Alex really tried to stick with homeroom. At first.
It wasn’t so bad, most days, because they spent much of the three-hour class in breakout groups or with student instructors and guest lecturers, which were usually fairly interesting. They passed the time, if nothing else.
A Punjabi researcher from Analytics came and taught the class to read a very simple probability matrix, potential futures radiating out from a baseline of functional certainty, branching and growing more unlikely the further they spread out on the page, implying other dimensions. Alex found himself reminded of a cable show he’d seen on the mandalas that he’d seen saffron-robed monks making with colored sand. He didn’t understand it in the slightest, but he found himself captivated by the evolving beauty of the model.
On a different day, Alex and the rest of the combat-track students were pulled to spend the period on the grass outside, while Rebecca (who had refused to teach if she was forced to remain in the nonsmoking class room) lectured them on the basics of psychic self-defense. That was the idea, according to the syllabus anyway, but what actually happened was Rebecca showed up hung over and grumpy, and talked about the topic at hand for less than half an hour. The rest of the time she spent making them sit in contented silence while she slept on the grass.
One entire morning was devoted to a short Mongolian professor, whose name Alex never did catch, lecturing semi-coherently on relaying coded field information via Internet message boards and social networking sites. Another afternoon consisted of tiny Mr. Huang demonstrating in rapid order how to open a dozen different models of locks with improvised tools, while the class watched in astonishment and envy. An alarming number of people stayed after.
And that was only the practical stuff — unlike, say, the two-hours they spent with a cheery empath named Mrs. Lovett who encouraged them to hurl paint at a roomful of blank canvases, or Mr. Brosnik’s interminable lecture on chess and a Japanese game called Go, or the various other sessions on gardening, ceramics, or the recreation of the American Civil War.
As far as Alex could tell, there was no particular pressure on the students to learn any of things guest lecturers taught, but for anyone who showed interest or aptitude, further instruction was made available. Accordingly, Alex was careful never to show either, particularly for the history teacher who showed up in full Union regalia.
The core course, and Mr. Windsor along with it, was another matter entirely. For one thing, the lectures were frustratingly broad and vague, the kind of topics that Alex associated with the questions that novels sometimes included in the back for book club discussions. Mr. Windsor was always encouraging them to ‘consider’ — to consider, for example, the nature of the Ether itself, or the oddity of Central being located inside of it, or what effects repeated transit through it might have on the human body. Alex played along for a while, until he realized that Windsor didn’t have any real answers — he seemed to think that any sort of discussion was a desirable thing in and of itself. And Alex resented being asked questions that there were no answers for.
Then Anastasia informed him that he didn’t even have to pass the class in order to clear the Academy. Apparently, Mr. Windsor’s role was more advisory than anything, and homeroom designed more as a yardstick to measure the student’s progress and interest level than to teach any one thing. That was still buzzing around in his head when Mr. Windsor asked him to stay late after class one Friday. Alex had an afternoon training session with Michael looming, and precious little time before it began.
“Can I ask what the problem is?” Alex demanded, as soon as the rest of the class had filed out, Emily glancing over her shoulder sympathetically at him before she left.
If Mr. Windsor was surprised by Alex’s tone, he didn’t show it. He simply carried on stowing his laptop away in the brown leather messenger bag he carried with him everywhere, the same defocused smile plastered on his face that seemed to be an almost permanent feature.
“I wanted to discuss your progress and your comfort level with the material, Alex,” Mr. Windsor said reasonably. “Our most recent test was not your finest effort to date, particularly on the subject of classification of protocols. Moreover, your essay on the founding of Central, a topic which you selected, I might add, is now quite overdue. Can I ask why?”
Alex was a bit thrown off by the diplomatic approach, having anticipated a lecture, but he refused to be mollified.
“I guess I have too much other stuff going on that seems more important than this class,” Alex said curtly. “No one is going to shoot me in the head for not knowing how the Black Sun rose to prominence, or when the Agreement was expanded to include vampires, or whatever random topic we’re working on right now.”
