Far Space (24 page)

Ian had always assumed he was made of stronger stuff. Now he had his doubts.

Here he was, entertaining an affair like a teenage boy. The difference was teenage boys usually did not have a clue about consequences. As a twenty-six year-old man and husband, he was perfectly aware of such things.

You are a pig, Ian repeated to himself.

Ian looked up to find Teresa grinning over at him. “What are you thinking so hard about, Captain?”

Before he had arrived back in Earth Space, Ian had achieved two things; marriage and a promotion. The marriage was mainly because he was lucky enough to save the right girl during the alien attack. The promotion thanks to his part in securing the alien ship from its hostile crew bent on destroying the craft rather than have it fall into human hands. Ian had argued the self-destructive nature of the alien ships’ course change had appeared to be a computer malfunction more than something the crew tried to carry off. Yates advised Space Corps newest Captain to shut up and salute.

“High school,” Ian lied. He emptied his mug with a single long swallow. He took a moment to refill his glass and passed it back to Teresa.

Why not just go for it? He was millions of miles from home and the people stuck back on Earth would never find out. The unspoken rule, ‘what happens on deployment stays on deployment’ had been around for longer than Ian had been alive. He was not the first man and she was not the first woman to do something while on these distant assignments; nor the first to become involved in activities they normally would have shunned back home.

Teresa’s hand was on the seat next to his hip.

Ian started to move his hand to take hers.

Teresa snatched her hand off the seat as the small data pad holstered on her hip pinged. She pulled it out and looked down at it guiltily. Her blue eyes meet Ian’s.

Ian checked his own electronic tether to try and cover up his move for his friend’s hand.

A strange look passed over Teresa face. Her PDA beeped again, pulling her attention back to it. She quickly activated the display and entered her security code. Teresa read over the latest message.

“They need me back on the Ops Floor,” Teresa said, re-holstering her PDA.

Ian stared at his own PDA’s blank screen without making a move to activate it.

The moment was broken.

What was he thinking? Nothing happened on this base without the grapevine picking it up sooner or later. The harder an illicit couple attempted to cover their movements and motives, the more the whisperers shared the news with glee behind their backs. Ian glanced around the dark interior of C-4. He wondered what kind of rumors where already circulating about Teresa and himself despite the fact they had actually done nothing except hang out together while off-duty.

Perception, Ian reminded himself. It was all about perception. Forget the facts. If it appeared you were involved in something or with someone, even if the activity was truly harmless, other people’s perceptions would take the facts and morph them into whatever story they cared to create.

Harmless? Hardly. Ian knew he had simply been ignoring the gnawing feeling at the back of his mind. He had known they had been growing closer over the past few weeks. If he were not such a blockhead or at least had lower morals, he knew he would already have bedded his colleague. Still, Ian had clung to the belief it was all in the name of friendly fun. He liked Teresa – liked her a lot.

She also looked so much like his wife, it was eerie.

Teresa took another drink and passed the mug back to Ian. “The doofs don’t know what to do without me,” Teresa said. She brushed Ian’s arm and looked into his eyes.

Ian thrilled at the touch despite his current line of thinking. How can you turn that sort of thing off? Ian nodded mutely, not trusting himself with words.

Teresa leaned forward a fraction of a centimeter.

Ian was sure she meant to kiss him. In the usual world of dating, this would be the point where he responded by also leaning in to exchange a quick peck. He forced himself to stay still, suddenly aware of the forty other eyes in the room.

He watched Teresa slightly parted lips form a half grin. “Later then, Langdon.”

Teresa slipped out of the booth without a backward glance.

Ian fingered his thick platinum wedding band. He remembered Teresa was also married, a fact he had conveniently forgotten. He eyed the remainder of his pitcher, sighed, and scooted out of the booth.

Back up in the C-4 passage, Ian shook his head. He was both ashamed and a little proud of himself. Here he was, for the first time in his live, with all the stars aligned, for him to do something completely crazy with a beautiful woman. He was ashamed of what he had almost done behind his wife’s back. His heart climbed into his throat when he realized he would have to talk about what had happened out here when he saw Jennifer face-to-face again. But, to balance it out, he was also maybe not as much of a pig as he thought he was. That at least was something to be thankful for.

