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Date Posted: 21:07:45 01/19/04 Mon
Author: Madison
Subject: Newish Story 4-5 edited
In reply to: Madison 's message, "Newish Story" on 14:23:50 01/10/04 Sat

part 4
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, I could be Cinderella every day, 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 and punched him really hard, and he put me on the mat every ten seconds. It was not so fun; it was suicide.

I hurt a lot.

My life went on life like that. I was on a strict timetable, in order to graduate with flying colors from material to operative in just under than two years (apparently, being an almost-high school graduate got you a slightly accelerated track, in the Section-doesn�t-need-to-teach-you-your-ABCs kind of way). 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 thought about that one a lot, because it made the kind of sense that didn�t make 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 blows (kind of like me after martial arts), 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, yelling at 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 world politics. They�re not coming along as well as I�d like,� James said.

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

�When you can explain the current Croatian political situation in flawless German. Checkmate.�

�Omigod- not only do I have to study Slavic politics; I have to loose too?!�

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, which mostly meant I knew how to write algebra formulas and French verb conjugations on my desk without the teacher seeing before tests. And Section was hardly the lowest common denominator education I was accustomed to in my under-funded and over-crowded public school. Section�s version of high school was challenging, to say the least. Harder than the advanced algebra class my ego had squirmed into in eighth grade. And I had to take first year algebra twice. Damn James, I thought, for trying to keep me off balance, just as I was not tripping every two seconds.

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. Being reported to Madeline would mean one of those �I�m so disappointed in you that I will make you work on profiles for five more hours� speeches. 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 was not wearing shoes that could be considered, um, conducive to running. I was wearing somewhat dainty and high heeled stilettos that slid at every misstep I took. I focused on the floor in front of me, trying not to fall every time my foot hit the ground. 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. The pain of the fall shot 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: 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! I instantly averted my gaze in sheer shame.

�You�re Erika,� Michael said. I think he recognized me too.

�I fell on my butt, I�m not suffering from a head injury. I do remember my name!� I exclaimed. �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 detested 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 grabbed my elbow and marched 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.
part 5
My arm had been x-rayed before James and Madeline showed up. I was sitting on a gunnery with my arm propped up on a tray. I was so pumped full of painkillers I couldn�t feel a thing (I doubted that if I had suddenly been sliced with a knife I would have felt the coldness of the metal blade), but I was lucid enough to see the worry etched on James�s face. Michael stood at attention (he did not say a word after explaining what had happened) while the doctors fixed me. I was attempting to garner a reaction out of him by making ridiculous faces, all guaranteed to win any pre-adolescent staring contest. I got nuthin� outta Mikey.

�What happened?� James demanded, the second he was in hearing distance.

�I, ugh�� I searched for the words to explain my infinitely embarrassing predicament. �I was going to Systems on an errand for Madeline in lethal and highly dangerous shoes�.� I began.

�You weren�t looking where you were going, were you?� James cut in.

�You try getting to Systems in a minute and a half from Madeline�s office in four inch stilettos!� I vehemently protested. �You probably couldn�t walk three steps without falling on your bum in those!� I almost yelled at him. Madeline gave me a reproachful look, which I shrugged off. �Anyway, I turned a corner and um, ranina�im,� I spat out quickly, indicating Michael with my head.

�You ran into Michael?� James asked.

�Right,� I said. I felt my face flame with embarrassment, and I looked at my bare feet in an attempt to hide it. I always turned beet red when I was embarrassed, the kids in elementary school used to make it a sport to see how red they could make me turn. To this day, the words �she�s blushing!� makes my face resemble a tomato.

�Erika, you certainly have a way�� James suddenly looked like he was going to burst into laughter. My face flamed hotter.

�Well, Erika, I do hope you�re feeling OK,� Madeline interjected.

