Howard Sewell smiled as he looked out the window of the ISSCV. The familiar clank and jerk of the transport signaled touchdown on the Saratoga's docking bay. It had been a long trip out from Earth, but he had enjoyed every minute of it.

Damn Commodore Ross, for taking the alien ship away from him in November. And damn him for his supercilious attitude when Sewell had returned to help him get back his precious missing squad. Sewell had lied to Ross about Kazbek. A lie that could have cost Earth the Saratoga, but no one at the Company cared about that since the discovery of Sewell Fuel. Yes, Sewell Fuel, Howard Sewell grinned to himself as he looked at the metal case that was cuffed to his right wrist. In there was the key to his future and this time he was going to be very careful that no one took it away from him.

If it had been left up to Sewell, he would have made the Navy crawl to get the material that was needed to kill Chiggy Von Richthofen, as payment for what Ross had done to him in November. E. Allan Wayne had other ideas, though. Wayne had made it clear to Sewell that this trip to the Saratoga would be the making of Sewell. He had been given the job of delivering the Fuel and the answers. Showing again, how powerful Aerotech was, and now days, Sewell. Payback was at hand and he planned to carry it off with all the class of a man of his importance, though a small voice inside of him whispered to give these military types what they deserved.

The meeting that had taken place just before he left Earth, made Sewell wonder if Wayne realized the importance of the ore now in their possession. It was either that, or there was truth to the rumor that Wayne wasn't the man who really pulled the strings around Aerotech.

Sewell was a collector of rumors, a hobby that had paid off handsomely over the years. Either way, Sewell planned on doing some digging when he returned to Earth. There was much more going on than met the eye, and he, Howard Sewell planned on being in on it all.

The Saratoga February 5, 2064, 1600 hours

Sewell had loved conducting the meeting, watching the stunned expressions on all the high ranking officer's faces. Even that damn Tank, McQueen had been transfixed at what he, Howard Sewell, had to say. Power was a wonderful thing. It would take him a day or two to finish refining the ore into a payload for the missile, then it was up to the Armed Forces to use the rocket he would produce. When it was all over, Howard Sewell would be known as the man who killed Chiggy Von Richthofen!

Saratoga, February 6, 1900 hours

McQueen paced his quarters. It had been a bitch of a few days. Starting out yesterday, with Aerotech's appearance, once again on the Saratoga. Last evening, he had ended the day by getting into it with his squad in the Tun. If he had just let the whole thing drop, it would have gone without notice, but he had lost his temper and he ended up tearing into everyone except Vansen. Luckily she had been out of range of his foul mood, or he would have taken her apart too, before he remembered she was still hurting from the loss of a dear friend. Between Winslow's comment about the zero gravity chamber and Wang's over eager invitation to play table hockey, he felt hemmed in and out of control.

All the time he had been taking a strip off each of their hides, he had been watching himself, wondering what he was doing. These were six young people who he cared a great deal about. HE had let the boundaries of command become thin, as he had grown to care about them. Last night he had changed the rules without warning, and gone back to the Ice Colonel of old.

Winslow had been out of line, he knew it, and so did she. A week ago, McQueen would have given her 'the look' and taken her to task at a later date in the privacy of his office. Instead, he had talked to her as if she was one of the Marine groupies, he found so demeaning, at the bars in Loxley.

The events in the Tun ran together in McQueen's mind. He couldn't remember which came first, Winslow's come-on, or Paul's nerve jangling remark about 'needing a new guy' for their game then asking him to join in. A week ago, he would have glared at the group of young Marines, but joined them, and whipped their butts in that table hockey game. He grinned as he stopped in front of his porthole, yup, I would have beaten their asses all right, and enjoyed every minute of it! Not that he would have let them know it. It wouldn't have been proper for a commanding officer to look like he was enjoying a thing like that with his squad.

It was all the tension generated by Chiggy Von Richthofen, not only on a professional level, but a personal one as well. McQueen was skittish with nerves. This was his time. He felt it deep in his bones. He had come up with a battle plan that he was confident would defeat the dangerous Chig pilot. Now all they needed to do was find where the Ace was hiding. This was the mission McQueen felt he was created to fly. He had formulated the plan with his own flying skills in mind. Now he was impatient to flush out the Chig and do what needed to be done.

To make matters worse they had a saboteur on the Saratoga. Whoever, had set off the blast that had killed Sewell and two of the men who had come with him, had been on the ship, and was still here. They had proof that the petroleum distillate, that had been added to the warhead, had come form the one of the ship's engine rooms. The small spark that it had produced, in the oxygen rich room, had caused a huge fire. Trapping the three men in the secured room.

McQueen knew he had been putting off talking to Jen about having the surgery to remove his myo-electronic feedback implant. He tried to tell himself that it was because there was no sense in having surgery before the Ace pilot was found and the weapon was ready. Shaking his head and turning up the volume on his sound system to let Beethoven flow around him, he watched his reflection in the porthole. Yeah, right, McQueen, and if you believe that, there's a moon or two orbiting Jupiter that are for sale, he grinned. Jen was going to hit the ceiling when he told her what he had planned.

His thoughts were interrupted by someone knocking on his hatch. "Who's at my hatch? He called out.

Saratoga, February 6, 2064 1920 hours

Deep in the bowels of the ship, someone was working his way to the nest of circuitry that made up the central communication hub. Once there, he moved outward, until he found a portal that was sealed off. Grinning to himself, as he thought how foolish Carbonites could be. Leaving unused communication accesses where anyone could get to them? Hiding in the shadows, he worked to remove the seal. With a bit of tweaking, he was able to tap into the main communications board of the Saratoga.

He knew that at 2000 hours everyday there would be a dump of all routine out going messages, he carefully put together a short message of his own. If he planned it right, no one would ever suspect he had added a little something to the daily outgoings. Even if it was found, no one would think anything of it, after all, it looked like gibberish until it was decoded, and only another AI could do that, or someone with knowledge that had been given them by an AI. Once he added the message, he followed his orders, and deleted any trace of it from his memory banks.

McQueen's quarters February 6, 2064 2000 hours

McQueen glared out his porthole, as he heard his hatch close, and Kelly Winslow leave. As he had thought earlier, it had been a hell of a few days, but it only seemed to be getting worse. After the way he had treated the 58th yesterday, it had taken a lot for Winslow to have come to him and apologized the way she had. He only hoped she would be as forgiving if she ever learned just how much of what he had told her was part lie and half-truth. Turning in a temper, he grabbed his wedding picture and threw it against the wall. "Damn," he muttered as he heard the distinct sound of cracking glass.

Yes, he had been thinking of Amy and his life with her, but not in the way he had led Winslow to believe. He hated that he had manipulate the young lieutenant. She had been worried about him as a person and been willing to listen to him if he needed to talk to someone. He only wished he could have told her the truth. For one second, he almost had. He had stood there, with her looking at him, her face filled with concern, but he just couldn't do it. Instead of the real reason Amy had been eating at his insides lately, he had told Winslow the public reason, the old pat answer about his inability to have children.

