by Peter Telep
No one spoke, and in the silence, an odd thought occurred to Cooper. Back in the briefing room, the silicate had sounded sincere, and while Shane doubted him, there was still no way to prove he was lying. Shane and Wang wouldn't give the A.I. the benefit of the doubt because, based on their experiences, they had become prejudiced.
Being an In Vitro, Cooper regularly contended with cutting labels like tank and nippleneck, despite the military's work to positively promote the In Vitro participation in the war effort. Other pilots who knew nothing about him branded him as lazy and said that he didn't care about anyone or anything, the same way Wang and Shane had already made up their minds about the silicate.
And so Cooper was thinking about saying something to them about that. Tell them to give Teddy a chance. And if he screws up, then, fine, grease him. But don't do to him what's been done to me, Cooper thought.
He studied Shane and Wang and was about to speak, but, intimidated by the hatred visible in their expressions, he kept quiet. However, if they continued along this course of action, Cooper would not stay silent for long.
"My name is Commander Thurston, and this is my ship. Looking at me, you can probably tell that I'm five-foot-eight one hundred and twenty-five pounds, and work out daily. What you don't know is that I was shot down en route here once. While on planet awaiting extraction, I went hand-to-hand with the enemy on four separate occasions and garnered four confirmed kills. I don't tell you this to brag. I'm just warning you that I'm easily pissed off. This is a United States Navy training vessel that is often intruded upon by sweaty, foulmouthed, flatulent Marines. While you may view us as taxicab drivers who don't speak your language, we view you as gun-toting gorillas who don't tip. You are here for seventy-two hours, of which thirty-six are reserved for training, twenty-four for sleep, nine for meals, and one hour free time daily. While you may think you don't have a minute to get into trouble, you're mistaken. But if you in any way disturb the normal operations of this ship, I will personally make sure that you are punished to the maximum extent of military law. DO YOU UNDERSTAND?"
"SIR, YES, SIR," Cooper shouted, along with the rest of the five-eight, who stood at attention in the docking bay. Their response echoed off the walls and high ceiling and drew the attention of a few techies who buzzed around on quick carts.
"Sir, the captain wishes to assure you that the fifty-eighth squadron will fully comply."
"I hope so," the commander said. Then, after a sigh, she added, "I'm tired of baby-sitting you zoomies." She glanced down at the clipboard in her hand. "You'll report to the AP-V simulator deck by 1030 hours." Then she turned to a tall, lean petty officer with a dark complexion. "Matuzi, show them to their quarters."
As Cooper walked with the rest of the squad to what surely weren't spacious accommodations, he decided that he didn't like the Haldeman much and liked her captain even less. The corridors aboard this ship were much more narrow than the Saratoga's, and to compare commanders, well Thurston was much more narrow-minded than Commodore Ross. At least the commodore had a healthy tolerance for Marines; he didn't welcome guests with threats.
"These racks are tighter than those on an ISSTV," Damphousse remarked, being first to enter their temporary quarters.
The petty officer addressed Shane. "Sir. If you'd like me to wait and escort you to the—"
"We'll find it. Dismissed," she said.
Cooper dropped his duffel on the nearest bunk and checked his watch phone. "We got some time. Let's check out the amenities aboard this bucket. We'll start with the bar."
"No. We'll get to the AP-V deck early," Shane corrected.
Frowning, Cooper plopped down on his bunk. "I see what's gonna happen here. We're gonna be run ragged through a training program, and then when we're tired as hell and needin' like a month's sleep, they'll dump us on planet."
"That my fault, Cooper?" Shane challenged.
"We don't gotta be on duty twenty-four hour's a day."
"He's right, Shane," Nathan said. "Let's take a few minutes, orient ourselves, maybe check out the bar. Then we'll go down to that deck. We'll still be early. 'Sides, my butt's sore from the ride here."
