TOMORROW NEVER KNOWS
ACT FOUR-THE CRUCIBLE
I. BRYAN HARTCLIFFE ON THE
EDGE
Earth-Idlewild
Space Naval Air Station
Tuesday,
December 1, 2201
0610
Hours-Spacetime
"Well,
it's the start of another training day...for me at least," chuckled Derek Wildstar
as he walked towards a hangar carrying a flight bag, with Nova following
nearby. They had changed their routine a little this morning and had met for
breakfast after PT and the requisite change from the sweats they wore while
working out with their squadrons to their uniforms.
"I'm
looking forward to today, Derek. You know why, don't you?"
"Let me
guess," he said. "First time behind the controls of
a Tiger?"
Nova nodded
once, with only her smile betraying her enthusiasm about the flight. "And,
because my test scores allowed me to qualify as Flight Leader of Alpha Flight,
I'll be the first one up with Hardy today."
"Congratulations,"
he said as he gave her an appreciative glance.
"Who are
you taking up first, today, Derek? Miss Hartmann?" she asked, referring to
the beautiful light-blond haired hotshot that she had met on the weekend and
begun to strike up a friendship with.
"No,"
said Wildstar. "It's Hartcliffe."
"Him?"
she asked, surprised.
"Yeah. He was number one in the class, as it turned out. I had to
give him the post."
"What's he
really like, Derek?"
"Nova...I'm
not sure you want to know. I'm..."
Then, as they
were approaching a Super Starfighter that was being prepped by a ground crew,
Wildstar and Nova turned their heads when they heard some loud and somewhat
raucous laughter.
"HEY!"
they both heard a person with a very nasal and prominent Angilan
accent call out. "Don't you groundbirds mess me
plane up, now...or you're gonna have royal 'ell to pay!"
"Oh, stop
it!" they heard an equally loud California-accented female voice respond.
Wildstar and Nova turned around to see
Bryan Hartcliffe and Angelique Burkhardt coming up with their flight bags.
"Mornin', sir," said Hartcliffe as he stopped to salute Wildstar and
Nova. Angie followed suit.
"Hartcliffe,
before we begin our pre-flight, I'd like to ask you something," said
Wildstar.
"And that
is, sir?"
"Have you
been carrying on with Miss Burkhardt during duty hours?" he demanded.
"Oh,
c'mon, sir," he said. "Duty begins when I report, and aren't you a
little like the pot callin' the kettle black, now?" he
Artwork:
"Welcome" (c) 1999 by Ken Mayes with touch-up by
asked, turning around with Angie to look at the sunrise.
"And what
do you mean by that?" asked Wildstar behind everyone as the cold breeze
blew through his hair for a moment.
"Well,
here we are, we're due to like, pre-flight at 0630 and take off at 0700, and
you've shown up, with all respect, sir, with your significant other, with whom,
I believe, you don't mess aroun' with on duty. If I'm
'ere with mine, and you're 'ere with yers, that must mean we're off duty,
right?"
"It
does," said Wildstar. "But, I'd advise some caution, Mister
Hartcliffe."
"Why?"
he asked.
"The base
has begun to talk!" chimed in Nova. "Really!
It has! You should hear some of the stories! You have a terrible reputation,
Bryan Hartcliffe! I ought to give a piece of my..."
"Nova,
easy," said Derek in a low voice while putting his hand on her shoulder.
"Let me do the talking. This isn't the Argo."
Nova nodded,
backing off.
"Okay,"
said Angie. "What is it you two want to say?"
Wildstar
cleared his throat. "What I'd like to ask is a little more discretion. I'm
not going to interfere with your private life...especially because I'm aware I
wouldn't like MY private life interfered with. What I'd like to remind you is
that, once we're ready to fly, you will have say your
farewells for the morning to Miss Burkhardt. Then, you will concentrate on the
task at hand, so you can learn how to fly that fighter safely, just as I will
have said my farewells for the morning to Miss Forrester so that I can
concentrate on teaching you, and so that she can concentrate on her lessons
today in her squadron, just as I'll expect you to leave Miss Burkhardt to her
lessons. Do I make myself clear, Mister Hartcliffe?"
"Aye, aye,
sir," he said respectfully.
"All right. You'll meet me on that tarmac in..."
Wildstar paused to check his watch "...eighteen minutes, ready for your
pre-flight checkout, and concentrating fully on the task at hand. I don't care
what you do with those eighteen minutes as long as you're ready to check that
fighter out and fly, Mister."
"Yessir!"
Hartcliffe
saluted and walked away, followed by Angie.
"My
hangar's that way, Derek," said Nova. "Want some juice or something
before we get going?"
"No...uhhmm...make that yes, if you can do me a favor?"
"Which
is?"
"Keep an
eye peeled for what those two are up to? With his record..."
"He could
get into a lot of trouble in eighteen minutes," said Nova. "I know.
Hardy told me. I'll see you in a minute with that juice and a report."
******
Five minutes
later, while Wildstar was looking over his flight plan, Nova came back with a
cup of juice. "Nothing to report," she said, "except a muttered
comment or two."
"Did they
see you?"
"No,"
said Nova. "I moved quickly."
"Okay,"
he said. "Wish me luck."
"Good
luck," said Nova softly.
"And good
luck to you, too," he said tenderly, looking into her eyes. "Get
yourself back on the ground in one piece."
"The same
goes for you, too, sir," said Nova softly. She looked around, saw no one,
and gave her fiancée a quick hug. He rapidly returned it and said, "Have a
good flight."
"Professionalism
and spirit, sir," smiled back Nova, repeating an old EDF motivational
slogan. "I'll try to see you at lunch if I can."
"Right,"
he said... nodding and smiling shyly as Nova picked up her bag and walked off.
Hope the
flight crew didn't see that, thought Wildstar as he walked up towards the Super Starfighter
that Hartcliffe would be flying that day. He hoped he wasn't blushing as he
looked professional and took the plane's maintenance log from a Corporal,
checking over all the items quickly as he gave the plane a walk-around. A
walk-around was a visual inspection of the plane and its parts. Hartcliffe, as
pilot, was supposed to do that, but Wildstar found it to be a good idea to
second-guess his students, just in case.
Also, to keep
his head up, thought Wildstar, he picked up a small piece of cotton waste lying
on the ground and left it dangling inconspicuously from the Super Starfighter's
port side forward intake. I'll leave this "gift". Just SOP, he
grinned slightly. Commodore Hoshiyama used to leave me "gifts"
like this all the time. I'm sure Nova'll find a few dangling from her Tiger,
too, if I know Hardy, he thought.
Finally, after
completed his walkaround, Wildstar stood waiting for
Hartcliffe, who came back around a moment later, jiggling his helmet and
muttering, "Shaggin', luv!" under his breath.
"Hartcliffe,
what's the big idea?," asked Wildstar.
"Sir?"
"You're
supposed to have the flight CO pad OUT and ready, and you're supposed to put
your helmet up in that front seat first thing! Go back and do that again!"
"Yessir,"
said Hartcliffe. A moment later, he came back and followed the procedure
properly, saluting and coming to attention with his flight pad open.
"Good,"
said Wildstar, as, off in the distance, he thought he heard Hardy screaming at
someone. The identity was confirmed when he dimly heard Nova crying out,
"Aye, aye, SIR! I won't do THAT again!"
"Well!," barked Wildstar. "Start at the nose and start
the checkout."
The checkout
went well. Hartcliffe spotted the junk, and duly logged it. The checkout of
their flight plan was also quite normal, and everything was going according to
plan. Finally, Wildstar and Hartcliffe boarded the plane while the ground crew
members completed their procedures.
Hartcliffe got
the Super Starfighter started flawlessly, and he soon had his faceplate down as
the cockpit sealed.
Hartcliffe
responded "Affirmative." to the ground controller's grant of
permission to taxi as the Astrofighter's wheels were unchocked and the plane began to roll forward, its burnt
orange and gold skin gleaming in the bright morning sun.
