Adeste Fideles – Chapter Two Page 14
The names of all 'Space: Above and Beyond' characters contained herein are the property of Glen Morgan and James Wong, Hard Eight Productions and the Fox Broadcasting Network. These names have been used without their permission. All else is my own creation.
Rating: NC17 Language, violence and graphic sex.
Spoilers: None
Author: Vasalysa, with many undying thanks to Geek.
Adestes Fideles
Chapter Two
The next day, McQueen kept an eye out for Becky and nodded as she made sure to reach the bakery before the other children arrived. His shift was through the dinner hour this time and he was about to go in for his five minute break at 1800 when he saw her leave the bakery, heading toward him. He decided to wait.
"Hi," she said. "I brought you a caramel roll." Holding it out in it's own clear plastic bag, Becky reminded him of a scared rabbit, ready to bolt at the slightest wrong move.
"Thank you." He took the bag. "I'll eat it after my dinner."
"Mom really tore into me last night. But I told her you're nice."
"You shouldn't do something that will make your mother angry."
Becky shrugged. "Everything these days makes mom angry."
"Joseph is your younger brother?"
"Yeah. Mom calls him Joe's legacy."
That answered another question McQueen had, leaving the really big one. Why had this Joe just up and disappeared? "Can I ask you a couple of questions?"
"You already asked one." She grinned, showing gapped teeth. "Go ahead."
Moving over to a corner, McQueen asked, "When did Joe disappear? How soon before the ceremony was it?"
"He called mom the night before and said he might be a bit late for the ceremony. That was the last we ever heard from him."
"When was this?"
Becky frowned in concentration. "Let's see, Joey's turned two last month and he was born eight months after Mom and Joe were to be married, and that was the tenth of March. Mom cried all night."
"How old were you?" It amazed him that she could remember all that. He had never been impressed by the children he had met.
"Eight. I just turned ten in October." Becky bit her lip. "I better go or Mom will pitch a fit. I'll see you tomorrow?"
"I'll be here until twenty hundred tomorrow." When she giggled and shook her head, he said, "What?"
"You military guys all talk funny. What does twenty hundred mean?"
"Eight at night, " he answered, suppressing a smile. "We also call minutes mikes. So, I can say that my five mike break is over by now."
"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to interfere."
As Becky became serious and looked like she would run, McQueen said, "It's ok, Becky. I'll be going to dinner in thirty mikes anyway."
"See, that sounds funny, but I like it. See you tomorrow." Becky waved at him and darted off up the street.
Briefly he frowned after her, wishing he had a last name for this Joe fellow.
****
Life settled into a routine by the end of a week. Every day, McQueen arrived early at the store and spent time talking to Nathaniel, as Crosby insisted that he be called, and reading. Before going home, he spent time talking to Becky, eventually discovering to his dismay that she had no idea what the missing Joe's last name was. He found that she was a very intelligent girl who sometimes asked piercing questions. At night, he worked on his Japanese painting, finally managing to do some basic lines that passed his critical eyes.
The nagging curiosity about what had happened to Lt. Joe kept eating at him and McQueen quickly exhausted his available resources, leaving only one place left for him to try.
After breakfast, McQueen walked across the base, enjoying the sunshine, to the religious center. As he eyed the symbols above the door, he wondered if the building could be called a church since it appeared to service at least four different faiths. A crescent, a double-tiered cross, a normal cross, and a five pointed star adorned the door's mantle. Shrugging, he entered, thinking that they all worshiped the same god, just by different names.
He found the inside to be well lit, with wooden pews extending to the front of the building where the pulpit stood. Glancing around, he saw that the pulpit was on discreet wheels, allowing it to be moved as necessary, that dividers could be drawn both across the width of the building as well as the length sectioning off areas, and that a heavy table, also on wheels, could function as an altar for the different religions.
A man, dressed in a dark blue flight suit with white collar, entered from a side door as McQueen reached the front of the room. "May I help you?"
"I'm hoping that someone here can help me. I'm looking for some information."
The man raised an eyebrow. "Of a religious nature or private?"
"I'm trying to find out about someone who might have come here to talk or confess or whatever it is he'd do before getting married." McQueen decided that this was a bad idea and started to turn away. "I shouldn't have come here."
