3.2.2011
Alan Hart was getting bored. He had spent the last five hours interviewing snotty little super-brats-the first of the Augment project-to evaluate their intellectual and emotional progress. The first one was interesting-her devotion to serving mankind and well conceived answers were unusually well-developed for an eight year old-but within five minutes of hearing the second child say the exact same thing, almost verbatim, Hart realized they were parroting whatever propaganda they had been feeding them. Adding insult to injury was the fact that little brats were all named after great British authors.
This skinny, pale-faced, dark haired boy was the tenth child in a long line of little parrots on steroids. Alan felt annoyance rising as the child fidgeted. This one didn't even have the discipline to hold still.
"What's your name?" Hart asked.
"Joey Conrad, sir." Hart blinked.
"You mean Joseph Conrad."
"No, sir, that's not my name."
"But that's the name on your paperwork."
"But it's not my name, sir; that's the name of some writer bloke." Ooooookay then.
"Alright, then…Joey…Do you enjoy your classes?"
"No, sir." That was original; the other children had all sung the praises of education and spoken of how important knowledge was to their future as defenders of Britain.
"Why not?"
"I'm so BOOOOOORED." Despite his usually very controlled disposition, Hart had to bite hard on his tongue not to burst out laughing at this. Misinterpreting the strange look on his caseworker's face as disapproval, the boy quickly resumed military posture. "I mean…Bored, SIR."
"I see. And why are you bored?"
"'Cuz all they do in class is learn easy stuff, and then say the same stuff over and over again so we'll remember it exactly for when the British Government comes to see our progress. Sir." This boy was either too stupid to realize he was outing his teachers, or too clever for his own good.
"I see."
"I don't think the British Government would like that we're just learning to say what they want to hear. Sir."
"Really?"
"No, sir. I think they'd rather hear us tell them the truth, sir, because we're supposed to tell the truth when we tell them about what we can do, sir, and lying about what we think, sir, is wrong, sir, because I'm right, sir."
"Are you?"
"Yes, sir."
"Are you right about the British Government?"
"Yes, sir."
"Why do you think that?"
"Because you're smiling at me, sir." Hart cocked his head.
"And what does that have to do with anything?"
"Because you are the British Government." Hart's smile disappeared. The boy was extremely clever.
"Very good. Do you know why I'm here?"
"To decide if I'm going to become a soldier, sir."
"Don't you think your teachers know how to convince me to make you a soldier?"
"No, sir. They're idiots." Well, don't sugar coat it, Joey. "But I don't want to be a soldier anyway, sir."
"Oh?"
"No, sir."
"What do you want to be, then?" The boy's eyes lit up.
"A pirate, sir!" For the next fifteen minutes, Hart let the boy go on and on and on about how he wanted to be a pirate, plundering ships with an eyepatch and a hook and a peg-leg, and how he'd lock capture ship captains and take their ships and make them walk the plank and then lock them away in the brig (in that order). He never got to the questions about protecting other people or serving his country or whether he wanted to kill people.
And then, when it was time for the boy to leave, Hart wrote down exactly what he had written for the others.
Devoted, articulate, and intelligent. Great potential.
For now, it was best for Joey Conrad to fly under the radar. But Hart would keep an eye on the lad.
Maybe Dread Captain Conrad would need a first mate.