by John Bowers
Finally she released him, but kept her arms around his neck, breathless.
"Can we take a walk outside?" she asked, her face flushed with the uneasy feeling that she was overdoing it.
Johnny nodded, and they threaded their way toward the exit. Outside, they moved across the lawn toward a park bench that sat in the shadow of a towering pine tree. The air was crisp and cold, a dusting of snow on the ground. Angela welcomed the chill against her face. As they stopped walking, she lowered her head as she faced him, wondering what he was thinking.
"I guess I was out of line in there," she said.
"I didn't mind."
She dared look into his eyes. Then, softly, "Do you remember our last date?"
Johnny's blood turned to ice. Was this an announcement? His heart pounded rapidly, his breath became short. He nodded slowly.
"That was probably a bad idea," he said. "I shouldn't have pressured you like that."
"You never made any promises," she told him. "But I fell in love with you that night."
Oh, god! he thought, if it's true, this is where I find out!
"I already had a crush on you, ever since we first met. But that night was … well, it was when I knew for sure."
Johnny looked at her with guilty eyes, his tongue tracing across his lips. "I'm sorry, Angela."
"I'm not as pretty as your gunner, Johnny," she said quietly, "but my love is real. I can love to you just as hard as she can, and make you just as happy. All I need is the opportunity."
She held his gaze, giving him time to respond. He saw the anxiety in her eyes, the vulnerability. She hadn't said a word yet about any baby; was Brad delusional after all? He opened his mouth to ask her, then stopped. He wasn't sure he wanted to know … and in any case, if there really was a baby — and if he was the father — surely she would tell him herself.
Wouldn't she?
He took both her hands in his own, clasping them tightly. Her fingers were icy as he kissed them.
"I'm sorry, Angela. I'm in love with my gunner."
She stood silent for a moment, her breath frosting in the cold air. He saw her blink rapidly, then she forced a smile.
"I hope I haven't embarrassed you."
"You didn't. But I do feel like a jerk."
She kissed him again, holding him as long as she dared, and he slid his arms around her until she released him. Her eyes glimmered with unshed tears.
"You're not a jerk. But we'd better get back inside, before your gunner comes looking for us. I don't want to tangle with the Fighter Queen."
She turned back toward the auditorium, but Johnny caught her hand and pulled her back. She looked up at him hopefully, her face obscured by shadow.
"Angela?" His eyes narrowed with the intensity of his gaze, his veins throbbing with dread. He had to know.
"Yes?"
"Angela, is there …" He cleared his throat. "Is there anything else you wanted to talk to me about?"
He thought she looked startled for a second, but it might have been his imagination.
"Like what?" she whispered.
"Like … anything. Anything at all that I should know about."
Long seconds passed as they stared at each other in the darkness. Johnny waited with bated breath. Angela pressed her lips together and seemed to be chewing them from inside. Tears slipped down her cheeks and down her neck as she seemed to be searching for her voice. Finally she laughed, a single bark of exploding breath, and shook her head rapidly.
"Of course not," she said. "I think we've said it all."
"Are you sure?"
She nodded slowly. "Yes. I'm sure. Don't be silly."
She turned and led him back into the building.
* * *
Inside, they parted company. Johnny returned to his group and picked up his drink, now watery from melted ice. Onja was talking to his brother, but her eyes met his and he grinned weakly. She tipped her own glass and swallowed, but didn't change expression. It was ten minutes later, back on the dance floor, that she cocked her head and planted a possessive kiss on his chin.
"And what was that about?" she asked.
"Unrequited love," he told her. "My dad's secretary. It appears she's in love with me."
"She's a very pretty girl."
"Yes, she is."
"Did you tell her about us?"
"Yep."
"How did she take it?"
"Took it well. She's an adult, she'll be okay."
Onja shook her head in wonder.
"Your parents should have named you Forrest," she said.
He looked puzzled. "Why?"