�Yeah, painkillers can do wonderful things,� I said cheerfully. �Hooray for modern medicine!�

The doctor came in at that moment, and plastered my x-ray films on one of those light-up boards. �Erika, it appears the left bone in your wrist has sustained a small fracture. But the prognosis is good, after six weeks in a cast it should be as good as new. You�re lucky you�re so young, with your medical history. I�ll be back in a moment to fix you up.�

�Don�t I get to pick the color of the cast?� I asked hopefully, I was thinking magenta would be nice.

�No, we only have white,� the doctor said, almost sadly. I wondered if he remembered when he could offer colored casts to injured children.

�Thank you, doctor,� Madeline said in way of dismissal. �I hardly think this is new to you, Erika,� she continued.

�No. I think this is number six,� I said.

�Number six of what?� James asked.

�Did you not read that part of my profile?� I asked; I was dumbfounded James didn�t know. �I�ve broken my arm five, well, now six, times, and my collarbone and my finger. It�s kind of a bad habit.� I said matter-of-factly. �I have a cast collection.�

�Like the doctor said, you�re lucky you�re young and heal easily,� James said.

At that moment, Sugar, the tall blonde woman I�d last seen walking with Michael sprinted into the room, looking more than distressed. �Michael! They told me I could find you here. Are you all right?� She looked worried, was more like it, about Michael.

�I�m fine, Nikita. I was just escorting Erika to Medlab. Was there something you wanted?� Michael said, calmly. But something flew between them, and it looked like something similar to what flew between James and me, only hundreds of times more intense. Michael looked like he knew exactly what Nikita was going to do, and wasn�t surprised at all when she did.

Relief briefly flooded Nikita�s expression, but a mask soon replaced any emotion. �Yes. I wanted to discuss the Simm we ran yesterday, regarding the mission,� she said, suddenly business-like.

�My office,� Michael said. �Erika, I hope you feel better.�

�Thanks, I will,� I replied.

�It was a pleasure meeting you, Erika,� Nikita said.

�Same here,� I said.

�Thank you for taking care of her, Michael,� James said.

�It was no problem.� And with that, Michael and Nikita left Medlab, deep in another hushed conversation.

Madeline seemed to be deeply disturbed by what had just happened, and I thought it was about Michael and Nikita. I silently prayed that I would never be the cause of one of those looks, it was frightening. She looked like one of her meticulously planned profiles had been thwarted, and I knew that it drove her nuts when I profiled a fake mission wrong. I could tell there was something going on with Michael and Nikita, and if the whispers I pretended not to hear from Walter and Birkoff were any indication, Madeline was not too happy about it.

The doctor soon came back and applied a surprisingly light, and starkly white, fiberglass cast to my arm. I was then allowed to return to my room to sleep off the painkillers I had been given. My room was no longer the minimalist nightmare it was when I arrived. Walter had helped me out a bit, but I had scads of posters of brightly colored famous artwork on my walls, my favorite being �Starry Night� by Van Gogh. James had given me a stereo to listen to music, as a reward for good behavior (I�m not really sure what of my behavior was considered good, but I wasn�t going to protest). I begged CDs off anyone who would listen, and had procured a small but diverse collection of music to listen to. Madeline, despite her disapproval of fiction, indulged me with the occasional novel. I was still accumulating the classics, but I was thinking of requesting a Harry Potter book next for fun. I picked up where I had left off in �A Tale of Two Cities� and curled up on the hard mattress, but soon fell into a deep sleep.

I was knocked out of sleep hours later by the beeping that usually indicated that someone wanted my permission to enter. I hauled my sorry self out of bed, and drowsily punched in the access code, one I knew almost everyone but me had the override sequence to. The thought that anyone could come into my room at any time annoyed the heck out of me, I knew that everything I did was watched and my personal belongings could be ransacked at any moment. The door slid open, and I looked up to see who would come in.

�Hello, Erika,� Nikita said brightly, letting herself into my quarters. �I like what you�ve done with the place. Colorful, but intelligent.�

�Thanks,� I said. I was awed by Nikita when she was up-close. She was bright and blonde beauty where I was dark and dishwater. She had an air about her, like she was still optimistic despite the harsh realities of Section. I was jealous of that, as every day I felt my optimism melting away, and my anger growing. �Was there anything you wanted?� I lashed out angrily, although I wasn�t really angry at Nikita.

