by John Bowers
Onja looked up, panting, and saw the GalaxyFighter again, the only thing still in the air. It seemed to wobble, black smoke trailing out behind it, and she waited breathlessly to see if it would crash. It almost disappeared over the green rolling knolls to the east, then she saw it bank left and begin a tortured turn back toward the runway.
"Sophia," she whispered, "bring him down safely!"
* * *
Johnny Lincoln was furious at himself. It had been stupid to pursue that last cruise after it was already over the target — he'd destroyed it, but what difference had it made? Once over the target, an airburst could be even deadlier than an impact. He hadn't prevented any damage to the base, but he'd sure as hell fucked up his GalaxyFighter! The blast had ripped away his gun turret and perforated his wings; air whistled through holes in his cockpit. His starboard engine was pouring flame into his slipstream, and if that fire reached his fuel tanks he'd be history in a hurry.
Even if that didn't happen, he was just about out of gas. He had less than a minute to get on the ground.
He banked hard left and sweated isotopes as he tried to line up the runway. He didn't even try to contact the tower.
* * *
Onja got to her feet and stood watching as the GF angled back toward the runway and began shedding altitude. It seemed to take forever as she watched the smoke boiling out behind it — she could actually see the flames — and willed the crippled fighter onto the ground. Fires roared behind her and she heard sirens from emergency vehicles as they rallied to fight the blaze. People were visible again, she heard distant shouts, and behind the forcefence civilians were still wailing and sobbing; few had managed to get clear before the attack came in.
But Onja had eyes only for the fighter. She saw it wobble as it struggled to stay in the air, then saw it crunch hard onto its gear as it reached the runway. Racing toward her, it looked like an inferno, bright red flame boiling underneath, threatening the gear and fuel tanks.
Goddess! He would never stop in time to get out!
* * *
The jarring impact of gear on ground was little consolation. Johnny could feel heat in the cockpit already, and the AI was acting erratic. He saw flame outside his windows and wondered how he was going to get this thing stopped.
"External fire suppression!" he yelled. "Execute!"
"Illegal operation…"
"What!" Johnny poured on reverse thrust and nudged the brakes. Flames rolled over his wings as his speed dropped.
"System reset!" he yelled. "External fire suppression! Execute!"
"Stack overflow… Unhandled exception…"
Flame obscured his vision as it swirled over the cockpit canopy.
"System reset! External fire suppression! Execute, goddammit!"
* * *
Onja stood immobile as the fighter, slowing, came almost abreast of her. She anticipated an explosion any second, then suddenly, without warning, mist and foam swirled around the ship from small vents along the wings and fuselage. Within seconds the fighter was completely obscured by the spray, and the flames disappeared almost at once. It lasted for perhaps twenty seconds, as the fighter came to a complete stop, and when it dissipated she saw the cockpit hatch was open and the pilot was clambering out.
Without a thought, she began running toward the crippled fighter.
* * *
Johnny slipped on the foam and fell off the wing, landing heavily on his knee. Ringing with pain, he pushed himself up and hopped as quickly as he could away from the ship, still not certain if it would blow. The air was thick with smoke and it suddenly hurt to breathe, but the farther he got from the fighter, the better he felt.
Someone was running toward him, he realized. A woman. She reached him, wrapped his arm around her neck, and helped support him as he hopped his way clear of the fighter. When they reached the apron, fifty yards away, they stopped and she let him sink to the ground. His knee still hurt like a bitch, but his heart was beating and he was still breathing. Breathing felt awfully good.
"Are you okay?" the woman asked.
He tugged off his helmet and looked up …
… into the most beautiful face he'd ever seen in his life.
For an instant he was unable to speak, and just stared at her. Where did they grow goddesses like this?
"Are you wounded?" she repeated.
He shook his head slowly. "No," he croaked, and coughed to clear his throat. "No, I just banged my knee when I fell off the wing."
