Because of, course, a fight does ensue. Titus may be a tiny, insignificant little twerp who swallowed a dictionary, but he has every intention of going down fighting.
He springs back up and is upon me before I’ve even finished thinking about what a bad idea that was. fists flying, teeth gnashing at my flesh he pounces upon me, with enough fury to drive me to the ground as well.
And then we are grappling, I’m surprised, he knows how to fight, and not only how to fight he knows how to fight dirty, to compensate for his small size by biting, kicking, grinding every boney part of his body into mine.
He’d learned how to fight in the street, usually against multiple enemies, and he’d usually lost because he was so much smaller, I knew because of the way he fought. Relentless and wild, like a blind animal clawing out, nothing calculated, just getting as many blows in as he could before he was inevitably consumed. He’d learned how to inflict the most damage he could before the fight was ended, bite any bit of flesh, pull hair, and kick anything that moves because you might as well leave some scars to remember you by after you’re in ISS for the next few days.
Oh, and how had I learned to fight?
The exact same way. I’d not had the best childhood in the world, or gone to the best schools. As should be obvious by now, I am not the most popular person. I don’t fit in, I’ve always felt awkward around people, and I generally do fairly well at school. The perfect candidate for bullying. After Ian died it only got worse, presumably because I quit talking they just decided they should try to beat my head in daily. I don’t really know. but learn I did, and my technique was perfected through many a long hour in ISS contemplating how not to get my face bashed in again.
Suffice to say we are a pretty good match for each other. What I have in size he makes up for in quickness. Also, neither of us have been in an all out brawl for quite some time, so it sort of feels good to just quit thinking and bend my whole body towards crushing him into the rough carpet floor, which is leaving interesting marks on his face as I drag him across him, him gnawing through my shoe as his feet go into my crotch, my hands on his shirt dragging towards the treadmill which I plan on stuffing his face in.
“Guys stop it,” Logan implores the idiots, close to tears, as he follows them across the gym. A couple of kids from Denab flight are pretending to try to stop it, but are more watching in fascination as their mild mannered obtuse flight leader tries to and appears to be succeeding in stuffing Cygenus’ small and psychotic flight leader into a stair machine.
“Aren’t you going to help him?” Liesel asks me, surprised.
“Who, Titus?” I ask, as I lean back watching disinterestedly.
“Yes,” she says, not daring to say I’m sweet on him because she knows I’ll deny it independent of the fact that it’s true.
“Lord no, he probably started it,” I say, calmly.
“True, he probably did,” she admits.
“So you’re not going to leave?” Ebbel is still arguing with Thorn. I’m sort of trying to separate them because I honestly feel bad for the guy. Thorn, not Ebbel. Ebbel isn’t the sort of person you feel bad for.
“No, I actually got orders issued to ‘observe training’ whatever that means, I think they were just getting sick of me---I hate planet duty,” Thorn says, casually, spiking his coffee with whiskey I didn’t know he had and not at all withering under Ebbel’s gaze.
“Lovely, so we’re stuck with you,” Ebbel says.
“It would seem so until I’m back on Space Duty, which I should be soon, assuming the universe doesn’t come to an end which, hey, it might.”
“Oh, would you look at that, they are actually trying to kill each other,” Harris says, flatly.
“What----who?” Ebbel spins around to look through the glass.
“How should I know? A couple of the boys, I can’t tell who they’ve both got crew cuts and I honestly try to pretend they don’t exist most of the time,” Harris says, making no move to stop them.
“Oh that looks like Card---it is, I recognize the back of his head,” Thorn says. Two of the cadets are rolling around on the ground trying to smash each other’s heads in with barbells. They don’t have very good aim.
“Well we should stop them,” Ebbel says.
“Yes, we should,” Harris says.
“Definitely,” Thorn says.
“What----why aren’t you?_---are you waiting to see who wins?” I ask them, disgusted.
