Rough Passages: The Collected Stories
Page 7
They’d all left behind families and careers when onset hit, when their bodies twisted and changed. Goodall had been a professional dancer, T3 Horton, a bank teller, and T3B Lopez, a cook. T5W Smith was a successful entrepreneur and local politician, T5W Bannon, a janitor. T5 Finley taught high school. Ordinary people, from all walks of life.
Marcia said, “The charges are rape and attempted murder. Those are capital offenses under federal statutes for rollovers in your classifications. Some of you are innocent, some are guilty. We’re here to cull the goats from the sheep.”
“This is bullshit,” Smith said. “It was a rampage. They told us rampages don’t count, not while we’re in the Corps. If anyone’s guilty, it’s Coby. He set us off. He admitted it. ”
Marcia had expected him to protest, and she wasn’t surprised that he’d missed the point. “Your guilt is incontestable. Be silent.”
“Guilty? Of what? You can’t put us on trial. We didn’t do anything wrong. I have a right to free speech. I have a right to face my accusers. Is this about what happened before the rampage? That’s even more bullshit. It’s all a stupid mistake. That was consensual. If anybody says otherwise, then they’re lying.”
Marcia lost her patience and flicked a glance at Ginny, who nodded. The floor around Smith’s feet bubbled and flowed up his legs to his waist. Once he was secured, Marcia enforced her order. Smith’s eyes went wide, and a whisper of sound emerged from his mouth along with the trickle of smoke.
“I am not here to listen to your excuses,” Marcia told him. “I’m here to talk to Marines. Your rights were forfeit the instant your guilt was verified on record. Your reboot camp instructors drilled you in military law and Federal public safety legislation. You cannot claim ignorance, and the Corps does not tolerate barbarism. You are my meat, Smith. The DPS will see you punished for your crime.”
She’d wondered, when she reviewed Smith’s records jacket, why a man with his education and background wasn’t tracked into officer training. The answer was that he’d failed the psych review. Rebooting in the ranks had been his second chance.
Some people never learned. Marcia hoped the rest of the squad understood the lesson she was about to give them. They were all eyeing her with impassive faces and perfectly still bodies.
“Some of you are barbarians too, but some are still Marines.” She delivered her next command with forceful calm: “Sit.”
It wasn’t an order for soldiers. It was an order for animals. They dropped to their stools with matching expressions of shame. Marcia kept her eyes on them. “What does that mean, though, to be a Marine? Captain, you like telling stories. Tell us why you joined the Corps.”
“Tradition,” Jefferson said promptly. “My screening test came back positive, and my granddad and I had a long talk. My family runs to bangers and carnies, and our R-positives have a sixty-percent rollover rate. Make a virtue of necessity, he said. Pick up a commission with college, get some life experience and come back as a Mercury officer when I hit onset.”
A diagnostic blood test screening for onset risk had been the Department of Public Safety’s first and greatest achievement. Children learned the facts of life in school, and every adult who tested positive submitted to an annual exam to track their progress. For a decade after the first wave of rollovers, the world had lived in fearful ignorance, never knowing who might roll over, or when. Today no one had to wonder.
Mysteries still outnumbered certainties. Despite a tendency for changes to run in families, a clear genetic link remained elusive. Nearly a third of the population carried the blood marker, but relatively few rolled over. The biggest enigmas of all were the abilities themselves. Many of the changes that manifested at rollover were simply inexplicable.
Vast amounts of research had been devoted to analyzing phenomena that defied all known laws of biology, chemistry and physics. No one had come up with a working theory to explain them. A lot of studies focused on the tiny, tragic minority who hit onset early in adolescence and usually died before they reached 20. The search for a cure, and the search for answers, were both ongoing.
Two points were firmly established: most rollovers occurred between age 40 and 55, and the concentration of the blood factor jumped shortly before onset. Those two facts helped people plan for the worst while they hoped for the best, as Jefferson had done.
“But you didn’t roll.” Marcia said to him now. “You’re a null.”
