by Leslie Lee
and how they thought they had been created. Jerry was a charcoal black figure with a crumpled, round hairless head, like a semi-deflated basketball, settling atop a neckless, squat, thick, and compact body. His skin was leathery and folded, teeth were black and stone like, his eyes and mouth were hardly more than slits cut deep into his face. There were puckered holes where ears should have been. His nose looked like he'd run face first into a bulkhead, squashing it flat and misshapen against his skull. He tended to complain he was too cold, or it was too dark, or the gravity was too light. Multiple joints in his legs gave him a rolling dance rather than a walk. He also had the best sense of humor. When Mak was first assigned to Blue Box, it was Jerry who had spent hours with him. Under the previous Leader, Blue Box had believed in trial by fire for rookies. Learn on the job or die. Only Jerry had given him any kind of real world training. Then, when Jerry felt he couldn't teach any more, he pulled Th'han'dra in to help Mak. The hours he spent with Mak weren't just flight training. Whereas most pilots were reticent, with the exception of Zin Zin, Jerry boasted he could talk the hind legs of a donkey, whatever the hell that meant. His love was Earth history, particularly twentieth century. He would make constant references to things that nobody knew anything about. The blank looks he drew amazed and annoyed him. "How can you people not know your own past?" he'd ask in disgust as his jokes fell flat. He had taken it upon himself to educate Mak on Earth history. He was a better teacher than a pilot really. The least skilled of all the Blue Box flyers. But he was insightful. His savvy had let them make a slight adjustment so they weren't all killed by the Kyrzal in the engagement. He could've been on the DreadNought Mayberry, far from this Battle Group. That ship was mostly Hellborne. But he wanted to get away from his own culture and as he was fond of saying, "Experience the Universe in all its rotten glory". His fondest hope was to be an ambassador one day. Mak had never met an ambassador but he was pretty sure Jerry would be a good one. Assuming he managed to survive his mediocre flying.
"Boss," said Jerry, interrupting his own story which sounded like a rehash of the Gold Ghost disappearance. From the gossip in the food line, it was everyone's number one topic. Jerry looked at Mak's tray. "Are you on some kind of diet?"
Mak liked the way the Hellborne spoke. Their speech sounded like rocks and bricks rubbing together. And when they laughed, like rough stones rolling around in a big clay jug.
He sat down. "Had to leave some food for Ranger."
Ranger guffawed, spraying the table with bits of half chewed sausage. He quickly replaced the loss with a wad of toast.
"Saving your money for that farm aren't you, Boss?" said Zin Zin, seriously. He'd made the mistake of telling that to her during an intimate moment, forgetting she couldn't keep a secret if her life depended on it.
"Oh yeah, the farm," said Ranger.
Mak grimaced. The rest of Blue Box laughed even Dakota and Sha who still shifted uncomfortably when the others heaped abuse on their leader.
"Now what was going to be raised on old Mak Donald's farm?" asked Jerry, scratching his head with thick and stubby nail-less fingers. It sounded like sandpaper on granite.
Here it comes, Mak thought with resignation. He flipped them off while he ate what the food server swore was huevos rancheros, but Dakota claimed, disdainfully, were huevos don't-you-believe-it.
"There's nothing wrong with the Boss wanting to raise elephants," Zin Zin said solemnly, but her eyes twinkled.
He forced himself to join in the laughter rather than scowling which was what he really wanted to do. When he'd first considered what he'd do after getting out of the service, he had concluded an endangered species would be pretty valuable. If he raised them, then that could mean big money from people who wanted those kinds of things. It was Jerry who had helped him over his anger at being the butt of the jokes, coaxing him out of his sullen moods and isolation. He told Mak that strength and acceptance came from tolerance. The process had been slow. And still ongoing. Besides, elephants were long gone.
"Anyway," said Jerry. "As I was saying, the reason that you aliens are so strange isn't because?"
"Hey, what's up with you pod jocks?" It was one of the launch crew yelling at them from another table. The pilots hated anyone calling them pod jockeys or worse, pod jocks. The launch crew thought they could get away with it since they supported the pods when they were on station. "Can't you guys find your way home?"
"Maybe we should send their mama's out to look for their lost little children," another crewman guffawed.