McQueen wondered if the worry would have turned to shock if Winslow knew that the only reason Amy was on his mind, was because she was the symbol of all that he couldn't have out of life. This was old territory and McQueen wasn't going over it again. His life was his life. He had decided it was easier to go it alone no matter who came alone. It had been the reason for putting the picture of Amy back on his desk. As long as he kept reality and fantasy separate, he was fine. Okay, he had put temptation in his path when he had put the other picture, under the wedding picture. It had been a way to acknowledge something deep in himself, that even he wasn't going to look at.

"Damn, I don't have time for things like this! Keep focused!" McQueen gritted his teeth as he turned the volume back up on the sound system. "I'm a Marine, this is what I do. I need to concentrate and get on with the job!"

Ever since they had returned from Kazbek, McQueen had been feeling restless. Partly because of Jen. She was closing him out, and he didn't like it one bit. He should have been thrilled. It should have made things easier for him. But it wasn't. Okay, so they were friends, but it shouldn't work that way. In his experience, there were two kinds of women. The kind you worked with, talked with: comrades. Then there were the other kind, the ones that made your blood burn: lovers. Jen could fall into both categories if he ever let it happen.

Does she realize? Is that why she's pushing you away? No, she wouldn't do that. She would be honest with you.

He rationalized she was lumping him with the 58th, in her efforts to protect herself from getting hurt again. Knowing the why, didn't make it any easier to take. Jen had been the only women he had ever met who welcomed him openly and without condition, as a friend. Now she was walling herself off, trying to protect herself from a repeat of losing the Angry Angels. He could hardly blame her, she had lost so many in the last year. First the Angels, then the men she had worked with for five years. Now she faced an almost daily routine of sending the Wildcards out, and never being sure if they would come back.

Look who's talking, McQueen reached for the picture that he had tossed across the room moments earlier. I've been keeping her at arms length for a long time. Why should I complain if she follows suit?

His thoughts were interrupted as someone knocked on his hatch. "Damn," he muttered as he placed the picture, with the cracked glass back on his desk. "Who is it?"

"Colonel McQueen, it's Dr. Kirkwood," Jen called out.

McQueen opened his door, but was wary when Jen used both of their ranks, something was up. He didn't invite her in and this time she didn't barge in.

"What do you want Jen? It's late and I need to get some sleep." McQueen was deliberately being as ungracious as possible.

"I've just come from dinner with Glen Ross," Jen explained. "He was telling me that you want the myo-electronic feedback device removed. Is that true?"

"You had dinner with Ross, did you?" McQueen stepped back and let Jen into his quarters.

"We happened to run into each other in the Mess Hall," Jen shrugged. "He's worried about you, Ty."

McQueen knew Ross didn't 'run into' anyone. If Glen had eaten with Jen it had been because the Commodore wanted to. What was his friend trying to pull, going to her behind his back. "I was going to talk to you about this in the morning, I guess we can fight it out tonight, instead."

"So that means you really want it removed, so you can go after this fighter of theirs?" Jen met his cool stare with a blank one of her own.

"I have to, Jen," McQueen thought of all people, she would understand. "I want you to remove it when we get more information on him."

"Ty, no, I'm not the----"

"Then get the hell out!" McQueen put his hand on her arm to turn her toward the door. He was through with people trying to tell him what to do. He was a soldier. He had been produced to fight and by all that was holy, he was going to fight.

"Let go of me!" She shot back. Her left fist came up and hit McQueen on the shoulder. For an instant both people froze in shock.

"Striking a superior officer is a court martial offense," McQueen ground out. He couldn't take his eyes off of Jen; her hand still fisted against his skin.

"You know what? I don't give a damn, anymore." Jen's voice was rigid, emotionless. Why wouldn't he ever let her finish a sentence? "What are you going to do, shoot me? Throw me in the brig? One of the nice things about having lived in hell, is that nothing matters. And believe me, I've had a very thorough tour of all the rings of hell in the last year."

McQueen had expected angry shouting, and had been prepared to handle it by pulling rank. It hadn't worked. Instead of anger he had gotten biting sarcasm, that carried too much of the truth for his comfort.

"Well Colonel, what's it going to be? A firing squad or the brig?" Jen had to fight to keep from digging her nails into his arm where her hand was resting. "You were the one who was coming to me about this operation. You might at least have the courtesy to hear me out. Before, you throw me out."

"Okay, Jen, have your say," McQueen pulled back. He could still feel the warmth of where she had touched him so he crossed his arms to keep her out.

"I was going to say, that I'm not the one to do this procedure," Jen glared at the closed off man. "Any ham-fisted idiot using an harmonic scalpel with a number 11 blade and fine Debakey pick-ups can get that thing out of you. The trick is, not to do anymore damage to the nerve. Chico Voss is the man for the job.

"His speciality is ENT. He has written a number of papers on the vestibular-occular interaction. He did a fellowship with Tom Michaels at Georgetown where the first vestibular-cocholar devices were invented. They were the forerunner to the device you have implanted. By the way, Chico is know in professional circles as Charles Kaplan Voss, M. D., Fellow Of The World College Of Otolaryngologist. We're lucky to have him on the Saratoga, if you want that removed."

"You seem to know a lot about a subject you just heard about over dinner." McQueen was in unfamiliar territory. "Particularly when you say it isn't your speciality."

"Of course I do," Jen turned and paced. "I've been doing research on the MEF device since I was stationed here." She stopped her pacing to face him. "Don't you realize I have been doing everything in my power to get you back in a Hammerhead?"

"Why would you go to all that trouble?" McQueen watched the woman's face as apathy turned to surprise, followed by anger.

"Ohhhh," the high pitched squeak that came from deep in Jen's throat took them both by surprise. In a few well chosen words, McQueen had made nothing of a friendship she had thought meant something to both of them.

"Now, Jen..." Being a prudent man, McQueen took a step back.

"Don't you 'now, Jen' me," she interrupted, slumping back against the hatch, too tired to argue. "I know how important flying is to you." Suddenly chilled, she wrapped her arms around herself. "I won't kid you, and tell you I think this is a good idea, Ty. From a purely medical standpoint, it stinks! But there's more to the making of a man than the physical. If you insist on having the implant removed, have Chico do it."

"You trust him?" McQueen still remembered the run-in he had had with Voss when Jenny had first been brought aboard.

"I know you don't like him," Jen sighed. "And I can understand why, but he leaves his politics out of Sickbay, just like I do. He'll keep you safe."

"You're not going to argue with me about having this done?" He frowned, as Jen leaned against his hatch, shivering; all the fight drained out of her.

"What's the use? You've already made up your mind, nothing I'm going to say will make you change it." She rubbed her arms; the cold she was feeling came from deep within.

McQueen didn't like this one bit. He had won too easily. What was wrong with Jen that she wasn't arguing with him? It made him feel uneasy. He never liked doing what she poked and prodded him to do, but he always ended up letting her have her way. It was one of the constants between them. He trusted her to keep him safe, even from himself, in a medical situation. But on this issue, safety be damned, he wasn't giving in.

"All right then, I'll see Voss about it tomorrow," McQueen moved to a small coffee machine beside his desk and poured a cup. "Are you off duty for the night?"

"I had thought I'd give Chico a heads up about your medical history first," Jen was still leaning against the hatch, too weary to move.

"Drink this, and cover my medical history in the morning." He poured a liberal dose of scotch in the hot coffee and handed it to the Doctor. "That's an order, Lieutenant Commander."

