Newish Story 4 -- The Beta Board

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Date Posted: 16:35:59 01/10/04 Sat
Author: Madison
Subject: Newish Story 4
In reply to: Madison 's message, "Newish Story" on 14:23:50 01/10/04 Sat

In the next four weeks, I adjusted to my new life in Section. My schedule was tight, and I was exhausted all the time. I started every morning at five, and I ran five miles and weight trained. At least, I was supposed to be working up to running five miles. I was at two. After breakfast I would work with my tutors on high school stuff, like French and German and world history and algebra and geometry and geography. I worked with either Birkoff or Walter in the afternoons, and then James and I would work on profiling for an hour. I also spent two hours with Madeline every day, usually. She was occasionally too busy, and those days I coveted. The lessons from her made me ill; they were downright dangerous.

Psychological profiling was all about messing with people�s heads, and the �deportment� lessons were really about putting my features at their best seductive advantage. I was a jeans and tee shirt kind of girl in a sexy Gucci kind of world. Not that I didn�t like playing dress up, but that�s all it was. It wasn�t me and it never would be.

After Madeline messed with my head, I ate dinner and then James and I sparred. We fought, no holds barred: I worked out all my frustration with his silence and he corrected my technique. Because after his heated and soulful regret on my first day, he had said nothing of any consequence beyond my training. It drove me bananas. So I punched and kicked him really hard, and he put me on the mat every ten seconds. It was not so fun, and it was suicide.

I hurt a lot.

My life went on life that. I was on a strict timetable, in order to graduate with flying colors from material to operative in less than two years. James confided to me, in a spurt of wordiness, that I was really on an accelerated track to be ready in 18 months. But what was Section, and Madeline more to the point, going to do with a just-seventeen-year-old fully trained operative? An excellent question. I pondered that one a lot, because it didn�t make any sense, any way you sliced it.

About twice a week, James and I played chess in his office after our sparring sessions. I curled up (as best I could) in his stiff office chair with a large canteen of hot and overly sweet tea while James ran circles around my pawns. After each checkmate, he would explain what I had done wrong and I would take scads of notes and study them incessantly. It was an all-consuming and all-distracting obsession; I wanted to beat James at chess.

I always lost. My competitive nature suffered many scrapes, and the only cure was a deafening win.

One particular evening, I was lounging while James annihilated my rooks and queens, and he made an announcement: �Your numbers in German are unsatisfactory.�

�They are not,� I quickly objected, moving my pawn forward, even though I knew it would be taken.

�They are. You have been here three months and you have barely reached two- percent proficiency. That is unacceptable.� James took my pawn. �Check.�

I glared at the chessboard. I could have sworn he was at least five moves away from check, and there he was: in a position to beat me. I had to repress the growl of frustration. �So I have a serious mental block against German. It�ll be fine in two years anyway. I�m not worried�. Now how did you get there?� I exclaimed, referring to his rapidly ascending queen.

�Your blas� attitude is not helping. Until your numbers drastically improve, you will spend time every night in this office studying, as well as your politics. It�s not coming along as well as I�d like,� James said.

�You�re joking. When am I supposed to sleep?� I asked.

�When you are fluent in German. Checkmate.�

I swore as I stormed out of the room. Since when were my academics a problem? I thought viciously. I was a picture perfect student. I hadn�t almost aced a class since ninth grade algebra in eighth grade. Damn James, I thought, trying to keep me off balance, just as I was finally gaining my equilibrium.

I arrived in James�s office the next evening in a fury of anger. I sat down in the chair and glared at him. James silently started to set up the chessboard. He took the first move and I ignored it.

�Erika,� he said, I could hear the frustration in his voice. �Are you going to cooperate tonight? We are supposed to be discussing current events.�

�I have a headache. Is that current enough for you?�

�Smart aleck answers will not get you anywhere with me. I can wait you out.�

�Please do,� I said, daring him to wait out my legendary stubbornness. So we sat in silence, staring at each other in silent challenge. Five minutes passed, then ten, then thirty. Every time I felt my resolve weakening, I thought of my home, what Section had taken from me; then I barreled down the hatches and send more negative vibes in James�s direction.

Our silent standoff at the OK-Corral lasted for ninety minutes. �You are dismissed, Erika,� James finally said. I launched myself out of the chair, triumphant in victory. When I reached the door, James continued. �If this ever occurs again, I will report it to Madeline and you will have to explain your actions to her. Tomorrow, I expect you to be prepared and cooperative.�

I felt deflated. I wasn�t so triumphant after all. I left the room and sulked my way back to my quarters, mostly to sleep but partly to prepare for the next blow to my ego and self worth. And that came sooner than I expected.

I was in Madeline�s office, minding my own profiles, when Madeline handed me a PDA. �Please take this to Systems for me. Be back in three minutes.�

It was a challenge. I hated when she played on my competitive nature: it usually ended badly. I took the PDA, headed out of the office and down the hallway that led to Systems. I soon began to run. I should explain I was not wearing shoes that could be considered conducive to running. I was wearing somewhat dainty and high heeled but sturdy stilettos that slid at every misstep I took. I focused on the floor in front of me, trying not to fall with every step. I rounded a corner that was to the left of me then:

Smack, bang, thud.

The smack was me running into something, the bang was the PDA hitting the cement, and the thud was me falling on my ass, and my wrist. I felt the pain of the fall shoot through my arm. I started to swear, a long line of vulgarities that started pouring out of my mouth. It was hat always happened when I was injured, I swore instead of crying. I gently cradled my injured wrist in my other arm, and attempted to stand up. Then I looked up, to see what exactly I had run into. There was a man standing in front of me, apparently taking in the scene I had created. I recognized him immediately, Michael, from my first day, the one with the woman who had known all about me.

Thought number one: shite, he knows who I am. Thought number two: Why did I have to run into a person? Why couldn�t it have been a wall? Oh, the inhumanity of it all!

�Listen. I�m really sorry about this. I was trying to get to Systems and�� I started to apologize profusely.

�You are injured. You need to go to Medlab,� Michael said, cutting me off.

I pulled myself up and teetered on the stilettos. I kicked them off, exclaiming �Damn shoes!� I then went to find the PDA, frantically turning to see where it had landed.

�Are you looking for this?� he asked me calmly, showing me the PDA.

�Yes. I need to take that to Systems. Madeline�� I tried to explain.

�Madeline can wait. You require medical attention.�

�But, I really need to go to Systems. I..� I picked up the well-hated stilettos with my non-injured hand and dangled them from my fingertips. �Really, I�ll be OK.� I tried to step around him, and he blocked me. �Can I have the PDA now?� I asked impetuously.

�No. You will report to Medlab immediately,� Michael insisted. �Give me the shoes.�

I knew I wasn�t going to get out of this. I reluctantly and carefully handed him the stilettos. Michael called over another operative and told him to take the PDA to Systems for Madeline, and as the operative scurried off to do his bidding, Michael proceeded to grab my elbow and march me to Medlab. I protested the entire way there, prattling on and on, mostly to see if I could ruffle his cool and annoyingly calm exterior and make him feel the frustration I was.

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[> [> Hey there Madison...(r) -- Genevieve, 18:26:13 01/12/04 Mon

Would you like me to give you feedback here or on SB2? :)

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[> [> [> Doesn't matter-- I'm checking both -- Madison, 18:59:40 01/12/04 Mon

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