"Well, you be captured by the Angels, then, and I'll rescue you!"
Camille Roth's voice sure does have a carrying power, Luisa thought to herself as she closed the door to the secure container holding Pilot's hab-unit behind her. Just as well, if she ends up being a marine like she's got her heart set on.
Ain't no-one going to mishear an order she gives, for sure.
"In the holos, it's usually the girl who gets rescued." The second voice belonged to Jamie, and it still gave Luisa a start, a little lift of the heart, even all these weeks after Pilot had come to her and suggested, in that soft, diffident way Pilot had about her, that maybe Gwen and Jamie might stay a little while here at Lustrevik, given how far away they all were from State space these days, given how important family was.
Luisa had told Pilot stiffly that it wasn't necessary, thank you very much, she was well used to not seeing them above once or twice a year, thinking And I'm not going to be any rich podder's charity case, even one as stupidly sweet-natured as you.
Pilot had nodded, and said Mmhmm, and talked for a little while about how much she worried that Camille wasn't seeing other children except at school because of all the security issues, and how nice it would be if there were other children living inside the perimeter, and how she wished awfully that some of the crew had families here on station, and somehow Luisa had found herself turned around and offering to ask Gwen if she and Jamie could stay a little while, and Pilot nodded and smiled and said how kind it would be of Luisa to do that, and how much she'd appreciate the favor, and it wasn't until she was out the door that Luisa had realized just how thoroughly she'd been conned.
Vague and wishy-washy as Pilot was, Luisa reflected as she made her way up the path towards the pretend-Gallente house in its pretend-countryside setting, there were times when talking to her was like what Luisa had once overheard a couple of pilots say about trying to catch and kill a Helios. Fragile as a cobweb one had said. Get one good hit in and you just know it'll go to pieces. But every time you think you're closing in, the damn thing disappears and pops up on the other side of you.
"Only in the stupid holos," Camille said firmly from the other side of the garden. "In the good holos the girl rescues herself!And everyone else!"
"Can't I rescue myself too?" Jamie asked.
As Camille said reluctantly "O- kaaaaay", Luisa spotted Pilot sitting under one of the pretend-trees in pretend-shade from the pretend-sun, a stack of hard-copy next to her, studying one of the pages with her bare feet stretched out in front of her. Luisa noted with a mental snort that Pilot had found time to paint her toenails all the colors of the rainbow. Typical Gallente foolishness.
Pilot caught her gaze and wiggled her toes with a smile. "Camille felt creative," she said. "Better my toes than the walls of the house, eh?"
Luisa had to admit, if only to herself, that yes, it probably was. "I've got my recommendations on those roster changes for you, Pilot," she said.
"Oh, good, thank you." Pilot rose to her feet with, Luisa noted, the ease and grace of someone too young to know arthritis as more than a word. "Come inside, let me get you a cold drink and we'll talk about it."
"I'm fine, Pilot," Luisa said.
"Well, I'm thirsty," Pilot said. About to turn toward the house, she paused, and looked across the pretend-garden, shading her eyes against the pretend-sun. "I do hope Camille isn't pushing Jamie around too much. She can be very, uh, decisive."
Camille Roth's voice sure does have a carrying power, Luisa thought to herself as she closed the door to the secure container holding Pilot's hab-unit behind her. Just as well, if she ends up being a marine like she's got her heart set on.
Ain't no-one going to mishear an order she gives, for sure.
"In the holos, it's usually the girl who gets rescued." The second voice belonged to Jamie, and it still gave Luisa a start, a little lift of the heart, even all these weeks after Pilot had come to her and suggested, in that soft, diffident way Pilot had about her, that maybe Gwen and Jamie might stay a little while here at Lustrevik, given how far away they all were from State space these days, given how important family was.
Luisa had told Pilot stiffly that it wasn't necessary, thank you very much, she was well used to not seeing them above once or twice a year, thinking And I'm not going to be any rich podder's charity case, even one as stupidly sweet-natured as you.