"Whoo," Jen had taken a gulp of the hot liquid. "Goodness, this is strong. What are you trying to do, knock me out?" She looked up as her eyes watered from the strong coffee mixed with more scotch than she had anticipated.

"No, just warm you up, but it's a thought. I do owe you one don't I, and a Marine always pays his debts," McQueen almost grinned as he watched her warm her hands by wrapping them around the cup, a gesture he had seen her use countless times in the past.

"Well, since we're friends, I'll discharge you of the debt," Jen kidded as she took another, smaller drink of coffee. "This is a help, Ty, thanks."

"I'd have given you a sweat shirt, but I seem to be down to one, these days." That was as close as McQueen would come to acknowledging the fact that Jen had kept his shirt. He wasn't sure how he felt about that, except for knowing that he wouldn't ask for it back.

"McQueen, you don't look to be the kind of man who loses things," Jen was glad they were back to their old footing. "Here, I'll give you back your cup, before that walks away, too." She took one more swallow then handed back the half empty cup. "If I drink any more of this, you'll be able to add drunk and disorderly to my court martial."

After Jen left, McQueen sat holding the half empty cup. His hands wrapped around it in an imitation of her's. What more can happen, he wondered tiredly.

Earth, 2400 Earth standard time (Zulu)

The phone rang on the secure line at Carleton Stryker's home office. He had waited up for this call.

"Hello," he answered carefully in case it wasn't what he was waiting for.

"It's done," Diane Hayden spoke quietly into his ear. She was calling from her office half way across the United States. For a few minutes they spoke of inconsequentials, but both their minds were on the importance of what had been accomplished.

Sewell was dead, and in such a way that it couldn't be traced back to Earth. Unfortunately, the Elroy hadn't gotten the ore back. His secondary program was to destroy it, if retrieval was unsuccessful. It was imperative that the only 'known' sample of Sewell Fuel disappear.

Sitting in a wing chair by the fire, Stryker contemplated his next move. E. Allan Wayne was messing up. That needed to be taken care of soon. Wayne had miscalculated how much Sewell really knew. When Stryker had had a private meeting with Sewell, it had been clear to the powerful man that Howard Sewell did know the significance of the ore that was found on Kazbek. It wouldn't have taken much snooping on Sewell's part to uncover the truth about the war.

The only people who knew the truth were Wayne, Diane, and himself. He trusted Diane with his life. They were in this together, from the beginning. That left only Wayne. The more people who knew a secret, the harder it was to keep. That meant that Wayne needed to be eliminated in the near future. It would be tricker with Wayne. Old E. Allan hadn't gotten to where he was in Aerotech because he was careless. It would take some thinking.

Saratoga February 7 2064- 0730 hours

ElroyL moved quietly through the ventilation ducts of the Saratoga. He knew once he activated the missile he would be detected by their sensors. With any luck, and he was a man who believed in luck, he would be able to escape in the ensuing confusion. Maybe, even have the pleasure of killing a few Carbonites before the bomb killed them all. Too bad he wasn't able to return the sample of Tetrahedral-7 ore, as the Chigs call it. At least he would destroy it, before anymore studies could be done on it.

Carbonites or Chigs, it didn't matter much. The AI's had decided to let these inferior beings fight it out. Lending a hand where they could to keep the war going strong. When it was over, the still powerful Artificial Intelligence population would swoop down and finish off what was left of both races of living beings.

An hour later ElroyL found himself being interrogated by a grim faced Tank and a very young man. He lived by the program 'take a chance,' and he was still doing just that as he tried to talk his way out of this situation. It tickled his motherboard that these Carbonites thought they could get anywhere with him. All the really important data had been purged from his hard drive on capture, what little he might tell them wouldn't do them any good. His only regret was that the ore hadn't been destroyed. Maybe Chiggy Von Richthofen would do it for him?

Saratoga February 12, 2064- 1700 hours

The great space carrier was strangely quiet. Men and women went about their jobs with sober faces, hardly talking to one another. A day that had begun with such promise, had ended in death. There was fear and sadness everywhere Commodore Ross looked. He had sent out the Wildcards with Col. Schrader to lure and kill Chiggy Von Richthofen. What should have been a victory for Earth, had ended up in disaster, when Schrader's Hammerhead carrying the Sewell Fuel missile was destroyed without getting off a shot. Lt. Kelly Winslow was killed in the battle that followed. The first of the original Wildcards who had survived the Battle of The Belt, to fall.

McQueen still fought the dizziness that had been with him ever since Voss had remove the MEF device from his inner ear. Ross had chosen Schrader over him when it came to flying the mission. At the time, he could see the logic, but he had raged against it. This was his mission. Now it was his mission, again.

Moving carefully he dressed in the black flight suit he thought he would never wear, again. It was different from the one he wore on a daily basis. No one else might see the difference, but he did. Missing were the 58th Squadron Patch and the Wildcard Patch. Strange, he felt naked without them.

Leaving his quarters, with his helmet tucked under his arm, McQueen came face to face with Jenny Kirkwood as she left her's. He almost didn't recognize her. She was wearing dress Navy Blues, she must have been on her way to Winslow's memorial service. He couldn't think of anything else that would make her put on the uniform. He knew he should have been there too, but he planned a much more personal memorial for his lost child.

"Ohh," Jen whispered, unable to take her eyes off the man in black. It was like seeing a ghost.

"Don't try to stop me," McQueen whispered.

Shaking her head "no", Jen raised her arm and held up her open hand, her fingers spread wide. He had seen Gloria Collins do this with her countless times in the past. His black gloved hand gripped hers in the air. Their fingers meshed to make a raised double fist. Clear blue eyes met deep gray ones, as Jen whispered the old battle cry, "not even death can defeat an Angry Angel."

Jen leaned back against the bulkhead in the corridor after McQueen walked away. She could still feel the soft leather of his glove, against her palm and between her fingers where they had held on to each other and the past for one moment. As she caught her breath, she moved slowly up the stairs, in no hurry, not wanting to see him take off.

The 58th were in a tight salute as the Hammerhead cockpit descended. Jen came up behind them, followed by the Commodore and Chaplain Baeslack. The deck plating rumbled as McQueen engaged his engines. In the far window they could see a single Hammerhead rushing away from the Saratoga, the light from a distant star reflecting off of it.

"Behold, a pale horse," Jen whispered as she turned and walked away.

The Chaplain stared after her as what she said sank in, "and his rider was death and hell followed with him. Amen, Doctor," Baeslack called to her. "Yes, Amen!"

"What was that about a horse?" Hawkes looked confused.

"It's from the Bible, Coop," Damphousse told him. "The book of Revelations. It tells of a harbinger of death, that is released by Christ. If the look on the Colonel's face was any indication, I think it's very fitting."

"Christ?" Coop was remembering back to Christmas on the ISSCV, "He was one of the good guys?"

"Yes, Coop," 'Phousse smiled. "A very good guy."

Jen knew she should go to the memorial service, but her heart wasn't in it. She quickly changed from her Dress Blues into some old jeans and a sweater before heading for the alcove to watch for McQueen's return. She was safe up here. Even if McQueen got back without her seeing him, she knew he was too dizzy to climb the stairs. She just hoped it wouldn't be a useless wait.

