by Robin Banks
“It’s McGee to you. If you don’t mind.”
Reggie turns around and squints at him. “For real?”
McGee half-grins. “Yannow, getting called “Ash” was a lot more fun before they pulled me out of a fire.”
“I can see how that would be the case. Temporary Adjunct McGee, I will see you in the morning.”
That is the end of our dealings with McGee. He still goes to Martyn for check-ups, but he is no longer our concern. After the four of us go back to staying in our room, I hardly see him at all. It’s the weirdest feeling, like pulling out a splinter: not having to worry about him makes my life much simpler, but I feel the hole he’s left behind more keenly than I feel anything else.
I occasionally spot him in the refectory, though I don’t know why he bothers to go there. Judging by the state of him, it’s not to eat. He is still covered in protective gel and wearing light, loose clothing, so it’s hard to see the details of his body, but there seems to be less of him every day. His cheekbones are so sharp that they look about to puncture his skin. I can count his teeth through the hollows in his cheeks. He moves better, though, not so rigidly or cautiously; either he’s hurting less or he’s learnt to ignore his pain. I should feel glad about his recovery, but everything about him angers me: there is fuck-all point in him healing from his burns if he starves or drinks himself to death. I wish he was still our patient so I would have a right to yell at him to unfuck himself. I know he’d just ignore me, but at least I’d feel that I was doing something.
I could deliver my harangue to him. I know where I could find him if I wanted to: in his room at night, in the Tank during the day. He seems to spend every waking moment there, putting the remaining Patrolmen through their paces firmly and precisely, but also very gently. I catch snippets of his lessons as I wait for mine, and I learn more from that than from months of Professor Rogers’ tender tutelage. It’s no wonder Dee passed her test: McGee is a walking disaster, but he is a brilliant teacher. It’s a side of him I’d not even imagined. He always seemed slightly too vivid, so intense that he jarred with the world around him. When he’s teaching, with his energy wholly focused on something constructive, he shines. He looks really good in there – until he de-suits, that is. Then he looks like a feverish bag of bones about to consume itself out of existence.
Every time I think about him, which is hardly at all, I can’t help wondering how his life here is going to end. I am increasingly doubtful that he will get to the end of his contract before one of two things happens: his body gives up on him, or Rogers cuts his air hose.
The two of them have failed to bond, which is unsurprising. For a change, it’s not McGee’s fault. After apologizing for his drunken shenanigans, he has been unfailingly professional and courteous. Rogers, on the other hand, plainly hates McGee’s guts and doesn’t bother to hide it. I am sure that part of the problem is that he doesn’t want to share his precious tank with a jumped-up third-classer, but the main issue is that he is just not used to having to work for a living. Having McGee in the tank has forced him to come out and actually teach, which sucks for him and sucks even worse for his students.
Rogers is a terrible teacher. His teaching methodology consists mostly of bellowing incoherently from outside the tank, and even his best students never perform that well. McGee’s classes, on the other hand, are as pleasant as they are useful. The Patrolmen look forward to going in, enjoy themselves while they’re there, and are passing their tests at an astonishing rate. The ones who struggle get help instead of getting screamed at. The better his students do, the more creative McGee’s teaching methods get, and the less happy Rogers seems.
It all comes to a head just over a week into it. I mess my timing up somehow and get to the tank early for my lesson. I figure I might as well wait here for McGee’s class to finish and do some work on my reader rather than waste time walking back. I try to concentrate, but I only half manage it because the class keeps catching my attention. My focus goes totally to shit when a ghastly commotion starts in Rogers’ office. The asshole is screaming, which is hardly unusual, but he is doing it so loudly that I can’t hear myself think. I also can’t hear whoever he’s screaming at. They are obviously answering back, because Rogers is responding to them. He’s responding by becoming louder, more vulgar, and less coherent, but he’s clearly engaged in what passes for a dialogue in his mind. When Rogers finally erupts out of his office, puce-faced and snarling, I nearly shit a brick: he is yelling at Reggie. I back up into the wall, trying to blend into it, hoping that I won’t get caught up in it when it all goes down. Rogers seems oblivious to the danger: he carries on screaming in Reggie’s face while gesticulating wildly at the tank.
“Look at them! Flouncing around like faggots, giggling like schoolgirls! Does that seem right to you?”
I am expecting Reggie to snap Rogers into several pieces, but he doesn’t seem the least bit bothered: he answers back in a calm tone with undertones of boredom. “It’s certainly different from one of your classes.”
“Damn right it is! This shit has nothing to do with the Fed curriculum!”
“Is that the case?” Instead of listening to Rogers’ response, Reggie walks over to the tank com. “Adjunct McGee, could I have a word?”
McGee spins on the spot – a perfect demi pirouette that seems to take no effort on his part. “Sure thing, Chancellor. What’s up?”
“Could you explain to me what you’re doing?”
“We’re just having a bit of a play, seeing how small single-limb movements can affect the whole body.”
“Is there a point to this?”
“Well, yeah. When you’re floating, you need to know what happens when you move different parts of your body. That way you can work out how to move when you actually want to get somewhere.”
