Fledgling: Jason Steed

  He received the letter on a Thursday. He had just eaten his dinner and gone to his room to get his bag ready for karate. On his bed sat a letter from Buckingham Palace. His heart pounding, he tore it open.

  Mr. Jason Steed,

  We thank you for your correspondence dated January 15, 1974. It has been decided that in the best interest of Princess Catherine’s education that you cease to have any contact.

  We wish you well with your education at St. Joseph’s.

  Yours sincerely,

  Mrs. Crammer

  HM Secretary

  For a moment, Jason sat on his bed, stunned. He left for karate still in a state of shock, trembling slightly. He felt sick to his stomach. What did I do wrong? he asked himself. It just didn’t make sense. Everything had seemed so perfect.

  That very night, Jason sent an invitation to Catherine for a party he was having for his eleventh birthday in March. If she didn’t reply, he knew he’d probably never see her again, but so be it. He’d survived worse. It was time to bury himself in his training and forget about everyone and everything.

  Chapter Ten

  Catherine never did reply. That Easter, a few weeks after his birthday, Jason went away with the Sea Cadets for Easter to the HMS Fishguard in Cornwall.

  The second day, they were taken to the assault course. First, however, they were shown a plaque in the trophy room, which listed the names of fifty of the fastest around the course.

  “Steed, look at number twenty-two,” a drill sergeant told him. Jason’s eyes flashed down the plaque. Completing the course in eight minutes six seconds was Raymond Steed, his father.

  “No pressure then, Steed,” the officer wryly remarked.

  As they walked around the course, Jason observed each section in detail. It was identical to the course in Hong Kong. The fastest time here was seven minutes twenty-four seconds. He knew he could smash that time, and he became determined to at least beat his father’s time.

  There were fourteen boys in the Sea Cadets. Jason was the youngest and the smallest, but he still had more badges for map reading, rope climbing, Morse code, flag reading, drills, first aid, and swimming than any of the others.

  He was to run in position thirteen. Typically, the cadets finished in ten to eleven minutes. Many found the hand-over-hand rope the hardest. If you fell into the net below, a minute was added to your time. Plus, you had to climb another rope ladder at the end to get back up. So far, only one had gotten all the way through the hand-over-hand on the sixty-foot rope.

  Jason started heavy breathing before he set off in order to fill his blood with oxygen. At the word “go,” he ran up a slope and through a set of tires. The instructors were clearly bored of watching the same old thing and simply stood with their arms folded. However, when he came to the hand-over-hand sixty-foot rope, their mouths fell open. As he used one leg as a cushion and one leg as balance in midair, he started to push and pull himself along the top of the rope with both hands at a terrific speed.

  At the end, he slid down the rope and jumped to the ground, rolling to break his fall, as if he had parachuted. The cadets were now staring in amazement too.

  He now pushed himself faster, adrenaline rushing through his body. He imagined that he was being chased by gunmen. When he came to the twenty-foot rope net, Jason jumped and landed on one rung. He leaped again, and his light body pulled and kicked its way to the top. At the top section, most cadets cocked one leg over and climbed down. Instead, Jason put his arms over the other side, pulling his body over like a cartwheel, and rolled down in a tight ball.

  The water plunge was a ten-foot-large concrete pipe submerged in cold, muddy water. Jason ran at full speed, diving straight in, and swam into the pipe. Unfortunately, he smacked his forehead on the rim, but he ignored the pain and imagined a shark right behind him, which gave him an extra spurt of speed. He now had to run to the finish line. As he was running, a concerned instructor ran toward him. Jason’s face was covered in blood, but Jason waved him off and pushed ahead, diving for the finish line.

  “Seven minutes ten seconds. Holy cow, Steed. You just broke the record!” the instructor shouted. “You—”

  But Jason didn’t hear the rest. Instead, he collapsed in exhaustion.

  ***

  When Jason awoke, he was in a hospital bed. A doctor was peering down at him. Apparently, he’d received eight stitches on his forehead and had stayed in the hospital overnight for observation. The doctor was a little concerned that Jason might have had a slight concussion.