Mr. Windsor, against all expectations, laughed and gave Alex a knowing nod.
“It’s true, and I do understand, the Operations track is an intensive and difficult one,” Mr. Windsor said sincerely. “But, it is important for you to understand that you are not attending the Academy solely for the benefit of Central. The Academy exists to help you become a more complete person, Alex, and no amount of physical training or combat experience can create a whole, rational, functional being. Operators are asked to function under tremendous stresses, and some of what we discuss here is designed to give you tools to understand and deal with that stress. The topics of the class may seem haphazard, I admit, but I am trying to provide you with a gloss, an overview of the principals by which the world you live in functions, and the alternatives available to you. The rest of the Academy teaches you to obey and to execute, and they do an admirable job of it. I am allowed a few hours every week to try and teach you to think critically. Do you see why this is so important?”
Alex sighed and shook his head.
“Look, I don’t understand how a car works, or an ATM, okay? But I can use both of them just fine.”
This was actually untrue. Alex had never driven in his life.
“I’m not here to teach you how things work, Alex, I am here to help you understand why they work. Don’t you want to know why things are the way they are?”
Alex had to stop to consider it for a moment.
“I guess,” Alex admitted reluctantly. “It isn’t like you have any real answers, though — no disrespect, Mr. Windsor.”
“Ah, but that’s just it!” Mr. Windsor cried out, as if he were thrilled by Alex’s answer. “Are the only questions you are interested in those that have already been answered?”
Alex snorted and turned to gather his things.
“You’re talking in circles, Mr. Windsor,” he said impatiently. “Any chance I can go? I might still have time for a shower and a meal before I have to go back to the gym.”
Mr. Windsor looked at him and smiled, the look on his face sad enough that Alex almost relented, until he remembered that this man was trying to teach him.
“What are you interested in, Alex?”
“What?” Alex snapped, exasperated by his persistence.
“It’s a simple question,” Mr. Windsor said expansively. “And any answer at all will do. In thirty years of teaching, I have yet to meet a student who wasn’t interested in something, Mr. Warner.”
Alex thought about it. He thought about it for a while, and then he got a bit worried. Eventually, he was forced to confess.
“I can’t… um. I can’t really think of anything, Mr. Windsor.”
Mr. Windsor shook his head.
“Come now. There must be something… I notice that you wear headphones every day when you come into class. You must like music?”
“I guess,” Alex shrugged. “I mostly like not having to talk, or listen to people, you know?”
“How about games, Alex? What kind of games do you play?”
Again, he had to stop to consider. It didn’t take long, though. There isn’t much to see in a blank sheet of paper.
“What do you mean? Like, video games, or something? Nah. I don’t really play games. I mean, I’ve played cards and stuff, and I could probably remember dominoes or checkers if you gave me a board and a few minutes. But, I can’t say that I’ve ever really been into them much…”
“Alex, I don’t mean to pry, but you’ve been institutionalized, haven’t you?”
Mr. Windsor’s voice was soft and kindly, but to Alex, it sounded treacherous. He couldn’t help but look longing at the exit.
“Now, now, don’t be angry,” Mr. Windsor said soothingly. “I have no idea what happened to you, and I don’t need to know. I’m familiar enough with the signs to recognize them when I see them. You aren’t the first student we’ve had that had a difficult background, you know. But, that is beside the point. You must have had a great deal of time to kill, then, in the institution. What did you do with it, Alex?”
Alex thought about it for a while, resenting Mr. Windsor the entire time. Why should he bother trying to please a teacher who couldn’t fail him? One who taught a class about nothing?
Especially, Alex thought, especially when he had such a terrible headache. Why did he have to get one now, of all times? He had to go to the gym in a little while, and now he felt like crap…
“Well, I, I mean it wasn’t like there was nothing to do, but…”
Alex’s mouth was dry, his hands were numb and his fingertips tingled. The area behind his eyes ached like a tooth gone bad, an ice-cold spike driven through his cerebrum. His mouth seemed to be working by itself, in the absence of any sign of his mental faculties returning.
