Author's Note: This story takes place during the end of and immediately following S:AAB's "Tell Our Moms We Done Our Best" and deals with the emotional impact of that episode. It is a prologue or setup for future stories. Be patient with me and they will come to you. Enjoy! Standard Disclaimer: This is a work of amateur fiction not meant to infringe on copyrights held by James Wong & Glen Morgan, Twentieth Century Fox Television, Hard Eight Pictures, Inc. or anyone involved in the making of the TV series _Space: Above and Beyond_. Anything else is mine, all mine! PJS's Fanfic Disclaimer: This is fanfic, and in fanfic there is never ONE TRUTH, but rather many individual truths. This is just one of them.

Part Two The door stood before him; the whitest-white paint, not a scratch on it, the triangle window sparkling clean. Cooper Hawkes leaned against the opposite wall unable to move his feet, or his hand to push the door to T.C. McQueen's hospital room open. *Just go in there and say, "Hey, how ya doin'?"* Hawkes tried to psych himself up. *Yeah, right. That's real brilliant, Spooge-for-brains. You know how he's doing.* McQueen was a brick; seemingly emotionless at times, the great capacity for compassion, in his soul, kept hidden from those he wanted at a distance. If Hawkes was to go in there, the Colonel would, most likely, put on a brave face, make some crack about how he was feeling, and they would avoid mentioning that he was going back to Earth. They would stare at each other. Cooper's stomach would be eating away at him and he'd fight back the tears, for the colonel's sake. What good would that do either of them? Cooper wondered. None. Hawkes pushed himself off the wall, deciding to leave, but let his feet steer him close to the door, so he could peek inside. The soldier lay on the hospital bed, his face pallid and pinched in pain, a sheen of sweat covered his grey skin. Hawkes had never seen anyone look that weak, and it hurt that it was McQueen. Hawkes had never known any kind of love until McQueen had become his commanding officer and decided that the pathetic creature that Hawkes was held some worth in him, somewhere. It had hurt, at first, McQueen's sharp words, but they had meant more to him than anyone would know. In the Philadelphia InVitro Facility, Cooper had been nothing more than a killing machine, trained with a iron hand, never taught to care about anything, save his country and duty. Still, something inside of him screamed out that their teachings were wrong. This was not the way it should be. He saw the birds outside his barred barracks window and wondered why he was locked away, while they flew free. The Monitors glossed over his questions, only telling him what they wanted him to know. Being a naturally curious kid, he had been too naive to realize that his constant questioning of the system would lead the Monitors to set him for execution. It had been so easy to kill that doctor, he'd done it almost without thinking, and with the only emotions being fear and hatred. That same fear and hatred followed him always, from birth, through his days on the streets spent scrounging and running, until this war and the Wild Cards, under the guidance of Colonel McQueen. Cooper had learned so much from these people in the past eighteen months, and he wondered if they had any idea how much they influenced him. McQueen had taught him what it truly meant to be a soldier and, in the same terms, to be human; to have honor, loyalty, and respect for oneself and others. Shane had shown him what it was like to be cared for unconditionally and to return that love. Nathan taught him faith and loyalty; what it meant to commit oneself completely to something, or someone. From Vanessa he had learned compassion and she had shown him never ending patience. Paul had introduced him to humor, and opened his horizons to new, exciting things. And from them all he had learned courage. In the wake of this tragedy, Cooper Hawkes finally realized the answer to the question McQueen had asked him more than a year ago. What would you die for? He would die to protect any and all of the 58th squadron, he would have today, had he been given the chance. "Lieutenant Hawkes," Commodore Ross's voice sounded behind him. Cooper automatically snapped to attention as he turned around to see the commander of the USS Saratoga standing a few feet away, mug of coffee in his hand. The commodore's dark features were sagging, tired, and his eyes, so easily read, were sad. "Sir," Cooper