"Not bad,
so far, Hartcliffe," said Wildstar over the radio from the back seat of
the plane. "Remember, she's a thrust-heavy plane, so keep that power
throttled down until we need it."
"Right,"
said Hartcliffe urgently as the plane turned a corner onto the taxiway. The
suppressed but powerful roar of the single fusion engine resounded through the
astrofighter as it approached the runway, pausing at a traffic control light as
a lone Cosmo Tiger roared off into the sky. Wildstar could tell from the
plane's colors and configuration that it wasn't Nova's ship; the plane that had
taken off was a Cosmo Tiger II, Type 1 single-seater,
in the light blue and gold paint scheme that was the standard make-up job for
all planes assigned to other ships. Wildstar had heard that the new space
battleship Andromeda was close to completion, and that she would be
carrying a full complement of fighters when she went on station due to the
relative lack of carriers in the Fleet (even the two that had survived would need
a substantial amount of dockyard work before being spaceworthy
again) he guessed that the plane that had just taken off was probably bound for
the Andromeda and was just being flight-tested now.
Finally, a
voice came in their headsets. "Super Star One-Zero-One, you are cleared
for takeoff on Runway One-Three."
"Roger
that," said Hartcliffe as he swung onto the runway. Soon, under his
guidance, the plane began to accelerate, and he and Wildstar were pushed back
into their seats as the fighter roared down the runway.
A moment later,
the concrete disappeared under them as the plane became airborne. Hartcliffe
kept his climb angle strictly by the book as the plane ascended rapidly towards
its cruising altitude.
"Good
job," said Wildstar, who was expecting games from this pilot. "Now,
let's see you execute some turns."
Hartcliffe
began to go through the book; bank to port, bank to starboard. He repeated the
procedure again, and then returned quietly to level flight. "Tanks are
nominal; we're doin' great, sir. Airspeed and ground speed are within our
limits, altitude is normal cruise. Do you want the nominal atmospheric ceiling,
or are we taking 'er up to play around in orbit,
sir?"
"We're
staying in the atmosphere today, Hartcliffe. We'll go into space when you show
me you have all the rudiments of atmospheric flight in this bird down first.
Because of her small wing surfaces, the Super Starfighter is much harder to
control in an atmosphere than in space. However, there's no guarantee you'll
ever fight all your battles in space. I fought one of my first battles in this
type of astrofighter in the high-pressure environment of Jupiter's upper
atmosphere at the Gamilons' Floating Continent. You might have to fly this sort
of plane in a gas giant someday, too, Mister. Now, drop to eight thousand
meters and show me what you've learned in the simulator yesterday about
aerobatics."
"Yessir."
Hartcliffe
promptly performed a number of barrel rolls and other such maneuvers, all
competently, all with a remarkable amount of control. There was nothing sloppy
about the way this Brit flew.
Wildstar knew
that he was dealing with someone who had a fair idea of how to control
something as difficult to fly as a Super Starfighter, and he had to grant
Hartcliffe this much; he was a quick learner, regardless of his demonstrated
sordid morals and warped mind.
"How're we
doin?," he asked.
"Fair,"
said Wildstar. "But don't get cocky and think you know everything yet,
Mister. You've done all right with a lot of space between us and the ground.
Now, take us down to the deck."
With a smile,
Hartcliffe peered through his John Lennon-style spectacles and began to drop
the Super Star down towards the ground in a fairly controlled dive. Wildstar
made notes on his pad, thinking that maybe this would be an unexpectedly smooth
flight after all.
They descended
down towards the ocean and the base. Hartcliffe flew well with little
clearance, making turns and keeping under control in spite of the cold morning
sea breeze from the east and the fact that they weren't all that far from the
wave tops.
Finally,
Wildstar made a few more notes and said, "For your first flight, on your
first day, that wasn't bad, Mister Hartcliffe. Okay...take us back to
base."
"Yessir,"
said Hartcliffe as he requested an approach vector. he
received it and was told, "You're authorized to come in on this vector in
three minutes. Until then, orbit the base under your instructor's guidance at a
low altitude."
"Acknowledged,"
said Hartcliffe as they swept around the base, looking down at the hangars,
taxiways, and maintenance areas they had all seen this morning.
As they swung
towards a parking lot, Hartcliffe noticed something and had a sudden idea.
"Sir!" he asked.
"Yes,"
said Wildstar.
"May I
deviate a little from our course. I'd like to...just
get a look at something in that parking lot."
"What
is it?" asked Wildstar in a humorless tone.
"You'll
see, sir," said Hartcliffe as the plane's nose dipped a little under his
guidance. Then, the plane began to speed up.
"Hartcliffe,
NO. Return back to our orbiting vector," said Wildstar.
"This'll
take us all of thirty seconds, sir..."
"We don't
have that much time, and it's a matter of discipline. Hartcliffe, get us
back on course...."
"In a
second, sir..." said Hartcliffe as the plane sped up a little more.
"Hartcliffe...no. Get your nose UP!," barked Wildstar as,
too late, he saw what Hartcliffe was planning to do, and, guessing he had no
other choice, he began to manipulate his controls to regain control of the
ship.
But, even as
Wildstar flicked the switches to take the throttle, the plane roared down
towards the lot.
"Here's your daily personnel reports from Headquarters,
sir," said a pleasant young female Ensign in her typical short-skirted
Admin uniform.
"Thank
you," said Captain Priceman in a pleasant tone as he took the reports from
the young lady who waited near the Staff car that had brought her in from
Headquarters.
"Would you
sign here, please, sir? Hey, what's that plane doing?,"
she asked curiously.
"...What...?"
asked Priceman as he looked up. "That isn't the proper ceiling for parking
lots... is it?"
A second later,
the Super Starfighter buzzed the lot, with a loud roar, and an intimidating
whistle of wind that blew Priceman's report all over
the place. It also made the young Admin Ensign fall back towards the Captain
screaming with terror.
"Who is
that...that MANIAC?" yelled Priceman as he helped the trembling young lady
back to her feet.
"Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha HOOO!," whooped
Hartcliffe. "Man!!
Nicest bleedin' legs ah've laid eyes on in weeks! Can we do that
again...I...hey...where's me stick?" he asked, moving the control stick
without a response.
"I'm
flying this plane now, MISTER," barked Wildstar as he forced the ship back
up onto its proper vector. "And YOU'RE gonna have a lot of explaining to
do when we land, Hartcliffe. Thanks to you, we're BOTH in hot water, now!"
"Why?
They'll just yell at me, right, sir?"
"And ME for letting you DO it! If I had gotten those controls
back a second earlier, you stupid IDIOT, we wouldn't have gotten into this mess
you've put us in!"
"Super
Star One-Zero-One, are you reading us?" said a voice over the radio.
"Super
Star One-Zero-One, over and reading you," snapped Wildstar.
"Instructor performed regained control of ship after unauthorized
maneuver, over."
"I'm to
understand that maneuver was unauthorized?"
"Over, you
read me right," said Wildstar. "I never granted student clearance for
maneuver, over."
"Damn
good, because otherwise, you would've been down there with him cleaning
up my reports, Mister Wildstar!" snapped a cold voice over the radio.
"Sir,"
said Wildstar, who recognized Priceman's voice at
once. "It was my error. I didn't regain control quickly enough,
sir."
"I'm going
to have a good listen to your voice recorder when we land and see if it tells
me the same thing as these tapes we have here," said Priceman irritably.
"Get your tail on the ground now, Wildstar; I'm vectoring you in myself...
and bring your sorry excuse for a student in with you. Got that?"
"Yessir,"
said Wildstar grimly as he pulled up onto Priceman's
approach vector a moment later as he gave it in clipped fashion, over the
headset.
Wildstar felt even
more chagrined, as, in the distance, he saw a burnt-orange Type 2A Cosmo Tiger
orbiting around the base, and probably coming in right after him. Hardy and
Nova, he thought grimly. Please God, I hope Hardy had the decency NOT to
switch frequencies and let her hear THIS one. If not, I'll NEVER hear the end
of this story!
