“Yes, ma’am,” he says, as though he understands. He definitely does not.
“What’s up?” I ask, waking up and tapping my earpiece. I fell asleep holding my tablet, still in my scrubs, tear stains on my face. I wish this weren’t normal.
“D didn’t show up for coffee today at his usual spot---did I wake you up? I’m sorry,” Jo says, she sounds like she’s outside. She probably is.
“Yes, no, it’s okay---the transfer to his hospital went through yesterday, I start tomorrow, so I’ll follow him home, and then we’ll have an address,” I say, rolling over and rubbing my eyes.
“Okay, don’t get caught---he’s a creepy bastard, don’t let him know, at all,” Jo cautions.
“It’s not my first time,” I remind her, dryly. “I think I’ll be fine.”
“Just, be careful, he’s a serial killer, they are weird as well as randomly violent,” Jo says, “This one just really gives me the creeps.”
“Yeah, you’re not usually this cautious,” I notice, waking up a bit more.
“Maybe it’s the little one, knowing what he did to her, I don’t know, makes it more real,” Jo says.
“She okay?” I ask.
“Pretty, I don’t know, I really would like to know who her family was, who took care of her, but she won’t say anything,” Jo says, “Sam’s going to go and check on her.”
“Okay, that’s good,” I sigh, sitting up. She’s so little and somebody hurt her so badly. Which is what sick bastards do to little kids. Which is why I stop them.
“I have to train a cadet, that’s what I was talking to Major Tom about, can you read for a while then I’ll come after dinner?” I ask Tess, I’ve walked her to the Milton library where I’ll leave her till after dinner. She can eat there in the cafeteria I’ve given her rubles.
“Yes, can I meet your Major Tom?” she asks.
“I hope so someday, I think you’ll like each other, but she doesn’t want to meet you,” I apologize.
“Why not?” Tess asks.
“Because she knows I’m in love with her and she doesn’t want to be in love with me, and she knows she’ll be more likely to love me if she sees how wonderful you are,” I explain.
“I see, I’d like to help then,” she says, smiling charmingly.
“Don’t bother, I shan’t be an aid to affairs of your heart,” I say, stroking her hair, “Now, go and read the psychology texts we discussed.”
“I’ve read most of those,” she says.
“Make it all, then you can go to your beloved classics,” I promise.
“Okay, hurry,” she says, hugging me.
“I will, love you,” I say, kneeling to hug her back and kiss her cheek. “Be my excellent Spaceman for me, okay?”
“Okay,” she says, clutching her little backpack. It’s got stars on it, and little sparkles. I got it for her at the start of the last school term. The first new backpack I ever had was when I joined the Space Forces. Before that, I always had cast off from my brothers. I was quite attached to that thing, I remember lugging it about for years, all my worldly possessions in it, but most importantly my precious tablet, the first and only thing I bought with my first few paychecks, the fastest, most reliable tablet I could afford. Tess has an identical one now, she’s eight years old. She’s on it all the time, exactly like I would have been at her age. I used to stay late at school, sneak in early, to try to read. I’m leaving her in a library full of books. And she wants my attention. I wonder if I would have wanted anything if I could have been left in this place.
“What is it, Dad?” she asks, cocking her head.
“Nothing---thoughts nothing more. I should go, you study all right? I’ll come and get you later, I promise, we’ll go back to our flat,” I say. It pleases her to no end that we have a flat of our own on base. I have no idea why when she has a room all to herself as a Project 10, but it does so I indulge her by keeping her there with me as often as possible. It is good I’m on the planet, for a little while. She does need me, physically. I can only do so much good when I’m out in space.
“Okay, love you,” she says, raising a hand and then closing her fist, smiling. I do the same. It’s our signal when we have to be apart. Find the brightest star you can. Take hold of it. then that’s where I’ll be, I tell her. always waiting for you.
“Love you too, Tess,” I say.