“There wasn’t any one thing that I did especially…”
Alex had to go lie down. He was suddenly certain of it, and the very thought of putting his head on a pillow sounded so good then he actually felt better, just thinking about it. He had to go lie down, he knew it, the way he knew that the sky outside was blue.
“I have to go lie down,” he mumbled, waving one hand in a vague sort of acknowledgment, or dismissal. Mr. Windsor watched him go stumbling out the door with a pained smile.
Alex shambled right past Rebecca, who sat with her eyes screwed closed in the front row of the lecture hall, without even a shred of recognition on his face. He almost tripped over her outstretched foot without acknowledging her existence. She didn’t open her eyes until after the classroom door slammed shut behind him.
“That was much worse than I was led to believe,” Mr. Windsor said plainly, taking off his glasses and rubbing the lenses against his shirt. “Did you send him away?”
“That was fucking dangerous, is what it was,” Rebecca grumbled, standing up. “You were told not to engage him unnecessarily. You’ve been warned about bringing up Alex’s past, or pushing him too hard.” She shook her head irritably. “Why did you bring me here today?”
“Why did you choose to hide your presence from him?” Windsor countered. “When did you learn how to do that? I am a bit impressed, actually. I thought it outside your capabilities.”
“I don’t answer your questions, Gerald,” Rebecca snapped. “You answer mine. Don’t forget who you are talking to. What did you want me to see here?”
“We are failing him,” Mr. Windsor said, hanging his head with the admission. “Surely it is obvious to you? Alexander Warner isn’t even a fraction of a person, not yet. He’s hardly even a beginning. And we aren’t giving him the kind of opportunities he needs in order to become whole. He isn’t capable of developing on his own, his disconnect goes too deep for that. Alex needs to be led out into the world gently, with patience and compassion. And we aren’t doing anything like that. We’re just teaching him how to kill people. Something he is almost certain to do, I might add, unless we give him the opportunity to do anything else with his prodigious talents.”
Rebecca tapped her foot impatiently.
“So, that’s it, huh? Remorse for Alex’s lost childhood? Or do you have some sort of rational reason for staging this little scene?”
“I thought you should know,” Mr. Windsor said plaintively. “Alex trusts you more than anyone else he’s ever met, you realize that? Rhetorical question, of course you are already aware. But, do you take the responsibility that comes with that trust seriously? I’ve never been sure with you, Rebecca.”
“Everyone trusts me because I am trustworthy, Alex included. You know, this was my favorite class when I was at the Academy,” Rebecca said fondly, sitting back down in the front row chair, “and you were my favorite teacher.”
“Then help me teach him, Rebecca,” Windsor pleaded. “At least give me the opportunity.”
Rebecca pursed her lips and looked away. After a little while, she shrugged uncomfortably, as if she wished she were somewhere else.
“Don’t waste your time,” she said curtly. “Worry about the ones that can be helped. Make Alex’s homeroom experience as easy as possible, you understand? Nothing challenging, no difficult questions.”
Mr. Windsor shook his head sadly, moving again to wipe his fogged-up glasses.
“Say,” he asked curiously, “did it get cold in here a minute ago?”
“Do you want to sleep for a little while, now, Alex?”
Alex’s face slowly contorted with the effort of thought. Speech was an even more involved process, and he managed little more than a grunt.
“Okay,” Rebecca nodded from where she sat, eyes closed, her knees pressed against Alex’s, holding both of his limp hands tightly. “You rest now, Alex. You don’t have to go to sleep if you don’t want to, and if you do decide to sleep, you can wake up whenever you feel ready. And when you wake up,” Rebecca added, opening her eyes and smiling at the boy affectionately, “do me a favor and feel better, okay?”
Alex may have nodded. Michael wasn’t sure, he couldn’t really see from where he sat, his chair tucked away in a corner of Rebecca’s cluttered and homey office. It might have simply been that she responded as if he had nodded.
