"Attention on the flight deck," rang out over the Asgard's hangar bay. "Mjölner shuttle preparing for launch. All passengers please report to number two lift."
"Well, Alex," Captain Zimmer said as she extended her hand, "it was great to see you again. Maybe next time we'll be able to spend more time catching up."
Alex took her hand and began to shake it.
"I hope so, Alice," came her sincere reply. "It was good to see you, too. You take care out there."
"I will, and you do the same." She turned to Commander Higgins, standing behind her. "You take care, too, Commander, and try to keep her out of trouble if you can." She was smiling, knowing that if Alex was intent on getting into trouble, no one would be able to keep her out of it.
"I'll try, ma'am," he replied straight-faced. "Have a safe trip back to the Mjölner, Captain Zimmer."
With the party over, Greg was back to being the highly competent officer that he was. They watched as Captain Zimmer threw them both a jaunty salute and jogged over to her waiting shuttle. She was followed by the flight engineer, and the hatch closed. The shuttle taxied forward into the lift alcove directly in front of it, and a hatch slid up from the deck behind it, sealing it in. The speakers came to life once more.
"Mjölner shuttle in the bay."
Alex and Greg stepped over to the bulkhead and out of the way of the flight crews getting the visiting officers' shuttles prepped for launch.
"Mjölner shuttle launching."
With the bay depressurized and open to vacuum during flight operations, the sound of the shuttle launching did not transmit down to them, but they did feel the vibration in the deck as the engines powered up to full throttle and shot the shuttle out into space.
Alex and Greg leaned against the bulkhead and enjoyed a companionable silence. While the flight crews were busy getting multiple shuttles ready for launch, and the hangar-bay speakers were announcing shuttle statuses every few minutes, there was no point in trying to have a conversation, so neither of them missed the hatch to their side opening and a seaman apprentice stepping into the bay. He looked around as if this was the first time he had ever been there. His eyes finally settled on the wall of equipment lockers that they were standing near, and he headed in their direction. As he approached, he noticed the two senior officers standing casually against the bulkhead and froze for a moment. They could see his discomfort around high-ranking officers and shared a small smile. Here was someone else who squeaked. By an unspoken agreement, they remained where they were but did not stare at him. He was going to have to get used to officers at some point in his career, and he might as well start now.
As he arrived at the first locker farthest from them, they could see why he looked so out of place on the flight deck: he wore the ratting tab of a radar tech. He looked at the two officers again, squared his shoulders, came to attention, and saluted.
"Good evening, ma'am. Good evening, sir." He rendered the appropriate greeting of the day to each of them. A little overly formal, addressing them both individually, but correct all the same.
"Good evening, Seaman." Captain McLaughlin returned his greeting just as formally, her hand rising to the brim of her beret sharply and quickly snapping back down. Greg gave him an appraising glance, then gave him a smile and a slight nod in the way of a greeting.
The seaman stood there at attention, seemingly not sure of what to do next. He could have continued on with whatever task had called him to the flight deck after greeting them, but he seemed not to know this. Higgins turned toward McLaughlin so his head was facing away from the stiff seaman. He smiled and mouthed the words "Squeak, squeak, squeak." She felt the corners of her mouth attempting to tug upward in a smile. She came to the seaman's rescue.
"Carry on, Seaman." Her voice held none of the humor that was evident on her face.
"Carry on, aye, aye, ma'am," the seaman barked out and then bent down to the first locker, looking relieved.
The two of them remained where they were, watching small groups of officers depart from one waiting area or another and board waiting shuttles as the overhead speaker announced them. As they quietly admired the well-choreographed moves of the crews on the flight deck, the seaman proceeded to open a locker and thoroughly search it before closing it, opening another, and beginning to search again. After the seaman was two-thirds of the way though the lockers, Captain McLaughlin looked quizzically at her XO. He raised a puzzled eyebrow as well. Curiosity overcame her, and she stood away from the wall and addressed the seaman.
"Excuse me, sailor, but what exactly are you looking for?" Her question startled the seaman into attention, facing the locker he was searching.
"Ma'am?" came his nervous and confused response.
"At ease," she said gently, trying to set his mood at ease as well. "I was just wondering what you were looking for."
He looked at her questioningly for a moment, and she could see him searching for the best way to answer her.
"Ma'am, I'm looking for five meters of flight line."
