Wing Commander in Real Time - Day 2 - 1330 Zulu

Script

74 INT. TIGER CLAW - DEVERAUX'S QUARTERS

Deveraux, still upset, paces. The door buzzer sounds. She

opens it, and there's Forbes.

DEVERAUX

(scowling)

You don't want to be here right now.

Forbes, smiling, waves Maniac's bottle of Scotch.

FORBES

Single Malt... Just for you, sir.

DEVERAUX

Trying to bribe me?

FORBES

No. Thank you. The Flight Boss would

have brought us up on charges if you

hadn't said something.

DEVERAUX

Yeah. What the hell were you thinking?

FORBES

Well, I wasn't thinking with my head.

DEVERAUX

Goddamn it Rosie -- you're going to get

yourself killed doing that.

FORBES

I know what you are thinking.

DEVERAUX

You're one of my best pilots, I can't

afford to lose you.

Forbes can't believe she's heard the word.

FORBES

Sorry... Sorry. I was just showing off

a bit in front of Maniac.

DEVERAUX

Maniac?

FORBES

Lt. Marshall. He's got a new callsign.

DEVERAUX

I hope it felt really good.

FORBES

Great -- better than sex...

She pours Deveraux's drink, puts it in her hand.

Deveraux takes a healthy swig.

DEVERAUX

Bullshit.

FORBES

(smiles)

Well, better than sex with myself.

Deveraux smiles. Forbes laughs.

DEVERAUX

See that it never happens again.

FORBES

Never.

DEVERAUX drinks. Forbes, forgiven, relaxes.

FORBES

I've noticed you've been giving special

attention to Maniac's friend...

DEVERAUX

Oh really, I think that might just be

your imagination working overtime.

FORBES

He's pretty damned cute, Angel.

DEVERAUX

Just shut up and Pour.

Forbes pours her a meager drink, and with a lift of the

eyebrows Deveraux gestures for her to fill the glass.

Novelization

CHAPTER 11

UNITED CONFEDERATION CARRIER TIGER CLAW

MARCH 16, 2654 1330 HOURS ZULU TIME

VEGA SECTOR

ETA TO CLASS 2 PULSAR ONE HOUR

Lieutenant Commander Jeanette Deveraux, her cheeks warming, her

pulse racing, double-timed through the hall adjoining the flight hangar.

She had little tolerance for rebels and hotdoggers and even less tolerance

for experienced pilots who succumbed to the taunts and coercion of new

fliers.

Without looking up, Deveraux passed someone, then, realizing who it

was, she turned back. "Hey, Boss?" she said, greeting Mr. Raznick by his

more familiar name. "I was on my way to see you."

The flight boss came to her, shaking his computer slate as though it

were a torch, he an angry villager. "Well, I was just on my way to talk to

your people. But now that I've got you …" Raznick's shaven head glistened

with sweat, and a thick vein throbbed at his temple.

"Just calm down, boss. And believe me, I know how you feel."

"Begging your pardon, ma'am, but you don't know jack. I'm going to

charge those pilots with everything I can, right down to their scuffed

boots. They recklessly endangered the lives of every man and woman on

my flight deck—and for what? To prove they don't care about their own

lives or anyone else's? I'll have those idiots busted down to spacehands."

"Just take a deep breath."

"I don't need to take a deep breath! I need to get down there and chew

some butt!" He started to leave.

She held his arm. "Has Lieutenant Forbes ever given you a problem

before?"

"That's not the point."

"Just… will you do me this favor? Let me handle this internally. If you

want to go down there and let them have it, that's fine. But let me handle

the discipline on my end."

He huffed. "This deserves a hell of a lot more than a smack on the hand.

And Commander, your carpet's already bulging from all the bullshit you've

swept under it."

"I know. But do you want to know the sad truth, Boss? If we take those

two off my flight roster, I can't replace them. At least not now. And

judging from the scuttlebutt I'm hearing, we'll need every able-bodied

pilot we have. Hell, we might even stuff you in a Broadsword. I know

you've been working off-duty on your qualification."

"Now if that's a bribe, it'll work," he said, his tone softening

considerably. "I hate pilots. I love flying."

"I won't make you any promises there. But I will promise that no pilot

under my command will ever pull a stunt like that again."

He squinted into a thought. "My people expect me to act. I'll lose their

respect if they know I'm whitewashing this."

"They don't have to know. You go down there and say what you need to

say for their benefit. Just don't follow through. Blame the delay on

Confederation bureaucracy. No one will have a hard time believing that."

