Expendable - James Alan Gardner [12]
Jelca and I slung Tobit’s arms around our shoulders and dragged him up two flights of stairs to the instructor dormitories. The man smelled of sweat and saliva and scotch. I happened to have the artificial arm around my neck and was afraid it might come off. It would make me look foolish in Jelca’s eyes; I could picture myself staring slack-jawed at the detached arm, blood rushing to my cheeks (my cheek), so. I carried the load as gingerly as I could and fretted Jelca would think I was making him take all the weight.
When we reached Tobit’s door, we had to spit-wash some dirt off his hand before the security plate would recognize his palm-print.
Tobit’s futon was unrolled just inside the door. Jelca was all for throwing the man on it (face down so he wouldn’t drown in his vomit), then leaving immediately. Like a lovesick schoolgirl, I preferred to bask in Jelca’s company as long as possible, so I persuaded him we should at least take Tobit’s boots off and arrange the body comfortably.
It had been many days since Tobit had changed his socks. The musty smell of overwear rose up from them and our noses wrinkled as we untied his bootlaces. The smell was painful to us; I couldn’t understand how Tobit could bear it. As an Explorer, he must have been programmed for obsessive grooming like the rest of us, but somehow he had sloughed it off.
As soon as we finished with the shoes, Jelca and I were desperate to wash our hands. Tobit’s washroom was down a short hall, past the open door of a study whose floor was covered with fallen books, scattered botanical samples, and a whisky-soaked dress uniform: more defiance of Explorer conditioning. The mess turned my stomach, but also intrigued me. In his way, Tobit had freed himself from the rigidity of Fleet service.
Jelca and I washed our hands together, using a bar of white soap veined with dark cracks. We were talking about something—I forget what, the mess around us I suppose—and I was secretly wondering what a senior would do if a freshman kissed him, when Tobit’s voice snapped our heads toward the doorway.
“Good evening.” The words were slurred and he leaned heavily against the doorframe for support, but he appeared to believe he was charming. “I am about to piss. If the sight of a man pissing offends you, I suggest you avert your eyes.”
“We’ll go,” Jelca said, shaking water off his hands.
“You will not go,” Tobit replied. “I will.” And he did, in the toilet beside us, while Jelca and I looked away at the filthy bathtub.
“I suppose you’re wondering why you’re here,” he said as he zipped up. “You’re here to celebrate my birthday.”
“Actually, we were just helping you—” I started, but he ignored me.
“Today, I am forty years old…as they measure years on Rigel IV. Yesterday I was thirty-eight years old as they measure years on Barnard’s Planet, and the day before I was fifty-six years old as they measure years on Greening. This is the greatest gift of humanity’s drive to populate the galaxy. With the aid of the registration catalogue, you can celebrate a birthday every day of your life. Come with me.”
He lurched out of the bathroom and disappeared down the hall. Jelca and I exchanged looks, then followed him into the study.
We found him with his forehead pressed against the screen of his computer terminal, as he painstakingly typed on the keyboard with one finger. “This is my birthday program,” he mumbled into the terminal. “It’s searching the databases to find where my birthday will be tomorrow. In case you haven’t noticed, it’s almost midnight, and I like to start celebrating right on the dot.”
“If it’s that late,” said Jelca, “we really should be going.”
“And leave me alone on my birthday? Heartless bastard. Don’t worry, I’ll pass out soon and you can sneak away. Steal something when you go—I’ll never