Sirius Academy (Jezebel's Ladder)

by Scott Rhine

  “Plus, if you trip any alarms on project eighteen while we’re gone, you can push the emergency button on the badge and call Horvath. Consider it a get-out-of-jail-free card.”

  Sojiro seemed dubious until Red told him, “She’s a meddling, dictatorial hard-ass, but you can trust her with your life.” She looked at Zeiss strangely. “Nobody’s told you what eighteen is yet. Right?”

  “I trust you, and I know it’s important. But if manga boy gets busted, he could get tossed from the island before we return.”

  “Thanks, Z,” Red said. “How come she gets the shovel?”

  “Cause it’ll fit in my bra,” her roommate ribbed.

  The guys all made comments like, “Oooo, burn,” except Zeiss.

  “On that note, I need to leave,” claimed the TA.

  “Before the karaoke?” asked Sojiro, disappointed.

  “Ha! You should be grateful; I’m tone deaf. Besides, faculty has to leave before the students to get to the site first.”

  The guys shook his hand, Risa hugged him, and Red slugged him in the shoulder.

  After he left, Sojiro said, “Wish I’d brought that mistletoe.”

  Red slugged him next.

  ****

  For the seaplane to come alongside, they had to stop the island’s engines. The tropical ocean waters were choppy from the high winds, and they couldn’t risk docking at speed. The mils had to suspend their target practice because of a plane nearby and stood around talking by the tunnel.

  When the plane tied off, the captain shouted, “This trip is going to be cramped. Please hand all your backpacks over to the gentleman in blue and we’ll all fit.”

  Red waited nervously at the end of the line to board. Her hair was streaked white in honor of the arctic camouflage she wore. She had her cooler full of energy bars and was snacking already. The man in blue didn’t want to give her permission to carry the food on, but she refused to hand the container to anyone else. “I have a security exception; read the tag.”

  The sea-plane captain held up everything while he waited for the approval from Sirius Tower.

  Sojiro, who’d come to see them off, complained, “You’re eating as much as Herk.” He pulled up his windbreaker hood to blunt the effects of sea spray on his hair.

  “I can’t help it,” she protested. “I’m going through a mutant growth spurt of some kind.”

  “That’s how guys feel all the time,” explained the artist.

  Daniel flickered into existence beside Red on the dock. She knew he was Out of Body because he was standing and the wind didn’t ripple his clothes. Sojiro couldn’t see or hear him. Her uncle said, “I don’t have long; the whales are pulling away and my tranqs are about to kick in. Trina has to be on the bridge for startup procedures because any failures or fires tend to happen then.” Her face fell a little. “We love you Mira. I’ve sent as many angels as I dare to watch over you, but you have to do this yourself. Like my heartless father always said . . .”

  “The butterfly must fight its own way out of the cocoon or it can never fly,” she finished.

  The astral image smiled and vanished like the Cheshire Cat.

  Sojiro said, “That’s almost haiku, but you’d need to add a season.”

  The sea-plane captain waved her onboard.

  Red hugged her first friend in the Academy. “I prefer Zen koans.”

  “That would be more like: what is the sound of a one-winged butterfly clapping, or something.”

  “Good-bye,” she giggled as she walked up the bobbing gangplank to join the other nineteen students taking their final survival-training trip.

  Sojiro waved to the rest of the team as the plane took off, and set off past the firing range to get to the tunnel. Without warning, someone threw a blanket over the artist’s head and shoulders, and squeezed his arms against his body. “You don’t have your little fag-hag or butt-buddy here to protect you anymore, do you?”

  “What’s your problem, Merrick!” wheezed Sojiro.

  “I’m at the range practicing with my buddies right now. Aren’t I?” A fist hit the Japanese student in the stomach so hard he could no longer breathe. “You’re just real clumsy, Zipper-eye. That’s all anyone out here will say.”

  Another fist hit his face, lighting the inside of the blanket with white pain. Sojiro tasted blood. His nose was broken. Desperate, he bit down on Merrick’s arm as hard as he could. Because of the layers of fabric, it only pinched and didn’t penetrate. However, the man didn’t let go—he was a Rex, immune to the pain. “You left a mark. That means I can, too.”

