Chapter 2

The sergeant gave the usual speech. Nobody seemed to move anywhere. Then the big bastard let the air out of the room by saying, "Since the ratio here is small between the sponsors and concubines, we're going to make a change." He looked too smug. Leslie was sure he had somewhere else he wanted to be. "I'll have a Marine accompany each sponsor. Having been through these things, I have seen the aftermath." He looked around the room. "We'll talk some first."

Three Marines came to stand by the sergeant; Hotbuns, the corporal, and a baby-faced blonde, they whispered to each other. Leslie looked around trying to pick the sponsors. Maybe the big confident looking guy in the back of the room but nobody screamed, 'I have the score'. Her judgment clouded a bit by the trashy E-publishing novels she had been reading, Leslie expected an orgy to explode.

"May I speak with..." sergeant the paused like her Pawpaw did sometimes when he forgot what he's wanted to say, "Edith Wells, Mathew Prescott, and Wilbur Jenkins. Sponsors, please have your CAP cards ready."

Stunned. No other concept or emotion fit except stunned. Two of those names Leslie knew, the man and the boy. Who this Edith was, she had no idea.

"Pardon me." A light touch on her shoulder begged Leslie to allow egress. One of the girls who had entered the hall from the stairwell slipped past.

Leslie looked to her student. Matt moved with great caution. He hesitated momentarily, stopping next to her.

"Ms. Howard, what should I do?"

Leslie had been helping to shape young minds for a decade and a half. Having former students become successful, and knowing that she played a part, soothed the empty nest feelings created by her divorce six years ago. Matt was one of those students she expected to live up to her higher expectations

"Matt, think..." She decided he needed a push, not a dissertation. "Matthew, right now you are about to make a decision." She hugged him lightly. "Either you choose to remain my student, or you tell the sergeant you are willing to take the responsibilities of a volunteer and become an adult."

Matt started walking forward. Leslie could see him reach into his back pocket, and remove his wallet. He may have been on the short side for an eighth grade boy, but he had a brain. Like most of the students in the program, Matt possessed a truly gifted mind. He could apply himself to any task. Casual observers might think he had little common sense or was naïve. Sometimes that was a result of his concept of justice, and Matt doing what he thought was right.

"That, Leslie, was a good thing." Bill Jenkins whispered as he slipped past her, bringing her back to the here and now. Was that Bill's hand dragging over her ass? He followed Matt to where the Sergeant waited.

What did that ass caress mean? If he thinks I'm going ... I will ... Fuck, does he want me?

Joyce could feel the tension oozing from Robbie. He was shifting his weight from foot to foot. Any moment now, she expected him to hit her. She needed help but could not speak. Joyce's memory flashed to a PTA presentation, The Silent Survival Skills for people in distress, she had to try. Making a fist with her right hand, she held it to her left collarbone, with her elbow at her side. Without moving her arm, she raised her fingers into a peace sign. Holding the signal for a count of two, she then brought the fingers down to form a fist again, for a count of two. Somebody needed to see her; somebody had to know. Fingers dug into her upper left arm. Joyce knew enough to remain motionless. Roughly, he spun her to face him. A grimace crossed his visage. His eyes narrowed. He was breathing through clenched teeth. Joyce braced for the inevitable blow. She did not close her eyes. Robbie would just be angrier.

Behind him, an approaching Marine held a finger to his lips. Joyce froze.

Robbie let go. Remaining still, Joyce watched Robbie reach into his oversized pants pockets. He pulled out pistols in both hands.

"Gun!" rang out a voice in an extended scream.

Even as Robbie's arms bracketed her, Joyce heard the barks of his two pistols. Her body served as a shield as he shot wildly behind her. Three, four more shots, then screams added to the cacophony.

Joyce pushed to her right with all her strength against Robbie's left arm. His left arm moved up and away. Robbie's next two shots were high and wide.

Heavy powerful arms shot under Robbie's arms, wrapping up and under, the hands locked behind his neck into a full Nelson. Both thumbs jammed into the bottoms of his ears. Other hands snatched away the pistols.

Joyce backed away. She bumped into a wall of flesh. Turning quickly, she looked up into the sergeant's eyes. He smiled at her. "Thank you for helping, miss." With great care, he pushed Joyce to another Marine. "Take her over by the kids, please."

