Okay. Tomorrow night, Donovan.”
“Yes, sir.”
Sara looked at Fyn. “Sorry about that.”
“Chewie? Booming?”
“Booming is having fun, a party. We do the music.” She sighed. “ Chewie …that’s a little harder to explain.”
* * * *
An invisible city on an island.
No wonder no one had been able to find the lost outpost. And Sara, these earth people, seemed to have stumbled across it by accident.
He’d always believed the gods had a sense of humor. Now he knew he was right.
Too bad the Dusan would never know the joke. If they hadn’t attacked this ship, Sara would never have come near the planet, let alone any island.
If it was the lost outpost. But it had to be. What else could it be out here?
As Fyn walked with Sara through the ship, it seemed like every direction he looked, there were people—interesting to study, but so many of them. Carey had explained rank and pointed out the “fighter pukes” and the “jarheads” or Marines. They all stood tall and looked each other in the eye. They were proud and confident, but it wasn’t a boastful pride. Their confidence came, it seemed to him, from being well trained and well armed. They were like no other military group in his experience.
They didn’t come here looking for a fight. Fyn could tell that in the way they dealt with him. But they weren’t afraid of a fight if it found them. That was obvious.
Don’t disappoint me, young man.
He didn’t want to. Kalian would consider their easy-going trust a sign of weakness, but Fyn wasn’t so sure. Something about the colonel demanded his respect. They’d be good allies, but the Ojemba didn’t make alliances. They relied only on themselves. Kalian believed that trust was something they couldn’t afford in a fight against an enemy that showed no mercy. For the first time, Fyn wondered if he was right about that.
So far the only one who didn’t seem to trust him was the one they called the SO, the security officer. He didn’t much care. He did care what Sara thought of him…though he shouldn’t.
The Ojemba could leave you, but no one left them.
As interesting as the earth people were, Fyn was glad to reach the empty repair bay and have the doors hiss closed behind them. He needed to get accustomed to being around people again.
He was also anxious to study her ship more carefully, though he only had limited access to any of the bays. Sara wore something similar to the Dusan disc that gave her access to the bay, before the door would open. It hung from a chain around her neck.
They all seemed to have one, but they were different colors, probably different levels of security. The cards also had their likeness imprinted on them.
“All we’ll probably have time to do today is dismantle,” Sara said. “Briggs will want us to line the damaged parts up on either side, so he can determine if they are scrap or salvageable.”
She opened the doors to a cabinet standing next to the craft, revealing rows of tools.
“Notice where you grab it, so you can put it back or Briggs will make me drop and give him fifty.”
Fyn looked at her, one brow arched. “What?”
“You’ve never heard of push-ups?”
He shook his head.
“Lucky you,” she said. “They’re—”
“Why don’t you show him, Captain ?” The man dragged out her rank, almost mockingly.
Fyn turned toward the voice. Found a big man standing in the doorway. Fyn was taller, but not wider. This guy was really wide, with a square face, sun reddened skin and close-cropped hair. His clothing was similar to Sara’s, that mottled fabric, that Carey called ABU’s, short for Airman Battle Uniform. It looked light-weight and comfortable.
Sara sighed, but Fyn noticed she didn’t retreat into cool, like she did with everyone else. She looked resigned, but her eyes were warm.
“Briggs. This is Fyn. Fyn, this is Master Sergeant Briggs, Retired. He’s attached to the wing as a Special Consultant.”
Fyn almost asked what they
Learning to Kill: Stories