The Forever Hero (18 page)

“Stet. Blade retraction complete.”

“Outrider two, this is Opswatch. Suggest course change to zero seven zero. Probable windsheer one zero kays before the leading edge of the landspout.”

“Understand recommended course change to zero seven zero,” answered Gerswin, since Vlerio showed no inclination to handle the communications with base.

“Negative course change,” said Vlerio on the intercom.

“Opswatch, this is Outrider two. Negative on course change. Maintaining zero four five this time.”

“Outrider two. Understand maintaining zero four five. Advise that probable windsheer differential is plus one five zero. Plus one five zero kays. Running three three zero slash one five zero. Strongly recommend course change.”

Gerswin studied the horizon and the purpled mass rising above the gray of the lower-lying clouds that obscured the ground.

“Opswatch, this is Outrider two,” answered Gerswin. “Understand recommendation for course change. Interrogative met status behind sheer line.”

“Outrider two. Met status behind sheer line estimated at plus seven.”

“Understand plus seven.”

Gerswin cut in the intercom.

“Recommend immediate course change, Major. You have two minutes to sheer line impact.”

“Captain, the air is clear for another seven kays, and we're at three thousand, no tac-running.”

“Major, I recommend a course change to zero nine zero.”

Gerswin watched the faint line as it appeared on his met screen, so close that it was about to kiss the screen point that represented the flitter, and put his hands on the controls, waiting for what he knew would happen, sensing Markin tightening his harness behind him.

“Captain, I've been through—”

Thud! Thud!

“EMERGENCY!!”

BRRIINNNGGG!!!

“Ground impact in less than two minutes!”

The scream of the emergency warnings rang through the intercom as the flitter pitched nearly ninety degrees nose down and to the left.

Gerswin glanced at the EGTs running into the red, and at the airspeed, which was climbing back from a reading of next to nothing. He overrode the major's frantic attempts to yank the stick back into his lap, only letting the nose ride up slightly.

“HELL!! Damned nose won't come up!” grunted the major.

Gerswin felt the perspiration pop out on his forehead as he watched the instruments and fought the major's actions, waiting before pulling out. He kept the nose down.

“Ground impact in thirty seconds! Impact in thirty seconds!”

Thud!

The flitter shuddered at the impact on the port side, and Gerswin again leveled it, his strength overriding the major's easily.

Lurching to the right as the left thruster dropped to half power, the flitter continued to fall as the airspeed climbed back across the two hundred kay mark.

Just as the speed reached two hundred, Gerswin smoothly brought the stick back into his lap.

“Ground impact in thirty seconds!”

“Ground impact in sixty seconds!”

As the airspeed bled off in the climb, Gerswin began to lower the nose, keeping the thrusters at full power, studying the EGTs and the vertical speed indicator.

Slowly, he eased off the power on the right thruster, aware that
the major had finally released his hold on the controls. Gerswin did not look at Vlerio as he began a turn to starboard.

“Outrider two, this is Opswatch. Interrogative status. Interrogative status.”

“Opswatch, status is green. Port thruster is amber. Say again. Port thruster is amber. Overall status green this time. Course is one zero zero. Altitude is point eight, climbing to three.”

“Recommend course of zero eight five.”

“Changing to zero eight five.”

With the purpled mass of the landspout to the west blocking the direct rays of the afternoon sun, the light level in the cockpit was scarcely greater than on the ground below the clouds.

Gerswin could see that while Vlerio had clenched both fists, they were unclenching slowly as he watched the purple fury passing the flitter kays to the west.

Clunk! Clunk! Clunk!

The flitter rocked slightly at the three rapid-fire impacts.

“Ice, Captain?” asked Markin.

“Think so. Could get hit with a few more.”

Gerswin eased the stick more to the right to get a greater separation from the trailing and more diffused end of the spout.

The EGT on the port thruster refused to drop from the amber to the green, and the power loss was approaching fifty-five percent.

“Major, we're going to have to cut this short. We've got about twenty minutes max left on the port thruster.”

As he spoke, Gerswin began a climbing right turn designed to gain altitude for a return to base behind the landspout. The altitude would be helpful in case the thruster quit altogether.

“Go straight back in. Captain.”

Gerswin sighed.

“We can't, Major. Wouldn't have enough time to set down, much less clear the hangar-bunker before the spout hit, and we'd have to use a high power approach.”