Chapter 29
“H
as it occurred to you, Nicole, that we’re all just waiting to die?” Now you see why I needed the stiff drink before I did this.
“I suppose,” I say, looking out across the grassy field of the hospital. Quentin is sitting next to me, in a wheelchair, I’m on a bench, slouching. And I’m still higher than him. He used to be so big, so strong, gentle, steady, quiet, predictable. All around a nice break from Titus. Now he’s withered, he looks ten years older, with grey already in his oddly long hair, wearing yellow tinted glasses, because his eyes were damaged by the smoke from the crash that took his legs. His shoulders are a bit slumped, and his face sunken, pale from too many hours in the hospital.
“You don’t have to come to see me,” he says, not looking at me, “It’s kind of you.”
“I haven’t seen you since the ceremony,” I say. When we all go get medals for nearly dying. Yay us. He and I and all the others were melancholy about it, since we had lost so many of our squadron, it didn’t feel right getting medals for staying alive. Titus thought it was a complete waste of time and mental energy and spent the whole time either complaining or waxing on about the injustice of it. The injustice being that we were finally out of the pressurization chambers and hospitals and had to spend a whole day standing around in our dress whites getting medals when we could be doing something like oh he didn’t know flying and shooting Isylgyns---not the injustice that a lot of people had died and some were maimed. I had to remind him of that. And smack him. And eventually find something to entertain him. And something for him to eat. and then he shut up.
“You saw me week before last,” he says. I was pretending to come by on official business but really I’d been checking on him since I knew his mother had him on a suicide watch. I’d met his mum several times. She was nice, decent sort of person, loved her son, which I figured was what mattered most.
“So I did,” I say.
“It’s all right. That it’s not all right. I’m going to be fine,” he says, though he doesn’t sound like he believes it. “I’ve been thinking is all. Thinking a lot.”
“What about?” I ask.
“About what I want to do now. about what happened. I really don’t remember much after the crash,” he says, shaking his head, “Major Card gave me the first adrenaline shot, after that it’s hazy, like I was drunk. I hate that.”
“Yes, probably best though,” I say, quickly.
“Why?” he asks, frowning, “What happened?”
“What we’ve told you, Major Card and a couple others broke into the compound while the rest of us had a fire fight with the Isylgyns on the surface,” I say, innocently.
“Did I say anything? To Major Card in particular?” he asks, suspiciously.
“A few things, I don’t know,” I lie.
“Tom, what did I say?” he asks, “I remember being angry with him, blaming him for the crash---did I say anything to that effect?”
“Sort of---Titus really didn’t care though,” I say, wincing.
“What did I say?” he asks, annoyed, trying to move in his wheelchair to get closer to me.
“You might have completely blamed him for the crash and called him a bastard along with a variety of other choice adjectives and likened him to the Isylgyns,” I say, unable to meet his eyes.
“What??! Why didn’t you guys stop me?” Quentin moans.
“Titus has deserved to be called those things to his face for quite some time and you were dying and we thought we were dying and in the situation it was kind of funny and like, fulfilling,” I say, weakly.
“How long did I---what did you just leave me on the coms to berate him while he was breaking into the Russian’s compound?” Quentin realizes.
“Yeah,” I say, nodding, “Like I said, we thought we were dying, so we wanted to enjoy ourselves.”
“You just let me tear him up? What were you doing?” he asks.
“Sitting there listening and returning fire to the Islygns, I did take it from you when I needed to talk to Card,” I say.
“What did Card say?” he asks.
“Oh, he insulted you right back; he really seemed to enjoy it,” I say.
“What seriously---I thought he was---affectionate last time I saw him I thought it was because he was glad I’m maimed,” he groans, “He could have me court-martialed.”
“You were under the influence of drugs, and like I said he really didn’t care,” I say.
“God,” Quentin says, looking up at the sky.
“You don’t still think it’s his fault—do you?” I ask, gently.
