The next morning found Jane in the staging area of the base at 0800 sharp, double-checking the gear as she waited for the Andromeda team. She'd gotten plenty of sleep the previous night, a fact she almost regretted in retrospect. Had she been tired, she would have had a legitimate reason for her irritation at being here. As it was, Jane had no scapegoats to put between her and the real reason for her reluctance toward this mission. She'd tried to brush off last night's conversation with Cassie as merely a symptom of her friend's lunatic matchmaking zeal, but it had sparked off thoughts that now refused to leave her alone. Had she not been made to admit them out loud, Jane was sure she could have just ignored them and gotten on with things. But now...
Sure I'm attracted to the guy. There's nothing wrong with that; hell, I'm not dead. I mean, he's got that great smile, sexy blond hair that just begs to be touched, and those eyes... It's just that there are more important things right now. She closed the pack she'd been checking, and began to pace. Our continued independence predicates on the operation of the air filtration plant, and the plant's functioning predicates on the success of this mission. I have a job to do, and that job is more important than a crush. I don't have time for teenage infatuations---I'm twenty-six years old! Cassie's words rang in her mind, and she kicked the leg of the metal bench next to her in frustration. A moment later, she realized how painful that could have been, and silently thanked the Divine for steel-toed boots. And I am not using my work as an excuse not to have a social life. It's just that I have responsibilities that have to come first.
On impulse, she returned to her pile of gear and took a flexi out of her pack. It contained the brief dossiers that the Andromeda had provided on the crew members who were joining her on this mission. Jane had been right; they were sending Weapons Officer Telemachus Rhade as "additional security personnel." But it wasn't Rhade's file she was interested in at the moment. She scrolled the display up to the photograph of the blond engineer, an image she'd studiously ignored while reviewing the dossiers last night. Yep, she thought at the face that grinned up at her from the flexi, still cute. Goddammit. Irritably, she shoved the flexi back under the flap of her pack. I am an adult. I have responsibilities. I can deal with this. I will deal with this.
Just then, the object of her vexation walked through the staging area doors, trailing his Nietzschean bodyguard behind him. The young engineer wore the same inconveniently attractive grin that his photograph bore, although in this case it was clouded by grogginess. Evidently, Mr. Seamus Zelazney Harper wasn't a morning person.
As if to confirm Jane's observation, Harper yawned. "Wow. I forgot they even made an 0800 hours. So, what's the plan, Lieutenant?" He flashed her that adorable, cocky smile of his.
I really wish he'd stop doing that. No, I don't. But it would be easier that way. Despite her best efforts, she found herself smiling back. "Well, for starters, call me Jane. We're going to be spending a lot of time together over the next week or so, and frankly, every time somebody says 'Lieutenant' to me, I have to fight down the urge to dive for cover and reach for my weapon." It was true; despite the fact that it had been over two years since they'd driven the Lanvar System Mining Corporation off the planet, and almost that long since they'd set up a formal government and military structure, she was still not used to having an official rank within a legitimate command system. She had gotten accustomed to working on the other side of the law. Her hatred of uniforms was merely a symptom of her discomfort. At least today, it was a symptom she'd been able to avoid; this morning she wore a set of brown and gray fatigues instead of a full uniform. Similar attire awaited the Andromeda team in the changing stalls to her left; if any of the Corporation's lackeys were waiting for them Outside, the camouflage would make them harder to spot through the smog.
"The next thing," Jane continued, slipping into a more serious voice, "is your gear. Item number one is your energy siphon vest." She picked up a garment made of flexible, matte black material from the bench. "It gets rather warm Outside, what with the advanced greenhouse effect from all the crap in the atmosphere. This vest is made of a special polymer that absorbs energy on contact, including unnecessary body heat. The polymer converts the thermal energy into... something else. A lot of people on this planet have a very solid grasp of complicated technology; unfortunately, I don't happen to be one of them. Regardless, it works. In fact, the damn thing could probably suck up a round from a gauss gun before it got completely fried. Of course, I wouldn't want to be the one to test that theory. Needless to say, it's a very expensive piece of equipment." Whereupon she unceremoniously tossed the vest to Harper. He fumbled with it for a moment, but managed to hold onto it. Jane suppressed a grin.
"That brings us to what's possibly an even more vital piece of equipment; namely, the thing that will allow you to breathe while we're wandering around in all that atmospheric sewage out there." She picked up a narrow strip of metal with padding on one side. "This is your filtration strip. It goes here." She peeled off the backing and affixed it to the bridge of her nose, bending it to fit. "Evidently, air molecules come in different shapes and sizes. The filtration strip creates a miniature force field around your face, letting the good molecules in and keeping the bad ones out. Beyond that, I'm not even going to pretend to know how it works. Suffice it to say that it does. Also very expensive. One thing, and I cannot stress this enough; do not, I repeat, do not, under any circumstances remove your filtration strip when we're Outside. I assure you, you do not want to try breathing that shit."
