The ISSCV was crowded, Marcy had shared the ride out with
sixteen Marines and a couple of Navy nurses. So far, her cover
had held up fine. She hardly missed her ranging lenses at all
anymore, the software equivalent she’d developed was working
perfectly well.
She was going to be in repeated contact with the four Marines who
were being assigned to the 58th squadron. She’d made an
effort to get to know them, but after hearing young Lieutenant
Avery’s story, she was almost sorry she had. He was a danger
to her, she knew that. But she couldn’t blame him
for his anger. And she enjoyed talking software design with him,
he’d shown her some of his work and he was very good.
Lieutenant Moore was the natural leader of the group, the others
were just kids but she had an air of practicality and confidence
about her that had come from experience at survival. Marcy had
already decided that if she had to trust any of them with the
truth about herself, it would be Moore.
She thought that Yamauchi and Lucas should still be in school,
Lucas especially. He was only nineteen, that more than anything
made Marcy suspect that General Jeffords was right about how
serious the situation was becoming. Nineteen year olds
hadn’t been called up until just recently.
They were matter-of-fact about having to enlist to avoid being
drafted, and there was no reason why they shouldn’t be --
most kids their age did wait to volunteer so they could stay in
school a semester or two longer. Marcy had heard the General
comment that kids that age knew which song was at the top of the
charts and how near their draft number was to being called up --
and little else. Marcy credited them with a little more sense
than that ... but she didn’t expect the General to have too
much patience with green recruits, either!
Someone by a forward viewport spotted the Saratoga,
which created a lot of excitement. Theirs wasn’t the first
shuttle to land, so they got to watch a couple of patrol
squadrons take off. Marcy found herself unexpectedly caught up in
the excitement of it, she agreed with Anita that it was awesome
to watch the fighters in flight.
Their turn came, the hatches were sealed and the passenger box
was dropped off on a lift. The engine section of their ISSCV went
on about its business, to pick up a cargo box on its way back to
Earth with things to be repaired
The lift descended into the carrier. Marcy quickly collected her
carry-on bag and checked her reflection in the nearest viewport
to see to it that her civilian-employee uniform was in order. She
was suddenly very nervous about meeting McQueen again after all
these years, about how he would react to her. Well, whatever
happened, she’d meant the promise she’d made to General
Jeffords.
*****
The briefing room hadn’t had this big a crowd in months.
There were too many of them for the corner table now. The
squadron stood as Vansen walked in, though she caught the smile
in Vanessa’s eyes. Hawkes looked like he was about to crack
up laughing, but he didn’t. West and the kid next to him --
that had to be Jim’s boy -- were wearing the exact same
serious, studious expression. Vansen almost lost it herself over
that. But protocol did take the butterflies out of introductions.
Once that was out of the way, she described the mission. “It
will be the usual drill. Damphousse and Hawkes will be piloting
the ISSCV, and the rest of you will be flying fighter cover.
Since we will be traveling away from the front lines, it
isn’t likely that we’ll run into a chig patrol, but
anything's possible. If they see an ISSCV, they’ll always
try for it, because they know it’s usually going to be
carrying brass or wounded. They can’t resist either one. The
other possibility is that whoever was behind our spy might make
another attempt before we can reach the Kennedy,
we’ll have to be ready for that too. Any questions?”
There were none. Vansen said, “Okay, I want everyone on the
flight line at exactly 1800.”
*****
Marcy had little trouble locating Commodore Ross’ office.
She knocked and waited.
“Who’s at my hatch?”
“Marcy Brannigan,” she replied.
A beat. “Enter.”
She did so. McQueen was there, he had changed a lot in five years
but then so had she.... She turned her attention to Commodore
Ross. General Jeffords had advised her that the first thing she
had to do was get on Ross’ good side somehow, “because
on that bucket, he is God!” She understood what the General
had meant.
Marcy had thought of a lot of things she was going to say to
accomplish that goal. For the next twenty minutes, however, she
ended up just listening to Ross lay down the law about exactly
what an AI running loose on his ship was and was not going to do.
She kept her mouth shut except for saying “yes sir” and
“no sir” at the expected intervals. By the time McQueen
finally got her out of there, she was firmly convinced that if
Glen Van Ross wasn’t actually God, they were close
relatives. This wasn’t going to be easy!
McQueen said, “It isn’t too late to catch the shuttle
back out, if the Commodore scared you too badly.”
His voice was perfectly serious, but when she looked up, she
caught the hint of laughter in his eyes, and her chin came up a
notch. “I promised the General that I’d do my best,
I’ll just try to stay out of Commodore Ross’ way while
I’m doing that!” She replied, with far more bravado
than she felt.
“All right, then, let’s get you settled. We
haven’t got much time. I’ve been called to the JFK
to testify in a court case and we’ll be leaving
shortly.”
