Only Human (4 page)

 She recognized her new commanding officer
easily. He had hitched a hip onto a table near the back of the room but looked
far from restful. While the other two commanders were accompanied by their
co-pilots or navigators, he was alone. His only visible weapon was a laser hand
gun sporting a wide flash.

Nova appreciated the narrow trousers he
wore; she was sure they were of an expensive Feydan fabric made, of all things,
out of plants. His shirt, jacket and boots were also of natural materials, as
far as she could tell, and looked clean and well-fitted in contrast to those of
his peers.

 More than his neatness and lanky frame, it
was his hair that set him apart from the others. Most of the men in the room
followed fashion by shaving their pates, the Major's hair grew as it would. A glossy
cascade hung freely to the middle of his back in the manner of Delphian males. Nova
had always thought that it looked rather dashing. It made the nonexistent
coiffures of the other men seem strangely clinical.

 The nails of his long fingers, his eyes,
brows and the mass of hair were of a deep blue color. Blue shadows played over
thin, unsmiling lips - he looked cold.

Their speeches finally delivered, some of
the officers began to file out of the room. Nova took a few moments to thank a
senior officer who had been one of her mentors and then approached the Major
now standing by the door.

He was speaking to Adachi, Eagle One’s captain
and Dylan’s new commander, using the soft tones of a Centauri dialect. Nova joined
them and found that, although people often asked her how the weather ‘up there’
was, he towered over her. His sharp features might have looked harsh and
unforgiving except for the remarkable blue eyes and the thick mane of hair. In
this light the strands varied from powder blue to slate gray. All Delphians
also grew a thin line of hair along their spine and he would have no other hair
on his body - if one believed the gossip in the pilot dormitories. Her eyes
found the neural implant at his temple, putting to rest the rumor that they did
not need an interface to communicate with their machines.

"Are you paying attention?"

She snapped out of her reverie.
"Yessir."

His long upper lip twitched in a snarl.
"What is it, then, Whiteside? I asked you a question." He pronounced
each word carefully, as one who has mastered a language not of his birthplace. Like
the rest of him, his accent seemed tightly controlled and lacking in warmth.

"I'm sorry, sir. I am not used
to..." she bit her lip.

His eyes traveled to her rumpled uniform
and mud-splattered boots and back up to take note of the recently-patched
interface node. "I suppose that you meant to say that you are not used to
say your good-byes in five minutes because that is all that you have."

 "What?"

 He motioned her along. "I am now
hoping that your skill as pilot is better than your ability to listen. Collect
your gear and then meet me on the liftplane launch."

 She looked up at him, bewildered. She
would have to watch her step around this one. Somehow she felt as she had years
ago, before joining the Union's Air Command, whenever she was faced with a
particularly stern instructor.

 "Collect my gear? We're leaving
already? I haven't even..." she fell silent. Hadn't he made it clear that
he had no interest in good-byes and farewell parties?

 As she hurried to her quarters to pack her
few personal belongings and to jot a note to her roommate, Nova felt a
surprisingly poignant sensation of loss at the thought of leaving this place,
almost certainly forever. Her transfer from active combat to this drab training
base had not been an easy adjustment. But at some point these Spartan halls had
become home to her, the instructors had become mentors, friends. The long,
uneventful months that she had spent here and often complained about had not
been totally devoid of fun and companionship.

 Nova thought of Fynn, her lover. He would no
doubt be angry to find her gone. She did not dare to take the time to explain
to him, grateful for the excuse to avoid yet another fight. He would know soon
enough where she had gone. Nova did not bother to examine her complete lack of
regret over leaving him.

 She made her way through halls and
stairways, stopping only to requisition and receive a few new uniforms. The
people passing her on her errand saluted or not, as their ranks dictated;
unaware that she would not be in tomorrow's flight schedule and training
sessions. Already they seemed like strangers, bland faces in an unmemorable
crowd.

* * *

The Major waited for her outside his ship,
a hulking and patched model that looked in need of a good mechanic and perhaps
a fresh application of paint. She saw repairs made without bodywork to hide the
scars and a few scorch marks that could only have been sustained in battle. All
of it very nicely hid the sheer power and up-to-the-minute technology tucked
into every millimeter of its construction.

He said nothing when she approached but turned
to climb a narrow ladder into the pilot hatch rather than bother with the cargo
bay door. She followed, encumbered by her travel bag until he reached down and
pulled it up into the ship.

“Thanks,” she said once aboard. She looked
around. “I’ve never been on an Eagle. I am familiar with the specs, though.”

She peered into the cockpit, down a few steps
to her left. A bank of outboard gun controls was currently positioned out of
the way but did not look different from the cruisers she had flown. A row of
screens presented a selection of various angles and scales showing their
surroundings in real video or graphics. The pilot couches, each equipped with a
neural interface headset, looked well-made and comfortable in contrast with the
rest of the interior.

The cockpit angled gradually from the
communications console into the main cabin. Multi-functional out of necessity
on a ship this size, it served as bridge as well as main living quarters. A
wide lounger along one wall topped storage drawers and was faced by another
bank of compartments. She had noticed two more doors leading off the short
walkway to the cargo bay, assuming those to be sleeping quarters. In the center
of this cabin stood a high, round table surrounded by stools fixed to the floor.
Puzzled by a central column reaching to the ceiling, she took a closer look into
its reflective surface to confirm the table converted into a projector for both
two- and three-dimensional imagery. Not surprisingly, the table seemed to be
more frequently used as workspace than entertainment. The cabin’s ceiling was
softly illuminated to give the illusion of space where there was none. The
Major’s head nearly brushed against it.

