Chương 63: Ch 35b – Anger

She had not meant to storm straight outside. Had not intended to flout the rules. As soon as she was in the corridor the idea of trapping herself inside another room became too loathsome. She had found her feet taking her through the side door and marching down to the edge of the scrubland. She has remained visible from the rec room, she reasons to herself, her unauthorised excursion does not require a frantic search.

She takes her anger out on the hardened shrubs and loose rocks, doing very little actual damage with her stomps and kicks. Her ineffectiveness fuels her annoyance. Sitting down hard on a patch of dirt she dangles her legs over the bluff, contemplating climbing down to the rocks below. Her fingers seek out medium sized stones to hurl at the pawing waves. Most of her throws fall short of the water.

"Fuck you," she yells in anger, as if the waves are purposefully avoiding her stones to rile her further.

"Worked it out of your system yet?" Wyndeer says behind her. She stiffens but refuses to turn around. Her tongue is too bitter to find the words for a sarcastic reply.

"You're too close to the edge," he admonishes her.

"I'm still on the scrubland," she snipes in a petty defence.

"I am not going to argue technicalities with you, Cara. Either you move back and I give you the chance to explain what you're so angry about. Or I drag you back from the edge and lock you in your room until you can convince me you've calmed down." She swears loudly, throwing another stone at the sea. It bounces off a dark grey rock to drop harmlessly onto a patch of bone-dry shale. She swears again.

"Shall I count down from three, Cara?"

"Alright!" Her petulant shout rakes at the sides of her throat.

"I'm moving, for fuck's sake!" Resentment makes her take her time pulling her feet back onto the ledge. As she shifts her weight to stand up her right foot slips against the loose dirt, tipping her towards the drop. Wyndeer grabs her arm. He hauls her insistently back into the scrub land, only letting go once they are a few metres back. She curls her arm against her chest, rubbing where his hand had gripped tightly. Her mood is too churlish to admit his cautious approach to the bluff may be valid.

Wyndeer crosses his arms and fixes her with a disapproving stare.

"Well?" he prompted.

"I'm not a feral animal," she snaps, giving him the first explanation that comes into her head. He raises an eyebrow.

"No," he says slowly, "you're not."

"I mean-. I mean you treat me like I'm some feral animal that needs the stupid rules of a cold-hearted dictator to learn how to behave," she explodes, her arms waving wildly at him.

"An animal whose value is based on learning how to perform tricks for your psycho boss. An animal who isn't worthy enough to be part of any decisions, and whose every action and word seems to get written up in fuck knows how many reports for everyone to fucking read." He blinks, "Is that everything?"

"Isn't that enough?" she yells, taking a step towards him, her anger flowing at full force.

"I didn't choose to be here Wyndeer. I didn't ask for these fucking shards. I didn't ask to be in the middle of your weird fucking Feilan rainbow power trips." Her hand swings through the air, painting a rainbow in front of his face. Her throat is becoming hoarse from the force of the words she is screaming at him.

"I didn't ask for any of this. And nobody ever gives a shit about that. You all treat me like I'm an idiot or a liar or like I don't exist beyond a shard."

"Are you done?" he asks coldly.

"Yes," she shouts back at him defiantly.

"Good, because now it's time for my rant. Listen carefully," he speaks with a cold precision that sounds far more menacing than his previous angry rebukes.

"What you have failed to realise because you're too busy being angry at everyone around you, is that the meeting with Vheece was for your benefit. He wants to have you locked up at his base. And frankly that would be a lot easier for my team. But today I risked my position to get Vheece to agree to extending your stay here. Why? Because I am not a cold-hearted dictator. I do appreciate that you came here unintentionally and that you are trying to understand what it might mean.

I do see that being in this sheltered outpost is better for you than a Trisec base or an IAAS lab. But I never have, and never will, tolerate my team being put at unnecessary risk, either physically or reputationally. My stupid rules as you call them, are to protect my team from your ignorant and sometimes reckless behaviour. Your lack of ability and your unwillingness to follow simple rules tells me how little I can trust you around my team.

Someone who lies about where they are going to be, what they promise to do and not do, and what they know about shards, cannot be trusted to take care of themselves nor be trusted with an object that has already caused serious injury to one of my team and can easily do so again. This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version. So no, you don't get to decide what you do and when you do it.

You certainly don't get to be part of security conversations or decisions that also impact the lives of others. And, as for what I think you are calling weird-fucking-Feilan-rainbow-power-trips. This world you've landed in has its own culture and power system, and it is not going to change because a Visitor doesn't like it. My advice to you is learn who to trust and hope they believe in you enough to teach you how to navigate this life.

Because Cara, it's a cruel fact that unless you figure out how you got here, you're not going to leave." She finds herself staggering back as if he has slapped her hard across the face. His harsh truth douses her anger like water on a flame. She stares in shock, her heart thumping in her chest, as he takes a moment to compose himself.

"If you have anything else to vent about, I suggest you do it now. Once we go inside, I will expect an end to your behaviour this morning." He looks at her expectantly, his mouth a tight incensed line.

