Darkside 2

by Aaron K Carter

  “What?” I ask.

  “What it’s about?”

  “Okay,” I say, nodding, “Why do you ask, if you don’t mind?”

  “Because people don’t like the things I know, sometimes, like Logan it makes him cry---so thought I’d ask. Because Tom says I need to learn how to be a person, and I’d like her to kiss me again so I think I’ll try,” he says.

  “Okay, then, yes, what does it mean?” I ask.

  “It means we think things change, as we grow up. But they don’t, we change, we think, but we don’t. it all stays the same, every day,” he says.

  “But things have changed for us, we’re here, aren’t we? With good jobs, and I know it’s the nicest roof I’ve ever had over my head, with a real bed, and you don’t have to share with your brothers and I don’t have to share,” I say.

  “Who’d you share with?” he asks.

  “My brother, I used to,” I say.

  “What, did he die too?”

  “You don’t say things like that, Titus,” I say, annoyed, “You don’t ask if people are dead too.”

  “Okay, as well then? Is he on the ravine side of this mortal coil as well then?” he asks.

  “If by that you mean, dead, yes,” I say, rolling my eyes.

  “Don’t be cross. I’m only asking. Your family members tend to die is all---”

  “Tom is right you do need to learn how to be a person---”

  “Well they do and I wish mine would, without help that is,” he says, shrugging and going back to his shirts.

  “Okay, I’m going to regret it but I have to ask, what do you mean help?” I ask.

  “My sister was murdered therefore there was less shuffling and more flying off the mortal coil as it were,” he says.

  “I’m sorry,” I say.

  “For what?” he asks.

  “Your sister dying, when somebody says somebody died, somebody else says, I’m sorry,” I explain.

  “I’ve heard that it just doesn’t make sense. Well in my family we usually just say ‘really, where was Titus at the time?’, when somebody ostensibly bad happens,” he explains.

  “Well the rest of Keplar doesn’t we say ‘I’m terribly sorry’ or ‘that’s awful’,” I say.

  “Thanks I’ll use that on Tom, convince her I’m neurotypical,” he says.

  “Start by using smaller words, and just go for sane,” I say.

  “Funny you, I’ll notice you don’t have a girlfriend,” he says.

  “Who says I want one?” I ask, just on principle.

  “Person you are striving to have sexual intercourse with, then, you don’t have a person whose clothes you really want to tear off, there was that small enough words?” he asks.

  “No, I don’t; I don’t pretend to be an expert on things, but I did live with two women---”

  “Before one of them died and so did I before one of them died,” Titus says, haughtily.

  “But your one of them died before mine so I did longer,” I say.

  “Not all women are the same,” he refutes, “And anyway sister or mum is different from sexual partner.”

  “Which you clearly still don’t have or you wouldn’t be so obsessed with it,” I say.

  “As if you aren’t a virgin,” he says, clearly annoyed now.

  “Didn’t say I wasn’t, but I’m not obsessed with changing that either,” I point out.

  “You would be if you’d met the perfect one,” he says, and its so romantic and sweet I can’t be so mad at him anymore. “She’s the one for me, and I’ll love her till the day after I die.”

  “Why then?” I ask.

  “Because then I’ll probably be busy it should be interesting and if she loves me half as much as I do her by then she’ll have joined me and we’ll explore the next world together,” he says, and he says it so seriously and in such an important tone it is genuinely hard not to laugh. But I don’t dare because he is so serious he would be hurt.

  “How do you know—that she’s the perfect one?” I ask, slowly, trying not to show my amusement. I have so few illusions about love and life it’s very pathetic. And in somebody as hard as him I’m intrigued to hear his views on his one true love. Somehow in his hard little heart of stone, he had decided that out there somebody would love him, probably because nobody ever had. And I am pretty sure he is wrong. And that is so sad. For me and him.

  “Because, she’s more beautiful than starlight,” he says, as though it should be obvious, “Can’t you see it?”

