Published: 05 Dec 2016

Part VII

THREE WORLDS
Formerly Published as “0300 Books I, II, and III”

Chapter 18: Fleet School—Sydney, Australia

The admiral’s waiting room was unchanged except perhaps for a stronger odor of nervous sweat. That may have been my imagination. The aide was the same cold fish as the year before. “The admiral will see you, now, sir.”

I saluted the admiral and sat at his gesture. The aide brought coffee for me. Uh, oh. This is going to be a long meeting, I thought. I sugared and creamed the coffee. Might as well enjoy it.

“Paul, welcome back. I’ve reviewed your report. Well, the summary they let me read.”

He chuckled. “You promoted the entire junior mess. Outstanding. That happens too rarely. I hope you don’t mind if I mention this in the All-Fleet Bulletin. There will be emphasis on the training and the rigorous quality control you implemented, of course.”

“No objection, sir.” I said. I figured short answers would maybe get me in less trouble and out of his office, sooner.

“What were the keys to your success?” he asked. “And I don’t want one-word answers, either.”

Oops. “First, I insisted that every officer and senior non-commissioned officer teach his specialty, and I demanded quality lesson plans from each of them. Those plans are included in the full report. I think that helped some of the crew remember stuff from their own training they’d forgotten or overlooked.

“Second, I made every duty shift for the boys an exercise or real-world classroom. No one just sat and monitored lights and numbers on a console. I did leave time for the adults to tell stories, though. Some of those were better lessons than anything in the fleet curriculum.

“Third, I demanded that the junior mess cooperate with one another and train one another. I also put the senior ensign in charge of discipline, and made sure he understood that ‘discipline’ didn’t mean punishment or hazing.

“Finally, I personally evaluated every one of the junior’s progress monthly, more often if needed, and focused remedial training where it was needed. It wasn’t needed often, sir, for which I am happy.”

The admiral looked at his report, and then pushed a button on his communicator. The aide answered. “I want a meeting tomorrow, 1300, with the entire G-7 senior staff. No exceptions. And, I want Captain Stewart’s complete after action report in ten minutes.”

He shut down the communicator. “Paul, I won’t ask you to be there. You’re going to have enough to do. I want you to know, however, that you may have changed all of the fleet’s training for the better. You’re going to have a chance to show that on a large scale. Your next assignment will be Commandant of the Fleet School, in Sidney.”

School commandant was the best shore assignment short of Admiral Davis’s own. It was primo, plum! And Tobor didn’t tell me. Wonder if he didn’t know, or if the Admiral just decided—Oops, he’s still talking.

“Now, other than promoting him, how did George work out?”

“Quite well, sir. He needed a challenge; he got it. Not just in the training program we offered, but as a real crewman on a real ship. He can teach himself by computer anything that we can offer in the classroom. The ship made all that real to him. He needed ‘hands-on’ experience.

“He needed a mentor; he got one. I’ve promised to be that mentor; he is content… no, happy, in that relationship.

“He needed someone he could share his happiness with, his successes, and his failures. He found that in my son, Danny.

I hesitated, and then added, “Danny and George became so close, they’re like brothers. George’s father was Fleet; he died before he could take George into space.”

The admiral knew about George’s dad. I sensed he was getting impatient. “I’ve adopted George. He and Danny are now brothers.

“They’re also boyfriends, and I couldn’t be happier with that. George shares his joy and the occasional sadness with both of us. Thank you for letting me take him, Admiral.”

The admiral stood and offered his hand. It was the first time he’d done that. I set down the coffee cup, stood, and accepted his handshake. “Thank you, Paul, Bravo Zulu.”

We had two weeks shore leave between the Independence and our reporting date to Australia. After a week with Alex’s family in Morocco, I made the strategic mistake of asking the boys what they would like to do next. I’m not entirely sure if it was coincidence, or if they’d conspired, but Disneyland was at the top of their lists.

We could have used the veil to move to the head of the lines, but Danny found another way. He hacked the theme park’s computer, and created a list with directions and times for which rides had the shortest lines. He also kept a live link with Tobor to get updates. Danny’s a clever boy.

On our third day, I’d had about enough of Our Small World, when Alex begged for one more ride. The ride consisted of boats guided by underwater rails along a canal. Groups of animated dolls resembling children from cultures recognizable to a child, if not not to an anthropologist, sang constantly. The words (and the melody) of the song were incredibly banal. Still, they were catchy. I expected that they’d be replaying in my head for days, if not years, to come.

Okay, I’ll admit it: I was a sucker for whatever these kids wanted. So, we took one more ride. Alex and I were in the front seat; George and Danny in the back.

Something went wrong.

Between Japan and France, our boat took a turn into a maintenance tunnel. We’d been on the ride often enough that we knew this was different. The tunnel opened into a lagoon. The boat moved toward a dock. A man in a jump suit stood on the dock.

“Please step out of the boat. There’s a problem.” Danny’s shot got him in the bridge of his nose. George’s bullet was a microsecond later, and penetrated his left eye. The guy was dead well before their second and third shots reached his brain—what little was left of it.

I had pushed Alex to the bottom of the boat as I drew my pistol. My three shots in the guy’s heart were fractionally later than the boys’, and were probably unnecessary.

