Disclaimer: These are not my characters. I'm just 'borrowing' them for a while to amuse myself.
Author's note: Please… I'm working as fast as I can. I have to share a computer… I do 40 hour work weeks…I have a beta-reader who's away from the internet right now… It's a long chapter… It's not the only thing I'm working on… and I want it to be good. Now that I've done my pleading and whining: Please… review. Let me know what you think – good, bad or indifferent.
I should'a been there. Why didn't he scream? Yet he knew why Malcolm didn't scream and… It's all my fault. He must've been so scared but wouldn't scream because… he didn't want me to think he was a baby. So what if I had a migraine? I still should'a been able to help you, especially since I got you there in the first place.
And now, apparently some doctor needed to check him out just because he'd chomped Jonathan. I hope he's not contagious. He hadn't meant to bite that hard, but he'd been so scared and couldn't get away. He wondered what Jonathan was going to do to him for that. Not to mention for breaking all those rules about going in the water without a lifeguard… if you were gonna send me home for smacking you, I can't imagine what you'd do for blood.
Even as it was they were treating him like a prisoner: aside from his time with Malcolm and now with the doctor, he hadn't been left alone since the cop hauled him back to the camp instead of here. Jonathan hovered outside the door, watching.
It's not like I'm going anywhere. Wasn't that the definition of a failure? Someone who wasn't going anywhere? And if anybody's a failure… He'd asked Malcolm to stand up for him, but hadn't been there when Malcolm needed the standing up for.
And now the doctor was asking him how he felt. "Fine. Just kinda tired, that's all."
"That's understandable." The doctor looked over a couple more things on his scanner. At least this guy was good with kids… he hadn't once used that phoney 'how are we feeling' voice, nor had he been Mr. Smiley. In fact, he hadn't smiled once – had just asked some questions and run some tests. "You've been through a lot." He picked up a small tube of gel and smeared it on Trip's hand. "You picked up a minor infection in that cut… probably from the water… keep it clean and put this on it twice a day." He handed the tube to Trip. Other than that, you're fine. The biggest thing you need right now is sleep… and something to eat."
Trip nodded. Why was it everybody was always telling him to eat stuff? I didn't bite the guy because I was hungry. He could think of a billion other things he'd rather eat, up to and including bologna. Hate to break it to ya, pal, but ya taste like shit.
At least nobody'd been treating him like the big hero, either. God, I hate that. Wouldn't the world be better off if people stopped treating other people like heroes for doing something good, and just did the same thing themselves? Besides, I'm not. A real hero, a good one, wouldn't have let it come to this in the first place. 'With great power, comes great responsibility.' Yeah, I sure fucked up that one all right. Of all his childhood comicbook heroes, he still loved Spiderman best. Peter Parker knew what it was like to be a freak… and yet to have people in love with this image they didn't even know was you. Not to mention Spidey caught hell as a vigilante. Even as a superhero, Parker couldn't win… but at least he tried.
But, like he'd told Malcolm, he'd outgrown the rest of them, except as covers for the ones he really read. If Dad knew about them… he suspected his mother knew – but she trusted Trip's intelligence more. As long as he kept them away from his brother and sister, she didn't hassle him.
I don't think James would be too interested in Frank Miller, anyway. James could be so depressingly normal at times. Dad liked James best, because James didn't pull stunts like Trip and Elizabeth… at least not without help. And James had lots of friends… or at least people who appeared to be friends. Everybody's friends when you're ten. Except in cases like Malcolm's, of course, but then again, Malcolm wasn't really ten. He's just really, really short. That was the only explanation for it… Malcolm was actually an old person… like twenty-five or something. He just looked ten, like those undercover cops in the movies. I wouldn't be that calm if someone just tried to kill me.
"You're free to go." The doctor's voice interrupted Trip's thoughts. "If you start running a fever, or get a headache or anything… you come right back. There could be a secondary infection that hasn't manifested itself yet."
Trip nodded again. "Thanks." He jumped down from the bed and headed for the door. And back into custody.
"So what'd the doctor say, kiddo? You okay?" Jonathan was starting to look a little out of it, good thing that Dino guy was driving. They must've given him some pretty heavy painkillers.
"Fine." What else did he need to say? It wasn't Jonathan's business how he was… that was between him and the doctor. And he says I'm okay… so who am I to argue with the expert? He hadn't lied – he did feel tired… but he definitely wasn't hungry. I don't know if I'll ever eat again. Not if his stomach continued to feel like this.
Once again Jonathan proved he was psychic. "You need something to eat, kiddo. You haven't had anything all day – and no I do not count my arm as breakfast. And you didn't eat much yesterday either. You can't keep running on empty."
"I'm fine." He didn't bother to add that the doctor gave him the same advice. I don't want to eat. I'm not hungry.
Jonathan steered him towards the cafeteria anyway. "How about some soup? I know it's not exactly 'summer food,' but it should be easy enough on your stomach."
Whatever. He wasn't hungry. Why wouldn't people catch on to that sort of thing?
He stared at the soup Jonathan bought, unconsciously mimicking the scene from that first breakfast. The thought of swallowing a single mouthful made his stomach tighten and twist.
"Hey, come on, kiddo. Eat." Jonathan played his role, too, nudging the bowl closer to Trip.
This time the dish did go flying, straight at Jonathan. "I'm not hungry!" Jonathan blinked for a second – covered in chicken broth and noodles – then stood up and crossed over to Trip, trapping him in another one of those hugs.
"I know you're upset, kiddo… I am too. But you're the one who said it was their fault… so if I'm not responsible, how can you be?"
Trip squirmed and struggled, trying to get away. He wanted to break things, and to hurt things, starting with himself. Malcolm wasn't Jonathan's blood brother; Jonathan hadn't made any vows to protect him. Just that counsellor shit… and that's not the same thing. And Dutretre and Hong wouldn't have taken on Malcolm if Trip hadn't been involved first. It's me they hate, not him. All he woulda had to worry about woulda been Jonesy… and he knows how to deal with that. But I put ideas in his head – I let him think that these kinds of things could be fought.
Jonathan held tight – too tight for Trip to gain an advantage. "Shh. Just take a deep breath…"
"I never shoulda been his friend to start with. He… he'da been better off…" He muttered it to himself, but Jonathan picked it up anyway.
"That's not true, Trip. I bet if we went up there right now, he'd say meeting you was one of the best things that ever happened to him."
