Degrees of Wrong
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sceneries including beaches, mountains, deserts, cities, highways, forests and a
stadium track. Not wanting anything to do with beaches and the memory they
could conjure up so close to bedtime, I opted for the one labeled Mountain Run.
The hologram encompassed me, transporting me to a peaceful mountain
trail, complete with sunlight beaming in through the tree canopy and a light
breeze dancing through the ferns along the path. As I progressed up the
mountain, the jogger inclined accordingly, and in no time at all, my heart rate
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raced with my exertions. For good measure, I increased the speed to a full run, in honor of the pile of candy wrappers still polluting my desk.
The hologram wasn’t a solid barrier. Through it I could see Captain Marek
collecting his items—with any luck his shirt was among them—and preparing to
leave. He still grinned, and I wondered that I ever doubted his ability to do so, or for that matter, to do so for such an extended period of time. Whatever I did to
amuse him was beyond me.
He strolled to the jogger and watched me run for a moment, just long
enough to make me uncomfortable. It seemed like he would say something, but
he just gave a small wave to indicate he was departing. I returned one in kind,
but otherwise had to concentrate on my breakneck pace. It just wouldn’t do to
trip in front of the good captain.
After he left, I increased the speed further and concentrated my attention on
the path winding before me. An hour later, I finished my run, a heaving, sweaty
mess. As I made my way back to my quarters, I was thankful no one was awake
to see me in this state.
As I showered and readied myself for bed, I felt a renewed excitement about
the prospect of shopping. At this pace, my little pouch would disappear in no
time.
Snuggling into the covers, I noted how much more comfortable the bed felt
after attaining physical exhaustion. With my tension aches absentee, my entire
body beckoned me to sleep.
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Chapter Six
The artificial sunrise brought with it the vague realization that I hadn’t
dreamt. As my eyes struggled to stay open for more than two seconds at a time, I
swept my gaze around my quarters, trying to discern where I was and how I’d
gotten there. The covers held me hostage but I must have put up a fight at some
point, because they were just as mangled as I felt. With willpower I didn’t know I possessed, I pulled myself into a sitting position, glancing at the clock. Then did a double take.
In a panic, I wrestled free from the covers, dumping myself onto the floor. I
jumped up and snatched my clothes from the wardrobe. If I didn’t bother to do
anything but dress myself, I might make it to roll call on time.
I crammed into my clothes and sprinted to the elevator. “Roll call deck.”
While it flung me to my destination, I pulled my hair into a ponytail, combing it with my fingers as best I could manage.
The elevator stopped and opened the doors to the hallway I’d always
associate with hard feelings. And aching arms.
Everyone stood in line excepting myself. Ebony summoned me with wide
eyes that suggested I hurry. I took my place beside her, and no sooner did I fold my hands behind my back did Lt. Horan call attention. Although to me, it still
sounded like, “Atten-hut!”
Naturally, he strode to my face, while the short, skinny man I now knew to
be Corporal Binder began to call roll. I was in no mood for this.
Anna Scarlett
Horan leaned in as if I were hard of hearing. “Top o’ the morning to ya,
Cadet Troublemaker!” he bellowed.
I said nothing. He didn’t ask me a question, and if he didn’t ask me a
question, I shouldn’t answer. We’d already covered that many, many times.
Tricking me into speaking out of turn was his new favorite thing. I kept my gaze
focused on a special point behind him, not allowing myself to make eye
contact—which was better for both of us.
“You’re looking particularly gruesome this morning, Cadet Big Lips. I
wonder why that is,” he mused.
No question, no answer.
He angled closer and sniffed. “Whew! And your breath stinks worse than
three-day-old fish guts left out in the sun.”
That could be true.
He tilted his head. “You know what? I’ve got a deal for you,” he exclaimed
in forced excitement. “It’s a deal you can’t refuse. You’ll love it.” He stepped
closer, close enough that, if my breath did smell like fish guts, then he was just punishing himself. “This is my offer. I’ll do you a favor, Space Cadet. You know what a favor is, Cadet Maggot? It means I’ll do it for free.”
Despite my efforts to fixate on the point behind his fat head, the rage in my
stomach lurched to life. No, I commanded it.
“So, Cadet Loser,” he continued on, “for free of charge, I will SLAP THE
UGLY OFF YOUR FACE.” He enunciated every word, and the inferno that was
my stomach roared in anger.
And—was that Stanley snickering again? He’d pay for that.
My glare tore from the wall behind the lieutenant, met his eyes. He grinned,
triumphant.
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It wasn’t that I considered myself beautiful or attractive—I’d never been
afflicted with vanity. What bothered me was that I knew he was right. My hair
was messy, I probably still had lines imprinted on my face from the blankets, and for all I knew, last night’s chocolate spotted my teeth. And he was pointing it out to everybody. That was just meanspirited.
