Benediction

The killer was awake again. He gasped in lungfuls of oxygen as if starved for that necessity. The effort made those organs burn as if he were breathing in noxious fumes. He blinked his eyes at the blackness; finally he could focus well enough to discern a slight difference in the shadows beyond him. It was as if his senses had been dormant and he was being reborn. He had no concept of self, yet the intellect was definitely in existence. He could form thoughts and recognized sensations, but was the blank tablet to be yet written upon.

He willed muscles to flex and found that though they were able, they were stiff from lack of use. Don’t panic, its probably atrophy, he told himself by way of explanation. That’s an odd thought, he mused, perhaps I have a medical background.

He spent some time considering his identity; he kept drawing a blank. Anger rose like bile and with it a loss of reason. He forced himself to take deep calming breaths; no forward progress would be made while he allowed himself to wallow in such an emotion.
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The "Pilgrim's Progress" was doing a booming business this evening, even by Sam's standards. The cavernous facility was packed to the veritable rafters with the regulars, the newcomers and various visitors. Sam stood behind the bar and rubbed his hands together, a huge smile on his great ugly mug. The beer and wine were flowing freely, as were the profits.

Smoke hung thick in the air from a variety of contraband, one of the advantages to being so far away from ministry headquarters. Strange lyrical rhythmic pulses echoed off the shadowy walls, dim lighting was preferred, so as to permit the greatest privacy for all the patrons, those making clandestine assignations, or arranging questionable purchases and it didn't hurt that the near darkness hid Sam's 'beauty marks', as he called them. Of course, out here on Cebus III, many items were hard to come by and so the enterprising entrepreneur could make a modest profit from the enlisted men.

Sam was happy to be run off his feet, he was replacing kegs of his local brew faster than usual. Up until the present, he had been one of only a few civvies on Cebus. Of course, he had to view the expansion with trepidation. It would mean all manner of civilian  encroachment. The base personnel would look to bring family out to settle, which would mean that other services would grow to accommodate them, among these he had no doubt he'd get some competition. In a way, he wished everything would stay the same; but then again a little extra profit was no small compensation. He happily pulled another draft for the new punk he'd been chatting up for the last half-hour.

"So, what kind of action do you see out here? By the Gods! It seems like the ass-end of space here. I've never seen it so rough!" The youngster blew on the head of his end of space here. I've never seen it so rough!" The youngster blew on the head of his beer, feeling somewhat cocky.

Sam wiped errant froth from his eye. "Well, we get all kinds of excitement here. Pirates, rebels, settlers, miners, engineers, exploration outfits, political activists. social reformists, religious leaders, scientific teams, diplomatic envoys, fleeing felons…the list goes on. You name it, we've seen 'em!"

"Yes, but how do the pilots handle the isolation? It must drive them space happy!"

Sam shook his head. This greenhorn couldn't have seen any service, must be straight out of the classroom. He obviously had no idea, perhaps even had a few fears to face down himself.

"You'll settle in soon enough. I assure you the ministry has good reason to have an outpost all the way out here. You simply cannot imagine the traffic that passes through, and for every party we have coming through, we seem to always have another that turns up in reaction to their presence.

“I think you'll find we see plenty of action. You won't be disappointed! Hope to be a hero, eh?" Sam vigorously wiped imaginary fingerprints from a clean glass.
A tall, blond officer, whose uniform identified him as a pilot, slapped the newcomer on the shoulder hard enough to cause the recipient to cough and splutter.

"Oh sorry, pal! Are you okay? You know if you want to hear about action, you should ask Sam here about his days in the service. He was on Mars when the armada attacked. He has enough stories to put hair even on your chest!" The pilot's companions laughed heartily.

The newcomer shrank down onto his barstool. "Really. So what was it like in those days, Pops?"

Sam bristled at the disrespectful term. The pilot came to the defense of the barkeep. "Sam was injured in the invasion. Show him your radiation burn scars, Sam."

