Leonid
Time to Lose
13:20, November, 17, 2065
"Why, does it look like we're doing anything?" the younger man asked, although he might have come up with a more intelligent answer. Especially since he could have sworn that Gray seemed more and more inclined towards the heartless side of emotion, and suddenly it appeared that he had developed a solely conscious way of taking out all aggression on them; petty revenge, really.
How was one supposed to do nothing when there was always someone intent on him doing every most arduous task that came up?
The captain stared at them, as though trying to decide how to best ruin the peaceful afternoon. That demonically thoughtful look gave Neil the utmost sinking feeling. So he hid behind Jane, holding her close.
"Do me a favor, then, would you?"
And he winced at that word, favor. If Edwards was going to make them do it anyway, he didn't need to dress up the commands… especially since it wasn't going to be a favor at all!
"I was wondering…"
You are not! Neil stifled a groan, forsaking the visage of the grim, clipboard-wielding commanding officer for something more pleasing to his mind. With his free hand, he worried free a few strands of Jane's hair, only to brush it back behind her ear.
"…if you'd do some stock work," Gray dropped the clipboard within easy reach of the pair, not missing one fragment of contempt mirrored by Neil's movements, even as the technician tried to hide it. And, while the captain understood in theory, he wished they would co-operate with him once in a while. It wasn't like he was doing this deed to be intentionally fiendish; if he wanted to be wicked he'd have done much worse more often. It wasn't helping his mood how, lately, he didn't have the heart to seek them out for anything.
But things had to be done, and he had to maintain a semblance of activity – even if he hadn't picked up anything particularly valiant in the past week…. Who were they to complain?
---
15:02, November 17, 2065
"Why did you say we'd do it?" Neil smiled deceptively at a passer by as they stalked the subbasement, "I don't want to do it."
"Then don't. I said, 'I' would, not 'we,'" Jane replied bluntly. She slid the hatchway open before looking up at him, "Besides, it has to get done."
"Why doesn't he do it?" But he asked too late, for the woman had already disappeared down the ladder. No answer, though he knew there was a good chance she heard him. The sublevel passages were shallow – the ladder itself was mostly just a convenience. He followed languidly, but obediently. Though he complained, he wasn't about to let Jane take on the most boring job ever by herself. His hand slipped, and he fell from the apical rung, but the distance was negligible to begin with and he landed safely on his feet.
"Close the hatch," she reminded him when he hit solid ground, forcing him to climb the last three steps to comfortably reach the portal. By then, she was already far down the corridor.
"So, what d'you suppose would happen if we got lost down here?" he called after her. It had always been a secret little terror of his to be trapped in the city's underside. It was a still, quiet place, and was disconcerting in the way all the passages looked the same. Though he never did get lost before, he always made it a point to spend as little time as possible down there when he didn't have a reason.
She slowed her pace as he caught up, and glanced sidelong at him, "You didn't notice the maps everywhere?"
Only then did he recognize the first of many brightly colored charts affixed to the wall.
"What happens if they're out'a date?"
He slid one arm around her shoulders, not intimidated by Jane's mildly annoyed, "knock it off," expression. He kissed her anyway, and was pleased when she did lean against him as they walked. He lifted his arm straight and his fingers brushed the ceiling; he glimpsed up, and a new horror revealed itself in his mind.
"What if the fl-"
She muffled the query with her hand, "Stop it." She had already given him the choice to leave, what more could she do? Besides, danger, real or imagined, was something they encountered anyway; when it wasn't obligatory, usually it was in a recreational pursuit… most of which were his ideas to begin with.
He mumbled something that she wasn't interested in hearing anyway, so her hand stayed where it was as they walked through the death-still halls. Eventually, she let go, but only because they had reached the warehouse; and he stood behind while she made use of the key-card in the door scanner.
Unlike the small and narrow halls, the sub-level storage facilities were huge; three stories high and . There were many of them, every one used for all sorts of equipment and commodities; all stored upon massive shelves that touched the arched doming above.
In order to conserve as much space as possible, the walkways between the extensive framework were small – allowing for two normal-sized people to pass each other comfortably. Usually, the storehouses were only managed by one individual at any given time. Most hours, one with this task didn't stay in the place longer than a few hours. Everything was meticulously catalogued and ordered, and access was limited. It had been set up so that it didn't need to be monitored.
The only authorized personnel there now were Neil and Jane – sent to fill, file, and apportion an order. It wasn't close to either's primary duty, but, with the mortality rate, the workload had to be distributed somehow. Manual labor was easiest to supply.
"What do we need?" Jane asked, following the general alphabetized listings on the shelves. Textiles, she remembered, but of what kind she didn't. Clothes, blankets… hell, it could have been stage curtains for all she knew.
Finding the correct row, and ignoring the ladder, she clambered one step up the shelf, and turned, impatiently, back to Neil.
"Well?"
"What?"
"What do we need?" She squinted in sudden realization, "Where's the clipboard?"
"I dunno," he glanced around, but not particularly enthusiastically.
"Didn't you have it?"
"Yeah… I guess it should be around here somewhere."
Jane stifled an aggravated sigh. He wasn't making this very easy, "Then go find it, please."
She turned back to climbing the frame, but didn't get that far as Neil slid his arm around her waist.
"Wha-!" Surprise turned to anger, especially when he refused to release her, "You're going to make me fall."
"You're not high up," he justified, "I'm right here; let go."
She complied, sensing what an extreme waste of time taking him along was. Not only had he lost the register, he was being highly troublesome, and to her of all people.
"Damnit, Neil; I want to get this done sometime before the end of the day."
"But I don't wanna work," He explained, tightening his grip; she gave up. It wasn't that she couldn't have made him stop, it was that she probably would have hurt him if she tried, which she didn't want.
