The Wounded World

Anger

It was getting harder, Quin noticed, to shove down his feelings. Cadrelle, he was sure, had broken some sort of dam inside his head. This mission would be impossible if he kept getting distracted by things – like how his mother smelled, or the time she let him make s'mores in the gas fireplace in their living room, or the way Meriym smelled... See? he said to himself. You're just getting distracted. Focus. Another little voice in the back of his head pushed its way forward.

You know, it said, there's another way to make feelings less bothersome.

What's that? Quin thought.

Address them, the little voice said insolently, and then disappeared.

Quin scowled at his brain. Yes, that could work, of course, but he wasn't sure now was the time. The planet could explode at any second, and kill, at minimum, thousands of people, and at worst, millions or billions. This was not time to be giving himself a psychiatric evaluation. He decided to distract himself.

"Grise," he said with a steady voice.

Grise turned around hopefully.

"Why so many youth?" He gestured towards Landon who was still gazing with rapt attention over John's shoulder.

"Oh yes," John called from the depths of his work. "I'd like to know that too!"

"I thought perhaps one of them would be brilliant enough to save the planet," Grise replied calmly. "I invited thousands of young men and women from all planets to come and join my school, where I would teach them and train them to be the best and the brightest. In exchange, they would gain valuable life skills that they could take back to their homes with them – once they finished their education, of course. Landon here is, of course, the brightest, and so became my assistant."

"What planets?" Quin asked.

"Great Forest on the Bay, of course," Grise said. "And Torialles, Mara, Cadrelle..."

Scowling, Quin noted that all of the planets he had named so far had been involved in the Great War.

"Needhar, Closian, New Song of Four Moons..."

"Stop." Quin shook his head, feeling suspicious. "When were you planning on letting the children go home?"

"When they finished their schooling, of course," Grise said, acting confused as to the line of questioning.

"Did you come across any other particularly promising students? Besides Landon?" John interrupted. He didn't seem to be suspicious of Grise's story at all.

"There was one young boy," Grise mused, "but he was young, probably too young to be of use. And he ran away. He didn't seem to like it here."

"Where was he from?" Quin asked.

"Cadrelle."

"What was his name?"

At this, John turned to look at Grise with extreme curiosity written all over his face.

"Why, if I remember correctly, I believe it was Kip."

There it was again – the anger. It was roiling and boiling inside of him, a raging power that threatened to overwhelm his good sense and behavioral control. If he couldn't control his behavior, he didn't deserve to be respected by even the lowliest of the low. He took a deep breath. If the emotions couldn't be hidden and contained, than the little voice was right – they had to be addressed.

"Grise," Quin said softly. "I think that you are a sorry excuse for a person. Your values and morals are twisted and misguided. You consistently step on the heads and faces of other people just to advance your own goals – and those people include myself and my mother." His voice slowly got louder and more confident. "You never cared for anyone but yourself, and at the point at which I needed you most, when Mom died, you decided that your new girlfriend, your job, and your alcohol were more important than me." Quin took a deep breath and realized that some of his tension was easing.