by John Bowers
"I'd like you to consider resigning from the Fighter Service. Wait! Hear me out. I want you to take over as vice president of the Fighter Division at LincEnt."
Johnny's jaw dropped an inch with shock.
"Vice president?"
Oliver Lincoln III nodded soberly.
"You'd be in charge of R & D, Design, Production, and Testing. With your experience you're the most logical person in the galaxy to handle the job. You know what works in combat and what doesn't. You could make enhancements to the QF and oversee design of the next generation of fighters that we'll have to produce as technology advances. We can't afford to lose the edge the QF gives us; we have to out-design the enemy if we're going to beat him."
Johnny's head reeled. "Is this a joke?"
"Do I look like I'm joking? I've never been much of a joker, have I?"
"Not in my lifetime."
"And not before your lifetime. I'm a little old to start now."
"What about Brad? How does he feel about this?"
"Are you kidding? Brad is getting worse. He loses touch with reality a little more each day. Hell, he wouldn't even know he didn't get the job."
Johnny swirled his brandy snifter and swallowed the rest of the amber liquid, caught his breath as the fumes drifted into his sinuses, and let it out slowly.
"So, John, what do you say? Interested?"
"I don't know. My first instinct is to tell you to go to hell, but what you're saying does make a certain kind of sense."
"Damn right it does! If you're worried about the service releasing you, it's not a problem. Men like you can get separation papers if they're going into defense positions, especially if they've already been in combat. We could get you released within a week if you agreed to take the job."
"I'm afraid I'd feel like I was running out on my squadron," Johnny said.
"Think of it this way — with you building the ships, they'd be able to fight better and safer. You wouldn't be running out on them at all; if anything, you'd be doing them a greater service.
"I know you don't want to hear this, but you've already been through some hellacious combat. You're a damn good pilot, but — and you said this yourself — you've also had some luck. Sooner or later, that lucky streak could end. If you went back out there tomorrow and died in battle, think of the greater loss to the Federation. You're more than just a combat pilot; you're the man who can turn this war around, give our side the edge and help us keep it. You can't do that if you're dead."
Johnny listened silently, trying to sort it all out.
"I'll have to think about it," he said. "I can't give you an answer right now."
"Understood. Take your time. How much leave you got, thirty days? Take thirty days. But don't take too long, because once you go back, there could be a torpedo with your name on it."
"There's one other thing, Dad." Johnny glanced at the doorway where his mother and Onja had disappeared. "I'm committed to my gunner. And she's committed to fighting. I don't think I could talk her into standing down."
Lincoln frowned a little, and Johnny recognized a look of cynicism.
"She's a looker, all right. Only time I ever saw a woman that gorgeous was on Vega. Where's she from?"
"Norway."
Oliver smiled. "No, I meant what part of Vega is she from?"
"I told you, she's from Norw —"
"John…"
Johnny stopped. They locked gazes for five full seconds.
"Once you've been to Vega," Lincoln said, "you know a Vegan when you see one. You can't miss it."
Johnny's face flushed. "When were you ever on Vega?" he asked.
"One ninety-five. I was there when the Sirians invaded. Saw the whole thing." Lincoln absently fingered the scar on his left cheek. "Why do you think I tried so hard to talk you out of enlisting? I've been through it, didn't want you to have the same experience."
"What were you doing on Vega?"
"Fighting the Sirians. I was a sergeant in the Vegan Guard."
Johnny was stunned. "How come I never heard this before?"
"It isn't my favorite memory. But you can be sure I know something about the Sirians, too. We've got to beat them, John. We've got to."
Johnny nodded thoughtfully.
"Your gunner is Vegan, isn't she?"
Johnny nodded again. "She was born there. She was living in Norway when she enlisted."
"She as good as she looks?"
Johnny frowned in annoyance. "Better," he said simply.
