COPYRIGHT NOTICE: The characters and situations of the TV program "SPACE: Above and Beyond" are the creations of Glen Morgan and James Wong, Fox Broadcasting, and Hard Eight Productions, and have been used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended.
The character of Jim Avery and all other characters not belonging to Glen Morgan and James Wong, Fox Broadcasting and Hard Eight Productions, are my creations and property. Permission is hereby granted to use them in fan fiction, providing that the author acknowledge my rights to them.



Part Two

They finally got their launch clearance, and a few minutes later they were underway. McQueen checked out the ECM. They were headed away from the front lines but that was no guarantee they wouldn't run into a chig patrol. In a little craft like this one, your tactics were pretty simple. There were cannons fore and aft, but you didn't want to hang around long enough to use them. You wanted to make good use of the launch's superior velocity and outrun trouble. If the ECM was working right, you could get out of a hot spot before the enemy knew you were there. Vansen remembered her father talking about blockade runners using craft like this to supply the black market during the AI war, and this generation of launch was still the vehicle of choice for getting from one place to another quietly.

In the war zone, there were four kinds of traffic -- large convoys consisting of the supercarriers and their smaller attendant craft, supply convoys which were heavily armed and well defended by patrol craft and fighter squadrons, free-roaming squadrons of fighters out looking for enemy convoys or fighters, and small, stealthy craft like this one whose objective was to avoid the enemy's version of all of the above. Behind the lines were command craft, and convoys belonging to the multinationals.

It wasn't unheard of for rival multinational forces to settle things with blasters, and some of the factory ships were built on the same hulls as supercarriers. Vansen had seen a few corporate convoys. She wouldn't have been surprised if those so-called factory ships held squadrons of their own in among the ore barges and grain haulers. That was when she had started to understand the political situation between the civil government and the corporate sector. And why the multinats were able to have so much influence over the way the war was fought. They were de facto governments unto themselves, complete with paramilitary forces of their own.

Sometimes Vansen had the unpleasant premonition that the next war would be a civil one, when the multinationals went public and tried to add to the power they already held in secrecy. She hoped to God she was wrong about that. Fighting aliens whose obvious goal was genocide of the human race was one thing. Fighting the AI's whose long list of atrocities began for her with the murder of her parents was one thing. Fighting fellow humans was something else again.

There hadn't been a real war of human against human in decades. There were sometimes small localized squabbles when passions ran too high over religion or something, but they were usually quickly settled and non-combatants were left strictly alone. Anything that got out of hand would bring about a UN police action. Local warlords knew going out of bounds would get them arrested. It wasn't the dark ages of the late 19th and 20th centuries, when some strongman could kill millions of people because they were the wrong color or held different political views.

At least, that was the way Vansen had always seen her world. If West's suspicions were correct, the multinationals were responsible for bringing the war down on them. If they had known about the chigs, and Vansen had seen enough circumstantial evidence to accept the possibility that they had, they had sent in the Vesta and Tellus colonists anyway without informing them, the government or anyone else of the danger. Her main reservation about the conspiracy theory was that she couldn't see what the multinats could gain from such a course of action, and where the corp sector was concerned, profit was always the motive. But she knew now how casually the multinats regarded life. And there were questions about survivors of the massacres that hadn't been answered to her satisfaction -- certainly not to Nathan's. His crazy solo attempt to rescue Kylen had failed to locate her, but he had learned that she had survived and probably been taken prisoner, and he had succeeded in rescuing another survivor of the colony. Vansen had never seen anything about that part of it on the news and she wondered what had become of the woman whose life West had saved. Also, West's actions had been grounds for a court martial, they had all expected him to land in prison for the rest of his life over it. Instead, the whole incident had been officially declared non-existent. Nothing had happened to West, but they weren't allowed to talk about it. Officially, they weren't even supposed to discuss it among themselves.

Oh, the multinationals were careful in the home system. Public outrage went a long way towards keeping them honest. If someone got greedy and did something morally repulsive where the news media could get hold of it, then some executive who thought he was above the law would find out otherwise real quick. There were scandals like that every now and then, involving the highest levels of corporate management.

But out in the colonies, the level of corporate arrogance rose in direct proportion to the reduced observation. If there was no one to put a picture of conditions in the colonies on the evening news, the companies could very well be getting away with murder. That the colonists involved were often in vitroes exacerbated the situation, given the reality that prejudice against "tanks" was unfortunately common, and that most people had never actually met one. Now that Vansen knew McQueen and Hawkes, she saw corporate colonies worked by in vitroes in a different and much more suspicious light.

She knew McQueen had worked five years in a uranium mine to gain his freedom from the multinational that had arranged for his birth. The aftermath of the AI war had led to some reforms. In vitroes were no longer legally indentured to the corporations, they no longer had to actually buy their freedom. They had the same human rights as anybody else -- but no relatives back on Earth to squawk to the media if those rights were violated. McQueen never spoke about those five years. Never. Once the topic had come up in Vansen's presence, and she would never forget the look that had come into McQueen's blue eyes for just a moment before his guard had come back up. She wasn't sure exactly who or for what specific cause, but in that moment she had become quite sure that somewhere in the galaxy were some people she could very cheerfully kill with her bare hands.

And, more recently, an attempt had been made to hang Cooper Hawkes. He was convinced -- but could not prove -- it had been because somebody didn't like his ideas -- because they considered him disloyal to the company. If the hanging had succeeded, it would have looked like he had been lynched by tank-bashers. Vansen now harbored the cynical suspicion that some appropriate tank-bashers might well have been arrested and executed for the crime. That was something that wouldn't have crossed her mind before. As it was, Coop had survived by turning out to be unexpectedly meaner and tougher than his assailants. When he had got in some trouble with the cops shortly thereafter, the company had sent a lawyer who had pled with the judge to give the angry young man a second chance in the Marine Corps instead of sending him to jail. Vansen couldn't fault that, on the face of it. But the war had broken out right after that and here was Coop on the front lines. If the multinats had known a fight was coming, then steering people you wanted to get rid of to the front lines seemed to Vansen like a good way to thin their numbers with no one the wiser.