Rebecca shook her head, and stood up, unsteadily. Michael fought back an urge to help her — he knew from long experience that was the last thing Rebecca wanted. She took a few deep breaths, then walked the short distance between the new couch Alex was sprawled on and the desk where her cigarettes were, one hand running along the wall for support. Michael waited in polite silence until she was sitting with a lit cigarette in her hand.
“Well? Anything?”
Rebecca blew smoke at the ceiling and shook her head curtly.
“You know it didn’t work,” she said crossly. “We’ve been at this for three fucking weeks, Michael, and you know perfectly well that I would be freaking out right now if I had managed to implant even one working protocol in that poor boy’s head. For fuck’s sake, Michael,” she snarled, “how much further are you planning on taking this?”
Michael smiled thinly and crossed his legs.
“Maybe if we tried a stronger imprinting…”
“We can’t,” Rebecca said tiredly. “I’m already using Alex’s as a catalyst to try and implant through his innate resistance — I push any harder, we run the risk that he doesn’t know anything but the protocol afterwards.”
Michael rubbed his smooth chin thoughtfully.
“What does that catalyst effect feel like?” Michael asked, changing subjects. “I’ve read about it in theory, the feedback loop and all, but watching you…”
Rebecca was quiet for a moment, her arm hanging in the air in front of her, frozen in the act of bringing the cigarette to her mouth.
“It’s as intense as it looks, probably more,” she admitted, eyes averted. “The longer I hold on, the more difficult it is to break the connection.”
“That must be frightening,” Michael observed.
Rebecca glared at him.
“The frightening part is that every time I do it I’m a little bit less inclined to try and break it at all.” Rebecca brooded, hugging one arm around her waist, looking absently in Alex’s direction. “My sanity is on the line, here, Michael, and you would do well to appreciate that fact when I ask you again, how much longer do you plan on pursuing this?”
“The boy must be trained,” Michael said flatly, his face determined and his eyes serious. “He has powerful enemies, and that’s not likely to change. He needs to be able to protect himself. He needs to be able to operate protocols. Conventional protocols.”
Rebecca flicked ash into the crowded tray on her desk. She looked at the day’s worth of paperwork, neatly piled in its manila folders in two parallel stacks, pristine, totally untouched, and sighed.
“There’s no precedent for this, Michael. This kind of resistance has never been overcome, not even once. The only protocol I’ve been able to implant is Absolute, and when Alex operates it, it’s black,” Rebecca’s voice was surprisingly gentle when she said this, looking thoughtfully at Michael. He stirred in his chair uncomfortably. “Before they augmented Mitsuru, it was the same deal with her.”
“Someone broached the Academy Barrier last night,” Michael said flatly. “They did… whatever they did to that Horror, and then sent it here dying, so close to dead that it didn’t even register as living. That Barrier has never been broken, Rebecca, not in fifty years, and they did this just to get at that boy.” Michael leaned forward and met Rebecca’s eyes. “That boy has enemies,” Michael insisted, “and he needs to know how to use protocols in order to defend himself.”
“If only there was more than one way to skin a cat, eh, Mikey?” Alice said playfully, sticking her head in through a gap in the door. “How long are you going to hold on to him, anyway?”
Rebecca sighed and waved Alice into the office.
“Are you guys planning on having another fight?” Rebecca asked, stubbing out her cigarette and then reaching for the pack. “Because I am so very not interested in that.”
“I’m being serious,” Alice said insistently. “When are you going to start teaching him something, Michael?”
Michael’s expression was stormy. He glared up at Alice, who took no apparent notice, settling behind the desk in Rebecca’s chair, putting her combat boots up in the two shallow grooves that Rebecca had worn in the desk’s surface, doing the same thing. Rebecca looked over at Alice as she slouched in her chair, sighed again, and then moved to the window sill, lighting another cigarette and pointedly looking out at the evening.
“I am teaching him,” Michael said curtly. “And in affairs involving the students, I don’t have to answer to you.”
Alice smiled and leaned forward in her chair.
