by Jean Johnson
Most of us were on the ground for it. Oberon had some crack security guards by that point, but no backup, as the Battle Platform had to be rotated among it and the other two settlements. One hundred mechsuited soldiers dropped to the planet, myself included. Ishiomi flew the Hellfire for the space half of the fight, and even with a reduced crew, she and the rest of the 1st Platoon did an excellent job at hunting down and picking off the fighter ships trying to strafe the domes.
The only thing I regret about that fight was the loss of Private Hollick. I warned him that if he went into that train tube to rescue those people stuck in that car, there was a strong percentage chance that he’d die. But he just pointed out that those cars could hold twenty or more civilians, and that it was a chance he had to take. He got them off the train and into the evacuation shaft, but he was the last one headed down the hatch when the tunnel blew.
According to the witnesses, the force of the air pressure swept him out before the emergency systems on the airlock could close. We never found his body, but he did save their lives. He died a hero, and I still honor him for his sacrifice.
~Ia
FEBRUARY 23, 2497 T.S.
SIC TRANSIT
(Sucked out an airlock?) Ia demanded, eyeing her late-night visitor askance. Clad only in tank shirt and underwear, she padded over to the drink dispenser and poured herself a cup of water. (I thought you were going to still be up in the car when it blew, attempting to rescue that little boy’s pet!…You want anything?)
(The drawback to having a matter-form is that it requires the distasteful presence, care, and feeding of a digestive tract, and so forth. I’ll have a glass of water,) Belini ordered. She had manifested in a bright yellow halter top and matching tennis skirt. (Besides, that little boy was clinging to his pet. Damn near throttling it. I had to improvise.)
Ia watched the Meddler toss back half the water, then sigh and rub at the back of her neck. Lifting her own cup, she sipped at the chilled, hydroponically recycled liquid. She also snorted mentally. (You just wanted a dramatic, witnessed death.)
(Hey, the guy saved the timelines for both of us. He deserved a hero’s death,) Belini retorted. She lifted her mug in salute. (I also flitted off and checked on him. He’s doing just fine; he’s mentally fit and on course for the path he’s supposed to take.)
(Thank you for checking and letting me know that the personality rewrite is holding,) Ia told her guest. She had to smother a yawn as she did so, though. Her back no longer ached whenever she lifted her arms, but only because her biokinetics had worked hard to repair all that damaged flesh. Adding in the stresses of combat and her extralong days, trying to repair the breaks in the timelines, hadn’t left her with a lot of energy to spare. (Excuse me…I’d love to chat, really, but I’m still fully matter-based, and I’m afraid I need at least five more hours of sleep.)
(Fully matter-based, yeah…You need to do something about that. The sooner, the better,) Belini added, pointing with her cup in warning before draining it dry. (Miklinn is casting aspirations on my faction-simmerings, since you’re technically Albelar’s get. I’m very much neutral to Albelar, not faction, and I have to remain that way for now since he’s now milking that “Third Human Empire” you’ve been touting, while I’m solidly established with the Second Empire set.)
Ia chuckled softly. She stifled another yawn. (Just you wait until the Third Empire hauls the First under its wings…’scuse me…Everything is going to change when that takes place. As for my manifestation, I’ve been working on it, and I will be able to manifest when I need it most. In the meantime, I’m waiting for my replacement for Hollick’s slot to catch up with us. And tomorrow, I have to show up at the Wake. Something involving Harper is going to make the crew a lot happier if I do…but because it’s Harper, I don’t know what.)
(A Wake for Hollick?) Belini asked, brows lifting. (Mind if I drop in? I’d like to pay my respects, as you matter-people put it.)
(I’d rather you didn’t,) Ia told her, adding a tinge of regret to her sending. (Whether or not you’d be tempted to let something slip, you’re one more anomaly I’d have to ask the crew to keep their mouths shut about. They’re already carrying a couple heavy burdens regarding Hollick, Sung, and N’Keth…and it’s not that kind of a Wake. That’s just the nickname my morbid little sense of humor came up with to call the parties we’ve been holding on board more or less every week—since the crew almost never gets real Leave.)
