For now, I have to wait, though, because not everyone has arrived just yet.
And as I wait I’ll allow my lasciviousness for Nicole Tom to fill up---oh let’s make it half my brain, shall we?---yes that’s nice. I’ll win her over, as Kip said, use all my power to win her to me. oh but that’s not very fair is it? Even if she’s three quarters as clever as I am, or seven-eights even---which she may very well be considering I do love her---it’s still not so very fair. But I wouldn’t love her if she weren’t awfully close to as clever as I am, I cannot fathom that. no, she must be terribly clever, otherwise, I wouldn’t bother with her just like I don’t bother with any of the others. But she’s also pretty which is rather nice for me I think because if she weren’t pretty but she was half as clever as I would still have to love her anyway but this makes it all the better for me that she is awfully beautiful. She has a distinct viraginity about her that I find indescribably attractive.
But back to winning her over, is it really fair to go to a great deal of trouble to charm her when, by all reasoning, I can achieve anything with my considerable brainpower? It might be better to let it happen naturally, smoothly and slowly charm her. but I do have to make up for some lost time since I’ve just convinced her that slubberdegullion Quentin loves her madly. So maybe a couple of plans are in order. Locking us in rooms together and such. Very small rooms. Where I can smell her even if she isn’t of the mind to touch me. which I’ll have her of the mind to if I am half the dangerous genius I think I am.
but if she is as clever as I, what if she merely wishes to toy with me for her own insidious pleasures much as I toy with---essentially everyone but her. that’s entirely possible if not extremely likely. That would be fun. I wouldn’t mind so much if it still involves her kissing me as well as other sexual gratification which I have not fully decided upon yet. but it would not be as sweet as her actually loving me. as somebody actually scaring me about me as much as I care about them, as somebody believing in me and waking up every day hoping to hear my voice but it’s probably not true. I don’t see why it would be now. it’s never been before. That’s all right. It’ll still be a good game. But I would like to know what game we are playing or no. I don’t like not knowing things.
I could conceive of a way to get her a bit of that truth juice, see how she really feels. If I gave her that, just enough to get the edge off, she would be inclined to show how she really felt, which may involve kissing me----but that would be wrong. That has never stopped me from doing anything before. Okay, I’ll do that. then at least I’ll know if she truly loves me---but it would be a lot of trouble. and why? I already have my answer. I am nobody. I lied to her, I sent her a love note from somebody else. I’m a charlatan, little better than your average mountebank, with nothing but endless games and tricks up my sleeve and long words all to hide that I’m an impecunious runt from the outskirts of the Capital.
The door slams.
Back to the game.
That’s the last of us. more than likely whomever Thorne was sent to get. The sycophant. Anyway, that’s all of us. I’m through with being in here. I’ll just escape now and wait for Ebbel outside, when he comes for his rounds then I’ll slaughter the pig.
I’m through with this. Surely that little pipsqueak Card sneaked out somehow and that’s how he moved the guidon? Well if he could, I certainly can. Even if I get caught, I don’t care, they don’t throw people out at this stage, not when we were bred like prize cattle for this. Their nice little pedigree spacemen, my they get into so much trouble, don’t then? Now, now, such a mess, but what’s to do when we’re so very expensive to make these days. Must let them do as they please. Get into a bit of mischief. Here and there. nothing much. Such a shame they can’t behave. But what do you expect when they’re just sixteen, raging hormones, we give them a cut and a twist but they’ve still got the hormones, oh leave them all in a room together let them pound on each with whom them they please how they please but we won’t know anything about it. surely not. not the acclaimed space forces.
Well, this little cog in the wheel won’t spin so quietly tonight. no, let’s squeak a little, maybe we’ll be lucky enough to get the oil. Oil us with a little of the---juice, eh? That won’t be so bad. Or not. let us squeak merrily by see what happens.
Watch and see what happens.
