t getting any better but it certainly isn’t getting any worse.

And then it does.

“Come and see---, the coming of the beast.”

a haunting voice is almost singing.

“They split the first seal, a white horse comes.”

He’s come for me. to consume my soul.

“see the writing on the wall---on the second seal the sword will steal the peace—”

I can’t see I can’t feel but I writhe trying to getaway. To warn them. who casts away the antichrist? I don’t remember. I don’t remember how they escape from it, why? Why do I have to see it? To feel it?

“ And lo the third seal splits, ‘a quart of wheat for a denarius, three quarts of barley for a denarius, and do not harm the oil and wine’ and the people sing—”

I open my eyes and he’s there. the mark of the beast burns on his forehead. 666. His eyes burn with the light of the devil he comes from the other side.

“And then I come with hell behind me, to kill with sword, with death, with----beasts---”

his lips are so close to my ear I feel them tickling my skin.

“Do not fear my coming, for I come to bring peace in death---the dragon waits for the child’s birth---”

“Please, please let me go,” I whisper. His hands are on my head, massaging my scalp.

“beg now, beg now,” the voice is still lilting, singing the awful words to me, “the beast comes from the sea, follow the beast.”

“Please, why do I know it’s you? Please, why?” I struggle.

“Water is the blood you know that now—beg now---beg now.”

“Please let me go,” I say, “Just let me die.”

“Fall to the fire, fall to the fire, fall to the fire.”

“No just end this please dear god.”

“He can’t hear you you’re already in the fire—the fire—the fire.”

“I’m begging you to let me go why me? why do I see you?”

“Water is blood—water is blood.”

“Let me go,” I say.

“Beg now---beg now.” hands, cold hands are still on my forehead.

“Move the mountains to move the islands, run now, run now.”

“I can’t move, please I can’t move,” I gasp.

“Beg now, Beg now.”

“Please, I am begging you please just end this let me die,” I cry.

“Worship me,” his cold hands are on my head, his lips pressed against my cheek.

“Yes,” I whisper, “Just let me go.”

“Had your fun?” I ask, opening the door to find Titus untying Thorne, who is lying on a gurney twitching and sobbing.

“No, he’s too high on the stuff,” Titus says, disappointedly, “Pull the IV from his arm, will you? he lashed out and wouldn’t let me do it.”

“Poor thing, Dr. Marrow is really losing it,” I say.

“As opposed to when? When he just drugged people up occasionally?” I ask, dryly, rubbing my forehead with the back of my hand to make sure the blood is all off of it. a little blood from my own finger, the most easily removed paint in the world. A little saliva and it’s done, rubbed off, nothing to show the mark was ever there.

“Yeah,” Tom says, shrugging a little, as she helps me hoist Thorne into a sitting position. “It’s all right, sir, we’ve got you out.”

“Yes, you’re well now,” I say, patting him on the back as he shivers and shakes, tears leaking from his eyes.

“Here, I’ll get you a drink of water,” Tom goes over to the sink and fills up a cup. “Logan isn’t half as bad, I left him to have a drink and get his legs back, then we’ll get them both out of here.”

“As it is we’ll probably have to carry him a bit,” I say, putting one of Thorne’s arms over my shoulder. “Sir, we’re going to leave here now, I think that’d be best, eh?”

“Yes,” he says, his head lolling still, “We should leave.”

“We will soon,” Tom says, handing him a cup of water.

“What---what are you doing here? Card?” Thorne leans away from me, his eyes unable to focus on my face.

“Yes, I was worried about you,” I say.

“We know Dr. Marrow gets a little carried away with his truth juice,” Tom says, holding the cup up to his lips because he’s not holding it himself.

“Yes---yes---you’re not supposed to be here,” he looks at us oddly.

“We left PT, thought you two could use a hand and as I’m already spending the night in the brig, it didn’t seem to matter,” I say, “Let’s try to stand, all right?”

“Yes, thank you---both,” I say, I can feel my legs again, much better. I stand. The card is standing next to me, innocently. The burning mark on his forehead is gone. vanished. the truth juice. I’ve been hallucinating that’s all. That’s all, I was reading the book last night, and now this---of course, I was only hallucinating. He’s a sixteen-year-old boy. But hell follows him. hell follows him.

Chapter 10

I feel my foot land directly beneath a bent root seconds before my ankle hits it, pulling me to the ground. In my defense, it wasn’t the fall that knocked me senseless, it was the oxygen tank on my back, lurching forward and hitting my head. That knocked me completely senseless. In the Space Forces defense, I’m sure our MTIs had lots better things to do than to notice that one of their cadets had fallen face-first on the ground and suffered a terrible knock on the back of the head. In fact, I’m sure their jobs are so busy and they have so many things to think about, they just stepped right over little old me lying bleeding in the path. And I know for a fact that they had to have stepped over me because I’m the fastest runner and I was at the front and yes I was running on the right path we’ve run the same path every other day at this place I think I know where I’m going. Yes, that should mean I knew where the root was but I’m happy to admit I’m not perfect. Nor are the eighteen odd people, ten of whom were MTIs who ran past me. and I’m sure there’s a special place in hell for them.

But as it was, nobody apparently noticed me fall because I wake up, face down, blood in my mouth from biting my tongue, and alone. I roll over, only to roll onto the aforementioned oxygen tank, and grimace. My head is pounding. And I’m dizzy.

“Hey,” Ian is leaning against the offending tree, arms folded. “You doing okay?”

“Do I look okay?” I ask, sitting up a little, rubbing my head, “I must’ve hit it harder than I thought, huh?”

“Yeah, you got it pretty good,” he says, brushing his red bangs out of his eyes, “Mum’s worried about you.”

“She’s gonna worry about me more tonight,” I say, “I’m in the brig---for something I didn’t even do.”

“Yeah, I heard. Ginny will tell her you’re okay,” he says.

“She’s still going to worry---she thinks she doesn’t know how to talk to me,” I say, pushing myself into a sitting position painfully. “She thinks she’s losing me.”

“Is she?” he asks, raising his eyebrows.

“No! I only did this for the money, and the fun---I think it would be neat to be a spaceman,” I say, looking up at the sky. The stars are hiding from me. “And we need the money. It’s only the three of us now.”

“Yeah, don’t remind me,” he says, a bit annoyed, picking up a stick and wandering a little with it.

“Okay,” I say, shrugging.

“It’s only the two of them now, with you gone,” he says.

“No. I didn’t walk out---” I say, angrily, rising to my feet.

“Neither did I!” he says, holding up his hands innocently, “Dad is the only one who walked out.”

“I know,” I say, taking a deep breath to steady myself, “I know. You would have stayed if you could have. and I am staying. I’m taking care of them.”

“They want you there, they don’t want money,” he says.

“Look who knows everything now huh? I’m trying,” I feel myself crying, “I hate it here, and I want to be home, more than anything---but Ginny needs to go to school, a good school, and mum shouldn’t have to work till 11 at night, and I’m the only one who’s there.”

“Come here,” he says, wrapping his strong arms around my shoulders, “Come on, hey, I know you are.”

“I’m there,” I whisper, sobbing.

“I’m sorry, look, I don’t want to fight, we don’t see each other anymore,” he says, releasing me from the hug and clapping me on the shoulders. “You don’t talk to me anymore.”

“I do talk to you,” I say, wiping my face with my arm.

“No, you don’t, you don’t come to talk to me, I miss you,” he says.

“I couldn’t keep drinking like that,” I say, “It wasn’t good for me, I felt so sick when I woke up, and mum---she was really worried. I was turning into somebody I’m not.”

“You couldn’t do that Quentin, you have what other men lack, a truly good heart,” he says, tapping my chest, “You only wanted to visit me.”

“I know---I know, but they didn’t understand that. I was fourteen years old Ian---fourteen and I was coming home drinking a bottle of whiskey every night. God knows what I said, what I did. I don’t know why mum didn’t throw me out, she should have, but I promised her it would stop, and it did—I wouldn’t be here otherwise,” I say.

“So, you traded me for her, for all this,” he says.

“You’re dead,” I say, harshly.

“Six months sober, look who’s so strong, now, eh? Didn’t you smell it on that MTI last night, didn’t it make you—thirsty?” he asks.

“No, it made me sick to think that that was ever me,” I spit. I hate it now, hate the sight of, the very smell of alcohol, where it took me, what it made me. but that doesn’t stop me from wanting it. the bitter taste in my mouth and the knowledge, that soon, in just a few more burning shots everything will go away. Let all of it melt away into the fire.

“You’re lying, you miss me you know,” he says, laughing, “I saw you with that girl earlier, she was trying to flirt with you.”

“Yeah, I know, I’m not blind,” I scoff.

“Why didn’t you let her? Have a little fun,” he says.

“I don’t know, I just---I just didn’t feel like it,” I say.

“Afraid you’ll end up like Ginny’s father? A miserable drunk who gets so pissed one night he can’t even find his way home?” he asks.

“No, I’ll never be like that I’ll never get married I’ll---” I realize I’m confirming exactly what he’s saying.

He smiles, “I’ve always known you better than you know you.”

“No, no you don’t, you don’t know anything about me,” I say, shaking my head.

“Yes, I do, I am you,” he says, stepping forward, taking me by the shoulders, “Come on, listen to me, live a little. Go kiss that, girl, huh? Take her to a bar, have a drink. You’d be amazed how much easier that makes it—”

“I don’t want it easy, I don’t want it,” I don’t want her hands or her flesh or her plump lips, most certainly not sweetened with beer, in my clumsy arms. I look down at my hands. Big and clumsy, I’m too tall for my age. I look like a man that’s how I used to get the booze.

“You’re just a lost little boy, aren’t you?” he asks, putting a hand on my cheek, “You’re still just a little boy.”

“No, I’m not. I haven’t been since you left,” I say.

“Say died,” he says

“Stop it! Why are you doing this to me? We finally get to see each other and you’re acting like this,” I say annoyed.

“Because I’m trying to help, you need help Quentin to look at you---”

“I need help because of you! I need help because for three years I had to drink myself to sleep every night. I need help because, before that, I didn’t talk for seven years—

“Except for me—”

“Except to you and you’re dead---and no I don’t have any friends, or a girlfriend, because I’m messed up and I’m weird and this---this right now, this is as close to normal as I can come, and I cannot—can not screw this up because this is my one chance to try to get away,” I realize I’m sobbing.

“See? You’re running away. At least I left for good. at least mum and Ginny knew what became of me. you, you’re just blowing away in the wind,” he says, “you’re letting them think you’re staying, but you’re not. you’re running.”

“Yes, yes I’m running---I’m running as fast as I can from being like Ginny’s dad and most of all from being you,” I say, “and I’m going to get away and I’m going to be---somebody good. and I don’t know how to do that, because I think we can both agree I didn’t have anybody to show me how, but I’m trying okay? I’m trying to run.”

“But you fell,” he says.

“Yes, I fell,” I say.

“I did something good for you, you know,” he says.

“what?” I scoff.

“I left. if I stayed, you’d still be there, following me around like a puppy, going to bars with me every night, picking up girls, god, I’d have corrupted you well, but I didn’t. I left,” he says, holding up his hands helpfully, “I left you to become this.”

“This isn’t so bad,” I say.

“No, you could be worse, you could be incapable of social interactions, untrusting, and an alcoholic---oh wait---”

“You’re wrong,” I say, backing away from him. I feel hands on my arms, somebody is pulling me free. “I’m not running away.”

“It’s okay, come on back now.”

“Oh? What is it you’re doing?” he asks.

“Flying,” I say, then I take hold of the arms and let them pull me free.

“Come on back, please wake up, please don’t be dead,” a cadet would go and die on me I told Ebbel we weren’t missing a couple and here he is lying two miles down the trail cold as ice probably dead.

“Thank you,” he wakes up rather abruptly, tears leaking from his eyes. he wipes them away. “Sir---I tripped. I’m sorry sir I---”

“Cut the ‘sir’ crap, are you all right? lie down, damn it,” I say, pushing him back down. he has a nasty bump on the back of his head and it’s rather bloody.

“Yes, sir, I’m all right, now, sir,” he says, urgently, trying to sit up again as I push him down.

“You’re going to medical, first off, second off you’re lying here till I can---determine if you get up,” I say, checking the back of his head. it’s not still bleeding just a little bloody from the bump. “What time was it when you tripped---why are you crying?”

“Sir—it’s---the pain,” he says, wiping his eyes again, “Sir I’m all right to stand.”

“Well, not just yet,” I say, looking at him curiously. He’s big for his age, a big boy, poor thing a bit too thin too. His eyes are the same sort of grey as mine, he’s the sort of kid I used to look at, wonder if he was mine. Now I know who my daughter is. But he’s somebody’s son. Somebody who isn’t sitting here with him as she’s crying on the forest floor. Why do I have to be so sentimental? “Come on, what’s wrong?”

“I just---when I was passed out---I felt, I felt like I used to feel when I was drunk,” he says, then he clarifies, “You know when you’ve had so much everything makes sense at the time but you know it won’t later?”

“You’ve been drunk enough to know that?” I ask, surprised. I try to remember when I started drinking? Eighteen? Twenty? When I realized I had a three or four year old who was learning to talk and none of the words were ‘daddy’? yeah, about then.

“My step-dad was a drunk,” he says.

“Sucks,” I say.

“Yeah, our mum left him,” he says, “So it’s all right.”

“You got any brothers or sisters?” I ask, gently.

“A little sister. And I had an older brother, he died,” he says.

“How’d he die?” I ask.

“He hung himself, in our flat. I watched. I was six, he was sixteen, my sister was two. She was in the other room. asleep. I came out because my brother was up, and he was getting the rope ready. He told me to watch, said he was going to show me a trick. So I sat there, and I watched, and then I tried to talk to him, and he didn’t talk back, and his eyes were sort of bulging, and he didn’t answer me. and I sat there, and I waited, as he told me to, waited for the trick. I thought the trick was gonna be that he was gonna come back, but he didn’t. my mum came home, I guess. I just remember her screaming and screaming,” he says, his voice is flat, emotionless.

“Good reason to drink,” I say, nodding. In comparison to my reason, my reason being that I’m an idiot. A lonely idiot. But an idiot.

“Not really,” he says.

“What happened?” I ask, I don’t know what else to say clearly this kid should be talking to somebody about this---somebody qualified in---mental health or something. not me. but here I am. sitting in the forest with him. his dad left, apparently. And I’m somebody’s dad so that sort of qualifies me to be here as a surrogate. I feel an odd kinship for the boy.

“I didn’t talk for the next seven years, not till I started drinking,” he says, “My sister she could---she knew what I was thinkin’ and I did well in school. The funny thing about it---I don’t’ remember that. not talking. I only know, cause one day I came home from school and asked my mum if we had oranges---get that orange, and she just stares at me. and I ask her ‘what’ and she says ‘You haven’t spoken since Ian died’ and then she just started cryin’. But the thing was, I don’t remember ever not talking. I remember them not hearing me. I’d wonder why my mum would just stare at me when I said things. Or she’d cry a little when she tucked me in at night. thing was, I thought I was talking. But I wasn’t making any sound.”

“That’s---the saddest thing I’ve ever heard,” I say.

“So I get to be screwed up, then?” he asks.

“A little bit,” I say, staring at the poor crazy, damaged kid. Who did that to a kid? What sort of sicko leaves his six-year-old to wind up like that? leaves him? I didn’t have a choice, I wanted to be there---I had a choice. I wasn’t there. my daughter wouldn’t exist if it weren’t for me. and I made her exist for me not to be there. what sort of sick horrible lonely stories did she have? All because I wasn’t there?

“Don’t cry!” he slides a little closer to me, sitting up because I’m not bothering to stop him.

“I’m not crying,” I say.

“It looks like you are---I’m sorry I shouldn’t have told you I’ve never told all of that to anyone, I’m sorry, sir, I shouldn’t have told you,” he says.

“Yes, yes you should, that’s exactly the problem you should everyone should,” I say, “And we don’t---we don’t hear each other, as you said, we aren’t making any sounds even when we’re crying out. because we’re alone.”

“I wasn’t alone,” he says.

“No, you were very alone, not like me, not like my alone, you were alone in your own head, and it took a while for you to find your way out,” I say, reaching out and taking his hand, “What’s your name?”

“Leavitt, sir,” he says.

“No, you’re the first name,” I say.

“Quentin,” he says.

“Okay, mine’s Rebellion,” I say, “Nobody calls me that anymore, nobody.”

“Yes, sir,” he says.

“So call me my name,” I say.

“Rebellion,” he says.

“Thank you, Quentin,” I say, “you’re a good man.”

“I’m not even a man,” he says.

“You’re twice the man than me,” I say.

I send that idiot looking for our three missing cadets and where do I find him? sitting on a tree stump crying. one of the cadets is with him, but he too is bawling his eyes out.

“What is going on here?” I ask, making them both jump.

“He hit his head, I’m sitting with him until he’s all right,” Harris says, standing up, letting go of the cadet’s hand.

“Why are you crying?” I ask, disgustedly.

“It’s the orange blossoms, can’t you smell them in the air?” Harris asks, but he doesn’t look at me, he looks at the cadet.

“Sir, I know I can,” the cadet smiles, a sweet, boyish grin, and squeezes Harris’ hand before releasing it.

“Did you hit your head as well, Sergeant?” I ask.

“No, sir, I’m quite well,” Harris says.

“Report to IDMT—hell I’ll take you myself,” I say, “Harris, keep looking for Card and Tom.”

“Yes, sir,” Harris says, wiping his eyes on his sleeve.

“Sir, I feel well enough to rejoin the others,” Cadet Leavitt says.

“We’re getting you checked out,” I say. first I’ll take this one to IDMT, then I’ll go find the other two cadets. If you want something done right, clearly you have to do it yourself.

Chapter 11

“G

ood morning, ma’am,” he says, innocently.

“Answer the question, cadet, where have you been?” I ask.

“Leave them alone—he’s been with me,” Thorn walks up, looking hungover. “I required Cadet Tom and Cadet Card’s assistance in returning with Cadet King from IDMT.”

“Sir?” I ask him annoyed that he couldn’t have appeared before I gave a very imposing rant. “How did they assist you?”

“If you must know,” he takes my arm and pulls me closer, “They helped me get free of that maniac you have working in medical! What is the matter with that person? he drugged me up!”

“Oh, yes, Dr. Truth Juice, I’d forgotten he’d left the academy, something about malpractice, you didn’t actually ask him for something did you?” I ask.

“No—yes, but I should be able to ask for pain killers without getting drugged!” he says.

“You shouldn’t have been hungover,” I say, turning back to the Cadets, who are waiting for me.

“Cadet Card, rejoin your flight, everyone else, go get showered off. we have a drill in twenty minutes, MOVE.”

“Cadet Card you are not to report to the brig tonight,” Thorn calls.

“What?” I ask, surprised he’s overruling Ebbel.

“He saved me from that maniac,” Thorne says, “the least I can do is get him out of something he didn’t deserve in the first place.”

Damn it damn it damn it. I do something decent for Thorn after messing with his head and convincing him I’m the antichrist, and the ruins all my fun. Now I’ll just have to get thrown back in.

My reasoning is twofold. One, he actually did me a good deed and stuck his neck out there for me when he could have gotten in trouble, and saved me from that serum administering sociopath. Two, if he is the antichrist, we might as well not antagonize him by sending him to prison when no walls can hold his fiery spirit. See? Win-win.

“Thank you thank you thank you for saving me,” Logan has yet to stop hugging Tom.

“Of course, me and this silly beggar, looking over your shoulder when Wilde was talking to you,” Tom says, rolling her eyes at me for the last bit.

“I know it’s just funny—I used to do it to Thorn all the time—and my mum drove them mad,” I say, smiling at the memory. My mother screaming ‘how many Titus’ are there??” and me pretending to count invisible people. Happy times.

“Did it?” I ask, dryly. I don’t have a mum to drive mad so that’s a bit annoying to me. He can’t help it, though, he’s lucky. At least his mum was about to be driven mad.

“Thank you thank I was so scared and that awful man! You weren’t kidding, he was at us, right away with the juice,” Logan says, horrified at the memory.

“He had Thorn on more of it than you, the man was delirious,” Titus says.

“It took us half the walk just to have him talking in complete sentences,” I say.

“Well, Peter, anything fun happens while we were gone?” Titus asks as the boy hurries to catch us.

“Other than the MTIs ranting about the two of you going missing, no,” Peter says, “It was long and hot, I’m sure you had a much better time.”

“Not really,” I say, thinking of Titus’ offer of a kiss earlier. An offer I actually want to accept he’s just so---wild. He’s wild, that’s what he is. Untamed.

“Thank you for keeping an eye on things, how did the Tims fare?” Titus asks.

“They were slower than usual, but I heard them whispering last night before you got in so I don’t suppose they got much sleep,” Peter says, opening the door to the showers for us. we all shower together, just like we all bunk together. that isn’t awkward at all with wild teenage hormones. Of course, we’ve all been sterilized, after gender-appropriate samples were collected. The operations aren’t always successful, but the odds of two opposite-sex people who happen to have had a thousand to one failed operation, aren’t very likely. So we all bathe and eat and sleep together one big happy hormonal family.

“I don’t suppose,” Titus says, as we file in, going to our lockers and beginning to take our oxygen tanks than our clothes off, hanging them on hooks in our lockers.

“Lucky you got yourself out of the brig,” Tyrell says, knocking Titus on the back of the head. Titus does not look amused, but he turns smoothly.

“I honestly did not think I would,” he says, holding up his hands innocently.

“Yeah, well, nice for you anyway,” Tyrell says, still looking annoyed.

“Where’s Leavitt?” Liesel asks, seeing the other two flight leaders. She’s half undressed already, just her bra and compression shorts on. completely unashamed, she addresses the two boys. I envy her that a bit. so far as I know neither one of them has offered to kiss her. that makes this process that much more awkward. I sigh a little and undress anyway.

“I was running about breaking people out of IDMT, I’ve not seen anyone,” Titus says, he has the good manners not to stare at me, not looking away awkwardly either, just calm, professional. It irks me, I like him more for it yet he feels like---such a bad idea.

“He got lost during the run as well,” Tyrell says.

“He did?” I ask. He looked nice, a tall shy quiet thing the sort of boy I should be attracted to but am not, “Is he all right?”

“I don’t know,” Tyrell says.

“I heard Wilde and Harris talking—Ebbel walked him to IDMT,” Darla says, passing us, completely naked. The boys and Liesel all give her an appreciative glance before continuing the conversation.

“Oh, right, keep an eye on things for me, will you Peter?” Titus asks, putting his grey t-shirt back on and picking up his oxygen tank.

“You’re not,” I say, as he turns to run back out of the showers.

“Oh, I am,” he says.

If saving one MTI and cadet from the Dr. Truth Juice got me out of the brig, maybe saving another will get me back in. Hope springs eternal. Even if it does mean missing the enchanting adamite ritual going on in the locker room, still. I had a nice talk with Tom earlier and she may think about kissing me now. I’ll certainly think about kissing her.

“There is nothing wrong with me, I feel wonderful, I have nothing to tell you, just have a look at him,” Ebbel practically shoves me through the door of the examining room at IDMT. I’ve never been here before and I honestly don’t need it now. I could carry on with the day just fine, my headaches a bit but I’m sure I’ve had worse knocks.

“Are you sure now, m’ boy? We could always get you in here, get some nice juice, make sure there’s really nothing wrong with you,” the doctor rasps, sort of chasing Ebbel around the room.

“I could not possibly be more positive I’ll send someone along to collect him have a good day,” Ebbel says, backing out the door and closing it in the doctor’s face.

“Here, my boy, let’s get you settled down and see what’s wrong with you,” the doctor says, studying me through thick glasses.

“Nothing---I just tripped and my oxygen tank hit my head, that’s all,” I say, sitting obediently all the same.

“That’s what they all say nothing wrong---we’ll get to the bottom of this now, here’s some juice, m’boy, just a little juice,” he says, coming over with a syringe.

“No, I’m really fine,” I say, a bit unsure, “I don’t need a shot---”

“Let me be the judge of that? Who’s the doctor here? Who’s got the truth juice? I am, I do, sit still m’boy,” he sticks the syringe in my arm. I wince a little then my head begins to spin.

“What’s really wrong now?” the doctor kneels down in front of me. “You can tell me now, m’ boy.”

“Nothing, nothing now,” I say, “I feel better, now that I’ve talked Rellion.”

“Who?” he asks.

“It doesn’t matter---he heard me,” I say, leaning back into the bliss of nothing. it would feel good to sleep. Really sleep.

“Interesting, interesting, here’s some more juice, you’re liking the juice aren’t you m’boy,” he asks.

“No, no I’m finished, not one more drink,” I say, shaking my head. this feels like getting drunk. When you’re just starting to get drunk and you know it hasn’t hit you yet but you’re loose and feel the buzz.

“You want a drink, m’ boy? What you want, something to go nicely with the juice,” he goes over to a cabinet and opens it. It’s filled with bottles of liquor.

“NO,” I crawl off the table but fall I can’t move properly. I start to crawl away across the floor.

“Now now, what do you want? More juice? Let’s get to the truth of it now, with the truth juice,” he says, lifting me back onto the table.

“No, I don’t want a drink.”

yes you do. my mind is screaming. A drink would make it all, make this whole place. Just go away.

“GO AWAY” I cry. but it doesn’t. he’s still standing there, and now he’s going back to the cabinet, to get a bottle of beer. Just a beer. Nice and cold after so hot outside.

“GO AWAY” no he’s coming back, the syringe back in my arm. I can smell the warm, nutty smell of the cool alcohol. So close to my lips. I squeeze my eyes shut. “NO.”

Ebbel’s waiting outside. The scurrilous coward, he would while the cadet suffers in there. I creep behind the bushes. He’s talking with other MTIs now, I can’t do it now. I’ll do it tonight when I’m in the brig. Now, I’ll help Quentin escape, and then we’ll both be in the brig.

I enter the same way I did last time, through the back door, this time there are no helpful medics waiting outside to lend me their uniforms. But that’s all right. I plan on being caught this time.

“Hey,” Darla comes up behind me in the shower. I’m showering with the Tims and Peter and Tsegi, all of us Cygnus flight. None of the Coruscant flight is in this stall.

“Hi,” I say, turning and picking up a towel.

“I wanted to talk to you,” she says, picking up one as well and rubbing her short hair.

“About what?” I ask. I’ve never really liked her. I don’t quite know why. She’s a little too forward, a little too flirty, for my tastes anyway.

“Wrong guys,” she says, a little sadly.

“What are you talking about?” I ask.

“I say you sneak off with Card earlier,” she says.

“Yeah,” I say, shrugging a little.

“So I figured you’d know what I’m talking about,” she goes on, and I see she’s a little sad. I feel bad for my previous misgivings, maybe she really only wants a talk. “Why are all the cute ones either demented or unavailable?”

“Titus isn’t demented,” but as I say it I know it’s not completely true.

“Oh, all right then, he looks it the eyes though---it’s not like I blame you, he’s very cute,” she says, knowingly. Yeah, yeah he is. “Tyrell is both, he’s demented and unavailable. He won’t sleep with me---did you know that?”

“No,” nor did I want to.

“He says he’s not ready, wants to wait till he’s married---I know that means, he’s waiting for a better girl but I’m a bit of fun while he waits,” she says, with a sigh. “I’ve tried to be attracted to good guys, like the Deneb flight leader, he’s a good guy, you can see it in his eyes, a puppy dog. Not much upstairs but that’s probably what makes him good. if men have too much brainpower they tend to be demented.”

“You think?” I ask. Maybe that’s why Titus strikes me as so weird. I’m not used to smart guys.

“Oh yes, but I can’t seem to bring myself to, the bad ones are so much more exciting, don’t you think?” she asks, “I’ve just resolved myself, I’ll die with the wrong guy rather than live with the right one.”

“That’s really not---,”

“It’s sad I know but it’s true. at least I know,” she says, putting down the towel and picking up her clothes, slowly.

“Yeah,” I say.

“Titus is cute, though. I want to kiss his eyes, they’re so beautiful,” she says, with a little sigh.

“I don’t think he’s demented,” I say. but I’m lying. And don’t tell her I thought that about his eyes too.

“Maybe not, I could be wrong,” she says, shrugging, then she grins and bites her lip. “But I bet I’m not.”

I bet she’s not either.

“No, no, no, no,” I mumble, trying to crawl away before I remember I’m already up against the wall. The glass of beer is sitting a few feet away from me. So nice and rich and nutty I can smell it. and cold. mostly cold. cold and stinging in my mouth. After such a hot run and so sticky in the forest. And I would drink it. and they’d send me home. and I’d never drink again. no, of course, no. I was dry, it was good, things were good. but just to get sent home, and it would be so nice. So nice and cold just this once, and it isn’t like it would matter. My mum isn’t here to see it. Ginny isn’t here. they’d just send me on home, and it would all be fine----

“NO!!” I’m crawling up the wall now, “I won’t do it, I won’t do it, get it away, take it way.”

“Why? Why m’boy, just a little more of the juice, and you’ll be better, you’ll be feeling better now, you’re all keyed up,” the doctor sticks a needle in my arm, I let him because maybe then I’ll pass out and it won’t matter and the beer will be gone and why on Kepler does this guy even have a liquor cabinet? I’m supposed to be in the military I’m supposed to be away from all that. they don’t allow drinking here no drinking on duty it was supposed to help. this shouldn’t be happening.