 Every centimeter of the ship was used for
either storage or instrumentation, without waste, without luxuries. The cabin
was precise and neat.

“Where is the crew?”

 “You’re it.” The Major went down into the
cockpit. He gestured to the co-pilot's seat. "Take us up."

“What? Me?” she gasped. “Now?”

“I was assured that I was taking on a
pilot. Are you not a pilot?”

“Well, yes. I mean…”

“So can you fly this? Or are you staying
here?”

She hurriedly slid into one of the cockpit
chairs. He said nothing while she went through pre-flight, held his silence
when she stumbled over a few protocol errors before receiving clearance, and
barely raised an eyebrow when she awkwardly strapped herself into her seat
while already taxiing to launch. She thought she saw him roll his eyes when she
waved to one of the jockeys on the by-way. All of this gave her enough time to
assure herself that she understood the control panel configuration and learn a
little bit about the ship’s maneuvering quirks.

When she finally launched the Eagle and
reached escape velocity he nodded to himself, his eyes on the shield monitors.
But she took them out of Myra’s atmosphere with barely a shudder and soon they
had left the red planet behind them. She let out a breath of pent-up air,
pleased with the take-off.

His congratulations were not forthcoming.
“Is there a reason why you decided to launch manually?” His gesture indicated
the headset behind her that would allow her to communicate directly with the
central processor of the ship.

She peered into his face and saw little
there but sharp angles and a pair of watchful blue eyes. His tone held neither
criticism nor complaint. What answer was he looking for?

“Because I
like
flying manually.”

He rose from his seat and went back into
the main cabin. She followed, too curious about the ship to speculate over his approach
to ‘training’ his new crew member. He sat on the lounger to watch her prowl
about.

"You live here all the time?" She
peered into the tiny food preparation area, realizing that she had not had
dinner. She hoped that he was a better cook than she was, as much as cooking
aboard a cruiser usually involved knowing which packages of lumpy grey
nutrients to combine into something edible.

"Mostly. We are stationed on Targon,
which is a formality." He answered her unspoken question by pointing out
some of the storage units along the wall. “Weapons, weather gear, camo, air.”

She opened the bin he had identified as
camo. Inside was a tangle of clothes chosen for being non-descript and
unidentifiable, head covers, boots, boxes of colored lenses, currencies, masks,
tattoos and dyes for temporarily changing skin and hair color. "You have a
greval vest! That's a big thing on Myra right now. Worth a fortune."

He started to say something, paused, and
then shook his head. "Speaking of weather gear, no one sent a set for you.
Be sure to request one when we get to Targon."

"You step out that often?" she
asked, referring to occasions when leaving the ship without a complete and
sealed enviro-suit would be hazardous. She bounced a little on the balls of her
feet to test the ship's near-perfect gravity. That, along with what felt like a
healthy air quality, was a desirable feature on long-range cruisers. She had
spent time on vehicles either half afloat or weighted down for hours and days
at a time. "Certainly no need for extra padding in here. I'm
impressed."

"I'm glad."

She perched on one of the stools by the map
table. "You don't approve of me."

"My approval is not based on first
impressions. Why do you ask?"

Nova hesitated. How did one converse with a
Delphian? Why had that not been taught anywhere? “You don't seem to welcome my
presence here.”

"I find it unnecessary, even if
Command thinks it is." His tipped his chin toward the cockpit. "The
Eagle’s neural interface is the best ever engineered. There is no real need for
a crew. And I’m not a teacher."

"You got something against
people?" She waited for him to ponder whether she meant ‘people’ or if she
meant ‘Human’.

He did not rise to the bait. "Machines
are a lot more dependable. They tend to last longer, too. And you need to carry
less oxygen."

"So it's not something you have
against me personally."

He arched an eyebrow. "I do not know you
well enough to hold anything against you."

"We're supposed to work together. We
have orders to work together."

"You are a subordinate officer. How I
deal with you is up to me.” He leaned back and picked up a computer screen, his
eyes on his fingers while he tapped in some commands. “I have orders to train
you. And so I will. But I have work to do. I am in the middle of a difficult assignment
that will not allow me time to wet nurse a greenie."

 "Greenie!" Nova exploded, leaping
from her chair. "I've been flying planes of one type or another since the
day I lost my diapers. I came out of three years of Academy as wing commander. Three
more years of active combat and Flight to make Hunter Class pilot. Did two tours
outside Pelion and then on Ud Mrak before I got stuck at Myra. They don't
exactly accept just any shuttle pilot in the Mrak system. I've got all weapons
certs, five base languages including yours, hand-to-hand and three grades of
ground combat training. I'm a qualified chartjumper. If you read over my
records you'd know all that makes for almost ten years of playing soldier. How
can you call me a greenie?"

"It doesn't take a genius to jump a
stable site." He turned the screen in his hands toward her. The text was
too small to see from where she stood but the image it also displayed was of
her. “I am aware of your records. You’ve never been outside of Union domain.
Yet since you lost your diapers you destroyed Tamotsu Comori’s main lab on Drar
Drogh, you blanket-bombed what was probably the biggest rebel ammo dump on
Bala, you managed to kidnap one of Tharron’s favorite wives and hand her over
for questioning, you stole an atomic destined to take out Skyranch Nine by
pretending to be the transport pilot. On a rebel ship.”

Nova grinned.

“And you bailed out of your kite to let it
ram a freight skimmer carrying two hundred breeder Rhuwacs on Nebdan.”

“That hull was tough. I didn’t have the
weapons to take it down.”

“Your plane was worth more than two hundred
lizards.”