He rubbed his eyes and pushed himself up. “No, no, not at all. I wasn’t sleeping.”
She stared at him for a long moment; he couldn’t make out the expression in her dark eyes.
“It’s good to see you,” she said finally.
A single ray of happiness penetrated his inner gloom, and he felt himself smile.
“Thanks. It’s good to see you, too.” Her appearance was… strange. She looked tense, and so small and vulnerable. “I just saw the report—about what you did,” he said. “It’s unbelievable, Katja.”
Her expression relaxed, and she stepped forward to lean one hand on the corner of the desk built into the aft bulkhead.
“I don’t know what I was thinking,” she said. “I just didn’t want your sacrifice to be for nothing.”
“My sacrifice?”
“Getting us off the ship, and risking yourself to save Rapier,” she explained. “I don’t know if I could have done something like that alone, sir.”
He was amazed at the admiration of her expression, and was reminded of those last moments on the bridge—when she had leaned in and kissed him. The moisture of her lips against his had been a surprise.
But a welcome one.
He knew he should tell her—of all people—the truth. Instead he shrugged, and heard the lie come out of his mouth.
“I was just doing my duty, Katja,” he said, and he thought it sounded sincere. “Nothing more.”
She inched closer, dropping her gaze. He couldn’t remember ever seeing her so unsure of herself. But he liked it. He also liked the way she looked, very trim in her blue jumpsuit.
“I really didn’t think I was going to see you again,” she said, “the last time we spoke.”
“I wasn’t sure either.”
She seemed at a loss for what to say next. He stepped toward her, running his own fingers along the desk. Under his jumpsuit he was beginning to rise to the occasion.
“I think when we said goodbye,” he said, “we didn’t get a chance to finish our conversation.”
She was very close now, and she looked up at him with dark, beautiful eyes. “Sir, about that…”
“Don’t apologize.” He reached out and gripped one of her shoulders, sliding his hand down her slim, muscular arm. “It was what got me through the ordeal.”
She stepped into him, and he felt her small fingers climb up his back. The heat of her body pressed against his as his hands roamed across her. The jumpsuit dampened sensations just enough to heighten the anticipation.
“Really?” she asked.
He knew his life was already a lie. Cheating on a fiancée who didn’t love him seemed rather appropriate.
“Really.”
He grabbed her and lifted her onto the desk, kissing her. She responded with surprise, then intensity. As he started to unzip her jumpsuit, he had a sudden thought that it was unprofessional to have sex with his subordinate. But she was hot and willing. And he needed a release.
28
For the first time she could remember, Katja woke up with a smile.
She stared up at the close bulkhead of her sleeping cabin, luxuriating in the feel of gravity pressing the sheets down on her body. Her reach to turn on the lamp turned into a long stretch clear across her rack, fingers and toes extending out as far as they could go.
Upon her return to Normandy she had immediately contacted Commander Vici, her troop commander, to let her know she was still alive. Vici had acknowledged, but since Katja still belonged to Rapier, she sent no further instructions.
Her next order of business had been to meet with Chief Tamma to ensure the well-being of the crew. Being a pilot, Tamma had been unable to resist sweeping Katja up into a huge hug, but otherwise had been his usual pillar of professionalism. Rapier’s surviving crew had been assigned to the Normandy manning pool until they received permanent orders. Master Rating Oyenuga was still in sickbay with life-threatening wounds. Squad Leader McKevitt was also in sickbay, but was expected to recover. Next she had reported to her commanding officer.
And promptly had sex with him.
Perhaps not the wisest of moves, but it didn’t stop her from smiling this morning. It was great to feel like a woman again, and even better to know that she had the love and respect of a man like Thomas Kane. If Rapier was out of commission and they weren’t serving together, maybe a relationship would be professionally acceptable.
