2
CANAAN
I stepped off the courier ship, dropped my gear, looked around. “This is a world at war?”
The courier had dropped us in the middle of a grassy plain that stretched unbroken to every horizon. That vista would have scared the shit out of someone less accustomed to open spaces. I confess to mild wobblies of my own. Service people don’t spend much time out of doors.
In the near distance, a vast herd of beef cattle decided we were harmless and resumed grazing. Shadowing them were a few outriders. Kick out cattle and horsemen and there’d have been no evidence that this was an inhabited world.
“Cowboys? For Christ’s sake.” They weren’t Wild West cowboys, but not that different, either. The nature of a profession often defines its garb and gear.
The courier joined me. “Picturesque, isn’t it?”
“After that ride coming in… What the hell was all the jumping about?” A courier boat has no room for observers on its bridge. I’d gone through the approach blind.
“Destroyer. Old scow.” He snapped his fingers and grinned. “Shook her like that.”
“How come you’re such a pale shade, then?” My shipmate of the past few weeks was a black subLieutenant whose main pleasure was the witty ethnic insult. He didn’t argue that one. It’d been a tight squeeze.
“They’ll be along any minute. Said they were sending somebody.”
“Why out here? Why not straight into Turbeyville?” He hadn’t revealed his landing plan beforehand.
“We’d have got smoked. Planetary Defense doesn’t waste time shitting around with Fleet couriers. They’re busy covering the lifter pipe from the Pits. They don’t want to hear from home anyhow.” He patted the case chained to his wrist. Odd I thought, that it should be so huge. Suitcase size. Big suitcase. “They’ll cuss me for two weeks.”
I studied the chain. “Damn. I’ll have to cut your hand now.”
“That isn’t funny.” The poor bastards. They get so they won’t turn their backs on their own mothers.
The chain was long. He put the case down and sat on it. He said, “Just open them baby blues and turn yourself a slow circle, Lieutenant.”
I did. The plains. The grass. The cowboys, who showed no interest in the boat.
“What do you see?”
“Not a whole lot.”
“You’ve seen it all. Change your plans. Come on home with me.”
“There’s more to it than this.”
“Well, sure. Trees, mountains, some busted-up cities. Big deal. Look at those bastards. Hunking around on horses. And they’re the lucky ones. They don’t live in caves. No boomer drops on cows.”
“I fought too hard to get here. I’ll see it through.”
“Fool.” He grinned. “Climbers, yet. Here it comes.” He pointed. A skimmer wove a sinuous path across the green, a small, dark boat chopping through a breezy sea.
It rumbled up to us, downwash whipping torn grass against our legs. “Still not too late, Lieutenant. Go hide in the boat.”
I smiled my holo-hero smile. “Let’s go.”
It’s easy to grin when the fiercest monster in sight is a cow. I’d ridden the killer bulls of Tregorgarth. I was ready for anything.
The skimmer driver waved impatiently. “Not the wide-open-spaces type,” the courier guessed.
We boarded. Our steed surged forward, arcing past the herd, leaving a long, dull snail track of smashed grass. Cows and cowboys watched with equally indifferent eyes. Our driver had little to say. She was the surly type. You know, “My feelings are hurt just by being here with you.”
The subLieutenant stage-whispered, “You’re an offworlder, they figure you’re a High Command spy. They hate High Command.”
“Can’t blame them.” Canaan had been under soft blockade for years. It made life difficult.
Back when, the other side hadn’t thought Canaan worth occupation. Big mistake. It was a tough nut now. The senior officer in the region, Admiral Tannian, had assembled scattered, defeated, ragtag units for a dramatic last stand. The Ulantonids disappointed him. So he dug in and began gnawing on their supply lines. Now they are too heavily committed elsewhere to give him the squashing he wanted.
Great stuff, Fortress Canaan, High Command decided. They sent Tannian the first Climber squadron into service. He saw their potential instantly. He created his own industrial base.
You couldn’t question the Admiral’s energy, dedication, or tenacity. Canaan, an agricultural world sparsely settled, overnight became a feisty fortress and shipbuilding center. A loose frontier society became a tight warfare state with a solitary purpose: the construction and manning of Climbers. All Tannian demanded of the Inner Worlds was a trickle of trained personnel to cadre his locally raised legions. A bargain. High Command gladly obliged. To the sorrow of many ranking officers with ambitions or personal axes to grind.
