by Mike Moscoe
That stung; Ray wanted to spin around and read the man out. Except he was right. That agony he'd mistaken for torture had saved, regenerated, and otherwise patched up enough of his spine. He'd seen it on the doctors' view boards. He could move that leg. He could walk. He shook his shoulders, gritted his teeth, and focused on his right knee again. Move, damn you!
Slowly, the knee came up. With every muscle in his body tied in sympathy knots, it moved three inches.
“That's the way, honey,” Rita crowed. “Now the next one. Show them you can walk and I'll get you checked out of here.”
“Checked out?”
She came close. “Yeah. Once you're walking, I can take you home. We've rigged rails for you. You can practice a lot at home. The tech will visit.” She leaned close to his ear. “And we better get you away from those damn mikes before you get yourself shot.”
He took four steps in the next hour, two with his right, two with his left. The therapist left to fill out the discharge paperwork. Back in his room, Ray found a large envelope on his bed. After Rita helped him from the wheelchair, he ripped it open. A red box fell out. As a soldier, he recognized it; only the contents would be a surprise. He flipped the lid open. The Presidential Cross with Diamonds stared back at him—the highest honor Unity conferred on a fighting man.
He snapped it shut and tossed it to Rita. “See if you can't find a bottom drawer to lose that in.”
Rita opened it. “Cross and Diamonds,” she whispered, oozing respect and pride—and looking straight at the corner they agreed held the mike. “Dad will be so proud. He'll have it hung in the parlor. He was an early member of the party here on Wardhaven.”
She handed it back to him, and bent to kiss his ear. “We've got to get you out of here.”
“Yes, love.”
After a sponge bath, Rita helped him into undress greens, even draping his medal around his throat under the pretext of bending to kiss him. Like a child whose fussy mother was dressing him for church, he put up with it. The therapist showed up. Yes, he was signed out. Yes, he could leave immediately. “You remember what I told you,” he said knowingly to Rita.
She reddened, but nodded a quick reply.
“What was that all about?” Ray growled as she wheeled him down the hall.
“I'll show you later.”
What began as a quiet journey broken only by the creaking of a wheel turned into a spectacle as staff and patients paused to watch. Someone clapped. Ray waved, meaning to silence the fool. Others waved back and began clapping too. The applause grew. Neither shushing them, nor rolling his eyes to the ceiling, nor waving them down with both hands did any good.
“Face it.” Rita leaned forward to his ear. She almost had to shout to be heard. “You are a hero to them. Act like one.”
With a sigh of resignation, Major Ray Longknife, Commander of Wardhaven's 2nd Guard Brigade, accepted the acclaim of the hospital. Most he ignored; others were harder. A cluster of his own men in bathrobes stood to attention and saluted.
Now the major wept.
* * * *
Mattim ordered the Sheffield to a night schedule once he was sure everything that could be done was. It took Ivan physically pulling Sandy to get her out of Mattim's day cabin.
“I'll be back as soon as I put Ivan to bed,” she insisted.
“Ivan, you two get eight hours sleep. Either of you touch that terminal in your quarters and so help me, I'll rip it out of the wall.” The two went.
The exec held back until after the others. “What kind of watch do you want to set?”
“Make it a skeleton watch tonight. Everyone gets serious sack time. Then work their tails off so they don't have time to think. We took enough damage; let's fix what we can.
Heaven knows, we may jump back just in time for the next shoot.”
“Right, sir. I'll have tomorrow's Orders of the Day posted before I hit the rack.”
“Which better not be more than a half hour from now.”
She just smiled. He raised an eyebrow. “I didn't hear my order properly acknowledged.”
She grinned as she said, “Yes, sir.”
Mattim walked her as far as the bridge. The four suns were still on the screen. Space did turn up some beautiful oddities. “Thor, what's the system like?”
“Some small gas types, rocks not much bigger than asteroids. Their orbits are as crazy as the suns. No sun orbits another. The big blue and yellow stars do some kind of mutual swing with the little ones near them, then the two pairs do their own swing around a center of gravity between them.”
