Armor - Military Classic by John Steakley

Author:John Steakley
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Fantasy - General, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Fiction - Science Fiction, Interplanetary voyages, General, Science Fiction, Science Fiction - General, Fantasy, Fiction
ISBN: 9780886773687
Publisher: Daw Books
Published: 1984-12-01T06:00:00+00:00

I cringed. Fleet ID’S are fifteen digit numbers. And I had only seen this one once before. . . I hesitated, then pushed restart, and found myself staring at the official Fleet dossier of one John Jacob (Jack) Crow. I blinked, stared, stood there trembling. I felt. . . invaded.

I hadn’t heard the humming of the ‘fresher stop. Her voice from the bathroom door whirled me around.

“I had to know,” she said in a small apologetic voice. She leaned against the seal jam as if for support, idly wiping at the remaining flakes with a towel.

“Had to know what?” I growled, my voice hoarse.

“I had to be sure!” she whispered intently. Pleading.

“Sure of what!”

“That you. . . that you’d go through with it.”

“Through with wha. . .” I began and then, of course I knew what she meant as I remembered what we both remembered. I knew as I saw the tear swell and sink and slide down that horrible purple bruise beneath her eye.

I ordered food for two to be delivered to the outer room. We waited in silence until we heard it arrive. I went out to fetch it, blazing down Cortez’s questioning look with a glance. I brought it back into the bedroom, wheeling the trolley up to the edge of the bed where she sat still wrapped in the towel. I pulled up a chair for me.

And we ate. For close to three hours, we ate. Usually there was far too much food brought to me. But not that night. I stuffed myself; Karen stuffed herself. We stopped. I smoked. She drank wine or simply toyed with the stem of the goblet.

Then we ate some more. Ravenously. Almost desperately. Until we could not take another bite. Then we stopped until we could.

And always in silence. “Music?” she asked once and I nodded, stood up, and keyed something neutral. It was the only word spoken between us the entire time. The music was a good idea. It gave us something to almost do while we sat between feasts.

Sometimes we looked at each other. Not often.

Over two and one half hours later, it was gone. Choked and still hungry; drunk and still thirsty. I stood up slowly, my head reeling with the wine, and went into the bathroom. There was nothing else to do. The feast was over.

I stayed in there a long time. Too long, really, to be healthy. I felt skinned when I came out. But that wasn’t so bad either.

I didn’t know if she would still be there or not. Didn’t know what it meant either way.

She was there, under the covers. Her hair was spread like dawn across the pillows. I noticed the music was gone and the lights were dim. My cigarettes had been placed on the bedside console. I got in beside her. She slid toward me, tucking in.

After a while, perplexed by my inability to feel where my skin left off and hers began, I became a louse. Said something idiotic and provocative about seeing her dossier.

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