"Hey!" she did, however, draw the line when Neil started playing with the buttons of her uniform, "Bad idea," she hissed, suddenly all the more self-conscious.
"Why?"
She twisted her neck so she could stare directly at him.
"Because," she matched his tone and added her own dramatic pause – if he wanted to play these stupid games, she was determined to win every time, "Gray's right around the corner."
"What? How'd'y…" Neil was interrupted, and startled out of his wits, by the sound of a throat clearing. His grip loosened and Jane pulled away, spending a few seconds to fix the misplaced buttons before turning to face the officer.
"You forgot this," Gray stated promptly, waving the clipboard before dropping it on a nearby crate and leaving directly. He honestly didn't care anymore.
Nothing happened for about a minute and a half, at which point Jane scrambled quickly up the shelf, not stopping until she was well out of reach. Neil watched, mildly amused.
"How'd you know it was him?" he called, finally retrieving the clipboard and resigning to fate.
"Lucky guess," Jane called back, not entirely sure herself. If she had known it was him, she never would have called the officer by his given name, "Besides, I remembered where you left the clipboard."
---
18:39, November 17, 2065
The building was new, built for the sole purpose it was used – a refuge for children whose parents were dead or otherwise unable to care for them. It provided adequate nutrition, attention, education, as well as other, minor things lacking in the predecessors of pre-modern orphanages… but, beneath the seemingly benevolent nature of the shelter, it had a sordid secondary purpose. Every child admitted there, and many were, was automatically slated for enlistment.
As contemptible as this seemed, this and other odd methods of obtaining resources had become common practice. In order to win this war, the human race needed food, metal, cloth, weapons, energy – and the manpower to fulfil such everyday tasks as maintenance; or such monumental attempts as a full-scale assault on the enemy that so refused to die.
No one questioned it, and if they had been, they might have just shook their heads. If asked about choice, any of these children might have replied, "What choice?"
Jane arrived late in the day, with Neil in pursuit and 'helping,' in his way, to fulfil the assignment she had agreed to. The heavy crates that they had hauled from below the city were for this place, a three-month supply of all the necessities that made life in the small, sheltered habitat.
It was no surprise when Neil disappeared, as he did he last time they had come here. That occasion had been with Gray… about a year prior, before anything was as strongly set as it had become – personally or professionally.
The woman snorted – at least last time she had… more so had been, help. It didn't mean she couldn't do it by herself, as she did, but it would have been easier if there was someone. By the time the curator did arrive to assist, Jane had already finished the brunt of her work.
It was probably better for the curator that she did – the wan, paternal man with the sunken eyes and the dark, shaggy hair probably couldn't have aided her as he would have liked to. But he watched her with interest as she finished up, as she checked and doubled checked crate labels to the clipboard she kept an unusually tight grip on.
He had an honest reason to hate these people, the ones that periodically took his children away. He wasn't about to take this hostility out on her, of course, since he didn't see her as the problem. She turned his attention to him, and he smiled; it was a gesture that she didn't return.
"You know where to sign these things?" she asked, presenting the notepad to him. He nodded mindfully, taking the list from her and swiftly initialing the papers he was required to. He sneaked a glimpse of the paper below, only slightly relieved at the shortness of the slate this time around.
"Now what do I need to do?"
The man squinted at her, recognition turning to confusion, "Haven't you been here before?"
"Once," the woman replied, looking up at him, "But I don't do this… not normally."
The man considered for a second. If she didn't know, then she didn't have to, and he could keep his foundlings that much longer. Even as he imagined it, he knew he couldn't; he didn't want to get her in trouble, as he would be, and he was conditioned to conform as well as any other soldier.
"This way, ma'am," he gestured her forward, and followed at an uncomfortably close distance, "Right ahead."
The room he directed her to was spacious – reflective of the eminent appearance of the building's exterior. It seemed to have many uses; chairs and tables were piled up in the corners; bookshelves and terminal desks marked their permanent spots near nondescript walls and windows; there was imagery everywhere.
Jane quirked an eyebrow at the commotion in the cleared out center of the room. She crossed her arms, letting the clipboard dangle from her fingertips.
The center of the disturbance was Neil, entertaining… well, wrestling with… rather, being downed by a mob of riotous children. Some of the older youngsters, too mature to participate in the childish game, stood by wistfully and watched the silly man make a fool of himself.
One of these, a blithe mid-teen, was on the verge of joining in before he caught sight of Jane. He remained impassive, if only to show off to true authority that he could – as though it would improve his life then and there.
Jane, meanwhile, observed the activity, somewhat enthralled as Neil was gradually pulled down by the dozen or so exuberant juveniles. She intentionally paused before attempting to rescue him, hoping he'd waste some of the energy that had been driving her insane lately.
"Neil…" she raised her voice to be heard above the turmoil, but it cut through easily, "What are you doing?"
"I'm…" came the feeble response, "Help?"
So she did, and the children scattered as she approached. As soon as he was freed, Neil rolled off his back, and Jane helped him to his feet.
"What was that, hmm?" she scoffed, but not without a tinge of affection, "They're only half your size and you need support?"
He shushed at her, and turned to the rabble.
"What?" he smiled, and pointed at a random teenager, "Go get him." It worked; after a few moments hesitation, the youngsters tackled their older, slightly surprised sibling; and Neil grinned at the object of his love, "Are we done?"
"Almost," she grunted in surprise when he leaned his full weight against her, "Yeah; thanks for all the help." She kept him balanced, and he did his part to stay on his feet.
"Then can we go soon?" The juvenility caught her off guard, but she had to smile.
"Of course; just let me finish this."
Despite the plan, they spent the moment staring, oblivious to the odd looks they were getting from the adolescence around them.