Vansen had no hard evidence yet to support the suspicions she was forming. But the pieces were coming together and she didn't like the picture they were making. She was also starting to think that foolhardy attempts to get that evidence could very well cause you to have an accident. That was one reason she hadn't voiced her ideas to the rest of the squadron. Coop or Nathan might just do something stupid, God knew they'd had the provocation.

McQueen commented, "You're quiet today."

"Oh--I was just thinking about things. Did you ever hear anything about that spy they caught on the ship?"

"Yeah, I asked the Commodore about him. There isn't much to tell, Hawkes broke his neck when he tried to murder Damphousse. She caught him breaking into my quarters. When the body was examined they discovered he had soil from Marged on his boots. That was what got us rescued."

Vansen scowled and turned in her seat to look at him. "I wonder why in the hell he'd break into your quarters to steal something you put in there _before_ we went to Marged?"

"I don't know what he wanted, Shane, as far as I know there really isn't anything in there worth breaking in to steal. I hope I've got more sense than leave anything classified lying around in my quarters. And as for run of the mill theft--I had my money and my watch on me, and I don't have anything else that's really valuable, other than for sentimental reasons. It doesn't make sense."

"Wait a minute, don't you have a pocket computer instead of a terminal?"

"Yes, but no one's going to break in to steal my bank statement or whatever book I happen to have downloaded this week. As a matter of fact, I usually have it in my pocket." He produced the computer. "It was only in my quarters last week because I forgot it."

"Which the AI's would have realized when it wasn't on you or on board the transport," Vansen pointed out.

"That's right."

"If that was what he was after. Maybe he was going to plant something, not steal."

"I don't know what it would be, they didn't find anything of interest on him. I suppose he could have been going to bug the room, and they just didn't find the bug when they searched him," McQueen theorized.

"Well, it's a damn shame Hawkes had to kill him -- I'd have liked to have had a little talk with him."

"Unless you believe in seances I doubt we'll ever find out what he was up to."

"Did the AI's say anything...question you about anything besides the formula?"

"Sure, they wanted command codes, names of high-ranking officers, really anything they could get. But nothing that ties in with the contents of my quarters." He scowled. "Was the formula all they asked you about?"

"Yeah," she said. "It was just that -- over and over again -- you know, just this one little thing and we'll stop." She swallowed hard. "Pretty goddamn effective, too."

"No it wasn't, you didn't give them jack," he grinned. Then he turned serious. "Shane, you stop getting sick when you think about it after a while."

"Promise?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, then. Uhh -- just how much trouble are we in?"

McQueen said, "We're not in any trouble. As far as the Corps is concerned, nothing happened. Nobody's going to ask."

"So, what, did nothing really happen?"

"No. Not for me, anyhow. You promised me a memory for the rest of my life, and I mean to hold you to that. You saved my life."

"That goes both ways. I wouldn't have been able to hold on much longer, but I lived long enough for help to get there because of what we did. But...is that all there is to it? Where do we go from here? What really happens when something like this comes up?"

"Want the truth? Nothing, usually. When I was with the Angels the honcho and Collins were having an affair for years. As far as I know it was still going on up until they were killed. They were discreet about it, but it was an open secret. I can't believe Commodore Ross wouldn't have known about it. It never -- once -- interfered with their duty, and it didn't make a problem with the rest of the squadron. Under those circumstances, nobody says anything. That's really the only way you can deal with having normal healthy people thrown in together for months or years at a time, people are going to do what they're going to do and if you court-martialed everyone who did it, there wouldn't be anyone left in the service."

Vansen laughed. "I guess so." She pulled thoughtfully on her ID tag chain. "I just -- I didn't think I'd still be here to worry about it. I don't know what I want. Commitment scares me. My parents were so perfect together, to me that's what a relationship is supposed to be. I never want anything else. But maybe losing what might be the best thing I'll ever have in my life scares me too. Maybe we could be that perfect together."

"I was married before. It didn't work. Basically, she wanted kids and I couldn't give her any."

Vansen blurted out, "She must've been a brass-plated four door fool! I wouldn't have let a man like you get away when I could have adopted or gone to a fertility clinic or something!" Then she flushed red. "I'm sorry. I didn't have any right to say that."

"She wasn't a fool...or maybe we both were. I guess it was more than just children. That was only part of the life I couldn't give her. We were too young, we weren't ready for the responsibilities. And she ... I don't think she realized what the prejudice was going to be like, day after day. How many times can you hear tank-lover without some kind of a reaction?"

"Well...look...I get that anyhow. I mean, if some asshole wants to start a bar fight with me, that's the first wisecrack they always make. It's about Hawkes as often as it is about you. I used to just grin and tell `em I could always tell a real man, and they weren't it and you guys were. I doubt I could use that line with a straight face now that it's true, but---! It always worked, they'd take the first swing in front of God and everyone. I don't take that kind of bullshit seriously, it's their problem not mine."

He smiled. "I can't imagine Leah in a bar fight."

"Now that we've been together, I keep thinking it should change the way I feel about you. That I should be `in love' whatever that means. But I cared about you before and I still do. The same way. You're still my CO. And I still have a lot to learn. You would have got through what happened on your own. I wouldn't have."

"You're more sure of that than I am. I don't know that I would have made it without that night. And I don't know that you wouldn't have.

But I know what you're getting at. I don't think I could honestly say it changed the way I feel about you, either."

"I don't think I could sneak around. I mean, don't get me wrong, discretion is a good word for most people, but for ME it would be sneaking around. If we're together, I want the whole ship to know it. I'm the jealous type."

"I figured you would be. You'd probably want a big formal wedding."

"Sure I would. Back on Earth so my sisters could be bridesmaids."

"That would mean one of us would have to leave the 58th."

