Author's notes can be found on my journal at RedvsBlue dot com/Martienne
It was quiet now. There had been some banter earlier, but they had exhausted the available topics of conversation some time ago. Tex had decided to doze for a while and told York to wake her when they were within ten klicks of their destination. York listened to the pilot checking in over the radio and the sounds of the engines as the Falcon's rotors churned up the air and propelled them forward. It had an oddly peaceful quality, even though they were headed into a battle zone. It was the calm before the storm, so to speak.
York rested his helmeted head back. He had been concentrating on the upcoming mission, but right now it was still some time before they would reach the point where he would need to worry about awakening Tex. And his mind had begun to linger on the thoughts they often returned to when it was quiet like this before a mission. The failed mission he would never be able to complete. The comrade whose life had been lost because of his carelessness. A capable soldier, yes—or at least she had been. After those AIs had combined with her consciousness, she became fragile and, though he did not know it, she was close to broken when they had stepped into the theatre that day.
There were times when the loss of her seemed very far away, untouchable now after so much time had gone by. Then there were times like right now, when he could recall every detail; relive the moments when he should have noticed that she was falling apart, the momentary confusion on her face as he instructed her to sync, her hesitation when she should have been prepared to give him covering fire. Relive those moments when he should have realized that she didn't belong out there that day, the signs that were so clear in hindsight that she was falling apart. A mind broken by the programs that were there ostensibly to guide her in battle, to improve her reaction times, to raise her battle rating.
He had gotten to know her when they had both just been inducted in the program. Back then, she was so vital, with a light in her eyes that told everyone around her how much it thrilled her to learn, to innovate, to strategize. Her smile was so warm and her spirit so inviting; there were times when York wanted to run up and embrace her, like inviting a lick of sunshine into his heart. But he always remembered his place as her partner in battle, above her in rank on the field. That wouldn't have been appropriate and so he had never done more than admired her from afar.
But then came the moment that York would most likely relive every day of his life. The moment when she stepped into the crossfire between the two factions of simulation soldiers. His mouth had opened to scream at her for her foolishness. But he was silenced when she whipped off her helmet with a look of serene acceptance on her face, raised her pistol, and fired a round directly into her own skull.
Even worse now in hindsight was his instant rage at her—for forcing him to dive into the middle of the fray to protect her body and call a Pelican to extract her corpse as he fought off the simulation soldiers on the opposing side almost single-handedly. It was this anger that dominated the first few days, even after he learned that there had only been one round fired from any of her weapons. She had been beyond overwhelmed; she had been paralyzed. Those damn AIs robbed her of any semblance of dignity.
"York?"
His eyes focused and he looked up at her—at Tex. Though he could not see her face through her visor, her voice held a note of concern. He looked back down at the pistol he held in his hands; one hand was caressing the muzzle contemplatively as he gripped it. He dropped his hands slowly and holstered the pistol again.
"You ready for this, York?"
"Are you?" he retorted.
She got up from her place across from him and sat down beside him. "I need your head to be in the game today, York."
"It will be," he assured her.
Tex turned her head to look at him and she didn't hesitate to give her response. "I know."
They sat in these positions until the pilot alerted them that it was time to disembark. Tex stood and walked to the back hatch. York followed her.
"Tex?"
Her helmet swiveled in his direction.
He gazed at some unspecified point high up on the bay door. "Thanks."
Tex nodded. That was all they said—it was all that was needed.
The mission went off without a hitch.