“Why are you all upset now? I wish you’d talk to me,” the doctor says. see? This is why I need to drink I’ve been telling him all this, why I can’t why I’d love to, more than anything I’d love to after seeing Ian after everything. NO. that’s why that’s why I’m not.

I crawl farther away, I can feel myself sobbing bitterly. I want it so bad. Why I am getting closer to it, damn it? Why when I know it’s such a bad idea? Why are my fingers wrapping around the glass and picking it up?

“A little bit more of the juice, m’ boy,” the doctor is bending over a table, filling another syringe. I wait until he looks up at me to bludgeon him in the head with his own stool. The much older man falls immediately. And I strike him over the head again, this time drawing blood, good. I like blood. I inject him with his own juice for good measure, before turning my attention to Quentin. Quentin---he’s not doing so well.

the boy is sitting against the wall, sobbing, he’s surrounded by a circle of plastic cups of water. He’s holding one in his hand, not drinking it, just staring at it and sobbing.

“Hey, mate,” I say, kneeling down in front of him, “Time to get you out of here.”

He looks at me, with red eyes. his hand holding the drink is quivering.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to drink it,” I say since he’s clearly had some sort of existential crisis with the cups of water.

“I want it---I do---I want it---I say I don’t but I do---I don’t want what happens but---I want it so bad,” he whispers.

“It’s just water, Quentin, at least I think it is,” I say, taking it from his hand and sniffing it, “Yeah, it’s just water, nothing else. what did you think it was?”

“You can---hear me? I’m talking?” he confirms, looking in my eyes.

“Loud and clear, listen, he’s got you on some mix of barbiturates, and by the way, Thorne was acting, hallucinogens,” I say, scooting the cups of water away. “It’s just water, old man, nothing that’s going to hurt you.”

“Card what is it you think you are doing?”

“Shut up for half a minute you garrulous corpulent prig, can’t you see he’s not well?” I say, holding up my hand authoritatively, and at such a string of mutli-syllable words, Ebbel actually obeys.

“You’re here,” Quentin reaches out and touches my cheek.

“Yeah I’m here, it’s just water it’s not going to get you,” I say, taking his hand in both of mine, “You’re high, man, he’s got you high, that’s all that’s going on.”

“What is that?” he asks, pointing to the cup that I set down.

“Water, a drink of water, that’s all, you’re safe,” I say.

“What’s wrong with him?” Ebbel is behind me now, he’s realized I’m actually right though I’m sure I’ll be in the brig for it later, though the way my luck is going, who knows?

“Why’s he here?” Quentin whispers, looking at Ebbel suspiciously.

“314 Card, now,” Ebbel says.

“As I said, he’s on some mix of barbiturates, I think—and my 314’s on the table out front, I thought you’d be wanting it,” I say.

“What happened to Dr. Marrow?” Ebbel asks, suspiciously.

“I don’t know he was like that when I walked in,” I say.

“I don’t believe you,” he says.

“I didn’t expect you to, honestly, can we sort this out in a minute and help Cadet Leavitt now?” I ask.

“You’re not in charge here,” Ebbel says.

“That’s debatable,” I say, then I say to Quentin, “We’re going to try to stand, okay?”

“Okay,” Quentin puts his hands on my shoulders, and I help to his feet, he stumbles a little. “We’re going to walk away from that, right?”

“Yeah, if you like, we’ll leave all that behind,” I say, “It’s all gonna stay right here, and we’re just gonna walk away.”

“Card, I’ll have you court-martialed by the end of this—”

“Really?” I ask, turning, prepared to end him. I’m smaller and faster, we can do this now if you want to.

“What is going on?” or not. Harris walks in, extremely disturbed and stupid looking, as usual.

“He’s not allowed to have this---is he? I didn’t drink any, I swear, I wanted to,” Quentin is sobbing again. I go back to taking his arms and helping him step away from the cups of water.

“What’s going on---did that idiot pump him up with truth juice?” Harris asks.

“Card is coming with me,” Ebbel says.

“No, just let him help Leavitt,” Harris says, seeing that Quentin is clinging to me now.

“What is going on? Why are you bringing cadets to this person when he’s insane?”

Oh good, Thorn’s involved now.

“Are they angry with me?” Quentin asks.

“No, they’re angry with me, but that’s okay,” I say, soothingly. All the better to murder them. “We’re still just going to walk away.”

“Walk away from it?” he asks.

“Just walk away,” I say.

“Somebody attacked Dr. Marrow,” Ebbel says.

“Good, he needed to be bludgeoned, the man strapped me to a table and started pumping me full of---”

“Barbituates, I think,” I supply.

“What Card said---leave them alone for half a minute, that poor kid is high as a kite,” Thron steps between Ebbel and me.

“Quentin, it’s okay—what the hell was he doing with all those water cups?” Harris asks, coming over to help me support Quentin he’s swaying and he’s pretty big.

“Card will be immediately detained for the assault on Marrow,” Ebbel says, since nobody is taking him seriously.

“No he won’t, I can’t swear I didn’t assault that guy---Card did you?” Thorne asks.

“No, sir,” I say.

“Did I?” he asks.

I really want to say yes, “No, sir. He was like that when I came in.”

“Probably somebody else he tried to drug up---we’re leaving that for now,” Thorn says, he’s commissioned and outranks Ebbel, so he can say that.

“Card’s still spending the night in the brig, and detention duties this evening,” Ebbel growls.

“Why?” Thorne asks, “Other than leaving his assigned duties, clearly, he’s helping. I think loyalty to a fellow spaceman is---

“He called me a---” Ebbel doesn’t remember nor could he pronounce it.

“Sir do you want me to repeat it?” I ask as Harris and I walk Quentin over to the examining table. he refuses to sit, though.

“No,” Ebbel growls.

“I do,” Harris says.

“Garrulous corpulent prig,” I say.

“I don’t know what that means,” Harris says.

“Nor does he,” I whisper, causing Harris to smother a grin.

“I want to leave,” Quentin says, as we try to sit him down again.

“Card, did you?” Thorne asks, overhearing me repeat it.

“Yes, sir, I wanted him to let me help Leavitt and he was shouting,” I say.

“Card you know you mustn’t, even if you were trying to help your friend,” Thorne sighs.

“You’re in the brig tonight, Card, and no fever nor Wilde is going to get you out,” Ebbel says. I want to correct the grammar of that sentence so badly it hurts.

“Yes, sir,” I say. so nothing shall save you from hell.

“Card, Card, Card,” Thorne sighs, shaking his head at me.

“Yes, sir?” I ask, looping Quentin’s arm around my neck as Harris takes his other side. he’s a big guy, and we are both smaller than him, possibly combined.

“Let’s get him outside,” Harris says.

“Never a dull moment with you, is it?” Thorne asks me.

“Sir, it seems not,” I say, unapologetically.

Chapter 12

T he rest of the day is uneventful, after breaking into IDMT not once, but twice, and after asphyxiating Logan in public not once, but twice. We have a hand to hand combat, and I’m paired with Logan so it goes miserably. I can’t knock him down or anything, not using the pathetic techniques they expect me to, he’s much bigger than I am and has more body mass per square foot, there’s no way I’m pushing him over with a simple blow to the waist. He just stands there and looks at me encouragingly. I’d much rather be doing it with Tom. Speaking of Tom she has not yet gotten back to me on the kiss request, but I’ll keep you updated.

Thorn gets me out of trouble for bludgeoning Dr. Truth Juice, heaven knows why. Honestly, it was bound to happen, and they don’t have any proof I did it, and I get the feeling that nobody around here likes that guy, heaven knows why. I do still have to do extra duties, which means that I don’t get to write home or read on my tablet. That would be depressing if I had a home or a tablet.

Instead, while everyone else goes in to write home, I have to go and help some Spaceman Basic nobody do maintenance in the control room. That should be entertaining. Not.

“I thought Titus didn’t have to go the brig since you and he rescued Thorn from Dr. Truth Juice,” Peter asks me, as he does curl-ups over the edge of his bunk.

“He didn’t then he broke back into the IDMT to get Leavitt out, so he does,” I explain.

“Why would he do a thing like that? I mean, the good doctor is hardly a stellar company, but he’d just gotten himself out of trouble,” Peter says.

“I don’t know, I honestly think he likes it in there,” I say, wincing as I get up, from doing planks by the foot of my bunk.

“He does like his quiet thinking time,” Tsegi says, “For the first two weeks I was convinced he didn’t talk.”

“Why did Leavitt go to IDMT?” Wendy, another girl I know from the Academy, pauses as she passes us, carrying her laundry bag.

“He fell and hit his head, I heard,” I say, “He’s over there, now, you can ask him.”

“That’s awful,” she says, leaning to look at where Leavitt is lying on his bunk.

“Yeah, it’s a good thing he’s all right,” I say.

“Wilde was pissed Card got himself in the brig again,” Peter says, as Wendy goes on.

“Why would he do that?” Logan looks up from his writing. He’s got a home to write to, but I appreciate that he still tries to join in our conversations a little bit.

“As I said, there’s no figuring him,” I say.

“Nope, do you think he was involved in putting the guidon up on the roof?” Peter asks.

“Almost definitely,” I say.

“That’s what I thought,” Peter says.

“Why?” Liesel says, hearing our conversation.

“He was laughing,” I say.

“Yeah, but he’s sort of mental, he laughs at weird times,” Liesel says.

“TC was painted on it,” Peter says.

“Oh, yeah so it was, wonder how he managed to get it up there?” she asks.

“Probably had somebody else do it, he was in the brig,” Peter says.

“Why would that idiot paint his initials on it?” I ask, “Does he want to be caught?”

“He certainly acts like it, you don’t go breaking into IDMT twice if you want to stay out of the brig,” Peter says.

“Why though?” I asked, climbing up to my bunk to get a drink of water.

“He’s mental,” Peter says.

“That’s your explanation? He’s straight-up mental?” I ask, after Darla saying that about demented too.

“Most civilians are, take Dr. Truth Juice,” Peter says.

“Tyrell,” Liesel, Tsegi, and I say, in unison.

“Yeah okay, some Academy is mental too,” Peter says.

“Good Evening, sir,” I say, standing in the doorway politely. A very annoyed Wilde dropped me off. she seems glad I was nice enough to go the trouble of rescuing not one, but two of my fellow Spacemen from IDMT, but annoyed that it got me in the brig, again.

“Oh, hey, come on in,” the Spaceman says, not getting up from his seat. There are monitors covering one wall----this is the camera system for the whole base. I smile. This could fun after all.

“Sir, where would you like me to start?” I ask.

“You’re the one they sent to clean or something? I don’t know, look for anything that’s dirty and dust it---what’s your name?” he asks, peering at my name tapes.

“Sir, Card,” I say.

“Mine’s Kip, there should be, like, rags and stuff over there,” he says, motioning towards a box, “What’s your first name?”

“Sir, Titus,” I say.

“Okay, Titus, Go ahead and like---dust things I guess? I don’t know, did they tell you what you’re supposed to do?”

“No, sir,” I say, standing in the middle of the room trying to peer at the footage.

“Oh, well then, find a rag or something and dust something----wait, you’re a Spaceman Basic-do you know anything about computers?” Kip asks, almost hopefully.

“I went to trade school for mechanics, so, I did take a course or two on computers,” or three or four or ten or as many as they would let me take then sat in on four more in lieu of sleeping as well as reading every available textbook in the library.

“Oh, well, if you want to like—take that one apart and see if you can make it work, go for it, ‘cause it’s really slow and crashes,” he points to one hard drive, “If you wanna just sit and talk and help me watch the monitors that’s cool too—to be honest I only request detention duties because it’s boring as asteroid dust-up here.”

“I know what that’s like,” I say, smiling a little, up here being in my own head for me.

“Kneel down for me,” he says, sitting up a little, “Let me see the top of your head---okay, yeah I recognize you,” he says, as I obey.

“So, you saw why I’m here?” I ask, staying kneeled to examine the requested computer.

“Yeah, breaking into IDMT, twice, and bludgeoning Dr. Truth Juice,” he laughs.

“What?” I ask, a little too sharply.

“Oh, calm down, Ebbel was up here blustering asking if I saw that, I told him the cameras were off there at that time, he asked what good they are I said I didn’t design the system, which isn’t totally true I kinda did, but he doesn’t know that” Kip says, shrugging, “I’m not gonna tell on you; he was giving your friend there a hard time.”

“He’s not even my friend, none of them are, it just didn’t seem right,” I say, surprising myself. I don’t usually even speak half-truths to people. But this man is being kind to me. and I hardly want him deciding to turn me in. So, I’ll open to him. a little. It might be interesting. He seems safe. He already has enough to get me court-martialed if he wanted. But he’s not. “The second one, Leavitt, he’s another flight leader, I hardly know him.”

“Your fat little bunkmate isn’t your friend?” he asks, frowning.

“Not really, he’s University so his family’s rich---rich compared to mine---and he’d never even talk to me if we weren’t in here,” I say, opening up the panel on the computer.

“You think so?” he asks, frowning. He isn’t even watching the screens this would be a picnic if I were ---anywhere but here. oh well. this is still insider knowledge.

“Why would he? I’m city trash---my father left when I was about six months old---or eight, the memories are kind of hazy, I have four older brothers and I had one sister---she died—my mum works in a factory for twelve hours a day, I had to buy cheat and steal my way into the lowest trade school I could find,” I say. it was mostly those last two, cheating and stealing.

“That doesn’t mean they won’t be your friends,” He says.

“Yeah it does, I’m nothing like them---I see the way they look at me,” I say, shrugging.

“They don’t look at you like that because of your family---they look at you like that because you’re---you. You’re too much for people, Titus, I’ve seen your scores, I know you’re cleverer than me and probably half the people walking around here combined,” he says.

“What do you mean? Too much?” I ask, then I frown, “And how have you seen my scores?”

“I’ve access to all sorts of things---and what I mean is, you’re too much you, Titus. who you are is fantastic and brilliant and all that, but you’ve got to let people ease into you, just a bit,” he says.

“Like, how do you mean? I can only be myself, I am no one else, however, I might wish it,” I say, “These calumnies you mention are nothing I can rectify.”

“I mean, that—just that, using great big words all the time that nobody can understand---I looked up garrulous in the dictionary, by the way, that was pretty funny---”

“Ebbel told you about that?” I ask, amused.

“Yeah, it’s why you wound up here so he sort of had to, well he tried it took me a few tries to figure out what words he was trying to say---but anyway, that, using long words nobody but you know, coming up with schemes, breaking people out of places, going running at night instead of sleeping, doing everything that much better than everyone else, from running to pushups to making your bed---I know you can, that’s not the point, it doesn’t matter, this world doesn’t require perfection or excellence, even though you can deliver, that’s only going to make everyone else in the Milky Way jealous, because they can’t do it that perfectly, and for you it’s nothing. so just---tone it down a bit, once you know someone well, they’ll realize you’re cleverer than them, but then they’ll like other bits of you as well, and they’ll see that you’re not so perfect at everything,” he says.

“Why would they like me?” I ask, “And what am I not perfect at?”

“Very little, I’ll give you that---but you said it yourself, other people, you’re not so great at making friends, that’s why I like you, I’ve been watching you, you know, form up here, and I took a liking to you, because even if you are twice as smart as me, three times probably, I still don’t envy you that, because I rather like being me, and making friends and knowing things about people,” he says.

“Like you know this about me? You enjoy this, talking to people?” I ask.

“Yes, and so might you if you gave them a chance, I know we’re all little cave dwellers to you and your brain, but we can be a bit of fun if you give us the chance,” he says.

“I want you to be---fun,” I say, nodding. He could be right. He could be stupid, but he could also be right. I had been wishing I wasn’t so alone.

“Well, give us a bit of a chance, if you keep getting yourself thrown in the brig so you don’t have to face people, then, you know, you won’t have to face people,” he says.

“I do like quiet,” I admit, then I decide to tell him something because he’s said an awful lot he didn’t have to, “I’ve never had a room of my own---when I first got put in the brig, that was the first time I’d ever had a room all to myself for a night.”

“Me too,” he says, smiling, “Not the brig but—my first duty station. Horrible little room it was, but I loved it, ‘cause I’d never had my own room before. So I know how you’re feeling and you’ve every right to go on without the rest of us but---I see you as a bit lonely and I know we don’t measure up to you, but you’ve got to come a bit low for us, you see what I mean? Plot universe domination some other time---”

How does he know I do that? Did you tell him?

“---or whatever it is you’re off doing in that head of yours, but try thinking about the stupid things we think about, just for a bit, see if you like it,” okay maybe he doesn’t know maybe he’s guessing.

“Okay,” I say, nodding, “But---what do you think about, though? Right now? If I weren’t here, say.”

“ah----’I’m sort of tired, feel like crisps, I’d really like a nap. I like crisps with cheese on them. I think I’ll eat some crisps with cheese on them, go get a cold drink of water, then take a smallish nap, then read an article about computers’--,” he says, nodding, “That’s about what I’d be doing and thinking about doing.”

“Okay, thanks, that’s a help,” I say, nodding. Nothing. his brain is occupied with nothing. 90 percent of the time. if not more. My brain is occupied with eight things. All the time. eight different things. Once I figured out most people don’t think that much, I usually use 1/8 or 1/6 of my constant thoughts on flying. Then I use another sixth or so on nefarious schemes. Lately, Nicole Tom has taken up an eighth, and flying an eighth, on fourth on nefarious schemes, eighth on the present, one eight analyzing the past, on eighth on contingency plans for the future, and one-eighth thing that will make me happy later in life. So that’s three-eighths devoted to making me happy. That’s a lot I’ve been thinking I should cut back so as not to get behind. Now I’m not so worried.

ANYBODY MESSAGE YOU Peter is lonely again. well, I’m lonely and bored too. There are only so many times one can snip strings off of uniforms, and I’m waiting for my laundry to be done and until it is I can’t roll or fold anything. and my current book is not keeping my interest. It’s non-fiction, which is my usual default, but for some reason, the stories of the constellations are not keeping my interest tonight.

No, why I ask.

Titus card looks at you a lot peter is nosey as well.

So he’s in detention duties then the brig because apparently, he likes it in there I respond.

Do you think that would stop him?

Probably not I say. but I already turned him down earlier. Which was phenomenally stupid considering I’ve spent the time since wondering what it would have been like if I hadn’t. but I’ve never been kissed before. And I’m scared. And I’m scared of him. he’s wild. Like I said. he’s just wild. He’s not like just kissing anybody. Just kissing Peter or Tyrell or anybody I just know is an all right sort of person. he’s something different and I’m just not---I don’t know. but if I’ve made my decision then why am I still thinking about it?

Ginny is online, of course, waiting for me to log on.

What happened? She’s serious and annoyed.

Nothing I say. I don’t know how much of my mind she can clearly read. I do know that if she tries she can see enough to know when I hallucinate, and I’m sure she tried after I blacked out on the run.

Something I know things, Quentin

Okay, I hit my head---then the doctor gave me some strong medicine I’m fine now I say. I don’t even remember much after the doctor gave me that shot----I remember the hallucinations, him offering me alcohol which I’m pretty sure didn’t happen. Then a man came and led me out. I’m positive that didn’t happen so yeah, I’m not totally clear on how I got back to my barracks for light duties, but I did.

Don’t scare me like that

I couldn’t help hitting my head could  I ask, annoyed.

You know what I mean

I don’t want to go there I don’t want it anymore than she does

I don’t want to lose you she’s crying now (please don’t leave me)

I won’t

(not again)

My mother comes online now

Quentin are you ok

Yes I’m okay the doctor gave me some strong stuff that’s all they just wanted to make sure I’m okay

You know you can come home, we’ll still be proud of you

(promise you won’t think about drinking)

I can’t promise that. I can promise I won’t, I did promise I won’t.

I’m not coming home I write. I can’t. Not home. Not where I can work a civilian job. And mates go out to bars. And you go over to peoples houses and they have wine. And people ask you out for a drink. No I can’t go home.

You can though we love you it would be okay she knows damn well I’m thinking about how it wouldn’t be.

I know I love you guys, but I’m happy where I’m lying.

Love you forever my mum types.

Love you forever, I reply. Now I’m not lying.

My mother has messaged me to make sure I’m all right. I smile, a little. Not so much that anybody else will see it. But enough.

I know you get in late but let me know everything’s okay with you there. We all love you here and can’t wait to meet you. I got to leave for your graduation and we are all going to be there. Love you so much, gorgeous girl.

And my sisters sent photos of them making silly faces and braiding each others hair. I smile and put on my patrol cap, taking a photo with it so they can see a bit of my uniform. Then I take it off and take a silly one to send to them. I respond to the message as well

I’m good here, just classes and training as usual. I can’t wait to meet all of you either. Not much time to write they keep me busy love you

I should say more. But I don’t. I can’t. I don’t know what to say. I’ve never had parents; I don’t know what a person writes home about. I don’t even know what to say. what I am supposed to say? I love you I know but I don’t know what that means. Except that it means that I’ve thought about who you are ever since somebody had to sit down and explain my parents made me then sold me and probably never met nor knew who the other was. I don’t even know how much I should say or how little and if my mother would care that I was flight leader. That’s the sort of thing mums are supposed to care about. But saying it just sounds like I’m bragging. I wonder if this will get any easier.

This is only getting harder I can’t take it anymore. I see her every day but it’s still doing no good. Today she was up on the roof and I was there all right but what actual good did I do her? she doesn’t know she thinks I’m an idiot like Ebbel and the rest of them. she doesn’t know I’m---me. and what good does it do her? It’s selfish, I get to see her every day and think ‘that’s my daughter’ and she doesn’t know anything because she’s alone like she’s been her whole life because I’m a selfish, worthless excuse for a human being. I don’t care anymore. Let them court-martial me. if they do it’s because I love her and that’s something even if I’ve spent my whole life being for nothing I’ll have done something.

I pull out my tablet and type, without thinking anymore.

HI

She’s online of course.

I’m sorry I didn’t get back to you earlier, I was...Out of service range, my job is complicated, I will explain everything when I meet you I promise. I can’t wait to meet you I type.

It’s okay I’m just busy here she writes. I nearly sob. She responded. Immediately. She’s over there in her bunk in her scratchy responding to me.

No, it’s not I miss you, every day that sounds creepy stop it, I mean I think of you, I always have that’s not just a line I mean I do, did really. For the longest time, I regretted having you because I hated that you existed without me. But now you don’t. I’m sorry it’s late and as I said my job is...Stressful and I don’t know how to do this. I’m not married I don’t have any other children all this what I’m trying to say is---I don’t know how to say I love you.

That’s funny neither do I she writes because I’ve never had anyone love me

Yes you have I always have, so now we just get to say it

I didn’t know it

I know and I suffered every day for that I am crying now but I did, you weren’t alone. I was waiting for you, and that doesn’t’ take away the nights of loneliness I know, I know it won’t for me, take away the nights of pain and sadness, but it is a guarantee you will never ever have to feel that again, it’s over, from now on, that’s it you will always, always always always have somebody that loves you someplace, no matter how far apart we are

I don’t know what that feels like I don’t believe it even though I believe you she writes. I wonder if she is crying as hard as I am.

That’s okay neither do I, but we have each other now, okay?

Okay I need to go to sleep soon they get us up early but if you can write to me about you tell me about you...If you don’t mind I’d like to know what you look like what you do

A little impossible I can’t tell you about my work not here it’s complicated I swear it will all make sense but I’ll be there at your graduation I’ll meet you and your mother after I promise and then I’ll explain everything. She’s in the brig tonight, of course, she has to go.

I’m sorry I really am my job is hard to explain here I’m sure you’re tired I don’t want her to feel bad or upset, one of us already does.

Okay I understand then I’m looking forward to meeting you

I’m dying to meet you I type, with a smile. Then she logs off.

Love you I type, so it’ll be there the next time she opens it. Then I sink back onto my bed, clutching the tablet. Rereading the words she wrote to me making her more real in my head.

Then I realize something. I just sent all that, all that. and the world didn’t come to an end. Nobody came and broke down the door to haul me off in chains, nothing. no alarms went off, nobody started calling my earpiece. Nothing. it’s all okay. nobody knows nobody will know. and I can talk to her, in complete secret.

“Card, look at this,” Kip says, he is sitting with his feet up on the table, looking at a couple of monitors. I’m scrolling through the monitors and reprogramming a loop so that Kip will not see me sneak out later tonight.

“What is it?” I ask, wheeling my chair over next to his. He offers me another crisp from the bag he is eating from. I accept I’m surprised at how palatable these are.

“This guy’s daughter is your class and he’s never met her ‘cause she’s a Project 10 and they finally wrote to each other tonight, and it’s really cute see,” he scrolls through the feed.

“You can see what we send on our tablets?” and why haven’t we been doing this sooner? Earlier today while we were supposed to be cleaning our dorm I set up lots of fun surprises.

“Yeah, mostly it’s dead boring, but these two are sweet,” he says.

“I know Liesel,” I say, “She’s the Kepler company flight leader. Her father is Harris?”

“Huh? I guess I don’t know these people’s names; just the tops of their heads,” Kip says.

“That’s why he nearly hyperventilated when we were coming down from the roof and she slid down the sides like Nolan and I did,” I say.

“I saw you do that, show off,” Kip says, elbowing me.

“Do they just leave you up here all the time?” I ask, wondering how he could be working the night shift and have seen me the previous morning.

“Yeah, sort of, rotating twenty-four hour shifts or something like that, I don’t know, I think my replacement hasn’t been showing up or something,” he says.

“I’m sure Harris isn’t supposed to be teaching our class, then,” I muse.

“Oh, yeah, no definitely not. But who cares? Not me, I’m not paid to care, and you certainly aren’t; I just think it’s sweet,” Kip says.

“I guess,” I say.

“Well, what does your dad write you?” he asks.

“He doesn’t, I don’t think he even knows I’m Space Forces let alone a Cadet,” I say, “I’ve seen him once since, and that was only because they summoned him to school because I was in trouble. he didn’t even walk me home.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, “That’s horrible. My dad left when I was fourteen---that was also horrible, he knows I’m here, acts like he’s proud of me but I don’t think he really does. I wasn’t an intentional child.”

“Nor was I, so far as I know,” I admit, shrugging. Oh well. the world got me. my mum got me. doesn’t she regret that night of passion? I think she does. A living, loquacious reminder of her poor decision-making skills.

“Do wish your dad was about?” he asks.

“Not really, I don’t care so much,” I say.

“Do you ever want kids?” he asks, cocking his head and eating another crisp.

“Yes,” I say, surprised at how quickly and adamantly I respond, “I’m sick of being alone. and I think my offspring would have to be a bit like me. and I’ll settle for just a bit.”

“Then why don’t you think of what you wish your dad would do? If you want to be somebody’s dad someday, then shouldn’t you be thinking now about what you’d like done for you, so you remember what it was like to be a kid?” he asks.

“I didn’t think of it like that,” I say. I truly hadn’t thought very much of what I would do. I had known for a long time I wanted a friend. Somebody like me. just likes me my own mind. we would have such fun, somebody to play my game with me. “I’d be there, just---that was as far as I got, be there. that’s more than our dads did.”

“Yeah, a hell of a lot more,” he says, nodding, “That’s all Harris is trying to do, poor fellow. I didn’t want to sign up for that Project 10, thing. Didn’t want my kids left on the ground all the time, not without their mum or somebody to come home to.”

“I will,” I say, “Once they find a match for me. I will, I don’t care I think they’ll be fine in the Academy, I’ll come home, and tell them all about the stars.”

“That sounds nice,” Kip says, offering me another crisp, which I accept. I realize I’ve thought about it more than I thought. Once again, I underestimate my own brainpower.

“Was this what you were drunk on last night?” Wilde asks as I pour her a glass of the good stuff. Grain whiskey, that’s hard to get on base I’ll have you know.

“Probably this,” I say, doing a shot.

“Hawking’s worried about you,” she says, tossing her back as well.

“Yeah, well, so am I,” I say, sitting down, holding the bottle, “She sends you to have this little tete-a-tete with me?”

“What’s that mean?” she asks, amused.

“See, Card isn’t the only one who can use big words,” I say, amused. “It means to chat.” I got that big word from Card, but she doesn’t need to know that.

“He does use big words, doesn’t he? But that isn’t why you’re afraid of him,” she asks, as I pour us another.

“No, no it’s not,” I say.

“Do you have any idea what you were saying last night?” she asks before we both down the shots.

“Yeah, pretty good, the thing is, I still think it. I don’t know why. It’s not just when I’m drunk either that---that makes it more bearable, but no, it’s when I’m sober as well----I just see it,” I say, staring off.

“See what?” she asks.

“The end of time? I don’t know. it’s been ever since the first time I looked in his eyes, I don’t pretend to understand it,” I say, “So I don’t expect you to.”

“You realize you’re talking gibberish? Even if Card is a bit of a trouble maker---well you got him out of trouble earlier,” she says, “Why did you do that?”

“Because we seriously don’t need to antagonize this person,” I say, desperately, “Humor me, for a minute, will you, assuming that he could just possibly be---”

“The antichrist?”

“I was very, very intoxicated---okay, yeah, the antichrist---should we really, seriously, be grinding him into the dirt like we tend to do? Or should we just let him sort of slide on through, and not make him want to annihilate all of us?” I ask, desperately.

“That’s the question should we be grinding any of them into the dirt like we tend to do?” she asks, “What’s it matter? Just because this one is a bit smarter than the others, a bit more of a rebel?”

“No, no we shouldn’t, we shouldn’t---and it matters because this is what matters this is----it’s our last chance. Maybe not maybe we missed our last chance, ages and ages ago,” I say, “And he’s the retribution humanity was sent? I don’t know, but he’s here now, so can we at least try to beg his mercy?”