“Am I supposed to go with you, or what?”
“It’ll look strange if you don’t, and you may be
able to make some valuable observations while we're there.”
“Who all knows--?”
“Besides myself and the Commodore, only the C.O. of the
58th, Major Vansen. It would have been nearly impossible to keep
a secret like this from her.”
They got on a lift with several other people, during that time
McQueen gave her a quick run-down of her daily duties. With the
number of reports and so forth that four squadrons generated, she
would easily be kept busy. Especially since she’d have to do
everything the old-fashioned way-- she doubted she could get away
with writing files in her own memory and downloading them to the
office terminal!
Her space wasn’t really an office, it was a little reception
desk outside the office itself. McQueen watched her give it the
once over, opening drawers and checking out the computer.
“You’ll find the supply locker just around the corner.
If you need anything else, you’ll have to file a request for
it.”
Marcy nodded.
“Your codes will give you access from this terminal, but
there isn’t much privacy here. Have you been to your
quarters yet?”
“Yes, I dropped off my things. I can use the terminal there
for anything I can’t do here. Report to the General, I
suppose! I’ll need to go back there and pick up my
things.”
“You’ll have time,” he assured her. He showed her
around the office, but once he’d shut the hatch, they were
able to talk in privacy.
“Marcy, did General Jeffords force you into this?”
“At first. But I don’t blame her for that. She believes
in this project, believes that we can make a difference. I have
to try.”
He nodded. “Fair enough.”
“I doubt you were especially happy about it either. I’m
sorry to have dropped this in your lap. When the General found
out we’d met, that was that!”
“I’m not surprised. I don’t have a problem, Marcy.
I agree with you and General Jeffords that this idea is worth
trying. But other people do have a problem with it, and they have
some very good reasons.”
“I know about Major Vansen’s parents. The General
warned me to give her plenty of room. I didn't know that the
Commodore would react so strongly...but I should have.”
Earnestly, she said, “I don’t want to cause trouble for
anyone. I just want to do my job.”
“That’s all anyone expects of you,” McQueen told
her. “Get settled and be ready by 1745, I’ll pick you
up then at your quarters and escort you to the flight deck. By
the way, Commodore Ross was not joking about staying out
of areas that are off-limits to civilians. We had a problem
before you got here, that problem is not expected to recur. You
could very well be shot if you’re caught in the wrong place
without an escort.”
“I have no intention to wander around!” She assured
him. “I’ll have to put myself at risk often enough just
to do what I’m here to do, without looking for more
opportunities to get myself shot! I'll be ready on time.”
Marcy took about half an hour to organize her desk, she found a
great deal of pleasure in that. It reminded her of her time at
Crosswell, before the AI war had started. She remembered her
pleasant little desk near the window, and robins on the grass
outside. After the war, she told herself, she would find a quiet
place like that, with her work to do, and plays and concerts to
attend ... a park to walk in, and birds to feed ... it would be
nice to have a little apartment, and maybe a cat. Maybe, if she
was very lucky, in time there would be a friend or two who could
be trusted with her secret.
Her quarters were very tiny, there was room only for two narrow
bunks, two lockers, and a little desk and chair. She had it to
herself, that was necessary for her to maintain her cover.
The sealed container with her supplies in it had arrived, she
opened it and assured herself that everything had come through
the journey safely. She quickly chose a few items that she would
need for the trip to the JFK and packed them with her
toiletries.
She had just enough time to report in. She logged onto the net
and entered the code the General had given her. Presently
Jeffords’ face appeared on the screen.
“How did it go?”
“I’m in. Commodore Ross was --!”
“I tried to warn you.”
“I know you did. Colonel McQueen is going to help me,
though. I haven’t got a lot of time, I have to be ...
somewhere ... in a little while.”
“Good. This is probably a secure connection, but never bet
your life or anyone else’s on that. You don’t have to
report in again until you have something ready.”
“Ma’am. Good evening, General.”
Jeffords gave her a grin and signed off, without ever realizing
how Marcy’s throat had closed off around the word
“goodbye.” She couldn’t have said it to save her
life.
*****
Anita gave her cockpit a once-over. The lettering was fresh
enough to still have a paint smell. Lieutenant Anita Moore. She
still had a lot to prove, more to herself than to anyone else,
but she felt like she’d already proven something very
important to a lot of people who had thought she would never
amount to anything in the first place! “US Marine” all
by itself definitely qualified as amounting to something, no
matter what happened now. She hadn’t had a lot of
opportunities to be proud of herself, she decided it was worth
taking a moment to experience the feeling.
At the same time, she was very aware that this was no dry run. As
the Major had said in briefing, while they weren’t expecting
trouble, they could run across opposition out there. She had done
well in training, but that wasn’t the real thing. That
wasn’t kill or be killed. Soon, she knew, if not this
mission then the next or the one after, she would face that test
as well.