“I know, I know. This is professional curiosity here, Mikey, one colleague to another, looking for a little information,” Alice said, throwing her hands up innocently. “Wanted to figure out how long you plan on dicking around, using up Rebecca and the kid’s time, implementing standard protocols that you know perfectly well aren’t going to work.”
Michael gritted his teeth, his hands tightening around the knobs on the arms of his chair, while Alice settled back in her chair and smiled. Rebecca sighed theatrically from across the room, but neither of them appeared to pay her any attention, they were so focused on each other. The staring match continued for a while, but Alice’s smirk was unflappable.
“Why would Alex’s training be part of your concerns, Auditor?” Michael asked acidly.
Alice hooted.
“Oh, you want to make it formal?” Alice asked. “That’s fine. I’m within my rights. The boy’s an obvious candidate for Audits, you must have noticed.”
“What?”
To Rebecca, Michael’s disbelief seemed forced.
“Sure, come on,” Alice said, laughing, “power like that, and with unconventional protocols? He’s a natural.”
“Unconventional?” Michael almost spat, standing up and pointing at Alice. “You want him to use Black Protocols?”
“Are the conventional ones working, then?” Alice asked innocently. Michael glowered at her, his face contorted with anger.
“The boy is a powerful catalyst already,” Michael said, gesturing defiantly. “In his own right, he is already a considerable asset. Until we have exhausted all other options, even discussion of Black Protocols is premature.”
“Rebecca?” Alice asked over her shoulder. “Have all the other options been exhausted?”
They both turned and stared at the petite brunette, sitting on the window sill smoking and looking unhappy, one leg dangling out in the evening air.
“Alice, you’re such a bitch,” Rebecca said, tired but not malicious. “I told you not to drag me into your bullshit.”
“But I’m asking for your professional opinion, here, Rebecca,” Alice objected, feigning innocence.
Rebecca looked over at them briefly, her eyes lingering sadly over the both of them in turn, and then returned her attention to world outside her window.
“I don’t think that Alex can use conventional protocols,” Rebecca said grudgingly. “The imprint with the Absolute Protocol was successful, but it isn’t conventional when he operates it. Don’t hate me, Michael.”
Alice turned back to Michael and smirked.
“Just like Mitsuru, remember? You know the documentation as well as I do, Mikey. He’s a text book case. Just like I was.”
Michael stood up angrily, his body shaking and his hands clenched.
“Do you even remember that, Alice?” Michael’s voice was tight and cold, his face angry and miserable at the same time. Rebecca winced and put her head between her knees as if she were dizzy. “Or did you have to look it up in your diary?”
Alice frowned briefly, and then shrugged.
“You don’t have to be a dick about it.” A troubled look crossed Alice’s face, briefly, before her normal confidence reasserted itself. “Since you clearly think that you’ve got the moral high ground, why don’t you tell me what your grand plan is for training a student who can’t use conventional protocols? Will he be beating Weir to death with his bare hands?”
Michael sat down heavily, as if he were angry at the chair.
“I’ve had enough of your shit, Alice,” Michael said, rubbing his forehead. “This conversation is over.”
Alice stood up slowly, pushing the chair in behind her, and walked up close to where Michael sat, bending down to look in his eyes, her face grave.
“This is the last time I will ask you, Michael,” she said softly, almost sadly. “If you still don’t give me an answer, then I will have to address the matter as an Auditor. And,” she added thoughtfully, “then I won’t be asking at all.”
Michael looked up at her, his face contorted, and then turned away.
“Guys,” Rebecca said, breaking the tense silence, “you are aware that both of you have your own offices, right?”
She looked over at them hopefully, but neither of them acknowledged her presence. Rebecca swore to herself quietly, first in English, and then when she ran out of curses, switched over to Spanish.
“As I said earlier,” Michael began, his face composed and his voice calm, if tinged with a certain regret, “the boy’s abilities as a catalyst are already unprecedented. With the right partner, or even group of partners, he could be a formidable…”
“Battery,” Alice cut in grimly, sitting down on the edge of Rebecca’s desk. “You want to use Warner as a battery, because you’re afraid of what might happen if you actually let him develop those powers, right?”
