by John Bowers
He felt vaguely uncomfortable as she said it, without exactly knowing why. He just nodded.
"You've convinced me. I think you should keep on doing it."
"Do you think I'm crazy?"
"I don't know."
"Are you married?"
Her abruptness caught him off guard.
"No."
"Would you like to spend the night with me?"
Wade was stunned. Never in his life had he been propositioned, and the blinding speed of this one left him dizzy. A slow flush started at his neck and crept upward as he fumbled for an answer. She noticed, and her eyes widened slowly in amazement.
"You're a cherry, aren't you!" she gasped. "I don't fucking believe it! A shave-tail, and a cherry to boot!"
Wade squirmed, humiliated beyond belief. Not only was he a virgin, but he was in love with Regina Wells. In spite of that, he found Lt. Dianne extremely desirable, and couldn't help wanting to accept her offer. But her rapid-fire evaluation left him uncertain if the offer was still open.
Her amazement had faded and she now regarded him almost suspiciously, as if not sure what to do about him.
"I've never had a cherry before," she said frankly. "You think you can put out my fires?"
He licked his lips to moisten them. He suddenly found her very intimidating.
"I'm going too fast for you," she said.
"Light speed," he agreed.
She tipped her drink, swallowing half of it, and looked around. Looking for alternatives? She set the drink down and leaned across the table toward him.
"Okay, Ensign. You know what I've got on my mind, so I'll leave it up to you. Let's visit for a while."
He nodded, trying to slow his pulse a little.
"You're not the bes' looking guy in the room," she told him then, slurring her words a little, "but the real hunks are usually too self-centered for me. I'd rather spend time with a guy who's gonna 'preciate me."
Wade laughed incredulously. She was dangerously close to rude, or was she drinking her whiskey too fast?
"Are you saying I'm ugly?" he asked.
"Not at all. You're average, and you look like a nice guy."
"I am a nice guy."
"You see? Can I pick 'em, or what?"
He sat awkwardly for the space of thirty seconds. She stared at him, saying nothing. He had completely run out of conversation, and scrambled for anything at all.
"So. What's combat like?"
"You'll pro'lly find out soon enough."
"What was it like for you?"
Her eyes lost their focus as she stared past his shoulder. She answered slowly, in short phrases, as the words formulated in her mind.
"It's … different than I thought. It's quiet, you know. I thought it would be noisy. In the holovids … you can hear the star drives and the explosions — but there's none of that. There's no sound in space. You hear your own ship, but that's all. You can hear your cannon — and there's a rattle when the torpedoes leave their tubes …. You see the flash when they go off, but it's quiet, absolutely silent. In a way, that's good, because when you do hear something, you know you've been hit. We took a torpedo against our shields off Saturn and all I heard was the shield generator whining. No explosion sound, nothing."
"How did your pilot get killed?"
"That torpedo knocked out our shields. There was a second one right behind it. It exploded in the nose of the ship."
Wade whistled thinly. "Lucky you survived."
She met his eyes and tipped her drink. Her lips smiled, but her eyes did not.
"We were in a QuasarFighter. Otherwise I wouldn't be here."
"Why's that?"
"It's a Lincoln. Lincoln builds the best fighters in the fleet. I've known people who flew Nakashimas or Boeing-Nukes who bought the farm with far less damage than we took. I won't fly in anything but a Lincoln. They try to make me, I'll trot out DSCS and I'm gone."
In his peripheral vision, Wade had seen two officers approaching their table. He looked up as they arrived. One wore a charcoal dress uniform, the other the distinctive blue and white of the Star Marines. They were slightly flushed from too much alcohol, but seemed in good spirits. The charcoal dress was grinning at Dianne.
"Howdy, Lieutenant!" he blurted. "I sure as hell didn't expect to see you here tonight!"
Dianne looked up at him, her eyes suddenly wide.