"Raight,
Jake," chuckled Hardy over the ship-to-ship interlink to another
instructor in another plane. "The instructor of that squadron was the one
that allowed that boner! Raight over Iceman, too! Ha, haaa...what
a riot! And ah caught it on my recon camera, too. Up nine meters! WHOA! Ah
ain't lettin' mah student see that one, either!"
"Hardy?"
asked Nova respectfully over her headset. "Why did you take control of my
recon camera? I didn't do anything wrong, did I?"
"Nope,
Miss Nova, yoah just fine!" said Hardy as he tried to regain his
composure. "Just keep on that vector, keep flyin' nice and straight, and maybe ah'll forget
you didn't spot that junk in the intake on the walkaround
today, all raight? Just keep her flying, nice and level, Nova...and let me keep
control on the downlink! I've got a...special download to take care of, that's
all. Just ignore me, ah'm just the instructor."
"Are you
all right? You were laughing pretty hard a minute ago, sir. I heard you even
WITH the intercom off."
"No, ah'm
fine, just faine," grinned Hardy as he ran the
close-up of Wildstar and Hartcliffe's mishap again. "Just don't worry. Over and out, Nova. Just listen to the tower. "
"Huh?"
she said innocently.
"Consider
it an advance solo since you was such a good student today, Miss
Forrester," chuckled Hardy, who emphatically
turned off the intercom, as he switched back to Jake. "Lookit this,
boy!" he chuckled. "That's great, Hardy," chuckled Jacob Strawfield, a smart young Afro-American pilot, and
instructor in charge of the Red Rippers, who had been a friend of Hardy's ever
since their cadet days. "Look, Johnson. Look at some of the stuff you can
do with a recon camera!" he chortled. "Who was the pilot nutty enough
to do this?"
"Bryan
Hartcliffe," chuckled Hardy. "He's one CRAZY dude, if what ah heah
about him is true!" said Hardy.
"Who was
the instructor? And is he gonna escape with his career intact?"
"Wildstar,"
chuckled Hardy.
"WILDSTAR?"
he said. "Are you SERIOUS, 'bro?"
"I am. All
Iceman's gonna do is yell at him, though. The BEST part's gonna be for
Hartcliffe, wooooEEEE! If he survives trainin' ah
think ah want to fly with the boy someday!"
"You
would, Hardy," said Strawman jovially. "What's
your pilot think of this?"
"Nuthin,"
whispered Hardy. "And she can't think nothin', either.
We gotta keep her in the DARK."
"Why?"
"She's
Wildstar's fiancé, that's why!" whooped Hardy.
"Oh,
shoot, we gotta do the mushroom treatment on that broad."
"Mushroom
treatment?" asked Hardy.
"Yeah. We gotta keep her in the dark and feed her crap!"
Hardy whooped
it up even louder; so loudly that Nova turned her head and asked, "Sir,
ARE you all right?"
"Just
fine, Miss Nova," laughed Hardy.
"Tiger
One-Zero-One, over...are you awake up there?" asked the controller.
"Yes...I
am," said Nova.
"Well,
trainee, we've been telling your instructor to order you in for the last
minute! Is he awake?"
"Yessir,
he is...We...were just discussing my flight, that's all," said Nova.
"Well,
since I see you have some mission recon experience, maybe you can try vectoring
her in on this course. Head to Mark...."
******
In Priceman's office, Hartcliffe and Wildstar stood before the
desk as Priceman coldly said, "Lieutenant Hartcliffe, do you realize how
important air safety IS?"
"Yessir,
ah do," he said in a chagrined voice, having heard a non-stop gripe-out
from Wildstar ever since their wheels touched the ground.
"And,
Wildstar, I see your report," said Priceman. "This is fine; insofar
as you attempted to keep your student from performing the maneuver. But, hell
is filled with attempts and good intentions, Commander. Even the best of us can
slip up. Once. I'll grant you once, in the serious
proscriptions of SOP rules. Even the best instructor can have an idiot in the
front seat, as you evidently did, Commander. But I don't want to see you do
this again, Wildstar, and especially not to me. I'd rather see you punch out
the sorry fool right in the cockpit like he went crazy and bring him in
unconscious than to do that. And if he tries something like that after he
solos, in formation, you have my permission to take any step, including
shooting him down like a rabid weasel, got that?"
"Yessir,"
said Wildstar.
"Oh. Your punishment's inadequate," said Priceman as he
balled up Wildstar's incident chit and threw it in the circular file.
"Don't ground him for one training day. Ground him for two,
understood?"
"Yessir."
"Now,
YOU," he said to Hartcliffe. "You get out there and do grounds maintenance with a bag around that lot until you
find me EVERY single piece of my report! And if some of them are torn up,
tough! Use adhesive tape to get them back together and in a readable form, son!
DO I make myself clear?"
"Aye, aye,
sir," said Hartcliffe, who was almost in tears.
"And when
you begin flying again, on Friday, YOU will be Wildstar's sole student. You
will then repeat the flight for ATD-1, and then take the flights for ATD's 2, 3, and 4 all in succession after Wildstar puts
everyone else through an early flight for ATD-4. You will then debrief and you
and Wildstar will have grades and a report on my desk by 2000 hours that
evening! If you have a social life planned for that night, son, tough cookies.
Same goes for your instructor."
And, if I see
you here before me for ANY reason, I won't be as nice to you as I was today.
All right?" said Priceman in a nice, level tone of voice.
"Yessir,"
said Hartcliffe in an almost inaudible tone.
"I'll take
that as a "yessir", even though you sounded like you were two years
old," said Priceman. "Wildstar, get him out of here. And better luck
on your other eleven flights, all right?"
"Yessir,"
said Wildstar in a quiet voice.
Both of them
saluted and left.
Wildstar
stopped Hartcliffe in the corridor as he began to walk off with his head down
and shoulders sagging.
"Hartcliffe,"
snapped Wildstar.
"Yessir?"
he asked.
"You
realized you could have avoided all of this if you had just found another way
to play a joke on someone?"
"Sir?"
"There are
the sorts of practical jokes that one can get away with, and the sort that one
can't get away with under any circumstances. Today, you just learned, as if you
didn't learn in combat, that flying isn't a funny business. I've been doing this
for longer than you, Mister, and I've seen others learn the same lesson, but
with an even harsher grade and result. Do you know how some pilots have left
this base after their jokes messed up? Do you?,"
asked Wildstar.
Hartcliffe
remained silent as Derek continued with his tirade. "For your information,
some pilots have left this airbase, and others throughout this planet and
throughout history, being carried out by six guys in a box because either God,
or the laws of physics, take your pick, didn't think their jokes were very
funny and made them pay for it. Your number didn't come up today, Hartcliffe,
so as a result, you're not a piece of burned meat lying up in a tree near that
parking lot, and, fortunately, neither am I. Luckily, the woman who is going to
be my wife in twenty-five days isn't sitting around somewhere crying her eyes
out because I'll never come back, and, luckily for you, your girlfriend isn't
doing the same thing, Mister. And would you like to know why I didn't punch you
out cold when we landed?"
"No?"
"It's
because despite the fact that ATD-1 was wiped out, you would've scored a first
day rating in the high nineties, Mister!" said Wildstar. "...IF you
hadn't messed up. Now, I want you to get out there and clean up that mess you
made. And remember this."
"Yes?"
"If you
pull something like that again, Mister, I WILL punch your lights out before I
turn you over to Priceman. Consider the punch you didn't earn today a suspended
sentence, Bryan Hartcliffe! And, be careful...I'll be watching your every
move!"
II. SETTING
UP HOUSEKEEPING
Earth
Federal
Megalopolis
Sands Point
Cove
Wednesday,
December 2, 2201
1700
Hours-Spacetime
The red
Cosmo-Mustang staff aircar wound up the road through the hills near the shoreline
on the outskirts of the Federal Megalopolis until it stopped at a set of
gateposts that would hold a pair of gates, which seemed to still be under
construction. The wall that the gate pierced was a modernistic concrete wall
whose bareness was hidden by a breed of crawling ivy that was already growing
on the wall and thriving.
