“We appreciate you coming in to help us today, Rys.” Mrs. Grime’s eyes sparkled behind her thick glasses, taking him in from head to toe. “My, yes, you’ll be an excellent model. If you would just take that seat in the middle of the horseshoe and sit perfectly still, we can get started.”
“Yes ma’am,” he responded instantly. Anne wasn’t even sure if he gave any thought to the request. Rys extended all teachers the same courtesy he would a superior officer. They were to be obeyed and placated, but never questioned.
The art classroom didn’t have regular student desks, but two large u-shaped tables that could be moved together to form a block. The class assignment for the day’s subject was situated on the inside, and the students sat on the outside, using the table’s surface to draw on. In the middle of the opening was a single chair, which Mrs. Grimes usually placed objects on for them to draw. Anne was about to suggest that Rys just step on the table to get to the center when he put a hand on the surface, and casually flipped himself head over heels next to the chair and sat down.
Everyone gasped in surprise and admiration for the graceful move. Anne just smacked her forehead with her palm. Rys, normal people can’t do stuff like that…
“He’s extremely athletic,” Mrs. Grimes noted in approval.
“Yes, he is indeed,” Anne agreed calmly. Maybe if she acted like this was an everyday occurrence, no one would think too much about it.
Rys positioned himself in the chair at proper attention, shoulders back, hands straight on his knees and looking straight ahead. To Anne, it shouted out military. “Rys,” she quickly inserted, “that’s not a very artistic pose. There’s not any real negative space to make it more interesting and compelling.”
He gave her a blank look in return. “Negative space?”
“You haven’t taken any art classes, have you?” she guessed.
“Not a single one.” He looked a little puzzled, as if he hadn’t considered this before.
“Well, we won’t get into that,” Mrs. Grimes said with a dismissive wave. “Just turn the chair around and rest your arms on the back.”
In this new position, with Rys sitting backwards in the chair, he didn’t look military at all, but more like a teenager. Anne nodded in satisfaction and took her own seat.
“Are you comfortable in that position, Rys?” Mrs. Grimes inquired.
“Yes ma’am,” he responded politely.
“Then try to hold as still as possible. Class, you may begin.”
Eighteen students picked up their pencils and begin to rapidly sketch out the figure in front of them. From the short peeks that Anne took of Rys’s face as she sketched, he looked decidedly curious about what they were doing.
The girl next to Anne let out a long sigh. “Mrs. Grimes, could we get him to take his shirt off? I can’t get enough definition through that loose shirt he’s wearing.”
“That’s up to Rys, Sara.” The art teacher pushed her glasses up on her nose. “Rys, would you mind?”
“No ma’am, that’s fine.” Rys unbuttoned the shirt he was wearing and let it fall to the floor. He wasn’t bare-chested, as Anne might have expected, but wearing a tight tee shirt that clearly illustrated every muscle on his torso. And it was all muscle.
“Oh, that is much better,” Sara sighed dreamily, as her drawing lagged, waiting for her to move her pencil again.
Anne had to stroke her bottom lip with her teeth to keep from laughing.
“Rys,” a pretty brunette by the name of Alice inquired, “how much do you exercise on average?”
“One hour every morning,” he responded precisely, without turning his head. “It is usually more on the weekends, if I can manage it in my schedule.”
Jake, one of the few guys in the class, looked interested. “So what kind of exercise do you do? Weights?”
“Not as a rule. I have a stretching routine, followed by a ten mile run, and then I cool down with three hundred sit-ups, push-ups, and speed drills.” The way Rys answered him, it sounded like a normal workout.
Jake dropped the pencil, and stared back at him with his mouth wide open. “You run ten miles, every morning?”
Rys cut a look at Jake only moving his eyes, clearly confused and surprised, unable to fathom the reason for his reaction. As usual, when Rys didn’t understand a civilian’s response, he looked to Anne for a translation and an explanation.
