Chapter I

Captain TC McQueen sat in the corner of the O'club, eating a sandwich and nursing a beer--alone as usual. It was calm here. Most of the junior officers chose to eat their lunches either in the officer's mess or off base. Quiet music played in the background, and talk was low. The perfect place for McQueen to contemplate his life right now.

Although the end of the AI Rebellion and the growing InVitro rights movement practically guaranteed more IVs would be in the service, he was the only one stationed at Loxley. At this point he was unsure if his comrades were avoiding him socially or if he was avoiding them. The Zen he studied demanded self-honesty, and forced him to question his long-held belief that they were holding him at arm's length. Not that there weren't some blatant bigots among them. He suspected, though, that if he could make the first move, some of his pilots would be more than happy to socialize with him. His musings were interrupted by the opening of the doors and the entrance of a group of high-ranking officers. They were from all branches of the service, and a little louder than one would expect of their ranks. McQueen vaguely recalled reading a memo to the effect that there was to be an Equal Opportunities Commission Conference at Loxley. The memo said that they should be welcomed and assisted in any way possible, since they were to be TDY at Loxley for 9mos. McQueen had read it and filed it away in File 13. As XO of the 127th, he was unlikely to have any dealings with them, unless his CO ordered him to attend one or more of the receptions being held in their honour. Since he was a mustang with an antisocial reputation, he figured it was more likely that his CO would send him off somewhere before the brass had a chance to be insulted by him. As he continued to eat his sandwich, a familiar voice rang out.

"Ty! Ty McQueen!"

McQueen looked up. Heading toward his solitude was a man he had not expected to see again. He stood,

"Commander Ross."

Glenn Ross shook his head in exasperation at his friend's formality. "For crying out softly, Ty. I've seen you on a bed pan, don't you think 'Glenn' would be okay."

"No, sir."

Still shaking his head, "Stubborn as well as prickly," he sat down in the booth opposite McQueen's plate, forcing the other to sit as well. "I can't harass you long, I have to go back to the others. You want to join us?"

McQueen noted the quantity of brass at the other table and shook his head. "No, thank you."

Ross had noticed the direction of his glance and grinned, "They are pretty intimidating, aren't they? So, how are you doing? I haven't heard from you since I left you in the convalescent center. You didn't answer the card I sent you."

"I'm doing okay." McQueen shrugged noncommittally. "The 127th seems to be okay with me as XO. I heard about your promotion. I meant to send a note, but you know how it is."

"Yeah, I do." The Commander's words held double meaning. "You were hoping I'd go away and leave you alone.

"Look, I got to go. But I'm going to be a Loxley for 9 months--we should be able to find plenty of time to get together. Let's meet for drinks after duty one day so we can have a good long talk. And I have my family here," Pausing, choosing his words carefully, "Mai is beginning to get tired of being a Navy widow, I thought nine months together might help. Anyway," He shook himself mentally, "they're all dying to meet you. Maybe you could join us for dinner." He rose, waiting for an answer.

Clearly reluctant, McQueen nodded, "Yeah, okay."

Ross walked over to the table to rejoin the commanders, admirals, and colonels. A Marine colonel leaned over to him.

"Is that TC McQueen?"

At Ross' nod, an Air Force bird colonel smiled, "Isn't he about the highest ranking IV in the service right now. That's what this whole commission is about, isn't it? I mean, how to incorporate the tanks into the peacetime military."

Ross squirmed in his seat, "Well, first of all, I suggest you eliminate that word from your vocabulary."

The Air Force guy looked puzzled, "Eh?"

"Tank. It has a number of unpleasant connotations, not to mention it's just plain rude. So, by the way, is 'nipple neck'."

"Okay, okay." the colonel held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "My point, however, is the same. Since Captain McQueen has clearly decided to make a career of the military, in spite of some measure of prejudice, he can help us deal with the issues that are going to come up as more InVitros apply to the service, to OCS, maybe even the Academies."

"No." One of the Army officers shook his head. "They don't get high school educations. For God's sake, how can we accept them into the academy. And who the hell would appoint one to the academy anyway."

"Now that's exactly the kind of thinking we have to eliminate. 'One of them', 'them', 'those people'." A female Navy officer put her hand down forcefully, "They are us, gentlemen, ladies...and we'd better get used to it." she paused, "But this conversation is best left for the conference room. Commander," She turned to Glenn, "We are assuming that you know Captain McQueen."

