by John Bowers
Ten minutes later, in the ready room, the debriefing took place. Onja sat silently next to Landon as Lt. Cannersby, the S-2 (intelligence officer), compiled the score. Not everyone knew for sure how many Sirians they'd hit; toward the end of the engagement, torpedoes and lasers had been running wild. The most Cannersby could account for was seven, but several gunners were making duplicate claims on those kills.
"This doesn't add up," Cannersby said after a moment. "How many Sirians were there?"
"Eighteen," Landon told him.
"And they were all destroyed?"
"Every one."
"I'm only getting seven, and if I accept all these claims the most I can account for is ten. What about the rest?"
The room sat silent as every eye focused on Landon. He hesitated a moment, then coughed modestly into his fist.
"Some of those have to be shared kills," he said finally. "When we made contact, my gunner was the first to open fire. Lieutenant Ka-vorik had eleven kills."
Onja's eyes widened as she gazed at Landon. She hadn't bothered to count them. She looked back at Cannersby to see him staring at her in disbelief.
"From all the reports we've monitored," he said quietly, "nobody in the Fighter Service has accumulated eleven kills since the war started. Nobody."
Landon shrugged. "Today, someone did."
Chapter 16
Asteroid Base 131, Solar System
Onja had never been a party person; her young life had been too fraught with fear, danger, and desolation. But the party that followed the debrief was one she would never forget. Landon opened the canteen and drinks were on the house. Lights flashed, music thundered, and liquor flowed. Pilots, gunners, and other base personnel drank and danced and shouted to one another. Pilot after pilot dragged Onja onto the dance floor, each one gushing with compliments over her killing spree. Two offered to take her someplace private, but she easily deflected their offers — god knew she had plenty of experience at that!
Sylvia found her between dances, giving her a sisterly hug of congratulation.
"I always knew you would do well out there!" she said. "I guess you showed Captain Hinds!"
Onja shook her head. "He wasn't there."
"You showed him anyway. You showed everyone."
But their reunion had a shadow over it. Christine Liebau and Billy Cameron hadn't survived the ambush.
* * *
After a solid hour of dancing, Onja managed to drag herself out of the fray and gulp a badly needed drink. The party raged around her, bodies bumping in the crowded canteen. She felt a hand on her elbow and looked around.
"May I have the next dance, Lieutenant?" Capt. Hinds looked slightly less formidable, but his green eyes were still challenging.
"Are you sure you want to dance with an enemy agent?" Onja retorted, her blue eyes flashing.
He managed a shrug. "I may have been wrong about you," he said.
She stared at him in disbelief. “You may have been wrong about me? Are you kidding me?”
“What do you want? An apology?”
“I’ll settle for that, but what I really want are the weeks you stole out of my career. I wish you’d return those to me.”
He shrugged again. “No can do. Now, how about that dance?”
The dance was stiff and embarrassing. Onja held herself militarily erect, refusing to give him any pleasure in the event.
"Now that you've proved yourself," Hinds said, "I've decided that I would be willing to make you my gunner."
Onja leaned back and stared into his eyes.
"You already have a gunner!"
"I do, but she's burned out. The stress is getting her down, and she could use a break."
"Thank you for the offer, Captain. But I'll stick with Major Landon."
"The major doesn't go on patrol very often," Hinds replied. "You might not get back out there for several weeks if you wait for him."
"After today," she said, "he'll fly."
* * *
The celebration broke up slowly. Onja drifted back to the Beaver Pond, waving briefly at one or two gunners who'd preceded her. Standing by her rack, she felt suddenly empty, unfulfilled. It wasn't exactly depression, but …
Strangely, the exhilaration, the need for action, was still there. But the action was over, and now she was looking at the same boring routine that had characterized her entire existence at 131 before today. She shook her head slowly, unable to accept it. There had to be more! There had to be!
