Darkside by P. T. Deutermann Page A

Dell? When was the last time I’d seen him? Did I have any sort of relationship with him? Had I contacted him via E-mail? Did I have him come around often?”
    â€œAnd you told them what, exactly?”
    â€œThat I’d trained him, plus a thousand other worms, during plebe summer. That I’d had Dell come around a couple of times earlier in the year. I actually had to explain what a come-around was. That woman was pretty ignorant.”
    â€œOr playing dumb,” he said.
    â€œWhatever. I guess I saw Dell from time to time. Just like I saw every other plebe in our battalion. But I didn’t really know him. He was just another plebe, you know? Unlessthey’re really screwed up—you know, notorious—all plebes look alike.”
    â€œYou said they did a bad cop/good cop routine. Over what?”
    â€œThe black guy played good cop. He was encouraging me to think real hard, remember every detail. Sincere. Concerned. Encouraging. The woman—” Julie shivered. “She was a piece of work. Good-looking, but so full of herself. Acted like she thought she was on TV or something. Kept reminding me they’d be checking my answers out with lots of other mids, so make sure I didn’t hold anything back. That I was under oath, and that they’d be reporting everything to the commandant. Like that. It was so transparent.”
    â€œUnless they’re partners, in which case they may have rehearsed all those moves,” he said. “But I guess I can understand their interest.”
    â€œDad, there’s nothing to tell. He was just another plebe. Really! There are over a thousand of them.”
    â€œOkay, okay,” he said, sitting back down so he could face her. “Were they, in fact, interviewing other mids?”
    â€œI saw his company officer, the Twenty-fourth Company’s commander, and another plebe in the commandant’s waiting room. You should have seen the looks I got.”
    Julie was a pretty girl, so naturally other mids might make assumptions, Ev realized. Except he knew from his own personal experience that the plebe-firstie taboo was pretty strong. Plebes were lower than whale shit, and no firstie would demean him-or herself—by getting into any kind of relationship with such a lower-tier life-form other than to run the hell out of them. On the other hand, Ev had graduated before there had been women midshipmen at the Naval Academy, so maybe the dynamic had changed more than he knew.
    â€œHow’d they leave it?” he asked.
    â€œâ€˜Thank you for your time, Midshipman Markham. We’ll be in touch if we have further questions, Midshipman Markham. Don’t talk about this interview to anyone, Midshipman Markham.’ Oh, and the kicker: The woman gets up,shakes my hand, and then goes, ‘We’re finished with you. For now.’”
    Ev frowned. “You think you’re not done?”
    â€œI was waiting for her to say, ‘Don’t leave town, Midshipman Markham.’ I put out rumor fires for the rest of the day within my own company. Hosed a control system quiz this afternoon. Then, of course, we had the obligatory company all-hands, touchy-feely to ‘talk out’ the Dell incident. Lieutenant Tarrens playing at grief counselor. That kind of wimp-ass, liberal shit really bites, you know? And there’ve been lots of grave pronouncements from the commandant’s office. Heavy-duty cautions about discussing the incident: ‘Remember, there are grieving parents involved here. Don’t make it worse.’ Like that.”
    â€œThat last bit is reasonable enough,” he said. “A midshipman is dead, after all. His parents didn’t send him here to die.”
    â€œOkay, but you know what? There’re lots of channels open if a plebe is having that much trouble. Everyone gets training on how to detect a suicidal situation, and every plebe is told a million times he can take a