Jumping out of bed, she switched on some music—some Handel, to match her mood—and climbed into the shower. She sang along with the notes as the hot water caressed her, closing her eyes and remembering the surprise ending to her visit to Thomas’s cabin last night.
It had been quite the ending to a very full day.
As she wrapped a towel around herself and walked through into the main cabin, a colder part of her brain whispered to her that she really shouldn’t be so happy, considering everything that had gone down in the past few days. But no negativity was going to shake her emotional high.
She hadn’t gone to his cabin for that purpose—she had just wanted to tell him how happy she was that he had survived. But things had gotten out of control really fast, and his obvious desire had been flattering. She was content just hearing that he admired her military prowess—that alone would have made the visit glorious—but to learn that he cared for her as much as she did for him…
It had been intense and incredible, but she hadn’t stayed the night. Seeing that Thomas needed to sleep, she had decided to return to her own cabin to recharge.
That—she realized, looking at the clock—had been sixteen hours ago. Good thing no one was looking for her. She got some water boiling for tea, and started getting dressed.
Often when she was aboard Normandy, she wore the green coveralls of the Corps, just in case anyone was tempted to mistake her for Fleet. But as she reached into her closet she hesitated, then grabbed for the blues. She was still a member of Rapier’s crew, and to wear green would be to dishonor that.
She conducted along with the music with one hand and made tea with the other, savoring her last few moments of freedom. She knew that as soon as she sat down at her message console she would have to become Lieutenant Emmes again. So she sipped her tea and listened, eyes closed, as a particular minuet danced to a finish.
Her screen had a long list of messages. Most were old and routine, and she ignored anything that had been sent before the attack. There were several tactical updates from yesterday which gave no useful information, and one sent this morning from Astral Headquarters in Terra itself.
Her mug dropped to the desk, splashing tea.
Centauri forces had invaded Terran space.
All thoughts of Handel or Thomas Kane vanished from her mind. That cold part of her brain grabbed hold and pushed out everything else. This wasn’t just an isolated battle—it was war. Terra’s oldest colony was in open rebellion.
Suddenly all the sensations flooded back—Rapier going down, Hernandez splattered under APR fire, the panicked cries over the radio from Assad and Jackson, the blackness as she was blown out into space. She blinked away the moisture in her eyes and took short, sharp breaths.
There was one other message. From Sergeant Chang. It described briefly the status of the strike team and the fact that they would be servicing their armored suits in the main Corps hangar all afternoon. She glanced at the chronometer. It was mid-afternoon ship time.
Without another thought she was out the door.
* * *
Most Fleet people never made it down to the bowels of the ship where the Corps lived. In peacetime everyone Fleet seemed to think the strike-fighter hangar was the center of Normandy’s existence, with its shiny spaceships and vast heights. But the real heart of the vessel—its reason for existence—was the massive Corps hangar way down on Fourteen Deck.
Katja showed her ID to the pair of armed troopers at the door and was allowed to enter. She stepped through and cast her gaze wide, drinking in the sight.
&nbs
p; The Corps hangar was longer and wider than the Fleet hangar, but not as high. And unlike the clean, orderly lines thirteen decks up, it was filled with a menagerie of dedicated instruments of war. Flush against the outer hull on both sides were the fifty drop ships—the much larger cousins of Rapier’s strike pods—which delivered troops planetside a platoon at a time.
Lined up at the after end in five columns were the one hundred hover tanks of the Levantine’s two armored troops. At the forward end of the hangar were the twenty FEVs, or fast engineering vehicles, with their strange assortment of construction and destruction devices extending from all sides. Clustered directly opposite from where she had entered, Katja saw what looked like a bunch of robotic giants standing around in a gaggle. These were the mechanized suits of one of the shock platoons, twice as tall as the largest trooper, designed specifically to smash any initial resistance to the landing, and to terrify the defenders.
Unlike the Centauris who trusted robots to do their fighting for them, the shock platoons were made up of specially selected troopers who, through their giant suits, took on the power of robots.