Trip shook his head violently, more out of frustration than denial. "That's just 'cause he's too polite. He was taught to be nice to people… not tell them the truth." He knew people were staring, and wished Jonathan would just let him go. Now they'll lock me up in the psych ward.
An overweight woman in an ugly bright flowered dress approached. "Is everything okay here?" She had that 'mommy' look… like she thought Jonathan was pulling something perverted or something.
"My little brother. He's a little upset, that's all. His friend had an accident."
"Oh." The woman spared Trip a quick smile. "I'm sure he'll be okay, honey." She looked oddly at the two of them… one blond and one brunet, and at the obvious height difference, but didn't argue.
Little brother? Where the hell did you come up with that? Shock caused Trip to stop dead. It was just an excuse to get rid of the busy-body, it had to be.
"Hey, you're not the only one allowed to go around adopting people, kiddo. If you can make Malcolm your little brother, why can't I make you mine?"
Because it's wrong… that's why. Look what it did to Malcolm: it earned him a free overnight stay in a freaking hospital. Besides, why would he want to be brother to this over-grown social worker, anyway?
"Hey, guys… everything okay?" At least this Dino guy was cool. Except for the smoking and drinking thing… but he didn't freak out over stuff either.
"Fine." Jonathan loosened the bear hug, but kept a good grip on Trip's wrist. "We should probably get back."
"Uh… Jon…" Dino had the look of someone who had something bad to say and didn't want to say it. Suddenly Trip knew what was coming.
Just keep those assholes away from me. Maybe he was no good as a hero, but he didn't read those comics anymore. Much.
"What?" Jonathan seemed suspicious too.
"I talked to the camp director… and… well… he says that there's not enough grounds or proof to send those two home. They all say it was an accident… they say that they didn't know he couldn't swim…"
"Bullshit!"
"…and they claimed to be on their way back to get help. I know it's bullshit, Jon, but there's not a damned thing…."
"I am not having those two in my cabin. There is no fucking way…" This time it was Jonathan shouting.
"Jon… they understand that. Kendricks said he'd take them… he doesn't see any problem with them… and he'll transfer a couple of his over to you."
"Great. He's starting his own fucking gang. Why don't we just supply them with weapons and let them get it over with?" Jonathan turned to Trip. "You're right kid… they do get away with murder. I just don't fucking believe this."
"Jon… I'm sorry." Dino looked away, embarrassed.
"How many more kids have to die?" Jonathan repeated his earlier question. "I thought we'd learned by now. Even if they don't kill somebody… how long until one of their victims has had enough? And either it's suicide, or… honestly, people give Trip here such a hard time, but at least he's got the morals only to hurt them. What happens when it's pushed too far… and somebody decides to take out the entire world?"
"Jon. You're preaching to the choir. I agree with you. But it's not my say. I'm getting the feeling… from what he said… that there's some politics involved here…"
"Lovely."
"It seems that Jones' father is fairly well placed in the British government… and the boy called home to complain…"
"Let me guess… I'm the bad guy here." Jonathan shook his head. "Great."
"Fortunately you haven't got the rep for it. You've been the picture-perfect counsellor up until now… and the director's willing to forgive you and Kendricks as a moment of extreme stress. And since the 'trouble kid' didn't actually do anything to anybody this time…"
"How nice of them to let Trip stay, too." Sarcasm poured off every word. Either the painkillers were wearing off, or Jonathan was just too pissed off to remain dazed.
Welcome to my world, brother. How could Jonathan play big-brother when he was so goddamned naïve? I coulda told you this would happen. Bullies weren't bullies because they didn't have power… they were bullies because they did. And whatever power they had, they'd use – with no responsibility whatsoever. And Dad thought I shouldn't waste my time with comics. But even his favourite guys now… like Jonathan just said: they never took on the innocents. But God help you if you're guilty. It wasn't his safety he was concerned about… it was Malcolm's. And those assholes, if he ever managed to get a hold of them. 'He puts one of yours in the hospital, you put one of his in the morgue.' The Untouchables. Paramount Pictures, 1987. Starring Sean Connery, Robert DeNiro and Kevin Costner. Another one where Dad would have a heart attack if he knew Trip had seen it.
I hate to break it to ya, Daddy, but violence is real. And you couldn't blame the movies, either. Blaming the movies and the books was just an excuse… another way for the care-less to get away with it. If I kill them, it sure as hell ain't Connery's fault.
"Just… they better stay away. If I even hear…" Jon's jaw clenched tight and the words came out through his teeth.
"Jon. I doubt even your connections would be enough…"
Connections? What connections? Wasn't this just some geeky guy with a dumb-ass accent and a serious gullibility problem? Who the hell are you connected to?
"Yeah, well unlike some people, I didn't plan to use them." Even as Jonathan spoke, Trip could see the genesis of an idea on the guy's face.
What the hell is going on here? And why did it leave him with a sinking feeling that Jonathan was Up To Something?
# # # #
I'm going to need more information. After all, he didn't know what Trip wanted to be when he grew up… or at the very least, got taller. But I know what you've got an aptitude for… I've spent enough time around them. He couldn't ask Trip, though… he wanted it to be a surprise. On the other hand, if the kid had no interest in Engineering… I doubt you'd be all that impressed.
And I'm not going to promise anything until I get it set up, either. Trip got enough disappointments in life… he didn't need any more.
They trooped out to the car, Trip stumbling more than once on the way. Poor kid was dead on his feet. I might not be sleeping at night…but neither has he. Add to that the physical strain of lifesaving and the continuing lack of sustenance… I wonder if I should leave him here. A night in the hospital might do Trip some good… but he'd probably just sneak out and head down to Malcolm's room, and Jonathan doubted the nurses would be too likely to let a twelve-year-old sleep on the floor.
By the time they made it back to the camp, Trip had fallen asleep. Jonathan debated leaving him where he was for the moment, then decided against it. We need to get you into bed.
"Hey, kiddo." Jonathan shook him gently. It probably wouldn't make a good impression to carry Trip into the cabin this time – not if there was going to be an audience. Besides, between his arm, and the kid's weight… "I can't carry you this time. Let's get you to bed."
Trip mumbled something, but didn't open his eyes.
"Come on, kiddo. I hate to do this…"
Obediently Trip stumbled from the car, then sagged down to sit beside it.
Oh, man. "I can't carry you, kiddo. You're too heavy." They'd warned him about putting too much strain on the arm and popping the stitches.