�Yes. I want to apologize for what happened in Medlab. You seemed embarrassed.�

�Yeah, it was a whole load of �let�s humiliate Erika� fun,� I said sarcastically. �But it�s cool. Just the whole situation was, well, a disaster.�

�How did that happen?� Nikita indicated my arm.

�You don�t know!� I let out a sigh of relief. �Oh, thank heavens, that�s the worst part! But I kinda ran into Michael.�

�You ran into Michael?� Nikita burst out into fits of giggles.

�It�s not funny!� I protested. But I could not deny its laughablity; I dissolved into hysterics myself. I broke my arm because I ran into someone. That was funny.

�Michael didn�t scare you too much, did he?� Nikita asked, after out laughter had died down. �He can be intimidating, and pretty intense, sometimes.�

�Michael? No, except for the �you will do as I say� tone. I have a feeling not too many people ignore that.�

�No. He�s a pretty respectable bloke in here. But I�d trust him with my life,� Nikita said. �Michael made me.�

�Like James is going to make me?� I said bitterly. The disgust was plainly on my face. �Into a guilt-free killer?�

�That�s one way to look at it,� Nikita said. �I saw it that way for a long time. But then I got smart; James just wants you to survive.� She sighed. �I never thought Section would sink so low as to recruit another innocent, without even framing her for murder first.�

I heard the catch in her voice. �It happened to you, didn�t it?� I said. �Section framed you for murder so they could recruit you.�

�Never said I had proof. It conveniently disappeared. But I should go, I�m supposed to be a brain-washed Section robot now.�

�OK. See you later, Nikita.�

�Yes,� Nikita�s Section-like mask fell back into place. �Walter was right about you. You�re a real five percenter.�

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[> [> Hard Beta on 4-5 -- Shanola, 21:35:30 01/20/04 Tue

Again, comments set aside like ####this####.

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.####I find this sentence awkward, as if the usually was tacked on as an afterthought. Can you restructure it so that it flows better?#### 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,####semi-colon here#### I could be Cinderella every day, but that�s all it was. It wasn�t me and it never would be.

After Madeline messed with my head,####Wait, I thought Madeline was teaching Erika phycological profiling, not messing with her 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.####I don't think this sentence needs to start with 'Because'. It makes it feel stilted somehow.#### It drove me bananas. So I punched and kicked and punched him really hard, and he put me on the mat every ten seconds. ####Word echo there with 'punched' being used twice in the same sentence.#### It was not so fun; it was suicide.

I hurt a lot. #####Hmm...you know, this might flow better if the phrase 'it was suicide' was replaced with 'I hurt a lot." Just a thought.####

My life went on life like that.####um, what? You need to look at that sentence.#### I was on a strict timetable, ####no comma here#### in order to graduate with flying colors from material to operative in just under than ####No need for 'than' here.#### two years (apparently, being an almost-high school graduate got you a slightly accelerated track, in the Section-doesn�t-need-to-teach-you-your-ABCs kind of way). ####Whoa! Loooong sentence there! I think you need to break it up some. It would work just as well as two complete sentences: "...under two years. Apparently, being..." See? #### But what was Section, and Madeline more to the point,####Again, this doesn't flow well. Perhaps if it was "...Section, and more to the point, Madeline...." going to do with a just-seventeen-year-old fully trained operative? An excellent question. I thought about that one a lot, because it made the kind of sense that didn�t make sense, any way you sliced it. ####Made the kind of sense that didn't make any sense? What? I don't get 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 blows (kind of like me after martial arts), 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�.####No need for the ellipses here.#### Now how did you get there?� I exclaimed, yelling at 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 world politics. ####Um, what? Perhaps you mean something like, "...this office studying German, as well as world politics."?#### They�re not coming along as well as I�d like,� James said.