"Did you just say you were looking for five meters of flight line?" she asked incredulously. Alex did not know what kind of response she had expected, but that most certainly was not it.
"Yes, ma'am." The seaman was now back at attention, looking even more nervous.
"And can you tell me why you need five meters of flight line?" Her voice was tinged with amusement now.
"Ma'am, my section head said that we would need it to help recalibrate the point-defense radar to detect incoming ships." His tone was no longer nervous or questioning, but deadly serious. Here was a man on a mission of vital importance.
Commander Higgins began to shift away from the bulkhead and open his mouth. With a slight shake of her head, she stopped him. His brows furrowed in confusion, but he didn't argue and settled back against the bulkhead.
"Well, Seaman"—she sounded every inch a captain now—"I don't believe what you're looking for will be found in these lockers. I suggest you go ask one of the other seamen over by those Valkyries if they know where you could obtain five meters of flight line." He looked over at the crews she had pointed at, then turned back to face her as she continued to speak. "Besides, you wouldn't want to just walk off with something from another department. It's always wise to ask someone where something is located and if they can spare you any, understand?" Both her suggestion and explanation were gentle; she didn't want this sailor to think she was lecturing him, but merely providing friendly advice.
"Ah, yes, ma'am, I understand." For the first time, he did not seem overcome by nerves, and his answer was more relaxed.
"Now, carry on with your task and remember what I said." She gave him a friendly smile.
"Yes, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am." His voice came out in clipped tones again, but this time she could not hear any fear or wariness behind it. He stiffened to attention once more and saluted her again. She returned his salute just as crisply as before. He did a sharp about-face, then broke into a trot across the bay toward the Valkyries at the other end.
"Sharp kid. He'll do well once he gets a bit more experience under his belt," she said as she turned back to face her XO. Greg started to open his mouth to speak again when he was interrupted, this time by the overhead speakers.
"Attention on the flight deck. Fenris shuttle preparing for launch. All passengers please report to lift number one."
"That's us." She started to trot toward lift one. Greg pushed himself off of the bulkhead and headed toward the waiting assault shuttle. She slowed as she approached the shuttle so he could catch up, allowing them to arrive at the same time. Because military protocols called for the shuttle passengers to board in reverse order of seniority, she did not want to arrive at the shuttle first and have it seem that she was waiting on him. It was unnecessary and would be embarrassing for him as well, and they had been together too long and through too much for her to purposefully embarrass him, especially in front of strangers. He nodded his thanks to her, returned the flight engineer's salute, and boarded. She looked over to the other end of the bay and could just make out the seaman talking to several others clustered around one of the Valkyries and saw that several of them seemed to be laughing. She smiled.
Oh, well. He'll get over the embarrassment soon enough, she thought to herself. Facing the flight engineer, she returned his salute and boarded the shuttle.
* * *
"Ten!" the strained voice gasped out. A loud clang followed as a bar came to rest above the bench. Lieutenant Commander Elaine "Barbie" Grant, squadron leader, Valkyrie Flight 127, currently assigned to the USS Fenris, sat up on the weight bench and accepted the towel from her spotter.
"Thanks, Digger." She toweled her face then hung the towel around her neck. She stood and faced her RIO, Lieutenant Derrick "Digger" Rutherford. "How long have we been in here?" She looked around for the clock but could not see it past the exercise machines between her and the bulkhead.
"Almost two hours." He looked just as haggard and sweaty as she did. "We have just enough time to hit the showers and make it to the mess before it closes."
"Sounds like a plan," she grunted as she stretched her arms over her head. "Meet you back out here in fifteen." Digger nodded his head, and they both walked toward the locker rooms.
Twelve minutes later, Barbie was standing in front of the locker rooms waiting on her RIO. She ran her hand through her shoulder-length blond hair. It was still wet from the shower, so she had not braided it yet. She knew it was not regulation, but fighter pilots were known to be a tad on the eccentric side when it came to regulations.
"You know, you had another couple of minutes, you could've tried to dry that mop of yours," Digger called to her as he walked out of the men's locker room.
"I don't think you're the person I should be taking hair-care tips from." She looked from his bald head down to his eyes and smiled.