“That’s not it!” Michael sputtered. “You know what kind of potential the boy has! And you should know better than anyone what the consequences of that boy using Black Protocols will be. We had this conversation about Mitsuru, once, and look how that turned out. Or have you,” Michael added pointedly, “forgotten about that too?”
Alice winced, and then, after a moment, gave Michael a bitter smile.
“You are afraid, in other words, and because you’re afraid, you want to deny him the opportunity to choose for himself. Pathetic.” Alice looked down at him coldly, her smile wider. “And he’s not ‘the boy’. His name is Alexander.”
Rebecca started, giving Alice an appraising look.
Alex made a show of yawning and stretching, sitting up slowly, well aware that all the eyes in the room had immediately shifted over to him the moment he stirred.
“Alex. And he’s awake,” Alex said disinterestedly. “Been awake for a while now.” He looked up at Alice, and grinned at her sleepily. “You must be Miss Gallow, right?”
Rebecca’s eyes narrowed.
“Alex,” she asked softly, in a tone that could not be ignored, “how do you know about Alice?”
Alex laughed and ran his fingers through his hair, brushing his bangs out of his eyes.
“Because everyone talks about an Auditor named Alice Gallow who they are all afraid of, who wears black all the time,” Alex said, a bit sheepishly. “And she’s arguing with Michael like that’s no big deal, so…”
Alice shook her head, stifling a laugh.
“This kid isn’t half dumb,” Alice observed. “I might be able to like you, Alex Warner.”
Alex nodded solemnly.
“I am difficult not to like, Miss Gallow,” he agreed. “Actually, I’m hopeless. There’s no teaching me anything.”
“I told you,” Alice said, looking over at Michael with a mischievous grin, “Alex and I are like two peas in a pod.”
“And that’s exactly what worries me.” Michael said flatly, arms folded.
Rebecca pitched her cigarette butt out the window and then hurriedly occupied the chair behind her desk that Alice had vacated.
“Actually, that worries me some too,” Rebecca said thoughtfully. “What do you think about all this, Alex?”
Alex’s expression went suddenly blank, and he shot quick looks at both Alice and Michael before answering, his face clearly showing strain.
“Well,” he said cautiously, choosing his words carefully, “I mean, Michael has been training me since I got here, and I’ve learned a lot from him, so I don’t really think it’s for me to say.”
Alice guffawed, and then shot him a look of utter disappointment.
“That what you think, Alex? Then maybe I was wrong about you after all. Maybe you aren’t in the right place, if you’re that eager to play good soldier.”
“What?”
Alex’s jaw hung open in frank astonishment.
“Michael isn’t going to fight for you, or even with you, Alex,” Alice said bluntly. “Michael is going to teach you what he can, and he’ll do the best possible job of it. But once you are in the field, Michael will be back here at the Academy with the next generation of promising youngsters. Nobody can make that kind of decision for you,” Alice warned him, “no matter how good their intentions. Or your own. You have to take ownership of your life, eventually.”
Rebecca nodded, looking sadly back at her cigarettes, sitting back on the window sill, where she’d left them.
“Alice is right, Alex,” Rebecca said. “This is something you have to decide for yourself.”
Michael looked helplessly from one woman to the other, eyes blazing, but neither one would meet his eyes. Alex shook his head and looked glum.
“Well, then I don’t know enough about it to make the decision,” he snapped. “It’s not even a fair question. But, I do know that if you smoke another cigarette in here, Rebecca, that I am leaving,” he added crossly.
Rebecca froze, her expression wounded.
“Why is it that no one respects my office?” Rebecca slumped into her chair in resignation. “First people start coming here to have arguments, now students are telling me I’m not allowed to smoke. What’s next? Enforced nap time?”
Michael stood up.
“Well, I think this is settled for now…” he began, turning towards the door.
