by Lance Berry
The time passed swiftly, and Lisa finally had to return to her accounting job in the private sector. On the day she left, Travis crouched down beside his upstairs window, trying hard to hear the conversation she and his father were having down below, in front of the house. Unfortunately, his window was already closed. If he opened it, they would have heard and stopped talking. Travis peeked his eyes up and just barely over the windowsill occasionally, looking like the old joke drawings of Kilroy come to life. He couldn’t see his father, who was obscured by the outcropping second floor ledge, but he could see Auntie Lisa, who was doing most of the talking. An AirKab waited patiently at the curb. She pointed her finger angrily quite a bit at his out-of-view father, and Travis could sort-of hear snippets of sentences like “you’d better”, “I want you to,” “if I ever” and “because you should”. He mostly heard “you’d better” a few times, and whenever his father’s muffled voice responded, it sounded subdued, almost weary. Travis smiled. Auntie Lisa was reading him “the riot act”, as his mommy used to call it, and was obviously giving him instructions as to how to treat his son. Travis wished he could have heard the conversation more fully; whatever it was Auntie Lisa wanted his father to do, he knew he’d better do it–or face another talking-to from her. The problem was, if Travis didn’t know what it was his father was supposed to do, how could he ever call up Auntie Lisa and tell her when he wasn’t doing it?
Silence from downstairs.
Travis decided to take a chance and stand up fully. Auntie Lisa was still standing by the front, nodding her head–in satisfied acceptance, it seemed. She glanced upward and saw Travis. She winked at him and blew a kiss as she waved, then headed off to the AirKab, a suitcase in each hand. As the ‘Kab driver unceremoniously plunked the bags into his rear trunk and she climbed in, Travis’ father stepped out from under his cover and stared up darkly at the boy. Travis’ eyes narrowed and matched his stare with equal intensity. Finally, Jack shook his head and came inside. He remained in the den the rest of the day watching the news, while Travis stared out at the road long after the AirKab floated away.
Summer came and went, taking Jack’s patience with it. Although he and Travis managed to begin speaking once again, it was only on a caseby- case/as necessary basis. The breaking point came when Travis flat-out, in no uncertain terms, refused to go to church anymore. “There’s no God, so what’s the point?” the boy had said one bright Sunday morning, when Jack had to go into his room a second time to rouse him from sleep. Jack was appalled: first of all, neither he nor Violet had ever had to try and wake Travis twice for anything. Then, to have his four year-old son, baptized and raised in the Catholic faith, tell him “there’s no God”–!
Jack ripped the boy out of bed by the arm and gave him a solid smack across the buttocks as he ordered him into the bathroom to wash up. The boy cried the entire time he was in the bathroom, even while he brushed his teeth. He cried even louder when Jack shouted “No son of mine is going to turn out to be some God-hating faggot!” from down the hall. Let others have their so-called enlightened views on homosexuality; by Christ and the saints in heaven, that shit was wrong, and he’d have none of it in his house! They both got dressed, and Jack unintentionally choked Travis a bit while tightening the child’s tie. He apologized brusquely, and just as harshly wiped down the boy’s face with a damp cloth, streaking away his tears. “You keep your manners,” he warned, and the two headed off to church in their AirKar.
They passed a building used by the Nondenominational Church of the All, a fairly recent organization to spring up. The NCA professed to serve all faiths equally, including Catholicism. Jack shook his head and pointed at the church. “Do you see that? Fast-food religion, that’s what that is! None of those people will see God’s glory when the time comes! Is that what you want, Travis? To have your soul consigned to hell for all eternity? You were mad at me for not letting you view your mother’s casket. How would you feel if you couldn’t see her for the rest of eternity when you died? Sure enough, your mom’s in heaven…don’t you want to go there and be with her, someday?”
