“So, how did it go?”  Mark asked.  A half-finished detective novel lay open on a wheeled table by his bedside, along with an unappetizing array of leftover breakfast items.  Two days post implant surgery and Mark was already sitting upright in his hospital bed, a light blue flannel robe draped over his shoulders, drinking a cup of tea.  Looking at Jason, Mark felt a pang of guilt.  At this stage in his second’s recovery, Jason had barely been able to raise his head.   

Jason leaned back as far as he could in the visitor’s chair, threaded his hands behind his head, and put his feet up on Mark's hospital bed before answering.  He appeared to be giving the question considerable thought. 

“Fine,” he finally answered with a shrug.  At Mark’s raised eyebrows, Jason quickly added, “But we missed you out there.”

“Liar,” Mark replied with smirk.  “I heard about your fancy flying.  Show off.” 

Jason rewarded him with a slight smile before responding.  “No, I mean it,” he said.  “It’s not the same without you.”  Jason paused before continuing, more softly, “But then, nothing’s the same.”

When Jason didn’t add anything more, Mark looked at his friend’s posture for clarification.  But, as often was the case with the Condor, Jason was difficult to read.  His eyes were somber and thoughtful behind his newly issued, ISO-approved glasses. 

Jason’s glasses – a recently added, permanent addition to his second’s required uniform.  Mark cast a glance at his latest mystery novel.  And I haven’t needed reading glasses since surgery.   Another reminder that things are different, Mark thought. 

Something about Jason’s posture reminded Mark of how Jason had looked right after his recent fitness exam - before the Chief had trounced him for keeping secrets - proud but embarrassed.  Proud that he had completed all of the maneuvers and would be eligible to retain his place on the team, yet painfully embarrassed at his fall from grace.  Jason had been reduced to barely completing the simplest aerials that would allow for G clearance.  Jason, who had often scoffed at the simplicity of the yearly fitness requirements, had nearly been derailed by them.

Mark tried to imagine what it would be like to lose such a vital part of himself.  What if I have to go through that, too?  What if I can’t fly?  The thought literally made him nauseous.  I’m not up for this, Mark realized.  Pushing his troubled thoughts as deeply as possible, he closed his eyes and slipped into sleep. 

When he awoke, his breakfast tray had been removed and replaced by tepid chicken noodle soup, saltine crackers, and a fresh cup of tea.  Mark opened the cellophane wrapped plastic dinnerware and extracted the spork.  He tasted the soup.  It was better than average for hospital food. 

Jason was snoring in the lumpy side chair, long limbs sprawled in every direction, his feet still resting on Mark’s bed frame.  He was still wearing his glasses. 

He must be exhausted.  He hasn’t moved a muscle.

Someone - Mark suspected Jessie, one of Center Neptune’s nursing interns - had covered his second with a blanket.

Well, not my second for now.  But hopefully soon.    

Mark’s surgery had gone surprisingly well.  Mark knew, even before the Chief had told him, his surgery had been a success.  When his consciousness emerged from the dregs of anesthesia, Mark had realized with delight that he could hear again – clearly and distinctly – from both ears.  It was as if an auditory rainbow had returned.  Mark found that he was now mesmerized by sounds.  Unlike his fellow patients, Mark enjoyed listening to the noises of the hospital at night: the thrum of the heating system, the click-clack of the medicine carts, the nurses’ chatter.  He hadn’t realized how much he had lost.  He was so grateful for its return.    

His joy at having his hearing restored almost made up for the wrenching fatigue and headaches.  Mark wasn’t surprised by the fatigue, but it was still annoying.  He had watched Jason work through the same exhaustion during his first post-surgical days.  And he’d always had headaches.  Just not this bad. 

But Mark knew that he had one advantage that Jason didn’t:  Mark’s implant surgery had been second.  And that made all the difference.  Mark’s surgeons not only had access to detailed records and micrographs of Jason’s failed implant, they had dutifully charted Jason’s recovery with exacting precision.  Jason’s recent fitness exam, complete with his near failure at aerials, had proven highly useful. 

Mark’s surgery may have taken longer, but his recovery would be much smoother, according to the Chief.  “We now think we know what has affected Jason’s sense of balance,” the Chief had said.  “We were able to avoid that section of your neural bridge when we repaired your implant.  When the surgeons worked on Jason, they disturbed a portion of that area.  No one suspected the extent to which the brain would adapt to using that sector of the implant.  Design-wise, it should have simply been an access point for repair.  However, we now know that there are specific physiological adaptations that occur after an implant has been in place for a number of years.”

Thinking of this, Mark winced in sympathy.  And how do we know this?  he wanted to shout.  Because you cut into my second’s brain and used him as a guinea pig!  That was unfair, Mark knew.  His own problems hadn’t even been detected until after Jason’s surgery and it wasn’t like there were any other patients.  The rest of the team had been issued a slightly different model.  New trainees were given a redesigned implant, which hopefully would be resistant to Spectra’s attempts to damage the circuitry.

Now that the ethics board of Galaxy Security had finally relented on their earlier objections to the implant program – seeing Zoltar’s wrath thwarted by G-Force could be quite convincing, Mark thought – the Red Rangers were first in line to get a new squadron modeled after G-Force.  Darien's fellow R-Command recruits were the first to have been issued the newly redesigned implant.

Thinking of Darien temporarily taking his place, Mark felt his stomach clench.  The Chief had tried to reassure Mark that both he and Jason would – should – recover fully over time, but there were no guarantees.  Jason's sense of balance, previously his greatest strength, was now his greatest weakness.  Mark could feel the bile rise in his throat.

What if the Chief is wrong?      

***

Princess could hear the cadence of the punching bag rocking on its metal hook long before she walked to the end of the hall and knocked on the door to the training room.  The rhythm was fast, deadly, and accurate.  Since Mark was still recuperating in the Center Neptune infirmary, there was only one other person that could be administering blows like that.  She was amazed that he still had energy after their last mission.  Zoltar’s minions had infiltrated Rigan headquarters.  The near assassination of the Rigan president, the bomb scare, mass panic, explosions … it tired her all over again just to think about it.     

“Jason?”  Princess knocked at the door. 

No answer.  The cadence of pummeling continued unabated, a fast staccato rhythm.   If he’s got his headphones on, he won’t even hear me, thought Princess.  She pushed the door open.

Jason stood before the punching bag, fighting stance, wearing an intense expression.  His fists were a blur.  To Princess’ surprise, he wasn’t wearing headphones.  He acknowledged her presence with a slight nod of the head, never breaking cadence or faltering with his punches.  His face and arms glistened with sweat.

When she didn’t speak, he cocked an eyebrow.  “You … need … something?” he asked, between each series of blows.

How long has he been down here?  Princess wondered.  “I need to talk to you, Jason.”

“Can’t … it … wait?” he asked, his fists continuing to beat in a perfect rhythm, using perfect form.

“No,” she said simply.  Not when you’re like this. 

He raised the other eyebrow, gave the bag a final whack, and walked over to her, panting and sweating.  “What’s up?” he asked.  His blue-grey eyes looked at her expectantly.  He stripped off the boxing gloves.

She paused before speaking, as if she were carefully weighing each word.  “I think you’re training too hard.”

He took a drink from his water bottle and stared at her.  “You came down here to tell me that?” he said with a snort. 

She folded her arms.  “Yes, I did.  You haven’t taken any time off since we got back from Riga.”

He shrugged, turned his back to her, and grabbed his towel from a waiting chair.  Slowly, he dried the sweat from his face and removed the tape from his left wrist.  When it became clear that he didn’t intend to respond, Princess pressed on.   

“Jason, I’m serious,” she said. 

“So am I,” he replied, turning to face her.  His voice was calm and deadly.

She returned his glare.  “You’re down here whenever you’re not with Mark.  What are you trying to prove?  You need to get some rest.”

“I’m fine,” Jason replied, throwing a punch into the air.

“You’re not fine, Jason.   You’re training all the time.  When did you eat last?  Or sleep?”  She repeated her earlier question.  “What are you trying to prove?”

He walked toward the door and flicked off the lights.  “I’m going up to bed,” he said, and headed into the hall.

She stormed out of the training room and ran down the hallway after him.  Grabbing him by the left arm, she said, “No, you’re not!  I want to know what’s going on.”

He flicked his wrist to dislodge her grip, swore, and turned to face her, fury written in every muscle of his body.  “Nothing is going on!  What the hell?  First, you worry that I’m not fit to be back on the team and now you think I’m too fit?”  He swore again. 

She ignored his outburst.  “You’re working too hard,” she said, in a gentle but firm voice.  “What if we get called out right now?  You’re exhausted.”

“I’m fine,” Jason spat out.  “I appreciate your concern, Princess,” he said, in a voice that made it obvious that he neither appreciated nor wanted her concern, “but I’m fine.”  He gave her an exaggerated fake smile.  “Really.”  And then he stalked down the hall.

“Jason, please don’t do this,” Princess called to his retreating back.  He rounded the corner and left her standing alone.

“Please,” she pleaded.  Her voice echoed in the empty hall.

Buzzing.  Where is that buzzing coming from?  Jason turned over in bed and stared at his wrist, uncomprehending.   Why is my wrist moving?

“Commander, acknowledge.”  Zark’s tinny voice came through the wrist com.  The sprinkles of color emanating from his wrist were no longer the small flashes of light associated with early warning.  The Bird Scramble was on its final sequence.  Strobe lights flashed across the trailer.  Jason punched the face plate of his bracelet and his wrist finally stopped vibrating.

Damn.  How long has that thing been going off?  He squinted at the alarm clock across the room.  10:16 a.m.  Did I oversleep that alarm too?  Or did I just forget to set it?

“Commander?” 7-Zark-7’s overly worried voice grated against his every nerve.  Jason fought hard to not to snap back.

“Acknowledged,” Jason said.  “Be right there.”  He put on his glasses, rolled out of bed, and ran through a quick series of stretches, slowing briefly to thoroughly flex his right ankle.  When he got to his left wrist, he winced. 

What the hell?  Why is my wrist still sore?

“No need, Commander,” Zark replied in his usual chirpy tone.  “Your team is already airborne.  They’re coming to pick you up.” 

Jason rolled his eyes and sighed.  Damn.  How would Mark handle this?

Jason thought and failed to recall any missions where Mark had missed the Scramble for anything short of a galactic emergency.  In those rare cases where Mark had chosen to ignore a call from the Chief, he had done so deliberately. 

And, Jason thought, Mark wouldn’t still be in bed at 10 a.m.  He swore under his breath.  Great, just great. 

“Commander?”  Zark was starting to sound worried again.

“Understood.  Over and out, Zark.”

***

“G-2, report to my office immediately.”  The announcement came in as soon as the ship had docked at Center Neptune, even before the sea water had finished draining from the large holding bay. 

Jason swore under his breath before he responded.  “Acknowledged.” 

He turned to Princess and Darien.  “Finish debrief without me.  I’ve got nothing to report, anyway,” he added.

Twenty hours in the air with nothing to do but shadow another ship.  Jason had set the team up in shifts, but no one really slept well aboard the Phoenix, so he wasn’t sure why he had bothered.  The bunks in the sleeping chamber were hard, narrow, and musty.  Jason made a mental note to tell housekeeping to air out the room. 

Darien nodded.   “Apart from that one Spectran fighter, there was no activity in the entire quadrant.  I guess they didn’t need us to guard that freighter after all.”  He bowed slightly, which Jason suddenly remembered was the traditional Rigan way of saying thanks.

During the long, tedious flight, Jason had decided to change things up.  He had asked Princess to show Tiny how to work communications.  Tiny had taught Darien how to fly the Phoenix.  And Jason had let Keyop blow up a few asteroids.  Unofficially, of course.  On the record, they were suspected Spectran bases.

“Finally,” Keyop piped in.  He unstrapped himself and came to stand by Darien.  “Maybe Spectra took a … rrt … doot … vacation.”

The Red Ranger smiled at Keyop.  Jason, despite his foul mood, couldn’t help but smile too.  Keyop hadn’t exactly warmed to the newcomer, but seeing Jason back in action and Mark on his way to recovery finally seemed to have relaxed the boy.

About damn time, Jason thought.  I don’t think I could handle reading another complaint form without losing my mind.  He stretched and yawned.

“I wonder what the Chief wants to see you about.”  Princess’ voice held a slight pensive note. 

Jason was wondering the same thing, but he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of admitting it.  He couldn’t possibly have learned about the asteroids already, could he?  Jason wondered exactly how he would justify those extra missiles. 

Darien gave him a curious look.  He’s probably wondering the same thing, Jason thought.  But at least he’s keeping his mouth shut. 

Jason glared at Princess.  “G-3, I’d like a word with you.  In private.”  His words were steel.

Tiny glanced at Darien and Keyop, using his finger to make a quick slash across his neck.  He gestured at his two teammates to leave, and quickly.  The three young men filed out, leaving Jason and Princess alone on the bridge.

Jason stood up and glared at the Swan.  “Don’t - ever - do that again!” he spat out, as soon as the others were out of earshot. 

“Jason, what are you talking about?” Princess asked.  She genuinely did look confused, which frustrated him even more.

“Exactly,” he fumed.  “Look, would you have asked Mark why the Chief needed to see him?”

Princess shrugged.  “I don’t know.  I might.”  She didn’t sound convincing.

“Would you ask Mark if he was feeling all right?  Training too hard?  If he needed to take some time off?”  Jason was finding it hard not to yell.  “How do you think that looks?  I’ve finally got Darien and Keyop in line and now you’re undermining my authority.  You’re my second in command.  You’re supposed to back me up.”

Princess looked at the ground.  “Yes, Commander,” she said quietly.  “I’m sorry.”

“Good,” he responded curtly.  “Don’t let it happen again.”  He turned away from her and went back to shutting down his station.

Princess didn’t move.  She stood uneasily alongside him, staring at the back of his head.  When it became apparent that she wasn’t going to leave, Jason turned and spoke more forcefully. 

“Princess,” he snapped.  “You are dismissed.  Go to debrief.”  There was no mistaking his command tone, and yet she still didn’t leave.  What the hell?

“Jason, we need to talk …”

At that moment, Jason’s wrist com began to vibrate.  “Jason, report.  Where are you?”  The Chief sounded angry.

Jason looked up and met Princess’ eyes without emotion.  “I’m on my way,” he said.

***

The Chief made sure that the door to his office was closed and locked before he gestured at Jason to sit down.  That wasn’t a good sign.  Jason sat rigidly in one of the hard-backed guest chairs. 

“We need to talk,” the Chief said. 

Jason flinched involuntarily.  That was the last thing Princess said to me.  Was she trying to warn me about something?  Maybe I should have listened to her.  He nodded intently, imagining the reprimand for the extra munitions and trying to think of a good justification for using them.

“I’ve been reviewing your medical and field records.  Your implant isn’t working to full capacity.”

The words hit like a blow.  Jason tried not to hyperventilate.  This is not good.  He forced his voice to remain calm.  “What exactly does that mean?”

The Chief cleared his throat.  “Is your wrist still sore?”

Jason flexed his left arm before he thought about it, then blushed when he realized that the Chief was watching him.  “Yes,” he admitted.  “But how did you know?”

“We’ve been maintaining close tabs on you since your reinstatement.  I know that you took a blow to the wrist last week on Riga.” 

“But how did you know that it still hurts?” Jason pressed.

“You’re registering a fever and inflammation in that area,” the Chief said.  “And you shouldn’t be.  You’ve had a full week to recover.  For a minor injury like that, your wrist should have been back to normal a few days ago.”

Jason nodded.  “That’s what I thought, too.”  He sighed and looked away.  “I guess I should have reported it.” 

The Chief held up two fingers.  “You’ve got two strikes against you,” he said.  “One, you’re not getting enough rest.  And two, your implant is taking longer to recharge than it used to because you’re not getting enough sleep.”  He gave Jason a hard look.  “I don’t want to see you lose your place on this team, Jason.  You’ve got to pace yourself.” 

Jason blanched.

At his stunned expression, the Chief continued.  “I know that you’re used to pushing yourself as hard as you need to in any situation.  You’ve always been able to keep going longer than the rest of the team.”

Jason nodded again.  Of course.

Anderson shook his head.  “But you’ve got to recognize your limits, Jason.  You have to rely more on the others.  Princess is very concerned about you.  She came in to talk to me yesterday.  You need to take better care of yourself.”

Princess.   No wonder she wanted to talk to me.  Jason swore.   “She should have kept her mouth shut.  It’s none of her damn business.”  Jason spat out the words before he realized what he was saying and who he was saying it to.

“Yes, Jason, it is her business,” the Chief said, in a calm but firm voice.  “Your physical condition is your team’s business, like it or not.  She’s your second in command.  You can’t just boss her around.  You have to listen to her, too.”

“Yes, sir.”  Jason fought the urge to roll his eyes.  But then his mind replayed what the Chief had just said.  My implant isn’t working to full capacity.  The implications of that statement began to sink in.  Jason felt the weight on his shoulders and closed his eyes.

The Chief cleared his throat.  “Don’t take this the wrong way, Jason,” he said.  “Your implant works.  In fact, it’s functioning fairly well.  I’m not saying that you aren’t fit, or that you aren’t fully capable of taking down a squad of Spectran soldiers single-handedly.  You are, by far, the best field operative under my command next to Mark.  None of that has changed.”

Jason tried to accept the compliment, but it was hard.  He felt physically ill at the suggestion that something else could be wrong with his implant.

The older man stood up from his plush office chair and walked around to where Jason was seated.  Anderson patted Jason on the shoulder, then folded his arms and leaned one hip against his desk next to him.  “But you have to work with me here.  Training harder isn’t going to fix this.  You have to get out of the way and let your implant do its job.  Take it easy between missions.   Get more sleep.”

Jason opened his eyes and swallowed.  “How far out of range?”

“What?”  The Chief frowned slightly.  “Oh, your implant.  I never said it was out of range, Jason.  It’s within specs for functionality.  But your recharge phases aren’t working as efficiently as they should.  That’s making your recovery times longer, especially when you’re not taking care of yourself.  If you change your behavior, I don’t think it will affect your performance.”  He pointed a finger at Jason.  “But you’re going to run into a problem if you don’t start taking some time off in between missions.   You’ve been treating your body as if you’re invincible.”  The Chief took off his glasses and rubbed the lenses methodically with a handkerchief before putting them back on.  He fixed Jason with a hard stare.  “You’re not.”

Jason shuddered.

The Chief went on.  “I wanted to catch you before you left Center Neptune today.  You should stay here and get some rest as soon as possible.  Intel expects another strike from Spectra in the next day or two.”

Jason set his face like flint.  “What about my balance?”

The Chief shook his head.  “I don’t know, Jason,” he admitted.  “But your equilibrium has steadily improved since we’ve started tracking your progress.  Your last scans support that – we’re seeing more activity in that region of your brain.  That’s a good sign.  I suspect that your neural bridge will fully regenerate over time.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

The Chief gave him a hard look.  “You’ll have to learn to live with what you can do.”

Jason put a hand to his forehead.  He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.  “Yes, sir.”  His words were a whisper.

The Chief gestured at his left arm.  Reluctantly, Jason held out his wrist for the Chief to inspect.  After turning Jason’s arm over, poking and prodding until he invoked a wince, the Chief nodded at Jason and reached across his desk. 

“Here.  Take this to Medical and have them X-ray that wrist.  You don’t appear to have a serious injury, but I’m not taking any chances.  And when they’re done with you, get some sleep.”

Jason took the form in silence.

Anderson walked back to his desk chair.  When he sat down, chair squeaking in protest, Jason knew that the meeting was over.  He put his glasses back on and tried to calm his thoughts, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave. 

Once I walk out that door, I have to live with everything the Chief just told me.

Jason sat in front of Chief Anderson’s desk and tried to cobble his thoughts back together.   After a few minutes, he stood to go.  His hand was on the door when he heard the Chief’s voice. 

“And Jason?”

Jason turned around.  Please, no more bad news.

“Go talk to Princess.”

In the end, Jason decided to call a team meeting.  It would be easier than explaining things to each of them individually.  He watched his teammates enter the ready room and he waited impatiently as they fanned around the table and took their seats.  Finally, four expectant faces were staring at him.

Jason had hoped that a straight talk would cut down on gossip and speculation.  Once his staff was assembled, though, he found it hard to speak.  Don’t mince words, he told himself.   Just get right to the point.

Jason cleared his throat.  “I called you in here today …”

“Jason!  Your wrist!” Princess interrupted.  Darien, Tiny, and Keyop joined her in staring at his left arm.

Well, this is going well, Jason thought. 

He crossed his arms, folding his right arm over his bandaged left one.  He gave Princess a hard look before continuing.  She looked away.

