29
But don't you want to know
What the dark and the wild
And the different know
The walk back to my room seemed to take forever. Part of me kept hoping that the strange dark-eyed boy in the red shirt would come along and break the rhythm of my life again. Another part kept hoping that I wouldn't wind up regretting him.
Donley had waited up for me. He breathed a loud sigh of relief when I opened the door, then lit a cigarette and leaned back on his bunk. "I take it nothing weird happened?"
"I wouldn't say that," I grumbled, mildly offended at his implication. Somehow I couldn't bring myself to dismiss last night so easily. "You try having a one-on-one training session with someone who can't talk."
"Say what?"
"She's got laryngitis," I told him, kicking off my shoes. "Can't speak above a whisper. We did most of our talking on paper."
"So if I was worried, how the hell could I have called her and asked, huh?" Donley glared at me, and it occurred to me that we were the last of our set of roommates. I knew I wasn't even one of the original batch he'd roomed with, and now I was all he had left. The others were long dead or simply gone. Even Smythe had been moved out, just like Julian. I couldn't fault Donley for being protective, or angry.
"She can hear just fine, Don. If I hadn't made it back, you could have called her and figured something out." I finished stripping down to my underclothes for the night and dug through my hidden cache for the tin of peppermints Julian had given me so long ago. If he were still here, would last night have happened? My breath caught in my throat as my mind tried to compare the two boys. Jules had been my friend, with a natural trust growing up between us. We'd given each other emotional and physical comfort, but was that the same as love?
Wait – love? When the hell had I fallen in love with anyone?
"You're doing it again, you know." Donley regarded me with a faint smile; his cigarette dropped cooling ash to the floor in a splash of pale gray. "May as well talk out loud, Crawford. You'll keep me awake all night like this."
My face went hot. "What did you pick up?"
"You've really got it bad for that guy, don't you?" Don leaned back against the wall. His hair brushed the ceiling; pretty soon he'd have to switch to the lower bunk or smack his head every time he tried to sit up in bed. "Hey, it can happen. I've been sneaking into David's office whenever I can get away with it."
I stared at him. Never had it occurred to me that they might be anything more than Jules and I had been: good friends who shared a little more than usual. Besides that, I hadn't realized Smythe was still at Rosenkreuz. "He didn't transfer?"
"No, he's training for a post in Retrieval."
A sudden flare of Sight caught me by surprise. "Don. Don't go this week." I regretted saying it as soon as the words were out; trying to change the future usually set uglier things in motion, no matter how good the intention. Nothing for it now, the warning had slipped out on its own. I tried to remind myself that he could have decided not to go anyway, or he could still wind up there. Neither of those thoughts made me feel any better.
Donley didn't ask, he just nodded slowly. "Thanks, Crawford. Is he okay?"
"Yeah, he will be." I tried to look more closely, but the future writhed away from me. Something had shifted; I could only hope it wasn't to something worse.
Conversation faded out after that. I figured Donley was trying to contact Smythe telepathically, say goodnight or watch your back or the like. I lay back on my bunk and closed my eyes. Dreamless, blameless sleep took me under at once.
The next morning found my time-sense still in working order, and Donley nursing a headache. He thanked me again for the warning, and again I hoped I hadn't screwed anything up.
I'd almost managed to set my thoughts to normal that morning when Donley and I picked up our breakfast trays and trudged to our usual table. Two clusters of blue-shirted kids huddled at the table, engaged in their own conversations. A few of them wore lighter gray, reminding me that in another year or so, so would I.
I'd be turning sixteen this year; would my mother bake a cake for me?
Donley joined in on one of the groups, parking himself between me and Jaxon Norwood. I let my thoughts drift quietly away from my birthday and focused on pretending the eggs were real.
After a while, the guy on the other side of Norwood leaned toward Donley. "Hey, you were asking about Hernandez?"
My hackles went up. I tried to listen without seeming interested.
