Last Man Out (Poor Man's Fight Book 5)

by Elliott Kay

  “Thanks,” grunted Tanner.

  “I didn’t do it for you,” she snapped.

  “Hey, I’m from campus safety,” someone said as they came to Tanner’s side. His collared white shirt bore right arm patches. “Sorry, I had to push my way through the crowd.”

  The blonde was undeterred. “I didn’t come here to sit in class next to some murderer!”

  “It was a war,” Tanner repeated. “I fought professional soldiers. Unless you’re out here sticking up for all the pirates and—”

  “You killed my brother!” cried a voice that broke through the din. Many in the crowd fell silent, turning to see who’d spoken. A brunette near the edge of the mob held up a simple white placard on a stick. She glared at him through tearful eyes and flicked her wrist, activating the holocom on her bracelet.

  The image projected onto her placard didn’t include a uniform or a weapon. He was young and thin, smiling under a mop of brown hair with a happy dog in his arms. He didn’t look like a soldier. He looked like a kid. Beneath his face the image read, “Charlie Ryan, 2255-2276.”

  “He was on the Saratoga,” sniffed the brunette. “He was just a crewman. All he wanted to do was get out of debt and go to college.”

  Tanner winced. They’d been almost the same age when he pulled the trigger on Charlie’s ship. As a crewman on an assault carrier, the guy probably never carried anything into battle more dangerous than a fire extinguisher. He might not have even known where he was.

  They’d enlisted for much the same reasons.

  “We should go,” said the campus safety agent. He put one hand gently on Tanner’s arm. Other agents were in the crowd now, waiting to help.

  “I’m sorry about your brother,” said Tanner. “I’m sorry he’s gone.”

  “He’s gone,” the young woman sniffled. “He’s gone and I’m in college without him and you’re here.”

  “Not on our campus!” shouted a voice in the crowd. Others echoed again: “Not on our campus!” By their third repetition, they were louder and angrier than ever.

  “Let’s go,” said the agent at Tanner’s side.

  An impact on the back of Tanner’s head blocked out the shouting with an explosive, wet crunch. Pain and surprise plunged the world into darkness for a terrifying instant. Something splashed down his neck and across his shoulder. He ducked and spun, fearing the worst. His heart flew into overdrive while the world seemed to fall into slow motion.

  His assailant was still in arms’ reach. Tanner saw a silver shirt, a goatee, an extended arm. The attacker’s hand was still pulling away until Tanner grabbed it, crushing fingers together and twisting as he yanked the man down. He extended the guy’s arm up and slammed his other hand into the shoulder, painfully popping it out of joint. Tanner’s knee came up into the guy’s side before his hold was locked in. It all happened without a thought.

  The attacker’s hand felt wet as Tanner locked in his grip. Wet and gooey. Runny, yellow fluid spackled with flecks of white covered their hands. It wasn’t blood.

  The realization did nothing for Tanner’s adrenaline. He didn’t focus on the attacker now held in check. He was already looking for others. The crowd shouted, some with anger and some with concern for Tanner’s attacker, but he ignored those. He looked all around for the next threat, scanning the rooftops as well as the immediate crowd.

  “Argh! God, fuck, let go! Shit!” wailed his assailant.

  “Holy shit he really is crazy,” someone exclaimed.

  “You’re hurting him! Let go!” shouted so many more.

  Wisely, the campus safety agent stepped into Tanner’s view rather than touching him. “I need you to let him go. We’re getting you out of this.”

  Tanner only faintly recognized the words. His eyes kept darting this way and that, frantically looking for the silhouettes of snipers on the rooftop edges or the glint of rifle scopes. Instead, he saw the backs of white uniform shirts coming between him and the crowd, urging them back with arms held out wide.

  The crowd. All these civilians were sitting ducks out here. There was no cover and too many people in one place to get everyone out fast. A single, level gunshot would go through several people in any direction, let alone the harm a grenade could do, or a—

  “Sir. Please come inside with me,” the safety agent repeated.

  Tanner looked over his shoulder. Who was he calling sir? Was there an officer here?

