“Oh!” Jorgen said, stopping in place. “Spensa. I didn’t hear you…er…teleport…”
“Sorry,” I said, blushing. “Should have jumped to the corridor. Wouldn’t want to surprise you in a towel or something. Um. Again…”
“I thought maybe we could have a meal,” he said, gesturing to the table. “During our meeting. Since we’re both so busy these days. It would be more efficient.”
“That makes sense,” I said. “And the candles…to save on energy?”
He shrugged in an adorably awkward way, and even smiled—a bashful, boyish grin. Scud. I’d been prepared to deal with the loss of friends and home, prepared to deliver myself up as the weapon my society demanded. I’d been prepared for everything but him. This.
I clutched Doomslug for support, but she fluted at me and immediately teleported away. How had she known? She was a slug! The little traitor.
“We never get to spend time together,” Jorgen said. “To figure out what it is we are, what we want. So I thought maybe…I’d just take the initiative. Do the Spensa thing, you know? Jump right in.”
“I think I know what we are, together,” I whispered. “What I want it to be, at least. But I don’t know if this is the right time. With everything that’s happening…”
“Maybe for a little while, pretend it can be right?” He gestured at the table. “Look, it’s not even a proper dinner.”
“Not proper?” I stared at the immaculate place settings, the candles. He even had a white tablecloth.
“Sure,” he said. “See, there’s only three courses, and we don’t even have separate dessert spoons.”
“Oh, Jorgen,” I said, my facade melting. “Please don’t tell me you read the rules on serving a meal.”
“Of course not,” he said. “It was part of my tutoring. I’ve known the proper setup for a formal meal since I was seven.”
He was so earnest, so…well, wonderful. I couldn’t keep my cynicism properly in place. It fled before him like a rat from light. All right, I told myself. I’ll pretend. For this meal only…I’ll pretend that it can all work out.
Suddenly I felt…right again. It was probably an illusion, but in that moment I was certain this was where I belonged. Though a lot of things were off, possibly broken beyond repair—he was right, and we were right.
I sat in the chair he’d provided for me. Then I grabbed the knife in a fist and rammed the handle down on the table and said, “I approve of this offering.”
He rolled his eyes, getting out the first course—which was an honest-to-goodness salad with no seaweed or algae.
“Look,” I said to him, “you get your way to do things from your books. I get my way from mine.”
“I’ve tried to find those books,” he said. “Read a good chunk of a Conan novel while you were gone.”
“You did?” I asked, melting a little further. “Aww…”
“I didn’t find many of your quotes in there.”
“Gran-Gran liked to embellish,” I explained. “And I learned how to do a little—a lot—on my own.” I put aside the knife and attacked the salad. I’d always loved how a crunchy salad responded to the stabby-stabby motions of a good forking. I’ll admit that I also exaggerated because I knew Jorgen found it amusing. He liked to joke about how I did everything—from piloting to eating a salad—with enthusiasm.
“You ever wonder what life would be like without this?” he asked. “The war—the military. What our lives would be if we’d been born during some other time?”
“I used to think it would be boring,” I said, spinning my fork, and finishing off the salad with a good coup de grâce. It tasted wonderful—so much better than seaweed, which had to be dried to imitate this crispness. There was even some beat, which I’d last eaten in the nowhere.
I liked it here, though I could remember responding differently there. Those days, now only two weeks past, were starting to take on a dreamlike air. Had that really been me having those adventures, in a land where time barely mattered?
“Used to?” Jorgen asked, drawing my attention back to the meal. “You think differently now? You wouldn’t find a life without fighting boring? What changed?”
“Starsight,” I said. “I saw people living real lives, Jorgen. Our enemies, but they were just people. Building families. Living. I realized I was the broken one, not them. Now it sounds wonderful to live a life without the war. I could still fly; that wouldn’t change. I could do it all day, to keep my skills up, then come home at night—and you’d have spent your day doing something Jorgenesque. Finding misspelled words in operations manuals maybe.”
“Please,” he said. “It’s not the misspelled words that are a problem. I barely even mark those when I find them. It’s the regulations being out of order or having the wrong numbers that’s a problem—that might cause a breakdown of command.”
