Standing at the Edge

by William Alan Webb

  But the blow didn’t land. Nipple had finally found someone even faster than her.

  Morgan’s right hand streaked up, caught Nikki’s arm by the wrist, and turned it over, all in one move. Twisting hard, she applied pressure on Nipple’s elbow and forced her to her knees. Morgan’s left hand caught Nipple’s right wrist before she could move and twisted it inward, too.

  “Aaahhh!” Nipple screamed as she felt her elbows on the verge of breaking. Closing her eyes, she tried to understand how it had happened.

  “We’ve got the same father,” Morgan said, as if reading her mind. “And the same reflexes. You’re fast, but I’m five years younger than you are. Now, do you want to keep doing this, or would you rather talk?”

  “I’m not some old lady,” Nipple said. “I don’t know how you did this, but I’ll find out.”

  “I did it because you telegraphed it. Does that mean you want to keep fighting? I’d hate to have to explain to our C.O. why you have two broken elbows, but I’d rather do that than get a knife in the back.”

  “Shit, that hurts!” Nipple said. “Fine, you win. Let go; we’ll talk.”

  “If you try this shit again, I won’t be so nice next time.”

  “You surprised me once. That won’t happen again.”

  “Neither will me not breaking your arms.”

  Morgan released her grip and stepped back into a fighting crouch. Nipple rubbed her elbows until they got feeling back, studying her sister in the meantime. Morgan stood on the balls of her feet and her weight distribution was perfect. Her eyes never left Nipple, either. She was ready to fight.

  “Let’s go to the mess hall,” Nipple said. A new feeling had come over her, one she recognized in others but never before in herself: intimidation. She didn’t like it. “I’m thirsty.”

  “You lead the way.” Morgan walked six feet behind her sister, just in case.

  #

  In the past nine months, the coffee had not changed. It still had the weird chemical taste left over from the long-term drying process, but Morgan no longer noticed. She only cared if it was hot or not. Nipple sipped on lemon-flavored water. The lemon was artificial, of course. They sat at a table in the far corner, even though the large room only held a few other people. The smell of cooking spaghetti let them know the dinner menu.

  Neither woman spoke for several minutes. Nipple sulked while Morgan stared at her, arms folded, like an angry parent, even though she was the younger of the two.

  “I’m not gonna bite you,” Nipple said at last.

  “I’m glad to hear it. Bite wounds are nasty. The mouth’s got a lot of germs and shit.”

  “How’d you do that, back there?”

  “Catch your hand?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I told you. You telegraphed it. I knew what you were going to do before you did.”

  “I don’t get it. That’s always worked before. Plus… shit, you’re as fast as me. That’s never happened before, either. How can you do all that?”

  “You really want to have a civil conversation?” Morgan asked. “Or is this some new trick?”

  “How come nobody ever takes me seriously? I’m not stupid.”

  “I never said you were stupid. In fact, as my sister, you’re probably damned smart. Dad may be a lot of unpleasant things, including an asshole, but he’s also a genius. His IQ is over one-forty. It’s no surprise we inherited some of those brain cells. So no, I’d bet you’re every bit as smart as Cindy or me. But I’m not gullible enough to think we’re suddenly going to be best friends, either. If you want to talk, I’m here. If you want to fight, I’m still here.”

  For some reason unknown to her, for the first time in a long time Nipple wanted to think through the situation. For just a moment, it seemed as though something had dispelled what she called her brain fog. She described this as trying to think through mud. “I’m not sure how to do this.”

  “Do what?”

  “You know… talk.”

  “You’ve never had a conversation?”

  “Not the way you mean it.”

  “Just start talking,” Morgan said. “You’ll figure it out.”

  For two hours Morgan let her ramble. Most of it was details of their childhood.

  “Wait a minute,” Morgan said. “Let me see if I understand this. I get the part where you grew up thinking your dad died a hero in Iraq and your last name was Bauer, because your mom told you that was her married name. But it was actually her maiden name. I understand all of that. But she handed you your birth certificate with the name Angriff instead of Bauer, on the morning she died?”

