The Academy (19 page)

My hopes that my handsome roommate might return my feelings were soon dashed to pieces like a delicate vase thrown against a stone wall. After our awkward self defense lesson, North began to distance himself from me. Not physically—he was still by my side most of the time, providing a mute but very obvious deterrent to Broward and his cronies and he still helped me get a shower every night. But emotionally, he was no longer there. He stopped talking to me, stopped laughing and joking. He even stopped asking for help in Inter-dimensional Calculus though I knew he still needed it.

I wanted to ask him about it—about this new, silent barrier he had put between us—but I didn’t know how to begin. How could a male ask another male why he didn’t like him anymore without sounding, well…like a girl? If there was one thing I had learned at the Academy it was that males rarely spoke about their feelings. They seemed to prefer to keep them bottled up inside until they exploded. So I kept quiet and waited, wondering if there would be an explosion…or if North would be content to freeze me out of his life forever.

The only person besides myself who noticed the silent treatment North was giving me was Wilkenson. After several long, miserable weeks in which I had almost forgotten what it was like to have a roommate who was also a friend, he finally mentioned it during dinner.

“So,” he said casually as we sat together at the end of the third-form table and poked at the nearly inedible mush on our trays. “I noticed that tall, blond, and icy has gone into his shell again and apparently
you’re
not invited in. What brought that on?”

“I don’t know.” I was too miserable to try and dissemble. “We were getting along really well and then he just…shut me out. I don’t know what I did to deserve it.”

“Maybe it was something you
didn’t
do. Did you think about that? Hmm?” He raised one white-blond eyebrow at me pointedly.

“What are you talking about?” I asked, unable to hide the irritation in my voice. “What the hell am I supposed to be doing that I haven’t been?” Of course, back home in Victoria I would never have sworn in such an unladylike fashion. But either the crudity of the all male environment was rubbing off on me, or I was just too unhappy to care about propriety any more.

“I don’t know, my little manikin,” Wilkenson drawled. “But I
do
know if the man
I
loved saved me from certain death and dismemberment,
I
would know how to show him some gratitude.”

My heart leapt into my throat but I made my voice come out bored. “Come on, Wilkenson, you know it isn’t like that between North and me.”

“Maybe not for
you.
But for
him…”
He shot a glance at North who was eating alone at the fourth-form table as always. “I’m not so sure.”

“What are you talking about?” I demanded. “North made a point of telling me when I first came here that he’s not…”

“Not like
moi?”
Wilkenson raised an eyebrow at me again. “It’s all right, Jameson, you can say it—I’m not offended in the least. And to be honest, Mister Manly over there is the
last
person I would think was light in his loafers. Except…”

“Except what?” I had forgotten all about my mush now. I pushed the tray away and leaned across the table. “Well?”

Wilkenson sighed, blowing a perfectly coifed white-blond curl out of his eyes. “Except for the way he
looks
at you. He’s always
watching
you, Jameson. I mean
all the time.”

I looked down at the table, feeling my cheeks beginning to heat. It was true. Even though North was silent and unresponsive, I could still feel those piercing blue eyes on me.

Every time I felt him looking at me that way, I couldn’t help asking myself why. Was he beginning to suspect my secret? And what could I do about it if he was? I’d gone to the Academy barber to have my hair cut short again but even that hadn’t changed the way North watched me.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, still looking away. “It must be your imagination.”

“Listen, honey, if I was going to
imagine
something about the aloof but undeniably gorgeous Ice Prince, don’t you think I’d image
myself
as the object of his affection?” Wilkenson demanded. “I’m telling you, he’s looking at you and there has to be a reason why.”

“What then?” I demanded. “And don’t say it’s because…don’t say what you were implying before because it isn’t true.”

Wilkenson shrugged. “If you say so. But a man doesn’t risk getting his hand cut off to rescue somebody he doesn’t like. There’s a reason he risked so much for you, Jameson. Though I’m not sure he knows what it is himself.” He frowned.

“Wait a minute…” Wilkenson’s words brought something back—something I’d forgotten in my misery over North’s silence. “Did you say he could have gotten his hand cut off just for rescuing me from Broward that last time?”

“Jameson, you
all
could have lost a limb,” Wilkenson said flatly. “From what you’ve told me, there was a deadly weapon involved and the Academy does
not
tolerate those on the premises. They don’t care
what
side you’re on—you’ll go to the chopping block for something like that if you’re not Goddamned careful.”

“But…I don’t understand.” I shook my head. “Why?”

Wilkenson shrugged again. “I guess because it’s a painful and obvious deterrent. They let you grow it back, you know—the Academy even pays the cloning fee. But it takes
years
to learn to use a new hand the right way. It’s just not the same, you know?”

My mouth had a strange taste to it now, as though I’d been trying to eat ashes and for once I didn’t think the cafeteria food was to blame. “And what…what other offenses can cost you a hand?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

Wilkenson frowned. “I don’t know. Besides endangering another student with a deadly weapon I can only think of one other case.”