Ian reached the end of the passage and stopped outside the airlock leading into Level 2 of the main section of the base. If any of the other guys knew he was having all this turmoil over a trip to bed with Teresa, they would laugh at him. He had his own private quarters and they could have all the time in the world together while off-duty.

“Idiot,” Ian muttered, passing through the airlock. “Who cares what someone else thinks.” They did not have Jennifer waiting for them back home. Crap, when was the last time he really talked to her anyway? Lost in his thoughts, Ian made his way down the dimly lit stairs and wound his way through the Level 3 corridors until he arrived outside his room.

Ian opened the door and found a general dozing in his swing-chair.

The swing-chair, a hammock-like structure with the feet held out in a separate sling, was perhaps the greatest benefit derived from technology developed for the backyards of suburbia and applied to deep space travel and
colonization. A swing-chair effectively took the place of a lounge chair or couch in your room. The bean counters liked them because they were light, packed compactly and thus were much cheaper than any other furniture they were forced to ship out to any outpost. Only the new mattresses came close to the shipping efficiency achieved by the chair. Formed by chemical reactions, the foam mattresses hardened to just the right consistency and firmness desired by the user. The only catch was you had to get the settings just right before activating the package. You only got one shot to customize one of the most important pieces of equipment you would use every day while on station. With a swing-chair and one of the personalized mattresses, someone far from Earth could almost feel at home.

After standing in his doorway for a few moments, Ian leaned back to make sure he was in the right place. Levels 3 through 5 were all basically the same layout so it was not unheard of for someone to wander into the wrong room after a long shift. He had heard a host of funny and mortifying stories on the topic. Ian at first thought he had simply walked into the wrong room. He could hear himself repeating the story, starting with, ‘You’ll never guess whose room I walked in on…’ The punch line would be even funnier depending on who the general turned out to be.

The number on the placard beside the door confirmed he was indeed on the right level and at the correct door.

Ian stepped closer to see around the sling-chair straps blocking the man’s face.

“Cripes,” Ian said.

General Yates’ eyes popped open at the sound. “Hello, Langdon.”

“And to what do I owe the pleasure, sir?” Ian asked, regaining his composure. He shut the door and flipped on a reading light. Somehow, he knew the lowered lighting would be appropriate for whatever conversation was about to happen.

“You never call,” Yates said, stretching out in the swing chair. “God, I love these things.”

“I could say the same for you, General,” Ian replied. “Of course, you’ve got a bit more on your plate than I do. How’s the Special Ops thing treating you, sir?”
He went to his small fridge and took out two sodas, specially mixed and canned by a major beverage company right there on Europa for the nation’s fighting men and women. Ian handed one of the sodas to the reclining general. With his favorite seat taken, Ian pulled the small desk chair across the room so he could face Yates. He turned it around and crossed his arms on the chair back.

“Let’s just say I’ve stayed busy,” Yates said. He eyed Ian as he took a drink from the squeeze bottle. “Have you heard from Jennifer lately?”

Ian’s ears began to burn. Could Yates really know about Teresa? Had he been in the bar with him just a few minutes ago? There was no way he could have beaten Ian back here were that the case. Ian realized the General was still staring at him, expecting an answer. Not trusting his voice, he shook his head side-to-side.

“When was the last time you heard from her?” Yates persisted.

Where was this going? Ian mentally kicked himself for being so stupid with the girl. This was the man who had married them for cripes sake. He just could not figure out why the Commander, Space Corps Special Operations Planning Team would care.

Ian opened his mouth to answer and realized he could not remember when he had last exchanged a message with his wife.

Two weeks? Lord, had it been Four? Crud.

“I’m not really sure, sir,” Ian muttered, emabarrassed. “Three weeks, maybe more.” “You know,” Yates said after a short pause, “simply not talking will not make you and Jennifer’s problems go away.”