“Well---”
“It is interesting---”
“We’ve not got anything else to do---”
“They’ll succeed some other time anyway---”
“And I forget why I hate men,” I mutter, going to break up the fight.
“No you don’t.”
“Oh don’t swear off all men, just on account of us.”
“Yes that would be like me swearing off humans because of Card.”
“You DO,” I called over my shoulder, at Thorn, as I slammed the door. They were useless. Men.
Chapter 3
“S
o, own up, who started it?” I ask, standing in front of the bloodied and bruised cadets. Card is holding a bloody rag to his nose and Leavitt is clasping a hand over a chewed on arm.
“Ma’am I did.”
“Ma’am I did.” they look at each other in surprise. I am surprised too, usually they blame each other.
“Ma’am I threw the first punch,” Leavitt says.
“Ma’am, I antagonized him,” Card says.
“Why? Both of you?” I ask.
“Ma’am, he antagonized me,” Leavitt says.
“Ma’am, I felt like it,” Card says.
“Explain,” I say.
“Ma’am he said---”
“No, not you, Card, why did you feel like it?” I ask him.
“Ma’am I was bored and it gives me great pleasure to antagonize people,” Card says.
“And why couldn’t you resist the temptation to punch him?” I ask Leavitt.
“Ma’am, I have been for quite some time now,” Leavitt says.
“Are you going to try to kill each other again, or have you got it out of your system?” I ask.
“Ma’am we’re good,” Card says.
“Yes, ma’am, got it all out,” Leavitt says.
“If you feel the need to antagonize somebody again, Card, let me know,” I say to him, “We will ship you to the Northern rim where you can antagonize the enemy to your heart’s content.”
“Yes, ma’am, thank you ma’am, that would be excellent Ma’am,” Card says eagerly. He probably would love it too.
“Leavitt, would it help if you utilized a punching bag instead of Card? Do you think you could do that?” I ask.
“Yes, ma’am,” he says.
“Okay, go to your flights,” I say, turning around. They stare at me for a minute before obeying.
“You didn’t give them the brig?” Ebbel asks, amused.
“No, it hasn’t done Card any good so far, and they both confessed, we expect a lot out of sixteen year old boys. And I certainly don’t blame Leavitt for wanting to wipe the floor with Card, if I had to live with Card, he probably wouldn’t be alive, and I couldn’t punish Card because as Thorn says, he’s brilliant, he’s only being him, and he’ll be excellent, if we can all survive training and get him to the front lines where he can be his peculiar, brilliant self to the enemy and not to us,” I say.
“Can’t argue with you there,” Ebbel says, shrugging, “Still, they can learn.”
“Oh, let them learn another night. They’ll be split up into their individual training units after this,” I say, shrugging, “Then we don’t have to have them in a group again.”
“Not till after tomorrow night, we have one more night with these miserable, miserable people all under one roof,” Ebbel says.
“You’re starting to sound like Thorn,” I chastise him.
“I’ve clearly spent too much time around him,” he sighs, “Honestly, thou
gh, this group has got me. Sometimes I feel like the world would be a better place if this whole building blew up.”
“Shh don’t say that around Thorn, he probably thinks that it will,” I say.
Of course, that point, I had no way of knowing that it actually would.
“So in serious answer to your question no I’ve no idea how to break into a building like that, but if we get leave at the same time, I’d be happy to give it a go,” Card says, almost cheerfully, examining blood on his fingers like a hungry lizard. What makes that image sicker is, it’s his own blood.
“Have a group of qualified people actually studied what’s wrong with you?” I ask, flatly, staring at him.
“No, I’m sure they’d like to though,” he says, shrugging , “When I was small, my mother locked me up in a closet all day rather than send me to day care so people wouldn’t try to do that.”
“Okay,” I say, nodding.
“My sister’s dead as well,” he says.
“What? My sister isn’t dead,” he says.
