Hear No Evil . . . (10)
Ethan stood quietly beside his mistress's seat, well in the back row. Could he make a run for it now? With everyone distracted by this strange ritual?
He racked his mind to figure why this was so important. The entire crowd seemed entranced by the two combatants. During the other fights, most of the people at the fair were scattered around the different events. Now, it seemed as if the entire state was pressing close in the seats, aisles and doorways.
No, can't run now. Two many WS and WYS, he thought quickly. Just ride it out.
The officers handed something that flashed in the light over to two guys standing next to them. Ethan tried comparing the both of them to make sense of just what he was seeing.
They wore dark grey uniforms with grey vests covering. Black caps with the same insignia:
two bars connected by two smaller bars, like a pair of railroad tracks. The tall one on the left
had grey camoflague pants and red stripes on his sleaves, the guy on the right; green stripes
with black dress slacks.
The men stripped to the waist. The larger one ignored the whoots and catcalls from the crowd,
the other showboating.
So obviously they were of the same organization, but different units. Then why were they in the
arena? For a moment he thought of asking his mistress.
The crowd began a low mumble, slowly building to a creshendo when- the first blow!
"Oi!" The people shouted and threw their fists as the shorter once lashed out with a puppy punch,
barely striking the other in the collarbone.
The big one rolled his shoulder a bit, then advanced towards the smaller. Again, he was struck.
"Oi! Oi! Oi!"
A quick triple-punch. Left fist to cheek, right fist to stomach, left fist to cheek.
Red stripes stepped back for a moment, then went forward again. This time, Green went for a
high punch, which Red ducked landing a hard punch to Green's side.
Red stepped back again, giving Green a chance to catch a breath. Red must have socked him good.
Stupid. Should go finish him off while he's wheezing.
Then Ethan realized that Red was stepping back on purpose! What? He didn't want to win?
Green was still wheezing and clutching his side. Red dropped his fists and quickly ran to his
opponents aide. Green grabbed Red's shoulder, using him as a support. Red said something, then
pushed away as Green touched Red's arm with his finger.
Jake stepped towards Harold. He couldn't think.
"Okay, okay, okay..." was all that ran through his mind. Here he was in front all the WYS of
the state. "Don't let me lose." he muttered, not sure whom exactly he was asking.
The crowd rang out as Harry straight-armed him. Jake surmised that Harry was attempting a face
strike, but aimed a little low, catching Jake in the collarbone of all things.
Jake moved away from Harry and rolled his shoulder a bit, to shake off the slight pain and
ringing sensation in his collar. Harry could have broken his collarbone if he was a bit
stronger . . . but he couldn't have been AIMING for the collarbone, right?
Jake shook his head and approached again. This time Harry got him in the same cheek twice and
tried to wind him. First two hit on the cheek bone and the last on his lower ribs.
Jake stepped back again.
Jeeze, is he TRYING to break a bone!
He marched forward and directly right-hooked Harry where he guessed that the Commander's kidneys
were located. That'll show him to fight fair.
Jake immediately felt guilty as Harry doubled-over and gasped for air. His eyes widened in fear
as Jake rushed toward him again.
Jake bent and shouted over the crowd. "We should stop! Stop now! Come on, man! I won't
try to show you up, hell I even gave you some free punches so you don't look bad! Let's just
leave!"
Harry looked up and his eyes narrowed. Leaning on Jake he pressed his finger into Jake's bare
arm. Hard, poking him . . . no. That wasn't a nail, too sharp.
Jake stepped back and shrugged, shaking his head. "You wanna keep going! Fine!" It was then
he saw a small glimmer of light from Harry's finger... the sharp finger.
He raised his arm to his face and inspected the small bloodspot... "What the-"
SLAM! Harry had stepped up and punched Jake in the ear, while he was distracted.
Jake wheeled from the blow. He squeezed his eyes shut as the colored lights swirled through his
head. If it was just a light punch, why was he so dizzy now?
A faint voice was crying up towards him. "The prick! The prick!"
Well, yes he is a prick, but- Then it made sense.
I've been drugged?
He forced his eyes open and concentrated on the one person standing before him... only now it was
three people who were swirling around very pleasantly and-
Jake aimed for the middle Harry, putting all of his weight into his forearm.
Harry's nose seemed to explode on impact. One second: nose, next second: Blood, bone and
hamburger flesh. Jake had a fleeting moment of satisfaction as he collasped to the sand,
followed immediately by Harold.
With the last of his strength, Jake grabbed Harry's finger and held it up, then he simply fell
asleep.
THE OFFICE OF CAPT. JOHNATHON DRAKE
"This is a disgrace to the corps. The little son of a bitch."
"It wasn't just him."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, he somehow had a plastic packet of poison planted into his index finger. He's no plastic
surgeon. He had help. Help from a chaperone, I'm thinking."
"What are you implying?"
"Nothing. I'm accusing."
"Oh, well in that case..."
End OF Chapter 10
Hear No Evil . . . (11)
Ethan would have grinned at his new mistress's obvious anxiety if he wasn't so confused. The
way she would shift nervously in her seat. Every once in a while venturing with some inane
question or another, which Ethan would only respond to with a bow of the head.