“Most people don’t exercise as much as you and your friends do, Rys,” Anne volunteered patiently. “We’re considerably lazier. Participating in sports is usually about as active as we get.”
“Oh.” He definitely filed that bit of wisdom away for future reference.
“So Anne, how did you know that he would make such a good model?” Sara obviously was fishing, with her mind in the gutter.
“We went swimming this last Saturday,” Anne replied easily. Sara looked wistful and a little green. Yeah, Sara, if you think he looks good in that tee shirt, you should catch his act in tight spandex; Rys and about twenty of his buddies, who could start up a modeling agency with no problems. “That reminds me. Rys, did the guys feel comfortable enough with swimming, or do they need to come back for some additional instruction?”
For some reason the query made Rys smile back at her, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “Anne, when have we ever needed to review anything?”
“Swimming isn’t like memorizing a chapter in a book, Rys,” Anne responded dryly. “Practical experience has the word practice in there for a reason.”
“Memorizing the book?” Mrs. Grimes repeated incredulously. “Anne, you didn’t sound as if you were joking.”
“I’m not.” Anne nodded at Rys. “He has a photographic memory. Why did you think I told you it was safe to pull him out of class? He has had the textbook memorized since the first week of the semester.”
Quite a few students choked, wondering if they could sign him up for a study buddy.
“That’s actually gotten me into trouble,” Rys observed to Anne. “Mr. Blake pulled me in to the office for a parent-teacher conference the first day of classes. He thought I wasn’t paying attention, because I wasn’t taking any notes.”
“Oh, that’s why. I heard a rumor about that the first day.” Anne knew it was Brandon Bloch that had spread that story around, too. Brandon hated Rys’s guts and did everything possible to pull him down. Of course, now that there’s a whole class that’s gotten the straight scoop from the horse’s mouth, that little rumor will be shot to pieces. Anne smiled smugly to herself. Ruining any plan of Brandon’s just made her day. “So did you get it straightened out?”
“Sara did. Now that Mr. Blake understands how I operate, he pretty much ignores me.”
Katie — the same Katie that had accidentally broken Rys’s right eye — timidly ventured, “If you can memorize things like that, why are you still in high school?”
Rys shot her a quick smile over his shoulder, which made Katie blush profusely. “I wanted to be around people my own age. Education is more than just reproducing what is written in a book.”
Anne silently applauded his answer. Rys used to offer a more elaborate response, but she pointed out that doing so would eventually cue the listener up to his military connection. Apparently, he had taken that advice to heart and streamlined it to a simpler version of the truth.
“Less jaw, more draw,” Mrs. Grimes admonished. She then proceeded to monopolize Rys’s attention by asking him all sorts of other questions. Have you ever tried your hand at art before? No? Why not sign up for a class the next semester? You need to do at least a couple of elective classes anyway, to satisfy college requirements.
Anne nearly rolled at Rys’s reaction to that comment. It was obvious that college had never crossed his mind. As far as he was concerned, he already had a career. High school was just a pleasant experiment to pass time, until he could get back to his life.
Five minutes before the bell was due to ring, Mrs. Grimes had them tidy up their drawings, sign
them, and turn them in. Rys finally moved, craning his neck to look at the drawings. “Wow. You guys are really good,” he noted with open approval. “Is drawing people difficult?”
“It is most of the time.” Sara flashed him a flirtatious smile. “You weren’t difficult to draw at all.”
That expression made Anne’s hand itch to administer a solid slap to the back of Sara’s head. “Yes, Rys, we really appreciate you holding perfectly still for so long. It made it a lot easier.” Which wasn’t exactly what Sara meant, and Anne knew it.
The bell rang, and people scattered in a dozen different directions. Rys executed his flip-over-the-table trick again, landing easily on the balls of his feet. This time, after sketching all of that muscle for an hour, people weren’t as surprised. Anne made it a point to run a casual hand along the back of his arm, on the pretext to catch his attention. She left her hand on his shoulder, as if she were used to doing so. In reality, she was broadcasting a clear message to every girl in the room. Mine. Not yours. And no, I’m not into sharing.