“As I was saying, I called you in here today because I wanted you to hear this from me.  Medical has found another problem with my implant …”

There were three sharp inhalations of breath and one “Oh!” from Princess.

Damn.  I guess I should have said that differently. 

“.. but it’s a minor problem,” he said.  “Emphasis on the word ‘minor’.  Nothing like before.  I’m only telling you because I want to change a few procedures around here.”   And I don’t want you second-guessing my decisions.  Or gossiping about me behind my back.

Keyop cocked an eyebrow.  “Change what?”

“Jason, what’s wrong?” Princess asked.

“The recharge phase of my implant isn’t working as well as it should,” Jason said.  “The Chief thinks that I need more time for ...”  He gritted his teeth.  Do I have to admit this?  “… rest and recovery.”  Jason’s frustration spilled out with every word.  He couldn’t bring himself to look at Princess.

“And your wrist?” she pressed.

“Again,” Jason said, daring to glance at her this time, “it’s nothing serious.  I injured it when that goon slammed into me during the bombing on Riga.  I guess I didn’t rest it long enough.  Medical wants me to keep my wrist immobile for the next few days whenever we’re off-duty to let the implant do its job.  It won’t affect me in the field.”

Princess looked marginally pacified, but her eyes remained riveted on his wrist. 

Darien spoke for the first time.  “You said you wanted to change some procedures, Commander?”

“Yes,” Jason said, thankful for the change of subject.  “I need to alter some of our usual assignments.  I know that normally the Commander goes last through debriefing, but I need to start going first.”

Keyop gave him an odd look.  “Uh, why?”

Jason sighed.  I can do this.  I can ask for help.  I hope you appreciate this, Chief.  “The sooner I get out of debrief, the sooner I can go off-duty.  I’m supposed to be getting more rest, remember?”  He looked around the table.  His team universally looked worried.

Jason shook his head.  “You can talk to the Chief if you have more questions.  I’ve been assured that this isn’t something that will affect my performance on duty.  I’ve been this way since surgery.” 

Jason paused to let the implications of that statement sink in.  Three successful missions.  Other than oversleeping the Bird Scramble when they escorted the transport, he knew he’d performed well in the field. 

“I’ve been training hard in my off-hours, thinking that would help my fitness and speed up my recovery.  Apparently, that’s been keeping the implant from doing its job.  The Chief said that I need to give myself some time after every mission to rest.  I haven’t been doing that.”  Keyop and Darien’s faces began to relax.  Tiny looked thoughtful.  Only Princess still appeared stricken.

Jason placed his one hand on the table, the gesture as open-postured as he could manage.  “The only thing that will be different is that I’m going to try to take it easy for the first couple of hours after we get back from a mission instead of heading straight to the track or the gym.”  He looked at Princess pointedly.

She met his gaze and spoke quietly.  “Do you want me to write up the debriefing memos for you?”

He nodded.  “Yeah.  I think it would make more sense to do it that way.”

“I can fill out the requisition forms, too,” she added. 

Jason nodded again.

“What else?” asked Darien. 

Jason looked around the table at each of them in turn.  “Let me know if you think of something.  I don’t need or want special treatment, but ways to make our procedures more efficient – especially docking and tear down – would be useful.”  He looked at Darien.  “I know you’ve given this a lot of thought, Falcon.  If you’ve got some changes you’d like to suggest for our Standard Operating Procedures, now’s the time.  Send me your report.”

Darien nodded.  “I’d be happy to.”

Tiny ventured a look at Jason.  His tone was hesitant.  “Uh, Jase.  I’m just wondering … does it make sense to keep those 6 a.m. training sessions?”

Jason laughed.  Tiny’s face relaxed completely.   

“Not one of my better ideas, huh?   You were right, Tiny.  It was a stupid idea.  It doesn’t make sense to set up any training for the first day back, let alone at the crack of dawn.  I think we should drop training for the entire day after a mission.”

Jason heard murmurings of agreement around the table.  Finally, Keyop spoke.

“How long?” he asked.

“How long what?”  Jason replied.  Tiny cast a sidelong glance at Princess and shook his head. 

“Until you’re better,” Keyop clarified.  Darien winced.

“Keyop!” Princess wailed.

Jason held up his good hand.  “No, it’s okay.  I’d rather you guys ask me directly.”  He looked at Keyop.  “You mean, until my implant is better, Keyop?”   The boy nodded.

Jason shook his head.  “That’s a good question.  Nobody knows.  The Chief says everything’s within specs.”  Jason swallowed.  “So it could keep improving or this could be as good as it gets.”

His teammates looked at each other.  Jason tried to read their minds, without success, while he waited for someone – anyone – to break the silence. 

Finally, Darien smiled at him.  “That’s good enough for me,” he said.

“Me, too,” said Keyop.

“We’re all behind you, Jason,” Tiny said.  “We’ll make it work.”

“Thanks.” Jason hadn’t realized that he was holding his breath until he exhaled.  Only Princess hadn’t spoken. 

“And now, I need to talk to my second.  Alone.  Owl, Falcon, Swallow, you are dismissed.”

***

He wouldn’t look at her.  Didn’t speak a word.  Just walked around the table with that look on his face, the same look he used to stare down Spectran goons and force them to surrender without ever drawing a weapon.  Jason knew his reputation and he often used it to its full advantage.  But she couldn’t remember the last time he had tried to use it on her.

Princess sat back in the chair, folded her arms, and stared ahead resolutely.  Not this time.  Her eyes narrowed into the Condor stare.  Two could play at this game.

“You deliberately went behind my back,” he said, finally.  Almost his command voice, she noted, but she could hear the edge of anger he was trying so desperately to control.  “Your behavior could have cost me my place on the team.”

She stared at him.  Is he serious?   “Your behavior could have landed you in the infirmary.”  She looked pointedly at his wrist.  “Or worse!”   

“You should have come to me first.”  Cold, calculated words. 

Princess stood up.  He was goading her, she knew, hoping his artificial calm would prod her into letting her guard down and reacting to him emotionally.  Mark must use this technique on Jason.  But, even knowing that, she found that she just couldn’t let his comment pass. 

“I did!  I tried!  Every time I came to talk to you, you had some excuse about why it wasn’t a good time.  It’s never a good time to talk to you, Jason.”

He stiffened, just slightly, and she knew her statement had hit its mark.  He glared at her. 

She shook her head.  “You treat me like I’m not even here!”  Now that she had started talking, her frustration spilled over, the words flowing faster and faster.  “You never listen to me, you never consider what I have to say.  You’re trying to run this team all by yourself and you’re going to get yourself killed.”  The words were out of her mouth before she could take them back.

“It’s good to know you have such faith in my command.”  His sarcasm was edged in ice.

Just then, their bracelets pinged in unison.  Bird Scramble.  A series of flashes bespoke the urgency:  Get airborne.  Now. 

And, just like that, Jason’s command face crumbled.  Princess could read the panic in his eyes.  He swore and punched the nearest chair.

Instinctively, she set aside her anger and reached out to him.  “Jason, what’s wrong?”   

He locked his jaw and looked at her warily.  Just when she thought he wasn’t going to answer, he spoke in a whisper.  “I can’t move my wrist.”

She made a face and shook her head at him.  “So?  We’ll cut the bandages off.  You can have Medical re-wrap you when we get back.  The implant will keep you going until then, right?”

He closed his eyes and shook his head.  Something wasn’t right, but he didn’t volunteer the information.

“Jason, Princess, where are you?”  7-Zark-7 sounded worried.

Jason spoke into his wrist com.  “We’ll be right there, Zark.”  Then, he put his unwrapped hand to his face.  “Can this day get any worse?”

Princess tried to stay calm.  It unnerved her to see Jason like this, but at least he was finally talking.  How long had it been between missions?  Just a few hours.  Not long enough for any of them to recover, really.  Certainly not Jason.  He’d gone in to see the Chief, headed down to Medical to have his arm taped, and then he’d met with the team.  She wasn’t even sure if he had eaten. 

Is he exhausted?   Can he handle the mission?  Will he tell me if there’s a problem?   The biggest question loomed large in the corners of her mind:  Can I trust him?

Almost as if he could read her thoughts, Jason looked up and said, “I’m an idiot,” and sank into the nearest chair.  He swore again.  “I talked an intern into giving me numbing drops.”

“You did *what*?”  She blinked at him.  Is he serious?   

He looked at her levelly.  “It seemed like a good idea at the time.  If I’m forced to rest right after a mission, I might as well get the most out of it.  How was I supposed to know that Spectra would turn around and attack us again today?”  He shook his head and buried his face in his good hand. 

Princess fought hard not to scream at him.  We’re only supposed to use those when we’re out on Medical leave and inactive!  What were you thinking? 

But she could guess exactly what he had been thinking.  Physically immobilizing an injury helped the implant to speed recovery.  Adding numbing drops cut your recovery time even further.  Jason was desperate to hide any weakness, desperate to recover as soon as possible and be back in control of his life - and his health. 

Well, he’s not in control now, she thought.  And whether he likes it or not, he needs my help.  “How do you feel otherwise?” she asked.

“Apart from the fact that I can’t move my hand?” Jason snapped, but he regarded her question more thoughtfully once he realized that she was waiting for a real answer.  “Tired, but not exhausted.  Other than my arm, I’m fine.”

She crossed the room quickly, opened one of the cabinets in the kitchenette, and pulled out two energy bars and a bottle of water.  Then she checked the everything drawer, the one filled with the random flotsam of their daily life: the spare key to Mark’s apartment, Jason’s half-chewed pens from the track, matches from Tiny’s favorite restaurants, the magnifying glass from Keyop’s insect habitat, even a few of Darien’s drawing pencils.  As soon as she found the scissors, she brought the items over to Jason and handed him the mini-meal.  As he crammed the energy bars down his throat and chugged the water – confirming her suspicion that he hadn’t had a chance to eat - Princess deftly cut off his bandages.  

Both knew that you couldn’t wear medical wraps during transmutation unless they were specially-made and incorporated into your official uniform.  Early in their careers, Tiny had tried once when he had sprained his ankle.  He had split the seams of his leggings right down the middle.  Fortunately, it had only been a training exercise.

Special medical devices were costly.  The Chief and 7-Zark-7 had worked with Engineering to add extra support in Jason’s right boot to protect his newly healed ankle from further injury. Princess knew that the same wasn’t true for Jason’s wrist.  Since this injury was minor, Medical wouldn’t have consulted with Engineering to design a permanent solution. 

As soon as he was done eating, Princess asked, “Can you move your hand to transmute?”

He gave her a sorrowful look in return.   “I think so.” 

“Let’s try it now,” she said, urging him to stand.  Moving in unison, their arms crossed their faces in an arc.  Princess’ fist moved with confidence.  Jason’s fingers remained splayed and immobile.  

“Transmute,” they shouted at the same time, flickers of light crossing their bodies, a joint halo of light dazzling them from top to bottom.  Within seconds, the Condor and Swan were ready for action. 

Almost. 

Jason threw back his wings and conducted a brief series of stretches.  Both shoulders went up and down.  Each arm bent at the elbow.  But only one wrist flexed back and forth.

The Condor looked at the Swan.  “I’m going to need you to cover for me.”

She nodded.  They walked to the door of the ready room; he turned off the lights. 

I’m not telling the others about this was left unspoken. But as they hurried down the hall, Princess broached the subject anyway. 

“Jason, you don’t need to tell anyone about the numbing drops.  The effect only lasts what, three hours at most?  The team knows you’ve hurt your wrist.  So what if you’re favoring it?”

He turned toward her with a pained expression.  “And just how do I explain that I can’t move my wrist at all?”

She smiled at him.  “It’s not going to come up.  Send us out on recon.  You’ll be on the bridge anyway.  We all know that you can fly one-handed.”  She smirked at him, remembering him bragging about that very subject.  Jason rolled his eyes. 

“If anything comes up, I’ll handle it,” she said.  “That’s what the second in command does, right?”

Even through his tinted visor, she could see a brief look of relief pass across his face.  “Thank you.” His words were nearly inaudible, even to her enhanced hearing.

At 7-Zark-7’s insistent squawks, they ran the rest of the way to the Phoenix.  Right before they leapt aboard the big ship, Jason pulled her aside.  He spoke without preamble.  “I’m sorry.  You were right.  I haven’t been treating you fairly.”

She looked at him in surprise and smiled.

 Jason shook his head.  “Being in command is a lot harder than it looks.”

She gave him a quick hug.  “You’re doing fine, Jason.  Now let’s go splat some Spectrans.”

“Status?” Jason asked as he stormed across the bridge.  The Phoenix was almost ready for launch; the bay doors were open and the exterior holding chamber had nearly filled with sea water.  Jason knew that he had missed the overview briefing with Chief Anderson, but it simply couldn’t be helped now.

Keyop looked up.  “Brrt … doot … Sector 4.  Big … brrp … spider.”

“Tiny, checks?”

“Completed,” answered Darien, speaking before Tiny had even opened his mouth.  The big pilot raised his eyebrows at Jason. 

Jason fought the urge to reprimand G-6.  No wonder he gets on everyone’s nerves.  At least the Rigan had completed his checks promptly this time.

“All systems go, Commander,” Tiny said.

“All right,” Jason replied.  “What are we waiting for?  Head to Sector 4.”

“Big ten,” answered Tiny as he set a course for a largely aquatic area near northern Japan.  Given the speed of the Phoenix, it wasn’t long before the team came upon their objective hovering above the Pacific Ocean just south of the Kuril Islands.  The shiny black spider mecha was striking against the blue waves below.  Sunlight glinted off of each writhing metallic leg.

“Yuck,” said Tiny. 

“Eww,” agreed Princess.  She shuddered.  Darien rolled his eyes.

“Cool!” said Keyop. 

Darien and Keyop each earned a frown from Jason.  “What do we know about its capabilities?” Jason asked, drumming his fingers impatiently on the console while scowling at the mecha.  I wish I’d been there for the briefing.     

“Maneuverable in both air and water,” answered Darien.   

“Targets … nuclear … doot … power,” said Keyop.

“Shoot lasers from its legs,” added Tiny.  “Those legs can stir up some real trouble.”

As if on cue, the spider spotted them.  Eight legs began to whir in a circle, creating a vortex.  Water began to rise into the column, forming a water spout.  Tiny fought for control of the Phoenix in the midst of violent turbulence. 

“Battle stations,” Jason ordered.  “Tiny, take us up.”  He grabbed the console in front of him as the ship lurched sideways.

“I  … can’t … Jase …” Tiny got out.  “She’s sucking us in.”

 “Emergency evasive action.  Full power boosters, auxiliary power,” commanded the Condor.

“Give me … a hand … with the stabilizer?” yelled Tiny, desperately trying to steer the big ship in the wake from the spider’s legs.  He gestured with his head.  “That lever … there.”

Jason grabbed the lever with his good hand, but it was no use.  The forces against it were too strong.  He needed to be able to brace himself against the floor and yank with both hands.  Before he could catch her eye, Princess was on her feet next to him, helping to pull back the control under the tremendous force of the twisting winds.  Their combined efforts were working, but the Phoenix strained and swayed violently.

Princess glanced back at the stress factor gauge.  “We’re pushing tolerance, Commander!”

“Can’t … hold it … much longer,” huffed Tiny.

Just then, one of the eight legs lashed forward and bashed the Phoenix, clamping down over the front of the aircraft.

“Brrp … hull … doot … doot … cracking!” screamed Keyop.

“Falcon, get up here!” Jason yelled.  Darien was on his feet next to Princess instantly.  “Take this,” Jason ordered as he moved quickly toward the lift.  Darien grabbed the lever with both hands, shoving Princess aside.  She glared at him, but he ignored her.

As she made her way back to her station, stumbling slightly as the ship violently jerked back and forth, Princess called out to Jason.   “Where are you going?”

He was already in the lift.  “To my car.”

“No … way,” Tiny called back through his wrist com.  “Wind’s too strong.”

“Do you see another option?” Jason snapped back.  “We have to break its hold on us.  We’re not in position for a bird missile, but the gatling gun might work.”

Anticipating the protests, Jason switched off his wrist communicator.  As soon as the elevator door opened, he slid down the hatch to his car.  He got into the vehicle with difficulty, forgetting that his left hand was useless.  Damn!  Once in the car, he fired up the G-2 and lined up the gun sights.  Everything took twice as long one-handed.  Jason slammed the fist of his good hand against the dashboard in frustration and took a deep breath before flicking his wrist com back on.  “G-5, I’m in position.  Open the nose cone.” 

The metal shields covering the front of the Phoenix retracted with a clatter.  The forces against his car were tremendous.  He could hear the metallic whine of the grapples as they swayed back and forth in the gale-force winds.  But, as he had suspected, one shiny black metal leg of the spider was right in front of his car. 

Bingo!

Jason fired a single shot into the beast.  As expected, the leg jerked back, sending arcs of laser fire in random directions.  Once the leg was further from the Phoenix, Jason pelted the spider with bullets.  It seemed like forever until the leg began to smoke, sending a chain-reaction of explosions rocking through the beast.  The Phoenix surged upward as the whirling of the remaining legs slowed, and Jason breathed a sigh of relief.

“G-2?  You all right out there?”

“I’m fine, G-5,” Jason said.  “Fly directly over the spider and line me up for the legs.  I’ll keep firing.  Get the Sparrow or the Falcon to launch a bird missile at the body.  Let’s take this thing out.”  Jason could hear the whoop on the flight deck even without his wrist com. 

“Can I ... brrip ... do it, Commander?” Keyop’s eager voice chirped happily through the wrist com.

He laughed.  “Sure, Squirt.  Just remember to use the firing grid.”

We're almost there. Jason reached under his visor and rubbed his eyes.  For the first time during the mission, he was painfully aware of just how tired he was.  How many hours has it been since I’ve slept?  He stifled a yawn.  Gotta focus.  Legs.  Laser legs. 

The spider was caught off-guard by their offensive.  Jason shot whenever Tiny had him lined up in the right direction.  Two more legs went down.  The Phoenix continued to twist and torque as Tiny dodged laser fire from the remaining legs.  Jason breathed a sigh of relief that Tiny was piloting instead of him.  Just when he was starting to despair of Keyop ever shooting the bird missile, he saw a torpedo of metal flash by and stab directly into the center of the spider’s body. 

There was a whoop from the bridge.

“Great shot, Keyop!  Tiny, pull out.  I think she’s going to blow.”

The words had barely left his lips when the spider exploded, sending a shower of metal fragments in all directions.  Before he could even order the command, Tiny had closed the retractable doors covering the G-2, protecting him and his car from the flying shrapnel.   

That was close.  He had been lucky.  No, Jason amended, I’m lucky that I have them. 

He climbed out of his car and stretched.  This time, he allowed himself to yawn.  With effort, Jason hoisted himself back up to the lift one-handed.  He took a moment to catch his breath before entering the elevator.  By the time he strode back to the flight deck, Tiny was flying the Phoenix in ever-widening arcs to survey the damage.

“Status?”

“Ka-pow!” said Keyop.  “Spider splatted.”

“Casualties?”

Darien shook his head.  “7-Zark-7 reports that the nearby cities were evacuated.”  He smiled.  “Fortunately, the spider was so busy attacking us, it didn’t have time to inflict damage anywhere else.”

Princess reported, “We’re all clear.”

“Nice work, everyone,” Jason said, sinking into the Commander’s chair.  He closed his eyes.   I’m only going to rest for a minute, he told himself.

“You okay, Jase?” Tiny asked, just low enough that no one else could hear. 

Jason’s eyes popped open.  “Fine, G-5.  Take us home.”

The ride back to Center Neptune was blissfully uneventful.  As they approached the docking bay, Jason tested his reflexes.  Finally, his left hand started to respond to his commands.  About damn time. 

As soon as the ship had docked, each team member set about securing their stations.  After a while, Keyop stood and headed toward the hatch.

“Wait a minute, Shorty,” Jason said.  “I go to debrief first, remember.”  He stifled a yawn and punched a button on the console in front of him.  This is taking forever.

“Brrp … beep.  Sorry, Jason.”  Keyop sat back down, contrite.

Princess stood up.  “I’ll finish up for you, Commander.”

“Thanks,” he responded.  Jason leaned his head back against the seat and took a deep breath.  Then he stood up, thwapped Keyop on the helmet as he walked by the boy, and left the ship.

***

As soon as Jason stepped off the bridge, Darien turned to Princess.  “Is he all right?”

She nodded.  “Tired.  But aren’t we all?”  She gave Darien a slight smile, walked to the Commander’s station, and continued to put things away.

Darien still looked concerned.  “I thought he said his wrist injury was minor.”  Darien looked out of the hatch at the Condor, far below, leaving the docking bay.