"Why? Because you're an Invitro? God doesn't care, Captain." The man smiled broadly when McQueen spun around to face him. "Yes, I know who you are. You probably don't remember me. They had you drugged to the gills when I saw you in the hospital. By the way, you have quite a friend in that Navy Seal, Ross. He made sure all of his men were taken care of, but then he was right there, insisting that you be cared for properly."
"What were you doing there..." McQueen searched the flight suit for a name tag or rank.
"Sorry. I'm Captain Douglas. I was there to administer last rites to two young men who were dying. Damned AIs. The second one was in your room and I watched you battle three nurses and two doctors before Ross calmed you down, telling you that it would be ok. You listened to him and they were able to put you under in order to work on you. It was quite an impressive show."
McQueen's mouth twisted bitterly. "I live to please." He gave a mock bow.
"No, you don't, McQueen and there's no reason to take an attitude with me. I have no problem with you, so long as you don't have a problem with me. Every man has an equal chance in the eyes of the Creator, my son."
"Don't call me that. My creator was some lab tech with a test tube and a petri dish who couldn't come up with a better way to live." McQueen's back stiffened as he prepared for battle.
"We're all God's children, no matter how we come into the world. McQueen, the technology that gave you life was developed originally to make it possible for women who were incapable of bearing children to term to have children. AeroTech just suborned the technology and turned it into a profitable business. Selling souls and bodies is as old as humanity, I'm afraid." Douglas sighed. "Look, we can stand here and talk at cross purposes all day, but that won't get you the information you're looking for. Now, are you interested in finding it or are you just spoiling for a verbal battle?"
McQueen realized what was happening and forced himself to back down, making himself relax his posture. "The information, please."
"This way, please." Douglas gestured toward the door he had stepped through and waited on the other side as McQueen followed. He led the way down the corridor to another room. "So, what's up? Who do you need to know about? Have a seat," Douglas said as he went to sit in one of two chairs in the small library.
"I'm looking for a young lieutenant who was going to be married two years ago. Almost three now. It appears that he disappeared the night before the wedding."
"Don't know that I'll be able to help you much, then. I only came here a bit over a year ago. You'll want to talk to my predecessor, Father Patrick O'Reilly. And yes, he's just as Irish sounding as his name. Parents are from Ireland and he can talk your ear off if you give him half a chance." Douglas grabbed a notepad and a pen. "What specific information can you give me?"
"Not a lot. He was supposed to be married on March tenth, he was a lieutenant, and his first name was Joe, Joseph, or some variant." McQueen sighed. "It's not much at all, is it?"
"Who knows? It might be enough to ring a bell." Douglas looked at the notepad, then glanced up at McQueen. "I'll track down Father O'Reilly and ask him. Once I have any information at all, I'll get in touch with you. Ok?"
"Yes, sir." McQueen rose and headed for the door.
"By the way, McQueen." Douglas waited until McQueen turned toward him before saying, "If you ever just need to talk, I'm always willing to listen. No preaching. Just an ear to bend."
McQueen nodded curtly and left, knowing there was nothing more he could do about the search. Noting the time, he sped up, aware that if he hurried, he would be able to get an hour of light exercise in before leaving for Crosby's. His body should be up to a bit of sweating.
****
Becky darted off to the bakery to get there before the other children arrived at their bus stop and McQueen watched her go, somewhat bemused, carefully cradling the pipe cleaner angel in his hand. Her insistence on his taking it had surprised him as had her calling him a friend. Being told that friends can give, and receive, presents without feeling guilty or being required to reciprocate by a child took a bit of getting used to. He glanced down at the multicolored angel and smiled gently, wondering where the hell he was going to put it until he took a break.
Turning toward the toy box, McQueen froze on seeing both Crosby and Becky's mother standing in the doorway, watching him. To his surprise, Becky's mother did not launch into an immediate tirade.
She looked down at Joey, perched on her hip, kissed the boy on the forehead and then turned back to him. "I owe you an apology, Captain. I shouldn't have treated you the way I did."
"Accepted if you'll accept mine for talking to your daughter without your permission. We had already introduced ourselves and I didn't think of your reaction. I'm sorry." McQueen held himself straight.
"Granted." Looking over her shoulder at Crosby who leaned on his cane, she said, "Nate, you were right. I shouldn't jump to conclusions. Just because Joe.... Well, just because of one Marine, I shouldn't paint them all with the same brush."
"I'm proud of you, Mary. Now, I'm afraid I have some calls to make." Crosby looked over at McQueen. "I'll see you in two hours?"
"Yes, sir. For my first dinner break."
