You Don't Know Jack
Jack felt the burn as he got to eighty but pushed it until the pain started to distract him from his count. He got to one hundred and then stopped and laid in a low plank position, breathing through the pain.
Getting soft, Jack, he thought to himself in annoyance as he climbed to his feet.
He grabbed a towel and wiped his face and shoulders of sweat. The good thing about being in the Fed brig was that the Feds had better facilities.
He rolled his shoulders. His pecks were burning. He got a drink of water and then looked around. Half of the people in the compartment were either asleep or pretending to be asleep.
He looked at the room’s ceiling. There was no good place to do pull-ups. Damn. His eyes wandered over to the rack. He flexed his hands. He’d need to find a way to get a good grip, probably with the minimum amount of padding. And tucking his long legs up would be a hassle.
“Don’t even think of it,” Earl growled from his seated position. “Why don’t you call it a day, Jack?” he demanded. “Geesh.”
“I’m out of shape,” Jack grumbled. “Besides, can you think of anything better to do? It isn’t like we can go for a stroll or play cards or watch a movie,” he pointed out.
They were in orange jump suits. They had been given the jump suits when they’d come on board. They had gone through a thorough cleaning and deep scan. He’d wondered about that but hadn’t said anything to the medical personnel. They had been in full decontamination gear. The robots had handled direct contact initially.
It had seemed a bit thorough for an investigation, but Jack hadn’t complained like the rest. After all, they’d been in Xeno contested space, and the Feds were probably wary of changelings. And rightly so, he estimated with a mental nod.
One point for them in their favor, he thought in amusement.
Earl grunted, bringing him back to the here and now.
Jack rolled his shoulders again. That set made for his third of the day. He couldn’t lift anything; he was stuck doing basic exercises in the confines of the brig. His left hand drifted to his abdomen. He wasn’t certain he wanted to do any more abdominal exercises. He’d done them the day before. Too many and he got the shits. As much as he liked losing weight, getting stuck on the crapper in the brig was not fun. He didn’t want to get dehydrated either.
He shook his head in annoyance and leaned against the bunks. He should be use to confinement. He’d been stuck in the brig many times and that damn prison el Institution up until two years ago.
That hadn’t been his only escape of course. But it had been … challenging. Once he’d determined that he’d need support, he’d recruited Wire, Cyrus, Earl, and Casey. Together they’d managed to build a 3D printer, build suits and tech they needed, and then escape the supposedly escape-proof space station and get on board the Sweet Boni Blackheart, a Cleveland class light cruiser that had been in the star system to do a bit of trade.
He had sweet talked the skipper and more or less seduced her. He’d kept on her good side and in her bed and helped guide her into accepting them.
They’d probably would have made a good team if not for the Xeno invasion, he thought. They’d been lucky to escape to Tau sector when so many other ships hadn’t survived the journey.
He broke off the wool gathering again with some difficulty. The space really forced you into self-reflection. He glanced over to Wire. He couldn’t tell if the guy was asleep or not. He looked up and around. He spotted the cameras and glowered at one. You’d think someone would have done something by now.
~~~@~~~
Jack felt time melt away, and he was back as a scrawny adolescent working out in junior high school. He’d skipped a few grades so he was behind the physical curve in PE and it showed. He was big for his age but the testosterone of puberty hadn’t kicked in yet.
The class mocked him as he struggled to do pull-ups. He kicked and tried to pull himself up until the coach told him to hang and do it right. “Reach for it, Jack!” Reacher, creecher, creeper …,” Owen mocked.
“No it’s creeeacher,” another voice mocked. Jack turned his head and saw Bill making a snarling face and curling his hands like a ghoul as he kept saying creeacher over and over.
“Congratulations, Jack, you managed two pull-ups. That is better than last week when you could only do one I suppose,” Coach Carter said dryly.
“You aren’t going to be on the team with that sort of body,” Jillian, one of the popular girls, mocked dismissively.
Jack flushed. He had a crush on the girl.
When he got home that evening, he found a bar and tried to practice pull-ups. He managed to do one but was exhausted. He also managed three pushups. His ears burned from the strain as much as his displeasure in his ability to exercise.
The following day his body burned with aches he hadn’t felt since Robert had kicked his ass on the playground two years prior. They didn’t have PE but he still tried to do a pull-up at lunch in the gym. And he managed four pushups.
When he got home from school that evening, he managed another pull-up and five pushups. His body burned under his armpits and his arms but he felt good.
~~~@~~~
He’d hated the creecher nickname growing up. He’d hated the Reacher nickname almost as badly, but it had stuck when he had bulked up and the old name faded. But what didn’t kill you made you stronger he reminded himself firmly. He’d turned that negative energy into incentive to improve his body.
The bullying had worked. He’d eventually bulked up to the point where he could go toe to toe as a tight end on his high school football team. And this was when most of the teams had Neo players on them. You didn’t want to wrestle a bruin or a Gashg if you were sane.
He’d done it on a regular basis and come out relatively intact. No one in their right mind called him creecher when he hit the eighth grade.
When the meals came, the others complained, but Jack ignored the gripe session and just ate quickly and mechanically. He was famished from the exercise. His body wanted to replace the calories he had been burning.
“Be glad we’re in the Fed brig. Remember the crap we got in prison?” Earl finally reminded them.
That shut them up.
Jack kept his observations to himself. The food was okay. It wasn’t replicated, which was something. Most likely it was being pulled up from the planet. No doubt that once they were underway the squids would switch them to replicated rations and keep the good fresh food for themselves for as long as possible.
Then the griping would really begin, he thought with a mental grunt.
“Beer would be nice. Better than water,” Casey grumbled.
Earl glowered at him.
“I’ll stick to water,” Cyrus said. The others glanced at him. He was usually a lightweight with the sauce. “I’d hate to see some of you drunk and throwing punches,” he said.
Jack snorted softly as he licked his spork clean thoughtfully. He then policed his dishes quietly with the others, sticking them back through the slot in the cell door for the guards to recover.
“What do you think they’ll do with us?” Hammed Leguin, the chief engineer, asked.
“No clue,” Earl said with a shake of his head. They’d all asked that question every day.
“Just stay frosty. We’ve been through worse,” Jack reminded them.
Earl glanced at him and then away.
~~~@~~~