“How does that sound?” he asked.
A direct question. What would I say? There was no telling now. I couldn’t
trust myself to speak. I swallowed hard. And then I swallowed again.
“Did ya hear me, Cadet Fatso?”
My eyes bulged.
“I just made you the deal of the century,” he continued. “Though I gotta tell
ya, I’ll probably have to slap you twice to get the ugly off that face.”
My lip trembled with the dilemma. Beside me, Ebony cleared her throat in
blatant disapproval.
His head snapped toward her. “You stay out of this, Snow White.”
She inhaled sharply but said nothing.
It was the reprieve I needed. I cleared my own throat, swallowing the acid
fire.
“No thank you, sir,” I answered. He wouldn’t humiliate her on my behalf.
He jerked his head back to me. “No?” In my face again, his nose touched
mine at the very tip, his eyes narrowed to the point of closure.
“No thank you, sir!” The crescendo in my voice startled him. Against my
will, the corner of my mouth cracked a tiny—but distinct—grin. He didn’t miss
it.
“That’s it,” he screamed. “Drop and give me fifty. The rest of you are
dismissed.”
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As she passed, he grabbed Ebony’s arm. “If you ever interfere again, you’ll
be down there next to her.”
She hastened to the elevator. I’d already begun my punishment before the
doors closed in front of her mortified face.
his back, determined to see his discipline through to the humiliating end. He
cocked up his arm to brace his head on one hand, watching me. “It’s not so
funny now, is it?”
“You’re a poor sport, Pretty Princess.” I grunted as I pushed myself up for
the seventeenth time.
“You got a thick skull, you know that?”
“Well, you’ve got a thick neck.” It was the only thing I could think of. My
arms shook as I pushed myself up to complete number twenty-one, a sweat
mustache forming on my lip.
He chuckled without humor. “So will you, when I get done with ya. Fifty’s
your new number to beat.” He pulled himself from the floor. “Twenty-
seven…twenty-six!” He counted me down, but progress slowed, and then
trickled. I dropped to the floor in defeat at twenty-to-go, my arms ablaze.
“You’re pathetic.” He snorted and turned to leave me there, as he always did
when I maxed out.
But I couldn’t allow that, not today. I’d met my goal of thirty pushups, and I
wouldn’t let him diminish that victory. Knowing I’d pay for it later, I rose again and yelled, “Nineteen!” I fell back to the floor in a heap.
He whirled around.
Again, I rose. “Eighteen!” My arms couldn’t possibly lift me again.
But they did. “Seventeen!” Now my arms dumped me on the floor. Hard.
My body made an outline of sweat on the rubberlike surface.
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He stepped closer. I pulled my head up to grin at him. His nostrils flared.
“How about I slap the disappointment off your face?” I offered with heaving breath. He frowned so severely I thought the corners of his mouth would extend
down his neck.
I knew it was asking too much, but I pleaded with my arms to lift the dead
weight again.
They complied. “Sixteen!” I screamed in agony. I plummeted to the floor.
“Hmph,” he snorted, turning to leave again.
“Fifteen!” I called to him, but he kept going. I laughed after him, which was
unnecessary, but oh-so-much fun. He disappeared into an elevator down the
hall, still sulking.
I hauled myself from the floor, and me and my trembling arms asked the
elevator to take us to breakfast. The one good thing about wearing all black was
that sweat didn’t show as much as it would in other colors of like material.
I plopped down in the chair beside Dr. Folsom, startling her from her book.
She hadn’t touched her eggs and toast. I hoped she hadn’t waited for me.
“Good morning, Elyse.” She eyed the barren tabletop in front of me. “Aren’t
you eating breakfast this morning?”
“Yes.” I beamed. “But I can’t move my arms just yet. Think you could get me
some bran cereal and a banana?”
She narrowed her eyes, closing the book with a pop, the wind from it
wafting her hair. “What did you do?”
I was hoping she would ask. “Thirty-five today. I really showed him this
time.” I grinned.
“You shouldn’t provoke him, Elyse,” she said, but I could tell she wasn’t
mad—she probably felt an obligation to my mother to say such things.
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“Why shouldn’t I? His blood pressure is his own fault. He has a bad
temper.”
She laughed at my hypocrisy and rose to get me my breakfast.
Eating cereal with no arms was tricky. In the end, the best strategy was to
prop them on the table at the elbows for support, and drink the mush like soup. I brought the banana to the lab with me, in case I worked up the strength to peel it later in the day—not likely, though.
When we reached the lab, the line waiting for us extended down the hall. As
we made our way to the door, I noted the diversity in the nosy faces I passed.