Admiral Frederick Minh-Tannian became proconsul of Canaan’s system and absolute master of humanity’s last bastion in this end of space. Down the line, on the Inner Worlds, he was considered one of the great heroes of the war.
It was an hour’s run to the nearest Guards’ outpost. The place fit the Wild West image. Adobe walls surrounded scores of hump-backed bunkers. Most of those boasted obsolete but effective detection antennae. There were barracks for several hundred soldiers, and a dozen armed floaters.
My companion said, “I usually put down here. One company. It patrols more area than France on Old Earth. Six regular soldiers. The Captain, a Lieutenant, and four Sergeants. The rest are locals. Serve three months a year and chase cows the rest. Or dig turnips. They bring their families if they have them.”
“I was wondering about the kids.” It was the most unmilitary installation I’d ever seen. Looked like a way station three years into a Völkerwanderung. It would’ve given Marine sergeants apoplexy.
The Captain wasted little time on us. He spoke with the courier briefly. The courier opened that huge case and passed over a kilo canister. The Captain handed him some greasy Conmarks. They were old bills, pre-war pink instead of today’s lilac gray. The courier shoved them inside his tunic, grinned at me, and went outside.
“Coffee,” he explained. And, “A man has to make hay while the sun shines. A local proverb.”
My glimpse inside the case had shown me maybe forty more canisters.
It was an old, old game with Fleet couriers. The brass knew about it. Only their pets received courier assignment. Sometimes there were kickbacks. My companion didn’t look like a man whose business was that big.
“I see.”
“Sometimes tobacco, too. They don’t raise it here. And chocolate, when I can make the contacts back home.”
“You should’ve loaded the boat.” I didn’t resent his running luxuries. Guess I’m a laissez-faire capitalist at heart.
He grinned. “I did. Can’t deal with the Captain, though. After a while one of the sergeants will notice that nobody has patrolled that part of the plain lately. He’ll make the sweep himself, just to keep his hand in. And I’ll find a bale of Conmarks when I get back.” He hoisted his case. “This’s for special people. I sell it practically at cost.”
“Conmarks ought to be drying up out here.”
“They’re getting harder to come by. I’m not the only courier on the Canaan run.” He brightened. “But, shit. There had to be billions floating around before the war. It’ll come out. Just got to keep refusing military scrip.”
“I wish you luck, my friend.” I was thinking of a few items in my own luggage, meant to sweeten the contacts I hoped to make.
The subLieutenant kicked a floater. “Looks as good as any of them. Throw your stuff in and let’s go.”
We had to cross two-thirds of a continent. A quarter of the way round Canaan’s southern hemisphere. I slept twice. We stopped for fuel several times. The subLieutenant kept the floater screaming all the time he was at the controls. My turns, I kept it down to a sedate 250 kph.
He wakened me once to show me a city. “They called it Mecklenburg. After some city on Old Earth. Population a hundred thousand. Biggest town for a thousand klicks.”
Mecklenburg lay in ruins. Threads of campfire smoke drifted up. “Old folks with deep roots, I guess. They wouldn’t pull out. They’re safe now. Nothing left to blast.” He kicked the floater into motion.
Later, he asked, “What’s the name of that town where you want off?”
“Kent.”
He punched up something on the floater’s little info screen. “It’s still there. Must not be much.”
“I don’t know. Never been there.”
“Well, it can’t be shit, that close to T-ville and still standing. Hell, you’d think they’d take it out just for spite.”
“The way our boys do?”
“I guess.” He sounded sour. “This war is a big pain in the ass.”
That was the one time I didn’t like my companion. He didn’t say that the way the grunts and spikes do. He was pissed because the war had disturbed his social life.
I said nothing. The attitude is common among those who see little or no combat. He viewed the brush coming in as part of a gentleman’s game, a passage of arms in a knight’s spring jousts.
We roared into Kent in midafternoon. Kent was a sleepy village that might have been teleported whole from Old Earth’s past. A few scruffy Guards represented the present. They looked like locals combining military responsibilities with their normal routine.