Sam declined and continued to polish the very clean glass. "Radiation scars? I thought the Space ministry mothballed nuclear powered fighters long ago? " The greenhorn sputtered trying to maintain face.

Sam grew contemplative for a minute and then seemed to rebound. "We never had the cushy outfits you guys fly. Our ships were held together with rust! They never inspected them for safety, no regular maintenance checks neither! We spent nearly all our waking hours in the cockpit! Got so we had to re-learn walking on our own two feet once we were topside! We flew on instinct, it was in the blood! Those so-called tactics that they teach now, wouldn’t help you survive for a minute out there!" His rapt audience was dead quiet.

"Yes, well that was before they found out about the design problems of the Stealth 13s. We flew 'em for well over five years before they told us. Once those old style generators took one too many hits in the right spot, they emitted more rads than the safety regs allowed. It was less of a science and more of a lottery in those days.

Mind you, we lost half our number to rad burns. ‘Course we pilots know the risks when we sign up, but war don’t have no professional respect. Its one thing to lose half your squadron, but the worst is the civilian losses.”

“There were a great many lost on Marsbase.” The youngster interjected. Sam swept him a disapproving look for the interruption.

“Right you are. The Ministry lost hundreds, but the losses were incalculable when you added in those civvies who died when the oxygen domes were blown away.”

“When the Armada made their surprise attack, you can bet it was well timed. They struck before war was declared plus they chose a para-ministry base where they'd be sure and get a good civilian body count. They were dirty fighters. Negotiations were still going on. We heard later that the diplomatic party was thrown in the brig without benefit of legal counsel regardless of their so-called immunity." Sam heaved a big sigh.

"Over half the inhabitants of that station were non-ministry personnel. Everyone I knew lost someone. There was whole families living on Mars station. Ministry figured it was safe enough, couldn't get much closer to Earth Central Defence. But in the end that didn't help."

"So why was Mars Station even developed? I mean, if Earth was so close?" Sebring asked.

"Well, the atmosphere or rather the lack of it, meant that starships and cruisers could dock directly on the surface. This saved on the cost of fancy facilities to bring people and cargo in and out. The top brass didn't have to worry so much about environmental issues like sound pollution, the impact on cities and that. People were pretty much up in arms about such concerns back in those days. Plus this meant that the freighters could be heavier, larger, goods could be moved in large quantities for less" The youngster nodded. “The cost of progress…..”

"So where were you when the attack began?"

"Coming back from patrol. We were the only outfit that didn't get caught with our pants down. We could see the explosions and we heard transmissions from the Crim fighters and SOS calls from the base. You could hear the panic of the civilians, the screams and the children crying. The oxygen domes provided plenty of fuel for the explosive devices. Some thought they'd hidden ignition devices in the buildings below.

The cannons kept blasting away trying to hit the incoming ships, but their numbers were so large that when they hit one it would drop back and another ship would take its place. Of course, we couldn't approach the base for all the flack and incoming fire.

Our squadron came up behind the Armada and we just blasted away until we made a hole in them. Then our Captain flew right into the lead ship and took it out. We lost him in the explosion.

Strange how bright the fire was, yet no sound. Talk about the dead of space! Once their command ship was crippled, they seemed to get confused as to who to follow, sounded like some dissention in the ranks, by that time, Earth had dispatched the greatest wave of fighters you ever hope to see.

One minute we were alone, almost surrounded by the enemy, the next we were being backed up by every fighter in the fleet.  We stopped the invasion, but it was too late for Marsbase. They waited twenty years before they rebuilt it, you know. The superstitious fools almost made a damn shrine of it. That attack was one of the reasons that a lot of bases, including this one, are mainly built underground."

"Did they pension you off after the big one?"

"No, I stayed in the forces for a while, But it was never the same. We lost so many of our lads, there was always this overwhelming sadness, we never felt complete you know. I was laid up for a while though. My left leg and arm and that side of my face, took a pretty bad beating."

Sebring squinted in the darkness. "You don't look so bad!" The other pilots laughed.