Though Cooper suspected she was hating the decision, Shane nodded, and he led the others on a haphazard trek around the Haldeman. They discovered that the bar was small, understocked, that the jukebox didn't contain a single Ramones or Severed Thumbs song, and that you actually had to reserve your seats in advance, which they tried to do but discovered that the place was booked solid for the evening. They could buy drinks, but they'd have to stand. What a loser operation, Cooper thought. The rec room was similarly underequipped, sans a Foosball table and a VR pistol range. It contained a beat-up old Ping-Pong table and an electronic dart-board with a dead cell. Cooper led the group out of there before their spirits got any lower. It seemed Shane had been right. There wouldn't be any fun here.
They arrived at the AP-V deck about five minutes early and took seats which were placed in a semicircle around a mobile, tubular rack. The rack supported an actual AP-V, its hatch open, its blue-gray hull reflecting the overhead lights.
"It's bigger than I thought," Wang said.
"You nuts?" Damphousse asked. "It's an efficiency coffin."
"Yeah, but utilities are paid," Nathan chipped in. "Bet it's got a washer/dryer hookup."
"Stow the skipchatter," Shane ordered. "Here comes our instructor."
Cooper took one look at the guy and decided immediately that he had never flown an AP-V. From his requisite thick-framed glasses to his even more requisite white lab coat, you could spot the techie a light-year away.
"Is he an officer? Do we stand?" Cooper heard Nathan ask.
"I don't know," Shane said. "Just go with it."
"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. And stay seated. I'm not military personnel, no sirree. I'm an engineer. I work for Aerotech, Houston division. I helped design the craft you see before you. She's a beaut, ain't she?"
"Is this guy for real?" Cooper muttered to Shane.
"Scary..." Shane whispered.
"We were hoping to get Captain Jackson to brief you people since he test-piloted the AP-V and knows her controls better than anyone. He trained the last group we had in here. But unfortunately the captain's been ordered away. It's that damn war thing again, right?"
Cooper stared blankly at the instructor, unsure whether he or someone else was supposed to respond to the question.
"Well, I intend to give you a little hands-on with this AP-V, then we'll go over to the simulator, kick the tires a bit, and take one for a spin. 'Kay?"
Slowly, Cooper turned his head to face the others. All but Shane were fighting back laughter. In a monotone, she responded affirmatively to the instructor's question.
"Oh, and one more thing. Let's see, one, two, three, four, five. Yes, I guess you're all here. But let me take attendance anyway, that way I can get to know your names."
Cooper raised his hand. "Sir?" He pointed to the patch on his right breast. "They're written on our flight suits."
"Yeah, but those are last names. Too formal for me."
"Sir?" Wang called. "What's your name?"
The instructor banged himself in the forehead. "Oh, I'm sorry. I guess I'm just nervous. I'm Jack Budiwan. And I've never actually had the pleasure to teach Marines who were going to fly one of my designs." Lowering his head, Cooper tried to stifle his snort.
"Mr. Budiwan," Shane said gravely. "I assume that since you're here the Corps has the utmost faith in you to instruct us, but, with all due respect, do you have that same faith in yourself?"
The techie bit his lower lip and appeared to think hard about Shane's question. When he answered, his airy, sort of geeky tone was gone. "Yes, Captain. I helped invent the thing. I can teach you to fly it."
After twelve hours of AP-V training (actually it was only ten because Mr. Budiwan had cut them some slack and reported that they had worked the full twelve hours), Cooper was jonesing heavily for a glass of draf
t. He convinced Wang and Nathan to go with him to the bar. Damphousse and Shane summarily hit the sack.
Standing in a crowd of other officers and enlisted personnel who were also in training programs, Cooper let his gaze play over the room in search for someone he might know, a lost acquaintance from an old mission, perhaps.
"Well, he came across as a real goofball, but I gotta hand it to the techie. Guy knows his rocket science," Nathan said, then took a pull on his first beer. He winced. "Ouch. This stuffs flat."
"Better'n nothing," Cooper said. "But it ain't better'n that microbrew on Jewelgo."
"Oh, man, Coop," Wang moaned. "Don't remind me." He held his beer up to the light. "It's flat and the color's all wrong."
"You guys see anybody you know?" Nathan asked.
Cooper shook his head. "Lots of Special Forces people here, rangers, berets, OPCs. Think we might be the only zoomies from the Corps. Couple of AF pigeon flyers over there."
