See Disclaimer Information in Part One
Christy still had a big smile on her face when she got to
work. Dr. O’Leary asked with patently false innocence,
“Did your karate lesson go well, then?”
“Mm-hmm,” she replied, and the sparkle in her eyes was
the only elaboration she made on that statement. She checked over
the evening meds and then offered the clipboard to Dr.
O’Leary.
The doctor carefully examined each entry before signing off, then
Christy unlocked the medicine room to fill the cart. O’Leary
said, “Something agrees with you!”
“Yes, it does!” Christy replied cheerfully. She was
almost whistling as she pushed the meds cart down to the wards.
O’Leary grinned and shook her head, she’d either cheer
the patients up or annoy them to death, one or the other! She
pulled her patients’ charts and prepared to make her rounds.
She looked up as someone came in, it was McQueen. She waved him
back to the table where she was working and pushed her glasses up
to give him the once over. She didn’t see any blood, and he
was carrying a book. She relaxed, it didn’t look like she
was going to be needed in a professional sense. “TC? Have I
got one of yours in here? I thought I’d released young
Cooper this morning.”
“No, nothing like that. I just brought this book for
Christy.”
“She’s passing meds right now, I’ll send for
her.”
“There’s no need to take her away from her duties,
Mary, but if you could see that she gets this, I'd appreciate
it.”
“Certainly. Have you time for a cup of coffee?”
“I can make time for one cup, I suppose.” It was an
ill-kept secret that the nurses’ station had the best coffee
on the ‘Toga. He refilled Mary’s cup as he
helped himself, no ceremony there since they both liked it strong
and black.
She closed the chart she’d been working on. McQueen had
never expected to make friends with a doctor, he had always had
good reason to be suspicious of most of the ones he’d had
occasion to be around. But Mary O’Leary had been aboard the ‘Toga
before Glen and Judy had been assigned here, and they had
introduced them. She was exactly what she appeared to be ... a
direct, honest, down-to-earth, motherly individual who genuinely
liked nearly everyone she met. She could fit right into the
stereotypical wise, caring family doctor role. She was also one
of the best flight surgeons in the business.
Ty had known Mary to be completely without prejudice where he was
concerned. But even he had been a little surprised at the swift,
decisive action she’d taken with regards to Cooper’s
phyllophetamine addiction. As soon as the incident had become
known, she’d started a paper chase to determine who was
responsible. By the time Cooper was well enough for Ty to begin
his own search for the doctor who was to blame, it had been too
late. Mary had already gone first to Glen and had the fellow
unceremoniously shipped off the Saratoga on the first
shuttle out. Then she’d filed charges against him through
the medical association. To no one’s great surprise, the
disciplinary action against him had gone no further than a
reprimand -- but Mary had seen to it that the Navy didn’t
want him any more, and that was something. More importantly, it
had served notice to the other civilian doctors that such
careless and unethical conduct would not be tolerated...at least
not aboard the Sara.
It hadn’t been until his injury, though, that he’d
really found out how tenacious Mary was. He was quite sure that
she was the reason he’d survived the first few critical
hours from the time of the explosion until she’d turned him
over to the medevac team. Once he’d returned to Earth,
she’d kept track of his case at Bethesda. After his
operation, rehab had not been easy and the results had not been
guaranteed. It seemed like every time he’d started to feel
like he was beating his head against a brick wall, though,
he’d found an e-mail from Mary giving him a solid medical
reason to stop feeling sorry for himself and get back to work.
She asked, “What is all this about someone bothering
Christy?”
“It was more a case of what could have happened than what
actually did. Some Navy boys were giving her a rough time, Judy
broke it up before it went anywhere.”
“So that’s where the karate lessons came from?”
McQueen was perfectly happy to let that slide. He’d just as
soon that people thought Cooper’s art was karate or
something like that, and didn’t start asking a lot of
questions about where he’d studied. “That’s
right.”
Mary’s concern was down a different alley anyway. “He
seems like a good kid.”
“I think they’re good for each other. You know what
they say about opposites.”
“I know it.”
“They’ll be all right, Mary.”
She nodded and laughed. “I thought I was done with this when
my youngest one got married.”
McQueen finished his coffee. “Ahh, Mary, you’ll always
have a new crop of kids to look out for.”
“You’re a fine one to be talking, TC McQueen,” she
scolded, and the laughter that set her green eyes dancing took
thirty years off her age. For a moment, he had a glimpse of the
young girl she’d once been ... that young girl was never far
beneath the surface where Mary O’Leary was concerned.