Princess stopped her work and stared at Darien.  “It is.”

“Then why didn’t he use his left hand once during this whole mission?  He needed your help to man the stabilizer.”  He gave Princess an accusatory look.

Keyop looked up, wide-eyed.  Tiny stared at Princess, concern splashed across his face.

Princess sighed, wishing Jason was there to defend himself.  “Medical asked him not to.”  A half-lie was better than the truth.

Darien frowned and crossed his arms.  “He should have said something.  I can fire the gatling gun.  It works better with two hands.”

Tiny patted Darien on the shoulder.  “Give him time.  You’ve only worked together for a couple of missions.  He doesn’t know what you can do yet.”

Darien kicked at the carpet.  “He would if he bothered to ask.”  His expression hardened.  “Or bothered to tell us when he needs help.”  He glared at Princess, then looked away.

Princess locked eyes with Tiny and shook her head.  She gestured at Tiny over Darien’s bowed head.  Can you take care of this?  

Tiny punched Darien playfully on the arm.  “How about a rematch of that dart game, Falcon?”

Darien looked up and slowly smiled.  “I’ll cream you again, Harper.”

Princess gave Tiny a grateful look.  Thank you, she mouthed.

Any time, he gestured back.

***

Debrief finished, Jason sat in Medical waiting for Jessie to tape up his arm.

“You back again?” she asked.

He yawned and nodded.  He propped up his head on his good arm while she arranged the bandages and began to re-wrap his left wrist.

“Did the numbing drops help?” she questioned.  When he didn’t answer, all of the color drained from her face.  “You were just on a mission, weren’t you?”

Jason woke up in a hurry.  “Yes,” he admitted. 

Her eyes widened, her expression horrified.  He wanted to lie to her.  He wanted to say that he hadn’t used the numbing drops.  But he just couldn’t do it.  She might only be an intern, but she was Medical, she needed to know.  He couldn’t risk setting his recovery times back any further than they already were.  And it wasn’t like she was going to tell anyone.  If the truth came out, she would catch more flak than he would.    

“It’s not your fault,” he said.  “You didn’t know.”

“I’m so stupid!” she said.  “Of course, I should have suspected.  You’re active again.”  She shook her head and began to unwrap what she had just started.  “You’ve been in the field.  I need to take another X-ray first.”  She sounded flustered.

“It’s my fault,” he said, trying to look penitent.  “I asked you for the drops.”

She looked at him and sighed.  “I shouldn’t have listened to you.”  She set aside the wrap.

He smirked at her.  “I’m very persuasive.”

Jessie laughed in spite of herself.  “That you are,” she said, as she led Jason down the corridor.  After two X-rays and another thorough examination of his left wrist, she began to re-wrap Jason’s arm.  This time, however, she wasn’t finished until the bandages extended well above his elbow.  He looked down as his arm and flicked an annoyed glance at her.

“Is this my punishment?” he asked.

It was her turn to smirk.  “You’re supposed to keep your wrist immobile.  Since you can’t take the numbing drops, I want you to stop using your arm entirely.”

At his horrified expression, she smiled at him a bit with more sincerity.  “Within reason, of course.”

“Just when can I take this lot off?” he asked.  No way he could drive like this.  Racing was out of the question.  So was boxing.  What the hell am I going to do to relax? 

“Give it a few days, Jason.”  She reached out to pat him on the shoulder, but at his hard look, Jessie withdrew her hand and crossed her arms awkwardly instead.  “You look exhausted.  Go get some rest.”

Great, someone else to baby me.  Jason stood up, ready to storm out of the room.  Instead, he found himself fighting for balance.  Jessie put a steady hand on his shoulder. 

“Get some sleep,” she insisted.

He nodded and walked out of the room.

If Mark hadn’t just returned from his first visit to rehab – exhausting, sobering, exhilarating – he could have sworn that Jason hadn’t moved since he fell asleep in Mark’s guest chair two weeks ago.  Despite the fact that the chairs were on the opposite side of the bed in the rehab wing, the view greeting him was nearly identical.  Mark could hear snoring from the lumpy guest chair. Jason had his feet up on Mark’s bed frame, his long limbs sprawled in every direction, his glasses slightly askew, and one arm covered stem to stern in compression wrap and gauze.  Mark did a double take and called for the woman who had accompanied him from rehab.

“Jessie!” he hissed, trying not to wake Jason up.

The intern poked her head back into his room.  “Everything okay, Mark?”

“I’m fine.  Do you know what happened to Jason?”

She laughed lightly as she entered the room.  “He just about got me written up.  I need him to keep his arm immobile until his wrist heals.  He’s a sneaky one.”  She smirked at Mark’s second, who was blissfully unaware, and picked up the clipboard tacked to the end of Mark’s bed.  Pulling a pen from behind her ear, she began to check off boxes on the chart. 

“When did he injure his arm?” Mark asked.  “Today?”

She shook her head absently.  “Riga, I think.”  Jessie put the chart back.

Riga … but that was over a week ago.  And I’ve seen him since.  He seemed fine.  What happened? 

“Broken bone?”

“Soft tissue damage.”  She shook her head again.  “ He just needs a good night’s sleep.  Poor guy can’t catch a break.”  As Mark’s eyes widened in surprise, Jessie swore under her breath.  “And I shouldn’t be telling you any of this,” she finished, walking back out the door with a frown. 

“No, but I’m glad that you did,” said Mark.  In a softer voice, he added, “Do me a favor, please?”

Jessie turned back from the doorway and regarded him with a neutral expression.   She shrugged.  “Name it.”

“Can you keep the hospital staff out of here for awhile?  I’ll call you if I really need something,” he whispered.  Mark held up the pager next to his bed and gave her a winning smile.

She smiled back and dimmed the lights in his room.   “I’ll see what I can do.  Let me get a warm blanket for your guest.”  At Mark’s expression, she added, “And one for you, too, of course.”

“Thanks, Jessie.”

Mark sat alone in the dark after she had left and stared at Jason, pondering the intern’s words.  Obviously, Jason was still able to function.  Mark knew that he was working around the clock, acting in Mark’s stead.  Just as obvious, though, Jason desperately needed some time off. 

And he’s not going to get any until I get better.  Mark cursed inwardly.  Well, at least I can make sure that he gets some sleep.  Mark reached for the phone.

Jessie slipped in and placed a heated blanket over Mark’s legs.  He whispered his thanks and she nodded.  Then, she did the same for Jason.  The guest in the uncomfortable chair sighed deeply and shifted his weight under the warm blanket.  Jessie bid them both good night and slipped back out of the room.

***

The Chief’s temper had risen past simmer and was moving rapidly toward full boil.  Center Neptune staff had finally managed to track down the Condor.  They confirmed that Jason had, quite literally, fallen asleep on the job.  Or, more correctly, he still hadn’t awakened from the night before.  Despite Mark’s call the previous night, Chief Anderson was still surprised to find that Jason was in Medical over twelve hours later, asleep in Mark’s room, when he was needed to represent the team before the Security Council. 

But when the next message came in, marked urgent, the implications stopped the Chief cold.  He radioed Princess and told her to start the meeting without him or Jason.  Hard copies of reports followed soon after, with a courier dropping a small stack of computer printouts on his desk.  The Chief quickly examined the data with a cold and clinical mind, squelching his emotions down hard, as streams of numbers trailed across his desk and onto the floor.  Each measurement taken individually told him very little, but the upsurge in output from Jason’s implant was dramatic.  When you compiled the data and looked at the larger picture, the techs were correct.  The trend was clear; the findings, significant.  And they unequivocally pointed toward a single course of action:  Leave the Condor alone and let him sleep as long as possible.

On one hand, the data told a wonderful story.  Sleep was indeed doing a world of good for Jason.  Medically speaking, the Chief hadn’t seen this much improvement in Jason’s condition since right after his implant surgery.  

But on the other hand …Chief Anderson took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes.  G-Force needs a Commander who’s ready for action at all times.

Today was a prime example: the team was expected to attend a meeting of the Security Council where they would be briefed on the latest intelligence reports from Galaxy Security’s informants.  President Kane expected to see the entire team in attendance.  Zoltar had reportedly ordered his minions to step up their attacks and Kane was worried.  It was – unfortunately – common knowledge that the Condor had taken ill some months back and Spectra had used that information to their advantage.  Damn tabloids, thought the Chief.   Now, with the Eagle down, the next few weeks were likely to be brutal.  The last thing he needed was President Kane fretting over the viability of the team. 

But it can’t be helped.  He shook his head.  Jason’s health is more important than holding Kane’s hand.    

Chief Anderson replaced his glasses.  He rose and walked to the large window in his office, hands clasped behind his back, and stared out at the ocean.  His mind drifted with the currents, each thought rolling past the other in waves:  If I had only listened to Jason after he was hit with Dr. Glock’s detransmutation ray instead of yelling at him … if I had only kept closer tabs on the Medical staff … if I had only known sooner … 

The Chief recalled Jason’s fitness exam and shook his head.  If I had known … I would have waited longer to reinstate his medical clearance.  He needed more time to get his strength back.  I just didn’t realize.

But once Jason had proven his fitness – even if he barely squeaked by on aerials – denying him a place on the team would only have served to fuel gossip and speculation.  And the Chief had been saddled with the added responsibility of caring for Mark’s failing health as well.  At the time of Jason’s reinstatement, Mark had been waiting in the wings for months, his condition deteriorating rapidly.  The Chief had threatened Jason with leaving him in reserve status, but he never really intended to carry out the threat.  Mark had been unwilling to undergo surgery until Jason had recovered enough to take over leading G-Force. 

And Jason had taken over, and he had faithfully served Mark and his team well.  The Chief was impressed with the young man’s devotion, the single-mindedness to which he could apply himself to a task when it suited him.  It was clear to the Chief that Jason was trying his hardest.  But today’s data also made something else clear: Jason had been pushing his body past its limits.  Evaluating the Condor’s medical status, one thing was painfully obvious to the Chief. 

It had all been too much too soon. 

Where am I? 

Despite Jason’s stiff limbs, he felt better than he had in a long time.  He opened his eyes and looked around the darkened room until understanding slowly dawned.

Hospital room, rehab wing.  He thought a moment longer.  Are all of the chairs this lumpy? 

Jason wondered what time it was.  It was always hard to tell in Center Neptune unless you were near a clock.  The normal references for day – slanted sunlight in early morning, lengthening shadows at dusk – simply weren’t relevant deep beneath the sea.  

Mark was sitting up in bed, reading something out of an official ISO briefing file.  He held a small flashlight above the text with one hand and was highlighting items with a fluorescent marker using the other.

“What’re you doing?” Jason asked.  His voice was faint and scratchy.

Mark turned toward him and smiled.   “Hey, you’re up!  How are you feeling?”  He closed the folder, capped the pen, and hit a button on the control panel by the bed.  The lights came up in the room. 

Jason blinked at the sudden brightness.  He cleared his throat and shook his head.  “I should be asking you that.”  He tried to stretch, but found that he could only extend one arm.  “Oh, yeah, this …” His voice trailed off.

“You want to talk about it?” Mark’s voice was gentle.

Jason shook his head.  “Tell me about rehab.”

Mark smiled.  “Hey, I’m standing upright.  That’s a good start, right?” 

Jason nodded.  “I remember that stage.”  He made a face.  “I don’t envy you going through it.  But it does get better.”

Mark raised his eyebrows.  “Does it?”

Jason’s brow furrowed.  “I’m fine, Mark.”

Mark knew when to stop pushing.  He could find other ways of making Jason talk.  “You want to get something to eat?  I’m sick of hospital food.”

“They let you out of this place?” Jason gave him a wry smile.

“I think I can make it to the cafeteria.  I have the Condor to escort me,” Mark teased back.

We look like death on a cracker, Jason thought as they slowly made their way down the hall.  Mark, dressed in a worn T-shirt and sweats, was shuffling along like an old man.  With his own taped arm and rumpled clothes, Jason knew he looked like he’d been on the losing end of a street brawl.  He probably smelled the part, too. 

“Zoltar would love this, wouldn’t he?” Mark said, under his breath.

“He’d just be mad that his plans to scramble our implants failed.”  Jason spoke lowly and grinned.  “You can’t get rid of us that easily.”

Their eyes locked in shared understanding. 

“No, you can’t,” agreed Mark. 

***

After choosing a random assortment of breakfast food from the self-service bar - Mark handled the coffee dispenser since Jason was one-handed – they sat together at a corner table.  The cafeteria was mostly empty.  The few other occupants - Center Neptune employees on break - nursed cups of coffee, read novels, typed on computers.  No one paid attention to the two ragged young men in the corner.

Mark sighed as he took a bite out of a bagel.  “I’ve missed this.” 

Jason cocked an eyebrow.  “This food?  It’s terrible.”  He choked down a forkful of scrambled eggs and made a face.

“The company.”  Mark shrugged his shoulders and smiled at Jason.  After a minute, Jason smiled back. 

Mark picked up his coffee and looked across the room.  His eyes assumed a far-away gaze.  “There’s nothing worse than watching your team go out on a mission and knowing that there’s nothing you can do but get out of the way.”

Jason nodded.  “And try not to do anything stupid while they’re gone, like jump off a cliff.”  He winced at the memory.  

Mark turned back to Jason and regarded him with a serious expression.  “It’s not easy to admit that you need help, especially when you’re used to taking care of everyone else.”  He tried to project the underlying message:  I’m here if you want to talk. 

Jason attempted to cross his arms, but the bandages got in the way.  He settled for tucking his right arm under his left.  He shrugged.  “I guess so.”  Mark heard Jason’s underlying message, too:  I don’t want to talk about it. 

There was a long pause as Mark gathered his thoughts.  Well, you need to talk to someone, Jason.  It might as well be me.   He didn’t look at Jason when he spoke next.  “I heard about your implant.”

Jason’s eyes flared.  “Wonderful.  So much for classified information.  Who squealed?”

“Jessie told me about your wrist and the Chief told me the rest.”  At Jason’s expression, Mark quickly added, “I was concerned about you.”  He fixed his teammate with an earnest expression.

“Don’t start,” Jason snapped.  “It’s none of your damn business.”  He shoved his chair away from the table.  But he didn’t leave.  Mark took that as a good sign and pressed on.

“Jason, you came back from Sector 4 and collapsed in my room with your arm in a sling.  You looked like hell.  Of course I was worried.”

“So, I fell asleep in your room.   So what?”  Jason pushed his glasses up his nose and frowned at Mark.  “Some missions are harder than others.  You know that.”   

Mark tried to keep his voice soft, knowing that Jason wouldn’t react well to what he was about to say.  “Jason, you were asleep for over 18 hours.  I kept the medical staff out of my room to let you rest.”  He thought, but didn’t add:  And I nearly skipped this morning’s rehab to keep an eye on you.

Jason slammed his good fist against the table and swore.  Then he closed his eyes.  “I didn’t know.”  In a flash, his eyes popped open and he scanned the room furtively.  “What time is it now?”

“About three in the afternoon.”

Jason swore again and stood up.  “Then I missed today’s briefing.”  He gathered up their trash, threw it on the tray and dumped the contents into the nearest trash can.  Then he slammed the tray on top with a loud whack and turned toward Mark.  “The Chief’s gonna kill me.” 

Jason started to dart away, but Mark pinned him with an eagle-eyed stare.  In his command voice, he ordered, “Jason, sit down.”

Jason sat, but his posture remained firmly closed – arms as crossed as he could manage, legs twisted into a knot, a simmering frown on his face.

“The Chief knows where you are.  So does the rest of the team.  They held today’s briefing without you.”

Jason took a shuddering breath and closed his eyes again.  “Great, just great.”  He put his right hand up to his forehead.   

Mark waited until Jason had regained some composure before speaking again.  “It is great, Jason.  Your team – our team – is capable of handling things without you.”

Jason shook his head again.  His voice was barely a whisper.  “Then I’m through as Commander.  I’ve failed you and everyone else.”  He swallowed painfully.

Mark reached across the table, grabbed Jason by his good arm, and shook him.  “What are you talking about?  You haven’t failed anything!  You needed the rest.  If our team fell apart every time the commander was out, Zoltar would have won a long time ago.”

Jason regarded him with wary eyes.  “So, you’re saying that I should be okay with this.”

Mark nodded.  “Princess is fully capable of taking care of things for you the same way that you take care of things for me.  It’s what we do.  It’s what a team does.  We’re not just five people out for ourselves.  Or six, if you count Dude.”  Mark almost managed not to roll his eyes when he mentioned Darien.

Jason covered his face with his good hand.  His next words were nearly inaudible.  “But now everyone knows.”

Mark pulled his hand away.  “So what?  Everyone knew something was wrong before.  Princess said that you held a meeting and told them.  Good for you.  I know that must have been hard.”

Jason sighed.  “Telling someone that you might have a problem is one thing.  Demonstrating that you definitely do have a problem is completely different.”  He shook his head. 

Mark looked at him.  “The only problem you have is that you can’t admit when you need help.”

Jason looked back at him, surprised.  “But the recharge phase of my implant …”

“… is slower than normal,” Mark finished for him.  “Your team can live with that.  So can you.  No one is perfect, Jason.  Not even you.”  At Jason’s frown, Mark cocked his head and smiled.  “Or me.”

Jason managed a half-smile in return.  He finally relaxed in the chair.

“Princess asked me to have you call her when you got up,” Mark said.  “She wants to go over the debriefing memos with you.  She’s never written one before.”

Jason nodded.  “Okay.”

“And the Chief wants to see you after that.”  At the look on Jason’s face, Mark laughed and shook his head.  “Stop worrying.  But he does want to run some more tests.”

“I could have figured as much.”  Jason indicated his arm.  “Maybe I can at least get myself un-taped today.”  Jason tipped his head and fixed Mark with a curious look.  “But exactly where do you fit into all of this?  You’re supposed to be taking care of yourself, not taking up a new job as my social secretary.”

Mark shrugged and tried not to look as self-conscious as he felt.  He didn’t want to answer, but his conscience kept nagging at him.  Jason was honest with me.  I owe it to him.

He took a deep breath and spoke far too rapidly.  “I’ve been feeling left out, okay?  Watching you trying to cope with so much is …” he searched for the right adjective, “… horrible, knowing that there’s nothing I can do.  I just started with rehab and … you know … it’s hell.  It’s going to be weeks – maybe even months – before I can help you in the field.”  He shrugged.  “At least I can help you out at the station.”

Jason gave him a faint smile. 

Mark fixed Jason with a pleading look.  “I hate this as much as you do.  I don’t know how my recovery’s going to go.  The Chief keeps telling me that things will be fine.  But he told you that, too.”  Mark’s voice cracked across the end of the sentence.

Jason reached across the table and touched Mark on the arm.  “I’m doing all right.  And you’re going to be fine, Mark.  You’re already so much better off than I was at this stage.  You’d know by now if your balance was screwed up.  I could tell that the first time I stood up.  And you said that your hearing’s back to normal.  That’s great.  Are the headaches gone yet?”

“No.”  Mark didn’t meet his gaze. 

Jason’s brow knotted.  He looked worried. 

Mark shrugged.  “The Chief thinks things will get better as the swelling starts to go down.  But you know the drill -- there’s no guarantee.”

Jason crossed his arms and smirked.  “Life doesn’t give guarantees.  My best friend told me that once.”

Mark smiled ruefully.  “Of all the things that I’ve told you, this is the one that you remember?”

Jason laughed.  “That and your locker combination.  I’m still planning to get you back for putting frogs in my desk during freshman biology.”

Mark raised his hands, palms forward.  “It wasn’t me!  How many times do I have to tell you that before you’ll believe me?”

“I do believe you.  Just not about the frogs.”  Jason’s smirk dissolved into an actual smile.  “Thanks for breakfast, Mark.”  I’ve missed you went unspoken, but Mark heard Jason’s words as clearly as if his second had said them out loud.

Jason stood up.  “But now, I think I’d better get back to it.  Do you want me to walk you back?”

“No, I think I’m going to sit here for awhile and enjoy being left alone.”

Jason looked at Mark in surprise and chuckled.  “Now that I can relate to.”  He gave Mark a playful punch on the arm.  “Thanks again for breakfast.”

Mark looked at him and shrugged.  “Any time, Jase.  I’ve got a lot of time on my hands.”

Jason shook his head.  “Not for long, Mark.  You’ll be back soon.”

“I hope so,” Mark said. 

Princess opened the door slowly.  “You wanted to see me, Chief?”

Chief Anderson nodded and waved her in.  The look on his face was stern, but when didn’t the man look stern?  She wondered again why he wanted to meet with her.  Early morning meetings were rare, even for the Chief.

