Chapter 5

A small blood vessel pulsed on the side of the sergeant's head. For a moment, Dumont wished it were an aneurism. Dying would avoid the problem, but he needed to resolve it. He began making small forward circles with his fingers on his temples. He could feel the tension refuse to yield to the massage. "Bill!"

"Yes, Sergeant," Bill walked toward him.

Sergeant Dumont added fingers and widened the circles. The pain began to yield. "This boy thinks he is going with you." His voice was bemused, but urgent.

Bill looked down at Randy; his student sported a look that only appeared when he smelled a checkmate. "Randy, why do you think you're going with me?" He placed a reassuring hand on Randy's shoulder.

Setting his backpack on a table, Randy pulled out a composition notebook. His Social Studies teacher had once wondered aloud whether Randy would have one of these notebooks with him when he finally sat on the Supreme Court. He opened to a folded page, and then took a deep breath. "Back when school started in August, you explained why we had to obey our teachers; it was the concept of In Loco Parentis." Randy turned to the next page. "From way back in common English law, that means you hold parental authority over us."

"That is implied and traditional, Randy," Bill retorted. Desperately, he tried to recall the discussion from his Education Law class twenty years ago.

"The sergeant stated that an extraction constituted an emergency." Randy crossed to the table gently lifting a manila envelope. "Our permission slips states..." pulling out one of the field trip forms, Randy continued. "As the parent or legal guardian of the student above, I give him/her permission to participate in this fieldtrip, including related travel. I hereby grant permission for the supervising teacher to act in loco parentis." Holding up the form, he pointed. "See it has this part in parenthesis, '(in place of the parent)'." Randy slid further into his 'I am right, here is my proof' shit-eating grin that he sported when winning an argument. "'In the event of any emergency I accept responsibility for all costs and actions taken for the safety of my child.' With Ms. Howard and Mrs. Carlson, now concubines, they no longer can be considered chaperones. Under Confederacy Law that leaves Mr. Jenkins as the sole legal guardian of everyone, during the extraction that was on the fieldtrip. In this room, those of us who are under the age of fourteen are his dependents. Ask the AI. We have discussed the contractual obligations."

Bill was stunned. He began searching for loopholes. The Safety and Security department at the District had been trying to develop a disaster scenario if a pickup happened at any school events. Led by Barney Fife's stunted cousin, it had been a cluster fuck. The idiot had wanted to have all CAP cards deposited upon entry to any school event. Bill fought to move his mind back to the present. Focus Bill, focus, he is arguing in black and white; you need to think. "Randy, this is a matter of civil law, it is not absolute."

The smirk Randy sported, as he spoke then, worried him. "Mr. Jenkins, the permission form is also a written contract under that same civil law."

"They're sending someone down to deal with this." The sergeant turned to the transport disk. "This is above my pay grade."

A scream pierced the room.

"Ms. Howard!" Ruby Crane shouted in panic. "It's Eve! Blood! Help!"

Arriving at the table, Eve had blood down both of her legs. Pale and slumped forward, she lay very still. Leslie checked for a pulse.

"Eve, Eve, Eve baby it's Ms. Howard." Leslie called to the girl. "Bill, she has a rapid, thready pulse. Her skin is cold and clammy."

"What happened, Ruby?" Bill fumbled for his cell phone. He needed to dial 911. Turning to Ruby, he asked. "What did you see?"

"About five minutes ago she said she wanted to put her head down." Ruby offered. "Then I turned and saw the blood. I'm sorry."

Several students began to wonder aloud if her injuries were the result of a gunshot. Bill dropped his voice into a lower pitch to capture everyone's attention. "We only need to know what you saw happen, not what you thought happened." There was no signal on the cell phone.

Tiffany swooped in, pulling Ruby into an embrace. "You told us as soon as you noticed." Tiffany led Ruby away.

"We can get her medical attention in moments." Sergeant Dumont placed his hand on Bill's phone.

Ramirez eased himself next to Eve and Leslie. Brady quickly moved any close on looking kids away quickly. The two stunned boys who froze, Brady moved them to the side by pushing just enough to force them to comply.

"Ramirez, far pad is set for Artemis. They're waiting," Sergeant Dumont spoke quickly.

Forgetting the reality of the extraction entirely, Bill acted according to convention. Injured girl goes with female teacher. "Leslie, go with her. Make sure she's OK."

"Done, Bill," Leslie followed the corporal. Brady cleared a direct path to the pad, casually turning eight-foot tables on their sides with the flick of his wrist. The corporal carrying Eve disappeared in a flash. Brady held Leslie for a count of two, and then she followed immediately.

"Now that the excitement is over," a voice came from behind them.

Bill turned, and found himself looking at a man dressed in a sharp grey uniform. The man had been sitting with the shooter's wife. He walked to where Bill stood. Thrusting out his hand, he introduced himself.

"I am Andres Zucher."

Striding through the hall on the way to the transporter room, Rolfe Altig listened to the AI's report. Too many people had been slipping into the fold by dubious means. He had to hurry and take control of the situation. A civil service decurion from the Kilo class colony ship Othello had been dispatched. Decisions made by colony-based personnel often were not in the spirit of director Chandler's dictates. The need to hurry spurred Rolfe on. Arriving at the portal room, he naturally had to wait.

An emergency medical retrieval ended his chance for a quick entrance to the extraction. A flash accompanied a marine carrying a kid. Rolfe had seen a lot of carnage from his time spent in motocross. The limpness of the sprawled form combined with the pale pallor of the skin spelled trouble. The corporal rushed toward the med techs. The blood on the corporal's sleeves and shirt heightened his suspicions. An injured child would be fodder for the Earthies. Turning back to the pad, he saw a naked concubine pop through. Maybe they were lucky and no one would over-publicize the incident. Seconds later, he found himself back on Earth.

