Memories a' Blaise

It was late, or early, depending on how you liked to look at time. Some would say that the lone figure sitting in the tree was late, and should have been sprawled on cot, hammock, or ground sleeping soundly beneath his mosquito netting hours ago -- others would wonder what was important enough to rouse him so long before the other day-dwellers even began to take leave of their dreaming. Regardless of opinion, though, it was far past the time the other soldiers who weren't on watch had gone to sleep, and far before the time they were supposed to be awake. But in a way, Blaise had always been ahead of the times, and too late to do anything about it.1

Truth was, the 'new' recruit couldn't sleep, not on a night like this. The moon was full and glorious, the jungle stirred with breezes tinged with salt from the faraway ocean, and the night creatures were constantly on the prowl-- half-frightened, half-curious of the two-legged creatures who had strayed so far from their usual pathways.2

Besides, several of the fellow recruits were snoring, and it hurt Blaise's sensitive ears.3

Oh well... there was no help for that. Blaise knew he would sleep well enough the next night, and if he was sleepless again, it really didn't matter; 250 years of life had taught him how to go without rest for days or weeks at a time, and how to steal sleep in spare, unobserved moments. 4

Besides, Blaise needed quiet night-time moments like this to think. 250 years was a long time in which to store up memories, and in Blaise's opinion, he couldn't afford to lose even one of them. His memories were what he learned from, they were what gave him an extra edge on the more short-lived creatures he had met. Every new memory taught him something, and every old memory tied in with the new, giving Blaise a little more skill, a little more confidence in the everyday task of survival. Funny thing, memories... in most people they grew dim over time, relegated to a back shelf of the mind and forgotten. For Blaise, however, each memory got a little brighter, a little easier to remember every time he thought of it, every detail perfectly preserved in it's place. Even faint scents tickled in the back of his mind and begged to be found again. Memories, Blaise knew, were the only thing that no one had perfected a method for stealing for. They were one thing he'd guard with his life, and one thing he'd take care to keep in order, and as full as his mind was already, he had room for many, many more. Cradling the M.16 that rarely left his side and that was a memory in itself, Blaise settled  himself against the tree and reached back inside his mind as far as he could go...5

~~~~~~~6

The bright afternoon sun was in his eyes, and there were mingled smells of car fumes, fast food, and anti-perspirants. The world was framed by plastic and propelled by a rough swinging sensation that jarred to an abrupt halt as a critical face peered down at him.7

'Here's another one for ya...' A gruff voice grumbled, somewhere very high behind him.8

'*sigh*... what's the story with this one?' The critical face asked with a wearied tone.9

'Didn't want him. Kid's deformed. Look...' A hand reached down out of nowhere and yanked at the top of his head. He felt a sudden coldness as his little hat came off, exposing his still hairless head.10

'*gasp!* What on earth...? What happened to his ears?'11

'Born that way... funny little flaps on the top sides of his head. Makes him look kinda like a mutt, eh?'12

The critical face that had been examining the baby's ears in wide-eyed astonishment shot a look of reproach at the grumbly voice.13

'Give me those papers... did they give him a name?'14

rustling noise...15

'His mother did... Blaise.' Came the grumbled reply.16

~~~~~~~17

'Hey, Mutt, where do you think you're going?' the larger boy stood squarely blocking Blaise's path, and his gang was right behind him. Blaise looked carefully around him, then met the boy's glare.18

'You seeing things again, Cody? That's a cat .'19

'Shut up, Mutt. I know that's what they call you, and that's what you'll answer to. Now, where do you think you're going?'20

Blaise pulled his cap down on his head more securely. The first day at a new school was always the hardest, and today would be no exception. In fact, today might be harder than usual, the school bully was too thick-headed to even notice that Blaise already knew his name, and probably a good deal more about him.21

'My name's Blaise, and I'm headed over to that barred building they call 'school'. A place I doubt you've ever been to. You should go there sometime, it's got better food than prison, I'm sure.'22

Cody sneered down at the smaller boy as his gang snickered, 'Well, if you're so smart already, you won't mind missing a day or three while I teach you some respect.' The bully shoved Blaise's shoulder, yanking his backpack away as the force of the push spun him sideways 'We wouldn't want all your nice books to get dirty, would we?' He asked as he threw the pack in a nearby holly. Blaise just stood there, a warning in his eyes.23

