“Do you know where Terence is?” Etta asked, referring to his older brother, as she handed him his toothbrush.
He shook his head. They often didn’t know where Terence disappeared to.
“Alright,” Etta said, her eyes firmly on his. “Sibbie will have to look out for him then.”
“Great-gran Etta,” he said, as she cuddled Holly and her doll. Etta’s round face was old and soft, but her eyes were sharp and strong in contrast.
“Yes, Saul.”
“Is he really gone?” he’d asked, feeling his own eyes begin to well; his lips trembling. “My dad’s not coming home?”
Etta nodded slowly, closing her eyes as she did. She opened them again and looked deep into his eyes. “Y’all need to mourn him now. And after you mourn, your mama’s going to need you to be strong, Saul. But I know you have that within.” She reached out and laid her outstretched hand against his chest. “You have a good soul, child … you’re going to step up and be the man of the house now. You were born to lead, Saul.”
The next few days had been a blurry haze to him, but what he remembered most was that his mother was not the same with Sibbie and Etta after that, and right up until their deaths both Sibbie and Etta watched him like a hawk.
Of course, his sister had her theories about it all, about a family gift. She believed that Sibbie and Etta knew that his father was going to die, and she was always at him to believe in it, to believe in a shared family gift. She claimed it ran through the women, but tried to tell him that he’d picked up the traits too. Apparently Sibbie and Etta had said it was so. Sometimes he’d humor her, but he never took it seriously. If his mother had believed in it once, whatever she’d believed died along with his father. And he trusted his mother. She was an honest woman, a good woman, so he followed her lead, unblinkingly. Besides, he was a realist. He accepted the fact that he had good gut instincts, but so did a lot of people. He believed in facts and what he could see in front of him. Not dreams, not hearsay. And certainly not any supposed family gift.
Staring into that mirror aboard the Aurora, Harris let out another sigh, and ran his hands over his face. The night before had finally caught up with him. He stretched out his neck and his back, and made his way to bed. He was exhausted, and there was nothing more he wanted right now than to fall into his bed, and sleep a nice long sleep … and maybe dream about the Jazz Club Woman.
*
But dream of the Jazz Club Woman, he did not. Instead, he dreamt of Sibbie and Etta standing in the shadows at the foot of his bed, just staring at him. He awoke abruptly, sitting bolt upright, and for a moment he could’ve sworn they were really there, really standing at the foot of his bed. But he blinked a few times, wiped his eyes, and they were gone.
*
Carrie awoke with a start to a loud booming voice.
“RISE AND SHINE, SOLDIERS! YOU HAVE EXACTLY FIVE MINUTES TO BE OUT HERE, LINED UP IN FRONT OF ME, FOR YOUR MORNING RUN! DO YOU UNDERSTAND?”
She recognized it as Harris’s. He seemed to be moving down the corridor and banging on each door.
“Jesus Christ!” Colt said groggily. “What’s the time?”
Carrie touched her lamp and looked at her watch. “0425.”
“Jesus Christ …” Colt said again, rubbing her eyes.
The women dragged themselves out of bed and quickly scurried around, bumping into each other as they got dressed.
“YOU’VE GOT 30 SECONDS!” Harris yelled down the hall.
Carrie raced out into the corridor. The men were already lined up, wearing their combat pants and singlets, some with their hair still standing on end. Colt, then Packham, quickly joined Carrie in the lineup.
“Okay, soldiers!” Harris boomed. “One lap of this ship is equal to half a mile. We are going to run eight laps this morning. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, sir!” they called in unison.
“WHAT ARE WE WAITING FOR?” Harris yelled.
He turned and began running, leading the team on a route that took them along the main corridor past Doc’s office, then past the general store, the mess hall, the training facility and the weapons store, then curved around past the flight deck, came back along the main corridor past the captain’s office, and comms room, before heading down into the bowel of the ship, past the cargo hold and engine room, then back up to the main corridor again, past the medical stores, Harris’s quarters and down to the soldiers quarters, to start the loop again.