“You know the address, I could drop you off, Lieutenant.”
“That’s all right. They said ask the Guards. Somebody will pick me up. Right here is fine. Thanks for the lift.”
“Suit yourself.” He gave me a long look after I dropped into the unpaved street. “Lieutenant… You’ve got balls. Climbers. Good luck.” He slammed the hatch and lurched away. The last I saw, he was a streak heading toward Turbeyville like a moth to flame.
Good luck, he said. Like I’d damned well need it. Well, good luck to you too, courier. May you become wealthy on the Canaan run.
That was when I started wondering if maybe I hadn’t wangled my way into a hexenkessel.
I spoke with a Guardswoman. She made a call. Ten minutes later a woman eased a strange, rattling contraption up to me. It was a locally produced vehicle of venerable years, propelled by internal combustion. My nose couldn’t decide if the fuel was alcohol or of petroleum derivation. We’d used both in the floater.
“Jump in, Lieutenant. I’m Marie. He was taking a shower, so I came. Be a nice surprise.”
“Didn’t they tell him I was coming?”
“He wasn’t expecting you till tomorrow.”
It took ten minutes to reach the house among the trees. Pines, I think they were. Imported and gene-spliced with something local so they could slide into the ecology. Marie never shut up, and never said a word that interested me. She must have decided I was a sullen, sour old fart.
My friend wasn’t surprised. He ambushed me at the door, enveloped me in a huge bear hug. “Back in harness, eh? And looking good, too. See they bumped you to Lieutenant.” He didn’t mention my leg. He sensed that that was verboten.
I’m touchy about the injury. It destroyed my career.
“Boat get in early?”
“I don’t know. The courier always went full out. Maybe so.”
“Little private business on the side?” He grinned. He was older than I remembered him, and older than I expected. The grin took off ten years. “So let’s have a drink and confound Marie with lies about Academy.”
He meant what he said, and yet… There was a hollowness to his words, as though he had to strain to put them together in the acceptable forms. He acted like a man who’d been out of circulation so long he’d forgotten his social devices. I found that intriguing.
I grew more intrigued during the following few days. I was soon aware that an old friend had become a stranger, that this man only wore the weathered husk of the friend I’d known in Academy. And he realized that he had few points of congruency left with me. Those were a sad few days. We tried hard, and the harder we tried the more obvious it became.
Canaan was his homeworld. He’d requested duty there. His request had been granted, with an assignment to Climbers. He’d been home for slightly under two years, done seven Climber missions, and now had his own ship. He’d been executive officer aboard an attack destroyer before his transfer. He’d worked his way back up.
He wouldn’t talk about that side of his life, and that disturbed me. He was never a talker but had always been willing to share his experiences if you asked the right questions. Now there were no right questions. He wanted to pretend that his military life didn’t exist.
Just a few short years since we’d last met. And in the interim they’d peeled his skin and stuffed somebody else inside.
He and Marie fought like animals. I could detect no positive feelings between them. She’d screech and yell and throw things almost every time the both of them were out of sight. As if I had no ears. As if my not seeing kept it from being real. Sometimes the screeching lasted half the night. He didn’t fight back, insofar as I could tell. I never heard his voice raised. Once, in my presence, while we walked through the pines, he muttered, “She doesn’t know any better. She’s just an Old Earth whore.”
I asked no questions and he didn’t explain. I supposed she was one of the sluts they’d grabbed early and had scattered around for the morale of the men, and had found unnecessary in a mixed-sex service. All heart, our do-good leaders. They’d dropped the women where they were.
Maybe Marie had a right to be hostile.
Three days of unpleasantness. Then, well ahead of schedule, my friend told me, “Time to go. Pick the things you want to take. We’ll leave after dark. West of here it’s better to travel at night.” The quarreling had become too much for him. He wanted out.
He didn’t admit that. He simply made his announcement. When Marie got the word, the gloves came off. She no longer kept the vitriol private.
I didn’t blame him for running.
A young Guardswoman brought us a Navy floater after sundown. We boarded under Marie’s fiercest barrage yet. My friend never looked back.
After we dropped the Guardswoman at her headquarters, I asked, “Why don’t you throw her out? You don’t owe her anything.”