“No, ma’am. My R-factor spiked, and I spent a year under DPS evaluation. I’m a Z0-Z. Zero on every known power and variance table.”
Zeros were rarest of the rare. Most often, onset brought minor modifications: people grew or shrank or changed color, minimal psychic talents developed, or an affinity for elements, plants, or animals sprang to life. Even slight alterations could lead to major trauma and collateral damage. Isolating and training the civilian rollover population was the primary mission of the DPS.
Some new abilities were so hazardous that those who developed them were passed to experts in destruction for instruction. When an unguarded touch could start deadly epidemics, when one slip of concentration might destroy buildings—or cities—onset was matter of more than one life or death. Mercury Battalion trained those deadly individuals in the disciplines needed to keep their powers in check and put them to good use.
After a period of adjustment, or compulsory enlistment, most rollovers returned to their interrupted lives. Jefferson could’ve gone back to his office, his students, his home. He had not done so. Marcia said, “Why not ask for release from your obligation, Captain? I’m sure the appeal would’ve been granted.”
“I signed the contract. Being a Marine isn’t about muscle or firepower. It’s about honoring the oath.”
That was exactly what he’d said the first time they’d had that conversation. Marcia regarded her listening audience. They were as softened up as they were going to get. “Do you see any other Marines here, Captain? If so, they’re yours to address.”
Jefferson stepped up. “Bannon. Goodall.”
They jumped to their feet.
“Silence is not golden,” Jefferson said. “It’s criminal. Be witnesses, not accessories. So far, you only face brig time for property damage. Tell us exactly what happened last night, and it ends there.”
Marcia said, “Let’s make it even easier. Here’s what we know already.” She approached Smith and bared her teeth at him. “This arrogant fuck left his DNA in Stanislav, and witness testimony of the rape has been court-verified. His ass is mine.”
She walked over to the woman with the missing fingers. “You left trace all over Coby’s clothes, and he left teeth in you and Cooper both before you pulled him down. You face the same charges they do, sweetie. Rape is rape. Plus accessory charges, since someone had to unlock that dorm room door in the first place.”
The woman lashed out with all eight remaining claws, but Ginny was faster. The concrete was up to Finley’s nose before she stopped fighting.
Marcia gave the last two seated prisoners a glare. “Here’s all we need to know: where were these two? Stanislav is still unconscious, and Finley hit Coby across the face first. He couldn’t see through the blood. Which is it, Marines? Are they guilty or innocent?”
Lopez’s big ears went back. Horton dropped to her knees and started sobbing. “I didn’t do anything. I didn’t know what to do, I didn’t—”
“Horton’s innocent, ma’am.” PFC Bannon said in a rolling basso voice. “She was hiding under her rack when I came in...and...that’s all I remember. Sorry, Sue.”
Lopez’s eyes darted to Goodall, and her claws flexed. “Amy, please.”
The lance corporal raised a hand and said softly, “Innocent. Coby said be quiet, and I wanted to do the right thing by him, but if he talked, then … what else do you want to know? Most of it’s pretty clear in my head. I was riding the edge until the end.”
Soon enough, all the new testimony was verified on record, and the worst was over. The four
Marine prisoners were returned to their cells. Ginny and Finch took the condemned away to be prepared for transport.
Marcia climbed onto one of the tables and leaned back on her elbows, glad that she’d chosen trousers that morning when the call came in. She stretched out her legs and crossed them at the ankles, wiggling her toes in her shoes. A stiff drink would be nice, but a few moments of undignified relaxation would have to suffice. As long as she got some respite from being the hard, unfeeling face of authority.
“You can go, Captain,” she said. “I’ll oversee the rest of it.”
Jefferson hopped onto the neighboring table and swung his legs like a child. “My base, my brig. That wasn’t a dismissal from my commander. That was a suggestion from my DPS rep. Where are you taking the prisoners?”
Marcia closed her eyes to keep the pain from showing. “They have to die, Captain. What does it matter how or where? They don’t deserve your pity.”
