The next day after the daily routine, including an awkward but successful training session with Vince, I finally met with Dr. Randolph in his residence. First thing I did was apologize for missing our appointment, blaming sudden illness. It wasn't a lie, even though my sickness was heartache.

Sitting on the plush velvet love seat, facing the scrawny man, I emulated him by crossing my left leg over my right, hoping to radiate the same self-assurance he exuded. Tucked in his ear was a wireless earpiece that was nearly undetectable, if it weren't for the uneven skin tone color. Most people in authority wore one, especially when on duty. When pressed, the small, flesh-toned bud would connect to Control, who'd then link to the requested caller, establishing a private two-way communication until the ear piece was pressed again to disconnect.

He pulled his cup of tea from his shrunken lips. "You and my son work wonderfully together."

"Thank you, sir." I smiled, glad he noticed. Opening a conversation with a compliment or a joke was supposed to make the listener more relaxed, ceasing any tension. That was one of the first things I'd learned in class. However, there was no tension, only boredom.

"I can't put my finger on it, but something was different about today's training." He took a sip from his cup, eyes glued to mine. "Are you and Vince in the middle of something?"

My palms became damp with sweat. Could he somehow sense the illicit feelings I harbored for his son? Had he always suspected? Did he have something to do with Vince pushing me away? These questions had never crossed my mind before, because we had always been so careful, around Dr. Randolph especially. The only exception was when he almost caught us in what would have been an unexplainable position in the movie room years ago-the same time Vince started pulling away.

"Sorry, sir?" I gulped.

His eyebrow lifted. "Are you two having a falling out? A dispute?"

Did he notice my sudden relief? "It's nothing, sir. Just a little misunderstanding." I tried to look normal, as if my heart wasn't nearly beating out of my chest. If he had any indication of what Vince and my argument entailed, I wouldn't be sitting on his furniture having casual conversation. Instead, Vince and I would be in therapy for our perversion. And that involved weeks of solitary isolation and behavior conversion sessions. From what I'd heard, it was not something I ever wanted to experience.

He cleared his throat. "Little misunderstanding or not, you know my son has difficulty managing his anger."

I nodded, remembering the med-patch on his wrist. "I do." I ground my teeth to keep from saying anything else. It seemed as if he was trying to make a point, one I wouldn't like. So I waited. There was no need to try to defend myself from any blame. The fact was, I'd provoked Vince. Not intentionally, but nonetheless, it had happened.

"Though a little anger seems to improve his combat performance." He stared off into space. Seconds later, he shifted in his seat and grimaced in pain as he unfolded his legs.

"You all right, sir?" I stared as he altered his position, his right leg outstretched and placed at a delicate angle.

He fluttered his fingers in the air to dismiss my concern. "My leg's been bothering me lately. Nothing for you to be troubled with."

I sat forward, attempting to get more comfortable. "So ... what caught your interest about the Refuge Inc. legends?"

"You know, I'm extremely pleased with Vince," he went on. His blatant disregard to my question took me aback, as I was expecting a respectful two-way conversation, especially when speaking with him. "I always knew he'd make me proud. See, my wife Helen-may she rest in peace-thought we were too old to have children. I had agreed, initially. However, there had to be someone to pass on the Moore name and genetics. That's what it comes down to in the end, primitive instinct."

There had to be a better reason than instinct to want to have a child so late in life. I admit, I assumed his reason had been something cliché like "the love of raising a prodigy," but "instinct" seemed more appropriate for a logical leader like him.

As if on cue, the door leading to the hall slid open, retracting into the wall. Vince's tall frame appeared in the doorway. He was about to take a step inside but paused, hand frozen in midair toward the wide strap connected to the bag on his shoulder, as soon as he spotted me. Tension accompanied his presence. The thickness of it hovered in the air. Continuing to talk would have been a welcomed distraction. Instead, an awkward silence commenced.

"What's going on?" The way Vince cocked his head to the side told me he knew his name had come up in our conversation. He was stressed too. I could tell by the way his Adam's apple bounced as he gulped, the way it does during moments where he feels vulnerable, as if his secrets are about to be exposed. His gaze darted from me to his father.

Dr. Randolph cleared his throat. "We were talking about your mother. Would you like to take a seat? Join us?"

