by S. E. Smith
“I do tell her how I feel. Every blasted day. It does nothing.”
“Then your transmissions are coming through garbled, buddy. If you want her, if you want your message to come through loud and clear, don’t tell her—show her how you feel. Before it’s too late. She hasn’t found Mr. Right yet, but she will.”
Like Dr. Leonardo Treat. The man was his most recent competition for Trysh’s heart. The night she went to dinner with him was one of the longest of Rornn’s life. Treat—the name alone had struck fear in his gut. He was consumed with dread when she messaged him afterward to meet her in Nimbus. Rornn pretended to be sympathetic as she confessed to feeling no chemistry with the doctor. Although he was “very nice”, in her words, she wouldn’t go out with him again. Hurrah! It took everything he had not to openly gloat. She was still his—even though she didn’t realize it.
Not yet.
“Charming. Pay attention. This is the frontier. Minutes matter, dude. When it comes to women, if you snooze, you lose.”
Rornn nodded and watched her carry a tray to a table occupied by their squadron mates. Their eyes met. Show her how you feel. He flashed her a grin, giving her the same thumbs-up and wink he used to greet the simulator attendant, whatever her name was. Annie? Fannie? Trysh’s reaction was a world apart. Her gaze turned frosty as she sat down to eat.
Rornn exhaled.
“But, more importantly, Charming, this is Taco Tuesday. Let us say thanks for the best tacos in the ESFF.” Danger crossed himself then held up three fingers at the food server, indicating he wanted three tacos. The crumbled meat used for the dish had a distinct, piquant aroma. Tex-Mex, it was called. Doused in hot sauce, tacos were heaven on a plate. Nothing like them had ever been served in the palace, which made it taste even better. The more unlike home something was, the more Rornn desired it. Trysh Milton topped the list.
He turned to the server and held up four fingers.
Puppy
They took her brothers and sisters away first. “Not that one—leave it. It’s the runt,” the voice of a Tall One said. “Too skinny. Not good eatin’.”
Another voice growled, “It’s doing nothing more than taking milk. The sooner the dam is weaned, the sooner she can be bred. This is a money-making operation, not a pet store. Get rid of it.”
Blissfully unaware of how her life was about to change, Puppy suckled, warmed by her mother’s soft belly. For once she didn’t need to compete with her stronger, bigger littermates that always pushed her away before she could eat her fill. Her world was perfect in that moment. Just warmth, milk, and her mother’s gently stroking tongue. Her belly filled and drowsiness soon overtook her constant, frantic hunger…
Grabbed by the scruff of the neck, she was back in the cold, dangling high above the ground. Alarmed, she barked at the top of her lungs.
“Shut that thing up!”
“I got to fill a bucket before I can drown it.”
“It’s so small just stomp on it!”
“Who’s gonna clean up the mess when I do—you, Yeesa?”
“Ya calling me lazy, you worthless piece of slag? Wring its neck then.”
“Then bring me a bag, woman, because wringin’ their necks is messy too.”
“What do ya think we are—rich cogs from the compound? I ain’t gonna waste no bag on a runt!”
Puppy kept crying as the Tall Ones argued. The thin skin at her nape was pinched too hard, hurting her. Then there was a thunderous sound, water hitting something hollow and hard. Puppy jolted in terror, crying louder.
Soon all the Others were barking in their cages.
“Shut that craggin’ thing up, I said! It’s got them all riled up. It’ll turn the taste of the meat.”
Puppy was dropped into icy-cold water. She managed to catch the rim of the bucket with her front paws before her head went under, her rear claws raking the slick sides. Then the bucket tipped over, spilling the water and her into the street. To the sound of the Tall Ones yelling she ran away as fast as she could.
There were Others like her in the winding alleyways, their scents unfamiliar, sharp with desperation and aggression. They chased her away from the alluring stench of trash with snarls and bared teeth. Weakening, shivering, longing for her mother, she darted from shadow to shadow. Something inside her, a voice without a sound, urged her not to lie down and give up. Keep going. If you do, you will find your way home. Puppy took shelter under one of the Tall Ones’ boxes-that-moved. It had a low, close ceiling, and radiated heat, which comforted her. She drowsed…
A commotion jolted her from a stupor and she was no longer alone. A yipwag pup larger than she was crowded into the space next to her, a piece of meat dangling from his jaws. The aroma filled her senses. She trembled, whimpering, her hunger awakening, overwhelming. Rising on wobbly legs, her heartbeat so fast, too fast, she inched toward the visitor, her tail tucking between her hindquarters. Their eyes met. He is like me. Lost and alone.
