“Yes, ma’am,” I say, staring at her stupidly. I imagined I’d get to meet a Lt. Col. one day but I didn’t think they tell me to make my superior’s life hard. What she said makes sense, but I don’t want to be court martialed.
“I can tell you’re thinking ‘I’m not going to do that’, and it’s all right, you don’t have to, right away. But you do need to, it’s the only thing that will help, now come on, let’s get you some real food,” she says, nodding for me to follow her. “You can come, now, Card.”
“If you like him you can have him, I don’t really want him,” Major Card says, hurrying to join us.
“I don’t, I don’t want him or you, oh I was talking to Thorn earlier, I saw his desk,” she says, looking pointedly at Major Card.
“Yeah, the thing about him is, he’s categorically convinced I spend 95 percent of my time doing things to actively destroy his life and career, which is blatantly ridiculous, it’s more like 10 percent of my time, at maximum,” he says.
“Yes, well try to leave him unmedicated in your time on the ground, for me? This time?” she says, then adds to me, “Starr, this is the way to the officer’s mess, since clearly you’re going to have to get there yourself.”
“I was going to feed him.”
“That’s very obviously not true.”
“Eventually.”
“He is a boy, he needs to eat, just because you somehow survive off of liquid does not mean other people can, particularly not growing boys,” Ziegfeld chastises me.
“As you wish,” I say, magnanimously. I realize I’ve missed her telling me off.
“Three times a day---don’t you feed your daughter?” she asks, suspiciously.
“Yes---no---usually other people do or she tells me to,” I admit. Typically she eats at the academy, or if she’s with me she gets her own food when she’s hungry or tries to persuade me to buy her treats. That usually doesn’t work though if her argument is convincing I’ll indulge her.
“Okay, good to know---Cadet Starr, you will need to inform Major Card whenever you require food, or other bodily necessities such as sleep, understood?” she says, over her shoulder, to my cadet.
“Yes, ma’am,” he says, obediently.
“And give him time to wash his clothes and such,” she reminds me.
“I will,” I hadn’t been planning on it. She is taking the fun out of this. The only thing she doesn’t take the fun out of is flying but that’s because she has as much fun at it as I do and that’s why I forgive her most things. No, it’s because she knows I have as much fun at it as she does, and so she forgives me most things. We are an odd pair. It’s a shame I really wish her son were dead. but I’m not going to kill him. I’m not. No. just because I really don’t want him and his beauty within a lightyear of MY Major Tom does not mean I get to kill him.
“How is your daughter?” Ziegfeld asks, kindly. Her son was a Project 10, so she knows what it’s like to go and visit them when you’re off, constantly checking up.
“Wonderful, I think she’s the only person glad I’m grounded,” I say, dryly.
“She’s one person,” she says, shrugging, “It was good you got to see her on your medical leave.”
“Yes, she quite enjoyed it, and I can have her at the flat with me most days,” I say, realizing how odd it feels. This is the longest I’ve been on the ground since she was born---since I was a pathetic hungry looking cadet Starr’s age. Getting her up for school in the morning, being able to talk with every night. It is what popular culture believes occurs for small children but it never did for me.
“Nice to have a bit of a life, eh?” Zeigfeld asks, smiling knowingly.
“It’s educational,” I say. I don’t like not flying.
“I’ll have to come and see her one day, what are your days off?” she asks.
They make small talk. I want to pay attention but I’m so hungry that I can’t think too clearly and I’d rather focus on memorizing my way around. I’m tired as well, I didn’t sleep well last night, my last night in the barracks. Not that I ever slept well in the barracks, too many people all making noise. And most of the others ostracized me, because I’m not University or Project 10. But we’re all the same now. I’ll show them.
I nearly run into Major Card and Lt Col Zeigfeld, who stop abruptly at a lift. Thankfully they don’t notice or are too consumed with the people coming out of the lift to comment.
“Major Tom,” I say, smiling annoyingly, as she and her cadet step out of the lift. “Nice to have you back.” She was AWOL as well I just know it.
“Because you weren’t AWOL this afternoon when you were supposed to pick up your cadet?” she asks, after giving Zeigfeld the appropriate greeting.
“Because you weren’t AWOL after picking up your cadet?” I ask, innocently.
“If you had been on base you would know the answer to that, don’t let us keep you from getting to the mess hall, late,” she says, icily. She’s annoyed with me I wonder why. Her cadet, a lanky red-head, is behind her, shifting his weight nervously.
“Which definitely isn’t where you are going, late?” I ask.
“Floor three, why don’t we send the cadets on ahead?” Ziegfeld says, sensing our argument will go on indefinitely. They tend to.
“Yes, let’s,” I say, motioning for mine to enter the lift.
“I’ll pick you up in a half an hour,” Tom says, to her cadet.
“I probably won’t, go to the gym afterward, I’ll meet you there,” I instruct mine, who nods.
I step into the elevator with Terrence, sighing a little as the doors close.
“Are you all right?” he asks immediately.
“Yeah, hungry’s all,” I say.
“Was that Major Card?” he asks, “Mine’s Major Tom.”