Alex was whimpering. It’s okay. He was only nine. He didn’t collapse or anything; he was still functioning. We stepped out of the boat and away from the guy’s body. Danny tossed a flash grenade into the boat. By the time we walked through an exit door, the boat was engulfed in flames. There would be no fingerprints or DNA evidence for Tobor to deal with.

We didn’t go back to the hotel, but took a shuttle directly to Geneva. A call to the hotel took care of checkout and ensured that our stuff would be on the next shuttle—after it was screened by Fleet Security. After we reached Geneva, and checked into quarters, I sent Alex to wait for us in the Officers’ Mess, summoned Danny and George to my room, and told them to sit.

“What did I tell you about head shots?” I asked.

“Paul, that’s for kids,” Danny said.

“We’re better than that, now,” George added.

“Give me your pistols, both of you.” There was no love, no giggles, and no cuddles in my voice. Danny and George were scared. They knew something was badly wrong. They unclipped their pistols, dropped the magazines in their hands, checked that there wasn’t a round in the chamber, locked the slides back, and handed the weapons to me, butt first. I set them on the table in front of me, and then took the magazines.

“What did I say about head shots?”

“Never, unless that’s the only shot you have.”

“Did I say ‘never until you think you’re not kids?’ ”

“No, sir.”

“No, sir.”

“Did I say ‘never until you think you’re too good?’ ”

“No, sir… no, sir.”

They were both crying, now. Tears flowed down their cheeks, but they weren’t sobbing. Their control or their hurt was too great for that.

“Will you ever disobey me, again?”

“Not about that,” Danny said. George nodded.

“Come here,” I said. I opened my arms, took one on each knee, and hugged them.

“I love you,” I said. “I’m proud of your accomplishments, including your marksmanship badges. You know there are some orders you can disobey, but only after you’ve thought about them and know the reason. Did you think about that when you were in the tunnel.”

“No sir… no sir.”

Now I had one of my son’s head on each shoulder, shaking and wetting my uniform with tears. I pushed. Their sobs changed to sniffles. Then, I had the inestimably wonderful experience of kissing tears from their cheeks.

After several hugs and some sloppy, wet kisses, they were okay. “Take your weapons,” I said. “You’re back on duty. I love you both.”

I waited until the next day before holding a formal debriefing. “Danny, you fired first so you get to go first. What did you think, what did you feel that caused you to shoot?”

Danny was understandably nervous; I sensed him thinking about headshots, and pushed love and encouragement. He felt it, grinned, and started talking.

“I knew something was wrong the instant the boat left the main channel and went into the other tunnel. There was an odd feeling from in front of us. It was like I felt just before I found Paul—scared and helpless rolled into one. I thought, maybe, there was a boy who needed help and he had made the boat take us to him. Then I saw the man standing on the edge of the channel, and knew the feelings were coming from him.

“As soon as he spoke, I felt danger. I knew that he meant to harm us—”

“Danny, forgive me for interrupting, but—think carefully. Show us what you felt.”

Danny thought, and then sent the image to George and me.

“George, did you feel this, too?”

George thought. “No, but I felt something from Danny, and knew… and before you ask, yes, I was absolutely sure.”

I blocked hard; I didn’t want them ever to see that I’d not been completely confident in their judgment. “Thank you, boys. You saved all our lives. You did what had to be done. I am sorry, though, that you had to kill him.”

Danny and George jumped up and tried to sit in my lap at the same time. Alex looked on in astonishment. I cuddled the two boys.

“I think you just wanted an excuse to hug us,” Danny whispered.

After the boys went back to their own seats, we continued the debriefing. We reached some tentative conclusions. The man in the tunnel, just like the cop and just like the abbe, had been under the mental control of someone inimical to us. He was likely a “stooge,” who either had no Meta abilities or had just enough to be controlled. It was nearly certain that there were other Metas, and that they knew about us. We were under attack and at war; our survival was at stake. There would be no quarter from them or from us.

I was still convinced of our invulnerability; that there might be someone out there whose push was stronger than mine was not something I thought about. It took another attack before I was willing to believe that the others might be more powerful than I was. Hubris? In hindsight, probably.

Danny took our conversation and put it into the kind of language that Tobor could parse. Then, we linked to Tobor by secure teleconference. Tobor rendered himself on the computer screen as a twelve-year-old boy. Interesting, I thought, and then dismissed it as Danny began talking.

“Tobor, please take the following parameters as fact:

“There are some people, including Paul, George, Alex, and me, who are significantly smarter and stronger and with faster reflexes than most other people.

“We can communicate mind-to-mind; most other people cannot.

‘We call these physical and mental abilities, Meta abilities, and ourselves Meta-humans.

“There are other Meta-humans.

“Three of us were in Fleet when we discovered these things about ourselves, suggesting that Fleet may be a fertile ground for our development. I was not in Fleet, suggesting that Fleet is not the only place we may be found.

“Some Meta-humans are inimical to us; they have attacked us four times. Use data from files ‘Seattle Policeman,’ ‘Scotland Abbe,’ ‘Kenya,’ and ‘Disneyland Boat.’

“Tobor, please undertake the following tasks:

“Keep all information related to Meta-humans secret from everyone except the four of us and others we may identify to you in the future.

