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Civil conversation – Parting of ways – Know your enemy – The edge of the World
DR. SCHMIDT OFF DUE TO ILLNESS
Rina Prescott reporting
After many years of teaching his students about the many interesting shapes the Human mind can be bent into, the Clarion must report that Dr. Schmidt will be on sick leave for the foreseeable future. The situation came to a pass when he started to speak in a language seemingly not of this earth, until one of his students noticed that he was speaking backwards. Every word, every sentence. This is a remarkable achievement – try it yourself if you must, or perhaps more wisely, do not. The Clarion wishes Dr. Schmidt a speedy recovery. .noos llew teG
In his absence, the Studies of the Human Mind will be taken over by a Prof. Dr. Lutitia McGee, who joins us from Broadmoor Hospital, a mental institution for the criminally insane in Berkshire. She is also a fully qualified medical nurse, able to assist Dr. Bernhardt and Nurse Jenkins should the need arise. Little else is known of Dr. McGee, and few people at Algernon have even seen her face before. I am sure that students and Faculty will extend her a warm welcome, and enrich her life with the new and original forms of insanity that are the staple here at Algernon University.
Casablanca. A Moroccan city steeped in history, myth and legend. I had just finished ordering supplies of food. Carl and Brenda had been at the suppliers for a bunker full of high energy coal, a tank full of demineralised water for Lady I‘s boilers, and several tons of lifting gas. I had wandered around in town to buy some smaller supplies of things that the catering companies didn’t carry. A few toiletries. Clothes for wearing in warm humid climates, not forgetting a large bag of dried chillies so Father could enjoy his South American cocoa without going mad.
Wainwright had given us an address where Father had discreetly acquired twenty thousand rounds for our repeating cannons and a supply of incendiary grenades and concussive bombs. We had boxes of pistol and rifle ammunition. I had about a thousand high velocity rounds for my rifle. Anything still standing after that probably deserved to live. We had dropped any pretense of subtlety.
Lady I and her crew were going to war.
I was the first to return to the cafe where we parted ways on our various errands, and sat down with a large glass of cool mint tea. A bowl of chillied and salted cashew nuts was on the table to encourage me to drink more. Dinner guests were coming in, ordering aperitifs. They were mostly foreigners from America, France, Prussia. Very few of the locals. A man was playing a sad tune on the piano.
Someone walked up behind me and put her glass down on my table. She pulled out a chair and sat down. I reached for my gun, but she put her hand on my arm.
“Don’t be stupid, cherie. You don’t want to start a firefight here. Half the Moroccan underworld dines here.” A cat-like smirk was on Sabine’s face. “Blood baths are only enjoyable when you are the last one standing.”
I let go of my Mauser, picked up my glass.
“How are your knees, Alexandra?”
“Fine,” I said. “How are the shoulders?”
The smile faded from her expression, and her eyes burnt. “You killed my little desert flower.”
“Yes.”
“She was completely helpless. You shot her and left her to burn. A girl on the verge of becoming a woman, and you cut her short.”
“Your little desert flower was going to kill me.”
Sabine scoffed. “Et alors? You are vermin. You are already marked for death, as are all who stand in the way of he new world. You are only prolonging your own agony. Najilah would have been a part of it, and flourished. You took that away from her.”
“Don’t act all righteous with me, Sabine. You only wanted her as a plaything. A pet. To be taught tricks.”
Sabine sat back, closed her eyes. “Killing you would have made her all mine. She knew enough tricks already. I saw a good sample of what she could do. That Secret Service man of yours hardly knew one end of her from the other. I could have shown her a much better time.”
“I severely doubt that.”
Sabine looked at me for a moment, laughed, bent over to me. “They have rooms here. I could show you.”
“You would have to kill me first.”
“I would kill you during. There is something deeply arousing about the struggles of a dying woman. To take her breath away just when she needs it most. Did you know that being strangled will give you the most intense orgasm just before you die? I know. I have done it.”