The blonde knelt in front of him, pinning him with her gorgeous blue eyes. She had blood on her T-shirt, he saw, but — god, what a rack she carried under it!
"You're bleeding," she told him.
He looked down, astonished. The belly of his flight suit was soaked, blood leaking through a hole in the fabric in a slow but steady pulse. Funny, he thought, his knee still hurt like hell but he didn't feel any pain in his stomach. When had this happened?
"Don't move. I'll get help."
She stood up again, peering across the runway toward a cluster of emergency vehicles that were fighting the fires. Johnny continued to stare at the blood, still amazed. The pain in his knee was starting to subside, but why didn't the stomach wound hurt? It made no sense.
The blonde woman was waving at someone, then yelled something. She knelt by him again. He felt her hand on his forehead.
"They're coming," she said. "Just hang on."
His head swam, and he slumped against her. She lowered him to the tarplast, then everything went black.
Chapter 10
Friday, 8 December, 0220 (PCC) — Denver, CO, Terra
Oliver's desk phone chirped.
"Senator Wells on line one, Mr. Lincoln," Angela Martinez said.
"Got it." Oliver activated the line and Henry Wells appeared on the screen. "Henry! What's up?"
"Just checking on you, Ollie. I hadn't heard whether you got hit this time. Everything okay there?"
"Yep. The bastards skipped us this time. Must be those new laser batteries we got."
Henry laughed. "More likely they remembered what happened the last time. You probably haven't heard this, but your boy did it again."
Oliver sat upright. "What happened?"
"He's been on tour and was just landing at Travis when the Sirians attacked. Instead of landing, he went after a cluster of cruise missiles and shot most of them down before they could hit."
"You're kidding! How bad was the strike?"
"Actually, some of the missiles got through. There was some damage and a few casualties. The fighters from Travis turned back the main force over the Pacific, so it could've been a lot worse."
"Is John okay?"
Henry's smile faded.
"He was wounded, but not seriously. He'll be back on duty in a few days."
Oliver groaned and shook his head. Rosemary wouldn't be happy about this.
"How was he wounded?"
"One of the cruise missiles exploded right in front of him. He took a little shrapnel. Really, Ollie, he's fine. He'll get the Crimson Cross and now he's a bigger hero than ever. There was a huge crowd of civilians just outside Travis waiting to see the tour land, and they would've been slaughtered if all those missiles had got through. As it turned out, only a couple were killed."
"Sounds like he ought to get a goddamned medal!" Oliver growled.
Henry shook his head. "Actually, he skated real close to a star-court. He disobeyed orders when he chased those missiles. Since it turned out the way it did, he won't get the star-court, but he won't get the medal, either."
After Henry rang off, Oliver sat staring at the phone for several minutes. Johnny had no business in the Space Force, he thought. He wasn't disciplined enough, and Oliver doubted if even the military could tame him completely.
Fairfield, CA, Terra — Travis Space Force Base
Capt. Walters stepped into Johnny's hospital room two days after his surgery and stood there a moment, his expression a curious mixture of admiration
and disapproval. Still weak from his injury, Johnny met his eyes and waited to see which way this meeting was going to go.
"How you feeling, kid?"
"I've been better, sir."
Walters pulled up a chair, glancing about at the flowers packed onto every available flat surface. Huge bouquets and floral arrangements filled the room with color. News reports of his injury had triggered a massive display of public affection.
"I hope you're not allergic to pollen."
Johnny managed a feeble grin. "No, sir."
"Well, Lincoln, I don't know whether to slug you or salute you. You probably saved some lives the other day, but you also disobeyed orders. You know that, don't you?"
Johnny's gaze dropped and he nodded unhappily. "Yes, sir."
"Did you know that every Space Force base on the planet is surrounded by laser batteries that are tasked to shoot down cruise missiles? Or had you forgotten that?"
Johnny shrugged. "So what happens to me now?"