said, his back stretching more rigid. "At ease, Lieutenant." Ross stepped closer. "I'm glad I ran into you. I thought you'd want to know, we've sent out ten SAR teams. They're combing the area for Lieutenants Damphousse and Wang, and Captain Vansen, as we speak. We'll know something in a few hours." "Thanks," Hawkes said flatly, relieved but not letting himself hope. Commodore Ross let his gaze drift to the hospital room door, then back to Hawkes. A faint, curious smile lifted one corner of his mouth. "The doctor says he's doing as well as can be expected. They're going to have to send him home, though, for proper care." "Home?" Hawkes queried. Last time he checked the only home McQueen had was on board the Saratoga. "To Earth," the commodore answered. Cooper's heart sank, into his shoes. No more Shane, no more Vanessa, no more Paul, no more McQueen. The young man's home was crumbling around him. "I was just coming to check on him," Ross said, after a moment. "I'm sure he'd like to see you." Hawkes shook his head vehemently. "No," he pushed out. "I'll just. . .uh. . .Tell him. . ." He looked over his shoulder, into the room. An anxious, embarrassed grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Never mind." That said, Cooper spun and beat a hasty retreat down the hall. Commodore Glen Van Ross sat forward, over his desk, pouring out two glasses of rum; one of which he placed carefully, purposefully, across the desk, beside the picture of his wife, son, and daughter, in front of the empty seat where Lt. Col. TC McQueen should be sitting. The other he held to his lips, letting the heady liquor tease his senses, before setting it down. Colonel McQueen could not be here, today; to leaned his ear, to offer his advice, or to just sit quietly, while they took solace in the presence of true friendship. Today, aboard the USS Saratoga, had been a day to be remembered, but not for the reason it should have been. The peace talks could have made this an auspicious day, to be celebrated. Instead, it was destined to go down in history as a dark and hellish day. Today, aboard the USS Saratoga, a kamikaze Chig, posing as an envoy, had done away with the possibility of peace, exploding a bomb in the conference room, which claimed the lives of nearly everyone with him. And as the commanding officer of this ship, Commodore Ross knew he should have been in that room, and not McQueen. It didn't matter if that stubborn ass of an excuse for a United States Marine Colonel didn't think so, it was true. *If it hadn't been for this damned cold.* Ross growled to himself. He shook his head, tearing his eyes away from that chair which sat empty, across from him, wondering how it had all come to pass. *All hell broke loose,* he reminded himself. *That's what happened.* How that piece of AeroTech slime - E. Allan Wayne - had been allowed to run amok in that conference room was beyond him. If he had been in that room, Wayne would have been subdued faster than you could say Chig. How had it gotten out of control? The only person who could answer Glen's questions to his satisfaction, with no obfuscation or head games, was on his way back to Earth. Listening to the peace negotiations take place, while he lay in his bed, Ross had been too far removed from the proceedings to get an accurate feel for what was going on. Wayne's voice had risen above the alien ambassadors, shouting hateful words, and the Chig's mechanical, translator voice was buried beneath the fury and racist hatred of the CEO of AeroTech. He could hear what was happening, but being in his cabin he could not see Wayne's taunting gestures or the Chig's defenses slam into place. So far removed, the Commodore could do nothing to prevent the utter chaos which had been caused by Wayne and his selfish need to cover his ass. If any of what this Chig had to say was true, AeroTech had a lot to answer for, but he feared these truths would never be brought to light. Wayne would be made out a martyr, by an oblivious Earth, and the truths which this creature had revealed would stay hidden. All the suffering, all the deaths, today, would be for nothing. The peace talks, the attempts to understand an enemy which would remain an enigma, had failed. An event which could have ended this war, without further loss of life, had been sabotaged and this war would march on, shrouded in mystery. "More questions than answers," seemed to sum up this fight and their enemy aptly. Questions were rarely answered, while still more kept