Sergeant Death was courageously battling the Imperial guard with only his Zim gun and a handful of shrapnel grenades, blowing the biomorphs to pieces as he made his way to Sister Spine; his busty sidekick had been knocked cold in the brutal ambush. Although it had never been stated openly, there were strong indications that Death and the Sister had something goin’ on; Jess had thought so when he was a kid and he thought so now.
Pulaski walked into the mess hall fresh from his second workout of the day and another shower. His huge biceps and pecs bulged out of his tank, pumped up from lifting big-time iron. He kind of looked like Sergeant Death with his comic-book body, ripped and veined to the point of parody. Jess glanced back at the wide video screen and swallowed a chunk of watery carrot.
“Put you in black fatigues and a hood, you’d be Sergeant Death, Candyman.”
Pulaski grabbed a tray from a stacked shelf and punched up dinner, scowling at the consistently poor selection.
“Yeah, I heard that before.”
Jess shrugged mentally and forked through his stew for another carrot. Pulaski was still coming down from Deep 4; the cleanup had been uneventful, and the Candyman was usually a little moody after a wiped mission—working out for up to six hours a day and stomping around restlessly. Since they’d left Traon the night before, he’d been pissy.
Jess speared another orange chunk and went back to watching Death scoop up the girl and make for safety. The reconstituted vegetable was as squishy and tasteless as the last. It wasn’t that he liked the carrots; they were just the only thing he recognized in the brown-soaked mass on his plate.
Pulaski sat down beside him and dropped his tray on the table; he smelled like soap and deodorant stick. “How many times we risk our necks for dorks like Sturges? And then Max don’t leave nothin’ worth shooting anyway?”
Jess shook his head. “That’s the job, Candyman. Maybe you should sign up for Max—they could build you an extralarge suit.”
Pulaski snorted and uncapped his water. “Gimme a break. Even I ain’t crazy enough to volunteer for that shit.”
Jess looked up as Sergeant Death left the Sister and took off to fight the Overlord. Coming up was the best fight scene in this episode, with the bad guy’s pet biotiger. He could still remember the first time he’d seen this one; he’d been eleven or twelve, up early on Saturday morning with his eight-year-old brother, Charles—still three years away from the stray bullet that would end his young life and change Martin Jess’s forever. They’d eaten cold cereal on the floor in the tiny den and clapped when Death took out the tiger with his bare hands, waking their mother in their excitement. Sergeant Death had been their favorite…
Ellis walked into mess and tapped up a bowl of wonton soup. Tray in hand, he hesitantly approached the table where they sat and slid his slight frame onto the bench across from them. Jess nodded and smiled, then turned his gaze back to the screen—but not before noting the kid’s careful smile.
Jess kept a straight face but was amused; he’d wondered when the kid would work up the nerve to eat with them. Ellis was shy, the average just-out-of-program tech-neck with few social skills. But he’d done well with Max and seemed to have a quiet sense of humor behind his soft looks.
“Bugbait still sleepin’ it off?” Pulaski spoke around a mouthful of soypro steak, jaws bulging.
Jess nodded. Teape had holed up in his quarters as soon as they’d left Traon. He’d come out soon enough; they were headed for an entire week of real food and full rec facilities. Pop had arranged for Teape to get a psych check, too. The commander could be a serious blowhard but he did take care of his boys, Jess had to give him that.
Ellis stirred his soup thoughtfully. “Does Teape always get sick after a mission?”
Jess shrugged. “Wouldn’t you?”
“Probably,” said Ellis. “Yeah, I would.” He ate some soup and casually turned around to watch Sergeant Death, bowl in hand.
As the bio-tiger roared and grappled with the superhero, Jess noticed that Pulaski was entranced by the battle, stuffed jaw hanging open in his concentration. Ellis also seemed to be into it, his forgotten soup bowl tilting dangerously toward the floor.
Jess grinned, glad that they were into the old cartoon and a little surprised that he cared. It felt good to experience a nostalgia for his childhood that didn’t make him angry. And though his younger self would have labeled him a candyass for thinking it, he felt like that meant he was growing as a person.
When the powerful Death broke the snarling tiger’s neck, Jess put down his fork and clapped.
* * *
Lara was catching up on data entry in ops and thinking about a hot shower when her ’com panel lit up. She read the hailer with a sinking sensation in her stomach, then called Pop.
The screen glowed softly in the dim room, the bridge lights cut in half to simulate evening hours. Lara had decided not to override, preferring the simulated sensation of working on a sleeping ship; more peaceful, somehow. The words on her monitor changed everything.
“Urgent message regarding status, notify Commander to report.” An “A. Grigson” was standing by, who just happened to be the executive veep for the H/K program. The only time the Company ever wanted to talk face-to-face was to outline a new mission or break bad news—and “regarding status” could only mean that they were going to be ordered to divert.
No week off; the boys were going to be highly pissed. She wasn’t so crazy about it herself, but at least it was one more mission out of the way—
—which means Pop will be that much closer to the end of his contract, two months max instead of three.
She couldn’t feel too bad about that. She kept thinking about his hand on her shoulder the day before, the discomfort she’d felt. Maybe it wasn’t any big deal from his perspective, but what was his perspective? Whatever he’d meant by it, she had felt uneasy. How could she let him know that she didn’t want it to happen again without coming across like a neurotic? She could see it now: I enjoyed the sex but you weren’t as deep as I thought; please don’t touch me ever again.
Lara sighed. She should’ve found out more about Eric before jumping into bed with him; it was a lesson she thought she’d learned in college. No matter how much one rationalized, sex was never just about sex. Boredom and lust weren’t particularly solid motivations…
Pop walked into the dim room and smiled at her, his rugged face softened in the shadows. “Ah, a romantic setting. Is there really a status call, or was this your plan to get me alone and do away with me?”
Lara smiled back in spite of herself. “Why would I do that?”
“The insurance money, of course.”
Lara relaxed as he chuckled and walked over to read the hailer. Maybe she was neurotic. She stood up to let him have the chair and waited for a minute to make sure he got through. Pop was a good pilot but his console communication skills were lacking.
He punched in numbers and ran a hand through his short hair, facing the transmitter. “Commander Eric Izzard of Nemesis reporting, clearance Cl, code 32A-red.”
After a moment, the screen flickered and Alan Greg-son’s wide, smiling face was relayed to the DS monitor. “Pop, how have you been?”
Pop didn’t smile back. “The crew has leave coming up, Grigson. They’re not going to be happy about this.”
Grigson dropped the facade, his lips tightening. “I didn’t get to be where I am by making people happy, Izzard. This is important. Your orders are to divert to quad nine-four-niner immediately to check for possible infestation—”
Pop held up his hand. “Hold on, Grigson.”
He looked up at Lara. “Go ahead and tell the boys; Teape can wait until tomorrow. I’ll come down when we’re done here.”
Lara nodded and scooped up her coffee cup before leaving. She’d need it; “immediately” meant she’d be up late plotting in a new course and filling out hailers. A glance at the sensor screen told her that Jess, Pulaski, and Ellis were still in mess, probably watching one of Jess’s cartoons.
She stepped out into the deserted hall and started for the cafeteria, sighing. Less than twenty-four hours after Deep 4, too. She hoped the team was up for it.