Leaning her face against the glass she watched the stars. Different stars from the last time she was here, but stars none the less. "Ok, Universe we've got a deal, remember?" She whispered, "I'm sticking to my end, you need to stick to yours. I've pulled back, am polite, but nothing else. So, Universe, you have to bring him home safely. I've rebuilt my wall thick and high, so he can't get in. He'll never know how I feel about him, so you let him live! Pax?" She placed her palm against the window to seal the bargain.

Saratoga, February 12, 2064- 2200 hours The Tun Tavern

The news crept slowly through the ship. Lt. Col. Tyrus Cassius McQueen had killed Chiggy Von Richthofen! He had done the impossible.

The Colonel, had said he would drink a bottle of scotch after killing the Chig's Red Baron, and he was doing just that. He could see Hawkes in the corner, keeping an eye on him. For the last three hours the Wildcards had been working in shifts, babysitting him. He was about ready to go over there and order them to leave him alone. He assumed Jen had sent them, she was the only one with nerve enough to do it.

He was dizzy from the removal of the MEF device, and two-thirds of a bottle of scotch only made it worse. There were other people in the Tun, but they were leaving him alone. The grim expression on his face causing them to give him a wide berth.

"Ty?" Commodore Ross joined McQueen at the bar. "How're you doing?"

McQueen turned and looked at his friend, then looked down at his glass.

"Let's get you out of here and leave the bottle," Ross advised him.

"I haven't finished it yet," McQueen muttered, as he downed the remaining swallow and reached to refill the glass.

"That bottle will finish you," Ross reached for the scotch.

"Glen," McQueen growled. "Sir."

"Come on, Ty," Ross ignored the threat in McQueen's voice. "Let's get you out of here, while you can still walk." Turning to the bartender, Ross indicated the bottle, "we'll be taking this with us."

"Did she send you in here after me?" McQueen stood, forcing himself to walk very straight, careful of each movement, as he and Ross headed toward McQueen's quarters.

"She?" Ross decided it was safer to play dumb. "She, who?"

"Jen," McQueen enunciated carefully. "She's had one of the Wildcards watching me ever since I told her to get the hell out of there, and leave me alone. Damn that woman, a man can't even get a drink in peace!"

"Jen?" Ross didn't want to make McQueen any angrier at the woman than he already was. "You mean Dr. Kirkwood?"

"Yes, Dr. Jennifer I'm-Always-Right Kirkwood," McQueen was proud of himself for getting the whole sentence out without tripping over words. "Damn, I'm dizzy, but don't tell her, I'll never hear the end of it."

"Why are you so sure Jenny sent your squad in to keep an eye on you?" Ross guided McQueen to his door.

"They didn't show up until I told her to get the hell out of my life." McQueen fumbled as he punched the code to his door, "always sticking her nose in where it doesn't belong."

Ross followed McQueen into his quarters. If Ty was going to finish that bottle of scotch, Ross planned on staying with him. The Marine was in no physical condition to take care of himself in the fight that would result from his foul mood, if he went anywhere. The Commodore grinned as he pictured the number of security guards it would have taken to put them both in the Saratoga's brig, if McQueen had started anything in the Tun. He would have ended up covering his friends back, like the last time the Colonel had one of his black moods, and all hell would have broken loose. Thank goodness, those moods didn't occur very often.

"You going to offer me a drink from that bottle of your's?" Ross didn't like scotch, but it would be that much less that Ty consumed.

"Sure, grab yourself a glass," McQueen poured them both generous amounts of the whiskey. "Here's to....whatever?" He was about to take a drink when he saw Ross pick up the wedding picture from his desk. The glass was still broken from McQueen's ire after talking to Winslow.

"Give that to me!" McQueen reached for the picture. Worried that his friend might see the picture buried below the wedding photo.

"She's a beautiful woman, Ty," Ross handed the picture of Amy over to his friend. Something had been eating at McQueen for the last few months, maybe it had to do with this picture. Ross remembered, three years ago, when Ty had put it away in a storage locker. It had surprised Ross to find the photo sitting on McQueen's desk when the 5-8 had been assigned to the Saratoga.

"That she is, Glen, that she is," McQueen laughed at himself. "She's the all-American girl, tall, blond, blue-eyed, and lush." He just shook his head at his own folly. "I remember, in the mines and the in-vitro squads, we used to obsess about women like this. They were a prize beyond our wildest dreams. Then I walked home with the prize. I've got the picture to prove it!" McQueen's laughter was bitter.

"Marriages don't always work out," Ross thought about his own divorce. "Look at me, I should know."

"What happened between you and Gretchen?" McQueen looked at his friend, the picture still clutched in one hand, a glass of scotch in the other, as he made himself comfortable on the side of his bunk. "You're both natural-borns, you appeared to love each other."

"We did, in a way we still do," Ross, sprawled in McQueen's desk chair, and began to drink the scotch that he didn't like. It was going to be one of those nights and he needed something to fortify him.

"Every night, I was away from her, I was unfaithful, and she knew it. Don't get me wrong! I was never with another woman. But ships, Ty?" Ross shook his head. "Ships, can be jealous mistresses! I know every sound and inch of the 'Toga," Ross caressed the bulkhead nearest him, as if it was a woman. "If she goes down in this war, I will be on her. She will NOT die alone! I couldn't say that about Gretchen. I would head off to the sky, to my ship and leave her behind. She just grew tired of it all."

"It sounds as if you and Gretchen had a lot of the same troubles Amy and I had," McQueen traced the face of the golden beauty in the picture. "Being with her was wonderful, but flying? It was my life." He leaned against the bulkhead, his head back, staring at the ceiling. "I tried to make her understand how it was, but she never realized how much of the man I am, is defined by what I do."

"Women can be like that," Ross was thinking back to his early days with Gretchen. "They love you and the things they think define you. Then suddenly one day they discover they love an image of you. One that they have created in their minds, a flesh and blood man has no chance of living up to that image."

"Add to that image an in-vitro!" McQueen pointed to himself. "I tried to tell Amy what it would be like, but......."

"That's bullshit, Ty!" Ross was angry that his friend had been carrying the burden of the failure of his marriage for so long. "She knew you were an in-vitro when she married you. And that half-assed story about not wanting to conceive a child through assisted-conception is a bunch of crap! That was a handy excuse to end the marriage and leave you with the blame."

"She knew, but she didn't understand," McQueen tried to convince his friend. "I've know for a long time the story was a cover-up for deeper problems."

"She did understand. About all of it, including the injury you received as a POW," Ross looked McQueen in the eyes. "She and I had a long talk, before you were married. She knew exactly what she was getting into."

"Are you saying you checked up on her before I married her?" McQueen was furious.

"No," Ross shook his head and took another drink of scotch. "I talked with her. There is a difference. You're my friend, Ty. With friendship goes a responsibility. I would take a bullet for you, as I know you would for me. Why would you think I wouldn't have a few words with the woman you were going to marry? Believe me, it's a lot less deadly."

McQueen glared at Ross, angered that he would stick his nose in private business, but feeling something else too. Something he couldn't identify.

"You want the truth?" Ross challenged, pleased when McQueen shook his head in the affirmative. "It takes guts and strength to make a relationship last, any kind of a relationship. Amy didn't have what it takes."