(Ah. Pity. I like the Irish. Dour and delightful, cheerful and glum, pragmatic and myth-filled…lovely sets of contradictions, the lot of ’em.) She dropped onto the couch with a light bounce and spread her arms across the padded back.
Ia eyed her. (Why are you here, anyway? Do you need to be kicked out the airlock again? I’d be more than happy to shoot you.)
(Nah. I have a second anchor string tying me to where I was. I just came to tell you what I’ve told you.) She let her smile fade and waggled one finger at Ia, for a moment looking a decade older in her sobriety. (Do not discount my advice about your manifestation. Do not wait for an extreme moment, expecting your anxiety or need to aid you in the change. If you really want to impress my people, you’ll have to slip into and out of your energy side as freely and fully as we do.)
Suiting action to words, she shifted with a blip of light. The sphere hovered through the sofa for a moment, then slid out of sight. Ia blinked, frowned, then called out, (Hey! Are you at least going to give me back my mug?)
(Only if…what is that delightful, old Human phrase? Only if you want me to “take a dump” on your carpet. See you next time!) Pixie laughter mocked Ia as Belini slipped away.
Rubbing at her face, Ia crossed over to the dispenser, clipped the other mug into its self-cleaning holder, and padded back to her bed. Damned pixie-shaped Meddlers…
(…I heard that!)
(I expected you to.) Slapping the lights off, she shut the door and returned to her bed.
FEBRUARY 24, 2497 T.S.
SIC TRANSIT
The surprise involved Harper, and that was all that she knew. It wasn’t just Harper, either, but it was clearly centered around the man. Whenever she tried to delve into what certain other members of the crew were doing, all she got was blurred mist in return. The only thing she could see was a reasonably high probability that the crew would be happier after whatever-it-was took place. Provided she didn’t screw it up, of course. The alternative timelines where she did included grumpy looks and scowls aimed her way.
Unsure exactly what she might have to face, Ia debated wearing trousers, then gave up and donned her new cheongsam-petal dress. Leaving the feather-stitched turban off, she combed back her trimmed, jaw-length locks and walked down to the Wake Zone. It wasn’t ceristeel-plated armor, but the awkwardly admiring looks she received assured her it was an effective defense against whatever might come.
If a good defense is a well-fitted dress, then that’ll have to do. Smiling slightly, she dipped her head a few times in greeting, moving down the stairs. Once again, she had to hunt down Harper, but when she reached the bottom of one aisle and started up the next, she couldn’t find him. What she did find, in an upper alcove decorated with plexiextruded fish—this week’s theme was “Dabin’s Cerulean Sea”—was a clutch of soldiers.
Or rather, spies. All four of her DoI- or Admiral-General-appointed spies lurked in the booth-like space. The first and foremost was Lieutenant Oslo Rico, who rose slightly and bowed over the table as she peered into the makeshift doorway. He had donned a pair of light blue slacks and a bright blue-and-yellow-flowered shirt. On his large frame, it was the envy of any tropical-island gift shop.
The second was Private Second Grade Miryanapanaua “Gasnme” Kastanoupotonoulis. Her nickname was nothing more than an acronym for “Get a shorter name, meioa-e!” She looked lovely, with her short black curls wrapped in a sapphire blue ribbon and clad in a blue version of the V’Dan-style cheongsam. Where Ia’s was stitched with golden feathers, Gasnme’s had com
e out of the manufactory stitched with silver dragnas, long-tailed, broad-winged, lizard-like things indigenous to the V’Dan homeworld, sort of like a palm-sized dragonling. She served in the 1st Platoon under Rico and had been asked to spy on Ia for the DoI.
Private First Class Bera Fonnyadtz of the 2nd Platoon was their third spy, appointed by the Admiral-General, the same as Rico. She had decked herself in blue jeans, a white tank shirt, and a black leather jacket. Then again, she always dressed like that when she was off duty. Spyder, her Platoon lieutenant, called her “a livin’ lady Fonz” but Ia had no idea who or what that was. It wasn’t important to the timestreams, so she hadn’t bothered to look it up. Bera saluted Ia with the tall glass mug in her hand, filled with what looked like a root-beer float, and sipped on the straw bobbing in its depths.