  Before the blow fell, Sojiro wiggled his finger to tap the new badge dangling above his navel. “Professor—”

  The brute spiked him into the tarmac. Someone else kicked him in the kidneys. Art supplies scattered across the deck. After two more kicks, Sojiro vomited. The men instinctively jumped clear of the sound, squeamish. This gave him the breathing space to say the word, “Horvath.”

  The badge beeped. The crowd swore and Merrick said, “Everybody out. The cameras are pointed the other way. Meet at the bar later.”

  Still curled on the deck, Sojiro slid the blanket open to breathe and saw pairs of sneakers running away.

  Despite the crippling pain and the shaking in his hands, the artist smiled. That’s when a men’s size 8 dress shoe stepped on the back of his left hand, splaying it flat on the deck. The shoe was polished black leather and Sojiro could see about four centimeters of it from under the blanket.

  “Who are Horvath’s prime suspects?” demanded the man in dress shoes.

  Sojiro tried to wiggle free and his captor sat on his chest. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You disappoint me. Pretend I am your Yakuza and failure will be dealt with severely.” Sharp iron gripped the artist’s left index finger just above the center knuckle. “What are Horvath’s search parameters for the spy?”

  “I don’t know!” Blood jetted out as the bolt cutters tightened. “Arrg . . . God! That’s my drawing hand. Stop!”

  “I know all about project eighteen. You are the lead programmer. Tell me everything I wish to know or this will be a very painful day.”

  “Okay . . . okay,” Sojiro said, panting like a dog after a run in this tropical heat.

  “How many suspects has your search program narrowed the list to?”

  “It doesn’t work like that. You have the wrong—”

  Snip.

  A dark-brown hand picked up the severed digit. “I am a patient man. I can do this forty times before I have to get creative.” His interrogator heaved it into the ocean. “One chance, gone forever. We move on to the next.” The artist bucked but the man held him firmly. “Why is it called project eighteen?”

  Sojiro’s right hand brushed across a pencil. From the lilt in the voice, he realized who was holding him. “Professor Solomon, you’re sworn to non-violence.”

  “The real Solomon died the day he got his acceptance letter. I am not so . . . ouch!” Sojiro stabbed the pencil toward the man’s side as hard as he could. The spy swore and snipped the second finger onto the tarmac. “Very well. This next one will be your thumb—both joints! I read lips and your handler has used the term whale-level secret. What does this refer to?”

  The agony prevented the artist from speaking as he realized that the spy would never let him live. Any answer he gave would only hurt his friends, the only family he had. Therefore, he had to goad the man into killing him sooner. “Moby Dick.”

  “What?”

  “The big white tumescence.”

  “Speak English!”

  “A sperm whale, full of seamen it swallowed,” Sojiro giggled.

  “I am warning you . . .”

  Sojiro shrieked over the heavy wind, “Just shoot me, you fuck!”

  When he heard the three pistol shots, the young man stopped breathing for a moment. The agent thudded to the ground beside him. Soon after, someone ripped the soiled blanket off Sojiro’s head.


  “Thank god,” Horvath said, calling into her head set. “Emergency medical evac flight crew to the flight deck. Ice. Microsurgery team, plastic surgery team. I don’t think we have time for an MRI. Shit, cauterizing. Dentist. Damn, you’re a mess, boy.” She took field bandages out of her fanny-pack and applied them anywhere she could. She joined the second finger with its missing tip just to keep the two together. Then she twisted the corner of the blanket into a mini-tourniquet for the fingers.

  Sojiro hugged her ankles with his right arm, weeping hysterically and whispering, “Thank you, thank you.”

  Just before the medical team arrived, he mumbled, “Solomon . . . dead.”

  “That’s right, I killed the SOB.”

  “No, real one killed before he accepted job.”

  That’s when the depth of the betrayal hit her. “Get me DNA from every square centimeter of this deck,” she ordered. “And get me sample biometrics from the family of every student and teacher that’s ever been on this island! I want old school, nothing off of a computer.”

