Suicide Mission: Unity War Book 2

by C. G. Michaels

  He towelled his hair, causing it to be even more unruly than usual, and made up his mind to visit Manuel, who might at least be able to give him some advice on his recent numbness. If the counselor could straighten him out, maybe Jaden would like him better, and even if she didn’t, at least he wouldn’t have to go to a rehabilitation facility.

  He made his way to the counselor’s office and was shown in despite the late hour. Manuel met him at the door again, smiling, and showed him to the same chair he’d sat in last time. “Good to see you, Faulkner. You’re lucky I didn’t have another appointment. I keep Tuesdays free for paperwork and emergencies, though, so we’re good. What can I do for you?”

  Fault still wasn’t used to talking about his feelings—or, in this case, the lack thereof—but he forced himself to, because he didn’t know where else he could turn. “I can’t feel anything, Doc. It’s like my emotions just sorta shut off.”

  Manuel had quit smiling, but he didn’t look alarmed or anything, just . . . concerned. Fault wondered if anything ever rattled him. “Okay,” Manuel said. “How long has this been going on?”

  “Ever since the Mare Cognitum got destroyed.”

  “The Mare Cognitum. That was your old ship.”

  “Yeah.”

  “You must have lost a lot of people who mattered to you.”

  “Naw. Like I said, I never was much of one for friends.”

  “But these were people you lived with, people you fought side-by-side with, for years.”

  “Yeah . . . ”

  “Okay.” Manuel nodded, bit his lip thoughtfully. “Did the Mare Cognitum feel at all like home to you?”

  “I dunno. I guess. I mean, it was where I lived, but it wasn’t special to me. I wasn’t sad about leavin’.”

  Another nod. “Numbness is normal after a trauma, Faulkner. But I think something else might be going on here. Men and women who serve together in war times develop a bond that you might not even be aware of. A lot of people you served with are dead now, and you never got the chance to say good-bye. Soldiers often don’t.”

  Fault fidgeted, uncomfortable with that assessment and not at all sure he agreed with it. “ ‘Kay . . . What am I supposed to do about it, though?”

  “I suggest you visit one of the Mare Cognitum’s survivors in the Infirmary. See if you can get some closure.”

  “Okay . . . ” He didn’t much like that idea, either, but he was willing to try it if it might help.

  “Why don’t you go now, before lights out? You never know, you might make them feel better, too.”

  He seriously doubted that, but he thanked the counselor and headed for the Infirmary. He’d heard Carl Mansfield was on board, so he figured he’d visit him, although Mansfield was hardly his first choice for somebody to see, under any circumstances. He and Mansfield had butted heads every chance they got, even more than he and Garner, and neither one of them had ever had a single civil thing to say about the other.

  He found a nurse who showed him where Mansfield’s bed was, and he approached warily, having no idea what he was supposed to say or how he was supposed to act. But then, maybe he wouldn’t have to say anything after all; Mansfield’s eye—the only one visible beyond all the bandages covering his head and face—was shut. Fault’s gaze ran over the other man, whose skin was discolored from severe bruising and the massive burns he’d suffered, the worst of which lay, mercifully, beneath layers of pristine gauze. His entire body seemed to have been affected, from the top of his head to the bottoms of his feet, and the small areas of flesh that remained visible peeled with blisters. An IV solution dripped into his arm.

  It scared Fault to see somebody in that condition. That could have been him, if he’d stayed on the Mare Cognitum. It still could be, one day.

  He had just turned to go when Mansfield’s eyelid fluttered open. “Who’s there?”

  “You haven’t forgotten me already, have you?” Fault said, trying to keep his tone light.

  Mansfield blinked, squinted. “Crewe! My god! Is that you?”

  “Just came by to see how you were doin’.”

  “I feel like hell, man. I’m in pain all the time; nothin’ they give me is ever enough.” He pressed his head back against the pillow and moaned. Fault wondered if he was bald underneath the bandages.

  “You want me to get somebody?”

  “The doc says I won’t ever be the same.” Mansfield pursed his lips and glanced away, but tears still flooded his eye. “They can do plastic surgery, but I’ll never look like I did before. I’ll never be the same man I was before.” Two of the tears fell in rapid succession. “My damn legs don’t work anymore, Crewe.”

  “God.” He could think of nothing else to say.

  “It’s okay.” Mansfield cracked an unhappy smile. “It’s okay, really. It means I can’t be a soldier anymore, but I don’t care. I don’t even want to be a soldier anymore, not after this. God, Crewe, it was awful! All the fire, and the screams . . . My god, the screams . . . !” He began to weep openly while Fault stood there experiencing emotions he’d never expected to feel for this man, emotions he didn’t know how to sort out.

  “God, Mansfield . . . ” He put his hands on Mansfield’s cot, not knowing how to comfort him but feeling the need to. “Is there anything I can do?”

  “No, man, no.” Mansfield snuffled, calmed down somewhat. “You’ve been great. I mean, coming to see me an’ all. You know, none of those other Takarabune bastards have come by, not once?”

  The bell for lights out sounded, making Fault glad he’d come so late; at least now he had an excuse to leave. “I better go.”

  “Yeah.” But he put his bandaged hand on Fault’s to stop him, and gave him a hard stare. “I mean it, you know? I don’t expect you to come back—I know how creepy I look—but it was really great of you to come. Really. It means a lot to me.”

  Fault stared back at him, bewildered, and moved for reasons he couldn’t explain. “Yeah. Sure.” Mansfield let him go then, and he left, more confused than ever.

  He thought he should visit An while he was there, and he found him in a room with several other patients, propped up on extra pillows and looking chipper. “Hey,” he said when Fault approached.

  “I should get shot. Looks like you’ve got it made here.”