"Stocker! You sumbitch! What're you doing in Pearl?" She was obviously pleased to see him.
"I've been transferred. I'm moving up. What about you?"
"I'm on my way home for a few days. Siddown!" She scooted over to make room, and Wade did the same for the Marine. "Stocker, this is Ens — Ensign Wade. Wade, meet Loo-tenant Stocker. He's from my squadron."
"Was," Stocker corrected, and shook hands with Wade. "Pleasure, Ensign."
"Same here, sir."
"Dianne, this jarhead is my little brother, William. He just got back from Titan. He's with the 3rd Marine Division."
Dianne's eyes widened again, in admiration. Everyone who'd fought at Outer Worlds knew the 3rd had suffered terrible casualties.
"Jesus Christ! Nice to meet you, Loo-tenant!" The slurring was becoming worse.
William looked like a recruiting poster, all square jaw and crewcut. He was no more than nineteen, but his eyes looked ten years older. He wore a broad smile but his eyes were cold, almost dead.
Dianne and Stocker talked shop for twenty minutes, leaving William and Wade sitting silent. Wade felt more uncomfortable by the minute, but simply didn't know what to say. How could he relate to the young man beside him, or vice versa?
Lt. Stocker finally came to the rescue. First he ordered a round of drinks for everyone, then made an effort to include Wade in the conversation. All too quickly, Wade wished he hadn't.
"So, Ensign, what's your assignment? Are you shipboard?"
"No." Wade grinned, embarrassed. "I just got out of OCS."
"Sixty-day wonder, huh?" Stocker grinned good-naturedly. "Have your orders yet?"
Wade nodded, cringing.
"So, where you headed? Looking forward to combat?"
Wade swirled the ice in his drink, delaying his answer. Hoping someone would take him off the hook. But they all stared at him, waiting.
"I'm … uh — I've been ordered to the Polygon. To the … planning staff."
Around them, the O-Club was as noisy as ever, clinking glasses, throbbing music, loud voices and raucous laughter. But their table seemed suspended in time, the silence almost deafening. At first the two men looked shocked, then their expressions changed. Dianne looked just as horrified, as if he'd declared himself a homosexual.
"Planning." Stocker said it with less than enthusiasm. "How'd you get so lucky?"
Wade looked up, not missing the sarcasm. He shrugged minutely.
"I have a degree in statistical analysis. They offered me the job."
"And you took it." William spoke for the first time. Wade didn't look at him, but nodded.
"Yep. I took it."
Another ten seconds crawled by. Dianne forced a smile and looked at the other two.
"Well, somebody's gotta do it, huh?"
"Fucking A," Stocker said halfheartedly. He lifted his glass. "Here's to Ensign Wade," he suggested. "To the rear etch." His eyes met William's, and Wade saw the expression they shared. It was a look he would never forget.
"To the rear etch," William echoed. "May they always find someone to scratch the etch!"
Both men burst out laughing, neither actually drinking the toast. Dianne didn't laugh, but as she met Wade's eyes her expression was less than sympathetic. Wade shriveled inside and waited for them to go. The conversation that followed excluded him totally, for which he was at least grateful, and after a few minutes the two men departed. Leaving Wade to face the woman across from him.
"Sorry about them," she mumbled, avoiding his eyes. "Stocker gets a few in him, he gets a little rude."
"He seemed okay at first,"
Wade observed. "I guess you combat types don't care much for staff types, huh?"
She studied her nails as she answered.
"I think what bothers us is the idea that someone who's never been in battle is in a position to get us killed. It's not your fault, Wade … "
"But I could have turned it down. Right?"
She nodded, meeting his eyes again.
"Why didn't you?"
"Maybe I think I'll be good at it."
"Because of your extensive combat experience?"
"Because I'm good at analyzing data. And I do know something about strategy. Anyway, you don't have to worry — I'm a junior officer and I'll probably just be fetching donuts for the first few years." He finished his drink, looked at hers. "You want another one?"