"Because sometimes you can be really dense. She 'took it well' because she didn't want to make a fool of herself. If I went into the ladies' room right now, I'll bet she's in there crying her eyes out."
"Naw, not Angela."
Onja smiled and placed her chin on his shoulder, letting the subject drop.
"How did you and Brad get along?" Johnny asked a moment later.
"Oh, wonderful! He asked me to dance and managed to grind his crotch into my belly for three and a half minutes. I'm not sure if he ejaculated or not."
Johnny laughed. "Still feel sorry for him?"
She nodded solemnly. "Actually, more than ever."
"You about ready to blow this place?"
"Yesterday."
"Come on, then. Let's slip off somewhere and get some air."
"Like where?"
"Let's go flying."
"It's tempting. But for your parents' sake, let's not. I don't want to insult them. Or all these people."
He sighed. "Okay. It can't last more than a couple more hours, anyway. But I will be glad to have you all to myself."
"Where do you want to go next?"
"You tell me. Some place remote. No people, no cameras."
"Sounds marvelous. Maybe a lake somewhere, or an island."
"We'll find something. Trust me."
The music stopped and she kissed him gently.
"I do," she said. "I always have."
Sunday, 6 January, 0222 (PCC) — Denver, CO, Terra
"Did you tell him?"
Oliver Lincoln III stood beside Angela Martinez on the parking apron after they'd watched the sleek space fighter climb into the overcast morning sky and disappear. Rosemary had returned to the car, leaving them alone.
"No." Her voice was almost a whisper. "But I think he knows."
Lincoln turned on her, his face bleak with surprise. "What d'you mean?"
"He was on edge the whole time we were talking."
"Maybe he was just uncomfortable with the subject."
"I think it was more than that."
"What did you talk about?"
"We talked about us … he told me he's in love with his gunner, so that ended that subject. But then he asked if there was anything else I wanted to tell him. Like he was expecting me to drop it on him. I got the feeling he knew, but hoped it wasn't true."
Lincoln stared at the sky again, rubbing a hand over his face. His breath exhaled slowly in the frigid breeze.
"Brad," he said wearily. "Goddammit it, I forgot to warn him. And he came by last night. I saw him talking to John."
Angela shrugged. "It doesn't matter, anyway."
"It sure as hell does! If Brad fucked it up for you …"
"He didn't. I did that myself, by getting pregnant."
"Still …"
"If Brad told Johnny, then Johnny knows. If he wants to acknowledge the baby, then he will."
"If he doesn't, he's not much of a man. I'll be very disappointed in him."
She laid a hand on his arm.
"Don't be too hard on him, Mr. Lincoln. He has a lot on his mind right now. Maybe it's more than he can deal with at the moment. It would be different if we were married, but we're not."
"That might still happen," Lincoln said hopefully.
"Maybe." Angela shoved her hands into her coat pockets. "But I'm not going to shop for a wedding dres
s just yet."
Sunday, 6 January, 0222 - Thursday, 31 January, 0222 (PCC) — Solomon Islands, Terra
They chose a Pacific island that had, centuries before, been the scene of ferocious combat. With typical tropical memory, the battlefields had been overgrown with lush palms and jungle vegetation, erasing the scars of war. Now only the history chips conjured up the horrors that had once occurred there.
Keeping clear of the steamy, insect ridden jungle, they spent their days and nights on the beach, a curving strip of sand that framed a picturesque lagoon, lapped by gentle rollers that crawled in and broke in a crash of white foam. The air was hot and humid, but the breeze was refreshing.
Living in a portable shelter just out of reach of the surf, they spent their days strolling the beach, swimming, diving offshore — and their nights enjoying the crystal, unrestricted view of the heavens, making passionate love on a blanket by the water. They cooked their meals over an open fire, letting the peace envelope them and heal their emotional scars — as much as twenty-six days could do. The endless days and nights were a godsend.
But the days sped by all too quickly, until the final night had arrived. As they lay looking up at the multitude of stars — bright diamond chips that glittered with nuclear fire from light years away — each felt a profound sadness at the prospect of leaving this paradise.
