Chapter 3

The suitcase was ridiculously heavy as Wilson dragged it through the dorm hallways.

“What has this guy got in here,” he moaned out loud when he paused in front of his room to take out his keys. Oak popped his head out of a door a few feet down the hall.

“What’s that, Snake?” the other man, tall and lanky, with a head shaped like a pear, asked.

Wilson didn’t answer, just kicked the suitcase in explanation as he inserted his security stick into the sensor near his door. Oak clucked sympathetically.

“Lost another one, eh?”

“Am I so hard to get along with?” Wilson whined, bumping his door open with his hip and dragging the suitcase into his room behind him. His roommate, Beef, didn’t look up from his magazine.

“Yes. Yes, you are, Snake.”

“Shut up.” Wilson threw the suitcase onto his bunk.

“I dunno. I don’t even know what we’re talking about.” Beef looked up now. “What’s that?” he asked, before identifying the suitcase. “Another one?”

There was a knock at the door that hadn’t completely closed and Oak poked his head in.

“Hey, Snake, I was wondering…”

“Out!” Beef bellowed, back to looking at his magazine but extending a meaty arm and severe finger in the direction of the hallway.

“I just…”

“Out, Oak. Don’t make me break your fingers again.”

“Okay, okay.” But Oak lingered and pulled his head back out in the slowest possible way as he rushed through his next words, trying to get as many out before his head disappeared.

“Hey, Wilson, sorry for you man, but if you’re not going to use it, I mean, since you have so many already, cam I have it?”

Then he was out the door, but Wilson knew he was still lingering just outside, waiting for an answer.

“Sure,” Wilson shouted after him. “Just let me see if there’s anything worth taking first, eh?”

He chuckled at Oak’s whining as he closed the door leading out to the hallway. Beef was still absorbed in his magazine, but still seemed able to carry on a conversation at the same time.

“Isn’t that stealing, Snakey Boy?”

Wilson scoffed.

“I got over my moral objections the third time I was dumped with one of these.”

As he spoke, he unzipped the lid of the suitcase and upended its contents on his bed. Shirts and socks and underwear went everywhere.

“Hey, Beef, look,” Wilson held up a specimen for examination. “This one folded his socks.”

“Anything interesting?”

Wilson combed through the clothes halfheartedly.

“Not really. No wonder he didn’t stick around.”

“It’s funny how you whine about never getting a partner and being dumped with their stuff, but if you really think about it, it just means you get to keep your manly independence and get free suitcases and clothes that are too small or too big for you every so often.”

“Too big this time,” Wilson observed, holding a pair of slacks up to his waist. “He was bigger than he looked. You want some of these undershirts?”

“Nah.”

“It’s funny how you whine about me getting free stuff, yet you never take it when I offer.”

“I don’t feel the need to get my clothing from dead men, thank you very much.”

“Ah come on, you haven’t been listening to Cracker Jack again, have you?”

“The man speaks wisdom.”

“Yeah, and sleeps in aluminum foil hats to keep the aliens away.” Wilson extracted a flashlight from the contents of the suitcase and clicked it experimentally. “They’re not dead.”

“I bet they are,/” Beef said, flipping to the next page. “Dead of boredom. “

“Yeah, because you’re just working so hard.” Wilson shoveled everything back into the suitcase and zipped the lid closed.

“Yes I am,” Beef retorted, squinting at something on the page. “In fact, I think it’s time I had a vacation.”

Wilson just scoffed and carried the suitcase to the door. Oak was still there when he opened the door and he tried to machien gun fire out his gratitude even as Wilson shut the door on him again.

“Hey man, thanks a lot,” he jabbered. “Nice of you to pass around…”

The door shut and at least muted the noise to a unintelligible and easily ignored drone. Beef flipped another page.

“Don’t worry about it,” he assured Wilson. “I bet the guy they finally find for the job will actually be a chick. Like, a hot chick. Too bad she’ll have a thing for me instead of you, but at least she’ll be easy on the eyes when you’re working, you know?”