"That means I would have to leave the 58th. Me captain, you colonel. Besides, you're right where the Commodore wants you, he isn't going to let you transfer anywhere. Would I get to stay aboard the Saratoga?"

"Most likely, they'd just move you to another squadron. We could get assigned to different ships, but they try not to separate committed couples. It causes more trouble than it's worth, it's easier just to staple their records together. Otherwise what you've got are two people spending every waking moment trying to figure out how to get a leave together instead of thinking about their jobs."

She nodded. "It doesn't seem fair to the rest of the Cards. I just can't help thinking we'd be putting our needs ahead of the squadron's."

"You really aren't being fair to yourself about that, Shane. It's more likely they'd just be happy for us. This is about us, not anyone else."

Slowly she said, "We could have a good life together. You'd make me a good husband, and I'd make a good wife for you."

"How do you mean that?"

"Well, for one thing, when you get just one more promotion, you're going to be a command officer. There's a lot of politics connected with that, especially where officer's wives are concerned. I could do that. And as far as I'm concerned -- if you made a commitment to me I know I would always be able to depend on you. I'd be really lucky to have a husband like you. If we decided we wanted to raise some kids, we'd be good parents together. There's no reason why we couldn't have a really wonderful life together. I can see us forty years down the road, a couple of retired generals --"

"I don't doubt it a bit," he said, looking at her. "I believe you. If I married you, you'd make a home for me that would be ... everything I ever wanted out of life and thought I couldn't have."

"But. It would mean changing everything. We'd change. Right now our careers are our whole lives and that's how we fit together. What would we be like in five years if we become a married couple with a mortgage and maybe even adopted a baby or two? Would we lose track of what makes us work right now with all of that going on in our lives?" She shook her head. "I've been doing all the talking and I'm only half of this. What do you think we ought to do?"

He thought about it, looking out the viewport for a moment before turning back to her. "You said you don't know what you want. For once in my life, I don't either. This is all happening so fast we don't have time to understand it. We're taking this on the assumption that we have to decide whether or not to make a commitment to one another. As if it were something new. But I thought we already had a commitment. We already have a friendship that's going to last the rest of our lives. Shane, don't mistake me. I'm glad the other night happened even if I did have to go through hell to get it, and I'd do it again. But if it never happens again, that's okay too. Some things just stand on their own, they don't need anything else to make them perfect."

"That's how I feel. That's exactly how I feel."

"I think what we need to do is just slow down. We went through an experience that changed us both, but neither of us is sure yet just how. You haven't even started to deal with being a POW, and you'll have to deal with it. We don't know yet what you'll have to do. In six months you might find out you need to transfer off the _Saratoga_ to face some things alone, and I want it to be okay for you to feel that way if that's what it takes. I swear to you, I will always be here for you when you need me."

Shane reached across the console to take his hands. "I'll always be here too. I'd never run out on you, you know that, don't you?"

"I know. And I think that's all the commitment we need for now."

"I -- I can't forget there's a war on. I made my first commitment to the 58th. They're counting on me being there. Nathan doesn't want my job, but he'd have to take it if I transferred out."

"I know, Shane. I think we both know that's the way it has to be."

She nodded, and felt tears in her eyes. "I feel like Cinderella...like I just told the fairy godmother `no'. What if we never get another chance?"

"We make our own chances. We aren't closing any doors. We aren't saying `never'. We're saying `not now'. Maybe we're saying `after the war.' In the meanwhile, we can be everything but lovers, right?"

"Right," she nodded. "If one of us decided to date someone else, we'd talk about it then, right?"

"That's fair." But after a few moments, McQueen added, "I haven't got any immediate plans to go out with anyone else."

She smiled. "Me either. Are you hungry yet?"

"I could eat," he allowed.

"Take her for a while and I'll see what I can find."

She was pleased to discover that the launch had a full, if small, galley in the back. She liked to cook, hadn't had the chance since she had cooked for her sisters. She checked supplies and found a fully stocked preservation unit. "Jackpot," she grinned. She decided it could only be a good thing if McQueen knew that cooking was just one of her many talents!

She found some chopped steaks -- they were real meat, not soy -- and a pouch of tomatoes. From that she made Swiss steaks, one of her best recipes, and fixed mashed potatoes and gravy to go with it. She came across some self-rising flour and made biscuits. She would have preferred to fix a salad from scratch, but that wasn't practical. There were prepared salads in the preserver, she had to be satisfied with adding some cheese and boiling an egg to chop up in it, and she found the ingredients to prepare a nice vinaigrette dressing. Dessert was real ice cream. She thought about wine, but decided that while McQueen might be familiar enough with the Commodore to borrow from his liquor stock, she wasn't.

It didn't take long for the whole launch to start smelling pretty much like heaven, McQueen put the ship on autopilot and joined her as soon as he heard her start setting out dinner. As they shared their meal, Shane thought about what they were putting off -- maybe giving up entirely. She felt a moment of panic and wanted to change her mind and set a date. But all their reasons for waiting still made sense. So she made herself cheer up and be good company.

As she finished clearing off, the beginnings of a headache reminded her that she wasn't off sick list yet. McQueen told her to get some sleep, he went back up to the cockpit to check things. The autopilot was dependable getting from point A to point B, and the ship's computer was monitoring the sensors. But still it was prudent to keep a close eye on the automatics.

Shane let the banquette table down to make a bunk, she found the mattress under one seat and bedclothes under the other. She wasn't sure if there was another berth, so she made herself at home over against the bulkhead. It wasn't a featherbed, but it was a hell of a lot more comfortable than her bunk aboard the _Saratoga_! She reached overhead to touch a panel and dim the lights, and lay there for a long time just watching the starfield through the viewport. She wasn't sure when she went to sleep.

The next thing she knew, she was back on Marged. Except this time when the AI bent over her, her hands were loose. All hell broke loose as she came up fighting, punching and kicking like a wild animal. Someone grabbed at her wrist, she threw a hard punch that was hampered only by the fact she was lying down. Then she heard her name and things started making sense.