Donley wiped his mouth and said, "I think he's putting pressure on a friend of mine. Heard anything?"
"Is this friend of yours a telepath?" the other guy asked, sounding suspicious. He probably thought Donley meant himself.
But Donley smirked and shook his head. "Nope. Variety meat."
Someone snorted a laugh.
Norwood finished his coffee, crumpled the paper cup and dropped it onto the tray. "I haven't, but that doesn't mean much. I'm not exactly well-connected with that crowd."
The light-jacketed kid across the table grinned and asked, "How is Devin these days?"
Norwood flushed a little, looked around. "Generous, as always."
I picked at my food, hoping that none of these telepaths realized that I was the friend Donley was talking about. Their banter didn't make me feel very good. I had no reason to suspect that this Hernandez guy wanted anything more from me than a good time and a precognitive lookout. In all likelihood, I'd never see him again, and that was fine by me. I felt like I'd been duped, sweet-talked into something I'd never have done if I'd been in my right mind. In fact, I still wasn't convinced he wasn't some kind of mixed talent with a very persuasive gift.
Donley elbowed me in the side. :You're buzzing.:
I gaped at him, then clamped down the shields. "Better?" I growled, stuffing the last bit of powdered egg into my mouth.
As Norwood got up to leave, he told Donley that he'd stay on the alert for any news. "If Hernandez tries to shake down your friend, I may have some favors to call in from Devin's crowd. Let me know, okay?"
"Thanks, man. Keep it clear today."
"You too."
Donley and I stayed at the table a few more moments. When his telepath buddies were gone, he said, "It'll be okay, Crawford. We'll look out for you. Besides, everyone knows you don't fuck with The Precog, right?"
Yeah. Everyone except the people in charge. "Right, Don."
Again, morning classes crawled by in a mind-numbing blur of boredom, with me aware of every passing minute. I was beginning to think that maybe losing time had been an improvement: at least I hadn't had to watch my life slide away in an Orwellian nightmare.
And again I dragged myself back to the dining hall for another tasteless lunch among the missing. There had to be more to my life than this, though I was very careful not to think that too loudly. Any dissatisfaction with the way of things wouldn't be looked on very kindly by those in power, and I had no desire to tempt fate on that score. A nice safe desk job and a ficus plant were waiting for me on the other side of my classes if I just played my cards right. Distantly I started calculating how many more years I would be a student before reaching the exalted heights of clerk or secretary.
Donley and his friends let me sulk, probably thinking that I'd had a bad run-in with one of my teachers. That had happened often enough these past months, with extra work assigned or a trip to Konnor's office while time had spun around me. I didn't feel like telling them that today's problem was the exact opposite: too much clarity in a world that looked better by darkness.
Telepathic and spoken chatter formed the backdrop of my meal as they discussed this problem or that speculation, and I felt more on the outside than ever. As they'd gotten older, the blue-shirts had begun to close ranks along their separate lines. Telepaths formed small groups that excluded the clairsentients through no fault of theirs. They just couldn't offer each other any kind of support, and as our numbers dwindled – attrition – we all became a little more isolated. At least Donley had some friends of his own kind, guys who understood the special hell known only to a telepath.
Damn, I was doing a lot of heavy thinking today. It had been so long since my mind and I had been acquainted I hadn't suspected it could run so deep.
A ripple of tension cut through the audible conversation, followed by the buzz of rapid telepathic speech around me. I looked up.
An older kid in light gray uniform was approaching our table. He wore his jacket open in clear defiance of code, as so many of the predators were inclined to do. He was looking back over his shoulder, talking to some other guys as he moved away from them, toward me.
His smile was brilliant.
I looked down, hoping he'd go away, hoping my tablemates hadn't seen my reaction, hoping –
A pair of strong brown hands slammed down flat on our table, right in front of me. Crimson-trimmed gray sleeves framed a tight red t-shirt clinging to solid muscle, drawing my eyes upward.
