Chapter 341
Jackson hesitates when he and Rafe turn the corner on the upper floor where the Captain’s office is. He looks both ways, trying to decide which direction to go.
“What’s wrong?” Rafe asks, turning towards him with a frown.
“I’m supposed to meet Hank this morning,” Jackson murmurs, looking down the hall to where their normal meeting room is. “I know the Captain wants to meet with us, but…if Hank did come, it would be rude to just let him sit there.”
Rafe smirks a little and nods to him. “It’s fine – go let Hank know what’s going on. But you know you don’t have time for a full meeting with him, right?”
“No, I get it,” Jackson says, running a hand through his hair and starting off down the hall. “I’ll just go apologize and say it will have to wait.”
“I’ll stall the Captain,” Rafe says, nodding seriously to his friend and starting down the hall to the office. “Come as soon as you can.”
Jackson returns the nod and exhales, long and slow, before striding down the hall towards the usual door. When he turns the handle and pushes it open, he’s not surprised to see the smaller man sitting in his chair, his laptop open before him, waiting.
“McClintock,” Hank says, nodding towards the chair. “Nice to see you today.”
“I’m afraid I can’t stay long, sir,” Jackson says, quietly closing the door behind him and moving to the chair, taking his seat. “We’ve had some news.”
“No worries, you’re not breaking any secrecy pacts,” Hank says, looking seriously at the young man before him. “The Captain told me this morning that my visit today is a bit of a wasted effort. Thank you for taking a moment to stop by, though.”
“I’m sorry,” Jackson says seriously, “I wouldn’t have wanted you to waste your time like this.”
“It’s all right,” Hank says with a shrug, nodding towards the computer. “I’ve got enough here to keep me busy. All that’s lost is a couple of wasted hours on a helicopter, which isn’t a big deal, all things considered. I’ll get a nap in on the way back.”
Jackson opens his mouth to ask if there’s anything that Hank needs to know in the meantime, but then he pauses, his eyes falling to the floor.
“What is it, kid?” Hank asks, gentler than usual.
Jackson takes a moment, staring hard at the floor, before raising his eyes to the doctor’s.
“I’ve been giving you as much information as I can, sir,” he says quietly. “But do you have…other sources as well? Information about…inside?”
Hank turns his head, curious now, because so far Jackson has basically interacted with him as a kind of incomplete encyclopedia on Community knowledge. Jackson answers every question that Hank asks as best he can, with complete clarity, but rarely – if ever – shows any emotion about the answers or asks for anything in return.
At the heart of it, Hank knows, is Ariel: that Jackson is answering the questions because Ariel would want him to, because it helps her people, a group which includes the Community as far as she and the Sinclair family are concerned.
But this? The way the boy is hesitating today, asking for news?
Today, it’s something else.
“I have people working in the North,” Hank says, perfectly transparent. “The Community itself has been hard to breach but we’ve had some short success. We have more information than we had at Midwinter, but what we have is incomplete. Why?” He turns his head, watching Jackson carefully for his reaction. “What do you want to know?”
Jackson pauses again, clearly at war with himself.
“It’s all right, Jacks,” Hank murmurs, deliberately calling the boy by Ariel’s pet name, leaning forward and stretching an inviting hand across the table. “You’re…allowed to ask.”
The boy sighs and doesn’t look up. “Do you have…names?” he asks, almost in a whisper. “A census, or anything of sort? Of who’s in there, who’s alive?”
Hank waits for Jackson to raise his eyes to his, but when he does, Hank nods and leans forward towards his laptop, searching for a particular file and pulling it up. He puts his hands on the keys, ready to type. “Again, it’s incomplete,” he says quietly. “But we have something like that. Who are you looking for?”
Jackson shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “It’s not precisely…who,” he says, staring at the database at Hank’s fingertips. “Just…” he sighs and drops his head into his hand. “Do you know? If there are any children in the Community who are…maybe three and a half years old?”
Hank’s stomach clenches at the question but he lets no sign of his sadness for the young man in front of him show on his face. “Well,” he says, beginning to type. “I’m not sure. Let’s see what we can find out.”
When I turn the corner to the Chemistry classroom, I see Neumann already at the door, talking seriously with my fellow Espionage Cadets. His eyes flash up, meeting mine, and he sighs before turning back to the few boys before them. As I approach he very clearly wishes them all luck while each holds out their hands, accepting a small packet that Neumann presses into it.
Then they all walk away, not giving me another look.
“What was that?” I ask, stepping close to Neumann, a little anxiety turning in me when I realize that he sent them away so that he could speak to me in private, giving them instructions that are clearly separate from mine.
“That was farewell,” Neumann says, uncharacteristically leaning against the door frame and looking after the Cadets as they move quickly down the hall. “Sending underprepared boys off to a war they’re too young to remember the start of.”
I frown at him as he turns his eyes back to me.
“What?” he asks, the corner of his lip turning up. “You don’t like it when I wax poetic?”
“I don’t like it when you dodge the question,” I answer, crossing my arms over my chest. “What did you give them?”
Neumann smirks at me. “Cyanide,” he answers, quite calm and serious. So calm and serious that the gravity of his answer takes a moment to hit me. When it does, my lips part as I stare up at my professor.
“Are you…are you sending them behind enemy lines?” I ask quietly, remembering what Faiza said – that Neumann has sent everyone he has and that none have returned. I look back at the boys, realizing that they – and I – might be all he has left.
“I am,” Neumann replies, quite simple, considering me. “The cyanide is…a last resort. A gift, in case things reach their most despicable ends.”
I slump, turning back to my professor, looking up into his face.
His expression softens, then, as he looks down at me. “Don’t worry, Ari,” he murmurs, far more casual than I’m used to him being. “There’s none for you. All my pills are parcelled out.”
I just stare at him because…what? “Please,” I say, shaking my head. “I don’t understand.”
“I have nothing for you, Cadet,” Neumann says, standing up straight. “The Captain has heard your plea to go on Command track. You’re being reassigned.”
“W-what?” I gasp, shaking my head vehemently. “I’m not going to be Espionage anymore? But I –“
“You have talents that take you outside of my grasp, Cadet,” he sighs, shaking his head. “It’s rather a shame that they finally noticed your merits. You’d have made one hell of a spy.”
Tears flood my eyes. “But I want to be a spy,” I whisper, devastated.
“You wanted to go to war with your little wolf pack,” Neumann says, stepping closer to me, sympathy on his face. “And, considering what the Captain reported you can do…that makes sense. You’re more useful on the front line, and considering the fates of my most recent graduates…honestly, my dear, I am relieved.”