"So, um . . . I really hope you like it at the farm."
He nodded and looked out the window. The suburban hive slowly faded into stretches of
unpopulated farmland which further progressed (or was it deprogressed) into forest and wild
meadows. The pavement under the Service Vehicle ended abruptly and with a slight jostling of
the cab, melding into a dirt path, barely wide enough for two lanes.
Well, one thing's for sure: I didn't land a cushy house-servant job. He thought as they passed
yet another cow and hay-bale infested plain.
The batch of trees ahead were surrounded by a metal mesh fence. He peered up ahead, but the mesh
kept traveling along. The fence seemed to go on forever.
Just how many acres can a person own, thought the boy who owned nothing.
He looked to his Mistress for some clue, only to find that she was still talking, apparently not
used to a deaf conversationalist.
-but ever since my father chose to protest the games, well at least the one featuring animals,
the Gardens pulled our funding. So, you're going to be taking over my old "easy" jobs, while
I learn how to pull some of my parent's weight.
Not realizing that Ethan had missed half her speech, Cassie misinterpreted the confused look
on his face.
I'm sorry. she said with a sigh. That was probably a little too complicated for you to
understand. Well, don't worry, when we get to the Rehab, I'm sure you'll catch on in no time.
Ethan's eyes narrowed slightly. Of course, he was an idiot, he must have forgotten.
He whipped away and looked back out the window where a gate in the fence appeared on the
horizon. Where was his anger coming from? People ALWAYS assumed he was a moron. Even the Boss,
his mas- his adopted father.
What did it matter what this little Nazi-in-training thought?
"Regeemeh!
"-Platoon!" The Platoon Sergeants echoed over their shoulders to the eight platoons. The four
Warren Platoons lined up nicely on the right in a line formation, while Wilton on the left was
in a box formation. The two different styles of procedure couldn't be more pronounced if you
highlighted them with a marker.
"Atten-shun!"
One hundred thirty-five voices hollared at the top of their adolescent lungs.
"PROUD AND STEADY, ALWAYS READY! WARREN DEFENDERS, OI!" At the same time, their shout mingled
with another . . . just as loud, just as aggressive.
"GUIDE THE PEOPLE, PROTECT THE RACE, STAY THE COURSE- WILTON!" eighty boys responded.
First Sergeant Michael "Top" Fischler scowled. Never before had Wilton's presumptuous Credo
rung through the hallowed halls of the Warren Drill Shed in the Warren Armory. He would make
sure that it was never heard again. Those Wilton bastards will be assimilated quickly, or
learn just how "persuasive" Top's teaching techniques can be.
With this lament, accompanied by the thundering sound of combat boots, the largest unit in the
NorthEast Region/Battalion came to attention. 1SG Fischler performed a left face and waited for
his Commander.
Jake returned Top's shaky salute. The boy was obviously disturbed about the new "recruits".
"Post," he commanded.
Top and the Platoon Sergeants ran quickly to the rear of the formation as the Platoon
Leaders, Jake's lieutenants, took their place up front.
"Stand at-ease" Jake ordered. Everyone in the regiment spread their feet to shoulder width and
and took out memo pads.
"Okay, gentlemen, first things first: We need to . . .welcome our newest members. You'll
find things are run a little bit differently here in Warren. Platoon Leaders? I expect a full
report of-"
A cry emerged from the distinct line between the two units.
The straight rows of soldiers suddenly became a ball of muddled confusion. Jake ran to the
regiment and joined the officers in pulling the yelling boys off this pile until he reached the
offenders at it's center. One wearing the Warren Red unit stripes, the other in Wilton Green
stripes and black dress slacks.
"Kill the bastard! Get him!"
"Demolish that pussycat!"
"Get out of the way! Grab them, damn it."
It took six soldiers, but eventually the two combatants were subdued. "First Sergeant," he said
in a low, silky voice. "Take charge. I want to see eightorderly platoons when I get back."
However low and calm his voice was, Jake was not in the mood for this chaos. He let out a deep
sigh as one of them broke free for a moment.
Angrily, he shoved the Wilton soldier back into his captors. "Take them both downstairs to the
Mess Hall." Jake refused to send a Wilton soldier to the hold on his first day in charge. The
new people would assume he was prejudice against Wilton and he would never earn their trust then.
Bad enough they saw him shove the Wilton man and not his own Warren soldier.
Cassie swung open the barn doors and gestured to the inside with a grandiose swing of her arm.
"Tada! The Barn! . . . So, it's not much, but it's home. Well, your home at least," she said with a nervous laugh.
This would be so much easier if he'd say something, Cassie thought.
But October Six was still quietly standing behind her, head slightly bowed as always, it seemed.
"Well, uh, a tour. Yes, a tour. That's where we keep the horses, I guess one of the things you'll
be doing is mucking out the stalls. We keep all the birds over there, believe me there's a lot
of 'em. Up top is the hayloft, I suppose that will be your-"
Cassie stopped when she felt the tickling-itching feeling of hay around her ankles. Slowly, she
turned around. While she was talking, October had found a broom fromsomewhere and had started
sweeping the barn floor.
