“Michael!” Anna said sharply. “For heaven’s sake, pay attention!”
Michael came back to earth with a bump. “Oh, sorry, Anna. Honestly, you really should wear glasses. Dark glasses.”
Anna laughed softly. Michael’s addiction to her eyes was the longest of long-running private jokes, even if it did drive her to distraction at times.
“Michael! Concentrate!”
“Yes, will do. Sorry,” he said contritely.
“Thank you so much,” she said with exaggerated patience. Screwing up her courage, she took a deep breath before resuming. “Look. I understand you want to, well. . I know what. . How can. . Shit! I’m making a real mess of this, aren’t I?” she whispered, putting her head in her hands to hide the tears that suddenly flooded her eyes. “Crap, crap, crap,” she muttered. She looked up, wiping her eyes. “Goddamn it, Michael. I know what you want, I really do. Even though in the best part of what, six hours, you haven’t actually managed to say it out loud.”
Michael looked guilty. She was right. He had been so afraid that Anna would tell him to get lost that his speech-carefully rehearsed a thousand times over-never saw the light of day.
Anna looked right at him, remnant tears dusting her eyes with tiny jewels, gold in the candlelight. “So believe me. If we were anything other than Fleet officers,” she said fiercely, taking another deep breath, “I would bloody well ask you to marry me, settle down, get a day job, have kids, the whole nine yards.”
She shook her head despairingly. “But damn it, Michael! We’re Fleet officers. Another war with the Hammers is definitely in the cards no matter what those bloody politicians might say. So I’m sorry. It won’t work. I can’t make that sort of commitment right now. Nor can you, Michael Wallace Helfort. Especially you. God knows, you seem to have a death wish. So. .” She shook her head again. “Commitment? Marriage? Forget it. It’s not possible, Michael. Surely you know that.”
Miserably, Michael stared at her. With unerring accuracy, she had picked out the fatal flaw in his position. “So what do we do? Jesus, Anna. Is that it for us? All over?”
“No, you dummy,” she whispered fondly, shaking her head. “Of course it’s not. Look. I love you. You love me. So that’ll have to do until things settle down. Every chance we can, we’ll get together. Every leave, every day off, every chance. Okay?”
Michael nodded miserably. “Suppose so,” he muttered.
“Bloody hell!” Anna frowned. “Suppose so. Suppose so! Is that all you can say?”
Michael shook his head. “No, it’s not.” He looked at her for a long time, a small smile ghosting across his face. “There’s lots more. So come for a swim, Anna Cheung, and I might give you the benefit of my wisdom if you play your. . Ow!” he howled. Anna’s leather sandalled foot had smacked hard into his shin.
“Pig!” she said, standing up and kicking back her chair. “I might listen. . if you can catch me!”
She turned and was gone, a fast-fading blur of white muslin disappearing into the night.
Monday, July 3, 2400, UD
Comdur Fleet Base
Michael looked around the massive Fleet canteen as he waited for Matti Bienefelt to arrive. Under normal circumstances, the place would have been packed with spacers from the hundreds of ships in Comdur orbit, the noise in proportion to the arrogant confidence habitually displayed by Fleet spacers.
These were not normal circumstances. It was still packed, but the place was horribly quiet.
“Hullo, stranger.”
“Hullo, stranger, sir, you insubordinate lowlife spacer, Petty Officer Bienefelt.”
“Well, up yours. . sir.” Bienefelt banged down a mug of coffee the size of a small bucket before taking his hand in her massive paw. Michael managed to drag his hand away before she crushed it. “And for your information, sir, it’s you insubordinate lowlife spacer Chief Petty Officer Bienefelt,” she added smugly.
“Well, bugger me.” Michael looked in astonishment at Bienefelt. He noticed the chief’s shoulder straps only when she dropped her huge frame into a chair. Then again, he would have to be twice as tall to get a decent look at her shoulders in the first place. “Chief? How?”
“Well, the old saying; your misfortune, my good luck.” Bienefelt shook her head, her voice suddenly somber. “Lot of people hurt when those Hammers did us wrong. A lot.”
Michael nodded sadly. It was true. The Hammers had not killed as many Fed spacers as they had planned to, he was sure of that, but they had badly damaged plenty. “Trust me, Matti. Their day will come.”
“Oh, yes. It will. It sure as hell will.”
There was a moment’s silence. “So,” Michael continued. “Chief, eh? What does that mean?”
“One more week in the good ship Eridani. Then posted to leave for two months to clear the backlog I’ve built up. After that, don’t know yet. I’ve asked for a heavy scout running out of Anjaxx.”
“Coxswain?”
“Yup.”
“Anjaxx, eh?” Michael looked thoughtful. “Now, let me think. Anjaxx? Why Anjaxx? You’re a Jascarian.” He pondered the problem; then he got it. “Ah ha!” he said triumphantly, wagging his finger in Bienefelt’s face. “You are one sly dog, Chief Petty Officer Matti Bienefelt. Now I remember. Isn’t there a certain Yuri somewhere on Anjaxx? And isn’t he even bigger and uglier than you are? Am I right? Hmmm?”
Bienefelt did her best to look deeply offended. “Good thing you’re not just an officer but a runty little officer. Otherwise. .”
Michael’s hands went up in surrender. “Okay, okay, I take it back. Yuri isn’t bigger and uglier. Let’s just say he’s as big and as ugly.”
“You are a very rude man,” Bienefelt said amicably. There was a long pause. “Sir.”
Michael’s laugh was cut short by his neuronics. He had an appointment to keep. “Oh, shit, Matti. I’ve got to go.” He got to his feet and put out his hand. “Now listen to me, you big lump. Be careful and stay in touch, okay?”
Bienefelt stood up, towering over Michael as she took his hand. “You’re the one who should be careful. So be careful,” she said sternly.
“Yes, Chief,” Michael said meekly. “See you.”
Thanks to his neuronics’ timely reminder, Michael made it to the transit officers’ quarters with his dignity intact a scant thirty seconds ahead of Commander Baker.
“Helfort.” Baker shoved out his hand briskly. “Welcome to Comdur.”
“Good to be here, sir,” Michael said, taking Baker’s hand. The man was just as he remembered him: small, chunky, and radiating nervous energy, though considerably less stressed than the last time around.
“Liar! Comdur’s a dump, and we all know it. Now, we have to process you in, and then I’ve got something I want you to see.”
“Sir, what exactly am I posted here to do?”
“Patience, my son. Patience. All will be revealed. Let’s go.” With that, Baker was off.
Michael, duly processed onto the strength of the Advanced Projects Unit and now the owner of the highest security clearance he had ever seen after a briefing of eye-watering ferocity, had followed Baker at a half trot as the man had led him through a maze of laser-cut rock passageways, his neuronics unable to say where they were going. He was beginning to realize that Baker knew only two speeds: flat out and full stop. To Michael’s relief, Baker finally skidded to a halt in front of a marine-manned security barrier. Overkill surely, Michael thought, considering they were a good two kilometers below Comdur’s surface and in the heart of the most secure Fleet base in the Federation.
The marines would not have cared what Michael thought. With meticulous care, they cleared first Baker and then Michael through the barrier and into a brilliantly lit lobby backed by steel doors. There was another delay and another identity check with the security AI before the doors agreed to open to reveal a bare plasteel box fitted with simple folddown seats and red emergency lockers.