Pilot had nodded, and said Mmhmm, and talked for a little while about how much she worried that Camille wasn't seeing other children except at school because of all the security issues, and how nice it would be if there were other children living inside the perimeter, and how she wished awfully that some of the crew had families here on station, and somehow Luisa had found herself turned around and offering to ask Gwen if she and Jamie could stay a little while, and Pilot nodded and smiled and said how kind it would be of Luisa to do that, and how much she'd appreciate the favor, and it wasn't until she was out the door that Luisa had realized just how thoroughly she'd been conned.
Vague and wishy-washy as Pilot was, Luisa reflected as she made her way up the path towards the pretend-Gallente house in its pretend-countryside setting, there were times when talking to her was like what Luisa had once overheard a couple of pilots say about trying to catch and kill a Helios. Fragile as a cobweb one had said. Get one good hit in and you just know it'll go to pieces. But every time you think you're closing in, the damn thing disappears and pops up on the other side of you.
"Only in the stupid holos," Camille said firmly from the other side of the garden. "In the good holos the girl rescues herself!And everyone else!"
"Can't I rescue myself too?" Jamie asked.
As Camille said reluctantly "O- kaaaaay", Luisa spotted Pilot sitting under one of the pretend-trees in pretend-shade from the pretend-sun, a stack of hard-copy next to her, studying one of the pages with her bare feet stretched out in front of her. Luisa noted with a mental snort that Pilot had found time to paint her toenails all the colors of the rainbow. Typical Gallente foolishness.
Pilot caught her gaze and wiggled her toes with a smile. "Camille felt creative," she said. "Better my toes than the walls of the house, eh?"
Luisa had to admit, if only to herself, that yes, it probably was. "I've got my recommendations on those roster changes for you, Pilot," she said.
"Oh, good, thank you." Pilot rose to her feet with, Luisa noted, the ease and grace of someone too young to know arthritis as more than a word. "Come inside, let me get you a cold drink and we'll talk about it."
"I'm fine, Pilot," Luisa said.
"Well, I'm thirsty," Pilot said. About to turn toward the house, she paused, and looked across the pretend-garden, shading her eyes against the pretend-sun. "I do hope Camille isn't pushing Jamie around too much. She can be very, uh, decisive."
"If she is, it'll toughen him up, is all," Luisa said.
"But he's so sweet! Why would you want him toughened up?"
Luisa blinked. Pilot's eyes were wide and blue and genuinely puzzled. "Let him know what life's going to be," she said shortly. "While he's still young enough to learn from the lesson."
"Oh," Pilot said, and Luisa could tell this particular oh was what she herself classified as number seven. Oh, I don't understand what you mean but it would be rude to say so. It was close, but not identical, to number thirteen, Oh, I think you're completely wrong, but it would be rude to say so. "Well, come and have some lemonade, and tell me about the rosters."
Luisa followed Pilot into the house, the thick stone walls shutting out the pretend-summer outside. She waited, hands clasped behind her back and shoulders square, as Pilot opened the refrigerator and took out a tall jug of something, poured two glasses and carried them to the battered table.
"Please, come and sit down, have some lemonade," Pilot said, taking a chair herself, legs curled up under her like a kid. Luisa's own rules about dealing with a Captain who made requests rather than issuing orders meant she had to treat that invitation like a direct instruction, and so she took a chair opposite Pilot and picked up the glass. The lemonade was tart and sweet at the same time, and Luisa could recognize the tang of real fruit and the smoothness of sugar from a ... Wonder where real sugar does come from, now I think about it?
Where-ever it came from, a tree or a flower or some animal, it was a luxury, although not to podders, I guess.
Luisa gave herself a few seconds to savor it as Pilot tasted her own drink and smiled with satisfaction.
