Children of the Fleet (Fleet School #1)(89)

“Where there’s always somebody watching.”

“Well, you certainly have privacy in outer space. One miss and you’re gone forever. Is this just a way of concealing from yourself your unconscious decision to commit suicide?”

“Quite possibly. But maybe you could coach me.”

“I could. But maybe I should be making my own war plans.”

“Are you?”

“I didn’t realize I needed to till now.”

“So maybe you train me so I can accomplish the stealth mission of spying on a ship that’s docked with Fleet School, and maybe sabotaging it or rescuing somebody inside it.”

“Literally everybody here is better qualified for that mission than you, Dabeet.”

“And yet it’s my mission,” said Dabeet.

“I’ll do it,” said Monkey. “It needs doing, I think you’re right, but you don’t have the skills.”

“Help me with that,” said Dabeet.

“There’s no possibility of your being competent by the time they get here.”

“There’s no chance I’ll be as competent as you. But this isn’t a competition. I only have to be competent enough to do the job. And you’ll be needed elsewhere. You already are, they’ve already assigned you.”

Monkey grimaced slightly. “Building walls in the battleroom.”

“You have that skill, too.”

“Thanks to you,” said Monkey. “And also, no thanks.”

“You have a team,” said Dabeet. “I don’t. I’m expendable. If no one can think of a use for me, I’m expendable, unless I think of a use for myself.”

“Don’t do this dangerous thing,” said Monkey. “Annoying as you are, I’m kind of used to you. I’d miss you a little if you died.”

“That is, truly, the nicest thing that anybody’s said to me in Fleet School.”

“é, well, I’m not going to spend the time to train you.” To Dabeet she sounded a little defiant, as if she felt she were doing something wrong by refusing to help him.

Dabeet’s first impulse was to play off of this, to try to persuade her. But he thought better of it immediately. He was not going to treat other people as things to be manipulated until he got what he wanted. She had a right to make her own decision, and if Dabeet was her friend, he would respect that.

“I get it,” said Dabeet. “You have to practice with your team of incompetent wall-builders.”

Monkey smiled at his characterization of her team. “It’s my assignment.”

“It’s the role you play in the community,” said Dabeet. “Teacher, shepherd, guide.” Only when he said it did he realize that this was true. As she had appointed herself his teacher, shepherd, guide.

He could see her relent … a little. Instead of Dabeet arguing her into it, she was responding to his respect. Maybe. It wasn’t as if Dabeet could reliably decode what was going on in anybody’s mind.

“I don’t have time to teach you,” she said, “but I’ll tell you the rules they tell little children who are doing their first tasks outside the ship. The children who follow these rules live. The ones who don’t, don’t. Do you understand that?”

“Yes.” Even though he would remember everything she said without making any special effort, he faced her directly and made steady eye contact, which would show her that he was listening, paying attention. Another gesture of respect.

“One,” said Monkey. “Don’t let go of one thing until you’re holding something else that’s attached to the ship.”

“Doesn’t sound like freefall to me.”

“Freefall comes after about a year of these rules. Get it? Now listen.”

Listening meant not questioning. Dabeet flashed on Monkey as a two-year-old, hearing her father or mother tell her these rules. With children of that age, the adults would have to work to make sure they were being heard and understood, and Monkey was treating him as she herself might have been treated. Must have been.

“Rule One, don’t let go till you’re holding something else attached to the ship, you got that. Rule Two. The ship is always above you. If you let go you fall away from the ship.”

“In zero-gee…” Dabeet began, but at the narrowing of Monkey’s eyes he fell silent.

“It’s how you think. You use your gravity sense to pretend that you’ll fall if you let go. Got it?”

“So it’s really Rule One all over again,” said Dabeet.

“It’s Rule Two,” said Monkey.

“Sí, Maestra,” said Dabeet.

“Rule Three,” said Monkey. “Before you move from your present position, name out loud the thing you’re reaching for.”

“But you won’t be there to hear me,” said Dabeet.

“Name it,” said Monkey, “or die.”

Dabeet thought: It isn’t about naming it for the adult. It’s about having a clear idea of what you’re reaching for before you reach, so you don’t get sloppy in your habits. “Name it out loud. I will.”

“Rule Four. Find where your target is attached to the ship and say it out loud.”

Made sense. So you don’t reach for some piece of debris only because you assume it must be attached to the ship. “I assume by ‘ship’ we mean ‘station’ in this context.”