“You have it, Captain. Do what you think best.” Vlerio's words sounded like they had come from between clenched teeth.

“Stet, Major.”

“Opswatch, this is Outrider two. On a return curve for touchdown behind the spout.”

“Outrider two, understand returning to base.”

“That's affirmative. Returning to base. Turning three three five for ten.”

“Outrider two, recommend three five zero for twelve, then one nine five for approach.”

“Stet. Turning three five zero, and leveling off at four point zero.”

The cockpit flared with the return of the sun as the flitter cleared the shadow of the landspout. Gerswin squinted until he tossed his head to drop the dark helmet visor in place. The brightness of direct sunlight still bothered his eyes.

Backing off power to both thrusters, Gerswin reduced the right to fifty percent and the left to thirty. But the EGT on the left continued to inch through the yellow toward the red.

“Outrider two, this is Opswatch. Landspout shifting to course of one seven zero. Spout will pass east and south of main base. Estimate CPA in one minute. If necessary, you can commence approach on heading one nine zero.”

“Stet. Heading one nine zero.”

“Landing checklist…up and green.”

Gerswin did the checklist himself, rather than ask Vlerio to do so, forcing himself to go through each item methodically.

“Outrider two, cleared for approach and touchdown.”

“Stet. Interrogative met status and damage.”

“Damage estimate not available. No reports of structural failure. Strips clear. Grids clear. Standing wave antenna down. Landspout now three kays at one six five.”

Gerswin nodded. The spout was following the normal pattern of steering back to the southeast once it neared the foothills. Most didn't make it to the base itself.

“Opswatch, Outrider two commencing descent.”

“Understand commencing descent. Interrogative power status.”

“Port thruster is in the red. Three zero percent power. Will use low power, high angle descent to full touchdown.”

“Interrogative emergency status.”

“That's negative. Will require ground tow. Will require ground tow.”

Gerswin eased the nose up as he triggered the blade extension sequence.

Once the rotors were fully operational, he eased back the power on the left thruster, with most of the power to the blades coming from the right engine.

Thwop, thwop, thwop, thwop….

The sound of the rotors always reassured Gerswin. If necessary, he could always bring the flitter down on blades alone, with no
thrusters, but he'd rather not have to do an autorotation with Major Vlerio sitting in the pilot's seat.

“Opswatch, this is Outrider two. Have base in sight. Commencing final.”

“Stet, Outrider two. Tow crew standing by.”

“Have crew in sight. On line to grids.”

“Harness tight?” he asked over the intercom.

To the left, even across Vlerio's immaculate flight suit, he could see the half kilo wide swath of raw clay where the landspout had plowed through a hilltop east of the base.

“Little damage over to the left, Major,” Gerswin remarked as he brought the nose up another increment before the final flare to the spot on the grid outside the bunker.

He thought he heard a cough from Vlerio, but he was concentrating on the EGTs, the power, and the touchdown itself.

He smiled behind the tinted visors as he got the flitter on the grid without even a jar.

“Commencing blade retraction, Markin.”

“Stet, ser.”

Markin had the crew door open, watching the retraction and folding sequence.

“Opswatch, Outrider two on the deck. On the deck and shutting down.”

“Stet, Outrider two. Interrogative damage status?”

“Port thruster down. Probable replacement. Fusilage impacts.”

“Stet, two. Cleared to shut down.”

“Blade retraction complete,” Gerswin announced, and Markin vaulted from the crew door to the tarmac to take charge of the tow hook-up.

Gerswin began the shutdown sequence, starting with the exterior lights and the fusilage heating.

“Ah…humm,” coughed Major Vlerio.

“Yes, Major?”

Gerswin turned in the seat to face the senior officer.

“All right, Captain. I am neither stupid, nor unnecessarily vindictive. But I do not like being treated like an idiot, and before we leave this flitter, I think we need to get some things straight.”

“I understand, Major.”

As he spoke, Gerswin completed the thruster shutdown. He could finish the rest once the flitter was towed, if necessary.

“Starting tomorrow, I am the Ops boss. Period. You are my
deputy. Deputy, not puppet master, not the power behind the Ops boss, but deputy. Do you understand?”

“Major, I understand completely. You are the Ops boss, and you can't afford to make mistakes. If you don't succeed, then neither do I.”

