Children of the Fleet (Fleet School #1)(20)

He had once heard an adult behind a closed door say, quite clearly, a single word: “Merciless.” Dabeet had had no idea whether the word applied to him. He wasn’t so vain as to think himself the subject of every conversation among the faculty. But he took the word personally, all the same.

Why should I show mercy to those who choose not to make the most of their abilities and opportunities? Let them show mercy to themselves first. So he had carried the word “merciless” inside his head as if it were a tattoo he was rather proud of wearing.

Only after Graff issued his challenges did Dabeet realize that perhaps mercy was an attribute of a good leader. Suppose I’m on an expedition and one of my team has a moment of mental weakness, making a dangerous mistake. Suppose it costs the life of another team member. It would be simple justice to kill the offender—that way he could never endanger anyone else by his careless errors.

On the other hand, it was quite likely that all the team members were chosen because of the contribution they would make to mutual survival and the success of the mission. How would it benefit those goals to add a second corpse to the first? Or even to inflict some kind of punishment on the offender? He would, as a leader, have to take that person’s weakness into account. But he would still need to show enough mercy to allow the weakling to continue doing whatever had made him valuable enough to be on the expedition in the first place.

Graff never asked him about that or any other hypothetical, because Graff didn’t ask him anything, really, after he had informed him he was being tested. Besides, Graff didn’t know how the word “merciless” was graven in Dabeet’s heart. I would be merciful, Graff, if mercy would work for the good of the team and the mission. And if harsh justice would be the best course, then I know how to be merciless as well.

When it came to lazy students who might follow Dabeet’s example of class-cutting, Dabeet’s feeling was, If, like me, you cut class in order to study and think and write at a much higher level than anything in the curriculum, then you should do it. I’m the hardest-working student in this school, which is why I don’t always have time for class.

Besides, I’m going into space soon. Or at least sometime. So why should I get involved in any of my classes, if I’m only going to be torn away at short notice? Well begun is a waste of time, if you can’t also finish.

It was a nice spring day, with the lawn thick and dry on the practice field, when Dabeet took his notebook out to sit by the fence and jot ideas as they came to mind. A dirt maintenance road ran along the outside of the fence.

A motorcycle came sputtering along, moving barely fast enough to keep from tipping over. It stopped directly opposite Dabeet.

Dabeet deliberately did not look up.

The engine turned off. “Please climb the fence and come with me,” said a man. It was the general from the airplane.

“If this is another kidnapping,” said Dabeet, “you’re going about it all wrong.”

“It’s a private conversation,” said the general. “But no conversation on the grounds of this school can possibly be private.”

“People will see me go with you. Cameras will see me climb over the fence.”

“People see what they see. Our business is that they not hear what they shouldn’t hear.”

Dabeet reached over the fence and handed his notebook to the general. “Treat the book with respect,” Dabeet said. “I may be saving the human race on one of those pages.”

“You’re not,” said the general, “unless you added something preternaturally brilliant since we last scanned it at three A.M. today.”

“How intrusive you are,” said Dabeet. “And stealthy.”

“We prefer ‘sneaky,’” said the general. “Don’t think we aren’t intrigued by the things you write. You just haven’t saved the world yet.”

While they talked, Dabeet made it over the fence—which was meant to be more of a boundary marker than a serious barrier. Soon he was behind the general on the motorcycle, and away they rode, slowly on the dirt road, then at the posted speed limit on paved roads.

It was at the top of a grassy, windswept hill that the general brought the motorcycle to a stop and switched it off.

“You got the phone,” the general said at once.

“I did.”

“It never occurred to you that we might want to call you?”

“It occurred to me,” said Dabeet. “Did it occur to you that I didn’t want to be called?”

“It became clear within a few days. That’s when we started our nocturnal visits. You kept it completely off, but also completely charged.”

“I might have had a use for it,” said Dabeet.

“You really didn’t try to use it, not even once, or you’d know that no matter what number you dial, your calls are directed to a single phone number.”

“Yours?” asked Dabeet.

“Whoever’s on duty at the time. Even sneaky people need to sleep.”

“What’s the real purpose of the phone?” asked Dabeet.

“It contains information.”

“You know they’ll inspect my phone at Fleet School, if they even let me keep it.”

“The information is hidden.”

Dabeet thought about this for a moment. “You can’t hide information on any computer. Anything that smacks of concealment, and they’ll be suspicious. If not alarmed.”