Life After-Part Sixteen

Erik was sitting at his usual table in the back left hand corner of the café area when Jess got there. She was about ten minutes late. Erik was half done with his coffee and Jess's tea was slowly cooling across from him. The petite Asian woman sat down and primly crossed her legs before taking a sip of her lukewarm tea.
"Hello," she said."
"Hi," Erik said. "So what do you want to know about Storm?"
"Her file's locked to me so anything you can tell me would be really useful in me not being killed or anything because that would be horrible."
"Yeah. It would be. She's fighter. Really fighter. She's about as fighter as they come. Don't try and call her anything but Storm. Don't ask how she's doing. Don't ask if she wants help."
As he went down the list, Jess began to look more and more concerned.
"Is there anything that I can talk about without her killing me?" Jess asked.
"Not that I've found in the amount of time I've spent dealing with her. Just don't ask any questions about her or what she's done. I think that she does best when she's working in the now. Fighters aren't good at planning."
"Then what's she doing in strategy?"
Erik drained his coffee.
"I have no idea," he said. "But it's the only place I know that'll take her. So what does Clarissa want her to know?"
"I've been given some sheets to walk her through and she said I might want to talk to her squad leader. Former squad leader."
Jess took a moment to take a gulp of her tea and then stirred it with the spoon that Erik had placed on the saucer.
"I wouldn't bother," he said. "He'll probably come by at some point and then you can explain to him what you're doing."
"Is he scary?"
"Snowfall's not really scary. He's scary without knowing that he's scary. Storm's scary and she knows that she is which makes her even scarier. Just…tread carefully. Is there anything I should know about the techs and the programmers?"
Jess finished her tea and thought for a moment.
"Nothing like what you've told me about Storm, but I guess there are a few things," she said. "The techs are just like strategy so they're just fine to deal with but the programmers don't pay attention much. What you'll need to do is make sure that they remember to eat and sleep but other than that they don't need much guidance on anything."
"This seems like a bit of an uneven trade. I'm sticking you with the hard job."
Jess shrugged.
"It'll get me out of strategy which is what I really want because Clarissa can be a real, you know, bitch sometimes," she said. "Not that I would say that to her face or anything, but she's not nice."
Erik glanced around at the other people in the café. There was a group of chefs on their off shift chatting in a hybrid of Spanish and French sitting near the counter. A few hallow eyed programmers stared at their bagels like they had never seen food before at a table about five feet away. Other than that it was deserted. People took their meals when they wanted to. There was usually a pot of coffee on and there was food enough for people to make up their own meals. The food was usually cold, but the chefs did a good job making sure that there was at least some food around. Even though no one there looked dangerous, he still lowered his voice and leaned in.
"Do you think she's stable?" he asked. "Mentally?"
"I don't have any idea. She's really annoying and she makes decisions for people all the time, but I wouldn't say that she's crazy or anything."
"She hasn't been reporting in for her psychiatric evaluations. One of the doctors said she didn't even stop by for her checkup at the beginning of the trip. I don't know what's going on with her. I'd like to, though. So if you could tell me anything then that would be a big help."
"I'll try. Should I just come to the medical ward tomorrow?" Jess asked.
"Med ward? Yeah. Maybe around nine? I'll be there for a bit to make sure that she doesn't try and kill you before going to deal with the techs. Or the programmers. Which one should I go to first?"
"I'll give you detailed instructions tomorrow because I really have to think about it. You should probably go and tell Storm that I'll be there or something if that would help."
She picked up her cup and saucer, stood up, and nudged her chair into the table with her hip.
"I'll just come in early tomorrow and tell her," Erik said. "Things got…complicated earlier."
Jess put her dishes on the counter and then came back to the table. She didn't sit down.
"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked.
"Not really. It's just fighter stuff. Or Storm stuff. Or both," he said. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed. "You'll see what I mean tomorrow. I guess you've got to get back?"
"Yeah. I told Clarissa that I wouldn't be gone to long and I have to check up with the rest of the programmers and see the techs about some stuff."
"Okay. See you tomorrow."
"Yeah. See you tomorrow."

Storm was awake early the next morning. Erik hadn't come back after their….Well, she had decided to call it a conversation for convenience. A few tense words didn't exactly equal a conversation but it was shorter.
Tomas's body had been moved out of the medical ward, but the empty bed was a tangible presence. It gnawed at the edge of Storm's consciousness. She had seen plenty of people die over the years. Hell, she had been the cause of the demise of most of them. Still, Tomas's death had been different. It hadn't been combat and it felt different now that she knew there was a reasonable chance she could go the same way.
She didn't have much time to dwell on this truth before Rebeka came in. She had traded the traditional scrubs and comfortable shoes for a formal outfit in black. Storm pushed herself upright.
"You were supposed to be still out," Rebeka said. "Tomas's funeral is today."