Vlerio snapped his head, and both sun and impact visors retracted. His forehead was damp.

“Then why did you go out of your way to make a fool out of me in front of the senior tech?”

Gerswin snapped his own visors up and let his hawk-yellow eyes bore into the major's. “Because you insisted on this damned flight. Major Matsuko wouldn't tell you no, and no one else could.”

Gerswin jabbed his hand at the raw clay gouge on the hillside nearly a kay behind the major. “No one who hasn't spent some time here ever seems to understand how dangerous the spouts are. I could have let you go out and kill yourself. I didn't have to step in. You would have. Lost a flitter and crew. For what?”

The major was beginning to tremble with what Gerswin feared was out-and-out rage.

“Markin wants to go home. He's got half a tour left before he can retire. He'll say nothing. Nor will I. Everyone knows you saw a spout up close, and maybe it was a damn-fool thing to do, but you did it and you're back. No problem. May be an asset because the pilots will all know you've been through it. I take the responsibility for the damage, and you become Ops boss.”

“You're clever, Captain. Too clever.”

Gerswin sighed, grabbed the edge of the seat. The flitter rocked as the crew turned it for the tow back into the bunker.

“Major, think about it. Did I do anything against your interests? Anything? If I had wanted you out of the way, I could have stayed in the Ops center and vectored you right into the sheer line. With Jeri Deran as copilot, we wouldn't have found as much as a kilo of scrap metal.”

Gerswin waited, wondering if the apparently hotheaded major would stop to understand.

“I guess you're right, Captain. At least, I see what you tried to do. But I still don't like being treated like an idiot.”

“Major, I'm sure there was a better way to handle it. But I didn't have much time. You have a great deal more managing experience. That's why you're the Ops boss. I understand all the local problems. That's why you need me as deputy. I'll tell you the problems, and you make the decisions, and if we do it in private, you get all the credit.”

“And the blame?”

“Major,” and Gerswin forced a laugh, “Headquarters will
always
blame the boss. That's why you need all the credit you can get.”

Vlerio nodded, slowly.

“All right, Captain…or Major, I should say. We'll try it. But don't ever,
EVER
, pull a stunt like this one again!”

“Yes, ser.”

Gerswin waited until the flitter came to a halt inside the hangar-bunker. Then he finished the last three items on the shutdown checklist.

By the time he looked up from his work, Vlerio was gone.

The tap on the portal was gentle, yet a dull and hollow sound rang through the metal—so much metal for a planet which had so little that had not been oxidized, fragmented, or scattered in dozens of differing and unique ways.

Although he had been sleeping, his bare feet touched the cool tiles before the first echo from the tap had died away.

“Yes?”

“Greg?”

He touched the entry stud, and the panel irised open.

Faith Hermer stepped through the half-open portal, not waiting until it was fully open, her head a scant few centimeters under the top of the frame.

She touched the closure and locking studs in quick succession, and sat down on the foot of his bunk, automatically ducking her head to avoid the non-existent upper bunk.

Gerswin remained standing, leaning against the wall next to the built-in console. He could sense all the conflicting emotions she radiated—impatience, excitement, fear, and…

He shook his head.

“It might be that bad,” she said lightly, “but you'll survive. You always will.”

He frowned. “Not what I meant.”

Amazingly, she returned his gruffness with her shy smile. After all the years he had watched her, he had come to appreciate that shy
ness, the gentle warmth it conveyed without invading or demanding anything.

His frown easing, he asked, “You're in a hurry?”

“In some ways. The shuttle brought my orders, mine and Lieutenant Glyner's. They're on a tight turnaround. After they unload, they'll take us to the
Andromeda
.”

“Orders?”

“I told you. I asked for reassignment to a combat position.”

He had asked the same, and he nodded slowly. For all her size, Faith had quicker reflexes than all of the other Impies, and a better sense of judgment.

“The Dismorph thing?”

She nodded in return.

“What about me?”

“The only orders I know about were mine and Glyner's.” Her eyes met the hawk-yellow of his. Then she looked at the smooth and faded gray of the Service quilt on which she sat. “Greg, they'll never let you go. Once Vlerio is retired, they'll just send another. You've given them enough native-borns to begin running this place in a few years—but only if you're here to control them. They'll never release you, even if you are the best combat pilot in the Service. Once Vlerio is retired…Don't you see?”