Travis didn’t answer, as he tried to fight back fresh tears. Of course he wanted to be with his mommy again…he just didn’t believe in God anymore ‘cause she died. Then again, God was supposed to have created heaven; if He didn’t exist, how could it go on? Travis didn’t like thinking about it. His mommy’s soul had to go somewhere when she died, and she was such a loving person and so good to him, she had to go to heaven. She just couldn’t have gone to h-e-double hockey sticks. Maybe heaven was like a big building, and God was its landlord. When landlords died in the real world, the buildings remained standing; they sometimes got taken over by UEF government, that was all. Maybe there was a type of government in heaven, and they just took over the lease when God passed away.
Travis looked out the window at the tall, beautiful white building they were passing, his anger and fear of his father momentarily forgotten. He wondered why no one in the building knew that they were worshiping God in the wrong place.
Jack prayed especially hard in church that day, within the privacy of his own heart. He had never raised a hand to Travis before in the child’s short life–he had never had to–but Lord help him, when his palm smacked solidly across the boy’s rear end, it had felt good. And when he accidentally tightened his son’s tie too tight and the boy gagged in response, it felt as if an invisible pressure valve had gone off somewhere in his spinal column, releasing a minute portion of the anger which had been building within him for the past few months. The look of fear on Travis’ face after the slap and when the tie was tightened too much–that look of uncertainty, not knowing whether his father had meant to hurt him, and if he were going to hurt him again–carried a seductively stimulating feeling which Jack had never known. He recognized it at once for what it was, of course: the subtle, sinful temptation to become an abuser, someone who could only feel strong when completely dominating a helpless person’s life, even to the point of causing that person physical harm and not caring about it.
Jack’s own father had been a stern disciplinarian, but there had been nothing cruel about the punishments he meted out. Certainly nothing to carry on the desire for Jack to inflict such pain on a succeeding generation. Of course, he knew that not all child abusers came from such a background; sometimes, they just had to want it.
The main differences between Jack Richards and some lowlife scum who could actually abuse a child (at least, as far as Jack was concerned) were two things: first, he didn’t want to hurt Travis. Second, if there was one thing all the Richards men possessed in abundance, it was willpower. If he didn’t want to hurt his son, then no force in the universe could make him. Willpower saw him through the Academy and into a command of his own, it was seeing him through the death of his wife, and it would certainly see him through raising a son…without raising a hand to him again.
That night, as Travis lay asleep in bed, Jack went into the boy’s room and watched him for a while. Yes, the child was in the process of becoming a little hellion…but if he were only five years older, Jack would have been proud of him for sticking so firmly to his convictions; whether he had continued to be angry for not allowing him to view the casket at Violet’s funeral, or scowling at him from the second story window (not for the God crack, though). There were only two things regarding Travis at this point in the child’s life, of which Jack Richards was one hundred percent, absolutely sure of: that Travis was either going to become one hell of a man or one hell of a problem once this phase was over, and…and that he loved his son, regardless of outward appearances, or what was or wasn’t said between them. He silently vowed once more to never hit the boy again, kissed him on the cheek, then retired to his own bedroom for the night.
Unknown to Jack or Travis, the boy smiled in his sleep.
Travis decided to keep the peace, in regards to discussing his lack of belief in God with his father–which is to say, he kept his mouth shut and never ment
ioned it again. He obediently went to church every Sunday from then on out, and obtained some small measure of triumph by not singing along with the hymns. When his mother was alive, she always asked him to sing hymns with her. Travis loved her so much, he did whatever she asked, even though Jack never joined them in singing, due to the fact that he was such a bad singer, he couldn’t have carried a tune if it were stuffed in a backpack. Now, Jack said nothing as Travis sat quietly beside him throughout the mass, and was silently relieved that at least the boy had sense enough to not act up here.
