“I had a whole sermon on David,” she said, keeping her tone casual. Conversational. “On the burden we place on our soldiers. The sacrifices we ask you to make for the rest of us.”
Chris looked up from his hands. The young marine put her hand terminal away. With her podium behind her, the meeting room was just a featureless gray box. The little knot of soldiers floated in front of her, and suddenly the perspective shifted and she was above them, falling toward them. She blinked rapidly to break up the scene and swallowed to get the lemony taste of nausea out of her throat.
“David?” a young man with brown hair and dark skin said. He had an accent that she thought might be Australian.
“King of Israel,” another young man said.
“That’s just the nice version,” the marine countered. “He’s the guy who killed one of his own men so he could sleep with his wife.”
“He fought for his country and his faith,” Anna cut in, using the teacher’s voice she used in Bible classes for teenagers. The one that made sure everyone knew she was the voice of authority. “That’s the part I care about right now. Before he was a king, he was a soldier. Often unappreciated by those he served. He put his body over and over again between danger and those he’d sworn to protect, even when his leaders were unworthy of him.”
A few more nods. No one looking at hand terminals. She felt herself getting them all back.
“And we’ve been asking that of our soldiers since the beginning of time,” she continued. “Everyone here gave up something to be here. Often we’re unworthy of you and you do it anyway.”
“So why didn’t you?” Chris asked. “You know, do the David sermon?”
“Because I’m scared,” Anna said, taking Chris’ hand with her left, and the hand of the Australian boy with her right. Without anyone saying anything, the loose cloud became a circle of held hands. “I’m so afraid. And I don’t want to talk about soldiers and sacrifice. I want to talk about God watching me. Caring about what happens to me. And I thought maybe other people would too.”
More nods. Chris said, “When the skinnies blew that ship, I thought we were all dead.”
“No shit,” the marine said. She gave Anna an embarrassed look. “Sorry, ma’am.”
“It’s okay.”
“They say they didn’t,” another woman said. “They shot at Holden.”
“Yeah, and then their whole ship mysteriously turned off. If the dusters hadn’t pinged Holden, he’d have flown off scot free.”
“They’re gonna follow him,” the young marine said.
“Dusters say they’ll smoke them if they go in.”
“Fuck the dusters,” the Australian said. “We’ll grease every one of them if they start anything.”
“Okay,” Anna cut in, keeping her voice gentle. “Dusters are Martians. They prefer Martians. And calling people from the outer planets skinnies is also rude. Epithets like that are an attempt to dehumanize a group so that you won’t feel as bad about killing them.”
The marine snorted and looked away.
“And,” Anna continued, “fighting out here is the last thing we should be doing. Am I right?”
“Yeah,” Chris said. “If we fight out here, we’ll all die. No support, no reinforcements, nothing to hide behind. Three armed fleets and nothing bigger than a stray hydrogen atom for cover. This is what we call the kill box.”
The silence stretched for a moment, then the Australian sighed and said, “Yeah.”
“And something may come out of the Ring.”
Saying the thing out loud and then acknowledging it drained the tension out of the air. With everyone floating in microgravity, no one could slump. But shoulders and foreheads relaxed. There were a few sad smiles. Even her angry young marine ran a hand through her blond crew cut and nodded without looking at anyone.
“Let’s do this again next week,” Anna said while she still had them. “We can celebrate communion, then maybe just chat for a while. And in the meantime, my door is always open. Please call me if you need to talk.”
The group began to break up, heading for the door. Anna kept hold of Chris’ hand. “Could you wait a moment? I need to ask you about something.”
“Chris,” the marine said with a mocking singsong voice. “Gonna get a little preacher action.”
“That’s not funny,” Anna said, using the full weight of her teacher voice. The marine had the grace to blush.
“Sorry, ma’am.”
“You may leave,” Anna said, and her marine did. “Chris, do you remember the young woman who was in the officers’ mess that first time we met?”
He shrugged. “There were lots of people coming and going.”
“This one had long dark hair. She looked very sad. She was wearing civilian clothes.”
“Oh,” Chris said with a grin. “The cute one. Yeah, I remember her.”
“Do you know her?”
“No. Just a civvy contractor fixing the plumbing, I’d guess. We have a couple ships full of them in the fleet. Why?”
That was a good question. She honestly wasn’t sure why the angry young woman weighed on her mind so much over the last few days. But something about her stuck in Anna’s memory like a burr in her clothing. She’d feel irritated and antsy and suddenly the girl’s face would pop into her mind. The anger, the sense of threat she’d radiated. The proximity of that encounter to the sudden hostilities and damaged ships and people shooting at each other. There was nothing that tied them all together, but Anna couldn’t shake the feeling that they were connected.
“I’m worried about her?” Anna finally said. At least it wasn’t a lie.
Chris was tinkering with his hand terminal. After a few seconds, he said, “Melba Koh. Electrochemical engineer. She’ll probably be on and off the ship here and all the way home. Maybe you’ll run into her.”
“Great,” Anna said, wondering if she actually wanted that to happen.
“You know what sucks?” Tilly asked. Before Anna could say anything, Tilly said, “This sucks.”
She didn’t have to elaborate. They were floating together near a table in the civilian commissary. A small plastic box was attached to the table with magnetic feet. Inside it was a variety of tubes filled with protein and carbohydrate pastes in an array of colors and flavors. Next to the box sat two bulbs. Anna’s held tea. Tilly’s coffee. The officers’ mess, with its polite waiters, custom-cooked meals, and open bar, was a distant memory. Tilly hadn’t had an alcoholic drink in several days. Neither of them had eaten anything that required chewing in as long.