He leaned on his elbow, smiling at me, then suddenly he blushed and glanced down at his plate.
I implied that we’d be living together, I realized. Our relationship was so weird. Probably because it was always being interrupted when I went galivanting off. At times it was like we’d always been together. At others, the mere mention of our status made us blush like schoolkids.
“Hey,” I said to him. “You said we should pretend it can all work out. Right? Well, why don’t we pretend something else too? That it’s not awkward. That it’s okay. Whatever we are, it’s okay, Jorgen.”
“Deal,” he said. Then he took the top off the tray, revealing the next course.
Steak.
He’d found us steak.
I’d read about it. I’d occasionally had tastes of pork as a pilot—though mostly chicken or soy had been the proteins available in flight school. I was well acquainted with the taste of rat. But I’d never had an actual steak.
“Scud!” I said. “How much did those cost?”
“You saved the entire planet,” he said. “Twice. Does it matter how much it cost?”
“Where did you even get it?”
“There are cows on Evershore,” he said. “I’ve always wanted to try some.”
I poked at the brown lump of flesh, and then cut into it. And scud, it bled. “It’s not cooked!”
“The kitsen chefs tell us this is how it’s supposed to be,” he said. “They…were very assertive about it.”
Huh. I tried a bite, and found it strangely soft. I’d assumed steak to be a warrior’s meal—but I was accustomed to meat being stringy and tough. That seemed like what a warrior should eat. Not this soft, melting pillow-meat.
I didn’t say anything though, because he’d obviously put a lot of effort into this meal. Indeed, I put aside my worries for the moment and scooted my seat around the table and pulled my plate up next to his. I wanted to sit beside him, not so far away.
Sitting so close instantly made it hard to cut our steaks, but I didn’t retreat. I’d laid a claim on this particular hillside, and I would defend it until I fell. I wanted to be next to him right now. Awkward or not.
Jorgen looked at me, then deliberately cut his steak into a lot of little chunks. That seemed strange until he put his knife down and started eating with just his fork, which let him put the other arm around me. His heat, his muscles, tight against mine. Awkward, yes. It was harder to eat this way, but I wouldn’t have changed a thing.
“This is the single most romantic thing I’ve ever done,” I told him.
“Me too,” he said. Then he grimaced. “Not a lot of competition, mind you…”
“Oh, come on,” I said, leaning against his chest, our meal forgotten for now. “Me attacking you back in flight school wasn’t romantic?”
“It’s slightly outdone,” he said, “by the time you forced me to break protocol to help you steal a booster for M-Bot.”
“At least the time I appeared as a ghost in your bathroom was romantic, right?”
“Why do all of these examples involve me being embarrassed, humiliated, or bullied?”
I pushed against him, practically shoving him off his chair as I got in close. “And this? Does this embarrass, humiliate, or bully you?”
“Not sure,” he said. “But whatever it is…I could use a little more of it.”
I smiled, wondering what was next. Was this the part where he swept me off my feet? I’d never understood that phrase. The only time I wanted to be carried was if I was bleeding out, and he was romantically carting me to the medic. Instead, I gave up trying to scoot closer and closer, and crawled up onto him—in his lap, facing him, my hands on his shoulders, my head level with his and our noses nearly touching.
Tentative, he put his hands around me. And maybe now I could see the appeal of being “swept.” His arms pulled tighter. Making me feel safe, because whatever life threw at us, one of us could fix it. Either I’d shoot it in the head, or he’d wrap the problem in rules and regulations until it didn’t know which way was up. Then I’d shoot it in the head.
I felt so horribly awkward. Was this seductive? It felt embarrassing. Why did nobody in the stories ever feel embarrassed? All the same, I loved it.
And stars, if I could have frozen a moment, that was the one I’d have picked. Particularly as I—building up my courage—leaned forward and kissed him. A real kiss, the way I’d always wanted and imagined. Not a quick peck in the dining hall. A deep, full, extended kiss—a melding of two selves, our breath, our heat, our very souls.
I pulled back and smiled.