A hatch whispering open and then closed got her attention, she
looked up to see where it had come from. It was Major Vansen,
Moore came to attention and saluted sharply. Vansen had her hands
full, she nodded and said, “Lieutenant Moore.”
“Help you with that, ma’am?” Vansen’s gear
was light in Moore’s big, scarred hands. “On the
transport?”
“Third locker,” Vansen confirmed. “Thanks.”
She looked around. Especially up around the ceiling, you could
still see evidence of the fire and the explosions. But the real
damage had been repaired, all that remained now was singed paint.
Her new cockpit was here, brought in with the new kids’
planes -- not that she’d be allowed in it for a while yet.
Moore stashed her things for her. It had been polite of her to
offer to do that, but Vansen recognized that the In Vitro
probably wouldn’t have been so quick to offer if she
hadn’t had her arm in a sling. She took Moore as the kind of
person who quietly pulled her own weight, and naturally expected
everyone else to do the same thing. Vansen respected, and liked,
that attitude, she was the same way.
The rest of the squadron arrived one by one, West, Kenny and
Lisa, Jimmy, Phousse and Hawkes. Anita joined them as they headed
toward the lockers to get their gear. Finally, Ty got there with
Marcy.
He stopped in the shadow of Shane’s cockpit. For a long time
now, they'd had a little good-luck habit of meeting there, all of
the 58th, before a mission. The spy had noticed that, and taken
advantage of it to plant a bomb there. Vansen had surprised him
at it, and he'd almost killed her. She felt a sudden dryness in
her throat, then her head came up as she jumped off the side of
the ISSCV ramp and cut across to join him. They'd caught the son
of a bitch, and he wasn't going to keep scaring her now that he
was sitting in a jail cell!
Coming out of the locker room, West crossed to them also,
followed by Hawkes and ‘Phousse. The newbies knew about the
explosion and McQueen and Damphousse’ heroic actions
following it, but they didn’t know the significance of that
little ceremony...or why, when they had gathered, the launch
controller dimmed the lights in her booth to attract their
notice. When McQueen glanced up there, she came to attention and
snapped him a sharp salute, which he returned. McQueen understood
that was her silent thank-you for their capture of the spy, who
had killed her friend Lt. Sedley.
Kenny gave Jimmy a “what was that all about” look, he
shook his head a little.
It was the first time Jimmy had seen McQueen since spring break
junior year, and he had changed a lot. He looked older, for one
thing, and his injuries at the Jupiter Line and in the bomb blast
had left their marks. Still, it was more than that ... there had
been so many losses since the war had started. Jimmy felt most of
them himself, the 127th, his father. And he knew there were
others, people who had worn the Wild Cards patch on their flight
suits before he had. He wondered if McQueen remembered happier
times at Loxley ... that was past and gone now.
Jimmy glanced over at Nita. Her eyes were fixed on McQueen in
that characteristic In Vitro stare that he had come to
expect...but there was something else. All through basic training
and AFT, Nita had stayed out of trouble with the DIs, except for
Sgt. Bougus, who had ridden her pretty hard because he
couldn’t scare her. There was flatly very little anyone could
do to scare someone who’d seen the hell that she had. One
night, when Jimmy had asked her a nosy question and then
apologized for prying, she had finally decided to take the
question on face value. She’d told him and the others a
version of her story that had been as eloquent in the details
left between the lines, as in the ones she’d told them.
Anita Moore wasn’t afraid to die, or afraid to live, either
one. Bougus had come somewhere in between ... and by graduation,
Nita’s quiet strength of will had earned his respect. Jimmy
suspected that was about when Bougus had learned her history as
well.
Now, however, for the first time since he’d met her, Jimmy
saw a genuine respect in her eyes...and looking back at
McQueen, knowing what he had known all his life, Jimmy
wasn’t the least surprised.
Suddenly it was time to go. He headed for his pit, ran through
the checklist. West started the roll call. “Queen of
Spades?”
Moore replied, “Roger, King.”
“Joker?” West felt funny using those call signs. When
Nita and Lisa had chosen them in all innocence earlier,
‘Phousse had almost immediately spoken up and told the
younger women to keep them ... she had been quite certain that
Kelly and Paul would have approved.
Yamauchi replied, “Roger.”
“Ten of diamonds?”
Kenny had cut a deck to that card and taken what had come up, he
had said playing what he was dealt had been the story of his
life. “Roger, King of Hearts.”
“Trey?”
Jimmy had chosen that callsign for luck, his birthday was the
third of August. “Roger.”
Nathan said, “Launch control, the Wildcards are go.”
“Roger, King of Hearts.”
Jimmy drew a deep breath to control his excitement as his cockpit
lowered to settle into his bird. Seconds later, he was forming up
with the others ... and they were on their way.
<End Part Three>