“You’re talking about him like he’s some god,” she says, incredulously, probably calculating how much I’ve drunk.

“No, like he’s a sign. Right here, in front of us---don’t tell me you don’t see it---you know it’s true---he’s not like the others---he could be our salvation if he wanted to be. and I have a feeling, a terrible feeling, he doesn’t want to be,” I say, my voice cracking.

“You’re shaking, James,” Wilde takes my hands, “Look at me.”

“He’s going to kill me,” I whisper.

“No, no he’s not,” she says.

“It’s all right, he is, I already know he is,” I say.

“You need to stop drinking,” she says.

“Okay,” I say, wiping my face on my sleeve, “Okay.”

“Not just like, tonight. like, forever,” she says, “Never, okay this isn’t good, whatever’s going on with you, it isn’t good. you can’t be thinking about things like this.”

“But I’m not wrong,” I say, “The drink doesn’t change that.”

“Maybe, but it doesn’t help, come here,” she says, wiping my face, I realize I’m crying.

“I’m afraid,” I say, “I don’t want to be afraid to die, why am I afraid to die?”

“Shhh,” she hugs me, as I cry into her chest like a baby, “Shh, it’s all right.”

“No, no it’s really not.”

Chapter 13

I am almost asleep when my tablet goes off. I frown. Nobody should be writing to me. Peter left already for his night duties. Thank god I don’t have them tonight, I’m far too tired.

I look, it’s a message from Quentin. He’s asleep in his bunk, it seems the MTIs forgot to take him and Tyrell and Liesel the brig. Titus, of course, is already gone doing detention duties.

I open the message.

Please know that I would rather die than stop loving you. You cannot know the depths of my love, but I shall seek to tell you. To hear you speak is pure ecstasy to look upon you is a far greater pleasure than to watch the rising sun. You are beauty, you are elegance. You are my Kinnock. I adore you. You are a bellibone, a goddess, the one and only thing I’ll ever dream of. Say you’ll be mine. Even if you don’t I still love you forever. Please kiss me.

“Looks like somebody’s got a secret admirer,” Kip says.

“Who?” I ask, turning from the video feed I’ve been watching. I was scrolling through, trying to figure out why they hadn’t taken me for detention yet. It turns out Thorn and Wilde are up talking and it looks like drinking, they were supposed to be doing the collecting of me. Blast. Ebbel is going to do his rounds in a minute, and I’ll have missed him, again. another night in the brig for nothing.

“Nicole Tom, that tall boy Leavitt likes it her seems,” Kip says, rolling his chair a little so I can look.

“Oh, I wrote that,” I say.

He turns and looks at me, “Okay I’m gonna regret asking this---why?”

“So she’ll fall in love with him,” I say.

“Why?” He asks.

“Because, I love her with all my heart and soul and he’s a good man and I think she’d like him,” I say.

“If you love her----why don’t you write her your love notes?” he asks, obfuscated.

“Because-----because I’m not---right for her,” I say. there’s something wrong with me. like I tried to tell Hilda. There’s something wrong with me. “I love her too much, I can’t inflict myself upon her. I want better for her, better than me. I’m far too prolix too ungovernable too sesquipedalian too dispassionate too argute. She doesn’t deserve a bindlestiff like me, I’m nobody, she deserves someone charming and beautiful—and normal.”

“Okay, so I didn’t understand half those words you used, but what I’m hearing is you don’t think you’re good enough for her,” Kip says, slowly, eating a crisp.

“Yes, to put it epigrammatically,” I say, nodding.

“I don’t care how many bloody big words you use, you’re an idiot,” he says.

“What?” I ask, annoyed.

“If you love her, man, go after her! Woo her yourself, let her be the judge of who is good enough for her or no. if you credit her enough to love her, then you’ll credit her with the taste to choose the man or woman she wants,” he says.

“Works for me,” I say, nodding.

“But you don’t believe me,” he says.

“No, but that’s enough justification for me to pursue her love for the rest of my natural life, thank you, Kip,” I say, extending my hand to shake his.

“If you didn’t just look really creepy when you said that I’d feel better about this,” Kip says.

So he does really love me. I don’t want to be affected as strongly as I am, but I can’t help it. his eyes burn into my soul even as I know that he’s probably asleep by now and not even thinking of me. to be loved is something I am grossly unaccustomed to, but I feel I could get used to if given the time. it’s lovely to think that in the middle of the night if you whisper a name or call out, somebody will be there. somebody will hug you if you start to cry. somebody is happy you’re in the world. I’ve never had that before. I stroke the words on the tablet, memorizing them, reading them a hundred times, hundred and fifty probably.

What makes it so odd is, it’s even sweeter that he sent it from another. Why, I don’t know, probably something stupid that a man would think, like that he’s not good enough for me, or that I deserve better or something. but I know that the message, and more than that, the love behind the message, is from Titus Card’s heart. I love it more for his deception, and what is so endearing is, the truth is cemented in the lie. He could only love me deeply if he wanted me to have the chance for another. And he does. Somehow I know the words are real, even as the pretense is false.

And I love him too.

“What do the two of you think you are doing?”

“Drinking??”

“You’re supposed to have collected the flight leaders and taken them to the brig hours ago!” Ebbel is about to blow an artery. I’m really okay with that.

“Nobody told us that,” I say, “What’ve you put them in there for anyway?”

“Putting the guidon the roof!?” Ebbel says, annoyed.

“Oh, yeah, I remember that,” Thorn says, wiping his eyes and trying to look like he hasn’t been crying. “But then I pardoned Card.”

“And I sentenced him again because that nitwit broke back into IDMT to break one of his silly friends out,” Ebbel growls.

“I thought you were collecting them,” I say, standing up and putting on my blouse, “We’ve both been drinking so we can’t anyway.”

“No, I was checking on them like I always do,” Ebbel growls.

“Yeah, I honestly can’t stand,” Thorn says, trying to stand and sitting back down, “I vote I stay here---wait Card got back in the brig? Wonder why he wants to be in there.”

“What do mean?” Ebbel asks, “He doesn’t want to be.”

“Oh, mark my words, Titus Card is never anywhere that he doesn’t want to be,” Thorn predicts.

“It’s a thing, go with it,” I hiss, to Ebbel, because I’ve just talked Thorne around to near sanity.

“Fine, the two of you just---do---whatever---I’ll collect them myself,” Ebbel says, banging the door.

“They’ll be asleep by now, I hope he doesn’t throw the one with the head injury in there,” I say, wincing.

“I thought it was a stupid idea anyway, just mucking with the guiding and we don’t even know who did,” Thorn says.

“Yeah, oh well,” I say, shrugging, “Probably was one of them, though.”

“Undoubtedly,” Thorne says, “Whenever there’s trouble, a cadet is usually to blame.”

“I’ve changed my mind, there are four of them I’m not doing them all by myself---Thorn, go and get at least one of them and I won’t report how drunk you were when you showed up the other night,” Ebbel says, opening the door at the beginning of the speech and shutting it at the end.

“How drunk was I?” Thorn whispers.

“Very, come on old man,” I say, looping his arm over my shoulder, “Best you walk it off anyway.”

“What do the two of you think you are doing?”

“Eating crisps?”

“Get up, both of you, Kip you’re supposed to be having him work for you not feeding him!?” Harris is understandably annoyed. Ebbel just woke him up to tell him he needed to come and a collect me, which appeared to send Harris into a state of shock, because he was expecting the world to collapse because he contacted Liesel and he thinks somebody who cares will find out. his wanweird will come at a later date, however, the only people who know are Kip and I, and Kip does not care and I shall do nothing until it suits me otherwise.

“Nobody told me that,” Kip says, innocently.

“Card----get your feet off that desk-----and quit looking over your shoulder when I talk to you, damn it? Do you think I want to be up this late either, the answer is no---now come on,” Harris growls, with enough force to compel me to obey.

“Night, Card,” Kip says, a little sadly. I toss him a playful salute, which makes him smile. Harris glares at me because even though it is never wrong to salute a superior when that superior is only one rank above you eating crisps at a desk and certainly isn’t commissioned, it’s getting pretty close to wrong.

“Good Evening, sir,” I say, sweetly, as I follow Harris out the door. I’m annoyed he was the one to come and collect me. I wanted it to be Thorn, he’ll be drunk this late and rather thelmic.

“Hurry it up, Card,” Harris barks. And here I thought his mulligrubs would have been soothed after his talk with Liesel. But it seems Ebbel put him on edge, that is no good. He was one of the more tolerable ones. I certainly hope his manner improves otherwise I may murder him after Ebbel. If I can ever get around to murdering Ebbel.

I fall back asleep quickly, holding my tablet with a smile on my face. so he does really love me. I wish that moron were here so I could wake him with a kiss. Then, of course, sneak back to my bed while he sat they’re dazed and confused wondering how I’d seen through his inane little attempt to set me up with Quentin or test my love or whatever stupid testosterone-fueled plan he’d come up with. After I’d kissed him when he wasn’t expecting it, I will have to tell him that when forging messages from other people, he needs to use smaller words. Nobody with half a brain would think that anybody but Titus wrote that.

I curl up in bed, stifling my tears into my pillow so Nicole doesn’t hear them. I got up to use the latrine, and on the way back I saw her looking at her tablet. It was a message from Quentin, a love note. I sniffle. He’s so tall and handsome and stupid and kind and talks so slowly and his eyes and---don’t. he doesn’t love you. he loves her. and who wouldn’t? She’s taller than I am and prettier, her face is meant to have the short hair her features are so sharp, so pretty. She doesn’t have acne or weird scars from falling down or a hard to pronounce the name. I don’t want to cry but I do. it isn’t fair. Why don’t handsome boys love ugly girls too? I don’t want him to be perfect, he’s probably terrible at his emotions and bad at spelling and never says enough when he should. But he’s so quiet. and sweet. And gentle. And I want those big hands to cup my face and touch my terribly short hair. But they won’t. because he loves her.

“Wake up.” I smell the pungent odor of whiskey. I jerk away, my mouth instantly burning for the stuff. Why the hell do the MTIs get to come around smelling of alcohol, don’t they realize training his hard enough for alcoholics without frequent reminders of what we’re missing? No, nobody realizes. Possibly because we’re not the legal drinking age for two more years. Whatever. I know for a fact half the kids at University drink.

“Good evening, sir,” I mumbled, sitting up and hitting my head on the ceiling.

“I’m to take you to the brig,” he says, it’s Thorn, the one who was drunk the other night?

“Yes, sir,” I say, picking up my shoes from the foot of the bed.

“Shh, do I look like I want to do this anymore than you do? Keep your voice down,” he says, rubbing his sweaty face with a hand.

“Yes, sir,” I say, cocking my head. we aren’t the only ones awake. I can hear a distinct sniffling and sobbing sound, coming from a few bunks down. there’s also a bit of wriggling going on. It looks like the bunk underneath Tom, Tsegi the girl’s name was, wasn’t it? She was pretty, I hoped she hadn’t got bad news from home or anything, she seemed like a decent sort. And if I weren’t getting bashed in the head by oxygen tanks, drugged by psychotic doctors, and climbing buildings to get flags down, I might have ruminated more on how sweet she looked. But as things were I really didn’t have the time.

“Come here---take my arm don’t need you hitting your head, again,” Thorne says, as my foot slips on the bunk getting down.

“Thank you, sir,” I say, as he helps me down. I’m taller than him now, standing. my head hurts from the bash earlier and now from hitting the ceiling.

“Come on---here take a blanket it’s freezing in there,” he says, pulling my blanket form my bunk and offering it to me.

“Sir, I was not aware they were allowed,” I am completely positive they aren’t allowed I’ve read the bloody rule book fifty-eight million times.

“Do I look----do I honestly look----like I give a damn?” he asks, swaying a little as he stands.

“Ah---” I don’t know how to say this well.

“Honestly now,” he says.

“No, sir,” I say.

“All right take the god damn blanket,” he says.

It’s dreadfully cold in the brig. So far I have counted two slams of the door. So two of the four flight leaders are here. I am free to do as I like because I’ve already reprogrammed the cameras so that they are not on us. Just as soon as all four of us are in here, Ebbel will come and check, and when he leaves, I shall kill him. simple, easy, done, a nice way to make up for last night. My nudiusturian plan shall soon be in effect, and I’ll have a lovely game to play, lots to keep me occupied, and will have completed my second murder. I’m really looking forward to it.

For now, I have to wait, though, because not everyone has arrived just yet.

And as I wait I’ll allow my lasciviousness for Nicole Tom to fill up---oh let’s make it half my brain, shall we?---yes that’s nice. I’ll win her over, as Kip said, use all my power to win her to me. oh but that’s not very fair is it? Even if she’s three quarters as clever as I am, or seven-eights even---which she may very well be considering I do love her---it’s still not so very fair. But I wouldn’t love her if she weren’t awfully close to as clever as I am, I cannot fathom that. no, she must be terribly clever, otherwise, I wouldn’t bother with her just like I don’t bother with any of the others. But she’s also pretty which is rather nice for me I think because if she weren’t pretty but she was half as clever as I would still have to love her anyway but this makes it all the better for me that she is awfully beautiful. She has a distinct viraginity about her that I find indescribably attractive.

But back to winning her over, is it really fair to go to a great deal of trouble to charm her when, by all reasoning, I can achieve anything with my considerable brainpower? It might be better to let it happen naturally, smoothly and slowly charm her. but I do have to make up for some lost time since I’ve just convinced her that slubberdegullion Quentin loves her madly. So maybe a couple of plans are in order. Locking us in rooms together and such. Very small rooms. Where I can smell her even if she isn’t of the mind to touch me. which I’ll have her of the mind to if I am half the dangerous genius I think I am.

but if she is as clever as I, what if she merely wishes to toy with me for her own insidious pleasures much as I toy with---essentially everyone but her. that’s entirely possible if not extremely likely. That would be fun. I wouldn’t mind so much if it still involves her kissing me as well as other sexual gratification which I have not fully decided upon yet. but it would not be as sweet as her actually loving me. as somebody actually scaring me about me as much as I care about them, as somebody believing in me and waking up every day hoping to hear my voice but it’s probably not true. I don’t see why it would be now. it’s never been before. That’s all right. It’ll still be a good game. But I would like to know what game we are playing or no. I don’t like not knowing things.

I could conceive of a way to get her a bit of that truth juice, see how she really feels. If I gave her that, just enough to get the edge off, she would be inclined to show how she really felt, which may involve kissing me----but that would be wrong. That has never stopped me from doing anything before. Okay, I’ll do that. then at least I’ll know if she truly loves me---but it would be a lot of trouble. and why? I already have my answer. I am nobody. I lied to her, I sent her a love note from somebody else. I’m a charlatan, little better than your average mountebank, with nothing but endless games and tricks up my sleeve and long words all to hide that I’m an impecunious runt from the outskirts of the Capital.

The door slams.

Back to the game.

That’s the last of us. more than likely whomever Thorne was sent to get. The sycophant. Anyway, that’s all of us. I’m through with being in here. I’ll just escape now and wait for Ebbel outside, when he comes for his rounds then I’ll slaughter the pig.

I’m through with this. Surely that little pipsqueak Card sneaked out somehow and that’s how he moved the guidon? Well if he could, I certainly can. Even if I get caught, I don’t care, they don’t throw people out at this stage, not when we were bred like prize cattle for this. Their nice little pedigree spacemen, my they get into so much trouble, don’t then? Now, now, such a mess, but what’s to do when we’re so very expensive to make these days. Must let them do as they please. Get into a bit of mischief. Here and there. nothing much. Such a shame they can’t behave. But what do you expect when they’re just sixteen, raging hormones, we give them a cut and a twist but they’ve still got the hormones, oh leave them all in a room together let them pound on each with whom them they please how they please but we won’t know anything about it. surely not. not the acclaimed space forces.

Well, this little cog in the wheel won’t spin so quietly tonight. no, let’s squeak a little, maybe we’ll be lucky enough to get the oil. Oil us with a little of the---juice, eh? That won’t be so bad. Or not. let us squeak merrily by see what happens.

Watch and see what happens.

I curl up in my bunk, feeling sorry for myself. It’s cold and I swear to god the room still smells like the whiskey on Thorne’s breath. Not long till morning now but long enough to be alone in here. my head smarts from the whack I took and I am awfully tired. it was nice of Thorne to give me the blanket it is very cold here, but it does very little to comfort me. I sleep so much better when I at least have my tablet tucked into my bag next to me. then I know anytime I like I can call home and know that my mum and Ginny are there. but they’re still out there, loving me. I know it’s true. but still, it’s awfully lonely and dark in here.

I sleep more peacefully tonight than I have in weeks, months really. Even if it is the brig, and it’s cold and there are no blankets and I’m only in my PT gear. I wish I were in SBUs those would be warmer. But I don’t care. My father answered, and he does love me, you can’t fake that lack of rhetorical skills. I wonder what his job is? Remote satellites or even moon mining or something like that, probably. He misses me. and he doesn’t have anyone else it sounds like. It shouldn’t make me a bit happy, but it does. I’ve been alone all this time, so has he, that’s sort of nice in a way because now he won’t have anybody else he cares about more than me. I don’t know what this feeling of being loved is, but I think I can get used to it.

I squirm through the vent, it’s remarkably more peaceful without the Tims in here. I wonder who designed air vents just the proper size to be crawled through by cadets; I find it rather convenient, but still in designing a prison one would think that one would put small air vents. But then this could all be some sort of vast illusion so there has to be an air vent large enough to crawl through in order for the algorithm or plot or what have you to work so, therefore, I cannot exist without large air vents. I giggle at the thought. Myself and conveniently large air vents are linked somehow in the fabric of the Universe. I like being me so very much.

I crawl through the conveniently large air vent, then I kick out the grate and drop to the floor. Out, done---and not alone.

So I’m not the only hellion who thought about sneaking about this fine night.

“Titus,” I say, with a false smile.

“Tyrell,” I say, 

“What brings you out an about?” I ask, icily. Now my fun shall be ruined.

“Much the same as you, I imagine,” I say, obsequiously. Perhaps my fun shall not be ruined but in fact, may increase exponentially.

“Really?” I ask.

“No,” I admit. Somehow I doubt if he was going to kill Ebbel. Not that it looks like I’ll be doing that either.

“What were you going to do?” I ask, frowning a little.

“Something of no consequence now that you’re here,” I say, with a shrug, “Do you want to go and put Leavitt’s guidon on the roof again?”

“Sure,” I say. I was going to just deface the cafeteria because it takes two to break the guidons out of their cases, by my calculations at least, but with him here now we can do that. unless he just wants to lure me up there to push me off the bloody roof.

“After you,” I say, keying in Thorne’s code for the back door and holding it open for him. I could just push him off the roof once I get him up there, but he might live through that or make a lot of noise so I think not.

Chapter 14

T en minutes after we escaped the brig, hating each other I might add, I am pleasantly surprised to find myself bloody and happily disposing of a body side by side with Tyrell. But to backtrack, just a little for I do hate the boring bits. I’m sure you do too. But it is essential you understand what transpired since it is imperative to understand whose body it is and why we are disposing of it (spoiler alert: it’s not Ebbel, yet..), and since I have a feeling you weren’t here, I shall recap. I don’t know where you go when you aren’t with me playing games but I certainly hope you enjoy it because I’ve been having a simply marvelous time here without your ethereal presence.

Well, a thing of it was, I couldn’t actually tell Tyrell what I was going to do—well, I could but it was hardly advisable, so instead, I let him think I was going to go and vandalize Leavitt’s guidon. Again. he was down for such a conspiracy, so off we went across the base towards the barracks where the guidons were stored overnight. But to do that, we had to pass the DFAC, where Peter and one of the Tims were doing their night duties of preparing food for the next morning. We all have to take turns, provided we aren’t in the brig (another ulterior motive for my frequent stays there, but I digress). We heard noise from inside, noise not consistent with meal preparation. So I suggested we investigate, this is what transpired.

“Wait---why do you get to decide where we go?” Tyrell asked, follow me angrily. He’s choleric, I determined.

“It sounds interesting,” I said, looking in the windows of the DFAC, which were too dark to see through. I could still distinctly hear somebody crying ‘help’ however.

“Somebody’s calling for help,” Tyrell said, coming up and getting interested.

“Let’s see if it’s legitimate,” I said, going to the door and again using Thorne’s code to get in.

“What do mean?” Tyrell asked, wary now of being discovered out wandering about.

“Well, maybe they don’t need the sort of help they think,” I say, sincerely hoping that somebody’s been decapitated by the meat grinder and I will get to practice my body disposal improvisational skills. First I get to participate in Card’s School of Asphyxiation this morning now a---well it’s not a decapitation but it’s still a dead body so I decided I’ll take it. Card’s Finishing School is now in session.

“Help---thank god you’re here, he’s bleeding badly,” Peter gasped. He was trying, fruitlessly I might add, to do CPR on a Tim, who was suffering from amelia of the right arm.

“He’s dead,” I said, kneeling down. he’s stone cold.

“What happened?” Tyrell asked, sniffing the blood on the floor.

“He was loading the meat in for the pies----I think his hand got stuck---I don’t know---he was screaming---I called for help don’t they see this on the bloody cameras?” Peter asked, as I gently moved him away from the Tim. The CPR is doing no good, he’s lost far too much blood. “Wait---I think I should keep trying.”

“It’s over, Peter, he’s bled out,” I said, probably very callously.

“I tried to call for help---I hit the panic button, but they must not work in here, I don’t know----just---just go get help, I’ll stay with him,” Peter was shaking now, the entire incident had emolliated him completely.

“No, let’s not do that,” I said.

“No,” Tyrell agreed, “They’ll blame you for at, at the very least, call you in for questioning as you may have been involved. It’s tricky whenever there’s a death on a military establishment, I know we had one at the Academy when I was growing up---all sorts of press and brass involved.”

“Okay---okay---but what do we do? We have to go and tell someone,” Peter said, he was in shock, and not even able to sob but his voice was cracking.

“We’ll move him somewhere else, you go on back---get changed, it’s no surprise you’ve got blood on you since you’re handling the meat—so you’ll walk back to the barracks, calm and cool, and just throw the clothes away since you were handling the meat, they’re ruined, aren’t they? Would be anyway, eh? I’ll make it look as though he was by himself, move him a bit, clean up the rest of the meat here so the job looks done for the morning, they’ll think he sneaked back and was messing with it, pulling a prank like with the guidon, all right? Then nobody’s in trouble,” I said, soothingly.

“But, but he died---I was here,” Peter said.

“But what’s that matter now, anyway?” Tyrell asked, “He’s dead either way, don’t need your career ruined over it.”

“Yes, he wouldn’t want you in trouble, not after you tried to save his life---it’s only an accident. We’ll let them think it’s an accident, just that it happened when he was alone. Tim’d want that,” I said.

“Okay, okay,” Peter said, he was still shaking.

“Can you walk back by yourself?” Tyrell asked.

“Yes, yes I’d rather just---just you guys take care of him, for me,” Peter said, nodding and backing away.

“Okay, good, we’ll do that,” I said, nodding, “Go and get some sleep, just close your eyes, you’ll feel better in the morning.”

“Okay, thank you,” Peter said, backing out of the room, his skin pale and his voice still shaking.

“You do know there’s absolutely no way we can make it look as though he did it himself?” Tyrell asked, looking around, “I mean, it doesn’t make any sense, they’ll assume Peter left him.”

“That’s why we’re not doing that,” I said, with a little sigh. I had decided what we were doing before Peter even explained to us what happened. Now to lead Tyrell there.

“Well, what do we do, then? We’re loose, we’re incriminated as well if they check the tapes, it’ll be a paperwork nightmare to prove it was an accident,” he said, “They could try to charge us with murder.”

“You can’t get charged with murder if there isn’t a body,” I said, leaning against the icebox of raw meat, just waiting to be fed into the grinder.

“I suppose they wouldn’t question the blood---but the devil of it is where would we bury him? there’s nowhere near enough time to dig a deep enough grave,” Tyrell said.

“No, no there’s not, and we still have to finish filling up the meat grinder for the pies, that way it looks as though the job is done,” I say, with a little sigh.

“What are we to do then?” he asked, “I suppose we could plant the body in a outgoing vehicle or something, but they’d find him eventually, and that’d take hours and we’d have to lug him all that way.”

“Yes, and thing of it is, we still need to fill this up with---meat,” I said, looking at the meat grinder, “We’ve got two, long jobs to do, seems a shame we couldn’t---combine them, in some way?”

“Ah,” he said, looking at the meat grinder then locking eyes with me.

“You see my meaning,” I said, smiling, “It’d simplify things, wouldn’t it now?”

“Yes,” he said, nodding, “But what about in the morning?---the taste---”

“There was a pie shop near where I lived as a boy, little cats and dogs would disappear all the time, my brothers never could notice the taste,” I said.

“I love it,” he said, laughing, “How I’ve managed with your devious mind I don’t know.”

“You shan’t have to any longer,” I said, “Let’s get going, shall we?”

and that’s how Tyrell and I wound up, dripping with blood, stuffing bits of a body into a meat grinder. Now, I don’t know if you noticed but Tyrell agreed to that plan far too quickly to be of sound mind. Insanity has its uses, but it’s not the best at keeping secrets. So, as we butcher the body of the unfortunate Tim, I work on a few contingency plans to remove Tyrell from the equation, should it become necessary. But I hope it won’t be necessary. It would be nice to have a friend.

“Look at how it looks, on your hands,” he says, stopping his work, to look at the scarlet blood on his fingers.

“Yes,” I say, “Warm, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” he says, “Like being washed clean, almost---soothing, in a way, don’t you think?”

I did. “I never took you to be religious,” I say instead.

“I’m not, but there is a certain charm to it, the notion of being washed clean with the blood of another, an innocent,” he says.

“I never thought of that, like that,” I say, “I don’t think about guilt and innocence, all that much, aside from the assignation of it by others, that is.”

“Hmmm, I suppose it’s all relative,” he says, pausing in his work to clean his blade from skin fragments that were clogging it. “You said you had brothers.”

“What?” I ask, surprised at his change in topic.

“When you were talking about a difference in taste, you mentioned having brothers,” he says, “Did you get on with them? Only, I’ve never had anyone, to—share things with.”

“No, no we’re not alike. We never shared any interests,” I say, wiping my blade as well. there’s hair stuck to it stuck in a clump of acne-ridden skin. “I don’t speak to them anymore, I doubt if they even know I’m in the Space Forces.”

“Oh,” he says, looking down. “I hate being alone.”

“So do I,” I say. “I’m always alone. always alone in my head with the things I’ve seen and the things I’ve done and nobody else to come in and share it with. at least we’re sharing this.”

“Yeah, we’ll have this,” he says, smiling a little. And I smile back. and it isn’t false this time.

Chapter 15

I slept better in the brig than I thought I would. Once I got past feeling sorry for myself, it actually sorted of peaceful because my bunkmates tend to snore. I also didn’t have to march my flight to the DFAC, an unparalleled joy since they aren’t so good at marching. I wasn’t going to go with Card’s scheme to drive the MTIs mad that he proposed on the roof yesterday, but now I think I will. They seriously need the work and I want to pass our test. We have to do a stupid little test on marching, which is by definition stupid because if we don’t pass we just test till we do, but it’s still a pain because we’ll probably have to do it over and over. I’m dreading that. Oh well, never mind about that now, I’m starving, and the meat pies they serve us actually smell good this morning.

I am happy to be out of the brig, and if I’m not mistaken our MTIs are in good spirits as well. well, Ebbel’s never in good spirits, but he got to pull a 314 on Titus so that cheered him up. Titus was marching his flight while he waited to line up for the DFAC, and he succeeded in having them march in such a way that his initials are, it appears permanently, pounded into the gravel holding area outside the DFAC. That isn’t specifically against the rules but that didn’t bother Ebbel. Wilde is a bit tired, but she seems pleasant enough, laughed at Titus’s shenanigan and just told him “What’d you think was going to happen?” he said “Ma’am, I really couldn’t say,” which made her laugh at him again. I don’t think he knows how really funny he looks in those SBUs that don’t fit right and his baby fat cheeks, and then, of course, he uses all those big words which Ebbel pretends he can understand. Harris is in a much better mood as well, he let Quentin get out of marching his flight to the DFAC, and he called cadence quite nicely for them as well, which seemed to please Quentin who’s probably still recovering from the fall he took yesterday. Harris is usually so gruff and Titus thinks he’s stupid, maybe he just had something going on because he’s in much better spirits than usual.

Thorne isn’t here, one of the cadets in Titus’ flight is missing, so he’s been sent to find him and see where and when the boy was last seen. Not an easy task apparently because according to Tom, he was sent as soon as they all woke up, and he still hasn’t returned.

I try to catch sight of Wendy but I can’t. she’s in Leavitt’s flight and they’re far ahead of us. it doesn’t matter, anyway. it’s not like we can say or do anything in plain sight.

I lean over and kiss Titus’ soft little cheek, which is cut from attempting to shave hair that isn’t there. he jumps nearly afoot, which is just the best reaction I could’ve possibly hoped for.

“Has anybody told you how profoundly stupid you are, Titus Card?” I whisper, before taking advantage of his shock to step out in line to go and collect our trays.

He doesn’t dare respond because Ebbel prowls over, no doubt having seen the tail end of our exchange, but not knowing what to make of it. But Titus grins broadly, with a sweet, happy smile I don’t think I’ve ever seen on him. like the good in him just waiting to come out.