“Search Fleet personnel records for other Meta-humans. Correlate their locations with the three attacks and provide likelihood that they were involved in the attacks. Notify us of all Meta-humans you discover in the Fleet records.

“Tobor, please respond.”

The boy on the screen nodded, and in his flat, emotionless voice said, “You are not the only Meta-humans. I have identified in Fleet sixteen others who may be. None could have been involved in the attacks on you. None of the others have been attacked. Fleet personnel records are privileged. I may not reveal them to you, or reveal you to them.”

“Nova sol!” Danny said. He tried to override the confidentiality of personnel records, but could not. It was deep in the core programming that even he could not reach. After two tries, I stopped him. In a way, I was glad he couldn’t get the info. If Danny couldn’t hack something, no one could. I wasn’t entirely happy, but realized that we would have at least the same protection Tobor provided the others.

Fleet School Australia competed in academics, military skills, and athletics with the other three principal schools—Edmonton, Cardiff, and Geneva—as well as the smaller, specialized schools in Quebec, Charleston, Nazca, Bayreuth, and Shemya. As commandant, I would be expected to travel with our teams. My security detail, Danny, George, and Alex, would travel with me. Yes, I’d given Alex a weapon and a lot of training. Alex fell in love with the 50-caliber sniper rifle, which was as long as he was tall. I told him he’d have to grow into it, and to stick to the Sig Sauer 9mm pistol and the issue MK-7 rifle when he was on duty. I felt his disappointment, so I had one of the 50-cals issued to me and kept it in my quarters except when I took Alex to the range. He got quite good. I hoped that wasn’t a portent of things to come.

It wasn’t long before Danny and George demanded I allow Alex to visit me alone, including sleepovers. I made it clear that sleepovers didn’t mean sex stuff, and they looked at me like I was crazy.

“Of course not!” George said. “But you know Alex needs daddy-hugs and cuddles, and you left his daddy on the Independence!”

“That wasn’t my idea,” I said. I had offered Alex’s father a transfer, but Don asked to remain on the Independence. He wanted Alex to go it on his own for a while.

I needn’t have worried. About Alex and sex stuff, that is. The first time he came over for an evening, he spent most of it cleaning the already-clean rifle. After a few visits, he learned to clean the rifle in less than five minutes, and spent the rest of his time getting hugs and cuddles.

It didn’t take much pushing to get the school staff to go along with the changes in the curriculum. My boys seemed to get along with the boys in their Element and most of the boys in the other Elements of their Flotilla seemed to remember them, despite the veil. I was happy that they had each other, and hoped for more, soon. Tobor was, of course, silent on that subject.

My job was easy: the staff knew their jobs, and did them well. If I hadn’t been busy recruiting Metas, I would have gotten bored.

Will showed up at my office one afternoon.

“Come in, Will. My aide said you’re on the yearbook staff, and have some questions.” Danny had screened the kid, and passed him through, although there was a hint of confusion in Danny’s mind. I kept on guard.

“Sir, yes, sir,” the kid snapped as he saluted.

I returned his salute, and then said, “Will, the first thing is for you to relax. Please, sit.”

“Uh, yes, sir.”

“So, what can I do for the yearbook?” I asked. Is he going to want a picture? I’ll have to give him the one that makes me look 40. It would never do for him to take one of me, the veil won’t— He was talking.

“We have your official photo, sir, but I wanted to talk about your bio. You see, I wrote home to say we had a new commandant. My aunt wrote back that she recognized your name, and sent me a newspaper clipping from the local paper. It was a real newspaper in a real letter, and took three whole days to get here! And it had a real postage stamp on it.” He was quite taken with the uniqueness of a hard-copy letter.

“She said she had known your mother and father, and remembered when you were born—”

“Where does your aunt live?” I fought to keep my face expressionless.

“In Marfa, Texas, now, sir, but she used to live in Valentine, where you were born. Here’s the clipping, sir. It matches what’s in your biography—father and mother’s name and all. My aunt wrote April 15, _____ on it … which is impossible, of course. She must have meant ____, and just got the year wrong.”

I read the clipping. It was from the Valentine Texas Weekly, a paper that apparently never had been digitized. For this, I was grateful. It’s likely that there were no other copies of this clipping in existence. Will’s aunt must have kept it between the pages of a book; otherwise, it would have disintegrated or faded to illegibility, even in the few years that had elapsed.

Births: Paul Alexander Stewart, son of the late Commander Alexander Stewart and his wife, Alice Goodson Stewart of Valentine. Commander Stewart was killed in action at the Battle of Novosibirsk two months ago. I looked up to see Will holding another clipping.

“I … I don’t know, sir” he stuttered. I felt his anguish, and knew what he held.

“It’s the report of my mother’s death, isn’t it, Will?”

Will nodded. I saw moisture in the corner of his eyes. Nova sol! He’s one of us. Are we all crybabies? I pushed aside that thought and replaced it with another: not crybabies. There’s no one stronger than my boys. But we do wear our hearts on our sleeves.

“Will, I know about that. I know that she died shortly after I was born, and that it was likely due to complications from childbirth. I’ve gotten over it, and I’ve gotten over the six years I was in an orphanage before I entered Fleet schools.”