Rebeka swept her hair up into a twist and pinned it in place.
"I'm not going," Storm said.
"You are and Erik is. Snowfall was invited because he was there when Tomas died but he had combat to get to. Randall should be bringing in your outfit."
"I'm. Not. Going."
"It's part of the healing process. You have to go."
Randall came in with a bundle Storm knew well. There was a particular way that the uniforms of fighters were wrapped up. The boots were tied to each other with just enough room between them for a tank top in either white or black depending on the gender of the fighter, pants, and undergarments. He smiled and tossed it at her over Rebeka's head. Storm briefly returned the expression as she caught the bundle and checked the tank top to make sure it was hers. Rebeka turned to Randall.
"You could've hit something!" she shouted.
"I knew Storm was going to catch it. Can we discuss this outside to give her a chance to change?"
Randall put an arm around Rebeka's shoulders and led her out of the room.
Storm slid out of the clothes she had been put in when she had been admitted to the medical ward and pulled on the tank top. There were lines of stitching where it had been cut and patches where blasts from lasers had seared through the cloth. She managed to wriggle into the pants with minimal wincing. Last she untied her boots from each other and dug into the right one. As the fighter in her had expected and the part that knew how actual people worked at hoped, her knife was in the sheath in the side of the boot. She took it out and hooked it to her belt before pulling on as lashing up both boots. Storm grabbed the crutches, stood and spent about half a minute making sure she could use the knife while remaining upright. She walked over to the door and out into the hallway. Randall and Rebeka seemed to have done some reconciliation. At the very least they were no longer arguing.
"I'm going to catch up with you two," Randall said. "Stephan should be showing up soon but Rebeka wants to make sure that someone is here until he arrives."
"Where is it?" Storm asked.
"The funeral is in the conference room on this deck. You two had better start moving."
Rebeka began to walk in the direction of strategy. Storm walked a bit behind her. It took them three minutes to get to the conference room. It was decked out in black ribbons, one of those customs that had stayed with most of the population but had gone past the fighters. Most fighters regarded death as a part of life that was to be celebrated if it involved combat and accepted if it was not, though there was considerably less drinking at the latter. Rebeka entered the room and began circulating among ten people Storm didn't recognize. She assumed they had been Tomas's coworkers or friends. Erik was to one side of the room. He was wearing a kilt and had on a slightly puffy shirt with a blue belt around his waist. A fiddle was in one hand and a bow in the other and he appeared to be tuning it.
Storm walked over. It was easy to move quietly as the floor was covered in the speckled carpet that was ubiquitous on the ship.
"Nice skirt," she said.
If both arms had not been occupied with the crutches she would have put an arm on his shoulder, but as it was she had to settle for standing in front of him. Erik just about jumped out of his skin. Some instinct probably drilled into him by a parent kept him from dropping either the fiddle or the bow.
"Hi, Storm. It's a kilt," he said. "It's traditional. Is that your uniform?"
"Yah."
"Do you have any, you know, armor or anything?"
Storm unsheathed her knife and executed enough restrain to keep it from stabbing through his rib cage. Instead she stopped about an inch from his torso, turned the knife so the flat of the blade was against the inside of her wrist and the hilt was pointing towards Erik, and tapped his chest right where his hard was.
"People who can't see that coming need armor," she said.
The words snapped across the conference room. The few conversations that were taking place hushed into silence.
"This is a funeral, Storm!" Rebeka said. "Show some respect."
"This isn't respect," Storm said. "You're all just standing around talking about all the good stuff, right? Well, that wasn't his whole life. That's no one's whole life. You've got it all wrong."
One of the people Storm didn't knew took the shocked silence after Storm's short tirade to burst into tears.
Rebeka had turned to watch the confrontation and took this moment to step in.
"Give me the weapon, Storm," she said. She held out a hand for the knife.
"This's my knife. I'm not givin' my knife to anyone," Storm said.
The slip into the fighter dialect revealed how annoyed she was. She flipped the knife around so that the blade was facing towards the nearest wall and stabbed the weapon into the wall. It didn't go in very far as the wall was fairly solid, but it did appear that getting it out would be a bit difficult for most people.
"You gonna take me back to med ward now?" she asked.
"I'm waiting for Randall," Rebeka said. "He'll know what to do better than I do."
As if he had been listening outside for a good time to enter into the conversation, Randall came in.
"What's going on?" he asked. "Jess is waiting for Storm in med ward."
"I forgot about the memorial," Erik said with a slight shrug. "I said that we'd be in there."
"Storm just tried to stab Erik and then rammed her knife into a wall," Rebeka said.
Randall took a moment to take in all of this, including the smirk on Storm's face.
"Storm. Go back to med ward and talk to Jess about getting back into strategy," he said. "And there's absolutely no chance of you getting your knife back if you go anywhere else. Are we clear?"
"Clear as crystal."