Crosby sighed, shook his head, and turned away, muttering, "Marines and rank."
McQueen chuckled, enjoying the fact that Crosby loved to complain about being called sir, but had stopped trying to get him to cease while in public.
"Do you dance, Captain?" When McQueen gave her a sharp look, she shook her head. "No complications, Captain. I'm asking because Becky has a dance coming up and she doesn't know how to dance or anything. I can't teach her. I don't know either. Nate was going to, but with his leg and all...." Her voice trailed away as he just looked at her. "It was just a stupid question. Forget it." She started to turn away, to walk up the street.
He snapped out of his surprised stance. "Wait, please. It wasn't a stupid question. It's just that no one's ever asked me to teach them anything."
"Why not?" Mary turned around again, a puzzled look on her face. "The women should be falling all over you."
Dryly, he said, "They do, for about thirty seconds. Most of them lose interest in me when they find out what I am."
"So, you're a Marine. I've never seen one who made the uniform look bad."
He shook his head slightly. "That's not it. I'm a tank."
"You're a what? A tank? What the hell is that?" Before he could start to answer, she continued. "Oh, you're one of those guys they grew in some sort of tank. I get it. The ones that people said were going to take away all of the jobs and stuff." Mary snorted. "Yeah, right. They said that when the Irish immigrated here during the Potato Famine, when blacks were given their freedom, when women were given equality. It's an old story that never changes, just who's being targeted."
"I think I better brush up on my social history." McQueen cocked his head slightly to the side. "What sort of dances does Becky need to know?"
Mary shrugged, glancing down at Joey who was starting to fuss. "The usual, I think. Waltz, foxtrot, that sort of thing."
"As it happens, I do know how to dance. I would be pleased to teach Becky." It had amazed him the first time he had ventured onto the dance floor with a woman who didn't care he was a tank. He had impressed them both with his skill and, since then, he had studied on his own.
"Oh, thank you, Captain."
The smile Mary gave him held no guile and he said, "You don't need to call me captain. McQueen will do."
"Ok, McQueen. Have Becky bring you home with her. We won't keep you too long, I don't think."
"Very well."
"Let me take the angel home with me. You can pick it up there. See you later." Mary walked up the street and he watched her until she was out of sight.
McQueen shook his head at her unconventional behavior. A man brushed past him, apologized and hurried into the store. With a sigh, McQueen turned his attention back to his duty, much as it bored him today. The frazzled shoppers rarely took notice of him today, though the box was nearly three quarters filled, for the fourth time since he had started a week ago. A nod usually accompanied the toy being dropped into the box as the shopper hurried off with their own purchases.
Two more toys, a doll and a remote control car, were dropped off and the woman took the time to smile at him. "It's such a nice thing you do. I'm always happy to contribute. After all, I was one of those children once. Have a nice day." Even as he started to respond, she was gone, out the door and around the corner, packages tucked under her arm.
Bemused, McQueen shook his head slightly and turned to answer a tug on his sleeve. A harried looking man in an overcoat that had seen better days asked, "What do you need?"
"Something besides dolls and cars. Stuffed animals would be good." He wondered if the man could really afford to spend money on buying toys for disadvantaged kids.
"It's ok. I've got the money. I don't have a family, not anymore." The man's face turned tight with remembered pain.
Something about the man's face sparked a memory. "You were held by the AIs."
The man glared at him with narrowed eyes for a moment before they widened in surprise. "You were at the camp. I remember you now. You kept trying to escape. They kept asking me why you did. All I could tell them was I guessed you felt it was your duty."
"I'm due a break. Would you care for a cup of coffee?" When the man hesitated, looking at the mass of people waiting in line, McQueen said, "There's somewhere more private. Only one other person will be there."
Still the man hesitated before sighing, his shoulders drooping. "I'm dying for a cup of coffee. I haven't had any decent stuff since before my capture."
"This way." McQueen walked the man back to the Crosby's office. "Nate, this gentlemen," McQueen glanced at the man, realizing he hadn't asked his name.
"Charles Wright. The captain offered me a cup of coffee."
"Sit down, Charles." Crosby waved to the chairs. "Go get the coffee, McQueen. He'll be fine here with me."
By the time McQueen returned from battling his way through the crowd of people waiting for their orders for the coffee carafe and three cups, he found Crosby and Wright talking quietly.
