4
Lon held the door for Sara, then followed her out of The Winking Eye. It was not quite sunset, though the sun was hidden behind the buildings of Bascombe East and the forest that surrounded it. After the warmth of the pub, the temperature outside felt almost chilly. But welcome. Lon felt gooseflesh rising on his arms. Maybe not just from the temperature, he thought. Sara had not seen, but Shaesel Ourf had raised his beer in salute, in front of a broad grin, as the two left.
“I think my father put you on the spot,” Sara said, moving away from the door, then turning to face Lon. He moved closer.
“Maybe, but I’m glad he did,” Lon said, and he was rewarded with a slight blush from Sara.
“He does everything but throw me at young officers who come around the way you did. I’m sorry. That’s the way he is. He moans about there being no good ‘catches’ here, then goes into high dramatics every time I suggest that I could move to Dirigent City. Says he can’t bear the thought of me alone in the big city, with whatever dangers he’s dreamed up most recently.”
Lon had no idea what to say. He felt as if anything that might come out would sound foolish. But to keep from standing mute he said, “Your father suggested we take a walk. Shall we?”
“If you’d rather go back and drink, I’ll understand.”
“I can drink anytime. A chance like this … who knows?”
She smiled and lowered her blue eyes. “At least until we find a place where we can sit,” she said in little more than a whisper. She took his arm and they started walking.
At first they were both silent. Lon was glad for the respite. There were too many things rushing around in his mind. He needed to get control of his thoughts—and fears. The latter revolved mainly around the possibility (quite great in his imaginings) that he would make a complete jackass of himself and suffer terminal embarrassment. He needed to use the biofeedback techniques he had learned to slow the way his heart was pounding. I never felt like this even going into combat, he thought, squeezing his eyes shut for an instant.
The few businesses in Bascombe East flanked the main street, occupying little more than a short block. There were houses beyond on either end, and more off of the one crossroad. There were a few other pedestrians out, but no one gave any obvious notice to the young couple.
“I do wish I was going to be here longer than a week,” Lon said when they came to the end of the block. “And I’ve got no way of knowing if I’ll ever get another chance for duty at Nassau.” Then he realized how his words must sound and stopped, flustered. “I’m being presumptuous,” he said apologetically.
Sara held his arm more tightly. “I wish you were going to be here longer, too,” she said. “I was afraid that I was just having foolish girlish fantasies, though.” She turned more toward him then, leaning almost against him.
This can’t be happening, Lon told himself as he hesitantly leaned toward her. This is like something out of some sickening romance vid. Almost without the active will of either of them, they kissed, tentatively at first, then almost with desperation. Sara put her arms around Lon’s neck, and he put his arms around her body, and they pulled each other into a deeper embrace.
“I never believed in love at first sight before,” Lon whispered when the kiss finally ended. Their mouths were no more than an inch apart. Lieutenants aren’t supposed to fall in love, he thought. It’s not on the program.
“I did,” Sara replied. “I always believed in it.”
A week. I’m only going to be here a week. His mind started racing again, and the edge of panic now was different than before. It was no longer acting foolish he was afraid of, but that a week—the few hours of it he might manage to spend with Sara Pine—would not be enough to make plans … and make certain that this sudden mutual infatuation held any substance.
“I think my brain has gone AWOL,” Lon whispered, leaning his forehead against the top of Sara’s head, rubbing against her soft hair. The fragrance of her shampoo or perfume was too heady to resist. “There’s so much to say, so much to think about, but all I want to do is hold you tight until I’m sure this isn’t some bizarre dream come to torture me.”
“I know,” she said. “I feel the same way. My head’s all awhirl. I keep thinking my heart’s going to bounce its way straight out of my chest. I’ve never felt this way before, Lon.” She pulled back a little and stared into his eyes. It was the first time she had called him by name. “Lon,” she repeated.
“Sara.”
That exchange brought them to another kiss, not so deep or prolonged as the first, more with tenderness than passion.
“We’re making a spectacle of ourselves here,” Sara whispered—breathed—when it ended. “We should at least move around the corner.”