“Hey, I work alone,” Wilson reminded him. “This whole partner thing was the Queen’s idea. I’m just getting annoyed with them telling me that this guy or another is the guy and then him not being it and running off without even a handshake and a ‘sorry it didn’t work out’.”

“Sounds like they’re breaking up with you or something. Something you wanna tell me?”

“No. It just annoys me how they keep coming and going in five minutes like that.”

“I’m telling you,” Beef said, squinting again and rubbing two pages together between his finger and thumb, “they take them back into some dark room and shoot them or something. You know, protecting BAWI’s location or something like that.”

“You really have been listening to Jack, haven’t you?”

“The man’s a genius, my friend. A genius.”

“Hey, I’m willing to believe a lot since I got this job.”

“You believe they’d shoot you if you ever tried to leave?”

“Hey, how am I supposed to know? I don’t wanna quit, so hopefully I’ll never find out.”

Wilson just scoffed again and clicked the flashlight on and off again before stuffing it into his pocket.

“I can see how the last guy didn’t work though,” he said. “Dude didn’t even have an extra pair of shoes in here.”

There was a knocking at the door. Wilson looked at Beef, but the man had seemingly tuned out everything beyond his magazine. Wilson sighed and went to open the door.

“Well, if it isn’t Cracker Jack himself?” he said with a forced grin. “We were just talking about you.”

“I know,” the little, nervous-looking man said, his head tilted a little to one side like a bird looking at something on the ground. “I’ve come to collect.”

“Collect what?” Percy leaned on the door frame, blocking the smaller man’s entrance into the room.

“My winnings. The voices tell me that this partner came and went in under ten minutes. I do believe you owe me fifty bucks.”

Wilson hesitated, trying to think of a witty remark, but his concentration wouldn’t take root with Beef chuckling in the background. So he just sighed and dug his wallet out. He slapped a fifty dollar bill in Jack’s hand.

“Thanks,” the other man said, tucking the bill into his pocket. “See you later.”

Then he wandered off in his slow weaving walk. Percy closed the door and shuddered.

“I don’t know why he creeps you out so much,” Beef commented. “He knows things, I’m telling you.”

“You know I don’t believe in that crap,” Wilson said, but he rubbed at his forehead nervously. “He probably just heard it from the guys in the hall. You have like three hundred bucks on you? There’s going to be more of those vultures coming in a few minutes to cheat me out of my money.”

“You were the one making the bet, Snake.”

“Yeah, and all I got to show for it was this lousy flashlight.” He pulled it out and clicked it on and off again.

“Quit your whining. Besides, I think there’s a pool going on Cracker Jack and that new firewall.”

“Another one? You’d think they would have learned by now.”

“No, some people are just stupid.”

Percy grinned. For all of his general uneasiness around Cracker Jack, the little bird man was the best hacker in all of BAWI. He was known world wide for it. But there always seemed to be stupid people, whether newbies or veterans looking to show the little man up, who were laying bets on Jack’s abilities. And they always lost miserably. Cracker Jack probably made twice his salary on the winnings from those bets alone. Wilson had to count himself among the stupid people this time; because he had trusted his own instincts instead of Jack’s, Jack had just made fifty bucks off him. It was irritating.

“I’m going to the gym, but don’t tell anyone where I am if they ask. I want to try and hold on to my greenbacks for as long as possible, okay?”

“Whatever,” Beef retorted, but he wasn’t going to tell anyone. He never did.

The gym was full, which was the next best thing to it being completely empty. One more sweaty guy doing manly exercises would go mostly unnoticed by the other sweaty guys doing manly exercises who were all watching the sweaty girls doing manly exercises, so Wilson would go unnoticed for a little while. Technically he wasn’t the only one who had lost money at his would-be partner’s sudden departure, but he was the one who was going to lose the most money.

As he beat up the bag hanging from a bar, Wilson actually wasn’t too worried about not getting a partner this time, money lost by stupid bet aside. It really had not been his idea in the first place, but an order from Marie Swailer, the Dirt Queen. She had told him they were going to be recruiting a new member and that new member was going to be Wilson’s partner. He had thought it was weird, but hadn’t objected. There was little the Queen could tell him that he could object to, even if he wanted to.