“Lay in a course for the nearest gas type. Hope it's got what we need.” Mattim rubbed his eyes to help him focus on the star picture. “Were they hatched like this?”
“Sir, if you'd like, I could run a full workup on the gas types so you could select the better one. I'd love to do one on the stars, too, see if they share the same origin.”
The new voice, speaking from the darkness beside the hatch, startled Mattim. “And you are?”
A girl, thick glasses falling over her nose, stepped forward. “Excuse me, sir, Security Striker Second Zappa, sir. But I just got my masters degree in System Engineering before they drafted me. My paper was on the ...” She paused as if doing a translation in her head. “Something about jump points, sir.”
Mattim appreciated the interpretation. “You've got an advanced degree, and we're making you a guard?”
She drew herself up to what couldn't have been one hundred twenty centimeters. “I've got my black belt, sir.”
“You misunderstand me.” Mattim waved a hand. “We've just launched ourselves on a grand voyage of discovery'...”
“So I noticed, sir,” she interrupted dryly. “We know where we are. We know where we want to be. So we'll make a few minor adjustments, twitch our noses, click our heels together and bingo, we'll be home. That was quite a whopper, sir.”
“That obvious, huh?”
“To those of us with any training.”
“And how many might that be?”
“There's two of us with Ph.D.'s, nearly a dozen Masters like me, and twenty B.S.'s. Didn't you check the personnel rolls?”
“We were rather busy,” Mattim flinched.
“I guess you were. We'd be glad to help.” Eager eyes, wide with youthful confidence and innocent folly, stared at him.
And who knows, they might help. And he sure as hell did not need the rest of the crew getting an alternate viewpoint from their own science team of child wonders. Co-opt them before they clobbered him. “I think you have a deal. Can you stand this watch and be ready to form up in a team in the morning?”
“No problem, sir. I've pulled all-nighters and aced the test the next day. We're kids, sir, not old folks.”
Mattim headed back to his cabin, not sure who was co-opting whom. A computer search verified what she said. As a businessman, he shuddered at the waste. As the captain of a ship halfway across the galaxy from the nearest port, he was glad. With that, he stumbled to bed. It was exactly one half hour since he'd sent his officers off. When they asked, he could answer that he'd followed his own orders. About the time his head hit the pillow, he was asleep.
* * * *
Ray sat in the passenger seat as Rita drove them home. They were delayed by several troop convoys, red unity flags flying, packed with recent draftees still in civilian clothes. The new troops looked less than enthusiastic. A red flag bedecked stoplight showed the alternative. Two bodies swung from it. Around one neck was a sign reading “Earthie symp,” around the other “Draft Dodger.”
Rita scowled. “We only have enough transports to lift one division. Why raise more troops?” Ray had no answer.
Her parents had converted a second parlor on their spacious ground floor into his bedroom. The rails and mirror were there for him to practice on at all hours. A housekeeper and her husband were there to help. Recalling that Rita's father was an early Unity Party member, Ray wondered if he'd just traded a camera watcher
for a human eye.
* * * *
Thrown into close proximity with Rita, even in his present condition, the proprieties became difficult to maintain.
“Mother wants to know when we can announce our engagement. I told her I wanted to announce the wedding date instead.”
“And she was properly scandalized,” Ray growled.
“No, she agreed. What is a good day for a wedding?”
Ray sighed; the day was too beautiful for this. Clouds floated on a soft breeze. Rowers swayed; trees rustled in full dress greens. It was too good a day to argue. He was sprawled on the grass after another long hour on the bars; Rita had put the wheelchair out of sight. He could almost believe it was last summer. But dreams were one thing, reality another. “Rita, I'm not in any shape to be a husband. No job, no... nothing.”
Ignoring the verbal slap, she picked up a flower and settled it behind her right ear. She wore the sundress; with the sun behind her, he could almost see through it.