"Not my decision. But the tour is over. I've been released from babysitting and I'm on my way to Luna 9. Where I should have been several weeks ago." His smile softened the words.
"I'm happy for you, Captain. Sorry you got saddled with this duty."
"That part wasn't your fault. Getting me released from it was. So, even if you did disobey orders, I guess I should thank you. I hated every minute of flying with you." He smiled again. "Not you, specifically — you're a hell of a pilot — but flying that goddamned tour. I'm glad that's over."
"Yes, sir."
Walters set a small package on the bed beside him.
"Little present for you. Finest single-malt on the planet. But don't break the seal until the docs clear you for duty." He took Johnny's hand. "Good luck, kid. Look me up sometime, after you get some training."
"Thank you, Captain. It was a privilege to fly with you."
Dershowicz showed up an hour later. He looked less happy than Walters, and Johnny soon understood why.
"The tour is over, Lincoln," he said bluntly. "Your little stunt finished us."
"Sir?"
"You can shave your head now. As soon as you're released from here they're sending you to boot camp."
Johnny might have leapt for joy, if he could have leapt at all. He managed to conceal his elation.
"We were on a roll, Lincoln!" Dershowicz whined. "Why the hell did you go off on your own like that? You just killed our recruiting drive!"
"With all due respect, sir — how long did it take you to get off that plane?"
"What?"
"When the transport landed, how long did it take everyone to get off and under cover?"
"I don't know, two or three minutes, maybe. Why?"
"I landed five minutes after you did. You would've been dead, Major! If the rest of those missiles had got through."
Dershowicz stared blankly at him for a moment, his eyes flat and uncomprehending.
"Am I going to be in trouble, sir?"
Dershowicz blinked. "Not officially, no. Some of the hard-liners would like to hang you out to dry, but after all the hype we've been feeding the public, it would be political suicide. But I think you're going to be under heavy scrutiny from here on out." His expression darkened. "I just hope you realize how thoroughly you've fucked up our recruiting program."
Johnny fingered his IV tube and frowned.
"How many people signed up in the past couple of days?" he asked.
"Hm? I don't know…"
"Sure you do, Major. That's your report card. I'll bet you know exactly how many."
Dershowicz scowled. "Well, that's beside the point. I just came to notify you that our working relationship is officially terminated. I've already been given another project. So…good luck, Lincoln."
"Yes, sir. You too, sir." Johnny saluted as well as he could from his hospital bed; Dershowicz turned and stalked out.
Johnny leaned back and closed his eyes. His thoughts drifted to the young woman who'd met him on the runway. She hadn't come by to see him, and he wondered if she would. She was so goddamn beautiful! He'd never seen a girl with such innate native beauty — she almost seemed alien in that respect, as if she came from another planet.
In retrospect, he wondered if he had really seen her. Maybe she was just an apparition, something his mind dredged up in his moment of greatest need.
Or maybe she was an angel.
* * *
Onja didn't see Johnny Lincoln again after the medics took him away. Capt. Nakamichi called her into his office the day after the attack, his face stern.
"Where were you when the air raid sirens went off?" he demanded.
Onja stood at attention, surprised at the coldness in his voice.
"I was out jogging, sir.”
"And when you heard the sirens, what did you do then?"
Onja felt her cheeks pink.
"Sir, I — I ran toward the flight line."
"And why did you do that? Have you been assigned to a squadron?"
"No, sir. I just —"
"Wanted to get into the action? Is that it?"
"Y-yes, sir. I thought… I wanted…" She gulped. "Sir, I have no excuse."
"Gunner Trainee Santana was with you?"
"Yes, sir." Onja felt fear welling up; would they cashier her over this?
"And where is Gunner Trainee Santana now?" His voice had gone quiet.
"She was — k-killed, sir."
Nakamichi stared unhappily at his desktop for a moment. He nodded slowly.
"She was killed," he repeated, "along with a Star Policeman. Space, why in God's name didn't you proceed directly to a shelter?"