Trip placed both hands on the side of the car and heaved himself to his feet, but Jonathan could see it was a massive effort. He put an arm around Trip's shoulders, steadying him. He might not be able to carry the boy, but he could give him something to lean on.
"I promise, you can sleep in as late as you want – I'll even bring you breakfast in bed. Malcolm should be back tomorrow – unless his parents decide otherwise." Jonathan guided him around the car: Trip's eyes kept closing on him.
"They won't," Trip mumbled. "They don't even know he exists. F'anything his dad'll prob'ly say that Jonesy did good, chuckin' him in the water."
Jonathan tensed. If it was my kid… No wonder these two got along so well. They both pretty much brought up themselves. Not that he'd ever say that Trip's parents ignored him… but you are expected to be a little adult at times, aren't you? Given Trip, it was probably over their protests, but you still don't have normal kid issues. Because of that, however; they'd both learned that life wasn't fair… that it didn't always go your way, and how to deal with it.
And to think, I thought that Trip didn't understand that. He should have caught on that first night… didn't Trip say it straight out? 'Fair is a sunny day?' I was the one who believed in fairy-tales.
The two newcomers looked in askance when Jonathan and Trip came through the door. We must make a sight. With the arm of his shirt cut away, the stitched up bite was clearly visible, even if the blood had been cleaned off. Trip looked like hell, too: exhausted and mussed from his unscheduled swim.
"We'll worry about introductions later." Jonathan nudged Trip towards his bunk, and wasn't surprised when Trip fell into Malcolm's instead of climbing the ladder to his own. It's probably safer, anyway.
"Is Malcolm going to be okay?" Clearly the rest of the cabin had been told what had happened, at the very least as an explanation for the move. Kiprusoff's question did come as a bit of a surprise, however.
"They're just keeping him overnight for observation. He should be back tomorrow." He saw them still looking at him, expectantly. Obviously they'd heard about more than just Malcolm ending up in the water. "All right…" If he'd managed to learn one thing so far, it was that these kids had better understanding than most people gave them credit for. He was exhausted himself, but they did deserve more. "I'll answer your questions as best I can. I'm sorry if I don't make a lot of sense, but they gave me some pretty solid painkillers at the hospital… and it's left me a little out of it."
"How come you've got noodles on your shirt?"
Jonathan looked down at himself and laughed. "Food fight. I lost."
Several of the others looked at him oddly, though there were a couple of knowing smiles in the group.
"What really happened?" Apparently Kiprusoff was either serving as spokesman for the group, or he was the one most interested. "We heard Malcolm fell in the lake, and that you tried to beat up another counsellor."
Jonathan shook his head. "Malcolm was thrown in the lake… Trip pulled him out. Which is why you'll notice the change in cabin assignments."
"Did you really try and beat up the Cabin Six counsellor?"
Jonathan blushed slightly. "I was extremely angry… but that's not an excuse. I shouldn't have done that. I just don't like bullies… and I'm just as human as the rest of you."
"Did he really bite you?" This from Lemaitre, who hadn't taken his eyes off of Jonathan's arm.
"Yes. But it's not that serious… and he had a good reason." Actually, he doubted Trip had been thinking at all – it was just pure desperation; a wild creature trying to get out of pain.
"Is he going to be all right?" Kiprusoff nodded over at Trip who lay unmoving. "You said he pulled Malcolm out?"
"He needs rest. Yeah, he did… he saved Malcolm's life. But he's had training in that… and it was a pretty big risk." I'm grateful it was you, kid… but I don't want someone who isn't as good a swimmer trying to be a hero.
"Yeah… we almost lost the wrong one."
Surprisingly, Kiprusoff rounded on Arishamu. "He's not that bad… even if he can be a jerk. I mean I don't really like him… but I don't want him to die."
"Why? Because he said nice things about you at baseball?"
"Guys!" Jonathan stepped between them. He can start a fight, even when he's fast asleep. "Now, knock it off. I am not going to have another one of those situations, do you understand? We're all tired, and we're all edgy… but I don't need… I won't have anybody picking on anybody else… okay? Now if any of you honestly thinks that someone else here should die… then get your bags packed and get out now." Jonathan's voice grew icy, thinking about Trip and his depression. He'd be happy to do it for you, guys… especially right now. And I don't need that.
Arishamu studied his shoes. "I didn't mean it like that."
"Well saying stuff you don't mean is one of the ways people get hurt. Even if you don't mean it, someone might think you do. Remember the night of the rainstorm when I cancelled movie night?" He waited for them to nod, or otherwise acknowledge. They couldn't have forgotten… it was only a couple of days ago. "Remember that talk I gave you about accountability?"
Again there was a round of nods.
"Well, that's exactly what I'm talking about here. When you start saying things like that… you've got to think about where it's going to lead." He sighed. This was tricky ethical ground he was heading into, and he found himself wishing he could ask Malcolm for some advice. "I don't want to say that you can't say things… I believe in the right to free speech… but consider the consequences before you open your mouth. Think about who could get hurt, and if they really deserve it. You can't just say you didn't mean it and think that's okay."
"But you let him get away with things all the time." Arishamu pressed his point. "He gets away with everything."
"Is that what you guys see?" Jonathan shook his head. Forget captain, I couldn't even be a decent non-com. "He doesn't get away with things… how do you think I let him…"
"He and Malcolm were out all night that night, and you didn't do anything."
Jonathan stepped back. "Fair enough… I can see how you'd think that. What happened is that you didn't see me do anything. That doesn't mean I didn't."
"What about when he hit you? All you did was make him stay here… which was what he wanted anyway."
All I want to do is get some sleep. But he couldn't, not with these issues left unresolved. "I found out some things about that… and it put a different perspective on it. See… that's the other thing, guys. It sometimes helps to know why a person does things…"
"Scared." The single word from Sanchez made everybody stop. Sanchez rarely spoke – he answered most questions with a yes or no headshake.
Amazing. "What exactly do you mean?" Jonathan had a pretty good idea, but wanted the others to hear it.
Sanchez just shook his head.
Okay. Now he wished he had either Malcolm or Trip to translate for him. Either one of them was better at picking up on nuance. Just another reason why you have an impossible dream.
"But you said that being mad was no excuse for you to beat up the other counsellor, so how is his being scared an excuse for hitting you?" This one from one of the newcomers. "Besides, he does stuff like that all the time."
Ah ha. "And your name is?"
