He lost his way more than once, stumbling into an exercise room, where a company of a hundred marines were working out in hand-to-hand combat drill. It struck him as an anachronism, the thought of killing an opponent by hand. It was rare that he even thought of his opponent in the other ship; rather it was a machine that was trying to kill him and he had to destroy it first.
The marines were tough, far beyond what he was used to seeing. They seemed to possess a cat-like grace, their bodies lean, hardened, more than one scarred by laser rifle burns. He asked directions, most of the group stopping to look at him, until a sergeant barked out a few choice words and the drill continued. He realized that he must be a rare curiosity, still wearing his combat survival suit, his helmet tucked under his arm.
He reached the ship’s lower deck and above an airlock he saw the insignia of the First Commando, crossed knives above a Kilrathi skull, “Cat Killers,” emblazoned in Gothic letters beneath it.
He went through the open lock. The corridor was packed with gear, marines sitting about, talking, laughing, playing cards, arguing, cleaning and checking their weapons, one of them looking up with a cold grin while continuing to sharpen a durasteel knife.
“I’m looking for Captain Svetlana Ivanova.”
“You’ll find the Talker down the end of the corridor, third door to your right.”
He continued on, trying not to feel uncomfortable with the realization that all conversation in the corridor had come to a dead stop.
He reached the door, and had the sudden desire to forget about it and get the hell off the ship as quickly as possible. He started to turn around and then realized that every marine in the hall was watching him.
He knocked on the door.
“Come.”
He pushed the open button and stepped in.
“Be with you in a moment.”
Her back was turned and she was leaning over a holo screen, studying a map, tracing out what Jason realized were air strike runs on a ground target.
Even from the back he instantly recognized her. Her hair was cropped short to marine regulation, still golden with a slight streaking of strawberry to it. The neck was thin, tanned, and the rest of her—though well conditioned, the female side of Svetlana was still very much in evidence.
“What do you want?”
“Hello, Svetlana.”
Her back stiffened and there was a long silence. She turned slowly and looked up at him.
“Jason?”
He smiled nervously and felt his heart skip over. Her blue eyes were wide with wonder. Her lips parted slightly in shock. She had aged; seven years of war did that. There were the beginnings of crinkled lines around the edge of her eyes, and a thin scar creasing back from her temple to behind her right ear. But she still looked much the same, and all he could see for a moment was the Svetlana of so many years ago—the Svetlana from back home, two years older than himself, who had gone off to join the fleet.
For years he had suffered with an insane crush on her, believing her off limits since she was, after all, “an older woman.” His older brother Joshua had tried for her, but her nickname of Ice Princess came from the hard experience of more than one starry-eyed boy whom she had shot down. And then by wonderful chance they had met again at the officer’s candidate flight school, he had been eighteen, and she, twenty. It had simply gone from there; both were first drawn to each other as friends from home, but the relationship had quickly blossomed into far more.
“It is you,” she whispered.
“It’s me.”
She nodded, and for a moment he thought she was going to fill up, her eyes suddenly sparkling. She lowered her head then looked back up.
“You damned son of a bitch, so what brings you back now?”
“Svetlana.”
“Don’t Svetlana me you rotten bum. I haven’t seen you, heard from you in years, then you show up like a piece of bad luck and expect that damn smile of yours and little boy charm will get you right back in to my heart again, is that it?”
As she spoke she stood up and came towards him like a tiger ready to pounce. She came up close, pointing a finger into his face.
“Now wait a minute, damn it,” Jason snapped. “I couldn’t help it that you flunked that test. It sure as hell wasn’t my fault. I’m not the one that gets my stupid butt transferred to the marines and then goes disappearing. So don’t blame it all on me!”
“Blame it on me then, is that it?” she shouted. “Why don’t you get assigned to the fleet, maybe we’ll get married someday once the war’s over you said. Bull. This war will never be over. If I couldn’t fly, I wanted to be where the action was, and not go following you around as your bat boy, your second fiddle, stuck on the ground while you grab all the glory.”
She turned away and he felt a brief instant of relief, half fearing that she was actually building up to hauling off and decking him. He half suspected that with the condition she was in, and the training of a commando, she could kill him with her bare hands and not even work up a sweat doing it.
“Fleet policy would have allowed us to get married and assigned to the same ship,” Jason said quietly.
“But not as pilots,” she said, her back still turned to him, her voice thick with emotion. “You just never got it. I wanted to fly more than anything. Your dad was a pilot, so was mine. There was no way I was going home after that, to sit in the kitchen and wait for a letter to come in from your commander telling me how bravely you died.”
Her voice started to crack and she looked away for a moment.
“You were the one who ran amok with your pride,” Jason shouted in reply. “You were the one who transferred to the marines and said ‘stay in touch baby,’ I’d be damned if I was going to wait around for you to finish your first five-year tour of duty.”
She looked back at him.
“I wanted a piece of the action, too,” she replied. “You’re not the only one this damned war has screwed, at least your mother and brother didn’t buy it the way half my family did.”
“Joshua died defending Khosan,” Jason said quietly.
“Oh God, Jason, I’m sorry,” she whispered and the anger dropped away, and she stepped closer, putting a hand on his arm.
“You didn’t know,” he sighed. “It’s all right.”
“And your mom, how is she?”
“All right I guess, I thought I’d see her on leave but I got pulled to take over as wing commander for the Tarawa.”
“You’re on the Tarawa?”
“That’s how I got here. Janice is with me too, by the way, she’s one of my squadron commanders.”
“You’re a wing commander?”
Jason nodded, almost afraid to admit it since she might interpret it as boasting. He remembered her in school, before she had run afoul of the dreaded advanced spaceflight and jump point physics course. Before that course everyone thought she’d be another hotshot ace once she got up to the front. He knew the desire to prove something came from what happened to her father. That was a tragedy Jason never had the courage to ask her about, for his own father had told him how Svetlana’s dad had panicked in one of the early engagements of the war, killing himself and causing the loss of his carrier. He often wondered if Svetlana really knew the truth, which had been covered up for reasons of public morale.
“How is Janice?” Svetlana asked, and there was a note of affection in her voice.
“Same Janice as always. Thirty-two kills to her credit and a squadron commander.”
“She still have that crush on you?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Liar.”
“Well, nothing’s ever come of it.”
“I bet,” and he detected the jealously in her voice.