by John Bowers
He struggled through the waist-deep snow around to the lee of the ejection capsule, placing himself out of the wind, at least. It wouldn't keep him alive forever, but it might stretch his time a little. He would probably be better off back inside, but he wasn't sure he could get back to the hatch. The outside of the module was coated with ice.
He crouched down in the snow and wrapped his arms around himself, shaking hard. He didn't even have his helmet, or his rifle. If the enemy should walk up right now, his only option would be surrender. But the enemy was the least of his worries.
The lasers had stopped. He hadn't really noticed that, until they started again. He looked up, blinded by the snow and darkness. Why had they opened up again? What were they shooting at?
His heart tripped as he thought he heard, above the wind, a jet engine. Was it possible? He stood up, listening, looking in all directions. All he could see was darkness, and snow. And another laser flash, this one hitting close enough that he could hear the impact against the deep snow.
Shit!
He struggled around the end of the gun turret and narrowed his eyes against the stinging snow. He could see nothing, but he could hear it, hovering. Not far away, jets turning. He staggered toward the sound, still blinded by flying snow, leaning into the wind as he struggled through the deep drifts. By pure accident he found a trail. The snow had been stamped down here, though it was starting to fill in again. But it only came up to his knees. His heart leaped as he realized it must be the path the rescue team had made when they came for Onja. He began to run.
"There he is!" a male voice bellowed distantly. "I got him on IR! Come on!"
Lasers streaked past, and Rico ran harder, still blind but running toward the voice, following the trail.
"Over here!" the same voice shouted, almost whipped away by the wind. "To your right! Twenty degrees!"
What was he talking about? He was following the trail. Another laser impacted ten yards behind him, and he ran on, frozen and stiff.
"To yer right, myte! Twenty degrees! Over here!"
It hit him then — the trail he was following led to where the ship had been the first time. It must have landed in a different spot now. Rigid with cold, he tried to judge twenty degrees to his right and made the turn, plowing into the deepest snow yet, almost up to his elbows. He was so tired, so cold. God, he would never make it.
"That's it, myte! A little farther! Yer almost —"
The laser bolt hit him in the chest like a sledgehammer, whipping his spine agonizingly as it lifted him off his feet. He was blinded by the flash and felt his body soar through the air. Then he crashed through the snow and disappeared beneath it.
Everything went black.
Chapter 37
Friday, 5 February, 0230 (PCC) - Fleet Base 21, Alpha 2, Alpha Centauri System
He woke in extreme pain. The pain had been there for a long time. He was aware of it in his subconscious, down where he dreamed. He came slowly out of his stupor, opened his eyes to blurred vision. The snow was still there, he thought — everything was white. But the cold was gone, and he blinked deliberately several times. His vision cleared, and he realized the white wasn't snow at all. It was the color of his hospital ward.
He was suspended above a hoverbed, his entire body locked in laser traction. The pain was in his back — his spine seemed on fire.
"Good morning."
The voice was deep and throaty. Sexy, but he was hardly in the mood to appreciate that. He couldn't move his head, but shifted his eyes to the left. A woman looked intently down at him, her black eyes searching his face for telltale signs of his condition. She was wearing a white smock over Space Force fatigues, a medical pin attached to her collar. Her hair was thick and black as space; she wore it in a French braid. Her dark olive skin made her look like a Spanic, but the Mediterranean features suggested she was Italian.
He'd seen her before.
"How you feeling, Private?" she asked in that same sexy, heavily accented voice. "You gave us quite a scare."
"Wot hap'm'?" he mumbled, surprised that his lips wouldn't obey his brain.
"You stopped a pretty big laser," she said. "Lucky for you it was a deflection shot. Your vest reflected most of it, but it still gave you a pretty nasty kick."
He closed his eyes and frowned, breathing deeply against the pain. He remembered now. Trying to reach the rescue ship.
"You're not going to die," she told him before he could ask. "You have no internal injuries and no burns. But your skeleton suffered a severe trauma. You're going to be in traction for quite some time."
"Can you … fix it?"
She smiled for the first time, and nodded, her eyes suddenly warm with concern.
"Yes. We can fix it."
He wanted to ask her more. What about his friends, Delta Company? Did she have any news about them? What about the Fighter Queen? What about …
She squeezed a bulb attached to his IV and something yellow flowed into his arm. His body began to numb, the pain receded, and he drifted away.
* * *
Carla Ferracci left the patient ward and made her way to the doctor's lounge. Once the door slid shut behind her, she let go of her iron exterior and allowed the tears to slide down her cheeks. She'd been fighting them while she was in the room. The young Star Marine wouldn't have understood.
Carla wasn't sure she understood, either. What the hell, he was just one more damaged body out of the hundreds she'd treated since the war began. Why should he affect her so? And, of course, she did know the answer. He wasn't any more special than the rest; it was just that she recognized him. He'd tried to pick her up in a bar on Orbital 6, a hundred years ago.
It was so unfair, she thought. The war, all of it. Nice young men, like Pvt. Martinez. Just ordinary young men, required to face extraordinary dangers. How close had he come to being left behind last night? He wouldn't have lasted an hour. And Carla would never have known his fate.