He didn’t respond for a long time. Instead, he lit his pipe and puffed his way through. Midway, he said, “We’ll pick up our First Watch Officer and a new kid. Going to start him off in Ship’s Services. Academy boy. Don’t get many of those anymore.”
Later still, in snatches, he told me what he thought of our ship’s officers. He didn’t say a lot. Thumbnail sketches. He didn’t want to talk about his command. He responded to my earlier question just before we collected his First Watch Officer.
“Somebody owes her. They put the hose to her. She’ll never get off this rock. Might as well use my place.”
What can you say to that? Call him a sucker for strays? I don’t think so. I’d call it a case of one man’s using otherwise unimportant resources to rectify one of this universe’s countless injustices. I think that’s the way he pictured it. I don’t think thumbscrews would have forced him to admit it.
The First Watch Officer was Stefan Yanevich. Lieutenant. Another Canaan native. A long, lanky man with ginger hair and eyes that sometimes looked gray, sometimes pale blue. Thin, sharp features and sleepy eyes. A soft drawl when he spoke, which was seldom. He was as reticent as my friend the Commander.
He was waiting outside his quarters, alone, and looked eager to go. But there was no eagerness in the way he slung his duffel aboard.
He had long, slim fingers that moved while he gave me his biography. Twenty-five. His Academy class had been two behind ours. He’d volunteered for Canaan because it was his homeworld. This would be his sixth mission.
The Commander thought well of him. He would have his own ship next mission.
He accepted me without question. I supposed the Commander had vouched for me. He didn’t seem interested in why I was here, or who I used to be. Again, I assumed the Commander had filled him in.
The Old Man said, “Next stop, the kid.”
Yanevich became interested. “Met him yet? What’s he like?”
“Came up last week. Squared away. Shows promise. We’ll like him.” There was an edge to his voice . It said it didn’t matter if anyone liked the new man, but it would be a nice bonus if he turned out okay.
Ensign Bradley was as quiet as the others, but more naturally so. He wasn’t hiding from anything. When he did speak, he successfully downplayed his own lack of experience. He drew both the Commander and First Watch Officer out more skillfully than I had. I pegged him as a very bright and personable young man—when he turned himself on. He wasn’t a Canaanite. In an aside to me, he said, “I flipped a coin when I got my bars. Heads or tails, Fleet or Climbers. Came up heads. The Fleet.” He smiled a broad, boyish smile, the kind to win a mother’s love. “So I went best two out of three and three out of five. Voila! Here I am.”
“Going to make Admiral in a year,” the Old Man said.
“Might take longer than that.” Bradley’s grin weakened. “What I don’t understand is why they sent me out here instead of to Fleet Two. Admiral Tannian is self-sufficient.”
“Maybe too self-sufficient,” I suggested. “Some people in Luna Command think he’s too independent. He’s got his own little empire out here.”
The Commander glanced back. “That something you know, or just speculation?”
“Half and half.”
Yanevich grunted. My friend lapsed into indifference. Later, he said, “T-ville coming up. First Watch Officer, I’ll drop you and Bradley at the north gate. I’ll take my friend sightseeing.”
Earlier, there had been a big raid. The sky over Turbeyville had been filled with ships and missiles. I’d expressed an interest in seeing the aftermath. Once I did, I wished I’d kept my mouth shut.
Navy has two headquarters in-system. One is beneath Turbeyville. The other is buried deep inside Canaan’s major moon. Canaan has two satellites, tiny TerVeen and the big moon, which has no other name. Just the moon. I was glad of a chance to poke around one headquarters before the mission.
I roamed alone. The Commander, First Watch Officer, and Ship’s Services Officer were busy with what looked like make-work, preparing for the mission. I found myself more welcome among the PR-sensitive staff at Climber Command. They arranged interviews with people whose names were household words on the Inner Worlds. Real heroes of the Fleet. Men and women who’d survived their ten missions. They were a depressing bunch. I began to develop a sour outlook myself, and to wonder just how bright I’d been, asking to join a Climber patrol.
Then the Commander turned up at my room in Transient Officers’ Quarters. “Our last night here. Heading for the Pits tomorrow. The rest of us are going slumming. Want to come along?”