  “No---I mean she’s pretty enough,” I say, adding the last part quickly. I don’t think she’s pretty at all, really. Her face is all right, if hard, her eyes are all right, if small, her voice all right, if harsh, and she’s tallish and wiry and just not all that attractive in my humble relatively inexperienced opinion.

  “I’m not talking about how she looks, simpleton,” he says, adding the last pert as an after thought, “I’m talking about everything else. Her soul.”

  “Oh, right, then, yeah like you said, I wouldn’t know. I haven’t met the one,” I say, to end the conversation because when talking about his love for her and my questioning it even so gently his eyes look almost---murderous.

  “How are the small people?” I ask, walking into our office where Thorn is finishing sorting out the room arrangements.

  “Unhappy with their room mates, but that was bound to happen,” he says, “I wanted to do cross gender rooming to increase physical activity and general moral but oh no, can’t have that.”

  “Oh, did they put our sweet Leavitt with Card?” I ask, tapping one of the files on the tabletop screen.

  “They did I was cross about that,” Thorn says, leaning back in his chair, “Leavitt is innocent and sweet and Card is---”

  “Card,” I agree, nodding, “Shame that.”

  “Well, perhaps we can convince them to give them separate rooms, it’s not as though we don’t have space on that floor,” he says.

  “No, we have the space, and the girls aren’t fairing much better in the other building I don’t think Tom and that slutty one liked each other,” Thorn says.

  “Don’t call her that---”

  “Don’t pretend you know her name.”

  “Okay fine I won’t---wait if Leavitt’s with Card that means they chose him as a pilot? That’s odd,” I say, frowning, “I thought pilots were made of much more self assured stuff.”

  “They are, but relatively few pass the test with the required mechanics grades as well, they need a solid background in computers or mechanics in order to fix their own ships in the event of a crash,” Thorne explains, “I know ‘cause they told us later, in training, because have to take all these engineering courses so we can get our ships flight ready from ground launch---which is horrible and hard especially with a broken ship it’s near impossible and honest to God I don’t think I could do it right now if you asked me, but they’re retraining us on it all the time, so, whatever.”

  “Oh, right, hope he likes it, he wasn’t hoping for that,” I say.

  “Oh, yes, you had your hippie circle thing,” he says, nodding.

  “I am not—not---flight certified and they were supposed to be doing simulators work, but with Ebbel eaten by a washer---”

  “That’s really horrible we need to find a better way of putting that—”

  “Yeah, let’s do that later----with Ebbel eaten by a washer I didn’t have a thing to do with them,” I explain, “So I had them sit on the ground and talk about life.”

  “How was that, anyway? I mean I try not to speak to the little smelly things if I can’t help it,” he says, idly looking back down.

  “All right, figured I might as well talk to them,” I say, shrugging, and looking away. of course, I wanted to talk to Liesel, more than anything. and that had gone rather well, she had talked to me, not that she knew who I was. “Nobody ever does, the Project 10s that is.”

  “No they don’t, most of them----wait a minute, you had a Project 10, di
dn’t you? From before you enlisted,” he realizes, looking up.

  “No,” I am an idiot and flat out lie, “What’s a Project 10?” okay I never said I was smart.

  “You did, you told one me one time when we were getting drunk a few years ago, at one of these training things---it was last time I was planet side I remember,” he says, pointing at me accusingly, “What class would they be in now, then?”

  “I didn’t---” I am such a moron.

  “Oh, God, it’s one in this class, isn’t it? That’s why you’ve been more incompetent than usual, Wilde was wondering---oh will you quit hyperventilating do you think I---who was in IDMT yesterday in a straight jacket prophesying the end of the world which is still totally happening by the way---am in the position to tell anyone?” he laughs. And I calm down enough to breath because I forgot he is crazy.

  “You can’t tell anyone, I’d be court martialed we’re supposed to disclose that and I just------I didn’t---,” I plead.

  “Why the hell would I tell anyone? And whom? I only talk to you and Wilde and Hawking and I only talk to you because you’re just sort of here and you are entertaining even if you are a waste of space,” he says.