She turned and strode out of the dormitory, dropped down a level to pilot/crew country, and headed for Landon's quarters. She'd seen him deep in conversation with Hinds and Cannersby during the celebration, but he hadn't once come near her. She rang his bell and stood waiting.
The door slid open and Landon stood there, surprise on his face. He looked tired, but he always did. Surely his adrenaline was still up, as hers was.
"Permission to speak to the Major, sir?"
Landon smiled slightly, curiosity in his eyes. He nodded and started to step out the door.
"Permission to speak to the Major inside, sir?"
He stopped, his smile fading. "What is it, Ka-vorik? Something wrong?"
"No, sir."
He took a step back and she entered his quarters, punching the door control when she was inside. The door slid shut and she looked up at Landon, barely a foot away, and for the first time looked at him as a man. Looked at the lines around his eyes, the close-cropped military cut speckled with grey, the slightly weary way he held his shoulders; looked at the size of him, smelled the faint odor of cologne …
Adrenaline surged through her, blood pounded in her temples, her face turned suddenly hot. Her lips parted to get oxygen. Her blue eyes locked his gaze and she began to unbutton her blouse.
Landon frowned.
"What's wrong, Ka-vorik? Are you all right?"
Her chest heaved as she sucked air into her lungs. She whipped the blouse open and shrugged out of it, her eyes still glued to his. Without a word she popped the release on her bra and let it drop to the deck at their feet. Landon's eyes automatically dropped to the spectacle she'd revealed to him, and she saw him swallow hard. His own breathing suddenly sounded labored.
"Ka-vorik …"
"My name is Onja," she said huskily. "And it's not 'Ka-vorik', it's Kvoorik." She moved against him and reached for his head with both hands, started to pull him down for a kiss, but he resisted.
"What the hell are you doing?" he demanded.
"I think it's obvious, Major. Don't you?" She pulled at him again, but he pushed her back by the shoulders.
"No," he said, "this is all wrong."
She planted her hands on her hips. "Tell me why."
"I told you from the beginning that I didn't expect you to sleep with me."
"You never told me I couldn't."
"I'm telling you now."
"Bullshit!"
"That's insubordination."
"I'm out of uniform."
He tried to suppress a smile, but failed. "Look …"
"No, Major, you look! I just murdered half a squadron of Sirians, so I think I'm entitled to ask you for a favor!"
"You were doing your duty."
"And now it's time to do yours!" Her blue eyes flashed with mounting anger.
But Landon smiled again, crossing his arms. He leaned back against the bulkhead.
"What, exactly, do you think my duty is?"
"They made it very clear to us at Travis that pilots and gunners are expected to take care of each other."
"That's not a service requirement …"
"But it's recommended. We had to agree to the policy just to get accepted into the gunnery program."
Landon lost the smile and regarded her with a narrow gaze.
"You're not my gunner. That's a temporary assignment."
Onja stared at him in shock.
"Sophia scorn! You're playing games with me!"
"Put your shirt on."
"No! You take a good look! Tell me you don't like what you see! Tell me you don't want me as much as I want you! Make me believe it and I'll leave."
He bent to retrieve her bra and handed it to her. She batted it away, her frustration boiling over; tears suddenly streamed from her eyes.
"Why are you doing this? Why are you humiliating me?"
"Ka-vorik —"
"Onja, goddammit!" She thrust both hands against his chest and drove him back into the bulkhead. Before he could recover she was on him, her lips locked onto his mouth, arms wrapped around his neck. She dug her feet into the wall to hoist herself above him, then wrapped her thighs around him, pressing her groin into his stomach. He struggled to maintain his balance, was forced to embrace her to keep from falling. His hands slid under her gorgeous bottom, broad and smooth, and Onja squirmed seductively, kissing the top of his head, his ears, his neck.
"I need you, Major!" she panted hoarsely. "Don't turn me down; there isn't another man on this rock I would ask."
"Christ, Onja! I'm twice your age!"