I curl up in my bunk, feeling sorry for myself. It’s cold and I swear to god the room still smells like the whiskey on Thorne’s breath. Not long till morning now but long enough to be alone in here. my head smarts from the whack I took and I am awfully tired. it was nice of Thorne to give me the blanket it is very cold here, but it does very little to comfort me. I sleep so much better when I at least have my tablet tucked into my bag next to me. then I know anytime I like I can call home and know that my mum and Ginny are there. but they’re still out there, loving me. I know it’s true. but still, it’s awfully lonely and dark in here.
I sleep more peacefully tonight than I have in weeks, months really. Even if it is the brig, and it’s cold and there are no blankets and I’m only in my PT gear. I wish I were in SBUs those would be warmer. But I don’t care. My father answered, and he does love me, you can’t fake that lack of rhetorical skills. I wonder what his job is? Remote satellites or even moon mining or something like that, probably. He misses me. and he doesn’t have anyone else it sounds like. It shouldn’t make me a bit happy, but it does. I’ve been alone all this time, so has he, that’s sort of nice in a way because now he won’t have anybody else he cares about more than me. I don’t know what this feeling of being loved is, but I think I can get used to it.
I squirm through the vent, it’s remarkably more peaceful without the Tims in here. I wonder who designed air vents just the proper size to be crawled through by cadets; I find it rather convenient, but still in designing a prison one would think that one would put small air vents. But then this could all be some sort of vast illusion so there has to be an air vent large enough to crawl through in order for the algorithm or plot or what have you to work so, therefore, I cannot exist without large air vents. I giggle at the thought. Myself and conveniently large air vents are linked somehow in the fabric of the Universe. I like being me so very much.
I crawl through the conveniently large air vent, then I kick out the grate and drop to the floor. Out, done---and not alone.
So I’m not the only hellion who thought about sneaking about this fine night.
“Titus,” I say, with a false smile.
“Tyrell,” I say,
“What brings you out an about?” I ask, icily. Now my fun shall be ruined.
“Much the same as you, I imagine,” I say, obsequiously. Perhaps my fun shall not be ruined but in fact, may increase exponentially.
“Really?” I ask.
“No,” I admit. Somehow I doubt if he was going to kill Ebbel. Not that it looks like I’ll be doing that either.
“What were you going to do?” I ask, frowning a little.
“Something of no consequence now that you’re here,” I say, with a shrug, “Do you want to go and put Leavitt’s guidon on the roof again?”
“Sure,” I say. I was going to just deface the cafeteria because it takes two to break the guidons out of their cases, by my calculations at least, but with him here now we can do that. unless he just wants to lure me up there to push me off the bloody roof.
“After you,” I say, keying in Thorne’s code for the back door and holding it open for him. I could just push him off the roof once I get him up there, but he might live through that or make a lot of noise so I think not.
Chapter 14
T en minutes after we escaped the brig, hating each other I might add, I am pleasantly surprised to find myself bloody and happily disposing of a body side by side with Tyrell. But to backtrack, just a little for I do hate the boring bits. I’m sure you do too. But it is essential you understand what transpired since it is imperative to understand whose body it is and why we are disposing of it (sp
oiler alert: it’s not Ebbel, yet..), and since I have a feeling you weren’t here, I shall recap. I don’t know where you go when you aren’t with me playing games but I certainly hope you enjoy it because I’ve been having a simply marvelous time here without your ethereal presence.
Well, a thing of it was, I couldn’t actually tell Tyrell what I was going to do—well, I could but it was hardly advisable, so instead, I let him think I was going to go and vandalize Leavitt’s guidon. Again. he was down for such a conspiracy, so off we went across the base towards the barracks where the guidons were stored overnight. But to do that, we had to pass the DFAC, where Peter and one of the Tims were doing their night duties of preparing food for the next morning. We all have to take turns, provided we aren’t in the brig (another ulterior motive for my frequent stays there, but I digress). We heard noise from inside, noise not consistent with meal preparation. So I suggested we investigate, this is what transpired.