"I'm sorry for your loss, Charles. It's not easy losing family. I lost my wife ten years ago and I still wake up expecting her to be beside me." Crosby took the filled cup from McQueen.
"So, Mr. Wright, it was your family I was told about in the camp." McQueen handed him some coffee.
Wright's brow furrowed and he nodded curtly. "Yes. I'm an AeroTech computer specialist. The AIs thought I could modify some program for them. It was a defense grid program for the UN. Millions of people would have died." His knuckles whitened as his grip tightened on the mug. His voice held a bleakness McQueen knew only too well. "I couldn't do it. So instead of millions, my wife and two kids died."
Feeling awkward, McQueen sipped his coffee, not knowing what to say. He caught Crosby's subtle gesture toward the door. Quickly he topped off his mug and ghosted out of the room. Closing the door quietly, he saw Derrick headed for the office and shook his head.
"Not just now. He's busy helping someone."
"Another lost soul, is it?" Derrick nodded. "Ok. I'll make sure they're not interrupted. Don't worry about the fellow. Mr. Crosby will take good care of him."
An hour later, his stomach reminding him it was time to eat, McQueen looked up as Crosby approached. The man smiled at him sadly. "A good job, McQueen. I've taken care of Charles. Given him a place to stay and something constructive to do. AeroTech has done its usual bang up job. Three days of shrink work and then they let him go home. Fools, all of them. Anyway, McQueen, he'll be fine. You don't need to worry about him now."
"I-"
Crosby pinned him with his sharp gaze. "Yes, you were worried and you didn't have the vaguest idea of how to help the man. Offering him coffee was a good start." The sharp gaze turned gentle. "You'll do just fine, McQueen."
"What?"
"Never mind. Ready to come in and eat?"
"Yes, sir. I'm starving."
Crosby laughed and slapped McQueen on the arm. "Never knew a military man who wasn't."
****
McQueen sipped the coffee that Mary had handed him on his entrance to the meager home of her family. The house was immaculately clean and he had to look hard to find evidence of Mary's profession. His quiet questioning of Becky had brought to light the fact that Mary was a seamstress, a profession that was making a come-back. More people wanted well made clothes that were tailored to them, not just off the rack, making them look like everyone else. It was a good occupation for at home, allowing Mary to work around whatever came up. At the moment, Mary was shifting some furniture around, having quite firmly refused his offer of help.
A small hand appeared on his knee and McQueen gave Joey a smile. "Careful, it's hot."
"Come on, Joey, I've got something for you to eat." Becky steered Joey toward the kitchen.
"That should be enough room." Mary stood, hands on her hips, surveying the open floor space she had created.
"Looks good."
"Becky, come here, please." Mary sighed as Joey followed on Becky's heels, munching on a pretzel. "I was hoping to save those for tomorrow. Oh, well."
The next hour passed quickly, ending with a lovely waltz. Becky turned out to be a quick learner and enjoyed herself. To his surprise, McQueen found himself having a good time. As he stepped away from Becky after the last waltz, he caught the wistful smile that Mary swiftly hid.
Bowing to Becky, he whispered, "Could you take your brother out of the room for a bit?"
"Sure." Becky grinned.
Becky scouted out of the room with Joey, talking a mile a minute.
A worried look after her daughter and Mary turned to McQueen, finding him standing before her with his hand outstretched. "Oh, no, not me."
As she started to look panic-stricken, McQueen said, "You should know how as well. It's something everyone should learn. I'm here. Let me teach you."
"I'm a klutz. I'll step all over your feet."
"I'm willing to take the chance."
Slowly, her hand crept into his.
Contrary to her opinion, Mary learned after only a couple of toe stompings. She laughed softly, suddenly confident, as she glided after him. "Joe kept meaning to teach me. He loved to dance and hated not being able to with me." Her face fell and she pulled away.
McQueen managed to rein in his desire to ask her for Joe's last name. He sighed and said, "I should get back to base."
"Thank you, McQueen. For both of us."
"You're welcome."
As he jogged through the night, Becky's angel tucked safely into a pocket, McQueen mentally hit his head against a wall. Damn, would he never find out the man's name?
****
Several days later, McQueen found himself far too busy off duty to socialize. The 127th had returned, weary and drained from a fruitless search for enemy AIs, and he spent his time taking notes and trying to help the others figure out what had gone wrong. Not all of the AIs had been destroyed during the raid that had freed McQueen and many others.