  “Pretty shitty, huh?”

  “No wonder you’re screwed up. I’m sorry, that came out wrong.”

  “No, you’re right, I’m about as fucked as they come. And…”

  When she did not continue, Morgan prompted her. “And?”

  “Don’t repeat this or I’m gonna be really pissed.”

  “I won’t, promise.”

  “I’ve never told anybody this, but I don’t want to be this way,” Nipple said. “I’m tired of jokes like if you ever feel like slashing your own tires, don’t bother, just make Nikki mad and she’ll do it for you. I grew up hearing that shit and I’m still hearing it.”

  “You kind of ask for it, you know,” Morgan said.

  “I know. It started ’cause I didn’t want people asking questions about me or Mom, and it kind of became a habit. When people think you’re crazy, you’ve gotta keep upping the ante, you know?”

  “I’ll take your word for it.” Morgan leaned forward and rubbed her lips, thinking. “What about guys? Or girls, whichever. Ever been serious with anybody?”

  Nipple blushed. It took Morgan by surprise, seeing the woman feared by so many turning as red-faced as a twelve year old.

  “No.” She couldn’t look Morgan in the face. “I’ve never even… you know.”

  It took Morgan a moment to understand. “You’re a virgin?”

  “If you tell anybody, especially Nick, I swear to God I’ll kill you.”

  “I won’t, don’t worry. I’m actually kind of honored you shared that with me. So it looks like my job is to be a matchmaker for my big sister.”

  “With my rep? Good luck with that.”

  “You can’t give up yet; we haven’t even started. So, ummm… what am I looking for?”

  “Preferably someone alive.”

  “No, smart ass, I mean boy or girl?”

  “Oh, guys. The thought of slobbering on some chick grosses me out.”

  “Guys, good, that makes it easier. I’ve got practice with guys.”

  “I’ll bet you had your pick in high school.”

  “Me? Hell, no. Cindy did, but not me. I played soccer and tennis, and I was pretty popular, but Dad was stationed stateside for most of my teenage years. Since I was his first born… that he knew about,” she added, “he was a lot tougher on me than Cindy. He showed up to most of my practices and all of my games, and if you think he’s an asshole now, you should have seen him then. I had one boyfriend in high school and nobody knew it except us. Dad scared the shit out of him. College was a lot more fun.”

  Seeing Nipple look down, Morgan realized her words had had a different effect than she’d intended. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry, Nikki. I make it sound like my life was terrible, but while Dad was an asshole a lot of the time, I can’t imagine what you must have gone through.”

  Nipple cocked her head. “Thanks,” she said, and could not remember the last time she’d thanked anybody. “I think you mean it. But you don’t have to call me Nikki. I’d almost forgotten that was my name.”

  “Well, it is your name, so no more Nipple, you hear me? And here’s an idea. Why don’t I show you Joe’s Junk?”

  Nipple’s eyes widened. “You know I was kidding about that threesome, right?”

  Morgan laughed, leaned over, and hugged her sister, who was not used to being hugged. “Joe’s Junk is the name of my tank,” she said
. “I thought you might like crawling inside it. But first, let’s stop by my quarters and see what we can do with that hair.”

  “What’s wrong with it?”

  “Nothing, if you want hawks making a nest in it.”

  They started to get up, but Nipple paused. “Why are you doing this?”

  “Because you’re my sister.”

  “I don’t know what that means.”

  Morgan smiled. “Then let me show you.”

  #

  Chapter 45

  Love is the little sister of Death.

  The Oracle of Delphi

  Operation Overtime

  1251 hours, April 18

  Morgan Randall’s quarters were on Level One, one flight above the ground level of the surrounding desert. Directly below the women’s officers’ quarters was the massive Motor Bay C, assembly area for the brigade’s armored battalion.

