“As I’ve said I’ve got no idea, I escorted the Cadet to IDMT, that fool doctor was trying to dose him up with his juice, and I knew we needed to question the kid so I didn’t want him totally out of it, but when I tried to tell that to the doctor he stuck me with the stuff. Next thing I know I wake up here,” I say.
“You were found in your room, with your combat knife,” the examiner said.
“Okay, I carry one, that follows, I don’t know how I got to my room,” I say, “Check the cameras.”
“The cameras were off in the IDMT, have been for weeks, and the MTI barracks aren’t monitored,” the examiner says.
“Okay, lovely,” I say.
“What do you remember about the doctor?”
“He stuck me with the needle and I lashed out?” I say.
“Nothing else?”
“For the hundredth time. No.”
“You didn’t try to stop him?”
“No.”
“Were you angry with him?”
“Annoyed he wouldn’t listen, I wouldn’t say angry,” I say.
“No change, he’s telling the truth,” an attendant walks in, holding a chart.
“Okay, you’re good to go,” the examiner says, cheerfully, going to remove the monitors that they had strapped to me.
“What happened?”
“Classified,” the examiner says.
They dragged me in here woke me with water in my face, questioned me for about five hours about something I didn’t remember. Then the bloody machine told them I wasn’t a psycho so they let me go. I love the space forces.
Ebbel is waiting for me outside.
“What the hell is going on?” I ask, approaching him, rubbing my wrists where the cuffs were.
“Here’s your cover,” he hands me my patrol cap, “Outside.”
“What happened?” I ask him, he’s bound to know.
“It’s the doctor, some nutcase chopped him up,” he whispers, as we walk towards the PT fields.
“What?” I ask.
“He’s alive, just----the psycho cut his lips, fingertips, and tits off,” Ebbel says, “Put the fingertips and tits in his mouth, then tapped it closed, bound his hands so he couldn’t get the gag off. the lips were in your room, along with a bloody combat knife.”
“Oh my god,” I say, my stomach churning at the description, “What---who found him?”
“A couple of orderlies, but not until after he’d bled a whole lot. I got there in time for him to vomit all his chopped off bits out of his mouth,” Ebbel says, his eyes wincing at the memory.
“That’s demented,” I say.
“You can say that again, anyway, they got him stitched up---couldn’t reattach anything, whoever did it did too neat a job of hacking the bits up,” he says, “There was blood on your uniform.”
“Well I was in there, certainly, but I was far too incoherent to have done that,” I say, “But surely the doctor knows who did it to him?”
“He says it was a girl, couldn’t describe her except flat-chested, SBUs, and a crew cut, big help,” Ebbel says, “But they think he’s on some of his own juice, the guy is 250 easy, our heaviest girl is 140, there’s no way a girl could have subdued him long enough to do that. for god’s sake, he was conscious, even if he were drugged, which there wasn’t anything left in his system, he would have been able to overpower or at least injure one of our girls.”
“So what do they think happened?” I ask.
“Oh, they think you did it, but they don’t care because that guy has been drugging people up for years when he shouldn’t, so they can’t press charges because we have evidence he sedated you when he shouldn’t have. Play with fire you get burned,” Ebbel says, calmly.
“Well, I didn’t!” I cry, annoyed, “Didn’t the orderlies see anybody go out or come in?”
“People in SBUs and crew cuts,” he says, flatly.
“But I still didn’t---”
“I don’t give a damn---”
“But I didn’t! You have to have a completely demented, sick mind to do something like that to a person.”
“You know, I think we’re more alike than you realize,” I say, to Tom, as I actually stretch.
“I’m not sneaking off and kissing you, Titus,” she says.
“Even if I present what similar minds and sense of humor we have? I have a diagram,” I pull a paper from my pocket.
“No, unlike you I’m not trying to get sent to the brig,” she says.
“I’m not,” I lie.
