hiss,
"look, I know that's your planet but," he sucked in another breath,
maybe a sob, "y-you were leaving so you c-can't defend them." He
looked away.
"I'm not," said Harper quietly. His jaw was
clenched, his mind stalled, but he tried to get the words out and
keep his tone soft. "But a planet is more than an institution."
"But the Sky Reverends–"
"You can't declare war on a few
criminals."
"If it's really only a few criminals, all
the more reason to rout them out. To protect the rest." Both his
arms were crossed over his chest now, his chin was high, and his
lip no longer wobbled.
"Isn't that a job for a courtroom, not a
battlefield? Isn't war the wrong–"
The door of the obsidian room opened.
Heavy boots stomped in.
The young guard jumped to attention,
brushing crumbs off his uniform. The newcomer ignored him and
leaned against the black wall, arms crossed.
"Harper Fields," he drawled.
It was the angry man. His face wasn't as red
as it the cold room of the Skyland ship. Now, the pouchy jowls were
a mottled shade, pale and pink. A few veins spidered out under the
heavy jaw.
He didn't look angry now. The frown lines
around his mouth weren't so deep. But Harper couldn't help being
wary and didn't respond, except for a thoroughly unfriendly,
"Hhm."
"Mr. Fields?"
Harper didn't answer.
The man waited.
Harper wondered if he was trying to look
casual, leaning against the wall. Non-threatening, maybe? Last time
they had met, he'd has his face inches from Harper's, leaning
forward, spit flecking the air between them.
"Mr. Fields?"
"Hhmm." What do you want?
The man tried again. "How are you?"
"Fine." Because you care?
"Good. Good."
He pushed himself away from the wall and
paced along it a bit. His arms swung awkwardly, heavily. Another
attempt at casual? It still wasn't working.
"Take a walk with me," he said. "Let me show
you around."
" Hhm. "
Harper fumbled with the harness of the
hanging bag-chair. Eventually it disconnected and he detangled his
limbs and got up. The no-longer-angry man walked out and Harper
followed. In the hallway he walked awkwardly beside the soldier for
a minute without saying anything. Finally, the man broke the
silence.
"Are you comfortable?"
What? Harper started at the question.
"Why?"
"I know it's not as nice as the ship you
left, but are you comfortable?"
"Why?" Harper repeated his answer to the
bizarre question.
"What, I can't look after our guest?" The
man tried for a laugh. It sounded more like a grunt.
"I don't understand."
"You don't understand what?"
"Guest?"
"We want you to be comfortable while you're
with us. I know it isn't much, but–"
"But, guest ?" Prisoner more like
it.
"Yes?"
"You threatened me with charges. An
accessory, remember? Now, a guest? "
"You are. Right now."
"What does that mean?"
"It means that you are not a threat right
now."
That's not what you said last time. "So I can leave? When we get to the planet, I can turn around
and–"
"No!" The man took a heavy breath then tried
again in a calmer voice. "You're not in a prison cell are you?
You're not in restraints, are you?"
Harper laughed. He stared at the soldier
next to him. Then he turned around. There was a guard at the corner
they'd just come around. Harper pointed. "One." He looked ahead to
the next corner and the next armed sentry. "Two." He ticked them
off on his fingers. "Three, in the common room," he counted,
wondering vaguely is the snacking soldier actually counted. "Four,
five at the entrance," he continued, trying to recall all the
soldiers he'd seen since being escorted on board. "Six–"
"This is a war ship. They're on guard
duty."
"Guarding me?" Guest indeed!
"Guarding the ship."
"From me."
"From danger!" The red was seeping back into
the soldier's face. The forced friendliness seemed to be slipping.
He took a breath, swung his arms a little and tried again. "Look,
we just need to keep an eye on everyone right now. That's what the
guards are for."
"Uh
"look, I know that's your planet but," he sucked in another breath,
maybe a sob, "y-you were leaving so you c-can't defend them." He
looked away.
"I'm not," said Harper quietly. His jaw was
clenched, his mind stalled, but he tried to get the words out and
keep his tone soft. "But a planet is more than an institution."
"But the Sky Reverends–"
"You can't declare war on a few
criminals."
"If it's really only a few criminals, all
the more reason to rout them out. To protect the rest." Both his
arms were crossed over his chest now, his chin was high, and his
lip no longer wobbled.
"Isn't that a job for a courtroom, not a
battlefield? Isn't war the wrong–"
The door of the obsidian room opened.
Heavy boots stomped in.
The young guard jumped to attention,
brushing crumbs off his uniform. The newcomer ignored him and
leaned against the black wall, arms crossed.
"Harper Fields," he drawled.
It was the angry man. His face wasn't as red
as it the cold room of the Skyland ship. Now, the pouchy jowls were
a mottled shade, pale and pink. A few veins spidered out under the
heavy jaw.
He didn't look angry now. The frown lines
around his mouth weren't so deep. But Harper couldn't help being
wary and didn't respond, except for a thoroughly unfriendly,
"Hhm."
"Mr. Fields?"
Harper didn't answer.
The man waited.
Harper wondered if he was trying to look
casual, leaning against the wall. Non-threatening, maybe? Last time
they had met, he'd has his face inches from Harper's, leaning
forward, spit flecking the air between them.
"Mr. Fields?"
"Hhmm." What do you want?
The man tried again. "How are you?"
"Fine." Because you care?
"Good. Good."
He pushed himself away from the wall and
paced along it a bit. His arms swung awkwardly, heavily. Another
attempt at casual? It still wasn't working.
"Take a walk with me," he said. "Let me show
you around."
" Hhm. "
Harper fumbled with the harness of the
hanging bag-chair. Eventually it disconnected and he detangled his
limbs and got up. The no-longer-angry man walked out and Harper
followed. In the hallway he walked awkwardly beside the soldier for
a minute without saying anything. Finally, the man broke the
silence.
"Are you comfortable?"
What? Harper started at the question.
"Why?"
"I know it's not as nice as the ship you
left, but are you comfortable?"
"Why?" Harper repeated his answer to the
bizarre question.
"What, I can't look after our guest?" The
man tried for a laugh. It sounded more like a grunt.
"I don't understand."
"You don't understand what?"
"Guest?"
"We want you to be comfortable while you're
with us. I know it isn't much, but–"
"But, guest ?" Prisoner more like
it.
"Yes?"
"You threatened me with charges. An
accessory, remember? Now, a guest? "
"You are. Right now."
"What does that mean?"
"It means that you are not a threat right
now."
That's not what you said last time. "So I can leave? When we get to the planet, I can turn around
and–"
"No!" The man took a heavy breath then tried
again in a calmer voice. "You're not in a prison cell are you?
You're not in restraints, are you?"
Harper laughed. He stared at the soldier
next to him. Then he turned around. There was a guard at the corner
they'd just come around. Harper pointed. "One." He looked ahead to
the next corner and the next armed sentry. "Two." He ticked them
off on his fingers. "Three, in the common room," he counted,
wondering vaguely is the snacking soldier actually counted. "Four,
five at the entrance," he continued, trying to recall all the
soldiers he'd seen since being escorted on board. "Six–"
"This is a war ship. They're on guard
duty."
"Guarding me?" Guest indeed!
"Guarding the ship."
"From me."
"From danger!" The red was seeping back into
the soldier's face. The forced friendliness seemed to be slipping.
He took a breath, swung his arms a little and tried again. "Look,
we just need to keep an eye on everyone right now. That's what the
guards are for."
"Uh
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