He cleared his throat “Um…what now?” he asked. “I don’t, um…I mean…”
“Little fast?” I asked.
“A little,” he admitted.
“Then maybe we can just sit like this,” I said. “A little longer before finishing the meal.”
He smiled. “I’m sorry for how weird I’ve been lately.”
“How weird you’ve been?” I said from his lap. “Jorgen, I’m the one with a delver piggybacking my soul.”
“Yeah, but that sort of thing is expected of you.”
“It is?”
“Sure. The fact that you do unexpected, unbelievable things is basically your primary trait. I’m supposed to be the straightforward, stable one.” He grimaced, hands still on my sides, fingers wrapping around to my back, thumbs on the front rubbing against my ribs, inching idly upward, bringing an increasing flush to my cheeks.
Please. Let this last.
But it couldn’t. Because it was so hard to keep pretending that I was good for him. That I wouldn’t blow all of this up and hurt him—making his feelings the collateral damage of my inevitable implosion. He’d asked me to pretend for this meal, and I had. But this wasn’t reality for me, not any longer. Not as the weapon I had become.
As soon as reality reasserted itself, I couldn’t help remembering what I’d done on Luna. How little control I had. How likely I was to hurt him.
My soul started to vibrate as I thought about it. About what would happen if instead of teleporting random objects around me, I started teleporting people.
Beyond that, Jorgen seemed so distracted by his duties. I didn’t want to push him further. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to go further myself.
So I climbed free, settling back on the seat beside him. He put his arm around me and leaned against me, sighing. And this did seem less awkward. I snuggled against him. Like a slug in her sling. Holster. Whatever.
“How did we get here?” he whispered eventually. “You realize that the entire universe turns on what I decide next? I don’t know what to do. Why does everyone think I will know what to do?”
“Because,” I said, poking him in the side, “I’m pretty sure out of all the people in the DDF, you’re the only one who has actually read the entire policies and procedures manual.”
“I know it’s a joke, but you really shouldn’t say things like that. New recruits might think it’s okay to ignore the manual.”
Scud. He really thought that we had all read it, didn’t he? I didn’t say anything. He’d be mortified if he knew the truth. But Jorgen, blessed Jorgen, was lost in his own thoughts. He did tend to get that way. He hadn’t even realized, moments ago, what he’d literally had in his hands.
Perhaps with good reason. He had just cause to be distracted.
“If I make the wrong call,” he whispered, “so many people will die.”
He felt so tense. Yeah, he didn’t need seduction. He needed something else. Similar, but different.
“Come,” I said, pulling him to his feet. I settled him on the floor, then sat behind him on his couch and forced him to pull his uniform jacket off. I hadn’t ever really given a massage before, but I’d punched a lot of punching bags, so I figured I had some experience.
He groaned softly as I kneaded his shoulders. “That’s nice,” he said. “Thanks.”
“I didn’t think about how stressful this has been for you,” I told him.
“Scud, yes,” he said. “It was bad enough when it was only our flight I had to worry about—now every person we lose, it’s my fault, directly or indirectly. I hate it. Except…”
I pressed at the knots in his back, waiting.
“…except,” he continued, “if I don’t do this, someone else will. And these days I’m not convinced that any of them can. Strangely, I’m the most capable person for the job, now that Cobb has stepped down. Which means that if I say no, and someone else gets even more people killed, that will be my fault too.”
“That’s a twisted way of looking at it, Jorgen.”
“Maybe,” he said. “But it’s also true. Stepping back now would be cowardice—not in some clichéd way. True cowardice. Because I know I can do the best job, so if I abandon this post, I’m doing it to force someone else to make the tough decisions. I’m many things, Spensa, but I’m not that man. The man who would let people die to avoid feeling responsible.”
“I understand,” I said. “This…I think I legitimately do.”
“I know.” He reached up to rest his hand on mine, which was on his shoulder. “People think we’re different; they find it strange that we’re together. They don’t see this. There are things that somehow I know only you understand.”
I let my soul cytonically reach out to his. Vibrate against him, giving him a warming sense—telling him that I did understand. He was facing the same moment I had, in the cockpit long ago, learning where the real line between cowardice and heroism lay.