Princess turned to sit down and startled at Jason, already seated in one of the Chief’s other guest chairs.  The last time she had seen him, he was curled up in a ball asleep in the rehab wing of Medical with Mark protectively shooing people away. 

He looks better.  I didn’t realize how pale he was before.  Recovered or not, Jason didn’t look happy.  Princess tried to read his posture, without success.  Frustrated?  Angry?  Relieved?  All three?

“Jason!  Your arm!”  Princess said with delight.  His left arm was back in its regular position, crossed over his right, no bandages in sight.

He flicked a glance in her direction.  “Healed.”  The expression on his face was hard to interpret.

“That’s great.”  She smiled at Jason and took the seat next to him, turning her attention back to the man behind the desk.  “What did you want to see me about, Chief?”

Chief Anderson regarded her levelly, fingers steepled.  “Jason and I have been talking.  We’d like to increase your responsibilities as second-in-command.  Jason needs an Executive Officer, someone who can also serve as Acting Commander in the Field when needed.”

Princess’ eyes widened.  She shot a glance at Jason.  “Jase?” she asked, tentatively.

Jason thrust a shoulder in the Chief’s general direction.  “His idea.”

Oh, Jason.  Princess could only imagine how he was feeling.

Chief Anderson frowned at Jason.  “We agreed that you need to reduce your workload.”

Jason’s nod was almost imperceptible.

“You’re doing a fine job as Commander, Jason, but your health is more important.”  The Chief stood, walked around to the front of his desk, arms folded, and gave Jason a hard look.

Jason stared ahead resolutely.

Princess looked back and forth from the Chief to Jason, her concern mounting.  “Chief?”

The older man tipped his head at Jason.  When Jason didn’t offer any explanation, the Chief spoke for him.

“As you can see, Jason’s arm has healed quickly with sufficient rest.  His implant recharge cycles are finally starting to respond as well.  We’re receiving more readings, and the readings that we’re seeing show an overall improvement in his health.”

Jason’s eyes were closed.  Why doesn’t he look happy?  “But … that’s great news.” 

“I’ve been trying to convince Jason of that since yesterday,” the Chief said, revealing a trace of irritation.

Princess touched Jason on the knee.  “Jase?” she asked, softly.

Jason’s eyes blinked open.  He instinctively jerked away from her touch and shook his head.  “I can’t get eighteen hours of sleep a night.  I’d never have a life.”  He slumped over in the chair and stared at the floor.

Princess raised her eyes to look at the Chief.  The older man was shaking his head.

“I’m not saying you need eighteen, but eight to twelve hours per night would be a start, which is exactly why we need to reduce your workload,” the Chief said.  “The more tired you are, the less you delegate.”

Princess winced at the bluntness of the Chief’s words, but she had to agree.  “He’s right, Jason.”

Jason took off his glasses, rubbed his eyes, and put them back on.  He wrapped his arms tightly across his body and stared ahead resolutely before responding.  “I know.”  His voice was almost a whisper.

The Chief reached over and tousled Jason’s hair.  Princess was shocked at such a tender gesture from the Chief, even more surprised that Jason didn’t flinch at the intimacy.   

“I’m not trying to get rid of you,” the Chief said softly.  His voice held a measure of warmth not normally heard from the man.  Jason didn’t respond.  “Try to think of this as giving Princess the opportunity to learn some new command skills.”

Princess nodded.  “I’m going to need help with Darien,” she told the Chief.  “He doesn’t think women should be on the team at all.”

The Chief smiled at her.  “Perhaps it’s time we teach our Rigan friends some things about gender equity.  Darien is their leading candidate for the new Rigan R-Command.”  The Chief leaned back and sat on the front of his desk.

“Is that why he’s working with us?” Princess asked.  “I wondered why he was chosen.”

The Chief nodded.  “That’s also why he’s so interested in revising our Standard Operating Procedures.”

“Some of his ideas aren’t half bad,” said Jason.  “He’s found a way to reduce our tear-down times.”

“He’s reasonably good in the field, too,” Princess conceded.  “But he questions our authority constantly.  He wants explanations for everything.”

 “And he’s so methodical.”  Jason frowned.  “I don’t think he has a clue how to make a snap decision.  We don’t have time to debate things in the middle of battle.”

The Chief regarded Jason with an appraising look.  “And Princess?”

Jason’s eyes intentionally met his teammate’s for the first time since she’d entered the room.  He nodded.  “She’s got what it takes, if she’s willing to do it.  What do you say, Princess?”

She blinked.  “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

Jason shrugged and finally unknotted his body.  “I can’t think of anyone else more qualified.  If I’ve got to delegate, I’d rather hand things over to you.”   

Princess stared at him in surprise and smiled.  “Okay,” she said.  She looked at the Chief.  “I’ll do it.  When do we start?”

The Chief regarded Princess and Jason with his usual stern gaze.  “I’d like the two of you to go over all of the administrative duties normally assigned to the command position and try to split the jobs along your strengths.”

Princess failed to suppress a groan.  “I see a lot of paperwork in my future.”

Jason grinned at her.  “This delegation of work is starting to look better already.”

The Chief gave Jason a hard look.  “She will command in the field when you’re not up for it.  You must delegate more during combat or you will be left behind at base during future missions.  Is that understood?”

Princess felt her stomach drop and looked over at Jason.  All traces of humor were instantly erased from his face, replaced by a hard swallow and a stubborn glare.  The Chief continued his speech unabated. 

“At a minimum, Jason, you are not allowed to command during back-to-back missions if there’s less than 12 hours of break in between.   As your physician, I have to draw the line here.  I’ve looked over the logs for the spider mecha mission.  There was no reason that you had to work the G-2 when Darien was fully trained on the vehicle …”

“It was the quickest way to stop the mecha …”

“And you aren’t the only one who can fire a gatling gun, Jason.”  The Chief wasn’t yelling yet, but his voice held more than a hint of frustration.  “You were so tired that you never even considered it, did you?”

Princess looked at Jason.   Is that true? 

“I …” Jason dropped his eyes.  His arms refolded protectively across his stomach.  As he swallowed, Princess watched his face harden like a mask.  “I got the job done.”  He crossed his legs and stared ahead resolutely.

The Chief was unfazed by Jason’s display.  “You did get the job done.  But there were other ways to do it.  You didn’t even consider other courses of action.”

Jason didn’t answer at first.  When he spoke, his voice was low and devoid of emotion.  “You weren’t there.”

“Princess was,” the Chief said.  Jason glared at the man.

I am so not getting into the middle of this.  “I fully support Jason’s command decisions,” Princess said.  Jason shot her a grateful look and his body posture relaxed.

“I’m glad to hear that,” the Chief said.  “And I expect Jason to fully support your command decisions as well.  You are both dismissed.  I would like to see a report outlining your proposed division of labor by 5 p.m. today.”  He thrust two stapled sets of paper at them.  “These are the duties you need to discuss.  When you are finished, I suggest that you brief your team.”  Chief Anderson folded his arms and regarded them both with a somber expression.  “I realize that this is an unusual course of action.  However, given our current circumstances, I think this is our best option.  Jason, you simply don’t have the stamina to handle all of the commander’s usual duties right now.”

Princess looked over at Jason, expecting a retort, but his eyes were closed, his body wrapped back into a knot.  He knows, she thought.  He knows and he agrees.  The realization chilled her.

“However, you are the most qualified to lead this team and I’ve been pleased with your leadership decisions.  I don’t want to slot Princess in above you.  She has the requisite field training, but she lacks the relevant leadership experience.  Another option would have been to allow Darien to lead the team …”  Both Princess and Jason looked at the Chief, Princess in horror, Jason with a slight smirk.  “… However, I recognize that he has alienated several members of our G-Force team with his antics.  I fear we would have mutiny in our ranks if I even suggested it.”  The Chief shook his head.  “I don’t think I could handle the onslaught of paperwork.  Frankly, Keyop is too young and Tiny needs to be available to man the Phoenix.” 

The Chief paused and took a deep breath before continuing.

“We do have several qualified implant trainees.  However, our most promising candidates for a second team are currently on Riga trying out for R-Command.  They lack actual combat experience anyway.  That leaves the two of you to work things out.”

“I thought there was talk of starting a second team here at Center Neptune,” said Princess.

The Chief’s lips pressed into an ever thinner line.  “Unfortunately, the Eagle’s absence so soon after the Condor’s has led to a media feeding frenzy.  Some groups are talking legal action, in an attempt to shut down the G-Force project here on Earth.  They claim that using implants in children is unsafe and inhumane.  It’s the same argument that the Ethics Committee made years ago, but they finally came around after the war began.”  Chief Anderson shook his head.  “These folks are just getting started.”

Jason shook his head.  “We might as well hand Earth over to Zoltar on a platter.”

The Chief nodded, frowning.   “There are legitimate concerns about your implants, Jason, as you are well aware, but without them, you’re right, we would be defenseless against the horrors unleashed by planet Spectra.  Unfortunately, the leaders of the anti-implant campaign – though well-intentioned – are ill-informed about the actual dangers posed by Zoltar and his minions.  They believe that more remote-controlled aircraft are the solution.”  The Chief shook his head.  “According to our Intel, we have reason to believe that Spectra is providing financial backing for this recent wave of lawsuits.”  

“At least Riga still has a program,” Princess said.  

“For now,” the Chief replied.  “The sooner they can get R-Command up and running, the better.” 

The Chief turned to look at Jason.  “I don’t have to tell you, Jason, if we had more trained field personnel, I would drop you to reserve status.” 

 Jason flinched, looking stricken.

“Not as a punishment, and certainly not as a permanent demotion.  But if we had the luxury, I’d give you more time to heal and recover from your own implant surgery.  I don’t think any of us realized how long your recovery was going to take.”  The older man caught Jason’s gaze and held it.  “I respect and appreciate your devotion to G-Force.  But I don’t want you to put your life on the line unnecessarily out of sheer stubbornness.  Stop trying to do everything by yourself.  Lean on your team.”  The Chief gestured at Princess.  “Put her to work.”

Princess smiled, first at Jason, then at Chief Anderson.  “We’ll make it work, Chief,” she said.  “You can count on us.”

When Mark returned from afternoon rehab, he found not one, but two members of the G-Force team waiting for him.  Princess sat primly in the visitor’s chair looking excited but nervous.  Jason lounged next to it, trying his best to look casual, but appearing both grim and determined. 

Uh, oh.  Command issues.  Mark could read their posture as easily as if they had spoken.   I should charge by the hour.

“Mark!” Princess rushed to his side.  “How are you feeling?”  She hugged him and gave him a peck on the cheek.

Mark blushed.  He found his arms encircling her waist, a smile tugging at his lips.  “It’s good to see you, too, Princess.”  He looked deeply into her green eyes. 

Jason cleared his throat.  “I am in the room, you know.” 

Princess giggled and slipped away from Mark’s grasp.  She stood by Jason. 

Jason rolled his eyes and stepped toward the Eagle.  “We need to talk to you, Mark.”  He gave Princess a sidelong glance.  “About work.”

Mark sat gingerly on the bed.  He longed for the day when he could just get up and walk out of the room whenever he felt like it.  He could already tell that the cafeteria would be the preferable location to have this conversation, rather than his cramped hospital room, but after the workout he’d just had, Mark simply didn’t possess the strength to leave.  He eased himself into a sitting position at the head of the bed.  Princess moved to help him, but Jason grabbed her by the arm and pulled her back. 

At least Jason understands what this is like.  Mark took his time getting situated.  Jason politely ignored his struggles.  After her wordless admonishment from Jason, Princess stared at the floor. 

Finally, Mark was seated comfortably, two pillows behind his back and head.  He looked at his second and third expectantly.  “What’s up?”

Jason thrust a stapled stack of paper into his hands.  “We want you to review our new command structure.”

Mark scanned the papers and looked up in surprise.  “Whose bright idea was this?”

“The Chief’s,” Jason said.  “Princess was in charge for the entire time I was crashed out on your chair anyway.  Nothing wrong with formalizing it, I guess.”  He chewed at his lip.

Mark looked at his second, realization dawning.  “Jase, I’m sorry …”

Jason cut him off with a wave of his hand.  “Forget it.  You did the right thing letting me sleep and you know it.  Medical confirmed it,” he said, flexing his left wrist.  “I was headed for trouble the way I was going.”  Jason looked from Mark to Princess.  “You both knew that before I did.  I never seem to know when to quit.”

“I didn’t think it would come to this …” Mark stared at the papers in disbelief.

Princess cleared her throat.  She was glaring at Mark. 

Mark chuckled.  “I didn’t mean it like that, Prin.  I think you’ll make a fine Executive Officer.  But not at the expense of Jason.”

Jason shrugged.  “It doesn’t have to be like that, Mark.  I could use the help.  And she could use the experience with command.  But we can’t quite agree on the details.”

“Such as?”

“Well,” Jason said, “it’s obvious who should handle most of the paperwork.  And, generally, I should be in charge during combat.  We both agree on that.”

“Understood,” said Mark.  “And I concur, if that helps any.”

“But the Chief wants Princess in charge when we have back-to-back missions.  I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Princess crossed her arms and gave Jason a frosty look.  “Chief’s orders.”  The glare she sent him rivaled the Condor stare. 

Mark managed to choke back the laugh, but he couldn’t stop the words from forming in his mind.  Payback’s a bitch, isn’t it, Jason?

Jason shot her a piercing glare in return.  “The last place we should be starting your command is when the entire team is exhausted and not thinking clearly.”

There was a pause in the conversation.

Mark broke the silence.  “Maybe the others aren’t as exhausted as you’ve been, Jason,” he pointed out, trying to phrase the words as delicately as possible.

Jason looked at Mark in surprise.  His eyes dropped to the ground.  “I hadn’t considered that,” he said, softly.

Princess regarded Jason with a stern look.  “You told me you were fine to go after the spider mecha.”

Jason met her gaze and shrugged.  “I thought I was.”  His eyes dropped back to the floor.

“And now?” Mark probed, his voice tense.

Jason shook his head.  “I don’t know.”  He threw his hands up in frustration and walked in tight circles around the small room.  “I just don’t know.”

“You’re going to have to figure it out, Jason,” Mark said, frustration and worry creeping into his voice.  “Let’s say that you’re in command for the next mission.  What are you going to do if you start to feel wiped out again?”  His voice rose slightly in pitch.  “You have to be able to recognize your limits, Jason.  We can’t do that for you.”  Mark’s concern was laced through every word.   

“I get to read all of his medical reports,” Princess volunteered.

“I did, too,” Mark retorted, angrily.  “And look what good that did!  He nearly died on my watch!”  Mark’s voice broke over the last four words. 

In the silence that followed, the Eagle covered his face with his hands.  Months of tension and worry broke like a dam.  Mark could only imagine what the others were thinking.  Here he was, the once mighty leader of G-Force, stripped of command, reduced to fighting back tears in a rehab bed.

Princess walked over and put her hand on Mark’s shoulder.  “Oh, Mark.”  He reached up wordlessly and took her hand in his own.

At the same time, Jason sat on the opposite side of Mark’s bed.  “You can’t be serious.”

Mark looked at him and nodded, red-eyed, fighting for composure, the stress and exhaustion and worry of Jason’s illness compounded by his own.  He pulled his hand back from Princess to wave his arms for emphasis.  “You nearly died … it was my fault … I got behind on the paperwork and I didn’t realize …”

Jason shook his head.  “Shut up.”  He wrapped his arms around Mark’s shoulders and pulled him into a hug.  Princess, tears in her eyes, sat between them and held both of her teammates.   The three members of G-Force stayed that way for a long time. 

Jason broke away first, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand as he stood up.  “Now that that’s over,” he said, his voice rough, “can we get back to business?”

Mark smiled and nodded.  He looked exhausted, but greatly relieved that the guilt he had been carrying alone for months was out in the open.  Princess continued to sit next to him as he spoke, absently stroking his arm.  “Jason, you’re going to have to evaluate your health at the beginning of every mission.  If you don’t feel up to leading the team – if you even suspect that you might need help - you have to delegate command to Princess immediately.  Whoever starts leading the mission has to carry it through,” he said, his voice regaining strength as he spoke.  “It’s going to be too confusing any other way.”  Princess nodded and squeezed Mark's hand. 

He turned to look at her while adding, “And during the mission, both of you need to be able to ask each other for help when you need it.”  Mark shifted his gaze over to the gunner, now leaning against the wall.  “Jason, you’ve got to recognize when you’re starting to crash.”  At Jason’s expression, he clarified, “You know what I mean.  There’s a big difference between being tired and being exhausted.  When you cross that line, let her know.”  He turned back to the woman sitting next to him.  “Princess, ask Jason for guidance when you’re in over your head and need tactical advice.” 

“What about the time between missions?”  Princess asked.  “The Chief wants Jason to take it easy for at least twelve hours after every mission.”

Mark looked up at Jason.  “Jase?”

“Okay.  I can do that.”  Jason sounded tense.  He appeared to be preoccupied with a stain on the tile, staring directly at a single spot on the floor with an intense expression.

“Jason, what’s wrong?” Princess asked. 

Good, Mark thought.  She knows how to tell when he’s upset and trying to hide it.

Jason looked at her.  “I don’t know what to think about the spider mecha mission any more.  Maybe I should have used Darien.”  He twisted his lips, frustration evident across his face.  “I don’t know.”

Princess looked at him levelly.  “You were okay before we left.”

Jason shrugged.  “I was tired.  But I thought I was fine.”

“Was there a point during the mission where you realized that you could have used some help?” Mark asked.

Jason nodded.  “When I got to my car.  I had to do everything one-handed and I was just so frustrated.  It took forever to set up the gun sights.”  He uncrossed his arms and shook his head.  “But it never occurred to me to ask Darien or anyone else for help.  It would have been too late by then, anyway.”

“When did you realize how tired you were?” Mark pressed.

Jason wrinkled his brows in thought.  “After.  Once the mecha had exploded.”  He shook his head.  “Maybe even during.  Oh, hell. I don’t know.”  Jason gestured helplessly with his hands.  “I can’t remember.  I just wanted to blow up the damn thing up and go home and get some sleep.”  He sat back down on the bed and put his head in his hands.  His next words were muffled.  “I don’t know why I did what I did.”

Mark looked at Princess over Jason’s head.  He signed to her: He’s telling the truth.  She signed back: I know.  They waited patiently for Jason to continue.

Jason lifted his head.  “I don’t want to be in that position again.  I wasn’t thinking clearly and I can’t defend my actions.  I don’t remember why I did what I did.”  He shook his head.  “I have no idea if twelve hours after a mission is long enough for me to get my head on straight.  I can tell you that less than five hours damn sure isn’t.”

Mark looked at him, gauged his frustration, and spoke with a measure of tenderness.  “You made good decisions, Jason, don’t forget that.  Even though you were exhausted, you got the job done.”

Jason stood up again and stormed around the small room.  He waved his hands wildly as he spoke.  “And what if they had been bad decisions, Mark?  What then?  How would I justify my actions to myself if someone got hurt?  Or worse?”

Mark shrugged.  “You do the best that you can and you move on.  You have to.  Spectra’s not going to stop attacking anytime soon.”

Jason sat down hard.  “I don’t know.  Maybe I’m just not cut out for command.”  He punched at Mark’s pillows.

Princess gave Mark a panicked look.  Mark shook his head.

“Jason, you’re doing a great job,” he said.  “Even the Chief can see that.  I think you should stick to the twelve hour window that he suggested and see how you feel.  If you need to change it later, change it.”

Jason looked up in surprise. 

“Nobody’s perfect, Jason.  I’ve had to live with command decisions that I can’t justify.  Maybe if I’d looked into your medical records sooner …” Mark paused and swallowed painfully. 

Jason punched him on the arm.  “Enough.  I don’t want to hear it again.  If it’s anyone’s fault that I got sick, it’s Zoltar’s.  He’s the one who figured out how to scramble our implants with bursts of light.  He’s the one who got that defector Sanger to infiltrate Medical.  If we’d had a decent man in charge of Medical back then, you and I wouldn’t have had to go through all of this crap.  It sure as hell isn’t your fault, Mark, any more than it’s mine.”

Mark shook his head.  “I know.”

“Good,” said Jason.  “Otherwise, I’d have to hit you again.”  Mark looked up in mock surprise as Jason punched his right fist against his left palm.

Princess laughed.  Both men turned to look at her in surprise, as if they had forgotten she was there.

“So, do we have a plan?” she said, brightly, changing the subject as she stood up.

Jason nodded.  “Yes, we do, oh paperwork god.”  He got up and joined her.  “Let’s get this in to the Chief and go brief the rest of the team.  Since it involves paper, I’ll let you lead the way.”

“That’s paperwork goddess to you,” she said.  “’Bye, Mark.  And thanks.”