"Ouch." He didn't sound hurt at all. He reached up and ran his hand over the top of his smooth head. Lieutenant Rutherford was an average-looking man of average height with plain brown eyes and a plain face. He did, however, have a charming smile and an impressive physique. Being partnered with Barbie, that last part was inevitable. He had never met anyone who was so fanatical about exercise. When he had begun to lose his hair at an early age, he decided to help Mother Nature along and shaved his head completely. He pulled the zipper of his flight suit halfway up and turned toward the hatch as Barbie finished adjusting the zipper on her flight suit as well. They were an identical black, the only difference between the two being the rank insignia on the shoulders and the fact that Barbie wore the gold wings of a pilot, while Digger wore the silver wings of a RIO.
"You're just lucky that you're in the fleet. Your choice of hairstyle is not exactly unique here, but out there"—she made a gesture out in front of her, indicating the rest of the universe outside of the military—"among the civilians you would stand out a bit." She followed him through the hatch and fell in beside him as they walked down the passageway.
At one hundred and seventy centimeters, she was on par with her RIO for height. Her physique was just as impressive for a woman as his was for a man, doubly so when her bust size was taken into account. To say that it was extraordinary would have been an understatement. That, in part, is what had earned her the call sign "Barbie." Her flight instructor, a collector of classic toys and memorabilia, had informed her that she looked as if one of the dolls from his prized collection had been modeled after her. When he showed her the doll in question, she could not help but laugh. Along with the impressive bust line, she had the same narrow waist, sunny blond hair, and bright blue eyes. There were, however, two glaring differences between reality and fantasy, the first being that she was extremely well-defined in regard to her musculature where as her diminutive counterpart, while still shapely, was smooth and devoid of definition. The second was the smile. While they both had the same beautiful facial structure, they did not share smiles. Whereas the doll had a large, toothy smile that extended from one side of her face to the other, Elaine Grant had a smile that consisted solely of the upturning of the corners of her mouth.
They kept up a running dialogue as they continued down the passageway toward the mess hall and entered to find the room almost empty. They had made it just in time, as the cooks and mess hands were starting to put the food away and clean up. Picking up trays, they headed for the serving line.
"I'm starved!" Barbie exclaimed as she passed down the line, piling her tray with food.
"I can't see why," laughed Digger. "You only burn off more calories in a day than most people do in a week. You're at the gym at least twice a day, and when you're not there, you're either flying, sleeping, or eating."
"Well, a girl has to have her hobbies." She winked at him and laughed. "And mine are better than some."
They turned from the serving line, trays laden with food, and headed to the drink carousel.
"I certainly hope you are not referring to my choice of hobby," he said innocently.
"You call poker in the squadron ready room a hobby?"
"Of course I do. I don't take it too seriously, and besides, it's not like there's anywhere else for me to spend my money out here." He stood next to the beverage station, looking around the mess for a table. The mess hall was mostly deserted, but most of the tables still needed to be cleaned.
She looked around as well, and her gaze fell upon a lone officer sitting at a table at the far end of the mess. Barbie indicated it with a tilt of her head, and they both walked over.
"Evening, Commander Heron," Barbie said cheerfully as they approached the table. "Mind if a pair of lowly riders joins you?"
A pair of jade-green eyes lifted from the text pad lying on the table and fixed upon the both of them. Commander Grace "Heron" Denton, chief engineer of the Fenris, was a tall, thin woman with short brown hair and a pug face covered in freckles. She had earned the nickname Heron during her midshipman cruise when she came up with the solution to a serious problem with the lift doors on the carrier Odin's flight-deck elevators. The temporary pneumatic solution worked just as well as the original mag rails and had impressed the Odin's chief engineer, inspiring him to say her solution was worthy of the ancient Greek engineer and inventor Heron of Alexandria himself. Along with the commendation her solution had earned her, the chief engineer's comment was also added to her fitness report, so that when she returned to the Academy after her tour, her new name had not only preceded her, it had stuck. Addressed as Commander Heron more than as Commander Denton, she doubted that no more than a handful of the crew beyond her own engineering staff knew what her true name was. She didn't mind; at least it was better than a majority of the call signs and nicknames she had heard in her career. The woman standing in front of her was no exception, and she grinned at the thought.
"Commander Barbie, Lieutenant Digger, I would be honored by the company of the best flight team in the fleet," she said just as cheerfully.
The pair sat and smiled at her compliment.
"So, Commander, how go things in Down Below?" This from Digger; Barbie had already begun to eat.
"Everything down in engineering is five by five," she replied, using fighter-pilot terminology in response to his use of engineering's "Down Below."