Carrie was glad for the chance to stretch her legs and clear her head. She’d had a weird dream last night that she could only remember in snatches this morning. The Aurora had been in trouble, the hull had been breached, and the air was trying to suck them all right out into space. She remembered telling herself to hold on, just hold on until they made it back to Earth. For some reason, something about the vast, dark space that had surrounded them, scared her.
After the fourth lap, it was clear who the fittest runners were, as they had now fractured into three distinct groups. Harris still led the pack, barely raising a sweat. Doc was close behind him, neck and neck with Hunter. A few paces behind were the second group, comprising Carter, McKinley and Carrie. Brown then led the rest in a third, spread out, group. The only one missing from the run was Bolkov, who was obviously manning the flight deck.
As they turned each bend and the leaders ran past the stragglers, Harris seemed to make sure he locked eyes with each of his soldiers. Doc seemed to do the same, but more so in the line of duty, checking if everyone looked okay. Carrie noticed he seemed to be paying particular attention to the women. She smiled to herself. Not today, Doc. I can handle this!
She jogged along watching the bodies bobbing up and down. Somehow the men looked even bigger in their singlets, with their shoulders and biceps on display, highlighted by the slight sheen of sweat that was slowly building on their skin. Even Smith, who was the smallest of the men, looked somehow bigger. He still had enough muscle definition there to be highlighted by sweat. Of course he was no match for Louis, who was technically the most sculpted of the men.
Whenever the line passed her, she subtly sized them all up, but for some reason her eyes seemed to be drawn to both Doc and Hunter. They were both good looking, probably the best on the ship. Hunter had the looks of a male model; along with those chiseled cheekbones, he had turquoise eyes and nice smooth skin that he was proud to show off halfway through by taking off his singlet and tucking it into the back of his pants. He was almost too smooth and clean-cut, she thought.
There was something a little more rugged about Doc. He had a nice tan that made the sweat glisten twice as bright along his biceps. He clearly didn’t wax his chest, as the evidence was poking out the neck of his singlet; not too much, just enough. He didn’t seem too caught up in his looks. She liked that.
The run came to an end outside the soldiers’ quarters where it had begun, forty-five minutes earlier. As she approached the end, where Harris, Doc and Hunter waited, panting and sweating, Carter and McKinley made a last dash for the finish. It was clear that they had to beat her. She let them. It wasn’t worth fighting for. Besides, she was quite a way in front of the last group, so she was content with that. She didn’t fail this test.
*
After breakfast, and a surprise room inspection, Carrie was glad to finally be heading for the training facility. When she arrived, she saw a large room with a well equipped gym to the left, a mini-shooting range straight ahead, and to the right, a matted area for hand-to-hand combat, and a climbing wall that went to the ceiling. Most of the men were gathered around the shooting range talking, except Louis and Smith who were over at the weight racks. Louis was lying on his back pumping what looked like a decent amount of weight and Smith was spotting him. When Harris called them to attention, though, they stopped and moved over to join the others.
“Listen up, soldiers!” Harris called, walking up to the shooting range. “We’re going to begin today with a good
old-fashioned shootout, and you will start by going head to head with your roommates!”
The men sniggered and laughed. Colt looked over at Carrie and shrugged.
“Second Lieutenant McKinley —as your roommate Hunter is on the flight deck with Sergeant Packham, you will be facing off against Sergeant Louis, as no doubt Bulk will be getting his beauty sleep right about now!” Harris called out.
“He’ll be sleeping a while, then,” Carter quipped dryly.
Some of the men laughed, and Brown smirked. “Dare you to say that again when he’s in the room.”
“Alright!” Harris cut off any response. “McKinley, Louis, start us off, gentlemen!” He waved them forward.
