Trigun Fan Fiction ❯ Midvalley's Serenade ❯ Back to School ( Chapter 11 )

Back to School

I slept in Nick's arms all night long. He wasn't bothered by a single nightmare. In the morning, I shared another good breakfast with him in the dining car. Something in him had changed. He still took his coffee black and smoked his cigarettes, but without the deep sense of urgency that usually seemed to drive his behavior. He seemed more confident. I liked seeing him like this.

Over breakfast, he told me that if I felt that we ought to "cool our jets" at the academy, it was fine with him. He'd been celibate for years and a month without was surely not going to kill him. He seemed to have regained his sense of humor in a way that I hadn't seen in him since he was a kid. I hadn't realized in what a limbo of misery my undeclared feelings had placed him. But now feeling sure of my love, Nick relaxed and was funny, tender and charming.

We arrived in Epril Town the next morning around eight o'clock. Nick rode his motorcycle to the school. I took a taxi and we were assigned to rooms in the faculty billets. We had a day to settle in and Chapel's classes were to start early the next morning. As I predicted, he was scheduled for the weapons range. Since the heat from the sun is oppressive on the weapons range after mid-morning, most of those classes are held early which suited him fine.

The school makes an effort to accommodate the sleep habits of its instructors. Out of consideration for mine, my earliest class was scheduled for eleven in the morning. Chapel the Evergreen joked to me in his dry serious way that he supposed I would be more comfortable teaching at midnight but hoped that I would make an accommodation because some of them had to be out on the weapons range early. I assured him I would.

I met Nick for lunch at the dining facility after his first day at the range. He had either forgotten or never knew that instructors meals were free. He had also found out that he was going to get four times as much mission pay than he thought. He thought he would get flat pay for a month and instead, each week would be counted as one mission. In between bites of pasta marinara, he was calculating on a piece of paper, adding up all the money he was saving on meals, then adding it to another column with mission pay and hazard pay.

"It's still not enough, Midvalley. I wish being a priest paid better. Hell, I wish this job paid better."

"You'd be okay if you didn't have such big debts. I know it's not my place to say so, Nick, but you really shouldn't gamble if you're so bad at it," I said after I swallowed a spoonful of cream of salmon soup.

"You're absolutely right, Midvalley. I'll keep that in mind the next time I get the urge to buy a lottery ticket," he laughed.

"So, how was weapon's range. You're laughing so it couldn't have been too bad."

"Laughing to keep from crying."

"Come on. How was it really?"

"A mixed bag. Those boys from Randall City, well, a couple are more than just pretty faces. The leader, Bernie Welch, is decent with a rifle or a handgun. His buddy, Ned Pitts, has got the nerves and eyes of a sniper."

"Which one was he, the tall, lanky quiet kid with the pony tail?"

"That's him."

But Ben Evans, the pudgy one, should never be allowed to touch a weapon again. With weapons he's a real no-hoper. I heard he's a heck of a good Tomas wrangler, but the red-headed boy, Jake Berkis, it's like he was born with a shotgun in his hand.

"Must have been hard on his mother."

"Talk about hard on his mother-- have you seen Grey the Nine Lives, Midvalley?"

"I have, and that thing never had a mother."

"If it did, Leonof was the mid-wife."

"Was he/it, whatever it is, any good on the weapons range."

"Well, the first time he shot, he put about 100 rounds into six targets in about two seconds. You can imagine what the targets looked like after that."

"I take it there wasn't much left."

"You got it. So I had to walk 100 yards down the range and replace all the targets. It took about half an hour and the rest of the students were wandering around like idiots. When I got back I told him just shoot one bullet at a time. I don't know what he has for brains but he did the same thing again. So down-range I go again to set up six more targets. When I got back from changing the targets the second time, I didn't want to be doing it again, so I told him I passed him, gave him an "A" and told him he didn't need to come back. I swear if he shows up again tomorrow, I gonna kick his big ass off my range."

"Ooh, sounds like it almost got a little ugly."

"Oh, it got plenty ugly all right. There's another student, he calls himself E.G. Mine. He invented his own weapon system. I'll admit it has lethal potential, but I saw a couple of design flaws. I tried to point out that a really quick opponent could disable his triggering mechanism and body armor. He seemed to think I was full of hot air."

"What makes you think so?"

"I got that impression when he said, `Blah, blah, blah, you are so full of hot air, chickenshit."

"That's some major disrespect. You ought to find some way to take him down a notch."

"Hey, I've been giving it some thought. Speaking of disrespect, there's another kid, Zazie, kind of reminds me of myself at that age. He's a natural marksman. That really can't be taught, but he's also a cocky son of a bitch and annoyed the hell out of me. Complained out loud to all the other students out there how badly I handled Grey, but I'm not worried about it. How did your first class in planning and tactics go, Midvalley?"

"It was good, Nick. All the students had copies of the mission debriefings I write and post back to headquarters after we complete a mission and a copy of the one you filed when I got the head wound,"

I snickered.