“Wait---why do you get to decide where we go?” Tyrell asked, follow me angrily. He’s choleric, I determined.
“It sounds interesting,” I said, looking in the windows of the DFAC, which were too dark to see through. I could still distinctly hear somebody crying ‘help’ however.
“Somebody’s calling for help,” Tyrell said, coming up and getting interested.
“Let’s see if it’s legitimate,” I said, going to the door and again using Thorne’s code to get in.
“What do mean?” Tyrell asked, wary now of being discovered out wandering about.
“Well, maybe they don’t need the sort of help they think,” I say, sincerely hoping that somebody’s been decapitated by the meat grinder and I will get to practice my body disposal improvisational skills. First I get to participate in Card’s School of Asphyxiation this morning now a---well it’s not a decapitation but it’s still a dead body so I decided I’ll take it. Card’s Finishing School is now in session.
“Help---thank god you’re here, he’s bleeding badly,” Peter gasped. He was trying, fruitlessly I might add, to do CPR on a Tim, who was suffering from amelia of the right arm.
“He’s dead,” I said, kneeling down. he’s stone cold.
“What happened?” Tyrell asked, sniffing the blood on the floor.
“He was loading the meat in for the pies----I think his hand got stuck---I don’t know---he was screaming---I called for help don’t they see this on the bloody cameras?” Peter asked, as I gently moved him away from the Tim. The CPR is doing no good, he’s lost far too much blood. “Wait---I think I should keep trying.”
“It’s over, Peter, he’s bled out,” I said, probably very callously.
“I tried to call for help---I hit the panic button, but they must not work in here, I don’t know----just---just go get help, I’ll stay with him,” Peter was shaking now, the entire incident had emolliated him completely.
“No, let’s not do that,” I said.
“No,” Tyrell agreed, “They’ll blame you for at, at the very least, call you in for questioning as you may have been involved. It’s tricky whenever there’s a death on a military establishment, I know we had one at the Academy when I was growing up---all sorts of press and brass involved.”
“Okay---okay---but what do we do? We have to go and tell someone,” Peter said, he was in shock, and not even able to sob but his voice was cracking.
“We’ll move him somewhere else, you go on back---get changed, it’s no surprise you’ve got blood on you since you’re handling the meat—so you’ll walk back to the barracks, calm and cool, and just throw the clothes away since you were handling the meat, they’re ruined, aren’t they? Would be anyway, eh? I’ll make it look as though he was by himself, move him a bit, clean up the rest of the meat here so the job looks done for the morning, they’ll think he sneaked back and was messing with it, pulling a prank like with the guidon, all right? Then nobody’s in trouble,” I said, soothingly.
“But, but he died---I was here,” Peter said.
“But what’s that matter now, anyway?” Tyrell asked, “He’s dead either way, don’t need your career ruined over it.”
“Yes, he wouldn’t want you in trouble, not after you tried to save his life---it’s only an accident. We’ll let them think it’s an accident, just that it happened when he was alone. Tim’d want that,” I said.
“Okay, okay,” Peter said, he was still shaking.
“Can you walk back by yourself?” Tyrell asked.
“Yes, yes I’d rather just---just you guys take care of him, for me,” Peter said, nodding and backing away.
“Okay, good, we’ll do that,” I said, nodding, “Go and get some sleep, just close your eyes, you’ll feel better in the morning.”
“Okay, thank you,” Peter said, backing out of the room, his skin pale and his voice still shaking.
“You do know there’s absolutely no way we can make it look as though he did it himself?” Tyrell asked, looking around, “I mean, it doesn’t make any sense, they’ll assume Peter left him.”
“That’s why we’re not doing that,” I said, with a little sigh. I had decided what we were doing before Peter even explained to us what happened. Now to lead Tyrell there.
“Well, what do we do, then? We’re loose, we’re incriminated as well if they check the tapes, it’ll be a paperwork nightmare to prove it was an accident,” he said, “They could try to charge us with murder.”
