Impulse (30 page)

“Your first love, Commander?”

My mind whirled with how to answer that one. I decided to go with honesty. Maclintock seemed like the no-nonsense type anyway.

“Yes, sir, but . . . we hadn't had an ongoing relationship since she'd gotten her assignment to
Impulse
a few months back,” I said. Maclintock contemplated me, hands tapping gently on the table.

“Son,” he finally said, “I just want to make you aware, most of us in the service have lost someone we cared about, friend, family, even more than that. I just wanted to warn you, she won't be the last one you lose out here.”

I nodded acknowledgment. “Thank you for the insight, sir,” I said. Maclintock nodded back.

“You're welcome, Commander,” he said. “You're dismissed.”

And with that I stood and saluted and made for the door, my head spinning from more than just the previous night's drinking.

D
obrina came by my cabin at 1800 for dinner and a mission planning session. We needed to talk, since we had no real idea what we were going to do to try and activate the jump gate on B. We reviewed the digital records that Marker and I had taken from our trip down to the control room, looking for clues. After forty-five minutes of review I set my plasma tablet down on the table in frustration.

“What?” she asked. “You're not giving up already?” I sat back in my chair, the table between us. My mind was on other things, and it showed.

“Without Serosian to help us we'll never crack this code,” I said. “It's pointless.”

“I've already checked with Maclintock. Serosian won't be available until sometime tomorrow. He's pulling double duty with the First Contact team and working for the Church.”

“Which reiterates my point. Anything we do here could be rendered completely irrelevant in the first fifteen minutes that he looks at this. Trying to figure out how to activate this thing is way beyond our pay grade. We're not scientists and we don't have access to the private knowledge of the Historians,” I said. Now she sat back.

“I think we should order dinner, then take another crack at it,” she said. I agreed and ordered down to the galley, choosing an old Earth dish, beef Wellington, for us both. It arrived a few minutes later, along with a bottle of Quantar shiraz that Dobrina had ordered. After eating and small talk we resumed our planning with just our glasses of shiraz as companions.

“Longwave scans show there are seven levels to the base,” she said. “On your first venture you and Marker only explored one, two, and seven through the freight lifter. Seven is the level with the cavern and the cannon in it. I suggest we take our full detachment of marines down in the bulwark shuttles, give them some practice at deploying out of them, then have them do a full reconnoiter of all the levels while our technical team proceeds down to the control room via the freight lifter.”

“That makes sense, but what do we do when we get there?” I said. “Knock on the windows? That console is not likely to let us mess around with it. And if I owned that valuable a piece of equipment I wouldn't allow just anybody to go strolling around the cavern.”

“So you're presuming there will be some kind of defensive mechanisms in place?” she asked.

“That's what I'd do,” I replied. She picked up her wineglass, sniffing and swirling the liquid before taking a drink. She was getting low so I refilled her glass, then topped off mine.

“The bottle's empty,” she said. I took a drink of my wine, then looked at her over the top of my glass. “Should I order another?” She smiled.

“That's very tempting,” she said, then drank again. “I think we have a solid plan for now. I'll tell Marker and Colonel Babayan to have their marines ready at 0800. We'll drop in, do the reconnoiter, then set up in the control room and wait for Serosian. There's really nothing much else to do.”

“Agreed,” I said. She eyed me, as if wanting to ask a question, which she presently did.

“Are you worried about the marine teams? How they'll work together, react under pressure? Maclintock did make you responsible for their performance, you know,” she said. I shook my head.

“I'm not worried. Marker is a professional and from what I've seen of Colonel Babayan she doesn't seem the type to allow much leeway. I expect they'll all do their jobs properly.”

“You seem very confident,” she said.

“I usually am,” I replied. I looked at my watch. It was 2130 hours, and we were basically done, but she was lingering in my cabin. I looked up at Dobrina. She seemed to be waiting for something, so I prompted her.

“Dobrina, is there something you want to say?” I asked.

She looked away and stayed silent for a moment, then volunteered, “There's something that's been on my mind, yes.” She had another drink while I waited patiently.

“We won't get anywhere if you don't talk,” I said. She gave me an annoyed glance, then stared at the bulkhead of my cabin, wineglass in hand, as if making a decision. She took a deep breath and exhaled.

“When I told you about the fire that killed your brother, Derrick, I wasn't entirely forthcoming about all the pertinent details,” she finally said. This jolted me.

“What . . . details?” I asked. She took in another deep breath before continuing, still staring at my bulkhead wall.

“There was a report on the incident that stated that it was an accident. That was the official report. There was also an unofficial report,” she said.

I was surprised by this. “Which said what?” I asked.

She shifted on the couch before continuing, then turned to me. “It said that there was a forty percent probability of sabotage.”

“Sabotage?” I said. I was shocked. “You mean—”

“It wasn't conclusive, Peter. Nothing in the report was. No smoking gun. But yes, there is a possibility your brother was killed intentionally.”

I was stunned. “By whom? For what purpose?” I asked. She shook her head.

“All unknown, and the report does not speculate. I'm telling you all of this to give you a warning, Peter. There may be forces out there that could be targeting you as well. Be careful.”

“Always,” I replied. This news had shaken me and I wanted time to digest it. “If that's all—”

“There's more,” she said, interrupting. “On a personal note, when I told you that I was on fire control, I wasn't actually telling the truth. I was officer of the deck that day. When the accident happened I went rushing down to the Propulsion room, because . . . you see . . .” she trailed off.