"Well, that's something, all right. If you're thinking you're in love, that's another thing. But I can tell you something about love — if a woman is crazy about you, it doesn't matter what she looks like. She'll do anything for you, and you'll be damned glad to have her."
"Is that how you feel about Mom?"
Lincoln shook his head. "No, your mother is a fine woman, a real grand lady, and a beauty on top of that. I am one lucky son of a bitch to have her, and I've always known that. I'm talking about you, and in case you're as blind as I think you are, there's one particular girl who'd sell her soul to marry you."
Johnny frowned. "Who?"
"Angie Martinez, that's who. She is one fine little girl, and she's absolutely fucking crazy about you."
"Angela?"
"Didn't know that, did you?"
"I knew she liked me, but…"
"She's head over heels for you."
Johnny sat silent, remembering his last date with Angela. Could his dad possibly know about that?
"So what do you think? Could you be happy with her?"
Johnny shook his head and shrugged. "I-I never thought about it. She's a fine girl, all right."
"Fine girl! Hell, they don't come any better!"
"Well…" Johnny picked up his empty glass, then set it down again. "It doesn't matter, anyway. I'm in love with Onja." He glanced up. "How would you feel about her joining the family?"
"No problem. But you said yourself she wants to fight. She keeps on fighting, she'll be dead one day. War is like a poker game — sooner or later the joker always turns up."
Johnny sighed.
"I have to think this over."
"All right. Let me know. Ah, here come the ladies."
* * *
They returned to their rooms at the end of the evening, both weary because they'd begun their day in Norway and had been awake for almost twenty hours. As soon as the house quieted down, Onja tapped on Johnny's door and he let her in.
"So what do you think?" he asked as she moved around the room looking at his childhood mementos.
"About what?"
"About this. My family."
"Your mother's nice," Onja said. "I'm not sure she approves of me, though."
"Mom tries very hard to make people feel comfortable, but as often as not it has the opposite effect."
Onja nodded, smiling a little. She picked up a framed holo of Johnny standing beside a propeller-driven aircraft. He looked about fifteen.
"You don't like your dad much, do you?" she said.
Johnny was silent a moment. "Why do you say that?" he asked finally.
"The tension is like a force field," she replied. "You two act like enemies at a peace conference."
"It's that obvious?"
She put the holo down and nodded.
Johnny drew a deep breath and sat back on the bed.
"He's not my real father," he said. "My legal name is Lincoln, but my DNA is something else. My mother was already pregnant when they got married."
"What about your real father?"
"I have no idea. I only found out about all this when I enlisted and looked at my birth records. Oliver's the only father figure I ever knew."
"Were you always enemies?"
He thought about that for a minute, then nodded slowly.
"Yeah, I guess we were. He has a son of his own, a little older than me. My asshole stepbrother, Brad. You'll probably meet him while we're here, but if I never see the prick again it wouldn't bother me."
"Why?"
"Because he's a lazy, selfish son of a bitch who never thinks of anyone but himself, yet Dad acts like he's god's gift to the universe." Johnny smiled bitterly. "But me? I can't ever get anything right."
"You don't think he loves you?"
Johnny shrugged. "He sure as hell never told me so."
"But he made sure your squadron got the first shipment of QuasarFighters," she pointed out gently.
He grinned at her suddenly, forcing it a little.
"Hey, listen to me, huh? Sitting here feeling sorry for myself. I don't need to burden you with this."
Onja sat down beside him and slipped her arms around his neck.
"If you can't share your burdens with me, then who can you share them with?"
"It's my problem," he said. "It's always been there and it'll never go away."
"I'm sorry, Johnny," she told him.
He shrugged again. "It's okay."
"No, it isn't. You have your family, but they don't make you happy. I'd give anything if I could have my family back again."
He looked stunned.
"Aw, shit! I'm sorry, honey. I didn't even think. I'm sitting here whining and …"
"Sh! Johnny, just because of what happened to me, that doesn't make your pain any less real."