  “Welcome to my cell,” she said as she unlocked the door. It was in the original part of the base, where the walls were reinforced bulkheads and the doors were air- and water-tight, like those in a submarine. The idea had been to increase survivability in the event of a nuclear, biological, or chemical attack. Later additions had a more normal design as research had found better ways to protect against such attacks. “Better than a five-star hotel, huh?”

  The room measured eight feet by ten, with all the charm of an army barracks. The only nods to Morgan’s femininity were a few basic makeup items on the metal desk against one wall. A small mirror propped against the wall was the only one in the chamber.

  Like a child’s first glimpse of a theme park, Nipple stood in the doorway inspecting every inch of the room. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

  “What’s the matter?” Morgan said.

  “I’ve never been in a girl’s room before.”

  “You’re a girl.”

  “Yeah, well, I’d rather not be.”

  “Why?”

  Nipple didn’t answer.

  “Are you, like, a boy in a girl’s body? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “Huh? Fuck, no! It’s just… I don’t know how to explain it.”

  “Try.”

  “It’s not that I don’t want to be a girl. I don’t know how to be a girl.”

  Morgan tossed the bangs off her forehead. It was more a reflex than a necessity, since her hair was cut too short to fall into her eyes. “Then sit right here and let’s start your education.”

  Morgan managed to brush most of the tangles out of Nipple’s hair before she started squirming.

  “Ouch! Fuck, that hurts.”

  “When was the last time you put a comb through this mess?”

  “I don’t know… never? That’s why I keep it short, so I don’t have to.”

  Twenty minutes was the longest Nipple could sit still. Morgan managed to get her hair untangled and to trim her eyebrows, but then Nipple stood up and announced she was ready to leave.

  “There’s other hygienic things we should talk about,” Morgan said.

  “Not today, we’re not. Now, how about showing me this tank of yours?”

  #

  “This is sweet,” Nipple said from the commander’s hatch. “How can I get one?”

  Hands on hips, Morgan looked up from ground level and grinned. “Leave your brother… excuse me, our brother, and join the armored battalion.”

  “And then I can have one?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “How come there’re two hatches?”

  “The one you’re standing in is for the tank commander, in this case me. The other one is the gunner’s hatch. It used to be called the loader’s hatch but they changed the name with this model, the M1A-3. Don’t ask me why; the basic layout didn’t change.”

  “I needed one of these back in Memphis. It would have made things a lot easier. I love the name, too.”

  Morgan laughed. “You should have seen my father’s face… damn, I keep forgetting — our father’s face, when he found out about it. He was royally pissed.”

  “Does he get mad as much as they say?”

  “You mean the whole Nick the A thing? No, not even close. Like he always said, it’s good for your image if the troops think you’re a bigger badass than they are. But Dad is over-protective of Cindy and me like you wouldn’t believe. He’ll be that way with y’all now. It kills him a little inside when I go into combat, and when he thought I was dead…”

  “I heard about that. That was a really shitty thing to do.”

  “I know. But you’d better get used to it, because he’s got a lot of catching up to do with you and you can bet he’ll over-compensate. I know for a fact that he blames himself for not knowing about you and Green… I mean, Nick. He thinks he should have realized and missing out on your whole life is really eating him up. The next time you’re supposed to go on a mission, don’t be surprised if he says no. You’re his little girl, now.”

  “Tell me about the battle last year. Everybody says you’re a hero.”

  The abrupt change was almost like a physical slap. It took Morgan a few seconds to refocus her mind. The smile vanished.

  “I did what I had to do. My crew were the real heroes, them and Joe. I’d be dead if he hadn’t landed and threatened a major unless I got immediate medical help. We were lucky, too. My gunner and second in command, Joe Ootoi, fired a canister round at the exact second a Chinese tank fired a HEAT round at our glacis plate. That’s the front of the tank. That Chinese shell would have blown us sky high, except the canister set it off short of our hull. I lost one of my crew in that fight, a fine soldier named Marty Bright-Hu. She was the best loader you could ever ask for. Her replacement, Toska Wells, is also good.”