“You look man enough for me,” she told him. Her eyes slid from his face to his exercise shorts. He glanced down; the bulge was growing far too obvious. He tried to cross his legs. He couldn't quite manage it yet.
“Let's see.” Rita grinned and grabbed for his shorts. If he hadn't been trying to cross his legs, he'd have reacted faster. She had his shorts down before he grabbed for them. By then, she'd yanked them over his sandals. For a moment she whirled them above her head like some trophy. Then, looking down at him and grinning at what she saw, she tossed his shorts away.
“Rita, the house.”
“Is blocked by the trees. It is time we talked this through, and I think I have you where I can finally talk to you.”
“Rita, I can't.”
“You look ready enough.” She fondled him.
“Rita, the plumbing may be willing, but the back is not behind it. I can't.” He choked on the words.
“That's not what your physical therapist says.”
“You've talked about this with him!”
“And why not? He told me exactly how we can do this.” She reached for her dress. In one fluid motion, she swept it up and over her head. It fluttered away on the breeze to land beside his shorts.
“Now, let me show you.” She stepped astride him.
“I don't think there's any more of you, you could show me.”
“Yes.” She bent at the knees, slowly lowering herself. One hand balanced her, the other hand guided him in.
Lost forever, he reached for her breasts.
“Oh, yes,” she said. “Oh, yes.”
* * * *
Later, she lay beside him. “So, what do I tell Mother?”
“You're going to tell your mother?”
“A date for the wedding. Could we make it soon? They're sending an entire division to Elmo Four-A, and I'd like to go as Senior Pilot Mrs. Longknife.”
He reached for her, pulled her halfway on top of him, let her breasts crush against him. “You may tell your mother anything you wish.”
“Good, because Father wants to talk to you tonight, and I'd rather he was talking to my fiancé than to some stranger.”
“Your father doesn't own a shotgun, does he?”
“Shotgun?”
“An ancient earth appliance often used as a marriage aid.”
“I've heard about those things. Maybe once I'm a married lady, I can get someone to sell me one.”
Ray measured the distance to his shorts. It was not too late to back out. This woman had been nothing but one startling surprise after another since he first saw her on the bridge of her transport. How could anyone go so quickly from efficient spacefarer to beguiling young woman? Marriage to her would be full of surprises. Hopefully less painful than those he'd found commanding the 2nd Guard. But just as he could not think, of not commanding the 2nd, he could not think of not loving Rita.
* * * *
Mattim had breakfast served to his “old folks” tiger team in his day cabin. He wanted to make sure they got one decent meal, even if it was wolfed down. “By the way,” he began blandly, “you know you're not the only science team on this problem.” He relished the dismay on every face—except Guns.
He snorted. “You found out about my brain trust. How?”
“That little snippet of a guard. She offered last night to run a major workup on the suns. Also told me in very precise details of the whopper I told the crew.”
“Ah.” Guns grinned. “The Kat who got away.”
Mattim glanced down his list. Guns was right; all but two or three were in his department. “How good are they, Guns?”
“Quite good. Of course, there're a few that aren't quite as good as they think they are, but time will educate them.”
“We need them now.”
“Then I suspect we need to adjourn to a mess deck. The wardroom would be better, if you don't mind turning a bunch of strikers loose in officer's country.”
“As a merchant skipper, I've issued midshipman warrants.”
“No can do here, Captain,” Ding said without hesitation.
Guns gnawed his lower lip. “Of course, sir, you are still a licensed merchant captain. I, for one, think these kids would be a lot easier to deal with if they were not part of my usual chain of command. If you gave them temporary midshipman ranks and assignments, it might avoid a lot of confusion.”
“Exec?” Mattim raised an eyebrow at her.
“I think it will be a bloody confusing chain of command any way you cut it, but I'll go along with you. Somebody once told me if you're going to screw up, screw up big.”
“That was my grandmother,” Mattim sighed.