"Are you
sure this is the place, Derek?" asked Nova as she looked quizzically at
her fiancée.
"This is
"But
where's the house?" asked Nova softly.
Derek shrugged,
and drove in, following the driveway up to a green hill, and then following it
around.
His eyes began
to go wide as he turned towards the south, and Nova began to smile. There, at a
location that showed a beautiful shoreline of the local sound, stood what was
obviously a house under construction; as the driveway curved one last time
towards the garage, it turned abruptly to dirt.
The house was
covered in something made to look like old-style wood siding (even though both
of them guessed that it wasn't actual wood), and was a pleasing light tan
color, with a dark red roof and white-painted window frames and doors.
"Well,
what do you think?" asked Wildstar as he got out, carrying the packet in
his hand.
"It's...beautiful!"
said Nova in awe. "Do you think we can look inside?"
"I don't
know if the inside's finished yet, Nova," said
Derek as he and Nova began to approach the outdoor staircase that led towards
the door, which was on the side of the house. It would give a wonderful view of
the rolling hill that led down towards the shoreline to the west.
"HEY!"
yelled a cross-looking man in work clothes with a hardhat and clipboard as he
abruptly burst out of the house. "What in blazes ya
doin' here? This here's private property, youse guys!"
Boy, he
sounds like Sergeant Knox, thought Wildstar as he looked irritably at the workman.
"I'm Lieutenant Commander Derek Wildstar, and the young lady here is my
fiancé, Lieutenant Nova Forrester. For your information, sir, we own this
property as a grant from the Federal Government of Earth, and you're standing
in the front door of our house."
"Well, why
didn't cha say so?" he chuckled. "Nah, you don't needs
to show me your deed. I recognize that packet."
"What do
you mean?" asked Nova.
"I was
working' on your buddy's house, guy named Sandor. You know, the other project,
off over there by Heroes' Hill?"
"Sandor's
all right?" asked Nova.
"Uh-huh.
He was just by his house, lookin' at it same as youse guys. Sorry I didn't
recognize ya."
"Is it
safe to go inside?," asked Nova.
"Yeah,
sure, if ya like bare walls and exposed plumbin',
that is. We just finished all the interior work today and hooked ya up to the
worldwide power transmission grid." The man abruptly shut the door behind
him. "It's locked. If ya got yer cardkey, let's just see if it works,
first," he said cheerfully.
Wildstar hunted
around in the portfolio for the cardkey to his house. Finally, he found it, and
handed it to Nova. "You do the honors, Mrs. Wildstar."
"But I'm
not that, yet."
"You soon
will be," he said patting her on the arm as the workman puffed irritably
on his cigar and thought, Lovebirds...yeeccch,
mush!
Nova shut her eyes
and put the cardkey in the lock for the first time. The unit read the code, and
quietly buzzed, unlocking the door.
Then, Derek
pushed the door open, and both of them stepped in after Derek took back the key
and put it away.
They walked
through a empty, high foyer with unfinished walls and walked into a living room
that looked very, very bare, with metal studs still showing in the walls and
exposed wires dangling from the ceiling two floors above them, because the
living room was vaulted, like the foyer. A messy pile of stone and brick lay in
one corner of the room, complete with bags of cement.
"That's
going to be the fireplace, isn't it?" asked Nova.
"Yep, dat's what it looks like," said the workman.
"That'll
be nice," said Wildstar.
"Now it's
a mess," laughed the foreman. "Lemme show ya the kitchen, or what's gonna be the kitchen..."
They walked
around until they entered a space with a bay window at their backs, and the
framework of a counter in the middle of the room in front of them. "That's
your table space, and along dese walls, where we have
dese lovely pipes now, will be your food processor,
sink, cabinets, et cetera. Up there's a stairway that leads to bedrooms number
3 and 2 in the upstairs a' the house; and, ya've got
that deck right here," he said, walking them through to the living room
and its conversation pit.
He shook his
head and continued. "Back this way, by the bay windows, is the door out to
the deck," he said, walking them outside again. "You've got a
stairway, going down to what'll be bushes, and dat dere
hole in da ground by those bushes the gardener left is gonna be your swimmin' pool, off in the trees," he said. "That
little shack there is gonna be your cabana, and we're even putting in a bar for
pool parties."
"Back
inside," he said as Nova stood there with wide eyes, having to be walked
along by Derek, "and I'll show ya the second floor a' this joint," he
chuckled.
After peeking
in the second bedroom at what would be a bathroom (while Nova whispered to
Derek that maybe someday that would be their daughter's room), the contractor
took them back to the foyer and let them go back downstairs, down a staircase
that curved a bit as it went up.
Nova wanted to
go upstairs to look at something, so they went up again. Upstairs, in a huge
lounge that seemed to take up most of the second floor, they had a view down
into the living room. A high wall and railing, covered incongruously with
ornamental plants someone had already put there in the otherwise unfinished
room, allowed one to peek back down into the living room, but didn't allow
those downstairs to look up.
Derek asked,
"And, what's this space below us?"
"Master
bedroom," said the contractor with a chuckle. He took them downstairs and
showed them what would be their bedroom. "That pile of rocks is gonna be
your second fireplace, and I already stuck a twelve-point buck head above it
for ya, see?" he said. Turning to Nova, he whispered, "Youse can tell
all your girlfriends HE got it. No one'll ever
know."
"That's...nice,"
said Nova. "But, maybe it'd be better downstairs?" she suggested.
"Neither of us are really big on hunting. Can you
get me some hanging plants to put up there when we move in, Derek?" she
asked.
"Sure.
Uhh...if you don't mind...I've got to talk to you for a minute...alone..."
"I'll
leave yas alone...sure," chuckled the
contractor. "Meet me outside, okay?"
At that, he
left.
"Yes,
Derek?" asked Nova as he looked around and led her to the only place they
could sit down; namely, an unfinished, but cushioned window seat by the row of
bedroom windows.
"Nova,
I've got some bad news about what happened yesterday at the base."
"What,
Derek?" asked Nova with concern.
"That
scrape Hartcliffe got us in...you heard about
it?"
"Yes, I
did," said Nova softly. "I didn't hear all the details, though."
"They're
putting a little of the blame on me for not having stopped him in time,"
said Wildstar. "As a result, I have to punish him on Friday by making him
repeat his first training day and putting him through all his training days in
one day after he finishes up a grounding he began serving yesterday. I probably
won't be done debriefing until nineteen or twenty hundred that night, at the
earliest."
"That
means we'll have to wait on that concert, won't we?" sighed Nova.
"I'm
afraid so, Nova. I'm really sorry. I don't like breaking dates with you, or
breaking promises," said Derek in a sad, gentle way.
"It's not
your fault," said Nova. "You're a commander, and you're responsible
for your subordinates, just like I'm responsible for mine in my squadron. And,
Lord, are THEY a handful! I'm disappointed, but I'm not mad. I forgive you,
Derek."
"Thanks,"
he said as they drew close and cuddled on the window seat for what would be the
first of many times.
"Derek?"
she asked timidly after they cuddled for a long moment.
"Yes?"
"If I got
into trouble, would you forgive me?" she asked.
"Why would
you ask something like that?" asked Wildstar. "You're one of the best
officers I know, and not just because I'm engaged to you, either."
"It could
happen to any of us. You know what subordinates can do," said Nova softly.
"Anyone can mess up and take the best of us down with them," she
said. "If it happened, would you be mad?"
"No,"
said Derek. "But it'll never happen to you. You're...too good."
"I hope
so...because being a student and being a leader all at once is a tough job, and
we both know that. But now, it seems tougher than ever," said Nova.
"I hope everything's going to be all right."
Little did Nova
know how right she was, or how soon this would prove to be true...
III.
CONSTRUCTION AND DESTRUCTION
Earth
Federal
Megalopolis
Undersea
Dock #2
Thursday,
December 10, 2201
1123
Hours-Spacetime
A few days
later, after training Hartcliffe and many others to hell and back again, and
after everyone had completed their solos, Derek Wildstar cut out of his
training routine for a while to take care of some other business at the
Yokosuka Space Naval Base.
