The Expatriate-the story of a Prodigy

12. Andrew

He went to work the next day, but he was full of anger and worry of what would await him that day.
General Fawkes was surprised when Alex climbed onto the drive'rs seat himself.
First, there was disbelief. Then amusement.
"Well, didn't knew you can drive, Mars. If you don't and still insist to drive, I can easily report it as soldier resistence of his own general or punish you myself," Alex didn't look at the general-since he was sure his hand would just race forward to punch the man to the ground easily if he did.
"No offense, sir. But I roughly know how to drive, and I don't want to follow you into the prison. I got a bit sick and nauseated there yesterday," The general glanced at the shiny steering wheel, then at Alex, who was never looking back at him.
Finally, he nodded.
"I have no hard feelings towards you, Alex. Ok, just let me ride shotgun next to you,"
Alex loathed the time he had to waste as the general slowly got into the seat next to him and put a cigar in his mouth, then remembered after a minute to hand Alex the keys. So hasty, Alex thought. His suddenly-blooming hatred towards the general made his eyes strange-he saw every feature of the general as a default and he growled tens of times in his head.
Alex pushed the keys roughly in and slowly and smoothly, pulled the car out of the parking lot. He, this time was so veiled with anger that he didn't care about making his drive hasty on purpose to fool the general. Anyway, he had plenty of possible lies in his head to cover up that problem.
"So where did you learn driving? You were underage when you came here," Th general asked in a raspy voice. Alex picked out one lie among the numerous possible lies packed inside his head. "You-Tube, from explaining my father," Alex suddenly felt an unprecedented will to go back home on the road and see his parents again. And the Martyr. Just one flick of the wrist and the steering wheel would lead back home. But he knew that the general was still a good fighter and he didn't want to fight the general single-handed, making the car get out of control and then getting dumped onto the gravel next to the road. The car was too valuable for that, not that he was afraid of fighting the general.
He instead took the road the general had taken to go to the jail.
The general, with only the task of puffing out smoke out of his nostrils, minus the task of driving, seemed to want to take on an easy conversation. He opened the window, sent soot away, then closed it again.
"So, do you find any of your friends suspicious?" He asked after coughing up soot a bit. Alex winced when the general couldn't see him. This general was obsessed with killing Prods more than I thought, he summarized. "Well, not in particular. Well, do you have a person you have doubts of, sir?" He hated himself as he asked the question-but it would be useful since he would know who to warn before the general acted-or, killed, to be exact. The general puffed out smoke once more before answering. "Well, there are a few, yes," The man stared at the steering wheel where Alex's hands were on. Alex stared back. "Well, not you, Alex. At least for now, I believe you. But I have one question for you. Just be honest as always," The general leaned in a bit, though there had to be no cameras on his personal Jeep. Alex's hands on the wheel tightened.
"Does Andrew Stewart act so poorly like that all the time? Even in you guys' dorm, I mean,"
Oh. Andrew.
Still being falsely doubted as a Prod.
"I don't know what you mean sir-by 'poorly'," He answered. The general smirked, then rubbed soot away. "I mean, he isn't a very good fighter. But then how did he came here? Just curious," "I'm not sure, sir," Alex said, trying to defend his friend. The general rubbed his nose absent-mindedly. "So what does he normally do as a hobby in the room?" Gee. That question was easy, no harm to Andrew. "He reads sci-fi books and sleeps. That's all, sir,"
Unfortunately, focused on driving, Alex Mars never as able to notice the general's dreamy eyes sharpen with a sudden sense of purpose.

Alex stayed on the Jeep as he had promised. He thought about Andrew and how to save him, and if he had done well to avert the general's attention to kill Prods form him. He hoped he had.
Well, my friends, he hadn't.
The general and Brown appeared with a horde of convicted people, today lesser than yesterday. But Alex didn't look at the details of the people. Some might be his kind, Prodigies, who had, unfortunately, been  detected. He once more felt as if-betraying his people.
The general, oblivious, climbed onto the passenger's seat beside him again and Alex drove, sighing mentally, taking the people to their death and slavery.