“We both know you are---I’ll see the diagram though,” she says, taking the paper quickly and stuffing it into her bra. As inconvenient as having fully formed breasts looks with regard to undergarments, they are excellent places to hide things.
“How did IDMT go yesterday?” I ask.
“Fine,” she says, “Rather good practice I must say.”
“Hmm, I noticed the announcement that it was closed today, anything to do with you?” I ask.
“No, just like you aren’t getting trying to get sent to the brig,” she says, walking away from me.
I sigh a little, as I bend down to stretch my legs. She’s not entirely herself today, but she didn’t say she wouldn’t kiss me, nor did she say she wouldn’t later. I cheer at that thought. If she is in a foul mood because of yesterday or the pies incident, then perhaps I can charm her out of it and get a kiss in later.
It feels good to be out in the woods, especially after spending what little I remembered of yesterday in IDMT, and waking up to be questioned about what happened at IDMT to which I had said nothing that I knew of, of course, I’d been a victim of the truth juice. I had woken in my bunk, only to be dragged out of there for questioning and then thrown back with the rest. Honestly all the screaming in your face and 4:30 am wake up calls were really not all that intimidating after being given hallucinogenics twice, locked in solitary, given human flesh in pies, and climbing on a roof twice to get my guidon down. Really, I don’t know if that was intentional, but compared to all the really rotten things that had happened the past few days, the good old public humiliation is quite relaxing.
Leavitt looks remarkably happy for somebody whose guidon keeps ending up on the roof with my initials painted on it.
What I don’t understand if he’s trying to convince me he’s the anti-Christ, or if he is the anti-Christ. The way he writes his initials, a curl at the bottom of the T, then again at the rightmost point of the T, then at the base of the C, look like six upsides down six, and another six. Six six six. The mark of the beast. If it’s him. or is the real anti-Christ framing him, and he is the prophet who shall defeat the anti-christ? Too many questions, and not enough alcohol to help me think through them, what with Wilde made good on her promise to Hawking, I am regrettably sober. Does he want to be caught? Is there anything we can do to stop him or is it all completely out of our control?
“What are you doing?” Wilde hisses.
“Philosophizing,” I say, honestly.
“Good. how are you feeling?” she asks.
“Like a recovering alcoholic,” I say, honestly.
“Good,” she says. I roll my eyes.
“Can you philosophize while helping me get the small people lined up for their MREs?” she asks.
“I shall try,” I say, smiling quickly before putting my MTI face back on.
(I love the forest)
me too, I think, smiling off into the trees, mum cross with you?
(very my mouth and nose and ears were all bloodied after what happened. Did they find out who it was?)
no, but I suspect that they know. I stretch my long legs. It’ll feel good to get out and just run, run and let the motion carry me forward until my stomach is sick and my mind pounding with blood rushing to it and not enough air in my lungs.
Leavitt’s the only one faster than me. I’ll cut off his legs someday, those long, muscular legs that he thinks can carrying him away from everything. I’ll cut them right off, and let him l
ive without them, half a man. I will do it; I don’t know-how. yet.
“How are you feeling, Cadet Leavitt?” it’s that Darla person. I really don’t like her and I don’t even know why---yes I do. I don’t have time, I am handling enough just being here and not having a mental break down when they said that the military tries to mentally break you I didn’t know it was by trying to feed you your classmates.
“Well, thank you, Cadet Richards,” I say, flatly, “Shouldn’t you be with Coruscant?”
“Can’t I run with Denab today?” she asks, flicking the emblem on my lapel. I have to think really hard about not grabbing her finger out of the air and snapping it backward. Just leave me alone why don’t you? Something is wrong with me if there is a pretty girl standing in front of me and I’m imagining breaking her hand rather than---whatever sexual things most boys my age imagine.
I like her face when it’s dirty, she smeared dirt on it after she swatted a fly. Now there’s a smear on her cheek. I want to go and lick it off.
