A Spaceman

Chapter 6 ---Goodnight?

"What's he doing?" I ask, wanting to pace but I don't want to betray my anxiety tonight.

"Looks like he's just sitting there," Kip says. He's already dropped his customs and courtesies and looks like he wishes we'd just let him go back to sleep.

"He's pressing his hands against his head, like some kind of mental patient," Ebbel says, staring.

"Yeah, he's been doing that the whole time, he does it in his barracks too, haven't you noticed his forehead will be all red in the mornings?" Kip asks, lazily, "It's just a thing."

"What's wrong with him? anything in his file?" Ebbel asks.

"He's a kid, kids do stupid things, let's just get him out and then we can go to bed ourselves?" I sigh. I don't know why Ebbel is so interested. Or why he's so energetic.

"Nope, nothin' never psychologically evaluated beyond the usual that they give us when we enlist," Kip says, shrugging, "Which he answered all the right answers to, by the way."

"Huh, there's somethin' weird about that kid," Ebbel says, standing up, finally, "Don't know what, though."

"You're the second person who's said that," I say, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. he's a kid. A child. Children aren't intrinsically evil.

**

Ebbel could come and get murdered already. I'm getting very pent up in here with nothing but my six equally fantastic murder plans to think about absolutely no way to enact them. first the Tims throw me off, now Ebbel is decidedly late. and I'm not going to sleep. I HATE sleeping. My whole brain shuts down and I can't think and I hate it. I do it as little as is possible, which usually amounts to once or twice week. That was when I was a boy. Now I try to average four hours every other night. my eyes get bloodshot though, and I don't want them thinking there's something wrong with me. I laugh. There is clearly something wrong with me but then they'd know it. they'd probably send me to an eye exam, when that's the last part of me that needs to be examined. I need my head examined.

No I don't.

I like it the way it is. They'd want to examine it though. they will, when they find out. if they find out. ever. i hope they will. I want them to. sometime. Somehow.

But not just yet.

I haven't had enough fun yet.

**

"Card," I say, opening the door, "You're free to go."

"Good morning, sir," he says, sitting up and coming to attention immediately. He wasn't sleeping. As Kip noted, his forehead is red from rubbing the heels of his hands on it. he wasn't asleep. What kid doesn't sleep after eighteen hours of marching?

"Come on, you're to go back to your barracks," I say, nodding for him to move.

"Yes, sir," he says, picking up his blouse and putting it on. he's sweating. It's freezing in here.

"Card, are you feeling well?" Wilde asks, from behind me.

"Good evening, ma'am—yes ma'am," he says, nodding.

"No you're not, you're sweating, come here," she says, nodding for him to come closer. he obeys. She puts a hand on his forehead. The jumpy kid nearly recoils but only just thinks better of it. then I pity him. didn't his mum ever put her hand to his head like that? No, he's been hit if anything. he expects to be hit. "You're burning up. Go to IDMT in the morning if you're still not well."

"Yes, ma'am," he says, obediently, going back to buttoning his blouse.

"You're not to run tomorrow, not if you're ill," I add. The last thing we need is him fainting or dying or something and his family suing us.