  “Did you really almost die?”

  “That’s what they tell me. Most of it’s a blur to me now. Come on, let me show you the ammunition lockers.”

  “I want to see an Exacto round up close.” Nipple climbed out of the hatch.

  #

  At that moment, Joe Ootoi walked toward Joe’s Junk from the other direction. A fresh salad for lunch had put him in a good mood and he felt like whistling. He spotted his commander climbing from her hatch in the tank, but instead of swinging her legs out and sitting on the hatch, she lay on her stomach as she slid down and her uniform pants pulled tight against her butt. Morgan Randall was his tank commander, his superior and also his friend, but he wasn’t blind. She was beautiful and athletic and he wished she wouldn’t do things like that. It put guilty thoughts in his head.

  Then he noticed the hair had a faint reddish tint. When she turned around, the face was similar to Randall’s, even to the same pixie nose, but different, too, leaner around the cheeks. The woman had a small scar on the right side of her chin. Then their eyes met, and life was never the same again.

  #

  “Joe! Good timing. I was showing my new best friend around our home away from home. Joe Ootoi, allow me to introduce—”

  “Nicole,” Nipple said. “Nicole Bauer. You can call me Nikki.” She put her hand out, but the motion was jerky and shy. Morgan raised her eyebrows.

  “Hi,” he answered. “My name is… uh, Joe, Joe Ootoi, but everybody calls me Toy.”

  Nikki’s eyes widened. She stammered. “What… what did you say?”

  “I said call me Toy.”

  “Toy,” she repeated. “Toy.”

  After a couple minutes of half-shy, half-flirting conversation, Randall realized she wasn’t wanted around any more and excused herself. Before she left, Nikki grabbed her elbow and pulled her close.

  “Later on, can you tell me about those other hygienic things you mentioned?”

  #

  Chapter 46

  Night is the time when all hungry things come forth.

  Anasazi inscription on ruins in New Mexico

  12 miles west of Mason, NV

  1749 hours, April 18

  Nightfall came on apace as Jingle Bob swayed in the saddle, the sixth night since he’d left Sierra.
He’d pushed his horse and his body to their limits, but they both needed rest. Dreams of pushing through all the way to Arizona had proved to be just that, dreams.

  Although exhausted and yawning without stop, Bob recognized his surroundings. He’d spent decades riding that territory and even had food and water stashes here and there for emergencies like that one. But he also had friends in the area and he was near one now, one he hadn’t seen for many years.

  A barely noticeable trail in the dust wound past a small hill, beyond which stood a small house perched on a dry riverbed. Logs of various type woods framed walls made from the blocks, while a wood plank roof covered with sheets of old shingles kept out the rain. The faint scent of burning mesquite wood drifted on the breeze, alerting him that his old friend was at home.

  But old friend or not, riding up to a house in the desert without shouting a warning was a great way to get shot. Bob cupped hands around his mouth and tried to shout, but his mouth was parched. He swished a mouthful of his dwindling canteen supply and tried again.

  “Taco Ted, are you in there? Wake up, old man, it’s Jingle Bob!”

  The only shutter on the only window creaked open enough for a rifle barrel to stick out. A man’s voice responded. “What do you want?”

  “Is that you, Ted? Don’t you remember me? It’s Jingle Bob, the scraper!”

  Momentary silence raised the hair on the back of Bob’s neck. He made a perfect target, sitting stationary in his saddle. One shot and whoever was inside that cabin had another good horse, and a saddle to go with it. Seconds dragged by as sweat rolled into his eyes.

  “What’d the train say when it was going up the mountain?” the voice inside the cabin finally demanded.

  For a brief second Bob panicked. He had no idea what the man meant. What train? What mountain? Then two synapses fired in his brain, connecting the familiar structure with a story he used to tell a boy who’d lived here, a young boy who’d loved a certain children’s story.

  “I think I can, I think I can,” Bob shouted in relief. “Is that Ted Junior holding a gun on me?”