day?”
Alex was about to say ‘no’ when he realized that wasn’t strictly true. He had actually given it a great deal of thought, he just hadn’t come to any firm decisions. He didn’t understand Black Protocols, or anything of the kind, so it had been a bit difficult to formulate an opinion. But, he figured that when it came to Alice Gallow, honesty was definitely the best policy.
“Yeah, I did,” he admitted slowly, considering. “But, I’m not really sure that I have an answer for you.”
Alice looked at him with something that was either amusement or contempt. Either way, it made Alex feel profoundly uncomfortable.
“Emily’s a pretty girl, isn’t she?”
Alice asked the question quietly, from behind her inappropriate smile, kicking the heels of her boots against the stone wall as if they were chatting about the weather.
“What?”
The confusion is his voice had already started to change into worry.
“The girl you were just snuggling with. The blond,” Alice reminded him helpfully. “Pretty, right?”
Alex nodded. It seemed like the safest bet, since he didn’t know what he would have said.
“Pretty helpless, too,” Alice continued on blithely. “I truly hate that, you know. So, what would you do if I decided that I hated her so much that I was going to do something about it, Alex?”
“Is this hypothetical,” Alex asked carefully, “or do you actually hate Emily?”
“Does it matter?” Alice’s voice was like ice-water, sending shivers up his back. “What if I wanted to hurt Emily? Would you try and stop me?”
Alex shook his head and inched away from Alice on the wall. He wasn’t sure what was going on, but he was sure he didn’t like it.
“Could I?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Alice said firmly. “Either you would try or you wouldn’t. Nobody’s asking you to succeed.”
“Sure,” Alex said, shrugging and doing his best to look unconcerned. “I mean, if I could, and if you were actually going to do that, then sure, I’d want to stop you.”
Alice patted him on the leg approvingly and stood back up. Just like that, the threatening atmosphere dissipated.
“Good enough for me. We were going to put you through the Program no matter what, truthfully, but I’m glad to hear you’re willing. You should probably go back to class, now. Still plenty of time.”
“That isn’t what I meant when I said…”
Alice put a finger up to her lips.
“Shh. How else you gonna stop me, Alex? A strongly worded letter? Make a call to your member of Congress?”
“Wait,” Alex said, scratching his head, “you said something about putting me in a program, right? What are you talking about?”
“Not a program. The Program. You’ll find out tomorrow in your Applied Combat Fundamentals class,” Alice said, walking off, waving without looking back. “Say hi to Mitzi for me.”
Alex watched her walk away, dumbfounded. It was a minute or so before it all clicked into place for him. He was, of course, doomed. But, Alex found that he was still confused on at least one significant point.
“Wait, Miss Gallow,” he called out after her. “Who is Mitzi?”
Twenty Three
Mitsuru sat in the middle of a long, wood paneled room, cross-legged on the floor. Behind her, there were inactive shooting lanes, their battered targets hanging forlornly. In the distance, time was punctuated by the distant pops of rifle training occurring on the range outside. In front of her, on a green cloth, was a matte-black.45 caliber Glock 36 semiautomatic pistol, and Alex bent over it, wiping sweat from his brow and wishing that he had ditched class, or, failing that, could find the damn firing pin that he had set aside only a moment ago.
He didn’t bother to look up when the door opened behind him. He only hoped that it would be something that would interrupt firearms drills.
“Gustav, thank you for coming,” Mitsuru said. “You’re early, but we can go ahead and start. This one’s fairly hopeless when it comes to guns.”
Even Alex wasn’t totally sure what it was that he muttered. So, when he found himself suddenly sprawled on his back, Mitsuru crouching over him with a handful of his hair knotted around her fist, demanding to know what he’d said, it was rather awkward. She’d hit him, he realized belatedly, from the way his jaw ached, but he’d never even seen it. It had been almost like he’d fallen over by himself.
Alex attempted a variety of sullen apologies, and then, after her grip tightened on his hair and brought tears to his eyes, a much more sincere one that seemed to satisfy Mitsuru. She released her hold and stepped off of him, resuming her former position, sitting on the floor.
“I am not Michael. This is not Michael’s class. Michael coddles you and cares for you. I will not. Whatever it is that he has taught you, it isn’t enough,” Mitsuru said flatly, her red eyes cold and disinterested. “You will ask questions whenever you need too, here, and when you do so, you will do so respectfully. Otherwise, I do not wish to hear you speak unless you are spoken to. Do you understand all this?”
“Yeah,” Alex said, rubbing his head resentfully. “I guess I do.”
“Very well. Then let me introduce Gustav Esteban, who will assist in your instruction,” Mitsuru said, pointing at the wizened old man who was currently setting up a folding chair beside them. Alex nodded at him, but the white-haired man didn’t give any indication that he’d noticed. “He’s a telepath, a very special kind of telepath, and the Academy values him far more than we value you. So, you will kindly ignore the fact that he is a horrible bastard.”
“I see,” Alex said, staring at the smiling man in his pressed suit, grinning from ear to ear with a face so wrinkled that it was difficult to tell if his eyes were open or not. “A telepath, huh?”
“It’s fun, isn’t it? Michael’s class? Yes, I know its hard work, but it’s a rewarding kind of work, don’t you agree?”
“I guess,” Alex allowed, figuring that resenting all classes on principal was still more or less a responsibility of his as a student.
“That’s because Michael’s class isn’t about fighting, Alex, its only training. And training is important, Alex, don’t get me wrong. But, it isn’t combat. Combat is scary, scary and painful and bad. Most people like some aspect of training, whether it’s the yoga or the swimming or the judo, part of it appeals to most Operators. But nobody likes combat, Alex, not really, except for Alice Gallow. And she doesn’t count,” Mitsuru added thoughtfully, “because she is a total psychopath.”
“Right,” Alex said uncertain. “That is the most I’ve heard you say so far.”
“Ask a question or shut up and listen,” Mitsuru said, eyeing him.
Alex elected to shut up and not get hit again.
“Now, onto the business at hand. Do you know what the problem with beating you to death is, Alex?”
“Well, I can think of several, actually,” Alex said, smiling tightly and shifting uncomfortably against the floor. He wished that someone had told him about the folding chairs in the corner when he came in, like the one Gustavo had. He’d been waiting for a good opportunity to get one for himself, but it hadn’t happened yet — he really didn’t want to interrupt Mitsuru while she was talking. Particularly not if she was serious about the beating thing.
“You wouldn’t learn anything from it,” Mitsuru said ruefully, “unfortunately. Because trying to explain is so much more difficult. As far as learning incentives go, there’s nothing like having your life on the line.”
Alex finished reassembling the pistol, snapping the slide into place, working the action, and then slotting the clip and checking the safety. He set it down in the center of the green cloth, and looked up at Mitsuru for a reaction. He didn’t get one — she was looking at someone behind him disapprovingly.
“You’re late,” she said icily. “Do I need to remind you how much I disapprove of tardiness?”
“Sorry, Miss Aoki,” Steve grumbled, making a face at Alex as he walked by him. “It won’t happen again.”