"You don't know what you're talking about," McQueen interrupted. "You have no idea what it's like to live with hate and prejudice all the time."

"Bullshit," Ross leaned closer to the man on the bunk. "I'm a black man who grew up in the south. That shouldn't mean anything now-a-days, but it does.

"There are some rural areas down there, that are still fighting the Civil War. There are places on that planet where I am still a Niger, Paul Wang is a Chink, and Admiral Presti a Wop. There is always a reason for one person to hate another.

"It makes me sick to think that looking the slightest bit different gives someone license to hate another person. The color of our skin, the shape of our eyes, where our parents were born, or where our navel is placed, shouldn't make any difference. Some people don't define who they are, instead, they define who they aren't, by hating like that. It takes strength and courage to stand up to that, my friend, and Amy didn't have what it takes to stand by you as the wife of a pilot, never mind all the rest."

"I've heard that rhetoric before," McQueen raised his glass. "Thank you Dr. Jennifer Kirkwood, for writing The In-Vitro Chronicles. Adding fuel to the fire and giving the world another person to hate."

"Just because Jenny wrote it, doesn't make me feel it any less," Ross smiled. "That woman does have a way with words. Unfortunately, many of her words are fighting words. Has she been giving you a very bad time?"

"No worse than she ever has," McQueen shrugged. "So when you talked to Amy all those years ago, you didn't think she was a stayer?" He deliberately changed the subject.

"I hoped she was. She talked a good line, but she was young and couldn't see past that pretty face of yours," Ross grinned. "I had no doubt that she thought she loved you. I just wasn't sure if it was love and not lust she was feeling."

"That's natural-born thinking," McQueen laughed.

"Ty, you're too intelligent a man to pretend that you don't know the difference. Or to fall back on the in-vitro saying of, 'if it feels good, do it.'" Ross poured himself another drink, wondering why his friend was playing games with him. "My old grandmother used to have a saying, 'lust takes, while love gives.' Think about your relationship with Amy, how much giving did she do?"

"Love, what do I know about love?" McQueen dodged the question. "Though, I've learned about loving when it comes to the 58th."

"You said as much to me a few months ago," Ross acknowledged. "But I wasn't sure you realized how much truth there was to the statement, at the time."

"Oh, I meant it all right," McQueen smiled. "I was just starting to figure it out. But today, I proved it to myself. Winslow was one of my kids. I killed Chiggy Von Richthofen in her honor."

"To Lt. Kelly Winslow," Ross raised his glass and touched it to his friends.

"To Winslow," McQueen finished his glass and poured more scotch for them both. "You know she made a pass at me in the Tun the other day," McQueen shook his head remembering. "Then when she apologized, I lied to her. Now she's dead and I can't ever apologize to her for that."

"Wait!" Ross was slow to process what McQueen was saying. "Winslow came on to you? What did you do about it?"

"I chewed her out," McQueen made a sour face. "Along with the whole squad. Women, I'll never understand them. You fight along side of them, and all goes well, but get one of them out of a combat situation and they turn on you."

Ross was laughing so hard his sides hurt. "My friend, every man since Adam has made that observation. So, what did you lie to her about?"

"About my life, and why Amy is on my mind so much," McQueen sighed. His eyes were focused on something only he could see. "Not all women are like that," he murmured so softly, Ross wasn't sure he was hearing correctly.

"Sometimes a woman comes along and she sees right to the core of you." Ty was thinking of gray eyes that had given him the support that he had needed, a few hours ago, to do what needed to be done. And a soft voice that had given him time to heal, then showed him that his soul was owned by him and not the capricious sky.

"Have you found such a woman?" Ross studied the other man. Was this what had been making McQueen act so strange lately?

"Hmmm?" Through the haze of liquor, McQueen realized he may have said more than he should have. He had lied to Winslow, but Ross knew him too well for him to get away with a simple lie. "Have I found what?"

Had he heard McQueen correctly? Was McQueen talking about a woman other than Amy? Even when he had been married to her, Ross couldn't remember Ty talking this way. Sure he had said he loved his squad, but if Ross was understanding McQueen correctly, he had found a woman who he really cared about. Testing his theory, Ross asked, "why is Amy on your mind so much?"

"Amy isn't, that was the biggest part of the lie," McQueen pulled himself to his feet and walked to his porthole, holding his glass to the stars. "Forgive, me Winslow?" I almost told you, but if I had, then I would have known it, too. And I can't know it. For one second, everything was crystal clear to McQueen, then as if someone turned the kaleidoscope, the pattern changed and everything was out of focus. "Sorry Glen, I must really be drunk, I'm rambling."

Ross wasn't sure what he had just seen and heard. Was there someone who McQueen care about? He wished that he hadn't had so much to drink, maybe he would have been able to figure his friend out. If he was lucky, this conversation would make more sense in the morning, if he remembered any of it.

"So tell me, Glen?" McQueen lounged back on his bunk and looked Ross up and down. "Tell me, natural-born man, what's the answer?"

"You'll have to tell me what the question is first, Ty," Ross reached for the almost empty bottle of scotch. He was beginning to appreciate the taste of the drink, after all.

"Tell me about the mysteries of women?" McQueen nailed his friend with a cool blue stare.

"That would take years," Ross sipped his drink.

"I have this theory," McQueen was off on another tangent, all his friend could do was listen and try and keep up. "Knowing where your heart is can be the hard part. Life is so easy when you bury all feelings. Don't let anything in. Just live by the rules of the Corps. Not looking to the right or the left, just marching along, following orders and doing your duty." McQueen was looking into the photo, Ross had the feeling that his friend was seeing something that was buried deep within.

"What you're describing sounds pretty dull to me," Ross knew that was how McQueen lived his life at times, but he had always wished for something better for his friend. "Safe, but dull. Women can tie a man in a knot, so tight, no sailor can get free. They get you coming and going with their pretty smiles, then don't know you exist. You take them to dinner, sweet talk them, and all they see is a friend." Ross shook his head feeling sorry for himself.

"Don't tell me that somewhere on this ship of 5000 people, there's a woman who has caught the Commodore's interest?" Ty teased his friend. He had turned the tables. Let Ross stew in the spotlight for a while.

"Yes, and she doesn't know I'm alive, at least not as a man," Ross shook his head sadly. "You know her, maybe you can plead my case."

"You stay away from my Marines!" McQueen wasn't kidding. "You're screwing with the chain of command."

"Not Vansen or Damphousse," Ross shrugged his shoulders. "Though they are both attractive women, very attractive," he smiled as he thought of the young Marines. "I'm talking about Jenny Kirkwood."

"You and Jen?" So that was why she had been keeping him at arms length.

"I'm afraid, it's just me," Ross rambled. "She can't see me for a bulkhead. I've had dinner with her three different times, but each time, she treats it as business. You've known her for a while, who's the man in her life?"

"As far as I know, there isn't any," McQueen thought over all he knew about Jen. "No, in all the time I've known her, there hasn't been anyone she has dated more than once or twice. Back in Loxley, she would go out with the Angels in a group."

"There has to be someone," Ross probed. "Maybe one of the Angels? Is there a man she's mourning? Was he the one who gave her that bracelet?"

"What are you talking about?" McQueen reached for the bottle, only to discover it was empty. "Jen isn't one to talk about herself much. I've learned more about her from talking to Patsy, than she ever told me."