McKinley and Louis walked up to the starting points of the two ranges, which stood side by side. About 20 meters away were the target screens comprising a cammo-colored outline of a soldier’s head and shoulders with three circles overlapping it. The circles were broken down into an outer circle—number three; a middle circle—number two; and an inner circle—number one. Each circle was made up of thousands of tiny sensors able to pinpoint the exact placement of the shot.
The two soldiers picked up the laser pistols lying on a ledge beside each range. They checked the aim was registering, flashing the red light on their hand, then practiced aiming at the target.
“Any time you’re ready, gentlemen!” Harris said, sounding a little bored.
McKinley turned to Louis, “Ladies first.”
Louis scowled at him, then turned and glowered at Carrie and Colt. “No, I will go first, you buffoon!” he spat at McKinley. Louis turned back to the target and lined it up.
Body is all wrong, Carrie thought to herself. He pulled the trigger and there was a subsequent zipping noise, as the target at the end of the range began to glow. Louis blew the top of his gun for a little dramatic effect. McKinley smiled smugly, then turned in his lane to line up his shot. He had good posture, weight evenly spread. He was right-handed and she watched the way he held the gun, the silver band around his wrist catching the light, as he gently squeezed the trigger, making his target glow.
Harris walked up to a console beside the ranges and turned on the screens overhead, showing a close-up of the targets and a placement score. As they appeared, it was clear to see that McKinley was the winner. He’d landed his shot inside the main target, although a little offside, but it was still a nice one. Louis was way off, with an outer number three.
“Pah! Fucking cowboy Americans,” Louis spat, as he walked off.
McKinley just smiled and walked back over to the group.
“Next up, roommates Carter and Smith!” yelled Harris.
Carter and Smith walked up and chose a lane, while Harris worked the console to clear the previous targets. Smith took his shot first, then Carter. They both had fairly good posture, although Carter looked slightly more at ease. Carrie figured his experience over Smith would probably see him the victor. Although Carter was indeed the winner, it wasn’t by much. They’d both landed a number two, but Carter’s was visibly more central.
“Bollocks!” Smith hissed.
Carter laughed and reached over to pinch him on the ear.
Smith flung his arm up to knock him away. “Fuck off, Farris!”
“Doc and Brown. You’re up!” Harris called, moving things along.
The two soldiers emerged from the team and picked a lane.
“You’re going down, Doc,” Brown told him.
Doc chuckled quietly to himself, and they lined up. Again, they both had fairly good posture. Doc went first, then Brown, who seemed to take just a little bit more time to line up his shot. It got him over the line. Again, they both had two’s, but Brown’s was right on the one border and Doc’s was a middle two.
“What’d I tell you, Doc?” Brown said, holding his hands out in question.
“Yeah, yeah,” Doc nodded. “Just don’t get sick on this ship, okay, Brown!”
They all laughed.
“Colt and Welles!” Harris yelled.
The men grew quiet and watched as the two women made their way to the lanes. Carter murmured something and began laughing, but he stopped when Harris cleared his throat rather loudly and glared at him. Colt grabbed her gun and lined up fairly quickly, eyeing off the target at the end, taking a deep breath and firing.
Carrie took her time. This wasn’t about beating Colt, it was about doing what she did best. She stood at the mark, legs apart, one slightly in front of the other, body on a slight angle, just like her father had taught her. She rolled her head to loosen her neck, then pulled the gun out in front of her and met it with her left hand. She steadied the aim, focused hard on her target and gently squeezed the trigger.
The men stood in silence as Harris brought the targets up on the screen. Carrie had a good, solid one. Colt had a three.
Colt pointed at the screen. “There goes your rebel leader!”
Carrie smiled at her joke and there was quiet talk amongst the men about the scores.
“Ok, round two,” Harris called. “McKinley and Brown line up!”
“So are you going to take me down?” McKinley asked Brown sarcastically as they took their spot.
Brown eyed him up and down, “If I don’t with my gun, I will with my fist.”
“Ooh!” the men reacted.
“You can’t hit me with your fist if you’re already dead from my gun, Brownie,” McKinley smirked.