coming at them. And so many soldiers lost their lives in the effort to discover something, anything that could end it. Fighting the AI, at least they had known what they were up against. Their government had commissioned those machines. Silicatronics had appeared to be cooperating with the government and the military to openly providing information about the AI's; had assigned some of their people as advisors to the military, in order to help fight that enemy. It had all seemed to be a global, cooperative effort. Or had he just been a naive Navy lieutenant, back then? Had they been hiding information just as AeroTech hoarded away information on the Chigs? That was not a question he should be dwelling on, now. What weighed most heavily on his heart was the loss to the Wild Cards. His logic, training, and command experience told him that these things happened. This was war, and in war people died. Still, another voice slammed into his mind, screaming of guilt and loss; the grief he knew McQueen felt at losing his kids, the grief West and Hawkes felt, the helpless vulnerability of having to watch their squad go down, the loss of comrades, and the guilt he felt for sending them into that hell. *Delay that last. I want the five-eight on this rescue.* He had done it. What he'd been dreading from the day Ty came on board the Saratoga and took up command of the Wild Cards. He'd gotten too emotionally involved. Every time he had to send those kids out on a mission, he knew that there was a chance they wouldn't comeback, but they always had. Today, only two had come back. What good were a King and Jack without the Ace, Queen, and Joker? These were more than just soldiers, and he'd put his own butt on the line for them more times than he cared to think about. And he'd keep going out on that limb for them and for McQueen. They were exceptional Marines, all of them. He'd done everything he could for Vansen, Damphousse, and Wang, today. Now, it was just a waiting game, to see who would come limping safely home. There was a soft, tentative rap on his door and he started. "Who's at my hatch?" "Lt. Hawkes, sir." The boy's timid voice returned, muffled by the door. An involuntary smile quirked Ross' lips. "Enter," he called out. After a moment the door swung open and Cooper Hawkes peeked around the edge, seeming so young. He was more like McQueen than both men would probably be comfortable recognizing. InVitroes had an uncanny, and in most cases natural, way of mingling child-like innocence, with their worldly knowledge gained from being raised under less than suitable circumstances. He was assuming that the hatred and scorn, which most InVitroes faced, had been inescapable for Cooper. Ross knew what McQueen had faced, had seen and helped him through a lot of those days, but he knew next to nothing about where Cooper had come from. All he needed to know was that McQueen cared about the boy, and visa versa, if that dull, lifeless quality to Cooper's grey eyes told him anything. "I'm not disturbing you, sir. Am I?" Hawkes asked politely. "No," Ross said kindly. "Come on in. I was just going to have a drink." As he stepped into the room, Cooper's eyes dipped down, to gaze at the desk, and he pointed at the extra glass of rum. "Were you expecting somebody?" The boy turned questioning eyes - sad and lost eyes - to him. "No," Ross answered, with a sad smile. "It's habit." Collecting himself, Ross gestured to the empty seat. "Why don't you join me. You look like you could use a stiff drink." "Oh, no, sir." Cooper shifted uneasily. "I couldn't. I was just passing by and thought..." *Passing by,* Ross scoffed at the InVitro's shallow attempt to appear casual. "I...uh," he hesitated, shrugging, a small lift of his shoulder. "I know Colonel McQueen used to talk to you. I just thought... You know how it is, sir... I mean when... Ah geez." Cooper collapsed heavily into the chair. "Cooper, don't think of me as Commodore Ross." He gaging his voice to be quiet and reassuring. "Think of me as a friend. I know McQueen does. If you need to talk, I'm here." "Is he ever coming back?" Cooper asked abruptly. The words hit painfully, reminding Ross of when his son had left for summer camp and his daughter, not more than three years old, confused about where her brother had gone, had asked that same question. But Cooper's query was far more disconcerting; his deep whisper so incongruous with the child-like question. He didn't know how to answer it. "I don't know," Ross finally