Chapter 9:
The day after the Forster incident, as soon as he was released from his room, John went to his favorite tree, leapt up to the lowest branch, and swiftly climbed as high as he could. A bitter wind whistled, but John had as much privacy as he could ever manage. His guards shook their heads. They didn’t understand his attraction to trees.
John held a twig. He paused, feeling the tree. There was no disturbance. He was fairly sure that there were no cameras in the tree, though no doubt there would be from further away. He turned his head, searching. Someone watched a screen and there came to him a distant image of himself facing the camera. It was a less comfortable position, but he turned his back to the camera, and then paused, feeling again. More images came to him, but none was clear enough that he thought anyone could see what he was doing. He turned his attention to the twig. Mark said he had a power and that was why he was a prisoner. Just once, he’d maybe done something, and his face had become smooth. But if it was there, he had no idea how to use it.
He tried to make the twig vanish. Again and again, searching inside himself where a mysterious ability might somewhere lie, somewhere in that part of him that seemed so blank. He thought he was just a shell sometimes, a hollow man. He knew now that he was very badly damaged. He was not really just someone who’d only lived a short time.
After an hour, he ceased his efforts, wondering instead, bleakly, if he would suffer later for the useless attempts. Below, Rudy glanced up and spoke to Zack. He was shivering himself, and said that John had to be frozen, sixty feet above the ground. Zack looked up as well. John was easily visible in his brightly colored jacket, and seemed to be just staring into the distance. “I really don’t think we should let him climb trees. If he fell now, he’d probably be killed, but the Colonel only says not to interfere.”
But John was moving, rather stiffly and cautiously, and shortly let himself fall gently to the ground, yelping as he landed a little too heavily on his bad leg. He ignored his guards and turned to walk toward the fence, limping rather more heavily than usual. Zack, Lance and Bob just shrugged and set off after him. They didn’t stay too close when he obviously didn’t want them, just close enough to do their job. Alec came to him when he whistled, and grinned at him, “I hear you were a very bad boy.”
But John wasn’t disposed to talk about his misdemeanor, and Alec found himself describing the Christmas traditions of his family instead. John didn’t show how it hurt. He’d led the subject, and now listened intently, wanting to share a little. Alec had a few days off later, just four days, including Christmas Day and Boxing Day.
“Are many people having time off over Christmas?” John asked casually.
Alec looked at him suspiciously. “There’s to be no reduction in security, and the outside fences are finished now, besides B Force moving in tomorrow.”
“B Force?”
Alec explained the extra layer of security now in place. John said, disgusted, “You’d think I was bloody Superman, or something!”
Alec felt guilty, but reported the conversation afterwards, as he always did, and the faceless advisers and analysts behind the scenes noted what was said and drew their conclusions.
There was time before lunch, and John swam. He couldn’t swim just when he wanted to any more, as there had to be two in the water with him in case he was struck with the pain, and two of his personal guards had still to be armed and alert outside the pool. Often, there was no trouble, as off duty soldiers used the heated pool regularly, and most were happy to be roped in for an hour. Kyle and Edward were both there that time. They hadn’t happened to see him since he’d been shot in the legs, as their usual station was at the gates where he never went. But he greeted them as if nothing had happened. There were ugly marks on the front of his legs where the bullets had exited, although the entry wounds were only three quite neat marks on the backs of his legs.
Some of the soldiers couldn’t understand that he didn’t seem to resent them, but John thought that life would be impossible if he tried to live without the company of other people. The soldiers were all he had. Even the cleaners, gardeners and kitchen staff were soldiers, though he thought some of the specialist staff might not be. Kyle tried to draw him on the subject of his attack on Forster, but John didn’t want to talk about it. Forster might be back, and the knowledge that he could be put in his power frightened him badly.
His bleak feeling made a resurgence at lunch time, as he heard someone complaining that they were not allowed to put up Christmas decorations.
“We’re not supposed to upset the Martian,” said Hank, casting a sidelong glance at John. The soldiers tended to forget that there would be listening devices wherever the subject sat.
John looked at him, and suddenly smiled. “Aren’t you the boxing champion?”
Hank grunted an assent. He’d been refused time off for Christmas, and was not feeling polite.
John sat back in his chair, put his hands casually behind his head, and said, “Well, the Martian is already upset, and I’d just love to hit somebody - how about a fight?”
Hank sneered. “I’m not an old man like Forster, taken off guard. And I learned from professionals.”
John’s smile remained. “And I’m not really a Martian - Mars was abandoned long since. I learned my fighting on the streets of Kidos on Alpha Centauri, and you’re just an American soldier. I reckon I can thrash you.”
In a backroom, two men whom John had never seen, gaped at each other, before deciding it was probably just mischief. But one picked up a phone and the decision was made. They never stopped John providing them with extra information.
Zack’s zoster vibrated, and Zack was told not to interfere in the potential fistfight.
Hank looked around. The faces around him were expectant. Hank was not very popular. He’d learned his fighting at the hands of professionals, but he’d practised on any victim available ever since early childhood, just a natural born bully. He looked questioningly at Zack, who had come to stand behind John. John still looked at Hank, whose face was suddenly more clear in his vision. Zack gave the verdict. “There has to be boxing gloves, but otherwise, if the potential participants want, the fight can go ahead.”
Hank looked stunned and John kindly explained for him, “It’s a bit like I’m an animal in a free range zoo, you see, they like to watch what I do.”
Hank said, “I’ve got to go back on duty. I have no time.”
John was disappointed, but only said, “Another time, then,” and looked around restlessly. He wished there was something he could do. He’d already had a swim, he’d already talked to Alec, and he really did feel like hitting somebody.
Hank gave him an uneasy glance and left.
John finally went to the gym, where he laid into the large punching bag instead, hitting as hard as he could until he was staggering in exhaustion, watched by his three guards.
John wasn’t told when Mark Bedville left, in case it worried him. It made no difference - he remained observably restless, they presumed, nervous. He could put on an imperturbable expression when he chose, but he couldn’t conceal his jumpiness when watched twenty-four hours a day.
Every day, he tried again to make something move or vanish, hiding as much as he could from the cameras and from his guards. There was no result, but he wasn’t collapsing with head pain, either.
Shortly after Greenspan was left in charge, an argument blew up when Private Rawlings took exception to him looking at one of the few female soldiers, and he had a fight. As Zack insisted, they wore boxing gloves, though John looked at his gloves with suspicion, and took five minutes to forget he wore them and start to hit back instead of just dodging.
They had their results. John didn’t fight in the conventional style, apparently didn’t know about using his gloves to deflect punches, but was lightning fast, and defeated Jimmy quickly enough that he looked both surprised and disappointed when Jimmy stood back, shaking his
head, unwilling to take any more punishment. John had been scarcely touched. How he’d managed it when he was half blind was a mystery. Afterward, he walked straight into a projecting bar of one of the exercise machines.
Sunday, John’s guards told him that he was to go to the church service and behave himself whether he liked it or not. It was orders.
John’s attention wandered as the Minister droned, and hymns were poorly sang. The sermon, given the time of year, was to do with Christmas. The story of the babe in the manger. As al-ways, John was watched. Was the story new to him? Father Herley was coming to the moral of his sermon. “How would we treat Jesus if we came to us today?” He paused for effect, and repeated his rhetorical question in a lower voice, as if musing. “How would we treat Jesus if we came to us today?”
A mocking voice answered him. “You’d probably put him in a secure facility and surround him with guards!” Even Rudy and Bob were laughing as John was steered out. The congregation was in hysterics, to the considerable annoyance of Father Herley. It would be weeks before he saw the funny side of it.
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