McQueen let her go when he realized she knew where she was at. He was rubbing his arm, she apologized. "God! I thought I had nightmares but that was too damn real! I'm sorry--!"

"It was my fault, I should have known you'd come up fighting if I woke you! Are you okay now?"

"I think so."

"You can really throw a punch for a short person, you know that?"

Shane lay back, still reeling from the nightmare. "You're lucky I didn't connect with a kick," she muttered. "I really am sorry."

"Shane, there's nothing to apologize for. I kicked Ross's rack down on top of mine one night, then I knocked him clear across the room before I woke up enough to know what was going on. He had a black eye you wouldn't believe. After that the rest of the Angels wouldn't get near me when I had a nightmare, they'd just stand back and throw things." He grinned, for just a moment it was ten years ago. He and Ross were the only ones left who'd been with the Angry Angels then.

"What time is it?"

"About 0100, we're about halfway out."

"Oh! I didn't mean to sleep so long."

"You needed your rest. I lost track of time myself, I've been sitting up there reading."

"I'll take it while you get some rest, if you like."

"I'm not throwing you out of bed," he said.

"There's room," she invited. At his momentary hesitation, she smiled. "I trust you."

He didn't take much convincing, a couple of seats forward made another bunk but it was short and narrow for a man his size. Neither of them much wanted to admit they didn't want to be alone.

Vansen thought she would never get back to sleep again after a nightmare like that one, but her body demanded the rest. She was vaguely aware of McQueen getting up a few times to check on the automatics, but he was too tired himself to prowl around too much. Vansen was thoroughly convinced by now that sick list was a pain in the ass, but there was no way she would have signed off on either one of them being fit for duty.




She woke up about 0800 and pushed herself out of bed, she must have really put up a fight the night before because every muscle ached. She grabbed her kit, limped over to the head, and took a catbath at the sink, wishing fervently that she had been allowed to get in the shower. She ran the dryer over her freshly cut hair and fluffed it out a little with her comb, got dressed quickly, and joined McQueen up front.

"We're about an hour out, but we're meeting some traffic," he told her. "Have you ever seen anything like this?"

She checked out the display he indicated, they shared the sky with something she could only describe as a gypsy caravan. Led by a converted surplus cargo barge, a flotilla of about two dozen little ships had banded together into a convoy. They were escorted by four Hammerheads. "Jeez, are those really 38's? I didn't know we really still had any of them in service!"

"We don't, those are surplus. Someone must have picked them up and gone into business guarding merchant convoys."

"I've never heard of anything like that before. The rumors about increased pirate activity must be true." She scrolled through call signs. "Here they are, Transcolonial Security. And it doesn't look like any of those little cargo haulers belong to the same outfit, except for those two ore boats."

"There always was a problem with pirates, but before the war we were pretty much able to keep them under control. Probably one mission out of five that we flew during peacetime was pirate suppression. Now all the manpower's at the front, it doesn't surprise me the independents have had to resort to tactics like this. The pirates don't bother the multinats too much unless they're sure they can be long gone before company security shows up. Even the big boys might be having a problem with their more isolated outposts now, though, a lot of corporate pilots enlisted when the war started so they're fairly understaffed."

"I always thought the huge companies like Aerotech controlled private spaceflight."

"Only new commercial colonization, it costs too much to set up a profitable colony for anyone else to deal themselves in. But once a trade route has been established, it creates a market for services the smaller companies can get into," he replied. "I worked for a merchantman for a few months. Didn't get along with the skipper too well, she wasn't what you could call sorry to see me go when I enlisted." He grinned. "She thought I hot-dogged the cargo shuttle. Looking back on it now, well, she just might have had a point."

Vansen didn't say anything, just grinned. A few traffic cops had made the same observation about her on occasion.

Radio skipchatter increased as they approached their destination, in orbit of Ganelon III. The hospital ship Nightingale was under the protection of the flagship of the Earth fleet, the John Fitzgerald Kennedy. There were two other supercarriers there. The Robert E. Lee was in for repairs of damage taken during the battle of Ixion, the Lee was surrounded by a swarm of repair craft. Nearby was the British ship HMS Princess Beatrice. The three capital ships each had an attendant fleet of fighters and patrol craft.

The mulitnats were represented as well. McQueen pointed out the Aerotech headquarters ship JP Morgan. Vansen guessed there were at least fifty small traders around the edges of the flotilla, craft much like the convoy they had followed in.

McQueen radioed the Nightingale for permission to come aboard. They had only a short wait for a docking bay, and as soon as the bay pressurized a crew of mechanics appeared to get the launch out of the bay in case it should be needed to take aboard a medical emergency. They asked directions from a security officer, who directed them to admissions.

About twenty other people were in the admissions area, so they waited a while before Vansen's name was called. She stepped up to the desk. "Captain Vansen. I've been ordered to report to Dr. Sebastian."

The nurse directed her down a corridor. McQueen started to go with her, but an MP politely directed him to a waiting area "where he could have a cup of coffee." Apparently visitors weren't allowed beyond the admissions area. He shrugged, and took Vansen's duffel bag off her hands. She followed the desk nurse's directions to Dr. Sebastian's office.

When she got there, she realized why you weren't supposed to bring a parade back here, the doctors all had their own private offices but there was room only for the patient. Dr. Jack Sebastian was a young man, just a few years her senior, but his office wall was covered with diplomas. He had a friendly grin and a firm handshake. Like many of the physicians here, he was a civilian who had volunteered his special skills to aid the wounded. The picture in the central spot on the wall showed him standing in front of the huge main building at Johns Hopkins University Medical Center with a woman and two little boys.

"My wife and kids," he explained. "What brings you here?"

"Chemical burns," she said shortly. She surrendered the data chip containing her medical records which her doctor aboard the _Saratoga_ had sent with her. "It's--ah--all in here," she explained by way of apology for her clipped response.