answered, exhaling loudly. "I honestly don't know." Cooper thankfully turned that pleading gaze to his lap. "But there will always be a position open for him on my ship, should he wish to return." Cooper nodded, unfolding his lanky body. "Thank you, sir." The young lieutenant was gone before Ross could stop him. As the door slammed behind Cooper, he sank back into the comfort of his chair. Turning his head, he spotted Rosalyn resting on her stand, waiting for him. With a quiet smile he reached back, and drew her into his lap. His fingers settling on her strings, he began to play, to lose himself in the sweet blues she sang. The Red Cross medevac carrying the recovered colonists and the recently injured swam through space, homeward bound. Kylen Celina fidgeted in her seat as she watched the three medics bustle around her. There were close to thirty sick and four seriously injured to their three. She couldn't just sit here and let them work themselves into sickbeds of their own. Her medical knowledge was limited to the necessary, extensive first aid skills she had learned when she entered the final year of her Colonial Program training, but it was probably comparable enough for her to take some of the work load off of these people. *Might as well eliminate the middle man,* she thought. Since they were probably going to come around recruiting volunteers soon, anyway. Besides, she needed something to do, to keep her mind and body occupied. She stood up and moved unsteadily through the carrier, into the next compartment, making her way toward the closest medic; a tall, light skinned, dark-haired woman, who was seeing to Jeffery Cannon. Kylen offered the man - a fellow colonist, who had been imprisoned with her - a friendly smile, when he met her gaze. The medic turned to see what her patient was looking at. The woman didn't waste the energy on a smile, before she turned away to gather her medical bag together. "What can I do for you?" the medic asked, her voice flat. "Actually, I was wondering what I could do to help you?" The woman straightened her back as she turned, confused, her eyes brightening. "Do you have any experience, _any_ medical training?" she asked. Then, as Kylen began to nod the woman cut off any answer with a shake of her head, and she blurted out, "It doesn't matter, for what we need." As she clasped Kylen's wrist, the young woman took note of her name tag for the first time: Teresa Bennett, EMT. "I did have some medical training, for the Tellus Mission," Kylen told her, as she was lead to the back of the carrier. "Good, that's even better," Teresa said. "I need someone to keep an eye on the colonel. He's lost his right leg below the knee, plus other extensive physical trauma and we're having trouble keeping him stabilized." Kylen didn't realize that she was staring wide-eyed, or that she had abruptly slowed her pace, until the medic turned a little and tugged on her hand. "Are you all right?" Teresa asked, her face going limp. Kylen knew the medic was more worried about losing volunteer help, than her health. "I.. just... Sorry, I'm all right," Kylen assured her, ashamed of her own fear. *I can do this,* Kylen told herself. After two weeks as a fugitive and seventeen months as a Chig prisoner, she could handle one injured Marine colonel. "He'll probably be unconscious, most of the time," Teresa assured her. *Good,* Kylen sighed. *An unconscious, injured Marine colonel. Even better.* "He's slipping in and out. Mostly out, but if there is turbulence or some sort of disturbance, he comes awake. We just need someone to monitor him, to warn us if anything goes wrong. He shouldn't be much trouble." "What's his name?" Kylen asked, just in case he did wake up. Teresa stopped, again. A puzzled frown crossing her face, then she dug out her clipboard, in order to double check. "McQueen," she finally answered. "Lt. Col. TC McQueen." Kylen nodded, and they continued on. The grey figure secured to a stretcher on one of the carriers benches, remained in an unnatural slumber, as Kylen sat across from him. So far, so good. His breathing was still relatively stable, his pulse, the last time she had checked, had been stronger than she thought it would be, but was fluttering awkwardly. And the sheen of a pain-sweat covered his pallid skin. When she had first sat down the thought had struck her that this man was familiar. It had only taken an instant for that thought to resolve itself, though. Kylen had seen the EMT's load him onto this vehicle, and seen the