  At his university?

  He looked at his wet hand. Egg, not blood.

  “Mr. Malone,” said the safety agent.

  Tanner released his attacker, stalking toward the lecture hall with the safety agent close at his side. Other agents provided a narrow path. The lecture hall’s doors slid open without delay. More than a few people milled about in the wide lobby, watching the commotion through the windows.

  “I need to get to a bathroom,” said Tanner. His voice shook.

  “Right over there,” said the agent. He stayed close with a steady, reassuring voice. “It’s only egg. Nothing serious.”

  “Tanner?” asked a voice.

  He found one of his instructors watching with concern. Naomi led his seminar session after this class. She wasn’t a threat. There was no danger here from her or to her. His mind promptly dismissed the rest. He kept walking.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “I need to get to the bathroom,” Tanner repeated.

  “He’ll be fine, miss,” said the agent.

  The bathroom door slid open for a student on her way out. She stepped to one side upon first glance at Tanner, watching wide-eyed as he passed. Young men and women at the bank of sinks and mirrors mostly ignored him on his way to the nearest stall with its floor-to-ceiling privacy door. He pulled it shut behind him and threw the lock with something short of a slam.

  He was alone. The noise fell away.

  The emotions didn’t.

  Tension coiled up his shoulders and down his arms. His breath came out rapid and heavy. Tanner turned to punch the wall behind the toilet, only to stop before breaking his hand. There wasn’t enough room to get in a good kick. Not at the back wall. Maybe at the sidewalls, but then he’d be kicking at someone else’s space and scaring them.

  Nobody here deserved that. Nobody threatened him. Not physically. Not violently. No matter what his body and his reflexes told him. No matter what his gut said. No matter what his training demanded.

  His body shook with rage and adrenaline lacking any outlet at all.

  Therapists and doctors had told him how this worked. He kept medication in his backpack. Learned reflexes and survival instincts clashed with the reality of the here-and-now. No one tried to kill him. No lives were at stake. Nothing worse than some asshole with an egg…and a crowd of students cheering him on and wanting Tanner gone.

  Nothing worse than knowing he’d held on for five years to get here.

  Instincts and experience kept his body pumping. He understood the connections between his body and his emotions, but understanding that didn’t make less of a mess.

  He knew what was wrong. He was alone now. He could deal with this as long as he hid all alone in a bathroom stall.

  The applicator sat in a side-pocket of his backpack. He set the pack down to pull it out, hands shaking. It wasn’t the fear or adrenaline that made him shake. Given a fight or a crisis, he’d be steady enough. He knew that. He shook from the lack of options.

  He shook badly enough to drop the applicator onto the floor as it came out of his pack.

  Tanner threw his forearms up against the back wall. He leaned in, putting his forehead into his arms, focusing on his breath. In and out. In and out.

  He reached for the applicator, put it to his wrist, and hit the hypo button. It didn’t take effect instantly. He had to wait. He had to breathe.

  Sometimes he choked. Sometimes he sobbed.

  * * *

  “No way. I don’t see how he gets punished for this,” said the safety agent. “I was right
next to him. My holocom records everything while I’m on duty. It was only an egg, but he was struck from behind in an angry crowd. He has a solid case for self-defense. If anyone has something to worry about, it’s the other student.”

  Naomi looked through the windows and glass doors of the lobby. The crowd remained, but she saw less shouting and agitation now. Several protesters engaged in a tense conference with another safety agent. She saw a blonde, a guy in a fraternity shirt, a couple of others. Even if the protest named no official leader, someone had gotten it rolling and kept up the momentum. Someone decided when and where.

  “So what’s next?”

  The agent held his tongue. “I’m not sure I can—” He paused, holding his finger to his earpiece. Then he looked to the door and saw faces on the other side looking back. “Go ahead,” he said.

  The blonde student came through. The others waited.

  “You’re speaking for the protest?” asked the agent.

  “I’m Patricia. And yes. More or less. I don’t pretend to speak for everyone, but the bigger groups…yes. Where is he?” she asked, looking around.

