Weapons of choice

The rear admiral took in a ragged breath, his shoulders hitching once, involuntarily. Murray seemed to find something fascinating on the highly polished toes of his shoes. Halabi waited for him to continue, but nothing more came. She was suddenly very uncomfortable sitting down while he stood over her, an unstable tower of grief, only just buttressed against total collapse by years of practice at squeezing his emotions into a tight little ball that might somehow be dry swallowed with gritted teeth and a small grimace.

She pushed herself up and fetched a bottle of springwater and a drinking glass from a small refrigerator by her bunk.

"And your daughter?" she asked, as she cracked open the lid on the Evian bottle.

Murray staggered forward and collapsed in the chair she'd just vacated. For a horrible moment she feared it might slide out from beneath him on its wheels, but his large frame butted up hard against the edge of the desk as he dropped his head into his hands. Spasms wracked his whole body as a low moaning sound, more animal than human, emanated from somewhere deep within his chest.

Halabi knew enough of inconsolable loss to dispense with platitudes. She simply laid a hand on the back of his hot neck and measured the violence of the emotional quake ripping through his body against the sparse memories of her own private losses. Her fingers looked extraordinarily dark against the rear admiral's pale pink skin.

The bruise on her thigh was going to be a good couple of months fading completely, which ticked her off. Yeah, but what are you gonna do? Julia tied up her sweatpants and contemplated the painful gym session ahead of her. She was carrying a load of minor injuries and disfigurements from the job on Luzon.

They were of trivial significance, though, when measured against the material she'd gathered. This was going to be her first story for the "old" Times.

Word was out.

With the Singapore and Luzon task forces safely reunited and heading for Pearl, the Allied governments had finally released news of the Transition. For someone like Julia who'd grown up in a world of instant, global news access, it was unbelievably frustrating. She had no idea what sort of reaction had greeted the news at home.

At home?

Well, she figured she'd best get used to the idea. Grabbing her towel from where it lay at the end of her bunk, she hesitated. She couldn't help herself. A telegram lay in the jumble of clothes and field equipment on top of her unmade bed, and she picked it up to read for maybe the tenth time.

MISS DUFFY…

She'd stopped snorting at that on the fourth reading.

WELCOME. NYT OFFERS SENIOR STAFF POSITION. NEEDS 3000 WORDS ON 'TRANSITION,' 2000 WORDS ON POW RAID ASAP.

She'd said yes, of course, after they'd agreed to take Rosanna on, as well. Dan had been right. They were so desperate to sign her up, they'd cop to anything.

Dan.

A sharp pang of regret stabbed at her. She shouldn't have been such a jerk before Luzon. She'd been anxious and jonesing for her chillers and she'd ripped him up for no good reason. He was a good guy, a great fucking guy, and she just knew that she'd blown it with him.

Rosanna said Dan had watched the vid of her wasting that Jap in Manila over and over and over. It was really spooky, she'd said. In the end Rosanna had been too busy to get pissed and she'd ignored him as he compulsively replayed the footage. She hadn't even noticed when he'd finally drifted away.

Julia folded up the telegram, for once failing to marvel at the way it felt, with its crisp paper crunch. Like something out of a museum. Tightness clenched at her throat and she cursed herself for the weakness. Next fucking thing she'd be get all teary and…

"Hey."

Dan!

He stood there in the doorway, looking nervous and tentative. She didn't stop. She didn't think. She just spun around and flew into his arms with such force that they nearly tumbled into the corridor outside.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," she said, unable to stop repeating herself. A flood of tears and nonsense burst from her as his arms stiffened then relaxed, and pulled her into his chest.

"So am I," said Black.

Damiri didn't understand at first. Kolhammer seemed to be leading a convoy of dozens of ships, many more than had been in the force off Timor, but a brief laser-linked message from the carrier explained the presence of so many contemporary vessels. It made no difference to his plans, he decided. He might just kill a few more unbelievers, and there was nothing wrong with that.