pain and worry in Nathan, as he watched. Colonel McQueen had to be Nathan's commanding officer. She smiled and made a silent promise, to herself and Nathan, that she would make sure that this man was well looked after until they were all safely home and she was assured that he was in good hands. The ship gave a lurch, nothing heart stopping, but unsettling all the same. Kylen gripped the bench seat to steady herself. She heard McQueen moan loudly and sat forward, slipping off the bench to crouch by him, as the rocking stopped. When she drew closer, to help settle him, her eyes met a pair of disarmingly pale ones. "Wh..?" he muttered. "You're all right, Colonel McQueen," she assured him, laying a hand on his arm. "It's nothing." "Ww...Who," he breathed weakly, straining slightly against the straps which held him secure. Before she could answer, a flash of light glared and she closed her eyes against it. When she opened her eyes, McQueen was looking at her, with the oddest mixture of pain and joy. "Kylen," he breathed, a weak smile gracing his lips. She stared back at him, her heart squeezing painfully, her eyes wide. He knew her by face. Even in his delirium. How? "Nice to meet you." It was forced out painfully, shallow, but his grin broadened. "It's nice to meet you, sir," Kylen returned, feeling suddenly self-conscious. "How do you know me?" "Nathan," he pushed out. "That damned phototag." The words could have been harsh, but his tone was laced heavily with affection. Kylen smiled shyly, that Nathan would have held onto that photo, cherished it. It was a little embarrassing, now. "Yur lucky." He swallowed hard, obviously thirsty. Kylen reached behind her to retrieve the flask of water, left for him. "Here, drink this," she ordered softly, supporting his head as he took a few sips. She helped to settle his head back, and he closed his eyes, exhaling loudly. He was quiet for so long she thought he must have slipped back into unconsciousness; to her regret, because she would have liked to have talked to him, to find out about Nathan, in hopes of easing her worries about leaving him behind, again - this time in the middle of the war, having lost his friends and comrades, and his commanding officer, all in the span of a few hours. "Yur lucky," McQueen's weak, harsh voice shocked her. "He never gave up." His eyes had been closed, but he slowly lifted the lids, to fix her gaze. "Nathan b'lieves 'n you." There was awe and an almost fatherly affection in his eyes, toward Nathan and possibly toward her. His sagging hand reached out to her, and she captured it. "It's all we have left; our belief in each other." Kylen said. "Thank you." He looked at her puzzled, what she guessed was puzzled, it could have just been the pain, but she continued. "Thank you for keeping him safe, for helping him to survive." "Did that himself," McQueen told her. "I juss pushed 'im alittle." His eyes, behind the pain, were dancing with humor. "Well, thank you for pushing." Kylen smiled in return, ignoring the tears beginning to swim in her eyes. It had hurt just as much to leave Nathan this time, as it had when they had been separated before the Tellus mission launched. Then, she had thought she might never see him again, had watched their dreams, together, shatter around her. She had, at least, resigned herself to the fact that they would have to make different dreams, but now, he was in a war. This time, he could be ripped away from her by a stray bullet, a cleverly hidden mine, or a Chig missile. He could be taken from her forever, in the space of a millisecond, not just the fear of forever - as it had been before - but the painful reality of forever. He might never be hers to hold, again. And she was supposed to be happy about that and think it was an honor for him to be defending the Earth? The colonel squeezed her hand weakly, drawing her attention, and she slowly became aware of the tears sliding down her cheeks. "West... H'll be fine," McQueen pushed out. "He's smart, quick. Damn good pilot, lousy marksman." He laughed and she couldn't help laughing with him, brushing the tears away. "He knows to run when it hits the fan. 