The Academy (40 page)

As far as Alex could tell, there was no particular pressure on the students to learn any of things guest lecturers taught, but for anyone who showed interest or aptitude, further instruction was made available. Accordingly, Alex was careful never to show either, particularly for the history teacher who showed up in full Union regalia.

The core course, and Mr. Windsor along with it, was another matter entirely. For one thing, the lectures were frustratingly broad and vague, the kind of topics that Alex associated with the questions that novels sometimes included in the back for book club discussions. Mr. Windsor was always encouraging them to ‘consider’ – to consider, for example, the nature of the Ether itself, or the oddity of Central being located inside of it, or what effects repeated transit through it might have on the human body. Alex played along for a while, until he realized that Windsor didn’t have any real answers – he seemed to think that any sort of discussion was a desirable thing in and of itself. And Alex resented being asked questions that there were no answers for.

Then Anastasia informed him that he didn’t even have to pass the class in order to clear the Academy. Apparently, Mr. Windsor’s role was more advisory than anything, and homeroom designed more as a yardstick to measure the student’s progress and interest level than to teach any one thing. That was still buzzing around in his head when Mr. Windsor asked him to stay late after class one Friday. Alex had an afternoon training session with Michael looming, and precious little time before it began.

“Can I ask what the problem is?” Alex demanded, as soon as the rest of the class had filed out, Emily glancing over her shoulder sympathetically at him before she left.

If Mr. Windsor was surprised by Alex’s tone, he didn’t show it. He simply carried on stowing his laptop away in the brown leather messenger bag he carried with him everywhere, the same defocused smile plastered on his face that seemed to be an almost permanent feature.

“I wanted to discuss your progress and your comfort level with the material, Alex,” Mr. Windsor said reasonably. “Our most recent test was not your finest effort to date, particularly on the subject of classification of protocols. Moreover, your essay on the founding of Central, a topic which you selected, I might add, is now quite overdue. Can I ask why?”

Alex was a bit thrown off by the diplomatic approach, having anticipated a lecture, but he refused to be mollified.

“I guess I have too much other stuff going on that seems more important than this class,” Alex said curtly. “No one is going to shoot me in the head for not knowing how the Black Sun rose to prominence, or when the Agreement was expanded to include vampires, or whatever random topic we’re working on right now.”

Mr. Windsor, against all expectations, laughed and gave Alex a knowing nod.

“It’s true, and I do understand, the Operations track is an intensive and difficult one,” Mr. Windsor said sincerely. “But, it is important for you to understand that you are not attending the Academy solely for the benefit of Central. The Academy exists to help you become a more complete person, Alex, and no amount of physical training or combat experience can create a whole, rational, functional being. Operators are asked to function under tremendous stresses, and some of what we discuss here is designed to give you tools to understand and deal with that stress. The topics of the class may seem haphazard, I admit, but I am trying to provide you with a gloss, an overview of the principals by which the world you live in functions, and the alternatives available to you. The rest of the Academy teaches you to obey and to execute, and they do an admirable job of it. I am allowed a few hours every week to try and teach you to think critically. Do you see why this is so important?”

Alex sighed and shook his head.

“Look, I don’t understand how a car works, or an ATM, okay? But I can use both of them just fine.”

This was actually untrue. Alex had never driven in his life.

“I’m not here to teach you how things work, Alex, I am here to help you understand
why
they work. Don’t you want to know why things are the way they are?”

Alex had to stop to consider it for a moment.

“I guess,” Alex admitted reluctantly. “It isn’t like you have any real answers, though – no disrespect, Mr. Windsor.”

“Ah, but that’s just it!” Mr. Windsor cried out, as if he were thrilled by Alex’s answer. “Are the only questions you are interested in those that have already been answered?”

Alex snorted and turned to gather his things.

“You’re talking in circles, Mr. Windsor,” he said impatiently. “Any chance I can go? I might still have time for a shower and a meal before I have to go back to the gym.”

Mr. Windsor looked at him and smiled, the look on his face sad enough that Alex almost relented, until he remembered that this man was trying to teach him.

“What are you interested in, Alex?”

“What?” Alex snapped, exasperated by his persistence.

“It’s a simple question,” Mr. Windsor said expansively. “And any answer at all will do. In thirty years of teaching, I have yet to meet a student who wasn’t interested in something, Mr. Warner.”

Alex thought about it. He thought about it for a while, and then he got a bit worried. Eventually, he was forced to confess.

“I can’t… um. I can’t really think of anything, Mr. Windsor.”

Mr. Windsor shook his head.

“Come now. There must be something… I notice that you wear headphones every day when you come into class. You must like music?”

“I guess,” Alex shrugged. “I mostly like not having to talk, or listen to people, you know?”

“How about games, Alex? What kind of games do you play?”

Again, he had to stop to consider. It didn’t take long, though. There isn’t much to see in a blank sheet of paper.

“What do you mean? Like, video games, or something? Nah. I don’t really play games. I mean, I’ve played cards and stuff, and I could probably remember dominoes or checkers if you gave me a board and a few minutes. But, I can’t say that I’ve ever really been into them much…”

“Alex, I don’t mean to pry, but you’ve been institutionalized, haven’t you?”

Mr. Windsor’s voice was soft and kindly, but to Alex, it sounded treacherous. He couldn’t help but look longing at the exit.

“Now, now, don’t be angry,” Mr. Windsor said soothingly. “I have no idea what happened to you, and I don’t need to know. I’m familiar enough with the signs to recognize them when I see them. You aren’t the first student we’ve had that had a difficult background, you know. But, that is beside the point. You must have had a great deal of time to kill, then, in the institution. What did you do with it, Alex?”

Alex thought about it for a while, resenting Mr. Windsor the entire time. Why should he bother trying to please a teacher who couldn’t fail him? One who taught a class about nothing?

Especially, Alex thought, especially when he had such a terrible headache. Why did he have to get one now, of all times? He had to go to the gym in a little while, and now he felt like crap...

“Well, I, I mean it wasn’t like there was nothing to do, but…”

Alex’s mouth was dry, his hands were numb and his fingertips tingled. The area behind his eyes ached like a tooth gone bad, an ice-cold spike driven through his cerebrum. His mouth seemed to be working by itself, in the absence of any sign of his mental faculties returning.

“There wasn’t any one thing that I did especially…”

Alex had to go lie down. He was suddenly certain of it, and the very thought of putting his head on a pillow sounded so good then he actually
felt
better, just thinking about it. He had to go lie down, he knew it, the way he knew that the sky outside was blue.

“I have to go lie down,” he mumbled, waving one hand in a vague sort of acknowledgment, or dismissal. Mr. Windsor watched him go stumbling out the door with a pained smile.

Alex shambled right past Rebecca, who sat with her eyes screwed closed in the front row of the lecture hall, without even a shred of recognition on his face. He almost tripped over her outstretched foot without acknowledging her existence. She didn’t open her eyes until after the classroom door slammed shut behind him.

“That was much worse than I was led to believe,” Mr. Windsor said plainly, taking off his glasses and rubbing the lenses against his shirt. “Did you send him away?”

“That was fucking dangerous, is what it was,” Rebecca grumbled, standing up. “You were told not to engage him unnecessarily. You’ve been warned about bringing up Alex’s past, or pushing him too hard.” She shook her head irritably. “Why did you bring me here today?”

“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.