  “In the bathroom getting cleaned up, I suppose,” said the agent.

  “What’s your plan here?” asked Naomi. “What’s your point?”

  “Our point is we don’t want a war criminal in our school,” Patricia said, trading some of her nervousness for indignation now that she faced a challenge. “We want him gone.”

  “Oh please. The entire ‘war criminal’ narrative came out of propaganda from NorthStar and their allies.”

  “That is such an ad hominem argument,” Patricia countered.

  “Yeah? Have you tried hearing out his side of things?”

  “Who are you, his advocate?”

  Naomi hesitated. Her sense of duty prodded her along. “I’m one of his instructors. So, sure. I’ll advocate for him.”

  “Figures. You’re another administration tool,” said Patricia.

  “I’m a what?”

  “You’re part of the same establishment that brought him in.”

  “Now who’s playing ad hominem? And where the hell do you get off blocking anyone from going to class?”

  “It’s not much of a protest if nobody’s inconvenienced and it has no impact.”

  “He invested the same time and work and money to be here as anyone else,” said Naomi.

  “Hell, I pay non-resident tuition, if you really want to talk about money,” said Tanner. Naomi turned to find him right behind her, his hair and shirt visibly wet. He spoke without the energy Naomi usually heard in class. The Tanner she knew was bright and good-humored. Here he seemed exhausted and guarded. “Non-resident fees. Couldn’t meet the filing deadlines for any scholarships. I didn’t qualify for any breaks besides enrollment. And asylum.” He wiped a little more water off his shirt. “Of a sort.”

  Patricia took a breath to collect herself. “I came in here because we wanted to condemn the egging. That’s not what we want and we don’t approve. It’s too far.”

  “Condemn, but not apologize?” asked Naomi.

  “We’re not responsible for any one person’s actions.”

  “Nice.”

  “It’s a protest! We don’t have a sign-up roster with a code of conduct.”

  “The first person I ever killed attacked me from behind,” Tanner interrupted. It stopped both women cold. He sounded so tired. “He wanted to kill me. I didn’t understand. I couldn’t believe it was happening. Thought it had to be some mix-up. I hesitated, and I almost died. The guys with me almost died, too. One of them actually did. The only reason I’m here now is because I pulled a knife and killed the bastard. He wasn’t the only one. I live with that every night.

  “Do you understand what could’ve happened to that guy?” Tanner asked, pointing out to the crowd. “Do you have a fucking clue what it’s like to have a mob of people run up and shout in your face and spit on you? Can you imagine that? People have tried to kill me, lady. A whole lot of people. Plenty of others still want to. That’s not a demonstration of conscience out there to me. That’s a great big mass of threats.”

  Taken aback, Patricia looked to the crowd. Her fellow protest leaders watched through the windows but couldn’t hear. Something in that seemed to steel her resolve. “So are you saying you’re a danger to students? Are you threatening us?”

  “Oh, Jesus fucking Christ,” Tanner sighed.

  “Why don’t you try that line with every other trauma survivor on campus and see how far it gets you?” asked Naomi. “He doesn’t want to be assaulted. It’s not complicated.”

  “I’m not responsible for the actions of everyone who shows up to a protest.”

  “But I’m responsible for everything that happened in an interstellar war?” asked Tanner.

  “You’re responsible for the things you did and the people you killed.”

  “I wanted to get out alive, lady. Everyone with me wanted to get out of it alive.”

  “You think everyone on the other side of it didn’t feel the same way?”

  “Yes! I absolutely think they felt that way! It turns out war sucks!”

  “So that’s it?” Patricia scowled. “War is bad? You’re going to hide behind a ‘both sides’ defense? What’s it take to get through to you?”

  “Empathy,” Tanner replied.

  “What?” Patricia blinked.

  “Empathy. I’m a total pushover for anyone who shows me a shred of empathy or warmth. Like a puppy.”

  The other student’s scowl deepened. “Fuck you.”

  “Hey, you asked. That’s my weakness. Your call if you want to ignore it.”