“Your bio doesn’t say much about that, sir, just that you attended Fleet School. But which one?”

“More than one, Will. I kept having to switch. Edmonton, Cardiff, Nazca, Shemya.”

“Why did you switch so much?” he asked.

“Didn’t—” I almost said, “Didn’t play well with others,” but that would have been a flip answer to a serious question, so I said, “I didn’t get along with the others, Will. Couldn’t make friends. Didn’t make enemies, either. I kept hoping I would connect with someone at another school. It didn’t work.

“And now, you know more about me than anyone except my sons.”

Will drew a deep breath. I saw him shudder and felt his loneliness. “Why did you tell me, sir?” His voice was nearly a whisper.

By this time, I’d read enough of Will to know that he was one of us. The note that Tobor put on my computer screen had been unnecessary confirmation.

Rather than answer his question, I posed one to him. “Will, what if your aunt didn’t write the wrong date? What if I really were born in ____?”

I could feel Will pushing aside the veil. It took zero time for him to subtract one date from another to figure my age—another indication he was one of us—and less time than that to realize the implications. “You’re … you’re just a kid?”

I gave Will a few minutes to assimilate what his mind had taken a few nanoseconds to process, and then said, “Yes, Will, I’m only a few years older than you, and a lot younger than any other Captain. I’m different. So are George and Danny and Alex.

“So are you, Will.”

That started his mind on another path that took several more instants. Then, “What are we?” he asked.

Will’s voice held no hesitation and no fear. I offered an explanation, and reinforced what I said with thoughts: words and images send directly to Will’s mind. When I finished, he sat quietly for a moment.

“There must be something in our DNA,” he said, and began to rattle off a lecture on organic chemistry. Not general organic, which involves just about any molecule that includes carbon, but organic as it applied to the human genome and the human nervous system. I held up my hand.

“I take it you’re a whiz in biochemistry,” I said.

Will blushed. “Whiz is a polite way of putting it. Most of the guys just say I’m a geek.”

“Then you’re going to fit right in,” I said. “There are four of us here—five now, counting you. Danny’s a math and computer geek, and proud of it. George is a physics geek, and Alex is … well, I’m not sure how to classify him. He’s got an innate knack for space, shape, and color and their relationships. We’ll call him our art geek for now. It looks like you’re the biochemistry geek on our team. If you want to join, that is.”

I held my breath. He now knew too much to let him walk away. I thought I could wipe the critical memories without destroying his personality; but I wasn’t sure. Nova sol! I hope I’ve made the right decision.

Will’s answer was carefully constructed. “Sir, when I found out that you were an orphan, I was very sad. Actually, I cried. I cried until I was sick—I threw up in the toilet. Then, I realized that I wasn’t crying for you, but for me.

“I wasn’t an orphan, but I might as well have been. My parents ignored me. Sometimes it was as if I wasn’t even there!”

The veil, I thought. It was a side effect of the veil. No wonder we’re so hungry for a hug, for a kiss, for companionship, and for love.

“They didn’t give me presents at birthdays or festivals; but they gave my brother and sister presents. And no one seemed to think that was odd.

“When I was eight, I ran away from home. I hitched to Houston. I was wandering around, looking for a safe place to sleep, when I saw the Fleet Compound.

“I knew about Fleet Schools, and I knew that sometimes, adults would believe what I told them, even though I lied.

“I figured nothing could be worse than being alone, so I went to the gate. I told the Marines on duty that I was supposed to report to Fleet School. I figured at least I’d get supper.

“They called someone, and a few minutes later, a shuttlecraft landed. The Marines escorted me to the shuttle. Four hours later, I was here.

“That’s where I’ve been since then. Here, and alone.”

I stood and opened my arms. Will hesitated for only an instant before he rushed to me.

“Will, you’ll never be alone, again. Not if I can help it.” It was an excellent hug, even though Will soaked the front of my uniform with his tears; but, they were what Danny called happy tears. I was glad Will wanted to share them with me.

I had given the boys officers’ Sig Sauer 9-mms rather than the standard issue Glocks. As soon as Will found out that Danny, George, and Alex had service weapons, he wanted them, too. I requisitioned the weapons, and gave them to George with strict instructions about safety training. George answered with an “Aye, aye, sir,” which told me he took my instructions seriously.

I also felt the glow of his pride in my confidence in him. It was good to be a daddy! Now, I thought, there are four geeks… five counting me, I guess. Armed geeks… Geeks with Guns! I was careful to screen that, but not careful enough. Danny picked up on it the following weekend when we were all on the range. The boys loved it, and would have had T-shirts imprinted if I hadn’t cautioned them of the need for secrecy.

Our next recruit came after something of a crisis that threatened the veil. The school Comm-O came to my office; his message said the visit was urgent. I offered him a seat and raised my eyebrows. That was enough to get him started.

“Sir, I have received a report of unauthorized and perhaps illegal use of comm-electronics circuits. I’ve investigated, but cannot fully determine the nature. I thought to report it to Fleet Intelligence; but, since it involves your son, Danny, I thought to ask you, first.”

He hesitated. I waited. I tried to keep my face impassive. I did not want to either encourage or frighten him. Finally, he continued.

