Here we go, people. Let' see . . . I want reviews, from all of you. I'm demanding reviews from . . . Jeanne . . . Cat . . . and Jaci . . . I mean it! You have to review or the next post, you get zilch. Hear that? ZILCH! Oh, what's that? Of course you'll review? Well, do it!!
I know that Meg, Kathleen, 727, and Sue -- goodness, you guys are the best! -- always review to various stories. I think I've counted four/five total reviews on each chapter from those guys . . . (Meg, multiply by 3563424)
FF.net people -- I have four reviews! What's wrong with you?! Its worse than my Being story . . .
Okay, okay, here it is.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Part .03
Martin took his time answering me. He sat down on the stone sidings of the flower beds and let out a slow breath.
"Well," he began again, "we got away. I suppose those body bags you saw were the casualties from the fight. It was one hell of a fight, let me tell you, little sister. One hell of a fight. We took out five, apparently," Martin smiled. "We just all thought you'd been killed. I haven't the faintest idea who started the idea in our head. Perhaps it was Lezli . . ."
"Perhaps," I said quietly, deep in my own thoughts.
"It was very odd, feeling, just running . . . with no real place to go . . ." Martin looked down at his shoes. "But we just ran . . . all together . . . it was amazing, being free . . . having no real mission, just to run . . . Lezli jumping and twirling . . . Frances almost crying with happiness . . . It was amazing . . ."
"You never came to look . . ." I whispered softly, letting the statement fall and settle in our stomachs; letting the statement nestle in the hurt in my chest, nestle in pain. I let it stab the rawness and the humility in Zack's venter. I let it nurse the embarrassment of abandoning me in Martin's own mind. I hadn't had the exhilaration of being with my brothers and sisters. I had been alone, worried, and afraid. Where had they been . . . having an amazing time? Well, good for them.
"Lezli ordered us the other way. We were frightened, we were looking for a leader. At that moment, Lezli met the criteria," Martin looked me in the eye. God, boy, when did you turn from the soft-spoken thing of my memories into this perfect little man-ling? I wondered. How did you realize that Lezli didn't want to go, that it wasn't you who ran on? "Later on, once we were calmed, we questioned Lezli's authority. What right had she to order us other than you'd ordered us?"
"The spell she held you under was broken," I murmured, thinking of the past, of those few times when Lezli had gone against me and how every time she had failed. If I had been able to view her thoughts, I'm sure I would have been able to hear the bitterness in them.
"It was such a strong tie. We were so infatuated with her. She severed it when she stopped us from running in the direction you had gone," Martin methodically rubbed his fingers together and avoided my eyes; multitasking was a thing that ran in the family, then.
"Deliberately?" I looked down at the book I was holding, then turned the pages until I came to a page labeled LEZLI in Martin's neat writing. I saw listed under location San Antonio, Texas.
"Who knows the way Lezli's mind was working? She's an anomaly in the group," Martin said carelessly. Zack lifted his head sharply.
"A nomolie?" he questioned. What in the world was he trying to say? An anomaly? Yes, Zack, yes.
"Yeah, an abnormality within the group. She isn't the same as us," I explained, slightly puzzled. Zack's expression changed, and he nodded mutely.
"So, how did you get all their information?" I returned to the subject on hand, feeling only slightly wary of Lezli without her presence.
"A simple vote," Martin said, chuckling a bit. Seeing the look on my face, he elaborated. "We decided that we needed a leader -- after the silent understanding that Lezli was not exactly . . . what's that expression? . . . Oh yes, the cat's meow. Lezli hadn't the faintest idea," Martin smiled, "and so, when it was put up to a vote, immediately nominated me. I, of course, returned the favor and nominated Lezli . . . imagine her surprise when I won."
"It was all that simple?" I could not believe Martin's words. Lezli's plan had just backfired, that's all? That seemed to be pretty odd . . . life would never cease to amaze me.
"Simple as that. I was surprised . . . I sent them off to very specific cities, then I got a voicemail message center -- paid with the money I found in pockets! -- and went and gave them all the number. I told them they could move . . . but to always notify me . . . always to keep in touch. I started the notebook . . . because I wanted to always remember . . ." Martin gave a weak smile toward his sneaker tops. It sort of shot me, the way that Martin had grown up. I was proud of him, but I missed him so deeply it hurt.