"Yeah, he pulled my chestnuts out of the fire down in Cuba. We were in a POW cell together, then we roomed together for a while at the convalescent center."

"Then perhaps you should talk to him and see if he would be willing to help us in this matter."

Ross nodded again, "I'll ask him, but I got to tell you, he is a very private man, not to mention the most stubborn ass you're ever likely to meet."

"McQueen, if you're listening to this message, get back to me, damn it. The EEOC conference wants to talk to you about InVitro rights."

Captain McQueen looked at the vidphone in front of him like he expected it to bite him. Ross had left a number of similar messages over the last week. Sooner or later he was going to catch up with McQueen in his office, and McQueen was going to have to deal with him.

He pressed the "erase" button on the phone and bent his head to the reports on the 127th's latest drills. Reaction time was down a little, the close-in patterns a little sloppy. He ran a hand through close cropped hair and stared at the reports, willing the numbers to change. He looked at his watch, 1600 hrs. The phyllophthetamine he had taken at 1200 was already beginning to wear off, he could feel his mood begin to darken. Again, he cursed the doctors at the military hospital who hadn't bothered to keep up with their medical journals or just didn't give a rat's ass.

When he'd left the hospital, they'd given him a prescription for the medication, with the instructions to ween himself off them. It took only a week for him to realize that he was well and truly "hooked", another week of research to realize that InVitro susceptibility to addiction to phyllophthetamines was all over the medical press. The pharmaceutical company even included a caution in their package inserts. His attempts at weening himself off the drug had been unsuccessful. His attempt to go "cold turkey" had been a disaster.

So here he was, buying street grade from a pimp he'd just as soon murder as look at. "Mr. Hill" had made no secret of the fact that he expected his new customer to run out of money and be willing to sell his body for the drugs. So far, McQueen's savings were holding out. He had few vices and no one to spend the money on. So his pay for ten years, even the pittance he had received as a conscripted member of an InVitro platoon, was largely socked away. But it could not go on. He looked again at the reports, knowing that the blame for a falling off in efficiency lay squarely on his own shoulders. He was losing his edge. As it had the week before, a familiar voice intruded on his bitter musings.

"Got you, McQueen."

He looked up to see Ross striding into his office, a grin of delight on his face. "Bet you thought you could hide from me forever." He held out his hand to McQueen.

"No, not that." McQueen stood up wearily and took the proffered hand. "Would you like to sit down?"

"No, your secretary told me you were on your way out, so I figured I would shanghai you for a drink at the O'club." He stood by the door, "Shall we?"

McQueen returned the smile with a rueful shake of the head, and slight smile of his own. "You win, Commander." He removed his flight jacket and black beret from the hat rack in the corner and put them on. "Lead on."

The Officer's Club was only two blocks from the headquarters of the 127th, but November in Alabama was cold and wet. By the time the two of them reached the O'Club, they were slightly damp and chilled. Neither was aware of the picture they made as they strode into the room. Ross led, his dark hair, skin, and eyes a striking contrast to McQueen's paleness. Ross' stride was buoyant, jaunty--McQueen moved with the lazy grace of a hunting tiger, as they made their way to the same booth McQueen had occupied the week before. A young woman took their orders, barely old enough to be serving the scotches that both men ordered. Smiling coquettishly, she showed her obvious interest in McQueen.

As she left with their orders, Ross leaned forward, "There's one young lady who appreciates your charms." The officers watched as she walked across the floor, her interest in McQueen giving her walk an extra swing. Ross sat back and carefully appraised McQueen. "You're still mighty thin."

"Yeah, well, since you were released to go back to duty, I didn't have any mama to force that hospital food down my throat." McQueen winced at the self-pitying tone, he'd meant to sound clever.

"Look, Ty." Ross began, then paused, "Look, I know we don't have much of a history. What, two days in an AI cell, a couple of weeks as roomies in the convalescent center, and a couple of late night deep philosophical discussions. Plenty enough time to let me know that I want to be your friend, I want you to be my friend."