"Onja —"
She silenced him with a kiss, pushing him over backward, effectively ending the conversation. Their passion quickly mounted until they were tearing at each other's uniforms. Soon Onja was moaning and wailing out of control, and when the orgasm hit, she let out a cry that rattled the windows. Afterward, they lay side-by-side, arms around each other, panting.
"Oh, god!" Johnny moaned, "if that doesn't bring Hobbs it'll bring Mother!"
"Sorry," she gasped. "I couldn't help it."
"I think I've been raped," he said.
"You deserved it."
"I'll try to deserve it more often."
Chapter 28
Saturday, 5 January, 0222 (PCC) — Denver, CO, Terra
When they woke the sun was streaming in the windows of Johnny's room. Johnny opened his eyes, listening for the sound that had wakened him, and it came again — a knock on the door.
"Johnny?" his mother's voice called. "Are you there?'
"Yeah, Mom!" Johnny looked quickly to see Onja still sleeping on the pillow beside him.
"Breakfast in ten minutes, dear."
"Okay, Mom. Be right down."
"Dear, have you seen Onja? She's not in her room."
"Uh — she isn't?"
"What did you say?"
"Uh, I think she —"
The door cracked open and his mother peered inside.
"I didn't understand you, dear —" She stopped, eyes widening slightly, mouth dropping open. "Oh!"
"Good morning, Mom." Johnny smiled brightly. "Onja's right here."
"Yes, I see." The regal lady looked a trifle flustered, but quickly recovered. Forcing a smile, she said, "Well, see you at the table, dear. Don't take too long." She backed quickly out of the room and closed the door.
"Busted!" Johnny sighed.
"What's the matter?" Onja sat up and frowned sleepily at him. "Who was that?"
"My mom. She caught us."
"Oh. Shit. I suppose she'll hate me now."
"Nope. She'll never mention it. Come on, hit the shower. If we're late for breakfast, that we'll hear about!"
Breakfast was relaxed and casual. Mrs. Lincoln treated Onja exactly as she had the night before, though the blonde gunner was still jittery. When the meal was over, Oliver Lincoln III drove his guests down to the factory for a tour. It was nostalgic for Johnny and enlightening for Onja; she'd seen very little of the complex except from the air.
Bomb damage from the October raid had been repaired and production was proceeding at full pace. Lincoln first took them through Research and Development, explaining to Onja how the engineers set about modeling ships and systems; from there to Prototyping, where originals of proposed projects were built; and finally to the actual production lines, which occupied most of the factory floor. Two hundred QuasarFighters sat under construction, ranging from bare skeletal Plasteel to nearly finished product.
"We turn out twenty finished ships every day," Lincoln boasted. "We could do twice that, and other manufacturers do, but we want every ship as nearly perfect as possible." He grinned. "I never know which of these babies you and John will be flying, so they have to be the best."
Onja favored him with a rare, but genuine smile of pleasure. His eyes lingered on her for a moment, then he returned to his lecture.
As they neared the end of the factory line a bell rang and several hundred workers gathered around the little entourage. While company cameras rolled, a spokesman made a short speech to Johnny and his gunner, presenting them with a plaque in appreciation of their defense of the plant in October. It was simple but elegant, a bas relief QuasarFighter attacking enemy spacecraft, with the words:
~
To Johnny Lincoln & Onja Kvoorik
THANK YOU!
for proving that the QuasarFighter really works!
January 5, 0222.
~
From the factory floor they went down to the flight line, where they met up again with Mr. Hatley, the grizzled old technician who'd delivered the QFs to Luna 9. He greeted them fondly, and after pumping Johnny's hand planted a rough kiss on Onja's cheek.
"I remember briefing you on that gun turret," he told her with a grin. "I never dreamed just what you were gonna do with it. You made me real proud when I heard about those transports."
Onja gave him her second genuine smile of the day.
"I owe it all to Lincoln fighters," she said.