"Martin, I'm so proud of you," I told him simply. Martin glanced up from his shoes, so I continued. "You were everything I could ever hope you to be . . . where did you grow up? When did you grow up?" I reached over and gave him a huge hug.
It was impulsive of me, but I needed to be impulsive, I had always yelled at Zack for being such a Facade King, but now I had started my own Facade Queen tradition. I needed to break away from that . . .
Finally, we broke apart from the hug of three missing years. I smiled at him, picked up the notebook, then turned. "Time to go," I told Martin. "We'll get you a foster family . . . the other's are all in group homes, aren't they?" Martin nodded. "Then I'll go to them, make myself known, then relocate them within a foster family. For now, Martin, you'll come with me."
"Wouldn't it be safe just to leave him, Ty?" Zack asked. I glanced up sharply into his face.
"Of course not. The further apart we are, the more we lose each other . . . I don't want to lose them, Zack," I explained as patiently as I could.
"You won't lose them Tyronica, not if you just leave them," Zack reached over and tugged the notebook out of my hands. "You have to make the plans first and then you have to get the others."
"Zack -- I wont leave them again!" I cried. "Don't you understand how important this is to me?"
"Tyronica, get a hold of yourself, you're a soldier, you're my good little soldier, remember?" Zack gave me a this look that I could read plain as day. Get-over-it-soldier.
"I can't be a good little soldier if it goes against what I feel on the inside!" I told him.
"Tyronica, leave him, arrange it, come back," Zack told me.
"No, you don't understand. You're still at Manticore!" I stared him in the eyes. "Martin may still refer to Manticore as home," -- ("Hey," cried Martin.) -- "but that's because he's never had a home. You've got a home! Stop living in the past!"
Zack reacted as if I had struck him. When he spoke, it was slowly, with each word spoken carefully. "Ty-girl, you're a soldier no matter what. A person second."
"I thought you understood . . ." I said slowly. "Good-bye, Zack. I can't . . . you live too much in the past."
"You used to tell me that you were a good soldier, Ty," Zack said, his eyes huge and round. Why the hell was he doing this? Acting like an idiot, he was. What had happened to the Zack who played Men in Black with me? Had that Zack died, along with that Ty? Two years is a long time. "What happened to you being a good soldier. Don't you remember what you told Mom?" I remembered, but I said nothing. "You're a good soldier, not a bad soldier. You said so. Now be a good soldier."
"I was ten . . . don't you understand? There are differences . . . " I grabbed Martin's hand and the notebook, which Zack was still holding. "Better get out, before we leave. I'll be in contact with Mom and Dad, but don't try to contact me. I need time without someone who lives in the past."
"Ty, you can't leave, you're a little girl," Zack told me, starting to laugh.
"I was never a little girl, Zack. Don't you remember? I'm a soldier first," I crouched and jumped the stone wall, Martin coming right behind me, then jogged down the street. I could hear Zack's thoughts -- still in the garden -- he's angry at me for not being the soldier he thought I was.
Well, he could fuck that. I wasn't a soldier girl without being a person first. He had it ass backwards. I came the closest I had ever come in three years to tears, and that made me angry. The anger blinked the tears away. The nerve of the so called Zack. He was Manticore, as I was I. I could forgive him that; but he wanted me to leave my family again. I wasn't going to do that.
I had left my family twice before -- once it had been my siblings, once it had been Mom and Dad. I had left Mumma and Papa, but they didn't count as family, or did they. Thinking back on it, I felt no twinge of guilt that I had left them, as I did with the others. So they were not to be considered my family.
Was Zack to be considered my third abandonment? It hurt to leave him, just as much as my brothers and sisters, just as much as Mom and Dad. I had left Zack to hopefully go to something better.
I didn't want to leave him, but what choice did I have? Zack needed to stop living in the past. I needed to let myself stop relying on Zack. Even when I hadn't been with Zack, all those years in France, his words had been with me. I had been the soldier girl; Zack's wishes. Why in the hell had I listened to him? France would no longer be in my life.
"Tyronica," I heard as I rounded the corner, "you're being an idiot."
Sometimes, Zack, you are the idiot.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The town we stopped in was small. It was about two hundred miles away, but we had stopped after three hours of solid running, so it wasn't too bad a time. We'd left the city, then we'd gone along the countryside. It made me feel safer, to be away from the city. The checkpoints were no problem. I just entered the minds of the sector police and changed things. It was no big deal. I didn't think Martin figured out what I was doing, it was too busy trying to look normal.