She cocked her head to the side. "Did you catch any of what I just-" Cassie squinted and
gently 'decked' herself in the forehead. "I completely forgot, you couldn't hear me . . . you
can't hear me right now. Oookay. Talking to myself here."
October looked up. He pointed to the horse stall, then the bird's cages and lastly the
hayloft. After which, he went right back to sweeping. Well, at least he'd been paying
attention, even if he didn't catch what she had said.
"Cassie! You back yet?"
Cassie tapped Ethan on the shoulder as she raced out the barn door. He paused just long enough
to place the broom where he found it, on a peg near the door, then raced right after her.
Ethan watched her carefully, knowing her tendency to stop shortall too well. Just as predicted,
she halted suddenly in front of the house next to the barn.
Standing in the doorway, as if just about to enter, was a short balding man in his late thirties.
He had an infectious smile accompanied by a nervous adjusting of his round-framed glasses.
Ethan surmised the nervous adjusting was due to his presence.
"Well, hey there! Great job honey!" Stepping right up to Ethan he reached out his hand.
Seeing people do this before, Ethan tentatively grasped the man's hand and held on as he pumped
it up and down. Stubbornly, Ethan tried to keep hold of his dark mood, only to feel it ripped
away as he tried a shy smile.
The man chuckled. "Doesn't matter what race they are, all teenagers are moody." He patted
Ethan on the shoulder and released hi s hand. "My name's Walter, young man, and I'm Cassie's
father." Cassie's father raised his eyebrows expectantly and paused.
"Well, young man, this is where you tell me your name." As Ethan as about to speak, Cassie
jumped in, trying to rescue him. "His name is October Sixth, right?" she said, smiling.
October's smile faded slightly, but he nodded sagely and looked Cassie's father in the eyes.
"I think he'll do well here. Did you remember to pick up the feed on the way back?" he asked
Cassie.
"Iknew I forgot something. I'm sorry, Dad, I'll head right back out, okay?" she said
quickly.
"Heh. Just make sure to get back before your mother does. You know the woman's a tyrant."
For a moment, Cassie and her father shared a secret look, knowing that the only power a mother
legallyhad was what her husband gave to her. Times had changed, just not enough.
"As a matter of fact, why don't you take October with you? Give him a little test run, eh?" he
said patting October on the shoulder again.
Cassie was hopeful for a second, her parents had never had any other children, because they
wouldn't have been able to afford them. Had her father ever wanted a son? If she treated
October like a brother, maybe her parents would treat him like a person.
"Hey, October?" She looked him straight in the eye. "Think you'd like to head down to the feed
store with me?" Within his returning scowl, she realized her mistake. It was all fine and good
to talk about treating him like a person, but from the very beginning, she had not.
Watching her father enter the house, she refused to break eye contact with him as she did
something completely illegal. Turning his wrist, she pressed a button on the keypad in her
pocket. The two round pegs popped out from his wristband. The slave master was disabled.
Did he know that he could run now? Did he know it didn't work? What if he reallywasn't as
smart as Cassie now blindly hoped? What if-
"Ethan."
She blinked blocking his glare. "I- what?"
"My name is not Octhober. My name is Ethan."
Cassie couldn't help smiling slightly at his lisp and she nodded.
"Ethan? Would you mind making a run to the store with me?"
"Delighted to."
Thump, thump. SWISH!
"So, Jake. Just wondering, howdoes it feel to have a spic kicking your ass?"
"Marco, youknow we have no jurisdiction over Hispanics-"
Thump, thump.
"Yeah, 'cause we out-number you!"
Thump-thump CLANG!
"Oh, other miss, Jake!"
Jake grabbed the ball and fixed Marco with a stare. "Marco, we've been friends since pre-school.
I've stood by you through hell, high-water,and my father. What's all this 'Racial Pride' talk
for now?"
Marco shrugged. "Hey, man. Just representing my people." He said thrusting his fist in the air.
Jake chuckled and checked the ball into Marco's gut. "Just play, Marco."
"Yeah, yeah. One day my people will rise up!" Marco gently placed the ball in the driveway and
set his foot on it, raising one arm to the sky and thumping the other to his chest. "There
will be no borderlines, there will be peace spanning the continent, there will Taco bells as
far as the eye can- hey!"
Jake kicked the ball out from under Marco's foot, knocking him off balance.
"Seriously man, no more race talk. Just play ball with me."
"Jake?"
"Yes Marco?"
"Why are there no Mexican Olympics?"
"I am notasking."
"Come this is a great joke! Come on man! Just say 'why'!"
"Why? Why bother? You're just gonna tell me anyways."
Marco gave his trademark smirk. "It's the price you pay for being my best friend."
Behind The Scenes: I thought of the poison packet while watching a show about forensic scientists.
Apparently, a Sexual offender placed a tube of someone else's blood in his arm to fool DNA blood
tests so he couldn't be matched with DNA found in a rape victim. So I figured Harry could put a
packet of anesthetic in his finger and stick a small needle (the size of a spinter) into the
packet. Just stab your victim and squeeze the packet. To the naked eye, it would look like you
have an infected splinter in your finger.