“What she said,” Jason added.

Mark watched as his teammates filed out of his room.  Then he leaned back against the pillows and sighed with relief. 

It’s good to be needed, he thought.  Within minutes, he was asleep.

At first, the meeting clipped along in a predictable fashion.  Tiny nodded and appeared relieved that Princess would be assisting Jason.  Keyop stuck out his lip, crossed his arms, and pouted, complaining that he never got to command.  Princess and Tiny patted him on the head with comforting words until Jason thought they were through the worst.  And then he saw Darien: silent, arms crossed, a sour expression on his face, anger clouding above him like a thunderstorm.  It was like looking at an old photo of himself. 

“And that’s how things will go,” Jason concluded, trepidation rising as he watched Darien’s posture.  “Princess will handle most of the paperwork and administrative tasks.  I’ll command during combat and oversee technical briefings, unless we run back to back missions and then she’ll lead and I’ll defer to her.”  He threw a nod of support in Princess’ direction.

Darien’s eyes were closed.  “What about personnel issues?” he asked.

Jason glanced at Princess.  “I … uh …”  We didn’t anticipate any.  I have no idea.

Princess deftly covered for him.  “It would be best to discuss personnel matters with both of us.”

“Great,” Darien said, his voice hollow.  He stared at the floor. 

Princess looked back at Jason and tipped her head slightly in the Falcon’s direction.  Jason nodded.

“Or just one of us, if you’d prefer,” she amended.  Darien looked up.

“So, if there are no more questions, you are dismissed,” Jason said.  Tiny stretched and stood up.  Keyop darted over to Princess and began to pester her about when he would get his crack at command.  Darien remained seated, locked in the same position as if riveted to the floor.

Princess glanced at Jason, concern in her eyes.  Jason gestured to her:  I’ll take care of it.  He waved at her to go. 

“Falcon?” Jason said.

Darien raised his eyes to look at the Condor.  “I’d like a word with you in private, Comm … Jason,” Darien said.

Jason nodded.  Princess shooed everyone out of the room.  The silence in their wake was deafening. 

Jason crossed his arms, leaned hard against the table, and waited for Darien to speak.  Finally, the man raised his aqua-hued eyes in a determined look that rivaled Jason’s steel blue gaze. 

“I’m not doing this,” he said.  “I resign.”

Jason didn’t answer.  Didn’t see that one coming.  Now what?  The silence stretched for an uncomfortably long time as he collected his thoughts.

Darien finally shook his head and thrust his arms out in frustration.  He began to pace around the room, flailing his arms as he walked.  “You can’t make me do this.  I’m not working for a woman during combat.  It’s hard enough having her above me in the chain-of-command.”

“But you want to lead R-Command, right?” Jason said, managing with effort to keep his voice level.  He tried to remain deadly calm.

Darien nodded, pausing mid-stride.

“You know, R-Command falls under Galaxy Security.  It’s not like the Red Rangers.  Plenty of women working in Gal Sec.”  Jason sat down on the table and chewed the end of an ink pen.  “Several of our Center Neptune operatives are trying out for R-Command, including a number of qualified women.”  He removed the pen from his mouth and threw it into the exact center of a nearby corkboard.  It stuck there, red ink leaking from the tip like blood.

Darien sighed, crossed his arms, and began to grind the toe of one boot into the carpet.

“So cut the crap and tell me what’s really bothering you,” Jason finished.

Darien glared at him.  “Fine.  You want to know what’s bothering me?  It’s you.  You’re not fit for command.  You should be relieved of duty.”

Like hell I should.  Jason was on his feet instantly, simmering.  I can’t lose my temper.  We need him to stay.   I can’t lose my temper.  I need to hear him out.  I can’t lose my temper …

“And there’s no way I should have to take orders from a woman in your presence,” Darien continued.

“Princess has years of experience on you,” Jason returned with a growl, barely able to rein in his anger.  “She’s flown over 80 missions with G-Force.  How many have you been on?  Five?  Ten?” 

Darien stared at Jason, toe to toe.  “I’ve been on enough missions to know that I’m done playing these games.  I want out.” 

I can’t lose my temper.  I can’t … what?  Jason cocked his head.  “What games?”

Darien threw up his hands.   “Never mind.”  He pushed past Jason on his way to the door.

Jason grabbed him by the arm.  “Falcon,” Jason ordered, his voice stern.  “Do you think a poor recommendation from G-Force will land you that post with R-Command?”

Darien stopped and Jason released his arm.  The man dropped his head, turned around, and sat down at the table next to Jason looking utterly defeated.

“Spill it,” Jason said.  He leaned back into the table and glared at Darien’s bald spot.

Darien frowned.  “I don’t trust you.”  He re-crossed his arms and looked up at Jason.  “I thought you were different, but you’re just like the rest of them.”

Jason tried to process this information, but nothing was computing.  He shook his head. 

Darien sighed and looked at his hands.  “I started working here because you were out sick, right?  I heard all sorts of crazy rumors – you were a drug addict, you were in a car wreck.  The Eagle finally told me that you had undergone brain surgery.  He never said anything about your implant being damaged.  I only found out about that later.” 

Darien shook his head.  “And then, I found out that Mark was sick, too.  Same problem.  Only he’d been sick the whole time I was here.  No one ever bothered to tell me.  If I’d known that, things would have been different.   I’d have been different.  Maybe I wouldn’t have pushed so hard, I don’t know.  Everyone got mad at me and I never knew why.  Don’t you see?  Nobody even gave me a chance.” 

He gave Jason a pained look before continuing.  “And then, you come back, and damn, I didn’t think you’d be able to handle anything after that first practice.  But you really tried and you were honest with me … at least, I thought you were … and I could deal with that.  But then we had the spider mecha mission.” 

Darien thrust a finger at Jason; his eyes bored into his superior’s.  “You lied to the team.  You let us think you were okay and it’s obvious that you weren’t.  Your hand was messed up and you almost fell asleep on duty and then you came back and slept for a day.  Now you’re trying to tell me that you’re doing so much better but at the same time you need an Executive Officer who might take over and command you during combat?  I’ve seen you in the field, Jason.  I don’t buy it.  You’re too good for that.  How much longer until you’re back in surgery?”

Jason shut his eyes.  Like I haven’t asked myself that same question.  Damn.  How do I answer that? 

“I know I’m new here and I know I’m just supposed to go along with things and keep my mouth shut.  But I can’t accept you taking orders from someone else during combat.  It’s not right.  If you’re that sick – if your implant is broken - you shouldn’t even be in the field.  You can’t expect me to put my life on the line for you when you can’t even tell me the truth!”  Darien bolted from the chair, practically shouting now.  His auburn curls were damp with perspiration, his face bright red.

Jason nodded, his own anger having subsided.  “You’re right.  We haven’t been honest with you.” 

Darien eyed him warily.  “It’s been hell.”

Jason gave him a half-smile.  “For me, too.”  He sat down on the chair closest to Darien.  “So,” he said.  “What do you want to know?”

Darien looked down at him, arms crossed.  “I don’t know.  I want to know if you’re okay.  I want to know if you’re really fit for duty.  But how can I believe anything that you say?”

Jason held his hands open, palms up.  “You’re just going to have to trust me.” 

Darien shook his head.  “Or I can leave.”  He swallowed uncomfortably.

“The door’s right there, Falcon,” Jason said.  “I’m not going to beg you to stay.”

Darien stood quietly for a moment, twisting his hands.  “Fair enough,” he finally replied, and sat down heavily.  “But you need to answer some questions for me first.  And I want real answers, not just what you’ve been told to say.”

Jason nodded, but his thoughts raced along a different track.  Told to say?  You don’t know me very well yet, do you?

“Are you sick?  Are you going in for more surgery?”

Jason shook his head.  “No, I’m not sick.”  He looked Darien straight in the eyes.  “There are no plans for more surgery.  But it’s always possible down the road.  They might figure out something new to try.” 

“Tell me about your implant,” Darien said.  “What went wrong?”

Jason went back to the beginning, starting with his problems at the track and ending with his reinstatement, an abridged version of his earlier memo to Mark.  Darien’s eyes went wide.

“Oh man, that’s rough.  I’m sorry.” 

Then Jason covered the areas that Darien already knew:  Post-surgery, Jason’s aerial balance was dodgy and his implant recharge cycles were slower than expected.  After Jason had crashed out on Mark’s chair, he felt better; the Chief’s follow-up tests showed a vast improvement in his health.  For the foreseeable future, Jason needed to limit his workload and get more rest. 

“How did your implant get damaged in the first place?” Darien wanted to know.

“Dr. Glock’s detransmutation ray set Mark and me up for problems.  Somehow, it left our implants vulnerable.  When Spectra’s ships started emitting pulses of light during battle, Mark and I were both affected.  It set off some kind of a chain reaction that damaged our implants.  But since my implant had been acting up already, it shorted out first,” Jason said.

Darien looked at him in horror.  “What about everyone else?”

Jason shook his head.  “The Chief’s run a bunch of tests on the other implants.  No one else was affected.  Tiny, Princess, and Keyop have slightly different models than Mark and me.  And a newer model, like yours, shouldn’t have that problem.  It’s something to do with the older circuits and wiring.”

“So, Mark …” Darien started.

“Mark had different symptoms than me.  Nothing visual.  His hearing was messed up.  But we both had those headaches …”  Jason could feel goosebumps rising on his skin.  Mark was still suffering from severe headaches.  Why is he still getting them?  Jason shook his head, trying to set the worry aside. 

“He didn’t tell anyone that he was sick until right before his surgery because there wasn’t any reason to tell.  He didn’t have anyone else qualified to take over for him.”  Jason looked at Darien.  “We were lucky to get you, but you don’t have enough experience yet to command G-Force.”

Darien looked away.  “You told me that Mark’s surgery went well.  How’s he doing now?”  

Jason nodded.  “He’s fine, as far as we know.  It’s still early in recovery, though.  He’s …”  Jason took a deep breath and blew it out in frustration.  As long as I’m telling the truth …  “He’s still got those damned headaches,” Jason said, finally.  He bit his lip and swallowed hard.

Darien studied Jason closely.  “What about you?  What’s going on with you?”

I wish I knew.  I wish anybody knew.  Jason shrugged.  “I’ve already told you everything that I know.”

“Why is your balance so messed up?  You’ve got the reputation of being the best aerialist on the team.”

Jason sighed.  “The surgeons didn’t know what they were getting into when they operated on me.  They cut through an area of my brain that they should have left alone.”

Darien winced.

Jason shrugged.  “It was either that or I would have died on the table.”  He looked at his hands.  “They didn’t make that same mistake with Mark.”

Darien took notice of Jason’s wrist, now bandage-free.  “You seem to have recovered from that wrist injury awfully fast, considering that you couldn’t move your hand a few days ago.”

“I told you, my implant’s doing better now.”

“That still doesn’t explain why you couldn’t even move your hand in combat.  Birdstyle’s good for providing support for minor injuries.  Even I know that.”

Jason took a deep breath.  “Yeah.  Well.  I did something stupid after the transport mission.”  Jason looked straight ahead with intensity, as if he were counting flecks of chalk on the chalk board.  “I talked someone in Medical into giving me some medication to keep my wrist immobile for a few hours.”

Darien frowned at him.  “Why’d you do that?”

Jason looked at him tolerantly.  “It tricks the implant into healing you faster.  My implant recovery rates were totally shot at that point so I figured it was worth a try.”  Jason turned his attention back to the board and resumed staring.  “I didn’t think we’d be called out again so soon.”  He sighed and looked down. 

“Why didn’t you tell anybody?”

“Princess knew.  But you …” Jason shook his head and stood up, his anger flaring.  He threw his arms wide.  “Like I’d want to share that with you.  You just told me that you think I’m unfit for command.”  Jason spoke with scarcely controlled vehemence.  He turned his back to Darien and stalked across the room.

There was a long silence.  “I’m sorry, Jason,” Darien said, finally.  “I shouldn’t have said that.”

Jason turned around and shrugged.  “You’re entitled to your opinion.”

“It’s not that, I just don’t understand.”  Darien looked at him.  “If you’re fit for combat, why would you accept orders from someone beneath you during a mission?  And if you’re not fit for combat, then why …”

“Because this is the only thing that matters!” Jason interrupted, rushing toward Darien, his voice flush with emotion.  “Because I promised my best friend, who’s just gone through major brain surgery, that I’ll take care of his team until he recovers.  Because, regardless of what you think of me, I’m still the best marksman on this team.  I can still get the job done.  Even when it’s hard.  Even when I’m not up for it.  That’s what I’m trained for.  That’s what I do.  It’s – who –  I –  am.”  Jason out spat the last four words with force.

“But …”

“But, nothing!”  Jason slammed both fists on the table.  “You either get it or you don’t.  I’m not going to quit now just because it’s hard.  Yeah, I’ve got problems.  I’ll find ways to work around them.  If that means I work fewer hours and get more sleep, then I’ll work less and sleep more.  If it means I have to take on an Executive Officer in order to keep my place on the team, I’ll do that too.  I’m sure as hell not giving up.”

Darien watched Jason for a moment.  Finally, he nodded.  “I can accept that,” he said, quietly.  Darien looked toward the window.  “But I still don’t like reporting to a woman.”

“How badly do you want command?” Jason said.

Darien shook his head.  “More than you’ll ever know.”

Jason shrugged.  “Then you’ll learn to live with it.  A glowing recommendation from us is your ticket to R-Command.  You know that.  But you’re sure as hell aren’t going to get it unless you can accept Princess as my Acting Commander.” 

“I know,” Darien said.  He was quiet for a long time.  Finally, he looked at Jason and extended his right hand. 

Jason shook it.   “Welcome back to G-Force.”

Jason’s in trouble.

The thought flashed across Tiny’s mind as he was punching a Spectran soldier in the stomach.  As the man slid to the floor, the Owl scanned the large aircraft hanger and found the Condor in the back corner, handedly taking down two goons of his own.  Nothing in Jason’s posture belied a problem.  Tiny turned his attention back to the squad of green-clad men in front of him. 

It was three weeks into Princess and Jason’s shared field command.  As predicted, the Spectran attacks had come, fast and furious.  So far, under the Condor and Swan’s joint leadership, G-Force had managed to repel Zoltar and his men.   

But now … 

Tiny felt distinctly uneasy.  He had no idea why, but something had set his teeth on edge.  He looked over at Jason and frowned. 

Something’s not right.  I’d better go check it out.

Tiny jumped directly into the squad of Spectran soldiers in front of him, punching left and right, leaving a tangled trail of green in his wake.  One of the soldiers had been carrying a hamburger.  Tiny caught a whiff of ketchup and relish.  He had to fight himself not to stop and eat the dead man’s food. 

I’m so hungry.  How long’s it been seen we’ve had a real meal?

This week, Intel had predicted Zoltar’s actions with uncanny accuracy.  Three missions in as many days.  The entire G-Force team was on edge, nerves frayed, tempers flaring.  In the hope of slowing production on Spectra’s seemingly endless supply of mechanical monsters, the team had been dispatched to an earth-based Spectran mecha production plant. 

Even before the team landed, Princess had barely managed to quell a fight between the Falcon and the Swallow.  Only a steel glare from Jason, brandishing his cable gun and threatening to tie them up together, ended the conflict. 

Once on base, Princess had opted to leave Darien aboard the Phoenix, rather than risk putting the Falcon with either Keyop or herself.  Jason and Tiny were playing decoy, drawing the enemy out of the labyrinth of passageways in the complex.  Princess and Keyop needed enough time to download the schematics for future war ships before setting the charges. 

Another squad of goons found the Condor.  Jason performed his maneuvers flawlessly, and Tiny began to wonder if he’d been imagining things.  He was just about to return to the front of the complex when, in the midst of blocking, kicking, and tackling, Jason shot a desperate glance at Tiny.

I can’t keep this up much longer. 

Tiny heard the words as clearly as if Jason had spoken.  The weariness in his eyes startled the Owl.  He bit back a curse and nodded at his teammate. 

You got it, Jase.

Tiny positioned himself to Jason’s back, using the same stance he’d seen Mark in so many times, during the many missions when Tiny himself had been relegated to the Phoenix.  Together, like a vengeful human circle, the two began to rotate just slightly, kicking and punching anything that moved in their direction.

Tiny tapped his wrist communicator.  “How much longer?” he asked.

Princess’ voice was tinny, the transmission slightly garbled.  “…ty minutes.”

Tiny frowned.  Twenty minutes?  Thirty minutes?  There was a world of difference.  How much longer can Jason hold out?  Tiny looked up just in time to block a flying kick to the head.

Jason had paused beside him, tapping his own wrist.  “Repeat?” he asked Princess. 

Tiny saw the purple-clad soldier throw the grenade before Jason did.  He shoved his teammate down to the dusty floor, hard, covering both of them with his wings.

KA-BLAM!

The sound was deafening.  For a minute, the world canted sideways.  The explosion rocked the load-bearing wall behind them.  Large pieces of cement, chunks of rock, fragments of shrapnel, clouds of dust, and flaming debris rained down in the hanger.  Smoke filled the room, thick and acrid.  Automatic sprinklers turned on, adding to the chaos.  Green-glad soldiers ran in every direction, screaming, coughing, and wailing as they headed for the doors.

Tiny heard the distant sound of a second explosion.  His stomach dropped. 

Did the fire from this explosion reach the charges set by Princess and Keyop?  Where are they?  Are they all right?   

“Evacuate!” Tiny screamed at his wrist.  “Get out now, G-3.  There’s no more time.”

Princess didn’t respond. 

Tiny stood and glanced around the hanger, now nearly empty, weighing his options.  Somebody needed to check on Princess and Keyop.  The Condor was still collapsed in a heap on the floor, coughing uncontrollably.  A thin film of white dust had collected on the inside of Jason's visor.  And the walls of this base prevented their wrist coms from contacting the Phoenix. 

Terrific.

Tiny hauled Jason to his feet.  The Condor didn’t look good at all.  “You all right?” he asked the gunner.  He used a gloved finger to wipe the dust from Jason’s visor and peered into his teammate’s eyes.

Jason blinked, clearly disoriented.  He swayed on his feet, his voice faint and hoarse.  “I think so.” 

Like hell, thought Tiny.  He shook his head.  I’ll have to go without him.

Another coughing fit.  “What happened?” Jason could barely choke out the words.

“Tell you later,” Tiny said.  “Come on!”  Tiny grabbed Jason’s arm, pushing and shoving him toward the large metal doors designed to admit or eject full scale mechanical monsters.  Tiny pointed Jason toward the smaller doorway on the right.  “The Phoenix is just over the ridge, okay?  Radio for Darien once you’re outside.  These walls block most everything.”  Tiny gave Jason one last shove in the correct direction and began to dart the other way.

Jason looked around, dazed.  “Where you going?”  His words were slightly slurred as he tried to stifle another cough.

Tiny pivoted on one foot and ran back to Jason.  He grabbed the Condor roughly by the shoulders.

“Jase, you gotta listen to me.  You can’t help.  You’re in shock.  I think you got a lungful of dust or something.  Go back to the Phoenix.  I need to check on Princess and Keyop.”

Jason coughed, then added in a raspy voice, “I should come …”

“No, you shouldn’t!”  Tiny yelled.  “Damn it, Jason!  For once, just do what you’re told.”

Jason’s eyes widened, but he did exactly as Tiny said.  Tiny watched his teammate long enough to ensure that Jason was heading toward the correct door.  Then, the Owl bolted in the other direction, running toward the sound of the explosions.

***    

Keyop woke to find himself on the floor.  His visor, cracked down the middle, offered a disorienting view of the nearby computer bank.  He sat up carefully, but he couldn’t detect any injuries.  From the condition of his helmet, Keyop marveled that his head was still intact. 

He glanced around.  The lighting was out in the base’s main computer room.  Only emergency lights gleamed from the edges of the walls, and even those were pulsing irregularly.  The air smelled of smoke and the acrid odor of an electrical fire.  Keyop wrinkled his nose.  He could hear sensors and sirens going off in other portions of the facility. 

The thought of “What happened?” crossed his mind simultaneously with the memory of a purple-winged soldier tossing a grenade at them.

Zoltar!  The entire mission had been a trap.  So much for Intel, thought Keyop.

A whimper in the darkness startled him.  Princess lay on the ground near the doorway, her body contorted, moaning softly.  Blood flowed freely from a gash on her left thigh where neither her skirt nor her high-topped boots had protected her leg from flying shrapnel.  Keyop grabbed a fallen jacket from a nearby chair and used the tip of a shuriken to tear a strip from it.  He tied the makeshift bandage around her leg and pulled her into a sitting position.  Before he could ask if she was all right, she spoke.   