"Answer," he orders.

"Nothing more," she says quietly.

"I will leave you with Crathsun to reflect quietly on what I have said. I don't tolerate outbursts in my team and I will not tolerate them from you. If you have an issue you raise it with me in a respectful manner. You are right in that I am the dictator here." …… The shape of the darker dirt stain on the window reminds her of a penguin.

If she tilts her head at just the right angle, she can line up the feet of the penguin with the distant horizon, making it appear as if the penguin is walking on a murky grey slab of ice. She has been curled up in the armchair for quite some time. The sky is a solid spread of muddy white, the light the brightest it is going to get unless the sun manages to burn through the cloud layer.

For a change, she appreciates the oversized build of the chairs which allow for her bare feet to curl under her as she huddles against the sloped back of the chair. She is aware Crathsun is still sat on the chair next to her, though she hasn't glanced his way for some time. The sounds in the rec room have died down. The others having come for their breakfast and left to complete their tasks. She has heard Crathsun murmur a few times, presumably exchanging a few words with someone.

Otherwise, he has stayed silent by her side, as per Wyndeer's instructions. During her internal reflection of Wyndeer's extremely confronting rant she has summarised his message into one simple phrase: accept it and move on. It is similar to the type of mantra her Gran would often cite after Cara had complained about doing homework or having to give up time with her friends to help around the house. If you can't change it and you can't avoid it, just get it done and see if you learn something.

Of course, she thinks, what Wyndeer is telling her to do is harder than simply finishing homework. Give up on what you thought would be your life. Accept without challenge what your life is now. Do what they say and trust that he and his team are working to do the right thing by her. The trouble is, she doesn't want to give up her old life, and it doesn't want to give up on her. Any moment alone, any time to think, is a constant running commentary in her head of what is different and she has lost.

At its best it is a real-time game of spot-the-difference, at its worst it is a smothering quicksand of grief. A tear escapes down her cheek as her mind starts to favour the latter. She wipes it away with her sleeve and with tremendous effort, forces her thoughts back to the little penguin on the window. Her movement wakes her left foot which pulses in agitation at being incessantly crushed underneath her.

Reluctantly she shifts position in her chair, twisting forward so that acknowledging Crathsun becomes unavoidable. He sits casually, his body filling out the expanse of the chair, his eyes glazed as he stares into the middle distance. At her movement he blinks rapidly. His finger traces a curving line on his left cuff. The pupils in his eyes contract as he refocuses to look at her. Her momentary panic about what to say to him is quickly abandoned as her foot erupts in a shower of pins and needles.

Groaning, she grabs her foot, massaging it frantically.

"Cramp?" he asks.

"Pins and needles."

"Pins and needles?" he repeats, seeking clarity, "I'm not familiar with that."

"You know," she winces as she speaks, "when you get prickles all over your skin because the blood supply has been cut off."

"Oh, paraesthesia." He nods in understanding.

"Straighten your leg out. Flex your foot forward and back like this." He holds his leg out in front of him, flexing his boot then pointing his toes.

"It will move the blood down faster than what you're doing." She copies his example, moving her foot until the sensation eases.

"Thanks," she mutters as she lets her foot dangle, leaving her leg stretched out over the seat.

"No problem, Cara." His reply is balanced, no superiority, no mocking undertone.

"I guess Wyndeer has told you why you're on observation duty," she grumbles, deciding to get the awkward conversation over with.

"He's told me what I need to know." She swallows away her pride.

"And what do you think about my behaviour?"

"Wyndeer is handling it."

"It's ok, you might as well say," she says bitterly.

"It's better than having to wonder what you're thinking."

"I don't need to say anything." A furrow of annoyance grows on his forehead.

"Wyndeer hasn't asked me to add my opinion. He's asked me to observe you to make sure you have calmed down and are not about to do something foolish."

"How- how do you do that?" she asks in bewilderment.

"How do you just do what he asks? Don't you want to share what you think? What if you disagree with how he is handling something?"

"I've been in Wyndeer's team a long time," he explains, unperturbed by her questions.

"I don't need to question what he does. I know he's doing what he needs for the team to succeed. I do what he asks because it's what the team needs."

"It's that simple?" She frowns at him.

"Yes, it's that simple," he confirms, showing her the open palms of his thick hands.

"But surely you're not always happy to do what he asks. You know, like having to sit here with me for hours."

"Not always," he concedes, "but it's what he has asked me to do." He studies her before adding, "and extra training will deal with any," he stresses his next word meaningfully, "opinion I might have about the tasks I have been set." She can't help but take in the strain of his muscles under the stretch of his top, the spread of his arms along the arm rests and the high curve of his giant thighs.

"You do a lot of training," she observes out loud. As her words cross between them, alarm widens her eyes at the realisation he could take them as a slight. A twinkle breaks glints in his eyes.

"I do a lot of training," he nods his head, the bristles of his beard twitching at the corners of his mouth, "mostly because I enjoy it."