“Or right out in the middle of the blinkin’ street so folks won’t have to crane their necks,” Lon said. Then he thought, I can’t believe that came out of me. My God, my men will be coming into town any minute. “But maybe you’re right,” he said with an unaffected sigh. It would not do to have his men arrive and spy their officer in a passionate clinch in the middle of the street. “This might be considered ‘conduct unbecoming an officer.’ “
As naturally as if they had been doing it for years, they moved side by side, Lon’s arm around Sara’s shoulders, her arm around his waist. She leaned her head against him as they walked, turning the corner away from the town’s business street.
What the hell are we going to do? Lon wondered. There’s no manual to cover this.
“There’s a gazebo in the park.” Sara pointed across the side street and ahead. “There are benches inside, and it’s about as private a spot as we could find.”
Not private enough for what I really want, Lon thought, but he did not ask questions. He simply steered them across the vacant road toward the park and into the gazebo that appeared to be its centerpiece. He saw no one else in the park or along the way. It was nearly dark behind the trellises that bounded six of the gazebo’s eight sides.
They sat on one of the benches that lined the trellised sides of the structure. Rather, Lon sat on the bench and Sara sat on his lap, sideways, her body twisted so she could get her arms around his neck.
“I think I’m a little out of my depth,” Lon said. “There’s so much to say, so much to do, but I can’t think straight.”
“I don’t want to think. I just want to enjoy, and dream,” Sara said. She closed her eyes and scooted around a little so she could lay her head on his shoulder.
For a few seconds Lon let his eyes close as well, holding her, enjoying the feel of her weight on him, and the incredible thrill of her. Then his eyes popped open, and his body gave a start. I’m still presuming, he thought, as shocked as if he had received a stiff electrical jolt.
“Sara?” He waited until she opened her eyes and looked at him. “I think maybe I’m still taking too much for granted.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I …” He stopped, swallowed, then tried again. “I mean, well, we just started….” And stopped again.
Sara giggled. “I feel that way, too.”
He held onto her as if she were a life preserver and he were adrift on a hostile ocean. “We’re both assuming, but we haven’t said anything.”
“There’ll be plenty of time for words,” Sara assured him.
He stroked her cheek. “We do need a few words now,” he said. “Like, ‘Will you marry me?’ “
“Of course I will,” Sara said, her tone suggesting that the question was unnecessary. “Now kiss me again. Let’s leave the thinking for later.”
Lon was not certain how long it had been since they had left The Winking Eye. “Your father’s going to be wondering where you are,” he said eventually. They were still snuggled up together on the bench in the gazebo. They had moved hardly at all in however long they had been sitting there.
“He knows I’m safe,” Sara said, not opening her eyes or offering to move.
“The pub might be busy now.” Lon did not try to get a view of his wristwatch. He was certain that too much time had passed. “There could be sixty or seventy of my men in there all wanting a drink at the same time.”
Sara’s sigh was extended and overdramatic. “I guess you’re right,” she conceded. “Papa will want a hand.”
They walked, but not rapidly, their arms around each other again. “I’ll get in every evening I can while we’re here,” Lon said, feeling some urgency to get at least something in the way of planning going. “We’ll have time to figure out how we’re going to handle things.”
“I’m not worried,” Sara said. “If nothing else, I’ll do what I’ve been threatening to do for the past year, move to Dirigent City and get a proper job.”
It would be nice to have her close, in a place of her own, Lon thought, but then he started thinking of Camo Town, and the jobs that were most easily available to young women there in bars and bordellos. “Let’s worry more about doing it right,” he whispered. “We both need to cool down and do some hard thinking.”
She giggled but said nothing.
Three trucks had arrived from Nassau. They were parked on the street outside The Winking Eye. Lon and Sara almost tore themselves apart from each other before he opened the pub door, but she would not surrender his hand until she saw the crowd inside. Lon thought he heard the ghost of a moan from her. The bar was more crowded than she could remember seeing it. Soldiers were standing three-deep in front of it, and her father was having difficulty getting to everyone fast enough to suit them.
“I’ve got to help,” Sara said plaintively, turned toward Lon. She didn’t wait for any response, just gave him a quick kiss on the lips and hurried away.
In something of a daze, Lon wandered back to the table where Shaesel Ourf was still sitting. Lon ignored the welcoming calls from several of his own men, mostly because he was not aware of them, or even of the huge grin on Ourf’s face as Lon nearly fell into his chair.
“Did I see what I think I saw?” Shaesel asked over a laugh that seemed to have neither beginning nor end.