"What's so funny?"

"Yours was a lot shorter than mine. My reports generally run about 5 pages. Yours was more like five sentences. "Destroyed targets with rocket launcher. Recovered funds deposited in bank. Partner sustained head injury. Estimated healing time, one month. Questions, call or wire Plaza Hotel."

"Hey, all the information is there!"

"I'm not arguing that. I'm thinking of copying it. This job takes way too much of my time as it is. I learned how to write reports from Leonof, and that guy is an anal-retentive control freak. It never occurred to me to write reports any other way. I could play a four-hour gig in the time it takes me to write a report. How long did it take you to do yours, Nick?"

"Maybe five minutes, but that's stretching it."

".I don't want to spend any more time on four hour reports."

"Who all was in the class, anyone from my weapons class?"

"No, but I expect I'll have the pleasure of their company this afternoon. Called you chickenshit, did he? You've got to teach that guy some manners. By the way, there's going to be a special assembly in the meeting hall around 3 PM."

"My father told me to be sure to be there. Wonder what it's about?"

At 2:45 in the afternoon, the 50 odd students, and some of them were very odd, showed up for the assembly. At three sharp, Chapel the Evergreen, stood at a podium in front of the group, and made a speech.

"For several years in our classrooms, here at the academy, the facts of the Roland Drake mission have served as both education and inspiration. There is no one in this room who is unaware of the seemingly overwhelming odds that our agent in place faced. I am sure that even a new student could recite the order of the hits. Mr. Bernie Welch, can you recite the order of the hits?"

Bernie got up. "Master Bedroom, Drake shot 3 times in the head. Down the hallway to the guard room, 8 bodies, 5 head shots, 3 heart shots. Guest bedroom. Two bodies. Two guards humping two head shots."

There were snickers when he said that.

He continued.

"Upstairs den. Six bodies, 4 head shots, 1 heart shot, 1 gut shot. Second bedroom. Four bodies, four head shots. By the upstairs guest bathroom, one body shot right between the eyes. First floor, eight in the downstairs hall 4 head shots, 3 heart shots, one gut shot, five in the drawing room, two head shots, 3 heart shots, ten in the dining room, five body shots, 5 head shots and six in the kitchen, 4 head shots, 2 body shots. Total 51 dead in 5 minutes."

"Thank you, Mr. Welch. You are correct. Up until now, the identity of the student who accomplished this mission has been kept secret, but now that he is among us again, we want to take this opportunity to honor him."

I saw Nick make a face and roll his eyes. "Chapel, will you please come up to the podium?" his father asked.

A murmur arose as Nick walked to the front of the room.

"Students, allow me to present to you the man who single-handed carried out the Drake hit. This is Nicholas Wolfwood, known to you as Chapel."

Spontaneous applause rang out. Most of the students were standing, clapping fervently for what they considered an amazing feat. Zazie and E.G. Mine, I noticed were still sitting, both with sour looks on their faces. The applause went on for quite a while. I clapped for him too. Even though, I knew how much the mission had cost him emotionally, I had always admired the courage that I knew it had taken. I was partnered with a legend, and I was a little in awe of him myself.

Chapel the Evergreen turned to Nick, and asked, "Will you say a few words to the class?"

Nick seemed a little uncomfortable, but he shrugged it off and began to speak.

"It's hard to know what to say about a mission that didn't work out as planned. I wasn't scheduled to carry it out for a couple of days, but due to circumstances, I was forced to improvise. I am surprised that an effort is made to teach what I did. The truth is that it was all based on spontaneous instinct, and I sincerely doubt that what I did can be taught. That's all I have to say."

The Evergreen said, "Thank you. You may sit down now."

Nick sought out a chair next to me. He appeared nonchalant, but I could tell that the attention was distressing him a little.

"You see that in addition to his unmatched talents as a gunman, he is also modest. What he fails to grasp is that the greatest lesson from the Drake hit is that it inspires us with the sense of what can be achieved by a single individual. One day perhaps one of you students will surpass this achievement and it will be a great day for the academy. But in the meantime, let us take this opportunity to congratulate one of our own."

"One of our own!" I heard Zazie fuming out in the hall just after the assembly. I glimpsed out the door of the classroom where Nick and I would be conducting yet another class on planning and tactics. My fourth of the day. Zazie was holding his audience spell-bound, an audience of one, E.G. Mine.

"The only reason we had that assembly," he went on, " is because Chapel is Chapel the Evergreen's son. It's pathetic the way that old man tries to promote such a mediocrity. Chapel's only talent is that he can shoot a gun. Little girls learn to shoot on this planet. How does that make him special? If you want talent, take a look at Dominique the Cyclops, She can shoot too, but she's got psionic powers. She can teleport and hypnotize, plus she's got a hot-looking body. Even that faggot, Midvalley the Hornfreak is cooler than Chapel. That sonic wave he generates is awesome. But he uses mind power. That's what Chapel lacks."