“Enjoy your fantasies while you can. They will never become reality before you die. Maybe I will shoot you in the heart, so you have just a moment to realise it was I who killed you. Or maybe I will shoot you in the head, so you won’t even hear the shot. Here one moment, gone the next. Maybe I’ll let you know when I am watching you.” I pointed at her hand. “Maybe the glass you are drinking from will shatter for no apparent reason. Remember, I never miss. I will be on every hilltop. I will be in every building. Don’t bother running. You will only die tired. From the moment you leave this place, every breath, every sip of menthe a l’eau, every moment of your life, is a moment I give you. You do not anger a sniper and go on to live a carefree life.”
“You won’t face me then. You are a coward. I knew it.”
I laughed in her face. “Sabine. I honestly believe that you imagine yourself to be in some noble, epic battle. I won’t fight you. I will put you down. Comme une vache. Why are you even here?”
“Just for that, I will save you for last. I will make you watch all your family suffer and die. You think you know about suffering and pain now. I will teach you otherwise. When I am done with you, I will give you a knife, and you will pray to me as you end your own life.”
She emptied her glass, stood up, and walked away. I pointed my finger at her.
“Bang.”
Only a few minutes later, Carl and Brenda walked in, looking for an empty table. I waved and they joined me. Brenda tapped Sabine’s glass with her fingernail.
“Had some company?”
“Sabine Moreau was here.”
“And she’s still breathing? Why?”
“Didn’t want to start a fight here. Apparently, this is a gangster’s bar.”
Brenda looked round. “The Frog bitch is full of shit. The three of us could clean out this place in half an hour.”
I picked up my glass. “Tempting.”
“But then, we couldn’t have lunch here.” Carl picked up the menu. “I quite fancy some cous-cous.”
“Stuff that,” said Brenda. “I haven’t been in a good tavern brawl for ages.”
Carl pointed a finger at her. “That would waste energy better spent on fighting Prometheus. And they do a goat curry here.”
“My one weakness,” said Brenda.
I waved at a waiter. “Let’s hurry. I want to get back to our Lady.”
We were ready to leave for South America, to confront Slate in his lair. Because there was a significant chance that we would never return, we had decided to say goodbye to Wadcroft, Margaret, Felicia, Andrew, and Wainwright, who would go with them to keep them safe, leaving only the fighting crew. Except that Fatin had made it perfectly clear that where Carl went, she went.
We arrived at a small train station in the dead of night, and the Algernon lot walked down the gangplank, possibly for the last time. I stood by the door to see them out. Wainwright was the last to step down.
“Take good care of yourself, will you?”
I looked at the floor. “I’m… sorry.”
He put down his duffel bag, held my shoulder, put a finger underneath my chin, and I looked up at him.
“It’s not your fault.”
“I pulled the trigger.”
“Yes. Because you had to.”
“No I didn’t. I could have just left her.”
“I don’t have much imagination,” he said. “But even so, I can think of at least five different ways in which that would have killed you. There could have been another weapon in the room. Sabine could have got a weapon and shot you in the back while Najilah distracted you. None of us were in that building with you. You fought two enemies, and you are now alive. Please stay alive, Alexandra.”
He didn’t convince me. He smiled at me, and I made myself smile back. He turned round and walked into the night.
“He’s sweet on you,” said Brenda, winching in the gangplank.
“I severely doubt that.”
“What are you, blind? And you just let him walk away? No goodbye kisses?”
“That has to be the very last thing on my mind.” I closed the door and started towards the bridge.
“Look Tennant. You got to take these things where you find them. An old Marine once told me. Never miss an opportunity to fill your guts or empty your bowels. You never know when the next one comes along. And that goes for man-flesh too.”
“I have no desire whatsoever to partake of his man-flesh thank you very much. And just in case you’ve forgotten, I killed his lady friend. He’s unlikely to want me after that.”
“That bitch? He only went for her because men have brains and cocks, and only enough blood to use one of them. I’m telling you. You could have had him any day of the week.”
“So why didn’t you make any advances on Andrew then?”
