Actions On the Terminal Objective
Paradise was ten years distant. As the journey wore on his fantasies of their future home became more elaborate. As he grew older Tina’s role in them evolved. But she was uncomfortable when he shared this with her.
“You shouldn’t think like that,” she told him. “I’m supposed to be your sister.”
“But you aren’t really,” he protested.
“Please,” she said. “At least wait until we get to Paradise.”
After that he kept the parts about Tina to himself. The miracle planet seemed farther than ever.
~*~
Karl sat on the ground in the reserve area, waiting for the armorer to repair the laser rifle. Sweating inside the claustrophobic protective suit, he breathed slowly, concentrating on relaxing the way Tina had taught him.
Someone placed a hand on his shoulder. “I heard it was pretty rough this morning.”
The chaplain knelt at his side. Karl recognized him from the cross on his helmet. They looked at each other through the eye-lenses of their protective masks. The chaplain had dark, piercing eyes and bushy, black eyebrows.
“Smitty cracked up,” replied Karl.
The chaplain offered him a drink, a flask of whiskey with an adaptor to connect to the drinking tube on his protective mask. “Something to keep up your morale,” he said.
Karl sucked a mouthful through the tube and coughed inside his mask. He sucked another.
“Easy, Son,” said the chaplain.
They sat without speaking. Then the Chaplain asked, “Is Smith a good friend of yours?”
“I hardly know him,” said Karl. “I’m new here. Is he going to be all right?”
The chaplain shook his head. “He was foolish to take off his mask.”
“Do those people really all carry the disease?”
“Aliens,” said the chaplain, sharply. “They’re aliens, not people. And yes, they do. Have you ever seen a man die of Sudden Acute Neuroshock Syndrome?”
Karl shook his head.
“Well, I have. It’s a terrible thing — far worse than anything you’ve seen today. As long as these aliens exist here, we’re not safe. This planet — it’s our last chance. We have to make it safe. The people on Earth are depending on us.”
The chaplain paused, then asked, “How old are you, Son?”
Karl replied that he was 22. The chaplain’s eyes narrowed. “That’s pretty young. You must have been just a kid when we left Earth.” The Chaplain eyed him suspiciously.
Karl looked away.
“Your father must be well connected. How did you end up in a Penal Company?”
“Desertion,” said Karl, his anger rising. “They inducted me when we first got here. They had no right to do that!”
“Baker!” called the sergeant. “Break’s over.”
The chaplain stood up and started to leave, but the sergeant pulled him back by the arm. “Just a minute, Sir. Let’s have that flask.”
The chaplain protested, but the sergeant grabbed the flask and handed it down to Karl. “Drink that,” he said. “You’re going to need it. Smitty fried the power supply.”
Karl’s spirits lifted. Maybe that meant the operation was cancelled. But then why would he need the flask?