“And?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
Please,
I thought almost incoherently.
Please don’t let it be…

“Well, back when I was a first-former, there was this scandal over a fourth-form cadet who paid someone to come in and take his final Astro Navigation exam. He had the perfect disguise, too—the cadet’s parents were
uber
rich and he’d paid for the guy in question to have reversible cosmetic surgery, just to take this one test.” Wilkenson shook his head. “The lengths some people will go to in order to get into the Corps are
truly
ridiculous, you know?”

“I know,” I whispered, thinking of my own deception. “But…if he looked just like the cadet, how did they find out?”

“Random DNA scan at the end of the test.” Wilkenson whipped out a protein bar and took a nibble. “They do them every time exams roll around, just to keep us in line and prevent cheating. The cadet
had
to know he was taking a gamble but he was desperate enough to try it anyway…and he lost.” He took another, bigger bite of protein bar
. “Cest la vie…”

“So the cadet lost his hand?” I asked, my voice sounding rusty even in my own ears. “But what happened to the other one—the one he paid to take his test for him?”

“Oh, him? He lost a hand too, of course.” Wilkenson acted as though it was no big deal.

“
What?”
The word felt like a scream but it left my lips in a breathless whisper. All I could think about was my beloved brother losing a hand to the chopping block. A hand which might be regrown…but would never be the same.
Kristopher’s hands are his life! He’ll never play the violin again if that happens.

“For heaven’s sake, Jameson—what’s wrong with you? You’re white as a sheet.” Wilkenson was watching me with a concerned look in his sharp green eyes. “Honestly, anyone would think you’d seen a ghost.”

“I was just thinking of…of the boy who lost his hand,” I whispered. “Not the cadet but the other one…it doesn’t seem fair that he had to pay the Academy price too.”

Wilkenson sighed. “No, but that’s the way of the solar system, don’t you think? Besides, you shouldn’t feel
too
sorry for him. He got a job in the private sector and I hear he’s the youngest and one of the best paid navigators in the history of the Prometheus system.” He frowned. “Of course, I’ve
also
heard he still jerks off left handed but that’s neither here nor there.”

“I have to go.” I got up suddenly and reached for my tray. I couldn’t sit here and listen to this one minute more—not if I wanted to keep what little I had eaten down.

“Jameson?” Wilkenson frowned at me. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“No,” I said, grabbing my tray and heading for the disposal chute. “No, I don’t think so at all.”

That night I dreamed about the chopping block. Dreamed about it in vivid, bloody detail.

They were dragging me down a long, dark hallway—two huge, faceless men in navy blue uniforms. The black vine and white petals of the Blood and Honor blossom seemed very prominent on their chests. The single crimson dot in the middle of each blossom grew bigger and bigger until it overflowed and blood dripped down their navy sleeves to wet my own wrists.

Blood,
I thought, as I fought them uselessly.
Blood—so much blood.
It dripped and sprayed, coating my white skin as they dragged me down the black corridor. At the end of it, in a circle of harsh, white light, I saw the block. It was a black cube, three feet tall and flecked with gore—the results of previous amputations, no doubt.

“Please,” I begged the faceless men. “Please, I didn’t know…I didn’t mean to. Please don’t.”

Neither of them replied. They kept their heads down and dragged me through the shadows to the circle of light. Soon enough we reached the block and one of them grabbed my hand and slammed it down on the slimy black surface.

“Hold still,” he grunted as I writhed madly, trying to get away. “Hurts less that way.”

“No!” I begged. Then I looked down at my hand…and realized it wasn’t mine. Those long, slender fingers, that finely molded palm, just made for cupping a violin…no, the hand wasn’t mine, but I knew whose it was.
Kristopher
!

“No,” I cried. “No, please don’t do it! Please…
please!”

“Too late now. You have to pay the price.” A silver blade, caked with dried blood, raised high above my head and came down in a blur. I screamed in terror…

And suddenly someone was shaking me.

“Jameson…
Jameson!”

“Please,” I moaned, twisting in his grip. “Please, don’t…”

“Jameson…Kris—wake up. It’s a dream. Just a dream.”

My eyes flew open and I looked up to see North staring down at me. In the dim light coming in from the half open window shade, I could see a look of worried frustration on his face.

“North?” I whispered, hardly able to believe it was him and not the faceless men who wanted to cut off my hand.
No, not mine—Kristopher’s,
a little voice reminded me. And that was worse. So much worse…

“What’s wrong with you anyway?” he demanded. “You were begging someone not to do something. What were you dreaming about?”

“I…he…they…” Somehow I couldn’t get the words out. And though I had sworn to myself not to cry in front of him again after that first awful night, I couldn’t help it. Tears slipped down my cheeks and my vision blurred. I covered my face with my hands and sobbed.

With a muffled curse, North sat down on the bed beside me and pulled me to him. I would have protested in surprise but I was still too overcome by emotion. I pressed my face against his bare chest and clung to him like I was drowning and he was the only thing that could save me. Sobs wracked me but North held me close, his long fingers carding through my hair as he whispered something soft and soothing.

At last I was able to gain some control of myself. The sobs tapered off to hiccups and then to sniffles. I was reluctant to leave North’s arms—the skin of his bare chest felt wonderfully cool and soothing to my hot cheeks—but I wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be willing to hold me. Or even why he’d been willing in the first place. Slowly, I sat up and wiped my swollen eyes on the sleeve of my pajamas.