Around me, the telepaths scattered like mice. Norwood took Donley by the arm and hauled him back with a muttered, "Later, Crawford." Another mumbled "Nice knowing you" as he fled with his fellows, leaving me alone with the source of their fear.
I took a deep breath, replayed everything they'd told me about this guy, and only then looked at his face.
His eyes sparkled with dark humor, and his grin was pure arrogance. He watched my so-called friends clear out of the dining hall the way I'd imagine a leopard watches the herd vanish as its prey lay dying in its jaws.
"I forgot to give you something, the other night."
I glared at him, refusing to be intimidated. "And what do you think you have that I'd want?"
His smile didn't waver, though it seemed to soften, and his eyes grew warm again. "My name. It's Fernando."
I swallowed, reeling in the charisma of him. I still couldn't discount the possibility of this being some kind of psychic charm, and I wasn't about to give in without a fight this time. "Hernandez, right? I've heard about you."
"I'll bet you have!" He sat down opposite me, resting his elbows on the table and leaning over them. "I'm sure they have some interesting stories to tell you. But that's not why I'm here."
"Why are you here, then?" I asked, feeling bolder than I probably should have. This guy was a phys talent, a firestarter, if Don was right; in any case, he was big enough to pulverize me if I pissed him off.
"I told you. I had something to give you." His expression was calm now; in another world I'd call it sincere. "When's your next class?"
I frowned. "Right after lunch, why?"
He looked at the clock on the wall. We had maybe twenty minutes; apparently that wasn't enough for whatever he had in mind. "When do you have a break?"
"Not until after dinner. They keep me pretty well under wraps. What's this about?" Though I didn't want to admit it, curiosity and desire had just about put suspicion back in its little box. There was just something about this guy…
Dark, hot eyes bored into mine, and though I reflexively closed my shields, I could feel him inside of me. "I told you I'd see you again. Tonight, then. After dinner. Meet me in building 1A, second floor. Next to the custodial closet; the room will be open." I couldn't close my eyes fast enough to miss the bright smile shining only for me. "Trust me, be there." With that he got up and strode to the door.
The group of redshirts he'd been talking to waved as he left.
I felt naked. He'd just made a score in front of his friends, at my expense. By this time tomorrow, everyone would know that he was after The Precog, and that couldn't be a good thing. Moving like a small tasty animal among the scavengers, I put away my food tray and hurried to class.
My mind spun. I was scared, more scared than I'd been in some time, and yet…when he looked at me, I wasn't afraid of him. I should have been, logic told me that in a loud and strident voice. But I still couldn't reconcile all the talk with the person.
Hernandez. Redshirt. Pyrokinetic. Black marketeer.
Fernando.
"Herr Crawford, are you with us this afternoon?"
I blinked, aware of a slight blush on my cheeks. Acting on instinct, I held up my left hand and began to scribble furiously in my notebook. The teacher waited patiently until I looked up. "Thank you, sir. Yes, I am." He nodded and repeated the question, allowing someone else to answer it for me.
The feeling of personal power – of something close to autonomy, even! – roared through me and thundered in my ears. I reinforced my shields as the realization locked into place: they couldn't tell if I was bluffing! Vision or woolgathering – they couldn't tell the difference, unless I told them through my own carelessness. They all thought I was on the verge of insanity. No telepath wanted to look inside my head, except Donley, and even he seemed uncomfortable about it. He'd helped me forge a sanctuary in my mind, a stronghold that few could breach –
And Fernando Hernandez had just waltzed right on in and made himself at home.
I decided then that I would keep that appointment tonight, though I'd have to be very, very careful.
A/N:
But don't you want to know
What the dark and the wild
And the different know
"The Different" – Melissa Etheridge Skin
Again, in a small way, we are reminded that Bradley Crawford is no ordinary kid – by the time he was twelve, he'd read George Orwell's "1984" and "Animal Farm". No wonder Rosenkreuz seemed so damnably familiar.