Chương 43: Ch 25b - Box

"You'll hurt his feelings if you don't eat it," Erro whispers, leaning in against Cara's shoulder to keep the remark between the two of them.

"He's very proud of his cooking." Cara has been pushing the omelette around her dish since the start of the meal. She has always been careful to take small samples of food to avoid this exact situation. Unfortunately, today's breakfast has been cooked by Crathsun who has also served out the portions and passed the dishes down the table. By the looks of it, everyone else has enjoyed their food. Her first mouthful had been her penultimate one.

The omelette looked like an omelette, albeit with a grey tinge, and the first taste had been rich and buttery. But the butter had evolved into a metallic meat taste that clung to the roof of her mouth in a layer of fat. She'd taken a large sip of water but that had done nothing to remove the layer. It was at that moment she had noticed Crathsun watching her, so she had politely smiled and taken another mouthful.

"I'm not that hungry this morning," she whispers back to Erro.

"Do you want mine?" Erro glances down the table.

"Sure," he says, quickly swapping their dishes, "always happy to have more." He begins eating large mouthfuls, barely chewing before swallowing and scooping up the next one. That is the best way to eat it, she thinks, swallowing fast before it has the chance to stick. Next to Erro, Wyndeer and Crathsun are deep in conversation. She relaxes a little in her chair knowing neither of them have noticed the dish exchange. Beyond the table, standing in the kitchen, eating separately from the group, is Draig.

They lock eyes. He raises an eyebrow. She swears under her breath and looks down at her - Erro's - empty dish, cursing at Draig's incessant watching and her inability to ignore his presence. At least, she thinks, his fractured relationship with the group means she doesn't have to worry about him telling Wyndeer every time she bends a rule. She turns to look at the other detached member of the group. A few seats away, sitting on his own, is Flavitt.

He is staring at an invisible screen, occasionally flicking a finger in the air, as he finishes his omelette. Yesterday evening Erro had explained that most Feilaners had optic implants enabling them to view and navigate invisible screens by staring at the middle distance in front of their eyes. Physical projections, like the cubes Argatta had appeared above or the wall Flavitt had demonstrated her cuff on, were only used when visuals needed to be shared with someone else.

Even then, he had said, the visuals could remain private from others. Erro had told her this while explaining the game Magse and Crathsun were playing. Sitting opposite each other they had moved twelve tiles across the table between them. Groaning or grinning as their seemingly unstructured game progressed. Erro had kindly activated a cube and walked Cara through the rules and strategy.

In the holographic screen above the cube the tiles had translated into different shaped pieces moving through a 3D multi-level maze. The complex strategy of the game with its obscure rules and fast pace had been hard for her to grasp so she had settled for enjoying the social interaction. She had appreciated Erro's efforts to include her in the group, which in turn had encouraged more casual conversation between all four of them.

Even Crathsun had included her in his banter, sharing a cheeky wink when he made a joke at Erro's expense, or providing additional explanation to Erro's commentary. No effort, however, had been made to include either Draig or Flavitt. Draig never showed interest to engage any more than necessary. But Flavitt, she had noticed, had hovered nearby, clearly watching the game and occasionally appearing to offer suggestions under his breath.

After being ignored for some time, Flavitt had disappeared, unnoticed by Cara or the rest of the group.

"What are you going to eat?" Erro asks, leaning back in his chair in a satisfying stretch having finished his second breakfast. She looks across the table. Nothing resembles the almond croissant and flat white she craves.

"I'll get something later," she shrugs.

"No." He reaches for an open box and serves her two green cones.

"We all have a duty of health and strength," he chants.

"You look like you need more protein." Bristling at the phrase he has used, she throws a glance at Wyndeer, but he appears ignorant of their conversation.

"Did Wyndeer tell you to say that?" she asks in irritation.

"A duty of health and strength?" Erro looks at her blankly.

"Why would he? It's the Trisec pledge." Seeing her confusion he explains, "Every Trisec member pledges a loyalty to Trisec over benefit to oneself, and a duty of health and strength so that we may give the best of ourselves to Feilan."

"Oh." She is unable to stop herself looking back at Draig. He is crushing an empty food box in his hands. Sensing her attention on him, he looks up, his face a mask of indifference. She shudders, recalling their brief conversation the day before.

"And is everyone passionate about the pledge?" she asks Erro.

"To break the pledge is to dishonour every person who has given their life to Trisec and to Feilan," he replies with a frown.