“What’s settled, exactly?”
Alice’s tone was jovial, but Alex was starting to notice something about the tall woman’s smile. It was off, somehow. Whatever a smile was supposed to be — warm, bright, inviting, comforting, whatever — Alice’s expression was the polar opposite of that. The last thing you wanted to see.
The last thing, Alex reminded himself, that any number of people had seen, if even half the stories were true.
Michael paused on his way to the door, but didn’t look back at Alice.
“Alex said he doesn’t understand what we’re talking about,” Michael said calmly. “Until he does, this discussion is pointless.”
Alice sat down next to Alex on the couch, and gave him a friendly pat on the knee.
“Here, I’ll make it simple,” Alice suggested. “Alex, you remember the Weir who attacked you and Mitzi in the park?”
Rebecca’s jaw almost hit the floor, though again, no one seemed to notice. After a moment, she decided the expression was wasted without an audience, and quietly closed her mouth.
“Did you call Mitsuru…?”
Again, no one paid her any attention. Rebecca had to fight the impulse to go and check to see if her name was still on the office door.
“Did you like that?” Alice asked Alex, inspecting his face like she actually expected him to look happy. “Did you like lying there while Mitsuru did all the work?”
Alex stared at her, eyes wide.
“Um…” he muttered, shaking his head. “I don’t really…”
“Damn it, Alice.”
Michael glared at Alice, but she paid him no mind.
“Or did you like being saved, Alex?”
Alice pushed one finger against his chest playfully.
“It makes things a whole lot easier, when you are the victim. Everything is black and white, and nobody ever expects anything else from you.”
Alex pushed her hand away, clearly annoyed.
“Of course not,” Alex said, his voice trembling. “I didn’t want any of that stuff to happen. But it isn’t like I had any options.”
Alice stood up and smiled at Michael triumphantly.
“And if he gets his way,” Alice said ominously, pointing at Michael, “that’s exactly how things will stay. You’ll never have any options. You’ll never be able to protect anyone, Alex, not even yourself. Instead, you’ll get to watch your friends die protecting you.”
Michael’s fist slammed into the door frame, causing everyone but Alice to jump.
“No need to get pissy,” Alice said lightly, rummaging briefly through her coat pocket before coming up with a folded piece of paper. “I already talked to Alistair and got permission. You keep training him however you like, Michael,” she said, eyes sparkling. “I’m going to have Mitzi put him through the Program. Out of your jurisdiction.”
“Not a chance,” Michael said firmly. “I’ll go over your head, straight to the Director if I have to.”
“Then go talk to Gaul,” Alice said, shrugging. “He’ll back me on this. We all know that this is too personal for you to make an impartial decision.”
“Uh, what Program?” Alex asked softly, afraid to actually interrupt. “Is that bad? Am I in trouble?”
“Alice, you’re insane,” Michael growled. “Rebecca, say something.”
Rebecca smiled ruefully.
“Actually, I’ve been talking pretty much the entire time…”
Rebecca trailed off when she realized that no one was listening to her. Alice dropped the paper on the floor in front of Michael, shrugged, and started for the door.
“It’s quite simple, Alex,” Alice said over her shoulder. “You can do things Michael’s way. You don’t have to make a choice. But, if you want out of the Program — and you will — then I suggest you find a way to impress me with your personal development. Because it doesn’t end until I say. And I won’t say, until you’ve learned to take care of yourself, at the very least.”
Alice turned back towards the door, and motioned for Michael, still frozen, one fist pressed up against the door jam, to stand aside.
“Move it, Mikey,” Alice said, jerking her thumb to the side. “I’ve got things to take care of.”
“Thanks for stopping by, you guys,” Rebecca hinted.
Michael’s arm didn’t move, but his hand reddened where it pressed against the old wood of the door frame.
“Have to go practice being a cunt?”
Michael spoke through gritted teeth, his arm falling reluctantly to his side.
“You think I still need practice?” Alice asked, smiling as she squeezed past him and out into the hall.