“I don’t know---no, I suppose not. I’ve seen him land better in worse conditions is all---but he’s human, in theory----just like us---it was a rough a landing many a pilot would have killed us both—I’m lucky to be alive as badly as we were under fire,” he says, shaking his head.
“I had trouble getting my ship down,” I say, nodding, “And I was on the western edge so I wasn’t in near as much danger as the two of you.”
“I’ve flown with him in worse though---not that it matters. A simple flick of the wrist, two seconds too late, one miscalculation. And here I am, without any legs,” he says, shaking his head, “It’s over now.”
“I don’t know if it’ll ever be over, any of it,” I say, “I still have dreams about the battles, all of them. I’m sick of flying the suicide squadrons, they’re just that. waiting to get killed.”
“Yeah, well, we are either way,” he says.
“I suppose. Still, I’m not going back out there,” I say, “I’m staying on the Ulysses and running patrols from there, from now on.”
“What about Card?” he asks.
“He tried to falsify emergency orders sending himself back to the North Rim,” I say, dryly.
“He failed?” Quentin laughs, “How’d they find out?”
“He did it under Commander Hawking’s name, and she happened to be on base to deny she did it,” I say, smiling at the memory. “We are doing our best to get you killed in action, Card, however you will have to just be patient and give us some time,” she had growled, as Titus stood there, eyes burning with annoyance that he hadn’t known she was on base to contradict his plot.
“I’m sure that was amusing,” he says, half-smiling.
“For everybody involved except Major Card,” I assure him, “Commander Hawking could barely get through it with a straight face, nor could I. Commander Thorn was suggesting she find some exception and just let him go since he wants to so badly. She refused.”
“Huh,” Quentin says, looking off again. his smile has quickly faded.
“When are they going to release you, do they think?” I ask.
“Probably later this week, I’m well enough to keep off infection and such with outpatient care, and I’m steady enough on the prosthetics to get about in between therapist visits,” he says, “Truth be told, I think they could’ve discharged me ages ago, but they know I don’t honestly have anywhere real to go.”
“Didn’t Space Forces set you up with a flat or something?” I ask.
“Like I said, I don’t have anywhere REAL to go,” he says darkly, “I don’t want to go to some dingy flat someplace where I can’t see the sky.”
“Where would you want to go?” I ask.
“Hardly matters I’m going to a dingy flat someplace where I can’t see the sky---my mum’s gone and cleaned up and moved my clothes and things from Milton---she’s confirmed it, you can’t see the sky,” he says, darkly.
“That was nice of your mum---where would you rather go?” I ask.
“Like I said it doesn’t matter---I don’t know, even. It’s not like I’ve ever chosen where I get to live,” he says, shrugging.
“Nor have I,” I say. come to think of it I’ve never actually thought of having a place of my own, where I’d want it or what I’d want it to be or anything like that.
“Well this is depressing. I’m sure you’re glad you came to talk to the crippled guy---who is that Space Forces person loitering over there?” he asks, craning his neck.
“Oh, that’s my new cadet,” I say, “I’m training him.”
“Huh, you always liked taking the kids,” he says.
“Close to my own as I’ll ever get,” I say, shrugging.
“Why?” he asks, “Why not have a Project 10?”
“I was one, I don’t want to do that to somebody,” I say, adamantly, “I couldn’t be away from them that long. And Spaceman is all I know how to be.”
“Makes sense,” he says, shrugging.
“The kids are fun, I get to be there for them when family isn’t, it works out,” I say, “What about you?”
“Yes, I and my metal legs are going to be catnip to the ladies,” he says, rolling his eyes.
“Don’t, you’ll get better on the prosthesis,” I say, “People don’t care about that sort of thing---”
“Actually they do---”
“Then they aren’t worth it,” I say.
“Okay. the majority of humanity isn’t worth it, I’ll just join Major Card’s ‘fuck everybody but me’ religion and have done with it,” he says.
“It’s not a religion, it’s a philosophy,” I say, rolling my eyes.