"Ma'am," the Marine offered his arm. Joyce stood petrified. Scooping her up like a child, he took her to the tables where the girls once sat. They were huddled on the floor on the other side, of the table.

He could not move. His mind raced. Robbie straightened his arms. That was part of an escape move he had seen on an episode of Fight Tech. Robbie then bent his knees. Instead of slipping from the hold to the floor, Robbie's feet left the floor. In less than a second, pain radiated from his ears. His ears suddenly supported the entire weight of his body; he grunted and set his feet back on the floor. Power radiated through the arms holding him still.

"Nothing but slaves to the computers!" Robbie screamed as he flailed uselessly.

"Ain't that fucking tough when it's a man you trying to fuck with!" Never showing weakness, the Marine lifted Robbie to his tiptoes.

Robbie looked at the sergeant approaching. The look on his face made Robbie piss himself. The sergeant looked down and laughed.

"Ah fuck!" came the voice of the Marine holding him fast. "He pissed and my knees are wet."

"They're just slaves to the fucking computer put in their heads!" Robbie shouted as he tried to use force, only to have the Marine lift him off his feet, silencing him again. Kicking out Robbie's feet, he sat him on his ass.

The sergeant took out a small cylinder about the size of a roll of nickels. "This will make him easier to handle," moving his hand toward Robbie causing him to try to retreat. That action proved useless. He touched Robbie on the neck. Turning back, the sergeant began moving to the carnage behind him. About thirty seconds later, the Marine relaxed the full nelson. Robbie remained sitting. He could not turn his head. His eyes darted around. He could see. The only other sensations were the warmth of his piss-soaked pants legs and the smell.

Matt felt relieved. Ms. Howard was one of the few teachers he trusted. Having her encourage him helped to calm a few fears. Standing in front of the sergeant turned out to be less intimidating than the walk to get there. Matt had to look up to see the name Dumont. His eyes were drawn to the top of the sleeve. He could not see a seam. A question that Matt, the kid, would ask popped into his head. Matt, the adult, knew it could wait.

A hexagonal pad on the floor flashed. In conjunction, a heavy bolt of lightning lit the windows. Matt started thinking about static charges and matter to energy conversions.

A haze of red splashed in Matt's face. The woman he had followed past Ms. Howard fell to the right. Blood squirted from her neck. The sergeant charged forward. Matt heard screams and series of metallic cracks.

Tripping, he fell onto the woman. He saw her pumping blood out of her neck. Matt clamped both hands onto her wound. Knowing he had to act but not exactly sure what to do, he chose to stanch the blood flow.

His shoe flew off. Matt focused on what he had to do. His toes felt wet.

Corporal Ramirez moved at the first shot. The second one deflected off the scaled armor of his left arm. That twisted him slightly. A punch hit his chest center mass. He would not find that bruise until later tonight.

Professor Jenna staggered back. Porkins could see one pistol pushed up and away. Sarge charged the middle with Ramirez. Porkins moved into the line of gunfire aimed at the university prepacks.

He locked eyes with the Earthie. The man tried to empty his clip into Porkins' torso. Hammers pounded into him. Porkins charged, taking the punishment, drawing the fire, stomach, chest, neck, darkness.

Ray saw the blonde woman's strain as her husband grabbed her arm. Everything in his experience shouted that he was going to hit her. Policy stated that in a pickup, the Confederacy personnel were in charge. Two Marines were moving in behind this guy. His ass was about to be good and busted. The sight of the semiautomatic pistols changed the rules.

One gun pointed toward the school kids' general direction. When two of the sponsors came from their group, the kids had bunched up to watch. They became the perfect targets. Ray moved, smashing into the back of the group, pressing them behind tables. He pushed the kids away as he screamed, "Get down! Hit the floor!"

Bill stood stunned, unable to react. His experience left him with no clear choice. Turning, he saw the black cop rushing at his kids, yelling for them to get down. Bill followed his lead. "Down! Down!" Wading into the group, he pushed kids to the floor.

There was an awkward silence. "Injured to the transport pad!" The sergeant's voice carried the room.