With his nose, the puppy pushed a tidbit of meat toward her—
BANG BANG! Two loud booms shook the box. The pups bolted for safety.
In an instant, Puppy lost her new friend in the maze of Tall Ones’ legs. She ran and ran until her little body was ready to give out. Using the last of her strength, she chose an open crate, one of many like it in a land of crates and boxes, and squeezed into the farthest corner.
But Tall Ones entered her hiding place. “This is all I could get this time. It’s packed inside the med kits. After this, I don’t know if I can do it anymore. Bones is getting suspicious.”
“This should be enough. You kept the material separated? It’s unstable if it’s mixed.”
“I did, I did. What do you think? I don’t want the shuttle going bang.”
Something heavy scraped over the floor. A sharp odor tickled Puppy’s nose and she sneezed.
The Tall Ones went silent. The smell of fear and sweat was strong and distinct.
Something rammed into the space where she hid, barely missing her. A long rod. It rooted around then came slamming down. Too close. She darted away and yelped.
“It's a street dog! Jaysus. Scared the living daylights out of me. I thought the gig was up.”
“Shoo! Go! Get out of here!” Puppy felt the breeze of the stick the Tall One was using to try to hit her. Wham. Wham. She bolted from the crate and ran, looking for another place to hide. So many crates. She dove into a large one that smelled better than the rest. Quivering, she crammed into a narrow space between round containers stored inside it.
Pain radiated from her hindquarters. Bright light burst behind her eyes with each rapid beat of her heart. She quivered, curling into a ball, almost unable to keep a whimper from escaping her throat. But the last time she made a noise, the Tall Ones tried to hit her with a stick.
The entrance to her shelter slammed shut. In the darkness, Puppy trembled as her shelter swayed and seemed to lift off the ground. There was a terrifying noise and shaking, then it subsided, replaced by a gentle swaying, a low rumbling. Her ears felt stuffy.
Then she floated off the floor.
Wonder took precedence over fear. She bobbed and bounced along the walls and ceilings of the dark, cavernous space. A delicious smell made her forget the pain in her hind leg. She pushed away from the wall to follow the scent to its source, grabbing hold of a small box with her teeth and claws lest she float away again. Glancing around for Others who would steal her prize and maim or kill her, she decided she was still alone. Frantically, she peeled off the outer covering, ripping apart the casing under that, and sank her muzzle into a warm, crumbly mess that tasted of the sweetness of her mother’s milk and the savory richness of fat. It was almost too sweet, too sticky, but food meant survival. Half-choking in her frenzy to eat, awash in a swirling cloud of torn paper and crumbs, she wolfed it down.
A jerking movement knocked her loose. She dropped, hitting the floor with the remains of her meal. The den swung wildly, throwing her around. She slid across the floor and smacked in
to containers, hurting her ribs. Then, with a powerful boom, the crate went still. Her lungs heaved, her body hurting. She could hear the voices and footsteps of Tall Ones. Crumbs dangled from her whiskers, her nose was sticky. Bright light hurt her eyes as the entrance banged open. Faces of Tall Ones peered in. “Sarg! Sergeant Spratt! We got a hitchhiker!”
“A what?” Feet stomped closer.
“A stowaway. And…uh…it got into that pie you said your nurse friend was sending up.”
“What! Someone got into my pie?” yelled the raspy voice.
“Something. It’s one of those yipwags from the colony, Sarg. A street dog. A puppy.”
“I want it boxed up and back out on the fourteen-hundred shuttle run! Cripes. Now it’s peeing!”
More Tall Ones clustered around the opening. A faint but familiar sharp odor wafted past. Puppy wrinkled her nose and let out a double sneeze. The Tall One with the stick had smelled the same way. A bad smell. A growl began deep in her throat.
“Looks like it doesn’t like us, boss.”
“It ate my pie! It’ll be damn lucky if I don't eat it!”
