14. The Sacrifices of Others
The Sacrifices of Others
Dinner wraps up quickly after that. No dessert is offered.
And I’m tired now. I breeze into my cabin quickly. Keep my back to Cosmer the whole time I undress.
In just my undergarments and a clean blouse, I climb into my bed, facing the wall.
I can hear Cosmer climbing into his.
We lie like that. Eventually the light goes out, leaving us in darkness.
I need to sleep, and I know I’m tired. So why do I feel so awake?
“Ara?” Cosmer says. It makes me jolt.
“Hmm?” I manage.
“Is everything okay between us?”
“Yes. Why wouldn’t it be?”
“I don’t know. I seem to keep offending you. I promise you, I’ve never had any intention of doing that.”
Intentions. Choices and intentions. Which one makes you a good man, and which makes you a bad one? Dezeeves hadn’t said.
I search for the right answer.
“I know that. And I know I’m probably being too sensitive. It’s being up here. I’m not coping very well.”
Cosmer shifts in his sheets. “Not coping? Ara. The way you handled what happened at dinner. It was incredible. You sent away his food like you were embarrassed for him or something – and trying to spare him his dignity. When you had every right to behave much worse than you did.” Quieter, through breaths, he says, “I’m sorry, Ara, that you had to experience that at all.
I don’t know what Dezeeves was thinking.
It was cruel. And I hope you’re all right. ”
I inhale a restrained breath.
“Thank you,” I eventually say. “I appreciate that.”
Because I do.
It’s strange. My body feels tight. There’s a wedge in my throat.
Like I’m longing to say more to him, but I just don’t know what, yet.
I try to pretend he isn’t there at all – and pray to the sisters to please let me get some sleep.
Cosmer and I are one of the first in the queue this morning. Making the bed doesn’t take nearly as long now I’ve got the hang of it, and I only need to redo one corner.
Breakfast is just ground biscuits with water. It looks like pulps of wet paper. I’m also not particularly hungry after the meal last night, the most generous I’ve had in a long time.
So, as we sit down, I pass my bowl to him with a look of apology. I probably have been harsh on him. But today is a new day, and I want to put things right between us. Especially as he tried to do that last night, in his own way.
He squints at me. “This is literally the best breakfast they serve here. Are you sure you don’t want it?”
“Positive.”
He dips his spoon into it. “You’re missing out.”
“Why?” I ask, playfully. “Does the water help enhance the flavour of the baked flour?”
“Absolutely. You haven’t lived if you haven’t tried wet baked flour.”
That makes me smile. It feels like the sort of inane conversation we would have back at home in passing, or at the beach, which is where we spent most afternoons just swimming, joking around and talking – often with Eric, too.
Through a mouthful, he asks, “Did Riss show you a copy of The Accords?”
“Yes,” I groan. “And it’s enormous. I don’t know how I’m going to remember everything. And there are a million acronyms.”
“We do love an acronym up here,” he says, with a smile. “But don’t worry, everyone starts getting it. We can practice them now, if you want? Until Drake and Riss get here.”
“Okay.”
“Let me think.” He sucks in his cheek. “All right. Would taking a weapon out for shooting practice be Approved Use?”
I know this one. “It would depend on who issued the order to the armoury.”
“Correct. Unranked soldiers and pilots – not fine. An officer – fine, and they can issue them for the pilots and soldiers under their authority. And first officers can do whatever the fuck they want, because they’re first officers.”
“What if an officer started shooting everyone?” I ask, sounding like my brother. But it’s the kind of anxious thought that invades my head sometimes, too.
“Obviously, that would be Unapproved Use. But officers are chosen carefully. So, we assume they aren’t going to do that.” His swallows a mouthful. “Okay. What would a crew member get if their uniform was deemed incorrect by an officer?”
I know this one too. “UI. Uniform Infraction.”
“And what would that get you as a punishment?”
“One strike.”
“What if I already had one strike that week?”
“The brig?”
“That was probably too easy,” he admits. “The Accords are obsessed with the brig. Let me think of some harder ones.”
“Article One,” I say, thinking out loud. “Under On Conduct.”
“What about it?”
“I thought it was strange when it said Captain’s orders are final.”
He stares. “Well, they are.”
“But what if they’re wrong?”
“They’re not.” He shrugs. “Dezeeves is pretty fair, anyway. He actually rarely issues any orders – to us, at least. Ephraine is the one you have to worry about, although I’m sure you got that by now. He sends people to the brig like he thinks our jobs can do themselves.”
I chew my lip.
“Article Nine,” I say suddenly. “In the same chapter.”