Barbie looked up from her food and smiled at this exchange.
"Well, Commander," she said around a mouthful of steak and pointed at the text pad with her knife, "what've you got for reading material tonight? Whatever it is, it has to be better than what you had when I last saw you in the O Club. I know that waste-management systems are very important on a ship, but it's got to be a shitty read." She chuckled at her own pun.
"That was bad even for you, Barbie." Heron chuckled herself and shook her head. "But tonight I'm reading something that I'm sure you'll find of great interest. Actually, I'd be surprised if you haven't read it already."
Barbie's eyebrows rose. She wasn't the type to spend her time reading just any kind of engineering manual. This had to be something in reference to a Valkyrie's systems. She'd read about some new tech lately, weapons, armor, performance, and a few systems upgrades, and was curious as to which manual Heron was referring to. Heron's long, dexterous fingers spun the pad around and pushed it across the table to her. One quick glance down confirmed her suspicion, and Heron was correct; she'd read it already.
"I'd love to have those new I-Coms on my Valkyrie. It would make for one hell of a ride." She had an almost maniacal glint in her eyes and childlike glee in her voice.
Digger's head came up from his meal.
"What's this about new I-Coms?" He swallowed his food quickly and reached out for the pad. Barbie picked it up and handed it to him, but told him anyway as he paged through the manual.
"It seems that Fighter Command R & D has come up with a new inertial compensator that will allow a fifteen percent increase in turning velocity during ACM." She sounded ecstatic.
"Christ, that's all we need," he muttered.
"What was that, Lieutenant? You don't think that we can use every advantage we can get in this war?" Heron didn't sound angry, but there was a bite to her question. "Or don't you think that the ability to finally outfly Sally fighters is a worthwhile achievement?"
"Of course I do, ma'am!" His shocked voice carried across the room. "That's not what I meant." He looked surprised that she thought that of him. Barbie looked back and forth between the two of them. She, too, was shocked that the commander could possibly think Digger wouldn't welcome every advantage that they could get.
"What did you mean, then?"
"The 'we' I was referring to was Barbie and myself." He indicated his pilot and risked a wry smile. "She likes to ride not only the edge of the turning threshold, but beyond it. I'm sure that you've seen the maintenance reports on our ride. That's nothing compared to what she loves to do to me."
"I'm sorry, Digger." Heron's voice was apologetic. "I just get a bit jittery when the Skipper and the XO are both off the ship, riding around in a shuttle while on the front lines."
"Don't worry about it, Commander—there's nothing to forgive. We're all a bit jumpy with them off the ship." His voice was light and friendly.
Barbie took this opportunity to distance them from the moment.
"So, Digger, do enlighten me, and the commander as well," she began with a slight chuckle, "as to what it is that I love to do to you. I'm curious."
Heron looked at him with curiosity as well.
"Well, seated behind you, facing the rear as I do, your, ah, shall we say, exuberance during ACM is a bit punishing. Especially with the way you like to ride the threshold, boss. No matter how much the straps of the harness are padded, they still dig in and hurt like hell pulling the gees we do. I think you take some sort of perverse pleasure in it." His smile took away any possible recrimination from his statements.
"I'm shocked, Digger," Barbie said in mock outrage, "shocked that you would think that of me. Whereever would you get such an idea?"
"We do talk while we fly, Barbie. I can hear it in your voice every time you tell me we're about to maneuver." He laughed.
"Now you know why I make you work out with me. Just think of how much more it would suck if you weren't in such great shape." She winked. "There's a method to my madness, you know."
"Of course I know. You don't think I would let you punish me the way you do if I didn't see the reason for it, do you?"
"I knew you were smarter than you looked."
"He'd almost have to be," Commander Heron chimed in, smiling at their banter.
"Yeah, well, don't you have a manual to finish reading?" he retorted. "We're going to want those new I-Coms on our ride as soon as possible, you know."
"Oh, so now you want them, do you?" the engineer asked.
"Of course I do." He sounded as if he thought she was out of her mind. "I never said I didn't. I love riding the threshold, and I don't care how many bruises I get doing it."
"I knew there was a reason I kept you around!" Barbie said, slapping him on his back.
"Seeing as how the best flight team in the fleet wants these new I-Coms, I guess I had best get studying, so when they become available you can have them and ruin the maintenance cycle on your Valkyrie." She got up from the table, accepting the pad back from Digger as she clasped him on the shoulder in way of a final apology.