“Yeah,” I say, nodding. I recognized her. She has her picture in the papers nearly as much as Major Card. “Do you think they’re sleeping together?”
“Definitely,” he says.
“Do you think they know we are?”
“No.”
“Good,” I say, as the doors open.
So that’s who my taciturn trainee has been pining after, mystery solved and now we both have a motivation to follow Major Tom around this might be a mutually satisfying relationship.
“Where were you---both?” Zeigfeld asks, us, as we walk together to the mess hall upstairs, which is where we upper level officers usually eat. Let the first and second lieutenants have their noisy fun while we are upstairs in the quieter, more mature hall. It was not officially set up that way, yet that is the culture they have both taken on and we leave it as such.
“I was legitimately showing my Cadet around the Capital while visiting one of wounded Spacemen,” Tom says. Oh that’s why she’s cross with me, she’s been visiting that cretin Leavitt. He hates me. for good reason though he doesn’t know it.
“I was completely illegitimately visiting my daughter,” I say, unapologetically.
“Card, you really need to stop functioning off the belief that they won’t court martial you,” she sighs.
“But they won’t,” I say.
“Unfortunately he’s right,” Tom says. I’ll bet Thorn didn’t give her leave, even if she has a better excuse than I do.
“Anyway, what do you think of your cadets?” Ziegfeld asks, as we walk into the chow line. A few others are lazily looking at tablets and lining up for food.
“Cadet Jorden is nice, he’s nervous, which is good I suppose, he seems like he’ll do well,” Tom says.
“Mine is very laconic,” I say.
“Cadets aren’t supposed to talk all the time, that was just you,” Ziegfeld says, flatly.
“I didn’t---”
“You did, after the first hour I realized you actually meant EVERYTHING you said so it was very disturbing but I got used to it,” she says.
“Nobody told me I wasn’t supposed to speak unless spoken to,” I mutter.
“They did you probably
weren’t paying attention,” Ziegfeld says.
“He was paying attention he distinctly said ‘I’m probably not going to do that’,” Tom laughs.
“I didn’t---all right I did, I thought it was stupid,” I say. I had a lot of questions about learning to fly and I have important things to say most of the time, so I thought it was inane to require that I not speak.
“How have you been doing, back on duty?” Ziegfeld asks. Both Major Tom and I are grounded for another six months, and we’ve been on medical leave for six due to pressurization sickness.
“I’d be better if they’d let me fly,” I say, taking out my tablet and returning to my current book.
“I know, I wasn’t talking to you,” she says. I shrug.
“All right, every time, it’s weird that I come back, and all these other people don’t. Either they didn’t come home or they won’t return to duty. I guess it’ll stop being weird when I’m the one who doesn’t come back,” Major Tom says.
“I’ll always make sure you come back,” I say, immediately. And I will. The Isylgyns have orders already not to harm her. Yes that didn’t work out well for me last time but I’ve made it very clear now.
“And what’s so sweet is I think he thinks he can,” Major Tom says, sighing and looking at me.
“I can,” I say, glancing up at her to get my point across then back down at my book.
“You don’t control everything,” she says.
“I know but I’m working on that,” I say.
“It is hard, that’s why I quit flying the suicide missions, there’s a reason they call them that,” Ziegfeld says, “I love flying, but I don’t love my friends dying.”
“Nor do I,” Tom says.
They go quiet for a moment.
“This is the point where you agree, Titus,” Tom groans.
“Oh---what---yes, I was reading,” I say, innocently.
“Since when aren’t you doing two things at once?” Tom mutters. She’s still annoyed with me. probably over Leavitt. But I’ve been wanting to cut his legs off for ages now.
“Titus, go sit down and drink your milk,” Ziegfeld says, handing me two packets of milk which she knows is all I want.
“Fine,” I say, staring at my book. She wants to get Tom alone to talk to her fine. let Tom blame me it is my fault anyway I don’t care if she’s angry with me. Who am I fooling? Yes I do.
“What’s he done---lately?” Ziegfeld asks me.
“Nothing,” I lie.
“Is it because his gunner who you both trained with was maimed or is it that he nearly got his face burned off being an idiot?” she asks, knowingly.
“Both,” I admit, “One minute I look at him and think about how easily he could be dead right now and here he is---being him, and not even noticing his brain nearly got eaten away by acid—and then I went to see Leavitt today and, well Titus was flying the ship. He’s landed in worse conditions safely.”
“You can’t blame him for a simple miscalculation, we’ve all made them. and as much as he pretends he isn’t human, he is,” Ziegfeld says, “Believe me, I’ve felt the same way. No pilot is perfect. We’re all a twitch of a muscle away from doing the exact same thing.”
“Yeah, I know. that’s why I need to get out of flying missions. I told Thorn, this’ll be my last rotation. I’m just sick of it,” I say.
“But---?” she asks.
“But he’ll never quit, not until he’s dead,” I say, looking at Titus who is reading two tablets at once, sitting on the edge of a sofa contentedly drinking his milk. A couple others are lining up to watch him like they do. I’m pretty sure they bet on when he’ll take a drink or how fast he’ll tap the screen to change pages.