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

�When you can explain the current Croatian political situation in flawless German. Checkmate.�

�Omigod- not only do I have to study Slavic politics; I have to loose too?!�

I swore as I stormed out of the room. Since when were my academics a problem? I thought viciously.####No need for the 'I thought viciously' here. It's clear who is thinking and how she feels about what she is thinking.#### I was a picture perfect student, which mostly meant I knew how to write algebra formulas and French verb conjugations on my desk without the teacher seeing before tests. And Section was hardly the lowest common denominator education I was accustomed to in my under-funded and over-crowded public school. Section�s version of high school was challenging, to say the least. Harder than the advanced algebra class my ego had squirmed into in eighth grade. And I had to take first year algebra twice. Damn James, I thought, for trying to keep me off balance, just as I was not tripping every two seconds. ####hmm...Earlier you stated Erika was having problems academically, then she gets angry when it's pointed out to her and she denies it...then admits it to herself? I've been there, before, knowing I wasn't getting something in class and hoping I'd just be able to skim by. When my failure was pointed out to me, I was mostly humiliated and embarrased. But I never denied it. I don't know why Erika is denying it. ####

I arrived in James�s office the next evening in a fury of anger.####A fury of anger? Do you mean a flurry of anger? Because Fury of anger doesn't make much sense to me.#### 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?�####*snark*####

�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.####Word echo here with silence/silent.#### 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 ####I think you mean 'battened' instead of '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. Being reported to Madeline would mean one of those �I�m so disappointed in you that I will make you work on profiles for five more hours� speeches. 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 was not wearing shoes that could be considered, um, conducive to running. I was wearing somewhat dainty and high heeled stilettos that slid at every misstep I took. I focused on the floor in front of me, trying not to fall every time my foot hit the ground. I rounded a corner that was to the left of me then: ####Why would Erika start to run if she knew she couldn't in shoes like that? I can see her picking up the pace and being pleased about it, but suddenly running? I dunno...sounds strange to me.####

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. The pain of the fall shot through my arm. I started to swear, a long line of vulgarities that started pouring out of my mouth.####Word echo with 'started' here. I think you could drop the second one and it'd be fine.#### It was hat ####I think you mean 'what' here.#### 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, ####Semicolon here#### Michael, from my first day, the one with the woman who had known all about me.

Thought number one: 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! I instantly averted my gaze in sheer shame.

�You�re Erika,� Michael said. I think he recognized me###Comma here#### too. ####Um, I'd say he did recognize her if he used her name.####

�I fell on my butt, I�m not suffering from a head injury. I do remember my name!� I exclaimed. ####I see no reason for her outburst here. You just said she was ashamed. I'd think she'd be more demure in this situation.#### �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!� ####Um, I guess they are slip on shoes, then? Not strappy?####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 detested 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 grabbed my elbow and marched 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.
part 5
My arm had been x-rayed before James and Madeline showed up. I was sitting on a gunnery ####Again, I think you mean 'gurney' as a 'gunnery' is the 'science of constructing and operating large guns'#### with my arm propped up on a tray. I was so pumped full of painkillers I couldn�t feel a thing (I doubted that if I had suddenly been sliced with a knife I would have felt the coldness of the metal blade) ####I don't think the sentence in paranthesis is neccessary. You've made it clear she isn't feeling any pain already####, but I was lucid enough to see the worry etched on James�s face. Michael stood at attention (he did not say a word after explaining what had happened) while the doctors fixed me.####As much as I've seen Michael stand in the show, I can't say he's ever been at attention, which is much more stiff than he normally stands.#### I was attempting to garner a reaction out of him by making ridiculous faces, all guaranteed to win any pre-adolescent staring contest. I got nuthin� outta Mikey.

�What happened?� James demanded, the second he was in hearing distance.

�I, ugh�� I searched for the words to explain my infinitely embarrassing predicament. �I was going to Systems on an errand for Madeline in lethal and highly dangerous shoes�.�###I don't think you need a period after the ellipses.#### I began.

�You weren�t looking where you were going, were you?� James cut in.