  For the next hour, Jason lay in the hospital bed, watching the nurses and patients coming and going. The whole base reminded him of his old home in Hong Kong. In the bed opposite him was a trainee officer who had broken his leg in a parachute training exercise. He constantly complained about not being able to smoke in the ward.

  “Jason Steed?” a gruff voiced asked.

  He turned to see HMS Fishguard Lieutenant Commander Hoskins.

  “Hello, sir. Please forgive me. I have been told not to get up too quickly,” Jason said, saluting.

  “Gosh, you are young. They told me a Sea Cadet broke our course record. I was expecting to see a six-foot fifteen-year-old. How old are you?”

  “Eleven, sir,” Jason replied, slowly standing.

  “Sit down, son. You don’t have to stand. They tell me you have an ingenious way of crossing a rope. Would you share that with my drill sergeants?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “How long have you been a cadet?”

  “Three months, sir.”

  “Has anyone told you to cut your hair?”

  Jason then remembered they had bathed him as he had been covered in blood and mud. His blond bangs were now in their natural place and looked much too long for the navy. Jason used his finger and brushed it back up over his head.

  “Um—”

  “It’s too long. Get it cut. You are the youngest and smallest person we have had in our sickbay. I am glad you are feeling well. Congratulations on your record. I hope to see more of you.” He saluted Jason and walked away.

  ***

  The following morning, Jason joined the rest of the cadets. They had a briefing on the day’s activities. It was an hour’s drive to Dartmoor, where they would hike up a hill and inflate two rafts and then ride down the rapids.

  Drill instructor Evans shouted out the orders. “No tomfoolery. We already had one cadet spend the night in the hospital. We don’t want anymore!”

  All eyes turned to Jason.

  “As for you, Steed, you will have to sit this one out. The doctor doesn’t think you should participate in the rafting. I am sure you can find something to do here.”

  Jason bit his lip. He wanted to argue because he felt fine. Plus, he really wanted to go white water rafting, but his uncle Stewart had told him, “You must never question an order—ever.” However, he could not hide his disappointment. Some of his fellow cadets even gave him a pat on the back. Jason watched them pile into two minibuses with equipment stored on the roof racks. As they pulled away, some of the boys sat in the back and gave a mock salute as a friendly tease. Jason hung his head. He couldn’t see the humor in it.

  With nothing to do, he shambled down to the center of the complex. A broad smile came across his face as he read the sign: simulator. He poked his head and looked around. Two pilots were using the equipment.

  Jason watched for an hour. When they finished, a female controller called out, “Hey, kid, I guess you wanna try?” She was a red-headed Irish lady covered in freckles.

  “Yes, ma’am, thank you,” Jason said, climbing in.

  “Wait. You need to be shown what to do. You will never get it off the ground.”

  “If they can, I can,” Jason said, strapping himself in.

  “Look, kid. It’s not a toy. It’s an expensive bit of equipment. Pick an airplane.”

  But Jason had already picked a fighter jet and began the sequence to start. The controller stared in shocked amazement. r />
  Jason went through the preflight checklist, started the engine, and took off. Once the simulator was in the air, the controller talked to him on the radio.

  “Ha! Okay, kid. How did you learn to do that?”

  “Hong Kong, ma’am.”

  “Well, show me your stuff then, Mr. Hong Kong.”

  Jason spent most of the rest of the day flying all sorts of planes, including fighters and huge cargo carriers. He did crash once when he tried a simulated landing on an aircraft carrier, but apart from that, he performed as well as any pilot she’d ever seen.

  “You’re a natural, mate,” she told him, patting his head as he left. “And by the way, I love your hair.”

  ***

  Back in London, Jason plunged himself into the final school term before the summer holidays. He was looking forward to going to Australia and joining the HMS Stoke—away from any reminders of Catherine. Ray had been away for five months, and he did not know when he would be coming back. It was finally warm enough to swim outdoors, and Jason spent any spare time he could in the pool. One afternoon while he was splashing around, Mrs. Betton hurried out with a breathless look on her face.