“I don’t know.” I’d tried the O clubs. They were filled with dreary staff types. Their atmosphere was both boring and stultifying. There’s nothing deadlier than a congregation of conscientious bureaucrats.
“We’re going a different place. Private club. Climber people and guests only. The real front-line warriors.” His smile was sarcastic. “Give you a chance to meet our astrogator, Westhause. Just turned up. Good man, but he talks too much.”
“Why not?” I had yet to meet any Climber people but those with whom I was traveling. The others might be less taciturn.
“Called the Pregnant Dragon, for reasons lost in the trackless deserts of time.” He grinned at my raised eyebrow. “Don’t wear your best. Sometimes it gets rowdy.”
Something came up which demanded the Commander’s attention, so we arrived late. But not late enough. I should’ve stayed behind.
That night witnessed the destruction of a hundred cherished cities in my land of illusions.
The Dragon was up near the surface, in an old subbasement. I heard it long before I saw it, and when I saw it, I asked, “This’s an Officers’ Club?”
“Climber people only,” Westhause said, grinning. “Down people couldn’t handle it.”
Four hundred people had packed themselves into a space that had served two hundred before the war. Odors hit me like a surprise fist in the face. Alcohol. Vomit. Tobacco. Urine. Drugs. All backed by mind-shattering noise. The customers had to shout to make themselves heard over the efforts of an abominable local band. Civilian waiters and waitresses cursed their ways through the press, getting groped by both sexes. I guess the tips made up for the indignities. Climber people had nothing else to do with their pay.
Athwart the doorway, lying like some fallen angel seduced by the sins of Gomorrah, was a full Commander wearing Muslim Chaplain’s insignia. Smiling, he snored in a pool of vomit. Nobody seemed inclined to move or clean him. Conforming to custom, we stepped over his inert form. Not a meter beyond, two male officers were playing kissy-face huggy-bear. I’m afraid I gasped.
I mean, it does go on, but right inside the front door of the O Club?
The Commander grunted, “Hang on to your nuts. There’s more fun to come.” He halted two steps inside, ignoring the lovers. Fists on hips, he stared about as though springing a surprise inspection. Having glimpsed what was going on, I expected an explosion.
He threw back his head and cut loose with a great jackass bray of laughter.
And Yanevich bellowed, “Make a hole for the best goddamned Climber in the Fleet, you yellow-assed scum.”
The cacophony declined maybe one decibel. People looked us over. Some waved. Some shouted. Some moved toward us. Friends, I supposed.
A tiny china doll, ethereally beautiful in makeup which exaggerated her aristocratic Manchu features, slid beneath our elbows as lithely as a weasel. A meter away she paused and, eyes sparkling, mimicked the Commander’s stance.
“You’re fucking full of shit, Steve,” she shouted at Yanevich. “Ninety-two A’s the best, and you fucking well know it.”
Yanevich lunged like a bear in rut. “Shit. I didn’t know you guys were in.”
“Come down off your goddamned mountain once in a while, graverobber.” She laughed and wriggled as he mauled her. “Can you still get it up, Donkey Dick? Or did it fall off out there in the ruins? We just got in. I could use an all-night hosing.”
“We’re headed out, Little Bits. Tell you what. You have any doubts, I’ll stick a wad of gum on the end. You let me know when you’re chewing.”
I was too startled to be disgusted. A mouth like that on an Academy man?
For no sane reason whatsoever, it being none of my concern, the woman told me, “This crud has got the longest hanger I ever saw.” She licked her lips. “Nice. But maybe I’ll want a little variety tonight.”
“Sorry.” I thought she was propositioning me. I didn’t want to trample Yanevich’s territory.
“Variety? Mao, I’d end up chasing crabs through my beard the whole patrol.” He winked at me, oblivious to my pallor and rictus of a smile. I found the girl more baffling than he. She couldn’t be more than twenty. He asked, “You learn to move your ass yet?”
“No thanks to you.” She told me, “This crud got my cherry. Caught me in a weak moment, way back my first night in after my first patrol. Pounded away all night, and never did tell me I was supposed to do anything besides lie there.”