“Pff. Wasn’t allowed to drop his thinking brain woman down the hatch.” Brenda thought a moment. “Do you think they…?”
“Absolutely not.”
“So the only ones who are getting any on this ship are that brother of yours and his wife. Enough to drive you to drink, that is.” She thumped my shoulder. “We need to get some sex slaves on board. For crew morale.”
“I’ll put it to Father,” I said.
Anctapolepl was about four thousand miles away from Casablanca, a distance we could cover in three days at maximum speed, but to conserve Tyson-enhanced high energy coal, we went slow. This would put us over the second Eagle’s nest in about six days, wind and weather permitting. I paired up with Brenda, Carl with Fatin, and we followed a routine of four-hour shifts with the Captain exempt from watch, but on twenty-four hour standby. We had little enough reason to disturb him, but on the third day we encountered a frightful thunderstorm that we avoided by rising to fifty thousand feet, and flying around. Being unable to catch a wink from the noise, we all huddled together on the bridge and watched the lightening from a safe distance, mildly dizzy from the thin air, wrapped up warm, clutching mugs of cocoa. Raage slept through it all, and Stranger the Cat was later found in my bed with a tail like a bottle brush, complaining loudly about these dreadful circumstances.
I handed over the helm to Fatin, and walked to the cargo hold to find Carl working the heavy bag with Brenda holding it. I stood still for a few moments watching him. I could see he had been at it for a while and was running out of steam.
Brenda shouted. “Left dropping! Keep it up, Tennant!”
The heavy punchbag is an imaginary opponent. Even though it won’t punch back, you should always behave around it as if it will. That means keeping your fists up. Keep moving in and out. Throw series of punches. When you are getting tired, you will forget. Carl sprang back, kicked the bag’s midsection, then its top. These kicks were a new addition to his repertoire, he being more of a classical boxer before. Brenda had easily convinced him of their usefulness the first couple of sparring sessions.
“Stop showing off! Show me you’re learning, Tennant.”
Carl returned to quick jabs, this time with proper defensive posture on the off hand. Even now at the end of his routine, he was still punching harder than I could ever hope to. In my good days, I could beat him, but only by speed and using grappling and throwing techniques. With my legs the way they were, I no longer had the speed advantage and I couldn’t dodge and riposte quick enough. Carl no longer went full force on me as he once had. On the one hand, I resented that, on the other, I knew I would only lose if he did.
Brenda glanced at the hourglass. It was empty. “Two more Tennant! Two more.”
Carl grunted, threw a series of hard left hooks and a right uppercut, finished with a leaping kick to the middle of the bag, throwing Brenda back. She steadied the bag with one hand as Carl stood back, breathing hard, sweat dripping from his forehead.
“Really? I keep telling you, Tennant. Stop pretending you’re Thunderfoot.”
Carl grinned, raised his arm and pumped up his bicep. “Thunderfoot is a pansy. I am Feeder-of-lions. Savage beasts eat from my hand.”
I laughed. “I know the story behind that name, dear brother of mine.”
Carl pointed a finger at me. “You are sworn to silence.”
Brenda threw me a pair of gloves, the kind that leaves the fingertips free for grappling. “I’ll beat it out of you.”
I pulled off my shirt and gave it to Carl. I pulled on the gloves. Sparring with Brenda was different from sparring with my brother. My martial arts training and Carl’s were in Jiu-jitsu and boxing. While this does teach you how to throw punches and throw your opponent around, they are essentially sports. Sports have rules to prevent the participants from getting hurt. Brenda’s training had been in the military, where hurting your opponent is the whole point of the exercise. She had taken it upon herself to turn us from practitioners of the Martial Arts into proper fighters. She did stop short of killing us, because Father would never let her hear the end of it if she did, but she had not the least problem hurting us. Very educational.
Carl pushed the heavy bag away, and Brenda and I stepped onto the sailcloth floor we had laid down as a kind of boxing ring. I was still far too protective of my legs, a gaping hole in my defences that was wholly in the mind. The memory of pain was still with me, more crippling than the actual injuries. Brenda knew this, and was, as she put it, ‘working on it’. I raised my fists, determined to keep them up this time.