"Rodruigez. Chester Rodruigez. I go to school with him." The new kid looked over at Trip like a piece of sewage lay on the bed instead of a tuckered out kid. "He's always mouthing off to the teachers, or getting into fights. They let him get away with it, because he's the big, champion athlete… he shouldn't be here, he gets bad grades… but it was the whole chess club that got to come… we won the competition. It's not like he's even really a member of the club – he hardly plays anybody. He can't even keep the rules straight."
Like hell he can't. Jonathan was willing to bet that Trip knew the rules of chess better than anyone in the club. But you expect him to be stupid, so he plays the part for you. "Why isn't he smart?"
"Excuse me?" Rodruiguez looked lost.
"You just implied that he isn't smart." Jonathan could feel his temper bubbling up again: Trip's protective streak must have been rubbing off. "Why do you say that? What kind of evidence do you have…"
"All he reads is comic-books. And he takes mechanics classes… and like I said, he even gets bad grades there."
"And he's an athlete." Jonathan added the third leg of the triad. "Which by default makes him stupid. Tell me, what's a psychopath?"
"What?" Again the change in conversation seemed too much for Rodruigez to handle.
"It's a basic question. I just want a definition of a psychopath." Okay, so it wasn't fair… but I don't see the sun shining, either.
"I don't know." Rodruigez seemed to realise that he'd just walked into a trap.
"Funny, but he knows. Not only that, but he knows lifesaving techniques, and he knows how to use chemicals safely, and he knows about the physics of a baseball pitch… That sounds pretty smart to me. That's what I'm talking about guys… calling somebody stupid because they don't get good grades or – heaven forbid – take mechanics classes? And some of the smartest people I know read comic-books… and that's not because I know stupid people. Do you think that words don't hurt?" He turned his gaze to Sanchez. "You're right. A lot of the nasty things people do, they do because they're scared." He turned back to Rodruigez. "But, if you keep picking on them, all they're going to do is be hurt, and get more scared that you're going to hurt them more. Then sometimes they'll hurt you back. I'm not asking you to be his friend. I'm just asking you to stop hurting him."
"But what about the stuff he says about us? He's always referring to us as geeks… and kiss-ups, and stuff like that?"
"That's not right either, and if I catch him saying it, he's going to catch hell from me, too. But both sides have got to stop it. I'll have a word with him when he wakes up…"
"Like that will do any good. He gets in trouble for stuff all the time." Rodruigez made a face at the sleeping Trip.
"I know. And that's part of the problem." Nobody takes the time to really talk to him anymore. They just yell at him, or give him detention, and assume he doesn't learn. But if they talked to him, rather than at him… Look at the game. Trading insults – like equals rather than senior to junior – and he'd started to open up…to listen. But take him head-on in a battle of wills… and you might as well sign your surrender papers right now. "Just let me give it a shot, okay? I won't guarantee it'll last forever… it won't last at all if you guys don't pitch in too… but I think I can get you a truce.
"Because if there's one thing I bet these other guys have noticed… if you leave him alone, he'll leave you alone. As for when you can't… what did he say to you at the game, Kip?"
"He said I had good hustle." Kiprusoff looked a little confused at the question. "Why?"
"Because he also said you had a good eye. See, what I've noticed is that everybody – and that includes Trip, too – is too busy focussing on the bad things, and not spending enough time looking at the good. But if you give them a chance – and maybe a little respect – maybe you'll find out they're not so bad after all."
"You wouldn't give the other two another chance," Arishamu indicated the bunks formerly occupied by Dutretre and Hong. "You were going to send them home entirely."
"That's because they crossed the line. Malcolm nearly died, guys. He had water in his lungs when Trip pulled him out. And they did nothing except walk away… they didn't even hit the alarm and give him a chance. And I have given them second chances… more than one set." He could see discomfort settling on to all of their faces as they contemplated – perhaps for the first time – the thought of death. They probably hadn't been told that part… the part about how close it really came.
Nobody talks to kids about violence and death… they don't want to scare them. But if they didn't know the reality – that careless actions could end up killing someone – then what incentive did they have to stop? You guys don't need that on your consciences for the rest of your lives.
"See, that's just it, guys. If all they'd done was throw him in… then done something about it… then I might have more sympathy for them… be able to accept it as a mistake. But they didn't do anything. They just walked away."
"Oh." Even Arishamu didn't seem able to defend that.
Because there is no defence. "Like I said, guys… I don't promise to be able fix things and make everybody happy. But the last thing I need is another one of these incidents. People say you can't make it better by doing nothing… but sometimes you can. If you don't take part… if you don't contribute to the hurt… it does help. But as long as you even laugh at the jokes that someone else is telling…you're making it worse." He could see them thinking about it… considering the truth.
"Now, I hate to cut this short on you, guys, but I really need to get some sleep. Because I hate to break it to you, but us counsellors aren't specially engineered lifeforms. We're only human, like the rest of you. Not only that, but we're old." As hoped, the joke brought a few smiles. "So… um… talk among yourselves if you want, but please keep it down, for both of us, okay? I'm sure you guys know when Lights Out is by now… so I'm going to trust you to observe it." Practice what you preach, Jon. He could hardly ask them to respect him, if he didn't show them some too. Maybe expecting them to be able to put themselves to bed wasn't much… but it's a start. It's a start.
# # # #
And Mom said Camp would be a restful experience. Trip rolled over and looked up at his own bunk. Why wasn't he in it? Oh, yeah. Because he hadn't been able to climb that high last night.
"Morning. Breakfast… just like I promised." He looked over to see Jonathan coming through the door, bearing a tray. "I've got you orange juice, eggs, hashbrowns, sausages… cereal…"
"Coffee." He wasn't hungry now, either.
Jonathan stopped dead. "Coffee? You want coffee?"
"Coffee." Trip repeated. "Preferably black."
"Coffee." Jonathan set the tray down on the bunk and stepped back. "I will go get you some coffee." The tone of his voice indicated that he couldn't quite believe what he was hearing.
"Thank you." Trip waited until Jonathan left then grabbed one of his shirts out of his duffle and shovelled a few forkfuls of food into the centre of it. He then bundled it up and shoved it deep underneath the bunk. I'll take it out to the trash later… I never liked that shirt anyway.
Jonathan returned with the coffee and seemed pleased at the disturbances in the food. "I'm glad to see you're eating again, kiddo."
Trip gave him his 'Aren't I a Sweet Kid' smile, and nodded. He took the proffered cup from Jonathan and sipped it. When he did, he almost gagged. What do they do, keep the grounds in the freezer? It tasted like they used old oil filters too. Frozen, boiled, filtered coffee. Just what I wanted.