There, he had
arranged to meet Sandor and Orion to, at last, discuss some of the details of
the battered Argo's refit, which, Sandor had informed him, was now in
progress.
After
descending into an office level underground, he met Sandor and warmly shook his
hand.
"You look
well," he said as he looked over the tall, imposing officer, who wore his
green coveralls over his blues with a white ascot. Sandor again looked just the
way he had in September before all of them had left.
"Thanks,"
he said.
"How's the
new leg?"
"Working
better than the old one," chuckled Sandor, who stopped to flex his bionic
leg. "Finally, at long last, they're beginning to get things moving down
here," he said.
"And it's
about time, too!" said Orion as he came out of an inner office.
"How are
you doing?" he asked.
"Pretty
well, considering' how old I am," said Orion. "But, I can still keep
up with all of you, so don't think of tryin'; anything funny," he said
with a smile. "If you'll come with me, I'll show you how the old girl
looks now. She's still convalescing, so, be warned, it's not gonna be a pretty
sight yet."
Wildstar,
Sandor and Orion went down another lift, and emerged in a vast room that looked
very familiar. Even though it was in a different location, it was an undersea
dry-dock that looked very similar to the one from which they had left in
September when they had stolen the Argo.
Wildstar
followed the two engineers, purposely keeping his eyes on the floor as they
said, "You see, the biggest problem is the adaptation of the new
technology to the old deckplan without compromising
either the original deckplan of the compartment or
compromising the efficiency of the new equipment," said Sandor.
"And
didn't we find that we can't fit in quite all that fancy pushbutton
maintenance, either?" said Orion.
"No...the existing conduits just aren't big enough down there, and
that's all there is to it, I'm afraid," said Sandor.
"What are
the two of you talking about?," asked Wildstar.
"The
rebuilding of the engine room," said Sandor. "Take a look, Wildstar. "We're here."
Derek Wildstar
walked a little ahead, and then he looked up, and his mouth fell open, since,
sitting there before him, sat the Argo, looking, from his vantage point,
shiny, new, and magnificently rebuilt. All of the structural damage around the
wave gun and the bow had been repaired, and the same went for what he could see
of the forward turrets, the red-painted bulbous bow, the forward pulse lasers,
and the bridge tower. He wasn't sure why, but the radar aerials seemed to look
just a little bigger; but since it had been almost a month since he had seen
the mighty ship last, he couldn't be sure.
He turned back
to Sandor and Orion and yelled, "This is great! When can we go out?"
"Not for a
while yet," said Sandor softly. "The minor work is done. The major
work is still in progress in the after part of the ship. As a matter of fact,
there, it's just beginning. Would you come with me, please?"
Wildstar
nodded, following Sandor and Orion around to the stern of the ship.
There, he saw a
different story. The stern of the Argo was more or less torn apart, and
there were many, many lifts present raising pieces of equipment up into the
bowels of the space battleship.
"Where's
the engines?" asked Wildstar.
"They're
being completely reconstructed and uprated," said Sandor. "After the
repair work, which was, in itself, extensive, this is
the major part of the refit, and the reason why we don't think the ship will be
ready until some time early next year," said Sandor.
"It's
quite a job, and we just got permission to do it, and to do it right, the way
that Captain Avatar and our dead comrades would want it," said Orion.
"Meaning?"
asked Wildstar.
"We
figured out how to give the Argo the speed and power of the Andromeda
without taking away her heart and lifeblood; the Star Force," said Sandor
as Wildstar looked on mystified. "This way; to the engine room...."
Wildstar and
the others entered, to find a compartment that looked about in the same sort of
state of construction as his house! Namely, structurally present (except for
the stern itself, which was just down to its plating and framework), but empty
of everything except a few supports, conduits, and pipe connections. To his
surprise, Wildstar saw the conduction pipe itself, which led forward to the
wave motion gun, connected to no power plant at all!
"Where's
the engine?" asked Wildstar in shock. "The energy
generator...the warp equipment?"
"Gone,"
said Sandor, "...in favor of new equipment they're shipping in now."
"Well?"
he demanded. "Where IS it?"
"In all
those crates, lad," said Orion. "Matter of fact, we're priority. They
just stopped work on Hull #039 in order to adapt its engine parts and ship the
whole kit an' caboodle of them here straight from the factories."
"You
mean?" asked Wildstar in shock.
"The Argo's
being rebuilt with an Andromeda-class power plant," said Sandor.
"But, don't lose your temper, Wildstar. We thought about what you said
that last time and I got the Defense Council to accept your arguments. The
Argo's being rebuilt with a smaller, lighter, and more powerful main energy
plant from an Andromeda-class space battleship, the engines destined for
the space battleship Aquarius, as a matter of fact. But, the engine's
being readapted for the Argo so that it can be controlled by our old
semi-automated systems, and not by the fully automated
systems constructed in the Andromeda class."
"But, what
about all that automated maintenance equipment you showed me?" asked
Wildstar.
"Only a
little of it's bein' installed," said Orion.
"And, this engine's bein' altered so we can have repair crews fix all of
it in case the automatic diagnostic unit fails. Also, unlike an Andromeda,
she's bein' designed so that the space warp mechanism can be fine-tuned by us
rather than havin' to depend on the computer
software. Since the Argo's hull weighs less than those on those flyin'
robots, anyhow, I think we'll break every speed record and power rating set by
the original in her provin' runs."
"The
Defense Council is going to be taking a good, hard look at how she performs
when we go out on the rebuilt ship's trials in a few weeks, Wildstar,"
said Sandor. "And, if these ideas work, maybe the Council will eventually
accept a few of my other ideas for improving the ship in a future refit down
the road."
"Those
are?" asked Wildstar.
"I can't
get into the specifics yet," said Sandor. "Some of those devices have
yet to be perfected on the drawing board, let alone even built. And, when we
get permission to put them in the Argo, someday, she'll be in refit for
months, possibly as long as a year, before we can get everything done. "
"So it
looks good," said Wildstar.
"That's
right," said Orion. "And soon, she'll look even better."
"I'm
glad," said Wildstar. "Even with my wedding to Nova coming up soon,
part of me can't wait to get out into space again in the new ship. Did you hear
anything about...?"
"Your new
rank?" asked Sandor. "They haven't told me anything about that, yet.
The Defense Council's still deliberating that one."
"Well, who
do they have listed as the Argo's skipper at the moment?," asked Wildstar.
"No
one," said Sandor. "Officially, the Captaincy of the Argo and
the Command of Star Force is now Vacant: Pending Command Review and Defense
Council Recommendation."
"Vacant?"
said Wildstar. "It hasn't been listed as that since..."
"Since
Captain Avatar was listed dead when we returned from Iscandar," said
Sandor. "As you know, you were then assigned as Acting Captain until
Commodore Managua assumed command of the Third Squadron for your tour. That
means they're mulling over who's going to be formally assigned as Skipper of
the ship now. We're all sure it'll be you, Wildstar. Take it easy."
"I heard
Vice-Admiral Wellington's being reassigned to something," said Wildstar
glumly. "Did you hear what, yet?"
"No,"
said Sandor. "But word has it that he's not being assigned to the Argo."
"Officially,"
said Wildstar quietly.
"C'mon,
Wildstar, it'll work out. And I told ye he'd like it this time," chuckled
Orion. Everyone laughed, but still, Wildstar couldn't help having a little bit
of unease lurking in his mind.
I'll have to
wait and see, that's all, he thought. When she's finished, we'll see how well all
of this new equipment works together. So much is changing in my life, now, and
so soon.
I wonder, he thought. Will I
still be in command of this new ship, or will they put someone else over my
head until I learn more about her? I hope not...I'm the one the Star Force has
come to respect...
*******
"I can't
believe you! YOU IDIOT!," barked Tatiana Lubyanska as she threw her helmet
down on a bench in the locker room at the Idlewild Fighter Base a little later
that afternoon.