He slotted the chip and looked over the first couple of screens, as he read his expression changed from interest to anger to compassion. He stood up and came around to make a preliminary examination. "Let's see what we're up against here, Captain. Turn your head a little to the left."

He didn't disturb the gelskin, didn't need to. "Yeah, looks like the grafts are coming along just fine. Who actually did this, Belson?"

"Yeah."

"Good man. The only reason this shows at all is that little dip in the skin surface parallel to your cheekbone. What it looks like we'll need to do is build up under the graft to even up the skin surface, and maybe a little laser work to remove this discoloration here. That may not be necessary, we'll let the gelskin work for another day or two and see what happens. I want you to have a few scans done, and I'll review your charts. It's hard for you to talk about this, isn't it?"

"A little."

"I won't ask you any more dumb questions than I have to. The orderly will take you to have your scans made, and then I'll see you again tomorrow." Vansen stood and shook hands with the doctor, and met the orderly in the corridor. Having the scans made was becoming a matter of routine, once she finished that she went up front to get an appointment for first thing the next morning.

Vansen met McQueen back in the waiting room, he stood up as she came in. "What did they say?"

"They did some more tests, and I have to come back in the morning. It sounds like I'll have to be here at least two more days."

"I got us cabins up in the B.O.Q. Let's get settled in, by then it'll be time for lunch."

"Right." She took her belongings back and once again they had to ask directions, this time of the MP outside.

The Bachelor Officer's Quarters was pretty much what Vansen had expected, small but comfortably appointed cabins. They were next door to one another. Vansen put her gear away and ran a comb through her hair. She'd had it cut very short to get rid of several acid-burned patches, she didn't really care for having it that short but it would grow quickly. She decided not to worry about her looks, the one place a big patch of gelskin on her cheek wouldn't attract that much attention was a hospital ship.

They found a sign directing them to the officers' mess, and waited for a lift going down two decks.

Vansen was resigned to either a military mess hall or a hospital cafeteria, but she was happy to find that the officers' mess was neither. The doctors, both Navy and civilian, ate here, she suspected that had a great deal to do with the superiority of the arrangements here. She could have eaten a great deal more than she should have, decided on soup and a salad. The soup turned out to be French onion, rich with melted cheese and big chunks of bread.

McQueen had ordered a steak sandwich, but she realized he was doing a lot more looking out the window than eating it. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I was just thinking about something. I was still trying to figure out what the hell that guy wanted in my quarters back aboard the Saratoga. You know, I spent a good hour going through my stuff trying to figure out what they could have been interested in and there's just nothing."

"Maybe he was after something he only thought you had in there," Vansen speculated.

"Maybe. I guess we'll never know. I just have the feeling it ties in with what the AI's wanted back on Marged. The chigs wanted the formula, which makes perfect sense. But I think the AI's had their own agenda."

"Something they wanted from you, that didn't involve me," Vansen said, scowling. "What one of them knows, they all know--they had to have identified you from when you were their prisoner before."

"Oh, yeah," McQueen confirmed.

"What were they after then?" Vansen's mouth was dry, and her hand trembled as she reached for her water glass. That didn't escape McQueen's notice.

"They wanted the location of a science station where AI's were designed and built, before the revolt. But it couldn't have anything to do with that, the station was destroyed at the time. Shane, the only direct connection I can make from then to now is they wanted some computer recognition codes. Most of them were current. But one of them was an old-style code, one we don't use any more, and I think they may have asked me about the same one before. I don't know any more about it than I did then. Are you sure you don't remember them asking you about codes, Shane? Because you'd have been as likely to have had access to some of that stuff as I was."

Her hand jerked and cold water spilled over her fingers. She deliberately set the glass down and reached for her napkin, took two deep breaths. Answering that question took every bit as much courage as keeping her silence to the AI's. She didn't want to think about anything connected with it. "No, they didn't say a word about anything other than the formula. Maybe...that old code was all they wanted...the rest of it was just a smoke screen so you wouldn't realize how important it was?"

"That would make sense," he replied.

"I can't believe this. I've been all through what happened with the shrinks."

McQueen shook his head. "No, that was too soon, Shane. You were still in shock. And if you were anything like me, you were more concerned with telling them what they wanted to hear so you wouldn't get sent home. I know they were no damn help the first time I was captured."

"What does help?"

"Other survivors. There was a support group, the doctor was this old guy named Hsieng who'd been a political prisoner during the Chinese Revolutionary War. Remember that from history class, back in 2014?"

"Sort of. It was the last war where humans fought humans."

"That's right. The communists shot Hsieng's whole family and put him in what they called a reeducation camp. It was really a POW camp, of course, the communists thought he knew more than he did about the rebels. That was all that saved his life, they kept thinking he was holding out on them right up until the UN forces liberated the camp. He emigrated to North America and became a psychologist, saw similarities between his experiences in the camp and the symptoms displayed by survivors of domestic violence.

There was a woman in the group who'd been beaten for years first by her father and then by a long parade of boyfriends. The last one doused her with gasoline and set her on fire. Shane, she felt like she was at fault somehow, that she deserved it! And then there were two other Marines besides myself who'd escaped from the AI's. We could talk to each other because we were all speaking the same language, if you know what I mean.

I didn't get over it right away, nobody did. But just knowing there were other people we could talk to who would understand got us through a lot. In one of those groups, you know you're back to normal when you stop calling your sponsor and the new people are calling you."

"How long does that take?"

"It took me about a year. Bill and I didn't have to go off duty or anything, we just went to sessions twice a week as long as we needed to. It took Sally two months, her real problem was that no one ever taught her to stand up on her own two feet. So I taught her how to fight. Some punk tried to assault her outside Dr. Hsieng's office after a session one evening. By the time the rest of us could run over to where her car was parked, he was on the ground begging for the cops to arrest him. After that, she came to sessions a few more times but she was ready to get on with her life. But Vic -- he finally went away to a VA residence for a couple of years before he got things back to normal. It's different for everybody, there isn't any set time."

"A year."

"You were a prisoner before, though, and you got through that."