Puppy darted between their legs. The floor was slippery. She skidded as she wove between the Tall Ones’ legs. Some yelled; others reached for her. She felt their fingers raking down her back as they tried to catch her; one even tried to snatch her by the tail. The thought of being thrown back in the bucket of cold, deep water gave her the speed she needed to escape her growing pack of pursuers. Ahead loomed something odd, shiny, and hard that the Tall Ones climbed and descended. Up there—she had to go. She put one paw on the step, then jerked it back in fear. But her pursuers were growing ever closer, their footsteps thundering. She leaped up to the first step, her back legs peddling. She managed to climb to the next step when hands closed around her stomach and snatched her off her feet.
Rornn
“Ask them about the sim,” Danger told Trysh’s good friend, Carlynn—call sign “Mooch”—as they ate lunch. “They tried to wreck the Dragaar’s wormhole. Almost did.”
“Seriously?” Carlynn leaned forward eagerly, her dark eyes shining. “Whose crazy-ass idea was that?”
“His,” Trysh answered at the same time Rornn said, “Hers.”
“That’s a negative, Charming,” Trysh shot back. “You went off road.”
“You went with me.”
“Yep. I sure did. When will I learn?” Trysh’s glance left him feeling as if he had gotten seared by the hot end of a plasma launcher. He did not like to upset her, but, oh, her passion!
She snatched a bottle of hot sauce from his hand and shook some onto her tacos. “The examiner didn’t even stay around to talk to us. I take that as a bad sign.”
“Au contraire, my dear Trysh. He said he was starving for tacos.” Rornn lifted a taco to his mouth and took a hearty bite. “They are good.”
“Since when do you speak French?” Carlynn asked.
“I am a man of many talents. If you doubt me, ask Firefly.”
Trysh rolled her eyes. “So much for ever having a serious conversation with you.”
“I am being serious.” He tried to sound contrite. “I think they programmed the scenario so that we cannot win. No one could.” He spied their examiner, Major Bud Yarnell, getting up from his table, a toothpick sticking out from his mouth. “There he is now, our examiner.” Rornn waved, and Trysh glared at him.
“Don’t make it worse,” she warned.
Yarnell walked over to the table and greeted them. He was a forthright fellow who had been a test pilot for atmospheric craft on Earth before taking the assignment to Bezos. Trysh and Rornn jumped to their feet. “At ease, everyone,” he told the rest of the group at the table before eying him and Trysh as if hunting for the right words to say.
A twang of tension. Rornn could feel it in Trysh, and in him. Was it to be bad news? Perhaps Trysh was right after all, his actions in the simulator had cost them. Returning for her, abandoning the mission, he might have earned them a grade of Unsatisfactory, a U, the infamous “hook”. It would sink not only his shot at top-gun honors this quarter but hers as well. True, that there could only be room for one at the top. Something they rarely talked about. He didn’t want her to lose her dreams of career advancement. Nor did he wish to lose his. It was a real pickle when it came to competing for the same prize. Sometimes he wondered if they loved the competing more than the prize. But then he would see a certain intensity in her to win, a desperation, hinting that her desire to excel was more than just that.
The desire to please her father. She did not say it, but he knew it all the same.
Major Yarnell twirled his toothpick. “What the hell is wrong with you two?”
Rornn stood straighter. “I can explain, Sir. I advocated for something that was not in our orders. But Lieutenant Milton, she—”
“I did my best to provide the support he needed to complete the attack,” Trysh put in. “I failed to adequately do so.”
“I did not inform her I was aborting the mission,” Rornn said.
“I take full responsibility,” they stated at the same instant.
They exchanged glances. No, I do, Rornn tried to say with his eyes.
No, I do, she scowled back silently.
“The blame lies with me,” Rornn insisted. “I accept the consequences of my decision. I chose to return for Trysh—Lieutenant Milton—over completing the mission.”
I would do so again and again.
Twirling his toothpick with two fingers, their examiner wore a ghost of a smile on his face. “Both of you look ready to piss your pants.” He shook his head. “No one lives through Encke Gap, so get the hell over that part. Colonel Amanpour never wants to discourage his flyers from thinking outside the box. Even if sometimes it isn’t the right box. Keep giving this mission your all. Yes, you passed the ride. In my quarters, I have a plaque on my wall; it reads, Never tell people how to do things. Tell them what to do and they will surprise you with their ingenuity. Seeing that General George S. Patton was a good friend of your great-grandfather, Lieutenant Milton, I suggest you take the advice to heart. I have no further debrief. You covered it all. Now get the hell back to your lunch.”
