You were dreaming, Jael, she told herself. The old Jael was killed at the Pecan Orchard. Now you've got a new life, and it's the one you've got to live, because you can't get the old one back.
On the following Sixday, at evening muster, the troops were told that General Pak would speak to them at 1900 hours. There'd been no rumor of any plans, and the army had gotten used to relative peace and quiet. Something was bound to happen sooner or later, of course. They knew that. The Wyz were still there, and had to be rooted out.
With more time to reflect on matters, the Jerrie troops had come to realize how little New Jerusalem felt like home anymore. Too changed. Nearly every one of them had wondered if he could even find where he'd lived, so thoroughly had the Wyzhnyny changed the face of the settled land. As if they'd deliberately undertaken to eradicate all signs of the humans who'd lived there before them.
Now it seemed as if they were going to be given another job to do. And at seven o'clock, they were in their mess halls, expecting to hear their general outline an offensive. The screen was rolled out; its power light glittering green. Captain Zenawi gave the order, "At ease, men," and the picture popped on, showing General Pak seated at his desk.
"Men and women of the New Jerusalem Liberation Corps, I have important news for you. And a confession. Eight days ago, I was informed that the 1st Commonwealth Fleet had destroyed the Wyzhnyny fleet in battle." He paused. There wasn't a sound in B Company's mess hall. "The Wyzhnyny warships fought till none were left." Again he paused. "My confession is that I kept the news from you until I knew what this meant to us out here.
"Their warfleet fought to the death, but that doesn't mean the Wyzhnyny here will. Because the Wyzhnyny's non-fighting ships surrendered. More than three thousand of them are parked in the fringe of the Eridani System, defenseless. Snooze ships, supply ships, factory ships-all of them. And they've signed a treaty of peace with the Commonwealth. They've turned over all their ordnance, and our fleet is in the process of sending it plunging into the sun.
"The Wyzhnyny have colonies on forty-seven Commonwealth worlds, and the peace treaty agrees that those colonies are also to surrender. The question now is, will the colonies believe and accept that? Let's hope they do. If they don't, Commodore Kereenyaga is to send down both his Dragons to wreck the Wyzhnyny caves here. Then any survivors will get another chance to surrender. If they don't, the war will not be over for us; we'll have to dig them out. But our enemy will be fewer, his firepower greatly reduced, and we'll have the support of the Marine wolfpacks. And winter will arrive any time now.
"For those of you who care to, I suggest you now pray silently with me that they do surrender."
After the prayer, the general announced a party at 2100 hours, to be held in all the army's mess halls. He'd heard of the Jerrie penchant for bachelor folk dancing, and the Indis and Burgers would have their own ideas about partying. He knew that Burger cooks had been fermenting mash, and distilling and stashing liquor.
B Company folded and stacked most of their tables, converting mess halls into dance halls. Other tables were placed strategically along the sides, and loaded with sandwiches, cookies, and urns of hot chocolate-something the Jerries had learned about in the army. At 2050, the company was already gathering. Two accordions, two fiddles and a harmonica had arrived, but so far not Captain Zenawi, with his bass guitar. Lieutenant Hawkins, now B Company's XO, was setting up his keyboard.
A bot ducked in-not surprisingly. Seven bots treated B Company as their other family. This bot was Jael; Esau and no doubt others knew her by the necklace of dried, orange-painted bank beans she'd put on. And who else would bring two female organics with her? They paused just inside the door, then Jael's eyes found Esau, and all three women started toward him.
Esau met them halfway, stopping before Jael. "Will you dance with me, ma'am?" he asked. From her elevation, he looked more dutiful than eager.
"I'd love to," she said. "I do believe you're the best-looking man here. But first I'd like to introduce my friends. This is Sergeant Ruta Mossland, Headquarters Company, 1st Indi Armored. And this is Ensign Bjorg Aribau, 12th General Hospital. Bjorg was born on Terra, but grew up on Indi Prime. She was Ensign Hawkins' nurse, and she wanted to meet the man who saved his life."
Blushing, Esau bowed and shook each young woman's hand in turn. Then Ensign Hawkins called out above the crowd buzz.
"Captain Zenawi will be here in a few minutes. He says don't wait." He gestured at the other musicians. "We've only played together a few times, so I don't know very much of the music they'll do. They'll start off, and I'll join in when I can. Consider the party officially started!"
Then a caller named the dance, and pairs of laughing soldiers walked to the middle of the floor. All were men, except for Jael and the two women she'd brought. Ruta and Bjorg had accepted eager partners.
When they'd formed lines, the caller and the music began. The dance was energetic, and the two women were totally unfamiliar with it. Do-si-do meant absolutely nothing to them. But the confusions created were treated as fun, not problems, and before the number ended, everyone was laughing and sweating.
Almost everyone. Esau had discovered how awkward it was dancing with someone twenty inches taller and twice his mass. So before the next number began, they left the dance floor and went to one of the benches.
"Seems like we don't dance as well as we used to," Esau commented.
"It does, doesn't it? But we can still laugh together. And you can dance with Ruta and Bjorg. Actually I brought them for you."
The statement didn't surprise Esau. "I wish you wouldn't have," he said.
She nodded. "I thought you'd feel like that."
"Why then?" His voice was pained. "Why did you?"
"Honey, because I love you. And I want you to get used to touching other women. Organic women. I'm not trying to matchmake, although they're both heavyworlders, and very nice people. And pretty, don't you think?"
"Not as pretty as you."
"Why, Esau, what a nice thing to say! This model 7C warbot servo does look quite nice, and maybe in peacetime they'll let me polish it. But I never thought of it as pretty."
Esau had no reply. After a moment, Jael stood. "Let's go outside," she said quietly.
He didn't meet her gaze. Together they walked out into the now-freezing evening. "Esau," she said softly, gently, "please don't pout. It hurts me, especially when I'm trying hard to do what's right."
She stood with her hands on his thick shoulders, her large hands, larger than any organic human's, and crushingly strong. "This is a party, honey. It looks like the war may really be over, and the killing and dying done with. What I'd like best to do is sneak off with you somewhere-a water-heater room would be fine. But I can't… do… " Her voice broke unexpectedly, hitting him like a heavy punch in the chest, in the heart. "I can't do… the things we did any longer." She recovered herself quickly though. "I just can't be… your wife, your lover, any longer. No matter how much I'd like to. And I want you to find someone who can." Her fingers had tightened, and realizing it, she let her hands fall. Crouching, she peered earnestly, urgently into his eyes. "Do you see, honey?"
With that she broke entirely, sobbing and shaking despite having no tear glands. Esau watched silently dismayed, spilling enough tears of his own to do for both of them. Finding her hand, he led her farther from the mess hall, to the shelter of a large tree, where they embraced, metal against flesh. Without warning his control melted, grief surging out, grief he hadn't known was still there. Surged violently enough, bitterly enough, it snapped Jael out of her own grief. "It's all right," she murmured, a large hand patting him gently. "It's all right."