"I'd better get that ship assignment," he warned, then moved off.

"I'll do what I can. But Gerald will never approve it," she mumbled.

"Sorry, Boss."

* * *

Back in her quarters, she sloughed off her uniform and eased into a hot

shower. She closed her eyes, tilted her head back, and stepped head-on

into the spray. She held that position for three, maybe even four minutes,

feeling days-old knots in her neck and shoulders loosen and the tightness

in her brow subside. She thought about what Forbes and Marshall had

done, the absurdity of it, and imagined them laughing. She found herself

laughing along, realizing that she couldn't remember the last time she had

enjoyed a true, side-splitting chuckle.

After being made squadron commander at the beginning of the year,

she had found little time for amusement. Her job, as she saw it, was to

police a bunch of highly talented loose cannons, to collect and forge them

into a single, well-honed blade that would pierce the enemy's cold heart.

But the job had de-evolved into glorified babysitting, and recent events

highlighted that fact. Still, how many pilots did she know who could make

their final approaches inverted? The number stood at two.

She keyed off the shower, wrapped herself in a towel, then found the

chair at her small desk. She sat there, staring at the statue of the little dog,

a Brussels griffon, that she had ordered via a Datanet catalog. The dog's

short, bearded muzzle and blond fur vividly reminded her of Pierre, a stray

dog she had adopted as a child. She had felt a kinship with that dog and

had loved him for ten years before he had died. He lay buried in Belgium,

behind the orphanage. Sleep well, my dear Pierre. Sleep well.

Her hatch bell rang. "Who is it?"

"Me."

"You don't want to be here right now."

"Just let me in. Please."

Deveraux stood and shrugged. "You're at your own risk." She touched

the keypad, and the hatch opened.

"Single malt… just for you," Forbes said, holding Lieutenant Todd

Marshall's bottle of Scotch.

She glanced perfunctorily at the bottle, then shifted back to her chair,

but couldn't bring herself to sit. "Trying to bribe me? Well, it won't

work—especially with his liquor."

"I'm trying to thank you. The flight boss would've brought us up on

charges if you hadn't said something."

"He told you we spoke?"

"Not exactly. But I could tell that you had already disarmed him. You're

the only one on board who could do that. Raznick hates pilots. We get his

flight deck dirty and raise his blood pressure. But you he respects."

"Do you know why?"

Her expression said that she didn't.

"Because I work with him. Not against him. That's simple math. No

advanced degree required."

Forbes hid her gaze.

"What the hell were you thinking?"

Biting her lower lip, Forbes stalled. "Well, I wasn't thinking with my

head."

Deveraux beat a fist on her thigh. "Goddammit, Rosie. You'll get

yourself killed doing that. How could you follow that kind of lead?"

"I don't know."

"Well, let me tell you something. I think—"

"I know what you're thinking."

"I think you're one of my best pilots. I can't afford to lose you."

And that lifted Forbes's head. "Sorry. I was just showing off a bit in

front of Maniac."

"Maniac?"

"Lieutenant Marshall. He's got a new call sign, although I don't think

too many people will appreciate it."

"I think you're right."

Forbes went to a cabinet, removed a glass, and began pouring a drink.

"I hope it felt really good," Deveraux said, driving the point home but

realizing that her tone had been too cruel.

"It felt great. Better than sex."

Forbes handed her the Scotch, and she took a healthy swig. "Bullshit."

"Well, better than sex with myself." Forbes waited for her smile before

grinning herself.

"See that it never happens again."

"Never."

Deveraux took another pull on her drink as her friend, now visibly

relaxed, sat on the cot and yawned.

Then Forbes stared at her. Deveraux stared back. Forbes looked away,

as did Deveraux. Then it all happened again.

"What?" Deveraux asked.

"I don't want to pry, but I've noticed you've been giving special

attention to Maniac's friend…"

She lifted the towel higher over her chest. "Oh, really? I think that's

your imagination working overtime."

"He's pretty damned cute, Angel," Forbes pointed out, using Deveraux's

call sign as a way to link the intimacy of combat to the intimacy of their

conversation.

It didn't work.

Seeing that her Scotch glass stood empty, Deveraux said, "Just

shuddup and pour."

Forbes offered her a meager fill, and with the lift of her brow, Deveraux

gestured for a full glass.

Yes, she did see something in First Lieutenant Christopher Blair.

And that was why it hurt so much.