The last of the quartet was Private First Grade Ulan Fa’alat, another DoI-appointed spy and one of the four leads for lifesupport on 3rd Platoon’s watch. Ironically, he had dressed similarly to Fonnyadtz, in a white T-shirt, jeans, and black leather, though his was a half-length vest that fastened down the side of his chest in the V’Dan style currently fashionable among men, and not an actual Terran-style leather jacket like hers. He was also the one who spoke first, and not the resettled Rico.
“Hello, Ia,” he acknowledged, leaving off her title since that was the Wake Zone rule. “I suppose you already know why we’re here, being the Prophet…so it remains to be seen what you think of it.”
Ia shook her head, shifting her hands to her red-clad hips. “Actually, no, I don’t know. Whatever the four of you have been planning, it clearly involves Lieu…Meyun Harper,” she caught herself, mindful of the Wake rules. “And anything that involves Meyun Harper has a ninety-five percent chance of not being visible to me in the timestreams.”
Rico’s brows lifted at that, and Bera choked on her float. Fa’alat smacked her on the back.
Gasnme merely arched a brow in skepticism. “Why can’t you see him? I thought you could see everyone and everything.”
“Because there is always an exception to every rule, Kastanoupotonoulis,” Ia returned dryly, managing to get through the woman’s real surname without stumbling. “Meyun Harper just happens to be it for me.”
Fa’alat gave her a wry look. “Every rule? What about the laws of gravity? What goes up must come back down, on a planet.”
“Telekinesis,” she countered. “Greasy FTL warp fields. And the escaping axial radiation of a galactic black hole.”
“At least she knows her science,” Bera rasped, lifting her mug in salute. She coughed twice more, then cleared her throat. “So. Ia. If you really don’t know why we’re here…then why are you here?”
“Because while I don’t know what you’ve been plotting behind my back, I do know that you would be here, and that the ‘big surprise’ would be revealed as soon as Harper also gets here,” Ia told her. “There’s still that five percent left for me to see.”
“He went off to visit the head,” Rico told her, finally speaking. “But he’ll be back.” He nodded at a half-finished glass clipped onto the table edge to his right.
Footsteps warned her of Harper’s approach. Shifting to her right, Ia dropped her arms, expecting him to squeeze in past her and resume his place on the bench seat ringing the alcove. Instead, he stopped at her side and stared first at her, then at the others.
“Okay…when I left, it was just me and Rico. Is there something I should know about, meiaos?” he asked.
Gasnme met Ia’s gaze and shook her head. “He doesn’t know, either, S…er, Ia.”
“Know what?” he asked, hands going to his hips.
“It’s simple. As the C…as Ia already knows,” Fa’alat explained, gesturing at her, “the four of us were either ordered by the Department of Innovations or the Admiral-General herself to spy upon our lovely commanding officer—you did know that much, right?”
“Yes, I knew that much,” Ia confirmed. She poked her thumb at the man standing beside her. “It’s only things directly related to this man I cannot see. Everything else is like an open betting ledger of odds and probabilities for me.”
“Well, hold on to your favorite dice,” Fonnyadtz warned her, releasing her straw. “We’re about to throw the game in your favor.”
Ia glanced at Meyun. He shrugged, equally mystified.
“Allow me to explain it?” Rico ordered, giving the other three a mildly annoyed look. “We’ve all talked to each other about this. Then we took turns running an informal poll of the others in the crew over the last couple of weeks. One and all, the crew and cadre agree that you, young lady,” he stated, pointing at Ia, “desperately need a personal life.”
Ia wondered where he was going with that line of reasoning. She thought she’d made it clear enough through her words and actions that this ship’s mission and its crew were her personal life.
“This is particularly obvious because you almost never attend these Wake parties,” Rico added bluntly, eyeing her back as she frowned at him. “Half the days of the week you’re staying up for thirty-two-hour ‘days’ and pulling double and triple shifts. You never join in the fun and games in the rec-room facilities. You’re a little too focused when you’re practicing for combat against Helstead and such, and even our dual-purpose, shipboard chaplain-and-psychologist admits you’re just a little too serious for your own good.”