Vince's hand finally gripped the strap of his gym bag, and he raked his other hand through his damp hair. Images of water cascading over every ripple of muscle on his body flashed through my head, and I grit my teeth to rid myself of them.

"No, thanks. We can talk later." He didn't even look my way, not even to shoot me a pretend smile before disappearing down the hall toward privacy. He never ignored me that way in public. What did Dr. Randolph think of his odd behavior? Curiosity struck me, but I didn't mention it.

Dr. Randolph stared at the empty hall. "I hope you two settle your differences and learn to direct your anger toward your skills instead of each other. Put it to good use."

I nodded. "We will."

But I wasn't sure about my promise. What I was sure of was the uncomfortable position I had put Vince in. He couldn't even pretend that things were civil between us. His anger crushed that ability. And if his father noticed our awkwardness, the probability of others noticing was high. It would only take one too many questions or someone curious enough to eavesdrop to expose us. Something we didn't need. No one respected those who broke the rules. But again, it would be my fault if we were exposed. I keep pushing Vince. If I stop, then there wouldn't be anything to eavesdrop on.

Dr. Randolph swallowed the last bit of tea and stood. "I'll talk to Vince."

"That's okay, sir." I stood too. "It's unnecessary, really."

He gave me a look. A look that read: I do what I please.

So I closed my mouth.

"I'll see you at training, Cadet Nichols. Yes?"

I saluted, "Yes, sir," and left the room.

Out in the hall, I paused by the glowing biometric fingerprint lock positioned beside the door and imagined how Vince and his father's conversation would play out. What would Vince say? How much would he say? How much of what he said would be the truth?

A tinge of shame for what I put him through brought heat to my face.

To distance myself far away from the door, I strolled the halls, but Vince was the only thing on my mind. I had to put a stop to that. This was becoming a serious problem. If thoughts of sending him to ecstasy weren't flooding my head, then the details of how I made him angry did. Why couldn't I think of ways to benefit others, to be helpful, to further advance in training, or have thoughts and actions that might actually be of use?

If we were carrying around an extra thirty pounds of gear, including our helmets and weapons, it would effect my ability to run at my greatest speed by ... five percent. Without the helmet, it should up my run time by one percent; therefore, my estimated run time would be impaired by only four percent. Without my weapon and helmet, I would be as fast as if I were naked. If only I was as skilled with weapons as Vince was.

Vince...

Laughter echoed down the hall, catching my attention. I looked up to realize I was near the rec room. I turned the corner, and found the source of the laughter.

"Oh, look. Here's Connie-boy." Tamara's scrunched nose turned up as her and her two girlfriends lounged near the mirror in the large room. "What's up? Lost?"

I scoffed. "What, like your ambitions?" I sneered.

"Ooh. Good one, Nichols." She rolled her eyes. Her friends, Sherry and Julie, snorted, mimicking her. "Where's Moore?" Tamara leaned against the mirrored wall and they all stared, waiting for my response.

Everyone seemed to keep tabs on Vince. Or rather, thought I did. "No idea. He's not my responsibility."

She folded her arms. "Could've fooled me."

"What's your problem with me, Tamara?"

"That's Cadet Arnold," she corrected. Her eyes were glued to my lips until I licked my top lip out of instinct, which caused her to look away. "Only my friends call me Tamara."

My nerves were shot, and I didn't have it in me to argue. I didn't speak; I only pivoted on my heels and left them to their whispers. Why didn't they like me? Who knew. I'd been nothing but nice and patient with Tamara and the other cadets, except when they got gutsy with me. And she'd had her angry sights set on me long before my promotion.

I expected more out of her in terms of her behavior. She was extremely smart and kind to others, when she wasn't focused on irritating me. Her grandparents encouraged her to stay up on her studies even though she already knew so much she could teach a class. Sometimes I envied her intelligence, but my jealousies only fueled me to do as well as she did.

Rustling behind me grabbed my attention and I looked over my shoulder. Tamara and her friends were following. With reluctance, I paused. "What now?"

"Stand down, cadet." Tamara huffed. Her friends at her sides like magnets. "We're on our way to get a bite to eat."

Right. The grin on their faces exposed the lie. "You get your kicks out of screwing with me, don't you, Tamara?"

"That's Cadet Arnold, Connie-boy."

I narrowed my eyes. "You all should straighten up if you want people to look up to you one day."

She chuckled. "What makes you think we care about being fucking role models?"