“See? See what?”

“You're all that holds this place together.”

“Me, and an Ops officer, an exec, a commandant, and another two hundred assorted military and civilian types.”

“Greg.” Her voice was low, in the quiet, no-nonsense tone he had come to recognize.

“Appreciate the flattery, Faith, but it's hard to believe.”

She sighed, and the slight wash of air carried her scent toward him, the odor of excitement muted, and the sense of sadness deeper now.

Shifting his weight slightly, he wiggled his toes against the cool tiles, abstractly glad that he did not have to pull on his boots just yet.

“I could have said it better. What I meant was that you will be the only one who can hold things together in the future, when things really get tough.”

He barked a two-note laugh.

“When they really strip us for combat support? Aren't we where they put people to keep them out of trouble? To keep them from fouling up the great and glorious combat arm?”

She did not answer his questions, her eyes dropping.

Her hand strayed toward the top fastening on her tunic, but tugged at her shoulder, straightening the fabric where it did not need straightening.

She patted the bunk.

“Please sit down, Greg.”

He slid onto the quilt next to her, but she did not look at him, instead letting her hand touch the top fastening of her tunic, then dropping it.

She turned to him, and he could see the liquidness of her wide eyes. At the same time, he was more aware than ever of how she towered over him and wondered if that was why he had always avoided getting involved with her, despite the attraction she held.

“Greg?”

“Yes?”

“I don't have much time. Not here, perhaps not ever, and…and…”

“Sssshhh.”

He touched her lips with his forefinger, understanding finally, with a cold certainty, that she did not want to ask, had never wanted to ask, and had waited year after year for him, while he had waited for her.

This time, his fingers touched the top fastening on her tunic, and the second, his eyes widening as he realized that she had worn nothing under either tunic or trousers. He closed his eyes as his lips touched hers, and her hands found him.

Despite the heat building between them, between skin and skin, the sense of time dropping forever through an hourglass that would never be turned, each touch tingled, and lasted, lasted and tingled, as they moved together, clothes falling apart, as if in slow motion and freefall.

When the last shudders had died away and her hands traced his body as if to store him within her memory, within her fingertips, he traced her cheekbones with the forefinger of his left hand.

She sighed, regretfully, once, twice.

“It's better this way.”

“Better?”

“You're still afraid of women, you know. Yet your whole body breathes desire. Half the women in this base would give anything to have what I've just had. And you don't see it. Maybe you can't, or won't.”

“Better?” He repeated his question.

“I'm not sure I could have left if this had become a habit. You're
addictive, you know.” She laughed lightly, but with an emptiness behind the teasing tone.

“Why not? Most of the men here feel that way about you. Give them a chance—”

“Greg.”

The quiet stretched between them, as he ran his forefinger along the line of her collarbone and downward across her satin skin.

“Not—” But she broke off the protest, and drew him to her, her fingers digging into his shoulders as her lips covered his.

Some time later, as they lay side by side, shoulder to shoulder and thigh to thigh on the narrow bunk, she repeated her earlier statement.

“It's better this way.” But the sadness was stronger.

This time, he waited.

“You belong to no one, not even yourself. Or maybe you belong to Old Earth. You can give without giving everything, and that's not enough for me. Not in a lifetime. But I'd stay, hoping that you would, and you wouldn't. You couldn't.”

Again he said nothing, but held her closer and stopped her words, and let her tears bathe them both.

Presently, she leaned away and took a deep breath.

“Time to go. I nearly waited too long to come. The shuttle lifts in less than two hours.”

He wondered how he would have felt if she had not come, but only watched as she stood, slipping her uniform back on with quick gestures.

“One last thing. Greg?”

“Yes?”

He met her eyes, but she did not flinch from his level hawk gaze.

“Don't see me off.”

He dropped his glance, not that he had to, but because he understood, though he wanted not to understand, and because all he could do was look as she walked away.

As she tightened the waistbands on her trousers, he stood and slipped over to her, aware and not caring how much taller she was.

He lifted his head, and she bent hers, but only their lips touched, sharing salt and sadness.

“Good-bye, Greg.”

“Good-bye.”

He watched as the portal closed, then slowly began to pull on his uniform, single piece by single piece.

The boots came last, always last.