"I don't care! You're my pilot. And I need you. Right now!"
* * *
Landon could hardly believe it was happening. First an overwhelming victory against the enemy, now this totally unexpected windfall. A corner of his mind told him this was crazy, that he was crazy. In twenty years of service he'd slept with his share of gunners, but he'd been younger then; for the past few years he'd had less and less sexual contact, since the age gap widened a little more each year. Most gunners served six years and got out; the average gunner was twenty-three years old.
This one was eighteen.
But he'd never seen a female body like this one. He'd heard it said that there was "no such thing as an ugly Vegan", but had never understood it. Now he did. The Vegans had genetically altered their population for physical perfection, and the results were indescribable. Onja Kvoorik was by far the sexiest woman he'd ever seen.
And it had been a very long time.
So, against his better judgment, he ignored that little corner of his mind, and gave her what she wanted.
What he wanted.
And she fucked him blind.
Lunar Base 9, Luna
Johnny Lincoln stood at attention and stared at the wall above General Osato's head. Osato, a grey-haired man with a sun-wrinkled face and piercing eyes, was seated behind his desk. Major Dunn sat to one side in a straight-backed chair. Denise Jordan stood at attention beside her pilot, looking sharp and sexy in her tight charcoal dress uniform. Both had been under house arrest since landing at Luna 9 the day before, and now the shit was in the jets.
Osato stared at the pair for a long moment and let them sweat.
"Lieutenant Lincoln, Captain Jordan, you've been called here to determine whether charges should be brought against you. Are you aware of the gravity of your circumstance?"
"Yes, sir," they said at the same time.
"Major Dunn has filed a report which states that you disobeyed his direct order and engaged the enemy when it was disadvantageous to do so. How do you respond to that, Lincoln?"
"I'm not aware that I disobeyed a direct order, General," Johnny lied. "My SpectraWav was malfunctioning. I requested the Major's permission to engage, but I couldn't hear his response. I assumed he'd want me to engage, since the enemy was, in my judgment, at a disadvantage."
Dunn snorted, but Osato ignored him.
"In your judgment, Lieutenant?"
"Yes, sir."
"Explain what led you to that judgment."
"Yes, sir. Our radar indicated that enemy fighters were leaving their targets and climbing out over Siberia. They were in heavy atmosphere, disorganized, strung out over hundreds of miles. We were in position to attack them from above; we were fresh and fully armed. I expected they were tired from the strain of their mission and their long flight to get there. I believed that gave us the advantage."
"Even though there were only four of you?"
"Yes, sir. As I said, they were strung out and disorganized."
"You requested Major Dunn's permission to engage. You say you were unaware of his direct order to maintain your position?"
"That's correct, General. I was having trouble with my SpectraWav. I couldn't hear him if that's what he said."
"It seemed to work fine once you were in combat," Osato said. "Your AI log indicates that you chatted freely with your section throughout the engagement."
"Yes, sir."
"So you're telling me that the equipment mysteriously started working again?"
"Yes, sir."
Osato looked at Denise.
"What about it, Captain?"
"Just like the lieutenant said, sir. Every word."
"We had the maint engineers check your communications equipment," Osato said. "It checked out perfectly. There was nothing wrong with it in any way. How do you explain that?"
"Sunspots, sir," Johnny said.
"What?"
"Solar flares, General. Maybe."
"I don't believe there was any unusual solar activity yesterday."
"Just a suggestion, sir. I don't really know."
Dunn snorted again, and Osato turned to him.
"You want to add something, Major?"
"I do, General!" Dunn growled venomously. "I want Lincoln out of my squadron! He has a history of disobeying orders. I warned him the day he reported that I would not tolerate disobedience. He's a hotdog, sir. He got lucky as a civilian, and now he thinks he knows more about combat than those in command. Yesterday's events should be ample evidence of that."
"He did have an incident last December," Osato acknowledged, "but he hadn't been properly trained then. His record since December is unblemished."