Those three seconds of self-indulgence past, Luisa swallowed and spoke. "Master Gunnery Sergeant Jadat thinks you should promote Private Alpassi."
"Helmi? Why? And to what?"
"His report says she's got real natural talent at close personal protection. And she's hard-working, and dedicated. Plus she's about the right age, and the right gender, to work close-in, in civvies. She'd look like a friend, to anyone else, you see?"
"A friend?"
"You go shopping, she goes with you, two girls off on an outing. Anyone looking to try anything, they'll clock your detail, have a plan for them. Alpassi would be the nasty surprise they didn't plan on."
"Is that dangerous?" Pilot asked.
Luisa paused. "Alpassi isn't the one I'd pick, all in all," she said carefully. "Taking everything into consideration. But Jadat doesn't know, and Alpassi doesn't know, what you and I do."
Pilot looked puzzled for a moment, and then shook her head. "Oh. No, I mean, is that dangerous for her. Is it a dangerous job, being ... that person?"
"Yes," Luisa said baldly. "I expect she'd be wearing some kind of light armor, nothing visible, you can talk to Jadat yourself about the details, but there would have to be limits, I'd expect, if she's passing herself off as an ordinary civilian."
"Oh," Pilot said, and Luisa recognized it as 'Oh' number nine, Oh, you've just told me something I'd have preferred not to know. "And what does Helmi think about it?"
"It's not her job to have opinions about the best way she can serve her Captain, her ship and her crew," Luisa said.
"Oh," Pilot said, number thirteen. "Well, I'd like to know, all the same. I'd rather have someone volunteer, especially if it's dangerous. And we should promote her?"
"But he's so sweet! Why would you want him toughened up?"
Luisa blinked. Pilot's eyes were wide and blue and genuinely puzzled. "Let him know what life's going to be," she said shortly. "While he's still young enough to learn from the lesson."
"Oh," Pilot said, and Luisa could tell this particular oh was what she herself classified as number seven. Oh, I don't understand what you mean but it would be rude to say so. It was close, but not identical, to number thirteen, Oh, I think you're completely wrong, but it would be rude to say so. "Well, come and have some lemonade, and tell me about the rosters."
Luisa followed Pilot into the house, the thick stone walls shutting out the pretend-summer outside. She waited, hands clasped behind her back and shoulders square, as Pilot opened the refrigerator and took out a tall jug of something, poured two glasses and carried them to the battered table.
"Please, come and sit down, have some lemonade," Pilot said, taking a chair herself, legs curled up under her like a kid. Luisa's own rules about dealing with a Captain who made requests rather than issuing orders meant she had to treat that invitation like a direct instruction, and so she took a chair opposite Pilot and picked up the glass. The lemonade was tart and sweet at the same time, and Luisa could recognize the tang of real fruit and the smoothness of sugar from a ... Wonder where real sugar does come from, now I think about it?
Where-ever it came from, a tree or a flower or some animal, it was a luxury, although not to podders, I guess.
Luisa gave herself a few seconds to savor it as Pilot tasted her own drink and smiled with satisfaction.
Those three seconds of self-indulgence past, Luisa swallowed and spoke. "Master Gunnery Sergeant Jadat thinks you should promote Private Alpassi."
"Helmi? Why? And to what?"
"His report says she's got real natural talent at close personal protection. And she's hard-working, and dedicated. Plus she's about the right age, and the right gender, to work close-in, in civvies. She'd look like a friend, to anyone else, you see?"
"A friend?"
"You go shopping, she goes with you, two girls off on an outing. Anyone looking to try anything, they'll clock your detail, have a plan for them. Alpassi would be the nasty surprise they didn't plan on."
"Is that dangerous?" Pilot asked.
Luisa paused. "Alpassi isn't the one I'd pick, all in all," she said carefully. "Taking everything into consideration. But Jadat doesn't know, and Alpassi doesn't know, what you and I do."
