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Authors: Bennett R. Coles
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surprised as she noticed the single bar on each shoulder and wings on his chest that declared him a sublieutenant pilot. The other subbies at the table were all watching him, hanging on the words he said just too quietly for her to hear. A roar of laughter followed, and he waved in farewell as he turned to leave.
Katja suddenly recognized him—could hardly believe his transformation—and launched herself from her chair to follow him toward the exit. Her movement caught his eye, and his glance lingered upon her slightly longer than it might have. When he noticed her gaze back at him he averted his eyes shyly, and continued to walk.
“Excuse me, are you a pilot?” She strode up, feeling a smile burst across her features, and touched his arm. He turned in surprise, unconsciously looking her up and down.
“Uhh, yeah. I’m Jack Mallory. I’m a pilot.” There was no recognition in his eyes, but he tried to return her smile. “Why would a pretty lady like you want to know?”
She took a step back and put her hands on her hips.
“I’m Katja Emmes. I’m a Strike officer, and I
still
might shoot you if you give me a reason.”
Dawning comprehension broke awkwardly over his features, and his cheeks paled perceptibly.
“Oh… I’m so sorry, ma’am! I didn’t recognize you with…” His voice trailed off as he gestured broadly at her appearance. “Where did you get that hair?”
There was something unique, she suddenly realized, about the bonds formed in combat. Jack was still the punk kid who spent more time thinking about tits than tactics, but damn, it was good to see him.
She reached out and gently touched his cheek.
“I barely recognized
you
, Subbie,” she said. “The plastic surgeons did a great job.”
He moved his head to break physical contact with her, his own hand brushing quickly over his face.
“Yeah… It’s good to be me again.”
Not the carefree response she’d expected. She nodded back toward his table.
“Were those friends of yours from the College?”
“Not friends so much, just some guys a year behind me. They’re in the middle of flight training now, and wanted to hear the war stories.”
“That must be fun, impressing the boys from back home.”
Jack shrugged. “It’s easy to impress folks who weren’t there.” His eyes suddenly searched hers, and she nodded. Trying to tell an outsider what real combat was like…
“It can be hard to talk about.”
“I guess it gets easier?”
This was a thought pattern she had lived in fear of since the day she returned, and she shoved it down quickly. Change of subject.
“Are you just passing through Longreach?”
He frowned. “No, I’m posted to some stupid Research ship. They sent me there because of my operational experience with the Dark Bomb, but as usual nobody’s listening to me.”
“Which ship?”
“
Neil Armstrong
. We’ve been in and out half a dozen times since I joined, but I don’t think we’ve actually done any real data collection—and they just don’t run things like we did.”
Katja listened as Jack described what sounded like a fairly dysfunctional command structure, from the distracted CO to the power-hungry science officer. He lost her pretty quickly when he started to explain the purpose of their core research assignment, which was to investigate the depths of the Bulk and how dark energy could be manipulated in a semi-controlled fashion…. blah blah blah. But Jack’s ship, it seemed, was the Astral Force’s vanguard for Dark Bomb research.
At least he was doing something important.
As she watched him, she began to notice something very strange. His face had been rebuilt by Astral surgeons, no doubt to match his appearance before his capture and torture, and while his features possessed perfect symmetry and form, she realized that there was something lifeless about them. His eyes still shone as always, and every part of his face moved as it should, but without vitality. It was like
Katja suddenly recognized him—could hardly believe his transformation—and launched herself from her chair to follow him toward the exit. Her movement caught his eye, and his glance lingered upon her slightly longer than it might have. When he noticed her gaze back at him he averted his eyes shyly, and continued to walk.
“Excuse me, are you a pilot?” She strode up, feeling a smile burst across her features, and touched his arm. He turned in surprise, unconsciously looking her up and down.
“Uhh, yeah. I’m Jack Mallory. I’m a pilot.” There was no recognition in his eyes, but he tried to return her smile. “Why would a pretty lady like you want to know?”
She took a step back and put her hands on her hips.
“I’m Katja Emmes. I’m a Strike officer, and I
still
might shoot you if you give me a reason.”
Dawning comprehension broke awkwardly over his features, and his cheeks paled perceptibly.
“Oh… I’m so sorry, ma’am! I didn’t recognize you with…” His voice trailed off as he gestured broadly at her appearance. “Where did you get that hair?”
There was something unique, she suddenly realized, about the bonds formed in combat. Jack was still the punk kid who spent more time thinking about tits than tactics, but damn, it was good to see him.
She reached out and gently touched his cheek.
“I barely recognized
you
, Subbie,” she said. “The plastic surgeons did a great job.”
He moved his head to break physical contact with her, his own hand brushing quickly over his face.
“Yeah… It’s good to be me again.”
Not the carefree response she’d expected. She nodded back toward his table.
“Were those friends of yours from the College?”
“Not friends so much, just some guys a year behind me. They’re in the middle of flight training now, and wanted to hear the war stories.”
“That must be fun, impressing the boys from back home.”
Jack shrugged. “It’s easy to impress folks who weren’t there.” His eyes suddenly searched hers, and she nodded. Trying to tell an outsider what real combat was like…
“It can be hard to talk about.”
“I guess it gets easier?”
This was a thought pattern she had lived in fear of since the day she returned, and she shoved it down quickly. Change of subject.
“Are you just passing through Longreach?”
He frowned. “No, I’m posted to some stupid Research ship. They sent me there because of my operational experience with the Dark Bomb, but as usual nobody’s listening to me.”
“Which ship?”
“
Neil Armstrong
. We’ve been in and out half a dozen times since I joined, but I don’t think we’ve actually done any real data collection—and they just don’t run things like we did.”
Katja listened as Jack described what sounded like a fairly dysfunctional command structure, from the distracted CO to the power-hungry science officer. He lost her pretty quickly when he started to explain the purpose of their core research assignment, which was to investigate the depths of the Bulk and how dark energy could be manipulated in a semi-controlled fashion…. blah blah blah. But Jack’s ship, it seemed, was the Astral Force’s vanguard for Dark Bomb research.
At least he was doing something important.
As she watched him, she began to notice something very strange. His face had been rebuilt by Astral surgeons, no doubt to match his appearance before his capture and torture, and while his features possessed perfect symmetry and form, she realized that there was something lifeless about them. His eyes still shone as always, and every part of his face moved as it should, but without vitality. It was like
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