He smirks. “Sorry. Am I testing you, or are you testing me?”
“Do you know it?” I ask, steadily.
“Is it the one about always carrying your radio and pocket watch? That’s the bane of my life, too.”
“No,” I say. “It’s about maintaining your own health while on board the ship.”
His face drops.
“Ara,” he says, understanding.
I try to quote it from memory. I’d read it many times yesterday because it stood out to me.
“No crew member shall risk falling into poor health. The list is inclusive of but not limited to: Not carrying out hygiene practices as laid out in On Hygiene and Wellbeing; not partaking in physical exercise in the Training Room or Drill Hall for at least sixty minutes a day; not drinking the water provided with mealtimes and available on request; not drinking to excess at social functions…”
I trail off.
I know what I’m about to say.
He knows what I’m about to say.
“And,” I continue, watching carefully for his reaction, “Not denying oneself sustenance.”
His voice lifts as he states, “I’m not denying myself food, Ara. I’m just not allowed to eat it. I told you that.”
I know Riss said she would tell me, at some point. But it was worth a shot. I so wanted to hear it from Cosmer himself.
Swinging my feet under the bench, I say, “I wish you’d tell me why. I find it so strange. And Riss said it’s not a punishment.”
“It’s not a punishment. And I’m not going to tell you.”
I consider pushing him harder – but Riss and Drake arrive at that moment with their own bowls.
“What are we talking about?” Riss asks.
“The Accords,” Cosmer replies quickly.
“Good. We’ll be able to tick that one off Custom in the Four Components soon. And I think we’re making great progress in the others, too. I’ve put in the Culture section all about the Captain’s Dinner. Did you?”
“Sure,” Cosmer says, in a way that makes me think he hasn’t.
She goes on like a gust of wind. “And they did a full day of duties, so that’s all part of Calling. They still haven’t had Correction, though.”
“Drake’s first session is today.”
Riss and Cosmer talk some more amongst themselves about Integration plans, but I don’t hear any more of their conversation. I’m still thinking over what Cosmer just said.
If it’s Drake’s first corrective instruction session today, will he be fully converted by tonight?
Will he still be my friend?
I stare at him. The way he carefully and neatly takes in each spoonful, as if testing it first for poison.
He looks up at me.
“Did you give him your breakfast again?” he says under his breath, indicating my bowl on Cosmer’s side of the table with his gaze.
“I don’t mind.”
His eyes narrow. “I do mind. You need to eat.”
“I’m fine.” I add, “Are you fine? You don’t seem concerned that you have corrective instruction later.”
“I try not to concern myself with things I have no sway over. Not when there are plenty in which I do.”
“Like what?”
“Like, you eating,” he says, pushing his own bowl to me.
It surprises me.
“Thank you,” I say, stiltedly. “But honestly. Even if I was starving, I wouldn’t want to eat that. And I would know, because I have starved.”
“All right,” he says, pulling the bowl back – but doesn’t look happy about it.
“I hope it goes okay,” I tell him. “The correction.”
“I am optimistic.”
“The facts are allowing it?” I guess.
“Quite.”
Cosmer and Riss are getting up. It’s time to go.
And I start wondering when my first corrective instructive session will be. I’m sure it’s deliberate, keeping Drake and I in the dark about these sessions. Another way for Dezeeves to keep us under his thumb, paranoid, and compliant.
Because that’s what he wants, isn’t it? What The Assembly wants? That’s why there are so many Accords.
They want Hevallan soldiers who will serve their country in the way they deem fit and do no wrong.
Like if you could magically animate a training dummy, and get it dancing for you.
Intelligence goes by similarly to yesterday.
I’m assigned a frequency that turns out to be for engineer use.
My notes end up looking like a training manual for them.
They’re always talking about either oil or osimidite or laser light.
Oxygen and pressure. Faults or leaks or breakages.
Stabilisation, and destabilisation. Cooling.
I get the impression it’s a wonder this ship is upright and floating at all.
After our duties end at the hour of sixteen, Riss and I head straight down to the Training Room. She puts me to work even harder than yesterday. I can barely breathe after running, jumping, squatting, lifting. And press-ups – which I’m terrible at.
After our drills, she gets me onto a mat and starts teaching me how to flip someone.
“We’re smaller, so we have to get lower. Rely on our centre of gravity. It’s all in the hips.”
She then proceeds to slam me into the floor three times to demonstrate. I barely manage to get up between them. Her eyes are blazing.
“Riss,” I say, carefully, standing up for the third time. “Are you annoyed at me?”
“Why would you think that?”
“I don’t know. Maybe because I’m going to wake up entirely blue?”