"Heard the AF's got a new bomber they're testing. It's got that new anti-SAM bioelectric technology we ripped off the Chigs," Wang said. "Get this: They're using newly constructed A.I.s to test-pilot them."
"I thought building new silicates was illegal," Nathan said.
"Guess the brass skirted that law." Wang frowned. "The A.I.s'll probably defect with one of the bombers."
Cooper tensed. "What makes you say that?"
Wang gave him an incredulous look. "You've seen the silicates' capacity for adaptation, their vulnerability to viruses. I can't believe the AF's using them."
"What if these new silicates are loyal. What if they're like that Teddy guy, not linked up to the CPU."
"You're pissing me off, Coop," Wang said. "First you remind me of the microbrew and now that wirehead we gotta serve with."
Cooper gritted his teeth then said, "You hate the guy. You don't even know him."
Wang's eyes showed that his temper was lit. "I know enough about him."
"Guess if a tank tortured you, you'd hate me, too, huh?"
Quickly regarding Nathan, Wang said, "You believe this guy? He's actually defending an A.I." Then he stared at Cooper. "We're not talking about a man here, Coop."
"That's what they say about me."
"All right, you guys, I'm not wearin' a striped shirt, so let's drop it," Nathan said, moving slightly in front of Wang.
Cooper shifted his position so that he could see Wang. "You didn't answer my question."
"What?"
"If tanks tortured you, would you hate me?"
"Know what, Coop? Yeah. I would."
"You stupid bastard."
And with that, Cooper threw his beer into Wang's face. Then he slammed the glass to the deck, plowed past Nathan, and delivered a hard right to Wang's abdomen.
"Hawkes!" Nathan cried.
Falling back, Wang reached out and seized Cooper's shirt collar, and they both crashed to the floor.
"Look at that. Puddle boys are fighting again," Cooper heard someone say as he rolled away from Wang.
"Dammit, Hawkes!" Nathan shouted, then jumped on top of Cooper and grabbed his wrists. "When you gonna learn restraint? When?"
"Let him go, Nathan," Wang said, sitting up. "We're already screwed. I wanna finish this."
"Think about your great-grandparents, Wang," Cooper said, his voice creased with exertion as he tried to pry himself out of Nathan's grip. "Bet people hated them just 'cause they were different. Different culture, slanty eyes. Think about what the hell you're doin', man.''
"I guess it was inevitable," a female said from behind Cooper. Her voice was familiar but he couldn't place her Then it dawned on him. He craned his neck and kicked up to lock gazes with Commander Thurston; she wore a bathrobe, slippers, and held a mug with a tea bag string draped over the rim. "The United States Marine Corps," she continued. "You can threaten them all you want, and despite those with perfect hearing as verified by any physician, you come, in my position, to discover that they're deaf."
"Sir, you didn't have to come down here. We could've straightened out this business ourselves," Nathan said.
"Actually, your timing couldn't have been worse, Lieutenant. I come down here every night at this time for my decaf tea." She took a sip and swallowed.
"Murphy's law," Wang muttered, rubbing his sore chest.
"No, it's my law on this ship, son. And now, happily, you'll get to experience it firsthand."
The guard passed the cordless receiver through the bars, and Cooper took it. "Hello?"
"Thrown in the brig?" Colonel McQueen asked.
"Sorry, sir."
"On your first day?"
"It was Wang. We were—"
"Forget about Wang," McQueen said, his voice so harsh it rattled the tiny speaker a bit. "Think about that rage of yours. I'm tired of talking to you about it, Hawkes. Now you've embarrassed the squadron, myself, and Commodore Ross, who, I might I add, was awakened by a priority call from Commander Thurston a little while ago."
"Oh, no. Really?"
"Really. Were you here now, you would need a team of surgeons to remove my boot from your ass."
"I didn't mean to—"
"Just stay away from Wang. You got two more days there. Your life depends upon this training. Hear this, CFB. I'm you, I take it seriously."
"Yes, sir," Cooper said, feeling wounded. He thumbed off the receiver and returned it to the guard.
From the next cell, Nathan asked, "What did he say?"
"Thurston woke up Commodore Ross."
"Damn. We're gonna hear it when we get back," Nathan warned.