There had to be strict limits, because leniency would lead to chaos. Power corrupted unless it was contained. The process held no room for mercy, even if many of those who went astray might never have transgressed if onset hadn’t put temptation in their path, if resentment and loss hadn’t driven them to actions they once would have considered unthinkable. No villain was ever born evil.
Jefferson remained silent.
Marcia opened her eyes. The captain looked disappointed. Very disappointed. Aggressively disappointed, even. He said, “It isn’t pity. They deserve to be drummed out and imprisoned or maybe even executed, but that crack I made about public trials? I meant it. They’re human beings, not animals. Secrecy poisons justice.”
“True enough.” DPS summary powers did tread along the thin edge between letter and spirit when it came to the rule of law. That edge was a sharp and uncomfortable place to live.
It wasn’t a good system, but it was the only one they had. Marcia put up with the ugliness because she’d seen failure lead to worse tragedy, but she wasn’t blind to the harshness. There were ways to cushion the fall when the hammer of justice came down. Those secrets, unfortunately, were classified far above the captain’s pay grade.
On the other hand, if she didn’t tell Jefferson the truth, she risked losing his trust for good. That would be a terrible waste.
“They die,” she said. “End of story. I can share some history trivia, though.”
Jefferson searched her face, and his scowl lightened. “Is that so? I do like random facts and historical footnotes. Go on.”
“After WWII, the US claimed sovereignty over hundreds of tiny islands, scattered over thousands of square miles of ocean. They’re uninhabitable, even if people wanted to be that close to the China Wall. No reliable fresh water, no shelter from typhoons, no food except what the sea and palms provide. It’s quite a shame. They’re beautiful, in a remote, isolated way.”
“Interesting.” Jefferson slid to the floor and made a show of straightening his uniform before heading for the exit. “If the Wall comes down, those islands will be the front lines of any containment efforts. Too bad they can’t be used as surveillance outposts.”
“Very sad.”
Survival on those atolls and cays took superhuman strength and endurance, but someone with those traits and a few basic supplies could live in reasonable comfort. The DPS didn’t abandon its exiles. Some of them even earned the right to come home again. Not many, but a few.
There were other havens for the condemned with other powers, other parts of the world that needed watching, where the DPS and the Corps offered their dead a second chance, or even a third one, to atone for their sins.
Jefferson paused at the hatch. “Good night, Colonel. Thank you for the story.”
“You’re welcome, Captain. Good job, today. Let’s never do this again.”
“I’ll do my best, ma’am.”
He would, and it wouldn’t be enough. It never was. Sometimes rules were all that kept civilization going, but the harsh necessities were too much for some to bear, and tragedies like this one would keep happening. If Marcia never had to strip the last hope of a normal life from a flawed human as the price for failure, it would be too soon.
Her reverie ended when she realized Jefferson was still waiting. When she met his eyes, he said, “One last thing, Colonel. With your permission.”
That was seldom a good sign. Marcia tensed. “Go ahead, Captain.”
“I just wanted to say I’m glad we’re developing a decent working relationship.” He paused. “Would it be fair to say you’re starting to warm up to me?”
Marcia’s shoulder muscles loosened. She said stiffly, “Good night, Captain Jefferson.”
He closed the hatch behind him, which meant Marcia could laugh as long and as hard as she wanted without damaging her image. And if the laughter turned to cleansing tears in due time, well then. She was alone, and her feelings were her own.
Midnight Call
Department of Public Safety Incident Record
17 October, 23:56
Begin Transcript:
OPERATOR: Hello, you’ve reached Crossroads Support Center. How can we help you?
FEMALE CALLER: Hello, hi, this the rollover hotline isn't it? Can I talk to someone? Do I have to say who I am?
O: You can talk to me, your privacy is protected. How can we help? Crossroads specializes in all aspects of onset. I’m Eileen. Ask me anything.
FC: I think I’m going to die. (crying in background) I’m so scared.