As it was though, it was all getting just a little annoying. Wilson had had an idea of the competitive nature of the hiring at BAWI – he remembered his own integration well, what with secret messages and all – but he hadn’t really thought about it until he actually started to pay attention to the new people brought in as possible recruits every so often. In the past six months alone, there had been three guys that had come in. All of them had been gone within half an hour, leaving their suitcases full of mostly non-interesting stuff to Wilson. Cracker Jack said that they were killed to keep BAWI secure, but while Wilson respected the man’s ability to place a good bet, he didn’t place much store in most of the man’s other convictions. Wilson hadn’t been exaggerating when he had reminded Beef of Jack’s tinfoil night cap.

Try as he might, he didn’t remain anonymous for long in the gym. Some person must have seen him and flapped their gums to someone else, because he had not even been in there fifteen minutes before he looked across the room and saw the group of winning vulture swarm to the door and look around expectantly. Wilson tried to duck behind a weight machine, but the gorilla man bench pressing the weights saw him and knew instantly what he was doing and how to take him down.

“Hey, Snake!” he called loudly, even though Wilson was only two feet away. His deep voice carried over the sounds of muscle development and machinery clanking. “How about spotting me, eh?”

Wilson groaned as the group at the door caught sight of him and advanced.

“Some other time, Petey,” he said, then walked toward the group, leaving Petey chuckling and lifting his five hundred pounds like sausages.

“Yo, Snake Eyes,” the leader of the pack greeted him. “We heard your partner didn’t work out so well.”

“Yeah,” Wilson agreed, shrugging nonchalantly. “Got another bag of stuff, but you’ll have to see Oak if you want anything. Pretty much the only thing in there that was worth anything was the flashlight and I called dibs.” He pulled it out of his pocket and clicked it on and off in demonstration.

“Come on, Snake, you know why we’re here.” The leader didn’t seem willing to play the game of beating around the bush and trying to distract the other with conversation.

“Yeah, but I can’t help you guys right now. I mean, it’s only been like, what, half an hour? I don’t have the cash on me right now.”

“Well then, let’s go get it,” the leader said, stepping to the side to indicate the door to the gym, but not trying to touch Wilson. The social hierarchy at BAWI was based on factors other than physical prowess, however much the gym’s popularity said otherwise. The leader of these guys was actually bigger than Wilson and could have probably manhandled him out the door. But their unwillingness to actually touch him was based on more than strength. Didn’t mean they weren’t willing to harass him for their money though. With all of the pools constantly going on everything, a winner had to move fast to get their money before the loser lost it forever at something else and didn’t have it got give to the winner to place in some other pool. It was a large vicious circle and was full of ducking and hiding from your debts, even if you were the bigger guy. But now Wilson had been found, so he didn’t have much of a choice.

“All right, all right, let’s go see ye olde banker then, shall we?”

Wilson led the group down the labyrinth of hallways until they reached the main atrium with its hum of activity. People saw Wilson and the pack of scavengers behind him and a ripple of catcalls spread through the scurrying people like the wake of a boat. Wilson ignored them. It happened with everyone. In about an hour, some other sucker who didn’t have cash on hand and had gotten caught would be parading through the office spaces and everyone would have forgotten Wilson and that loss.

The teller at the BAWI minibank lifted an eyebrow ever so slightly as Wilson approached with his group of hangers on.

“Yeah, I know, Marge,” Wilson said, coming in to lean his elbows on the counter. Wilson usually had a knack for betting and trips to see Marge were few.

“You smell like sweat,” she said disapprovingly, acting just like the grandmother she looked like.

“They caught me in the gym,” he explained. “Can you give me…” He trailed off to look around over his shoulder and count. “Six, seven, eight… Hey, wait a minute.” He straightened and faced the group.

“Get out of here, Mario. I know you weren’t in on this.”

The accused, a short man with a premature bald spot at the back of his head, grinned mischeiviously and skipped off.