�You try getting to Systems in a minute and a half from Madeline�s office in four inch stilettos!� I vehemently protested. �You probably couldn�t walk three steps without falling on your bum in those!� I almost yelled at him. Madeline gave me a reproachful look, which I shrugged off. �Anyway, I turned a corner and um, ranina�im,� I spat out quickly, indicating Michael with my head.

�You ran into Michael?� James asked.

�Right,� I said. I felt my face flame with embarrassment, and I looked at my bare feet in an attempt to hide it. I always turned beet red when I was embarrassed, the kids in elementary school used to make it a sport to see how red they could make me turn. To this day, the words �she�s blushing!� makes my face resemble a tomato. #####Well, she didn't turn red when she ran into Michael and I got the feeling she was embarrassed then.####

�Erika, you certainly have a way�� James suddenly looked like he was going to burst into laughter. My face flamed hotter.

�Well, Erika, I do hope you�re feeling OK,� Madeline interjected.

�Yeah, painkillers can do wonderful things,� I said cheerfully. �Hooray for modern medicine!�

The doctor came in at that moment, and plastered my x-ray films on one of those light-up boards. �Erika, it appears the left bone in your wrist has sustained a small fracture. But the prognosis is good, after six weeks in a cast it should be as good as new. You�re lucky you�re so young, with your medical history. I�ll be back in a moment to fix you up.�

�Don�t I get to pick the color of the cast?� I asked hopefully, I was thinking magenta would be nice.

�No, we only have white,� the doctor said, almost sadly. I wondered if he remembered when he could offer colored casts to injured children.

�Thank you, doctor,� Madeline said in way of dismissal. �I hardly think this is new to you, Erika,� she continued.

�No. I think this is number six,� I said.

�Number six of what?� James asked.

�Did you not read that part of my profile?� I asked; I was dumbfounded James didn�t know. �I�ve broken my arm five, well, now six, times, and my collarbone and my finger. It�s kind of a bad habit.� I said matter-of-factly. �I have a cast collection.�

�Like the doctor said, you�re lucky you�re young and heal easily,� James said.

####Okay, let me make a general comment here. I'm having trouble believing that James would come into Medlab and argue with Erika on what her injury was. I would think he'd let Madeline or Michael brief him. I also think he'd know about her medical history. He'd have to, in order to know how to train her.####

At that moment, Sugar, the tall blonde woman I�d last seen walking with Michael sprinted into the room, looking more than distressed. �Michael! They told me I could find you here. Are you all right?� She looked worried, was more like it, about Michael. ####I don't know what season you've got this story set in, but I think Nikita learned early on to be a little more subtle than this. I can see her coming to Medlab to check on Michael, but I don't think she'd blurt stuff out with Madeline standing there.####

�I�m fine, Nikita. I was just escorting Erika to Medlab. Was there something you wanted?� Michael said, calmly. But something flew between them, and it looked like something similar to what flew between James and me, only hundreds of times more intense. Michael looked like he knew exactly what Nikita was going to do, and wasn�t surprised at all when she did. ####Okay, wait. I've not seen anything fly between Erika and James except sarcasm. Are you trying to imply that Erika and James are attracted to each other? Because I'm having a problem with that. Erika is fifteen, which is incredibly young, no matter how tall she is. I can easily see her having a crush on James, but I don't know about him returning that crush.####

Relief briefly flooded Nikita�s expression, but a mask soon replaced any emotion. �Yes. I wanted to discuss the Simm we ran yesterday, regarding the mission,� she said, suddenly business-like.

�My office,� Michael said. �Erika, I hope you feel better.�

�Thanks, I will,� I replied.

�It was a pleasure meeting you, Erika,� Nikita said.

�Same here,� I said.

�Thank you for taking care of her, Michael,� James said.

�It was no problem.� And with that, Michael and Nikita left Medlab, deep in another hushed conversation.

Madeline seemed to be deeply disturbed by what had just happened, and I thought it was about Michael and Nikita. I silently prayed that I would never be the cause of one of those looks, ####Semicolon here#### it was frightening. She looked like one of her meticulously planned profiles had been thwarted, and I knew that it drove her nuts when I profiled a fake mission wrong. I could tell there was something going on with Michael and Nikita, and if the whispers I pretended not to hear from Walter and Birkoff were any indication, Madeline was not too happy about it.