She shook her head slowly, staring across the room. She seemed mildly embarrassed, but Wade wasn't sure if it was because of his discomfort or just the fact that she was sitting with him. He realized with sudden finality that whatever might have been wasn't going to be. He deliberately glanced at his wristwatch.
"Well, Lieutenant Dianne … "
"Love."
He looked startled. "What?"
"Dianne Love. That's my name."
He nodded slowly. "Wade Palmer," he said belatedly.
"So, when do you leave for the Polygon?"
"Day after tomorrow. Look, I'm sorry if I spoiled your evening. I didn't realize you had such high standards."
A hint of a frown creased her lovely forehead as she peered at him.
"I'll get out of your way," he continued. "You've still got time to find a fireman. Maybe William would be interested."
He slid to the edge of the table and stood up.
"Have a nice time at home, and be careful when you go back out there."
Her eyes glittered briefly. She just nodded.
"Good hunting," she murmured.
Wade turned and walked out of the club.
Chapter 9
Thursday, 3 April, 0228 (PCC) – Washington City, DC, North America, Terra
"Ready?" Major Zintz rubbed mindlessly at his hair as he stared at Regina, an almost desperate look in his eyes. He had his thumb on the switch of the holocam he'd set up to record the rough draft of the indoctrination video they'd been working on. Regina swallowed down her nerves, touched her hair unconsciously, and nodded. She'd worked nine straight weeks without a day off to get everything ready, and this first cut would be viewed by Admiral Leach and his staff. It wouldn't be the final product, but it had to be good.
"Okay." Zintz thumbed the start switch and waited for a count of three. "Action."
Regina was already looking into the holocam, trying to look pleasant without being syrupy.
"Hello, my name is Regina Wells. I work for the Armed Forces Information Office. The purpose of this information holo is to provide you, the Federation fighting man — or woman — with a better understanding of the enemy you are facing. Many of you have already seen action against the Sirian Confederacy, and you may feel that you know the enemy pretty well. Perhaps you do. But it is our desire to give you a better understanding of your enemy's background, to tell you something about his home life, his culture — exactly what it is that makes him …"
"Cut!"
Regina stopped in midsentence, her mouth still open. Zintz was fiddling with the holocam, and scowled as he surveyed the set around her.
"The light is wrong somehow," he fussed. "Maybe we should change that background. I think its absorbing th—"
"Jesus Christ, Major!" Regina blurted impatiently. "This is the third time you've stopped me! I haven't even gotten started yet."
"I'm sorry, Miss Wells, but …"
"Look, we've got to get something recorded. We're coming up on seventy days, and I want to finish this thing by deadline. Let's just get the damn thing done! We're going to do the whole thing over anyway, after the staff sees it."
"Miss Wells …"
"And for God's sake, call me Regina!"
He stared at her, a dumb expression on his face. She widened her eyes and gave him an exaggerated nod.
"Can we continue? Please?"
He bit down on his lip and sighed, scowling darker than ever. But he pressed the button again.
"Action."
Regina wasn't ready. Quickly she tried to hide her annoyance, aware they would have to edit it out. She managed to pick up where she'd left off.
" … to tell you something about his home life, his culture — exactly what it is that makes him tick.
"By now it's fairly common knowledge that the Sirian Confederacy, at the very least, is a racist, sexist society. But that hardly tells the whole story. Sirius is the most repressive society of modern times, a direct throwback to North America's Ancient South, before the American Civil War. In many ways, Sirius is as oppressive as many despotic societies that existed as far back as the time of Christ.
"The outline for the Sirian Confederacy was drawn up twenty years before it became a reality. That outline was the work of a university student named Lucius Clay, who later became the first president of what was then called the Republic of Sirius. While still in college, Clay, who was a history and political science major, wrote what he called the Sirian Manifesto. His document almost got him arrested, but later became a sort of bible for others who believed as he did, and was the central thesis of the Sirian Democrat Party, of which Clay was one of the founding fathers."