"What do you mean, when we get back," Wang said. "Wait until Shane hears about this."
three
While sleeping on the thin mattress of a bunk in the brig was supposed to be a form of torture, Nathan had actually enjoyed it. His bunk aboard the Saratoga tended to sag in the wrong places, and he'd often wake up with a stiff neck, back, or both. So it was in your face, Commander Thurston, he thought. And besides, he shouldn't have been punished. Cooper and Wang had had the brawl. But that wasn't thinking like a Marine. One down, all down.
Now he stood in line with the two barroom combatants for the 0530 chow call. A few hours' rest had brought a truce between them, and the smell of breakfast wafting their way probably helped douse any remaining embers of fury.
The buffet looked pretty good: eggs, bacon, pancakes, the real stuff they give to officers who may soon die, and dying with a full belly's not a terribly bad way to go, Nathan thought.
"Where have you been?" Shane asked, coming up to him with Damphousse in tow. "You guys never came home last night." She grabbed his unshaven chin. "And what's this? Didn't they used to call this the grunge look?"
"I don't know, but let's just eat," Nathan said. "Wanna cut me on line?"
Shane's eyes lit, and she took a spot in front of him. Good. He'd soften her up before delivering the nightmare news.
"You can cut me, 'Phousse," Cooper said.
"So what did you guys do last night? Take dates for a spin in the AP-V simulator?" Shane asked.
Nathan grabbed some silverware. "Let's say it wasn't a fun time."
Shane stuck him in the elbow with her fork. "Why the mystery?"
"Just leave it until later."
"Whatever."
After filling his tray, Nathan followed Shane to a table and sat opposite her. "I'm getting dizzy just smelling this food."
The rest of the squadron joined them, and Wang, lifting a slice of bacon, asked, "Anybody know what we're gonna learn today?"
"Pasting and cutting, I think," Damphousse said. "Maybe even coloring."
Wang waved a piece of bacon. "Hey, don't be that cynical. That AP-V class turned out all right."
"I think we're doing the climbing and cold weather survival today," Shane said. "We'll get to the Chig fighter tomorrow."
Nathan swallowed a piece of pancake, then said, "That cockpit's gotta be similar to the bomber we flew. At least we got the bioelectric principles down
." He leaned forward to eye Wang. "Read anything on it, Paul?"
"Tried to access a file or two, but you know how that stuff is. Heard rumors that they're not unlike the old F-14 Tomcats, with a pilot and Radar Intercept Officer."
"Two Chigs flew the one we found on Mars," Shane said. "That's nothing new."
A guy carrying his food tray approached the table. Nathan casually glanced at him, a tall African American with pectorals and biceps too big for his standard-issue shirt. Nathan resumed eating. But then he looked again. "Charlie Stone!"
"Glad I caught up with you," the big lieutenant said, cracking a huge smile. Stone went around the table and greeted the rest of the squadron, then he took a seat next to Damphousse. "Haven't seen you people since graduation. Fact, I thought I'd never see you again."
"Big war, big universe, still a small world," Damphousse said.
"Sure is," Stone agreed. "Hey, where you guys stationed? You still on the Saratoga?"
"Yeah," Nathan answered. "But Eichner's not running the show anymore. Guy name of Glen Ross."
"Commodore Ross," Stone said reverently. "Heard a lot about him. You're lucky."
"Oh, yeah," Wang tossed in. "Ross is a sharp man, but not sharp enough to be a Bulls fan."
Stone grinned. "Heard he's a helluva blues guitarist." Wang nodded.
"We lost track of the other people who did our HIST with us," Cooper said. "Guess we just got too lazy to look 'em up. You know where they are?"
"Carter's with the one-five aboard the USS Lincoln. Bartley got shot up pretty badly during the Procyon campaign. She got a medical discharge. I don't know where Low is." He paused to take a few bites, then said, "You know, Cooper, sometimes it's not laziness that causes you to forget about old friends. You just don't wanna get on that database and learn they've all been KIA."
Nathan took a sip of his coffee and thought about Stone's words, about the people he had lost, about friends.
About his brother, Neil.
"Where you stationed?" Damphousse asked Stone, breaking the tension.