The doctor soon came back and applied a surprisingly light, and starkly white, fiberglass cast to my arm. I was then allowed to return to my room to sleep off the painkillers I had been given. My room was no longer the minimalist nightmare it was when I arrived. Walter had helped me out a bit, but I had scads of posters of brightly colored famous artwork on my walls, my favorite being �Starry Night� by Van Gogh. James had given me a stereo to listen to music, as a reward for good behavior (I�m not really sure what of my behavior was considered good, but I wasn�t going to protest). I begged CDs off anyone who would listen, and had procured a small but diverse collection of music to listen to. Madeline, despite her disapproval of fiction, indulged me with the occasional novel. I was still accumulating the classics, but I was thinking of requesting a Harry Potter book next for fun. I picked up where I had left off in �A Tale of Two Cities� and curled up on the hard mattress, but soon fell into a deep sleep. ####Why would Madeline disapprove of fiction?####

I was knocked out of sleep hours later by the beeping that usually indicated that someone wanted my permission to enter. I hauled my sorry self out of bed, and drowsily punched in the access code, one I knew almost everyone but me had the override sequence to. The thought that anyone could come into my room at any time annoyed the heck out of me, I knew that everything I did was watched and my personal belongings could be ransacked at any moment. The door slid open, and I looked up to see who would come in.

�Hello, Erika,� Nikita said brightly, letting herself into my quarters. �I like what you�ve done with the place. Colorful, but intelligent.�

�Thanks,� I said. I was awed by Nikita when she was up-close. She was bright and blonde beauty where I was dark and dishwater. She had an air about her, like she was still optimistic despite the harsh realities of Section. I was jealous of that, as every day I felt my optimism melting away, and my anger growing. �Was there anything you wanted?� I lashed out angrily, although I wasn�t really angry at Nikita. ####Why did lash out angrily then? I don't get it.####

�Yes. I want to apologize for what happened in Medlab. You seemed embarrassed.�

�Yeah, it was a whole load of �let�s humiliate Erika� fun,� I said sarcastically. �But it�s cool. Just the whole situation was, well, a disaster.�

�How did that happen?� Nikita indicated my arm.

�You don�t know!� I let out a sigh of relief. �Oh, thank heavens, that�s the worst part! But I kinda ran into Michael.�

�You ran into Michael?� Nikita burst out into fits of giggles.

�It�s not funny!� I protested. But I could not deny its laughablity; I dissolved into hysterics myself. I broke my arm because I ran into someone. That was funny.

�Michael didn�t scare you too much, did he?� Nikita asked, after out ####our#### laughter had died down. �He can be intimidating, and pretty intense, sometimes.�

�Michael? No, except for the �you will do as I say� tone. I have a feeling not too many people ignore that.�

�No. He�s a pretty respectable bloke in here. But I�d trust him with my life,� Nikita said. �Michael made me.�

�Like James is going to make me?� I said bitterly. The disgust was plainly on my face. �Into a guilt-free killer?�

�That�s one way to look at it,� Nikita said. �I saw it that way for a long time. But then I got smart; James just wants you to survive.� She sighed. �I never thought Section would sink so low as to recruit another innocent, without even framing her for murder first.�

I heard the catch in her voice. �It happened to you, didn�t it?� I said. �Section framed you for murder so they could recruit you.�

�Never said I had proof. It conveniently disappeared. But I should go, I�m supposed to be a brain-washed Section robot now.�

�OK. See you later, Nikita.�

�Yes,� Nikita�s Section-like mask fell back into place. �Walter was right about you. You�re a real five percenter.�

####Watch your spelling and typos and make sure you are using the word you want to use, otherwise, your sentence could look really funny. I still have a few reservations about Erikca being a Mary Sue, but I'm willing to keep reading to find out why she was brought into Section. Overall, not a bad rewrite.####

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