I smile back, a little, as I stare down at my tray. The server puts on two meat pies, like usual, and a lump of potatoes. Titus is busy collecting his two glasses of milk.

I never eat the pies. But now if I don’t take them then it will look as though I know something is wrong. Not that anybody will ever find out what happened to the unfortunate Tim. But it bears being careful. I accept a pie from the server. Then I notice Tom is doing the same. I can’t enjoy kissing her mouth later if I’ve made them cannibal’s lips.

“Just drink the milk,” I say, pushing her pies onto my plate and giving her a glass of milk.

“What?” she hisses, but I shake my head. I’ll think of something logical to tell her, later.

They’ll never guess. I seriously consider not taking a pie. But that would look bad. And I might want to taste it. oh look, Card has and he only ever drinks the milk. I’ll have to then, won’t I?

(why didn’t you tell me you were in the brig?)

shut up, Ginny. The last thing I need is a commentary this morning. I really don’t feel like it. arguing with my baby sister is annoying enough, especially when I can’t actually argue back.

I walk over to take a seat with my tray. The food smells tantalizingly good but of course, I can’t eat it till the other sit down at my table.

(you knew I’d know so you should have told me)

Yes, I probably should have but I didn’t feel like mum knowing and it’s hard to explain because I didn’t do anything wrong but I was punished anyway and as we all know that’s the way the world works even if we don’t want it to.

“What?” Tom asks me, the moment we sit down. we have tight meals but we are pretending to pray so it’s all ok.

“I think it’s bad,” I mutter, “I’ve got a good sense of smell and it smells off.”

“What?” Tsegi asks. Holding her hands in the proper position as well, but frowning at us. she looks like she’s been crying all night. huh. I wonder what that’s about.

Peter is sitting there looking pale and in shock and like he’s not slept and not doing or saying or doing anything. he may be a problem.

“He said not to eat the pies,” Tom says.

“They smell off is all,” I say.

“Yes, yes don’t,” Peter looks like he’s going to vomit. He’s probably thinking bits of hand might’ve gotten in there. he’s right. I’m certain they did. hand and lots of other things.

“Right, then, but I’m starving, how off?” Tsegi asks.

“Eat them if you like,” I say. I’m not that committed to this.

“Well well are we having a group prayer over here?” the MTIs are well aware that we talk during prayer time. they are also aware they can’t really stop us if we’re clearly praying.

“And God I also want to ask you for guidance, guidance on how to be free from sin, free from the burdens of this earthly flesh---I thank you for—”

“Card I know for a fact that is not what you were saying,” Harris says.

“---good friends. And for MTIs, dear God---”

“You’re not even praying right. That’s not even how you pray”

“---even when they disrespect this holy sacrament and miss shaving part of their necks—”

Harris slaps his neck on cue God I love meal times. Tsegi and Tom are biting their lips to stop from chuckling.

“And I thank you for this meal---this wholesome singularly unique meal, which is laid before us today---”

“Get done with it so they can eat,” Harris storms off, he’s the only one stupid enough to come near me when I’m pretending to pray.

“And I thank you for the joys of prayer,” I say, taking a drink of my milk.

(something’s going on) Ginny says.

Something is always going on I wish she would occupy herself with something other than me for a while---no I don’t. I would be lonely. I look down at my half-eaten pie, suddenly wishing she were there to eat with me. I spent too many dinners too drunk to eat, already curled up in my room with a bottle, staring at blank walls. not scrabbling and bickering of the last bit of crust or sharing a cookie.

(no really I can tell when you don’t, believe me, I’ll tell you what it is and I’ll be right and then you’ll believe me)

yeah, whatever. something’s always going on at this place.

I actually want to eat it. I might as well. all of them are cannibals now. I shall join them. and I’m the only one aware. But is Card? Oh, no, the coward. He took it. but he’s only drinking his milk. I lock eyes with him.

Damn Tyrell, it’s a challenge now. he picks up the pie raising it to his lips and then hesitating. I truly don’t want to. humans carry any number of disease that is transferrable by bodily fluids. However, if this is an affront to my masculinity, a dare if you will, I am tempted to accept. He’s not my friend, not really, I don’t care what he thinks. But if I don’t accept he’ll know it, and he’ll think I think I’m superior to him and he won’t want to talk to me anymore---and then he might give away my involvement and that would be trouble.

I pick up a pie as well, slowly raising it to my mouth. He does the same, ever so slowly.

“What are you doing?” Tom hisses.

“An experiment,” I mutter.

He’s not bitten into it yet. I might not have to. he might lose his courage at the last minute.

Or not. he bites in, as much as his mouth will take. Nothing to stop it now. I have to. I take a bite as well, smaller than his, but I can’t bear to chew it thinking of what sort of maladies might be in therein. but I’m going to have to swallow. There’s no way I can be free---

“OH DEAR GOD, THAT’S HUMAN FLESH!!!”

Then there’s that. I spit it out instantly, entirely relieved, washing my mouth out with milk and spitting it out as well as everyone else leaps up and acts upset.

“What?” Tom asks, leaning to look at the commotion.

“Just drink the milk,” I say.

“That’s---that’s a person---oh my god that’s a person,” I trip and stumble backward, falling over a chair as vomit fills my mouth and bubbles past my lips. That actually relieves me because I don’t want it---any of it---him, her it—the thing the person, still in me. I crawl away, still vomiting, as hands pull me up.

(oh my god they put somebody in there I’m so sorry just throw up it’s okay)

“Leavitt! Pull yourself together what are you talking about?” Ebbel pulls me up, causing me to vomit onto the blouse of his SBUs. That is a memory I actually think I may cherish.

“It’s---it’s human flesh,” I say, past the lumps of barely chewed up food still stuck in my mouth. I spit them out with absolutely no care for his uniform whatsoever. “I---I know it is.” I vomit bile now, so it’s all out. thank god.

(it’s okay you spit it out)

“What on earth makes you think that?” Ebbel asks, still holding me upright as I stagger. I could stand on my own but he’s not trusting me and I did just throw up on him I’m not his favorite person.

“I know, sir,” I say, finally regaining some composure. It’s not okay. but I am now I threw it—him, her---it onto Ebbel, so at least it’s not in my stomach anymore.

“Sit down,” Harris barks to everyone else, who have ceased eating with the exception Tyrell that sociopath. The others is staring at us in horror and fascination or in Titus’ case sipping milk and watching. I survey them, they don’t believe me.

“What’d you say?” Thorn asks, coming over. he doesn’t smell of alcohol, thank god, I’d probably throw up again.

“Sir, there’s somebody---in the pies,” I stutter.

“Oh, yeah, we were missing a cadet,” Thorn says, nodding, as though it makes perfect sense.

“What? You don’t actually believe him?” Wilde asks, she’s come up as well, stepping neatly around a puddle of vomit.

“Ah, kind of, what’d I tell you? A dark cloud,” Thorne says, shrugging, “I’d have it tested anyway. might want to give everybody MREs in the classrooms.”

“No—no, I am in charge here, and you are going to answer me as to why you think that there is human flesh in those pies,” Ebbel says, his face inches from mine.

Well, the truth that my little sister is psychic certainly won’t do. so I’ll just go for the most outrageous lie I can think of, “My older brother was a cannibal eventually he got arrested, but he used to kill people—homeless people, come home and bake them up into things. He tricked me and my little sister into eating it once. That’s just what it tasted like.”

“And that makes perfect sense,” Harris says, nodding.

“All right,” Wilde says, nodding.

“No, it doesn’t----get him to IDMT,” Ebbel says, dropping me basically into Harris’ arms, “For once that prick and his truth juice can help us out.”

“What, does nobody else want to talk about what a clearly horrible childhood this kid has had? No? Okay, fine,” Thorne asks, actually concerned which is sweet.

“Sir, I feel well now,” I say.

“My SBUs say otherwise report to IDMT with Sgt. Harris before I pull a 314, and you will have much more than a 314 if you’re wrong and this was some sort of stunt,” Ebbel growls.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure you’re not lying,” Thorne says, wiping the vomit from my SBUs with a napkin. “I would actually be surprised if something like this hadn’t happened.”

“Just, help me get the cadets outside, Thorne,” Wilde says, steering him away from me.

“Come on,” Harris says, eyeing me suspiciously as though he thinks I might throw up again.

“Yes, sir,” I say, following him out past the other cadets, who are looking rather ill and staring at me.

“The milk is quite refreshing this morning,” Titus says since the no talking thing pretty much went out the window a few streams of vomit ago.

“That explains why you thought it smelled odd,” I say, as Peter begins to throw up.

“I’m sick,” Tsegi says, “What he said was horrible, you can’t make stuff like that up. Do you think it’s true?”

“Could be,” Titus says, shrugging.

“Oh God,” Tsegi puts her finger down her throat to make herself gag, she’s not the only one who thinks of it.

“We have not determined---oh my God, that’s it, if you’re all going to do that, outside, everybody,” Ebbel shouts.

Good, Leisel’s throwing up with the others. What sort of sick person would make all of these cadets unwitting cannibals? If it’s true---it probably isn’t. this kid is probably psycho. But I’m still glad she’s making herself be sick, just in case. And I’m glad I haven’t eaten yet. just in case. But it’s probably not true. but just in case.

“Sir, could I have some water?” Leavitt asks as we march out of the DFAC which now reeks of vomit.

“No, keep walking,” I say, trying not to inhale. I haven’t smelled this much sick since I was by Lt. Col.’s driver for a day and had to pick his kid up from a bar. A bar where a lot of people had drunk too much.

“You ought to make yourself sick, just in case,” Darla says to me. she didn’t eat any, she doesn’t like meat. I do. Like meat.

“Leavitt’s probably mental, you know he hit his head yesterday? He’s a pscyho,” Tyrell says, dismissively.

“You say that about all the pretty boys,” I say, leaning forward so that my breasts just brush his arm.

“What about me? Aren’t I pretty?” he asks.

“Yes, but you don’t have to say it about you---I know you’re psycho,” I whisper, letting my lips brush his ear on the last word.

If she only knew

“Poor Quentin going to IDMT again,” Tom comments, as we scrub vomit off the floor. I’ve ordered my flight to help clean, before Ebbel thought of telling us to. I really didn’t do it to be helpful, I really just didn’t want to hear his voice.

“Yes, he’s getting to be a regular, like me in the brig,” I say, scrubbing meticulously.

“You’re not---” she says, realizing I’m thinking about breaking him out again.

“You know Dr. Truth Juice, you’re the one who told me about him,” I point out.

“Yes but you can’t you’ll be in serious trouble Titus, Titus I know when you’re thinking of doing something wrong,” she hisses.

“How?” I ask, considering I’m always thinking of something wrong I doubt if she could tell.

“Because you always look like that and you’re probably always planning something rotten.” Okay, so she does know.

“Well, it’s sort of peaceful in the brig, get the pleasant little walk over there,” Ebbel’s still not dead, “Multitude of reasons, really.”

“SHUT UP OVER THERE,” speaking of Ebbel and why he doesn’t belong on this planet anymore.

Chapter 16

“W

ell well, what have we here, do you need a little of the juice, my boy?” the creepy dude who got a job here I don’t know how examines Leavitt through thick spectacles.

“No sir, I just want a drink of water,” Leavitt says, leaning away, “My throat hurts.”

“Never mind water---let’s give you some juice m’ boy,” the doctor says, going to pick up an intimidating syringe.

“Please sir, I don’t need it, I only want to have a drink of water,” Leavitt says.

“No, put that down, we need you to examine him, actually, he was very upset this morning and he needs to talk about his feelings and get something for his throat,” I say, stepping in front of Leavitt protectively.

“Are you impeding the flow of the all mighty juice, m’ boy,” the doctor asks, stopping in his tracks and narrowing his eyes at me.

“Yes, yes I am. and what are you going to do about it?” I ask, two seconds before he shoves the needle in my arm. “Damn,” I say, as I pull it out. then my legs buckle under me and I don’t exist anymore.

“Sir, it’s all right,” Leavitt is holding me up under the arms, trying to lift me to a table to stop my head from hitting the floor he doesn’t know I don’t have feeling anymore.

“You are really, frighteningly, good at this,” Tsegi says, as she watches me clean the vomit-covered floor with love and care.

“I spent a lot of time in detention as a child,” I say.

“Oh, really, I couldn’t have guessed,” Tom says.

“We were poor; I tended to quomodocunquize,” I admit.

“And that makes perfect sense,” Tsegi says. I expect she is mocking me because she does not understand my eclectic speech but I am not sure.

“Are you really going to get Leavitt out of IDMT? Again?” Tom asks.

“I believe so if I can slip away,” I admit. I don’t want to lie to her obviously, she’s only just kissed me.

“You know what, I’ll come,” Tsegi says, “It’s not fair you get to have all the fun.”

“I’ll come as well, in fact, Titus, why don’t you stay behind and guide the flight? For a change?” Tom suggests.

“Well—” damn it I really was hoping to kill Ebbel tonight.

“Let us,” Tsegi says.

“Yes, let us girls get into trouble for a change,” Tom says.

“If you like, I shall make unreasonable excuses for you,” I offer.

“Ebbel will love those,” Tom says.

“I know,” I say, with a grin.

The floor spins out from under me. When I raise my head, I see stars then dots. My stomach churns. If there were anything left in there to vomit, I certainly would.

“Cannibal? Seriously? I die and you turn me into a cannibal in front of your boss?” Ian is standing in front of me. of course, he is. I sigh as I sit up, the world isn’t spinning now but that’s a worse sign I know. It means I’m deeper in the delusion.

“I needed a reasonable excuse,” I say, defensively.

“And that for one instant, sounded reasonable?” he asks, exasperated.

“Well, no, but it was better than the truth,” I say, shrugging a little.

“I die and this is how you treat me---”

“You killed yourself! You didn’t die you killed yourself, in front of me,” I say, a sob escaping my lips.

“I had problems!”

“Well clearly so do I or we wouldn’t be having this conversation!”

I sit up and realize I’m not in the office anymore, I’m in my room at the base, my first ever room when I was a Spaceman basic.

There is the sound of a child crying, sobbing.

“Daddy, please come.”

I stand up and look around. There are child’s things here, a little dress, a book, a toy, blankets. No food, I was supposed to get food, wasn’t I? How was I supposed to feed it?

“I’m so scared,” the child is still crying. I try to go out the door but I can’t, the child isn’t there it isn’t anywhere it’s somewhere elsewhere? I am afraid now, I can do this I can, they can trust me.

“Where are you?” I ask. There’s no one there to ask. I’m alone? Why is this happening? I have the vague memory I’m not here, that this, actually, literally, cannot be happening. But I don’t remember clearly enough, not to do anything about it. not to find my way out. NO. I know her name.

“Liesel, where are you?” I ask I’m crawling along the floor I don’t remember why I can’t stand. “I’m coming baby, I’m coming.”

There is more crying. then silence.

Dead silence.

I scream.

“Why’d you agree to do it?” I ask, as Tsegi and I walk on the outskirts of the base, towards IDMT.

“Because---I love Quentin,” she admits, looking away from me as she says it, almost ashamed, “I wanted to rescue him.”

“Oh, funny that. I did it because I love Titus, and I wanted to irk him,” I say, with a playful grin.

“What, seriously?” she asks.

“Oh yes,” I say, “It’s very good for him. Glad to help you with a normal healthy relationship, though.”

“Why don’t you think he’s healthy? Titus, I mean?” she asks.

“Because I know he’s demented.” All the cute ones are. Demented or unavailable. Darla was right. “It’s okay, though, I think he’ll be fun anyway, even if he’s a bad idea.”

“Has he done anything?” she asks, concerned now.

“To me? No,” I say, shrugging, “Don’t worry, if he tries to be demented with me I’ll cut him. it’s just a generalized, global demented thing, with him. so why do you like Quentin?”

“He’s tall and awkward looking and has sweet pathetic eyes,” she admits.

“Must be nice,” I say, nodding.

“It sort of is,” she says, “I don’t know if he likes me, though.”

“Well, one way to find out,” I say, pointing at the IDMT, “We’re just over there, let’s get your handsome man out.”

“It wasn’t easy you know.”

“IT LOOKED IT. It’s hard to live it’s damn hard,” I am openly sobbing now.

“You would know about that eh?”

“Yes! Yes, I would know about that I just nearly ate a person for God’s sake I’d think I’d know about that!”

“You know you’re almost the same age as I was.”

“Oh really? I’d forgotten it’s not like Mum asks me ten questions my mental state EVERY DAMN DAY because of you.”

“You think you’ll ever do it?”

“No, no---”

“It’s better than this—”

“No shut up shut up shut up,” I crawl across the floor, my hands over my ears sobbing.

“Look at what they’ve reduced you to, a sniveling little clone they soup up with juice every day,” he says, standing in front of me, stopping me from getting away.

“shut up shut up shut up---”

“You really want to be this? Don’t you hate what you’ve become? You can’t even walk past a liquor store or bar without stopping and having a little talk with yourself ten minutes---”

“Not hearing from you---”

“Talking to yourself, even now, think of how mum will feel visiting you, seeing you like this---or when you go back to the drink because you will go back you know---”

“Stop stop it stop it stop it I can’t hear you---” I can hear him.

“Or when they lock you up, then you won’t be able to you’ll be trapped in a white pillowed room for the rest of your life.”

“No, no not me not me---”

“that’ll be worse than just ending it---so quickly so very clean and then everyone’s pain is just---over.”

“stop please dear god if you ever loved me stop,” I am sobbing so hard, “I am begging you to stop if you ever—ever even thought of loving me.”

“Quentin,” He kneels in front of me, his hand brushing the tears from my cheek, “Baby, I’m not Ian. I’m not your brother.”

I close my eyes, I can’t hear what he’s going to say next. I cover my ears but his voice is as loud as ever.

“I’m you.”

“Pull yourself together,” I say, holding Peter’s arm. He’s nearly dropped the guidon twice already so I’m having to have Logan carry it which is as close as I ever get to self-injurious behavior.

“I can’t, I keep----seeing him,” he whispers, his face is white.

“I know, but he’d want you to go on, all right? That isn’t him that’s flesh, that’s a body, he’s dead,” I say, in his ear.

“Did you put him in there?” he whispers.

“No, no, we buried him, someplace safe, if it’s anything it’s just the bit of his hand that got in there---Tyrell and I tried to clean it.” damn I’m a good liar.

“Thank you,” he whispers. His eyes are closed and he’s crying.

“It’s okay, we’re just going to march,” I say. I look over. Tyrell is marching his flight. He’s staring at me and Peter, though. “Listen, you need to be okay.”

Long looks bad. He might break. That may be something I’ll have to deal with tonight.

“Be okay for me, all right? Look into my eyes,” I say, tipping my head and forcing him to look into my cerulean eyes, “You need to be okay right now.”

“CARD WHAT ARE YOU AND LONG DOING? MAKING OUT???”

And at the sound of Ebbel’s very harsh voice, Peter crumples completely, sobbing. I wrap my arms around him and let him sob into my SBUs. Brig here I come. March on to death, Ebbel. March on.

“Card, answer me,” Ebbel says.

“Sir, he is upset about the cadet who got baked into pies,” I say, which is apparently not the best thing for Peter to hear because he starts retching. Ebbel, who has been vomited on once today, steps back. I, wanting to be sent to change my uniform so I can go and find my love the spectacular Nicole Tom so that I can win her heart and in turn be sent to the brig and in turn murder Ebbel, allow him to vomit bile onto my uniform, all the while patting his back, supportively.

“Then send him to IDMT or his quarters,” Ebbel says, stalking on, “But get back to drilling!”

“Sir, shall I take him myself and change?” I ask, gesturing at my spoiled uniform.

“What do you think, Spaceman Basic Card?” he asks.

“Sir, I think I should keep drilling as is---”

“314 Card!”

**’

“Sgt. Harris,” I kneel by his side, patting the poor man’s arm, tentatively. He’s out cold, from the looks of it. The dread Dr. Truth Juice is nowhere to be seen, thank goodness.

“Sgt Harris, you need to wake up,” I say, rolling him over. he moans, which is good because I was just starting to think I’d have to do CPR. His eyes are open and blood-red, and his cheeks are stained with tears. I feel sorry for him, then.

“He’s out cold, we’ll have to carry him,” I say, kneeling by him to sling him onto my back, “How’s Leavitt?”

“Worse,” Tsegi says, from the other room, I can hear a faint moaning. “I think he’s having a seizure.”

“Titus didn’t say if he had a bad reaction to it yesterday,” I say, coming over to see. Sure enough, Leavitt is on the floor, his hands clasped firmly over his ears, convulsing as tears leak out of his eyes, which are squinted shut.

“Titus isn’t the most warm-hearted, sensitive person,” Tsegi points out.

“Yeah, true, he probably wouldn’t have cared,” I agree, shrugging. “Let’s just get them out of here.”

“Well well, what do you think you’re doing m’boy?” a familiar, creepy voice says from behind me.

“First of all, we’re not boys,” I say, pulling my combat knife from my belt, “Secondly, we’re going to walk out of here with them, or I’ll cut you, Thirdly, I may cut you anyway.”

“All right, settle down m’boy,” he says, which gets the tip of my knife pressed against his throat, until the fatty skin buckles and turns white.

“What did I just say?” I ask, stepping forward.

“All right, all right,” he shrinks away, stumbling over his own feet.

“Come on,” I say, keeping my knife drawn and going back to Harris. Tsegi follows and helps me sling him onto my back. then she goes back to get Leavitt.

“Well, you don’t want to do that now—” the doctor stutters, standing and moving towards his medicine cabinet.

“Don’t move,” I hiss, stepping closer, which is hard to do threateningly while carrying Harris, but I manage, “Do not test me.”

“Yes, all right now, no need to get upset,” he says, moving again.

“I’d say there’s a great need for you to be upset because if you move an inch more I will harm you,” I say, stepping forward and flicking a button off his coat with the knife before retreating.

“Calm down m’ boy,” Dr. Truth Juice says, lurching forward. He had pulled a syringe from his pocket. I was watching the hand with the syringe, which meant that I was not watching his other hand, which he shoved between my legs and into my groin, fingers groping.

Big mistake.

“Here, lie down,” I say, helping Peter into his bunk.

“I keep seeing him,” he whispers, as I put a blanket over him.

“Yeah, I know, just close your eyes, think of something else,” I offer, climbing onto the foot of his bed. I took some vials from Dr. Truth Juice last time I was there, I was hoping I wouldn’t have to use them so quickly, but Peter is doing pretty badly. He was in shock and he was ready to crack. And when they reveal that all of Tim had wound up in the pie, well, he wouldn’t be too happy. I need to do something, and now. before Tyrell decides to. Card School of Brainwashing now in session.

“I can’t,” he said, helplessly, looking at me with bloodshot, pleading eyes.

“Here,” I pull the syringe from my pocket, “This will help you sleep, feel a bit better.”

“Okay,” he says, it’s a credit to how much shock he’s in he doesn’t ask where I got it. Now, I’ve never successfully brainwashed somebody before so I’m not totally clear how, but I was quite willing to try. and it even seemed to be in Peter’s best interest. So I’ll give it a go.

“Relax,” I say, “Just listen to my voice.”

I’m trying to figure out how Card and Tom both vanished and yet their SBUs are still marching around the drill pad? I know it’s not Card I know his voice, and I know Tom isn’t there she keeps a better pace than that element leader. Thankfully for him, MTIs aren’t so observant. I wonder what he’s really doing?

Oh, yes, just so you don’t get confused, I should tell you I alibied Tom and Tsegi as promised. And myself while I was at it. luckily for me, our name tapes are on Velcro, so I had the remaining Tim switching out name tapes so all three of us are alibied. He thinks I’m looking for the other Tim, whom I’ve convinced him I think is still alive. but now that you’re up to speed, back to brain washing.

Chapter 17

P T day, yay. We get to run around in the forest absolutely all day and trip over each other and sneak off and kiss behind trees, well, I want that last thing to happen it may not. we shall see. Tyrell mouthed to me at breakfast that he wanted to meet later so I’m hoping he’s got something fun planned otherwise I really don’t want to have a conciliable. I do hate organized physical fitness. I do hate organization. Other than my own.

Titus looks rather thoughtful this morning. Thoughtful in a self-satisfied way. Funny I know he hates organized physical fitness. He hates any organization other than his own. I wonder if he’s going to try to sneak off into the trees to snog. Probably. I might go along with it if I’d thought of it first but since he looks like he did I may not. Or I may. Snogging in the forest might be fun.

I wonder if I’ll be able to pull Tyrell off to kiss someplace private. Probably not, he keeps looking at Titus like he wants to sneak off with him. Well fine. Let him have fun with his little boyfriend. I’ll try to corner that juicy looking Leavitt. Back from IDMT, again. He’s becoming a regular there. of course, the MTIs haven’t told us anything about whether he’s crazy or not or if there really was somebody baked into the pies. And there’s no sign of the missing cadet either.

They tell us to march, so I march. They tell us to stop so I stop. it’s all very faint. I just listen for Titus’s voice he tells me what to do and I do and everything’s okay.

Peter seems to be doing much better this morning. Card School of Brainwashing was an unparalleled success. My only regret is I don’t have enough of the stuff left to do it, Tyrell. Something about him disturbs me. I know that I am one of the darkest evils in this Universe, but there’s something deeper in him. It’s unorganized. An unorganized madness that knows no bounds. There are many little things that made me come to this conclusion but the main bit of evidence is this. He ate the pie. When the others vomited, he did not. I spit it out, it was the only intelligent thing to do, under the circumstances. After all, who would want to be labeled a witting cannibal? A madman. I don’t label him as mad, mind you, because of the cannibalism, I don’t begrudge a man experimenting. But to do it in a way that could so easily lead to his capture? Oh no that’s against my rules. and I think we know what happens to people who break my rules.

I’m so terrible at running and everything I hate PT day. Titus doesn’t look happy either. But then again he can never knock me down in combat so he always gets a bad score which makes him sad. He likes being good at everything. That’s something we have in common, I guess.

“Titus, can you give me any tips to help me run faster?” I ask, cautiously. He’s rubbing his forehead as he does with the heels of his hands.

“Ah---breathe Logan, just breathe in your nose, and when you feel that really sick horrible feeling like you can’t run anymore? Keep going,” he says, helpfully.

“CARD YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO BE STRETCHING!!” Wilde calls.

“Yes, ma’am,” Titus says, continuing what he’s doing.

“YOU AREN’T!!”

“Ma’am I’m stretching my brain,” he says, very politely. Tom and I smother laughter because that is exactly what he’s doing.

“Card, why are you perpetually trying to get written up?” she asks, walking over.

“Ma’am, the perversity of nature,” he says.

“I’m not pulling a 314, because you want it so bad, get to work,” she says, walking away.

I honestly like PT day. we get to be outside, not even Titus and his constant smart remarks antagonizing the MTIs can spoil my mood. The sun is shining, we may actually be able to lose the MTIs and go and look around, maybe sneak a kiss behind a tree, anything can happen really.

My mother wrote to me again last night, asked me how my days were, and my sisters took turns writing too. They like telling me all about school and funny things that happened. My mother was more tentative about talking to me, like she isn’t sure what to say, while my little sisters were quite excited and too young to have any inhibitions. It cheered me up, thinking that I did have somebody out there who thought about me all day, cared about me. and that I am not just some nameless faceless Project 10.

My father didn’t write to me, which had bothered me a little. But he’d said his hours were odd, if he was on an asteroid or a remote moon base, he could have 24-hour shifts. The last thing he’d written was that he loved me. that had cheered me up, reading it, because he’d sent it after I logged off, knowing I’d see it next time I turned on the tablet. And we’d had a good talk, he seemed genuine, very genuine. I liked him too. Maybe he was a rogue pilot, and that was why he couldn’t talk sometimes. That made me smile a little, then maybe once I finished my term with the Space Forces, I could fly with him. if he wanted. The thought of leaving here cheered me, I’d already spent my whole life here, it was nice to think I might do something else.

It was easy to imagine what my mother was doing, she worked in a factory, she’d told me when her lunch was, and how she walked home, and what floor their flat was, and my sister had sent me pictures of their school and the flat. So I was soothing to imagine the simple routines, that I’d never had. My father still hadn’t told me what he did, which was odd, so I could never imagine what he was doing.

“What do you remember about yesterday?” the examiner is an inch from my face, and I can’t move I’m handcuffed to the chair. Whatever happened, which I’ve no idea about, as usual, I’m a clueless moron it should say that on my file someplace ‘is a clueless moron most of the time’, whatever happened was pretty serious, or they wouldn’t be questioning me like this.

“As I’ve said I’ve got no idea, I escorted the Cadet to IDMT, that fool doctor was trying to dose him up with his juice, and I knew we needed to question the kid so I didn’t want him totally out of it, but when I tried to tell that to the doctor he stuck me with the stuff. Next thing I know I wake up here,” I say.

“You were found in your room, with your combat knife,” the examiner said.

“Okay, I carry one, that follows, I don’t know how I got to my room,” I say, “Check the cameras.”

“The cameras were off in the IDMT, have been for weeks, and the MTI barracks aren’t monitored,” the examiner says.

“Okay, lovely,” I say.

“What do you remember about the doctor?”

“He stuck me with the needle and I lashed out?” I say.

“Nothing else?”

“For the hundredth time. No.”

“You didn’t try to stop him?”

“No.”

“Were you angry with him?”

“Annoyed he wouldn’t listen, I wouldn’t say angry,” I say.

“No change, he’s telling the truth,” an attendant walks in, holding a chart.