The preschool year approached, and Jack had to face the dilemma of what to do with the boy. He and Violet had long ago agreed that she would be a stay-at-home mom while he continued his military career advancement. With her gone, Jack now had to assume full responsibility, which included placing him in a solid, reliable school…but the problem was that Jack’s funeral leave was up, and he had recently been called back to active duty. He would be unable to be there for his son when school let out in the afternoon, and no preschools had boarding facilities. He came up with a solution which he felt would please everyone, and was reservedly exhilarated when it turned out he was right…
“Of course I’ll take him,” Lisa told Jack, with what seemed to him to be equal measures of anticipation and relief. He was mildly insulted by this, but said nothing. Travis almost bounced off the walls with joy when he was told he would spend the school year in Virginia with his Auntie Lisa, and couldn’t have kept the boy from packing if he had strapped him to the bed with titanium bonds. For Jack, there was the surprise of sorrow and loss for him. Although he had never been as eager as Violet to adopt a child (Jack and Violet had wanted to have children of their own, but her ovaries were damaged in such a way that even modern medical science could do nothing for her), Jack still loved his foster son. Yes, the boy could be quite the hellion at times, but he was still his son. His child to mold, to shape emotionally, to impart his values to. Still, he knew the boy would be in good hands with Lisa Pfeiffer. He would still contact Travis via vidcom, if the boy didn’t mind. Maybe what the relationship really needed was time and distance. After all, a Heavy Cruiser was no place for a child…
The day Jack and Travis headed down to Virginia, a new family moved in to the house next door. They were Hispanic, and Jack noticed with no small amount of pleasure that the mother had quite a shape, even though she was at least his age. Her husband didn’t look like a military man in the slightest, and seemed to suffer from bad posture, although he appeared to be in shape otherwise. As Jack entertained some mild fantasies about catching the wife showering through an open bathroom window one solitary night, he noticed Travis staring intently out the passenger side window. Jack followed his gaze, and saw the reason: a dark-haired little girl, easily Travis’ age, wearing a light blue dress, had appeared from around the side of the moving truck. She bounced a ball, oblivious to the boy’s intense gaze. Jack nodded appreciatively of the young girl’s beauty. She obviously took after her mother, and there was no doubt she would grow up to be quite the looker. The girl happened to glance up as she bounced her ball, and saw Travis. With a seemingly knowing smile, she stopped bouncing and clutched the ball tightly to her with one hand as she waved pleasantly at him. Travis’ mouth gaped slightly, and as Jack pulled the ‘Kar out of their driveway, he had to stifle an outright laugh of relief.
At least the boy’s straight…
Chapter 1
(2175)
“Oh, man, look at that frosh pudding!”
Travis Rand and Carver Mackee shared an amused look and simply shook their heads as they sat on a bench in the quad with their friend, Jared LeVoy. Jared had just pointed out a batch of young freshman girls returning from a field trip. The girls, some dressed in softball uniforms, some wearing cheerleading outfits, stepped out of the Virginia North High School transport, chatting and giggling amongst themselves. Both Travis and Carver could almost prognosticate what was coming, but neither could pull themselves away from the impending train wreck.
“Hey! Hey,” Jared shouted at the girls, until at least a couple of the cheerleaders looked his way. “Gimme a ‘D’! Gimme an ‘I’!” he shouted as he pointed at his crotch. Travis lowered his head and pulled the sides of his school jacket up to cover his face as much as he could, while Carver couldn’t help but laugh hysterically. A couple of the girls snickered, while the others headed to the females only quarters and showers. One girl licked her lips lasciviously at Jared, but then gave him the finger. Travis saw this and joined in with Carver on the laughter. One of the trio’s peers, a moderately attractive young woman of about sixteen years, was headed around a corner into the co-ed learning center but changed course and headed over to join the boys when she saw the ruckus.
“And what are the Stooges up to today?” she asked.
“Lattimore!” Jared exclaimed in excitement and relief. “You’re an upperclassman. Help me out, love! If I go over and order those girls to perform some conduct unbecoming a Virginia North student, I can get accused of harassment and kicked out. But you can bring one over and tell her to raise her skirt for inspection! How about it, sweetheart?”
Sophia Lattimore’s mouth gaped slightly. She looked over at the last girl entering the all-girls’ unit; an uncomprehending young thing who was just starting to develop. She then looked back at Jared, staring at him as if he were something she had stepped in, wiped off her shoe, but almost made the mistake of stepping in a second time. “Y’know, LeVoy, back in the 20th Century, they had a term for you: ‘kid toucher’.” She continued, over Travis and Carver’s derisive laughter of their friend, “That girl probably isn’t even aware she’s developing breasts. She probably thinks they’re oversized mosquito bites! Jesus, she’s still got baby fat on her! Don’t you have any morals at all?”