As I did, I felt the delver inside me watching all of this. Learning it…and remembering. Yes, this was what it was like to be alive. This was what it was like to connect with someone. This had led to pain, but it was so wonderful.
Wonderful enough to be worth the pain, I told the delver. That is what your kind have forgotten. I forget it sometimes too. That’s why I need Jorgen. To remind me.
That…Chet replied, is what I need to remember.
Jorgen’s soul vibrated back against mine, and the knots in his shoulders finally started to soothe away. Stars. I’d do anything to help him carry this burden. I’d been so focused on myself, I’d entirely missed what this was doing to Jorgen. I really leaned into the massage, and he sighed. Then he stretched.
“All right, your turn,” he said.
“But—”
“Spensa, I can feel the tension in you. You can’t show me your soul and then think you can lie. Besides, I’m well aware how hard these last few months have been for you.”
Damn. Well, I supposed he was right. Best to just go with it. I climbed off the couch, threw off my uniform jacket, and flopped down on the floor in front of him.
“Have at it, then,” I said. “Don’t be gentle.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said with a chuckle, beginning to massage my back.
After a moment of being annoyed at it, I reached back and undid my bra. He hesitated.
“Is…that a sign?” he asked.
“Jorgen, we blasted right past all the signs. I was literally in your lap a minute ago. But right now, I was promised a back massage—and that’s all I want, if you please.”
He chuckled, though there was an uncomfortable edge to it, and leaned down to continue massaging my back through the thin cloth of my dress shirt. And scud, it felt good. Up until this point, I’d had an unofficial “nobody touches Spensa without getting punched” policy in my life. I might have been a little…on edge about the subject.
But this was so warm, his hands so inviting. Each time they moved to a new part of my back, my skin tingled, and a new ripple of pleasure moved through my body. Yeah, the no-touching policy definitely needed some revision—a loophole for Jorgen. Best part was, this didn’t feel awkward. Not even embarrassing.
Maybe we don’t need to be just a weapon, Chet thought. I see how important this is. The importance of having something to come home to.
I wanted to agree. I really did. But part of me held back, worried about the things I’d been doing lately.
I don’t want to be a monster, Spensa, Chet thought. None of us wanted to be monsters. We delvers just wanted to hide from the pain. And that made us forget how to love, or show empathy. Don’t make the same mistake.
I didn’t want to confront that, so I lay there and enjoyed the massage until Jorgen’s alarm beeped. I cracked an eye, checking the clock.
“You only scheduled an hour for lunch, didn’t you?” I asked.
“Er, yes,” he admitted.
“And now…?”
“I have half an hour to prepare for the planning meeting, where we’ll go over tomorrow morning’s coordinated attack.”
“Great,” I said. “You can do that. So long as you don’t need your hands. Keep massaging.”
He chuckled. But I knew the delay would start eating him up. So I let him do a few more passes on my back, then I sighed and sat up, reaching up behind inside my shirt to fiddle with the bra and get it fastened.
“Later?” he said to me. “Once all this is done. I’ll read the signs better.” He hesitated, then smiled. “I don’t suppose you can write out a manual for me or something?”
I smiled back, settling onto the couch. “I’ll think about it. That can wait. But Jorgen, the way you’re beating yourself up can’t wait. We should talk about it.”
“I don’t know what there is to say,” he said, bringing me my forgotten steak. “I’ve accepted the burden. I’ll do what needs to be done.”
I dug in, finishing the food—I needed the protein, and it would be wrong to waste this. I tried to ignore how like me he sounded when he said that. Scud.
“I know,” he said between bites, still standing, “what the others are saying. They’re worried about our attacks harming noncombatants.”
I stayed silent, just chewing.
“The thing is,” he continued, “my gut says we have to strike in the absolutely most efficient way. We’re walking a sword’s edge, Spensa, just barely balancing. We need every advantage we can get.
“If I order the team to focus on anything other than getting the job done, it won’t be only a few lives that are lost—it could mean millions. It could mean Winzik being able to exterminate everyone who disagrees with him. It could mean slavery or annihilation for all those who sided with us.