"Nice lady," Digger said as he leaned back from his now-empty tray. "A bit high-strung, though, if you ask me."
"Well, cut her some slack." She pushed her tray away as well. "You'd be more than a little stressed out, too, if you had her job. Between us we only have to worry about fourteen flight teams, including ourselves. We don't even have to worry about the whole flight—that's the CAG's responsibility. Now Heron, on the other hand, she has to know every single weld, circuit board, and piece of equipment on this tub inside and out. Including our Valkyries."
"I see your point, and you're right, I sure wouldn't want the job," Digger agreed and stood up. "But on the other hand, she isn't out there flying around in a tiny little fighter with a bunch of Salamanders trying their best to blow her out of space."
"Good point."
She stood as well, and they both headed toward the exit.
"Well, I'm going to head down to the simulator and program in the new I-Com parameters and see how it handles."
"Want some company?" he asked sincerely.
"Nah, I got it covered. It'll take hours to get a new simulator program up and running. Besides, I'm sure that there's something going on in the ready room that you'll want to sit in on." She smiled at him and made a shooing motion with her hands. "You go and enjoy yourself, and we'll catch up later and see how good my programming skills are."
"Aye, aye boss. Catch you later." With a wave, he turned into a side passage and disappeared.
She entered the lift at the end of the passageway and punched the button for the flight deck as the doors closed. Time to get to work.
* * *
Alex grinned when Greg gripped the side of his jump seat as their assault shuttle launched from the Asgard's bay. Her grin widened as the force of their acceleration pressed them into their seats and he clamped his eyes shut, his knuckles going white.
"Problems, Greg?" she said conversationally as the force pushing against them lessened when the shuttle reached its cruising speed.
"Ugh," came his ineloquent response. After a few more moments, he opened his eyes and looked across at her. They were seated on opposite sides of the troop compartment. "I hate flying. Even more so in this bucket. At least the captain's launch is marginally more comfortable. You know, half the guests came in their launches." His tone was recriminatory.
"And the other half came in assault shuttles, just like we did. You did notice that we are on the front lines, didn't you?"
"Of course I noticed, and you'll notice that I didn't ask why we didn't take the launch, just noted that others did."
"Well, they have less distance to travel than the rest of us." She slapped the release on her restraining harness and stood, stretching her back. "I'll trade comfort for speed, armor, and weapons any day. Besides, assault-shuttle pilots need flight time, too."
"Captain," said the flight engineer as he came up to her, holding a bundle in each hand. He extended one to her.
"Thanks, Chief," she said, taking the proffered gun belt and holster. She pulled her pistol from her waist band, ejected the magazine, and checked to see that the weapon was clear. Satisfied that the weapon was safe, she handed the butt toward the chief. "Hold this for me for a sec, would you, Chief?"
"Sure thing, Cap'n." Taking the pistol, he let out an appreciative whistle. "Nice piece you have here."
Straightening up from securing the tie-down strap around her thigh, she adjusted the belt slightly until it felt comfortable.
"Thanks. It was a gift from my father. He figured since I couldn't hit the broadside of a barn at any kind of range, this would work for me. It doesn't have much range, and it won't punch through bulkheads, but let me tell you, with an eleven-millimeter round at close range, a person will definitely know that they've been kissed."
"They would at that." He returned her weapon, and she slipped the magazine back in and slapped it into place. Sliding it into the holster, she sat down into her seat and looked like she was feeling much better. Commander Higgins repeated her motions, though a bit more unsteadily than she did, uncomfortable at being out of his seat. As he placed his standard-issue flechette pistol into its holster, he faced her.
"Okay." He sounded a bit queasy as he resumed his seat. "Are you going to tell me why you let that seaman continue looking for five meters of flight line when you know damn well it was nothing more than petty hazing?"
The chief's head came around at that, and he chuckled.
"Five meters of flight line, huh? It is kind of comforting to know that some traditions die hard." The chief was referring to the practice of sending NUGs (new useless guys) out to find a piece of fictitious military hardware. Some of the more common important "items" included a box of LOBs (a line of bearing used for land navigation), a bucket of jet wash, or, as in this case, a length of flight line. None of these items actually existed in a form that could be retrieved but did serve the purpose of having the victim wandering around the ship looking into everything and generally looking lost.