By the way that Sara was gritting her teeth, the message was received, with nothing lost in the transmission.
Anne ignored her and gave him an innocent smile. “Rys, hold still. Your collar is twisted in the back.”
He obligingly ducked down a few inches so she could straighten the collar of his button down shirt. “Thanks, Anne.”
“No problem, that’s what friends are for,” she replied graciously. Thank the Guardians you’re oblivious to most girl’s intentions, otherwise I would be really busy. “Shall we go?”
Chapter Eleven
Rys was walking into his second period class with Anne when his com channel suddenly opened on the emergency frequency. Rys stopped dead and keyed it on. Savar here.
“Captain, I am invoking a Code 1, you’ve got to get me out of here!”
He registered two things nearly simultaneously: one, that was Erksome’s voice and two, he was calling for an emergency extraction, and he was borderline hysterical. Jason, calm down and focus on my voice, he ordered firmly. Location.
“Mrs. Sharpe’s house, sir.”
My ETA is ten minutes. Maintain your composure, Lieutenant, that’s an order. “Anne,” he caught her arm, nearly vibrating with urgency. The last time that he’d heard Erksome that panicked, a Nova armada was bearing down on them and he was isolated from the rest of the team in a forward compartment of the ship. “I need you to drive me somewhere, NOW.”
Anne looked up at him, startled, but nodded in agreement. “All right, obviously this is an emergency. Where to?”
“I will fill you in as we go, but we have to move!” He grabbed her hand and towed her rapidly through the hallways after him. As soon as they were outside, free of the crowds, he broke straight into a run. He only moderated his pace nominally because he knew that Anne couldn’t keep up with him at full speed.
She was too out of breath to ask questions on the way to the car, but as soon as she had the engine running, she gasped out, “What is the emergency, and how do you know there is an emergency?”
Rys realized that she didn’t know about the chip in his head yet. Anne wouldn’t know that he had actually gotten a call, because only he could hear it. “I’ll explain that part later when there is time; it’s too complicated right now. Head toward Mercy Hospital.” Jason’s foster home was only a block away from it. “Tell me when we are near Cedar Street. I have to focus on getting him calmed down, and under control.”
Anne gave him another mystified look, but took him at his word. She tore out of the school parking lot, bent on destroying all of the speed limits standing between her and her destination. Rys was never so glad for her insane driving abilities more than at that moment. Anne didn’t know how to go anywhere at a moderate pace. She drove everywhere like she was in a race, and in it to win.
He needed that speed at this moment.
Erksome, are you still with me?
“Yes, sir. Captain, seriously, I can’t handle this.”
I am in route. Situation report, by the numbers!
“I am currently locked in a linen closet, sir. There is no inside door knob, light source, and there’s barely sufficient room to stand.”
Rys uttered a word that he’d never said before in the presence of a woman. The full situation finally began to take shape. Erksome couldn’t handle dark, confined spaces—not unless he had a team mate with him, or knew that he could exit quickly if he wanted to. Right now, he didn’t have either option at his disposal. Erksome, have you contacted Gremlin and Snails and informed them of what’s going on?
“No, sir.”
Do that immediately, I’ll be in standby mode with the channel open. Rys normally would have done it, but the more Jason was focused on an assignment outside of that closet, the better.
“Rys, what is going on?” By the way that Anne asked that question, she had already repeated it more than once.
“One of my men is in serious trouble. I haven’t gotten the full details yet. Turn right on Cedar Street; it will be the third house on the right. Sorry, I’ll have to ignore you for the moment. I’ve got to keep him calm and focused until we arrive.” Rys would have instructed Anne to disregard any posted speed limits, but she did that as a matter of course. Jason, have you made contact, and are they responding?
“Yes, sir.”
Rys hadn’t expected any differently, but he had to keep him focused on his orders and above all keep him talking. How did this situation occur?