  “Please, thank you—just don’t tell anyone, I’ve not told her she doesn’t know,” I beg.

  “Her? It’s one of the girls is it?” he asks, grinning now, “You have a daughter, congratulations, Harris. Get you a wife and we’ll have you being a real person.”

  “Thank you, thank you for not telling anyone,” I say, smiling, suddenly. Nobody’s ever said that to me before, I’ve never said it before. “Yes, I have a daughter.”

  “Which one is it? Please tell me it’s Tom, that girl could use somebody to chase Card away from her and she seems lonely that girl could just use somebody no wait—--”

  “I’m not telling you--- we---we shouldn’t even talk about this---”

  “Okay, good, cool, let me guess---no it can’t be Tom she’s too intelligent to be related to you I know they say IQ comes from the mother but really, with your genes there would be retardation going on---is it the slutty one no you didn’t get mad when I said that and I’d certainly hope you would----it’s one of the ones we caught snogging the other night, isn’t it? You were upset about that, all worried about them in the brig? That tough little lesbian who can march a flight better than you---Stowe isn’t it?” he asks, triumphantly.

  “I’ve not even told her---I’ve not told anyone,” I stumble, not trusting him enough to confirm or deny but not knowing what good it would or wouldn’t do at this point, considering he had guessed very accurately for somebody certifiably insane.

  “You don’t have to---that’s utterly hilarious,” Thorn laughs, doubling over he finds it so amusing, “And what---you’ve spent this whole time being panicked somebody will find out, haven’t you?”

  “Yes,” I say, panicked because somebody did find out.

  “Oh calm down do, it’s not as though I’m going to tell anyone, it’s not as though anyone would believe me anyway,” he says, his smile fading, then, “They never do.”

  “Sorry it’s just----I really, really don’t want to be court martialed, but I had to meet her,” I confess, “I couldn’t help it was so easy just—not to say anything, and more than meet her I wanted to make sure she made it through this all right. You know how rough it is on some and look at Long, the one they had to institutionalize? What if that were her I mean---I wanted to be there.”

  “You’re a better man than my father,” he says, his eyes almost misty.

  “Not really, considering she doesn’t even know who I am,” I say, realizing I’m chocking back a sob. I have never talked about this with anyone and now that I get to it’s all sort of pouring out. “And I failed her and I abandoned her and brought her into this miserable world and condemned her to this awful place and she doesn’t know how to find me and she’s sad and lonely and I can’t be there and -----not really.”

  “No,” he says, “Really.”

  Chapter 13

  TRIGGER WARNING: SEXUAL ASSAULT,

  ATTEMPTED RAPE, AND OVERT VIOLENCE DEPICTED

  W ell we all got our pilot letters. That was very enjoyable, a nice crisp packet explaining our future training and how lucky we are and all that shit. I’m very enthusiastic about spending the next few years in yet more training for the wonderful Space Forces. Since I’ve not spent enough of my life training to be a Spaceman. No, I shouldn’t be this down; it’s mostly rooming with Darla that has me in a funk, she doesn’t talk and she doesn’t do her bit to clean up the room.

  Also, Titus was the only one of us excited, Darla is still depressed over her boyfriend trying to murder mine. Quentin quiet as always, I’m in my mood, and Titus is thrilled like a child on Christmas morning if a child is in a family and gets presents and not some stupid care package from the government---but I don’t think Titus ever got that excited about Christmas presents because I’m sure that his presents didn’t give him to billion ruble machinery to amuse himself with to his little heart’s content.

  Also the packet told us that we would have a pilot’s induction ceremony in six days, which would be our appointment to flight officer school, which our families would be invited to, to which Darla and I were just like ‘hooray, we’ve not got any’, and Titus was really excited about a ceremony all about him, and Quentin was worried about his mum affording the train fare and getting off work. So yes, our feelings were mixed. We were all generally happy about getting flight suits and dress whites with our pilot insignia sewn on, a nice little ship and some stars around out it; that pleased Titus to no end and I confess I liked it was well. We are to get fitted for the dress whites this week.

