November

October 3

He was in the group supervisor's office. Again.
"You're in my office, Jesse. Again."
No shit. Jesse looked over at the wall, began counting the swirls in the patterning.
"Focus, Jesse. This isn't a game."
Jesse looked back over at him.
"You're really pushing your luck here."
Jesse felt his face get hot.
"I'm pushing my luck."
The man frowned, pushed his rolled shirtsleeves farther up his arms, wiped at his brow with a damp cloth he had in his hand. Jesse sympathized with him on this matter, because since the Second Catastrophe, Octobers had gotten hotter than ever. Luckily, carrier dress codes were not so strict; Jesse was coolly dressed in a thin t-shirt and linen pants, but he remembered how hot uniform shirtsleeves were.

The man shifted to the left, putting himself in the path of the small desktop fan that was whirring in front of his face.
"Jesse, I know you don't take this seriously. That's what I'm here for."
Jesse interrupted him there.
"On the contrary, sir. I do take this seriously. Very much so. With as many of my rights as I've had taken away, it would be very difficult not to take this as seriously as I possibly can."
The man ignored this, exhaled, and flipped open the file he had sitting on his desk.
"This was potential number...what, ten, Jesse?"
"Eleven."
This earned him a glare.
"Eleven. I'm shocked that they keep coming back."
"Actually, none of them have ever been back."
Jesse replied jovially. The man ground his jaw.
"I'm shocked," he corrected, "that you keep getting new ones. Carriers twice your age haven't had that many."
"Carriers twice my age usually kill themselves."
Now the man was angry, leaning forward, ready to jump out of his chair and strangle the ex-officer before him.
"That's a myth, Jesse, a goddamn lie and you know it. Don't bring your damn resistance propaganda into my office. Sloane may take that shit from you, but I won't do it. You can shape up or you can ship the fuck out to Rowe House. Do you understand me?"
Jesse was silent.
"Do you fucking understand me, Carrier Paik?"
"Yes."
"Yes, WHAT?"
"Yes, sir."
The man leaned back in his seat.
"I should make you fucking scream it."
Jesse tightened at the threat, felt that frightening powerless feeling hit him again full force. The man fanned himself with Jess's file.
"Now. If we could possibly discuss your behavior."


Vichy met him afterwards in the hallway.
"What'd he say?"
Jesse shrugged.
"Same thing he says every time. Shape up or ship out." Vichy nodded, fell into a quick pace next to Jesse.
"Are you OK?"
Jesse nodded, cracked a half-smile for Vichy's benefit, and kept walking.
"Is Aniston coming to get you today?"
Vichy smiled anxiously, gave a little shrug.
"Yeah...I'm gonna go get ready. I just wanted to make sure you..." he trailed off, leaving his meaning dangling in the air. Jesse softened his voice.
"I'm OK, Vich."
They walked on in silence a moment more before Vichy spoke again.
"I just don't to see you get hurt."
Jesse laughed mirthlessly.
"That makes two of us."