McQueen started to answer, looking for the right words. He gazed around the room, when his attention was caught by their waitress, standing by the bar. One of her fellows was talking to her, nodding in their direction. Too far away to be heard, it was obvious that she was getting bad news. She flounced over to their table and set the drinks down sharply. She looked him in the face and turned away, muttering. Now she was close enough to be heard, "Damn tanks." McQueen stiffened, then smiled wryly.

"Haven't you heard, Commander, we 'tanks' don't make good friends."

"Yeah." Ross nodded, "I'd heard. But I already know at least two things. One is not to pay attention to what 'they' say, the other is that you don't fit much of any mold." He lifted his glass and sipped it.

McQueen looked down at his drink, seeming to ponder its amber depths, then took a sip himself, "You know what happens to tanks that don't fit the mold?"

"What do you mean?"

"Tanks that don't fit the mold they were designed for are deleted from the program."

"Deleted? What's that mean?"

McQueen shook his head at the other's ignorance, "Deleted...cremated as biohazardous waste. Usually right after decanting, so the public never even notices. But, its no coincidence that there are a lot more capital crimes for In Vitros than for natural borns."

Ross picked up his drink and tossed the rest of it back in one shot, as if to wash the taste from his mouth. "God, Ty, makes you wonder how you keep going on."

McQueen followed the other's suit and knocked off his drink, "You just keep going on."

As if by unspoken agreement, the two men rose. Ross took out his wallet, "I invited you so its my treat." He pulled several bills from his wallet and tossed them on the table.

Stepping back into the chill drizzle, McQueen donned his beret. He started to walk away from Ross when the other one stopped him. "Walk to my car with me. There's one more thing I do need to talk to you about." They walked in silence to the late model car that Ross approached. He pulled the computer entry key from his pocket and keyed it in. A bright cheery voice spoke in the darkening twilight.

"I'm sorry, this vehicle is not currently operational. Please call your local Yakuza representative or repair personel. We will contact you within the next twenty-four hours."

"Damn it!" Ross looked at the control device in his hand. "This damn car, its brand new." He turned to McQueen. "You have a car, don't you?"

McQueen nodded warily. "Yes, sir."

"Can you take me home?"

"Commander, I have an appointment at 1730."

"Well," Ross smiled winningly, "I don't have to be home until 1900. Will your appointment be done by then?"

Realizing he couldn't win, McQueen shrugged. "Yes, sir. I need to change my clothes first."

This time, Ross followed as McQueen returned to his office. He went into the washroom and came out dressed in jeans and a tee shirt. Ross was somewhat surprised to see him pass up his military flight jacket for a rather scruffy cheap outlet knockdown of a military flight jacket.

"What's with the determined civilian look?"

McQueen paused in the act of putting it on. "We're going down into tank town. They don't have much use for the military down there. You'll need to stay in the car."

"Oh."

The drive wasn't far on the map but the from the differences between this part of town and anything Ross knew, he might as well be exploring a new planet. Ross noted the changes in the neighborhoods, as buildings became more and more rundown. Finally they reached an area that had been built fifty years ago as housing for the homeless. The federal government of the time had decided that apartment complexes were not cost efficient and had opted for long, military barrack- type buildings. The greying white walls, designed to eliminate graffiti, seemed to absorb what little illumination the damaged street lights were able to give. The evening had continued to darken, with a light mist still falling. Even in the darkness, the damp and the chill, people sat on the stoops and on backless benches by the sidewalks. Ross noticed that there were no children in what had been playgrounds years ago.

Never too elaborate, what was left were lopsided swings and teetertotters, now used as benches for the InVitros who had completed their indentures and the indentured servants whose employers used this housing to fulfill their commitments to provide "decent housing" for their property. What had once passed for landscaping was now bare patches--the red clay of the region showing through. That there were no automobiles on the streets was not surprising. Most transportation these days was provided by the mass transit authorities, but the condition of the transit authority's stops was not the pristine, covered air- conditioned booths that Ross was familiar with. Instead they were three-sided enclosures, roofed with metal sheets. Ross saw several law enforcement vehicles, but they cruised the streets desultorily, paying little attention to the various deals going on at the corners.

McQueen seemed to know where he was going. He pulled into a parking space in front of a run down bar, half the neon letters missing from its marquis, now announcing itself as the Dr--k T--k. McQueen pulled himself together and opened the car door. It was clear to Ross that this was not an errand that McQueen was looking forward to. McQueen turned to him, his voice rough, "Like I said, they don't think much of the military down here...you really need to stay in the car." Ross watched the other man as he walked away, entering the shabby bar.