“No, he won’t. that’s his problem, he is walking around like he didn’t nearly die, two weeks into medical leave that moron is trying to hack into his file to put himself back on flight duty. There’s something wrong with him,” she says.
“Yeah, there is,” I say, almost laughing.
“No, seriously, like, something clinical wrong with him. but you can’t let that get to you—or if it does then you have to get away from him because he’s not going to change, ever,” she says.
“I’m thinking that second one,” I admit, “But how can you say that? You’re fond of him.”
“He’s too much like me for me to hate him,” Ziegfeld says, “Not in the odd way---but the way he loves to fly. I’d never met anyone who lived for like I did, not until him. He was made for it, for better or for worse. So I have to forgive him his faults, in a way---plus he’s just a bit older than my son. I’d want somebody to forgive my boy if I wasn’t around, and his mum quit caring a long time ago.”
“That’s why I hate it. it feels like too few people in the world care about him because of who he is and he can’t help who he is,” I say, “And then he says sweet idiotic things like that---I don’t know.”
“Don’t feel like that. I’ll keep an eye on him, and Thorn is fond of him despite himself, you do what makes you happy. Find somebody to make you happy, somebody who consumes solid food,” she says, we are still staring at Titus drinking his dinner and reading, his blue eyes glowing in the reflected light from the screens of his tablets. Like five people are sitting across watching him and putting rubles on the table. they are totally betting.
“That might be a step,” I say. I just don’t see why I can’t take it. It’s not love. Ziegfeld thinks it is, but I don’t think so. it’s like he needs watching. I don’t know how or why I feel like it, but I do. I pity him and almost----fear him? Could he have saved Leavitt? No, you know he couldn’t have they did like each other well enough----don’t go there. but if anybody could have landed that ship he could have. Yet he didn’t.
Chapter 30
“I
t looks nice.”
“Mum, you saw it yesterday you don’t have to act so pleased,” I say, pretending not to lean against the counter because I can’t balance as well on my replacement legs as I like to pretend I can.
“It is nice, nicer than I’ve ever lived in,” she says, taking my hands because she knows I’m unsteady.
“Would you like it?” I ask. I would rather live under a bridge. Because there are eighteen flight of STAIRS up to this flat and I am too damn proud to take the elevator but I also can’t walk up stairs well with these horrible not-my-legs.
“Quentin, you are living here, at least till you find someplace that better suits you,” she says, petting my cheek like I’m eight and just lost a football game. Except I never played football. And when she was comforting me it was always more of a clinging and not letting go sort of thing.
“Yeah, looks that way---is this really all the things I have?” I ask, looking at the few duffel bags of stuff she brought yesterday from my barracks.
“That was all they gave me---is there anything missing?” she asks, worriedly.
“No, no, I’m sure there’s not, it’s fine---sorry you only took a half day at work, probably, we should eat something,” I say, looking around.
“It got you some food yesterday, I wasn’t sure what you would want,” she says, nervously. She feels like she has to take care of me now but she knows the last thing I want is that.
“Anything not shrink wrapped in tin is fine,” I say, smiling for her, “Preferably no milk.”
“Why not?”
“Longish story I don’t want to go into.”
“Are you nice to your cadet?”
“What do you think?”
“I don’t think you have an operating definition of nice,” Tess says, knowingly.
“Oh, define it for me?” I ask, with a grin. It’s early morning still, and she hasn’t got classes till later and I gave Starr lots of things to do to keep him occupied. So I’m still at my flat with Tess. Even as much as we communicate when I’m in space she’s still starved for my attention.
“To be nice: to perform acts which lead only to reinforcement through witnessing the pleasur
e of another sentient being,” she says, slowly, as I lift her into the air. She’s helping me exercise, I typically make her do morning stretches with me but because of the pressurization sickness I have to do more than usual. Right now I’m doing leg lifts with her balanced on my legs. Which is not as impressive as it sounds, my offspring is rather small.
“Very good, why would you care if I did these things?” I ask.
“I think that it would be good practice. I practice being nice,” she says.
“Do you gain reinforcement from witnessing brief pleasures of others?” I ask.
“No, but I am aware I should and it may lead to reinforcement in other areas if people believe I’m nice, they will in turn provide more tangible reinforcement,” she says, “Do you gain reinforcement from being nice to me?”
“What makes you say I’m nice to you?” I ask, pushing her off my legs and onto the other exercise mat. She giggles as I let her roll off, shaking her dark hair out of her face. her smile. Her smile isn’t like mine that bothers me.
“You appear to gain reinforcement from my happiness,” she says, flopping across my legs.
“I don’t. I gain reinforcement from you, simply existing,” I say, untangling her hair with my fingers.
“Why do you do things that make me happy, then? Like get me tablets or books or spend time with me?” she asks.
“Because I want you to love me, and therefore I have a formula in place to gain your affection,” I say.
“It’s working,” she says, with a charming smile.
“Good, it doesn’t work with Major Tom,” I say, pushing her off my lap and going to the kitchen to get a drink of milk. My muscles ache after relatively little activity. I hate being on the ground.
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