Dragging himself out of bed in the dark, McQueen shivered and quickly ducked into a hot shower. As the water cascaded over his body, he sighed, regretting all the lost time. He was still no closer to solving the mystery of Lt. Joe than he had been a week ago.
The strident ringing of his video phone terminal brought him out, wet and cursing. Setting it to sound only, he snapped, "McQueen!"
"Sounds like I caught you at a bad time, Captain. Sorry. This is Father Douglas. I've heard from Father O'Reilly. He said you need to talk to a Lt. Petersen, all e's. At least, he was a lieutenant three years ago. In the 51st squadron. Petersen came to him just before a big push against the AIs. Said that his buddy Joe had talked him into being best man at his wedding, but that he had never even met the woman his best friend had fallen for. Joe appears to have kept his woman a secret from everyone up until the day before the wedding. They were both shipped out on the mission the night before the wedding. Unfortunately, Father O'Reilly was transferred before either of them returned, so he doesn't know where they are or understand why this Joe hasn't gotten in touch with the woman. Petersen said Joe was excited about the fact he was going to be a father. Even had made an appointment to have the woman and her daughter put on his life insurance as benefactors." Douglas paused. "Does any of this help, McQueen?"
"Yes, sir. Thank you."
"Glad to be of service." McQueen could hear the man's smile. "Now I'll let you get back to whatever it was I interrupted. Later, Captain."
"Good day, sir."
Feeling somewhat better than he had on awakening, McQueen scurried back to his shower. He dressed quickly afterward and sat down before his computer terminal. A quick search showed that the 51st Squadron had been transferred to a California base and only one Petersen was in the roster.
Ten minutes later, he growled with frustration and snapped his vid-phone off. Captain Petersen had left the day before on a mission and there was no estimate as to when his squad would return. He had left a message asking for Petersen to contact him at the earliest convenient moment.
He had done all he could for the moment, McQueen reflected. Now, he just had to wait. Glancing at the clock, he saw he would still be in time for breakfast.
****
A snarl escaped McQueen as his vid-phone rang, startling him and causing him to mess up the complex Japanese letter he had been practicing. Muttering under his breath, he wheeled his chair back from the dining room table and activated the vid-phone. "McQueen."
A man appeared on the screen with brown hair, brown eyes and a tired worn face. "Captain McQueen, I'm Captain Petersen. I believed you left a message for me to call you. Sorry it's taken so long. We only got back this morning and I've just gotten out of my debriefing an hour ago." The man ran a hand through his hair and tried to stifle a yawn. "Sorry. It's been a very long day."
McQueen's irritation vanished and he swiveled around to sit squarely before the vid-phone. "I'll try not to keep you too long then. Not quite three years ago, your best friend at the time asked you to be best man at his wedding."
"How'd you know that?" Petersen glared at McQueen, tiredness flushed from his face momentarily.
"Father O'Reilly. I'm trying to find out who this fellow Joe is and why he never got in touch with the woman. Before I tell you the rest, was your friend this Joe fellow I'm searching for?"
"Yeah, his name was Joe." Petersen sank back in his chair, sadness in his eyes.
"Damn. When?" All too familiar with the look and tone, McQueen slumped back himself.
"Two days in. We never found his body, but knowing Joe, he would have gone through the fires of Hell to get back to her. The funny thing is, although he talked about her, he always called her Mary and never once told me her last name. That morning, it was like he knew. He gave me the ring, told me that I was to make sure she got it, just in case. Before I could remind him that I didn't know who to give it to, we were sent out. I never got to talk to him again." Wearily, Petersen scrubbed his face. "So, Captain, what's this all about?"
"It's a bit of a story." It took McQueen ten minutes to tell what he knew. "About that ring... I can get it to her, if you want."
"You know, it's a funny thing. While I was listening to your message, I opened my dresser drawer and there was the ring. Like it knew it was time. Get me your address and I'll send it over immediately. Tell her..." Petersen hesitated, thinking while McQueen typed quickly, his address being sent to Petersen's vid-phone for storage. "Tell her Joe was a good man. He treated everyone fairly and rarely said a bad thing about anyone. Tell her, if I'd known who she was, I'd have come see her before now."
"I will. Before I let you go, just what was Joe's last name?"
"Campbell. Like the soup or the philosopher. Joseph Campbell."
"Philosopher?"
"Look him up. He's worth it." Petersen yawned hugely and smiled self-deprecatingly. "If you'll excuse me, I think I better head for bed. I'll mail the ring when I wake up."
