“NO,” I crawl off the table but fall I can’t move properly. I start to crawl away across the floor.
“Now now, what do you want? More juice? Let’s get to the truth of it now, with the truth juice,” he says, lifting me back onto the table.
“No, I don’t want a drink.”
yes you do. my mind is screaming. A drink would make it all, make this whole place. Just go away.
“GO AWAY” I cry. but it doesn’t. he’s still standing there, and now he’s going back to the cabinet, to get a bottle of beer. Just a beer. Nice and cold after so hot outside.
“GO AWAY” no he’s coming back, the syringe back in my arm. I can smell the warm, nutty smell of the cool alcohol. So close to my lips. I squeeze my eyes shut. “NO.”
Ebbel’s waiting outside. The scurrilous coward, he would while the cadet suffers in there. I creep behind the bushes. He’s talking with other MTIs now, I can’t do it now. I’ll do it tonight when I’m in the brig. Now, I’ll help Quentin escape, and then we’ll both be in the brig.
I enter the same way I did last time, through the back door, this time there are no helpful medics waiting outside to lend me their uniforms. But that’s all right. I plan on being caught this time.
“Hey,” Darla comes up behind me in the shower. I’m showering with the Tims and Peter and Tsegi, all of us Cygnus flight. None of the Coruscant flight is in this stall.
“Hi,” I say, turning and picking up a towel.
“I wanted to talk to you,” she says, picking up one as well and rubbing her short hair.
“About what?” I ask. I’ve never really liked her. I don’t quite know why. She’s a little too forward, a little too flirty, for my tastes anyway.
“Wrong guys,” she says, a little sadly.
“What are you talking about?” I ask.
“I say you sneak off with Card earlier,” she says.
“Yeah,” I say, shrugging a little.
“So I figured you’d know what I’m talking about,” she goes on, and I see she’s a little sad. I feel bad for my previous misgivings, maybe she really only wants a talk. “Why are all the cute ones either demented or unavailable?”
“Titus isn’t demented,” but as I say it I know it’s not completely true.
“Oh, all right then, he looks it the eyes though---it’s not like I blame you, he’s very cute,” she says, knowingly. Yeah, yeah he is. “Tyrell is both, he’s demented and unavailable. He won’t sleep with me---did you know that?”
“No,” nor did I want to.
“He says he’s not ready, wants to wait till he’s married---I know that means, he’s waiting for a better girl but I’m a bit of fun while he waits,” she says, with a sigh. “I’ve tried to be attracted to good guys, like the Deneb flight leader, he’s a good guy, you can see it in his eyes, a puppy dog. Not much upstairs but that’s probably what makes him good. if men have too much brainpower they tend to be demented.”
“You think?” I ask. Maybe that’s why Titus strikes me as so weird. I’m not used to smart guys.
“Oh yes, but I can’t seem to bring myself to, the bad ones are so much more exciting, don’t you think?” she asks, “I’ve just resolved myself, I’ll die with the wrong guy rather than live with the right one.”
“That’s really not---,”
“It’s sad I know but it’s true. at least I know,” she says, putting down the towel and picking up her clothes, slowly.
“Yeah,” I say.
“Titus is cute, though. I want to kiss his eyes, they’re so beautiful,” she says, with a little sigh.
“I don’t think he’s demented,” I say. but I’m lying. And don’t tell her I thought that about his eyes too.
“Maybe not, I could be wrong,” she says, shrugging, then she grins and bites her lip. “But I bet I’m not.”
I bet she’s not either.
“No, no, no, no,” I mumble, trying to crawl away before I remember I’m already up against the wall. The glass of beer is sitting a few feet away from me. So nice and rich and nutty I can smell it. and cold. mostly cold. cold and stinging in my mouth. After such a hot run and so sticky in the forest. And I would drink it. and they’d send me home. and I’d never drink again. no, of course, no. I was dry, it was good, things were good. but just to get sent home, and it would be so nice. So nice and cold just this once, and it isn’t like it would matter. My mum isn’t here to see it. Ginny isn’t here. they’d just send me on home, and it would all be fine----
“NO!!” I’m crawling up the wall now, “I won’t do it, I won’t do it, get it away, take it way.”