With the flaps of the shelter folded back and the steady breeze cooled by the setting of the sun, they made love slowly, with none of the urgency they felt after a combat. Johnny saw the rapture in Onja's face as, eyes closed and mouth open, she moaned in ecstasy. The breeze tugged at her spiked hair and deep in his bones he felt the thrill of love that went far beyond just the sex. If he'd ever doubted it, and he hadn't, he knew in that moment that he never wanted to be separated from this girl. If anything happened to her, he seriously doubted he could ever love again.
Later they lay side-by-side, touching, their bodies absorbing the glow that permeated them. Johnny kissed her gently on the cheek.
"I don't want to leave this place," he said. "I don't want to go back."
"Neither do I," she admitted. "This is like heaven, Johnny. I wish we could stay here forever."
He rolled over and rested on his elbows, looking out at the surf. Tomorrow they would go back to their squadron. Back to the war, to a carrier. To the QuasarFighter; the boredom, the tedium, and the terror. The fighting. The killing. The dying. He wished he didn't have to take Onja back to that.
Onja opened her eyes, saw him, and also rolled onto her elbows, nuzzling against him.
"Where are you?" she asked softly.
"Just thinking."
"Tell me."
"Wishing I could marry you and take you out of harm's way. Never have to worry about you stopping a laser."
"I'd like that," she said.
He turned slowly to look at her.
"You mean that?"
"You know I love you, Johnny. Some day you'll ask me to marry you, and I'll say yes."
His heart suddenly pounded, and he sat up. She looked at him, saw his expression.
"What?"
"My dad offered me a job," he said. "Vice president of the Fighter Division. He wants me to resign from the service and build fighters. He said the Fighter Service would cut me loose to go into a defense job."
Onja's clear blue eyes didn't waver for ten seconds.
"Are you going to accept?"
"I wasn't planning to. But — if you wanted to take a transfer to a noncombat job …" He put a hand on her shoulder. "Onja, we've done our part. No one could ever accuse us of shirking. We could both be Terraside. You could train gunners. We could get married. We wouldn't be together every day, but I'd know you were safe, and we'd have the rest of our lives together."
She touched his face with her hand, and for a moment he dared hope. She pulled him down to her and kissed him.
"I love you, Onja," he said, his throat constricted. "I don't want to live without you."
"I love you, too, Johnny. I'd marry you in a minute if I could, but I still have a vow to keep."
A cold hand closed around his heart, and he understood. Her life would remain on hold until the war ended — and so would his, if he wanted her. Unexpectedly, his eyes misted, and he looked down at the floor of the shelter.
"You can still do it, Johnny. I wouldn't ask you to turn this down for me. You have the background and the experience. You build the fighters and I'll fight in them."
He shook his head. "Not unless you agreed to come with me."
"I can't do that. I swore an oath. I have to see it through."
Johnny took a deep breath and wiped his eyes.
"I made a promise, too," he said.
"You did? When?"
"To Momma Kvoorik. To look out for you. I'll see that one through."
"Johnny …"
"Where you go, Onja, I go. No power in the universe is going to separate me from you. I'm staying with you for the rest of my life, or until you tell me you don't love me any more."
"Dear Johnny! I'll never, ever tell you that."
"Then it's you and me, Onja. Forever."
* * *
Dear Dad,
It's been thirty days since we talked, and you probably realize by now that I've decided not to accept the position you offered me. No doubt you'll think I'm crazy, and you may be right. I want you to know that I did seriously consider it.
As for Angela, tell her to set her sights on someone else. My life has gone too far, too fast, for her to wait for me. I'm in love with Onja, and I'll go wherever that leads me.
Dad, you and I have a lot of history behind us, most of it best forgotten; but I want you to know that I really enjoyed the time we spent at home. Thanks for your hospitality and all the trouble you went to. It meant more to me than you know. As far as I'm concerned, the past is past, the books are in balance. You know what I mean.