Lon blinked several times and looked for a beer in front of him. There was nothing there. He shook his head slowly. “I don’t know what you think you saw, but I seem to be engaged.”
Ourf’s laugh died. The look of shock that came over his face was almost a reflection of the look that Lon still wore. After a moment he whispered, “I’ll be damned.” When Lon did not respond, Shaesel repeated himself. Several times.
“Yeah, me, too,” Lon eventually said. He shook his head again, still not completely certain he was awake and that everything that had happened was more than a dream.
“Beg pardon, Lieutenant.”
Lon blinked and turned his head. Tebba was standing next to him. “What is it, Tebba?”
“Are you okay, Lieutenant?” Girana asked. “You look a bit … well, funny.”
While Lon was gathering himself for some sort of coherent reply—not certain what to say—Lieutennant Ourf started laughing again. “Stand easy, Sergeant,” Ourf said.
“Your lieutenant has just been through a very trying experience.”
“Sir?” Tebba asked, puzzlement in his eyes and voice.
“It’s okay, Tebba,” Lon said, finally finding some voice of his own. “I’m just a little out of it at the moment.”
“You’ll have to excuse him, Sergeant. He means what he said.” Shaesel leaned as far across the table as he could get without standing. “You might want to keep an extra-sharp eye on your lads to make sure none of them gets too boisterous in here. It seems your lieutenant has just gotten himself engaged to the proprietor’s daughter.”
Ourf’s laughter started again when he saw the sergeant develop his own stunned look. Girana’s mouth fell open. Then he closed it and turned to look at the girl behind the bar. “Her, sir?” he asked.
“Her, indeed,” Ourf agreed. “Very much, indeed.”
Monday morning seemed a universe and aeons removed from Saturday morning. Lon had slept not at all Saturday night, and Sunday he had only been able to get to sleep with a patch. He disliked using medical aid for sleep, but knew that he had to have a clear head—or a reasonable facsimile thereof—for the new workweek.
The weekend felt as if it had been a crazy dream. He had managed only a few more minutes of conversation with Sara after they returned to the pub. Her father had even left the bar unattended for two of those minutes while all three Pines talked with him in the kitchen. Sara’s parents seemed overjoyed at the prospect of having a stranger carry off their daughter. Lon had found that a little unnerving.
“They know you’re an officer in the Corps,” Sara explained when they finally had a moment alone. “They both have the highest respect for that. Papa is sure that anyone who becomes an officer and serves for any length of time has to be honorable and everything else he wants for me.”
“I hope I don’t disappoint them, or you.”
“You won’t.”
The utter certainty in her voice had been frightening for Lon. On the drive back to Nassau Proving Range, Shaesel Ourf had been quiet, mostly. Lon had been too distracted for conversation, and wasn’t even certain he had actually heard the other lieutenant whisper, “I don’t believe it. I just don’t believe it.” When they reached the troop compound at the range, Ourf had promised to provide whatever help he could. “Get you a car so you can get into town whenever you’ve got time,” he promised. Lon had nodded, numbly, and barely managed to find voice to thank Ourf.
On Sunday Lon had driven to Bascombe East and spent all afternoon and part of the evening there. Sara had been working when he arrived, dealing with the end of the dinner rush—mostly locals. When her father saw Lon come in, he told Sara to take the afternoon off. “You two need to spend some time getting to know each other,” he had told them, speaking softly so no customers would hear.
It was a delightful eight hours for Lon, even though he found himself half dazed through much of it. Remembering details was difficult. They were hidden behind a mist of love … or infatuation. They had talked about themselves, and each other, sharing personal histories. Sara had been curious about how Lon had come to leave Earth for Dirigent, and he told her the story of how the top graduates in his class were going to be co-opted for service in the federal police, and the subterfuge that the commandant of the academy had perpetrated to get some of his best students off-world to have a chance to soldier. “All I ever wanted to be was a soldier,” Lon told Sara, and she had merely nodded, accepting without question. She had asked about the contracts he had been on, but did not press for details past the bare outline he gave her.
Tentatively, they made plans. Lon would go back to Dirigent City and make arrangements, get the necessary permission from his battalion commander—or whoever had the final say—to marry, and so forth. They would talk every evening—duties permitting. And as soon as Lon had everything prepared for them in Dirigent City, he would return to Bascombe East and they would be married in the village’s only church. As soon as possible.