Her face heated at his words. Given that this whole meeting was tied into Harper’s mist-spewing existence, she had the sinking feeling she knew where this was headed…and she wasn’t sure whether to be mortified, furious, or flattered that they would care for her personal happiness that much. Or rather, that they would try to foist it on her.
Gasnme continued before she could argue the matter, however. She slanted both Ia and Harper a knowing look. “Now, given the way we’ve all seen the two of you interacting, and the looks you sneak at each other when you think nobody’s looking, it’s pretty damn obvious there used to be a fire between you two. And just as obvious, it could be rekindled if you tried. That is, if you both didn’t have your senses of duty wedged up your buttocks.”
Harper coughed, blushing. Ia drew in a deep breath and let it out. Definitely a conspiracy on board her ship. Neither of them could protest the other woman’s bluntness about it, either, because this was the Wake Zone, where the rules of military protocols and conduct were meant to be tossed out the nearest airlock. By her own order, no less. “…Go on.”
Fa’alat nodded. “What she said, si—uh, sister. It wouldn’t be right for either of you to look for a personal life among the enlisted. That’d be breaking the rules way too far. But among the cadre…well, there aren’t that many choices, and neither of you have looked at the others the way you look at…well, the way the two of you always look at the two of you.”
A glance at Meyun showed his own cheeks looking a little flushed. Rico spoke up again before he could protest.
“Besides, you spend all your working hours down in engineering, or out among the repair teams,” he said, nodding at Harper. Then dipped his head at Ia. “Whereas you spend most of your time on the bridge or holed up in your office when you’re not needed to micromanage a particularly fiddly moment in time. There’s no conflict in your respective workplaces. And since you’ve managed to contain your interest beneath a very professional demeanor…we’ve decided as official spies to exempt all future such things from our official reports. Officially.”
Ia blinked. “You…what?”
Meyun recovered faster than her. He lifted one hand to her shoulder, though he addressed the quartet at the table. “You mean, if we do decide to get personal as well as professional…you won’t tell anyone? At all?”
All four of them nodded. Fa’alat added, “More to the point, the rest of the crew agrees and won’t tell anyone.”
“It’s like these little parties,” Fonnyadtz added, lifting her mug. “What happens in the Wake Zone stays in the Wake Zone. Total civilian-style anony
mity. In this case, since Ia’s the CO and is almost always on duty, we’re letting you have the run of the whole ship.” She paused, wrinkled her nose in a wry smile, and amended, “Except I really don’t want to catch the two of you going at it on top of the fish tanks in some lifesupport bay, or tangled up in some P-pod gunner’s chair somewhere.”
“So…none of you would object, or inform the DoI, or Admiral Genibes, or the Admiral-General,” Meyun asked—and slid his hand from Ia’s left to right shoulder, turning and swooping her into a dip, “…if I did this?”
Caught off guard and surprised by his mist-shrouded choice, Ia barely had time to squeak in shock at the sudden shift before his mouth descended in a kiss. It felt good. Way too good.
In sheer self-defense—as in defense of her innermost self, not her physical self—she reached up and pinched his ear. Yelping, Harper quickly righted her. The moment she had her balance, Ia poked him in his green-clad chest, face red from more than just being tipped over. “Not in front of the crew!”
Unrepentant, he grinned. “Then there is a chance I could do that elsewhere! Yes!…Er, yes, right?”
“Harper, let go of me.” She sighed. He released her shoulder, his smile fading. Rico and the others started to frown. Holding up her hand, Ia forestalled them. “Let me check the timestreams. There is a lot more at stake than just my personal happiness.”
Closing her eyes, she checked the timestreams, silently asking if what they were offering, what Harper wanted…what she wanted…was possible. Little tufts of mist shrouded their paths as she checked. Under the provisions of “not in front of the crew” and “only when an hour or two could be spared…”
Finally opening her eyes, she nodded. And squeaked again as he wrapped his arms around her for an enthusiastic hug and a kiss on her cheek. Meyun continued to hold her, cuddling her sideways against his chest.