Give my love to Mom, and if the joker ever does turn up … well, take care of her.
John
Friday, 1 February, 0222 (PCC) — Lunar Base 9, Luna
Johnny and Onja returned to duty on 1 February, to discover that a few changes had been made in their absence. Capt. Santiago had been transferred; his replacement was Leroy Washington, who'd served with Onja at AB-131. Denise Jordan was Washington's new gunner. The other new face belonged to Sylvia Gates, who was replacing Trish de los Santos.
Six weeks later, the first Federation carrier, UFF Anwar Sadat, was commissioned. The first squadron to take up residence was ZF-213.
Chapter 29
Sunday, 7 April, 0222 (PCC) — between Terra and Mars, Solar System
Johnny Lincoln stood on the hangar deck of UFF Anwar Sadat and stared at the sleek black QuasarFighter that had seen him and Onja through so many battles. Onja was asleep in quarters, exhausted by their lovemaking; unable to sleep, he'd come down here just to be alone and have some open space around him. He was still awed by the size of the hangar deck, by the size of everything on Sadat; and seeing the dozens of QFs was somehow reassuring.
Except for a handful of Star Marines standing guard at critical points around the hangar, the place was deserted. The only sound was the distant hum of nuclear engines as the giant carrier cruised through space at sublight speed. Johnny walked slowly around his fighter, carefully inspecting its various external ports, switches, Ladar and video pickups, launch tubes, and access panels. It was a routine he performed every day, especially before a patrol. He'd already done it once today, but with sleep eluding him he found it comforting to review everything again.
As he checked readouts on a hand-held monitor plugged into the weapons system, he found himself unable to concentrate. Not a day had passed since his visit home that he hadn't wondered about what Brad had told him: "Angie had her baby …" But Angela hadn't said a word about it, even when he gave her a clear invitation to do so. So was there a baby or not? Was it just a figment of Brad's disjointed mind, or was there another Lincoln he'd never
met?
Of course, Angie could've had a baby by someone else, but if she loved Johnny as much as she claimed, that seemed unlikely. She'd never seemed the type to sleep around, and had been a virgin that night at the Rock. So if there was a baby, it was almost certainly his.
Johnny had gone for weeks on the theory that it was just Brad's imagination, or a misstatement — something — but it didn't completely wash. There'd been other clues, when he took the time to think about it. Brad's offhanded comment, his dad offering him a civilian job, his assertion that Angela wanted to marry him, his mother's gentle insistence that he consider Angela as a possible wife, Angela's hesitation when he asked her if there was something else she wanted to talk about. Individually, none of those moments meant a thing, but collectively …
There was probably a baby.
So where did that leave him? What should he do? He couldn't marry Angela, wasn't about to give up Onja.
But …
If he had a child, he wasn't going to turn his back on it. Was it a boy or a girl? Did it look like him or Angela? What was its name?
He was going to have to find out.
He sensed movement behind him. The woman standing there was the last person he'd expected to see; she gazed at him curiously, her eyes neutral, unsmiling.
"Can't sleep, Lieutenant?" Ursula Negus asked.
Johnny straightened and unplugged the monitor, closing the access hatch to the external port.
"No. You, either?"
She shook her head and took a step closer. He watched her without expression, puzzled at her presence. Since she and Hinds had reported to the squadron six months earlier, she'd said very little to him, and then only in the line of duty. She wasn't popular among the crews. As Hinds's eyes and ears, everyone saw her as something of a spy. Her acid tongue had lashed more than one pilot or gunner.
"Quiet down here," she said, looking up at the overhead of the hangar bay.
"Yep."
She stared at him, her dark, smoldering eyes intensely beautiful.
"You don't like me, do you?"
He blinked in surprise. "I don't even know you."
Her lips curved into a humorless smile. "But nobody likes the Bitch of Luna 9. Right?"
"I never called you that."
"I'll bet Kvoorik does."