"Thank you, Captain."
"You're welcome, Captain. I'm glad to have some of the puzzle solved. If you could send me a picture of this Mary, I would be obliged. I've always wondered what she looks like."
"Done."
McQueen sat back, the vid-phone off and smiled. Well worth some ruined calligraphy.
****
By the time McQueen arrived at Crosby's at noon the next day, he was feeling both frustrated and satisfied. Three hours spent with Major Kirby had been enough to raise his blood pressure, though the man had come around to his view of things finally. Kirby remembered Campbell for the simple reason that, first thing in the morning, the lieutenant had wanted to make a woman he hadn't even married yet his beneficiary against military law. Once he had been informed of the fact, Campbell had made an appointment for late in the afternoon of the following day, only he never made it. The major had forced a proviso to McQueen's idea, but would get the ball rolling until vetoed. An appointment request to see the base commandant had finished off his morning, leaving McQueen to wonder if he would manage to get everything organized before Christmas, but he was sure going to try.
"Now that, my friend, is a Cheshire Cat smile," remarked Crosby, catching sight of McQueen coming in the door. He steadied himself against the bookshelf and smiled. "So, is it something you can share?"
McQueen shook his head slightly. "Not yet. I don't want to get any hopes up."
"Oh, one of those." Limping, Crosby returned to his desk, setting the book down before resuming his seat.
"Which one is that?" McQueen asked, nodding toward the book as he strode over to the settee and the Eastern meditation book he had started reading two days before.
"The first book of the Horatio Hornblower series. I just feel nautical today."
"Funny, you don't look it." McQueen grinned as he sat down.
"Quick, someone call the news. Ironman cracked a joke." Crosby returned the grin. "When do you start today?"
"Twelve thirty." He had learned to give Crosby civvie times rather than burden the man with something else to work out.
"Have you eaten?"
"No, but it should be along shortly. I asked them to send it in."
"Good, good. We'll make a commanding officer out of you yet, McQueen."
"No one wants to take orders from a tank, Nathaniel."
"And what would happen to someone who refused an order?"
"You know as well as I do that it wouldn't matter. I'm a tank. Damn few people respect my kind. You're one of a few, Nathaniel. I'll be lucky to ever make Major." McQueen shook his head. "No, I'll stay a captain for a long time."
"Maybe. You never know. And McQueen, if you think of yourself as a tank, then that's how they'll think of you as well."
"Maybe." It was something to think about anyway.
****
The night had a cold feel to it, McQueen noted as he headed for his quarters. Overhearing some old timers shaking their heads about the snow falling in Alabama over the last three years and wondering if it would fall again this year, he had looked up the weather history of the region. It had surprised him to find that snow in Alabama had been an extreme rarity earlier in the century.
A man stepped out from the billet officer's office as he passed. "Captain McQueen, I hope?" The man snapped a salute.
"Yes, Lieutenant?" McQueen answered warily, returning the salute and not recognizing the lieutenant.
Holding out his hand, the lieutenant said, "Captain Petersen asked me to make sure you got this. I've been hanging around all afternoon waiting for you."
"I've got day duty in town." He took the small box from the lieutenant.
"Yeah, I heard. I love doing the TOTs duties. Don't you, sir?"
"It has been... enlightening."
"Ah, not a kids' man." The lieutenant grinned. "I'll be on my way, then, sir. If I hurry, I can still catch a flight back to the West coast."
"Thank Captain Petersen for me, Lieutenant."
"I will, sir."
As the lieutenant vanished into the darkness, McQueen thumbed open the box. Nestled inside was a gold ring with roping around the edges. Snapping the box shut, McQueen shoved it into his pocket and turned back to the path home. He would have to see Major Kirby in the morning.
The blinking message light on his vid-phone drew him immediately on his entrance. He hit the play button. An immaculate male lieutenant appeared. "Captain McQueen, you are granted an appointment at ten thirty hours on the twenty-fourth. I'd advise you not to be late. The commandant is extremely busy that morning. Good day."
McQueen recorded the time and date on his calendar. The twenty-fourth was the day after tomorrow. Damned, where had all the time gone?
Fortunately, he had done what little shopping he had intended. Crosby's present he had found the other day when he had ducked into the quiet of a little bookshop to escape the mad throngs of people on the street. One shelf alone in Crosby's office was devoted to Tolkien and in the bookshop, he had come across a 1970 hardback edition of all four books in excellent condition, especially considering their age. Some sticker shock had ensued with the cost, but he thought Crosby well worth the money.
