Only Human (3 page)

"...battleship."

Nova broke out of her reverie.
"Huh?"

"Please pay attention, Captain,"
Whiteside snapped. "I said that Lieutenant Bridger will be stationed on
Isora
,
the battleship cruising the Targon-Feyd corridor. A fighter plane and some
strict combat discipline should make repairs of whatever it is that drives the
young man. He is lucky that Targon is requesting able pilots rather than
valiant characters. His record does not make him one of the better soldiers
sent out from Myra."

"Father, he is only..." Nova
sprang to his defense but found no words that honestly described any quality
that would endear him to the Colonel. "Well, he's a little careless
sometimes, maybe," she mumbled instead.

Whiteside shook his head in dismissal,
wondering why he was using that worthless pilot to stall for time. "He will
be given a chance aboard the
Isora
. It’s up to him to make it
there."

Nova chewed her lip. "What about me?
Will I be transferred to Targon?"

"Not directly."

"A battleship?" she asked
hopefully.

"No."

"A carrier, then," she said,
disappointed.

The Colonel shook his head and wandered to
the large window that dominated the room. He observed the activity on the
airfield below with the same expression he reserved for facing his most
difficult recruits. Staff and mechanicals scurried from hangars to planes, from
planes to service stations. Most of the craft belonged to the academy, representing
a variety of shuttles, old cargo frigates and retired kites now used for
training. Even a few enemy shrills were used here to teach maneuvers.

There were two very different planes down
there now, blocking one of the fueling stations. A third plane of that class
was due to arrive soon. Whiteside stared at them with loathing. They were fine
ships, possibly the best ever engineered, but he felt that their presence here
was costing him too much. Costing him everything.

"You know," he said, his eyes now
searching the horizon for the two moons visible in daylight. "I have often
wondered if bringing you and your mother to Trans-Targon was fair to you both.
Although, I am sure, you do not feel like a stranger here."

"Stranger?" Nova said. "Most
of the people here are Human."

He shrugged. "Here, yes. A small
planet in the safest sector of this Union territory. A good place for Humans.
But this war belongs to the Centauri and to Tharron. I have sometimes thought
of taking you back to Terra, our Earth."

Her eyes widened. "Back? That reach
takes years to cross! The jumpsites are so far apart that you'd be in deep
sleep for most of the way. Why would I want to go Terra? I don't belong there."
Nova could not have been more indignant if he had actually asked her to return
with him.

Whiteside agreed. Nova had never known the
peace and prosperity that her mother had missed so much. So green and so rich,
that place where she might have come of age not knowing the heft of a gun or
the face of a Rhuwac. But instead of growing up in a gentle world to become a
gentle woman, Nova had turned from army brat into warrior. A fairly deadly
warrior, according to the reports of her superiors.

She looked so much like her mother, he
thought. Long waves of flaming red hair forever escaping whatever bonds she
tried to devise for it, pale skin that saw the sun too rarely. Green eyes that
missed nothing and a broad smile that no one escaped without echoing it. But
Nova's hands were trained to kill while her mother had used hers to create with
paint and music. He sighed, feeling old. "Since your first trip aboard a
shuttle I'd known that it would come to this."

"Come to what?" Nova was worried
now. It was not his way to be vague and today he did not make any sense at all.

His gesture invited her to join him at the
window. She looked over the afternoon routine below, seeing nothing out of the
ordinary until her eyes led her to the far hangar.

Two cruisers perched ready for takeoff. They
looked out of place here on the base where civilian planes had no business. One
looked like a Feydan transport of some age, the other seemed to have been
cobbled together out of spare parts. They were small, likely carrying a crew of
no more than three or four with a little room for cargo. Her trained eye
spotted multi-terrain landing gear and contours below the wings that could only
be crossdrive intakes. These inconspicuous ships were designed for long
distance flights far beyond the groomed runways of civilization. “Those look
expensive. Ours?”

“Eagle class.”

Nova gaped, stunned into silence. That class
of plane was a feat of engineering that allowed them to traverse normal space
as fast and efficiently as any of the massive Union transports that moved among
the allied planets. It had taken the fine mind of a Delphian to rethink the
cumbersome crossdrive system and, at tremendous cost, fit it into a ship of
minute proportions.

“Vanguard,” she said finally. “That has to
be Vanguard.”

He nodded. “You qualify.”

Nova grasped the window's narrow ledge, so
overwhelmed by his announcement that she missed the regret in his voice. “Me?
Vanguard?”

The Colonel regarded his daughter
carefully, wishing that he could reverse these orders that would take his only
child into places and dangers that he doubted he would ever willingly face
himself. The life expectancy of a Vanguard member was not among the best
statistics he had studied lately.

“You are an able pilot but your talents go
beyond that, as you've proven in the past. You belong with the scouts and
recons. Today’s performance was only a confirmation of what we already know. It
was a demonstration for your new commander.”

Nova stared into the middle distance,
musing. "You know, I have dreamed of this. I never told anyone; I was
afraid they'd laugh at me. I thought maybe in a few years I'd have a shot at it
and that would show them all, wouldn't it? But now..." her eyes wandered
back to the crafts below.

"There are three Vanguard leads here
on Myra right now." Whiteside told her. "All have been without co-pilots
for a while and will take over your field training. It’s time for you to return
to active duty." He paused, not liking the expression on her face. He, who
tolerated weakness in no one and least of all his own child, almost wished that
she would express some sort of doubt. If she showed the least bit of
apprehension about joining the Vanguard, if she asked him if he thought her
capable, he would consider it enough to disqualify her from this duty. But her
confidence was true; he saw no fear of failure, as much as he tried to read it
into her features. She was ready for this assignment. "I have met your new
commander," he said.