“Keyop?  Are you okay?”  Princess was looking at him, but as she said it, she put her hand to her leg and winced.

“Bree – boop – doot.  Fine.”  Keyop looked at the charred remnants of the room, realization dawning.  Our bombs didn’t do this.  That means … 

“Time?” he asked, his voice urgent.

Princess met his concerned gaze, eyes wide.  She checked her wrist.  “Five minutes.”  She hit the Bird Scramble.  Keyop’s wrist resounded with hers, but she shook her head. 

“I don’t think it went through to the others,” she said.  “These walls are too thick.”

Keyop was already running out the door toward the main hanger.  There were no Spectran soldiers in the halls.  Time was of the essence.  They had to move, and fast. 

“Let’s go,” Keyop called over his shoulder.  He was already into the next corridor before he realized that she wasn’t following him.

“Princess?”  Keyop ran back the way he had come. 

She was limping.  From the awkwardness of her gait, Keyop realized that her leg injury was more serious than he had realized.  She was hobbling along as quickly as she could under the circumstances.  He looked at her with concern. 

“You go ahead, Keyop,” Princess said, her voice firm.  With every few steps, she leaned against the wall for support.  “Get out and call the others.”

Keyop shook his head and folded his arms.  “Not … leaving.”

“That’s an order, G-4,” Princess commanded.  “Now go.”

Keyop had never run faster.

Darien sat aboard the Phoenix, impatiently drumming his fingers on the console as he waited.  He had lost contact with the team once they had entered the aircraft hanger.  He hadn’t minded so much at first.  But now, he had seen two spacecraft eject from the complex.  That didn’t bode well for the team. He didn’t dare shoot at the escaping ships without radio contact from G-Force. 

Are they aboard the escaping aircraft?   What’s going on down there?   He took the Phoenix up and tried to hover near the facility.  No other ships were in sight.  No one even bothered to shoot at him. 

Darien glanced at his wrist, the faceplate still and silent.  Exactly how much time has to pass before I’m supposed to worry?  Because I’m worried now.

He swung the ship in a closer pass.  This time, he noticed smoke trailing out of the windows and doorways.  And then, his wrist lit up in a Bird Scramble.

Darien swore, a colorful mixture of Rigan, English, and Japanese.

He set up the tracking array to locate the beacons and found only the Condor, blue wings trailing the ground, bent nearly double, just outside of a doorway to the hanger. 

Darien knew that there was a correct way to land the Phoenix, but right then, he didn’t care.  Protocol be damned.  He slammed the ship down, landing it with a violent thud in the first open space he saw.  Fortunately for the Condor, that was directly in front of the complex doors. 

Darien jumped from the bubble of the Phoenix and shot at a few escaping Spectran soldiers as he headed for Jason.  But it quickly became apparent that the fleeing goons had no interest in fighting G-Force.  They were running away from the complex as fast as they could.  Darien could hear the muffled sound of explosions still rocking the facility.

Reaching Jason, he asked, “Are you all right?”

Jason’s face looked greyer than normal beneath his tinted visor.  “Computer room,” he rasped.  “Get them out.”  His breathing was labored and irregular.

“Let me help you …” Darien started.

Jason pushed him away.  “No time.  Help G-5.”

“Is he injured too?” Darien asked.

Jason shook his head.  “G-3, 4 missing.”  Jason leaned heavily on his knees, overcome by a coughing fit. 

Darien moved to enter the building, but Jason caught his arm before he could go in.  “Wear this.”  It was as close his command voice as Jason could manage. 

Jason had thrust a Spectran respirator into his hands.  Darien wasn’t sure where Jason had found it.  Clearly, he hadn’t managed to use it, or at least not use it correctly, but Darien didn’t dare ask questions.  In Jason’s condition, it wasn’t like he couldn’t have answered him anyway.  Darien took the proffered item, quickly removed his helmet, added the respirator, replaced his helmet over the contraption, and went in. 

The explosions were much louder on the inside.  The floor of the hanger was littered with chunks of concrete, charred beams, rubble, and soot.  The ground was slippery with water and blood.  Darien tried to ignore the green-glad bodies twisted among the wreckage.  A trickle of water dripped down his visor from the sprinklers in the ceiling.  Thick black smoke was pouring from the walls.    Darien swallowed, thankful for both his helmet and the respirator.

He looked at his wrist, switched to map mode, and tapped a code.  There was no way to speak clearly through the respirator. 

<I’m here.  Where are you?>   

He held his breath until one light glowed green.  One, not three.  Darien cursed and ran in the suggested direction.  Another explosion rocked the walls.  He ducked and dodged the cascade of dust, the fragments of cement.

“Computer …  om … G-3 … hur …”  Tiny’s voice.  Urgent.

  Darien was sprinting now, holding his wrist in front of him to eye the map.  He was getting close.

“Two down.”  Tiny’s voice was stronger now.

Darien met the big man coming out of a maze of twisty passages, all alike.  He had Princess slung over one shoulder, Keyop under the other arm.  Darien had no idea how Tiny could be running as quickly as he was, or running at all, while carrying both of them.

“Take him,” Tiny said, panting, scarcely stopping to hand over the Swallow.  “Our bombs … set to blow … now!”

They ran.

***

Jason heard the explosions, saw the flames bursting through a new hole in the roof.  He tried to calm his breathing, tried to tell himself that things weren’t that bad, surely they were all right, but he couldn’t convince himself.   His teammates were missing.  The building was on fire.  And it hurt to breathe.  Every fiber of his being wanted to cough, to cough long and hard and never stop.  He had no desire to re-enter that flaming pit from hell.  But he had to.  There was no one else left. 

The hanger would have been pitch black except for the occasional spark, the flaming wreckage burning along the seams in the walls, and the enormous gap in the ceiling, which bathed a few square feet of the floor in intense sunlight.  Jason stood for a moment to let his eyes adjust to the new conditions.  He tried not to cough, but the air seared his lungs.  He consciously willed himself to take slower breaths.  Breathing hurt so much.  He looked around for another discarded respirator, but he knew it was a futile gesture.  It had been a near miracle to find the first one.  Given the way he was gasping, he might not be able to draw in enough air to breathe properly through the purifying cartridges anyway. 

The aircraft hanger looked nothing like he remembered it.  There were gaping holes in every wall, burnt wiring snaking out in bizarre tangles, fire spurting in random places.   Jason noticed a few green-clad bodies.  None of them were standing.

His heart sank.  Then he heard the faint ping of a Bird Scramble. 

He found his teammates nearby, just inside the door.  They had almost made it out in time.  Darien and Keyop were trapped under a slab of concrete.  Thankfully, it looked like there was some wiggle room beneath it.  Tiny was lying nearby, moaning.  Jason took that as a good sign. 

Where’s Princess?

The big man sat up, revealing the Swan beneath his wings.  Jason caught Tiny’s eyes and held his gaze.  A lump formed in Jason’s throat.  It marked the second time that the big man had saved one of his teammate’s lives during this mission.

“You all right?” Jason asked, trying hard not to cough. 

Tiny nodded.  

“Princess?” Jason’s voice caught.

Tiny nodded again.  He sounded winded when he answered.  “She’ll be all right, Jase.”

Jason gestured at the concrete slab, his teammates’ wings visible beneath it.

“Help me with this,” Jason said, reaching for the cement slab.  But this time, he couldn’t fight the urge.  He dissolved into another coughing fit. 

Tiny came over and whacked Jason on the back.  He took the slab from Jason, bearing the brunt of the weight on his upper body.  Then Tiny screamed – a violent, primal yell – and shifted all of the weight to just one shoulder.

Jason eyed him.  “You sure … you’re okay?”  Another coughing jag.

The Owl glared back.  “I have to be.”  He gave Jason a wry smile. 

Jason returned the grim smile and joined in the recovery effort.  Tiny continued to push with his good arm.  Jason, when he wasn’t overcome with coughing, shoved as well.  Slowly, ever so slowly, the heavy slab began to move.  As soon as he could, Darien wriggled free, dragging Keyop behind him.  The Falcon looked gratefully to his rescuers. 

“Thank you,” he managed, his voice muffled behind the respirator.

“Any … time,” Jason croaked out. 

“Let’s go home,” said Tiny.

Mark couldn’t remember the last time he had seen the Chief so upset.  The man was pacing back and forth in the front lobby of the hospital, wearing a hole in the linoleum.  Security was everywhere. 

“I want to be informed the minute that they arrive,” the Chief said to an orderly.

“Sir, you need to calm down …”

“I do not need to calm down!   I need to be informed …”

Mark walked away and stood near the window.  He gazed out at a beautiful day with a windswept blue sky, full sun, no cloud cover.  Mark swallowed painfully.  

They could have died. 

Tiny had radioed the Chief from the Phoenix, with scanty details of their disastrous mission.  The Chief, fearing a double agent among his Intel, did not want the team evaluated at Center Neptune.  He ordered them to land at the nearest large hospital equipped for helicopter triage, then set about securing the facility.  Mark knew that he had called in every favor he could think of.  A band of Red Rangers was flying escort so that the Phoenix could get to the hospital unscathed.  Every stripe of the military roamed the halls.

Situation critical.  G-Force down.         

Mark didn’t know the details about the team, but he gathered that they would all require some form of medical evaluation, possibly treatment.  He couldn’t remember a time when they had all been injured during a mission.  What went wrong? 

Mark sighed.  Three missions in three days.  The Chief never should have allowed that, especially knowing Jason’s condition.  His stomach clenched.  I should have been there.

“Mark?” Chief Anderson was at his elbow.  Mark, lost in his thoughts, hadn’t realized that so much time had passed.  “They’re here and they’ve been evaluated.  Come on.”

He followed the Chief and a doctor named Zhang to a bank of elevators.  The doctor keyed in a pass code and the elevator churned upwards past the numbers on the control panel to some secret destination. 

Upon exiting the elevator, Mark was led into the first room.  His breath caught.  Princess.

She looked so beautiful lying there, despite the fact that she was attached to tubes and wires.  Her left wrist was bandaged and her eyes were closed. 

Mark looked to the doctor for clarification, but Zhang was discussing Princess’ condition with Chief Anderson.  After he caught the words “sutures,” “blood loss,” and “unconscious,” he didn’t really want to hear any more. 

After a few minutes, the Chief came over and put an arm around Mark’s shoulder.  “She’ll be all right, Mark.  She was unconscious on the base, but she was alert before surgery.  She has a deep cut to her thigh with some damage to the muscle and a sprained wrist.  She’s sleeping now.  We need to check on the others.  You can come back to her.”

“I’ll keep watch over her tonight,” Mark said, his voice firm.

The Chief nodded.  “I expected that you would.”

They entered the next room.  His second was alert and, as usual, irritated. 

“Chief, get me out of here,” Jason growled.  His voice was raspy.  Mark noticed that the Condor was connected to a nasal cannula oxygen tube in addition to an IV line.  His gunner was extremely pale, with dark circles around his eyes.  He looked like the walking dead.   

“It’s just for tonight, Jason,” the Chief said patiently, walking over and patting him on the shoulder.  Given the way that Jason looked, Mark was certain that he was lying about the length of Jason’s expected hospital stay.  “You need to get some rest.”  The Chief walked back to talk to the doctor.

Mark went to stand by his injured teammate.  Jason flicked a hopeful glance at Mark. 

“Get me out?” he wheezed.  His voice sounded twisted, as if he was trying very hard to stifle a cough.  The Chief, standing near the doorway, glanced in their direction.

Mark’s head began to pound.  Jason … back in the hospital.  His mind flipped through numerous images of the Condor after implant surgery, none of them pleasant.  His voice came out a whisper.  “What happened?”

Jason cast a dark glance at the Chief.  “We were set up.  They bombed us before we could bomb them.”  He coughed several times.  The Chief frowned at him.

“They bombed their own people?” Mark asked, nonplussed.

Jason rolled his eyes.  “It’s Spectra.”  Another cough.  “What … did you expect?”  Jason continued coughing, unable to stop this time. 

The Chief walked over, handed Jason a glass of water, and sat down on the bed.  While Jason sipped, the older man checked Jason’s pulse and temperature.  He looked his injured charge in the eyes. 

“I’m going to debrief Tiny and Darien to find out what happened.  You need to stop talking and get some rest.”  It came out as an order.     

Jason nodded, set the cup down, and closed his eyes.  Mark swallowed.  Just that amount of talking had worn out his second.   It was sobering.

Keyop was asleep in the next room.  The doctor explained that his injuries weren’t serious, but he had suffered a mild concussion.  Since he had been knocked unconscious on the base, the doctor wanted him in overnight for observation.    

Finally, the Chief and Mark found Darien and Tiny waiting in a triage room.  The Owl’s right shoulder was bandaged, but he seemed in good form otherwise.  Darien appeared unhurt.

The doctor explained to the Chief that normally he would keep Tiny and Darien in the hospital overnight for observation as a precaution.  The entire team – save Darien – had been subjected to smoke inhalation.  Everyone was bruised and battered.  However, in this case, there was no need for Tiny and Darien to be tethered to a specific room.  G-Force and their friends had commandeered this entire wing of the hospital.  Zhang knew that Tiny and Darien would be on hand keeping watch over their fallen teammates.

“Make yourselves at home,” Zhang said.  “I have other patients to attend to.”  He handed Chief Anderson a pager.  “Page me if you need anything.  I’ll be back soon.”

As soon as the doctor was out of the room, Tiny hugged Mark with his good arm.  “It’s great to see you, Mark.  You look good.  Chief let you out of the dungeon, huh?”

“I’ll ignore that comment, Tiny,” the Chief said, but he was smiling.  “Now, do you two want to tell me what happened today?”

Darien looked at Tiny.  Tiny gave Darien a knowing look in return.  Both men reeked of defeat.  Clearly, neither wanted to relive the day.  Mark watched the subtext, but he couldn’t translate exactly what had transpired.

The foursome made their way to an empty room.  After scanning the room for bugs and other spyware, the men sat down, dissected the attack, and discussed possible counter-measures.

Princess was startled awake by his touch.  His skin was cool; his fingers, slightly calloused.  He was gently caressing her unbandaged hand.  She realized then that he had been speaking for some time.

“… so sorry,” he was saying.  “I should have been there with you.”  She snuck a peek at him.  His blue eyes glinted in the moonlight.  Facing the window, the lines of his face were a reassuring mixture of worry and tenderness.  She thought – she couldn’t be sure – a tear slid down his cheek. 

Mark …

Princess shivered, amazed at this display.  Mark was usually so guarded about his feelings for her, even on those rare occasions when he allowed himself to express them.  She didn’t want to break this spell, magically woven by the hospital bathed in moonlight.  When he turned his attention back toward her, she shut her eyes, hoping not to disrupt his monologue.  Her heart pounded as she waited for him to say the words she longed most to hear.

“I know that I haven’t always been there for you, Princess.  Even though I don’t always say it, don’t ever forget how much …”  He broke off.  She waited a long, painful moment in silence before her patience was rewarded and he pulled her hand toward his lips. 

Despite her best efforts to feign sleep, her eyes snapped open at his tender kiss.  Deep emerald locked onto china blue.  My love …

 “Mark,” she whispered, surprised at how difficult it was to form the words.  “I …”

He put a finger to her lips.  “I know.  Don’t try to talk.  Get some rest, Princess.  You’re going to have a series of tests tomorrow on your leg.”

“Will you …” she started.

He nodded before she could finish.  “I’ll be there the whole time, Princess.”  He cleared his throat.  “Someone has to stand guard over you.” 

She felt a slight dip in her confidence.  Is he only here out of guilt and duty?  She turned away. 

He touched her on the chin, turning her face toward him, and added, more softly, “I told the Chief that I wanted to.”  Then he slid his finger down her cheek and traced the shape of a heart on her face.

Princess gazed at him.  Am I dreaming?   She reached for his hand, and he squeezed her hand back reassuringly.

“Now, go to sleep.  I’m not going anywhere.”

Princess didn’t think sleep was possible with her heart hammering that way.  But slowly and gently, as he massaged her shoulder, her unsprained arm, the curves of her face, she could feel her heart rate start to slow.  She continued to cling tightly to his hand, though, even while asleep. 

***

“Breep … doot …doing here?” Keyop wondered aloud.

Darien was asleep in the chair next to his bedside, a sketch pad and a tin of charcoal crayons in his lap.  Various planes were flying across the note pad.

“Didn’t know … could draw,” Keyop marveled, trying to liberate the sketch book without waking the Red Ranger. 

No such luck.  At Keyop’s tug, the lanky man opened one aqua eye and yawned.  “There’s probably a lot of things we don’t know about each other, Keyop,” he said, putting the note pad on the floor.

“Why … brip … doot … here?” Keyop asked.

Darien stood up and stretched.  “In theory, I’m supposed to be guarding you.  However …” He gestured at the guards just outside the door.  “I think those gentlemen are doing their job admirably.”

“So …” Keyop puzzled.

“So,” Darien said.  “We came through a pretty major scrap, you and me.  I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Keyop frowned, nonplussed.  “I don’t … remember.”

“I’m not surprised.  When Tiny found you in the computer control room, your helmet was cracked in half.  And then we got caught in another explosion in the warehouse.”

Dimly lit memories came back to Keyop in short bursts:  the world sideways under Tiny’s arm, an upside-down view when he was slung over Darien’s shoulder, a loud explosion, the sound of falling concrete and metal, Darien’s wings spread out protectively, covering him. 

“You … got me out.”  Keyop’s voice reflected surprise at the memory.

Darien nodded.  “I did.  But Tiny and Jason helped, too.”

“Jason?” Keyop puzzled.  “Don’t … remember that.”

“Jason was pretty messed up.”  Darien shook his head.  “But he’s the one that made me wear a respirator to go in, and I’m glad he did.  The level of dust and smoke in that warehouse was pretty bad.  I think that’s what got to Jason.  But he came back after the explosion and helped Tiny to get us out.  We were lucky.”

Keyop shook his head.  “Not luck.  Teamwork.”  He held his hand out to the Red Ranger.  “Owe you … an apology.  Rrp… doot … Thank you.”

Darien shook his hand.  “Teamwork,” he repeated.

***

CLUNK! 

“Ow,” he whispered in the darkness.

One of Tiny’s eyes popped open as Jason tried to sneak past him, rubbing his shin and clinging to an IV pole.  Jason had successfully unhooked his oxygen line and he had almost managed to get out of his room undetected.  But now the Owl put his legs straight in front of him and rested them on the hospital bed, effectively blocking Jason’s passage. 

“Where you goin’?” he asked.

Even in the dim light, Jason knew that Tiny could see his snarl.  But before he could follow it up with a sharp retort, he was racked by a coughing spasm.

“Hey, Jase, seriously, man, you need to take it easy, all right?”  Tiny stood and started to guide his friend back toward the bed. 

Despite his annoyance, Jason tried not to bump the other man’s injured shoulder as he resisted.  “Tired … of laying there,” Jason rasped, his cadence mimicking Keyop’s stutter.

“Well,” Tiny seemed to reconsider.  “Where do you want to go?” he asked.

Jason shook his head, afraid he’d start coughing again if he tried to talk.  Anywhere but here.

Tiny seemed to get the message.  With his good arm, he led Jason to the door, allowing him to push his own IV pole, but hovering protectively enough so that he could grab it at a moment’s notice.   Tiny waved off the guards, telling them that they were just going for a walk.  He let Jason set the pace.

The hallways of the hospital were quiet this time of night.  The nurse’s station was empty.  Jason squinted uneasily at the chalk board, wishing for his glasses as he tried to focus on the words handwritten there.  The only patients on this entire wing were high-ranking military:  the G-Force team and two fighter pilots from Riga.  G-3 was in room 1 and G-4 was in room 5. 

They peeked into room 1 first.  Princess was asleep, clasping Mark’s hand.  He must have been sitting in the chair beside her when he fell asleep.  He had lurched sideways in sleep; his entire upper body was resting on her bed. 

Jason locked eyes with Tiny and gave the big man a lopsided grin.  Tiny looked puzzled at first, but after a closer look at the sleeping pair, joined at the hand, he smiled back.

“Finally,” Tiny mouthed.

Peeking in the doorway to room 5, the scene was no less surprising there.  Both men were awake.  Darien was sitting in the bed next to Keyop, teaching the younger boy how to draw fighter planes.  Keyop was laughing.  Tiny started to enter the room, but Jason pulled him back into the hall and shook his head. 

“Let them,” he rasped, choking back a cough. 

“What are you doing out of bed?!”

Jason startled as Chief Anderson thundered down the hall.  The older man gave Tiny a hard look.  Jason stared back at the Chief with unapologetic eyes of steel. 

“Didn’t realize … I was … under lock and key,” he wheezed, before he started coughing uncontrollably again.

