Heinlein's Finches by Robin Banks

Author:Robin Banks [Banks, Robin]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Publisher: UNKNOWN
Published: 2016-12-28T05:00:00+00:00

August

I am sitting in my office, alternatively practicing my focus exercises and musing on how pointless everything I do seems to be, when I hear and sense a commotion down the hallway. I bolt out the door and race down towards the refectory. Turns out it’s just as well that I hurried, because when I get there Clint has pinned a chick by the neck against the wall and is about to pound on him.

“Clint! Stop! I don’t know what’s going on but you do not want to do that.”

Clint turns to me with a frown, without letting the poor guy go. “He sez bad things about Asher!”

“Maybe he did and maybe he didn’t but you’re holding him off the floor and he can’t breathe. So how about you put him down and we can discuss this? Before he dies? Whatever this is about, it’s not worth jail time.”

Clint begrudgingly drops the guy, who takes in big, gasping breaths. As soon as he’s able to talk again, I regret my intervention.

“You asshole! I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true! If PTSD McGee hadn’t totally fucked up our training, this wouldn’t be happening. He shouldn’t be teaching cadets. He’s a fucking nutjob.” The crowd of cadets around him mutters in agreement.

Clint’s just about to have at the guy again, when I step in front of him.

“What did you just say?”

“The truth. PTSD McGee messed our training up. A bunch of us have failed already. A bunch more will fail. You know what that means? If we don’t pass, we don’t graduate. No Patrol for us. Just because they decided to hire some guy who’s so mental he spends his nights crying and pissing the bed.”

“That’s a lie.”

“Is it? You’d know. You’re his little bedtime buddy, aren’t you, there to hold his hands and clean him up,” he sneers. The crowd sniggers.

I breathe and breathe and breathe. If I say anything, I will explode. I’m about to lose my shit, and if I do so will Clint. There’s a whole bunch of them and only two of us and it really won’t look good when they have to remove all their bodies from the corridor and we two have to explain what happened. I breathe until I trust myself to talk without ripping throats out.

“There’s nothing wrong with Asher’s teaching methods. Or Asher. You can check out the records for the last five years. Highest success rates ever.”

“Yeah, well, now he’s got the highest failure rate ever. Congratulations. And we’re the ones to pay for his fuck-ups. Fucking loser. Couldn’t fucking handle the Patrol, why do they think he could teach? Should have been put in an institution when he started to lose his head.”

“Have you even looked at his service records? Do you even fucking know what PTSD is?”

“I know my dad served and came back home hurt bad and he doesn’t spend his nights crying for his mommy.”

Sometimes intense emotions convey images clearly enough to tell me a whole story. This is one of those times.

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