Ian snorted.

“What?” Yates said, taking another sip. “Too sappy?”

“The ‘what’ is, you show up after all this time and start handing out martial advice,” Ian said.

“A happily married man talks to his wife more than once a month,” Yates said.

Ian opened his mouth to respond then closed it. What could he say? The older man was right.

“Let me guess,” Yates said. He untangled his feet from the sling-chair foot rest and leaned toward Ian. “You were waiting for her to call first.”

Ian’s cheeks flushed.

“Let me say this, and it is truly as a friend,” Yates said. “You’re an idiot.”

Ian’s mouth twitched into a grin despite the harshness of the statement.

“On that point,” Ian said and nodded. “I’ll have to agree.”

“Jennifer is the most amazing woman I’ve ever had the pleasure of serving with,” Yates said. “And you were the lucky S.O.B. who got to marry her. Whatever you two are having problems with, work it out. Believe me, and I say this from hard experience, reconciling is so much more rewarding than separating.”

Ian had the sudden urge to record a message to Jennifer and send it off. But there was the small issue of a General still sitting in his quarters. Ian opened his drink and took a swig and thought back to his last conversation with Jennifer. He laughed out loud.

Yates raised a questioning eyebrow.

“I can’t even remember what we were arguing about,” Ian said. “Then it got busy here…”

“Idiot,” Yates said shaking his head. “Don’t let anything get in the way of what you and Jennifer have. There’s always time if you make it.” He paused and regarded the drink in his hands before he continued. “The last time you talked, did Jennifer mention anything about meeting anyone? Maybe going somewhere?”

“No,” Ian said. He started thinking furiously. What had Jennifer said anyway? “Nothing struck me. She was at Far Side, working on some spin-off from Six.”

“You’re sure?”

Ian stared down at his drink tube and tried to remember anything odd Jennifer might have mentioned. He looked up to find General Yates staring into his eyes. Puzzled by the intensity of the other man’s interest in his wife, Ian asked, “Spill it, sir. You obviously know something I don’t.”

Yates broke eye contact and looked toward the door.

Ian did not speak. If the general wanted something, then by golly, the least he could do was ask for it straight up.

Yates pulled himself from the sling-chair and began to pace. “What I’m about to tell you is somewhat speculative.”

“Does it concern Jennifer?”

“I believe she may be part of something I’ve been tracking,” Yates said.

“What are you thinking?” Ian began. “Are you saying Jennifer is some sort of spy? My God, General, have you lost your mind? You just said…”

“Hold your horses, Langdon,” Yates said and held up a hand. “I’m not accusing her of anything.”

“Then what?” Ian asked, his voice rising.

“I think she got dragged into something,” Yates said, “and either did not know the full scope of the danger or was too excited to say no.”

“Did someone make another breakthrough with the alien communications from the ship?” Ian asked. It was the only thing he could think of which would have caused his wife to do anything really crazy. That, or a live concert by her favorite band
Command Destruct
.

Yates stopped pacing and stared at Ian. “Close. You sure she didn’t say anything.”

“Cripes,” Ian said. “Did someone send her off on a wild goose chase to get more alien tech? Wasn’t there enough on Six to keep everyone back on Earth busy for the next century? Jennifer already had a working quantum communications device out of the ship. The team at Far Side probably has got a working model by now. What else could possibly have gotten Jennifer so excited…” Ian stopped. Jennifer had the technology which would allow mankind to make all current long range communications systems obsolete. The era of quantum communications was about to erupt across the solar system. But that was not it.

“Close…” Yates said. There was only one other piece of alien tech which could capture his wife’s heart.

“The nav data,” Ian said, standing up. “Did someone finally figure out how to decrypt the data we downloaded while we had Six onboard Cheyenne?”

“The navigation data and some other files have been deciphered,” Yates admitted.

Ian looked Yates in the eye. The General was not giving him everything. “Pretty good,” Ian said, “considering there was no commonality with any human language and we have unearthed no Rosetta stone.”