  “You killed sixty-two thousand people,” said Patricia. Her voice fell as if reliving the disbelief of hearing it for the first time. “And now you’re here. Going to school. Like it was nothing. Going on with your life, like…” She shook her head and walked away.

  Tanner watched her until she reached the door. “Are you okay?” Naomi asked him.

  “Not really.” He offered her a smirk that seemed sadder than he realized. “I haven’t been okay in a long time. Thank you for asking, and for stepping in.” He glanced past her, presumably at the clock over the doors. “I should get inside. I’m late.”

  He headed for the inner door to the lecture hall, giving her a look at his wet hair and the splashes along the shoulders of his shirt. All this, and he stuck to his schedule.

  Outside, the crowd remained. Patricia spoke to the other presumptive protest leaders and pointed toward Naomi. The blonde didn’t try to hide her irritation. The guy in the fraternity shirt wasn’t subtle about waving his wrist-mounted holocom to take Naomi’s picture, either.

  Naomi’s jaw set. She wanted no part of this. Drama wasn’t her style, and everything about this was drama, from the corporate media coverage to the letter to the editor she could already envision in the student news. Doubtlessly there’d be some choice words about her, too.

  She was only twenty-eight. Her degrees were all about rocks and ancient ruins. She wasn’t trained for public relations or counseling. Her seminar class involved mostly quizzes and discussions to supplement Vandenberg’s lecture section.

  “’Teacher’s assistant’ still means you’re a teacher,” Naomi muttered. “Gotta look out for your students.”

  * * *

  “Remember, the environment not only shapes the culture you’re studying, it shapes the study of that culture. It shapes methodology and perspective, and therefore perception. All of these matters… creep into your conclusions.” The pause in the lecture as the door opened was nearly imperceptible unless one listened closely for it.

  Tanner listened. He heard. He recognized the hints of irritation, too. Thankfully, nobody looked back as he entered. He took his seat as quietly as he could manage. It dawned on him that people trickled in and out late all the time in a class this big. Vandenberg generally took no discernible notice. Today was different. Tanner was different.

  Vandenber
g stayed at his podium to the side of the stage and continued his lecture. “I may be beating a dead horse, but xenoarchaeology requires a constant wariness of ethnocentrism. It sneaks up on the best of us. We must not judge other species by our own examples. When we see tool use, communal living, or other habits we identify with, we need to guard against inferring too much to the society. If you dig up a knife, it doesn’t necessarily mean that culture ate meat. It doesn’t mean they were prone to war. It means you found something that looks like a knife.”

  Chuckles flowed through the crowd, some genuine, others reflexively polite. The lecture hall wasn’t filled to capacity, but it was close. Introduction to Xenoarchaeology and its seminar component satisfied a large variety of elective requirements. Tanner would have taken the class purely for fun if given the opportunity. Staying in the university for the next decade or two sounded good to him, too—presuming his social life eventually turned around.

  With only another week to go before finals, students had established regular seating out of simple habit. Tanner’s wasn’t far from the back. Beside his empty seat, a young woman smiled and nodded to him in welcome. Like Tanner, she wasn’t native to Fremantle. Her golden skin and wavy, chestnut hair defied any ethnic labels. She was pretty, too; combined with her figure and her easy confidence, she had sex appeal for days. He wasn’t looking for such and she never actively turned it on him, but he wasn’t blind.

  Mostly, he was happy to have at least a few friendly faces in his day. Gina was always a welcome sight.

  “How much did I miss?” Tanner whispered as he settled in.

  “Can’t say. You’re only a couple minutes behind me.” She looked him up and down with some sympathy. “That crowd held me up, too. I think it held up a lot of people.”

  Tanner called up the same sort of dim holo screen for notes as practically every other student in class. He didn’t say more to Gina. As much as he could use the chance to decompress, this wasn’t the time or place.

  “The topic of environmental conditions brings us back to the Oasis Sites on Minos,” continued Vandenberg. He called up images of a brown and blue world located on the far edge of human space. More images followed: disks, blades, and containers like pottery, all shaped from a smooth grey mineral and covered with ornate geometric patterns.