Chapter 8

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A flight training class arrived in the forward simulator berthing at 1100 hours to discover that one of the machines was already occupied. While the teacher droned on and on about their use and the rules involved, a few of the cadets couldn't help but peek at the occupied simulator's view monitors. It was a deep space simulation, and the pilot was carefully maneouvering through an obstacle course while being attacked by battle pods and floating turrets. The pilot was apparently quite talented, and was racking up quite a score, but she was trying too hard. Grunts and curses were emanating from the cockpit, some of them loud enough that the instructor actually stopped his lecturing to come over and see what was disturbing his class. As he approached, the simulation ended and the canopy opened. A woman stood up, and, cursing under her breath, pulled off her helmet. Her short, red hair was drenched in sweat, as was her flight suit. Then she jumped from the cockpit, not bothering to use the ladder, and tossed her helmet at one of the students as she walked past them and out of the room. 

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I turned the water of the shower off and walked into the bunk room, drying myself off. As I fastened my bra strap, I noted the clock said 11:55. <Uh, oh... I'm gonna be late,> I thought as I quickly pulled the rest of my clothes on. I grabbed my leather flight jacket off one of the bunks as I hurried out and ran down the hallway. <I didn't even have time to figure out what I was gonna ask him!> I thought, then I grinned, <I guess I'll just have to rely on my instinct for journalism.>My watch said 12:08 by the time I made it to the mess hall, and it was getting full. I pushed my way through the crowd, looking for Lt. Braywater, and saw an empty table. The last one. I grabbed a waiter as I sat down and gasped, "I need a Coke! Please!" He nodded and disappeared into the crowd. Everybody was talking about the previous day's battle, bragging about this rescue or that daring kill. Few were noteworthy, but fewer were true. I did my best to catch names and ranks, hoping to hear a name I could use later. 

The waiter reappeared and set a glass and a can of generic cola down in front of me. I was about to complain, but he disappeared again. <I gotta learn how to do that,> I thought, pouring the cola into the glass and taking a sip. 

A voice said, "Is this seat taken?" 

I looked up and saw Braywater. <Good, it's not some jock pilot,> I thought, smiling. I stood up and extended my hand in greeting. Once again, he looked at it and responded with a quick salute. <Okay, you want military? I'll give ya military.> I gave him a grin and said, "You're ten minutes late." 

"I'm sorry about that, the lifts were being used by the reconstruction crews - I had to use the stairs." Then moved to sit down, and I returned to my seat. I saw that waiter again, so I waved him over. 

"It's okay," I reassured Braywater. "It gave me a chance to listen to the shipboard gossip." The waiter walked up to the table, and I grinned at him, "Would it be possible to have a steak sandwich, please?" I knew I wouldn't get one. I didn't get one last night, either. 

The waiter shook his head. "I'm afraid that, with the restrictions, it will not be poss..." 

Then Braywater whipped out his ID badge and stuck it in the guy's face for a few seconds, saying, "The lady asked for a steak sandwich. And I'll have my usual." 

With that, the waiter gave a crisp: "Yes, sir!" and disappeared back into the crowd. <How come I don't get that kind of response? I'm a Lieutenant too...> I thought, looking back at Braywater. <What, exactly, is going on with you, Braywater?>He put his ID back in his pocket, and glanced in my direction. "R.H.I.P." 

"Rhip?" <What does that mean? For that matter, what does Stat mean? These military types...>"Rank Hath Its Privileges. And before you ask; No, I'm not that important, just important enough to get you that steak sandwich you wanted." 

"Sorry if it caused any trouble, but I just had to ask," I apologised. He took a sip of his drink, and I thought, <I've got to think of something to ask him... Anything> "So, tell me," I grinned sarcastically. "What did you have on that gurney... A dead body?" This obviously took him by surprise, as he nearly spat out his drink and the blood rushed from his face. Then he started to choke, so I asked him, "Are you okay? You look a little pale." 

I reached over to hold him steady, but he waved my hand away. When he got himself under control, he asked, "Do you always skip the smalltalk and go straight into the matter of the subject like this?" 

<All the time!> "Why?," I asked, thinking <What would you expect of a reporter?> "Is there a problem?" 

"No, I guess not," he replied. 