“They don’t study them alive--- I meant to say that more tactfully---okay no I didn’t, I just wanted to see if you’d punch me again interesting stars flashed in front of my eyes the first time---are you all right?”
I’m leaning catatonically against a punching bag trying to destroy it with my bare hands which is what I want to be doing to his head. Because in some fraction of that moment I knew that Ginny would be telling me to do as Wilde said and not to hit him because this job was all I had in the universe and that it wouldn’t bring her back. It wouldn’t bring her back. Her voice. You knew it. You knew you didn’t hear her voice. They killed her that night. The night they took her away you didn’t hear her again you knew. You knew she could’ve talked to you that this is the only reason why she wouldn’t.
“Because, I mean, I think it’s pretty obvious that I will do you no good if you are not all right with this, but on impulse, I may become inclined to get somebody who could help you,” he’s still talking but I’m pretending he’s not I don’t want him here I don’t want anyone here. I really don’t want to breathe. People should be able to stop breathing voluntarily.
He looked like he was actually going to die right there in front of me and as interesting as that would have been I didn’t want to be blamed for the one murder around this place that I was not responsible for, so I decide to do something.
“Tom, could you come here?” I ask, beckoning her with a hand.
“What is it?” she asks, putting down the weights she was pretending to lift in order to respond.
“We’ve established that I am no good at being nice to people----I give you an upset person,” I say, flourishing my hands toward Leavitt who is doubled over mauling a punching bag sort of sobbing and screaming.
“Very good job you’re not, Leavitt are you okay? You’re not hurt from the fight are you?” Tom asks, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. I watch cocking my head.
“Are you studying to know what to do?” Tom asks me, since Leavitt isn’t answering her.
“Yeah, I don’t see how you resist the temptation to strangle him right now,” I say, nodding. “You could make it look like an accident.”
“I’ll explain later, just go and get one of the MTIs,” Tom says, rolling her eyes at me. She didn’t find that funny. That’s okay, I did.
“It’s okay to cry, I cry a lot. And you probably have something to cry about,” I say, kneeling down and patting Leavitt.
“Don’t say that, being you is something to cry about, Logan,” Titus says, in his helpful voice.
Leavitt is just shaking. Tears are running down his face as he sort of leans into Tom.
“Do these things just come to you?” Tom asks Titus, annoyed.
“Yes,” he says.
“Can you stop them?” she growls.
“It’s not easy,” he says.
“Try,” she hisses, going back to Leavitt, “Are you hurt? The asshole is supposed to be getting the MTIs.”
“I made a rude gesture----I knew it would be the fastest way to get them over here,” Titus says, holding his hands up innocently.
“That---probably was the fastest way,” Liesel concedes.
“Is he hurt do you think?” I ask Titus.
“Nah, I mostly was chewing on his arm there, got a few good kicks in, but I don’t think he’s hurt. I think he just needs to be alone,” Titus says.
Leavitt sort of looks at him but he’s still not saying anything.
“Move aside---is he all right? Leavitt, come on with me,” Thorn is pushing us aside, taking Leavitt’s arm.
“Card you have detention duties,” Ebbel growls, “There are faster ways of getting us to you-----quit looking at the clock we come just as quickly when you summon us properly.”
“Yes, sir,” Titus says, not very convincingly.
“I’ll take him to IDMT,” Wilde offers.
“No, I’ll do it, don’t want this one to die----come on Leavitt, you look tired, let’s get you a drink,” I say, leading him out of the gym and into our break room. “You don’t want to go to IDMT again, do you? I know I don’t. that little cannibal Card was chewing on you but that’s not what’s wrong is it?”
He leans against a counter, breathing heavily.
“No, it’s not is it? It’s okay don’t try to say anything not till later, I don’t mind if you don’t talk at all, not the rest of the day if you don’t like, here how about some cold juice?” I go to the refrigerator. We’ve got packets of juice in there, and sparkling water.