“Little button pusher thinks he can cheat me out of fifty bucks,” Wilson muttered as he settled back on the counter in front of Marge.

“Miracle worker,” one of the real winners corrected Wilson’s slight. The tech guys called themselves the “saints” or the “angels”, depending on who you asked, due to their reputation of being able to correct any computer problem around. They didn’t fix computer problems, they “performed miracles”, according to themselves. Everyone else didn’t dispute their abilities, but nearly everybody called them ‘button pushers’. Even the Queen did, so why the button pushers themselves insisted on calling themselves something different was a mystery to everyone and a good reason to continue making fun of them. The Queen was BAWI’s holy book and to stray from her path was to stray into ridicule at the very least and downright physical hostility at the worst.

“I need three hundred and fifty dollars, in fifty dollar bills, please,” Wilson told Marge, ignoring the snickers and brave talk that was going on in the group behind him, of which three were button pushers and everyone else goodnaturedly elbowing them. He looked over his shoulder once however and then leaned in close to Marge. “And what are the stakes on Cracker Jack?”

For her sweet grandmotherly exterior, Marge was a shrewd business woman and seemed to be Cracker Jack’s personal agent when it came to the betting circle around him.

“I’d wait until next time,” she informed him conspiritorially as she counted out his fifty dollar bills. “Right now it’s just ten bucks a pop that he can’t do it. It’s a cakewalk code and it’s all people with no IQ who are betting.” She finished counting and tapped the sides of the stack with her veined hands to make it even. “I’ll let you know when he finds something a bit more interesting, okay, sweetheart?”

Wilson swept up the money into an unruly mess in his fist.

“Thanks, Marge,” he said, leaning in to peck her rakishly on the cheek. “You’re a doll.”

“I know,” she said sweetly, then waved him off as she went back to filing or whatever she had been doing. Wilson approached the group of winners, who lined up like kids waiting for their movie tickets.

“Fifty, fifty, fifty, fifty, fifty, fifty and… fifty,” Wilson counted out, slapping each bill into its recipient’s hand. “Now you all hold on to those, you hear? I want them back when I win next time.”

“Right,” the button pusher scoffed as he shoved his bill into his pocket. “We’ll believe it when we see it.”

Wilson laughed along with everyone else, but his smile faded when he caught sight of a figure traversing one of the catwalks above the atrium.

“Hey, it’s her!” he said, pointing and craning his head as he ran out into the open to see her better. Others caught sight of her too and the noise level first dropped in awe and recognition, then rose in cheers and general exclamations. The figure, dressed all in black and walking with a swagger that would make a pirate envious, didn’t slow or stop, but her hand rose just a little from her side in something that could be seen as a wave. It hung out from her body as if she were brushing the tops of tall grass, then she was through a door and gone.

Everyone, Wilson included, stared after her for a little while, and activity was slow to pick back up as everyone turned to their neighbor and talked about what they had just seen. Wilson was no exception. Six years at BAWI and he was still excited every time he saw her.

“You saw her, right?” he demanded of the button pusher. The button pusher was demanding the same thing of someone else and Wilson heard someone saying the same thing to him. The Dirt Queen rarely ventured out into the more public areas of BAWI, so seeing her in person out there was a rare occurrence. Sure, they saw her nearly every morning on the info screens in the morning, but it was completely different to see her in the flesh. And it was completely different seeing her out and walking about rather than sitting behind her desk. Some people claimed they had seen her at the firing ranges, but they were never able to prove it. It had become almost a rite of initiation to try and catch a glimpse of her there, as if she were a ghost and the firing range were haunted.

The sighting put Wilson in a happy mood and he gloated to Beef on his way in to shower the gym sweat off. The big man grunted and harrumphed, but the lack of a articulate and witty response was a sure sign of the man’s jealousy.

When Wilson came out, Beef was gone and the message icon on their screen was blinking. Wilson toweled off his hair and hit the button. Hayden Claymore’s face came on screen and Wilson almost saluted before he remembered this was a message rather than a call.