'Nd knows when to stay and fight." Kylen nodded, squeezing his hand, gently. She shook her head, pushing her fears aside. She didn't need to be troubling the colonel with them. So, she changed the subject. "Where will you be going, when you get back home?" she asked. His face went hard suddenly; a granite mask slamming in front of his features. Mentally, she kicked herself for unintentionally and unwittingly treading on tender ground. "I'm sorry," she said. McQueen shook his head. "S'alright. I hadn't thought about it." He turned his head looking out at the stars. "My home's back there. Don't have a home on Earth. Not anymore." "But you did?" she ventured. To her satisfaction, he nodded openly. "She couldn't handle living with me, so we divorced." "The military lifestyle?" Kylen asked, deflecting the truth. She was avoiding the truth. She'd detected the navel at the back of his neck, when she'd helped him to drink, but she had known it even before then. There was something about his eyes, about his build. But, he needed to keep his stress down, and this was not something he should be dealing with, now. She had seen the hatred and ugliness that InVitroes faced everyday of their lives, from Natural Borns. "No," he answered, his lips stretching into a thin line. "The hatred and anger toward me." Kylen picked up the damp cloth from the supplies left for her and pressed it to his forehead, wiping his face. "Because you're an InVitro," Kylen finally said for him, seeing that he wasn't going to avoid the subject. "You know?" he questioned and she nodded, sitting back. "Jeffery and Amanda," she gestured vaguely to the front of the carrier, "are the only InVitroes to have survived the attack. Out of ten, only two survived." She hastily shook off the memory which sprang to her mind, threatening to unbalance her; of the screams, the gunfire and panic, the flashes of light punctuating too much darkness. "I got to know them, pretty well. I can just tell, now. There are more differences than just the obvious." She tried a friendly smile, to defuse the awkward statement and he seemed to relax. "She was a strong woman, probably still is." Melancholy entered his eyes. "But it was just too much for her." "She loved you?" Kylen asked, talking seemed to help to take his mind off of the pain. He nodded. "But love doesn't take care of everything." They shared an awkward, knowing moment as she thought, *With Nathan it does.* But she and Nathan didn't have to come up against racist hatred every day of their lives. "When we first met, she didn't look at me and see an InVitro," his tone was wistful. "For the first time... ever, I think. Someone looked on me with love, respect... belief." He shifted uncomfortably and Kylen reached out to assist him. "After years of hearing the racial slurs and taunts, the hatred... she couldn't separate the words flung at me, from herself... I think she stopped seeing her husband and started seeing 'InVitro'." "I think she was probably afraid," Kylen offered. "Why?" His voice was getting stronger. "She loved you," Kylen threw out, watching the confusion multiply in his eyes. "When you love someone... when they hurt, you hurt. Haven't you ever felt that?" As the question left her lips she tried to call it back, but it was too late. The colonel's eyes slammed shut, and a tear slipped out from his left eyelid. Kylen fought the tangle of her thoughts for something to say, to erase her blunder. He sighed loudly, drawing in calming breathes. "I'm sorry," she said hastily. "I didn't mean--" "I have." She was surprised to receive a clipped answer. Kylen regathered her thoughts and pressed on. "I know that when something causes Nathan pain, it hurts me. I can't separate myself from that, and I wouldn't want to. It lets me know that it's real, what's between us." Kylen shifted under the colonel's intense gaze. "I support InVitro rights," Kylen told him brazenly, surprised by her own audacity. "But I can't honestly say that in her situation I wouldn't have done the same. I've never known that kind of hatred, not on such a personal level. I've had a friend or two who are InVitroes. Nathan and I even marched in a rally, once." McQueen's eyes turned disbelieving, a funny smile quirking his lips. "Really." Kylen blushed, awkwardly. "It could have gotten us in a lot of trouble," she told him. "We had to be careful about our political affiliations, as members of the Colonial Program. But we both felt it was too important." The astonishment never left his eyes and she didn't understand it. "Why does that surprise you? You do know Nathan." "Not the Nathan you knew... sort of... not really," he stumbled over the words, ending in a weak laugh. Kylen shook her head, this time it was her turn to be confused. "He was so angry, at first. Took it out on the closest available InVitro, Cooper Hawkes." "The tall