“In the face of that, is there any room for mercy? I won’t order attacks on civilian targets, but these supply depots…they’re directly aiding the war effort, and we need to eliminate them.” He stared at his plate, and the bloody mess left from his steak. “That means hurting people who most certainly don’t deserve it. I’ll carry that burden. Someone has to.”
Scud, this was ripping him apart. I could feel it vibrating from his soul to mine. Feeling that anguish made my cytonic senses begin to go out of control again, and the fork vanished from my fingers.
I wrestled back control. This was hard. I couldn’t ignore my emotions, what I wanted. I couldn’t just be a weapon. At the same time, I needed to find a way to help Jorgen shoulder this weight. Was there a way I could protect him, help him?
One idea stood out.
“Jorgen,” I said, testing whether I should say this or not. “We should be liberators. Not copy what the Krell did to us.”
“I know,” he said. “We’ll have that luxury eventually. Once we’re secure, and know the Superiority isn’t going to flatten us any moment. Once we have the upper hand, we can be more…discerning in our strikes.”
“And the hyperslugs?” I asked.
“What about them?”
“Humanoid workers bear some measure of responsibility for being part of one of those supply depots,” I said. “They know people are being forced into servitude in the nowhere to do the mining. So there’s a rationale for attacking there. But the slugs? They’re just captives. And they’re intelligent, Jorgen. Maybe they don’t think like us, but they do think. They’re sapient. We can’t just callously destroy enemy ‘inhibitors’ without acknowledging what we’re doing.”
“You sound like FM,” he said, but smiled as he said it. So I guess that was a good thing? “I acknowledge it, Spensa. But have you studied those wars you always talk about? You know most conquerors conscripted heavily from their conquered populations? War has always been packed with people who didn’t want to be there.”
He was right. These were the same justifications I’d used earlier. The slugs weren’t much different than the unfortunate Polish soldiers forced to fight for their oppressors in World War II, back in Old Earth’s history. And scud, Jorgen was absolutely right. When faced with an unfortunate soldier who was trying to kill you, you didn’t have the luxury of wondering if they wanted to do it. They were there firing on you. And, like it or not, those captive slugs were in the exact same spot.
Unless we killed them, we risked letting even more unfortunate people—or slugs—end up in the same situation. I felt Jorgen’s anguish over this. It thrummed from him as he stared at his empty plate.
I almost left then, my plan coalescing. But I had to try one more thing. “At least don’t attack the installation that has the Broadsiders on the other side,” I said to him. “That one is fully locked down by my friends.”
He considered it. “Your friends are pirates,” he said. “And former Superiority officers. Correct?”
I nodded.
“Spensa, I know you trust them,” he said, “but I can’t. They need to do what is best for them, and I wouldn’t blame them for doing so. If we destroy all the other installations, but leave that one open, your friends will be able to sell the Superiority stone at a highly, highly inflated price. No pirate would be able to resist that. I’m sorry. We have to hit that station too. Your friends on the other side will be safe, but this way they also won’t be tempted.”
It was the same argument FM had made earlier. I had been thinking about what she had said, and I’d decided that there was no way Peg would do that—she would never sell me out. But the fact that I had wondered at first was more evidence that I’d never be able to convince the others. There was no way Jorgen would accept it. I could see why, but it was still frustrating.
“I have to make the decision that gives us the best chance of survival,” he said, reading my expression. “What the Superiority has done to the people it forces to fight us is awful, but I have to stop them to prevent more of it in the future. I owe that to our people.”
I nodded, though I was coming to a different decision. There was a way out of this. I just had to solve the problem for him. My plan began to mature in my head. Risky, but full of possibility. Unfortunately, it involved several elements outside his control.
I knew right then that I couldn’t tell him. Couldn’t involve him. He’d consider it too risky. But tonight, while everyone else planned and prepared, I would have a secret mission of my own. One that, if I was successful, would lead to far less loss of life on both sides. And prevent Jorgen from taking on the burden of those deaths.
I still wasn’t certain I could stop this war from destroying me. But hopefully I could keep it from destroying him too.