  “Jason, phone for you. Your friend Scott.”

  “Can I call him back?”

  “It’s urgent,” she shouted back, holding a towel.

  Jason climbed out, shivering. The pool was forty feet long, and he insisted on the heating being switched off. Scott told him he was crazy, but Jason felt he could swim farther and faster in the cold. He also said it was training for whenever he would become a spy or marine. Mrs. Betton chased after him, wiping up the wet floor behind him. While he spoke on the phone, she dried his back with the towel.

  “Hi, mate, is everything okay?” Jason asked.

  “You are going to love me. Just say, ‘thank you, Scott.’”

  “Thank you for what?”

  “Just tell me: Who is your best mate? Who do you love, and who is better looking than you?”

  Jason rolled his eyes. “Right now, Scott, if you were here, I would thump you. Spit it out, damn it.” Mrs. Betton smacked Jason across the back of the head with the towel.

  “There is a fund-raiser tomorrow,” Scott announced. “It’s a charity event for the refugees of Jakarta. It starts at 10:00 a.m. I will come over at 8:00 a.m. We have to catch two buses.”

  Jason’s eyes narrowed. He knew vaguely what was going on in Jakarta—a civil war had broken out. Many of the women and children from the main city of Bandung had been evacuated. Jakarta was also not far from Hong Kong, located between northwest Australia and China. The Chinese government had been suspected to be involved with the trouble, but nothing had been proven yet. The president of the United States, Gerald Ford, was having trouble with the Russians, and he could not get involved in a dispute with China, whom the Russians might side with in a power play. Consequently, it had been left to British Prime Minister Harold Wilson to negotiate peace in the region.

  “A fund-raiser?” Jason finally asked.

  “Yes.”

  “A fund-raiser? I’m coming over to your house right now, and I am going to thump you. I was training. Why would I want to go to a fund-raiser? I’d have to pay to get in!”

  “It’s being run by the pupils of a certain school.”

  Jason blinked. “What school?”

  “Benenden. It’s open to the public.”

  Jason paused and smiled. “Okay, yes, you are better looking than me, and I do love you. I won’t thump you.”

  “Come over to my house anyway. I have something to show you.”

  ***

  Scott’s bedroom was as messy as Jason’s was tidy and ordered. His walls were smothered in posters of NASA spaceships. Models of rockets hung across the ceiling from fishing lines. He had a table full of bits of radios he had taken apart. Wires, batteries, and circuit boards were scattered everywhere. His bed was still unmade. His clothes from yesterday lay on the floor beside empty bags of chips and Coke cans.

  On his dressing table sat a huge radio.

  “Look,” Scott said, proudly pointing at it.

  “It’s a radio,” Jason said, frowning.

  Scott turned it on. “It’s not just a radio. I am now a ‘radio ham.’ I can tune into anything.”

  “Can you hear the police?”

  “That’s kids’ stuff,” Scott scoffed. “I can hear the police in New York. I can hear our military anywhere in the world. I can’t talk to them, but I can hear them. I was listening to aircraft taking off in India this morning. I can talk to other radio hams across the world.”

  “It’s fantastic. Just perfect,” Jason said.

  “Really? You are not just saying that? I thought you would think that it’s boring technological crap,” Scott replied.

  “I do think it’s boring technological crap, but it’s perfect for you. Seriously—I’m not trying to be mean. I can’t think of anything better for you. When I go to Australia in August on the HMS Stoke, will you be able to hear where we are?”

  “The navy uses frequency FM 36.5, and I tune in all the time. I will follow your course.”

  “Just like a real spy,” Jason murmured.

  Scott arched an eyebrow. “Now you’re getting it, mate.”