“Okay, you’re good to go,” the examiner says, cheerfully, going to remove the monitors that they had strapped to me.

“What happened?”

“Classified,” the examiner says.

They dragged me in here woke me with water in my face, questioned me for about five hours about something I didn’t remember. Then the bloody machine told them I wasn’t a psycho so they let me go. I love the space forces.

Ebbel is waiting for me outside.

“What the hell is going on?” I ask, approaching him, rubbing my wrists where the cuffs were.

“Here’s your cover,” he hands me my patrol cap, “Outside.”

“What happened?” I ask him, he’s bound to know.

“It’s the doctor, some nutcase chopped him up,” he whispers, as we walk towards the PT fields.

“What?” I ask.

“He’s alive, just----the psycho cut his lips, fingertips, and tits off,” Ebbel says, “Put the fingertips and tits in his mouth, then tapped it closed, bound his hands so he couldn’t get the gag off. the lips were in your room, along with a bloody combat knife.”

“Oh my god,” I say, my stomach churning at the description, “What---who found him?”

“A couple of orderlies, but not until after he’d bled a whole lot. I got there in time for him to vomit all his chopped off bits out of his mouth,” Ebbel says, his eyes wincing at the memory.

“That’s demented,” I say.

“You can say that again, anyway, they got him stitched up---couldn’t reattach anything, whoever did it did too neat a job of hacking the bits up,” he says, “There was blood on your uniform.”

“Well I was in there, certainly, but I was far too incoherent to have done that,” I say, “But surely the doctor knows who did it to him?”

“He says it was a girl, couldn’t describe her except flat-chested, SBUs, and a crew cut, big help,” Ebbel says, “But they think he’s on some of his own juice, the guy is 250 easy, our heaviest girl is 140, there’s no way a girl could have subdued him long enough to do that. for god’s sake, he was conscious, even if he were drugged, which there wasn’t anything left in his system, he would have been able to overpower or at least injure one of our girls.”

“So what do they think happened?” I ask.

“Oh, they think you did it, but they don’t care because that guy has been drugging people up for years when he shouldn’t, so they can’t press charges because we have evidence he sedated you when he shouldn’t have. Play with fire you get burned,” Ebbel says, calmly.

“Well, I didn’t!” I cry, annoyed, “Didn’t the orderlies see anybody go out or come in?”

“People in SBUs and crew cuts,” he says, flatly.

“But I still didn’t---”

“I don’t give a damn---”

“But I didn’t! You have to have a completely demented, sick mind to do something like that to a person.”

“You know, I think we’re more alike than you realize,” I say, to Tom, as I actually stretch.

“I’m not sneaking off and kissing you, Titus,” she says.

“Even if I present what similar minds and sense of humor we have? I have a diagram,” I pull a paper from my pocket.

“No, unlike you I’m not trying to get sent to the brig,” she says.

“I’m not,” I lie.

“We both know you are---I’ll see the diagram though,” she says, taking the paper quickly and stuffing it into her bra. As inconvenient as having fully formed breasts looks with regard to undergarments, they are excellent places to hide things.

“How did IDMT go yesterday?” I ask.

“Fine,” she says, “Rather good practice I must say.”

“Hmm, I noticed the announcement that it was closed today, anything to do with you?” I ask.

“No, just like you aren’t getting trying to get sent to the brig,” she says, walking away from me.

I sigh a little, as I bend down to stretch my legs. She’s not entirely herself today, but she didn’t say she wouldn’t kiss me, nor did she say she wouldn’t later. I cheer at that thought. If she is in a foul mood because of yesterday or the pies incident, then perhaps I can charm her out of it and get a kiss in later.

It feels good to be out in the woods, especially after spending what little I remembered of yesterday in IDMT, and waking up to be questioned about what happened at IDMT to which I had said nothing that I knew of, of course, I’d been a victim of the truth juice. I had woken in my bunk, only to be dragged out of there for questioning and then thrown back with the rest. Honestly all the screaming in your face and 4:30 am wake up calls were really not all that intimidating after being given hallucinogenics twice, locked in solitary, given human flesh in pies, and climbing on a roof twice to get my guidon down. Really, I don’t know if that was intentional, but compared to all the really rotten things that had happened the past few days, the good old public humiliation is quite relaxing.

Leavitt looks remarkably happy for somebody whose guidon keeps ending up on the roof with my initials painted on it.

What I don’t understand if he’s trying to convince me he’s the anti-Christ, or if he is the anti-Christ. The way he writes his initials, a curl at the bottom of the T, then again at the rightmost point of the T, then at the base of the C, look like six upsides down six, and another six. Six six six. The mark of the beast. If it’s him. or is the real anti-Christ framing him, and he is the prophet who shall defeat the anti-christ? Too many questions, and not enough alcohol to help me think through them, what with Wilde made good on her promise to Hawking, I am regrettably sober. Does he want to be caught? Is there anything we can do to stop him or is it all completely out of our control?

“What are you doing?” Wilde hisses.

“Philosophizing,” I say, honestly.

“Good. how are you feeling?” she asks.

“Like a recovering alcoholic,” I say, honestly.

“Good,” she says. I roll my eyes.

“Can you philosophize while helping me get the small people lined up for their MREs?” she asks.

“I shall try,” I say, smiling quickly before putting my MTI face back on.

(I love the forest)

me too, I think, smiling off into the trees, mum cross with you?

(very my mouth and nose and ears were all bloodied after what happened. Did they find out who it was?)

no, but I suspect that they know. I stretch my long legs. It’ll feel good to get out and just run, run and let the motion carry me forward until my stomach is sick and my mind pounding with blood rushing to it and not enough air in my lungs.

Leavitt’s the only one faster than me. I’ll cut off his legs someday, those long, muscular legs that he thinks can carrying him away from everything. I’ll cut them right off, and let him live without them, half a man. I will do it; I don’t know-how. yet.

“How are you feeling, Cadet Leavitt?” it’s that Darla person. I really don’t like her and I don’t even know why---yes I do. I don’t have time, I am handling enough just being here and not having a mental break down when they said that the military tries to mentally break you I didn’t know it was by trying to feed you your classmates.

“Well, thank you, Cadet Richards,” I say, flatly, “Shouldn’t you be with Coruscant?”

“Can’t I run with Denab today?” she asks, flicking the emblem on my lapel. I have to think really hard about not grabbing her finger out of the air and snapping it backward. Just leave me alone why don’t you? Something is wrong with me if there is a pretty girl standing in front of me and I’m imagining breaking her hand rather than---whatever sexual things most boys my age imagine.

I like her face when it’s dirty, she smeared dirt on it after she swatted a fly. Now there’s a smear on her cheek. I want to go and lick it off.

“There’s dirt on your cheek,” Tsegi says helpfully, as we stretch against a tree.

“Thanks,” I say.

“Oh, don’t thank me, Titus was staring at it like he wanted to lick it off,” Tsegi says.

“He probably did,” I say, “He drew my diagram of why I ought to kiss him.”

“OOoh,” she said.

“No, like an actual diagram, a Titus diagram, with long words and psychological descriptions and conclusions as well as some algebra,” I say, with a smothered smile.

“You were right maybe he is demented,” she says, glancing his way.

“I’m sure I am,” I say, I want to change the subject, mostly because I can still feel Titus’ eyes on me. “Have you talked to Leavitt since yesterday?”

“No, I don’t even think he knows I’m the one who got him out,” she says.

“Well go, on, talk to him,” I say, “Ask him how he is at least.”

“He’s a different flight,” she says.

“That’s not stopping Darla,” I say.

“What?” she growls, turning around.

Amused, I go back to stretching.

“If Titus is putting the guidon on the roof please ask him to stop, I nearly twisted my ankle up there this morning,” Liesel says, coming over.

“What makes you think I have any control over him?” I ask.

“Somebody ought to,” she says.

“Fair point,” I say, shrugging. She sort of turns to go, I suspect she didn’t just come for a chat about Titus but I was rather gruff. I’m still feeling off after yesterday. I feel bad. I’ve hardly spoken to her since we got here, and we did know each other pretty well at the Academy. But ever since we got our files, well, I am Forgotten. Of course I’m jealous, and of course, she’s awkward, she’s not forgotten.

“Are your parents coming? To graduation?” I ask, she starts to turn away.

“Yeah, my mother definitely is, she’s bringing my sisters, and my father he will as well,” she says, smiling a little at the mention, but she still seems to be searching my face, to see if I’m jealous or going to make a smart comment.

“That’s nice, it’ll be fun,” I say, smiling. I’m not. I’m sure others have been cruel her. but I won’t, not because I’m not burning with jealous, but because I want her to know we’re not all like that. she doesn’t need to lose her friends just because she gained a family.

“Yeah,” she says, nodding, “I’m excited to meet them---my mother is married, now, I don’t think she’s told her husband she ever had me, so, don’t think I’ll get to see them much, but yeah, they’re there.”

“That’s good,” I say, nodding, “What about your dad?”

“He’s not married, I don’t know what he does, don’t think it’s legal, actually, but, he says he wants to be about for me, says he missed me---before he met me, I don’t know if that’s true.”

“It probably is,” I say.

“You think? I want it to be,” she says, shrugging helplessly, there are tears in her eyes, “Sorry, I’ve never talked about this, I guess---not now that I know, sort of know.”

“It’s okay, no---I do think it could be true. I want to believe there are good people in this world,” I say.

“I do too, I just don’t know if it’s true,” she says, looking down at the ground a little, “For a long time I thought there wasn’t---because of our parents, you know? I sort, I mean---I want to believe their real, but I’m afraid too.”

“Even if they aren’t, it’s worth believing for a little bit, if you ask me,” I say, “Because, you know, I don’t get to believe, ever, they not only gave me up, they wanted to forget about me. so---I’d like to believe there are people in this universe who aren’t like that---that they aren’t all like that. even if it’s not true, it’d be nice thinking it. or better yet, being it. because if you think about it long enough, then you think about how to be it---the person you want. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah, yeah it does,” she says.

“My opinion, anyway,” I say, shrugging, “That’s fun---though. I hope your family does come.”

“Family, yeah,” she says, nodding at the word, “Would you like to meet them--? I mean, I’d like them to meet some of my friends, if you---”

“Yeah,” I say, before I think better of it and say no, “Yeah, I would.”

“TOM,” Ebbel beckons me with a nod of his head, he’s standing by the others, getting ready to line up the flights for their MREs. Yum. Not.

“Good morning, sir,” I say, hurrying to report to him, Liesel and I nodding at each other that we’ll speak later. It’s an unwritten rule at the Academy that any conversation will pick up with no hard feelings if interrupted by staff because of course, we have to report immediately when called.

“Come here,” Ebbel says, beckoning me to follow him away from the crowd and off towards the edge of the PT pad.

“Yes, sir,” I say, following him.

“You lost your combat knife,” he holds it out to me.

“No, sir,” I say, calmly, “I have mine.”

“No,” he says, there’s a smile on his lips, “You have Harris’s, which got him a very fun morning, I must say.”

“Sir, I don’t know what you mean,” I say. I know perfectly well what he means. They must’ve checked the tapes but I don’t know how he knew it was me.

“Yesterday, two cadets, who were clever enough not to show their faces to the cameras, broke into IDMT and got Leavitt and Harris away from that maniac who runs the place,” Ebbel explains, “One of these cadets mutilated said maniac. Except Harris was found with pieces of the good doctor on his person, as well as a bloodied combat knife. So, the IA guys pull him in, I have that waste of space Kip run back the tapes. And then the IA guys give me the doctor’s testimony. What do you think he tells them?”

“Sir, I couldn’t say,” I say, calmly. I can be calm. If he were going to do anything, he’d have turned me in hours ago. This is for fun, I don’t know why.

“He tells them that one of our female cadets came in there, and sliced and diced him, for no apparent reason. really funny considering on the tapes I see him sticking his hand up said cadet’s legs into her groin, then I see the slicing and dicing. Our IA guys ask me what I think. I say based on my knowledge of the tapes, and our cadets, it’s not possible. The IA guys agree, they say, the average girl couldn’t take down a man of his size. But you’re not the average girl, are you Tom?” he asks, he’s really smiling now. he’s---proud of me?

“Sir, I would say I behave like the perfectly ordinary girl,” I say, not able to keep the raw defiance from my eyes. Anyone of us average girls would have done the same thing.

“I don’t think so,” he says, “The IA guys bought that Harris did it under the influence of drugs, Morrow is known to be a maniac, case closed.”

“Yes, sir,” I say, nodding.

“You could have gotten away Tom, why didn’t you?” he asks, cocking his head, “I’m training you, that’s what I want---you are what we want. But you’re a sixteen-year-old girl, you could have gotten away, why didn’t you? Why stay for the butchery?”

“Sir, if I’d been the person on those tapes, then he’s going to come to my dreams, I’m still going to feel his hands, years later, and it’ll be there in my nightmares. I just wanted to return the favor, didn’t I?” I ask, the cold anger creeping in my voice. it wasn’t true. I would not think of him again. but I could bet he would think of me every single day. “But I might not know, I’m just an ordinary girl.”

“Yeah, Tom, you’re ordinary,” he says, shaking his head, “You know, I was going to tell you to look out for that scrap Card, but now, I think I’m going to tell him to watch out for you.”

“Yes, sir,” I say, nodding.

“You’re not gonna take your knife?” he asks. He’s still holding it out.

“Sir, that’s not mine,” I say.

“Fine, whatever, rejoin your flight,” he says.

Chapter 18

“N

o, you can’t run with us,” I tell Darla, stepping away from her lest she try to touch me again and I am unable to resist the urge to break her hand.

“Aww, you’re no fun,” she says, sort of swinging her hips and staring at me.

“Yeah, no, I’m not,” I say.

“Cadet Leavitt, are you feeling better?” a girl from the Cygnus flight comes up and walks in between myself and Darla. Is she intentionally interrupting or am I just lucky?

“Yes, ma’am,” I say, nodding.

“Good, we wouldn’t want you to be unwell,” she says, smiling at me a little, “Should be a fun run today.”

“Yes,” I say, as she basically turns her back on Darla. Okay, it’s either very intentional or very ignorant. I’m pretty sure it’s that first one.

“Well, we should let you get your flight sized up, looks like we’re going to eat soon,” she says, backing away and basically pulling Darla with her.

“Bye,” Darla says, waving.

I don’t say goodbye to either of them. there probably is something wrong with me. I don’t have much time to ruminate on what, however, because this happens:

“Leavitt, over here, now,” Ebbel says, from remarkably close behind me.

“Sir, Cadet Leavitt reports as ordered,” I say standing at attention in front of him.

“IA needs to talk to you about breakfast, come with me,” he says.

“Yes, sir,” I say.

“Wait---have you eaten yet this morning?” he asks.

“No, sir, I’m not hungry,” I say.

“I don’t blame you, come on,” he says, shrugging.

I line them up for our meal. Logan looks like he’s going to expire from hunger. His flabby stomach is growling. Tom looks lean and brown, we’ve had so many runs this past week, we’re all getting quite tan. She doesn’t look at me specifically, but we are supposed to have our eyes forward. Tsegi is just barely back in time from flirting with Leavitt. I don’t know what the girls see in him---all right I know exactly what they see in him but I don’t have to like it.

The remaining Tim looks sad, Peter looks blankly forward. He’s not in shock anymore, so that’s good. I shall have to see if I can wear the brainwashing out of him a little, if he’s a complete robot they’ll be bound to notice.

Wilde goes to march Leavitt’s flight---I wonder why? Where did they take him? No matter, I’ll ask Kip later. I have no doubt I’ll be in detention duties and the brig again tonight.

I’m terribly groggy now that the thrill of being hooked up to a lie detector has worn off. it’s far too early to mucking about in the woods. This place is getting increasingly insane. doctor’s mutilated, cadets baked into pies---I asked Ebbel if that happened apparently it totally happened. I seriously needed a transfer. Or to get out completely. I don’t care anymore, this is becoming frightening, the cadet dying was one thing, but somebody doing that to the doctor? Even if he is crazy? No, this is dangerous. As soon as Liesel graduates, I am meeting her, telling her who I am. and I am quitting and being there whenever she gets back from leave or whatever she wants to do, she can come and I will always be in my flat waiting for her ready with a meal or to have a chat. Because this—this is not real this is some bizarre version of reality where short scrawny acne covered people with shaved heads ate meals out of brown packets in the forest lest they eat each other. I looked around for Liesel, but in all the shaved heads I couldn’t find her. I sigh. I should really get better at identifying her that probably makes me a horrible parent---who am I kidding? I already am a horrible parent, or I would have actually spoken to my own child before---well now. and she would know who I was. I wondered if she’d missed me last night. I hadn’t messaged her. she was probably fine, I’d said my job was weird. she just had no idea how weird. and the way this week was going, neither did I.

Thorn looks better, he’s stopped spouting random prophesies about the apocalypse, which is a definite improvement on things. Hawking messaged saying that all he’d said as he was cross with me but he would take me if she got tired of me because I was a good woman, and that just because he was drunk didn’t mean he was wrong. So I took that to be a good sign.

“Cadet Leavitt,” so now I know what an IA investigator looks like. Good to know for my future career if I make it out of this bloody school alive.

“Yes, sir,” I say, sitting squarely in the chair. The guy is old, he’s in SBUs and he’s got an awful lot of stripes. I can’t count how many without leaving the position of attention.

“You testified yesterday that you suspected something was wrong with the pies, is that correct?” he asks, leaning forward, “At ease, I just want to talk to you.”

That can’t possibly be good.

“Yes, sir, I did,” I say, shifting to be marginally more comfortable in the chair.

“Do you remember what you said?” he asks.

“That there was somebody baked in them---or something to that effect,” I say, my stomach turning at the memory.

“What made you suspect that?” he asks.

“As I told Sgt. Ebbel, it was because my brother was a cannibal,” I am so dead I wish could just evaporate or be blown up right now and it would be so much quicker than what I’m having to go through I’ll probably get blown up by the end of the week anyway way things are going.

“Did he tell you this?” he asks.

“Yes, sir, he did---after we’d eaten some of it---I spit it right out,” I say, dying a little more on the inside.

“Okay---you don’t have to say, sir, I really just want to talk to you,” he says, more kindly, I wonder if it’s false. It probably is. “I looked you up a bit. But I need you to confirm some things for me. what was your brother’s name?”

“Ian,” I say, my lips burning. I realize I haven’t said his name aloud in years.

“All right, and what happened to Ian?” he asks.

“He died,” I say. I don’t dare say more.

“How?” he asks

Don’t think about it.

“I don’t know he just died,” I say, looking at my hands.

“Okay,” he says, standing up, “You see, we didn’t know any of the things your brother did. we were the government.”

“I figured you did,” I say.

“Is that why you never told anyone?” he asks.

“I guess,” I say, “I told Sgt. Ebbel. I thought my mum told the police everything. He’s dead now. so I don’t suppose I thought it really mattered to tell people.”

“That’s fine,” he says, “You really can’t tell us how your brother died?”

“He hung himself,” I say, closing my eyes, “He hung himself on the stairs in our house. and I watched him. I heard his neck break.”

“Okay, that’s fine if you don’t want to tell me,” he says.

I open my eyes and stare at my hands. They are just shaking.

“Why can’t you hear me?” I ask.

“We’ve sent for your mother, she’ll be here tomorrow,” he says.

“Don’t,” I say, standing up, “I’m fine this isn’t my fault. It’s nothing to do with me and it’s nothing to do with Ian. It’s just something I knew. Please. She’ll be worried.”

“Go ahead and sit down, you can wait here,” he says, going to the door.

I slump back in the chair, burying my head in my hands.

“Why can’t you hear me?” I whisper.

“It’s all right, we’ll bring your mother for you,” he says.

“Why can’t anyone hear me?” I ask, but he’s gone now. so it doesn’t matter that no one can.

“I can’t stomach meat,” Logan says, sadly, as we look at our MREs, sitting cross-legged under the tall trees surrounding the PT field. We’ve done our first run which he failed miserably at, by the way.

“Nor can I,” Tom says, staring at hers.

I’m methodically searching mine for the packet of milk that usually comes with it. I find it and tear it open with my teeth, happily.

“Here,” Logan hands me his. I look, up surprised.

“It’s yours,” I say.

“You always drink it,” he says, “I don’t like to.”

“Oh—thank you,” I say, taking it before he can change his mind. I don’t remember anybody ever gave me their food before. My brothers always stole mine that’s why they’re bigger than I am.

“Sure,” he says, putting his peanut butter on a cracker.

Titus drinks the milk hungrily, like a starved puppy. I wonder if he’s ever had enough to eat he is awfully thin, and I know his family was poor. Maybe that’s why he’s cruel half the time it’s how he was treated.

“Do you know if they found out what happened to Tim?” I ask.

“No, they didn’t tell us flight leaders anything except to ‘keep morale up which reminds me I need to make a speech---’I’m going to do my best to ensure none of you get eaten---end of speech’—thanks for reminding me,” he says, to me, nodding, like the rest of the flight stares at him, not sure if they should laugh.

“They took Leavitt away for questioning again,” Tsegi says, looking toward Denab flight which Harris is now in charge of.

“Titus, do you know why they would’ve?” I ask, he’s been staring off and he just put his hands to his head like he does when he’s really thinking hard. I don’t really want to know or care about the answer, but I think he doesn’t like it that other people see him doing that, and I’m not entirely sure if he always knows when he’s doing it.

“Yes, they said they might need to ask him more questions about what he said yesterday,” I say, pulling my hands away from my head at the sound of her voice. I don’t want her seeing me do that---it makes me look---more abnormal. And if I want to look the least bit normal for anyone, it’s her. that’s odd. This must be love. I want to look normal for her.

“Poor thing,” Tsegi says.

“He’ll be all right,” I say, so they won’t talk about him anymore, I don’t like him. and it’s probably too much to hope that he’ll come back legless. Anyway, I’m still processing Logan offering the milk. He hasn’t looked at me or done anything that says he wants any sort of reciprocation and it tasted fine it wasn’t a trick. So why do it? he didn’t get anything in return. I wonder if he feels good because he did something nice like in those children’s books and videos about morality they used to show us in school. I don’t recall ever trying to do something nice for somebody without doing getting anything in return----for that matter I can’t recall doing anything nice for anyone. Not intentionally. And if I did unintentionally I certainly never noted their reaction. I shall have to try. Until I murder Ebbel tonight, I’ve got nothing going on anyway.

Chapter 19

“T

he trains are delayed, do you want to go and run with your flight and come back and talk to us some later?” the IA guy is trying to be very nice. I don’t hate him nearly as much as I thought I would.

“Yes, I like running,” I say, looking straight ahead.

“Your MTI tells me you like running, do you want to? You can just nod,” he says.

I squeeze my eyes shut to stop from crying and nod my head, “Yes, I’d like to run.”

“Okay, we’ll walk you back so you can do the run with them,” he says, “That way you won’t miss any of your training.”

“Thank you, did they tell my mum I’m okay?” I ask. I don’t know why I bother. But I do.

“Do you want anything to eat? Just shake your head for me,” he says, going to the door and opening it.

“No, no I’m not hungry,” I say, shaking my head.

“Okay good,” he says, he leads us down a hall. Wilde is waiting for me.

“Well?” she asks him.

“He’s clearly traumatized at the mention of his brother, it’s noted in his file that he’s not able to talk about it. His mother is on his way, we’ll see if she can help us question him,” the IA guy says to her, “Just let him run and do combat with the others, then bring him back here. he seems to want to go.”

“Yes, sir,” she says, looking at me. I follow her, praying she doesn’t ask me any questions. I never get what I want in life. I should know that by now.

“Thank you for helping us out, Leavitt,” she says.

I have to try. “Yes, ma’am.” she looks over sharply at me. she clearly doesn’t hear anything. I nod. I think I’m crying. I can’t get thrown out. I don’t want to be even if it is hellish here. I can’t. I’ll go home and---and I don’t know what. I don’t know what I’ll do.

“You all right, Leavitt?” she asks.

I nod vigorously.

“Okay, come on now,” she says, a bit more gruffly. She sees something is clearly wrong with me but she doesn’t know what.

“I’m going to come in dead last,” Logan says.

“It’s not a race,” for anyone but me and Leavitt if they bring him back they’d better. I want to beat him this time.

“It’s not a race for anyone but him and Leavitt if they bring him back,” Tom says. Now, you see why I love her? It’s not just that she’s the most gorgeous creature to walk the face of Kepler, or that I’m a hormonal teenager, but she really is honestly perfect for me. I truly deserve her and she knows it. if she has as un-polarized a moral compass as I, we’ll conquer the universe together. As it is I may have to do it myself then convince her it’s a good idea.

“I know, but I hate being last. And if I fail again, I might have to re-take training,” he says, hanging his head.

“You’ll do fine, just breath, ignore how much pain you’re in and how sick you feel, and focus on the back of Titus’ head, that’s what I do,” Tsegi says, kindly.

“Peter, you’ll run well today,” I say. he’s acting really robotic. I’m thinking I really need to prompt him to do things he didn’t eat this morning until I told him. hopefully brainwashing wears off or something, or I’ll have to reverse it.

“Yes,” he says, flatly. Damn. Card Theory of Brainwashing needs perfection apparently. I didn’t give him any clear goals, I think that was the problem.

“He’s not speaking,” I say to the IA guy, as soon as Leavitt goes to rejoin his flight. He stands on the edge saying nothing.

“What?” Ebbel asks, hearing us and coming up to investigate.

“No, it was noted in his file that he was mute for a time after witnessing his brother’s suicide, after the interrogation, he quit speaking, though he looks pained, incredibly so, by it, I don’t think it’s acting,” the IA guy says. I really hate him, for a number of reasons including this one.

“So you brought it up and now he can’t speak?” Ebbel asks, annoyed.

“Yes,” the IA guy admits, “Well, technically he brought it up---”

“He was helpfully informing us that one of our cadets was in the pies—you made him quit talking,” I growled.

“Wilde’s right, you’ve just cost us a cadet,” Ebbel says.

“We’ve sent for his mother, perhaps seeing her will---”

“Bring back more tortured memories of his clearly horrible childhood?” Ebbel asks, then he turns to me, “Wait, why did you bring him back to training if you knew he’s mute?”

“Because I thought to see his flight mates might help him to relax, that and running, he loves it,” I say.

“They aren’t his friends,” Ebbel says, “And he’s traumatized by being here, that’s the point, we traumatize them. you ought to have left him in a room.”

“One of the rather pretty girls is fond of him, and if during combat we let them spread themselves out, then she’ll probably try to talk to him,” I say.

“Oh, all right, that will probably work,” Ebbel agrees.

“What do you mean?” the investigator asks.

“When we let them do combat drills in the woods, they’re forever trying to sneak off to give each other advanced lessons in human anatomy; it’s a complete pain. But in this case, that sort of extracurricular attention might be what he needs. If the muteness is purely psychological, nothing will snap him out of it like a girl trying to get his attention,” I explain.

“No, Wilde is right, this is the best way to snap him out of it, even Card acts like something approximating a human being when he’s trying to impress his element leader,” Ebbel says.

“Yes, those two have a thing for each other,” I say, “We’ll have to keep an eye on them.”

“I’ve got Harris on it, he’s probably capable of accomplishing one thing today,” Ebbel says.

I’m clearly not capable of accomplishing anything today. My daughter just marched her flight better than I did mine. Well, it’s not my flight, it’s the kid who was raised by a cannibal or whatever. but I still looked like an idiot. I should get used to the feeling. And now Ebbel wants me to prevent the inevitable woods-snogging-experience. And that’s after I have to run with them for the bloody run. I hate running.

“Why are you making Harris run ahead of them?” I ask, as Ebbel and I stretch before the run.

“Because, I hate him,” he says, with a sigh, “I try not to, every morning I wake up and think ‘I’m not going to completely despise Harris today’. But I can’t help it, I can’t stand the man.”

“Oh dear, I can’t stand him either,” I laughed, “I can’t completely hate him though, because the thing is---nobody hates the way Harris is, more than he does.”

“Really?” he asked, “I didn’t know that.”

“Oh, yeah, if you get cross with him, which I have, I’ll just be like, ‘Harris, you’re a moron, I can’t stand you,’ he’s just like ‘oh yes, I know, I do try not to be an idiot but I don’t seem to be able to manage,” I say, grinning, “So I can’t completely hate him. almost. But not completely.”

“Oh, I didn’t know that still he is an idiot, he can run ahead of all the hooligans and mark their time and all that,” Ebbel says, shrugging, “No doubt they’ll get into trouble.”

“They already rearranged the guidons, that should be enough, don’t you think?” I ask.

“That’s becoming routine with them, I don’t know what’s the matter with this group,” Ebbel says.

“I DO,” Thorn cries, hopping up from doing push ups.

“I thought you took a vow of silence?” I ask him.

“Oh, that’s only when Harris is around because I can’t stand him,” he says, “And I can tell you why we’re having cadets get eaten---”

“Just murdered I don’t think anybody ate him on purpose—”

“Guidons rearranged, and all else happening, it’s the end times,” Thorn says, seriously, “Dark cloud. I’m telling you. all of us will pay.”

“James—” I sigh.

“Mark my words, we will all pay,” Thorn says, jogging to join Harris at the front.

“Isn’t he certifiable yet?” Ebbel asks.

“I thought it was the drink, but no, yeah, he’s getting there,” I say.