"I sure would like to be the man who gave her that bracelet," Ross mumbled.

"What makes you think some man gave it to her?" McQueen realized there was something significant in what Ross was saying, but he couldn't get a grasp on it.

"I just do!"

"You're drunk Glen," McQueen was trying hard to follow Ross' line of thinking. "What does a piece of gold have to do with it."

"Women are strange mysterious creatures, especially when it comes to jewelry," Ross felt as if he was lecturing on a subject he knew nothing about.

"That's bullshit!" McQueen snorted. Boy, was Ross ever missing the boat.

"Our little Doctor doesn't wear any jewelry," Ross was shaking his finger at his friend. "Just that damn bracelet. You ever notice that when she's worried or afraid she plays with it?"

"That doesn't mean a thing," McQueen dismissed the idea. After all, he was the one who gave her the bracelet. He should know. "Patsy probably gave it to her," it wasn't exactly a lie, but it would keep Glen from coming to false conclusions.

"Nope, no way," Ross shook his head. "She talks about Patsy all the time. But she never talks about that bracelet. It's precious, private. I think it means something very special to her."

"Yeah, right," McQueen argued. "I think it's just a piece of jewelry." He would have liked to explain to Ross that it reminded Jen of her boat and all the things she loved, but something in his scotch-hazed mind was telling him it was something better left unsaid.

"Today you proved you can make an SA-43 attack jet do everything except stand up and salute; you can bluff like a son-of-a-bitch in poker; and you're one of the best Marines I've ever had the pleasure of knowing. But when it comes to women, you don't know shit, Ty. Ty?" Ross looked over to where his friend had slumped over on his bunk. "Ty? Ha! I've finally out-drunk you....or is it drank you?" Who gives a shit about grammar? Ross snorted.

"You are going to be one sick puppy in the morning," Ross shook his head as he moved to make his friend more comfortable. "Up you go, Ty." He pulled McQueen's legs onto the bunk then straightened the man out.

"You got it wrong, Glen," McQueen's eyes were half open and his speech slurred. "Not a man," he mumbled. "Her boat, Jen's like you. She loves her damn boat....." His eyes closed again, he was out cold.

Quiet knocking woke Jenny. Confused, she grabbed her wrist beeper, to make sure she wasn't being being paged by Sickbay.

"Yes, who is it?" She shuffled to the door, wearing an over-sized man's sweat shirt, a gold bracelet and red toenail polish.

"It's Glen Ross," the Commodore whispered from the other side of the door. "I need your help out here."

"Just a sec," Jenny pulled on a pair of sweat pants and grabbed her gear bag before opening the door. "What can I do for you, Commodore?"

"I need help with McQueen," Ross, pointed down the hall. "You were right, about the drinking. I've only seen him like this once before, and that was after his divorce. I want to make sure he'll be all right for the night."

"No problem, Sir," Jen pulled her door closed, not bothering with shoes. McQueen's quarters were a few doors down from hers.

Ross punched in McQueen's door code and opened the door for the Doctor. "I was going to try and get him to drink some coffee, but he passed out before I could suggest it."

"It's just as well, Commodore," Jen leaned over McQueen to check his vital signs. "The more there is in his stomach, the greater the odds he'll throw it up."

"I thought you had agreed to call me Glen, the other night," Ross smiled at the woman bent over his friend.

"Sorry, Glen," Jen sat beside McQueen on the bunk. "As I see it, we have a few options. Ideally, he should be in Sickbay, but we can't move him, without attracting attention. But if he stays here, he shouldn't be left alone. Between a hangover and his dizziness, he could hurt himself when he wakes up."

"What do you suggest?" Ross sat back down on the desk chair, figuring he was going to have a long night ahead of him.

"You look done in. What did you do, match him drink for drink?" Jen shook her head. "I used to think it was just Marines who were macho jerks, I may need to rethink that."

"I did have a tiny bit of rum before I went to the Tun," Ross held up his hand, with his index finger and thumb spread about four inches apart. "What are our other options?"

"I could stay," Jen turned and held up her hand to Ross. "I know. I know all the reason's why I shouldn't be the one," she began to tick them off on her fingers. "He's my commanding officer, so it would be damaging to his reputation; he is in-vitro, I am in-utero, so it'd be damaging to my reputation. Most importantly, he doesn't want me here! But frankly, Glen, you look like hell, and I'm not sure you wouldn't end up coming and getting me if he got into trouble anyway."

"I'll stay," Ross shrugged. "He would do it for me."

"Ouch," Jen grunted as McQueen moved slightly, pushing something sharp against her hip. Standing she shifted him and pulled out a framed picture that was buried half under him. "Bitch," she mouthed as she placed the picture face down on the desk.

"I see you've met Amy," Ross raised an eyebrow at the woman, who flushed as she realized he had heard her derogatory comment.

"I've never had the pleasure, but I've cleaned up one her messes, " Jen murmured, her mind more on the problem at hand than McQueen's ex-wife. "Glen, what about Joan Brill? This isn't her night in Sickbay. I trust her, and I know she would help us out, if I asked her to. She's discrete and best of all, McQueen won't be able to bully her when he wakes up."

Five minutes later, Ross was on his way to get the nurse, along with a list of supplies that Jen had given him to get from Sickbay.

Leaning over McQueen, Jen placed two fingers on his neck, just below the jaw line, counting his heart beats as she knelt beside him. "Oh Ty, what have you done to yourself," she muttered.

Half an hour later the hatch to McQueen's quarters opened, Ross had let Joan in, then headed back to his own quarters. The Nurse was brought to a halt at the sight of the two sleeping people. McQueen on his right side, holding Jen's hand against his neck. His left arm thrown over her shoulders. Jen's legs curled on the floor, her head, and the arm that McQueen wasn't holding, rested on the bunk, inches away from his face.

"It's almost a shame to wake her," Brill shook her head. "The only time they get close to each other is when one of them is unconscious."

She carefully removed McQueen's arm from around Jenny's shoulders. "Colonel, you need to do this when you're both awake," the nurse lectured. "No freebies for you, Sir."

"Hmmm," Jenny woke at the sound of the woman's voice beside her. "Joan? That didn't take long," it seemed to Jenny as if Ross had just left. "Oh, boy am I stiff," she started to stretch, but stopped, when she felt McQueen's grip tighten on her hand.

"Jen?" His eyes opened as he pulled her toward him. "What happened? It's not the Greens again, is it?"

"No, Ty," she tried to smile, but her eyes filled with tears. "You had too much to drink, that's all." She ran her hand gently through his hair above his ear. "I'm going to give you something to calm your stomach, but it won't help with the dizziness."

"S'all right," he mumbled. "Just as long as it's not the Greens, don't want to hurt you again."

"You didn't then and you won't now." Her voice cracked as Brill handed her the hypospray and she pushed it against his neck with her free hand.

"Trust you, Jen," his eyes began to close. "Want you to trust me, again."

"God, don't let him remember that conversation," Jenny leaned her head on the bunk beside the sleeping man, and rubbed her face against his blanket in an attempt to remove any trace of tears. "I'm so sorry, Ty. I didn't mean to scare you like that."