Surely I turned from pale ivory to infrared. Bradley was equally appalled. “Maybe they’re putting us on, sir.” This assault on the sensibilities had forced him to retreat into the ancient and trusted fastnesses of military ritual.
“I don’t think so.”
“I guess not.” I thought he would lose his supper.
“I think we’re seeing Climber people in their feral state, Mr. Bradley. I suspect the news people have misinformed us.” I grinned at my own sarcasm.
“Yes sir.” He was developing an advanced case of culture shock.
The Commander seized my elbow. “Over here. I see some seats.” We marched through a fusillade of derisive remarks about our ship and squadron. Other officers, apparently from our squadron, made room for us at their table. I gutted out a barrage of introductions, doubting I’d remember anyone in the morning. Bradley suffered it with glazed eyes and limp hand.
Reality had come stampeding through the mists of myth and propaganda and had trampled us both with all the delicacy of a mastodon treading on a gnat’s toe. We couldn’t acknowledge it. Not till something more personal drove the lesson home.
Yanevich disappeared with his friend. I didn’t understand. He didn’t seem the type. He had changed at the door.
Eat, drink, and be merry?
Westhause vanished, too, before I got to learn much more than his name. Then Bradley, eyes still glazed, was spirited away by a matronly Staff Captain. “What the fuck is she doing here?” someone muttered, then plopped her face into the spilled beer on the table before her, muttering that the Dragon was a private preserve.
“Ah, let it go,” someone replied. “He wasn’t going to do us any good.”
I withdrew into myself, drank some, and rolled the camera behind my eyes. When in shock, record. I remained only vaguely aware that the Commander was sitting out the squadron’s diminution. Like me, he was a seated statue with folded arms. I tried to remember “Ozymandias.” I came up with some lines about rose red cities and then couldn’t decide if I had the right piece. Why “Ozymandias,” anyway? I couldn’t remember that, either. Must have been a reason, though. I ordered another drink.
He was observing, too, our silent, gallant Ship’s Commander. Back when, that had always been his excuse for not partaking of our clique’s conversational buffet.
It grew late. The mob thinned considerably. I shipped a bigger cargo than I thought. The room began to rock a little, and I to wonder if our friends upstairs had a drop on tonight. The Commander touched my elbow gently. “Eh?” At the moment that was the most intelligent thing I could say.
“Somebody you might remember.” He nodded toward a tall, lean blonde doing a slow strip atop a nearby table.
I stared through misty eyes. At first I only wondered about her age. She looked older than most of the women.
“Got her own ship,” the Commander said.
Fascination and horror, lust and loathing, gusted through my sodden soul. I recognized her.
She looked so old!
Sharon Parker. The Virgin Goddess. The Bitch Queen of Academy Battalion Tango Romeo. How I’d loved and lusted after her at a tender seventeen. How many nights had I lain with my good right hand and imagined those creamy thighs clamping me?
The memories were embarrassing. I’d been so much a fool that I’d declared my undying passion….
She’d been as cold and remote as the dark side of Old Earth’s moon. She’d teased, taunted, promised forever afterward, and never had delivered. For me or anyone else, as far as I knew.
Torturing me became her pet project. I was more obvious and vulnerable than my classmates.
“No. Let it be.”
Too late. The Commander waved. She recognized him. She left her little stage and came over. The Old Man kicked out an empty chair. She seemed slightly embarrassed as she settled into it. The Commander can have that effect. He seems so competent and solid, sometimes, that everyone around will feel second-rate and clumsy. I always do.
She gave me one indifferent glance while crossing the room. Just another Lieutenant. Navy is infested with Lieutenants.
“Good patrol?” the Commander asked.
“Shit. Two old tubs that belonged in a transport museum. One escort destroyer. Only one tub confirmed. One lousy baby convoy. Twelve ships. We got off our missile flight, then the hunter-killers hit us. Thought it was the Executioner for a while. Took us nine days to shake them.”
“Rough?” I asked.
She shrugged, gave me another of those indifferent glances.
I watched the light dawn. She turned bright red, shed the drunken table-dancer avatar like a snake sloughs skin. For one long moment she looked like she had a hot steel splinter under her fingernail.
“You.” Another moment of silence. “You’ve changed.”
“Haven’t we all?”