I walk to the edge of my flight, my heart pounding. Please don’t talk to me. please don’t talk to me. of course, they are all supposed to be lining up for our turn to run, and stretching, and such, but they aren’t, they are whispering and so on. Of course, they are supposed to be paying attention to Harris, but they aren’t. please just don’t talk to me.

I walk the back and stand there, anger burning in my chest. I’m afraid to talk now. terrified. Terrified of talking and them not hearing me. never. Never hearing me. even as I scream, they can’t hear me, they can’t hear me begging them for help.

Just leave me alone, like you always do.

Okay, no problem, they don’t look at me. they don’t care. This is how a person goes for years without realizing they aren’t making a sound. One whispers to me but I don’t answer they think I haven’t heard so they move on it doesn’t matter that much.

And so I don’t make a sound. And I don’t answer. And I stare straight ahead. The perfect soldier.

“Do you want to race?” I ask Titus, as he rubs his head with the heels of his hands methodically. I mostly want to get him to stop, it looks like he’ll hurt himself, and his eyes look so distant when he does that.

“Yes---with you?” he asks, moving his hands and looking at me quickly.

“No, stupid, with the wind,” I say, as Ebbel fires the starting pistol.

I like her use of irony. Hell, I like her. and I like liking her.

I hate running. Like fifty feet and my breath hurt and my feet hurt and it’s bloody ridiculous we’re spacemen, not land running people. And the children are bound to be much quicker than me, look, they’re passing me already, it’s stupid and it’s boring and it hurts and I don’t see why I had to run at the front anyway.

“Are the cadets passing Harris already?” Ebbel rolls his eyes, as we jog behind the cadets to make sure they don’t fall and get knocked out by their own oxygen tanks or something random and unlikely like that.

“Yes,” I say, craning my neck to look, “Thorn’s ahead of them, though.”

That idiot Harris can’t even run. I’m the alcoholic and he’s the one getting beaten by the little devils. The card is like lightning, but the other taller ones like Tom are easily keeping pace with him. His very little legs have to make two strides for every one of the taller ones, like Leavitt he’s in the front easily, nice rolling gate. I like watching them run, like a pack of hounds. It’s good they learn how to run. They need to know how to run. We all will soon if we are to save our souls. I doubt if we’ll succeed though. I should really just resign myself to that. That we’re all going to be dragged into hell.

I don’t like running that much. It hurts and I’m never the fastest. So I just keep pace with the slower ones in my flight. Wendy’s up there with Leavitt and Card. Oh well, I probably won’t get paired with her for combat, then. I’ll get my kiss another day.

I am almost keeping pace with Leavitt, damn him. he’s still faster than me after all the nights I’ve spent sneaking out to run I’m still not the fastest. But I will be once I chop his legs off. which I will do, sometime. Just not right now. I’ve still got Ebbel to deal with I’m rather disappointing myself on that front. I really need to get things done tonight.

I just close my eyes and I run and I don’t think about speaking or noises or voices or being heard or bodies or nooses or mothers crying or beer or anything I just think about how my whole body is burning and how nice and squishy the shoes feel under my feet and I most definitely don’t think about how much I hate it here.

“Logan’s falling behind,” Tom whispers to me, as we run near the front. Thorne is ahead of us, but Harris has already fallen well behind.

“He’ll get held back a few weeks if he fails this one,” I say, glancing over my shoulder to see that Logan is predictably puffing far behind us.

“I tried to help him as well,” she says, shaking her head a little. She knows I talked to him. but the talk didn’t do him any good. I do need to work on my experiments for this week. And I just recently added being nice. I’ll see if I feel happy like people appear to and the psychology textbooks say I should. And I don’t need to win. I don’t need to beat Leavitt today. I will tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow and the next hundred years when I am immortal and remembered and powerful and he is crippled and destroyed and alone. so today I will be nice.

“Let’s not let him fail,” I say, “Can you help me?”

“Yeah, how?” she asks.

“Peter, run ahead, create a distraction,” I say to him, he’s at my other shoulder, keeping pace, loyally.

“Okay,” he says, and he sprints ahead.

“Come on, we’ll carry him,” I say slowing my pace drastically to allow Logan to catch us. Tom does the same.

“I can’t,” he’s sobbing.

“Yes, you’re right, you can’t, shut up,” I say, hooking arms with him and driving my shoulder under his armpit, so that he’s hoisted almost off the ground, Tom does the same and we both doubled our speed, dragging ourselves and him back to the front of the pack.

“Wha---what?” he can barely breath.

“Just hold on,” Tom grits her teeth he’s really heavy, by the way, and he is almost dead weight at that point, his feet hindering us more than helping.

My vision starts to go black as I feel the air running out of my lungs. It’s really awful to feel like that running, and I hate that. My stomach is sick and bile is in my mouth, I can run but he’s dead weight pulling me backward and all I can think about is---to---run.

“We’re past the finish,” Tom slows her pace and the two of them slow me.

“I don’t feel anything,” I mumble, spitting and walking, tugging Logan with me so he doesn’t cramp. I did something nice. I tried.

“But---but if they see they’ll disqualify me,” Logan mutters.

“Nope, still don’t feel anything,” I say, looking around at the trees and Leavitt who crossed about five minutes ago standing there passively staring at the sky. “Oh well, now I know. Not worth doing that again.”

“What are you talking about?” Tom asks, wiping sweat from her forehead.

“Oh nothing,” I say.

“Thank you guys but they’re gonna disqualify me,” Logan hangs his head.

“No, they’re not, they didn’t see,” I say, as Wilde finally looks over to take note of who is crossed and who is still running.

“Why not?” he asks, “Weren’t they watching?”

“No, Peter set himself on fire,” I say. Card school of Brainwashing definitely requires improvement. Oh well, practice makes perfect.

“What?” Tom asks.

“I just asked him to create a distraction,” I say, shrugging innocently. I don’t do the innocent thing very well. I do really need practice at being me. Sixteen years isn’t enough to achieve greatness. I’m hoping eighteen will be. then I can be perfect for a solid forty before my mind starts to go like my fathers must have otherwise he would have seen what a significant person I am and never would have left.

“Come here, come here, you don’t need to do that, huh? You’re not gonna do that,” I say, holding the boy so he won’t burn himself again. the skin on his arms and chest is red and bubbly. He’s crying and trying to dive to get the lighter which fell into the dirt.

“I need it,” he whispers, struggling.

“No, no you don’t, baby,” I say, rocking him back and forth and pressing my face against his head, “Shh, just stand here with me, shhh.”

“Humanity had a good run,” Thorn says, nodding and looking unsurprised as I hold the badly burned cadet.

“What the hell happened? What was on fire?” Ebbel asks, running up to join us.

“Nothing much, this one just tried to set himself on fire,” Thorn says, very calmly.

“The rest are accounted for, and I’ve sent for the medics,” Wilde says, jogging back. The cadet is sobbing in my arms now, struggling less which is good because his skin was crumbling when he was thrashing like that.

“Yeah, we’re not gonna do that,” I say, continuing to rock us back and forth, “Go ahead and cry, just cry.”

“What do you mean nothing much?” Ebbel asks Thorn, as though it’s his fault.

“Well, he’s still alive. much worse things will come to pass,” Thorn says.

“Will you quit with the end of time shit???” Ebbel hisses, annoyed.

“Cannibalism and mutilation yesterday, self-immolation today---oh wait, you’re right, everything’s totally fine. my bad. This sort of thing happens all the time,” Thorn laughs. I think he’s legitimately crazy.

“Ebbel don’t engage him---Thorn quit predicting the apocalypse for a minute we need to take care of this Cadet,” Wilde says, picking up the lighter and put it in her cargo pocket.

“Shhh, shh,” I say, the cadet is sobbing harder now, he turns around to hug me, which mushes his burned up the skin into my fatigues. Somehow I know that it would do him far worse to stop him, so I hug him back, even as I feel his skin peel off onto me. “It’s okay now, you’re okay.”

“We’ve got nobody in IDMT since Morrow got fileted,” Ebbel says.

“Good, he needs an actual doctor,” Wilde says.

“He died, I saw him die,” the boy sobs, thrashing in my arms. I keep him still and close to me.

“Shh, I know, you know what baby? It’s okay,” I say, holding him in a vice-like a grip with one arm and stroking his hair with the other. “it’s gonna be okay, we’re gonna take care of him, just like we took care of you.”

“Who? Saw who die?” Ebbel asks.

“I’m not asking him,” I say, in a sing-song voice, as I rock the boy back and forth, his sobs are subsiding and he’s having trouble breathing. Thank god I got the oxygen tank off of him before it exploded. Or do oxygen tanks only explode in films? Not worth risking it, I’d figured, but now he’s not breathing well. “Let’s get you some air, okay? We’re gonna get you something good air to breath, nice and cool, okay?” I ask, kneeling down in front of him, a hand still on his shoulder.

“Uhuh,” he nods, tears running down his red face.

“Okay, we’re gonna put this on,” I say, unlooping my own oxygen tubes from around my head and putting the little tubes up his nose. “Breathe in and out for me, okay. You’re gonna look at me and we’re just gonna breath---good very good, good job mate I’m so proud of you. you’re doing really great for me.”

“You,” he says, taking it out and pushing it at my face.

“No, no, you need it right now, you keep it,” I say, looping it back on him carefully, “Just breathe with me for a little bit, okay?”

“Where did the inbred moron get so good at comforting people?” Ebbel asks.

“I did hear that,” I say, my voice still soft and soothing, “Now, it’s gonna be okay. You’re gonna breath with me, and then we’re gonna go and get you fixed up, okay?”

“You too,” he says, tears in his eyes again. I don’t know if he wants me to breathe the oxygen too, or if he wants me to stay with him.

“Yeah, me too, I’m going to stay with you,” I say, wiping soot and dirt from his cheek with my fingers, he closes his eyes as he cries.

“Not okay,” he says.

“No, no it’s not okay, is it? I’m gonna be here, though,” I say. I am vaguely aware of ambulances and the hum of engines. Paramedics are kneeling next to us. they see he’s clinging to me and they don’t try to move him.

“He’s burned himself,” I say, as though that isn’t obvious, “His name’s” I don’t know, they all look alike with their crew cuts and none of them have name tapes of course or dog tags not yet.

“Peter, his name’s Peter Long,” Liesel says, pressing something into my hand. I don’t know what and I feel her next to me then they are herding her away to be with the rest and I realize that’s the first time she’s actually spoken to me I didn’t even say anything not thank you nothing. it doesn’t matter. She’s all right, he isn’t. Some man’s son. Just easily mine as she is. I stand, and he sort of leans into me, not complying as the medics try to get him loaded onto a gurney.

“Peter, we’ve got to go to the hospital, for me, all right? Will you come with me? It’s going to be all right, my man,” I say, putting my hands on his shoulders, “Just going for a ride now.”

“No,” he says shaking his head and staring off, “Don’t let them take him.”

“We’re not going to, we’re just going to go for a ride, now make you feel a bit better,” I say. he’s still kind of leaning against me. and we need to get him loaded up if we do they can get the IV in him and knock him out. “Come here,” I pick him, up, quickly as I can, and set him on the stretcher. He moans, so I’m sure it hurts him, but he wasn’t letting them do it and it is for the best.

“Can you come with?” one of the paramedics asks, as I stand by still holding Peter’s hand as they begin to strap him in to get him loaded into the van.

“Yeah—yes,” I say, looking around for approval from Ebbel, but he’s busy with validation that Peter needs to be removed. I don’t give a damn. The boy is still holding my hand and sobbing softly, and he wants and needs me. I’m breaking the rules and will be probably court-martialed as it is, I might as well go for gold.

“Stay,” Peter says, staring off blankly into the trees.

“I’ll stay with you,” I say, holding his hand, wiping the tears from his eyes as best I can.

“Did that simpleton know what his name was?” Titus asks, leaning against a tree and watching disinterestedly as they load Peter into an ambulance.

“No,” Liesel says, “I don’t think so, but then he was all sooty and burned, and we don’t have our names on.”

“Downright shame,” Tyrell says, equally disinterestedly.

“Poor Peter,” I say, hitting Titus.

“What? It’s not my fault,” he says.

“You literally asked him to!” I say, shoving Titus’ shoulders.

“I asked him to create a distraction I said nothing about setting himself on fire!” Titus says, holding his hands up as I hit him.

“He’s probably going to die,” I say, tears in my eyes, “He’s definitely expelled.”

“He was standing up, and I didn’t say to do that I’d never think of him doing that! There was clearly something wrong with him,” Titus says.

“Not before you got involved, I hate you,” I say, hugging myself and sobbing, “Everything weird keeps happening here, first Tim, now this.”

“I had nothing to do with Tim or this and if you don’t believe me—fine I don’t care,” Titus says, walking away. I hug myself, sobbing. Gentle arms go around my shoulders and I realize Tsegi is hugging me. she’s crying too.

Let them be mad at me. I try to do something nice and this happens. I hate them too. Let them all burn. Let the fire burn.

Long must’ve told Tom something. Now I shall have to eliminate both of them if my secret is to remain safe. This evening is looking better and better.

And now someone’s tried to burn himself up. Of course, he did. what else would happen down here in hell? In hell where all is silent. Here in hell where my voice makes no sound. Here in hell where we die and slowly consume each other as our very souls are consumed. Here in hell where my voice makes no sound.

“Card get back here!! You’re spending the night in the brig!”

“What the hell for?”

“Wandering off, and now, talking for back, do twenty laps.”

Cool. Murder time. thanks, Ebbel.

“Are you okay?” a girl asks, taking my hand. I look over at her, stupidly. She’s the one who got Darla off of me earlier. I thought she was nice.

I nod.

“Do you think Peter will be okay?” she asks.

“No, no I don’t,” I say, taking a deep breath. She continues to stare at me, so I just shake my head.

“He was nice,” she says. she’s still holding my hand. I don’t quite mind.

I nod again.

“I think you’re nice too,” she says, and she kisses my cheek. I look at her, startled, and she backs away. “My name’s Tsegi.”

“Mine’s Quentin,” I say. she backs away smiling a little, and then turns and runs back to her flight.

“Did you hear me?” I call.

“Yes,” she says, laughing a little. And she turns around and smiles, blowing a kiss. I find myself smiling back, laughing actually. And I’m not thinking about nooses or dead brothers or cannibalism. I’m thinking about how all right it felt to have her hold my hand and kiss my cheek. How all right it was to have someone there who cared about me.

Twenty laps? Does he truly think he can break me? He is no match for me. none of them is a match for me. I wish they were. it would make this more interesting. Maybe you are? Care to participate? No? You never do anything. you’re just there, always there watching me. Am I more interesting than the others? With their boring little lives and thoughts and love affairs? I certainly hope so, I offer you revenge murder true love duels and murder and glory and honor, and of course, spacemen. I hope you’re enjoying the ride. I don’t always.

Chapter 20

I stand by the edge of the path, as Titus runs past. Damn it he was sick after carrying Logan like that, how can he keep running? I feel terrible. He wouldn’t have walked away if I hadn’t yelled at him and now he is having to do this he has to be dying. I never should have shouted at him. but Peter is one of my best friends. But Titus was right, I’d heard him he hadn’t told Peter to do that. I was wrong of me to blame him. So it’s my fault he has to run like this.

I push through the pain. Pain means nothing I am a god among men. I am not cut from the same stuff as them otherwise I would not move. I would not breathe still if I were one of them. My oxygen tank ran out two laps ago. Yet I still breathe.

“I’m sorry I got mad at you. You were right it wasn’t your fault, I was wrong,” I say, running to join Titus, match pace with him. his face is sheet white and his eyes blank.

“What?” he asks, staring at me.

“I’m sorry. It wasn’t your fault, I shouldn’t have blamed you,” I say, “I was wrong.”

“It’s all right,” he says, shrugging and looking away from me.

“No, it’s not, I was wrong. And you wouldn’t have wandered off if I hadn’t been so crossing with you so you wouldn’t have to do this so it’s only fair I do it with you,” I say, breathing deeply. God my legs hurt.

“You don’t have to,” He says, shaking his head, “I’m fine.”

“I know,” I say, “I’m doing it anyway.”

“Thank you,” he says, looking as though he would kiss me if he weren’t running, sweat running in rivulets down his skin, eyes glowing with the exhilaration. If I weren’t running I’d kiss him back.

I don’t know why Titus has to run the laps again. maybe because he put my bloody guidon on the roof again or something equally stupid. I know it’s him. but I’m not tired, and I want to be so tired I don’t think. And it looks like they’re going to leave us standing here for quite some time.

“Hi,” I say, running up to join Tom and Card as they run around the path.

“What are you doing?” Card asked, abruptly.

“I needed to talk to somebody, and have them hear me,” I say, honestly.

“After Peter, you mean?” Tom asks, kindly, her breath coming in short gasps.

“Yeah, that and this morning, they asked me more about the pies,” he says, shuddering, “And I couldn’t talk to them about it. but I felt better after the run. And I want to keep feeling better. and being all right. I really want to be all right.”

“What’d they ask you?” Titus asks, his breath weak.

“Nothing much just had me repeat the same thing---are you out of oxygen?” I ask.

“Yes, I have been, did they find out if you were right?” he asks.

“What? Titus, you have to tell them it’s against regulation to run without oxygen,” Tom says.

“No, I’m doing an experiment it’s completely fine. Leavitt, did they tell you anything new?” he asks.

“Just that I was right, they don’t know how it happened, though,” I say.

“Titus, did you start this?” Liesel Stowe asks, running up to join us.

“Technically Ebbel did,” Titus says.

“Dare I ask what experiment you are doing?” Tom asks.

“How long I can go without oxygen before passing out—we all don’t need to do this,” Titus says.

“Well, you and Leavitt were, it only felt right since I’m a flight leader too,” Stowe says, “Look, Tyrell feels left out, he’s coming as well.”

“Good,” Titus says.

“Why good?” Tom asks.

“I don’t trust him,” Titus says, “I think he’s been putting the guidons on the roof.”

“With your initials on them---don’t look at me like that Titus person other than you can read,” I say.

“I know I just didn’t know you were one of the ow---,” he says, as I knock his head with an elbow, that’s how short he is compared to me.

“We all know it’s you,” Tom says.

“We don’t know why, but we know,” Stowe says.

“I still don’t trust him,” Titus says, haughtily.

“What are we doing?” Tyrell asks, jogging up to join us.

“Running,” I say, “Just running.”

Tyrell doesn’t say anything.

“I’m gonna need you guys to do something, and it’s gonna sound stupid, but when I talk I need you to answer, so can you hear me?” I ask.

“I hear you,” Stowe says.

“Good, that helps,” I say.

“How’s it help?” Tyrell asks.

“Shut up, it helps life,” Titus says, his eyes closed his breath coming in gasps.

“If you guys can keep running, so can I!”

“You didn’t run, to begin with!”

“Sit down, Logan!”

“I did for a little bit!”

“No that’s called walking quickly.” That’s Titus if you couldn’t guess.

(I guessed)

“It’s really okay,” Tom says, “Logan you don’t have to run with us.”

“Yeah, I do,” he pants.

“He’s right, he does,” Titus says.

“What the hell are they doing?” Ebbel asks.

“Looks like they’re running with him,” I say, smiling a little.

“Well, looks like we’ve built morale,” Ebbel says, nodding, a little, “You think Card’s out of oxygen by now?”

“He’d quit, wouldn’t he?” I ask, looking at him.

We shake our heads no in unison.

“That kid is too damn stubborn, I bet you, he’d run without the oxygen,” Ebbel says.

“How much?” I ask.

“You think he’d quit?” he asks.

“I think he’d have to quit,” I say, “Eventually. And we’ve been out here for a while, and you sent him on twenty laps, and he’s been at it for a while.”

“I bet you a beer,” he says, “He’ll run the whole damn way without oxygen, just to get me in trouble.”

“You’re on,” I say.

“What the hell are you doing?” thorn asks, absolutely panicked, staring at the cadets, “They’ve done your run, they set themselves on fire, it’s over.”

“Card wandered off so I made him do twenty more laps,” Ebbel says, proof that he’s as stupid as Harris sometimes.

“You did what??”

“He was insubordinate---”

“That is a mile and half-track that ‘s like thirty miles he doesn’t have enough oxygen for a goddamn marathon are you trying to get us all killed in a massive nuclear explosion??” thorn asks, barely restraining his panic.

“Okay, I liked you better intoxicated---” I say, taking Thorn’s arm and leading him away.

“No, I’m down with this sobriety thing , I’m really grooving on it---Ebbel listen to me, please, if you want to spend any more time in this beautiful universe, please, help me, don’t seal your fate, make them stop, and for the love of all that’s good, leave Titus Card alone,” Thorne begs, falling to his knees as I start to drag him away.

“He gets what all the others get, and he pushes; he’s already got himself in the brig again tonight,” Ebbel says, at which statement a moan escapes Thorne.

“The brig?? He’s probably building a nuclear warhead under the brig as much time as you’ve given him in there---”

“Come on, let’s got get you hammered maybe then you won’t actually shout at people when you predict the end times,” I say, patting Thorn’s head.

“No, no, please Ebbel, just---just call them in for me, let’s just end it, now, call them back, before it’s too late---for all our sakes, I’m not ready yet,” Thorne says.

“They’re fine,” Ebbel says.

I’ve never fainted before in my life. I don’t think I’ll enjoy it since I don’t enjoy sleeping. It shuts my brain off far too much. But, I am always willing to try new things, even if I don’t think I’ll enjoy them. like being nice. I didn’t think I’d like that, and as I predicted, it did not stimulate me. however, I did not truly dislike it either. So, I may do something nice again sometime. Probably not. but sometime maybe. For now, I shall see if I am right, and I do not like passing out due to lack of oxygen. What if it has a negative effect on my brain cells? No, they’ll get me some soon enough? Wouldn’t they? I wouldn’t want to damage---oh well looks like I’m going find out. and with that, my face hits the pavement.

“Titus!” I cry, stopping and stumbling, nearly falling myself from exhaustion as I double back to roll him over. he fell face first, mid-stride that stubborn devil.

“He’s out of oxygen,” Liesel says, pulling his tubes from his face and breathing through them to confirm.

“Idiot,” I say, taking my own tubes off and putting them around his head. he breathes a bit deeper as the life-giving gas flows up his nose. I unstrap my tank, upping the output so that it blasts into his nostrils.

“Here, can you carry the tank?” Leavitt asks, picking Titus up easily.

“Is he going to be okay?” Logan asks, staggering up.

“Yes,” Tyrell and I say, not particularly concerned.

“Did you get him oxygen?” Wilde asks, running down the hill to us.

“Yes, ma’am, my tank,” I say.

“Ebbel’s getting an ambulance,” she says, reaching us, “Leavitt, can you carry him up to the road? Tom, go and get another tank from the supplies, you can’t be without yours. The rest of you, get back to your flights.”

“Yes, ma’am,” we all say.

The first thing I feel when I awake is a disappointment. I’m being carried by Leavitt of all the Cro-Magnons, to an ambulance, I’m not even at the hospital yet. As I suspected, passing out was far from scintillating. However, it was effective. So far, I thought getting put in the brig would be effective for killing Ebbel and I still haven’t done that. I need to stop letting all these side quests get in the way of my priorities. oh well, time to finish this one. They’ll still have to take me to the hospital if I’m unresponsive. And then I’ve still got the brig tonight to murder Ebbel. All this time spent in the brig, I could’ve built a nuclear warhead underneath there by now. probably. I didn’t actually have radioactive materials, but I probably could have gotten them. something to think about while I am pretending to be unconscious.

“that idiot---he’s an idiot,” I say, watching as they carry Titus away.

“He’s hurt,” Logan says.

“He is not, I saw his eyes flutter a few minutes after we gave him my oxygen. He’s faking so he can get into the hospital to visit Peter,” I say, annoyed. Before we could even sneak off to kiss which I had not planned on doing but he thought he was so damn clever he thought he could persuade me to and instead he decided to go and help Peter and after I’d apologized and made it clear I wasn’t mad so he wasn’t doing it for me he was doing it for Peter and how can I hate and love one person so much at the same time? It really hurts.

“Oh,” Logan says.

“All men are idiots,” Tsegi says, shrugging.

“Hey,” Logan says, looking at her.

“It’s okay, we love you anyway,” she says, hugging him around the shoulders.

“Yeah, we do,” I say, hugging him as well.

Chapter 21

I don’t know why they sent to my mum. It’s not like she has the time and she can never take off work and I’ve assured them I’m fine now and I know they know because they heard me and they answered. I’d suppose they don’t want me losing my mind on their watch, but so far insanity doesn’t seem to be a primary concern of theirs otherwise I don’t feel like I’d be in this situation. As it is, I’ve got detention duties thanks to that idiot Titus, who is sleeping away in the hospital blissfully he’ll do his precious night in the brig tomorrow I honestly think he likes it in there. I’ve no idea why and I don’t honestly care I just wish he’d stop defacing my guidon and putting it on the roof. It’s getting on my nerves.

“How’s it coming?” Thorn, the alcoholic MTI who they’ve assigned me to, asks. My duty is I’m supposed to be cleaning the laundry room. Titus is supposed to be doing it with me but he’s not ‘cause he’s off being him in the hospital probably terrorizing the staff and getting served ice cream in bed and reading a book all at the same time. I’ve seen the way he stares hungrily at our tablets. He’s not got one his family’s poorer as mine I’m sure. And with all those big words he knows I’m sure he loves to read. If he weren’t such a moron I’d feel sorry for him.

“Sir, quite well,” I say, sitting up from where I’ve been fishing lint out from behind a dryer.

“Oh sit down and rest a minute, I’ve got you for another hour and it looks quite good. Drink some water,” he says, looking up from what he’s reading. He’s sitting on top of dryer reading and ostensibly watching me but I get the feeling he’s lonely and wants to have a conversation. I’m not very good at talking to people in case you hadn’t noticed.

“Yes, sir,” I say, sitting down and taking a drink from my canteen.

“Good, you work hard, Leavitt. I’m sorry about the bother earlier and the IA guys giving you their usual routine,” he says, setting down his tablet. He does want to talk. Damn.

“Sir, I’m well now, they don’t need to send for my mum she’s got work---”

“They’ve excused her from work. Think of it as a treat since you’ve had such a rotten time what with the business with the pies,” he says.

“Sir, I’d sooner she not get in trouble,” I say.

“I’ll call her work, see that she doesn’t,” he says, frowning, “Is it just you and her?”

“Sir, and my little sister,” I say.

“Did you ever know your father?” he asks.

“No, sir, our mother doesn’t talk about him; my sister’s dad left before she was born,” I say.

“Did you get on with him?” he asks.

“Sir, he didn’t like me and my brother. He said we were noisy and my mum got cross with him for that. I think she only got with him because we needed the money. My mum and he had a big fight, I didn’t hear all of it, I curled up on my bed with my pillow over my ears because I didn’t like them fighting. And then he was gone, and we had to go to a smaller place. My sister was born a while later, near Christmas. I got really scared ‘cause I had to be alone and my mum was in the hospital for days,” I say, tracing the grout with my finger. Nobody knows this. But he doesn’t seem bad. And I want him to help my mum keep her job, he’s being kind to me. I can try to talk to people. “By the time she got home, with the baby, we’d eaten all the food and we had to go out shopping and get some, and I remember, my sister was so tiny mum let me hold her while she got the food. I was happy then, to have a little sister for Christmas. She was so little, though she was a present for me, you know? I got to have her in my room and hold her and everything. Don’t think her dad ever knew she existed. Don’t suppose he deserved to, you know?”

“No, no probably not,” I say, looking at the quiet, tallboy. Not just tall, he’s sturdy as well, starting to get thick shoulders, but his face is still so young. And lonely. Locked up in a flat with nothing to eat. Brother dead under horrible circumstances, left alone with the body. the mum working long hours, he’d probably been left in charge of his sister more often than not. Hell, his paycheck here is probably paying for halfway decent food and clothes for them no wonder he was so terrified to be sent back. I’ll have to look at his charts, but I’d bet any money that he’s gained weight since he’s been here. “You said your mum never told you about your dad, did your brother ever mention him?”

“Pretty sure they were different people,” he says, looking up at me with those innocent eyes that that didn’t know the depth of the misery they’d seen. “No, he never said anything. Nor did my mum. Don’t think she wanted us to know whoever they were. No good I suppose.”

“Mine left my mother when I was small. I don’t really remember him. but she got with somebody worse, by my recollection, anyway, I got in the way and got left at school one too many times, overnight, and so, I wound up going to board at university, then I enlisted,” I say, since I have to say something to all that, “I don’t have any brothers or sisters.”

“Did they ever come to your ceremonies?” he asks.

“My mum did once,” I say, shrugging, “I don’t really talk to her anymore.”

“My mum says she’ll have the money to come up when I graduate,” he says, looking back down. every one of his words rings in my ears. The mother was doing the best she could for him she’d gotten him here---barely. And whatever happened to the brother she’d not done enough not for lack of trying, maybe. But not talking to him about whoever their fathers were wasn’t good but whoever they were wasn’t good either surely. Poor creature. All of them poor creatures. And now humanity was crumbling at the edges.

“Sir, do you have any children?” he asks, looking up at me curiously.

“No,” I say, shaking my head.

“That you know of, or just no?” he asks. It was a bit of an odd question but considering his dad probably didn’t know about him from the sound of it, possibly same with both his siblings, it wasn’t that odd in his world.

“No, I’d know, my exes keep in contact with me because they can’t stand to be around me, but I’m so—pathetic, they’d feel bad if I actually went and died,” I explain.

“Oh,” he says.

“What about you, you got a girl at home?” I ask.