A hip flask with a clipper ship on it had been mailed to Ross, the Navy Seal who persisted in calling once a week to see how he was doing. He had reluctantly agreed to spend New Year's Eve with Ross and dreaded a wild night on the town.
For Mary he had gotten a new sewing machine having seen the worn shape of the one she had been using. Young Joey would be getting some take apart vehicles and other miscellaneous toys while his sister, Becky, would be getting a computer terminal and some schooling programs. Even with the discount Crosby had insisted on giving him, he had been surprised by how much it all cost. No wonder everyone complained about the expense of Christmas.
Almost as bad had been trying to figure out wrapping the items. Crosby had taken pity on his bewilderment and had sent it all over to the gift wrapping department, sending him along in order to watch and learn. So at least he had been able to wrap Crosby's present without making a complete fool of himself.
A muscle twinged in his shoulder, setting off the aches and pains accumulated over the last month. He decided to forgo a night trip to the gym and instead indulge himself in a bath for once, something he had never even conceived of before arriving on Earth.
****
Eating breakfast in the Officers' Mess, McQueen shook his head slightly at all the moaning people were doing about still having more shopping to do on Christmas Eve of all days.
One of his squadron, a Lieutenant Lawrence who enjoyed needling him about his Invitro status, laughed sharply. "Look at McQueen. He's laughing at us all. What does he know? A tank doesn't have anyone to buy presents for."
McQueen allowed himself a satisfied smile. "On the contrary, Lieutenant. I've spent a considerable sum on presents this year."
"And just what do you consider a considerable sum, McQueen? Fifty bucks?" Lawrence sneered, slapping another member of the squad on the shoulder.
"Must be what you spent, Lawrence. I hope they appreciate your generosity. For my part, I spent over seven hundred credits and I'll be spending another hundred or so today. I value my friends." McQueen rose, nodding politely as he carried his empty dishes over to the counter.
"Over seven... ah, hell, no way he's spent that much. How could he have that much set aside?"
Someone groaned, "Lawrence, don't you ever pay attention? The man got damn near three thousand in compensation for what the AIs did to him." The voice grew grim. "Not nearly enough to pay for twenty days in the hands of those scum sucking things."
"Twenty days? I don't believe it. Why the hell is he walking around then?" Lawrence stood up abruptly. "Come on, McQueen. Tell us how you chummied up to the AIs to make your time easy." He shook off the hands striving to make him sit down.
Taking a deep breath and drawing on the calming techniques of the Eastern philosophies he was studying, McQueen turned and walked over to Lawrence's table. Keeping his voice calm and level was an effort, but he said, "Lawrence, shut the fuck up. I have no intention of ruining the holiday for the rest of these officers, describing what was done to me, because you can't believe I survived torture, and worse, at the hands of my captors." He took another breath and took the plunge he had been avoiding since arriving in the 127th squadron. "It's all on record. Look it up and the records on similar incidents over the last hundred and fifty years. I expect a ten page report, a concise report, not a rant about me or Invitroes, on my desk by twenty hundred tonight, in triplicate. And be assured that I will not be the only one reading it, Lieutenant."
The stunned look on Lawrence's face and his companions nearly made McQueen smile. They hadn't expected him to act like a superior officer. He nodded to the others briefly. "You have a lot to do, Lieutenant. Don't waste time."
Spinning on his heel, McQueen walked out of the mess and felt a shudder run through him. Well, he had survived the first time putting his foot down. Tonight he would see if Lawrence actually performed the task. He could hear Crosby's voice telling him it was about time he started acting like an officer.
He still had a couple of hours before he was supposed to meet with the commandant and decided to spend them in the gym and swimming pool. The last thing he needed was to worry about his meeting.
****
McQueen nodded to Captain Brown and thanked the security officer for his assistance. As the jeep drove away, he squared his shoulders and entered the base headquarters, limping and holding his left arm close to his chest.
The same lieutenant who had left the message looked up from an imposing metal desk and nodded. "He's expecting you, Captain. Go right in."
His explanation for his lateness died on his lips and McQueen wondered what kind of trouble he was in. Seeing his hand shake as he reached for the doorknob made McQueen grimace and he paused to rally his flagging courage.
"It's ok, Captain. He knows why you're late."
A deep breath and McQueen opened the door.