Meta4City a DarkSF novel by John Argo

= META 4 CITY =

a DarkSF Novel

by John Argo

Page 18.

Chapter 12

For a second, Tedda thought she was alone—and free. Then the guards came from either side and took her by the elbows, not painfully, but firmly and gracelessly. An NCO walked past, waving one arm and speaking directions, while keeping the other hand in the side pocket of his open pea coat. He had three large red chevrons stitched upside down on the upper sleeves, and various hash marks and other insignia—all frayed, worn so the thread stuck out and the dark base underneath showed. Tedda noticed he had mud spattered over his high boots and up his dark blue trousers. He wore a visorless cap pushed back on his head, and had a lanky, careless way of walking. He was a powerful, seamy-looking man with cool blue eyes, nearing forty, and a bit of a slob. Less military than a farm hand, she thought. As they walked in the direction the NCO pointed, Tedda shook the restraining hands from her elbows. The two young soldiers, teenage boys really, seemed glad to let go. Their eyes told her they didn't relish bullying a woman. Good for them.

"Watka," the NCO introduced himself. "I run this yard. You stay on my good side, I'll make sure you eat good and don't get too hard work. You mess with me, and you'll be one unhappy woman. You got that?"

"I understand. I don't want any trouble," she said.

"Whoa," said one of the boys, "she's got school."

Tedda mulled this over. What did this mean? They took her down the curving little hill, where she got her ankles damp in the drippy grass. It smelled good, fresh, after her confinement inside. Down they went along that gravel road, feet crunching in the stones. The boys had heavy boots that tore in, while the NCO shuffled in slamming steps, and Tedda felt positively feminine in her soft boots. Down the street, she spied the officer with the white horse. He held the reins, while an older orderly dressed like Watka but without stripes brushed the animal down. Must have been out riding, she thought. The officer looked at her and froze. She could sense his laser-like attention from 1000 feet. Did he find her attractive? Was he offended by her? Was he just curious?

"That's Major Grün," Watka said. "You might get to meet him. He runs this place for the Colonel General, his old man, at headquarters."

With a last glance down the road at the magnetic major, who was talking with the orderly now, but still glanced over his shoulder at her, Tedda followed the others into a headquarters office. There, a pair of unsmiling young female adjutant clerks in crisp khaki blouses and dark green skirts went slowly about their tasks. The room smelled of flowers or perfume, faintly, and cigarette smoke and horse dung. In a corner, a black iron stove hissed lightly; reddish flames danced in the glass eye of its door, and wisps of steam leaked from the dented seams of its heat-discolored tin flue that ran up along the dingy white-washed walls. Tedda also smelled typewriter ribbon ink, and paper by the ream, and machine oil from the teletypes in a corner. Somehow, Tedda sensed there ought to be more blinking lights and fancy electronic equipment, but she wasn't sure why.

Watka told her: "They'll take your information, however much you remember, and process you in."

"How long am I here for?"

Watka put both hands in his pockets and cocked his head back while rubbing his back in the doorway. "How the hell do I know? Or care?" With that he turned and walked out. The two young men looked at each other, shrugged, and followed him.

As a message came in, one of the teletypes started to chatter loudly. The tall charcoal-colored metal boxes with rounded corners shook, while its strike-keys made oily whacking noises on cheap paper. "I'll get it. It's War Department D.O.A.G.," the younger woman said moving toward it with a pen in hand.

"Come here," said the older of the two young women to Tedda. She seemed cold and preoccupied, probably annoyed at having to stop what she was doing to put a form in a typewriter and start documenting Tedda's arrival. "Name?"

"Pardon me?"

The girl's head snapped up and her eyes blazed. "Your handle, you dumb shit."

Thank you for reading. If you love it, tell your friends. Please post a favorable review at Amazon, Good Reads, and other online resources. If you want to thank the author, you may also buy a copy for the low price of a cup of coffee. It's called Read-a-Latte: similar (or lower) price as a latte at your favorite coffeeshop, but the book lasts forever while the beverage is quickly gone. Thank you (JTC).

TOP | MAIN