It was awe-inspiring to look upon the Levantine Regiment’s entire arsenal of military hardware in one place, since back on Earth the various troops were scattered around at different bases in the eastern Mediterranean. But it didn’t change Katja’s desire to remain a member of the humble infantry. With armor to protect her, a helmet to guide her, and a weapon to fight with, she didn’t need any fancy machinery.
As she spotted a handful of familiar troopers chatting and working idly on their armored spacesuits, she was reminded that she really only needed one thing—good people to fight alongside.
To no surprise, it was Chang who spotted her first.
“Attention on deck!”
The surviving troopers of Rapier’s strike team all stiffened to attention in whatever sitting or crouching position they were in.
Chang. Sakiyama. Cohen. Alayan.
Five troopers, including herself. Where once there had been ten. Fifty percent casualty rate did not a successful mission make. If she ever had the chance to instruct, Katja decided she would make that her mantra.
Chang rose fully, looming over her. His face was unreadable as ever. “Sergeant Chang reporting Rapier strike team. Four troopers ready, one in sickbay.”
“Very good, Sergeant. Relax… please.”
The troopers dropped their stiff poses, but all eyes remained on her. She glanced at each one in turn, feeling the old mask of command slip over her features. They were still in their Rapier blue coveralls, she noted.
They were waiting for her to speak, but so many thoughts flooded her brain that it was hard to think of what would be correct. Something inspiring, to be sure. Or at least something authoritative.
“It’s good to see you,” was what passed her lips. And then, “Well done.”
Sakiyama’s face broke into a smile, and even Cohen seemed to lighten up. Alayan dropped her gaze.
“How’s McKevitt?”
“Her arm was crushed as the engine room started to come down around us,” Chang said. “The suit kept all the pieces more or less together, but it’s going to be a while before everything can knit. She won’t have strength in that arm for months. Her war’s over, ma’am.”
There was an awful, unasked question hanging over the entire group, she knew, but she dreaded the answer.
Where is the rest of Alpha Team?
Instead, she stalled.
“I don’t know if you’ve heard, but Centauria has invaded Terra.” Glances flickered between the troopers, and from their dumbfounded expressions, she guessed they hadn’t heard. “Details are sketchy, but apparently the attack on the EF was only part of a larger Centauri assault on all Terran positions. Centauria has seized control of the jump gate in their system, and are fighting to control the jump gates in Terra. For now, we’re cut off and in hostile territory. With Rapier out of action, I expect we’ll be reassigned to regimental posts. If you have any requests, let me know.”
Chang frowned slightly. “We’re going with you, ma’am.”
She wasn’t sure she understood. “I’m not sure where I’ll be posted yet.”
“Doesn’t matter, ma’am. Where you go, we go.”
None of them were smiling anymore, but all eyes were fixed on her. She felt her cheeks getting hot, fed by a warm glow deep inside her, but she kept her command mask in place.
“Very good,” she said as matter-of-factly as she could. “I’ll make sure the regiment knows.” Then she added, “Thank you.”
“If it’s all right, ma’am, we have a question for you,” Chang said.
Katja steeled herself to reveal the fate of Alpha Team. It would be the first time she had spoken of it aloud. “Go ahead, Sergeant.”
“I’m sorry we couldn’t get Lu’s body out with us. We tried to get to him, but there was too much enemy fire. When McKevitt went down I knew we had to get out while we could.” His eyes flicked to Sakiyama. The trooper’s expression was supportive. Chang looked back at Katja. “It’s tearing us up. I know it’s your duty to inform his next of kin, but when you have the chance to visit his family, we’d like to come.”
No questions about her missing squad. No one accusing her of leading her team on what by rights had been a suicide mission. Just concern over not getting their fallen comrade out.
She nodded, momentarily unable to hold their gaze.
“Well,” she said with effort, “I won’t keep you from your duties. As soon as I have orders for you, I’ll pass them along. Get some rest while you can.”