She stepped forward, aimed a kick at my knees, and like a puppet on a string, I dropped my right hand to block it. She stopped her feint, and caught me with a viciously fast jab to the face. She didn’t even bother commenting, but stepped back, then came in again. This time, I raised my leg rather than dropping my hand and she pushed me back. I managed to recover just in time to block her right jab left hook combination. I retreated. Brenda kicked low again, and I made a grab for her leg while trying to block the inevitable punch to the face. I almost got it, but couldn’t keep a solid enough grip on her leg to throw her and she simply sprang back half a pace then came in again. She threw a fast combination of left jabs, then a hard right to the midsection. I blocked them all, and started thinking of hitting back when she started to raise her leg, and I jumped back, twisting out of the way. She followed me with quick steps, unleashed a barrage of punches. Some of them connected, and when Brenda hits you, you feel it. She stepped back a moment with a sneer.
“You can hit back you know? I’m getting more aggro from that bag over there.”
I stepped forward, threw a hard right hook which Brenda simply avoided by moving her head back out of the way. She got me with a left to the side and I gasped. I clinched to her, trying to throw her, but she stood firm and hit me in the sides with lefts and rights till I jumped back. It hurt my sides to breathe, and I skirted out of the way to recuperate a little. Brenda came at me, making feints left and right.
“Come on Cherry. You’re not gonna beat me by running away.” She grinned. “I’m gonna make you eat pain for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.”
In a sudden flash of anger, I lashed out with a fast left jab that glanced the side of her head.
“Show me what you got, Cherry. Show me what you got.”
I gave a snarl, leapt forward, tried to punch her in the face again. She blocked, pushed me back.
“That all you got? Come on! Try harder or you’ll end up like last time.”
Brenda and Sabine look nothing alike. They both have brown hair, but that’s where the similarly ends. Brenda looks like she’s built from bricks, Sabine looks like a fairy. Brenda’s face looks friendly more than pretty, where Sabine looks elegant, a classical beauty. The two women couldn’t be more dissimilar if they tried
And at that moment, I could not tell them apart.
My vision drew in to a circle surrounded by a red mist, and without any conscious thought, with complete disregard for my defence, I leapt forward raining punches on Sabine. Brenda. All I wanted was to destroy her. Turn those perfect features into a bloody mess. Make her suffer all the pain I had felt. And then, finally, when all her body was broken, twisted, blood… kill her.
Brenda stepped back, arms shielding her head. I struck low and she blocked me. Nothing I did connected, and it only made me angrier and angrier. I was no longer practicing Martial Arts, I was no longer even fighting. I was simply battering Sabine, no Brenda with my fists. She retreated, and with one fast sweep, she kicked my legs from under me. I slammed into the floor and lay still, dazed. I heard someone’s voice through the ringing in my ears, and through the red mist, I saw her hand.
What I did next will fill me with shame for the rest of my days. I grabbed Brenda’s hand, put on a wrist lock, and threw her to the floor. I moved behind her and put a choke hold on, pulling it tight so she couldn’t breathe. I wanted her dead. I wanted her dead. Brenda tapped my shoulder, but I took no notice. She tried to hit me, but couldn’t reach me because of the way I was holding her. I remember the glee I felt when her movements slowed down. I vaguely heard Carl shouting, but I couldn’t hear what he said.
“I got her!” I growled. “I’ve got the bitch!”
Someone strong grabbed my wrist, broke my choke hold, and pulled me away from Brenda. Carl dropped me on the floor then leapt for her, turned her onto her back. She gasped for breath, tried to get up, fell down again.
“Easy!” Carl put his arm round her, pulled her into a sitting position. “Are you all right?”
I could see her face return to its normal colour. She looked up at Carl, gave him a little nod, found her feet. She stepped over to me, looked down.
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
“I… I am…”
Carl put his hand on Brenda’s shoulder. “Alex, why don’t you go to your cabin and calm down a little?”