"Think Gold Ghost got tired of the stench around here and went on vacation," K'hon snapped back. He stood, his big hands clenching into fists. K'hon didn't have a short fuse. He had no fuse.
Mak sipped at a thick liquid that had oozed out of a spigot into his mug after he'd hit the "coffee" button. Then again, he could have accidentally hit the button marked "tea". Or maybe it was the "foul brown stuff" button. He could see the crew behind him in the reflection of some metal. They weren't really serious trouble. K'hon, though furious, also wasn't interested in getting in a fight. At least not right now.
"Whoa, big fella," the crew man said. "We only want to know what's going on. You pod jocks know a lot more than we do."
"Y'all know as much as we do," Ranger said, yawning and stretching. The image of a hippo leaped into Mak's mind. He knew Ranger's beady eyes were sizing up the crewmen in case things got bad.
"They're not saying," someone at flight crew's table said with disgust.
"You know, you passengers can cough up some info every now and then."
Ranger shrugged and grinned greasily at them.
That enraged the guy. Now more people paid attention "You screw ups are holding up the damned show. Keeping us hanging around here. If you want to know?"
Alarms rang out. It wasn't that abnormal and didn't always mean anybody had to do anything. But this was a launch alarm. Blue lights lit up on the sleeves of the Blue Box flight suits and their comms announced the orders.
The speakers suddenly blared, "Blue Box, Orange Orb, Amber Angel, launch stations!"
The crew groaned out a few oaths especially those still in the food line, but the launch crews moved swiftly and efficiently out of the mess hall.
Blue Box stayed seated, quietly finishing their meals, watching Mak as he carefully put the last piece of food in his mouth. Unlike other squads in different parts of the X, they were ready. They'd taken his example and were prepared for flight now. No hurried dashes to their quarters to get equipped. The black flight suits were skin tight and hot. And their catheters and other probes added a unique element to wearing them. Some felt the way they formed to the body left much too little to the imagination. Zin Zin loved the way it looked on her. Other people loved that too. On his thin body, Mak felt it looked okay. On Th'han'dra, Mak thought it really looked great. But Ranger, now there was an eyeful. An amber light lit up on Mak's sleeve. The Blue Box launch crew was ready.
He stood, not looking at them, and they rose as well. They were unhurried taking their cue from him. A few of the off duty crew nodded at them on the way out. Blue Box strolled out into the hallway. Mak kept his eyes straight ahead. Warning lights were flashing in the corridor. Mak quickened the pace. A crewman flattened himself against the wall to make room as they strode by, their boots stomping hollowly on the metal deck. Pod launch was the only time the crew made way for them. Then, as they started to approach their destination, they broke into a slow lope and suddenly at some invisible signal which Mak could only feel, they were all in step. Dhom, dhom, dhom, their boots pounded out a rhythmic pattern that echoed in the corridor, announcing their arrival at Blue Box Launch Point. The launch crew manned their stations in the launch command area looking down where Blue Box had just appeared.
"Blue Box on deck," Mak murmured so softly an observer would conclude he'd said nothing.
But Ranger heard and he bellowed out, "Sir! Blue Box on deck!"
Mak loved the way Ranger drew out the "on", the sound
undulating like a bugle.
The launch crew commander responded, "Blue Box on deck, aye!"
The launch crew snapped to attention in front of their consoles, looked at the squad, and saluted. These were the same crew they'd almost come to blows with.
Blue Box without missing a step, looked to their left and as one, snapped a salute back. They turned their eyes forward. Waiting at each pod hatch stood a launch crew member. One by one, as they ran by, the pilots peeled off to stand at attention with the launch crewman facing the launch consoles, their backs to the hatch until all stood in readiness. There was a half second of silence then Blue Box roared out, "Blue Box launch ready, sir!"
"Position launch, Blue Box! Position launch!" cried out the launch commander.
Mak turned to face the other pilots, and they turned as one to face him.
"Blue Box!" he shouted, holding one fist in the air. "Mount up!"
They shot their fists in the air. "Blue Box, yessir!" they responded.
There was no need for this ceremony. No need for the salutes. Or the shouting. But it was rhythm. Blue Box rhythm.
He turned, climbed, and jumped feet first into his pod, taking mount position. Only an outsider said that pilots sat in their pods. Pilots mounted their pods. Most of the vessel was under the deck in the launch bay. Mounting was not difficult.