"I'll take good care of him," Joan patted the younger woman on the shoulder. She kept her Nurse's face carefully in place. Later she would think about what she had seen and heard tonight. "What was that about Greens? He have a problem with them in the past?"

"Yes," Jen stood and moving into doctor mode, gave a history and assessment before handing over care of the patient. "If you need me, I'm two doors down."

"We'll be fine, and I'll see he keeps his morning appointment with Dr. Voss. You get some sleep," Joan waited until the doctor left McQueen's quarters, before she pulled out the sweater she was knitting for her daughter, who was Chief Medical Officer on the Eisenhower.

Saratoga Mess Hall, February 13, 2064- 1300 hours

Joan Brill had just finished eating lunch with Jenny Kirkwood. It was Joan's day off and she was playing in a bridge tournament in five mikes, or she would have stayed with the younger woman. As they had eaten, Jenny had thanked Joan for her help in the early morning hours, but had changed the subject whenever Joan tried to bring up Colonel McQueen. Joan had been in the Navy too long to ever be called a romantic, but she would have bet her pension that there was something going on between the two younger people. And if there wasn't, there sure should be.

"Lady-Doc, can we join you?" Jen was caught by surprise when she looked up from her coffee and found herself surrounded by Wildcards.

"Sure, I'd love the company," she smiled at Nathan who had led the group over to her table. "What have you been up to?"

"We have the day off," Hawkes grinned. "Is the Colonel ok? They wouldn't let us see him this morning when we tried."

"He's fine, Dr. Voss should be releasing him from Sickbay this afternoon," Jenny took a sip of her coffee. "Chico put the myo-electronic feedback device back in his inner hear at about 0730 today. The Colonel was a lucky man. From what Chico tells me, there was very little scar damage done from it's removal, so the MEF should operate as well as it did before."

"So, no more flying for the Colonel?" The look on Shane's face was almost painful.

"Shane, Colonel McQueen knew when it was removed, that it was only a temporary situation." Jenny wasn't sure how much more she had a right to discuss without permission. "Having it removed was taking a big chance, and everyday he left it out, there was time for more scar tissue to build up and do more damage."

"He never said anything about it to us," West had hoped McQueen would be able to fly again.

"I probably told you more then I should have, but I know you care about him," Jenny looked at the young people around her. "Be a little patient with him, if his temper is a bit short over the next few weeks."

When they were done eating, the Wildcards hurried off to a volleyball court they had reserved for the afternoon, but Cooper Hawkes stayed behind with Dr. Kirkwood.

"Do you have a few minutes, Doctor?" Hawkes didn't know how to go about asking what he needed to know, but he had finally worked up the courage and he wasn't going to let the chance get away from him. "I need to talk to you about something."

"Sure, Coop, I'm off this afternoon, too," Jenny looked around and noticed a table for two in the corner that had just been vacated. "Why don't we move over there, so we aren't bothered."

After getting more coffee, they moved to the more private table. "What can I do for you?" Jenny smiled at the young man across from her.

"I've been reading your book," Cooper was amazed that he was talking to someone who had written a book. "And well, some of the things it says..... are they all true?"

"To the best of my knowledge. All the scientific information in that book is based on fact," Jenny searched her mind for what he might be talking about. "But you'll have to be more specific. I did put some of my own ideas in there as well, but they are things I believe to be true."

"I guess, it's some of the ideas that bother me," he scrunched up his face. "See, I know that Colonel McQueen would never agree to some of the things you say about in-vitros in there. That bit about emotions and feeling, in particular."

"You really look up to the Colonel, don't you?" Jenny was beginning to see the problem.

"Yes, Ma'am."

"When it comes to the Marine Corps, you couldn't have a better person to learn from than Colonel McQueen," Jen was afraid Ty was going to take her head off for this, but she was going to tell the young in-vitro what she really thought. "But you have to remember that he's a different generation of in-vitro than you are. A different person. There is only one Tyrus McQueen and there is only one Cooper Hawkes. Both unique human beings."

"So are you telling me that McQueen is wrong?" Coop couldn't comprehend the idea, but the way she had called him human without even thinking about it made him feel good inside.

"No, what I am saying is that just because something works for him, doesn't mean it's the answer for you." Jenny leaned forward, to underline the importance of what she was saying. "Think about it this way. You're six, right?"

"Yes."

"When McQueen was six, he had spent five years in the mines doing indentured servitude, then had been in an In-Vitro Unit of the Marine Corps, handling munitions for another year. Those In-Vitro Units were just an extension of indentured servitude. In one word, slavery!" Jen was angry just thinking about what generations of in-vitros had gone through. "Now, compare it to what you've done in the last six years."

"A lot of what I've done hasn't been so good," he thought back to the years in Philadelphia. "But it wasn't anything like, what you say, the Colonel went through."

"That's what I'm talking about," Jen smiled. "And what about this last year, with the 58th. You've got friends; people that really care about you. He didn't have that."

"Caring is real hard," Cooper looked so serious when he said it, Jenny had to hide a smile.

"Society teaches young in-vitros hate, fear, prejudice, and anger, then it wonders 'way' those are the emotions that you show the easiest." Jen shook her head at the folly of so many people.

"You're right," Coop looked at Jenny, she had made is sound so easy. "How do I learn about caring, then?"

"I think you already know about it," she met his serious gaze. "You care about your squad don't you?"

"Well sure, but you're a natural-born," Coop interrupted the doctor. "It's easy for you to talk about caring."

"First of all Cooper, you need to learn that not all IN-UTERO-borns have a loving, wonderful family." Jenny was just angry enough to tell him the truth. "My mother died when I was born and as for my father? Well, lets just say, he wasn't interested in being a father."

"I'm sorry" Hawkes sputtered. "I didn't know."

"But, I was very lucky," Jenny reached in the pocket of her lab coat and pulled out a phototag she always carried. "See this woman? That's Patsy Howard. She raised me and she's an in-vitro."

"She looks so happy," Hawkes held the phototag of Jenny with her arms around a tall stately older woman. Both women were laughing into the camera as they held on to each other. They were standing in a rose garden. "You love her don't you?"

"Of course," Jenny laughed. "We grew up together. I had an angry father who would darken our doorstep about twice a year, but most of the time it was just Patsy and me. Though, in my early years it was hard on me knowing that nothing I could do would make my father love me."

"But, you were able to learn about love from an in-vitro?" Cooper wondered what it must have been like for the woman in the picture.

"We learned together, I guess," suddenly a thought hit Jenny. "Coop, is there a woman you're interested in, is that what this is all about?"

"Well, yes," the big Marine looked embarrassed.

"Maybe this is something you should talk to the Colonel about," Jenny was uncomfortable giving the young man advice about women.

"No," Coop shook his head. "Not about this, Dr. Kirkwood. She isn't an in-vitro, and well....it's not something I can talk to him about."

"I can see your point," Jen fidgeted in her chair. "Why me, Coop? Nathan might be able to help you better than I can."

"I know the facts of life," Coop grinned. "I wanted to talk to you about it, because I knew you would understand. I see how you are with the Colonel, friends and all. His being an in-vitro doesn't get in the way..."

"Wait, back up there, Lieutenant," Jenny felt her stomach clench. "What's this about the Colonel and me?"

"Well, you're friends," Coop was flustered, he realized he had gone too far. "We see you guys talking, and you make him laugh, something he almost never does. I didn't mean, well you aren't...."