“Why? Why m’boy, just a little more of the juice, and you’ll be better, you’ll be feeling better now, you’re all keyed up,” the doctor sticks a needle in my arm, I let him because maybe then I’ll pass out and it won’t matter and the beer will be gone and why on Kepler does this guy even have a liquor cabinet? I’m supposed to be in the military I’m supposed to be away from all that. they don’t allow drinking here no drinking on duty it was supposed to help. this shouldn’t be happening.
“Why are you all upset now? I wish you’d talk to me,” the doctor says. see? This is why I need to drink I’ve been telling him all this, why I can’t why I’d love to, more than anything I’d love to after seeing Ian after everything. NO. that’s why that’s why I’m not.
I crawl farther away, I can feel myself sobbing bitterly. I want it so bad. Why I am getting closer to it, damn it? Why when I know it’s such a bad idea? Why are my fingers wrapping around the glass and picking it up?
“A little bit more of the juice, m’ boy,” the doctor is bending over a table, filling another syringe. I wait until he looks up at me to bludgeon him in the head with his own stool. The much older man falls immediately. And I strike him over the head again, this time drawing blood, good. I like blood. I inject him with his own juice for good measure, before turning my attention to Quentin. Quentin---he’s not doing so well.
the boy is sitting against the wall, sobbing, he’s surrounded by a circle of plastic cups of water. He’s holding one in his hand, not drinking it, just staring at it and sobbing.
“Hey, mate,” I say, kneeling down in front of him, “Time to get you out of here.”
He looks at me, with red eyes. his hand holding the drink is quivering.
“It’s okay, you don’t have to drink it,” I say since he’s clearly had some sort of existential crisis with the cups of water.
“I want it---I do---I want it---I say I don’t but I do---I don’t want what happens but---I want it so bad,” he whispers.
“It’s just water, Quentin, at least I think it is,” I say, taking it from his hand and sniffing it, “Yeah, it’s just water, nothing else. what did you think it was?”
“You can---hear me? I’m talking?” he confirms, looking in my eyes.
“Loud and clear, listen, he’s got you on some mix of barbiturates, and by the way, Thorne was acting, hallucinogens,” I say, scooting the cups of water away. “It’s just water, old man, nothing that’s going to hurt you.”
“Card what is it you think you are doing?”
“Shut up for half a minute you garrulous corpulent prig, can’t you see he’s not well?” I say, holding up my hand authoritatively, and at such a string of mutli-syllable words, Ebbel actually obeys.
“You’re here,” Quentin reaches out and touches my cheek.
“Yeah I’m here, it’s just water it’s not going to get you,” I say, taking his hand in both of mine, “You’re high, man, he’s got you high, that’s all that’s going on.”
“What is that?” he asks, pointing to the cup that I set down.
“Water, a drink of water, that’s all, you’re safe,” I say.
“What’s wrong with him?” Ebbel is behind me now, he’s realized I’m actually right though I’m sure I’ll be in the brig for it later, though the way my luck is going, who knows?
“Why’s he here?” Quentin whispers, looking at Eb
bel suspiciously.
“314 Card, now,” Ebbel says.
“As I said, he’s on some mix of barbiturates, I think—and my 314’s on the table out front, I thought you’d be wanting it,” I say.
“What happened to Dr. Marrow?” Ebbel asks, suspiciously.
“I don’t know he was like that when I walked in,” I say.
“I don’t believe you,” he says.
“I didn’t expect you to, honestly, can we sort this out in a minute and help Cadet Leavitt now?” I ask.
“You’re not in charge here,” Ebbel says.
“That’s debatable,” I say, then I say to Quentin, “We’re going to try to stand, okay?”
“Okay,” Quentin puts his hands on my shoulders, and I help to his feet, he stumbles a little. “We’re going to walk away from that, right?”
“Yeah, if you like, we’ll leave all that behind,” I say, “It’s all gonna stay right here, and we’re just gonna walk away.”
