Chapter 46: That's Why

Dozer sat in his bunk and tried to read a novel on his tablet. The plot seemed computer-generated, a series of events strung together, conglomerated from a patchwork of better novels. Still, it put his mind at ease enough for eventual sleep.

Acid’s laugh rang out through the barracks, followed by a groan from his teammates. His drone hovered to his side.

“You’re using that thing to peek at our hands.” One of his teammates, Caboose, as big and slow as roughheads come, pointed an accusing finger at Acid’s brand-shanking new drone. The smirk he wore betrayed the seriousness of his tone.

“Never dream of it.” Acid swept up all the cards and shuffled the deck.

Two weeks ago, the guy thought he would end up dissolved in the recycler. Instead, his Pass B bumped him up to Level 2, and the quick-witted fireteam scooped him up before they even had the debriefing. None of Dozer’s fireteam had made it out of that exercise, but Acid would live to see the end of boot at least. Anything beyond that would be up to him.

Buttstroke and Errorist trudged inside the barracks together. Whatever they had gotten up to, Dozer didn’t know. They had made an inseparable pair since the exercise a few days ago. They ate together, chatted before lights out, even shat together. Errorist never left Buttstroke’s sight. Dozer had kept an eye on them and waited for his chance to wrench his explanation out of Errorist.

Errorist pulled himself away from his handler and headed for the head. From under the cover of the bunk, Dozer watched him pass by over the top edge of his tablet. Model polished his boots while he sat on his footlocker, but they both pretended the other didn’t exist. Buttstroke kicked off his boots and plopped down on his own bunk. Dozer put his tablet down, but Buttstroke didn’t move. The roughhead stared up at the bunk above, nowhere near Dozer’s direction and maybe on purpose.

Dozer slipped out of his bunk, and Buttstroke stayed in his. All Dozer needed was a few minutes alone with Errorist to find out where the guy stood. Maybe Dozer could get him back on board; perhaps not, but he’d have to try. Dozer stood and got Model’s attention with a touch to the shoulder. Model gave a slight nod. He knew the plan to back him up if Buttstroke followed him into the head.

Maybe Dozer would get lucky and catch Errorist with his pants around his ankles on one of the partitionless crappers or with his dick in his hand at the trough. Dozer pushed the door to the head open. Errorist stood in the center of the floor. He faced the door with his hands on his hips. Seemed the corpsman waited for him. No such luck.

“Hey.” Dozer raised a hand.

Errorist didn’t move. “Hey, yourself.”

“Good thing you’re here.” Dozer kept his tone light as if he just ran into him. “I wanted—”

“You were going to replace me with Acid.”

Dozer straightened his spine. “Sorry. What?”

“You wanted to know why I didn’t frag Butt.” The muscles in Errorist’s jaw tightened. “That’s why.”

The door to the head slammed open. No doubt Buttstroke came to rescue his little pet. Perhaps they planned this ambush out.

Errorist leaned around Dozer to peer at the interloper and narrowed his eyes. Instead of Buttstroke, Snowden held the door.

His mouth fell open, but for maybe the first time in his life, he didn’t know what to say. “I’m, ah,” he pointed back into the barracks. “going.”

“You do that.” Errorist held his focus on Snowden.

Snowden let the door close behind him.

Dozer stepped closer and rose a finger to Errorist’s face. “What shit did Butt put in your head?”

“Butt has got nothing to do with it.” Errorist swatted Dozer’s finger away. “It has everything to do with you.”

“Me?” Dozer grinned despite the lump in his throat.

“Acid has a drone over his head, and I don’t,” Errorist put his finger in Dozer’s shoulder, “because of you. Now you, me, and Mod are looking down the recycler barrel because—”

“Hold up right there—” Dozer took his turn and batted the finger away.

“Because of you. If you just played your part, we would all be sitting pretty at Level 2, but we’re not,” Errorist planted his stiff finger right back into Dozer’s shoulder again, “because of you.”

Buttstroke had gotten into Errorist’s head and then some. Even though Model had his part to play, he didn’t get any of this tongue lashing. Their team leader and his misplaced crush would make sure that would never happen.

The pieces fell into place. Errorist didn’t stick with Dozer at the beginning of the game because he was the devil Errorist knew. More like Dozer embodied the devil itself. When Dozer had put the beat down on Errorist in that gutterball game, he had become the scariest dude around, and when Buttstroke put an even worse beat down on Errorist in that hospital, he took on that mantle in Errorist’s mind. Fear ruled Errorist. He followed whoever scared him most, and Dozer didn’t scare him anymore.

Dozer stepped back, out of arm’s reach, and stormed out. He slammed the door against the wall. All heads shot up. All except for Buttstroke, who hadn’t moved from his bunk. With quick steps, Dozer strode back to his bunk, and the recruits lost interest in the sudden bang.

“You alright?” Model put down his now gleaming boot.

Dozer glanced at Buttstroke in his bunk. “Talk later.” Buttstroke hadn’t moved except for a curl of his lips, maybe a smirk on his face.

The exhaustion in Dozer’s muscles pulled him down into his own bunk.

Maybe Errorist followed me out of fear, but I won’t be that kind of leader. I’ll leave that bullshit to Butt.