"I suppose it was some sort of equipment for your plane." Then I started coming up with some good questions: "Weren't you the guy I saw sitting in bay 5B? And the pilot of the VX-001?" 

"Yes, I was both. And the trick of it all is remote controls. It's a pet project of mine." 

"Well, that explains why it was whisked away so fast. So, how does it work? VR? Neural connection?" <I'm on a roll, now.>"Nothing that complex, I'm afraid. We're still working with a modified simulator control set coupled with a super computer." 

That threw me for a loop... So I double-checked, "Super computer? I thought those things were huge and required sub-zero temperatures to operate..." He nodded. "But the thing you were using was nowhere near as big as it should have been, then. Where'd you put the computer?" Things were beginning to get interesting here. I gave my pocket, and thusly the active tape recorder inside, a reassuring pat. 

Unfortunately, he shook his head. "I'm afraid I'm not cleared to answer some of your questions," he said. 

"Oh," I said, thinking, <I'll have to find out another way, then.> "I see." I was about to start with a whole new line of questioning, but the waiter arrived with our lunches, and I was starving. 

After I took a few bites of my sandwich, savouring the wonderful flavour of the beef and barbecue sauce, I looked to see what he was eating. A pork chop, some mashed potatoes, and a few vegetables, along with a few miscoloured cubes on the side. 

I asked, "What the hell is that?" 

He pointed to his plate and replied, "Pork, tomatoes, carrot, peas, mashed potatoes..." 

"No, I mean these small cubes on the side," I said, pointing to them. 

"Silicate, borate, lead crystal, kevlar...." 

"Kevlar?" I interrupted. "You chew on Kevlar?" I couldn't believe it. 

He smiled at me before explaining, "Kevlar jelly, actually. I suffer from a few deficiencies in my diet." Then he picked up the silicate cube and swallowed it, grimacing at the taste. "These make up for it. I assure you they taste as bad as you can imagine. Except the crystal; it tastes a little bit salty." 

"Jeez. I knew Doc Lang's crew was bizarre, but this takes the cake!" <Oops! I forgot I was was with military... I shouldn't use that tone with him.> 

He put his fork down and looked at me sternly, straight in the eyes. "How did you know that?" he asked, quietly. 

<Whew... he didn't mind.> I took another bite of my sandwich as I said, "I scanned your service dossier." 

"What else did it say?" he continued. <Hey, I'm the one who's supposed to be asking questions...> 

"Only the usual drivel about your record. You had some flight training, only you had some sort of inner-ear imbalance which stopped you from graduating. So you switched to research. You were on the second team to enter the SDF-1 after it had crashed and you spent quite a bit of time in there, examining it. During which time you suffered some accident which had you laid up for almost a year." Then my mind made a connection that seemed to fit nicely, and I double-checked: "This... deficiency you're suffering wouldn't have anything to do with the accident, would it?" 

Braywater finally relaxed, and actually smiled at me, saying, "The accident kinda screwed-up my metabolism, permanently. I now have to chew on these cubes to try to keep the balance stable." 

After I took another bite of my sandwich, I asked my next question: "What about the VX-001? Would it be possible to see it?" 

He started at this, and almost yelped, "NO!" Then he calmed down again, and continued with, "I mean, it's currently being repaired and I'm afraid you do not have the security clearance to see it anyway. Sorry, Lieutenant Landers." 

<That means I get to go looking for it...> I couldn't help but smile at the thought. <I just love detective work!> Then I took the last bite of my sandwich. After I swallowed, I said, "Call me Kay. And that's okay. I'll just take a raincheck to be the first one to see it when it gets declassified, all right?" <If all else fails, follow the rules.>He replied, "That'll be acceptable, lieu... Kay. By the way, call me Thallin." 

Right then, I remembered I had another reservation at the simulator. So, I grabbed my cola can, stood up, and said, "Well, Thallin, thank you for the meal and the pleasant conversation, but I have to get going. Keep in touch." I almost put out my hand to shake goodbye, but turned it into a proper military salute when I remembered. I gave him a wink and walked out of the mess hall as casually as I could. 

As soon as I was safely down the hall, I pulled my tape recorder out, stopped it, and gave it a kiss. <This oughta be the scoop of the century,> I thought as I replaced it. Then I walked back to the berthing to change into my flight suit. 

Forward to Chapter 9.
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