"I get the picture," Jenny held up her hand to stop the young man. "Sorry, I didn't mean to jump on you like that. The Colonel wouldn't appreciate rumors." Jenny had no illusions on that account. McQueen was a very attractive man and he liked beautiful women. He still had that picture on his desk to prove it. She was slightly hurt that Hawkes didn't see her as pretty enough for McQueen, but Jen knew that the truth hurt sometimes. Get over it, Kirkwood.

"How can I be of help to you, Cooper?" She decided a change of subject was the easiest way out.

"This woman, well, I like her a whole lot," Coop thought about Shane and how pretty she was. "How do I make her like me back? I mean, not just like me, but you know, care for me as a man?"

"You can't make someone like you, or care about you," Jenny sighed as she listened to her own advice. "I like to believe that once people get to know each other and care about each other, that the in-vitro, in-utero issue doesn't matter, but I'd be lying to you if I said that it didn't. Is it something that might be a problem for the woman you're talking about?"

"Is that how it worked for you?" Cooper hated to mention McQueen again, but that was one of the reasons he thought Jenny was a good person to talk to. She had gotten past prejudice of in-vitros and was a friend to the man he thought so much of.

"What do you mean?"

"Did you get past the Colonel being an in-vitro?" He looked a bit embarrassed. "Before you became friends."

"You're asking the wrong person about that," Jenny laughed, realizing that was why Coop had been interested in the friendship she had with McQueen, he wasn't implying that anything else was going on. "I didn't know there was a difference until I was about six years old."

"No way!"

"Yes, way," Jenny kidded, then turned serious. "I knew that Patsy's navel wasn't where mine was, but then she had brown eyes and mine were gray, I didn't think anything of it. One day we were in one of the stores and someone made a crack about in-vitros. That's when I learned. But I guess I never really learned, because, I don't see the difference. Patsy is just a woman to me and the Colonel is just a man."

"How did you grow up thinking like that?"

"Part of it was where I grew up. The year-round residence of Catalina are few and we take care of each other. Patsy had been accepted into the community when I was too young to remember. I guess over the years people forgot, or didn't care that Pats was an in-vitro." For the first time Jenny realized how lucky she had been to grow up in a small insulated community.

"That's the real reason you wrote your book isn't it?" Cooper was stupefied that anyone would think the way Jenny did. "You wrote it for Patsy."

"You're a very intelligent man, Cooper Hawkes," Jenny drank the last of her coffee and smiled at the young man. "I would have dedicated my book to her, but I was afraid that it would cause her trouble."

"The way you think is a bit scary," Cooper admitted. "Is there a reason you haven't asked me who the woman is that I'm interested in?"

"I thought if you wanted me to know you would tell me," Jenny looked him straight in the eyes.

"I appreciate your not prying," Coop looked relieved. "Why is caring so much harder than anger or hate?"

"I think it's harder, because when we open ourselves up to care, we leave ourselves vulnerable to another." Jen gave Coop a sad smile. "It's handing someone the power to hurt us in a very personal way."

"You sound as if you know what you're talking about," Cooper couldn't imagine any man hurting the little doctor. But as she had said earlier, you can't make someone care about you. Some guy out there was a real fool.

"Hey, we all have out bumps and bangs along the way," Jen kidded. "The best advice I can give you is to be yourself, be kind and be honest. You're still young, Coop. Once you have a better understanding of who you are, then you will have a lot to give to a woman."

"You don't think I have a lot to give a woman, now?" Coop was hurt, but needed an honest answer.

"I didn't say that," Jenny patted his hand. "You need to take things slowly, though. It's harder to know what is real feeling and what isn't, when you are still finding yourself."

"Sometimes you sound a lot like the Colonel."

"I'll choose to take that as a compliment, my friend," Jenny laughed, not sure how McQueen would feel about it. "You just think about what I said."

"Dr. Kirkwood, I'd like to tell you who the woman is," Cooper was hesitant. "But you need to keep it a secret."

"This whole conversation goes under the heading of doctor/patient confidentiality," Jenny had a pretty good idea who the woman was, but wanted to hear it from Cooper.

"It's Shane," Coop whispered her name. "Do you think I have a chance?"

"From what I can tell about her, I don't think you have to worry about her opinions of in-vitros." Jenny was thinking back to a few nights before when Shane had come to her to patch-up the results of a fist fight over the issue. "But Shane still has some things to figure out herself, and she's hurting from the death of that young man a week or so ago."

"Did she love him a whole lot?" Cooper looked miserable, thinking about John Oakes. "It's real scary when you think about someone you care about dying. I'd rather die myself than have her die."

"Coop, you've got it bad," Jenny smiled and patted his hand. "Anything Shane may have told me, would have been in confidence. Right now, what she needs is a friend. Someone who is there for her, no matter what happens. Try being that friend for a while."

"She's got West and 'Phousse, for that," Coop sounded grim.

"Do I detect a bit of jealousy?"

"She and West are always talking and joking," Coop shrugged. "I know he loves Kylen, but Shane is here and Kylen isn't."

"Back-up there," Jenny poked his arm to make her point. "There's a difference between caring and loving. Nathan loves Kylen in a special way." Jenny could only shake her head and sigh. "I'm told my father loved my mother that way. When mom died, dad's heart died with her. I hope Nathan isn't like that. But I think that if he had proof tomorrow that Kylen was dead, he would mourn her, and love her all his life. I hope he would live a full life, but I doubt he would ever love like that again. There's an old Chinese proverb: people are like birds with one wing. They are destine to wander the earth until they find their other half. When the two halves join, they fly free, soaring as birds were meant to do........." Jenny gazed into the distance realizing that she would never soar.

"Lady-Doc?" Cooper shook her arm, realizing that the Doctor was seeing something deep in herself.

"Sorry, Coop," Jenny came back to reality with a thump. "I was wool-gathering," thinking hard to remember what they had been talking about, when her mind had gown AWOL. "I think you're right to lump Nathan and Vanessa in the same category. Shane treats them both the same."

"How do you know?" Coop was relieved to see the sad expression gone from Jenny's face. Suddenly, he remembered all the stories he had heard from the men who had been trapped on Kordis with her. The stories about the Marine Major, that she had told them, to keep them occupied. Stories about a man who was dead.

"I people-watch," Jenny looked around the mess hall. "You should try it, Coop. It helps you learn about people and it can be great fun. Just be sure to be discrete about it. No one likes their privacy invaded. Now, I need to be going."

"Do you think Patsy, would mind if I wrote to her?"

"No, I think she would be glad to hear from you," Jenny pulled out a pad and pen that she always carried and began to scribble the address. "It'll give you a different perspective. This is the address," she handed over the paper.

"Thanks, Lady-Doc," Cooper had never written a letter, but he was going to write this one. "And I really appreciate you listening."

"Any time, Coop," Jenny stood and gathered the cups. "And I mean that."

Over in the far corner a set of ice blue eyes watched the Doctor and Lieutenant leave. His head still pounded, but for the first time in over a week, he wasn't dizzy. He would have given a great deal to know what had kept those two talking for over an hour.

Previous : Chapter Three - Part Two

Next : Chapter Four

Back : Space: AAB General Fiction