"I have no excuse, Captain. I just wanted to engage the enemy. I want to fight, sir!"
"Have you heard of the road to hell?"
"No, sir."
"Well, never mind. Good intentions or not, your unauthorized visit to the flight line got your roommate killed. That's pretty serious shit."
"Yes, sir. I-I'm sorry, sir."
"I'm sure you are. Do you know what happens now?"
For a moment she was too terrified to speak. She offered a silent prayer to Sophia.
"No, sir," she whispered.
"Your actions are cause for dismissal," Nakamichi told her severely. "Procedure calls for you to be reassigned to some shit detail like housekeeping or something equally unglamorous."
Onja's blood ran cold. Her instinct was to beg for another chance, but she'd been in the service long enough to realize it would do no good.
"In your case," Nakamichi said slowly, "I think it would be a waste of talent to wash you out of the program. You have more natural ability than I've ever seen in a gunner. So I've been upstairs already. I put my career on the line to save your ass."
Standing at attention or not, she closed her eyes, daring to hope.
"Not because you deserve it, Space. Because we need your skills. But you've had your last chance. If you fuck up again, there won't be another. Is that quite clear?"
"Yes, sir! Thank you, sir!"
He met her eyes directly. "Any questions?"
She hesitated. "Sir, that pilot — the one who was wounded…"
"What about him?"
"Did he make it, sir?"
"I think so, yes."
"Is there…any possibility that I might…visit him?"
"No!" Nakamichi scowled. "You're goddamned lucky you're still here! In fact, for the duration of your training, aside from duty and PT, you're confined to quarters! No recreation or sightseeing. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir. I-I won't let you down, Captain."
"You already have, Space. Get out of my sight."
Interlude
Wednesday, 28 December, 0220 (PCC) — Denver, CO, Terra
Angela Martinez closed her eyes blissfully and let the music enrapture her. Gliding across the dance floor in Johnny Lincoln's arms, she thought this was the most romantic moment of her life. Her cheek rested on his shoulder, his right arm encircled h
er waist, and she felt his breath in her hair. ¡Dios! it couldn't get any better than this!
People were watching them, she knew; expensive people in tuxedos and gowns, some with crystal goblets in their hands, others smoking expensive cigars. They had the dance floor to themselves, the young fighter pilot and his lady; others had stepped aside as the music swelled and the vocalist sang a haunting love song just for them. It was like a holovid, only better. It was real!
Johnny had returned that morning, his first leave since enlisting. Angela would have expected him to come by the office, but he'd called instead.
"Hey, beautiful, it's me."
"Johnny!" she gasped. "Where are you?"
"Colorado Springs. I'll be home in a couple of hours."
"I didn't know you were coming! How long do you have?"
"Twenty-four hours. I'm leaving for boot camp tomorrow. Look, do you have any plans tonight? I know it's short notice, but —"
"No!" she said quickly. She did, but she'd cancel them.
"Great." He grinned at her. "Got an evening gown?"
"Y-Yes…" She didn't, but she'd get one.
"Good. I'll pick you up at eight. You still live in the same place?"
Her heart thumped. She didn't want him coming to that part of town, but…
"Yes."
"Good. Make yourself pretty. We're gonna knock some eyes out tonight."
"Where are you taking me?"
"Top of the Rock."
Angela felt her heart quiver, but smiled bravely.
"I've never been there." It cost five hundred terros just for dinner!
"They'll never forget you. They'll never forget us!"
She nodded breathlessly, her blood racing.
"Okay, Johnny. I'll be ready."
And she had been.
Barely.
For the first time since going to work at LincEnt, she'd begged the afternoon off, rushed down to the 16th Street Mall, and bought an evening gown that cost more than she made in a pay period, recklessly charging it as if she were made of money. She also upgraded her stock of cosmetics, going for the best brands, then ducked into a salon for a professional styling that consumed the rest of the afternoon.