A few well picked pockets later, Martin and I were checked into some sleazy, two-bit hotel. It wasn't half bad; all you actually had to do was tell the rats which corner of the room was theirs and we were home free. The room had two beds and a television with lousy reception. We could have sprung for more, but why waste the whole bonding in a smelly room experience. I'd heard families used to do it all the time, before the pulse, on family vacations.
I was sitting on my bed, watching at Martin turned down the covers on his, checking for bedbugs, when my left foot started to tremble.
[gray thoughts]
I'm ten, on the beach, walking along it, thinking about souls and death and wondering if the little kids that are pulling the chaperones around will run out of energy soon. The wind is going everywhere, spraying water all over me. I don't really like it, but I can handle. I'm built to handle. The wind is also picking up sand, making it fly into my face and make small cuts on my nose and lips.
The water washing over the rocks is calming. The motion of the waves has an almost hypnotic effect on people. I glance up the beach. There are a lot of rich people here, but I don't care, all I want to do is think about where I'm going next. There aren't any more beach trips until next year. Its too cold here. I need south. Maybe Mexico would be a good idea. Marta is a pretty name . . . Tyronica just does not seem Latina babe, if you know what I mean.
Seattle is a bitch of a city to explore. Maybe I'll stay here a couple of days, before I go, check it out. I want to check out the Space Needle. High places fascinate me. They're just so cool. I want to fly. Dad once said that if I'd learn quick enough, I'd fly. I think he was prodding me because SHE wanted him to get us moving quicker. Well, we moved so quick we disappeared, Madame X.
Maybe I made us leave so quickly because of the whole soul thing. I mean, we don't have a soul, so where do we go after we die? The others didn't know why they were leaving, they would have died and gone, soulless, to a great emptiness.
At the moment, I would be eating a warm dinner. I wouldn't have died. Of course, I have the vaguest idea of what's right, and I know living and letting my brothers and sisters die just because I'm hungry is wrong. I think that's what gives me a slight soul; a very slight soul.
My left foot is starting to tremble. I don't have my backpack with me, which is bad, because it has my Trytophan in it. I can't find the teacher, whatever her name is, so I think I'll find a bimbo to help me . . . .
[/gray thoughts]
I know that Meg, Kathleen, 727, and Sue -- goodness, you guys are the best! -- always review to various stories. I think I've counted four/five total reviews on each chapter from those guys . . . (Meg, multiply by 3563424)
FF.net people -- I have four reviews! What's wrong with you?! Its worse than my Being story . . .
Okay, okay, here it is.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Part .03
Martin took his time answering me. He sat down on the stone sidings of the flower beds and let out a slow breath.
"Well," he began again, "we got away. I suppose those body bags you saw were the casualties from the fight. It was one hell of a fight, let me tell you, little sister. One hell of a fight. We took out five, apparently," Martin smiled. "We just all thought you'd been killed. I haven't the faintest idea who started the idea in our head. Perhaps it was Lezli . . ."
"Perhaps," I said quietly, deep in my own thoughts.
"It was very odd, feeling, just running . . . with no real place to go . . ." Martin looked down at his shoes. "But we just ran . . . all together . . . it was amazing, being free . . . having no real mission, just to run . . . Lezli jumping and twirling . . . Frances almost crying with happiness . . . It was amazing . . ."
"You never came to look . . ." I whispered softly, letting the statement fall and settle in our stomachs; letting the statement nestle in the hurt in my chest, nestle in pain. I let it stab the rawness and the humility in Zack's venter. I let it nurse the embarrassment of abandoning me in Martin's own mind. I hadn't had the exhilaration of being with my brothers and sisters. I had been alone, worried, and afraid. Where had they been . . . having an amazing time? Well, good for them.
"Lezli ordered us the other way. We were frightened, we were looking for a leader. At that moment, Lezli met the criteria," Martin looked me in the eye. God, boy, when did you turn from the soft-spoken thing of my memories into this perfect little man-ling? I wondered. How did you realize that Lezli didn't want to go, that it wasn't you who ran on? "Later on, once we were calmed, we questioned Lezli's authority. What right had she to order us other than you'd ordered us?"