  ****

  The flight to the survival testing site was almost a day. They had to transfer planes. Red videoed constantly because she was behind on her logging hours. When Herk complained about the delay, Red told him, “They’re trying to confuse us or waiting for dark to begin. My goggles put us on a vector for Mongolia before I lost satellite reception.”

  As they landed at the deserted location, the pilot said over their headsets, “Attention: we’re beginning Simulation 63. On your way back from splashdown retrieval, your plane strays over enemy territory. Your plane is shot down. Everything in the storage bay is deemed lost in the crash.”

  The students cursed and complained loudly at this. Red hid her energy bars as the news got worse. “You are warned that hostiles in the area will hear any gunfire and capture you.”

  When Herkemer buried his face in his hands, she asked, “What’s wrong? You read that book on snares three times.”

  “Yes, but the wire I practiced with is with the luggage.”

  “We’ll think of something,” Risa hoped. Their pleasant campout had just turned into a few days of hell.

  As they lined up to leave the craft, Mr. Rogers came over their radios. “You will leave the plane in teams of five at five-minute intervals, to avoid detection. You’ll be assigned to separate compass points. Use of weapons or radios will be for one purpose only: requesting life or death help. Requests for help will be considered an admission to failure, and those students will be dropped from the program.”

  Subzero air washed into the cabin.

  Toby zipped his coat and then discovered, “Crap on a stick—my gloves. I left my damn gloves in the pack.”

  “Who do we pick for our fifth?” asked Red.

  The Polish bomb technician scanned the crowd. Only one person still appeared calm—a Tibetan national by the name of Tenzin. “Him.”

  Red squeezed through the milling masses and cranked her smile up a few hundred watts. “Would you like to join our team?”

  The Tibetan shrugged. “What’s in it for me?”

  She whispered, “I kept a case of ten energy bars. We each get an even share.”

  “Half,” demanded Tenzin.

  Her smile vanished.

  “Does anybody have spare gloves?” she shouted. “I have two energy bars to trade.”

  “One glove, one bar,” shouted someone.

  When no one claimed both, Red said, “Sold.” She handed Toby the bar to trade. “I have another bar for a piece of wire.”

  One enterprising vandal popped a panel open behind the TV and ripped out a bundle of wires. “Works for me,” said Herkemer, performing the trade.

  “Next . . . ,” Red began.

  “Three, I’ll do it for three,” offered the Tibetan.

  “Two,” Red countered.

  “I’ll do it for one,” bid the man standing next to them. He probably had no idea what he was bidding on, but would’ve given up a kidney for guaranteed food.

  “Two,” agreed the Tibetan, unhappily.

  “Attention everyone,” Herk said, with an idea. “We need to cannibalize everything we can from this plane and share equally between the teams.”

  They found ten aluminum-looking blankets, about twenty-three bags of pretzels, and an ice bucket. The groups even divided up the four metal doors from the stewardess cart. Red opted for the bucket over a third blanket or salty pretzels. She said, “We can use it to make blocks for an igloo.”

  “That snow won’t pack at this temperature,” explained the Tibetan. “We’ll have to start with blocks of ice we carve with the metal door and our knives.”

  Red’s team volunteered to leave the craft next, in order to have the most light available. As they left, the former Seal left them with a final thought. “We need to lose five more people to make everyone fit in the classrooms next semester. I’m authorized to continue this exercise until we meet that requirement. Tonight will reach twenty below zero Fahrenheit. That’s Gott in Himmel for you metric freaks.”

  Herkemer was the only one to laugh, because he knew exactly who’d said that when the instructors reached that deserted wasteland.

  “I am sitting here, warm in my tent, watching with binoculars. If any of you ladies get scared or hungry tonight, do your classmates a favor and quit early.”

  Chapter 17 – Smells Like Teen Spirit

  The first night in the Mongolia foothills was brutal. Red’s team found a suitable camp site sheltered from the wind and dug in. They were under a leafless, gnarled tree, but no one had an ax. “My wire could’ve cut through that,” mourned Herkemer.