“Card, I’ll have you court-martialed by the end of this—”
“Really?” I ask, turning, prepared to end him. I’m smaller and faster, we can do this now if you want to.
“What is going on?” or not. Harris walks in, extremely disturbed and stupid looking, as usual.
“He’s not allowed to have this---is he? I didn’t drink any, I swear, I wanted to,” Quentin is sobbing again. I go back to taking his arms and helping him step away from the cups of water.
“What’s going on---did that idiot pump him up with truth juice?” Harris asks.
“Card is coming with me,” Ebbel says.
“No, just let him help Leavitt,” Harris says, seeing that Quentin is clinging to me now.
“What is going on? Why are you bringing cadets to this person when he’s insane?”
Oh good, Thorn’s involved now.
“Are they angry with me?” Quentin asks.
“No, they’re angry with me, but that’s okay,” I say, soothingly. All the better to murder them. “We’re still just going to walk away.”
“Walk away from it?” he asks.
“Just walk away,” I say.
“Somebody attacked Dr. Marrow,” Ebbel says.
“Good, he needed to be bludgeoned, the man strapped me to a table and started pumping me full of---”
“Barbituates, I think,” I supply.
“What Card said---leave them alone for half a minute, that poor kid is high as a kite,” Thron steps between Ebbel and me.
“Quentin, it’s okay—what the hell was he doing with all those water cups?” Harris asks, coming over to help me support Quentin he’s swaying and he’s pretty big.
“Card will be immediately detained for the assault on Marrow,” Ebbel says, since nobody is taking him seriously.
“No he won’t, I can’t swear I didn’t assault that guy---Card did you?” Thorne asks.
“No, sir,” I say.
“Did I?” he asks.
I really want to say yes, “No, sir. He was like that when I came in.”
“Probably somebody else he tried to drug up---we’re leaving that for now,” Thorn says, he’s commissioned and outranks Ebbel, so he can say that.
“Card’s still spending the night in the brig, and detention duties this evening,” Ebbel growls.
“Why?” Thorne asks, “Other than leaving his assigned duties, clearly, he’s helping. I think loyalty to a fellow spaceman is---
“He called me a---” Ebbel doesn’t remember nor could he pronounce it.
“Sir do you want me to repeat it?” I ask as Harris and I walk Quentin over to the examining table. he refuses to sit, though.
“No,” Ebbel growls.
“I do,” Harris says.
“Garrulous corpulent prig,” I say.
“I don’t know what that means,” Harris says.
“Nor does he,” I whisper, causing Harris to smother a grin.
“I want to leave,” Quentin says, as we try to sit him down again.
“Card, did you?” Thorne asks, overhearing me repeat it.
“Yes, sir, I wanted him to let me help Leavitt and he was shouting,” I say.
“Card you know you mustn’t, even if you were trying to help your friend,” Thorne sighs.
“You’re in the brig tonight, Card, and no fever nor Wilde is going to get you out,” Ebbel says. I want to correct the grammar of that sentence so badly it hurts.
“Yes, sir,” I say. so nothing shall save you from hell.
“Card, Card, Card,” Thorne sighs, shaking his head at me.
“Yes, sir?” I ask, looping Quentin’s arm around my neck as Harris takes his other side. he’s a big guy, and we are both smaller than him, possibly combined.
“Let’s get him outside,” Harris says.
“Never a dull moment with you, is it?” Thorne asks me.
“Sir, it seems not,” I say, unapologetically.
Chapter 12
T he rest of the day is uneventful, after breaking into IDMT not once, but twice, and after asphyxiating Logan in public not once, but twice. We have a hand to hand combat, and I’m paired with Logan so it goes miserably. I can’t knock him down or anything, not using the pathetic techniques they expect me to, he’s much bigger than I am and has more body mass per square foot, there’s no way I’m pushing him over with a simple blow to the waist. He just stands there and looks at me encouragingly. I’d much rather be doing it with Tom. Speaking of Tom she has not yet gotten back to me on the kiss request, but I’ll keep you updated.