"Not your taste, huh?" Jonathan grinned, like he'd been expecting Trip's reaction.
"Someone should explain to them that 'ground' does not mean 'mud.' You could strip paint with that stuff." Trip set the cup down and scraped his tongue against his teeth, trying to get the taste off.
"Oh. I didn't realise that you were a barista." The grin slipped a little, but held.
"I asked for coffee. That is not coffee. That is toxic waste." At least the debate kept Jonathan from noticing that Trip wasn't eating.
"Well, we drink it."
"I can't be held responsible for your lack of intelligence. The perfect cup of coffee is made with freshly ground, freshly roasted beans that haven't been over-roasted, and have never EVER been kept in the freezer – that destroys the oils. Then… the water. You can't just pull it out of the tap, boil it and chuck it in. You need fresh, pure water, heated to between ninety-five and ninety-eight degrees centigrade. The water should move quickly through the coffee… it should not be allowed to sit and stew. And, finally, coffee should be drunk within twenty minutes of brewing – it should not sit for two hours on a hot plate or be reheated. This garbage violates every single one of those rules. I'm surprised you still have stomachs." He'd gotten sick and tired of his parents arguing over who made the worse coffee, so had decided to learn how to do it himself. Like everything else, they decided to leave it in his capable hands from that point forward.
"Well, forgive me for not knowing the chemistry of caffeine production. I will certainly try to do better next time around." Jonathan watched him expectantly, obviously expecting more food consumption.
At least it's good for something. He scooped up a mouthful of food and began chewing. Before he swallowed, he picked up the coffee and used the mug to hide behind as he spit the food into the murky liquid. He'll never see it in there.
"Hmn." Jonathan watched Trip put the mug down. "It's still never seemed all that bad to me. Want to see a trick?" He picked up the coffee mug. "I can see things in coffee. In fact…" He swirled the mug around, and the laws of physics created a centrifuge. "This one seems to contain even more contaminants than you imagined. That looks like egg… hashbrowns…and is that a bit of sausage I see?"
Trip glared.
"Nice try, hotshot, but not very original. I used to do the same thing with my broccoli – though I used milk – when I was eight. Now where's the rest of it?" Jonathan set the mug on the floor and crossed his arms.
Trip said nothing.
Jonathan sighed and sat down on the bunk. "Fine. Be that way." He picked up the glass of orange juice and held it to Trip's lips. "Now I know this probably isn't up to your discriminating Floridian standards, but it will have to do. Drink."
Trip kept his lips clamped shut. Make me, jackass.
"Okay." Jonathan wedged the rim of his glass between Trip's lips and tilted it. Orange juice ran into Trip's mouth and dribbled out the sides and onto his shirt. Jonathan reached over and pinched Trip's jaw in his fingers, opening it ever so slightly and poured a larger amount of juice inside.
Trip choked, then spat, catching Jonathan full in the face. The counsellor didn't even move, just sat there with orange juice dripping off his chin and holding the cup to Trip's mouth. "Try again."
Fuck you. The unspoken message beamed out through his eyes.
"We're not moving until you do. Your new roommates have enough concerns about your attitude without us having to inflict your low-blood sugar problems on them."
"Yeah, well they can kiss my ass. I don't care." The words came out through clenched teeth, and he could feel his eyes beginning to prick with tears. They don't like me anyway.
"Trip… you're already in deep enough with one of them… and you weren't even conscious when you came in last night."
"Rodruigez. Yeah, I know the jackass." He still didn't open his mouth – he wasn't going to fall for that old trick.
"Yeah, well don't call him that. I've already given him this lecture, so you can stop with the 'It's Always My Fault' look. You both have a lot of ground to cover to meet halfway. Like I told him, I'm not asking you to do that… but I would like to see a truce between you. No more insults… not even to other people. You want to take responsibility, Trip. Well do so. Take the first step." Jonathan set the glass down on the tray and gave Trip a shake. "Stuff like what happened to Malcolm starts with the words. Once you start treating a person as a lesser being… it becomes that much easier to do the rest. So stop it, okay?"
Trip lowered his eyes. You don't have a clue. Ignoring it doesn't work. It doesn't shut them up. Sometimes the only way to stop someone from hitting you was to hit them back. Whether it's fists or words. He'd tried ignoring it… back in the days when he couldn't say anything back without causing more ridicule. They don't stop, because they don't have to see it hurts – they know it hurts. You had to make them realise that you were just as dangerous – more dangerous – and only then would they stop, or at least leave you alone. You've never felt it… you just don't know. And like talking to Rodruigez would make any difference. There's still the rest of them. The first few weeks he'd shown up at the club… they'd all gone off into their little cliques and ignored him. They hadn't given him a chance. But Dad said I had to go anyway… he said he'd check. So Trip took to showing up and sitting in a corner, tweaking some micro-robotics. Ten weeks in he had a set that would play against him – the pieces moving themselves. Not that he ever let anybody see it – they'd just make more fun of me. 'Gearhead,' his other big nickname. The jocks called him that all the time behind his back – or in rare losing streaks, to his face.
Not that it matters – I could beat the pants off of them anyway. Even Dad thought that Trip hated chess because it was too hard, but the truth was that it was just too easy.
Then I find something… and you've got to send me here. Two weeks before he left, he'd been skating in the park and watching a pair of old Asian men playing a game with coloured stones. He'd ignored them at first, but slowly he'd seen that the game – as simple as it looked – was really quite complicated. They'd been a little surprised when he'd come over and sat down on his board to watch more closely. They didn't tell him to go away though… they just kept playing as though he wasn't there. After a while one of them asked if he was interested in playing.
"What is it?" He stood up to get a better view of the board.
"It's called Go." One of the old men smiled, gently. "The idea is to gain as much territory as possible… and deny it to your opponent."
Trip stared, fascinated. "Teach me."
He'd spent every day in the park after that, sitting with the old men and learning how to play their game. And those guys were good, and they didn't go easy on him because he was a newcomer or he was a kid. That was one of the big reasons he'd fought against coming…he'd actually cried when he had to tell them he couldn't come back for the rest of the summer. Up until Malcolm, those two old men were the closest friends he'd ever had… and he didn't know them outside of Go. He knew some: he'd learned that Mr. Shigai had been a software technician and Mr. Hu an aerospace engineer. Mr. Shigai even knew more about movies than Trip, adding a new name to Trip's Directors of Distinction list: Akira Kurosawa. They didn't look at the skater kid and tell me to go away. They didn't say I was too young… they didn't say I wouldn't be interested… They'd looked past the skateboard and the surfer haircut – looked past the fact that he was only twelve and were willing to let him in.