She turned and started to walk away, keeping her lips pressed tightly together and her face stiff.
Chang moved into step beside her. She didn’t look up at him, and for ten paces he said nothing, but merely walked with her.
“Ma’am.”
“Sergeant.”
“Ma’am, you’re good in the shit. But sooner or later you lose people. I’m not going to tell you how to deal with it, but you have to deal with it.”
The mask of command was a fabulous tool to hide behind, and Katja felt her emotions shut down once again. She stopped before she got to the doors, and looked up to meet his eyes.
“I was expecting you to ask about Alpha Team.”
His own mask was there, and she was grateful for it.
“It’s not our place to question,” he said. “It’s up to you to tell us, ma’am.”
She remained silent for a moment, then spoke.
“They were killed by an APR,” she said. “They went down fighting. I blasted my way out through the hull and was picked up by one of Kristiansand’s Hawks. I’m sorry they didn’t make it.”
“Me, too. But we fucked up that ship bad. Alpha Team went down doing what they signed up for. They’ll be remembered.”
“I hear that I was being investigated for misconduct, but now that the helmet recordings have been examined, I’ve been cleared of any potential charges.”
“Good to hear, ma’am.”
She nodded. Chang continued to stare at her with his usual, grim expression. She turned to go once again. This time, he didn’t follow.
Chang’s words meant as much to her as Thomas’s had. So far, nobody who mattered had condemned her for attacking the Centauri ship. Maybe her combat instincts weren’t so bad after all.
29
Katja hauled herself up two decks’ worth of ladders, but despite the skip in her step a deep fatigue quickly drained her reserves. Suddenly thankful that she was in Fleet blue and not expected to be in shape, she headed for the nearest elevator.
A quick lift later, she found herself on Two Deck and heading into the Fleet hangar. After the heavy congestion down below, the two lines of strike fighters looked positively delicate. She strode absently past the pilot toys, intent on the black, wounded shape at the hangar’s far end. Even from a distance she could see that Rapier wouldn’t be flying again any time soon.
One of th
e FAC spots next to her was currently empty, indicating the continued presence of her sister ships in the fight. Katja wondered if she and her troopers would get assigned to Sabre or Cutlass—or, worse, split up to fill in the holes among the EF’s eight remaining fast-attack craft. Their unique qualification made them very valuable, especially since the EF’s re-supply had been severed while a battle raged over control of the Terran jump gates.
Her boots echoed loudly on the hard surface of Rapier’s hexagonal passageway, unmuffled by the usual hum of shipboard activity. Abandoned pieces of damage-control equipment still littered the passageway. Lighting indicated that there was power on board, but it was being supplied by Normandy. As Katja gripped the rungs of the midship’s ladder and climbed to the upper deck, she hoped that the ship’s main computer could be fired up, or even that it had survived at all.
The upper passageway was clear of debris, and the open hatch to the bridge allowed additional light from the hangar to stream in at the forward end. She considered going to the bridge to conduct her task, but instead decided to access the computer from her cabin. The hard-mount at her desk was more likely to be working than the virtual consoles on the bridge, and if the computer was slow she could pack her stuff while she waited.
The door to her cabin slid open normally, which was a good sign. Inside, the usually tidy space was a junkyard of gear. She immediately noticed the warped metal and visible cracks in the outer hull, and imagined how anything loose would have been pulled toward the openings as the air rushed out. She stepped gingerly over the clothes and effects littering the deck. A quick glance revealed none of them to be hers.
She smiled. The benefit of keeping her gear properly stowed.
The computer activated at her command, and she began a search for the flight log she had copied from the mystery merchant Astrid. She barely had the chance to pull her kit bag down out of storage before Rapier’s databanks produced the desired file. She inserted a hard crystal and made another copy, just to be sure. That process took the same time as she needed to empty her top drawer into the kit bag.
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