'What, you too scared to talk, already?' the bully looked around at his gang and they snickered on cue, 'You guys ready?'24

It was Cody who threw the first punch, and it was Blaise's chin that caught it, but the boy wasn't about to fall after only one hit. The gang moved in, punching and kicking in a haphazard, but usually effective manner. Blaise took it all silently, hanging on to his hat the whole time. He didn't return blows, he didn't even try to dodge. It was, after all, only his first day at this school. Finally, bewildered, the bullies stopped. Blaise dusted himself off, his clothes looking a little worse for wear, and retrieved his backpack. Uninjured and with a smile at the bewildered bandits, he resumed his former route.25

'Hey!' Cody again blocked his path.26

'I'm late -' Blaise began.27

'Take off that hat when you're talking to me!' one swift swing and the cap went flying into the bushes.28

Two finely furred dog ears peeked out of the thick thatch of Blaise's hair, streaked with green where the black dye refused to cover his natural color. The only sound that broke the silence was the bell ringing from somewhere inside the school-building. 29

'H-h-he-he really is a 'mutt'!' one of the gang members gasped. Soon all of the boys but Blaise were doubled over with laughter. Silent again, Blaise dug through the bushes, found his hat, and began trudging to the school again, ignoring the familiar jeers and jokes they made at him. Ignoring them, that is, until Cody made one that was a dangerous mistake.30

Blaise's first punch knocked out one of Cody's teeth, and the second would give him the first black eye he'd had in years. Recovering from his initial surprise, Cody crouched into a defensive position, then launched his best punch at Blaise's nose. The 'mutt' sidestepped and returned the blow in one motion, adding an open-handed shove to the ribs that sent the bully flying into the holly he so enjoyed throwing things into. 31

'Don't ever call her that.' Blaise growled, leaving the gang gaping at their unconscious leader.32

~~~~~~33

'Blaise Foster, eh?' The recruitment officer peered critically at from behind forms, papers, and a thick pair of glasses, 'You look a little young to be eighteen.'34

'So I'm told, sir. I believe my papers are all in order.' Blaise replied, checking the slight rush of anger at the possibly implied insult. He did look young for his age, more like an early teen than an eighteen-and-three-twelfths year-old, but his papers were all genuine and accurate, so he figured they'd have to accept him.35

It was the usual thing for orphans these days, if they weren't singled out for some special type of work, they'd be given a small sum of money and dropped at the nearest recruiter's office of their preferred military branch.36

 Blaise didn't mind so much. He'd figured he was well suited to the military life; strong, agile, relatively disciplined, and as quick with his wits as with his feet. Besides, this was the easiest way for him to leave the city, which had become more and more distasteful to him as he'd gotten older. He wanted to go somewhere wilder... maybe somewhere with trees - just trees, and no buildings taller than they were.37

 Really, the more Blaise thought about this arrangement, the more he liked it. The only thing he didn't like about it, in fact, was that they'd make him keep his hair short, and he wouldn't be able to wear a hat all the time.38

 It would only be later that he'd discover his dislike of snoring.39

---------40

  After several dozen different units, locations, aliases, and over two centuries later, he didn't even have to dye his hair; Blaise had returned to the big city after a long sojourn alone in the jungle (after he'd found he'd lingered too long in one place during his abnormal lifespan) to find that nearly half of the average-human population had given up their natural hues of hair and skin for any and every color of the world that fit their whims. A few had even been genetically altered to posses the eyes, ears, noses, you name it of the animals around them (though, Blaise quickly discovered, these mimicked features were often lacking in the areas of ability they originally possessed). At any rate, life had changed while he was away --41

  Â  Blaise was instantly roused from his musings by a nearly undetectable change in the air. Crouching on his tree branch he scanned the area with nearly every sense he had.42

 It was the escaped prisoner, he knew. It was no use alerting the others, they wouldn't be able to find him tonight, there wouldn't be a trail to follow or even a mark or indication that he'd been there at all.43

 'Hey, Blaise! You up for a hand of Broker?'44

A few of the soldiers had awakened and were preparing for an early-early-morning-no-officers-around-yet game of chance and gamble. Blaise gave the blue-haired recruit a grin, 'Sure thing, I'll be right down!' Blaise gave the air one last sniff, but the faint presence of the prisoner had vanished. Oh well, plenty of time to deal with him after the game. Blaise casually swung his way down to the ground.45

  Â Time was, after all, one thing he still seemed to have plenty of...46