"I already gave them a chance." A rebel tear snuck out and down Trip's cheek. "They blew me off. Why should I give them any more?"
"I've given you more than one chance." Jonathan spoke slowly and gently.
"I never asked you to. I never even asked for one." Trip turned his head away.
"I know. But you've needed them, Trip. What makes you think you'll get through life entirely on your own?"
"What makes you think I'll need to? What makes you think it'll be that long a time?" He saw the words stung, as intended. I don't want your second chances. I don't want your lectures on how I'm a good person and doing everything wrong, I don't want to be your friend because when summer's over you'll forget I ever existed.
"God, Trip. Don't do this, okay? Why can't you see that it's not a crime for people to care about you? Why do you have to keep pushing people away…"
"Because otherwise they'll do it first!" The words came out louder and angrier than he'd expected. "And only stupid people set themselves up to get hurt… and like you said, I'm not stupid. But… but… as soon as people realise that I'm diff'rent… nobody wants to be my friend. The only friends I've got… got are a kid I put in the hospital and two old guys I met in the park. To everyone else I'm just some skater… skater-boy-gearhead-musclebrain-geekfreak."
"Trip, you didn't put Malcolm in the hospital. How many times do we have to go over that?" Jonathan shook Trip again, harder this time. "It wasn't you. And you don't know that people are going to abandon you…"
"They always do. It's al…always like that. Even my par…arents left me behind once. I was just li...ittle, and they left me." He couldn't stop himself, just fell into a full out crying-jag.
"I'm sure they didn't…"
"Yes, they did me..ean it. They said if I didn't…didn't hurry, they'd go with…out me. And… and they did… and I was just little. I didn't think…think they were coming back." He'd been so good for ages after that, afraid that if he wasn't he'd never see them again. He flopped down and turned his face to the pillow, half hoping he'd suffocate. Everybody leaves. Sometimes they couldn't help it… like Malcolm who'd eventually have to go back to his parents… but most of the time they decided that it simply wasn't 'cool' to hang out with Trip. The only friends I've got are people who know that cool will never happen to them, or don't care. Because Mr. Shigai and Mr. Hu had other things to worry about than a middle-school reputation, and Malcolm didn't even have the comfort of a geek-squad to hang with. It's easier to never be friends than to have your friends suddenly discover they don't like you.
And he couldn't do what a school counsellor once suggested – he'd been sent there for his anti-social behaviour – and try to fit in, because that would mean fragmenting himself. I can't shut off my brain to fit in with the jocks… and I don't like a lot of what they talk about, anyway. And the geeks won't take me, because I'm a jock and a mechanic… and nobody's into the same movies and books as me, except old guys like Mr. Shigai and Mr. Hu. They – too – were the only ones who seemed to understand his responsibility to his siblings. Everyone else laughs because I walk James and Lizzie home and cook dinner and look after them. The jocks and the other mechs were the worst with that… acting like the ability to cook was somehow a non-macho trait. It's not like it's hard; you just have to follow the directions.
He listened to the sound of Jonathan collecting the tray and various other things, then fishing under the bunk – yeah, lucky guess there, pal – for the rest of the food. He didn't move when the door closed. Yeah, sure. They aren't going to leave.
# # # #
"Where's Trip, sir? I thought he'd be coming with you." Malcolm scanned the hallway as though doing so would make Trip magically appear.
"He's… having a few problems. He still feels fairly guilty about what happened to you." Jonathan clearly wasn't telling the whole truth, but Malcolm was willing to let it go right now.
Or not. "Is he okay, sir? Because maybe you shouldn't have left him. One of the other counsellors or somebody could have come and gotten me." If Trip was bad and Jonathan left him… what would happen in the meantime? Don't do anything rash. Though from Trip, that would be asking a lot.
"There's some things I want to talk to you about." Jonathan took a deep breath and told him about Dutretre and Hong.
"I understand, sir. I wasn't expecting much if they've become part of Jonesy's circle. At least they are no longer in the cabin." Jonathan seemed surprised at Malcolm's reaction. But he doesn't know the situation like I do. "But what about Trip?"
"I don't think he's eaten a single thing since the day before yesterday." Jonathan looked away as they walked, obviously uncomfortable discussing such problems with a ten-year-old. Or maybe he just didn't want to burden Malcolm with any more.
'He ain't heavy, he's my brother.' "That's not a good sign, sir. Do you want me to talk to him? He might listen to me… especially if he's feeling guilty over what happened to me. It wasn't his fault, sir."
"He seems to think that if he hadn't let you be his friend that none of this would have happened."
"That's not true, sir. If he wasn't my friend, I'd be dead now, because Jonesy would have still thrown me in. And if Trip wasn't my friend there wouldn't have been anybody there to pull me out. I should talk to him."
"That's why I came to get you, Malcolm. He won't listen to me… I'm hoping he'll listen to you. I think I've disappointed him again." Jonathan sighed. "I don't know what to do with him. I hate playing favourites…"
"I understand, sir." He knew why Trip wouldn't listen to Jonathan: Jonathan didn't understand what it was like to be all raw edges. Even the slightest thing hurts like fire. You could either hide behind layers of shields, like Trip, or simply hide as Malcolm did. You keep wanting to get through the layers, because you think there's someone special underneath. But underneath was the same as the surface: a smart, creative, athletic person. Not a bunch of traits bundled together, but a singular unit. Trip was athletic because he was smart and creative. He was creative because he kept his mind and body active… and being involved so much is what makes him so smart.
So many people don't understand that. Smart wasn't the same as intelligent. I'm intelligent… but I'm not smart. I don't see how things fit together – not like Trip does. Smart was worse than intelligent, because at least intelligent could get you good marks. But since other people couldn't see what Trip could see… they didn't think he knew what he was talking about. And then he gets frustrated… and that makes him mad.
"Has Trip ever told you about what he wants to do when he grows up?" It sounded like Jonathan was desperately trying to change the subject.
"He said he was thinking of being either an architect, or an engineer… but he doesn't think that will happen. He wants to go into Starfleet, but he knows his grades aren't good enough… and he doesn't know how to fix them. That's one of the things that really hurts him, sir. He knows he'll never be able to do what he really wants – even though he's smart enough to do it." He saw a smile forming on Jonathan's face and wondered why. Do you know a way to change that?