“Yes, Sir!”
They sat back down to finish their meal while enduring relentless teasing from the rest of the starpilots, who had overheard every word. Rornn accepted it all quite happily, relieved the tension between him and Trysh had dissipated. “Now we have the perfect reason to try Moon Shot for dinner, Firefly. To celebrate that we are not being sent to the Mojave Desert to operate unmanned research drones,” he joked.
“Moon Shot?” Carlynn asked, suddenly intrigued. “The two of you—alone?”
Trysh stabbed at the ice in her tea with a spoon. A flicker of discomfort in her face vanished before he could make sense of it. “Me, Rornn, and his many girlfriends.”
“There are no girlfriends,” Rornn argued. “One or many.”
“There actually aren’t any,” Danger put in.
Trysh lifted a brow. “Tell the journalists that. The two he was charming the other night in Nimbus.”
“They were guests of our station. I simply wanted them to feel at home.” Rornn helplessly observed Trysh’s disbelieving smirk behind her glass as she took a sip.
The entire group got up to dispose of their trays before heading back to the hangar.
Carlynn elbowed Trysh. “Heads up, Trysh. There’s that new guy. The one who’s interested in you.”
Rornn froze. Interested in her? A klaxon went off inside him. This was far more of a dire situation than hooking a simulator ride. As the newcomer turned and waved, there was just enough pink coloring Trysh’s cheeks and interest in her wide blue eyes to spell out an ominous warning. This rival was poised to make inroads where Rornn had so far been forbidden to enter—her heart.
Trysh
The new commander of the supply squadron had black hair and a wide friendly face. A nice-looking hand curved around a paper to-go c
up of coffee. At this distance, she couldn’t read his badge. What was his name again? Levi? Landon? Leonardo. Wait—no. Leonardo was the surgeon with the Doctors Without Borders outfit down on the surface of Barésh, her most recent attempt at finding a guy to help stamp out her unrequited, will-never-go-anywhere feelings for a Vash prince. When she met up with Rornn afterward to share the scant details, it hit her that two hours in the doctor’s company didn’t come close to only five minutes with him.
Jake, she thought. Jake Friedman. Possibly Freeling. “Hey, Jake,” she called to him. “Have you settled in yet?”
“Jack,” he supplied with a faint flicker of disappointment. “Jack Freeman. But, yeah, I’m good. Talk about being thrown into the fire though. It’s my first squadron commander gig and first time in space. Luckily, Spratt, my sergeant, is keeping me sane.”
“Box Cutter!” her eavesdropping squad mates called out. There was no such thing as privacy in a fighter squadron.
Sergeant Spratt, the cargo master, aka the cargo rat wrangler, was fast to complain to the shuttle pilots if there was damage to the cargo, as if they were the cause of it. “You hotshots are the bulls in my china shop,” he would bellow. He was seeing a nurse attached to Doctors Without Borders. It was hard to imagine such a grump had any romantic tendencies but supposedly they were an item.
“Box cutter?” Jack asked.
“We call Spratt ‘Box Cutter’. It’s his unofficial call sign.”
Jack’s brown eyes crinkled. “Sarg tells me you’re General Milton’s daughter. I had no idea. I heard him give a speech once. Very inspiring. He must be pretty proud of you. A chip off the old block.”
Her cheek twitched as if someone snapped her skin with a rubber band. He’d touched a chord, exposing her weak spot, a yearning to win her father’s attention that never ceased. She sensed Rornn’s perceptive gaze on her. He was the only person who knew the truth.
When General Milton didn’t attend their graduation ceremony at the end of starpilot training, he’d demanded to know why. “When was the last time you saw him, Firefly?” He’d folded his arms, lifted a brow, and waited for her answer. She told him early in their friendship that her mother died of cancer before First Contact, before the Vash arrived and could have saved her. But until General Milton was a no-show at graduation, all she ever shared about her father was that they weren’t close.