“Sir, my step-brother serves on the Independence. He is the Armorer, and his son is a friend of Danny and George. He has said nothing but good things about you. I couldn’t believe you would allow Danny to do anything illegal and I didn’t want to blot your record by reporting this to the Intel guys.”

He seemed nervous, now. “I hope I’ve done the right thing.”

I pushed reassurance and trust, but not too much. I wanted him to know that his attitude toward Danny and me was his own idea, his own decision.

“My assurance that you did the right think has little weight,” I said. “However, if you would open a channel to the Fleet Mainframe, I will ask that you be given access that should provide all the assurance you need. Would that be satisfactory?”

“Yes, sir, it would, but it’s not really necessary—”

“Yes, it is necessary,” I interrupted. “Danny and I have created a conflict between your duty and your loyalty; we should not have done that. It is our responsibility to correct it.”

He opened the channel on the console in my office. I used voice commands: “Computer authorize Level 7 access to Communications Officer Stanley.”

Tobor responded, also by voice. “Level seven authorized Communications Officer Stanley Fleet School Sydney Australia be aware that your access to and knowledge of this level is classified Cosmic Top Secret please acknowledge.”

The look on Lt. Stanley’s face was priceless. I anticipated his question. “Yes, he speaks.

Stanley jerked his head in a quick nod. “Computer, I acknowledge classification. Computer, please confirm authorization for secure circuit…” He rattled off a series of numbers and letters. “… for Cadet Danny Stewart.”

“At this level I am not computer I am Tobor specified circuit authorized by Captain Paul Stewart Commandant Fleet School Australia confirmed by Fleet G-6 knowledge of this circuit is classified Cosmic Top Secret please acknowledge.”

“Tobor, I acknowledge. Thank you.” Stanley turned to me. “Do I need to log off or something?”

“Thanks, Tobor. Good bye,” I said.

“No, a simple good bye is enough,” I added. “Please remember that knowledge of the existence of Level 7 is strictly need-to-know. I don’t think you know anyone who has that need, including my replacement next year. If you have any questions, access Tobor, yourself, and ask him, okay?”

He nodded, and I continued. “How did you find Danny’s circuit?”

“One of his classmates, Cadet Marty MacLaughlan, reported some unusual traffic. I checked it out.”

Marty was alone in one of the comm-electronic laboratories when Danny and George cornered him. Their manner wasn’t unfriendly, nor was it casual.

“You found my circuit to Fleet,” Danny said. “What made you suspect?” he asked.

Marty paled. “There was a high-speed link between the school and the Fleet mainframe that I couldn’t break into, and it was full of traffic. I traced it to your quarters. I could get a breakdown on flow, but it was really weird. It’s trinary, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is,” Danny said. “You shouldn’t have been able to get that much out of it. Why were you trying to break in?”

Marty shrugged. “It’s just something I do. Class is so boring and I already know all the tech manuals. I don’t have any friends. Everybody thinks I’m a geek.

“Um, how did you know I found it?”

“Sorry, can’t tell you that,” Danny said. “Who did you tell?”

“Are you going to kill me?” Marty asked. He’d pushed aside enough of the veil to see the pistols that Danny and George wore. Kids with service pistols? He knew that was wrong. His lips quivered, and tears poured down his cheeks.

“Oh, no!” George said, and pushed reassurance. “We don’t want to kill you, we want you to join us.” By this time, George had read enough to be sure.

“Join us? Join who? Are you spies or something?”

“No, Marty,” Danny said. “We’re your brothers.” He pushed knowledge along with love and understanding.

A light bloomed in Marty’s mind. He pushed the veil completely from his mind, and saw himself as he was. Danny held out his arms, and Marty stepped into a hug, the first hug he’d had in a long, long time.

Chapter 19: Hamish and Matthew—Free Republic of California

The Don had told us we would go to school, and that we would help destroy the Reverends. He also said that we would use our knowledge of Las Vegas to do that. I had to tell him—I couldn’t hide behind a lie. “Don Renaldo, sir, we don’t know anything about Las Vegas. We never got outside the _____ Palace Casino except when we were brought there from the Sheriff’s station, and when we escaped.”

“You may know more than you think you know,” he said. “But don’t worry. There will be a place for you in any case. The first thing, however, is to get you cleaned up, fed, and into some real clothes.”

He picked up a thing with a wire attached and spoke into it. “Please have Ethan report to me.”

“Your host and squad leader will be a boy a little older than you are, Hamish. His name is Ethan, and he is a corporal in the army. He will—”

“The Army?” I interrupted. “Sorry, sir.”

The Don brushed it off. “The Army of the Free Republic of California, Santa Ana Division,” he said. “After you have lived with us for a while, you will be invited to join the army, but not until you are a little older and know more about it, and us.”

Ethan looked to be about twelve years old, and wore a black and gray outfit. I gasped. “The uniform! You were the demons who attacked Las Vegas!” I realized he might not like being called a demon, so I shut up.

“Actually,” Ethan said, “all the boys in the First Battle of Las Vegas were either captured or killed. We’ve seen the Reverends’ televisor images. Have you?”

I nodded, as did Matthew.

“Good. That is something we can talk about.”

“We know the name of one of the soldiers,” Matthew reminded me.