man, the one who--" She cut off her words abruptly. "Survived. . . Yes." McQueen's gaze was still steady, but grief shone there. "But, they seemed so close. . . friendly." "They are. . . now. Nathan wanted to blame all InVitroes, for his loss. And Hawkes wasn't the easiest guy to get along with." "Nathan's temper always gets him in trouble," Kylen muttered, before she realized she had said it out loud. McQueen short laugh was what clued her in, and she blushed, again. "He's a good man," McQueen assured her. "Hawkes needs someone like him. Someone not like me." "Not like you?" Her brow tightened. "So full of anger," he answered. "Nathan didn't let the anger eat him up. He didn't cling to it." "And you do," Kylen stated, what could have been a question, but didn't need an answer. "It's all I've known." "No, it's not," Kylen stated firmly. "I saw you in the loading bay, surrounded by people who love and respect you." She clasped his hand securely. "Hawkes was so lost, grieving. Commodore Ross, I saw guilt in his eyes, along with a great deal of respect and affection. And Nathan, he cares about you. He respects you. And your ex-wife; she loved you. She wanted to be able to give you the love you'd never been given - what we Natural Borns take for granted." "She let the hatred eat her up," McQueen stated miserably. "She let it get the better of her," Kylen returned. "She wanted everyone else to see you the way she saw you. That's an impossible task, for anyone. Was she young?" He nodded, then with a sideways grin he said, "We both were." "Sometimes we get too filled up with the pain, and some of us run away hoping to escape it. That doesn't mean she wasn't strong. We've all been there. Some of us are stronger and some of us have people who love us to give us strength. I'd hope she's wiser, now. And if she loved you, as much as I think she did, you should give her a second chance. If the love is there, don't give up on it. It's worth it." McQueen was watching her, his eyes suddenly veiled, unreadable. "Nathan's a lucky man," McQueen stated, and she smiled, her eyes stinging. "Thank you." "You're welcome." She gave his hand a gentle squeeze before releasing it. "Now, try to get some rest. I'll be right here." Colonel McQueen closed his eyes, his body sagging as he stopped fighting for consciousness, and slipped into sleep. Kylen sat beside him, vigilant in her task to make sure that this honorable soldier made it home safely. Confusion ruled in her clouded mind, darkness the only thing which was real to Captain Shane Vansen. The incessant beeping of the cockpit's emergency beacon irritated her half conscious brain, as she continued to drift; not knowing where she was and unable to feel anything but the fear. *I'm alive,* she assured herself. *Vanessa? Is she?* At the thought, Shane struggled against the clouded, grey blindness in which she was trapped. Her battered brain tried to order her hand to move toward where Vanessa had been, and even though there was no certainty, she would have sworn she had felt the other woman's strong heart beating steadily, through that hand. With all the gentleness of thunderbolts, memories assaulted her mind. A rocking blast. Jarring impact as the cockpit was ripped free of the carrier. The force of their descent, into the atmosphere and toward the surface, threatening to rip her body apart. After that, there was only black nothingness, where there should be something, even if it was just pain. Her thoughts began to drift, again haphazardly. Images, ages old or only a day past, danced in her mind's eye, with a chaotic pace. Shane pushed against them frantically. "I've got something!" A strong male voice slammed into her. "IFF?" another man's voice asked, more cautious than the first. "It's them," the man returned, his voice shining a light into her void. "It's the ISSCV. Rabbit to Queen of Hearts." The call cut through her. "Queen of Hearts, do you read? Captain Vansen, come in." Her mind screamed out to answer, only to have its echo resound through her. "I'm getting no response." "That doesn't mean they're not down there," a third voice - a woman this time - told him. "You heard Boss Ross; we don't return until we have something. So, let's get down there. Hang on Marines. We're coming to get you." Shane felt the tight grip release her heart and buoyant relief take it's place. *They're coming, Vanessa,* she said silently. *We're going home.* The End Paula Sanders © July 1996 Previous :Part One Paula Sanders © September 1996