"What do
you mean me?" cried Angelique Burkhardt. "Weren't YOU the one who
didn't hear my report about the hypothetical bogie we were tracking?"
"It was
nothing but a radar ghost!" hissed Tatiana as she threw her flight bag in
her locker, very hard.
"But it
was the one they wanted our flight to find!" she cried. "And because
we missed it, we lost a lot of points. You know...Nova tried to take the blame
for all of us..."
"What
makes her so good? A uniform? A reputation?"
hissed Tatiana. "She's a halfway good recon pilot, I'll admit that...but
she does NOT by any means have the fire in her eyes to be a fighter pilot!"
"Maybe
she's a flight leader because she studied and worked hard, harder than
us..."
"Bah,
these tests are child's play," hissed Tatiana. "You're nothing but an..."
"What do
you mean I'm an...?"
"Ladies,"
said Nova as she came in out of the showers wrapped in a towel, with wet hair.
"Please! None of us are doing particularly well today. Why do you two have
to stand there and take it out on each other? You know it's not good for our
morale!"
"Ma'am,
with all respect, I say, morale, shmorale,"
clucked Tatiana. "You're okay, although maybe a little too nice, but this
one," she said, pointing to Angie, "...is a fool who makes mistakes
in flying, and is interested only in parties, the boyfriend, and painting her
stupid toenails," she said. "You see?" she said, looking at
Angie after she removed a boot. "She even does them in different candy
colors, the fool mooshnika!"
"I beg
your pardon?" sneered Angie. "Are you some
kind of weirdo or something?"
"I'm not
some idiot who paints her nails weird colors," sneered Tatiana.
"Okay, as
long as we're discussing nails, you both know that polishing your nails on duty
is non-regulation," said Nova, putting a foot up on the bench. "But
that's beside the point for the moment, because it has nothing to do with our ability
as pilots. I've heard you people at each other since the beginning of training,
but this hits a new low for silliness! I haven't heard anything this
kooky since junior high, and I've been around for twenty-three years now. Can
you two cool it?"
"Da,"
said Tatiana angrily.
"I still
don't know what her problem is," muttered Angie.
"Okay,
okay," said Nova. "Whatever. Anything, so we can do this exercise
again as a group tomorrow, okay?," said Nova.
"Now, if you two can get into those showers and let me put on a nice,
fresh uniform, we can meet in an empty classroom or hangar and go over all this
again, without assigning blame on anyone, to see what you, Tatiana, you, Angie,
and myself, Nova Forrester, did wrong in our exercise as a flight today so we can
get back into Hardy's good graces tomorrow and beat Delta Flight, who isn't
even trying. Okay?"
Both of them
gave her disgusted looks and went back to getting undressed. Nova took a breath
and walked away. When she was out of sight of the others, she shook her head,
thinking, It's only gotten worse and worse between
those two as the weeks have gone by. What's it going to be next?
Then, as Nova
pulled off her towel and began to pull on her underthings,
she added to herself I'm not sure
I want to know what's going to be next! She dried her hair a bit more, and
then pulled on the lower half of a fresh set of blues, followed by the
skin-tight tunic that matched.
Nova had just
secured the fastener at the crotch of her tunic when she heard something
slamming down where Angie and Tatiana were arguing. She started, picking up one
of her boots.
A loud yell
came a minute later, and then Nova heard Angie screeching, "That battle
you were in wasn't my fault!" followed by more loud banging noises. At
that, Nova just dropped her boot and ran over barefoot to see what was going
on.
When she got
there, she was horrified to see Angie and Tatiana, with their tunics open,
grabbing and kicking at each other like maniacs. Tatiana threw a punch, which
Angie blocked while kicking at her. Then, Tatiana picked up a boot and tried to
bash Angie in the face with it, yelling, "You can go to the devil,
Burkhardt! You almost got me killed back there."
"Like hell
I did!" yelled Angie as she threw the boot out of Tatiana's hands and then
slapped her hard across the face.
"STOP
it!" barked Nova. "Stop it now!"
They refused to
stop. Nova ran past them, stuck her head out the door into the gym, and yelled
towards two young male Ensigns (namely, Wainwright and Mendelmann)
"Gentlemen! I need your help in here!"
"What's
goin' on?" asked Wainwright "Need help drying off?"
"Stop
being a joker and get in here!" snapped Nova.
"Hey, we
can't go in there! That's the ladies' locker room!" protested Mendelmann
"I'm
giving you a direct order to get in here!" snapped Nova. "There's a
disturbance in progress!"
"What?"
called Wainwright.
"A fight!"
yelled Nova. "I recognize you two; you're from Charlie Flight! Get IN
here!"
Nova kept one
ear cocked towards the fight as Wainwright ran in, while Mendelmann hesitated.
"Get IN
here!" snapped Nova with a tone that brooked no disobedience.
"Aye aye, Ma'am!" he cried, running in as Nova snapped,
"Get over to the office and call up the OG! You," she snapped at
Wainwright (who wasn't exactly small), "Help me break this up!"
Nova then ran
over and snapped "STOP it, you two!" in a commanding voice, backed up
by Wainwright, who stood off at a short distance.
Angie tried to
stop and back off, but Tatiana didn't let her. "Lubyanska!" snapped
Nova. "I said...STOP it!"
Tatiana glared
at Nova in mid-punch, gritted her teeth, and then bashed Angie in the mouth
full force. Blood spattered onto the floor.
Seeing that her
orders didn't seem to be affecting the maddened young woman, Nova ran over and
tried to stand between Tatiana and a stunned-looking Angie. "Lubyanska,
she doesn't want to fight anymore! I said..."
Then, before
Nova could react, a fist slammed into her shoulder, making her reel back
against the locker with a loud bang. Nova yelped as she hit the locker, but she
just managed to keep her balance since she was barefoot and had better footing
than her assailant, who still had one boot off and one boot on.
Nova parried
Tatiana's next punch with the palm of her hand and then used her knee to try to
push her assailant back and take advantage of her imbalance. However, Tatiana
threw in another punch that connected with Nova's solar plexus.
Nova fell down
gasping with a loud "Oomph!" as, behind her, Angie yelped, jumping on
her assailant's back like a wildcat. Angered again, Angie scratched at
Tatiana's face as they went down, and Tatiana turned her head and spat at
Angie, trying to bite her.
At that,
Wainwright ran up, followed, a moment later, by two enlisted men who burst in
from outside with drawn sidearms.
"You've
got to break this up!" yelled Mendelmann as the enlisted men holstered
their weapons and grabbed Angie and the wildly flailing Tatiana around their
waists, pulling them apart without any hesitation. Wainwright ran over to
Nova's side, carefully helping her to her feet as she gasped and coughed.
"Thanks,"
she gasped.
"Who's the
ranking officer here?" barked one of the enlisted men.
"I
am," coughed Nova.
"You tried
to stop it, ma'am?" asked the bigger enlisted man, who had Tatiana's hands
pinned.
"I did,
Corporal," said Nova, recognizing the enlisted man from another post on
the base.
"Good,"
he said as he snapped, "STOP it, you idiot!" at Lubyanska as she
struggled one more time, just for show.
"Okay,"
he snapped. "Now, what's your name?"
"Junior
Lieutenant Tatiana Lubyanska," she said.
"Lieutenant,
you and your friend will have to go see the Base Commander, along with these
two witnesses," he said, looking at Mendelmann and Wainwright, "and,
last but not least, the ranking officer. Get yourselves dressed, and then,
we'll have to go and take a little trip..."
******
"Now, out
with it," said Priceman in his deep voice as he carried out, in his
office, an Article Fourteen proceeding, or "Captain's Mast", against
Lubyanska and Burkhardt, accused of fighting, and of Mendelmann and Wainwright,
accused of dereliction of duty for having not done enough to stop the fight.
Nova and the two enlisted men were present as witnesses. Priceman took a breath
and said, "In case you didn't catch on, ladies, which one of you started
this fight?"
"I did,
sir, after she grabbed at me," snapped Lubyanska.
"No, she
tripped me first," protested Burkhardt.