“I was running a little behind schedule. Mrs. Sharpe’s car wouldn’t start this morning and it took me almost an hour to get it running again. I had to take a quick shower to get all of the grease off. Anyway, I was in the shower and her son—Lieutenant Kyle Sharpe—banged on the door and told me to get out. I asked him to give me thirty seconds and I’d be out. Sir, I was barely able to get out and get some pants on when he suddenly busted the door down! I was still trying to figure out why he was so mad when he grabbed me and tossed me into the closet.”
Oh for the love of— Rys growled between clenched teeth. None of 01 took more than a three minute shower. (Sergeant Barrett’s well-schooled influence.) Even if Jason had been in there for an hour, it was no excuse for that kind of response. I need you to calm down and focus, Erksome. I don’t think you did anything to invite that kind of response. What is Lieutenant Sharpe doing there, anyway? I thought he was currently on active duty.
“He is home on leave sir, and is supposed to be here in residence for the next two weeks.”
And where was Mrs. Sharpe when all of this went down?
“I haven’t heard a peep from her, sir.”
Rys was going to have a very long talk with that woman when he got on scene.
“We’re here,” Anne announced, the car skidding to a stop.
He spared a moment to order, “Remain in the car; I have no idea what the situation is inside,” and then he bolted for the front door.
At first glance, the place looked nominal. No furniture over turned, everything appeared to be in a reasonable semblance order. Then he spotted the edge of a door hanging at an odd angle from its hinges further down the hall. “Lieutenant Sharpe!” Rys barked out in his most strident, no nonsense Captain’s voice. “What is the meaning of this?”
The tall man standing in the hallway—and apparently in front of the closet door—snapped to attention automatically at the sound of that voice. When he saw who it was, he quickly morphed from panicked to sullen and angry again. “Who are you?”
“I am Captain Arystair Savar of Special Forces 01, Lieutenant, and if you don’t move immediately I will proceed well beyond the boundaries of your worst nightmare.” The words were clipped and little better than a snarl.
Sharpe didn’t look entirely convinced about his course of action, but he backed up three steps, as far as the hallway would allow. Rys stalked to the closet door, like an approaching storm, and grabbed the door handle. What he intended to do was unlock the
door and open it, but his anger was so intense that he jerked the door knob out of the door entirely. Either way worked, and suited his purpose.
He grabbed the door by the hole left by the missing knob, and threw it open with a thud, and extracted Jason bodily, hauling him to freedom. For a moment, he just stood there holding his trembling friend close. “Okay?” he whispered into wet hair.
“Yes, sir,” Jason whispered back. His voice wavered slightly, no doubt because he was still shaking. “Thank you, sir.”
“Sir!” from the front door Snails burst through on the fly, looking frantic and edgy, ready to kill anything that moved. “Jason, you okay, man?”
Rys propelled Erksome toward Snails, knowing he could trust his usually slow-poke Lieutenant to care for his comrade in arms. Then he turned his full attention to Lieutenant Sharpe. It took every ounce of self-restraint he possessed to keep from launching himself at the man and start delivering punches.
“Lieutenant Sharpe, I want to hear the rationale behind your actions, immediately! If you’re a religious man, I suggest you start praying now, because it’s going to take a bona fide miracle for you to conjure up a valid reason for hurting one of mine.”
***
Anne stood frozen in the doorway to this average looking house and stared in awe. A tall, ruggedly good looking man in his twenties was now braced—sans shirt—against the wall. Despite the fact that he was a head taller and fifty pounds heavier than the man administering a severe verbal beat down, he was obviously terrified of the shorter officer.
She didn’t blame him.
Anne had seen Rys in a variety of moods, running the gamut from happy to glum, but never before had she seen him livid. What made it even more unsettling was he wasn’t shouting. In fact, his voice never rose above a normal speaking tone. That didn’t mean it didn’t leave a deep impression; it did. In fact, just listening to it was making Anne nervous and consumed with guilt, and she hadn’t done anything but break all of the speed limits getting him here.
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