The United Nations was now the true melting pot of the world—the crew of the
Bellator was proof of it. Virtually every ethnic group was represented here. It only now occurred to me the vast military force that entailed.
Then something else occurred to me. I pulled Dr. Folsom by the sleeve,
stopping her just short of the door.
“I need to speak with Captain Marek,” I whispered, feeling the glances
intruding on the conversation.
“Is something wrong?” she whispered back, peeking at the long line of
hypochondriacs. “You know you don’t have to help me anymore.”
“It’s not that. He said if I needed anything—” I stopped, not wanting to say
too much in front of our audience. “Well, I need something.”
I knew she still didn’t understand, but she said, “I’m sure you’ll find him in
his office.”
I headed back to the elevator. A collection of disgruntled moans chased after
me. “Show’s over,” I muttered.
I reached Captain Marek’s office and announced myself to the alarm. To my
surprise, it allowed entry.
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It was just as luxurious as the admiral’s, almost identical in fact. Captain
Marek sat behind his large desk and tiny computer, typing something with full
concentration. Belatedly, it occurred to me that I should’ve stopped by my
quarters to freshen up.
Instead, I cleared my throat.
He looked up in surprise. “Dr. Morgan. What can I do for you?”
He stood, motioning for me to sit in one of the oversized gray chairs in front
of his desk. I obeyed, making myself comfortable as he reclaimed his seat,
regarding me expectantly. I probably interrupted his train of thought—
something I detested when done to me. I resolved to make this short and sweet.
“You told me yesterday that if I needed anything, I should let you know.
Well, I do. Need something, I mean.” Making direct eye contact with him was
unsettling.
“What can I do for you, Dr. Morgan?” he repeated, his voice nothing more
than polite. He was the essence of equilibrium, a quality I supposed was
invaluable to a captain.
I took in a breath. Here goes. “Well, it occurred to me that I’m not the only one.”
“The only one?”
“The only one trying to find a cure. This is the United Nations, right? They
have limitless people at their disposal. In their military force alone, they must have a thousand mad-scientist types working on this. Someone must be close.”
“Yes?” he said, still missing my point.
“I want access to their research.”
He folded his hands on the desk. “Dr. Morgan, you have a valid point, but
you’re right and wrong. On the one hand, we do have scientists working ’round
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the clock on this, with virtually unlimited resources.” He paused, studying me. I wished I knew what he was thinking.
He continued, “On the other hand, every one of them has failed, obviously.
It’s a rare thing for the UN to bring in an outside source, and even more
inconceivable for them to do it forcibly.”
“Yet, here I am.” And I doubted anything was inconceivable for the United
Nations.
> “Yes, here you are. Which leads me to the conclusion that not one of those
scientists is as close to finding the cure as you are right now.” I didn’t miss the disbelief in his tone. “However, if you still feel you need to review the works of incompetents, I’ll make arrangements for you to meet with someone. I can’t
imagine, however, that you’ll be granted access to it. I’m sure it’s classified
information.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Will I be permitted to speak to someone, or will you be
speaking on my behalf?” Since he didn’t really believe I needed the access, he’d
be bland and unassuming in his polite request for it. I, on the other hand, would cross-examine any unfortunate lightweight they sent until I gained unrestricted
access to every comma, period or question mark in the database.
He studied me with that impassive expression of his. “If you feel you can
behave, you’ll be able to plead your own case.”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” I snapped. I knew exactly what he
meant. If this was a test to see if he could spark my temper, I didn’t need to fail it.
Besides, his habit of treating me like a child had aged beyond toleration—I was
perfectly capable of conducting myself with the mannerisms of an adult.
“I’m going to be direct with you, Dr. Morgan. I won’t allow you to insult, or
verbally abuse in any other way, your superiors. If you can promise that, then I’ll let you speak to them.”
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Oh, now that’s rich. My gut churned in repressed outrage as I choked back my initial response. When composed, I kept my tone as neutral and cordial as
possible. “Allow me to speak directly, Captain Marek.” I didn’t wait for his
permission to proceed. “First and foremost, I am not in the military, a fact which you often seem to forget. Therefore, I do not have superiors. Secondly, if you’re so inclined to believe I’m the UN’s last hope for success, then you can agree it
would be idiotic for them to go to all that trouble in my kidnapping, only to
withhold information vital to my research, and all but inhibit my progress with
their endeavor.” Captain Marek sat back and crossed his arms. “And finally, I do not insult or verbally abuse anyone, except for Pretty—Lt. Horan,” I amended.
“That man could provoke a nun.”
“Did you—? What did you just call Lt. Horan?” Amusement colored his tone.