“Just take your shot, white boy!” Brown scolded.
McKinley laughed to himself and then lined up again. Carrie could see concentration yet calm in his eyes and his body mirrored this. She had to admit, he held himself well, and it looked like another nice shot. Brown stepped up and took his turn. It looked alright too, but there was a certain stillness about McKinley’s body she thought would be hard to beat. As she predicted, McKinley won. He hit another one, while Brown got another two–one border.
Brown stood there looking at his target, deflated. McKinley flashed him a smile, then swaggered back to the men.
“Carter and Welles!” Harris bellowed.
The team grew extra quiet with this one. Carter chuckled like he couldn’t believe he was having to shoot against her.
“Ladies first,” he said with a sarcastic smile.
She stared at him blankly then turned and walked to the line. She didn’t take it slow, this time around. She wanted to do it quick and put Carter in his place. She took her stance, focused sharply and fired. Carter lined up his, trying to make it look casual, but she saw the competition in his eyes. Harris brought up the results. Carrie, again, was a nice one, and Carter a middle two.
Smith burst out laughing, and Colt grinned.
“Ooh-ouch!” Brown called out.
“So close, Carter!” Doc said sarcastically.
“Lucky fucking shot!” Carter muttered sulkily, walking back to the men.
Carrie smiled inwardly.
“Ok, that leaves McKinley versus Welles!” Harris called.
McKinley stalked slowly out of the gathering again and took his place at the starting mark. It seemed he was still doing his best to ignore Carrie. He lined up and took his shot carefully, but a little more quickly than before. Perhaps he was trying to put Carrie in her place? When he was done he put the pistol down and continued to look directly at his target, with his arms folded like he had somewhere better to be.
Carrie smiled to herself. She wasn’t going to let him get to her. She took up her stance carefully and spread her weight evenly. She looked hard at her target, pinpointing her focus as best she could. She held the gun tightly and squeezed the trigger, oh-so-gently.
Harris pulled the screens up and the team stepped closer. They were both one’s, both positioned similarly, but on opposite sides of the center. Harris looked back and forth from one to the other for a few moments. He turned and glanced at McKinley, then at Carrie, and then around to the team.
“This one’s
a close call. I’m going to have to refer to the sensors for this.” He turned back to the console and swirled his fingers about on the screen, eyed the result, then turned back to the group again, his eyebrows high upon his forehead. “The winner is … Corporal Welles!”
“What?” McKinley demanded. Harris hit a button and showed the sensor scores on the screen. There it was, for all to see. Carrie had beaten him. Narrowly, but beaten him nonetheless.
“The king ’as been toppled from his throne, and by a girl!” Louis called out teasingly.
The others laughed.
“C’mon,” McKinley struggled to keep his voice light. “We’re talking a millimeter here!”
Harris stared at McKinley with a deadpan face. “A millimeter of brain is a millimeter of brain, lieutenant.”
McKinley laughed disbelievingly, shook his head and stalked off to the men. Carrie headed back toward Colt who had a huge smile on her face.
“Well, well, well …” Brown said, eyeing her as she passed. “It’s Carrie the Kid.”
“Nice job,” Doc smiled, motioning to the target.
Carrie gave them a nod, trying to keep her emotions in check, but couldn’t help the little smile of satisfaction that crept across her lips.
*
Harris called out to the team. “Over to the mats, people!”
He watched as his team gathered around him, then continued: “Alright, I’m dividing you into two teams.” He held up his hand and cut an invisible line through the gathered soldiers. “Team one!” he pointed to Doc, McKinley, Smith and Colt, who stood on the left. “You’re on the mats. I want you practicing your attack and defensive moves.”
He pointed to Carrie, Carter, Brown and Louis, who stood on the right. “Team two! I want you on the climbing wall. You ascend, you touch the roof, you come back down and the next person goes. When you are all done you will start running laps of the facility as a group. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir!” they called.
Darwin Page 10