"I don't want him in my squadron, General. I won't tolerate a hotdog, and I told him that from the get-go."
"Lincoln, do you care to defend yourself?"
"May I speak freely, sir?"
"By all means."
Johnny hesitated, then took a deep breath.
"General, I've tried to do a good job in 213, and I think I've succeeded. Captain Walters seems to agree, since he made me a flight leader. Whatever animosity Major Dunn feels toward me is completely unwarranted. I think he feels threatened by me."
Osato's eyebrows lifted in surprise.
"And why would he feel threatened?"
"I've met the enemy, sir. Major Dunn hasn't. I think he's afraid to fight."
"You son of a bitch!" Dunn leaped to his feet.
"That will do, Major!" Osato warned. He looked at Johnny curiously. "Go on, Lieutenant. Let's see how deep a hole you can dig for yourself."
"Sir, we were assigned to fly a patrol over the Arctic Circle. With respect, there's nothing there to guard. The only reason we were there was to put us in position to intercept a strike from any direction. But Major Dunn ordered us to stay in our patrol sector. Except for my section, the squadron did not engage the enemy."
"Again," Denise added solemnly, glaring at Dunn.
"How do you know what he said, if your SpectraWav was out?"
"You told me so, sir. Just a few minutes ago."
Osato's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.
"General, the pilots and gunners of 213 are embarrassed that they've never been in combat. We all want to fight, but the 213 never fights, even when the enemy attacks. I took my section down and we killed sixteen fighters."
"And lost your wingman!" Dunn accused.
"Yes, sir, but Stovall wanted to fight. He got some kills before he died. We lost one ship to their sixteen."
"You don't have to notify Stovall's and Palmer's next of kin," Dunn said bitterly.
"No, sir. But a lot of people on Vega have to be notified, too."
"Captain Jordan, do you have anything to add?" Osato asked.
"Yes, sir. Since our radio was out, I gave Lincoln the go-ahead to engage. If you have to star-court anyone, star-court me. But I have to tell you, I'd do it again this afternoon. I'
ve been in the service for fifteen years, and I'd give it all up for another chance like we had yesterday."
Osato stared at her thoughtfully.
"General," Johnny cut in, "Captain Jordan outranks me, but I was the ship commander. As pilot, the final decision was mine, not hers."
Osato's brow furrowed and he glanced at Dunn, who looked like a thundercloud. He turned to Denise.
"Captain, I see no reason for you to remain here. There's no evidence that you did anything other than your duty. You're dismissed."
Denise looked startled; she glanced wide-eyed at Johnny, then composed herself, saluted, and left the room.
Osato peered at Johnny.
"Lincoln, if you were in my shoes, what punishment would you recommend? I don't believe a star-court is indicated, but we still have the matter of the SpectraWav — I don't for a minute believe it was malfunctioning, and neither do you. What would you do?"
"Banish me, sir. Send me to the asteroids."
"Oh, really?" Osato leaned back. "You'd like that, would you? Do you have any idea what conditions are like out there?"
"No, sir, but I do know they're fighting out there. I signed up to fight."
"I told you he was a hotdog, General," Dunn said.
Osato ignored him.
"I'm not going to transfer you, Lincoln," he said. "I could recommend a star-court and you might end up in a military stockade, but that would be counterproductive. So for the time being I'm leaving you in 213."
Johnny stared in disbelief; Dunn was on his feet, furious.
"General, I want this insolent punk out of my squadron!"
Osato held up a hand for silence. Dunn sputtered and sat down.
"Normally, your performance yesterday would warrant you a medal for valor," Osato told Johnny, "but in view of your 'broken' radio, you will not receive one. Captain Jordan, however, will be cited. I'm pushing the reset button, Lieutenant. You're getting a second chance, a fresh start. All things being equal, you'd better not have any trouble obeying orders from now on. Understood?"
"Understood, sir."
"Dismissed."
* * *