“You’re not, but you shouldn’t overexert yourself,” the Chief answered with characteristic firmness.  He dismissed Tiny and threw a hand across Jason’s forehead.  It felt cool and soothing; Jason suddenly realized that he was far too warm.  The Chief pulled out a stethoscope and carefully listened to Jason’s labored breathing.  Now that he was paying close attention, Jason noticed just how much harder it had become to breathe since he’d begun walking the floor.   

After the Chief had finished with his brief exam, he paged Zhang.  Jason processed the words “cyanosis” and “X-ray,” before he began to feel woozy.  He stumbled on his feet.  The Chief quickly guided him back to his room and put him to bed.  

Three days after the Spectran warehouse disaster, 7-Zark-7 gave Center Neptune an all clear.  Chief Anderson took the injured members of G-Force home aboard a Rigan freighter, accompanied by a massive military entourage.  Darien piloted the Phoenix back to Center Neptune, flanked by the Red Rangers, in case Zoltar tried another offensive.  Fortunately, none came.   

Once at Center Neptune, the team remained on inactive status. One week off turned into two.   Keyop recovered from his concussion quickly enough, and Tiny’s shoulder strain healed rapidly as well.  But Jason and Princess were relegated to the infirmary.  Princess underwent another round of surgery, her injured leg muscle swollen and tender even with the benefit of numbing drops.  Jason continued to have trouble recovering from the damage to his lungs.  Despite the enforced rest, he had developed pneumonia.   

Chief Anderson ordered all six members of G-Force to stand down, stay on the station, and take it easy.  But it wasn’t easy, for any of them, knowing that Zoltar had escaped once more.

***

Mark knocked on the Chief’s door.

“Come.”  The Chief was working at his desk, spreadsheets in an arc before him.  He had an anxious look on his face.  The wrinkles around his eyes didn’t relax when he saw Mark.  The man simply nodded and went on with his work.

“Chief, I need to talk to you,” Mark said.  “I want you to place me on active status.”

At this, the Chief did look up.  His eyes widened slightly behind his glasses.  “Do you think you’re ready, Mark?”

Mark placed both hands on the Chief’s desk for emphasis.  “Yes, sir,” he said.

Chief Anderson frowned.  “I’ve not seen you attempt any acrobatic or footwork sequences since your surgery.  Have you practiced them?  Are you sure that you’re ready for combat?”

Mark looked away.  He didn’t need to answer to reveal that, no, he hadn’t practiced everything, no, he didn’t know for sure.

Chief Anderson chewed the tip of his pen.  Taking it out of his mouth, he said, “I don’t want to rush your recovery.  We do need you out there, Mark, but we need you whole and in one piece.  Once I clear you medically, the Security Council will want you in the field immediately.”

The Chief’s gaze hit the wall and an immovable veil passed across his face.  Mark read between the cracks in his armor and heard the words left unspoken: I don’t want to see what happened to Jason happen to you.

“Chief, I’ve made up my mind,” Mark said.  “I’m going to do this.”

Chief Anderson looked at Mark, his face impassive.  “There’s no reason medically for you not to go on active status now.  You just need to pass the fitness exam.   But …”  The man stood up and walked to the great window, watching the wall of fish, hands clasped behind his back.  “I don’t want you to rush this or push yourself too hard.  Jason …” and here the Chief broke off again.

Mark waited for a moment.  When he realized that the Chief wasn’t going to finish his thought, Mark spoke into the silence.  “Chief, I want to do this for Jason.”  His voice was soft but insistent.

Chief Anderson turned away from the window to face Mark.  His face held a question.

“If I go active now, I can convince Jason to take some time off,” Mark said.  “He’s already on medical leave.  No one outside of the team will have to know the real reason.  He’s not well.  He needs some time off.”

The Chief walked past Mark and stood behind his desk.  No comment.

 “He’s never going to get any better if he keeps going at this rate.”  Mark’s frustration crept out, his voice growing louder and more insistent.   “You know it and I know it.” 

The Chief’s gaze dropped to the papers covering his desk.  Mark belatedly realized that they were Jason’s medical status reports. 

More forcefully, Mark added, “This time, you give Jason enough time to recover from everything, including his implant surgery.”  He tried not to yell, but it was hard to control his rage.  “Don’t keep using me as an excuse to send him back into battle before he’s ready!” Mark thundered. 

At the Chief’s surprised look, Mark tried to blunt the tip of his anger.  He forced himself to speak more calmly, working his way into the icy tone of a determined but furious Eagle.

“He’s not well and we both know it,” Mark spoke with authority.  “You’re risking his life to spare mine.” 

Chief Anderson didn’t respond.

Mark shook his head.  “Not any more.  I’m in better shape than he is.  I want to go active status.”  He stared down the older man until the Chief dropped his gaze.  Only then did Mark soften his tone.  “Chief, Jason took care of the team for me when I was sick.  I may not be as ready as you or I would like, but I can do this.  I want to do this for him.”

Chief Anderson sat with a thud, defeated.  He sighed heavily.  There was a long silence.  The older man took off his glasses, rubbed his eyes, and replaced his eyewear.  Finally, the Chief spoke. 

“I’ll schedule your fitness exam.”

Mark nodded grimly, leaning across the Chief’s desk, mouth set in a determined line.

Chief Anderson looked up at Mark, worry etched across his brow.  “You know I’m concerned that you’re rushing things, Mark.”  He sighed deeply.  “But you make a very good point about the Condor.  If you go active, I’ll pull him to reserve status.”  The Chief gave Mark a wry smile.  “He’s going to hate me for it.”

Mark smiled back.  “Then he’s just going to have to hate both of us.”

***

The pain spiked into his right eye as if a dagger had been thrust there.  Mark removed his reading glasses, massaged his right temple, and winced.  Ignoring the pain hadn't helped.  Nor had repeatedly downing ibuprofen at four hour intervals.  The headache had only worsened, the knife slicing deeper through his head to pierce the base of his skull.  He was starting to lose sensation around his right eyebrow, as if parts of his face had gone permanently numb.

Damn.  The stack of paperwork in front of him loomed like a death threat.  Since his reinstatement to the team three weeks ago, it only seemed to grow larger.  Spectra had resumed their near-daily offensive, resulting in reams of paperwork.  Mark could deny it all he liked, but he knew he was failing in the administrative side of his job, falling further and further behind.  Sooner or later, Chief Anderson would notice, would ask him what was wrong.

And what, Mark thought, am I going to say to that?  That I can't keep up with my old job any longer?  Exactly how's that going to work?  With Jason back out on Medical leave, there was no one left to fill in, no one to take Mark's place.  The Falcon had graciously agreed to stay on the team until Jason’s return.  And with extended enforced rest, the Condor’s health was finally improving.  Mark had to take up the slack caused by Jason’s absence if he wanted to see his gunner healthy.  He had to endure.

He pushed his chair back from the table in the ready room.  The resultant loud scrape ricocheted through his head.  Mark instantly regretted the action - the last thing he needed to do was to call attention to himself at this hour.  He glanced at the clock on the wall with weary eyes.  

2 a.m.  Again.  

He walked over to the refrigerator, opened the freezer, and took out a pack of frozen peas.  At least Zark hasn't asked why I suddenly want the ready room stocked with vegetables at all times, Mark thought, as he opened a drawer and wrapped a linen towel around the bag.  The little robot's probably convinced that his endless lectures on healthy eating have finally taken hold.

Walking back to the table, Mark sat down gingerly and propped his head up on his right arm so that his face was cradled by the bag of peas.  The cold numbed his nerve endings, temporarily derailing their pain signals.  Relief.

With that accomplished, he picked up the nearest surveillance report with his left hand and started to read again.  He hadn't gotten far before the type began to blur and sway beneath his eyes.  Cursing, he dropped the peas and reached across the table to where he had left his reading glasses.  

I'm never going to get used to needing these things, he thought, miserably.  I thought my implant surgery fixed this.  He put the glasses on and raked his fingers through his hair.  What else didn't surgery fix?

Mark tried not to wince as his head throbbed in response.  He picked up the frozen peas again and buried his right temple into the bag.  Unfortunately, this also had the effect of digging the right stem of his glasses into his face.  Mark released the pressure slightly and tried to resume reading.  But now he found that he had the opposite problem - with the aid of lenses, he found the print so crisp and bright that it hurt to look at the paperwork.

Oh, who am I kidding?   Mark whipped off his glasses a second time.  Screw it.  Requisition forms, proposed changes in procedure, expense reports, training requests ... All of this can wait another night.  I've got to get some sleep.  

Mark shoved his reading glasses into the pocket of his jeans, gathered up his armful of paperwork, and headed for the door.  But before heading to his quarters, he abruptly turned back to the table and snatched up the bag of frozen peas.

Jason leaned against the door frame of the ready room, chewing on an ink pen.  It was late afternoon and he was bored out of his mind.  After six weeks off, he was finally starting to feel like himself, even making it back to the track to place in one minor race.  He was itching to come back to the team, but the Chief, having rushed Jason’s recovery once, was in no hurry to place him on active status. 

“What’cha working on?” he asked the room’s sole other occupant, speaking around the pen in his mouth.

Mark, facing away from the door before a heaping stack of paperwork, startled in his seat, splashing tea across the table.  He turned aside, set down the tea cup and touched his hand to his face, quickly shoving something under the stack of papers.  He then mopped up the tea with the sleeve of his sweatshirt and turned to answer Jason.

“Paperwork,” Mark said.  “Lots of it.” 

Jason could tell that Mark was fighting to keep his voice even.  The expression on his face was a cross between annoyed and guilty.  Clearly, Jason had touched a nerve.  He took the pen out of his mouth and twirled it between his fingers as he looked at Mark.

“I didn’t hear you come in,” Mark added tensely, crossing his arms to regard Jason.

Jason thought about Mark’s behavior.  It had been a long time since he’d seen Mark act like this.   Jason gave Mark a curious glance and gestured with the pen at Mark’s stack of papers. 

“Since when?” he asked, pointedly.  He put the pen in his back pocket.

Mark threw him a quizzical look.  “Since when what?”

Jason walked over to where Mark was sitting.  He leaned against the table, slipped one hand under the paperwork, and brought forth a pair of reading glasses.  Jason waved them in front of Mark’s face.  Mark flushed scarlet.

“Since when did you start needing these again?” Jason asked, spinning the frames by one stem.  “I thought you hadn’t used these since surgery.”  He raised his eyebrows at Mark.

Mark didn’t answer.  Instead, he snatched the glasses out of Jason’s hand and shoved them into the front pocket of his jeans. 

Jason knew that Mark had never liked wearing glasses.  Mark had fought tooth and nail to keep from having to wear them as part of his official G-Force uniform.  And he had succeeded, largely because he could see just well enough to pass the official yearly eye exam without them.

Jason no longer could.  Since implant surgery, he had been required to wear glasses as part of his official G-Force uniform.  Unlike Mark, Jason had no hope of passing the eye exam without corrective lenses.  But, quite frankly, he didn’t care.  It was a relief to finally be able to see clearly.  The double vision that had plagued him for months prior to surgery had been resolved with the implant repair.  The blurriness he had experienced from time to time, come to find out, was a function of uncorrected myopia, not implant failure.  The implant could only compensate for so much vision correction, the Chief had explained.  Correcting vision wasn’t one of the implant’s more efficient uses.  And, as they now realized, it was one of the first functions to suffer if a cerebonically enhanced person was ill, tired, or under stress.

“You wanna talk about it or do I have to drag it out of you?” Jason asked.  He crossed his arms and stared at Mark.

“It’s nothing,” Mark mumbled, speaking to the floor.  He looked up at Jason.  “Why do you care?  What difference does it make?”

“You know why I care,” Jason said, straightening the frames of his own glasses.  “How well we see is one measure of implant function.  My prescription didn’t fully stabilize until I went back on reserve status.”

Mark looked surprised, but he didn’t say anything. 

Jason shrugged, then added, “My vision’s about the same now as after surgery.  The Chief says my eyes are worse but my implant’s better.” 

Mark, digesting this information, put a hand to his forehead and rubbed the bridge of his nose.  Jason wondered if Mark had another headache.  The Chief had found no medical reason, no implant-based cause, for his headaches.  The unknown source of pain was troubling for both him and the team. 

Could it be eyestrain?

“You haven’t told the Chief yet, have you?” Jason asked.  It was a statement more than a question.

Mark withdrew his hand and gave Jason a withering look, speaking to him as if he were a child.  “I told you, Jason, it’s nothing.  The Chief has more important things to worry about.”

It was Jason’s turn to redden.  Zoltar had continued his reign of terror, capitalizing on the fact that the Condor and Eagle hadn’t been seen in battle together for months.   Jason had been set back to reserve status ever since that disastrous mission at the mecha production facility, having first weathered lung irritation and then pneumonia.  He had fought relentlessly against being placed in reserve status.  But he also had known, deep down, that he desperately needed the time off to recover.  Watching how quickly Princess had bounced back from her leg surgery only drove home the point.  Implant surgery had been so much harder on Jason than he cared to admit. 

“Maybe,” Jason conceded.  “But it’s important, Mark.  You should get checked out.  Maybe you need to take some time off.”

Mark squinted at Jason.   “What the hell?”  He rubbed his forehead.  “I don’t have a problem, Jason.  I’m just tired.”  He rubbed his eyes and shook his head.  Mark gave his second a foul look.  “What’s it to you, anyway?  It’s not like you don’t have enough problems of your own to worry about.”  It was a low blow and they both knew it.

Jason swore.  “Maybe I know what I’m talking about, Mark!” he fumed.  “Maybe I don’t want to see you get beaten down to where I was, okay?  Maybe I want to keep you from hitting rock bottom, so you don’t feel like your life is over.  It’s been hell.” 

At Mark’s startled expression, Jason spat out, “Oh, yeah.  And maybe I actually care about you, Mark.  Imagine that.  The Condor actually gives a shit about something other than himself.  Call Zark.  Alert the media.” 

Jason threw his hands into the air in frustration and slammed his fist into the closest wall.  Then he stormed out of the room.

***

Mark sighed.  I guess I deserved that.

He tapped the papers into a neat stack, placed his tea cup on top as a paperweight, and left the room.  He checked Jason’s small dorm on the station, but he didn’t find him there.  His gunner wasn’t pounding the punching bag in the small training room, nor was he working out in their large acrobatic space. 

Where did he go?

Mark was just about to give up when he found Jason sitting alone in the cafeteria, scowling, hunched over a cup of coffee.

Mark sat down next to him.  “This seat taken?” he asked.

Jason frowned at him.  “It is now.”  He sipped his coffee and ignored Mark. 

Mark sighed.  “I’ll be right back.”

He strode over to the beverage dispenser, grabbed a clean cup, saucer, and spoon, and poured himself a cup of hot water.  Then, he selected a tea bag, plunked it in the cup, and waved his Galaxy Security ID at the cashier. 

Jason gave him a wary glance when he returned.  Mark set the cup down and spread his arms out wide.  “I’m sorry,” he said.

Jason nodded and bit his lip.  “Not like you didn’t have a point,” he responded, his voice grim.  Jason turned away and took another sip of coffee.

Mark dunked the tea bag up and down, watching the amber liquid drip into the cup, as he tried to think of the best way to draw Jason out.  Nothing came to mind but the truth.  “I was out of line.  I’m sorry.”  He placed the tea bag on the saucer and gave Jason an earnest look.

“You said that already,” Jason snapped.  He set down his coffee mug, leaned back in the chair, crossed his arms, and regarded Mark.  “So?”

Mark shrugged.  “So.  I meant what I said.  I’m fine.”  He put the tea cup to his lips, realized the tea was still too hot to drink, and set the cup back down.

“You’ve starting wearing glasses again,” Jason stated.

Mark looked aside.  “I never stopped,” he said.

Jason cocked an eyebrow. 

Mark turned back to Jason and sighed.  “I didn’t realize that I still needed reading glasses until I started to work on ISO paperwork again.  Lots of forms, lots of little boxes.”  He rubbed at his eyes.  “I thought that things were different after the surgery.  It was just wishful thinking on my part.”  He gave Jason a rueful smile.  “And, okay, so it’s a little embarrassing since I told you that I didn’t need to wear them anymore.”

Jason gave Mark an incredulous look.  “Like I’d really care.”  His voice reflected genuine surprise. 

“The Chief knows,” Mark continued, as if Jason hadn’t spoken.  “We talked about it last week.  He ran some tests.  My vision’s about the same, just shy of normal.”  Mark shrugged.  “Sometimes I need glasses to read, sometimes I don’t.  Depends on how tired I am, same as before.  I wondered if my headaches might be caused by eyestrain, but the Chief doesn’t think so.”

Jason nodded.  “I wondered the same thing.  That’s why I was worried about you.”

Mark gave a wry smile.  “I told you I was fine.”  He took a sip of tea.

Jason shrugged and looked away.  He drained his coffee cup and placed it on the table.  “I’m glad.”  His expression was carefully neutral; his tone, flat.

Mark looked over his tea cup and regarded his second.  It wasn’t hard to read between the lines.  He put a hand on Jason’s arm.  “It won’t be long now, Jase,” he said.

Jason shook his head and pulled his arm away.  “I’m just so tired of this,” he said, looking down.  His voice was rough.  Mark tried to wait him out, but Jason didn’t continue.  His second simply shook his head.  Every part of Jason’s body slumped down, defeated posture.  He looked absolutely miserable.

“You’re a valuable member of this team, Jason, whether you’re on active status or not,” Mark said.

Jason rolled his eyes.  “You sound just like Zark,” he said, giving Mark a withering glare.

Mark chuckled.  “Zark’s been right about a few things, Jason.”

His gunner sighed and spoke into his empty coffee mug.  “It’s not like I wanted you to be sick again.  I just want to feel useful for a change.”

Mark looked up, surprised.  Jason was seldom so candid.  “Seriously?” he asked.

“Yes, seriously,” Jason snapped.  “I’m sick of hanging around here like a damn puppy, waiting for you all to return home.  I’m ready to go full time.  The Chief’s just dragging his feet with my paperwork.”

Mark drank his tea.  “You can’t blame him.”

Jason sighed.  “Whatever.”

Mark twisted the tea cup in his hands.  Jason opened up.  I should give a little.  Mark sighed.  Why is it so hard to admit this?  He plunked down his cup, now empty, and forced himself to say the words out loud.  “Look,” he conceded, “for what it’s worth, you were right about one thing.” 

Jason looked up in surprise.

“I do need to go talk to the Chief,” Mark said.  “But not for the reason you suspected.”

As Jason’s eyes widened, Mark sighed and looked away.  Why can’t I just say it?  He forced himself to speak.  “I’m in way over my head with paperwork.  I just can’t keep up like I used to.”  Mark rubbed his eyes again and yawned.  “Not like I did that great of a job before.” 

Jason stared at him in disbelief.  “Are you kidding me?”

Mark eyed him warily.  “Would I joke about paperwork?”

Jason’s face showed the most excitement that Mark had seen in weeks.  “But I can help you!” he said, happily.

Mark looked at Jason with skepticism.  “You hate paperwork.”

Jason was smiling.  “You’re right.  But I hate being out of the loop even more.”

Mark sat back for a moment.  Finally, a large grin crossed his face and he held out his hand.  “You’ve got yourself a deal, Condor.”

Jason pumped his hand.  “Great!” he said.  “Let’s get started.  What do you want me to work on?  What’s Princess doing?”

“Princess?” Mark echoed.

“Princess,” Jason repeated.  “G-3?  Black hair, green eyes?” he teased.

“What about her?”  Mark looked nonplussed.

“She’s your Executive Officer.  Isn’t she doing any of this for you?”  When Mark twisted in his chair and looked away, Jason pounced on him.  “You’ve got to be kidding me, Mark!  Why the hell not?”

Mark crossed his arms and chewed his lip, shaking his head absently as he stared at the floor.  He shrugged.  “Never occurred to me.  I just put myself back in charge of it all.”

Jason cocked his head and snorted.  “That makes absolutely no sense, Mark.  No wonder you’re behind.  There’s way the hell too much paperwork associated with that command position.  No one could keep up with it.”  He poked Mark on the arm.  “Weren’t you the one who told me that my only problem is that I don’t know how to ask for help?”

Mark looked up and gave Jason a wry smile.  “I might have said that, yes.”  He shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

“Well,” Jason replied.  “Now, I’m returning the favor.  Reinstate her as your Executive Officer.  Make it a permanent job duty of the second-in-command.”  When Mark didn’t say anything, he added, “And I’ll pick up the slack.  When I go back on duty, Princess can pick up the slack for me.  No one should have to shoulder that much work alone.”  He forced Mark to look him in the eyes.  “Not even you.”