I looked at Brenda. “I’m sorry… I am so sorry…”
And then I fled. I ran straight to my cabin, slammed the door behind me, fell into bed with my shoes on, and started to shake.
I woke up, though I didn’t remember falling asleep. Father was sitting on my bed. I looked away.
“Would you like to tell me what happened?”
“I…” I breathed in. “I almost killed Brenda.”
“Why?”
“I was angry and I couldn’t think.” I looked up at Father. “Is she allright?”
“Working the heavy bag as we speak,” said Father. “More angry with herself for letting you surprise her than anything else, if you ask me.” Father leaned back, looking at my desk. “The women on board here don’t like to fail.” He looked back at me. “You slept through your watch. You’re taking Fatin’s next shift at the helm. Don’t let it happen again.”
I had been standing at the helm for eight hours. It wasn’t so much a punishment as an opportunity to think. Lady I ran through the clouds, with a steady tailwind, never straying from her course. Beneath me, the endless ocean rolled in slow long waves, serenely. I had failed. With Sabine Moreau sitting right across me at my table, I had kept my composure. Why then, in the safety of my own home, had I lost it so completely when Brenda only hinted at Sabine’s presence? I had been broken, but I had been mended, glued back together like a cup dropped on the floor. I had to prove that I could still hold tea. The ship’s clock behind me struck, and a moment later Fatin came in through the door. I looked at her, and she gave me a smile.
“West north west,” I said.
“West north west.” She put her hand on my shoulder, turned me towards her, embraced me, her cheek next to mine, her body warm against me. “Good night, Alex.”
I walked to the mess hall, not allowing myself to yawn. Inside, Carl and Brenda were finishing up dinner. I looked away, not wanting to eat.
“I’m turning in,” I said, quietly. “Good night.”
I changed into my pyjamas in the dark, slipped under the covers. A few moments later, the door opened, the light came on. I turned away. I had watched Brenda change before, trying to steal a look at her more intimate tattoos without seeming to look at, well, her. Now, I didn’t even dare look in her direction. I heard the creak of the ladder, the thump of Brenda dropping into the bed above me. I looked up.
“Brenda?” My voice was hardly above a whisper. “I’m sorry.”
The bed above me creaked. “Don’t beat yourself up about it. Ain’t the first time someone got a hot head sparring. Not gonna be the last either.”
“I shouldn’t have. Let myself be…” I turned to the wall. “I’m sorry.”
The bed creaked, and there was the thump of Brenda landing on the floor. She grabbed my shoulder, firmly but not unkindly, and turned me round.
“Look Tennant. Sometimes, people are bleeding inside, where you can’t see it. Happens mostly when they’re caught in an explosion. No skin broken, but they’re busted up inside and they’re goddamn Marines, and they’re too tough to complain about a belly ache, and of course they’re good. And then an hour later, they start throwing up blood, and next time you look, they’re dead.” She pointed at me. “You’re bleeding where nobody can see it. You’re bleeding in the soul. I ain’t no priest, I can’t stick a dressing on your soul. But you better make damn sure somebody does, ’cause this crap is affecting combat readiness.”
I looked up at her, couldn’t find words to say. She grabbed the top of the bunk, and jumped into bed in one leap.
“It won’t happen again,” I said. “I promise.”
“Will you stop it? If it makes you feel better, I’ll hit you in the tit next time round. Easiest thing to do, ’cause your blocking stinks. Now if you’re done feeling sorry for yourself, I’d like to catch some sleep. Good night Tennant.”
As we drew nearer land, the weather became warmer, with occasional squalls of rain. We had lost half a day to headwinds, and on the morning of the seventh day, we drifted into Macapá International Airport, where we took on coal, water, and hydrogen gas. Father took us all out to a restaurant, the last chance for a civilised meal in a civilised place. We stayed there, eating, drinking, till the small hours of the morning, then stumbled back to our home in the sky. We cast off, rose to an altitude of only three thousand feet, and set off to the Northwest.
The Algernon Expeditions 