Nova did not miss the expression of
distaste that crept over the Colonel's face. "And he’s not to your liking."

Whiteside raised his head, surprised by her
insight. After a moment he shrugged. "When did you start reading me so
well? He has an excellent record."

"But?"

"Ah, regulations had to be bent. You
are, after all, female. Long journeys can be a trial for the most..." he
cleared his throat. "Long journeys can be lonely..." he broke off
again, embarrassed by his inability to say what he felt must be said.

"I think I can control myself,"
Nova said, amused by his discomfort.

"You were teamed with the one with
whom there would be the least risk of, well, circumstances..."

"He is not Human," Nova
interjected.

"The Major is Delphian."

She pursed her lips. "They don't like
us much." She didn't have to add that the feeling was reciprocated by
Humans and Centauri alike.

"Perhaps not," Whiteside said.
"They do tend to think we're a rabble of interlopers with no business in
Trans-Targon and no reason to exist here. Sometimes I think that this whole war
between us and Tharron's people amuses them. We're some nuisance to them."

"At least they're not hostile,"
Nova said. "We have enough on our hands."

"And, unfortunately, we need them.
Without exception, any Delphian that ever joined the Union has shown us a thing
or two."

She nodded. While physically much like any
other humanoid, evolution had broadened the Delphian mental capacities without
the mechanical or pharmaceutical aids that most other species relied upon.
Their intelligence and accurate recall made them better pilots, better doctors,
better engineers than their Union allies. This, perhaps, as well as the tight-lipped
isolationism imposed by Delphi’s government often led to resentment even among
closest associates. "At least those they allow to leave Delphi. As if we
weren’t spending huge resources to keep the rebels off their doorstep. Arrogant
bunch of–"

"You will keep that to yourself,
Captain," Whiteside said to his subordinate. "Arrogant or not, they
are valuable and they are allies. Maybe you can use this assignment to improve
your understanding of them."

"Nobody understands them, sir."

"Then be the first." The Colonel consulted
his screen. "Major Tychon," he read, then shook his head. "These
people change the rest of their names with the weather. We just list
Tychon."

“Is he the spanner?”

He nodded. “Level Three.”

“That means…”

“Uncharted jumpsites. Deep space work. And
if you’re lucky a little exploration as time allows. Most certainly the most
attractive part of this assignment for me. Being Delphian is a terrific
advantage at that level and they’re not known to be cowboys. We need more spanners
and I’ll expect you to learn much from him. You’ve shown the aptitude. These
three commanders need new pilots and we’re giving them the best we have.”

“Now? Today?”

“Indeed.” He glanced at his timepiece. “Congratulations,
Nova, but there is no time to celebrate your new assignment. Although now you
know why I insisted that you join me for dinner yesterday. The major wishes to
travel toward Targon at once. You are expected in the small-craft
hangars."

Nova embraced the elder Terran, unable to
think of something to allay his fears. He had lost his wife to this war and now
felt that he was losing his daughter. The fact that her new commander was
Delphian likely did nothing to lift his spirits.

"I will see you soon," she
promised.

He watched her go, not believing it.

* * *

Nova waited until she had reached a vacated
hallway on her way to the hangars before she let out a whoop of elation.

Vanguard! Racing along the concourse, she
thanked each of the currently popular gods, regardless of origin, for bringing
this day so soon. She would be part of the Union's most valued division; she
would visit places previously restricted, whole worlds to be seen under the
protection of the Union emblem. It wasn't just a dream anymore!

She skidded to a halt when she rounded the
corner to the vast parking halls, startling the guard at the doors. She nodded
coolly in his direction and proceeded into the hangar at a more sedate pace. There,
dispatch told her that she was expected in one of the pilots' lounges.

She picked up speed again to jog across the
prelaunch byway which couldn't possibly be prohibited on a day as exciting as
this.

 "Nova, for pity's sake!" someone
called to her. "I've been looking all over for you."

 "Dylan! Have you heard? Isn't it
amazing?"

 "Yeah," he grinned. "It is.
I got Vanguard, too. Eagle One. And now we're both late."

 Nova followed the Lieutenant to the lounge
where they received an icy glance from her superior. A Major had prepared a
speech for the occasion and was now delivering it with all the long-winded
formality he could muster. It dealt mainly with the rigors of teamwork and the
dangers of reconnaissance and was punctuated by references to their glorious
Union Commonwealth and the protection thereof.

 Nova would not remember any of it. She
assumed an erect posture, staring blindly ahead to keep a dazed grin off her
lips. Gradually, she was able to compose herself.

The Major droned on, giving Nova a chance
to study the other people in the room. Dylan was a good friend; she knew the
other chosen one only through classes. Both of them stood at attention, like
Nova still trying to understand their sudden good fortune.

She soon realized that the only people in
the room not impressed by the occasion were the Vanguard members. Since they
were not required to wear a uniform, their clothing was an assemblage of off-world
items, mismatched but comfortable-looking. Their assortment of weapons was also
not Union issue. While their new trainees, the teachers and the brass stood in
stiff formality, they perched on the arms of chairs or leaned casually against
the far wall. None of them was actually sitting. It was a study of indifference
in which the relaxed slouch had nothing to do with laziness. It didn’t seem to
be coincidence that their backs were turned neither toward door nor windows. No
one stood behind them and no angle of body or article of clothing came between
them and their side arms. Nova wondered if they even had to think about taking
such defensive positions. Irrationally, she was tempted to unsnap the safety of
her own gun. It seemed to her that, should an alarm sound, these men would be
on their feet and battle ready before she could even begin to reach for her
gun.