Zachary Rawlins - The Academy

“Why did you choose to hide your presence from him?” Windsor countered. “When did you learn how to do that? I am a bit impressed, actually. I thought it outside your capabilities.”

“I don’t answer your questions, Gerald,” Rebecca snapped. “You answer mine. Don’t forget who you are talking to. What did you want me to see here?”

“We are failing him,” Mr. Windsor said, hanging his head with the admission. “Surely it is obvious to you? Alexander Warner isn’t even a fraction of a person, not yet. He’s hardly even a beginning. And we aren’t giving him the kind of opportunities he needs in order to become whole. He isn’t capable of developing on his own, his disconnect goes too deep for that. Alex needs to be led out into the world gently, with patience and compassion. And we aren’t doing anything like that. We’re just teaching him how to kill people. Something he is almost certain to do, I might add, unless we give him the opportunity to do anything else with his prodigious talents.”

Rebecca tapped her foot impatiently.

“So, that’s it, huh? Remorse for Alex’s lost childhood? Or do you have some sort of rational reason for staging this little scene?”

“I thought you should know,” Mr. Windsor said plaintively. “Alex trusts you more than anyone else he’s ever met, you realize that? Rhetorical question, of course you are already aware. But, do you take the responsibility that comes with that trust seriously? I’ve never been sure with you, Rebecca.”

“Everyone trusts me because I am trustworthy, Alex included. You know, this was my favorite class when I was at the Academy,” Rebecca said fondly, sitting back down in the front row chair, “and you were my favorite teacher.”

“Then help me teach him, Rebecca,” Windsor pleaded. “At least give me the opportunity.”

Rebecca pursed her lips and looked away. After a little while, she shrugged uncomfortably, as if she wished she were somewhere else.

“Don’t waste your time,” she said curtly. “Worry about the ones that can be helped. Make Alex’s homeroom experience as easy as possible, you understand? Nothing challenging, no difficult questions.”

Mr. Windsor shook his head sadly, moving again to wipe his fogged-up glasses.

“Say,” he asked curiously, “did it get cold in here a minute ago?”

“Do you want to sleep for a little while, now, Alex?”

Alex’s face slowly contorted with the effort of thought. Speech was an even more involved process, and he managed little more than a grunt.

“Okay,” Rebecca nodded from where she sat, eyes closed, her knees pressed against Alex’s, holding both of his limp hands tightly. “You rest now, Alex. You don’t have to go to sleep if you don’t want to, and if you do decide to sleep, you can wake up whenever you feel ready. And when you wake up,” Rebecca added, opening her eyes and smiling at the boy affectionately, “do me a favor and feel better, okay?”

Alex may have nodded. Michael wasn’t sure, he couldn’t really see from where he sat, his chair tucked away in a corner of Rebecca’s cluttered and homey office. It might have simply been that she responded as if he had nodded.

Rebecca shook her head, and stood up, unsteadily. Michael fought back an urge to help her — he knew from long experience that was the last thing Rebecca wanted. She took a few deep breaths, then walked the short distance between the new couch Alex was sprawled on and the desk where her cigarettes were, one hand running along the wall for support. Michael waited in polite silence until she was sitting with a lit cigarette in her hand.

“Well? Anything?”

Rebecca blew smoke at the ceiling and shook her head curtly.

“You know it didn’t work,” she said crossly. “We’ve been at this for three fucking weeks, Michael, and you know perfectly well that I would be freaking out right now if I had managed to implant even one working protocol in that poor boy’s head. For fuck’s sake, Michael,” she snarled, “how much further are you planning on taking this?”

Michael smiled thinly and crossed his legs.

“Maybe if we tried a stronger imprinting…”

“We can’t,” Rebecca said tiredly. “I’m already using Alex’s as a catalyst to try and implant through his innate resistance — I push any harder, we run the risk that he doesn’t know anything but the protocol afterwards.”

Michael rubbed his smooth chin thoughtfully.

“What does that catalyst effect feel like?” Michael asked, changing subjects. “I’ve read about it in theory, the feedback loop and all, but watching you…”

Rebecca was quiet for a moment, her arm hanging in the air in front of her, frozen in the act of bringing the cigarette to her mouth.

“It’s as intense as it looks, probably more,” she admitted, eyes averted. “The longer I hold on, the more difficult it is to break the connection.”

“That must be frightening,” Michael observed.

Rebecca glared at him.

“The frightening part is that every time I do it I’m a little bit less inclined to try and break it at all.” Rebecca brooded, hugging one arm around her waist, looking absently in Alex’s direction. “My sanity is on the line, here, Michael, and you would do well to appreciate that fact when I ask you again, how much longer do you plan on pursuing this?”

“The boy must be trained,” Michael said flatly, his face determined and his eyes serious. “He has powerful enemies, and that’s not likely to change. He needs to be able to protect himself. He needs to be able to operate protocols. Conventional protocols.”

Rebecca flicked ash into the crowded tray on her desk. She looked at the day’s worth of paperwork, neatly piled in its manila folders in two parallel stacks, pristine, totally untouched, and sighed.

“There’s no precedent for this, Michael. This kind of resistance has never been overcome, not even once. The only protocol I’ve been able to implant is Absolute, and when Alex operates it, it’s black,” Rebecca’s voice was surprisingly gentle when she said this, looking thoughtfully at Michael. He stirred in his chair uncomfortably. “Before they augmented Mitsuru, it was the same deal with her.”

“Someone broached the Academy Barrier last night,” Michael said flatly. “They did… whatever they did to that Horror, and then sent it here dying, so close to dead that it didn’t even register as living. That Barrier has never been broken, Rebecca, not in fifty years, and they did this just to get at that boy.” Michael leaned forward and met Rebecca’s eyes. “That boy has enemies,” Michael insisted, “and he needs to know how to use protocols in order to defend himself.”

“If only there was more than one way to skin a cat, eh, Mikey?” Alice said playfully, sticking her head in through a gap in the door. “How long are you going to hold on to him, anyway?”

Rebecca sighed and waved Alice into the office.

“Are you guys planning on having another fight?” Rebecca asked, stubbing out her cigarette and then reaching for the pack. “Because I am so very not interested in that.”

“I’m being serious,” Alice said insistently. “When are you going to start teaching him something, Michael?”

Michael’s expression was stormy. He glared up at Alice, who took no apparent notice, settling behind the desk in Rebecca’s chair, putting her combat boots up in the two shallow grooves that Rebecca had worn in the desk’s surface, doing the same thing. Rebecca looked over at Alice as she slouched in her chair, sighed again, and then moved to the window sill, lighting another cigarette and pointedly looking out at the evening.

“I am teaching him,” Michael said curtly. “And in affairs involving the students, I don’t have to answer to you.”