“You can’t get charged with murder if there isn’t a body,” I said, leaning against the icebox of raw meat, just waiting to be fed into the grinder.
“I suppose they wouldn’t question the blood---but the devil of it is where would we bury him? there’s nowhere near enough time to dig a deep enough grave,” Tyrell said.
“No, no there’s not, and we still have to finish filling up the meat grinder for the pies, that way it looks as though the job is done,” I say, with a little sigh.
“What are we to do then?” he asked, “I suppose we could plant the body in a outgoing vehicle or something, but they’d find him eventually, and that’d take hours and we’d have to lug him all that way.”
“Yes, and thing of it is, we still need to fill this up with---meat,” I said, looking at the meat grinder, “We’ve got two, long jobs to do, seems a shame we couldn’t---combine them, in some way?”
“Ah,” he said, looking at the meat grinder then locking eyes with me.
“You see my meaning,” I said, smiling, “It’d simplify things, wouldn’t it now?”
“Yes,” he said, nodding, “But what about in the morning?---the taste---”
“There was a pie shop near where I lived as a boy, little cats and dogs would disappear all the time, my brothers never could notice the taste,” I said.
“I love it,” he said, laughing, “How I’ve managed with your devious mind I don’t know.”
“You shan’t have to any longer,” I said, “Let’s get going, shall we?”
and that’s how Tyrell and I wound up, dripping with blood, stuffing bits of a body into a meat grinder. Now, I don’t know if you noticed but Tyrell agreed to that plan far too quickly to be of sound mind. Insanity has its uses, but it’s not the best at keeping secrets. So, as we butcher the body of the unfortunate Tim, I work on a few contingency plans to remove Tyrell from the equation, should it become necessary. But I hope it won’t be necessary. It would be nice to have a friend.
“Look at how it looks, on your hands,” he says, stopping his work, to look at the scarlet blood on his fingers.
“Yes,” I say, “Warm, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” he says, “Like being washed clean, almost---soothing, in a way, don’t you think?”
I did. “I never took you to be religious,” I say instead.
“I’m not, but there is a certain charm to it, the notion of being washed clean with the blood of another, an innocent,” he says.
“I never thought of that, like that,” I say, “I don’t think about guilt and innocence, all that much, aside f
rom the assignation of it by others, that is.”
“Hmmm, I suppose it’s all relative,” he says, pausing in his work to clean his blade from skin fragments that were clogging it. “You said you had brothers.”
“What?” I ask, surprised at his change in topic.
“When you were talking about a difference in taste, you mentioned having brothers,” he says, “Did you get on with them? Only, I’ve never had anyone, to—share things with.”
“No, no we’re not alike. We never shared any interests,” I say, wiping my blade as well. there’s hair stuck to it stuck in a clump of acne-ridden skin. “I don’t speak to them anymore, I doubt if they even know I’m in the Space Forces.”
“Oh,” he says, looking down. “I hate being alone.”
“So do I,” I say. “I’m always alone. always alone in my head with the things I’ve seen and the things I’ve done and nobody else to come in and share it with. at least we’re sharing this.”
“Yeah, we’ll have this,” he says, smiling a little. And I smile back. and it isn’t false this time.
Chapter 15
I slept better in the brig than I thought I would. Once I got past feeling sorry for myself, it actually sorted of peaceful because my bunkmates tend to snore. I also didn’t have to march my flight to the DFAC, an unparalleled joy since they aren’t so good at marching. I wasn’t going to go with Card’s scheme to drive the MTIs mad that he proposed on the roof yesterday, but now I think I will. They seriously need the work and I want to pass our test. We have to do a stupid little test on marching, which is by definition stupid because if we don’t pass we just test till we do, but it’s still a pain because we’ll probably have to do it over and over. I’m dreading that. Oh well, never mind about that now, I’m starving, and the meat pies they serve us actually smell good this morning.
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