“No,” he says, looking down.

“Hmm,” I say, looking back at my tablet, “I’m too tired to read.”

“Sir, what’re you reading?” he asks, cocking his head at my book.

“The Bible, Revelation, specifically,” I say, holding it up, “Thought it might be useful.”

“Do you read much?” he asks.

“Yes, it passes the long hours here, do you?” I ask.

“A little, on my tablet. My mum got it for me for going away, so I could talk to her. It came with a couple of books. they weren’t bad,” he says, shrugging again. So she was trying to keep hold of him, poor child, at least trying to talk to him.

“Yeah, that’s good,” I say, nodding.

“Sir, Cadet Card doesn’t have a tablet, he might like books on a used one, if you saw one lying about,” he says.

“Cadet Card is a hellion on the best of days,” I say, causing him to smile a little.

“Sir, he might be a bit less of one if he had something to look at and do now and again,” he points out, “My little sister when she was really little, she’d break stuff if I didn’t have one of her toys in front of her. She was only two but even so. I think Cadet Card’s sort of like a two-year-old without the proper toys if you know what I mean.”

“I do,” I say. I hadn’t thought of it that way. Of course, he was very clever. And there was still the possibility he would save us all. If anyone could save us from the end times, it was certainly him. “I’ll have a look. There are usually readers for lending, or a tablet, in the officer’s hall. I don’t think anyone would mind if he used it, for training purposes.”

“Sir, I think he’d like that, maybe fewer guidons would end up on roofs,” he says.

“They might at that, do you have any idea how he’s doing that?” I ask, almost laughing.

“No, sir, none at all,” he says, smiling a little too, “Only don’t tell him I told you to give him something to read. I don’t think he’d like it.”

“Why not?” I ask, a bit surprised, “I’d have thought you two would get on, as well as anyone would get on you’re both---ah—”

“Sir, city trash?” he asks.

“Searching for a better word than that, but yeah, pretty much,” he says, nodding.

“Sir, I don’t think Cadet Card gets on with anyone. He barely gets on with Cadet Tom and he’s got eyes for her if you know what I mean,” he says.

“I do have an idea what you mean, yes,” I say, nodding. I hadn’t thought of it like that. maybe there’s something wrong with me. maybe I’m overreacting. Perhaps I’m blaming him for the coming of the end times when he is only a player, even our savior. I mustn’t go too far until I have proof. Solid proof that is. Since people being baked into pies and setting themselves on fire apparently isn’t proof enough for certain people that the universe is coming to an end.

“Sir, I don’t get on with people either, and I’m stupid, I suppose that’s why I don’t because I’m lucky I can walk and talk at the same time so getting on with people is far too much for my brain cells,” he says, “Then I met Cadet Card, and I realized it must be very awful to be terribly clever and still not get on with people. He can figure just about anything he likes out, but he can’t seem to figure out how to make friends.”

“Or he doesn’t want to,” I point out.

“I think he wants to. I think deep down everyone wants to,” he says, “We just can’t.”

Being hospitalized is quite thrilling. People are constantly coming in and out to check on you and taking your pulse and temperature and bringing you food like ice cream.

And there’s a tablet at the end of the bed with all my information on it and a pathetic attempt at a firewall and so by the time night has fallen and the evening nurses are coming in I’ve gone and visited Peter enough times to do my best to reverse the brainwashing, explored every inch of the place should I need to escape later, and read eight books and am in the middle of the ninth when I hear the sound I’ve been waiting for, boots with metal heels click down the hall.

Harris is the only MTI with metal heels because he has the unparalleled pleasure of showing us facing movements. I hear him and dart out of my room. they’ve taken off the heart monitors and blood pressure one. The doctors cleared me to go home in the morning, they just wanted me to have a good night’s sleep before going back to training in the morning.

“Sir,” I say, stepping into the hallway.

I really didn’t think somebody could be confident and arrogant while wearing a hospital gown. I really didn’t think a man could be. I really didn’t expect to be intimidated by a sixteen-year-old in a hospital gown. And yet here we are.

“Sir,” he says, closing his room door carefully.

“Card, what are you---how did you end up here?” I ask, “Were you burned as well?”

“No, sir, Ebbel had me run the track fifteen times and I ran out of oxygen, in my blood and the tank, so I got sent here for a bit. How is Cadet Long?”

“I don’t know---right now, I’ve been with him, waiting for him to come out of surgery, then he was sleeping so I went back to the barracks to change into my SBUs, my PT stuff was ruined—” why the hell am I explaining myself to him? “—and I showered and I—and they said they didn’t know, they said he was sleeping and I’m off duty, for a night for the trauma, or whatever, so I’m coming here, to check on him.”

“Sir, you need to stay with him,” he says, stepping forward, “I think somebody’s trying to hurt him.”

“What?” I ask, frowning at the little, awfully thin person in a hospital gown. God he’s barely got hair on his legs and chest he’s still such a kid and he doesn’t look cold, how can he not be cold? I’m in my SBUs and I’m cold.

“Sir, think, what happened to him, had to do with the Cadet who got baked in the pies. I think maybe Peter knew and he was afraid,” Card says.

“What—did he say something to you?” he asks.

“No, sir, he was off all day like he was---oh I don’t know---brainwashed, or something. I think you need to look out for him,” Card says, “I don’t want anything to happen to him.”

“Let’s go and see him,” I say, nodding for Card to come with me.

“Yes, sir,” he says, following quickly I’m hurrying and his legs are rather short.

“Why do you think that? Do you have any idea what’s been going on?” I ask. What if somebody is trying to harm the Cadets, some anti-military group or something? What if Liesel gets hurt?

“No, no I’ve absolutely no idea what so ever it’s a total mystery, but, I think Peter’s got himself involved somehow,” he says, “Can you stay with him for the next few days? Till they move him---where ever they’re going to put him.”

“Can you take care of the other Cadets for me?” I ask, looking at him seriously. “I know you’re different than the rest---Card---you just are. We all do, know it I mean. Can you keep an eye on them, just all of them? For me, I’ll see that nothing happens to Peter, but, take care of the others for me?”

“Yes, sir,” he says, nodding.

“Go back now, then, it’s an order, get your SBUs, here’s money for a taxi,” I say, fishing for rubles in my pocket, “And run.”

“Yes, sir,” he says, not needing to be told twice.

“Do you want to switch bunks for the night?” Tsegi asks, leaning her head up to me.

“No, I want to sleep,” I sigh, rolling over. of course, I can’t sleep. Usually, Peter and I message each other till we both fall asleep but now he’s gone and I’m worried about him they’ve not told us anything.

“Please? I want to watch for when Leavitt gets back,” she says, pathetically, “He has late duties tonight.”

“And the last time somebody had late duties they wound up in a pie or set on fire, point taken,” I say, sitting up, “Let’s go look for him.”

“We can’t—can we?” she asks.

“They must not have the cameras on, otherwise Titus wouldn’t get the guidon on the roof every day,” I point out.

“Oh, yes, that’s true,” she says, “I didn’t think of that.”

“No, well, come on, let’s go and see that all’s well at the laundry,” I say, getting up.

“Yes, let’s,” she says.

Shame Peter’s in the hospital. I don’t see how I can get over there, it’s not IDMT it’s much farther across the base and surely there are cameras. Now there’s nothing for it. If he tells the police they probably won’t believe him any way he is crazy. But even so, I’d have liked to have silenced him. as it is, I think I’ll mess with Titus a bit. he’s the one who got Peter set on fire and whisked away, I don’t know how but he did. He’s endangered us both, the fool. Well, I know what he likes. He likes Cadet Tom.

“After Audrey left me then I lived on my own for a bit—well I’ve always lived on my own when I’m here but once you make rank you can have private quarters where you can live with someone—”

“Sir, I’m confused, why did Audrey leave you?” Leavitt asks.

“Oh, same reason Margaret did, she thought I was needy and immature and incapable of self-care, obsessed with my job, and prone to alcoholism,” I explain, “Sorry, that sort of goes for all my exes so it’s just a blanket statement---I know exactly why I’m impossible to be around I just can’t change it. so, yeah, she left me for a few months I was all on my own and I was stationed planetside so it was very lonely. Next deployment I met Susan---”

“What are you doing in here?” Ebbel asks, tiredly, walking in.

“Having an emotional conversation,” I say.

“I quit sending the cadets to Kip because he kept doing that with them now you’re doing it?” he asks, annoyed.

“Yeah, seems so,” I say, shrugging.

“I leave you alone for two minutes---will you quit reading that?” he asks, seeing my book, “And have him finish up in here, it’s getting late.”

“Sir,” I say, nodding, as Leavitt greets Ebbel accordingly as he slams the door.

The boy stands obediently, picking up his cleaning things.

“No, no, sit down, Ebbel’s wrath is way cheaper than therapy, so, where were we? Oh, yeah Audrey left—”

“What are you doing here?”

“What are YOU doing here?”

“Do you ever stay where you’re told?”

“Clearly not but if you were staying where you were told then I wouldn’t have found you would I?”

“What are you doing?”

“Looking for you, you?”

“Same.”

That’s me and Tom, obviously. Told you we were made for each other. The stars revolve around her eyes. that’s really good actually. I think I’ll tell her.

“The stars revolve around your eyes, did you know that?” I ask studying her eyes, “Will you kiss me?”

“What---no---are you as mental as Peter? What are you doing back?” she asks, putting her hands on her hips, “You were sent to the hospital for good reason.”

“No, I only went ‘cause I wanted to check on Peter and he’s okay Harris is with him he’s gotten emotionally attached so it’s fine,” I say, “We’ve got all night, once I clear the barracks to want to go for a run?”

“No, I don’t want to go for a run, I don’t want to kiss you, actually, and this may sound really weird, I want to go to sleep, it’s this thing non-Titus’ do at night,” she hisses, basically tugging me back towards the barracks, “And what do you mean clear the barracks?”

“Just a short kiss, ten minutes at the maximum, I don’t want much, just you and control of the known universe,” I plead. It’s a fine night for romantic endeavors, the moons are shining, the stars are bright, and the wind is just cold enough to make you want to hold someone close to you.

“No, you’re mental, I’m going to bed seeing as how you’re safe,” she says rolling her eyes.

“Would you kiss me if I weren’t mental?” I ask, cocking my head.

“Oh, so you admit you’re mental?” she asks, turning around and folding her arms.

“No, but it’ll work because the thing is I’ve searched our whole language for a word, just one perfect beautiful word, that can describe exactly me and contains all my attributes, good and bad, and I can’t find it. I know loads of other words, they all fit different people. But I can’t find a word for me,” I say, shrugging helplessly.

“I can,” she says, smiling that deep and lonely smile that I have seen only ever grace her lips.

“What?” I ask, frowning. I can’t think of one and I’ve gone to much trouble to learn every word I can for everything.

“Titus,” she says, and then she kisses my lips quickly, too quickly for me to kiss back. then she turns and jogs back towards the barracks. I’m enjoying the taste of her on the mouth so much, I pause before I follow her.

“You know you’re right,” I say, running to catch up. She’s right, I’m not a word already invented. I’m a new word. I’m me and there’s nobody like me and there never will be again and my name will always hold the horrendous meaning of being associated with me.

“I do know, I also know we should actually try something new tonight and go to sleep,” she says.

“Why?” I ask.

“Have you ever tried sleeping a whole night here?” she asks.

“No,” I admit.

“Try it for me, we’ll discuss the results in the morning,” she says.

“All right, that could be stimulating,” I say, cheerfully. A kiss and an experiment. I am so happy right now.

“Yeah, definitely. We should get really started.”

The card has found his Tom. Well, that means no joy for me tonight.

Oh and don’t think I’ve forgotten about Ebbel. But there’s murder then there is bonding time with the delightful Tom. It’s a hard choice under most circumstances, but it’s made easier by the fact that I have no idea where Ebbel is tonight, so I might as well do that tomorrow.

“So, in conclusion, my problem with women is not just my problem with women it’s my problem with life. I’m a nervous, only semi-functioning twitchy human being and I know it and I tell them that before they go out with me, but they think that’s sweet and charming and they laugh and say it can’t possibly be true, then they realize it is and they feel really guilty because I’m a mess and I warned them but they also can’t handle it so it takes forever to break up,” I say, leaning against the back of the washing machine as it hums peacefully.

“Sir, that is a problem,” Leavitt says, crawling out from behind a washing machine. He felt like he ought to be doing something so he was cleaning the lint out of the vents of the things.

“I know, and it’s painful, because I feel bad and then they feel bad, maybe I’m the disease,” I say, with a sigh.

“Sir, I don’t think so, I think everyone’s just sort of different,” he says, sitting cross-legged on the floor, wiping sweat from his forehead.

“Yeah, just sort of different,” I say, with a smile, “You know, you’re right? And it’s just a matter of finding our own sort of different.”

“Yes, sir,” he says, smiling as well.

“thron, I realize this is your own personal form of therapy but you need to let that cadet go to bed,” Ebbel says, walking in, “He has to wake up in three hours.”

Chapter 22

D isposing of a body was rather invigorating. And it nearly sent Leavitt to pieces. I saw him after they sent him back today, he’s not right in the head. I wonder if I can do it so quickly and smoothly again. And if at the same time, I can get that annoying leviathan Leavitt to completely go to pieces. Well, one way to find out.

I sit next to the boy’s bedside, looking at the monitor’s beeping and watching him sleep. It’s surprisingly comforting to watch somebody sleep. Especially a child, or as near as he is to a child he isn’t a man not yet, poor boy. I wonder who his father is. I read his file, he’s one of the Forgotten, as they call themselves. The ones that nobody comes for. how could you do that? You know your flesh and blood is living, breathing out there somewhere without you, and you don’t even want to know they are okay? I can see not wanting to raise them, that looks hard I’m sure I’m not capable of that. I never would have been. But for God’s sake, I wanted my daughter alive and well and able to talk to me. I cared about who or what she was. I wanted to go and throttle whoever his parents were. tell them their boy was lying, incoherent, lonely, in a hospital bed after trying to burn himself up, was that anything to do with what you did? Huh? Maybe? Maybe the fact that you brought him into this unfeeling, miserable world---which according to Thorne is coming to an end but that’s just a side note---and he knows for a fact you brought him here and now don’t even care to meet him? Not even learn his name? Who named him? Who named my Leisel? All the lost children who gave them names and dried their tears? Nobody with enough care, for sure. Or he’d not be lying here like this now.

“Are you from the Space Forces?” a nurse asks, coming and checking Peter’s chart.

“Yes, I’ve been sent down with him,” I lie. I wasn’t sent, I just sort of came. Somebody ought to be here.

“That’s good, I do hate it when they’re alone,” he says, looking at the boy, “Especially now, but soon he’ll get some attention, they’re saying they’ll send him to inpatient once the burn unit is done with him.”

“What’s that?” I ask, I’m stupid I didn’t even know there was a special burn unit till this morning.

“Inpatient? It’s psychiatric care,” he says.

“Like institutionalizing him?” I ask, “He’s sixteen years old.”

“He did set himself on fire, and anyway, it’s not as though anyone is coming for him,” he says, shrugging, “There’ll be people there that’ll take care of him.”

“What do you mean, it’s not as though anyone is coming? You mean if nobody comes and gets him out, he’ll just stay there?” I ask.

“Probably, yeah,” he says, shrugging, “I worked at one once, dead depressing, nobody ever comes if they’ve got no family, nobody to care for them because they usually can’t do it all themselves, medications and such.”

“That’s horrible,” I say, reaching out and holding his hand as he sleeps.

“Yeah, it is, better than the war though, I think. Maybe not, though. they’ve got their own war in their heads, don’t they?”

“Yes,” I say, “They do.” what would have possessed him to do something like that to himself?

I don’t like sleeping, Tom suggested we do it as an experiment but I’ve never really liked it. and I passed out already earlier today, I miss my mind when I’m asleep. But as she said, I should try, after all, if I haven’t actually tried to sleep through a night I can’t be completely certain it is not amusing to me. So I lie there with my eyes closed, forcing my brain to shut off which I absolutely despise doing, but it is the only way to reach full REM. Harris did ask me to keep any eye on the cadets, which I have no intention of doing if only because he asked, but since I wanted to know if he would be close to a mental breakdown or not, I have had a look around, and Liesel is safely asleep in her bunk. Tyrell is not even though he should be back from late duties by now. but I will do experiments on him another day. What I really want to do now is fully analyze the effects on Peter, if my mind control contributed to his lessened brain capacity or if the shock was purely the cause and I was the catalyst. Next time I certainly don’t need my victim becoming actively violent. Before I tell him to. Perhaps I simply need to make my instructions more coherent. Well, the only thing to do is an experiment. Which I should be doing right now with extended sleep. I sigh. I really don’t think I’m going to enjoy this.

I try to sleep but it isn’t easy worrying about my mum having to come down. I know they get cross if she takes off of work and she already took off of work to spend a couple of days with me before I left and to see me off. I was fine, in never should have let them see I wasn’t fine. I am fine. they didn’t need to worry. I hate this place. I thought things would get better, me being here and making good money and such. But things only seemed to get worse. This place is infected somehow, dying slowly on the inside, decaying around me into madness. I absolutely hate it. but I can’t go home either. There is no place to go. No place is safe, Ginny is hunted, they’d lock her up. Hell, they are trying to lock me up. All questions no answers. Nobody to even hear you ask.

At least that got Titus to sleep, he is like a hyperactive child most of the time. They used to send us down to help out with the little Project 10s, play with them and help them do their homework and stuff. Those small people were more patient than Titus. At least they could be reasoned with, to go and play with a toy or lie down or have a drink of water or whatever. not him, he didn’t think he needed to eat or sleep or do anything his awfully busy brain didn’t want to do. And that made it so sad as well. because he did have such a busy brain and all he needed was to be talked to and occupied and have increasingly complicated dangerous activities, then he was happy, for a while. Until he realized everybody else was tired and content to do nothing, for a bit, and he wasn’t. he wanted to keep going and going and never stop until he broke, just like he was with running. Run until his own body just gave out and even then I wouldn’t put it past him to be thinking and plotting and calculating, even lying there comatose and worn out as he was. he was still plotting.

Wilde did a good job of cleaning out my room. She’s even found the liquor I had beneath the mattress. Where did she go to an alcoholic intervention school? I am annoyed, being sober is slightly more depressing than being intoxicated on the basic principal that when you are intoxicated you at least have the comfort that things will look better when you sober up. Not so when you’re sober and have no hope of obtaining alcohol. I check my tablet from messages, nothing from Hawking but I know they work them 24-hour shifts out there and if she has only moments she’ll communicating with her lovely fiancé and not me. I’m glad I had the chat with Leavitt, though. I hope it did him at least half as much good as it did me. The boy needed talking to. He seemed a lonely sort and it didn’t do him any good to be here I was sure none of the others talked to him. Of their squadron, he is the only one from technical universities, which are almost free if you had good enough scores to get in. Ones like King got sent to school parents paying or parents with enough means to help them get scholarships, some even got scholarships to the Academy. So I thought Leavitt must be lonely, and the IA guys had given him a rotten time of it. them and Ebbel, I was really annoyed with him lately. That and I think he’s sending me prank memorandums about the end times. For a while, I had thought I was sending them to myself when I was really drunk, but I’ve been sober all day and another one has appeared on my tablet.

I sigh and lay back on the bed, my Bible open to Revelations, lying next to me. no liquor to speed the words through my brain, though. God, I am tired. And the 4:30 am wake up calls came far, far too early. I should really just sleep. Try to get a good night’s sleep for a change. That’d be a change of pace, eh? I almost laughed to myself at that. Go to sleep and sleep peacefully. That would definitely be a change.

I realize I fell asleep clutching my tablet. My mum had messaged me late. they had heard about death, the IA guys being flown in, all that. I assured her I was fine.

My father hadn’t asked, which confirmed my suspicion that he was on an outer planet or moon. He had messaged very quickly to say he was thinking of me and he had to go back to work again but to let him know how I was. I had. I told him about Peter as well. I didn’t tell my mum because I didn’t want her to think I might go and do something like that, I already knew she was worried about me after the person in the pies incident.

But my father hadn’t seemed particularly worried, more generally concerned for my well being. And for some reason, I didn’t think that fathers were likely to be especially worried about things like mothers might be. I didn’t know how true it was. and I hadn’t the heart to type it all out twice. It made me sad, I’ve known Peter all my life. He is like a brother, we were all like brothers and sisters, the Project 10s, half of us could’ve been, for all we knew. He hadn’t talked to me as much since our birthdays and me finding out my parents, not only one but both, did want to know me and his—didn’t. neither of them. I had felt bad but I hadn’t known what I could do to make it better. or what I could say. I was sorry? Of course, I was, but I also was very, very glad I did get to at least know they were well and sort of wanted me about. he didn’t have that luxury. His parents wanted to forget he existed.

We hadn’t really talked about any of that, and now I have no idea when if ever I will get to see him again. Surely they would put him the hospital and didn’t we get passes for that sort of thing? Maybe we could write a memorandum for it.

Titus would love that sort of thing, he was good at it as well. I’d seen him writing memorandums to the MTIs before. I wasn’t sure about what, though. Maybe he could help me with writing one. It was only fair Nicole and I and some of the others got to visit him. it would do him good, we were his friends. I consider messaging Titus now, but we aren’t even supposed to have our tablets out anymore, and he’s probably asleep.

I am so lonely tonight. I’ve fallen into a fitful sleep, finally exhausted by the day’s running and marching and all. I am curled up far to one side of the bed, I’m so used to Ginny coming and curling up with me. When the heat’s off, she will always snuggle in my bed with me, under her blankets and mine. I would be drunk, too drunk to move, and she’d just curl under my arm. So I’d learned to get myself to one side, all the way, so when I was too drunk to move there was still room for her.

I still sleep like that, now that I am not drunk and she isn’t here. don’t think about that. pretend you are there, and your mum will come in late and tuck another blanket around you. One Christmas, she’d come in very late, and we were sound asleep, but she’d put a new blanket over us, and when we woke up the thick, soft dark blue blanket was tucked over us, and she was sitting on the sofa, still in her clothes from work. I sigh and shift in the bed, no need to be on one side, I’m going to fall out at this rate these beds are so tiny.

When I shift I feel something else in the bed. I jump a little, only to see that it’s Tsegi, her eyes are closed. She must’ve crawled up here and then fallen asleep when she realized I was asleep. I smiled a little because it seemed a nice sort of thing to do like she’d sensed I was lonely.

I quit smiling when I realized her head was no longer connected to her body.

None of her limbs are, in fact. I pull back the blanket to find that out. That was a mistake. She is in her PT gear that we all slept in, but her smooth skin and the clothes themselves were slick with blood because her limbs were separated at every joint, knee, ankle, wrist, elbow, shoulder, and of course, head at the neck.

Shaking, I pull the blanket back over her, gently, putting it over her head as well. I should have screamed, in fact, I really wanted to. But I can’t bring myself to like it would wake her up or something. and I don’t want the others seeing her like that. I wanted them to come and get her quietly and let her rest someplace. That is what goes through my head, anyway, right or wrong.

I crawl off the bed, nearly slipping because of course, I’m wet with her blood as well. my whole body trembling, I slowly walk out of the barracks. Nobody stops me, which feels odd because we aren’t supposed to leave. But I do. I just walk out and walk towards the MTI’s barracks. Because I need to tell someone. I need to TELL them. As in talk to them. And have them hear me.

I knock on a few doors before one of them opens.

“What the---Cadet report,” Ebbel opens his door a crack, it’s dark in the hall he can’t see the blood on me, he rubs his eyes.

“Sir, she’s dead,” I say, my voice shaking. I don’t know her last name I don’t remember but somehow I remember to call him sir.

“What?” He asks more alert now.

“Sir, one of the cadets is dead,” I say, again, my voice stronger, “I need somebody to come and get her or something but I didn’t know who to go to so I thought I’d come here, sir.”

“Get in here,” He says, pulling me into the light, and then he takes his hand off of me when it comes off with blood. “What happened?”

“Sir, I don’t know I woke up and she was lying there dead,” I say, and for the first time, I realize I’m about to cry.

“What do you mean? Damn it,” he says, tugging me all the way into the room and picking up his key card and a handful of things from a desk.

“Sir, she’s in my bunk I don’t know how I was asleep and I woke up and she was there,” I say, as he types onto his tablet, no doubt alerting the IA investigators.

“Why’s it always you, Leavitt?” He asks, looking up at me.

“Sir, I really don’t know, I wish it weren’t,” I say.

“Yeah, I bet you do, be glad you have an alibi for the one who got baked,” he says, not moving to help me get the blood off or anything. I sort of wipe it off my hands and onto my shirt, but that’s all bloody too.

“Yes, sir,” I say, stupidly, because that’s usually an okay response to anything.

“Ah shut up,” he says, shaking his head. that’s actually way more comforting than it should be because it confirms that he can actually hear me.

“Sir, I don’t like leaving her there,” I say, looking the smears of her blood on my hands.

“Why not?” he asks.

“Sir, ‘cause she’s alone, and the others might be afraid of her now, and she might not like that, because it’s not her fault she’s all dead,” I say, looking down at my feet. I didn’t put my running shoes on, so my feet are bare. They’ve got blood on them too, there’s a cut on one as well, I suppose I got that walking over here.

“Kid, it’s not gonna matter, she’s gone,” he says, about to put a hand on my shoulder then thinking better of it. My shoulder is probably bloody. “She doesn’t know any different.”

“Sir, how do you know?” I ask.

“I---okay fine damn it we’ll wait for the MPs over there,” he says, about to guide me out of his room, then he sees my bare feet. “Put my shoes on there---you’re huge kid you’ll probably fit in ‘em.”

I obey, picking up the shoes and kneeling to put them on. They do fit just right or close enough. I am not really noticing stuff like that.

“You okay, kid?” he asks.

“No, sir,” I say.

“But you aren’t going to quit talking on me or set yourself on fire or anything, are you?” he asks.

“No, sir,” I say, as strongly as I can, “That wouldn’t do anybody any good, would it?”

“No, certainly not me, now come on,” he says, taking my shoulder now and pushing me ahead of him since I probably am not walking properly.

“I smell blood,” I say, sitting up abruptly.

“What?” Logan mumbles beneath me.

“I’m pretty sure somebody’s dead in here, come on,” I say, hopping onto Tom’s bunk and poking her.

“What no, we were sleeping that was far more interesting, remember?” she mumbles.

“No, wake up, I think there’s a dead body in here and I want to look at it before the police show up. I love dead bodies, don’t you?” I ask, shaking her shoulder hopefully.

“No, I don’t want to see a body,” Logan says, more awake.

“You’re insane,” Tom says, artfully kicking me off the bed, “How can you smell blood---oh my god.”

“Yeah, see?” I asked, sniffing the air as I sit up rubbing the back of my head where it hit my bunk on my way down. her actively kicking me out of her bed was not my ideal way to leave it after being in it the first time, but that was okay, she is still talking to me and I had only come to wake her up to find a body with me and not more romantic endeavors.

“What are you doing?” the living Tim hisses, sitting up.

“We’re going to go and find out who died, I think it’s over there,” I say, waiting politely for Tom to get down.

“No, we are not looking,” Tom says, but she and Logan follow me anyway.

“It’s definitely over here,” I whisper.

“Go back to sleep, you’ve put the guidon on the roof enough times,” Darla hisses, hearing us but not getting up.

“What’s going on?” Liesel asks, sitting up as well.

“I sincerely hope nothing,” Tom says, following me tiredly.

“Oh yeah, it is a body, not Leavitt though, shame,” I say, pulling myself up to his bunk and looking under the blanket.

“What?” Tom asks, pushing me aside to climb up as well.

“Don’t look if you---” I warn as she and Logan both look and shriek in horror. Well, Logan does most of the shrieking, Tom is more of a gasp of horror.

“I said don’t look,” I say, as I stand poised to catch Tom as they struggle to get down. as it is, she doesn’t fall but Logan does so I catch him. I drop him immediately because I wanted her to fall into my arms but she clambers down deftly.

“Oh my god,” she says, her face is sheet white, “Who is that?”

“I think it’s Tsegi, but I’m not positive, it definitely isn’t Leavitt,” I say, crawling back up to look at it some more. The severed head arouses me. I shall have to cut off somebody’s head sometime. Ebbel maybe? No, I really like the death I have planned for him just as it is. oh well, somebody else later. Not Leavitt---well maybe Leavitt after I let him live without his legs for a while. Hmm, I’ll decide later. Something to think about when I’m the brig tomorrow night.

“Oh my god, who---what would have done that to her?” Tom asks, by now nearly everyone is up and coming over to see what we’re looking at.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Logan says.

“Oh go to a trash can then, do, I do dislike scrubbing vomit off the floor and you know they’d make us do it like last time,” I say, crawling back down, careful not to get blood on my hands. “Want another look?” I ask, Tom.

“What---no, that’s disgusting,” she says, shuddering, “Why?”

“To determine the cause of death, and the instrument used to flay her,” I say, “You know the MPs will take forever to tell us and since you knew her I thought you’d want to know.”

“Okay, yes,” she says, crawling back up with me.

“Looks like she died before the serration occurred, look at the endings there---are you going to vomit as well?” I ask she’s just staring white as a sheet.

“No no-” she says, her voice cracking, “I can’t look at her like that, I’m sorry, just tell me what you think.”

“It looks like she was strangled, the decapitation is a messy attempt to hide the strangle marks,” I say, looking around the room now, not at the body.