* * *
Onja Kvoorik powered her hoverchair into the ward and stopped. The Star Marine suspended above the bed was asleep, and she didn't know if she should wake him. Her own injuries were mending quickly; a routine surgery had removed the fragment in her leg, and a laser beam had fused the fractured femur. She would still require a week of convalescence before she was allowed to walk, and perhaps two weeks after that before returning to duty, but that was all. She could use the rest.
But Rico Martinez, she'd been told, would be laid up for quite some time. He'd been hit by an ASC laser, a weapon so powerful he should have been obliterated. Lucky for him, it had been a glancing blow, and he'd been wearing a reflective vest.
She powered the chair on into the room, positioning it to his left, and let it settle to the floor. She sat watching him, wanting to be there when he woke.
She waited two hours.
Finally he stirred, mumbled incoherently, and let out a groan. His eyes fluttered open and he stared blankly at the ceiling, biting his lip against the pain. His monitor advised the medical staff that he was awake, and in very short order a nurse came in, followed quickly by a doctor, the same Italian battle surgeon who'd treated them both on the ResQMed.
The nurse immediately began checking Rico's readouts, while the captain leaned over him with a concerned expression. Assured that his condition hadn't worsened, her face relaxed a little and she spoke quietly to him, even smiled a little. Onja sat quietly and didn't interfere.
"How you feeling, Marine?" Carla Ferracci asked.
"Hurts." Rico's dark eyes were mirrors of pain.
"It's going to hurt for a while," she told him. "We've got you scheduled for surgery in the morning. After that, the pain will be a lot less."
He grimaced. "How long?"
"About nine hours from now. Do you want something to put you back to sleep?"
He shook his head, the closest he was able to a shrug.
"I don't care. Just make it stop hurting!"
Carla consulted his chart; s
he didn't want to overdose him. She decided it was too soon for a complete knockout drug, so she gave him a general block instead — not enough to completely erase the pain, but to keep it at a tolerable level. After a minute or so the muscles in his neck began to relax.
"Better?" she asked.
"Yeah."
She smiled again, and brushed the hair back off his forehead. His eyes floated up to meet hers. With the pain now in the background, his male instincts returned, if only slightly.
"I know you," he told her.
"I remember," she smiled.
"Why didn't you tell me you were a doc?"
"You didn't ask."
"You want that drink sometime?" he suggested. "After I get back on my feet?"
She laughed and lowered her head, embarrassed.
"I'm still an officer," she told him. "And you're still a private."
"I won't tell nobody."
The nurse left them and Carla waited until she was out the door, then leaned over and kissed him on the forehead.
"Ask me again when you get well," she said. "We'll talk about it."
He managed a grin, and after a last glance at his monitors, she turned and left.
Rico rested for a minute with his eyes closed. The pain was still there, but nothing like it had been. He could live with this. He felt stiff and sore, but he couldn't move; the traction held him immobile, stretching his spine. He didn't want to sleep any more — it felt like he'd been asleep for days. This was going to get awfully boring.
Unexpectedly, another voice came to him. A very familiar voice, with a Norwegian accent.
"Why don't you look over this way, Martinez?"
He frowned with the effort, but turned his head in the other direction. The Fighter Queen sat there with a half smile on her face. She looked wonderful.
"How long you been there?" he asked, feeling suddenly better than he'd thought possible.
"Awhile. I won't ask how you're feeling. I have a pretty good idea."
He smiled thinly. "How about you? Did they fix you up?"
"I'm going to be fine. I've had my surgery already." She nudged the hoverchair a little closer, actually touching the bed. "Thanks to you, Martinez. You saved my life."
He didn't know what to say. He hadn't done all that much.
"I'm sorry they ran out and left you," she said. "When I got out of the capsule the cold hit me and I passed out. When I came out of it, they'd already taken off. They didn't know you were there."
"But they came back."
She nodded slowly.
"Yes, they did. That's all that matters."
They fell silent, neither knowing what else to say. They had shared a brief ordeal that could have cost them their lives, but it was so fresh neither felt much like talking about it.
"I've always wanted to meet you," he said finally. "I think you know my sister. She works at Lincoln Enterprises."
"Are you kidding?"
"Her name is Angie," he said. "Angela Martinez?"
The Fighter Queen's eyes widened with surprise; she tried to sit up, but winced as the injured leg complained.
"Goddess Sophia!" she whispered, her mouth hanging open. "Is your name Rico?"
He nodded weakly.
"Yes, Ma'am. I'm Angie's little brother."
"I don't believe it! I haven't seen her for nearly three years. How is she?"
"She's fine. Still working at LincEnt. Juanito's growing like a little weed. You know Juanito, don't you?"
"Johnny Lincoln II," she replied. "Yes, I know him! Like he was my own son!"
Rico eyed her thoughtfully.
"I guess he would seem like that to you," he said. "I never thought about it, but you were Johnny's gunner. It must have been a shock when you found out about Juanito."
"It was a shock for both of us. Johnny found out just a few days before he died. Angela never told him." She sat in thoughtful silence for a moment. "Did you know Johnny?"