Priceman
examined the two younger women, who were at attention before his desk, with the
air of a biologist examining a particularly interesting species of bacteria.
"Well, Forrester?" he snapped. "What really happened? Who
threw the first punch? None of these two know anything," he said,
motioning towards Wainwright and Mendelmann, who were at attention to the left
of the two females.
"Sir, all
I know is that I heard Miss Burkhardt scream while I was taking off my sweaty
uniform," said Nova. "When I turned around, they were at each other
like that," she said, snapping her fingers for emphasis. "I ordered
them to stop it, they refused, and I called for these two to lend their aid in
breaking it up."
"And, as
we know, they hesitated," said Priceman. "That hesitation is the
reason they're here. So, what did YOU do, then, Miss Forrester?"
"When
Mister Wainwright came in, I ordered both of them to stop it again. Miss
Burkhardt stopped, but Miss Lubyanska kept on attacking her."
"What
happened then?" asked Priceman.
"I tried
to peacefully step in between them, and Miss Lubyanska attacked. I parried her
punch, and tried to trip her with my knee..."
"STOP. Why did you attempt to trip her?"
"To throw her off-balance, sir. To
neutralize the threat."
"I believe
you've been instructed in Aikido?" asked Priceman.
"Yessir; I
have a high rating in the art, as a matter of fact," said Nova.
"Which made that action inexcusable. You could've used a hold
to neutralize Miss Lubyanska...or you could have ordered the two young Ensigns
here to help you. I'm sure you have an effective command voice, don't
you?"
"Yessir,
I..."
"STOP,"
barked Priceman. "You were the ranking officer, Miss Forrester. You
should've used that command authority and presence to stop this, rather than
having had to resort to acting like one of the Three Musketeers. Who was your
most recent commanding officer before being posted to this assignment?"
"Deputy
Captain Wildstar, sir. I..."
"Wildstar...has
a record, self-admitted, of getting himself involved in minor fracases aboard his
own ship. I take it the fruit doesn't fall far from the tree, so to speak,
Miss Forrester?" grinned Priceman with an evil
glare. "I regret being forced to take this action, but I'm also charging
you with dereliction of duty, for the reason of not having done enough to stop
the fight between Miss Burkhardt and Miss Lubyanska by more...pacific
means...before restoring to the use of your knees as offensive weapons. It's
only because you were trying to stop it that I'm not charging you with
fighting. Do you have a defense to proffer?"
"Only that
I was trying to do my duty, sir. In my judgment, Miss Lubyanska seemed to be
somewhat dangerous...and in dealing with disturbed persons as a counselor, I've
discovered that the first thing you should do with someone who's violent is stop
their violence firmly but gently. In my judgment...I thought I was doing the
best thing for both of them. If you don't respect that judgment, sir, I'll
accept whatever consequences you have in store for me," said Nova quietly,
bowing her head a little.
"In that
event, I find you guilty of dereliction of duty, by your own admission. Since
the others have not admitted to their offenses, I find the all of rest of you
guilty by the weight of the evidence presented before me," said Priceman
as he looked down the row of silent faces. "I sentence all of you to two
hours' worth of punitive extra duty in the form of physical training. Said
training, by virtue of the cooler weather, is to be conducted in the gym,
commencing at sixteen-hundred on the mark. Miss Forrester will act as ranking
officer and drillmaster while running through all maneuvers herself."
"She will
bring a report of the day's duty to me in this office at precisely eightteen hundred and fifteen hours by presenting a written
report in person along with her comrades. Is that understood?"
"Yessir,"
said everyone.
"Good.
Forrester, get to it. Your squad has...eight minutes to get to that gym, change
into gym clothes, and commence your punishment. Get going!"
"Yessir!"
said Nova as she saluted in unison with the others. Then, they about-faced, and
left the office as quickly as possible.
A few minutes
later, right on time, a few officers having a basketball game in the gym
noticed three females and two guys in just their skivvies (boxer shorts for the
males, bras and panties for the females) bursting out of the ladies' and men's
locker rooms. Without further ado, they began to jog around the track marked
around the outer part of the gym, stopping after four laps to begin some
stretching exercises in the middle of one of the basketball courts.
After doing
those preliminary exercises, Nova, oblivious to the stares of a few of the
others, began to lead her class in the usual Daily Dozen of push-ups, sit-ups,
squat-thrusts, and other such exercises.
The others
followed along, mostly refusing to look at each other as they performed their
exercises.
After close to
an hour's worth of such calisthenics, Nova had her charges stretch, stand back
up, and then (even though she was a little out of breath), she said,
"Okay, now, we've got to run a few kilos around the gym to carry on with
this punishment. I'll lead, and everyone else will follow. Ready?" huffed
Nova as she led the others onto the track. "Let's go!"
As Nova ran
around the track, she began to sing a song she had learned while she had been a
squad leader leading plebes in Beast Barracks in her RTC classes at The
University of Colorado. "I don't know but I've been told..."
she began to sing, as the others responded with the same line.
"...the
streets o' heaven are paved with gold..."
"...the
streets o' heaven are paved with gold!" sang back the others as they ran around,
oblivious to the surprised stares of Wildstar, Laurel Hartmann, Bryan
Hartcliffe, and Darryl Pulvan as they came into the gym carrying their flight
bags.
"What the
HELL is going on?" asked Wildstar as he noticed the weird procession at
the far end of the gym.
"They're
being punished, far as I heard, sir," said one of the guys playing
basketball as he caught his breath. "They are in their underwear, you
notice."
Another one
said, "I heard something about a fracas before in one of the other
buildings."
"...Aye...three
a' them are females..." said Hartcliffe.
"Stop
staring," snapped
"Why? They're
cute," he rejoined.
"Mister,
I'm going to have to be in gym shorts in about two minutes for punitive PT of
my own, and if you're going to ogle me like that, I don't want to be in the
same room with you!," shot back Laurel.
"Wow..."
said Pulvan.
"Stop
staring, all of you!" snapped Wildstar. "Would you like it if people
stared at you the same way while I led YOU through PT for screwing up your
maneuvers?"
"I
wouldn't mind if they were female, sir," said Hartcliffe. "And,
furthermore...I....wooooooooo!,"
he yelled.
"Look at
that! They're not just females. They're BABES! And one of them's
me Angie! AY! ANGELIQUE! Y' GOT a pair! Nice legs, too! And...an...aye Wildstar! Sir! GREAT TASTE, man! Your fiancée looks
great in her lingerie!"
"...no....no...it can't be," muttered Derek to himself as he noticed
Nova leading the group. "It can't be you!"
"She looks
good, sir," said Hartcliffe.
"You...just
SHUT up," whispered Wildstar fiercely through gritted teeth as he noticed
Nova glancing his way, and then, just as quickly,
glancing away.
Oh,
Derek...why'd you have to show up now to see us screwing up? she thought as she ran.
"Why the heck is Miss Forrester making them do that?" asked Pulvan,
oblivious to Wildstar's angry stare.
"I hear
they were ordered to do it," said another one of the guys.
“I hear they
really screwed up,” yelled another one.
“Screwups!”
yelled another pilot.
"Everyone...into
the locker rooms...NOW!" barked Wildstar to his charges. "And you
people, QUIT staring!" added Wildstar. "When I work you
people...you'll have no opportunity to stare!"
******
A while later,
Nova, as per her orders, double-timed her charges down a street to Priceman's office. They were all thanking God that the wind
wasn't blowing too hard against their sweaty bodies as they ran, finally
working as a team. Ignoring the stares of the new Admin officer as she
explained the reason for their appointment, Nova led the other officers right
back onto the carpet before Priceman. Then, she snapped to an attention that
was just as proud and rigid as it would've been if she had been fully dressed
in uniform, neat and clean, as opposed to being in sweaty PT clothes and dirty
sneakers.
"At ease,
everyone," said Priceman. "Your report?"
"Sir, this
report will detail everything we've done in the past two hours," said Nova
as she caught her breath. “We did a lot of calisthenics and then some..running.”