She wanted to run so bad I could smell it. But it was too late. She’d been seen. She’d been caught. She had to face the consequences.
I was both pleased and a little frightened. Could she value my good opinion that much?
“Civilian influence,” I said. “I was out for a while. You’ve changed too.” I wanted to bite my tongue immediately. Not only was that the wrong thing to say, it slipped out sounding bitter. My brain was on vacation. My hands had made too many connections with my mouth, carrying too many drinks.
“I heard about the accident.” Bravely bearing up, that was her attitude. “You making it okay now?”
“Good enough,” I lied. Twelve years of Academy had done nothing to ready me for a sudden shift to civilian life. I could have gone on, I suppose, in a desk job, buried in Luna Command, but my pride hadn’t permitted it. I was Line, and by damn that was what I’d stay, or nothing. “I like the freedom. To bed when I want, up when I want. Go where I want. You know. Like that.”
“Yeah. I know.” She didn’t believe a word.
“So. What’ve you been doing?”
“Climbing the ladder. Got my own ship now. Forty-seven Cee. Bravo Flight, Five Squadron. Seven patrols.” I couldn’t think of anything to say. After an embarrassed silence, she added, “And finding out what it’s like to be on the dirty end.”
The conversation lay there awhile, like a beached whale too exhausted to struggle.
“I’m sorry. For everything I did. I didn’t know what I was doing. I didn’t know what you could do to somebody.”
“Long ago and far away. Like it happened to somebody else. All forgotten now. We were just kids.”
“No.”
I’d lied again. And again she’d read me. It didn’t hurt as much now, but the pain was still there. There’re those small places where you never grow up.
“Can we go someplace?”
The thrill again. My libido recalled antediluvian fantasies. “I don’t think…”
“Just to talk. You were always the best listener in the battalion.”
Yes. I’d listened a lot. To problems. Everybody had come to me. Especially Sharon.
It had been a way to be near her. Always, back then, there’d been the Plan. Move after carefully calculated move, to seduction. I hadn’t found the nerve to make the most critical, daring end-game maneuvers.
There’d been nobody for me to cry on. Who confesses the confessor?
“I’ll only be gone a minute.” She scrambled after discarded clothing. I watched and was more baffled by her behavior than by anything else I’d seen.
“She’s aged.”
The Commander nodded. “It’s an eight-year millennium since we graduated. Nothing left of those wide-eyed kids now. Except for you, most of them died the first year of the war.”
I needed a moment to realize he meant figurative death. The lift of the alcohol had peaked long since. I was headed down the rough side.
Sharon returned trailing a belligerent Lieutenant. He was sober enough to remain civil during the introductions, drunk enough to contemplate violence when he learned she was leaving with me.
The Commander rose, scowled. The younger man backed down. The Old Man can intimidate anybody when he puts his mind to it.
The Lieutenant faded away. The Commander resumed his seat. He filled the pipe that, in deference to the rest of us, he’d ignored all evening. He was alone now.
I glanced back once. He sat there with his legs sprawled beneath the table, observing, and for an instant I sensed his loneliness.
Ours is a lonely profession. The pressures of war only exaggerate the alienation.
Sharon and I did more than talk. Of course. There was never any doubt of it. She tried to expiate the cruelties of the past. I stumbled, but managed my part.
There was really little point to it.
The dream had died. There was no magic left. Just a man and a woman, both frightened, sharing a brief communion, a feeble escape from thought.
Only I didn’t escape. Not entirely. Not for one second did I forget the mission.
The incident taught me why there were places like the Pregnant Dragon. In liquor, drugs, sex, or self-loathing, it provided surcease from the endless fear. Fear those people knew far better than I, who knew Climbers only by what I’d read, heard, and seen on holovision.
I have this reflection on the incident. One of life’s crudest pranks is to yield heart’s desire only when the desire has been replaced by another. Rare is the man who recognizes and seizes the precise instant, like a perfectly ripened fruit, and enjoys it at its moment of ultimate fulfillment.
At least we parted friends.
The dawn came, and with it a message from the Commander saying it was time we moved on to the Pits. We were to lift for TerVeen in eighteen hours.
I looked at her one last time, as she slept, and I wondered, What drew me to this world where they execute dreams?