Jared shot her a look of mock hurt. “Hey, I did ask you to go over to her, rather than me!”
Lattimore rolled her eyes. “Self preservation isn’t a moral, you moron.” Travis and Carver guffawed once more, but she cut them off. “And I can’t believe you two actually hang out with this specimen of de-evolution-in-progress! Rand, you and Mackee at least own half a brain between you.”
Travis shrugged. “Hey, hanging out with LeVoy makes me and Carver both look like poster boys for social graces.”
Lattimore almost smiled. “If you’re the poster boys for social graces, I’m a Calvorian slave wench.”
Jared’s eyes lit up. “Oh, I like the sound of that. I’d bet you’d look good in a loin cloth and chains, baby.”
“The only way you’d get to see me with chains is if I was wrapping one around your neck, LeVoy.” There was a dangerous edge in Lattimore’s voice, and Travis recognized that Jared was unexpectedly about to cross some unseen demarcation line. Whether or not Jared saw it was inconsequential; he always took things a step too far with the often moody girl, and never seemed to care. “He’s just being an idiot as always, Sophie. Don’t even worry about it.”
“Yeah,” Carver joined in quickly, seeing where Travis was going. “Besides, if we all got captured tomorrow, I know Jared would really be the first one thrown into a loin cloth…he’s got more of a girlish figure.”
Carver forced a good laugh out, but Travis and Jared winced: a look of hurt crossed Lattimore’s face, and her head bowed almost imperceptibly. She was a tall girl for her age, and very nearly non-femininely muscular, due to the extraordinary amount of chin-ups she enjoyed doing in the school gym. While not quite “manly”, she didn’t exactly have an hourglass figure by any stretch of the imagination. In spite of her pleasant facial features and ample bust, it was rare that any boys asked her out, and when they did, it never seemed to last. She turned on her heel and stalked away, Jared calling out behind her: “That’s it, baby! Sashay!”
Travis had known Jared LeVoy for the three years they had been at Virginia North, and knew that at the moment he wasn’t intentionally being cruel. He saw a problem, analyzed it and in his own unique w
ay, tried to come up with what he believed was an accordingly fitting solution to try to cheer up Lattimore…make her feel sexy. Still it wasn’t helping, and Travis slapped him across the back of the head like an unruly child to get him to stop.
“What?” Jared said, surprised. But Travis leaned past him, focusing instead on Carver. “Nice save, Superman,” he snapped at the blond-haired boy. “Hey, I didn’t mean anything by it, I was diggin’ on Jared,” Carver said defensively. “It’s not my fault she’s so damn sensitive about her shape. Go get some illegal gene splicing and take care of it, I say!”
“Hey, I wouldn’t put her on my all-time ‘Must Do’ list,” Jared told them, “but I’d bang ‘er in a crunch.”
“I’d advise you to never approach her with that line,” Travis said, staring at him disdainfully. “I guarantee you’ll wake up wondering where your teeth ran off to.”
“Well, what about you, Romeo?” Carver narrowed his eyes at Travis. “She never really seems to get upset with you about anything. Me, Jared, everybody else–we can get on her bad side just by asking if she’s heard the WeatherCom report for the day. But not you, buddy! Maybe you oughtta be the one to soothe the savage beast.”
“It’s ‘breast’,” Travis said quietly. “The real quote is ‘music hath charms to soothe the savage breast’.”
“Well, I wouldn’t always consider Lattimore to be entirely civilized, and she’s certainly got a healthy pair of unsoothed breasts…” Jared haltingly offered with a meaningful look at Travis.
Travis looked up at the clock over the entrance back to the main building. “Go back to checking out the babies and hope they don’t tell daddy, LeVoy,” he said absently. “I’ve got an appointment.” With that he rose, and made a quick motion like he was about to punch Jared. The redheaded boy flinched, so Travis playfully punched him twice in the arm for it and headed inside as his friends continued to while away the free period, waiting for more girls to pass by and making guesses as to what cup size Lattimore might be.