Forsaken Skies by D. Nolan Clark Page B

I heard you resigned your commission awhile back. Just walked away from what could have been a lucrative career. I heard they had you pegged for the Admiralty.”
    The old pilot’s eyes narrowed, just a bit. Maybe because he’d had to learn how to replicate body language, Valk had made a study of it in other people. He could tell there was some pain there, buried deep. Old and familiar pain.
    Well, he understood that.
    â€œI get bored easily,” Lanoe said.
    â€œDidn’t mean to pry, Commander.”
    That earned him a polite smile. “My name’s Lanoe. And I’m going to call you Valk.”
    â€œOkay.”
    Lanoe raised his glass, then put it down again without drinking.
    So much for Valk’s plan to get the old pilot drunk. Maybe he needed to try a different tack. “That FA.2 of yours is a real beauty,” he suggested.
    Lanoe grinned without looking up. “For a museum piece, you mean.”
    Valk raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “No offense meant. But even when the Establishment went broke and couldn’t afford new hardware, they still put me in a rebuilt FA.6.”
    â€œNice ships, with all those gadgets. Self-repair and ammo assemblers and all that.” Lanoe tilted his head to one side. “But the FA.2’s never been beat for stability. Practically flies herself, so I can focus on the shooting.”
    â€œThey never made you upgrade?”
    â€œThey tried, near the end of the Century War. I said no thank you. Amazing how flexible orders can be with an oak leaf on your cryptab. I guess I was just used to the smell of the FA.2’s cockpit. Then when I resigned I used up my decommissioning bonus to buy her outright.”
    â€œYou own that crate?” Valk had never heard of such a thing.
    â€œThey were going to scrap her. Strip her down for parts and build one of those new carrier scouts out of what was left.” Lanoe shook his head. “She didn’t deserve that. There’s a lot of parsecs left in her.”
    â€œThey do have a reputation for being indestructible. A little slow, maybe,” Valk suggested, in a careful tone. “By modern standards.”
    Lanoe didn’t seem to take offense. “I’ve tried to keep up with the times. I stripped out the old power plant, put in a Gôblin rotary drive. Increased the thrust about fifteen percent. Had to add some extra heat shielding in the cabin.” Lanoe shrugged. “She gets me where I’m going. And I have no trouble keeping up with anything civilian.”
    â€œCivilian?”
    â€œI’ve been working as an escort pilot for one big shot or another since I resigned. Easy work. I fly formation with some corporate executive’s private ship—no fear of anyone attacking, I’m just there to show the Navy colors, show we’re working close with the money people. A sign of respect.” He shrugged. “It’s a living.”
    â€œYou kept up with that yacht just fine,” Valk tried.
    Lanoe took a deep breath. Then he picked up his glass and put his entire drink down his throat. It looked like he was about to get up from the table. “We’re not just here to reminisce, are we?”
    Valk considered his words carefully. “Part of this,” he said, gesturing at the table between them, “is about me getting to meet a legend. I’ve been thinking up polite ways to ask for your autograph. But then there’s also my job.”
    â€œOrbital traffic control,” Lanoe said. He leaned forward. Tapped the little display in the middle of the table where you paid for your drinks.
    Valk pushed his hand away. “I’m responsible for every ship that comes through this system while I’m on duty. I make sure they get where they’re headed in one piece. That includes that yacht. Not to mention the freighter I dismantled so you two didn’t get smeared. You forget about