Sitting behind a revetment on the flight line, guarded by two armed security men, was a prototype, a ship even newer than the QF. Dubbed the PulsarFighter, it had a raw, dangerous look, and Johnny felt a crawling sensation as he looked at it. Slightly bigger than the QF, it had two gun turrets, top and bottom. It reminded him of nothing so much as a fetus, something not completely gestated. Alien. Forbidding.
"This thing was still on the CAD chips when I left," he told Oliver. "How's it coming?"
"Well, right now, not very well," Lincoln admitted. "It's loaded with bugs, and I've lost two test pilots on it."
Johnny frowned. "Which ones?"
"Lars Sorensen, and the guy who took your place."
"Lars Sorensen! God! He taught me everything I know!"
Lincoln nodded. "A damn shame. Anyway, this baby, if it ever goes into production, will quadruple your firepower and triple your life support. Among other things."
"That sounds nice!" Onja put in. "I like the over-and-under turrets."
"Yeah. Well, it's at least a couple of years away, maybe more."
"We'll be ready. We can use it when we get to Sirius."
For the second time that morning Lincoln gazed at her thoughtfully, as if reminded of someone else. He shook it off and continued the tour, which ended with a light lunch in the company cafeteria.
"What's on tap for the rest of the day?" Johnny asked.
"This evening there's a reception for the two of you. The whole factory is turning out. Otherwise, that's it. Company auditorium, eight o'clock. Don't be late."
* * *
Johnny spent the afternoon with his mother, sitting on the patio talking. The rose garden looked bleak this time of year, the bushes stark and leafless. Two inches of snow clung to the grounds around the mansion.
Johnny sipped a glass of red wine while his mother drank tea; Onja was napping upstairs.
"Your friend," Rosemary said. "Onja. She's very beautiful."
Johnny smiled.
"You're in love with her."
"Does it show?"
"To your mother, it does. I think she's in love with you, too."
He nodded.
"We've heard of her, of course. She's quite famous now. I was concerned at first, that she might not be …well …"
"Appropriate?"
"Thank you."
"Have you formed an opinion?" He watched her eyes.
"Yes. I like her very much."
He smiled tolerantly. "That didn't answer the question, Mom."
"She's a very nice girl. I have no problem with her character. The only thing that concerns me … Let me put it this way — a girl who makes her living killing people …" She stared at him helplessly, groping for words to express her feelings.
"Mom, that's how I make my living, too."
"I know, dear, but somehow — well, it's more traditional for men. I guess I haven't quite accepted the idea of putting girls into combat. I realize I'm old-fashioned, but …"
"What would you say if I brought her home and married her?"
Rosemary looked slightly startled, but as always, recovered evenly.
"I would accept her as my daughter and treat her accordingly. You know that."
"And if I wanted to marry Angela?"
"The same answer applies. I will not mistreat any girl you choose for a wife."
"Which one would you prefer?"
She stared at him for a moment, then cocked her head.
"Johnny, are you baiting me?"
He shook his head. "Dad told me last night that Angela wants to marry me."
"Of course she does. You didn't know that?"
"No. I guess I had my head stuck up my …," he caught himself just in time, "afterburner."
"And how do you feel about Angela?" She watched him closely.
"I don't feel anything about her. She's a nice girl. We've had a few dates, but nothing serious."
Rosemary opened her mouth to speak, stopped, and stared at her tea for a poignant moment.
"Like I told Dad," he continued, "if I hadn't met Onja I might take a serious look at Angela. But it's too late for that now."
"Are you sure it's love that you feel?"
He blinked. "What d'you mean?"
"Well, isn't it possible that your feelings for Onja are more along the lines of comradeship? After all, the two of you depend on each other in battle. I'm told that such a relationship can form a bond that's even closer than a marriage."
"Who told you that?"
"Your father."
"You mean Oliver? What does he know about it?"
"He knows."
Johnny slowly twirled the wine glass between his thumb and forefinger. Finally he shook his head.