"Right," she said thoughtfully. "What about now? I mean, you keep talking about getting over that. But this time -- Jesus Christ, I don't see how anything could have been worse!"

"I believed I was going to die that time. It never crossed my mind I'd get out. But then this AI got cocky and thought I was harmless, he found out otherwise real fast and I used his keys to let out a bunch of other people. This time in the back of my mind I always knew if I could just keep breathing long enough they'd find us and get us out."

Shane drank some more of her water. "I was afraid to let myself believe it. As usual, you were right."

He shook his head. "However you survive is right. Don't ever let yourself forget that, Shane. When you start second guessing yourself and wondering what you could have done differently, just remember that what you did worked. We're both alive, so we made the right decisions."

"Yeah."

"Another thing is, back then, I really had no idea what you could go through and stay alive. I didn't believe I could be broken -- that I could let myself and the rest of the Angels down."

"But everyone will break, eventually!"

"Shane, they told you that back in boot camp. But back then I'd been told my duty was to give them name, rank and serial number. I think the people who indoctrinated us really thought they'd done a good enough job genetically engineering my generation of in vitroes that we actually could do that. It wasn't true, of course. We're stronger, we have faster reflexes, but we're still human where it really counts. For all the strengths and weaknesses that gives us. I had to learn the hard way that everyone has limits and that includes me."

If they hadn't been in public, Vansen would have reached out to him. But that was one of the new rules. A rule she realized she was going to grow to hate. Slowly, she said, "I think part of that is a male thing. Paul went through that too, and he had the same preparation I did. But I can't believe they're allowed to cut you loose with so little survival training for the real world. Coop didn't know what Christmas was about. Or how to ask a girl out on a date. Or those damn preapproved credit cards, for all anyone told him the credit limit was some kind of pay raise or something. Or those pills -- how could a doctor be so careless? There's just so much -- it makes me so angry and ashamed."

He smiled. "You are not the problem. I appreciate your anger. People need to get angry if there's ever going to be a real change, you and other natural-birth people like you who care enough to get angry are the only hope I have that things are going to get better. But you have nothing to be ashamed of."

Vansen said, "Whatever I can do." That came out as a promise, a solemn vow. "A long time ago one Fourth of July my dad took me to watch the fireworks out over the bay, and we talked about why he had joined the service. He spoke about freedom and justice and honor. About how those things had to be for everyone or they were for no one at all. About how, even though we so often fell short of our ideals, those ideals were all that are important enough to be worth people's lives. He and Mom were dead before the end of that summer. I was too young to understand, but I was old enough to remember. Now, I look in your eyes, and it's so clear what he meant. Things will get better. At least, this much is true -- it's my fight, too, for as long as it takes."

"It'll take more than our lifetimes, Shane, you know that. After everything we've been through there are still some people who are bigoted against people of other races. Religion still divides people enough for them to start shooting at each other. How could this be any different?"

Vansen never knew where the answer came from, but as soon as she opened her mouth she knew what to say. "Because we've already done the work of defining bigotry. It's a matter now of making people understand that bigotry is the word that applies. My grandmother was among the first women allowed into combat units in the Marine Corps. She was discriminated against by a lot of men who didn't want her there. A century ago, different laws would have applied to me because I had the luck to be born with two X chromosomes instead of an X and a Y. You could have just as well as owned me because of that. That's what the law was like. Do you think any woman can ever forget that kind of thing? Two centuries ago you could literally have bought and sold Vanessa. Paul would have been something less than human too. We outgrew that as a people. After all the misery people survived for thousands and thousands of years, after all the wasted lives, somehow we woke up and we changed. The foundation is already there, all we have to do now is build on it."

Their waitress stopped by the table, bringing the private conversation to a sudden halt. A moment after she left, a flurry of activity outside the viewport caught McQueen's attention. "Hey, will you look at that!"

Shane followed his gaze. The JP Morgan was getting underway, quickly enough to send any number of tramp traders scurrying out of the way. Ponderous and slow at first, the Morgan came about. Then her huge engines came online and she took off in the direction of the wormhole like a bat out of hell.

"I wouldn't want to be a traffic controller on the JFK right now! I'll bet they're getting blistered from those trader skippers!" Shane commented. "I wonder what all that was about?"

"I don't know, but they got under way hotter than a two dollar pistol. I hope they didn't run anyone down! Something must have started a fire under them!" McQueen sounded avidly curious about it, and Vansen was wondering herself what could have gotten that kind of reaction out of the Aerotech vessel.

Whatever the Morgan's emergency was, it didn't seem to set off any alarms among the _Nightingale's_ crew. Vansen suspected that anything of too dangerous a nature would have put a hospital ship on alert, expecting numerous casualties.

Once the Morgan disappeared, things settled down outside. They let the waitress talk them into dessert, then found themselves at a loss for anything to do for the rest of the day. They left the cafeteria and found the corridor they had taken down here blocked by a gaggle of schoolkids -- Ganelon colonists up here to get their yearly physicals. Rather than try to cut through the mob of unruly eight year olds, they took a side corridor and looked for a lift back to their deck. They found a small service lift that no one was using and punched the "up" button.

Passenger lifts rode a lot smoother than this thing, it climbed the shaft in a series of fits, jolts and starts. Vansen easily kept her balance under the sudden changes in g-forces, but McQueen's ear implant started giving him trouble immediately. She saw him grab at the rail to steady himself, missed by a fraction and ran into the side of the elevator. The rail caught him in the side. He swore imaginatively and grabbed at his incision. Vansen put her hand on his arm, lightly -- there if he needed her, but not insulting him by pushing help he didn't want. He wasn't dumb enough to fall on his ass, she was a reference point that helped him get his balance until he could get hold of the rail. The lift made final sudden lurch and then stopped, letting them out on the proper deck.

Once they got into the corridor, they realized how the ship was laid out and where their quarters had to be located. It was a long walk back to their section, McQueen showed few signs of distress but Vansen knew him well enough by now to know he was hurting and tired. "Would you rather get some rest this afternoon, or we could see if they have any good movies? They probably get the new stuff here before we do."