Inside, McQueen paused to let his eyes adjust. Mr Hill was seated in his usual place toward the back of the room. Over the two months that McQueen had been buying the phyllophthetamines from him, McQueen had learned to read the man. The young whore from his first night was frequently there. Stephanie...that was her name. Whether she was Hill's favorite or he didn't trust her on her own, McQueen didn't know. There were also a number of the thug types. This evening was no different. Mr. Hill smiled at him, "Well, it's Blondie. Run out so soon?"

McQueen gritted his teeth, knowing that his temper could only get him in trouble here. He moved over to the table, taking the money from his hip pocket. "You have the stuff?"

"Have I ever let you down?" Hill pulled the ever present aluminum case onto the table and opened it, taking out the four bags he knew that McQueen would want. He picked up the money and pushed the baggies towards McQueen. "By the way, I have to tell my good customers that the price will be going up. It seems the FDA has taken a good look at the addictive nature of the meanies to certain sectors of the population. Now that IVs are demanding equal protection, the FDA's gonna give it to them. They're moving phyllophthetamines from schedule 4 to schedule 2. It's going to get a lot harder to get."

McQueen's lips tightened, but he did not respond. He turned, preparing to leave, when one of Hill's stooges came in and whispered in his ear. Hill rose and walked over to McQueen, blocking his exit, "Who's the military geek in the car?"

"Uh, my boss. He just hired me to do some yard work for him."

Hill moved closer. He raised his hand to caress McQueen's cheek. "Now, you're not giving him that sweet little ass I've been waiting so patiently for, are you?"

Before he could be touched, McQueen had grabbed the hand. "I told you before, do not touch me." He applied pressure to the hand, forcing Hill to his knees. His eyes met those of the thugs whose job it was to guard Hill. Understanding the expression in his eyes, they did not move. McQueen turned his gaze to Hill, saying nothing. He released the hand, spun on his heal, and stalked out. At the car he paused for a moment, taking deep breaths before entering. He said nothing to his companion until the car had left the section of town. At that point, conversation was restricted to the directions needed to get to the house that Ross was currently calling home.

As they turned into the driveway of the two-story brick front, Ross put his hand on McQueen's shoulder. He did not withdraw it when the other man flinched, but rather grasped it more firmly.

"Come in for a few minutes. You look like you could use a drink." Turning off the engine of the car, McQueen turned to Ross. The misery in his eyes made Ross' breath catch, but he did not comment on it by word or expression. He'd seen the same look when he'd awakened McQueen from his nightmares in the convalescent center. He repeated his request, "Come on in."

Unthinking, McQueen unfastened his seat belt and followed Ross into the house.

"Mai! I'm home."

A soft contralto voice answered from the back, "In the kitchen, Glenn."

Ross turned to McQueen, "Come on, Ty. You know, you met Mai before, but you were drugged to the gills. You had just come out of surgery to repair those shoulder ligaments." McQueen continued to follow, mute. In the kitchen, a beautiful woman stood in front of the stove, stirring a pot. She lifted her cheek to Ross' kiss. "I brought home company, do you remember Ty?"

"Of course." She turned to McQueen, holding out a hand. A tall, elegant woman, her cheeks were a smooth brandy colour. The smile on her lips and in her eyes was warming. "You look better than the last time I saw you, Ty."

He took the proffered hand, her warmth thawing some of the chill in his heart. "Nice to meet you again, Mrs Ross."

"Don't be silly, Ty. My name is Mai. And my husband, in this house, is Glenn."

He allowed himself a small smile. "Yes, ma'am." Ross handed him a glass.

"Have a seat, Ty. I'm going to go change."

"I need to get back to the base."

"Ty," Mai released his hand, "Of course you're staying for dinner. There's only the four of us." She turned to Ross, "Your sister took her girls and ours to the mall. They're not planning to be back until 10:00. Spider," aside to McQueen, "That's Glenn, Jr....,is upstairs doing his calculus."

"Great!" Ross grinned, "We'll have a nice quiet dinner." He started to the door, "Be nice, Mai."