"I might make light of the pledge at mealtimes, but I would never renege on my commitment to Feilan. None of us would." She swallows hard at the sudden seriousness of his tone.

"Right. Sorry, I didn't know. I didn't mean to insinuate that you weren't taking it seriously." His elbow jabs into her arm as he breaks into a wide grin.

"Relax Cara. I know you don't know these things." He lets out a gentle laugh. The sound makes Flavitt jump, causing him to stumble as he makes his way to the kitchen, nearly dropping his dish.

"Careful there, Flavitt," Erro jeers.

"Drop that down Crathsun's back and he'll have you doing press ups until sundown." Crathsun joins in by shooting Flavitt a menacing look and issuing a low growl. Flavitt drains into a ghostly white. He quickly retreats, taking a wider arc, tripping again in his haste. Crathsun and Erro erupt in guffaws. Cara looks down at her hands. As he composes himself, Erro turns back to her.

"Crathsun's got me shifting more stuff in the hall, want to join me?" He doesn't wait for her reply, immediately turning to Wyndeer, asking, "Wyndeer, Cara's going to join me in the hall, is that ok?" A look of irritation flashes across Wyndeer's face as he looks across at them. Despite only returning at sundown yesterday, clearly tired and hungry, Wyndeer had still insisted she spend time attempting to use a shard. It had been another unsuccessful session.

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"For a short while," Wyndeer agrees. Erro's chair gives a screech of protest as he stands up, flexing his back and stretching out his arms.

"Coming?" he asks Cara.

"Sure," she says. Erro is clearly the better option than Wyndeer and Crathsun. She starts to rise but Erro taps her on the shoulder.

"Once you've eaten those," he says with a wink, pointing at the two green cones he has served her.

"Sure," she repeats with significantly less enthusiasm. She watches Erro saunter out the door, unaware of or uncaring to acknowledge Flavitt who has stepped aside out of his way. Flavitt bobs hesitantly on the balls of his feet, then, with his head down and shoulders rounded, he skulks out into the corridor. Cara looks down at the cones. Dried leaves encasing a mystery taste. Her tongue explores the roof of her mouth, finding the unpleasant fat still clinging in place.

She sighs as she searches the table for a slice of bread or crisp cracker. Finding no likely candidates, her stomach turns at the thought of sampling more strange dishes. Discreetly she moves the cones into her dish and gets up from the table. Wyndeer and Crathsun pay her no attention, but she still raises her dish higher as she passes them. She quickly empties the mystery cones into an empty box before stacking her dish in the kitchen. In the corridor, as she makes to walk into the hall, she bumps into Flavitt.

Or rather, she bumps hard into the large box he is struggling to carry.

"Sorry," she yelps, moving to take hold of the box to prevent it falling from his hands. The box is even heavier than Flavitt makes it look.

"Um, sorry," he mumbles back.

"Here, let me help you," she says, taking a firmer hold of the box.

"No, it's fine," grunts Flavitt, too busy juggling the weight to successfully remove the box out of her hands.

"You mean, yes, I would appreciate that. Thank you, Cara," she insists with a smile. He mumbles something she doesn't catch. She decides to take it as a yes and starts backing down the corridor forcing him to follow with her. With a little effort they make it to the small office he has commandeered next to the medical room. Setting the box down on the only empty surface in the room, Cara steps back to look around.

"What is all this stuff?" she asks, her eyes widening as she takes in the haphazard towers of mismatched boxes, shelves of uneven jars and a general scatter of pipes, wires, tools, scraps of metal, dismantled gadgets, and dozens of other miscellaneous items.

"Just some things I'm sorting through," he says, fidgeting with a hand-sized piece of melded orange and black plastic that sprouts three curly wires.

"Aren't you supposed to be destroying everything that was left here?" she asks, wandering down the room, bending to look in boxes or investigate items on a shelf.

"Some of this tech is still in good condition, I can repurpose a lot of it." Confidence edges into his voice.

"And some of it is too dangerous to be destroyed on site. It has to be stored separately for a professional clean up team to take away."

"Oh," she responds, probing deeper into a box that contains little misshapen pieces that remind her of Lego.

"Please," he winces, "be careful what you touch." She smiles reassuringly back at him, holding up her empty hands. Flavitt quickly drops her gaze, his eyes resting instead on her cuff that peeks out from the loose sleeve of her jumper.

"How- How are you finding your cuff?" Her smile widens at his initiation of a conversation.