Thorn gets me out of trouble for bludgeoning Dr. Truth Juice, heaven knows why. Honestly, it was bound to happen, and they don’t have any proof I did it, and I get the feeling that nobody around here likes that guy, heaven knows why. I do still have to do extra duties, which means that I don’t get to write home or read on my tablet. That would be depressing if I had a home or a tablet.
Instead, while everyone else goes in to write home, I have to go and help some Spaceman Basic nobody do maintenance in the control room. That should be entertaining. Not.
“I thought Titus didn’t have to go the brig since you and he rescued Thorn from Dr. Truth Juice,” Peter asks me, as he does curl-ups over the edge of his bunk.
“He didn’t then he broke back into the IDMT to get Leavitt out, so he does,” I explain.
“Why would he do a thing like that? I mean, the good doctor is hardly a stellar company, but he’d just gotten himself out of trouble,” Peter says.
“I don’t know, I honestly think he likes it in there,” I say, wincing as I get up, from doing planks by the foot of my bunk.
“He does like his quiet thinking time,” Tsegi says, “For the first two weeks I was convinced he didn’t talk.”
“Why did Leavitt go to IDMT?” Wendy, another girl I know from the Academy, pauses as she passes us, carrying her laundry bag.
“He fell and hit his head, I heard,” I say, “He’s over there, now, you can ask him.”
“That’s awful,” she says, leaning to look at where Leavitt is lying on his bunk.
“Yeah, it’s a good thing he’s all right,” I say.
“Wilde was pissed Card got himself in the brig again,” Peter says, as Wendy goes on.
“Why would he do that?” Logan looks up from his writing. He’s got a home to write to, but I appreciate that he still tries to join in our conversations a little bit.
“As I said, there’s no figuring him,” I say.
“Nope, do you think he was involved in putting the guidon up on the roof?” Peter asks.
“Almost definitely,” I say.
“That’s what I thought,” Peter says.
“Why?” Liesel says, hearing our conversation.
“He was laughing,” I say.
“Yeah, but he’s sort of mental, he laughs at weird times,” Liesel says.
“TC was painted on it,” Peter says.
“Oh, yeah so it was, wonder how he managed to get it up there?” she asks.
&
nbsp; “Probably had somebody else do it, he was in the brig,” Peter says.
“Why would that idiot paint his initials on it?” I ask, “Does he want to be caught?”
“He certainly acts like it, you don’t go breaking into IDMT twice if you want to stay out of the brig,” Peter says.
“Why though?” I asked, climbing up to my bunk to get a drink of water.
“He’s mental,” Peter says.
“That’s your explanation? He’s straight-up mental?” I ask, after Darla saying that about demented too.
“Most civilians are, take Dr. Truth Juice,” Peter says.
“Tyrell,” Liesel, Tsegi, and I say, in unison.
“Yeah okay, some Academy is mental too,” Peter says.
“Good Evening, sir,” I say, standing in the doorway politely. A very annoyed Wilde dropped me off. she seems glad I was nice enough to go the trouble of rescuing not one, but two of my fellow Spacemen from IDMT, but annoyed that it got me in the brig, again.
“Oh, hey, come on in,” the Spaceman says, not getting up from his seat. There are monitors covering one wall----this is the camera system for the whole base. I smile. This could fun after all.
“Sir, where would you like me to start?” I ask.
“You’re the one they sent to clean or something? I don’t know, look for anything that’s dirty and dust it---what’s your name?” he asks, peering at my name tapes.
“Sir, Card,” I say.
“Mine’s Kip, there should be, like, rags and stuff over there,” he says, motioning towards a box, “What’s your first name?”
“Sir, Titus,” I say.
“Okay, Titus, Go ahead and like---dust things I guess? I don’t know, did they tell you what you’re supposed to do?”
“No, sir,” I say, standing in the middle of the room trying to peer at the footage.
“Oh, well then, find a rag or something and dust something----wait, you’re a Spaceman Basic-do you know anything about computers?” Kip asks, almost hopefully.
“I went to trade school for mechanics, so, I did take a course or two on computers,” or three or four or ten or as many as they would let me take then sat in on four more in lieu of sleeping as well as reading every available textbook in the library.
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