McQueen sat down at the table, watching the woman bustle around the kitchen. There was something comfortable about being here, in this place. His reverie was only mildly disturbed when Mai sat down next to him, a cup of coffee in her hands. "If you'd rather have coffee, I've got some made."

McQueen looked at the drink Glenn had pressed in his hands, the alcohol would only exacerbate the depression that he was beginning to feel as his need for phyllophthetamines grew. The caffeine in coffee, on the other hand, was at least a stimulant. "Yes, thank-you. I really don't need the alcohol."

Mai stood, "What do you like in it."

"Just black is fine." She handed him the cup and continued what he considered her arcane activities. He leaned back, his chair against the wall, the coffee cradled in his hands. His eyes drifted shut as he became more and more relaxed. Glenn walked into the room, to be greeted by his wife's finger on the lips gesture for quiet.

She pulled him out into the hallway, "I don't know what's with you military types, but that boy is exhausted. Should he have been released to duty?"

"Mai, that 'boy' is the same as any 33 year old. His injuries were 6 months ago. If he was unable to return to duty, he'd have been medically discharged, and I don't think he wants that." He put his hand on her waist. "Come on, hon, lets go feed him."

The adults were all seated at the table before the scion of the household came down. Glenn's son, "Spider" was a tall, slender lad. He pulled his chair out noisily and plopped into it with the boneless grace of a teen-ager.

Glenn frowned at his posture, "This is my number one son, Glenn Jr. We call him 'Spider' because my sister said that was what he looked like when he was a baby, and it stuck," He paused, "Now I guess it sounds tough. Spider, this is Captain McQueen. He's the leatherneck pilot that pulled me out of that cell in Cuba."

The young man reached a hand across the table, "Thanks, Captain. He can be a pain in the ass," He looked slantwise at his father, "But he's my dad, and I love him."

Ross reached behind his son and cuffed him gently on the back of the head, "The feeling's mutual, kiddo." He turned to Ty, "Spider's annoyed with me for (a) demanding he join the rest of the family here, and (b) putting the kibosh on him joining the service before college. Bad enough he wants to enlist, he wants to enlist in the Air Force!"

"Yeah, well. You just want me to be the fourth generation Ross in the Navy." He turned to McQueen. "What about you? Did your folks want you to be a Marine, or did you choose it for yourself?"

McQueen shrugged, "Actually, I was a conscript. But I stayed in for myself."

Spider paused in the act of serving himself, "A conscript, I thought..." He put the bowl down, "You're a ta...an InVitro." He turned to his father. "You never mentioned that."

This time it was Ross' turn to shrug, "It wasn't important."

"Wow! I thought you were just different because you were a Marine, I mean, my dad always says Marines are 'a different breed of cat.' But I had no idea."

McQueen quirked an eyebrow, "...'a different breed of cat'?"

"Well, you know how you Marines are. How does it go 'muscles are required, intelligence not essential'?" Ross grinned and served himself dinner.

In spite of his oncoming depression, McQueen grinned back, "Better that than some Navy wimp." He accepted the bowl from Ross and served himself before passing it on the Mai. "This is good, Mrs..er Mai" He dug in, enjoying the home cooking. He noted, and tried to ignore, Spider's gaze on him. McQueen knew his own mood was sinking. The caffeine had lifted him a little, but not enough. Spider ate, but kept watching McQueen. Finally he put down his fork.

"You know, man, I envy you. I can't imagine what it must be like to not have to live up to anybody else's expectations...to be totally free to be your own man."

McQueen looked up from his food. He felt the anger welling up inside him. This boy was not who or what he was angry about, but the drug had loosened his normally iron control.

"Yeah, I don't have to live up to anybody else's plan for me. In fact, nobody gives a shit if I survive, but me." He needed to leave the table, now, before anymore of the bitterness he usually kept such a tight rein on, surfaced. Taking his napkin from his lap, he rose. He had noted a bathroom on his way in, off the hallway. He made for it now, closing the door firmly behind himself. He faced the mirror, hands on either side of the basin. He reached into the pocket of the jacket and took out one of the baggies he had purchased earlier. He opened it, removing one of the capsules. It lay in the palm of his hand, staring back at him like a green unblinking eye.