"Yes, well, you should have seen me before. The ladies used to follow me around and beg for my attention. I was quite the lad in those days. Spoiled my good looks."

"Right Sam, that's why you've got the best looking wife on this rock!" another pilot scoffed.

"I can still appreciate a beautiful woman. Like that one over there." He pointed out a uniformed woman seated in a booth across from the bar. She had Captain's bars on her shoulder, a thick rope of dark braid snaked over the bars. Her face was turned away in conversation, so Sebring couldn't get a good look.
"Aw, Sam that one? You can do better than that!" the pilot scoffed.

"Now, lad! What's the matter with that fine specimen?" Sam laughed aloud.
"The ice queen! She is the epitome of the ball-breaker. Been here five years, made Captain in eighteen months. Got her own squadron. ....." the pilot called Darrow complained sipping from his glass.

"Now, come on. We know the problem is that she won't give you the time of day!" One of his buddies piped up. Laughter surrounded them. The female bartender at the far end of the bar looked up at the sound.

The youngster indicated the lady barkeep with his mug of beer. "Now that's a beauty!" he said. Indeed the lady he indicated was a striking beauty, blond, green-eyed and statuesque. She was a picture perfect vision. The men followed his gaze. The crowd of pilots guffawed and slapped his back good-naturedly.

"What?"

"Well, pal" Darrow peered with myopic vision, thanks to the beer, at the greenhorn's nametag "Sebring, that lovely lady is taken."

Not to be deterred, the youngster rose unsteadily to his feet and tugged his brand new uniform into place.

"Not yet, she isn't. I have moves she's never seen!" Sam's eyes grew large and he sniffed his disbelief.

"I doubt that, mister. You'd better watch out for her husband, he's a right mean one!"

"Sure, sure old man!"

"No really, Sebring", Darrow smiled. "You'd better listen to Pops. You'd have a better chance with the Ice Queen over there!"

"Well, I can take one of these rusty grunts. Point me at him." The pilots spun Sebring around until he'd made a complete 360 and faced the barkeep again.

"How'd ya do!" Sam stuck his face up to the younger man's. The pilots naturally thought this was hilarious.

"She's your wife?" Sebring was incredulous. Sam nodded soberly. He gestured to the lady barkeep, who responded with a gesture of her own. Sebring shook his head.

"Well, maybe I would have better luck with the other one!" He turned and leaned an elbow on the bar, unfortunately he was none too steady and his arm slipped from under him. In the dark, smoky atmosphere the other woman didn’t look so bad.

"I think you need a little assistance here." Darrow joked. He and a pal grabbed the younger man under each arm and escorted him over to the booth.

"Captain " Darrow greeted her. She rose and Sebring was dismayed to find her as tall as himself. She met his stare head on with warm, brown eyes that seemed to smile as they took in his bedraggled condition.

"I'd like you to meet a new pilot, Airman Sebring." Sebring managed a semblance of a salute. "Sir!"

"Relax, Private, we're off duty now." She acknowledged him.

"Exactly, well my new buddies here inform me that you require thawing......er, company".  The good captain's companions and indeed, all the surrounding patrons suddenly became greatly interested in the exchange. "And I'm your man, sir." Sebring attempted another salute and managed to poke himself in the eye. Snickers filled the air.

"And who put you up to rendering this service, Private?"

"Well, it was really my idea, sir." He inclined his head toward Sam's lady "I was after that fine lady over the bar, but I was persuaded you were more needy."

Laughter broke out among those within hearing distance.

"Well, that's commendable. We like to see volunteers come forward. What squad are you assigned to greenie?" Captain Evans asked straight-faced.
"Delta squadron, sir."

"Ah, excellent! No doubt I can count on your continued service then." The young man's brows knit together, and as realization sunk in, he wavered close enough to read the insignia on the Captain's name tag. Just his luck. It read Captain Evans- Delta Squadron. He suddenly felt very green and politely upchucked all over the good Captain's boots. He’d made a wonderful first impression.

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