“Wilson,” the old man barked in that way of his. “The Queen,” - even Claymore, her second in command, called her the Queen even when he insisted on calling everyone else by their correct names rather than their BAWI nicknames - “wants to see you about your partner. Firing range. ASAP.”

The message beeped off. Wilson was already out the door.

He had been supposed to see the Queen earlier when his partner - Percy? was it? - had been there, but Hayden had burst out of the room telling him it wasn’t so. A flashlight had been little consolation for the disappointment. Now he was going to get to see her in the firing range! It more than made up for his loss. Now he’d have gloating privileges for months.

It took him eight minutes to get all the way down to the firing ranges, even after having to bolt down two staircases because the elevators were full. He hesitated a full second before opening the door to the firing ranges, carefully smoothing back his still damp hair and straightening his informal uniform. He hadn’t had time to check out his formal uniform from the cleaners or else he would have worn that. But the message had said as soon as possible, so he hoped that the Queen wasn’t expecting him in his spats. He didn’t want her to be disappointed in him.

He didn’t see anyone at first when he opened the door and looked around. Most of the lights were off - the range was in its off hours - and it was silent. His hopes sank for a moment. Had he missed her? Had he made her wait too long?

Suddenly a barrage of gunfire came from one corner of the range and a second later a target came forward for the shooter to inspect. Wilson approached cautiously, not sure what to expect. Hayden was nowhere to be seen. He was normally with her at all times, lurking like a second shadow. Was it not her?

He rounded the corner and stopped. It was her, standing in a wide stance with her gun extended. She squeezed off three rounds in quick succession, her arms never wavering from their outstretched position. She wasn’t looking at Wilson and the bright yellow ear protection muffs were covering her ears, but nevertheless she flipped the switch to bring the target closer and turned to him expectantly. Her mouth was in a tight frown.

“Where’s your ear protection, Snake Eyes?” she asked him in a clipped tone, using his nickname and yet managing to make it sound as formal as using his full name. She seemed to know everyone’s nickname despite her rare appearances. She even seemed to know when someone’s nickname had changed.

“Um, uh, excuse me ma’am, I’ll go get it.” He turned to go find some earphones, but she stopped him with an upraised hand.

“Don’t bother,” she told him. “I’m through.”

The target had come forward and she inspected it silently. Wilson would have gaped if she hadn’t been standing right there. Three holes in a perfect cloverleaf pattern were punched into the paper silhouette’s head.

“But don’t forget it next time,” she told him, still inspecting the target. She turned to face him. She was at least a head shorter than him, but she managed to make it look like she were the one having to look down rather than the other way around. “I’ve got no use for you if you’re deaf, understand?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She turned away again and pulled the target off the rack. She slid her firearm into a crossdraw holster at her waist and stared downrange for a moment.

“I’m sorry this is taking so long, Snake Eyes,” she said finally. Her tone wasn’t apologetic at all, but somehow he knew that she really meant it. She turned to face him again. “But it wouldn’t do any of us any good to have someone who wasn’t right for the job.”

“I agree, ma’am.”

“I wanted to know if you had any particular preference in any of our current personnel,” she said, shifting her weight out of her wide stance and leaning on her right leg. “I was planning on a new recruit so they could be trained specifically for your field, but at the rate this is going now, if you had anyone you know of who you want doing the job with you, I’d be willing to consider them.”

“No, ma’am,” Wilson said hurriedly. “I’m willing to work alone until you find who you are looking for. Th… that is unless you want me to think of someone. But I trust you, ma’am.”

She didn’t reply for a moment, just looked at him. She didn’t smile in reassurance, but it seemed like her face softened a little and he was reassured.

“All right then,” she said. “I’ll let you know when I find someone else.”

“Yes ma’am.” But she was already heading out the door, taking her target with her. She had left her ear protection in the booth and Wilson picked the muffs up. There was no distinguishing mark on them, no way to tell them apart from the others, no way to prove that she had used them, but he hung them around his neck anyway. He knew they were hers.

A/N: And thus the quirkiness of NaNo set in.