  An leaned in conspiratorially and patted the plump cushions behind his back. “Helps when you know one of the doctors.” He grinned. “She brought me lemonade earlier.”

  “So what’s the verdict?”

  “The laser didn’t take out anything too vital, so it’s just a matter of healing time. Doctor Jain said he could cut some of the flesh from my ass and graft it to my leg so it’d look more normal, but I thought, well, then I’ll have a weird-looking ass! So I’ll just live with a divot in my leg. Great war story for the future grandkids, right?”

  Emma Hepburn came by then, her ebony hair in a loose bun at the nape of her neck, an electronic clipboard in her hand. “How’s my favorite patient?”

  An pouted. “Lonely.”

  “I have a prescription for that.” She put her clipboard down and shoved Fault with both hands, urging him to be on his way. “Visiting hours are over, Lieutenant. It’s lights out, and I’ve got to attend to my patient.”

  Fault backed off, watched as Emma drew the cloth partition around An’s cot so she could be alone with him. An wiggled his fingers at Fault in a playful “bye-bye” motion, and then Fault lost sight of him behind the partition. He wished he had a relationship like that with Jaden. He couldn’t imagine being as happy as An looked.

  He wasn’t sleepy, and anyway, he doubted his mind would let him rest, so he wandered into the docking bay, where he could be alone to try and puzzle things out. At this hour, second shift would be on, and not as many mechanics were on duty during second shift as during first shift, plus Nuria wouldn’t be here. So he’d have the place pretty much to himself.

  He stepped from the cool of the corridor to the heat of the docking b
ay and walked towards his Banshee, thinking he’d sit on the edge of the cockpit a while. He liked it up there, where he could see all the other fighters laid out before him like a troop of soldiers in marching formation.

  He stopped mid-stride when he heard a glass clink, followed by quiet laughter. Curious, he took a turn and found Garner, Jaden, Temple, and Lanei sitting beneath one of the Banshees, a case of beer sitting in front of them. temple was chuckling. “Well, I think he’s cute.”

  Lanei grinned back at him. “I didn’t say he wasn’t cute. I said he was our superior officer. He’s off-limits.”

  “Not in my head.”

  Jaden took a swig of beer, then saw Fault standing there and smiled. “Hi.” She looked sexy, sitting cross-legged on the floor with her hair cascading past her shoulders and a bottle of beer in her hands.

  Temple handed Fault a sidelong glance. “Mmm. Don’t you look beddable.”

  Lanei gave him a jocular punch in the arm. “Is there a man alive you won’t hit on tonight?”

  “I can’t help it! Beer makes me randy!”

  Garner held a bottle out to Fault. “Want a beer?”

  He accepted the offering, sat down amongst them. He liked these people most of the time, which was a new experience for him, and he wondered if any of them felt the same about him.

  “We should all be happy we made it back,” Lanei said.

  “Hear! Hear!” from Temple. “A toast!”

  “To living one more day.”

  “Cheers!” They all drank, and it was good, if warm.

  “We need some leave time,” Jaden said. “We’ve got to go to Lotan, because you”—she gestured to Temple—“promised you’d get us a table at your parents’ restaurant next time we were there.”

  “I could make you a gourmet meal myself, if I had the run of the kitchen.”

  Garner scoffed. “You don’t know how to make a gourmet meal.”

  “I do so! I learned at my parents’ knees.”

  “Prove it.”

  “What?”

  “There’s only one cook on duty at this time of night. If we can bribe him to take the night off, I dare you to make us a gourmet meal from whatever you can find in the kitchen.”

  Temple considered this. “I accept your dare, handsome man.”

  So they went to the mess, sneaked into the back, and pooled their money to convince the sole cook to leave them to their own devices for the night. Temple strode immediately to the kitchen’s small wine rack and selected a bottle labelled in fancy calligraphy. “Tonight,” he said, “I want to hurt myself having too much fun.” He held up the bottle for them all to admire. “Chianti. To go with the Cavatelli con sugo e Cacioricotta.”

  “I don’t even know what that is,” Fault said.

  “Whatever it is,” Lanei said, “I’m sure it’ll be delicious.”

  “You’ll like it,” Jaden said. “It’s made with a red sauce.”

  “Can’t we just have fettucine alfredo or somethin’?”

  Temple began rummaging around in the dry goods. “The cavatelli has cheese, if that’s what you’re after.”

  “Cheese an’ a red sauce? Ain’t that spaghetti?”

  Jaden bit her lip to hide a giggle, and Temple’s hand flew to his heart. “Oh, my god, Cavatelli con sugo e Cacioricotta is not spaghetti!” For a moment, he nearly hyperventilated with shock, but suddenly a chortle escaped him. “You're so uncivilized!”

  His expression made even Garner laugh, and then Fault had to grin, too. They all joked around some more, playing with the ingredients and having fun messing around and helping Temple create.

  And for a brief time, they forgot their troubles.

  EPILOGUE

  Outside the Freyr Asteroid Belt

  Brid sat in her captain’s chair, working on her Palm. She had spoken to Pilirani and Grim, and they had told her they would work together to find a way to get a message to the Montauk. Failing that, Brid intended to figure out a way to find the Montauk and rescue her. It was that problem she worked on now, lending what little expertise she had to working out a solution. She supposed in the end it would be Grim who figured it out; he was the one who knew the most about the wormhole.

  She had just about given up her efforts to fetch another coffee and stretch her legs when Pilirani spoke up: “Ma’am, I have an incoming message.”

  Something in the other woman’s tone had Brid sitting up straight. “From whom?”

  “I don’t know, ma’am, but I can guess.” She swallowed. “There’s only one word.”

  “Which is?”

  “ ‘Death.’ ”