………………………………………………………………………………………………
They made a stop on the way back, Malcolm watching from the car in puzzlement as Jonathan went into an expensive coffee shop and came out a short time later with a thermal mug and two bags.
"Maybe these will help." Jonathan handed the mug and the packages to Malcolm. "Right now, I'm willing to try anything."
"Yes, sir." He opened one of the bags to find a pair of sandwiches; the other contained an assortment of dessert squares.
Jonathan sent him up to the cabin alone. "It might go better if I'm not there."
Probably, sir. Malcolm walked in to find Trip unmoving on the lower bunk. "Excuse me, but I think that's mine."
"Mal!" Trip turned over and sat up, and Malcolm could see that the other boy's eyes were red and swollen. "It's good to see you're okay, buddy."
"I'm fine. Oh, Jonathan said to give you this." He held out the mug, still at a loss to its contents. Jonathan wouldn't tell him, only saying that Trip would understand.
Trip took the mug and looked at it suspiciously. Finally he took the top off and sniffed the contents, then took a sip. "Jackass."
"What is it?" Malcolm assumed the comment was directed at Jonathan.
"Coffee. Good coffee. We were talking about it earlier." Trip took another swallow, bigger this time.
"You drink coffee?" Malcolm had tried it once and found it bitter and impossible to stomach. I'll stick with tea, thanks. Coffee was one of those strange things adults developed a liking for, like alcohol and cauliflower.
"When it's made right. Keeps me calm." Trip drank a little more. "I could get the caffeine out of soda – I guess – but then there's all that carbonation and sugar. At least this doesn't leach the calcium out of your bones. And my nerves have needed a little steadying." His hand shook spilling a bit of the dark liquid onto the bunk. "Shit! I'm sorry, Mal… I'll clean it up…"
"It's okay." Malcolm sat down beside his friend. "It won't show, anyway." Suddenly he remembered the bags in his hands. "I've got sandwiches and dessert stuff, too."
"Ya steal them?" A half-smile crept on to Trip's face.
"Not this time." Malcolm confessed. "But they look really good."
Trip sighed and opened the bags. "They do look good." He took one of the sandwiches and broke off a small piece of the bread. "But I hate to think that you wasted your money, Mal. I can't eat all of this… it wouldn't be good for me."
Malcolm nodded. "I know… but you can eat the bread, right? And it's not my money anyway… it's Jonathan's."
"Then I'm not so worried about wasting it." Trip sorted through the squares, looking for the blandest and least sugary. "Most people don't know stuff like that… they just try to feed you."
"The Americans did that to the concentration camp survivors in World War Two… and a lot of them died because of it. The ones that were rescued by the Russians did better… because the Russians had no food to feed them." He could tell Trip stuff like this, because Trip knew what it was like to know things that nobody else did, and wouldn't get insulted by it either.
"I didn't know that. I mean, they teach you in school that there was a war, and that Hitler was this really evil guy who killed a bunch of people for their religion and that England and the U.S. won – and we beat the Japanese by using the atomic bomb – but they don't tell you the details. I learned more by watching movies."
"Judgement at Nuremburg."
Trip's eyes lit up. "United Artists, 1961. Spencer Tracy, Burt Lancaster, Richard Widmark, Marlene Dietrich… That is one of the most amazing movies ever made. I mean it's not a fun movie… but it's compelling. I don't know anybody else who's ever seen it. Have you ever seen Tora, Tora, Tora?"
Malcolm shook his head. "No, I haven't." He'd never met anyone who watched old movies either. Especially not ones as depressing as that.
"Twentieth Century Fox, 1970. It was actually a Japanese/American co-production about the attack on Pearl Harbour. Almost two and a half hours long… but worth every minute. Mr. Shigai told me about it. It's a different perspective… but I learned more about 'other cultures' from that than I have at this camp. And at school all they teach you is that the Japanese – who were somehow 'different' than they are now – snuck up and bombed a bunch of ships docked in the harbour. They don't tell you that it wouldn't have been so bad had the Americans not screwed up so much. They ignored their own intel and assumed that it couldn't be happening. 'Those aren't really Japanese planes… somebody's made a mistake.'" Trip made a face. "I always wondered how they managed to sneak up in a fleet of aeroplanes. It wasn't like they had stealth technology or anything. And the Americans did have radar. That's why I hate school."
"Do you get in trouble for asking questions?" Malcolm took a bite of the other sandwich. After hospital food, anything would have tasted good.
Trip nodded. "All the time. The teachers don't like it when you ask things that you're not supposed to know. Like when I asked how come America stayed out of the war for so long when they knew that people were being slaughtered like that. And they did know, but they ignored it. My teacher got mad and said that we didn't have time in the curriculum to discuss that… and could I try to pay attention to the lesson at hand."
"I get in trouble for questions like that all the time. My instructors are always telling me that I'm trying to humiliate my classmates." Malcolm sighed and took a bite from his sandwich again.
"From what I've seen, they do a good enough job of that on their own, just by breathing." Trip ate another small piece of bread.
"Who's Mr. Shigai? One of your teachers?"
"This old guy I met in the park. He's really cool." Trip must have seen the scepticism in Malcolm's face because he added, "It's not like that or anything. I'm learning to play Go."
Malcolm wrinkled his forehead. "Go?" He'd never heard of it.
"It's a really cool game. Complicated strategy… it can take hours, even days to play out a good game."
"I play chess," Malcolm confessed.
Trip howled and hung his head. "Malcolm, Malcolm, Malcolm. Just when I thought you were redeemable. Chess? Don't tell me you waste your time with that."
"You just said you like strategy games." And wasn't Trip here because he was a member of the chess club?
"Decent strategy games, yeah. Not chess."
"I could teach you," Malcolm offered.
Trip gave him a look. "Don't waste my time. Seriously… isn't there anything else you do in your spare time?"
Malcolm tried desperately to think of something that would make up for his being a chess player… "Well, I blew up some of my uncle's property, once."
Trip's jaw dropped. "No way."
Malcolm nodded. "I was doing some experiments… making gunpowder… and it was a little more potent than I expected."
A glazed look overcame Trip's eyes. "You know how to make gunpowder?" He said it very slowly, like he couldn't believe it.
"Yes. It's quite simple, really. Once you have the ingredients." After all, the Chinese came up with it millennia ago.