Mark nodded.  “You’ve got a point.”  He sighed heavily. 

“Just say it.”  Jason gave Mark a pointed look and grinned.

Mark quirked a wary eyebrow.  “Say what?”

“That I’m right.”  Mark rolled his eyes at Jason, who added, “And that this little talk was helpful.”

Mark smirked at Jason and pushed his chair away from the table.  “Let’s go talk to Princess and then I’ll meet with the Chief.”

Mark glanced around the bridge of the big warship.  Man, it feels great to have my team back in action!  He stood up to stretch his legs.  As he tilted his head from side to side and rolled the kinks out of his shoulders and spine, he smiled at Tiny.

"Awesome job, Big Guy," Mark said, clapping the large man on the shoulder.

Tiny beamed with pride, a large, lazy smile stretching across his face.  "We did good out there, huh?"

Tiny's relaxed posture couldn't contain his pride.  Now that everyone knew what the Owl could do in battle, Mark wasn't about to waste his massive talent by letting him babysit the ship.  Tiny had cracked more heads together in the last two days than he had during his previous two years on the team.

"We sure did," Mark agreed.  The team had just flown back-to-back missions, culminating in their first hand-to-hand combat as the original five since Jason's second reinstatement.  

What a rush!

Mark knew that he should be tired, but he was still hyped up on adrenalin, remembering the startled faces of the goons at the sight of the Condor and Eagle, side by side, finally back together in action.  Even Zoltar had revealed shock, letting loose a gut-wrenching shriek as he darted away from their weapons and tandem roundhouse kicks.

Keyop must have been thinking along the same lines because he added, "Just like ... old times." The boy looked back to where Jason was seated at his station and smiled.

Jason returned the smile and nodded at Keyop absently.  He appeared to be studying the map on the navigation grid.

Princess walked over to Mark and Keyop and reached a hand toward each of them. "It's so good to be at full strength again."

"And no Darien," mumbled Keyop.

"Hey, give the guy a break," Tiny offered from the pilot's chair.  "He saved your sorry butt, Keyop.  Right, Jason?"

There was a slight pause in the conversation before Jason answered.  "Yeah, right, Tiny."  Jason turned toward Keyop and grinned.  "You should be sending him flowers for life."

Keyop stuck his tongue out, but Mark wondered if Jason had even noticed.  His gunner had already resumed staring at the navigation grid.  What was so fascinating about that map?

Mark turned a penetrating gaze on his second.  Something's not right with Jason, he realized, but he couldn't quite decipher what.  No one else seemed to notice.

Am I overreacting? he thought.  It has been a while since he’s served on an extended combat mission.  I wonder ... 

An idea occurred to Mark.  "Jason?"

His second shook his head ever so slightly before answering.  "Yes, Skipper?"

Mark felt the uneasy satisfaction of having his suspicions confirmed.  Jason's response time was off, just a hair.  "Need your help with some supplies back in Medical.  I thought we should check the expiration dates on the medicine."

Jason rolled his eyes, but got to his feet briskly.  "You’ve got to be kidding me, Mark.  You are the most anal-retentive person I know." He stomped out of the door toward the Phoenix's sick bay.

Glancing around the bridge, Mark found that while Keyop and Tiny were clueless as to the subtext, Princess hadn't missed a thing.  She turned a worried face toward Mark and tipped her head just slightly to ask, "Is he all right?" At the same time, the words out of her mouth were, "That's why Mark's the commander, you guys, he makes sure we're always prepared for action." Mark flashed her a quick smile, along with a nod that said, "I'm on it."

Keyop piped up, "Can I help you guys?"

Mark was careful not to reveal his concern for Jason.  "Not this time, Keyop.  Why don't you organize our SOP manuals?"  He winked at the boy.  "I've heard Darien made quite a mess of them."

Tiny chuckled.  "That he did." Princess stifled a laugh.

"He improved some of them, too," Jason added in a grouchy tone, poking his head back onto the bridge.  Now that he was at close range, Mark noticed that Jason's breathing was slightly labored, his face a shade too pale.

The man in question raised a set of weary eyes to Mark.  "Let's hit it," he said.

Once they were off the bridge, Jason gave up all pretense of acting as if nothing was wrong.  His posture drooped as he reached under his helmet, rubbed at his eyes, and took a shuddering breath.  Mark took the open vulnerability as a sign that Jason was ready to talk.  He put a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder.  "You all right?"

Jason nodded and moved into sick bay.  "You want to start with the open packages or the ones in the supply closet?"  He walked around the small room and began to pull bottles off of the shelves.

Mark closed the door, took the bottles from Jason's hands, and restocked the medicine.  "I want to start with you," he said, simply, and pointed at the examination table.

Jason rolled his eyes but complied with Mark's request.  He stripped off his gloves, removed his helmet, and sat in stony silence while Mark gave him a cursory exam, looking into each eye with a pen light, testing his reflexes, checking his pulse and temperature.  Nothing seemed amiss.  Even Jason's breathing, so briefly labored, now appeared normal.

Mark finally asked, "Help me out here.  What're your symptoms?"

Jason shook his head.  "Don't have any."

Mark was ready to fire off a sharp retort when he realized that Jason was biting his knuckles.  Based on previous experience, Mark knew that this meant Jason was either scared or frustrated, possibly both.  He bit his tongue and waited for his patient to speak.

After a protracted silence, Jason dropped his arms to his sides.  "Nothing I can put a finger on," he finally admitted, looking down at his hands.  "I'm just tired."

Mark's expression lifted.  "Of course you are!" he said.  "We're all tired.  Two missions in two days would wear anybody out." Mark yawned and sat down on the only chair in the room.  

Jason shook his head.  "That's not it."  His intense gaze, holding a mixture of earnestness and desperation, made Mark's stomach drop.  "I was having a hell of a time just staying awake on the bridge.  That's not like me.  I know what's it's like to be tired, Mark, and this isn't it.  I'm exhausted.  I hurt all over."

Mark frowned and looked at his friend in sympathy.  Jason fixed him with a miserable look.  "I’ve been feeling so good lately that I thought I was past all of this.”  He closed his eyes and shook his head.  “But I'm not.  I think my implant's acting up again."

They both sat for a long time in silence.  When he spoke next, it was clear to Mark that Jason was fighting back tears.  "I don't want to get kicked off the team, Mark.  I don't know what to do."

Mark racked his brain for the right response.  He took a breath and blew it out slowly.  "Well, what helped you before when you felt like this?"

Jason looked at him miserably.  "Eighteen hours of sleep on your guest chair in Medical."

Mark laughed in spite of himself.  "I am - not - going through rehab again to make that happen."  When Jason didn't even crack a smile, he added, "So go home and get some rest tonight.  I'll tell Anderson that you had something you needed to work on at the track."

Jason looked dour.  "You're going to tell him, aren't you?"

Mark shrugged.  "I will, if it comes to that.  But it's not likely we'll get called out again anytime soon.  The Rangers cleaned up after us.  It was a good rout.  We should be off-duty for at least a couple of days.  Give your body a chance to heal, Jason, and then let's see how you do.  Take it easy for the next forty-eight.  If it helps any, consider it an order."

Jason nodded.  "All right."  He slipped off the table and stood looking at the shelves of medicines.  "We should get started on ..."

Mark jumped up and grabbed him by the arm mid-sentence.  "Did you listen to anything I just said?   I mean it.  Apart from debrief, I want you to take it easy.  For now, catch a quick nap in here.  I can sort the supplies without your help."

Jason managed a slight smile.  "Okay.  Thanks, Mark."  He sat down and yawned.  “It’s good to have you back in command.” 

Mark fought warring urges: Lecture Jason or thank him for talking to me?  He settled on the first.  "Just promise me that you'll let me know if you start to feel worse."

Jason was already curled into a ball on the examination table, eyes closed, one arm draped over his face.  “I will," he mumbled.

Mark dimmed the lights in the room, found the master checklist for the medical supplies, and silently began to check the expiration dates on the bottles.

Chief Anderson noticed the trend after Jason's second return to duty, right after his first hand-to-hand combat mission.  He watched the numbers for a few days and wrote the incident off as a statistical anomaly.  The second time, four weeks after the first, he plotted the numbers more carefully, charted the variables, and frowned.  The third time, Jason surprised him by appearing in his office before he had even finished evaluating the situation.

“Chief?” Jason’s voice on the other side of the door was tentative.    

The man behind the desk took a deep breath before answering.  “Come,” he replied. 

Jason stood just inside the doorway, arms folded, legs crossed.  His eyes were closed.  When he finally opened them, he simply stared at the ground. 

He’s in trouble, the Chief thought.  And he knows it.  Good.  Chief Anderson waited, knowing what Jason needed to tell him, knowing how hard it was for him, appreciating that Jason was finally making the effort.  Admitting weakness was not one of the Condor’s strong suits.

After a protracted silence, Jason finally opened his eyes and stared directly at the Chief.  “It’s starting again,” he said, flatly.

The Chief nodded.  “I know.”

They were both quiet for a long time: Jason dumbfounded, the Chief, somber. 

Jason looked away first.  His voice was steady, but he spoke quietly.  “I thought things were going to be different this time around.  After my second reinstatement, things were good at first.  We weren’t so busy.  But now …”  Jason shook his head and threw his arms wide in frustration.  “I don’t have any energy.   I’ve cut back on everything I can think of, but I just can’t get back to normal.  I don’t feel right.  I’m tired all of the time.”  His eyes scanned the Chief’s face, begging for a quick answer, an easy solution to the problem.

The Chief looked aside.  “I’m sorry, Jason.”

Jason’s eyes widened, but otherwise, he kept his expression carefully neutral.  “So?” he finally ventured.

“So,” the Chief said.  “For what it’s worth, I think you’re doing a good job of managing your condition.  I have no complaints about your work.”

Jason surprise was evident.  “You’re not retiring me?”

The Chief shook his head.  “I don’t see any reason to.”

“But …”

“Let me show you something,” the Chief said.  “You’ve had, what, three relapses since your second reinstatement, correct?”

Jason frowned at him.  When he spoke, his voice bespoke fear and anger.  “How do you know that?  I never said anything to you.  Medical didn’t seem to notice.”

“Here.”  The Chief handed him a graph with a header reading “G-2.”  Numerous health-related variables were plotted across the timeline, including implant output and inverse white blood cell count.  Most followed fairly horizontal trajectories from left to right.  However, there were two slight dips in the data, carrying nearly all of the variables down with them. 

Chief Anderson pointed this out.  “This is the first time, after that back-to-back mission in the South Pacific four months ago.  And here is a month later, when you put in 18 hours on Riga, came home and drove in a race, and got called out to Spectra right after.”

Jason looked at the Chief, stunned.  “If you knew this, why didn’t you haul me in here before?”

The Chief crossed his arms and regarded Jason.  “I wasn’t sure at first if there was an actual pattern.  You never said anything was wrong and statistical anomalies are common.   After I suspected something more, I wanted to see how you’d handle it.  I asked Medical not to intervene.  You weren’t at any serious health risk.  My suspicions weren’t confirmed definitively until just now, when you walked through the door.”

Jason frowned.

The Chief shrugged.  “You haven’t always been honest about your health, Jason, even to yourself.  I wanted to see how you’d cope with a long-term health problem, something important but not urgent.”

Jason’s expression hardened.  “And?” he asked.  “Did I pass your little test?”  It came out with a sneer.

The Chief ignored Jason’s frosty attitude and focused on the question.  “Yes, actually, you did.  The first time, Spectra cut you a break.  No attacks for a few days and your health went back to normal.”  The Chief pointed at the flat lines in the middle of the graph.  “But the second time, you had a harder time getting back on your feet.”  The Chief pointed out the next dip in the data, more pronounced than the first.  “I watched you.  No more late nights, no long hours at the track.  You actually showed up in the cafeteria a few times and ate a decent meal.  It took you awhile, but your body finally responded once you took better care of yourself.”  The Chief indicated a longer period of quiescence which only dropped off at the end. 

“And now?” Jason asked. 

The Chief gave him a hard look.  “You’re here.  You’ve come to talk to me voluntarily instead of me having to drag you in here kicking and screaming.  That’s a huge improvement.” 

Jason looked away, embarrassment flushing his cheeks pink.  The Chief walked around his desk to stand near the young man.  His voice was softer when he continued.  “You can handle this, Jason.  You should have no difficulty staying on the team if you’re willing to let everyone know when you’re having a problem.  You’ll have to agree to a more restricted schedule during flare-ups.  But if we work together, I can help to find ways to minimize your symptoms.  I’m going to keep working to find a more permanent solution to your problem, but for the time being, we have to treat your implant fatigue like a chronic health condition.  I’m sorry that I don’t have a better answer for you right now.  This is not going to magically go away, no matter how much you or I want it to.”

Jason closed his eyes and put a hand to his head.  “I was hoping for something simpler, like getting Zoltar to sign a peace treaty.”

The Chief actually cracked a smile.  He placed a hand on Jason’s shoulder.  “You’ve stared down Zoltar, Jason.  You can deal with this.”

The Chief looked at the eleven folders lining his desk and smiled.  Soon, his Rigan counterpart would arrive for their first official meeting.  He wanted to be prepared.  Anderson was ready to hand over his files on Darien and his team – the Falcon and his cohorts had acquired quite a stack of paperwork during their stay at Center Neptune.   But Professor Randor, the newly appointed coordinator of R-Command, didn’t just want to collect the new team’s files.  He also wanted to pick Anderson’s brain about training, implant technology, and the overall mechanics of running a team of cerebonically-enhanced young fighters.

The members of R-Command had finally been selected by the Security Council.  In addition to Darien, there were two other men, two women, and one shape-shifter.  The team was designed to work as two groups of three, but they also trained as a team of six.

Anderson took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.  He couldn’t fault the logic.  Rigans were most comfortable in groups of three for some reason.  However, the two women on the team were from Earth and the shape-shifter was from Planet 78, a new addition to the Federation in Sigma Minor.  It was an interesting mix.  

R-Command had been at Center Neptune for the past six months, training alongside G-Force while Randor oversaw the building of their facility on planet Riga.  Since Jason’s second reinstatement, the two teams had finally been at full strength.

Darien was proving to be an able leader, both within his team and working alongside G-Force.  While still not comfortable with Mark, he had a good rapport with both Jason and Tiny and had even reached out to Princess to make amends.  And although it had taken an explosion to do it, the mecha warehouse mission had cemented a friendship between Darien and Keyop.  Chief Anderson chuckled slightly.  At least something good came out of that disaster.  The Rigan commander still gave Keyop weekly drawing lessons.  

Galaxy Security planned to launch R-Command within a few weeks.  Gal Sec brass hoped to rotate the workload between the two teams.  However, both mentors could easily envision their teams working in tandem to repel Zoltar and his attacks.  The Chief and Randor felt pleased and relieved that their groups were comfortable working together. 

Chief Anderson put his glasses back on and took a sip of coffee.  It just might work. Maybe I can finally reduce their workload.  They could use a real vacation.  He glanced at the picture of the five young adults on his desk.

If the past year had taught Chief Anderson anything, it was that G-Force, while they might be dedicated and inseparable, certainly weren’t invincible.  He set R-Command’s information aside and glanced over the remaining five folders.

As anticipated, Mark was recovering nicely from implant surgery.  Unlike Jason, his post-surgical balance was intact and his humor was good.  The team had responded well to having him back in command. 

The Chief skimmed through Mark’s recent medical reports.  Most were unremarkable.  For that, the Chief was extremely grateful.  He didn’t think he could handle another situation like Jason’s.

Mark still suffered the occasional headache, though, and he had missed a mission and several briefings in the past six months due to what Chief Anderson now suspected were migraines.  He’d been working with Mark on relaxation techniques, watching what he ate, keeping the commander on a schedule, but neither man could find a correlation yet.  Not having an identified trigger was frustrating, but not insurmountable.

The Chief set Mark’s folder aside and cast a glance at Jason’s.  He sighed, picking up Princess’ paperwork instead.

Apart from her leg injury, the Swan’s recent medical history was unremarkable too.  She’d undergone physical therapy after the second surgery on her thigh, but she didn’t seem to have any residual effects other than a nasty scar.  Chief Anderson had immediately ordered a redesign of her uniform.  There obviously had been a structural flaw in those flesh-colored tights. 

Princess seemed happier with Mark back as Commander, but – and here Chief smiled briefly – she had recently requested to attend the same leadership training classes as Mark and Jason.  Chief Anderson had been more than happy to sign off on her paperwork.  Despite the fiasco at the mecha production facility – which surely wasn’t her fault, he reasoned – she had proven herself an able commander.  He was proud of her. 

Tiny still needed to lose weight.  The Chief noted that he had made this same observation at every physical, but during the Owl’s last assessment, the amount of weight he needed to lose had finally dropped.  Chief Anderson smiled again, wider this time.  Tiny had certainly proven his worth during Mark and Jason’s recovery.  Darien still talked about Tiny’s dedication and bravery during the Spectran mecha warehouse mission.  As a result, the entire R-Command team was star-struck by the Owl. 

Keyop, fortunately, showed no ill effects from his concussion.  He’d recently shot up in height, though, so along with a new visor, he’d acquired a whole new uniform.  Mark had put him in charge of training the new Rigan squad in aerial maneuvers, in part to instill some respect for the young Swallow, and in part to acknowledge Keyop’s superiority as an aerials instructor.  Keyop was still overseeing Jason’s training.

Jason.  The Chief took a deep breath and opened the Condor’s file.  He shook his head.  How much of this can I share with Randor? 

Due to Jason’s residual problems post-implant surgery, Chief Anderson had gone to extreme measures to guard the Condor's current medical condition.  A portion of Jason's medical records were missing from his official file.  Some were hidden deep in Chief Anderson’s lockbox, other observations existed only in the Chief's mind.  He rubbed his eyes behind his glasses.  There's so much that I can't say. 

But I can’t risk Randor making the same mistakes that I’ve made, either.  He needs to know what will happen if he’s not careful.  Implants are not infallible.  Don’t take your team’s health for granted!  You should - no, you must! - keep close tabs on their medical care.   Don’t let things slide.  Don’t let it come to this.

Anderson tried to think of how to phrase Jason’s current situation.  He knew that he should be more diplomatic, but the first thing that came to mind was: Frustrating as hell.

He thought of the good news:  Jason was back in action.  He was thrilled to be back on the team.  He was field-ready, eager, always the first to sign up to learn something new, be it a martial arts technique or a new language.  His attitude, though still sometimes surly, had largely improved since his pre-surgery days.   Jason was always ready for work and he always worked hard. 

And that was also the bad news.  Chief Anderson sighed.

Jason had always pushed his body to the limit.  In the past, it wasn’t a serious problem.  Even now, most of the time, Jason could endure longer than anyone else on the team.  But put him under extended days of physical stress – long hours in the field, back to back missions – and Jason’s implant problems flared up, putting him at serious risk from Spectra’s advances.   

When Jason’s implant was drained, his energy levels plummeted, and he was vulnerable to illness and injury.  During these times, the Chief constantly had to remind Jason to take it easy.  But as soon as their workload eased and Jason felt better, he shrugged off the warnings and hit the world at break-neck speed once again.

The Chief knew that his adopted son was trying to follow orders, but it simply wasn’t in the Condor’s nature to sit still.  Just today, the Chief and Jason had butted heads over racing.  Jason wanted to spend more time at the track.  But he knew – he has to know, doesn’t he? – that he couldn’t go back to racing at a professional level. 

For now, the only solution during peak periods of battle was to conserve Jason’s energy as best they could and limit the number of times Jason transmuted between his Condor and civilian identities.  Something about the transmutation process itself seemed to drain Jason’s energy.  The Chief had experimented with new frequencies, working on altering the energy signatures, but, so far, nothing seemed to help. 

Frustrating. The Chief allowed himself an impatient sigh.  He’s so stubborn.  The Chief frowned and let out another sigh.  Almost as stubborn as me.  There has got to be a way to fix his transmutation cycle.  There must be something that I’m missing.

In the meantime, the Chief was forced to subject Jason to extensive and embarrassingly thorough health monitoring.  It was tiresome for them both.  Jason hated being spied on and Chief Anderson hated doing the spying.  But Jason wasn’t the best judge of his own fitness.  Without someone keeping tabs on him, he pushed himself too hard in every area – racing, karate, boxing, leadership training.  He even worked too hard at yoga and tai chi, something the Chief previously would have said was impossible. 

Trust Jason to do the impossible. 

The Chief chuckled.  The Condor was, in so many ways, the best and worst performer on his team. 

Nothing’s really changed, then, has it?  The older man shook his head with a wry smile as he closed Jason’s file.

At the sound of a knock, he opened the door for Professor Randor.  There was work to be done.