“Go on with you and let me get my rounds done!” She
smiled. “Just leave the book, I’ll give it to
Christy.”
McQueen put it in the middle of the table near the neat stack of
charts, and left sickbay on his way up to the briefing room.
Shane would already have started, but today should be fairly
routine.
She had things under control when he got there, he nodded to her
to go ahead and took a seat against the wall. The Saratoga
was investigating reports of a build-up of chig forces in a
system connected by a wormhole network to the chig home system as
well as several others believed to be
enemy strongholds. The Yorktown and the Colin Powell
were on similar missions in two other of these related systems.
The system they were in had a lot of good places to hide,
however, with three good-size asteroid belts and two inner
planets capable of supporting life. The patrol might be routine,
or they might discover something that would lead to a battle --
there was no way to know until they got out there.
Chairs scraped back under the table as the four Wild Cards headed
for their lockers to gear up.
McQueen saw them off from the flight deck, just as he did nearly
every mission they flew, unless his duties demanded that he be
somewhere else. Every squadron developed their little rituals and
that was one of the 5-8’s, that before they went out they
should all be together for a few minutes. Sometimes he had a bit
of last-minute advice or someone had a question, but mostly it
was just a good-luck thing. He didn’t believe in luck ...
not really, whatever happened was the consequence of actions
taken and he believed most of the time you made your own luck.
But, all the same, he was always there...and, usually, he’d
be there waiting when they got back.
When they were away, he headed up to his usual duty station. It
was a quiet watch, no one came across any sign of enemy activity.
He and Ross spent most of it keeping an eye on things and talking
quietly.
McQueen usually spent time with the 5-8 in the Tun after they all
got off duty, but he knew Shane was already not looking forward
to her meeting with Todd. So today he decided it would be better
to give her a little room, and took his old station at the end of
the bar. ‘Phousse took that as a signal not to crowd too
much, she got Hawkes, and Sam and a girl named Jennifer from the
8-3, into a foosball game. McQueen could occasionally hear the
good-natured banter flying back and forth across the table when
the juke box was between songs. Vansen and West, Flannery, and
his X.O. Rob Trent were at the 5-8’s usual table. He had
heard Sam mention that the remaining three Cats had stopped by
sickbay to check on Billy Fulton.
At the other end of the bar, down by the jukebox, were a dozen or
so Navy officers. They had their own party going, they
weren’t paying any attention to the Marines.
Judy Ellison came in and slid onto the stool beside him.
“Hi, handsome, can I interest you in buying a sailor a
drink?”
She sounded tired and looked worse. McQueen waved his card at the
bartender, who splashed scotch into his glass and asked Judy what
she’d have. “Sam Adams,” she replied.
“When’s the last time you ate anything?” McQueen
asked her.
She considered. “I think yesterday?”
“And a cheeseburger with fries,” McQueen added to the
order. The bartender set Judy up with an ice-cold bottle while
the cook started her order, he knew her well enough not to pour
it. She liked it right out of the bottle.
“Rough one?” McQueen asked.
She shook her head and grinned. “Just a long one, TC ...
I’m getting too old for the long ones. You know recon.”
He nodded. It was impossible to think of Judy as getting too old
for anything, though.
The bartender set Judy’s meal in front of her, the aroma
made her realize just how hungry she was and she dug in.
“Hey, thanks for the sandwich.”
The sailors apparently got tired of feeding the jukebox, because
it fell silent and no one started another song. Behind them,
McQueen heard Flannery kick back in his chair, it scraped against
the bulkhead. “What do you say we make this a little more
interesting?”
“Yeah? What did you have in mind?” Vansen asked.
“I hear you take anything bets,” Flannery grinned.
“What’d McQueen make you do, anyhow?”
She grinned right back. “You’ll be the first to
know.”
“You wouldn’t care to--”
“Not on your life, Todd Flannery.” Somehow she managed
to sound perfectly friendly, but at the same time threaten
mayhem.
Not unexpectedly, Flannery got off that heading. “The losers
treat the winners to a steak dinner with all the trimmings,”
he suggested.
“Real steaks? It’s a bet,” Vansen agreed. They
shook hands on the bet. Vansen saw the look in Flannery’s
eyes as he held her hand for just an instant longer than he had
to ... the reluctance with which he let go. It shook her. That
look was real attraction ... more real than Flannery cared to
admit, apparently, because he quickly turned away from her gaze
and busied himself with finishing off his nachos.
Nathan said, “What say we show those guys how the game is
supposed to be played?” He nodded towards the foosball
table.
Apparently grateful for the interruption, Flannery said,
“You’re on.”