“And is this directly linked to the Fed curriculum for the subject?”
“Not quite. But it should be.”
“Is it essential to the completion of Fed floating qualifications?”
“Nope.”
“OK. Why are you doing it, then? Far be it from me to tell you how to do your job, but your job is to put those people through their qualifications.”
“Oh, we’ve done that already.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“We went through the last set this morning. We can’t do anything else in a tank.”
“And everyone passed?”
“Yes. If they hadn’t, we’d still be at it. I just figured that the lads could do with more practice, so we carried on. Our time is up soon, though.”
“Thank you for clearing that up. Oh, Adjunct? Is Matić there with you?”
“Yes.”
“Could you spare him for a moment?”
“Sure thing.”
McGee spins back and gestures at a Patrolman to turn his com on.
“Chancellor?”
“Patrolman Matić, if I may ask, has your prosthetic arrived yet?”
“Nope.” The Patrolman lifts his arm up, and the sleeve floats eerily from below his elbow.
“Doesn’t that make things a bit tricky?”
“Yes. We’re working around it. If it arrives while I’m still here, McGee says we could have a play with it. The whole thing is new to him, too. It’ll be interesting to see how the prosthetic changes things.”
“Interesting, hey? Good to know. Thank you for your time.” Reggie switches the monitor off. “Professor Rogers, I can’t quite see the issue.”
“He’s making a mockery of the whole thing!”
“Adjunct McGee’s students definitely seem to be enjoying themselves, but that doesn’t appear to be detrimental to their performance. They are passing their courses.”
“I don’t expect someone with your background to understand about teaching methods, but…”
A slow, broad smile slits Reggie’s face open. “You wouldn’t?”
“I will not work with him. That’s all there is to it.”
R
eggie tilts his head slowly, his smile settling into place. “In that case, I accept your resignation.”
“What? I didn’t…”
“Oh yes, you did. You said you wouldn’t work with Adjunct McGee. He is not going anywhere. Ergo, you must.”
“I don’t have to take this from you!”
“No. You could appeal to the Patrol’s Board of Education. And if you do, I will have the opportunity to compare your pass rates with those of Adjunct McGee. He has put more of his students through the advanced qualifications in a week than you have in years.”
“But…”
“And I have a very good idea why. While I was familiarizing myself with the workings of this fine institution, I chanced to look at your budget. You have not requested a new suit in seven years.”
“No, but…”
“That’s very parsimonious of you – a quality that both the Fed and the Academy appreciate. It is particularly impressive given that during those years you have grown, and not only professionally. I remember you from my floating days, Professor, and I couldn’t help but notice that your girth has more than kept up with your seniority.”
“How dare you…”
“Quite easily. My theory, such as it is, is that the reason Adjunct McGee’s pass rate so exceeds your own is that he does his job, and you don’t. If you care to disprove this, put your suit on and get in the tank.”
“But I don’t need to…”
“To do what? To do your job? To show me that you can? No. You don’t. I have already accepted your resignation.”
“I’m not resigning!” wails Rogers.
“Would you prefer to be fired?”
“You can’t do this!”
“Oh, but I can. Kindly vacate the premises by the close of day. If you do not, I will allocate staff to help you with your move. Feel free to keep your suit as a memento. Good day.”
Reggie stares at Rogers with twinkling eyes and that broad, ragged smile. I bet my ass that he wants things to go badly, so he has a good reason to feed Rogers through his own office wall. I guess Rogers finally catches up with the situation, because he staggers off without a word.
Reggie walks back to the tank com. “Adjunct McGee, could I trouble you again?”
“Yeah. Sure.”
“How busy is your schedule at present?”
“Busy enough, I guess. Most of the Patrolmen are certified, but I’d like them to have as much experience as possible if they’re going floating for a living. There’s not much room for error out there, know what I mean? And we’ve barely started with the civilians.”
“Would you be able to cover Rogers’ classes for the rest of the day?”
“Sure. Is there a problem?”
“Quite the opposite. Please come see me in my office for lunch. I have some business I’d like to discuss with you.”
By the end of the day, Ash is Professor McGee. Rogers does not leave of his own accord, but packs up quite readily when Reggie turns up at his office with three of the service guys.
I finish my floating qualifications with Ash. I can’t say that it’s not an improvement over training with Rogers: we’re actually learning stuff now, and the lessons could be fun. They are fun: everyone is enjoying them. I don’t, but that has nothing to do with Ash’s teaching style and everything to do with my brain playing tricks on me. In the tank, Ash treats me just like he treats all the other students. It doesn’t seem to matter that we went through a lot together, or that I was there while he was going through a lot, anyway. I know that he’s got his own shit going on, but it still feels crappy that I might have just turned into a feature of his past, and not a past he’s likely to think of fondly.
It’s all bullshit, anyway: the important thing is that both Dee and I got our basic floating qualifications, and we have a good chance of getting a few more. That’s the only thing I care about. That’s the only reason why, when Rody catches me alone to tell me that McGee has left the Academy, I am at all perturbed by the news.