"Yeah, they probably do at that!" He opened his hatch and kicked up his feet in the reclining chair. Vansen found a perch on the sofa as he scrounged for the remote control and flipped through the channels. It would be half an hour before the new movies started, he left it on a music channel until then.

"Are you okay?" Vansen asked.

"Yeah, I think so. You know how it is, if you've got something that hurts, if you whack yourself it's going to be there! Damn staples come out tomorrow."

Shane heard the edge in his voice, she'd heard it often enough the last few days in the echo of her own. "Is this something you want to talk about?"

"If I can."

"I -- there's some things they did to me I haven't found the words for yet. I want to talk about it, get it out in the open where I can make it start going away. But I just can't...now. Is it something like that?"

He nodded. "Right on the first guess. See, what happened is, this is what they did to me the first time I was their prisoner. The one nightmare I couldn't shake all these years was that Elroy's hands--" He turned away for a few seconds, Vansen could see the muscle clench in his jaw as he got himself under control. "They used electrical shocks in there. It hurt like hell. I could not believe anything could hurt like that. But the worst thing was -- in between the shocks -- I could feel his hands moving around in there. After a while -- I didn't want the shocks to stop. But they always did and he was still --" His voice choked off again.

Vansen knew in his place she would have been screaming by now. But now that the dam had broken, she knew he had to tell it. She came over by his chair and took his hands tightly in hers. "I'm here."

"I guess I took about four hours of it back then before they got everything I could tell them. They patched me up and hauled me back to my cell. And that was when I got the chance to kill the guard and get his keys.

This time, they recognized me right away so they knew exactly what to go for. Sometimes I didn't know where I was, I got it in my head all the years in between -- everything that had happened -- was just a hallucination. That all that time I'd been lying there dissected like a frog. My God, Shane, there were times the only thing that kept me in this world was...was hearing you yell. Then I knew where I was for a while. When I couldn't hear you anymore I almost lost it again."

"You didn't," Shane said.

"Not this time. It cost me everything I had, but no, not this time."

"TC...listen to me...you beat the fear. They can hurt you, yeah. But they cannot ever use that particular hell to terrorize you again -- because you already beat it once and you know you can do it again."

"I'm still scared sick. I have to get the staples out tomorrow and the idea of it scares the living hell out of me."

She nodded. "I know. God, I know. But you'll do it anyway, to hell with being scared sick. The first couple will be sheer hell. After that you'll realize the nurse is not going to hurt you, not on purpose anyway, and then you won't be afraid any more. Ever. I know, because no one can ever terrorize me again by threatening to throw acid on me. We've already been through the worst it can get and we survived."

McQueen pulled one hand free to put his arm around her shoulders for a moment. "You're right, Shane. I'm glad you were here to listen. It really helps."

She smiled. "At least you didn't punch me in the arm."

He laughed. "That was a pretty good one. Real solid, you got your weight into it--"

She found herself laughing as well. After a time, she went back to the couch and stretched out. They watched a couple of movies, slept through most of the second one.

Vansen thought about the boyfriends she'd had, there wasn't a one of them she could have spent a lazy afternoon with that wouldn't have ended up in the sack. And she wouldn't have been this comfortable with any of them, either. She wanted a lifetime full of times like this. She thought about Nathan and Kylen, and how quickly fate could turn dreams upside down. Nothing was ever guaranteed.

But what did that matter? Life had to be lived in the present. If tomorrow brought disaster, today was still worth the price of the ticket. Nathan and Kylen had had almost twelve years, from a high-school romance all through training for the Tellus colony. Surely, no matter how terrible the pain now, all the joys of those years had been more than worthwhile! She said a little prayer for both Nathan, and Kylen, whom she had never met but felt as though she knew, and then closed her eyes again.

Vansen was awakened by a "coming attractions" commercial at the end of the movie, she blinked and sat up. McQueen was doing something with his pocket computer, she could see the modem lights working on the desk terminal so she knew he was on-line. He looked up. "I ordered pizza."

"Terrific, I'm hungry." She got up, a little surprised to find that she was feeling better. She reached for the ceiling in a joint-popping stretch. "What I need is a good run."

"After supper."

She made a face. "No can do until the gelskins come off. Maybe he'll take 'em off tomorrow. What are you doing?"

"Trying to find out what the hell's so important about that recognition code the AI's kept wanting. A lot of that stuff from the AI war has been declassified now, and a file clerk on the JFK owes me some favors. The AI's have the query, they want the answering half of the code. I'm trying to find it, but I'm not having much success. There's no evidence that the records have been altered, it looks more like it was never a military code at all."

"Then why the hell would they think you'd have it? I don't like this, especially if they're going to be sending spies to try to bust into your quarters to get it." Shane perched on the arm of his chair. "I doubt they'll quit!"

McQueen said, "I know they won't quit. Whatever they want, it must be fairly important for them to put their mole at risk over it."

Vansen scowled at the data list. "If it wasn't a military code -- who else would be using military class recognition codes?"

"Aerotech," he replied immediately. "Has to be. They developed the computer security system we use. They probably use the same system themselves, that's why the codes are so similar."

"Then we're screwed, there's no way we're going to get that information out of Aerotech. I wish 'Phousse was here. Unless your file clerk friend--?"

"Can't hurt to ask. After all, what could be so secure about stuff that's been in archives for fifteen years now?" He switched over to his comm program and paged his friend to set up a meeting. Then he inquired about shuttles to the JFK and reserved them seats on the next one.

The pizza came, Vansen broke out a couple of cold beers while he was getting it. Suddenly she put two and two together so fast she almost dropped the beer. As soon as the hatch closed, she said, "I think I've got it figured out! What's the connection between you, the AI's and Aerotech!"

He thought about it for just a moment before coming up with the same answer she did. "The research station. But it was destroyed."