“Yes. His name was Artie,” I said. “Some of the boys recognized him. He had been…” I didn’t want to say what he had been, so once again, I shut up.

“We know,” the Don said. “He had been a sex slave of the Reverends, just as you would have been had you been a little older and—”

Ethan must have seen something in our faces. “You were? But you’re too young, even for them!”

“Not a Reverend,” Matthew said. I knew how hard it was for him to say even that. “A Deacon. Deacon Jerome. He raped me. And Hamish killed him.”

“He was the Scudder’s son,” I said.

“Damn,” Ethan whispered. “I’m sorry. Come on, we have a lot to do.”

Ethan took us to a barracks, one that was built of stone, and had windows that closed and a swamp cooler that worked. “Are you boyfriends? I think you are,” he said. “It’s okay,” he hastened to add.

“Yes,” Matthew said. “I love Hamish.”

“Yes,” I said. “I love Matthew. I am responsible for him.”

Ethan nodded. “You will have a room, together. From the things Artie told us, we know things in the boys’ quarters are a little—unscheduled,” he said. “Here, we are more disciplined and regimented. It may be hard for you to become accustomed—”

“What?” He must have seen something in our faces.

“Matthew and I came to Las Vegas from a Sheriff’s ranch in the desert. We know about discipline, punishment, and schedules.”

“In that case,” Ethan said, “you may be able to teach us some things.”

Matthew and I bathed in a shower, a room in which water came from a nozzle above our heads. We were given clothes: trousers and shirts of grey cotton, sturdy sandals, and small clothes of cotton. Ethan showed us how to store the extras, and explained that even though we weren’t in the army, we’d be called “Privates” and would say “sir” to officers. “I’m just a corporal, so you can call me Ethan.”

Supper was in a mess hall full of noisy boys. Most of them were in their teens, but some were younger. Most wore black and gray, but there were some like us in all-gray. We stood in line to have trays and plates filled with food, which was much better than the ranch, but not as good as the Reverends’ dining hall. We ate at a table with Ethan’s squad, now ours.

There were about twenty other boys at the table. Ethan sat at the head. As soon as we sat down, he rapped a spoon on the table and got their attention. “This is Hamish,” he said. “His boyfriend is Matthew. They escaped from Las Vegas like Artie did. They are now members of the squad. We will initiate them later, after they’ve had a chance to get their bearings. Until then help them, be kind to them. Any questions?”

Even though a couple of the boys were older than Ethan, they nodded and said, “Yes Corporal,” with the others.

I was hardly paying attention. Ethan had said that Matthew and I were boyfriends! And no one seemed to care. He said it was okay, but this is a lot more than okay!

After supper, Ethan took us back to our room, showed us where the crapper was, and said he’d send someone for us in time for breakfast.

As soon as he left, Matthew rushed to me, and hugged me. “Hamish, I’m so happy. Thank you for saying we were boyfriends and that you loved me. I was afraid…”

“You were afraid because I was afraid to accept your friendship when you offered it, because I was afraid of the Deputies and the Reverends. I was afraid the Holy Ghost would find out, and we’d be punished. I was afraid Deacon Jerome would find out, and we would be killed. I am no longer afraid. Thank you, Matthew, for being my boyfriend and for saying you love me.”

Matthew tipped his head up, and we kissed.

There were two beds in our room, but Matthew insisted that we sleep together. We didn’t want to sleep in the clothes we’d been given. I watched as Matthew stripped, and put his clothes carefully on the unused bed. He was immediately erect.

Matthew watched as I put my clothes on the same bed. I was erect, too. We crawled into the other bed, and held one another not spooned together as we had for warmth so long ago, but face to face. My penis pressed against his tummy, and his against mine. Matthew began to rub his penis up and down my tummy. At the same time, my penis rubbed against his tummy. I felt the same sensation I felt when first Andrew and then other boys had done fellatio.

Matthew stopped rubbing and ducked his head under the light blanket. I felt his lips encircle my penis. We had done this twice to one another while we were in training, but the sensation tonight was infinitely better. Perhaps, I thought, because we are free to do this. Perhaps because we have said we love one another.

Matthew felt my penis jerking in his mouth, and released it for a moment, even though I still could produce no seed. No more evil seed, I thought. I must ask Ethan about that.

After Matthew had taken me in his mouth a few more times, I reached for him, and pulled him up so that I could kiss him. “That was the best, ever,” I said, and ducked my head below the blanket.

It took only a minute before I heard Matthew whimpering, and felt his penis jerk. I moved my head back, but his hands pressed me forward. Whatever he wants, I thought, and continued to suck and lick until his whimpers died, and his hands relaxed.

“I have wanted that for so long,” Matthew said. “I have wanted you to be able to do it until it stopped feeling good, and not just because I whimpered. But Andrew would never let us. Oh! Andrew. He’s probably dead, isn’t he?”

“I don’t think so,” I said. “Andrew knows that I am a witch and can hear what people think and can kill with my thoughts. Does that bother you?”

Matthew grinned. “No, Hamish. I knew you knew what I was thinking, sometimes. I knew you weren’t a witch. And I knew you had killed Jerome with your mind ’cause of what I heard Andrew say, later. But, why do you know Andrew’s still alive?”