Jane glanced down at the rest of the assembled equipment. "That's about it. The rest of your gear should be fairly self-explanatory. C-rations, distilled water, radio flares: the basics. There's changing stalls over there for you to get into your siphon vests and camos. If you're harder to see, you're harder to shoot, and there's a fair-to-average chance that there are some nasty people Outside who want to stop us from getting where we're going." She pointed the boys in the direction of the stalls, and watched them walk off, vests in hand. Or, more accurately, watched Harper.
Odd, she thought, how I slipped into that very 'military' demeanor while I was giving them their stuff. I'm not usually so... drill-sergeant. Is that what it's gonna take to keep myself from coming on to him? Great. She watched him disappear into the stall, only then realizing that her eyes had been locked on his ass the entire way. I have got to stop doing that. She resolutely turned away from the stalls and sat down on the bench to wait, trying not to visualize the state of undress that the young blonde must be in at that moment. And failing.
ooooo
Harper stepped into one of the changing stalls and dropped his energy siphon vest onto the bench. The hand he'd been holding it with was already tingling with cold. Wow, he thought, those suckers really do the job. It'd better be as hot down there on the surface as Lieutenant Sexy says it is. He smiled at the thought of her as he stripped off his t-shirt. I think she likes me. And by that, I mean she hasn't chased me away with weapon drawn yet. That's always a good sign. He picked up the vest and slipped his arms into it, then paused a moment. Then again, all of the women who've been into me lately have turned out to be evil. He started counting on his fingers. Satrina: evil. Professor Kor-Kavo: evil. Saguro: gorgeous, brilliant, and great taste in men, but ultimately, evil. Harper felt a chill as the energy-siphon vest settled against his skin and started leaching the heat from his body. I really hope this one isn't evil.
He zipped up the front of the close-fitting vest and picked up the tank top from the neatly-folded pile of fatigues that he'd found waiting in the stall for him. It was a muddy gray-brown color; Harper made a face at it. "I can't say much for these people's fashion sense," he observed flippantly to Rhade, who was changing in the stall next to him.
"From what we've been told about the conditions of the landscape on the planet below us, these colors should be suitable to help us blend in with the terrain," came the Nietzschean's voice from over the partition. "Besides, Beka's told me about some of the shirts you used to wear. I don't think you have any place to criticize the wardrobe choices of others."
Harper opened his mouth, paused, and closed it again. "I'm not even going to dignify that with a response," he informed Rhade, and sighed. I'm never going to live down those shirts. He pulled the tank top on; like the vest, it fit comfortably but snugly. These people must have gotten his clothing sizes with the information that Andromeda had sent over for the mission.
That thought gave Harper a shiver, and he wondered what else they knew about him. Granted, he wanted to help these people, Dylan seemed to think they were okay, and Trance even said they were trustworthy, but the thought of a group of people he'd known for only a few hours having information on him without his knowing about it made him twitchy. Then again, growing up on Earth tended to make a person a little paranoid. So did having former crewmates turn against you and side with the Abyss, and ending up with two-thirds of the Known Worlds hunting you down as criminals against the Restored Commonwealth, come to think of it. Compared to that, the fact that the quartermaster of the Lanvar Three orbital military base knew his shirt size really shouldn't bother him too much. Now to find out how they did on the pants...
Harper shucked his baggy cargo pants, dropping them in a crumpled heap on the bench, and pulled on the camos. They, too, fit ideally: plenty of room in the legs, but fitted at the waist. He turned around and looked in the mirror across from his stall. Perfection. Let's see the good Lieutenant turn me down now. Assuming she's not evil. Grinning to himself, he tied his boots, gathered up his clothes, and headed out of the stall to meet up with Rhade, who had just finished changing.
As they headed across the staging area floor toward their guide, who was bent over one of the packs to double-check its contents, Harper turned to Rhade, keeping his voice low to prevent the room's acoustics from carrying it. "Looks like the view on the way to the plant is going to be fantastic---and I'm not talking about the scenery," he observed, eyeing the lieutenant with exaggerated lecherousness. "And I think she digs me."
The Nietzschean looked at him icily. "Harper, you may not realize it, but listening to you make inappropriate remarks about women with whom you have utterly no chance does get old after about the hundred thousandth time."
Harper's face deflated into a pout. "I do too have a chance with her," he muttered under his breath.
The lieutenant---Jane, Harper reminded himself---must have heard them approach, because she zipped the pack and turned around to face them. "You boys all set?" she asked. They nodded. "Let's get going, then; we're burning daylight." With that, she shouldered her pack and headed for the door, leading them out of the room and down a corridor marked, "This Way to Skyhook Shuttle Platform."