Degrees of Wrong Read Online Free Page A

probably erected at the turn of the last century. All six of them lined the lone dirt street of what I couldn’t deign to call a town. Judging by their varying states of disrepair, they hadn’t been occupied for some time. The scarce population of this community seemed to be surging in the same direction—toward the docks. And they were all dressed like me.
    Ralph motioned for our driver to park behind one of the buildings, just out of view of the passersby. “As soon as you board, ask for Dr. Folsom. The captain is expecting you. You shouldn’t have any problems.”
    From a satchel beside him, he retrieved my father’s laptop and handed it to me. The antique laptop—and the mismatched pajamas—had been the only items the recovery team bothered to bring back. That Ralph didn’t expound on it confirmed my suspicions—my house, what was left of my life, was destroyed. When I told him what a lucky find the dust-encrusted laptop was—it held every shred of my research on the HTN4—I thought he might faint. But we couldn’t all afford the latest-and-greatest toys of technology, right? Besides, this thing still smelled like my father’s cologne. How could I replace it?
    Even now, Ralph eyed it with disdain, which made me hug it tighter to my chest. He said, “It’s a training vessel, so you won’t be the only person who doesn’t know full protocol. You’re going in as a cadet, which is the lowest rank. There was nothing I could do about that.”
    I was grateful he’d tried to champion for me in the matter at all.
    “Ralph?” I asked.
    “Yes?”
    “Nothing.”
    “What?”
    “Never mind.”
    He smiled, realizing I was nervous and didn’t know how to say it. “It’s called the Bellator . It means—”
    “Warrior,” I finished for him. When he cocked his head at me, I shrugged. “I’m a doctor. Latin’s required.”
    “Of course.”
    I thought he might have more instructions for me, but after a few seconds he inclined his head toward the docks. “You should go now, Dr. Morgan. Follow the crowd and pick a line.”
    Taking in a breath, I stood.
    I turned to Ralph, unsure if this was the last time I’d see him—and unsure if it was appropriate to feel grateful or wrathful toward him at this point. He was, after all, my captor, not my savior. Deciding on gratitude, I extended my hand for a shake, otherwise unfamiliar with the rules of etiquette as they pertained to hostage situations.
    He smiled and accepted it. “You’ll be fine,” he whispered. The confidence in his voice consoled me—a little.
    He dropped my hand, and I willed myself to climb down. How long he stayed after that, I didn’t know. With tears brimming, I lumbered toward the street, joining the ranks of my fellow shipmates—if that’s what they were called—as we made our way to the docks.
    No one questioned my presence or where I’d come from. No one asked why I only carried a laptop instead of the black duffel bags they had thrown over their shoulders. They only cared that—between the heaviness of my new boots and my flirting with the idea of running—I was slowing their progress. Some even made a point of bumping into me as they pushed past, impatient to board the warship.
    Our collective parade eventually lined up on the four separate docks reaching like fingers into the ocean. Taking Ralph’s advice, I picked one, flitting to the end of it and squeezing in between a pale blonde woman and a redheaded man whose biceps were bigger than my head. The pale woman offered a friendly smile. I hoped the half smile I returned didn’t seem rude. I also hoped she wouldn’t try to talk to me since I was already in danger of vomiting, and opening my mouth would seal the deal.
    A short, skinny man with dark hair stood opposite the line, studying his small hand-held device. He looked more serious than he should with such a small stature, and I wondered if he suffered from little-man syndrome.
    “Attention!” he yelled, or at least