The flashing of lighting that accompanied his transport startled him. Not hearing any thunder with such a flash further heightened the sensation. Once he gathered himself, he oriented on the sergeant, a Decurion, a boy, and a man on the far side of the room.

The path to the group was clear; tables that should have been upright were turned and pushed aside. Rolfe could see the way marred with blood splatters, which defined the route of the corporal as he carried his burden. Rolfe crossed the room, avoiding any of the blood.

"Thank goodness! A representative from the Department of Evacuation and Colonial Operations has arrived." That came from the exasperated decurion.

It took two more steps for the weight of the comment to crash into Rolfe. Everyone turned to him. Three flustered men and a short kid with a grin on his face. If he could swing this, it would feather his cap. The decurion slipped over to a table. Rolfe smiled inwardly. With the Civil Service removing itself, his job would be easier.

With Robbie under control, Joyce hid herself in the protective power of the Marine's arms. He carried her to a table where several of the schoolgirls sat.

A whispered question entered her ear. "How should I introduce you?"

She realized she never gave him her name. "Joyce, I'm Joyce."

Reaching the throng of students, the Marine stopped. "Girls, this is Joyce. She's going to sit and wait with you here."

Moving to take a seat, Joyce looked at the girls seated at the table. She saw two things, a bit of fear and a spark; her daughters still had that spark. Joyce had let Robbie beat it out of her. She wished she could be one of the naked women going. Anything had to be better than Robbie was.

Joyce put her head down and tried to hide. The girls left her alone. How much time passed, she didn't know. The man the girls called Mr. Jenkins had showed more compassion in the last few minutes than Robbie ever did. He was the kind of father her daughters needed.

"I'm Andres Zucher," spoke a man who took her hand softly. "I work for Samuel Cassell."

Who this Samuel Cassell might be, Joyce had no idea. From Andres' tone, he was a high muckity-muck. "I'm Joyce Moore."

"I've arranged to speak with you." Still holding her hand, he looked directly into her eyes. "You've been making these gestures." With his free hand, he made the fist at his chest then a peace sign with the back of the hand facing away.

Joyce nodded.

"That means she's in danger, mister," one of the girls at the table volunteered.

Andres looked at the four girls sitting at the table, eyebrows up as his mouth slowly opened. He turned to each girl; with the index finger of his free hand, he gently beseeched a hush. "That's the assumption I was working on," he winked. The girls responded with nods and smiles.

Joyce pulled her hand away. She had been at a PTA presentation on the use of those signals. She had been flashing them when she was nervous around Robbie. Somebody finally saw, somebody who could deal with Robbie.

Andres turned back to Joyce. "Was it because of your husband?"

Joyce nodded. She glanced at the girls again. Their expressions shifted, but remained supportive. However, the Marines were just as big as Robbie. They stopped Robbie. Maybe she could take a chance.

"Joyce, Joyce," Andres spoke to her.

"Sorry Andres," she looked back giving him her full attention.

"Why are you afraid?"

"Robbie talks in his sleep. He and others are planning on attacking a group of people Sunday." Joyce sought for any changes on his face. A few of the girls took in sharp breaths.

"That attack is scheduled for here." He paused. "We chose to rescue these people first."

"Why did you let Robbie shoot people?" The venom on her voice shocked her.

"The pistols he had were made of a resin that we could not scan for." The response carried some regret. "Joyce, had you not pushed his arm away, several of these students might have been injured."

"Thanks, Miss Joyce," was joined by a few other murmured thank-yous from the girls at the table.

"We were planning on meeting Robbie and his terrorist friends when they made an appearance Sunday." Anders said as he turned to look toward Robbie's sitting form. "Where are they staging tonight..."

Joyce interrupted, "What do you mean by staging?"

"Uh, I think queuing?" He looked at Joyce, seeing her lack of understanding. "Where they are gathering?"

Joyce nodded.

"I think he is planning on killing me." Joyce could feel the tears starting to run. "I just want to save my kids from him."

"Records show that you scored a five point seven on your last test."

"If I could give you where they are tonight could I go with him?" Joyce pointed at Bill. This elicited a muffled response from the girls.

Andres looked as he was thinking this over. His face morphed its way through worry, surprise, and finally ended in a big smile.

"Where would that be?" he asked quickly after the smile flashed.

A few scars and countless bruises taught Joyce to think before she spoke. "You never answered my question, Andres." Having a piece of hope to hold on to, no matter how tenuous, let her stretch and stand her ground.

Andres went back to his poker face. Even the girls had leaned in a bit, showing support for their fellow female. Joyce doubted that they could sway Andres' decision. Still she had their support. The twitching in the corner of his mouth meant something. Joyce wondered how good he might be at poker.

Andres pointed in the direction of Robbie. "He and a few others tricked the prepack group you stumbled upon. They planned to fake a pickup, kill a few people, and then use technology developed by that group as terrorist weapons."

Joyce nodded. "He mumbled something about a torpedo and the testing center at the International Mall."

His left eyebrow arched. Joyce read that as a good omen.

"Tell me and maybe I can arrange it."

He never added any more comment. A girl at a nearby table screamed. Everyone's attention became riveted on her. Andres moved toward the sound.

Perhaps being recycled for killing this kid might be worth it. Rolfe could see his career decomposing. The AI had supported Randy's argument. His option, to tag Randy for special consideration when he turned fourteen, was ignored. At the moment, recycling was becoming the better option.