Priceman read
the sweat-stained flimsy and nodded. "Not bad," he said. "All right. All of you have completed your punishment.
Get back to the gym, get dressed, for God's sakes, and post back to your
quarters. I think you've had enough excitement for today, ladies and gentlemen.
Now you see the value of working together?"
"Yessir,"
all of them snapped.
"Great,"
said Priceman. "That'll be all. Dismissed."
******
"Well?"
asked Nova as they walked back towards the gym in the dark at a normal pace.
"Bozhe moi, I'm
tired," said Tatiana. "How'd you ever learn to run at that kind of
pace, ma'am?"
"You pick
up all sorts of things in the Star Force," sighed
Nova. "Although I must admit I never had all that many guys staring at me
like that at once…like that. God, it's freezing out here!" She
stopped for a moment to cross her arms over herself. She was trying to walk in
the grass, brown as it was and cold as it was, since it was a little easier on
her un-sneakered feet. She had taken off her shoes because her feet hurt so
much.
"Leave me
alone," said Angie softly.
"What's
wrong?" said Tatiana. "Surely you're not still angry?"
"No...I'm
not," said Angie listlessly. "It's just...well....it's nothing. Nothing about you, anyway. I'm just...alone...and
cold."
"We're not
that far from the gym," said Nova. "But, I know what you mean...all
my muscles are cramping up in this cold. When we get in, everyone can get a
nice, warm shower before we get dressed and go home. C'mon, Angie. It was
pretty humiliating, but he could've done much worse to all of us."
"Nova...mind
if I catch up in a minute?" asked Angie. "I...see a fountain over
there. I just want a drink."
"Okay,"
said Nova. "Meet us in the gym."
Nova led
everyone to the gym while Angie walked along slowly, kicking at pebbles. She
walked up to the outdoor pedestal fountain and took a drink, sobbing as she
stood there all alone in the cold. Then, hoping that the others were in the
gym, she took off, running her heart out as she just ran towards an empty
hangar that was illuminated by only a few dim lights.
******
Inside the
hangar, which had a modicum of warmth, Angie just sat down on the cold floor,
curled up in a fetal position, and began to weep. She wept for quite a while,
sitting there like that in just her underwear. She had irrationally stripped in
the hangar because her PT clothes stank.
"WHY?
WHY?" she whispered in the echoing, empty darkness. "Why
the hell were you just pointing at me like a piece of meat, Bryan Hartcliffe,
you dirtball? WHY?" she sobbed.
Angie said
nothing else as she continued to cry on and on. Finally, she heard a soft, but
firm voice echoing across the hangar a few minutes later. "Angie?"
called the female voice. "Burkhardt? Are you IN
here?"
Nova, you lucky stiff, thought Angie with angry, clenched fists. You're so lucky.
You're back in your own warm clothes again…and…At least HE had the good grace
to make them stop LOOKING at YOU and defended you! Your fiancée loves you! I
don't know if
"Angie?"
called out Nova in the near-darkness as the wind blew around her, making her
feel cold even in her fresh, clean uniform, flight jacket, and boots. Poor
Angie! She must be freezing in those wet and sweaty PT shorts and t-shirt, thought
Nova. "Burkhardt? Come OUT!"
"No...I
don't want to face you now...not now..." said Angie, as she got up and
tiptoed barefoot across the cement floor to another doorway. "So, I'll
just slip off to..."
Angie got out
and ran across the grass to another hangar. A loud din was coming from either
that hangar or another one not far away, but she was just oblivious as she ran
on, looking for a place to run, a place to hide.
Angie ran to
the side door of the next hangar, ignoring the sting of the gravelly walk
against the soles of her feet as she opened the door and ran in....
....to something that looked like pandemonium.
IV. HOUSE OF
THE RISING SUN
Earth
Federal
Megalopolis
Idlewild
Space Naval Air Station
Thursday,
December 10, 2201
1906
Hours-Spacetime
This hangar,
like the one that Angelique Burkhardt had just left, was almost empty, save for
the hulks of two Type 100's and two Cosmo Tigers in the process of being
refitted for some purpose or another. As such, they had been "hangar
queens" for quite some time, although Angie was mystified as to why one of
the Tigers seemed to be painted glossy black under an elaborate mask of some
type that was evidently being taped to the Astrofighter's
fuselage during the day by flight crews.
What really
surprised Angie was the source of the noise in the hangar.
Off at the other end, down near another set of doors, someone had pulled in a
portable PT stage and a pair of flashing strobe lights cannibalized off another
hangar queen somewhere.
On the stage,
performing under the strobe lights, was a rock band
that obviously didn't belong there.
The band
consisted of a three guitarists and a drummer, who sat behind a battered
blue-flecked drum set with a painted bass-drum skin that proclaimed that the
name of the band was
_____________ THE SCARABS ____________
with the name being written
in strange-looking "psychedelic" lettering similar to that used in
the 1960's.
The drummer was
a fat bearded fellow that Angie didn't recognize. Neither did she recognize the
electric bass player, who was a very tall, thin man with a mustache whose hair
looked blonde in the dim, flashing light. And, furthermore, Angie didn't
recognize the bearded man with black shades who compulsively plucked the
strings of a very-expensive looking electric guitar as he wailed harmony into a
microphone.
She did,
however, recognize the tall man with sandy blonde hair, thick mustache, and
distinctive little round John Lennon-style glasses who was either singing,
belching or screaming (she wasn't sure which) a rather twisted set of lyrics.
Angie guessed he was trying to sing the old twentieth-century blues piece
"House of the Rising Sun" as he strummed convulsively at a
black and white Rickenbacker 320 electric guitar.
Given her mood,
her introduction was not gentle. Angie simply ran up to a startled Bryan
Hartcliffe and slapped him across the face.
"Hey, why
the heck did y' ave to come 'ere and do THAT, Angie?,"
he snapped in protest as the band clanged to a halt.
"Why did
you have to point me out to everyone as a nice piece of MEAT while I was
running around almost half-naked in my skivvies as a punishment today,
"Well...why
the 'ell haven't ye put your clothes back on, ya dumb bird?" shot back
"I took
those sweaty things off because I was too upset, and because maybe I thought
your friends would like a better look since you were all ogling me in that
gym!" she sobbed. "Here,
Hartcliffe took
off his guitar and yelled, "Angie, STOP that! Mick! Gimme me jacket!"
"Uhh...sure..,"
said the drummer, who tossed Hartcliffe his flight jacket as the others stood
goggle-eyed. Hartcliffe set down his guitar with a loud wail of feedback and
forcefully, but gently, wrapped Angie up in his jacket, leaving him in his
blues.
"What are
you doing that for?" she asked.
"You'll
freeze your tail off running' round like that! Case y' haven't noticed, you can
like, see your breath in 'ere! And put your bloody shoes back on! Your feet'll freeze off!"
"Okay...you've
covered me up," sobbed Angie. "I don't have any shoes to put on,
"Where are
they?"
"I threw
them outside,
"Okay. Who
made you run around like that like an idiot? That stupid bird
Nova?"
"No, it
was Priceman, the base commander."
"WHO?"
said Hartcliffe dangerously.
"Commander
Priceman. He punished Tatiana and I for fighting, and
he punished Mendelmann, Wainwright, and Forrester for all letting us fight.
None of us liked being punished, but it’s par for the
course, I guess. But Nova’s fiancée couldn’t ogle her while we were running,
and, as I saw, he made you people go into the showers and then not look at us
because he couldn't bear seeing her humiliated like that, either! The man, you
note, is very chivalrous! I was wishing you would've done the same thing!"
"I made a
joke, but you know, deep down, I was burnin'
inside."
"Why?"
shot back Angie.
"Because,
I DO care about you, ya bleedin' bird! Haven't you
noticed...I've been tryin' to hang around with you a lot lately?"
"So, what
does that mean?"
"It means I care for you, Angie. I do. Honest, luv," said Hartcliffe as a little of his brogue faded away for a moment. "You guys, get outta 'ere!," he barked at the rest of the Scarabs. "We're reschedu