"The spell she held you under was broken," I murmured, thinking of the past, of those few times when Lezli had gone against me and how every time she had failed. If I had been able to view her thoughts, I'm sure I would have been able to hear the bitterness in them.
"It was such a strong tie. We were so infatuated with her. She severed it when she stopped us from running in the direction you had gone," Martin methodically rubbed his fingers together and avoided my eyes; multitasking was a thing that ran in the family, then.
"Deliberately?" I looked down at the book I was holding, then turned the pages until I came to a page labeled LEZLI in Martin's neat writing. I saw listed under location San Antonio, Texas.
"Who knows the way Lezli's mind was working? She's an anomaly in the group," Martin said carelessly. Zack lifted his head sharply.
"A nomolie?" he questioned. What in the world was he trying to say? An anomaly? Yes, Zack, yes.
"Yeah, an abnormality within the group. She isn't the same as us," I explained, slightly puzzled. Zack's expression changed, and he nodded mutely.
"So, how did you get all their information?" I returned to the subject on hand, feeling only slightly wary of Lezli without her presence.
"A simple vote," Martin said, chuckling a bit. Seeing the look on my face, he elaborated. "We decided that we needed a leader -- after the silent understanding that Lezli was not exactly . . . what's that expression? . . . Oh yes, the cat's meow. Lezli hadn't the faintest idea," Martin smiled, "and so, when it was put up to a vote, immediately nominated me. I, of course, returned the favor and nominated Lezli . . . imagine her surprise when I won."
"It was all that simple?" I could not believe Martin's words. Lezli's plan had just backfired, that's all? That seemed to be pretty odd . . . life would never cease to amaze me.
"Simple as that. I was surprised . . . I sent them off to very specific cities, then I got a voicemail message center -- paid with the money I found in pockets! -- and went and gave them all the number. I told them they could move . . . but to always notify me . . . always to keep in touch. I started the notebook . . . because I wanted to always remember . . ." Martin gave a weak smile toward his sneaker tops. It sort of shot me, the way that Martin had grown up. I was proud of him, but I missed him so deeply it hurt.
"Martin, I'm so proud of you," I told him simply. Martin glanced up from his shoes, so I continued. "You were everything I could ever hope you to be . . . where did you grow up? When did you grow up?" I reached over and gave him a huge hug.
It was impulsive of me, but I needed to be impulsive, I had always yelled at Zack for being such a Facade King, but now I had started my own Facade Queen tradition. I needed to break away from that . . .
Finally, we broke apart from the hug of three missing years. I smiled at him, picked up the notebook, then turned. "Time to go," I told Martin. "We'll get you a foster family . . . the other's are all in group homes, aren't they?" Martin nodded. "Then I'll go to them, make myself known, then relocate them within a foster family. For now, Martin, you'll come with me."
"Wouldn't it be safe just to leave him, Ty?" Zack asked. I glanced up sharply into his face.
"Of course not. The further apart we are, the more we lose each other . . . I don't want to lose them, Zack," I explained as patiently as I could.
"You won't lose them Tyronica, not if you just leave them," Zack reached over and tugged the notebook out of my hands. "You have to make the plans first and then you have to get the others."
"Zack -- I wont leave them again!" I cried. "Don't you understand how important this is to me?"
"Tyronica, get a hold of yourself, you're a soldier, you're my good little soldier, remember?" Zack gave me a this look that I could read plain as day. Get-over-it-soldier.
"I can't be a good little soldier if it goes against what I feel on the inside!" I told him.
"Tyronica, leave him, arrange it, come back," Zack told me.
"No, you don't understand. You're still at Manticore!" I stared him in the eyes. "Martin may still refer to Manticore as home," -- ("Hey," cried Martin.) -- "but that's because he's never had a home. You've got a home! Stop living in the past!"
Zack reacted as if I had struck him. When he spoke, it was slowly, with each word spoken carefully. "Ty-girl, you're a soldier no matter what. A person second."
"I thought you understood . . ." I said slowly. "Good-bye, Zack. I can't . . . you live too much in the past."
"You used to tell me that you were a good soldier, Ty," Zack said, his eyes huge and round. Why the hell was he doing this? Acting like an idiot, he was. What had happened to the Zack who played Men in Black with me? Had that Zack died, along with that Ty? Two years is a long time. "What happened to you being a good soldier. Don't you remember what you told Mom?" I remembered, but I said nothing. "You're a good soldier, not a bad soldier. You said so. Now be a good soldier."