"Leaders," I corrected. "One day we're going to run this place. Become the leaders. You should get it together, Cadet Arnold, or no one's going to respect you."

"We didn't sign up for this shit." The anger in her voice stilled the air. "If I had a choice and if circumstances were different, I would be a neonatal nurse, looking after babies. Not this shit."

I shook my head, stunned by her lack of appreciation. "You should be honored that they chose you. You should feel privileged to be included on the good side of justice."

"Fuck, Connor." She smacked her lips but a hint of concern carried in her tone. "This is my problem with you. You take everything so seriously. We're in our early twenties. You know, there was once a time when people our age actually had fun. You heard the stories. And what really gets me about you is you're already acting like you're a leader or something. I hate to burst your bubble, but you're not. Get over yourself."

They passed me, one by one, leaving me in the hall.

Did I take everything seriously? That was our job, wasn't it? And sure, us young people, who had entered the facility with no set skills, were destined to become cadets and eventually peacemakers. It wasn't a choice, but we all had our parts to play and our ways to contribute. The time for fun was in our youth.

We're all adults now. The days for fun are over.

Did her attitude toward becoming a leader stem from the events surrounding her parents? Everyone who knew Tamara had heard her story about how as a toddler, before entering the facility, she remembered having a mother, father, and a baby sibling who she used to enjoy carrying around, but she only entered with her grandparents. The details surrounding her arrival were foggy, even her grandparents refused to confirm or deny the story, and maybe somehow she blamed them, including the leaders of the facility because they never had answers for her either.

I knew my parents were dead. She never got confirmation that her parents even existed. What a way to live.

I continued to walk for the sake of sanity, but the stomp of footsteps behind me stopped me in my tracks. A squad of higher officers rushed by, forcing me to flatten myself against the wall to avoid getting trampled. It was a half dozen men and women uniformed in combat gear made of a tough yet flexible body hugging material with large, white double-digit numbers stamped on the back. Black helmets atop their heads with a dark visor prevented me from seeing the look on their faces. I wish I could. That way I could judge by their expressions how serious their mission was.

Numbers seven-six and seven-two were at the back of the squadron. Each had one hand gripping the stock of his rifle, while the other held the barrel. Their weapons were different than the ones we practiced with. They were black, sleek, and much more intimidating.

They quickly turned the corner at the end of the hall. Most of the people in the halls tailed them at a safe distance to avoid detection, including Tamara and her crew. So, curious, I followed too.

I approached the corner as indiscernible shouting echoed in the hall. The group of us onlookers peered around the edge of the wall to see the officers in the midst of an arrest, but not just any arrest. Mrs. Cutler, her husband, and a couple other leaders were being forced onto their knees in the bright hall. An officer pressed Dr. Price Cutler against the wall and secured his hands behind his back with a pair of nickel-hinged handcuffs.

"Easy. Easy." Dr. Price Cutler grunted. "I'm cooperating. I'm not resisting."

No matter how many times Mrs. Cutler asked why she was being arrested, none of the officers spoke. The officers moved quickly, helping them up on their feet.

My jaw dropped as an officer turned to us. In a menacing voice, he ordered, "Go back to your business."

I'd never been intimidated by higher officers ... until now. Seeing them in action had a way of making your heartbeat accelerate.

Higher officers were men and women who enforced the rules. Their title was specifically changed to include the word higher to remind citizens of the facility that their authority was to be respected. Much older than cadets, they were between the ages thirty and forty-five, and had the necessary expertise to keep everyone in line. They too were trained by the higher ups, some by Dr. Randolph himself. Others came in with military or law enforcement backgrounds. Most importantly, they knew their shit and got work done. However, there weren't a lot of them, only about sixty fully trained. About six stationed on each floor. A mere handful compared to the hundreds of residents.

They led the handcuffed leaders farther down the hall and out of sight as they disappeared around another corner. I looked to Tamara to see if she had it in her to follow. She glanced at me with wide eyes, and didn't move.

None of us did.

Dr. Randolph once explained, "For a society to thrive, it requires a set of laws and a strategy to enforce them." And that was where cadets came in. One day we'd be just as skilled and probably as intimidating. It might have been my first time witnessing an arrest, but instinct told me that wouldn't be the last time I'd see higher officers in action.

~~~

Thanks for your support! How do you feel about the higher officers on duty?