  ***

  The next day, after a two-hour bus ride, Jason and Scott arrived at the Benenden School. Jason’s pulse raced the entire time, but Scott seemed oblivious to his nervousness. They followed the handmade signs to the sports field where the fund-raiser was being held. In the center of a group of stalls, the school orchestra was setting up to play. The tables had white sheets covering them. Students and their parents were selling homemade jams, and others were selling homemade cakes.

  Jason searched the field for Catherine and finally spotted her at a table serving homemade lemonade. She was serving some adults, and Susan was also with her.

  Scott spotted them at the exact same time and hurried to the front of Susan’s line.

  “Do your dancing partners get a discount?” Scott asked.

  She looked up. Her eyes widened. “Scott! Hi. What are you doing here?”

  “I was dying of thirst,” he joked.

  “Jason’s not with you—?” She broke off in mid-sentence.

  Jason shook his head. “What’s going on?” he asked. The words stuck in his throat. “Catherine?”

  “I can’t talk to you. Susan will serve you,” Catherine stated awkwardly. She pushed away from the table and scurried off behind the stalls. Jason chased after her.

  “Catherine, please!”

  “Jason, I can’t see you. Please, just go.”

  “Why? What’s going on?” He felt that same sickness in his stomach that he had suffered when he had received the letter.

  “Look, I got really hurt last time.”

  Jason had no idea what he had done wrong, but he refused to give up. “How did you get hurt? In Scotland, you kissed me good-bye and said you would call. I got a letter from the palace secretary informing me to keep away! I have feelings too. Have you ever thought about how I felt? You knew how I felt about you. What did I do wrong? Am I not good enough for you now?”

  Catherine turned her teary eyes away from him.

  “I…I just can’t see you.”

  Jason caught her arm and pulled her back.

  “Jason, let me go,” she told him, crying.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a tall figure attempting to grab him. He turned and blocked the hand and retaliated with a waist-high kick into a man wearing a suit. The man fell to the floor, holding his stomach. With his free hand, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a gun. Before he could point it, Jason kicked it away, dove, picked it up, and then turned the barrel on the man.

  A wide-eyed, open-mouthed Scott slowly chuckled.

  “Put your hands on your head,” Jason ordered.

  “No, Jason!” Catherine shouted. “That’s my bodyguard!”

  “Oh—” said Jason, horrified. He too
k the gun by the barrel and passed it back to the policeman. “Sorry, sir.”

  The policeman climbed to his feet. “The party is over,” he said, removing his radio. “You’re in serious trouble, lad.”

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, sir,” Scott piped up.

  The policeman sneered. “And why not?” he asked.

  “Well, go ahead. Radio and tell palace security and your police department that you’ve just been assaulted by an eleven-year-old boy. You pulled a gun, and he got it off you. Then, when you were identified, he gave it back. Now, what if he was a real terrorist? You would not have gotten it back. It wouldn’t look too good for you, would it? It’s an argument between two kids. Leave them alone to sort it out. She is in no danger from him.”

  The policeman blinked a few times. “Are you all right, miss?” the policeman asked Catherine.

  Catherine was sniffing and wiping her eyes. Susan had her arm around her.

  “I am fine. We all are. Sorry if you got hurt, Roger,” she told him and then looked at Jason. “I am sorry. I owe you an explanation.”

  The policeman nodded and put his radio back in his jacket. Catherine seized Jason’s arm and led him across the field away from the stalls and tables.

  “Mummy was not pleased that we slept in the same bedroom,” she murmured. “She thought that J. Steed was a girl. I…I wanted them to think that so they’d let you stay, but the idea of me having a boy in my room all night did not go over well. And I argued and got banned from seeing you. It broke my heart. Sorry. I never thought how you would be feeling.”

  Jason swallowed. “I thought you hated me.”

  She smiled through her tears. “Hardly. I was impressed with what you just did to Roger. You and Scott make a good team. I thought we would all be in big trouble.”

  “Tell your mother you want to see me again. It’s been six months. She can’t still be mad. We will only meet in daylight and with your policeman. No more sleeping together.” Jason paused, turning red. “In the same bedroom, I mean.”