"I met him once or twice. He dated Angie sometimes. They were never really serious. Last time I saw him was just after the war started."
Onja fell silent, and he saw her blink back tears.
"Hey, I'm sorry, Captain. I shouldn't have brought him up. I know how you felt about him."
"It's okay," she replied.
"My sister told me a lot about you."
"Angela is a wonderful girl."
"She said the same about you. Anyway, I'm glad we finally met."
"So am I."
He was silent a moment.
"Sorry about Lieutenant Coffey," he said.
She nodded again. "Thank you. He was a good man."
"Must've been a good pilot, too. Angie said you only fly with the best."
"That's true. He was the best I ever saw after Johnny Lincoln. But nobody is as good as Johnny."
"I guess not."
Another silence. Onja didn't feel like talking about Johnny Lincoln, either. She brightened a little.
"I think your doctor has a thing for you," she offered.
His eyes gleamed in surprise. "You think so?"
"I'm sure of it."
"Maybe she's like that with all her patients."
"Maybe. But when they brought you on board the rescue ship, she started crying."
"She did?"
Onja nodded. "Said she recognized you. Started crying like a baby."
Rico was perplexed.
"I only met her once, in a bar. Talked to her about five minutes. I don't even know her name."
Onja shrugged. "All I know is what I told you. Her name is Captain Ferracci."
"¡Que hermosa!"
"Sorry, I don't understand Spanic."
"I said she's beautiful."
Onja smiled. "Keep after her. I think she'll accept that drink."
"I dunno, she's an officer."
"She's also a woman. Don't give up too easily."
Saturday, 6 February - Thursday, 11 February, 0230 (PCC) - Fleet Base 21, Alpha 2, Alpha Centauri System
They came for him the following morning, to take him into surgery. The doctor was one he'd never seen before, a man. Rico looked in vain for the beautiful Italian doctor, but she wasn't there.
"Where's the other doc?" he asked as they transferred him to a hover gurney.
"Which other one?" the nurse replied.
"The pretty one. Captain Ferracci."
The nurse smiled sadly. "She had to leave. She only works here part time."
Rico was crushed. "Where'd she go?"
"Another mission. That's what she does most of the time, rescue missions."
Rico closed his eyes and said no more. But he felt a new dread. What if that gorgeous woman was killed out there? He didn't know if he could take that.
He didn't see her again for almost a week. By then he was able to sit up. The surgery had worked wonders, relieving the worst of the pain and putting him on the mend. He'd be able to join his unit in a couple of months. She came in to see him one evening after chow. She was wearing her flight suit, bulky and sexless, but still looked wonderful. She smiled at him and sat on a nearby chair, bending over to rest her elbows on her knees. Her long black hair was tied back.
"How you doing, Private?" she asked. Her thick Italian accent charmed him.
"A lot better now," he grinned. "Where you been?"
"Oh, you know, here and there. The war doesn't wait."
"You been out rescuing people again?"
"Most of the time. Sleeping when I can."
"Don't you ever get any time off?"
"About as much as the average Star Marine gets."
He gazed at her for a minute, then leaned back and sighed. He was tired, had been thinking about getting back into bed, but wasn't about to do so as long as she was there.
"Did I ever tell you how beautiful you are?" he asked.
She laughed. "No, but then you haven't had much opportunity. I think all you Star Marines are mostly testosterone, aren't you? Every woman is the most beautiful one
you've ever seen."
"No. I'm very discriminating."
"Oh, are you? Well, so am I."
"That why you came back to see me?"
"No. You were my patient. I like to check up on my patients."
"Admit it, Doc. You like me."
"Of course I like you. I like all my patients."
"What's your name?"
"Captain."
"Yeah, you told me that the first time we met. What's your first name?"
She relented with a smile. "Carla."
"Carla. I like that. How old are you?"
Her black eyes flashed in mock indignation.
"What kind of question is that?" she chided.
"I'd say about thirty," he guessed.
"And you're twenty-six. See, I'm older than you are."
"Yeah, but I've always liked mature women."
They bantered back and forth for a half-hour. Finally she stood up, as if to leave.
"Hey, where you going?" he demanded. "Don't leave yet!"
"I've been in space for most of the week," she said. "I need my beauty sleep."
"You will come back, huh?"
"Maybe. But only to make sure you're healing properly."
"Only one thing will heal me, Carla." His dark eyes bored into her dark eyes suggestively.
"And what is that?"
"I'll tell you the next time you come by. Promise me you'll come back."
"I'll do my best."
And with that, she was gone.
* * *
Sunday, 21 February, 0230 (PCC) - Fleet Base 21, Alpha 2, Alpha Centauri System
"You're preoccupied."
James Carson gnawed a drumstick as he gazed at the lovely Italian battle surgeon seated across from him. She held a similar drumstick in her hand, but had only taken a single bite. It was delicious, too — some kind of Centauri waterfowl.
"Hm?" She looked as if she'd just realized he was sitting there.
"What's on your mind? You haven't said five words all evening."
They were seated in the officer's mess, surrounded by noisy fighter crews from various squadrons. Their table sat in the corner, as far from the others as they could get.