“There’s dirt on your cheek,” Tsegi says helpfully, as we stretch against a tree.
“Thanks,” I say.
“Oh, don’t thank me, Titus was staring at it like he wanted to lick it off,” Tsegi says.
“He probably did,” I say, “He drew my diagram of why I ought to kiss him.”
“OOoh,” she said.
“No, like an actual diagram, a Titus diagram, with long words and psychological descriptions and conclusions as well as some algebra,” I say, with a smothered smile.
“You were right maybe he is demented,” she says, glancing his way.
“I’m sure I am,” I say, I want to change the subject, mostly because I can still feel Titus’ eyes on me. “Have you talked to Leavitt since yesterday?”
“No, I don’t even think he knows I’m the one who got him out,” she says.
“Well go, on, talk to him,” I say, “Ask him how he is at least.”
“He’s a different flight,” she says.
“That’s not stopping Darla,” I say.
“What?” she growls, turning around.
Amused, I go back to stretching.
“If Titus is putting the guidon on the roof please ask him to stop, I nearly twisted my ankle up there this morning,” Liesel says, coming over.
“What makes you think I have any control over him?” I ask.
“Somebody ought to,” she says.
“Fair point,” I say, shrugging. She sort of turns to go, I suspect she didn’t just come for a chat about Titus but I was rather gruff. I’m still feeling off after yesterday. I feel bad. I’ve hardly spoken to her since we got here, and we did know each other pretty well at the Academy. But ever since we got our files, well, I am Forgotten. Of course I’m jealous, and of course, she’s awkward, she’s not forgotten.
“Are your parents coming? To graduation?” I ask, she starts to turn away.
“Yeah, my mother definitely is, she’s bringing my sisters, and my father he will as well,” she says, smiling a little at the mention, but she still seems to be searching my face, to see if I’m jealous or going to make a smart comment.
“That’s nice, it’ll be fun,” I say, smiling. I’m not. I’m sure others have been cruel her. but I won’t, not because I’m not burning with jealous, but because I want her to know we’re not all like that. she doesn’t need to lose her friends just because she gained a family.
“Yeah,” she says, nodding, “I’m excited to meet them---my mother is married, now, I don’t think she’s told her husband she ever had me, so, don’t think I’ll get to see them much, but yeah, they’re there.”
“That’s good,” I say, nodding, “What about your dad?”
“He’s not married, I don’t know what he does, don’t think it’s legal, actually, but, he says he wants to be about for me, says he missed me---before he met me, I don’t know if that’s true.”
“It probably is,” I say.
“You think? I want it to be,” she says, shrugging helplessly, there are tears in her eyes, “Sorry, I’ve never talked about this, I guess---not now that I know, sort of know.”
“It’s okay, no---I do think it could be true. I want to believe there are good people in this world,” I say.
“I do too, I just don’t know if it’s true,” she says, looking down at the ground a little, “For a long time I thought there wasn’t---because of our parents, you know? I sort, I mean---I want to believe their real, but I’m afraid too.”
“Even if they aren’t, it’s worth believing for a little bit, if you ask me,” I say, “Because, you know, I don’t get to believe, ever, they not only gave me up, they wanted to forget about me. so---I’d like to believe there are people in this universe who aren’t like that---that they aren’t all like that. even if it’s not true, it’d be nice thinking it. or better yet, being it. because if you think about it long enough, then you think about how to be it---the person you want. Does that make sense?”
“Yeah, yeah it does,” she says.
“My opinion, anyway,” I say, shrugging, “That’s fun---though. I hope your family does come.”
“Family, yeah,” she says, nodding at the word, “Would you like to meet them--? I mean, I’d like them to meet some of my friends, if you---”
“Yeah,” I say, before I think better of it and say no, “Yeah, I would.”
“TOM,” Ebbel beckons me with a nod of his head, he’s standing by the others, getting ready to line up the flights for their MREs. Yum. Not.