"I can control insects and animals with just the power of my mind. Chapel is nothing."

Chapel and I couldn't help overhearing this, Zazie was talking pretty loud.

"I wonder what he's got against me. I have to admit that my father lays it on a little thick, sometimes. It reminds me of my student days when his bragging about me got me into trouble with Mazarov's gang. I could have done without the assembly."

"Be as modest as you want, Nick. It doesn't take away from the fact that the Drake hit took a lot of courage."

"I was scared to death the entire time."

"My point exactly, scared to death but you did it anyway. If that's not the definition of courage, I don't know what is. Zazie's jealous and E.G. Mine is peeved because you criticized his weapon's system and he took it personally. As far as I can see, everyone else respects you fine."

"Funny about Mine, whatever I say to him, he wants to do the opposite," said Nick.

"I just got an idea. I think I'll have the cook make up a little plum and cactus pie for lunch tomorrow."

The next day after Chapel had finished with weapons range and I had finished my first couple of classes, we met for lunch in the dining facility. Everyone breaks for lunch at the same time. The guest instructors often sit at the same tables as the students supposedly to answer any questions that might occur, but more in an effort to keep food fights and other juvenile pranks to a minimum.

Chapel and I sat at the same table. We each had a bowl of udon with smoked salmon and a slice of plum and cactus pie. The pie was delicious as always, but no one should ever have more than one slice. Two slices has been known to lead to digestive repercussions. E.G. Mine was at our table. Nick and I were making a point of enjoying our pie.

"God, that's good pie, Chapel," I enthused, partly for Mine's edification.

"I haven't had pie this good since I left school," he said, "but no one should have more than one slice."

"Who says?" piped up E.G.

"I do," said Chapel. "It's common knowledge."

"If you know it, it must be common," the student sneered back.

"Most students your age can't handle any more than one slice."

"As it happens, I am very mature for my age and I am certainly going to have a second slice."

"But it's not good for you. Don't have another slice," said Nick.

"You're a little slow on the uptake, Chapel," said Mine is a condescending tone. "I guess it hasn't dawned on you, yet, that I don't care what you say. When you insulted my weapon, you insulted me. Master Legato is very impressed with the weapon. And you are not. He is a gifted genius and you are not. Let me see, who should I believe? Oh, yeah, that's right. Not you." So, Mine went back to the dessert counter for a second slice, that he ate with great relish.

Right after lunch the last two classes of the afternoon were held. E.G. Mine was in a high good humor in the first class and passed notes back and forth with Zazie during that whole period. During the last class, E.G. lost his smile and began showing signs of inner turmoil. Chapel was just explaining the effect of the rocket launcher on the armored car in New Junction, when Mine's stomach gurgled and the sulfur smell of a serious fart spread in a wave from his vicinity. His hands began to twitch.

"Mr. Mine," I said with some urgency, "You need to leave at once and deal with your problem."

I could just imagine him going into the throes of diarrhea with his twitchy hands on his projectile release chords. One serious hand twitch and he could kill the lot of us. For once he didn't argue, but exited the room with frantic mincing steps.

I was pretty sure I knew what was going to happen when Mine finally made it, God willing, into one of the bathroom stalls. Nick looked at me, and mouthed counting down five, four, three, two, one, then made a hand gesture imitating an explosion and at that moment there a terrifically loud thunk as about 100 of the projectiles from E.G. Mine's weapon suit hit the inside of the stall.

"That was a very bad noise," said Nick in the muffled, half strangled tone that I knew signaled imminent uncontrollable laughter in him and he hurried from the room. I followed on his heels with the same feeling bubbling up in me and when we felt we were far enough from the classroom, we doubled over, we died, we killed ourselves laughing. Tears were running down our faces.

"Someone should go check on him," I managed to say through clenched teeth before I lost it again.

"I'll go," said Nick with a snicker. "This I've got to see."

"If you put it that way, let's both go."

We went into the bathroom. The stench was deafening and the door of one of the stalls had been heavily dented from the release of the projectiles from Mine's spike thrower.

"Are you in here, E.G. Mine?"

"Uh, yes," he answered from behind the damaged door.

"Are you feeling ill. When you didn't come back to class we started to worry, especially after that loud noise. Do you feel well enough to join us again?"

"Uh, I'm, uh, stuck in the stall and I can't get out."

"Why, what happened?"

"Somehow, my weapon went off and there isn't enough clearance in the stall with the spikes jammed into the metal sides."

"I guess I can go get the janitor and see if he can dismantle the partition."

"Can someone please bring me a change of clothes? These ones got, uh, damaged."

"It smells pretty bad in here. Did that extra slice of pie make you crap your tights?" asked Nick, who couldn't resist rubbing it in.

"It wasn't the pie, dammit!"

"If you say so," he answered.

We left the room. When we got into the hallway, Nick said, "Let's send his classmates over to lend him some moral support. He's been through such an ordeal, I'm sure they'll be very sympathetic as young men that age are."