O: Being frightened is normal, but hundreds of people go through rollover every year. A positive test result isn’t the end of your life. What’s worrying you? Employment leave? Finances? We can help you file for legal protection and hardship grants. Do you have children? Are you married? We offer counseling.
(15 seconds silence)
O: Are you still with me? Don’t be scared. We can help. It’s what we do.
FC: I’m thirteen.
O: Im so sorry, I didn’t catch that. You said thirty?
FC: No, thirteen. I’m thirteen.
O: Oh.
FC: I know, right? I’m going to die, aren’t I? Everybody knows that if the change hits when you’re still a kid then you die. I only got my period last year. I don’t want to die. Why is this happening? Why? (crying)
O: Oh, baby, please stay on the line. Hang on. I just need...
(background mumbling)
FC: Hello?
O: Sorry, honey. I’m listening. I have to ask this. Are you sure? You haven’t even had your first official blood screening. Are you absolutely sure it’s onset?
FC: Yes, I’m sure! I am not being hysterical. Mom always tells me I’m being dramatic, but I’m not. I took Advanced Health this year, and I got 100% on the Rollover Symptoms unit.
O: That’s good. That’s great. You sound like a smart girl. I’m trying to make sure I get all the details right. Tell me your symptoms. Can you do that?
FC: There was a spot on my arm today when I was dressing after gym, all blue and sparkly, and it didn’t come off even when I scrubbed. Then I was late to English and everybody stared at me. I think they know.
O: Let’s not focus on that. Could it be a bruise?
FC: You don’t believe me, do you? I know what bruises look like. (rustling) It’s bigger now, all down my side, and it itches. I don’t want to roll over. I’m going to die, and I’ll hurt other people first if I’m a banger or a plague rat, and you don’t even believe me. I don’t know why I even bothered calling. I should go.
O: Wait, please. Don’t end the call. I do believe you, I promise. Stay on the line with me. Tell me how you’re feeling.
FC: I’m hot. Do you know what's sad? I haven’t even had a real kiss yet. Only a stupid spin-the-bottle kiss with Lee at Bethany’s birthday party last summer, and one with gross pimply Frank after homeroom. Were those sins? Is that why this is happening? I try to be good, I truly do.
(background mumbling)
O: I’m sure you are a very good girl. You'r
e smart, calm, and very helpful. Help me understand. Keep talking. Why are you thinking about sins?
18 October 00:02 Department of Public Safety nationwide alert issued, pending target.
FC: Isn't this happening because I’m a sinner? Isn’t it God’s punishment? It’s so hard to be good. I peeked at the back of the math book on the assignment, and that was a sin too, wasn't it? This all my fault because I’m lustful and a cheater.
O: Oh, God. No, baby. No. It’s biology, not punishment. You said the spot on your arm was shimmery. Tell me more about that.
FC: I’m glowing now. I feel so hot. I’m going to be a banger, aren’t I? I’m going turn into a torch or a cherry bomb or worse, and I thought so, that’s why I made Celine cry at dinner, so she would sleep with Mom and Dad instead of in here with me, but...oh, I’m so sorry. God will hear me if I say I’m sorry, won’t he? If I promise I will never be bad again, will this stop?
O: Oh, you poor thing.
(Muttering. Inaudible conversation)
18 October 00:05 Crossroads phone trace places target at
O: Baby, listen. Help is on its way.
FC: What help? I thought this was confidential. Did you call the monster brigade on me? You ratted? How could you? I trusted you. You said I didn't have to say my name.
O: Please don’t be angry at me. Don’t hang up. I’m sorry I had to call, but you said your parents are there, and your sister. You don’t want to hurt anyone, remember?
FC: No, of course I don’t.
(5 seconds silence)
O: Are you still there?
(12 seconds silence)
O: Baby? Can you talk to me?
FC: It’s for the best, isn’t it? (crying) I don’t want to hurt them, I don’t, not even when I’m mad and say I hate everybody. I’m supposed to forgive people when they sin against me. I have to forgive you, don’t I?
O: (throat clearing) You are a good girl. Thank you. How are you feeling now?