“Good morning, sir,” I say, hurrying to report to him, Liesel and I nodding at each other that we’ll speak later. It’s an unwritten rule at the Academy that any conversation will pick up with no hard feelings if interrupted by staff because of course, we have to report immediately when called.
“Come here,” Ebbel says, beckoning me to follow him away from the crowd and off towards the edge of the PT pad.
“Yes, sir,” I say, following him.
“You lost your combat knife,” he holds it out to me.
“No, sir,” I say, calmly, “I have mine.”
“No,” he says, there’s a smile on his lips, “You have Harris’s, which got him a very fun morning, I must say.”
“Sir, I don’t know what you mean,” I say. I know perfectly well what he means. They must’ve checked the tapes but I don’t know how he knew it was me.
“Yesterday, two cadets, who were clever enough not to show their faces to the cameras, broke into IDMT and got Leavitt and Harris away from that maniac who runs the place,” Ebbel explains, “One of these cadets mutilated said maniac. Except Harris was found with pieces of the good doctor on his person, as well as a bloodied combat knife. So, the IA guys pull him in, I have that waste of space Kip run back the tapes. And then the IA guys give me the doctor’s testimony. What do you think he tells them?”
“Sir, I couldn’t say,” I say, calmly. I can be calm. If he were going to do anything, he’d have turned me in hours ago. This is for fun, I don’t know why.
“He tells them that one of our female cadets came in there, and sliced and diced him, for no apparent reason. really funny considering on the tapes I see him sticking his hand up said cadet’s legs into her groin, then I see the slicing and dicing. Our IA guys ask me what I think. I say based on my knowledge of the tapes, and our cadets, it’s not possible. The IA guys agree, they say, the average girl couldn’t take down a man of his size. But you’re not the average girl, are you Tom?” he asks, he’s really smiling now. he’s---proud of me?
“Sir, I would say I behave like the perfectly ordinary girl,” I say, not able to keep the raw defiance from my eyes. Anyone of us average girls would have done the same thing.
“I don’t think so,” he says, “The IA guys bought that Harris did it under the influence of drugs, Morrow is known to be a maniac, case closed.”
“Yes, sir,” I say, nodding.
“You could have gotten away Tom, why didn’t you?” he asks, cock
ing his head, “I’m training you, that’s what I want---you are what we want. But you’re a sixteen-year-old girl, you could have gotten away, why didn’t you? Why stay for the butchery?”
“Sir, if I’d been the person on those tapes, then he’s going to come to my dreams, I’m still going to feel his hands, years later, and it’ll be there in my nightmares. I just wanted to return the favor, didn’t I?” I ask, the cold anger creeping in my voice. it wasn’t true. I would not think of him again. but I could bet he would think of me every single day. “But I might not know, I’m just an ordinary girl.”
“Yeah, Tom, you’re ordinary,” he says, shaking his head, “You know, I was going to tell you to look out for that scrap Card, but now, I think I’m going to tell him to watch out for you.”
“Yes, sir,” I say, nodding.
“You’re not gonna take your knife?” he asks. He’s still holding it out.
“Sir, that’s not mine,” I say.
“Fine, whatever, rejoin your flight,” he says.
Chapter 18
“N
o, you can’t run with us,” I tell Darla, stepping away from her lest she try to touch me again and I am unable to resist the urge to break her hand.
“Aww, you’re no fun,” she says, sort of swinging her hips and staring at me.
“Yeah, no, I’m not,” I say.
“Cadet Leavitt, are you feeling better?” a girl from the Cygnus flight comes up and walks in between myself and Darla. Is she intentionally interrupting or am I just lucky?
“Yes, ma’am,” I say, nodding.
“Good, we wouldn’t want you to be unwell,” she says, smiling at me a little, “Should be a fun run today.”
“Yes,” I say, as she basically turns her back on Darla. Okay, it’s either very intentional or very ignorant. I’m pretty sure it’s that first one.
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