"Damn!" His choices limited, he put it in his mouth, swallowing the green jewel, along with his bitterness. Almost immediately, the chemical worked its magic. He looked up again at his reflection. A wry grin twisted his lips. "That kid out there envies your 'freedom'. Stupid kid." He paused, "Stupid tank." McQueen straightened his jacket, making sure that the four baggies were secure in his pocket. He left the bathroom and returned to his chair, seating himself as if he hadn't left abruptly. He picked up his fork and continued to eat. By unspoken agreement, the others at the table also ignored the manner of his leaving. Conversation was mostly between Mai and Glenn about the trivia of the day. If it seemed somewhat stilted at times, McQueen figured he knew little enough about how a husband and wife were supposed to talk to each other that the over-politeness might be normal. Knowing that it was the influence of the drugs, McQueen felt his mood lifting. It was all he could do to keep from following up his uncharacteristic outburst with equally uncharacteristic chatter. It took an act of will to keep his mouth shut and keep eating.

"Ty!" He swung his face towards Mai, realizing he must have missed something. "Ty, what are you doing for Thanksgiving?"

Shrugging, "Don't know. Probably sleep late."

"Why don't you join us for dinner? It'll be mostly just family. Things don't get started 'til around noon, so you can still sleep late."

Again, he knew it was the drugs talking, but he couldn't stop the nod and, "Yes, I'd like that."

When dinner ended, Ross grabbed McQueen's elbow. "Mai, I've still got some business to discuss with Ty."

She grinned, "Yeah, and it gives you an excuse to avoid helping with the dishes." She pushed the two of them out of the kitchen. "Just make sure you're done before the girls get back. If he meets them now, he's sure to try to squirm out of Thanksgiving dinner."

McQueen found Glenn's study as comfortable as the rest of the house. He was too hyped on the drug to sit, but found himself wandering around the room. He picked up bits of memorabilia of Ross' past, then set them down and moved on. Ross himself sat down in one of the large comfortable chairs picking up his guitar, and running a couple of riffs. Although, as he'd pointed out to McQueen earlier, he'd never had a chance to observe him under 'normal' conditions, this pacing seemed out of character.

"Sit down, Ty. You're making me nervous." The other man put down the photo he'd been examining and sat in the other large chair.

"What did you want to talk to me about, Commander?"

Ross played another riff, "So, its 'commander' again. Well," He put down the guitar, "I guess that fits. "You know it's that EEOC. The rest of the committee wants me to talk to you about it. You're one of the highest ranking IVs in the service. There's only a handful in the service at all, and you're right here."

McQueen stood again, again pacing the room. "I notice none of them are on your committee."

"Ty! Will you please sit down?!" Ross watched as McQueen made a quick circuit of the room, then sat down. "What is it with you?" He shook his head, "This is not that 'still pool' you were telling me about at the convalescent center.

Let's try this again. Ty, the EEOC wants to make sure the service more 'IV friendly'. How do we do it?"

McQueen shook his head. He rose and stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets. "Look, Commander, you want to know what tanks think, get at least one on your committee. There's an Air Force major and two Army colonels that I know of. Thanks for dinner and the drink. I can find my own way out." He stalked from the study and moved towards the front door. Mai caught his arm on the way by the kitchen.

"Let me walk you out." She said nothing as they left the house, walking to his car. At the car she stopped, looking his in the face. "Do you have any idea how angry I was with Glenn when he chose to spend his leave time with you instead of coming home?"

McQueen was puzzled. "What?"

"You didn't know..." She put her hand back on his arm. "...At the convalescent center. Glenn could have come home for two weeks after he was released. He talked the doctors into letting him stay on with you."

"No, I didn't know." He looked to the house.

"I know the service will always come first, and he's said since he met you that you are something special. I wanted to tell you that, now that we've met, I wasn't as annoyed anymore.

"Why'd he do that?" He shook off her hand. "Why would a natural born..."

"You needed a friend." She shrugged. "He said he'd leave when you slept through two nights in a row with no night terrors." Chuckling softly, "Most of his friends chose him, you know. He's that kind of a man. But he chose you. You don't have to do or be anything you aren't already.

"I didn't know." McQueen spoke softly to himself. "I didn't know he knew about the dreams." He turned abruptly, "I gotta go."

She stepped away from the car and watched him as he pulled out of the driveway.


Next : Chapter II

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