The computer accessed the old Red Flag portion of his files, matched the names on his overtrained and underemployed list and printed out merchant midshipman warrants. When ordered, the kids reported to the wardroom, along with a dozen or so officers and chiefs that had been added to the “science” side of the ship for the duration. Mattim handed out the warrants. Ding swore them in. Then they got down to business.
“Any with experience in the theory of jump navigation or something close, join Lieutenant Commander O'Mally's team. If you're good with computers or image enhancement, Guns keeps you. The rest help Lieutenant Jagel analyze this system.”
“Are we homesteading?” came from the back of the room.
“No. Commander O'Malley has repeatedly told me that the gravity of the known systems acting on the jump points only accounts for eighty or ninety percent of their movement. I want to know if this system accounts for the missing twenty percent, or if we should be prepared for more. I'm open for other proposals for study. Write them up and hand them into the Exec. Any questions?”
“Do we get new uniforms, sir?”
Mattim studied the questioner, who'd jumped to attention before asking. He glanced at Guns, who rolled his eyes. So this is one of them who had a bit to learn.” We’ve got a damaged ship to repair. We'll see what we can do in our spare time.” He took a bite out of the words to show there shouldn't be any.
The questioner wilted back into her seat.
“Good. Let's get organized. I want action plans to me by oh-seven hundred tomorrow.” He hunted for Zappa, found her. “Looks like an all-nighter to me. And I'd like a team to run a full set of tests on the gas planets to see if we're headed for the right one. Good day, ladies and gentlemen. Have fun.”
* * * *
Two days after the supply run, the roof fell on Mary.
“Sergeant Rodrigo, report to Company HQ, pronto.”
From the look on the captain's face, all Mary's luck was sludge. He stood, glowering at a message flimsy as she reported in her best recruit manner. He left her holding her salute. “Do you have any idea why I'm to report to brigade tomorrow morning with you and a couple of your corporals in tow?”
“No sir.”
He tossed the message on his desk and returned her salute with a sour wave. “You ain't gone crying to your mommas?”
�
��No sir.”
“Yeah, most of you are too old to have mommas, and the young ones aren't any better than whores' trash anyway. Hear this, woman. You wrecked one officer's career and damn near killed him. You aren't wrecking mine. You bozos may have gotten a few pissant colonials to bug out. Next time they show up, they'll see how real marines do it. You hear me.”
“Yes sir.” Mary heard him loud and clear. She'd kept her platoon alive—most of them—and his ego was all bent and busted. Fuck you and the tailpipe of what you rode in on.
“Dismissed, woman. And get cleaned up. Use some lipstick. Have one of those tramps show you if you don't know how. Make sure the rest of those stinking bums get a bath.”
The man expected her gone. She didn't budge. “Request permission to use one of the other platoons' facilities vans.”
“First platoon has its own.”
“Yes, sir, a sitting target for a rock.”
“I ordered you to dig it in. I've got a hard copy right here.” So it was cover his ass time.
“Yes, sir, but there is no location in the platoon area that provides reasonable protection. Us miners know our rocks, sir.”
The red was rising past his neck to his cheeks. Mary prepared for another blow. “Permission granted. Now get the hell out of my sight.”
There was some serious celebrating that night. Nobody had the foggiest idea what was up, but that didn't matter. They had the run of second and third platoon's showers— not just Mary and the three who were going with her, but all the platoon. They used the vans' showers until the hot water ran out, and were none too careful about the mess they made.
Later, as Mary settled herself deep into her fighting hole, she remembered the captain's order about lipstick. She'd forgotten. She didn't care either.
Thor brought Mattim the analysis of the system. It was over an inch thick. He looked up at Thor with a lopsided frown.
“The top page is the summary. You wouldn't believe some of the programs these kids have on their personal computers. One plugged his into the new antennae the Navy hung on the Maggie and damned if he didn't have this in no time. I figured you'd want the full report on hard copy. I got lost in it on the computer.”