"You saw that?"

"No, I was in sickbay for a month. No gelskins back then, remember? But I saw the mission report."

Shane scowled, "What do you want to bet Aerotech gutted the station of anything important before it was destroyed? Hell, what got blown up might have been an empty hull for all we know!"

"So the AI's know it's out there, but they don't have the access code they need to bring it operational."

"Colonel, what have we got ourselves into here?" Vansen knew she sounded scared and didn't care. Chigs she could fight. People who sat behind desks in darkened rooms and moved other people around like pieces on a chessboard were something else again.

McQueen's answer wasn't very comforting. "Something that could get us disappeared if we aren't very careful. I doubt Aerotech would take very kindly to a couple of Marines blowing the lid off a fifteen year old scandal for them."

"Yeah...but Aerotech knows denying the AI's the ability to reproduce themselves is the only way to keep them in check! If they deliberately preserved that facility -- that isn't a scandal, that's treason!"

"Very likely the courts might see it that way, Shane. All the more reason for whoever's responsible to shut us up."

"Yeah....and the Morgan scrambled out of here this afternoon...."

McQueen opened the pizza box and popped the top of one of the beers. "All we have right now is a lot of speculation. For the moment let's stick with tracking down that code and see where it takes us."

A little less than an hour later, they joined a group of about twenty people waiting on the flight deck for the shuttle to the _JFK_. The shuttles docked with a number of the orbiting vessels as well as landing in the colony below, they were civilian craft but many of the passengers were military personnel on leave. People assigned to the _JFK_ and her attending craft could visit a neighboring ship with nothing more than a twelve-hour pass, and spend longer leaves down in the colony.

The shuttle pilots were a kid who looked about sixteen and a man in his fifties who had only one arm. The kid had a blue tint to her pale blonde hair, that was a harmless effect of living in the Ganelon ecosystem for an extended period. She was still too young to get in the military, but with the shortage of pilots she was old enough to fly a shuttle. The man was probably a veteran, Vansen noticed some military habits as he gave the shuttle the walkaround. She asked conversationally, "What unit were you with?"

"Eighty-third -- the Starhawks, off the Roosevelt."

McQueen commented, "You folks saw some hot action against the Belt Pirates a few years ago, didn't you?"

He grinned. "Sure did. That's where this happened, so I got benched before this one came along. I took a hit that started a fire in my pit, got it put out before all my air went but -- you know how that is. Even so, I wish I was your age again -- I'd like to get the old unit back together for one more mission, get our licks in and teach the chigs the same lesson we taught a few of them pirates." He paused. "McQueen, huh? You were with the Angry Angels back then, weren't you? Seems like we got in a bar fight once on the Titan colony."

McQueen winced. "Was that you guys? Who the hell threw that table?"

"Shit, I don't know, I thought it was you guys."

"It wasn't us! It must have been those asteroid miners!"

"Right!"

The girl looked bored. "Grandpa, we're going to miss our window if we don't get goin'."

"Kids!" He said, the sparkle in his eyes giving the lie to his curmudgeonly growl. "All right, all aboard!"

They boarded the shuttle, the pilots made sure a civilian woman and her couple of kids were belted in securely, the military people already knew the routine. In crowded traffic like this, sometimes you had to make an unexpected maneuver to avoid another craft. No one wanted a passenger suddenly going airborne across the cabin!

There were already some other people on board. They made a couple of other stops, picked up a half-dozen people from an independent trader big enough to have a small flight deck and a couple shuttles of her own, then lost half their passengers and took on as many new ones from the pleasure ship Dixie's Palace. Then they docked aboard the JFK.

Security was even tighter on the JFK's flight deck than it was aboard the Saratoga, there was a strict ID check on everyone who wanted to come aboard. McQueen's friend was waiting just on the other side of the checkpoint, after quick introductions he led the way to the officers' club. His name was Jim Avery, he looked a few years older than McQueen although he was still a lieutenant colonel. He had a quick grin and a look of hawklike intelligence in gray eyes behind thick-rimmed glasses. "File clerk" was a misnomer, and probably something of an in joke between Avery and McQueen -- Vansen knew an officer of Avery's rank probably headed up a records unit. He explained to Vansen that several years ago, he had been falsely accused of involvement with the black market, McQueen had proved his innocence and saved him from a prison term. He got to the point. "What is it, Ty? You'd be a hell of a long way out of your way for a social call."

"We were in the neighborhood anyhow, Vansen has to have some work done aboard the _Nightingale_. But you're right, Jim. I need a little more help with this situation I'm in than just a few lists. Can we talk here?"

Avery nodded. "Safest place." He took in the wound visible on Vansen's face, the haunted look they both had about them for all they could do to hide it. "What kind of trouble are you in this time?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out," McQueen told him. He gave his old friend the short version of the Marged episode. "I think the AI's were after the same code they wanted fifteen years ago, and I think it may be an old Aerotech code. Can you do anything?"

He leaned his chair back. "Yeah....It won't be easy, but you've come to the right place. You're probably right about the code being Aerotech if it isn't military. Now if the Morgan were still in orbit, it'd be service while you wait. But as it is, I'll need a little time to turn over a few virtual rocks and see what crawls out. I'll get back to you as soon as I find something."

"Right. Jim, be careful, this is just as much black ops as anything else we ever ran into, I don't care if Aerotech is running it."

"No problem, I've tangled with them before. Part of my job." Something in Avery's tone made Vansen give him a second look. Appearances to the contrary, this wasn't a little tech person you could safely overlook. There was Marine steel under the spit-and-polish appearance. Avery was getting ready to go hunting in cyberspace, no less serious and potentially no less lethal than when she took her Hammerhead out looking for a chig patrol.

Avery and McQueen had a lot of old times to catch up on, Vansen spent most of the evening listening to their stories and before she knew it, a couple of hours had passed. They headed back to catch the shuttle's return trip to the Nightingale.


Next : Part Three
Previous : Part One

© May 1996 Becky Ratliff