  About this week, however, it told us that we would not starting training till after the next ceremony, which meant that we are to spend this week doing nothing. well, not nothing, cleaning our dorms and the training buildings in general, awaiting the arrival of our instructors who will escort us to Milton SFB (yay, Darla and I only grew up next to there at the Academy) where we will begin our space training. That last bit was exciting, because it explained out that we would get an individual mentor to teach us to fly. The first bit, however, was something like intellectual homicide to Titus Card.

  Now, none of us liked the busy work of just cleaning. I could find some pleasure in it, in that it was sort of therapeutic to wander about polishing things and spraying them with good smelling cleaner and thinking my own thoughts. Titus, however, was apparently not so easily amused, rather than doing such menial tasks as a child apparently he tended to get other people to do them and he knew he couldn’t actually do that so pretty soon---pretty soon being by the end of the first hour, he is stark raving mad.

  Granted, he did have it worse than the rest of us. The general consensus of the MTIs was that if given access to cleaning supplies he would attempt to build a nuclear warhead just to prove he could---this was actually supposed by Thorn, and when Titus protested on the grounds that if he did he might not get to learn how to fly a ship, the rest agreed that his needing to add a caveat as to why he wouldn’t made him inherently less trustworthy with chemicals---and since he was so upset about not getting any chemicals they didn’t give him any access to anything he could use as a weapon, so basically he ended up with exactly three paper towels for the entire day. Yeah. Not a good situation.

  To explain a bit more. When we were asked to clean the main conference and auditoriums, we were given lay outs of how the furniture was to be set up. But these lay outs don’t take everything into account. Everything being Titus Card.

  “DO YOU THINK WHAT YOU ARE DOING IS FUNNY??”

  “More than a little.”

  “What did he do?” I ask, following Leavitt into one of the flight rooms, where Titus is lying on a table grinding his hands onto his head. Leavitt really isn’t having a good day either.

  “Titus, just because the directions don’t say you can’t mount the chairs to the ceiling, doesn’t mean y
ou should,” I say, with a sigh.

  “I’m so very bored, Tom, it isn’t fair they know we’re the best of the best they shouldn’t leave me unoccupied,” he says, rolling over to look at us.

  “How did you even---it’s just----hell, Titus, must you?” Leavitt asks, “We’ll only have to fix it again.”

  “No, they won’t know we did it and it didn’t technically say we can’t and so they can’t prove anything or get us in trouble,” he explains. “Besides, they need so many pilots they can’t afford to lose some of us for some inane prank.”

  “I know you’re bored Titus and I know they should keep you occupied and it isn’t technically wrong but just because you can doesn’t mean you should,” I explain.

  “But I can and I want to,” he says, going back to rubbing his hands on his head.

  “The last room he turned all the carpet tiles upside down, the one before that he removed all the pictures and placards from the walls, and cut up the words and reorganized them into anagrams—Darla’s still in there fixing that,” Leavitt sighs.

  “How’s she fixing the posters?” I ask, frowning.

  “She’s not we’ve given up on those, she’s just making sure he didn’t miss any little scraps of paper form the cutting---this is why he wasn’t given scissors,” Leavitt sighs.

  “I know I found some, okay, next room,” Titus says, hopping up. Leavitt and I catch him by each arm.

  “Titus, this is day one---day one, please, for the love of god---”

  “I don’t love god—”

  “It’s an expression, I am begging you, stop,” Leavitt says.

  “Please, Titus can’t you find something else to do? Read something on your tablet?” I ask.

  “I did that last night,” he says, looking annoyed, “I’m out of books.”

  “Let me show you how to get on the free library, there are hundreds of free books,” I say.

  “I did that last night, I’m out of books,” he repeats, flatly.

  “What---you can’t have read all of them?” I ask.

  “Leavitt let me use his tablet so I did two at once,” he says.