  The whole journey, the Tibetan had been bobbing his head to his iPod. “We got three days; pace yourselves.”

  After they snapped off a few thin branches and collected coarse brush for burning, Red asked, “Anyone know how to start a fire?”

  Risa suggested, “They told us we couldn’t use our guns. They didn’t say we couldn’t use the gunpowder.”

  “Brilliant,” Red praised. “What about the tinder?”

  “That’s why you pay the big bucks,” said Tenzin as he pulled out a disk of straw and manure.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Red complained, squinting at the offering in the fading light.

  “Yak—just like home. It’ll burn for hours. I brought two.”

  Herkemer reported, “East team: shelter complete, fire complete, and we’re about to eat.”

  “Roger.”

  Red scanned the area with her extended senses and found a familiar mind—Zeiss was watching her team. Once she knew his location, she contacted him through the goggles. “Z, whatcha doing?”

  “I just made hot cocoa with real Swiss chocolate, but I can’t drink it yet because it’s too hot.”

  Red cursed. Then she complained, “You could’ve warned us.”

  “Are you calling to quit or report an injury?”

  “No.”

  “Please keep the channel clear for those who are,” the TA snapped.

  She suggested what Zeiss could do with his rules, but Risa grabbed her microphone. “Shh. His shovel and lessons are the main reasons we’re the first team done, chica. Don’t shoot the gift horse.”

  Red grumbled a little more as she handed out one and a half ration bars to each of her three friends to eat, keeping the same number for herself. They all consumed their meal slowly except the Tibetan. He finished as quickly as possible so he could bundle up again and listen to his music.

  “What are you listening to?” asked Risa.

  “Well, my family is Buddhist. When I got to Academy, I had no friends, so I listened to a lot of music from home. I asked at BX if they had more, and the lady pointed me at this. It’s good stuff.”

  He held out an ear bud to Risa. When she heard the tune, she burst out laughing. “Nirvana!”

  “It helps pass the time,” he said, eyeing her ample chest. “I will share one with you tonight if you spoon with me
.”

  Risa reared back. “Maybe if you were cute, and this were a real concert.”

  Tenzin shrugged. “Heat is heat. What is it to you if I enjoy it more? These wires only stretch so far and night is very long.”

  “If no one else wants to,” Risa agreed, reluctantly.

  The other three slept in a sandwich, Red in the middle. Soon, she was the last one on the team still awake. When she made another mental sweep, Zeiss was still there, standing sentry. She drifted off, imagining how Swiss hot cocoa tasted.

  After the team was asleep, the TA went back to his tent. The former Seal greeted him. “You take Poppa Bear duty seriously.”

  “How’s the body count?” Zeiss asked.

  Rogers smiled. “The north team made too much noise by the cliff and got buried in the snow. They lost their fire and are freaking miserable right now. They might kill each other.”

  “Why don’t you offer them some of my hot cocoa? Pour a little of your Bailey’s Irish Crème in it. Someone will take the bait.”

  “Damn, Z, you’re evil.”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  ****

  During the second day, the wind blew out several fires. One of the north team surrendered in tears.

  As Red’s team searched for food and combustibles, Tenzin found a hole and said, “Maybe fox, maybe mice. Need bait.”

  Red peeled off part of her half energy bar. She held her slingshot at the ready and crouched twenty feet away. When the white fox came out, she marveled at its beauty. As it searched the area for signs of the intruders, little pups scampered out of the hole after it. Her heart melted and she lowered the weapon. Before she could object, the Tibetan grabbed her slingshot and killed the mother fox. Then he stunned two of the pups while they sniffed her body. Red tackled the hunter and shouted while the other pups scattered.

  “What’s wrong with you?” asked Tenzin.

  “Just celebrating,” she lied.

  Toby skinned the dead foxes and found herbs for seasoning in addition to the pretzel salt. Risa cooked them on a spit over the fire. Soon, their team had an abundance of roast meat and gloated about it over the radio. Red refused to eat the meal, trading her portion for more energy bar fragments. Unable to watch the horror, she crawled back into their bed hole. That afternoon, her team kept warm building up the shelter walls.