“Left? Why? For where?”
“Some Fed testing place. I’m not sure. I only know because Nate had to go along to the spaceport to sedate him.”
“Sedate?”
“He couldn’t board the ship. He tried, but he just couldn’t. They knocked him out at the spaceport and wheeled him on board instead. He was OK with it – well, no, he wasn’t, he was spitting angry at the mere thought of that, but he wanted to go.”
“Is he coming back?”
He shakes his head. “Not this term, but he’ll be back for the start of next year. He’s a Professor now, remember? Unless the Fed make him a better offer, I guess, but it would have to be a good one. They are starting work on a new, bigger tank next week, and he can’t wait to get in there. Plus he loves teaching.”
“How do you know?”
“We chatted sometimes. I tried very hard not to like him. Nate keeps waxing lyrical about how Ash is everything a man ought to be, so I was determined to dislike him, but I just couldn’t.”
“What?” I splutter. “Is Nate on drugs? McGee is a walking disaster!”
“I don’t know about that. He’s been through a lot. He’s managing as well as he can.”
“Maybe so, but he’s managing terribly.”
“I couldn’t do any better. I couldn’t do any of it, really: I couldn’t have flown a ship into a battle. I just don’t have it in me.”
“I don’t know if I could, either.”
He snorts. “You wouldn’t even think about it. You’d just get angry at whatever is going on, throw yourself right in there, and sort it all out or die trying. That’s what you always do.”
“When have you seen me wade into any kind of fight?”
“All the time. I don’t think you can help yourself. If something needs sorting out, you can’t leave it alone. You’re a force of nature, baby girl.”
“I don’t see that.”
“No, you don’t. That’s probably why you’re angry all the time.”
“What? I'm not!” I realize I’m shouting when he cracks a smile.
“Don’t get me wrong, anger is a gift if you can use it, and you do. You get shit done. My man Reggie, he’s just started releasing what must be years of suppressed anger, and he’s shaking this place up like nobody else could. But if you get attached to your anger, like it’s a part of you rather than something that comes and goes, something that uses you rather than something you use… I don’t know. It seems like hard work. You’re going to get a lot done, but I don’t know if you’re going to enjoy any of it.”
“Dee is always banging on about that.”
“No, she’s not.” He smiles at hearing her name. “My girl may occasionally mention something about it when you push it too far, but she doesn’t bang on about things. I love that woman so fucking much.”
That puts a knot in my throat. “You’re a soppy bastard, you know that?”
“I know it’s hard for you to get, but that’s what happens when you have more than three feelings.”
“Three feelings?”
“Hate, anger, and spite. That’s what you run on, isn’t it?”
“You’re an asshole.”
“Maybe so, but I’m an asshole with more than three feelings. Dee doesn’t deserve you.”
“Don’t you mean I don’t deserve her?”
“Different use of the word, kid. She’s a splendid girl. One of these days I’ll find a guy just like her, make a nest with him, and never come out.”
“You wanna be a kept man? That’s your happy ending?”
“You betcha. I’ll find myself a guy like our man Nate. He’ll treat me like a king, I’ll do the same to him, and everything will be swell.”
That feels like a poke in the heart. “You think I’m a fool, right?”
He grabs my hand with those long fingers of his and gives it a bone-crunching squeeze. “No. You can’t make yourself love someone just because it’s convenient.”
“Dee thinks I’
m a fool.”
“She would. She wants you well-looked-after, and she doesn’t trust you to do it for yourself. But she gets it, too. It’s funny how it all panned out. Dee loves the shit outta you, and she’d probably love you like that, too, but you only love boys. You love McGee…”
“I do not!”
“Let me finish! But he’s off the menu, because he’s too much of a disaster even for you, which is saying something. Nate loves you and he’d treat you better than you will ever treat yourself, and that puts him off your radar. I could fall in love with Nate just like that,” he clicks his fingers, “if I wanted to be miserable. He would go for it, but he would never see me as more than a friend, however hard he tried. He doesn’t have a gay bone in his body, but he’s so damn lovely that sometimes I’m still tempted. Though the same goes for no end of guys around here.”
“You’re a slut, you know that?”
“Chance would be a fine thing. You straight people are so inconvenient, you know that? If you weren’t so obsessed with people’s plumbing…”
“You gay people are just as bad. You could get with Dee. You want the same things and you enjoy the same stuff. You’d make a splendid couple.”
He scrunches his face up. “Yeah. I guess you’re right. But the difference between us and you is that we’ve got good taste.”
“Now I know you’re talking bullshit. You and I have got precisely the same taste. That’s rather the issue.”
“No way. I like my men fine and functional. You want someone who’s going to keep you constantly at your wits’ end.” He turns my hand over and starts to rub my fingers. “Hey, if you stayed on as a second year you’d see Ash again.”
“Wouldn’t that be a treat. I’ve always dreamt of watching a man drink himself to death.”
“You might have a point. You’d do well here, though. Get in one of the tech programs, or a research position. Take the second year med assist slot. Knock off the harpy who guards Reggie’s door and take her job.”