“I think Andrew knew he might die, but I think he knew that he and John had a chance. I felt him so strongly when we got out of the car that I think I would feel it if he died.” At least, I hope so, I thought.

Matthew and I were wakened the first morning by a trumpet sounding over a Tannoy. Matthew must have thought we were back at the Ranch, for I felt his fear. A quick hug, and a shhh, reassured him. “Quickly,” I said. “Ethan said things were more regular. We should hurry to dress and see what we will do, today.”

A boy in gray had knocked on our door. “Ethan is with the squad and asked me to bring you to breakfast. I’ll also take you to your first class,” he said. “My name is Ruben.”

Nothing on our breakfast trays was familiar except glasses of milk. Ruben did not laugh when he told us what we were eating. “Chilies are the green things in the huevos—the scrambled eggs. Those are refried beans, and those are tortillas.”

“Where does the food come from?” I asked. I thought of the Sheriff’s Ranch, but I didn’t remember seeing fields. “Are we on a ranch?”

“No, we are on a base, and food is delivered by trucks from the valley. You’ll see.”

Ruben and other boys from our squad, boys in gray, were in our class. So were boys from other squads. We all were to learn to read and write, and to do sums. Matthew knew nothing of reading, and sat in a circle with others in one corner of the room. I was in a circle of other boys, most of them younger than I was, but who could read a little better than I could. There were four groups, in all. There was only one teacher, a young man who moved from one group to another. Most of the learning was done by listening to what others read, and following in a book.

After a lunch of things called burritos, which were tortillas stuffed with beans, rice, and tomatoes, Ethan took us to a room with a televisor. A different teacher turned on the televisor and we watched the Battle of Las Vegas, just as we saw it those months ago. Before it ended, two men in black and gray came into the room.

“Is that what you saw?” Ethan asked.

“I think it was the same,” I said. Matthew nodded.

“I want you to watch it again,” one of the men said, “and tell us if you recognize any of the demons, whom you know to be our soldiers.”

“We would not, sir. There was only one boy who had escaped from the _____ Palace Casino, and he had escaped before we arrived,” Matthew said. He was right; I hadn’t thought of that.

“Nevertheless, please watch,” Ethan asked.

When it was done again, Matthew and I both shook our heads. “No, sir. No one,” we said.

“What did you think about this when you saw it?”

I told them that Deacon Jerome had seemed nervous and frightened the morning before it was shown, and had been late to our class. Then, I had to explain to the men who Jerome was, and what he taught us. I didn’t say that I’d killed him, but Matthew did.

“Deacon Jerome raped me, and Hamish killed him,” Matthew said. I was kind of happy that he said that because he said the part about being raped without the fear and disgust I’d felt in him before. I hoped he was getting over that.

“We know, son,” one of the men said. “We know.”

“Sir? Why is everything so fuzzy except the number of the beast? Why do they not show pictures of the aeroplanes without wings being destroyed? What are they? They’re not demons, are they?”

“Hamish,” one of the men said. “There are no demons. The boxy aeroplanes did not attack the Reverends’ army until they were fired upon. They came from somewhere to rescue the boys from the California Liberation Army. They did rescue many of them… and then they took them somewhere. We don’t know where they came from or where they went.”

“They were angels?” Matthew asked.

“No Matthew, the—” The man stopped before he finished the sentence. I knew what he was going to say, that there were no angels just as there were no demons, but I didn’t want Matthew to hear that, yet. The man must have understood.

“We don’t know, Matthew,” he said. “We just don’t know.”

That night, while we cuddled, Matthew asked me what the man was going to say. “He was going to say that there were no angels, wasn’t he? And you stopped him.”

“He doesn’t know about angels or demons,” I said. “Well, maybe he knows that demons wouldn’t rescue the army boys, but he doesn’t know any more than Deacon Jerome knew what was real and what wasn’t.”

“I want there to be angels,” Matthew said. “I truly want there to be angels.”

I didn’t know how to answer, so I hugged him more tightly until we fell asleep.

The light outside our window told me that Matthew and I had overslept. How could we not hear the trumpet on the Tannoy? I wondered. I shook Matthew. “Come on! We’re late! Look at the light!”

We hurried to put on clean gray uniforms and ran down the hall toward the mess hall. There were other boys in the hall, moving slowly in the same direction. When we reached the mess hall, we saw that most of the places were still vacant. A few boys were in line for food. At our table, only Ethan and five others were eating. Matthew and I went through the line, and walked to the table.

“We’re late,” I said. “I didn’t hear the trumpet! I’m sorry.”

“Oh,” Ethan said. “No one told you. That’s my fault. This is Saturday, the sixth day. It’s a free day for all the boys. Breakfast will be served only until ten hundred hours, though, and anyone who sleeps later than that? Well, they’ll have to be content with lunch!”

He seemed to think that was funny.

“I think that today we will initiate you into our squad.”

“What means initiate,” Matthew asked.

Ethan pushed his tray aside; one of the other boys, as if understanding what was about to happen, removed it.

“Matthew, Hamish, we are members of the army. What you have seen, so far, is good food, a clean place to sleep, school, and games. Someday, however, we will be called upon to risk our lives, perhaps to die, so that others who we do not know, who are not even related to us, may be free.