"Fine I guess, I don't really use it," she shrugs.

"Oh." His shoulders slump in disappointment.

"But it's really comfortable," she adds quickly, not wanting him to disengage.

"And the demonstration you gave me was really useful." She licks her lips, an idea forming that she might be able to get more information out of him.

"Did you fit cuffs for the other Visitors?" He shakes his head, "Vheece assigned me ahead of your arrival. Before that I'd only been working in the research department of Trisec Communication Engineering. The Wixam was the first time I'd been on a space vessel."

"Me too," she says, attempting a light joke, "first time being on a space vessel I mean." He risks a look at her face, returning her smile with a small one of his own. She watches as his body relaxes, surprised to find a weight lifting from her own shoulders. He, like the others, has donned a more casual uniform since leaving the Wixam. Whilst still in black. he doesn't have the hard wearing, multi-pocketed trousers that Wyndeer's team wear, nor the wicking lightweight t-shirts.

Flavitt's trousers are smooth and slim fitting, his top a thicker, long-sleeved style. Cara still wears the same charcoal grey items as she had been provided on the Wixam. Unlike her plain top and those of the others, his retains the Trisec emblem, and next to it a short, thin blue line. He must be a Blue, she realises, the same rank as Erro.

"How does it work when you join Trisec?" she asks, continuing her slow perusal across the room, looking but trying not to touch. She thinks of the pledge Erro told her about. She doesn't mean to be unkind, but health and strength aren't two words she would use to describe Flavitt. She gives her top a light tug.

"I guess you were a Cadet once? Did you do the same Cadet training as Erro and the rest of them?" He flushes and starts rearranging strips of wire on a nearby table, lining them up in perfect straight lines. She is about to apologise and tell him to ignore her question when he speaks.

"No. I, uh, I was recruited via a pre-eminent entry award. I'm a Strategic Asset," he mumbles into his chest.

"A Strategic Asset?" she prompts, "What's that?" He nips a piece of wire between his finger and thumb, pulling it into a straight line. Satisfied with the adjustment, he lines it up carefully on the table.

"That's what they call people like me," he explains.

"We make up, on average, 0. 164% of each Advancement Cycle. We're recruited for our unique abilities. I'm- I'm very good at micro engineering problems. Strategic Assets mean that Trisec can recruit people with specialist abilities who are unable to complete the Cadet training."

"Why would you not be able to complete the Cadet training?" she asks, her curiosity growing.

"It's very physical. It has a 37% failure rate," he says. His slight form seems to shrink further.

"Wow," she says, trying to encourage him to stay in the conversation.

"Given how fit Wyndeer's team is it must be very tough. Definitely nothing I could manage."

"That's why they're so, proud, I- I mean, they are so proud to be in Trisec."

"But you're in Trisec, so you can be proud too," she says, wanting to fuel more confidence in him.

"It sounds like your entry point is much smaller than the Cadet training, so it's more competitive for places?"

"It depends how you fail. They, the Trisec Cadets, they fight for their place. The Strategic Assets like me, we are given our place. Therefore, we will always be inferior."

"That sounds the wrong way around to me," she remarks, nearly completing her inspection of his collection as she circles back near the door.

"You're so valuable to the organisation that they grant you special entry. Surely that deserves an automatic level of respect, or appreciation at least." He frowns at her.

"No, you must not say that. Never say that. I am inferior," he insists, sounding quite agitated. She is going to push her point but sees how much his hand is shaking as he brushes the wire strips back into a bundle, then starts laying them out in a straight line again, one wire at a time. Not wanting to end on a sour note she decides to draw him back into what is hopefully a neutral subject. She picks up a nearby object.

It resembles a microphone except in place of the bulbous foam mouthpiece is a sphere of silver covered pegs.

"What is this?" she asks with genuine curiosity, holding the item up so that he can identify it. Her thumb glides over the pegs, pressing one with a satisfying click.

"Don't touch that!" he yelps in a surprising burst of panic. Unfortunately, her curiosity is greater than her concern at his outburst. She looks back at the object just in time to see three sharp prongs eject out of the end of the handle. The three rods pierce through her forearm with enough force to protrude through to the other side.

Her shock is so great that it isn't until thick red blood starts seeping through her jumper and dripping down to the floor, that her mind registers that they are now embedded in her arm. It is then that she releases an anguished scream. By this point Flavitt has already run past her, yelling for Wyndeer down the corridor.