"I was ten . . . don't you understand? There are differences . . . " I grabbed Martin's hand and the notebook, which Zack was still holding. "Better get out, before we leave. I'll be in contact with Mom and Dad, but don't try to contact me. I need time without someone who lives in the past."
"Ty, you can't leave, you're a little girl," Zack told me, starting to laugh.
"I was never a little girl, Zack. Don't you remember? I'm a soldier first," I crouched and jumped the stone wall, Martin coming right behind me, then jogged down the street. I could hear Zack's thoughts -- still in the garden -- he's angry at me for not being the soldier he thought I was.
Well, he could fuck that. I wasn't a soldier girl without being a person first. He had it ass backwards. I came the closest I had ever come in three years to tears, and that made me angry. The anger blinked the tears away. The nerve of the so called Zack. He was Manticore, as I was I. I could forgive him that; but he wanted me to leave my family again. I wasn't going to do that.
I had left my family twice before -- once it had been my siblings, once it had been Mom and Dad. I had left Mumma and Papa, but they didn't count as family, or did they. Thinking back on it, I felt no twinge of guilt that I had left them, as I did with the others. So they were not to be considered my family.
Was Zack to be considered my third abandonment? It hurt to leave him, just as much as my brothers and sisters, just as much as Mom and Dad. I had left Zack to hopefully go to something better.
I didn't want to leave him, but what choice did I have? Zack needed to stop living in the past. I needed to let myself stop relying on Zack. Even when I hadn't been with Zack, all those years in France, his words had been with me. I had been the soldier girl; Zack's wishes. Why in the hell had I listened to him? France would no longer be in my life.
"Tyronica," I heard as I rounded the corner, "you're being an idiot."
Sometimes, Zack, you are the idiot.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The town we stopped in was small. It was about two hundred miles away, but we had stopped after three hours of solid running, so it wasn't too bad a time. We'd left the city, then we'd gone along the countryside. It made me feel safer, to be away from the city. The checkpoints were no problem. I just entered the minds of the sector police and changed things. It was no big deal. I didn't think Martin figured out what I was doing, it was too busy trying to look normal.
A few well picked pockets later, Martin and I were checked into some sleazy, two-bit hotel. It wasn't half bad; all you actually had to do was tell the rats which corner of the room was theirs and we were home free. The room had two beds and a television with lousy reception. We could have sprung for more, but why waste the whole bonding in a smelly room experience. I'd heard families used to do it all the time, before the pulse, on family vacations.
I was sitting on my bed, watching at Martin turned down the covers on his, checking for bedbugs, when my left foot started to tremble.
[gray thoughts]
I'm ten, on the beach, walking along it, thinking about souls and death and wondering if the little kids that are pulling the chaperones around will run out of energy soon. The wind is going everywhere, spraying water all over me. I don't really like it, but I can handle. I'm built to handle. The wind is also picking up sand, making it fly into my face and make small cuts on my nose and lips.
The water washing over the rocks is calming. The motion of the waves has an almost hypnotic effect on people. I glance up the beach. There are a lot of rich people here, but I don't care, all I want to do is think about where I'm going next. There aren't any more beach trips until next year. Its too cold here. I need south. Maybe Mexico would be a good idea. Marta is a pretty name . . . Tyronica just does not seem Latina babe, if you know what I mean.
Seattle is a bitch of a city to explore. Maybe I'll stay here a couple of days, before I go, check it out. I want to check out the Space Needle. High places fascinate me. They're just so cool. I want to fly. Dad once said that if I'd learn quick enough, I'd fly. I think he was prodding me because SHE wanted him to get us moving quicker. Well, we moved so quick we disappeared, Madame X.
Maybe I made us leave so quickly because of the whole soul thing. I mean, we don't have a soul, so where do we go after we die? The others didn't know why they were leaving, they would have died and gone, soulless, to a great emptiness.
At the moment, I would be eating a warm dinner. I wouldn't have died. Of course, I have the vaguest idea of what's right, and I know living and letting my brothers and sisters die just because I'm hungry is wrong. I think that's what gives me a slight soul; a very slight soul.
My left foot is starting to tremble. I don't have my backpack with me, which is bad, because it has my Trytophan in it. I can't find the teacher, whatever her name is, so I think I'll find a bimbo to help me . . . .
[/gray thoughts]