They rooted for their respective teammates until they finished
their game, then stepped up to the table.
Things were getting interesting, and a little noisy. This drew
the attention of the sailors, who came down to watch the fun.
Judy glanced up at the mirror, and suddenly tensed.
Beside her, McQueen asked, “What’s the matter?”
“TC, don’t turn around, but I saw a few of those guys
who were bothering Christy in that crowd, and I don’t like
the way they’re looking at Cooper and that other kid. I
didn’t notice them before when they had their backs to us.
Now don’t you start anything--”
“I’m just minding my own business, Judy.” His tone
was deceptively mild.
“Have you ever seen a bar fight start any other way?”
Judy laughed. She finished her beer, she was sure she
wouldn’t get a chance later.
Oblivious to the trouble brewing behind her, Vansen scored a
goal. “Hey, Todd, if you shoot the way you play foosball,
tomorrow’s gonna be an easy kill.”
“Oh, yeah, Queenie? I’m just getting warmed up.
I’m gonna kick your ass on this goal ... and in paintball
tomorrow too!”
Cooper laughed, “You guys gonna play or talk about it?”
That got the action started again, and the sailors started taking
bets on the outcome. Everything stayed friendly until one of the
sailors put twenty on the ‘Cards for the next goal. He was
standing right beside Sam, who offered to cover the bet, both to
defend his squadron’s honor and to pick up a quick twenty
because he was pretty sure the Cats were going to make that goal.
The sailor allowed as how he didn’t intend to bet with any
damn tanks. Sam turned around to get a good look at whoever had
just insulted him, and the sailor sucker-punched him into the
foosball table. Jennifer yelled, “Hey, Popeye, try that
again!” And threw a punch of her own.
Vansen turned around to break it up, she was trying to pull
Jennifer off the sailor. One of the other sailors punched her and
knocked t hem both into Cooper, throwing all three of them off
balance. At that, Flannery came right over the foosball table and
waded directly into the middle of the group of sailors, punching
anything in ’Toga blue. That cleared both benches,
and within a couple of seconds a free-for-all had started.
McQueen and Ellison decided to try to break it up fast before
someone got hurt, and security arrived, and people landed in the
brig. If things were under control and no harm had been done when
the authorities arrived, then Ross might be satisfied with
dragging the senior officers over the coals, and leave it at
that. It wouldn’t be the first time he and Crazy Judy had
been on the wrong end of the Commodore’s temper, and they
figured Vansen, Flannery and the Navy C.O. could take their share
of it as well.
That plan appeared to be working, they were getting the warring
sides fairly well separated. Then everyone noticed that Sam had
been having fun with the Navy boy who had started the fight in
the first place, casually flipping ice cubes out of a glass at
him while easily evading the kid’s attempts to hit him. That
alone would have been worth the price of admission, Judy
snickered and told Sam to knock it off and clean up the ice mess.
The bartender was all too happy to provide him with a broom!
Fortunately, the bartender had refrained from calling security
when he saw that Ellison and McQueen had the situation in hand.
The Navy squadron’s C.O. got his people out of there.
Apparently most of them were unaware of the real nature of the
fight, and weren’t taking it any more seriously than any
other bar brawl, but the kid who had started it and a couple of
others were not happy about the situation. McQueen figured
they’d like it even less when their C.O. got finished with
them.
*****
Christy was finishing up her shift report when Dr. O’Leary
got the chance to tell her that McQueen had left a book for her.
She picked it up and looked at it curiously. The Art of Peace.
No one who had ever studied martial arts at all could have
avoided hearing of this book or its author, Morihei Ueshiba. But
Christy had never read it before. She opened the cover.
One
The Art of Peace begins with you. Work on yourself and your
appointed task in the Art of Peace. Everyone has a spirit that
can be refined, a body that can be trained in some manner, a
suitable path to follow. You are here for no other purpose than
to realize your inner divinity and manifest your innate
enlightenment. Foster peace in your own life and then apply the
Art to all that you encounter.
She had only meant to scan the first page to get an idea what she
had in her hands, but five minutes later she was still standing
there reading it, so mesmerized by the philosophy that she
started violently when Dr. O’Leary asked her, “What is
that, anyway?”
“I’m not sure...it certainly isn’t what I’d
thought!” Christy replied. She looked up, smiling a little
sheepishly. “Will you be needing me for anything else,
ma’am?”
“No, dear, go on with you before someone puts you back to
work!” She smiled, and watched Christy walk away. She was
supposed to be off duty herself ... but it wouldn’t hurt to
have just one more quick look at that lad in Three....
<end part 8>