"Yeah, Chief, that tradition is still alive and kicking." Higgins sounded slightly disappointed. He turned toward the captain. "Though I can't for the life of me figure out why you didn't let that kid off the hook when you had the chance."
There was a beeping at the rear of the compartment, and the chief left to investigate as the captain answered.
"I know it can be an embarrassing and sometimes annoying tradition, but I feel that it does serve a purpose."
"Oh, and what purpose would that be?"
"It makes people learn to think things through. Not necessarily to question orders, but to assess those orders and think them through to their conclusion. That way, someone will be able to think for himself and differentiate between moral orders and those rare occasions when he may be issued an immoral one."
"That's a lot to take away from a little joke, don't you think?"
"I don't think so." She seemed a bit defensive, and he didn't know why. "I know you're a Mustang, and were in the same position as that seaman at one point. Did you ever fall for that?"
"No, my section was a bunch of decent guys when I was first assigned to them," he explained. "They told me about that little tradition and several others, so I knew to look out for them when someone else tried to pull them on me."
"Well, you see, that's why you don't see the value in it as much as I do."
"I know you didn't go to the Academy, but went through ROTC, but we both know plenty of ring knockers and have heard the stories of some of the 'traditions' that take place there." He looked at her intently. "I wouldn't mind the loss of those few traditions you think serve a purpose, to be able to get rid of the dozens that only serve to embarrass and ridicule."
"I can see your point," she conceded, "but I still think that this particular tradition serves a purpose."
He thought she sounded as if she was trying to convince herself as well as him, and he shot her a quizzical glance.
"So, what was it you had to go and find?" His voice regained some of its mischievous tone from earlier in the evening.
"It doesn't matter." Her cheeks flushed a light pink.
"No, no. If it's such"—he emphasized the word, enjoying himself—"an important and educational tradition, I'm sure you can tell me what it was that you had to find."
She mumbled something, looking around the troop bay but not meeting his eyes.
"I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that." He had his hand cupped to his ear.
"I said, 'A box of AC batteries,' " she looked at him and snapped, her face going even redder now.
"A box of AC batteries? Alternating-current batteries?" He laughed."Yes, that's right, and stop laughing." She was glaring at him. "After that, I learned to think about what it was I was told to do." It sounded as if she was making excuses, even to her.
"Uh-huh, right. You keep telling yourself that, Alex." He was laughing even harder now.
"It's not that damn funny, Greg."
"I'm sorry, it's just that I can't get the picture of Midshipman McLaughlin wandering around a ship, poking into every equipment locker she could find, looking for a box of AC batteries." He was laughing so hard tears ran down his face. Under her stern glare, he got himself under control and took a few deep breaths, calming himself.
They settled down into silence and relaxed after the long evening. They sat there like that for several hours, lightly dozing and just letting their minds wander toward what they would be facing in the coming months.
"Wait a minute!" Higgins burst out suddenly, causing Alex to jump. Startled to full wakefulness at his outburst, her hand groped at her holster.
"What?!" She looked around as if expecting to see some kind of danger approaching.
"A midshipman cruise takes place between the junior and senior year of college, right?" He started laughing again.
"Yeah." She sounded a bit leery. "That's right."
"And when you were in college," he began, but she interrupted him loudly.
"Drop it, Greg," she warned.
"No, wait a minute." He ignored her protest and continued on between gasps of laughter. "Your major—wasn't it—"
She interrupted him again.
"I'm warning you, Greg. Let it go." Her voice was laced with venom.
"Electrical Engineering?" he finished and howled with laughter, watching her face turn a deeper shade of red than her hair.
"I warned you, Greg," she said, chuckling as she stood, "and now you are going to pay."
"Huh? What?" He was holding his sides, still overcome with laughter.
"Hope it was worth it." Her grin was even more mischievous than his as she made her way forward to the hatch leading to the cockpit.
"Hey, wait." He straightened up, tears still running down his cheeks, but he looked concerned now. "What're you going to do?"
She palmed the hatch-release controls and looked over her shoulder. She winked at him and stepped though and disappeared as the hatch cycled closed behind her.
"Oh, shit, I am so screwed," he said resignedly as he shook his head and felt the shuttle start to accelerate. He grabbed wildly for his restraining harness and began to buckle it around him, cinching it down tight. Still smiling, he gripped the sides of his seat. It had been worth it.