“I’ve had mine for the day,” he says, his voice is whispery. They’re only allowed one juice a day. “I like it. I had it at breakfast.”
“That’s all right, thanks for talking to me, here, have another, you look hot,” I say, handing him the packet. He just sort of holds it.
“Thank you, sir,” he says, holding the cold thing in his hands, staring down at it.
“You don’t have to tell me what Card was bothering you about, now, that’s not why I brought you back here,” I say.
“No, no I want to tell you. I want to talk to you. I feel like I should tell someone---it’s the sort of thing you talk to someone about----talk to them about,” he’s staring at me very intently.
“Okay, then,” I say, leaning against the counter, “I’m listening.”
“I think my sister’s dead----I know she’s dead my mum when she came---she told she’d been locked up ----as one of the mutants, and I thought---I wanted to think that meant she was okay, but I know they don’t let you go and see people, like that,” he says, slowly, “But I didn’t know why---but I guess I did. it’s because they’re dead, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” I say, nodding.
“You know?” he asks.
“Yeah, because of my ah---clearance, with training, I got to know. One of our cadets, we found out they were and ah---I thought like you, wanted to go see the kid, and with my clearance I thought I should get to and I did, I got to go but---they weren’t alive,” I say. I can’t say the rest. That they cut them up, to look at the bits of them, their brains mostly, split their heads open to see what their brains are like. I shudder. Somebody really should have told me that before I blundered in looking for the kid to say hello and bring them these crisps they liked. I got so drunk that night.
“Why would they do that?” he asks, he’s crying again.
“Cause they want to understand it, when we as humans want to understand something, we tend to kill it, when we don’t understand something, that is, we tend to kill it,” I say, shrugging, “I’m sorry. I wish it weren’t like that, honestly. And I’m sorry you had to find out like that. I’m sure Card---however the hell he knew---didn’t put it very gently.”
“Card,” he says, staring off, “They’ll kill him one day. they don’t understand him either.”
“We’ve nearly killed you, haven’t we?” I ask, staring at him, “We as in people, don’t quite understand you, we nearly los
t you, didn’t we?”
He just nods, he’s crying.
“We lost your brother, we could’ve lost you too, but you’re trying---and I see that, but, I don’t know how much good I am but---I really don’t want them to get you as well,” I say, reaching out and brushing a tear from his cheek with my thumb.
He leans into me, just sobbing. Poor sweet, sensitive kid. His mother miles away not allowed to hug her boy. Not allowed to hug her only living child poor woman, who’d probably had a hell of a life as it was. Her only living child trying to make something of himself barely, struggling, getting pulled down by all the rot and the filth. And him, he’s just a kid, damn how many others like him had come through our doors? No brother, no sister now, sister was one of two people in the world who loved this boy. His father was god knew where not even knowing this precious, lonely life existed in this tormented world. I rubbed his short hair, as he just sobbed into my SBUs.
Wilde walked in followed by Ebbel, took one look at the sobbing boy, and walked back out shoving a protesting Ebbel with her.
“Shh, it’s not okay, it’s not okay,” I say.
He laughs a little, leaning away and trying to wipe his face. “I’m sorry, sir.”
“What’s funny?” I ask, with a small smile.
“You’re supposed to tell me it’s okay,” he says.
“But it’s not,” I say, shrugging, “I’m not going to lie to you, this is hell, your sister by all accounts shouldn’t be dead, your brother should be waiting to slap you on the back and get you drunk after graduation, your dad should have a picture of you looking so smart in that uniform, hanging on his office wall. I shouldn’t even be alive right now---there was a crash I was injured, my gunner is dead—his three year old, a Project 10, is never gonna remember her daddy’s voice. sorry. Yes life sucks. I’ve been a big, terrible part of it for a long time never necessarily making things better. I don’t know.”
“I think you’re doing okay,” he says, wiping his face again.
Darkside 2 Page 4