“Then what do you call what he does with his hands on his head?” he asks.
“Being autistic?” I offer.
“Praying to himself?” Quentin says.
“He’s not---he might not be,” I say, shaking my head, “And you don’t have be cynical, just---I don’t know, I’m rotten at helping people, sorry. I’m only trying to make you feel better.”
“No, you’re doing fine, as well as my mum and she thinks she’s rotten at talking to me as well. I think it’s me. I can’t be talked to,” he says.
“No, I’m sorry, I’ve made you more depressed,” I say.
“That’s really not possible,” he says, “I’ll be fine. really. I just need to get on with it, get used to life like this. And I will. Eventually.”
My cadet is tall, polite, handsome, obedient, and in love. I don’t know with whom but he is and it’s going to be annoying I can tell already. The first four things are going to be annoying as well. I dislike people taller than me, yes, that’s a lot of the population I still don’t have to like it, I dislike people who are overly polite, and ever since I got acid sprayed in my face I dislike men who haven’t had acid sprayed in their face. And I hate. Hate. Hate. Blind obedience.
“Card do I want to know why you are having your cadet stand with an apple on his head?”
“Commander Ziegfeld, how nice to see you, no I doubt if you do,” I say, smiling genuinely. She is one of the few people I like. Because she taught me how to fly and she knows I’m cleverer than everyone else and she still remains fond of me. and she doesn’t typically get cross with me for just being me.
“Card,” she says, smiling knowingly, “Why?”
“I’m doing an experiment to see how far his blind obedience stretches,” I say, innocently.
“It’s supposed to stretch far, don’t punish him for doing what we, the Space Forces, actually want him to do, which is obey orders without question,” she groans.
“I’m not! But I need to know, he waited for me to pick him up for eight hours without eating, drinking, or taking his blouse off or anything and I need to see if he really is that stupid or if this is act and he’s planning to take over the galaxy,” I say.
“That’s only you, Titus—”
“I’m planning to take over the universe get it right---”
“---I’ll ignore that for the
present---please tell me you’ve fed him,” she sighs.
“The apple is his food,” I say.
“Damn you Card----Cadet---what is your name--?” she goes over and inspects my cadet who is obediently doing a wall sit with an apple on his head.
He looks at me but doesn’t answer.
“I don’t like the sound of his voice so I’ve ordered him not to speak,” I say.
Lt. Ziegfeld glares at me.
“You can speak to her,” I say, innocently. My innocent voice rarely works. Especially with her.
“Ma’am, Starr,” he says.
“Cadet Starr, you may eat the apple, and stand up, I need to speak with you---go away,” she says, to me.
“No, he’s mine, I get to keep him for six whole months----Major Tom said he belongs to me----”
“Card, go away, now,” she says, shooing me away. I smile a little and obey.
“Cadet Starr,” the Lt Col says, taking me by the arm. I’ve taken the apple off my head but she’s a Lt Col and I don’t dare eat it in front of her. she’s---she’s the first female bomber pilot the space forces ever had. I’ve always wanted to meet her.
“Yes, ma’am?” I ask.
“Eat, for God’s sake----go away, shoo,” she hisses, over her shoulder, at Major Card, who is still loitering about leaning in our direction.
“Yes, ma’am,” I say, taking as small of a bite as is possible while still obeying.
“And we’re getting you more food than that in a minute---about Major Card, I’m going to tell you how to survive the next six months and I can tell you this because I taught him to fly, understand?” she asks.
“Yes, ma’am,” I say.
“I want you to treat him exactly like he treats you, understood? He won’t respect you otherwise, and if he doesn’t respect you he’ll have you doing stupid shit like that,” she points at the apple, “He needs you to show him how clever you are, and don’t obey every stupid thing he tells you to do, argue with him. He likes it. He needs it, he’ll make your life hell, otherwise. He wants a little resistance, a little competition, the universe is too easy for him, make it a bit harder, eh?”
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