“Lieutenant Nolan?”
“Yes, Dr. Deradier?” Lon blinked and focused on the civilian. “Sorry. I guess I was wool-gathering.” Monday had started immediately after breakfast, with a briefing on the test results from the previous work—a lot of numbers, charts, and technical jargon that Lon sometimes had difficulty following.
Deradier smiled. He knows, too! Lon thought. He had the feeling that everyone at the Nassau Proving Range, and everyone who lived within twenty miles of Bascombe East, knew of the whirlwind romance and engagement.
“You’re not expected to follow all of the technical folderol here,” Deradier said softly. “We realize it isn’t your area of expertise. But it’s time to move into areas you should follow.”
Lon nodded, feeling sheepish and certain that his face was again turning crimson. It had been doing that a lot in the past forty hours … approximately every time someone said something suggestive or gave him what he considered to be a suggestive look.
“We are moderately encouraged by the early results,” Deradier said, raising his voice and gesturing to include the others at the conference. “The simulations we’ve run based on the successful tests—that is, all but the one capsule that went its own way from interior malfunction—suggest that with this system we can achieve a better than fifty percent success rate in the field—that is, have more than half of the capsules arrive at the target safely, without being shot down by enemy forces. The actual projection to this point is fifty-three point seven percent. While that is not entirely satisfactory, it is promising. We hope that more data points will enable us to revise that estimate upward, dramatically.” He paused to take a sip of water.
“More to the point. We want to make certain we are able to get as many data points as we can this week. To that end, we will attempt to run four separate tests each morning and afternoon. And, if today and tomorrow provide the results we hope for, we do plan to run one series of tests at night, most likely Wednesday night into Thursday morning.”
“At night, Doctor?” Lon asked. “I’m not so certain that my men are ready for that. It’s difficult enough to track those capsules in daylight. In the dark, even with our night-vision systems …” It will mean one night I won’t get to see Sara, Lon thought, but that had not occurred to him until he had mentioned his practical reservations.
“Actually, it might well prove simpler in the dark, Lieutenant,” Deradier said. “The control system hooks completely into your helmet electronics, not just into your communications systems. Your men will have more precise tracking data onscreen as well as a visible representation of the capsule.”
“We’ll have an opportunity to try that in simulation first?”
“Of course.”
On Tuesday Lon operated the controls for one of the tests. He felt the tension from the moment the controls were attached to his electronics, felt his muscles tighten. At times he held his teeth clenched.
“Just relax, Lieutenant,” Tebba whispered. “It’s a piece of cake, really. The real thing’s easier than the sims. Better depth perception. Just don’t get jerky with the joystick.”
“Thanks, Tebba, I’ll try.” Girana was the only one of the men in third and fourth platoons whom Lon had felt comfortable confiding in about his adventures. He never snickered or made jokes, the way Lon knew Phip Steesen and Dean Ericks were certain to once they had a private opportunity. Lon was thankful that that chance had not yet come.
All of the reassurances in the galaxy could not completely quell Lon’s nervousness about the test, but it was enough to force him to focus on what he had to do—totally shut out any thoughts of Sara.
The shuttle was in the air. Three tests had already been run that morning. Lon’s would be the last before lunch. He listened to the proceedings. He could hear the conversation between test control and the shuttle pilot, with Deradier adding comments when appropriate. The countdown to launch started.
And ended. Lon had the track of the capsule on the head-up display of his faceplate, along with the numbers describing its speed and course. He tried to slow his breathing, pace himself, trying to feel the progress of the capsule. The target circle was closer than it had been the first two days, only thirty-five yards from the trench where he and his men were waiting. His focus was complete, and—although he did not realize it at the time—he relaxed, for the first time since he had first seen Sara Pine in The Winking Eye.
The capsule came into visual range. Lon worked the joystick and control buttons with a light touch, keeping his eyes on the capsule, with only occasional glances at the ground target. A retrorocket burst, a quick attitude adjustment. More braking. Then cut power completely.
His capsule hit twelve feet from the center of the target.
“Excellent, Lieutenant!” Deradier’s voice was the first Lon heard. “Most excellent. The raw numbers look very good. Congratulations.”
Lon let out his breath. I guess I can still function as a soldier, he decided.