Pilot looked puzzled for a moment, and then shook her head. "Oh. No, I mean, is that dangerous for her. Is it a dangerous job, being ... that person?"
"Yes," Luisa said baldly. "I expect she'd be wearing some kind of light armor, nothing visible, you can talk to Jadat yourself about the details, but there would have to be limits, I'd expect, if she's passing herself off as an ordinary civilian."
"Oh," Pilot said, and Luisa recognized it as 'Oh' number nine, Oh, you've just told me something I'd have preferred not to know. "And what does Helmi think about it?"
"It's not her job to have opinions about the best way she can serve her Captain, her ship and her crew," Luisa said.
"Oh," Pilot said, number thirteen. "Well, I'd like to know, all the same. I'd rather have someone volunteer, especially if it's dangerous. And we should promote her?"
"You should, yes." Luisa eyed her glass of lemonade, then allowed herself another swallow. "I've given you Jadat's report on restructuring security, separating out your security, and hanger security. Those marines will need different training, a different roster, different reflexes and priorities, to say, boarding parties. Jadat says, and I agree, they're specialists. Either way you go with Alpassi, Jadat says she ought to be on security duty, not general. It'll take a restructure, and that'll mean some promotions anyway."
Pilot nodded. "All right. If you think that's the best way to go about it, and Demen does, then ... " She shrugged.
"It's whether you think it's the best way to go about it, Pilot."
Pilot scratched at the table with her thumbnail. "Well, it's not like I know anything about security," she said. "That's why Ami sent Demen, after all."
"He's a gunny from another ship, you're the captain of this one. Take his advice, if you like, but the decision's down to you, Pilot."
Pilot pulled a face, and for an instant Luisa was reminded so strongly of Gwen, a few years younger than Pilot was now, faced with mathematics homework, that she could almost see the cramped kitchen in their tiny flat on the Ishukone Logistics station in Haajinen, smell the greens simmering on the stove, hear the front door open and close and a dear and familiar voice callI'm home, finally! -
She shut the door on memory, hard and tight. Pilot wasn't a teenage girl struggling with algebra, Pilot was a captain and a podder and wealthy beyond imagining, Pilot held thousands of lives in her hands every time she undocked, Luisa's among them, Pilot took tens of thousands of lives as a matter of course in her chosen profession.
Pilot needs to act like a Spirits damned grown-up, from time to time.
Not pull faces like a spoiled teenager asked to clean her room.
Pilot looked up from the table. The opalescent light cast through the fake windows by the pretend sun blurred and softened her features, and despite herself Luisa was forced to acknowledge She is barely more than a kid, after all.
Not so very much older than the girl running around in the garden outside.
Just a little bit older than I was, when I got my papers cut for the Sapphire Star.
Hard to remember, that girl, Lulu Kamajeck, hard to see past five long years in the dark. Kid when I carried my duffel up the companionway.
No kid when I walked back down, that's for Spirits- damn sure.
Luisa looked at Pilot biting her lip and scratching at the end of the table and wondered what five years in the dark would do to her.
Wondered if they'd both live long enough to see.
Maybe. If she starts paying decent notice to her own security, for the Ancestors' long-suffering sake.
"Pilot," she prompted, gentler than she might have.
"Oh," Pilot said, and Luisa recognized and welcomed 'Oh' number three, the one than meant Oh, now I have to do something I don't want to, but there's no getting out of it. "Yes. I'll read Demen's report, Luisa, before I make any decisions. And I want to talk to Fisk, too."
"Over comms?"
Pilot shook her head. "Face to face. I know it's harder for him. But I want to see his face when I tell him Helmi might be going to spend her working life standing next to me with a gun."
Luisa nodded. "Thank you, Pilot," she said formally, and got to her feet.
Pilot smiled. "Thank you, Luisa," she said. "Won't you finish your lemonade?"
Politeness gave Luisa the excuse to pick up the glass, then, and take the last few swallows of liquid, sour and sweet and tasting of seasons she'd never seen for herself on worlds she'd never go to.