“In this time of preparation, we are allowed to be boys, we are allowed to play, to make friends, and to make boyfriends whom we love. We are encouraged to form bonds, not only between boyfriends, but between and among our mates in a squad, a platoon, a company, a battalion, and an army. One way we create those bonds is through sex. Yes, Hamish.”

“Are you homosexual?” I asked.

“Hamish, about half the boys in the Santa Ana Division are homosexual. Only, we usually say, gay.”

My mind went back to our arrival here. “Yet you welcomed us before you knew we were—”

“Hamish, your questions come too fast for me!” Ethan said.

He turned to the boy who had taken away his tray. “Carlos, the initiation will be this afternoon at fourteen hundred hours.”

“The soccer tournament?” Carlos said.

“Tell the coach; he will understand and will reschedule,” Ethan said. He gestured to two other boys at the table. “Micah, Jose, you will sponsor Matthew and Hamish. Do you agree with all your heart knowing that refusal is permitted and will not reflect badly upon you?”

The two boys nodded. “Yes, Corporal.”

“You will then take them in hand. Juan? Ensure the rest of the squad is notified, and tell the platoon leader.”

The boy named Juan nodded. “Yes, Corporal.”

“Ethan? What’s going on?” I asked.

“Hamish, on my life, I swear that you will not be harmed. That is all I can say, except that you must do this.”

I felt that he was telling the truth. “Yes, Corporal,” I said. That brought a smile to his face.

Micah and Jose left the mess hall with us, and instructed us in our preparation for the initiation. “It comes from an old language, and sort of means ‘beginning.’ It will be your beginning as a member of the squad,” Micah said.

“You will be asked to swear your loyalty to your brothers in the squad and in the army; the oath will be taken upon your life. Can you do that?” Jose asked.

I looked at Matthew, and saw his answer before I made mine. “I can, and I will,” I said.

“I can and I will,” Matthew echoed me.

Micah and Jose talked a lot about what would happen. “You will not be in the Army. That will come, later. But you will have many, many brothers who are in the Army,” Micah said.

“When I did it, I was scared!” Jose said. “I was sweating so bad… well, it was bad,” he added.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” Micah said. “The only ones there will be the boys you’ve been eating with for the past few days.”

“They’re going to ask you a bunch of times if you will be forever loyal to the squad and to your brothers. If you agree, all you have to say is yes. If you decide at any time that you don’t like what you’re swearing to, simply say, no, and it will be all over.”

“What happens to boys who say no?” I asked.

“They cannot stay here and they cannot join the Army,” Micah said. “They are sent to another school where they can learn to be artisans, craftsmen, and farmers.”

“And they can never come back,” Jose said.

“Last question,” I said. “Will Matthew and I be together? Will I be able to hold his hand?”

Micah and Jose looked at one another, and then shook their heads. “I do not know,” Micah said, “but Jose will find out.” Jose left the room. After lunch, Micah told us to shower and put on clean, gray clothes.

Micah was taking us down a hallway we’d never seen before when we heard the slap-slap of running sandals. It was Jose. “The Don said yes. They are to remain together, and they may hold hands.” He managed to gasp that out in about four breaths.

One of the first things we promised was not to reveal what happened during the initiation. Afterwards, the boys became more friendly and, as more boys came to know we were initiates, they became more friendly, as well.

Like in Las Vegas, our days became routine. In the morning, we’d go to school; in the afternoon, we’d play games with other boys our age—some in gray and some in the Army. After supper, Ethan and a couple of the older army men would watch the televisor with us, and talk about what we’d seen. It was the same kind of thing Matthew and I had seen in our room on a weekday, or which my family would have watched—the First Scudder, the current Scudder saying something, and the things happening in the world, the famines, the emergencies, the battlefields.

After the first time, Ethan said, “This is what they are telling their people. This is what they want them to believe.”

The men would ask us about what we’d seen, and what it meant to us. We weren’t able to answer many of their questions, and I was afraid we would disappoint them, but Ethan told us different.

“Everything we can learn about them helps,” he said.

“But we don’t even know where those places are!” Matthew protested. “What’s Omaha and Chicago and Lynchburg?”

The next morning instead of our regular class, Ethan took Matthew and me to a different classroom where a different teacher unrolled from high on the wall a huge picture he said was a map of the world and pointed to things with a long stick. “Here is Illinois,” he would say. “This is where they said last night that there was a flood.” Then, he pointed to a great blue space. “This is the Atlantic Ocean, where they said a great storm grew and swept across this place.” He pointed to something that dangled like a penis, and named it “Florida.”

At first, I didn’t understand, then there was a moment when I knew what it was. It was the world in a picture. And I demanded to know where we were, and where was Las Vegas and where was the Sheriff’s Ranch.

He pointed to California, which was next to another huge ocean, which I knew to be much larger than the Lake of the Lord, which was a tiny blue spot. He pointed to a spot near California. “Here is Las Vegas. I do not know where the ranch is. There are dozens, perhaps hundreds of them. I’m sorry.”

I would like to have asked where was my home, but I did not even know if the town had a name.

As always, please let David know what you think of his story: david.mcleod@castleroland.net