"You know how to make gunpowder?" More coffee spilled, this time on the floor as Trip's arm fell limp and a giddy grin infused itself on his features.
"Are you okay?" He hadn't quite expected this reaction.
"Hi." The grin grew wider. "I'm Trip Tucker and I'm your new best friend." Trip flung an arm around Malcolm's shoulders and pulled him close.
Weren't we already? Suddenly he realised. Trip was impressed. Not just impressed, but overwhelmed. About something I did?
"I have never actually managed to blow anything up in my life. My parents won't let me play with anything decent… they even took away my chemistry set when I was ten. Just 'cause I burned a few holes in the rug… but gunpowder? And you actually set off an explosion? God, Malcolm, that's the coolest thing I've ever heard in my life. You… you are the best. You are the greatest. Gunpowder!"
"I think my error is that I ground it too fine. The finer the grind…"
"The more surface area for a reaction and the bigger the boom. How much trouble did you get in?" And that was another thing, Malcolm realised. Trip judged the worthiness of a caper by the amount of punishment it was likely to engender.
"Not much. My uncle had been planning to do some landscaping there anyway. He told me that I should be more careful next time – because I could have been badly hurt or killed – and not to try and do something like that without him."
Trip flopped backwards on the bed. "I want your uncle. I would give anything to have someone who'd help me with stuff like that. My uncle… my dad's brother… still gives me things like toy cars – which would be okay, if they were working or even just scale models – but they're not. And he calls me things like 'Chucky-boy' and 'Tripster', and I can't stand that. Last time he came over I went and hid out at school for a while. Boy did my dad give me hell for that; said it was extremely 'rude' of me. Like Uncle Harry isn't rude to me, all the time. Like when I was watching this old docu – it was about how they built that Iron Bridge in England – and he switched it over to a basketball game and when I was gonna complain, said that 'kids aren't interested in stuff like that, are they Chucky-boy? I bet you'd rather watch something with a little excitement, huh?'" Trip's voice took on a nasal, droning quality as he mimicked his uncle. "I like seeing how things were built back in the old days. I mean they didn't have laser levels, or power-cranes or even welding equipment… but they put stuff together that lasted. And a lot of the time they were doing something nobody'd ever done before, so they had to work out a way to do it." Trip's lips pursed. "I hate my uncle. He's a moron."
"Do you mean the Cast Iron Bridge in Shropshire? I've seen that. It's the first one ever made… it's a historical artefact." This time Malcolm saw a flash of jealousy on Trip's face.
"You've been there and seen it? I would love to see something like that. Instead, all I get is an uncle who thinks that basketball is better quality viewing than educational programming." Trip stuffed another piece of bread in his mouth and spoke around it. "And people wonder why I have problems."
"I could tell you how to make gunpowder. The biggest problem is getting the chemicals. They're not readily available anymore… not with recyclers replacing the old waste disposal methods. Basically you need potassium nitrate – saltpetre – sulphur and charcoal. But it's very dangerous. The earliest references – in Chinese texts – basically outline it as something to avoid doing. If you try to grind it while it's dry… it will explode on you. I didn't even have that much… and I was thrown over ten feet." Malcolm realised that teaching Trip how to make gunpowder might – in actual fact – not be all that smart a move.
"Nah… it's your thing… I don't want to take it from you. I'm the builder, you're the weapons guy. Y'know, I wonder what those guys would think if they realised that they're mucking with an expert in mass destruction."
"I'm not that knowledgeable." As usual Trip had managed to go overboard with an idea.
"C'mon. You're the one who told me how things in that movie were so unrealistic… that the cannons were all wrong. You know more about weapons than I know… than I know about movies. I wonder if we could build a cannon."
Malcolm shook his head. "The materials would be a little hard to get a hold of… we'd have better luck with something simpler… like a trebuchet."
"A trebu-what? I don't like simple, Mal." Trip sat up again and made a face.
"Trebuchet… it's a French style catapult. And it's only more simple in a combustive sense… it actually has more moving parts than a cannon." Which is why I haven't built one yet… I can't get all the parts.
Trip's scowl gave way to a smile. "Well, I do like moving parts in a machine. What do we need?"
"Do you really want to try?" Malcolm tried not to let himself get too excited. It'll all come apart when he realises it's too complicated.
"Well, it's better than anything else this place has come up with. And Jonathan is expecting an Arts and Crafts project from us… what can be better than something crafted for the art of war?" Trip rubbed his hands together. "Now how does this trey-bu-shay…" the Southern accent turned an elegant French word into mush, "actually work? What do we need?"
"Well, it's essentially a counterweight catapult. We'll need to build a stand for the throwing arm… a weight bucket and a sling. The biggest danger is the triggering mechanism. You need some way to trigger it while you stand far enough away so you don't get hurt. After all, it is a siege weapon…they used to use them to knock down fortifications."
"And toss dead sheep over as biological warfare." Trip looked a little sceptical at that.
"Dead soldiers, in some cases." Malcolm confirmed. "After all, if the sheep hadn't been spoiled, it was still good for rations, but the soldiers weren't good for much of anything."
"Gross!" Trip yelled. "I mean can you imagine sitting there behind the walls and some dead guy comes flying in your face? I think I'd rather a spoiled sheep."
"Well, if they were decomposing, they would smell about the same…" Malcolm found himself enjoying the look of discomfort on Trip's face.
"D'you mind? I've just eaten for the first time in two days. My stomach is not in the best of shape… and you're talking about decomposing corpses as you eat a ham and turkey sandwich. I mean they're okay in the movies if they're zombies… but ewww." Trip pulled himself away to the corner of the bed. "You're sick, man."
Malcolm couldn't help it, he just started to laugh. "We're just talking and you're having a fit. You'd make a horrible soldier. I mean… the things soldiers sometimes have to do… I've read stories about how they're talking to a guy one second, then turn to him and the whole top of his head is just gone…"
"Ohhh." Trip flopped over again, this time on his side. "And to think I said you didn't know anything about crazy and nasty. Remind me never to get on your bad side… I don't want to wake up with some dead guy flying through my window. We have got to do this, Mal. This could be the greatest thing I've ever built."
"You've ever built?"
"Well, I'll admit… I can't do it without you… you're the one who knows exactly what we're building… I'm just the guy who'll figure out how to make it work. Oh, Mal, this is going to be amazing."
I just hope we get away with it. Still, any risk was worth it to see his friend happy again. And if Trip's happy and eating… I don't think Jonathan will try to stop us.