Tyrell is staring at me. He heard what I said. and his mouth twitches in anger. So he killed her. I didn’t think Leavitt would have the stomach to. Well, this is getting out of hand. If they catch him, which they will this is no way to dispose of a body plus he’s probably left DNA evidence on her, then he’ll expose me as a part of the cooking of Tim, and I really don’t want to be on the run just yet. I’m enjoying being on this side of the law for a while. No, he’s going to have to be removed. The devil of it is, my most surefire way to do it is hazardous to me. But then, there’s no great gain without great risk. Card’s move.

Of course, when we get to the barracks all the little heathens are crowded around the body looking at it. the ugly one wearing my shoes is the only one who it appears to have occurred to that the MPs need to be notified.

As it is I order them all out and they go reluctantly, some of them vomiting some bickering with each other over what happened.

Thorn and Wilde show up to help me secure the area shortly before the MPs arrive.

“This is disgusting,” Wilde says.

“Yeah, probably means the last one wasn’t an accident either,” I say.

“Thorne you’re quiet through all this---are you humming ‘Another one Bites the Dust?’ “ Wilde asks, turning to Thorne who is very distinctly humming that ancient song.

“No,” he says, innocently.

“You were,” I say, “You’re not very surprised.”

“I told you. anyone of us is next. The slaughter of the lambs is beginning,” Thorne says, very seriously.

“Get him out of here before the police see him and decide he’s psycho and needs to be locked up,” I groan.

“Okay, come on, let’s go and round up the cadets,” Wilde says, taking his arm.

“Oh, yeah, and bring Leavitt in to talk to the police,” I say, staying with the body. after all, I don’t know if she doesn’t know. the boy’s words haunt me. what if she does know we’re here staring at her? What if they all do?

“Which one is he?” Wilde asks.

“The one with blood all over him,” I say.

Chapter 23

“I

can’t believe she’s gone,” Tom says, we are sitting at dinner which is not tight therefore we can whisper quietly. Tsegi always used to dine with us. I’m not very talkative because I am ensuring that tonight’s plan to eliminate Tyrell is seamless.

“I know,” Logan says, sadly, “She was nice. I don’t understand why people keep dying here.”

“I’ll do something,” I promise Tom, taking a drink of my milk.

“What are you going to do?” she asks, turning to me quickly.

“You’ll find out tomorrow,” I say, “Or tonight, depending on how well my plan goes.”

“What are you going to do?” Logan asks.

“Is there an echo in here? I’ve said, you’ll find out tomorrow,” I say.

“Why? Titus, is it dangerous?” Tom asks, “If you know something just tell the MPs, please?”

“No, she’s your friend, you’d like it if her murderer was made to suffer, right?” I ask.

“Yes but---I don’t want you torturing people,” Tom hisses, “Or whatever you’re going to do, just let the police handle it.”

“Yeah, can you torture people?” Logan asks they are both staring at me suspiciously.

“Have you tortured people?” Tom asks, slowly.

“Only my brothers and my mum cut them free before they needed to go the hospital for long, no---I’ve not to time for that sort of set up, as I said, you’ll see how it goes in the morning, but we do need to re-establish order,” I say. High time Tyrell knew who was the master here. This is my game and I am the one who sets the rules. And Tyrell had broken them.

“Please, Titus, why won’t you just tell whatever you know to the police?” Tom asks, “Let them handle it?”

“I’m cleverer than they are,” I say, flatly.

“Be that as it may it’s still their job,” she says.

“Yeah, you’re just a cadet,” Logan says.

“Yes, exactly, please keep telling yourself and anyone who asks you that, that,” I say, emphatically, to Logan, finishing the last of my milk.

“But you are---Titus,” Tom sighs, “You don’t need to get hurt, Tsegi wouldn’t want that.”

“I won’t get hurt, badly,” I say, starting my second glass, “Why aren’t you eating?”

“Because I don’t trust the pies anymore and drinking milk is disgusting now because I watch you do it too much, don’t change the subject,” she says, annoyed.

“I’ve told you, I’ll fix things for your friend,” I say, annoyed now, “I thought you’d be glad.”

“I am; I don’t want you hurt,” she says.

“Me neither,” Logan says.

“Titus, you’re our friend, we don’t want anything to happen to you any more than we wanted it to happen to her, we don’t want to lose you too,” Tom explains. Her hands are on her lap, and she reaches over to squeeze my knee.

“I see,” I say, looking at them both. They genuinely like me. But that’s because they don’t know who I am. Why though? They don’t know my thoughts or that I am a murderer, but they do know I’m callous and poke at bodies and tell people to create distractions who then set themselves on fire, and they do know I put guidons on roofs. Yet they still like me. I won’t chop Logan’s head off, then. I hope he gets out of Spaces Forces, I don’t want him playing in the game. Tom will play on my team, like it or not. I’ll make sure she’s always on my team. He’s too stupid to play on my team but I don’t think he belongs in the game.

“No you don’t, because you haven’t said you won’t do it,” Tom says taking her hand away damn I liked it there.

“But it’ll be fun!” I say, “We marched all day long I’m positively ennui I need some entertainment I can’t just go to bed tonight and try to sleep that was really boring I don’t think the experiment is worth it.”

“Are you always this bored?” Tom asks, with a sigh.

“Yes,” I say, nodding.

“Just don’t die,” she says, we all three stand.

“You wouldn’t be so lucky,” I say, just as we push in our chairs so she can’t respond. She doesn’t know what I mean. At that moment, I hope she never does.

“How could you possibly have known?” Wilde is staring at me. She’s insisted I get drunk because she can’t stand me sober much longer.

“It’s the end times, endgame, no moves left to make just total destruction before we descend to darkness,” I say, taking a drink from my hydration system which I spiked. It’s a really awesome way to consume copious amounts of alcohol throughout the day whoever invented the things must’ve been an alcoholic.

“Okay but why?” she asks, “How did you know what made you think that? I don’t deny the things happening here are---strange.”

“I looked in his eyes,” I say, looking in them now. deep sapphire pools of evil, portals to the next world where all is death and despair. I want to drown in those eyes and let it all end in burning pain now rather slowly let them leak into the world.

“He’s sixteen years old,” I say, “And he didn’t cause what happened to Peter and he was in the brig when Tim died, and last night he was only just out of the hospital he’d have been too physically weak to move the body and do all that, the MPs told us that when you told them your---”

“Delusions---”

“I was going to say theories but yeah—earlier today,” she says.

“No, I’m not saying I know how,” I say, shrugging, “I wonder why the gods sent him here? Their angriest, saddest, loneliest angel. Do you think he knows what he is? Or do you think they let him forget and he doesn’t know why he’s trapped here in this body, and that’s why he lashes out, he just wants to be free again to roam the caverns of hell?”

“Ebbel was right we do need to seriously get you some help,” she sighs.

“You asked,” I say, “I’m not doing anything, I’m not trying to slay him or anything. I’m just warning you because you’re engaged to my best friend and I do want you to survive as long as you can, and to know what we are fighting.”

“Why aren’t you? Slaying him or doing something, I mean?” she asks, “Since you’re so sure he’s the anti-Christ.”

“I’m not completely positive. He could’ve been sent to save us from the anti-Christ, I don’t know, it’s hard to say. it is him, he’s not of this world. That is for certain, but I don’t know if they sent him to slay the beast, and he’s just frustrated and lonely because he doesn’t know why he’s here, or if he is in fact the beast. But either way, I cannot defeat him nor would I dare. He could be a force to fight evil.”

“But you say he is evil,” she says.

“The only thing that can destroy true evil is another evil,” I say, “Don’t you read?”

“Not what you do,” she says, flatly.

“I shall have to get you some books on the subject,” I say.

“No please don’t.”

“No, really you’d enjoy epics.”

“I’m sure I wouldn’t.”

“What happened to the one who set himself on fire?”

“Don’t call him that,” I say, scanning the DFAC for a sign of Liesel. I haven’t seen her since yesterday when we had PE day. I hope she’s holding up all right I don’t know how well she knew Peter but she had told me his name so she must’ve been friends with him. I wanted to go and thank her for telling me. It was a fine excuse to talk to her and I wanted to look at her and talk to her a little. Just have a conversation. But I would probably screw it up and stand there like an idiot. I tend to screw things up. But I always give myself the benefit of the doubt that I won’t totally screw up all the time.

“Well I have to distinguish him from the one who got eaten and the one who got cut up,” Ebbel says. I really get sick of him sometimes.

“What one who got cut up?” I ask, my stomach dropping.

“Oh, yes, you’ve only just gotten back from the hospital. One of the little gremlins cut another one up into about fourteen different pieces,” Ebbel says, calmly.

“What?! Who?!” I ask, my heart double beating as I scan the room where the hell is Liesel? I asked Card to watch them but what if he was dead, I didn’t see him either?

“I don’t know their names, and I certainly don’t know who did it,” he says, “But it was one of the small dirty people.”

“What do you mean? Who was it?” I ask, my voice rising in panic.

“Cadet Stowe reports.”

I whip around, nearly crying in relief. Liesel stands at attention behind us, her face grim and eyes forward as they should be.

“Do not scare me like that, thank god,” I say, chocking with the flood of joy that I see her alive and not in fourteen pieces.

“She walked up behind us what is wrong with you?---Report Cadet,” he says.

“Sir, am I to return my flight to the barracks?” she asks.

“No, the MPs are still in there, march them around outside till we tell you to stop,” he says.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” she says, turning to leave. I want to call her back to thank her for telling me Peter’s name and to tell her that he’s okay, but I don’t. Ebbel is too busy staring at me as it is and I don’t want him speaking to me more than necessary.

“Yeah it happened in the barracks, we’re gonna have to have them camp out on the runway tonight, that should be fun, not,” he says, “Anyway, what took you so long at the hospital?”

“I had left,” I mutter.

“Yeah but was it that interesting staring at crispy kid sleep?” he asks.

“No,” I say, shrugging. I don’t want to tell him the real reason I stayed. I found out they were taking him to an institution. So I had filed for guardianship. That meant that I could check him out of there and take him home with me if I wanted. I had a flat. He could easily live there, once he got a bit better. someplace quiet, away from hospitals. Even if he needed a nurse or somebody to watch him. it was far better than letting him be locked up the rest of his life. Everybody deserved somebody. But I had no intention of telling Ebbel or anybody that. They would think I was strange and hell they already did. But I just didn’t want to tell them why I had a soft spot for the Project 10s. I was still ashamed at ever being involved with those poor lost souls. At least I could rescue him, and my Liesel.

“Oh, you’re still alive, that’s nice,” Thorn says, “I was thinking you might’ve died as well by now.”

“Is he drunk?” Ebbel asks.

“You didn’t like him sober,” Wilde says, holding up her hands.

“What is he talking about?” I ask.

“Oh, you haven’t heard my theories? Come, let us talk about the end of all things,” Thorn says, swinging an arm around my shoulders.

“While you are, requisition the camp out stuff for the cadets, they’re spending the night on the runway,” Ebbel calls after us.

I wait patiently in the interrogation room. I should not be so familiar with this place. Now I’m not being interviewed, though, they cleared me from Tsegi’s murder. Apparently, she’d died hours ago, back when I was with Thorne cleaning the laundry rooms, so they said I couldn’t’ve done it. that didn’t make me feel better. because she was still dead.

Now I am waiting here because they’d said they would bring my mum here and let me see her. I am taking them up on it because they’d already called her off of work and I wanted to convince her I was okay. which was going to be hard because I was pretty damn far from okay. I look down at my hands. I can still see blood on them even though I scrubbed clean hours ago.

I am in my SBUs now, just waiting for them to let her in. then I will go and march my flight in circles, then we’d get to go to sleep. Probably out in some deserted field or something since the barracks were still under investigation. I sigh and lean back. Ginny hasn’t talked to me all day which is good cause she is probably with our mum but I missed her. it was nice to have somebody around in my head. but I sincerely hoped she hadn’t seen what had happened last night. she didn’t need to see that. she hadn’t commented and she surely would’ve if she’d seen. I still felt bad them coming down, but I am guiltily glad to see them. it is awfully lonely here, and after all the horrible, miserable things that had happened to me at the expense of the space forces, I felt as though the least they could do was to let me see my family a bit.

I feel bad for Thorn too. He seemed like a lonely person. even if he did show up smelling of whiskey and making me wish I could have some. No, I don’t. I didn’t like being that person, I like being lucid. Even if being lucid means waking up next to bodies and accidentally eating people. That was awful but it was better than being hungover and not even realizing you were sleeping next to a body. I shudder at the memory. Poor Tsegi. She had been sweet, I had liked her more than any of the others. And she’d been good and kind to me like people usually weren’t here. and for half a second I’d thought she’d crawled up to sleep with me and keep me company during the cold night and then I’d realized she was dead. I hoped she wasn’t lonely anymore. I hope wherever people go they aren’t lonely. and I hope I never see her like I see Ian. And I hope I never see him again either, not that awful thing of him that came when I was drunk or very ill. Sadly, the likelihood of my becoming very very ill or even dying myself seem awfully good. people die here.

“Please tell me they aren’t all singing like Card does,” Ebbel says, his head in his hands. He’s not having a good day, none of us are. We’ve not been to bed since the discovery of the body in the barracks, then again nor have the cadets but it’s good for them.

“Oh, believe me, they are. But that’s Harris’ fault he’s the one who told Card he could do it,” I say.

“It does actually help them,” Wilde points out, before going to get tents ready for the kids.

“But it’s disturbing,” Ebbel says.

“The death march usually is to me, but now it’s sort of peaceful, like knowing what will happen as they lead us down to hell,” I say, comfortingly.

“Yes, that makes it feel so much better,” he says.

“I hate leading Leavitt’s flight, they don’t like me,” Harris says, coming up.

“That’s just because Card and Stowe can march flights better than you can,” Ebbel says.

“Be that as it may I still don’t like it,” Harris says.

“Who’ve you got doing it?” Ebbel asks.

“That girl who flirts with everybody, Darla,” he says.

“That’ll have to do, you want to go and get Leavitt?” Ebbel asks.

“I’ll do it, there’s a bond there,” I say.

“That’s why I’m asking him to do it, Leavitt is not your emotional support animal,” Ebbel says.

“But he can be used as one!” I say.

“No, Harris, you go and do it, Thorn, why don’t you go and help Wilde with preparing the tents and crap we have to issue the hormonal teenagers?” Ebbel asks, “She likes you.”

“Oh, no she says she wants to shoot me,” I say.

“Be that as it may, why don’t you go and help her all the same?” he asks.

“Fine, just don’t lose Card okay? It’s a beautiful night and I’d rather not die now,” I ask, taking another drink.

“Has he got whiskey in that?” Harris realizes.

“No,” I say, not at all convincingly.

“Probably but if it’s between keeping him sober and stopping more cadets from dying I’d rather stop more cadets from dying,” Ebbel says.

“Ha, good luck.”

“Shut UP, Thorn.”

I stand outside waiting for them to decide to let me in. Apparently letting me see my son isn’t their top priority. That’s okay. I don’t know what to say to him anyway. I never know what to say to him. I always try and everything I try comes out wrong. And he just looks at me with those sad, lonely eyes. and I know each day I’m losing him. I swear when he didn’t talk I died a little every day. he’d look at me and wait for me to answer words he hadn’t spoken. And I died more. Because I was losing him. failing him worse than I’d failed Ian. Ian has gone, Quentin leaving me too, slowly, bit by bit, breaking away. I didn’t know how to handle him how were you supposed to raise boys? Boys who came home drinking at night, who lay in their beds and stared at pictures of girls who didn’t talk to you who tried and couldn’t talk to you no matter how hard they tried.

I’d actually gone to see a therapist about him. Because he scared me, terrified me not talking like that. It was after about six months, he still wouldn’t talk. But he looked at me like he’d spoken like he wanted me to hear him. so I went and paid the money and went to a good doctor. And all they could tell me was it was unusual. But they didn’t see what they could do. they didn’t see what they could do they could try, try for money I didn’t have. I left and didn’t go back. and all I could do was wait every day praying each night I’d hear his voice again.

When I did hear it, it was different, not my little boy’s voice. it was rough and hoarse, and getting deep like his dad’s. He looked like his dad as well, big and tall, strong, handsome sweet face with those innocent, eyes. acted like him too come to think of it. quiet, calm, sensitive. Big hands that could break you so easily but he didn’t know it.

I never told him that. Never told him about the man he looked just like. Maybe I should have, I didn’t know. I don’t know anything. I have no idea where his dad is now, I’d never been able to find him after I’d found out Quentin was his son.

I didn’t know, not until he got older, then he started really looking like his dad. I tried to look for him then, because by then, by when I was sure who his dad was, Quentin had quit talking. I didn’t look very hard. I’d figured he wouldn’t want to know he had a son, he wouldn’t believe me or wouldn’t care. He probably wouldn’t have. But his boy looked just like him, now.

He’d been military, I wondered if he was dead, or if he’d meet his son one day and never know it. I didn’t tell Quentin about him. I thought it was better that way not talking about it, about how he or his brother came about. I don’t know maybe their imaginations had been worse they were old enough---Ian had been old enough---to have a general idea knowing their dads weren’t around and we didn’t get money from them. well, I had gotten money from them just nowhere near enough to care for their sons.

I sigh and lean against the wall. I don’t even want to go in because I don’t know what I’ll say that won’t make things worse because I always, must, make things worse otherwise they’d be better than they are. I don’t know and I don’t try to understand how things could be different I try to make them different but it seems I fail. I always fail, fail as a mother it’s not like I didn’t try with them, try to do what was right what you were supposed to and love them and see that they were clean and clothed and fed and that nobody got at them or hurt them. but somehow I still failed, and it was my fault—not theirs they were sweet, good, good boys. I’d already lost Ian.

And in losing him nearly lost Quentin and here I was losing him again. I hadn’t wanted him to go off here, I hadn’t wanted him to leave. But it was the best chance he had to ever get out of the slums we lived in. he was clever, he’d gone to school for mechanics but it wasn’t a good school so he’d never have a decent job. I wanted him in the military like his father, surely that meant he’d be good at it, didn’t it? But here they were saying they needed me to see him except I didn’t see what they expected me to do I was why he was here I was doing no good that was why I’d let him go away I clearly wasn’t doing any good. and I’d have gone and gotten help and asked anyone I could for help asked them if they knew what to do for a boy. But I didn’t think anyone did know. I’d never met a man who was all right in the head. so why did I expect my son to be?

“You can go in now,” a soldier says, a bit tentatively.

“Okay, thanks,” I say, taking a deep breath and adjusting my sweater it’s cold in here my nose is running. I feel pale and ill-kept in this man’s eyes. some poor woman from god knew where coming to see her poor boy who was just lucky to be here.

“Are you all right?” he asks.

“No,” I admit, shaking my head.

“He’s a good boy, you should be proud of him,” he says, sort of looking at his feet.

“I am---I am, he’s the most wonderful thing that ever happened to me,” I say, realizing it’s true as I do. with Ian, I’d been scared, terrified of him dying. My first baby had died. that was a little girl. Amber. I never told anyone about her. never told them they had had a sister. She died when she was four years old. I just woke up in the night feeling like my heart was tearing open, and I went to look at her and she was cold and dead. so when I found out I was having Ian I was terrified. Terrified he’d die too because I was so incompetent. Well, he had. Just not as a baby.

But when I found out about Quentin, I was happy. When I first saw him, he was so strong, a big, healthy baby. “We’ll take care of him, mum, I promise,” Ian had told me, “I’ll help you, we’ll be all right.” And we were all right. I got a real job because of him, Quentin. With two babies I knew I needed steady work, that wouldn’t get them hurt. And I’d been glad. I thought I’d have these two wonderful boys and I’d take care of them and we’d be all right. And Quentin was nothing like Ian. Ian had been small, pale, quiet and moody.

Quentin was all smiles, sweet stout thing, always healthy, calm, he didn’t scare me like Ian did, getting fevers when we didn’t have money for medicine. No, he didn’t scare me not until he quit talking. Not until they both left me that awful awful night. I was sure Quentin was dead too, sitting there, staring at his brother’s body hanging on the end of that rope. And what haunted me the most, haunted me still, when I walked in, seeing Ian hanging there like that eyes bulging out, face pale and going purple, I’d screamed, of course, screamed and cried out and Quentin hadn’t moved—and I ran to him. I didn’t go to Ian, try to hold him up, nothing, I went to Quentin, I shook him and tried to figure out of he was still alive. and he’d just sat their stone-faced in shock. And I dragged him out of that awful room, slapped his face, trying to wake him up. He moved then, tried to walk back in there to look at his brother’s body. By then the neighbors had heard me screaming, somebody came over and shut the door and left us in the hall me crying and hugging Quentin and trying to see if he was alive. and I never said goodbye to Ian. I just abandoned him for Quentin who was already gone from me too. Sometimes I think I would have done Ian more good.

“Yeah, he’s, ah—he’s a good kid,” the man says, just nodding, “He does a good job.”

“He always was a good boy,” I say, not moving to step in. I want to do something, to say something that will make things better but I can’t I still don’t know what I’m going to say to him.

“Don’t you want to see him?” He asks, softly.

“Yes but---I don’t know what to say to him,” I say, “I never know what to say to help him, I always feel like I only make things worse---I never had any brothers, never knew any really good men—just---I try and I try and I try with him and everything I do it feels I like I make things worse not better and like I’m failing him and---do you have any children?”

“Yes,” he said, nodding a little, “I have a daughter.”

“Do you know how to talk to her?” I ask.

“No, I have absolutely no idea,” he says, almost laughing, “But I’m really shit at most things, so by now, I’m pretty comfortable being here. incompetent, fairly useless, waste of space that I am.”

“Oh god,” I say, almost laughing because that’s exactly how I feel.

“I don’t think that’s what she thinks, though, at least I hope not,” he says, “I’m sure that’s not what your boy thinks either. Go on. having you is better than not, no matter what you say.”

“You’re right,” I say, nodding, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he says, smiling a little, then he frowned, “Did only you come?”

“Yes,” I say, “It’s just the two of us.”

“He asked about a sister,” he says, still frowning.

“She isn’t coming, school, I told them that,” I say, sharply. No that is the last thing I need. I told them it was only me. I need to keep him okay. God, why does this have to be so hard?

“Maybe I misunderstood,” he says.

“Maybe,” I say, but now I don’t want to go in at all. I don’t want to look in his eyes and see the words wanting to spill out of his lips but unable to.

“Go on, then, he wanted to see you,” he says, nodding a little.

“Yes, you’re right,” I say. I want to go in and ask him. but I can’t do it, I’m too afraid of not getting an answer. But I have to go in anyway. no matter how afraid I am he’s twice as. And I’m all he’s got, for better or worse, ruining his precious life or no. I have to try.

My mum comes in quietly, almost like she’s afraid of me. I am leaning against the back wall, head tipped down to look at my combat boots, they aren’t bad boots.

“Quentin?” she asks, almost nervously. I just look up at her really slowly because it’s very unreal that she’s here in this place even when they said she was coming.

Why didn’t you come? Ginny still doesn’t answer me.

“Hello, mum,” I say, straightening up. She comes up and hugs me then and I let her, hugging her back awkwardly. It’s been so long since I had an actual hug----it’s been since we said goodbye actually.

“You’re so wonderful, look at you, in your uniform,” she says, leaning back and adjusting it on me, feeling the fabric, “I swear, you’ve grown an inch since I last saw you, so handsome.”

“Sorry, they pulled you out of work,” I say.

“No, it’s fine, doesn’t matter, not at all,” she says.

“Yeah, I’m sorry. I’m okay,” I say.

“They said you weren’t talking,” she says, taking a deep breath, her hands are still on my arms like I’ll melt if she lets go.

“I was just out of sorts. I’m fine; they asked me some stuff, because of what happened here at training, and it just got me riled, I came round though,” I say, evasively. I don’t want to go back there in my brain because I don’t know the way back.

“Yeah, okay, good, I’m glad, I’m still glad to see you,” she says, squeezing me.

“Yeah, yeah definitely,” I say.

“Are the other cadets---have you made friends?” she asks. She knows for a fact that I’ve never had any friends.

“They’re fine. nice, this one girl, she talked to me, when I wasn’t talking so much and made me feel a bit better,” I say, closing my eyes and smelling the forest and feeling her cool lips on my cheek.

“What’s her name?” my mother asks, smiling hopefully.

“Tsegi, she died,” I explain.

“what?”

“I’m probably not supposed to tell you as it’s under investigation, but she did,” I say, shrugging.

“That’s awful, Quentin I---”

“It’s okay, I was there,” I say. I’m glad I found her. and wasn’t frightened of her. she wouldn’t have liked that.

“Okay,” my mum is upset now.

“Sorry, just thought I’d tell you,” I say.

“No it’s fine, you’re fine, I wanted—I wanted to know,” she says.

“Yeah,” I say.

“Yeah,” she says, “Are you um---eating all right?”

“No, somebody wound up in the food so I’m just eating prepackaged cereal right now,” I say, honestly.

“WHAT??”

“It’s really healthy sort of stuff---”

“What do you mean somebody wound up in the food?!”

“Just that.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

Another fantastic conversation with my son I’m only upsetting him and making things worse I always do and he’s okay or he isn’t okay I can’t tell.

“Where’s Ginny?” he asks, running a hand through his hair, which is so short now.

“She had something with school---”

“You know I know when you’re lying,” he looks straight at me.

“She really couldn’t,” I say, closing my eyes.

“Why though?” he asks. I open my eyes to look at him and he’s closed his eyes, his fist to his forehead. His voice has gotten deeper I think. And I do think he’s an inch taller. He reminds me so much of his father he haunts me now, standing like that, like his sire used to, fist to his head where did he pick that up? Where did he even know to do that or is it just written in his DNA somewhere just like the way he tips his chin to look at people shorter than him which is almost everyone. My sins living in front of me, with innocent eyes unaware of the sin of their creation.

“Because she’s sick Quentin---”

“You know you can’t take her to a hospital,” he says, sharply.

“She’s okay it’s nothing---”

“Tell me,” he says.

“She’s fine Quentin she---”

“TELL ME,” his voice is loud, booming in this tiny cement room. I tremble almost at it, but he doesn’t see he’s frightened me his eyes are glassy with anger. “TELL ME.”

“They took her,” I say, quietly, my throat aching at saying the words.

He swears. A word he never heard from me. he goes and leans his face into the wall.

“Quentin,” I go over to touch his shoulder and every one of his muscles is stiff. Like when I pulled him away from Ian. His face is pressed against the cement and he’s not saying anything. “They took her from school they were doing searches I don’t know how they knew I swear it was nothing to do with you.” I hope they aren’t recording this somehow I wonder if we could get in trouble for knowing.

“They’re killing her god damn it,” he says, his face still against the wall.

“No they said we’d get to see her they said---”

He swears again.

“I couldn’t do anything, they just told me called me at work,” I say.

“I’ll get her out,” he whispers.

“No, you need to stay here you can’t---”

“I said I’ll get her out,” he turns his face to look at me, eyes red from crying, “I swear on Ian’s grave I’ll get her out.”

“You can’t do that Ginny wouldn’t want---”

“Shut up,” he said, pressing his face into the cement, “Just shut up.”

I start crying, then, leaning against the wall too, just sobbing and hugging myself. Because I’ve failed him again.

“Is he gone?” I whisper to Logan.

“Who, Titus? Oh yeah, has been,” he says, looking around. We’ve finished marching for now, and are lined up to get our tents and supplies for the night. I honestly enjoyed marching, it was sort of soothing to have Titus sing to us, mostly because then I knew where he was.

“He’s going to get himself in trouble,” I sigh.

“I don’t think so,” he says, “I think he’s immune to it.”

“What, trouble?” I ask.

“Yeah,” he says.

“no, nobody is,” I say, “Trouble will find him one day.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, walking over and hugging my mother as she sobs, “I’m so sorry. It’s okay, I’m just going to get her back. it’ll be okay, just the three of us, right?”

“Yes, yes of course,” I say, hugging him back. just like I told Ian when he sat with me on the bed, the night Quentin was born. Me sick but I had to go to work the next day I’d only just got the job. And him, home alone for two days, thin as a rail, like always, lovely red hair sticking up ‘cause he hadn’t brushed it as he should and of course, I hadn’t been there too. I had been sobbing because I knew my Ian was going to have to walk to get us food that night because there was nothing left and I couldn’t think of what he could get for the money I had left in the bottom of my purse. I hadn’t even paid the hospital I’d just left and I was terrified they would come after me and take Quentin away. And I was terrified I’d lose the job because I’d oversleep or fall asleep at work because he’d keep me up crying. but he hadn’t. little angel, nothing like Ian, he was a quiet baby, slept soundly and then would mumble and moan until we fed him or changed him then he’d sleep again or just sit there looking at us. but I didn’t know that then so I’d sat there feeling sick with my newborn lying next to me on the bed, wrapped in an old towel because the only blankets I had for him were in fact towels we’d been collecting. And he was sleeping quietly but I was still afraid and so tired and hungry and sick and lonely that night.

“We’ll be okay mum, I’ll help you take care of him. we’ll be all right. The three of us, just the three of us, right?” Ian said, so serious and grown-up, not even ten years old.

“Yes, yes, of course, we will,” I told him, just like I tell Quentin now. but we weren’t all right. I’d failed the three of us, or Ian wouldn’t be dead. and the worst part was, I didn’t know what I’d done wrong. I had no idea. So I didn’t know how I was supposed to do it. but it wasn’t like this. Or I wouldn’t be failing again. but apparently failing was all I knew how to do.