Pilot nodded. "All right. If you think that's the best way to go about it, and Demen does, then ... " She shrugged.
"It's whether you think it's the best way to go about it, Pilot."
Pilot scratched at the table with her thumbnail. "Well, it's not like I know anything about security," she said. "That's why Ami sent Demen, after all."
"He's a gunny from another ship, you're the captain of this one. Take his advice, if you like, but the decision's down to you, Pilot."
Pilot pulled a face, and for an instant Luisa was reminded so strongly of Gwen, a few years younger than Pilot was now, faced with mathematics homework, that she could almost see the cramped kitchen in their tiny flat on the Ishukone Logistics station in Haajinen, smell the greens simmering on the stove, hear the front door open and close and a dear and familiar voice callI'm home, finally! -
She shut the door on memory, hard and tight. Pilot wasn't a teenage girl struggling with algebra, Pilot was a captain and a podder and wealthy beyond imagining, Pilot held thousands of lives in her hands every time she undocked, Luisa's among them, Pilot took tens of thousands of lives as a matter of course in her chosen profession.
Pilot needs to act like a Spirits damned grown-up, from time to time.
Not pull faces like a spoiled teenager asked to clean her room.
Pilot looked up from the table. The opalescent light cast through the fake windows by the pretend sun blurred and softened her features, and despite herself Luisa was forced to acknowledge She is barely more than a kid, after all.
Not so very much older than the girl running around in the garden outside.
Just a little bit older than I was, when I got my papers cut for the Sapphire Star.
Hard to remember, that girl, Lulu Kamajeck, hard to see past five long years in the dark. Kid when I carried my duffel up the companionway.
No kid when I walked back down, that's for Spirits- damn sure.
Luisa looked at Pilot biting her lip and scratching at the end of the table and wondered what five years in the dark would do to her.
Wondered if they'd both live long enough to see.
Maybe. If she starts paying decent notice to her own security, for the Ancestors' long-suffering sake.
"Pilot," she prompted, gentler than she might have.
"Oh," Pilot said, and Luisa recognized and welcomed 'Oh' number three, the one than meant Oh, now I have to do something I don't want to, but there's no getting out of it. "Yes. I'll read Demen's report, Luisa, before I make any decisions. And I want to talk to Fisk, too."
"Over comms?"
Pilot shook her head. "Face to face. I know it's harder for him. But I want to see his face when I tell him Helmi might be going to spend her working life standing next to me with a gun."
Luisa nodded. "Thank you, Pilot," she said formally, and got to her feet.
Pilot smiled. "Thank you, Luisa," she said. "Won't you finish your lemonade?"
Politeness gave Luisa the excuse to pick up the glass, then, and take the last few swallows of liquid, sour and sweet and tasting of seasons she'd never seen for herself on worlds she'd never go to.
That was all right for kids, she supposed. But one day you have to learn that rules don't change because you want 'em to.
When the pretend sun goes out, in the dark behind the stars.
She set the glass down carefully. "I'll let Hurun know you want to see him."
Pilot nodded absently, gaze on the thin line she'd scored into the tabletop with her thumbnail. Luisa waited a few seconds to see if she'd say anything else.
But it seemed Pilot had nothing more to say, not even an Oh, and so Luisa left her there, in the middle of that carefully-built illusion, expensively constructed to give the impression that nothing had really changed, that Pilot's world was just as it always had been, with drinks made out of fruit that had ripened beneath an open sky, and sunlight that might even feel real if you were careful to not notice the faint shimmer of the joins in the holo-screens against the container walls.
All right for kids, Luisa thought again as she made her way to the doors that would let her out in the hanger, into the familiar world of deckplating and canned air and the smell of machine oil.
But I'm no kid.
And neither is she, know it or not.
And none of this is a game.
No comments:
Post a Comment