Regina talked on in a professional voice, delivering information the average Federation citizen did not know. She spoke of the growing pains experienced by the Sirian Democrat Party as it became a major political movement in colonial Sirius, detailed a few major events surrounding its rise to power, and briefly outlined its first few years as Lucius Clay led Sirius toward its oppressive destiny. Later, historical holos would be edited in to illustrate her lecture.
"The SDP could not have remained in power without the aid of an organization called the KK. KK is an abbreviation of the Greek word Kuklos, meaning 'circle', and the organization is the distant cousin of an ancient North American group known as the KKK, or Ku Klux Klan, which derived its name from the same source.
"Unlike the North American group, however, the KK has never worn white costumes or burned crosses to make its presence known. The Sirian KK works quite openly, using intimidation and sometimes assassination to achieve its ends. During the first years of SDP reign, the KK eliminated most, if not all, organized opposition. Eventually, the Sirian constitution outlawed all other political parties, ensuring that the SDP would always remain in control of the Confederacy.
"The KK was, in a very real sense, the first military arm of the Sirian Democrat Party. From its ranks, the Sirian military machine drew its first members, and yet the KK remains today the official state police on Sirius. Even party officials dread a visit by the KK.
"The Sirian military has its own version of the KK, called the Sirian Elite Guards, or SE."
Zintz didn't interrupt her again, and Regina ground it out. The entire piece took fifty-one minutes, which was just about right. Regina well knew that anything over an hour in length would probably put the audience to sleep. The purpose here was to instruct, not hypnotize.
"In conclusion," she said finally, a little smile on her lips, "the average Sirian fighting man is not a monster, any more than you are monsters. In fact, for the most part, he is very much like you. He loves his mother and his children. But he's been raised in a manner completely alien to what you are accustomed to. That's what enables him to fight and die to preserve a system so hideous that most of us cannot fully grasp it. It isn't the Sirian fighting man who is evil, but the society that produced him.
"And that is why you must defeat him — because if you don't, that evil will consume everything and everyone you care about."
She smiled fully for the first time.
"Thank you for your attention. To each and every one of you, good luck, and God speed.
"I'm Regina Wells."<
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She waited ten seconds, and finally Zintz nodded.
"Cut," he breathed at last, and she let the smile fade. "That wasn't bad, Miss W … Regina. Not bad at all."
"Thank you." She grinned slightly. "For not stopping me again. Now, at least, we can show Admiral Leach something."
"Do you want to view it first?"
"Yes. But let's edit out that glitch in the beginning. I don't want anyone to see that."
She got up and walked around the desk, through the recording equipment.
"It's past lunch time," she said. "You hungry?"
"No, go ahead. I want to get this edited. You can watch it when you get back."
"Okay. See you in an hour."
Regina had discovered the commissary on the first floor and now took most of her lunches there. Her ID badge passed her through the security checkpoints and she no longer felt intimidated to be working in the most sensitive environment on the planet. She took the gravity lift up to the first floor by herself, glad that Zintz had stayed behind. He was a decent enough fellow, but he was so intense that he sometimes gave her a headache. She enjoyed getting away from him sometimes.
She came off the lift and turned right, breezed through the first two checkpoints, and reached the commissary. Only civilian staff and junior officers ate there; the senior staff had their own dining room on the top floor. Most of the lunch crowd had already finished and the place was almost empty. She headed for the serving line and picked up a tray, loading it with a sandwich and a bottle of fruit juice. When she reached the end of the buffet, she stopped as she debated which dessert to choose, if any. Beside her, a tall officer in dress whites was picking out his silverware. His back was to her, but as he turned to retrieve his tray he apparently saw her for the first time.
"Gina?"
Her skin tingled at the sound of the voice. It couldn't be! She turned, her green eyes wide.
"Wade!"