“Dobrina—”

“Just let me get this out!” she snapped. I shut up. She had turned back to the bulkhead now as though to avoid looking at me. “I went down there because I had . . . more than a casual relationship with your brother.”

It wasn't like I hadn't expected that, I realized. Something had been wrong about her story, and now I knew what it was.

“So, you're saying you and my brother were lovers?” I said as gently as I could. She had another drink from her wineglass.

“Yes, in violation of the navy's policy on fraternization—”

“Which has never been enforced on long-duration space missions,” I said. “Don't punish yourself, Dobrina. It happens all the time and it's something we all accept in the navy. Deep-space missions are difficult, at best. We all know that. We're only human. It's hard to keep our emotions bottled up for months at a time. To be honest, I for one am happy to know that someone like you gave him comfort, even in his last moments.”

At this she started to openly cry, and I automatically went to the couch to comfort her, putting my arms around her and pulling her in close. She cried for a few seconds, then stopped herself. “Damn wine,” she muttered. I pushed back a lock of hair from her face. “I thought those feelings were behind me. And then you show up, and you look so much like him, so proud, so strong in defending your country's honor. Those were so many of the traits that I loved about Derrick. And now I see them in you,” she said.

“And I can see what he saw in you too,” I said. “Honor, duty to your friends, facing danger with such bravery. I can see why he fell for you.”

“Stop it,” she said, waving me off with a hand and smiling a bit. “You're just being nice. I'm the homely girl who never gets to dance with the prince, I know that.”

“Dobrina . . .” I said, and then words escaped me. I leaned in and kissed her, and immediately realized I'd been wanting to do it for a very long time. She didn't hesitate. Her lips met mine and it was a warm and inviting kiss, full of promise and affection. She started to pull back but I kept her close for a minute longer as we exchanged small kisses. Then I released her, but stayed close, our foreheads touching.

“Peter, for the sake of the mission—”

“You're the one who said ‘there's always another mission,'” I reminded her. Then I took her hand and our fingers intertwined. “There is never a good time, Dobrina.”

“I did say that,” she said. “But that was back on Levant. Tomorrow is the most important day of our lives, Peter, and rescuing
Impulse
is the most important thing to me, at least for right now.”

I just nodded. I had nothing to say to that, so I leaned in once more and kissed her again, passionately.

“The only promise I can make,” I said to her as I pulled back, “is that next time you'll get the first dance with the prince.”

She smiled hesitantly at me, then took my face in her hands and pulled me in for a final kiss.

“I'd better go. See you in the morning,” she said.

“See you in the morning,” I agreed, then watched her go. I sighed deeply, staring across the room at my lonely, empty bunk. I took one last drink of my wine, then headed straight for my bed.

I was awakened a few hours later by an alert buzzer on my com. It was the night duty officer on the bridge, a lieutenant named Cox. “There's some sort of disturbance down on the hangar deck, sir. Sergeant Marker called up asking for you,” he said.

I looked at my clock. Half past one. “How urgent is this?” I asked. Cox cleared his throat.

“There seemed to be a lot of commotion in the background, sir, and the sergeant was insistent on my calling you,” Lt. Cox said.

“I'm sure he was,” I said. I sat up in bed and started putting on my socks and underwear. “Couldn't he just call in some of his marines?”

“I think that was the source of the commotion, sir,” said Cox.

“What?”

“Um, I think the marines were fighting each other, sir,” said Cox.

“The marines? Shit!” I cut the line and scrambled to pull on my shirt and pants, then grabbed my jacket and shoes on my way out the door.

The lifter took me down fourteen decks and then laterally to the hangar deck. I tucked in my shirt but my jacket was still unbuttoned as I tied my shoelaces. As the lifter doors opened I stood quickly and stepped out onto the hangar deck.

Into a riot.

I ducked at the last second as a metal dinner tray came flying at my head and smacked against the lifter's back wall, leaving a trail of food that looked like spaghetti or lasagna as it fell. I swung low and rolled to my right, ending in a defensive crouch a few feet away from the lifter. It looked as though all sixty marines, Carinthian versus Quantar, were engaged in a knock-down, drag-out brawl across the deck. I looked for Marker but had no luck locating him, though I could hear someone shouting cease and desist orders to no avail.

I took the risk of standing and turned back toward the lifter, coming face-to-chest with a green-clad Carinthian marine the size of a truck. I looked up just as he sent a haymaker my way, with no chance to stop it. A strong hand gripped my collar and pulled me back out the line of fire an instant before my face would have become oatmeal mush.

“Stay down!” yelled a voice in my ear. I looked up to see Colonel Lena Babayan step over me and zap her countryman with a fifty-thousand-volt stun gun. The man stopped for only a second, then brushed the barbs from his arm and returned to the fray with a guttural shout.

“That's impressive,” I said from the ground. “What do you feed them, anyway?”

The colonel looked annoyed and then helped me to my feet. “Do you have a better idea?” she said. I looked around the room as fists flew and battle cries filled the air. It was mayhem. Then I noticed the door to the hangar deck control room was wide open.

“As a matter of fact I do!” I yelled over the din. I grabbed her by the hand and we made for the control room, dodging flying bodies, furniture, and food as we went. We got to the door and I yanked her inside, then slammed the door shut against the chaos.

“What are you going to do?” she said, her face flushed with frustration and anger. I wondered if I had angered her by tossing her in here so roughly, then decided that in the current situation niceness counted for nothing. I looked up and saw the red emergency decompression handle under glass on the wall behind her.