Human Factors

[Melanie Tyler]

HUMAN FACTORS

Pete had been sitting at home at his apartment on planet LA, simply waiting for the time to pass. And when the time was there he moved with his Guardian to the given location in the Virginia system where Normandie would be waiting with Commander Hartman.

Thirty two clicks beyond Battleship James, Normandie hovered in space, as agreed. Even from a distance, the enormous warship dominated Levine's vision. Larger, even, then a Dreadnought, the former Gallic warship was the heaviest line battleship in the Liberty Navy. As his Guardian powered into visual range, his comms array coughed.

"Unknown Contact, this is Normandie. You have entered restricted space. Identify yourself, over." The voice carried a distinctly Gallic accent.
"Lieutenant Pete Levine reporting in for a meeting with Commander Jane Hartman, transmitting you the required data." Pete reported back to Normandie, keeping a steady approach.
"Oui, Lieutenant. Received." Normandie's icon flicked to green on Levine's HUD. "Proceed to docking bay one."

Pete watched Normandie carefully, reminding him of his times in the Taus. He steered his craft to the appointed hangar and carefully set his ship down to leave the cockpit right after.

Technicians swarmed over the Guardian as it touched down, connecting fuel lines, checking static ports, and generally getting in the way. They moved in an exhausted daze, eyes unfocused. One of them moved to unhook Levine's cockpit, levering the heavy canopy open. Once Levine was safely out of the cockpit, the man retreated down the ramp in position next to the Guardian's nose, bellowing commands at his crew to do the same.

Beyond them stood a woman in full blue ceremonial uniform, Commander's stripes on her shoulders. Far more striking; however, were the pale lines of scar tissue etched across her face, stretching from ear to the other, over the bridge of her nose. It was almost impossible not to stare. Her eyes had the same exhausted glaze as the technicians. The woman raised a hand in greeting.

"Lieutenant Levine." She spoke in a long drawl, characteristic of Houston natives. "Welcome aboard Normandie. Hope the trip didn't bounce you around too much."
"Was quiet, Commander." He in a simple way when he approached her. Him wearing his main uniform of the Navy an also having a somewhat tired expression on him as his recent nights had barely given him any sleep.

She nodded, glancing around the hangar bay as the last of the technicians gathered their equipment and slunk off to their bunks. "Glad to hear it. The pirates have been making a mess of central space lately." Hartman turned, gesturing for him to follow her. "We can discuss the..." She hesitated, evidently unaccustomed to subterfuge. "Issue, in my stateroom."
He gave a silent nod and glanced a through the hangar briefly before actually following her, letting the Commander take the lead.

Normandie was enormous. Even the corridors were far wider than the equivalent passages on a Libertonian warship, veering off at odd angles and elevations - probably to avoid the spine-mounted antimatter cannon running the length of the ship. The hallways were strangely devoid of sailors, and those Levine did see wore a confusing blend of Gallic and Libertonian insignia on their uniforms.

Eventually, after what felt like a marathon's worth of walking, Hartman stopped at a single door, the first they had passed in some time. Evidently this part of the ship didn't carry a dense population. Hartman fished a card from her uniform, and the door hissed open.

The room within had once been grand. Unforgivably huge, even by the standards of most liners. A pile of furniture squatted, heaped in the far corner, topped by what looked to be a chandelier. The rest of the room was bare, save a single bed pushed against the wall, a set of stools clustered around a display, and a cheap wooden desk. The latter sported an impressive stack of paper.

Hartman took a seat at the far side of the table, dropping her cap to the table. Underneath, her black hair sat in a bun that seemed to be held in place by an entire salon's worth of gel. She nodded to Levine.

"Take a seat. I'm right sorry about the mess, the previous owner was more ostentatious than our usual standards." She glanced around the room, evidently as uncomfortable there as Levine was. "So. What can I do for you, Lieutenant Levine?"
"I don't mind the mess much, as for what you can do. It wasn't my initial idea to actually talk about this, but junior lieutenant Markley seemed to have though my ... issues were influencing my job, and thus I reported it." He replied while he took a seat, opposite of the desk.
"You said as much in your message." Hartman commented. "I've seen your record, Levine. You're one of our best pilots. I doubt you got there by making bad calls. You know how important the work we do is, what's at stake, and if you think that Junior Lieutenant Markley was off the mark, and that you can do your job just fine, then I'm happy to let you off this ship without another word said.

However; if she was correct, then I'll need to know. Too many lives rest on what we do, every day, for things to be tearing you up inside. Just the Rheinlanders workin' on the outside is more than enough for most folks."
"If she was the off the mark, than I probably wouldn't even have bothered making a message about it." He replied back, sighing a little as he wondered on what words to use.

"Not sure how much you actually know about my background, besides the common flight reports." He said slowly.
Hartman shook her head. "Not a lot. Baker was flying recruitment solo when you signed up, and I haven't had need to pull up your record since I got the authority to do so. I know you ran hounddog with the IMG before you came to us, but I'm guessing this ain't about that."
"Had had a divorce a few years ago, and it sort if coming back into play now. Kind of had hoped being in Liberty would cause things to turn quiet, but they haven't." He said, not really feeling like turning or twisting around the matter.
"Family troubles?" Hartman asked. "If someone's hounding you, I can put through a request to have you relocated. There's plenty of bases out there that could use a pilot."
"Nah, no one hounding me. Just overly worried about my ex doing stupid things. Still love her I guess. Thing is, couple of a days ago she came to my place and simply left her child with me who's two, saying she was terrible at being a mother and so on." He said a bit crooked.

Hartman was quiet for a moment, considering her reply. Her initial impulse, as always, would have been to charge the woman with negligence and let the LPI take care of it. Evidently Levine thought otherwise. Damn, but she hated dealing with romantic issues. A life lived in the forces hadn’t exactly left her with a bucket of experience on that count. "Whereabouts is she? Are you both still down on Manhattan?"
"We don't live together, and I live on LA. She's actually from Bretonia. Where we used to live." He explained. "Thing is, I'm afraid she might hurt her, which is the main thing that bugs me right now. Child is fine though, staying with my parents." He went on further, sighing a little as he wondered how long his parents would be willing to play nanny.
“Have you considered calling in civil services? They've got a hell of a lot more experience dealing with people in the sort of state it sounds like your ex-wife's in than you and I." Focused on the discussion now, Hartman's accent faded a few degrees.
"Not much to go on as I don't know where she moved at after the divorce, neither does she answer my calls or anyone else's for that matter." he said, scratching the side of his head a little.

Hartman nodded. She'd known marines who had gone the same way after combat. Shut up in their own little bubbles, praying that when they woke up the world would have quietly slipped away. Some emerged a week or so later, indistinguishable from the people they had been. Some of them had chosen to remove themselves from a world they didn't feel worthy to live in.

"They'll be records, if it comes to that." Which it seemed to have already. "I can pass the details on to civil services back at Bragg, and they can look into it if you're worried." She paused. Her hands didn't shift on the desk, she had spent too many years in uniform for idle shuffling. Always on parade, even in her own stateroom.

"Alternately, it may be worth trying to track her down. I'm not an expert in these things, Levine. Never claimed to be, but sometimes it helps more than you'd think just to know that you've got someone there who cares, as you evidently do."

"Trying to keep myself from getting involved with her business to be honest, But if I could have someone looking for her, just to make sure she's safe, then it would at least relief me from a lot of worries. If it's not too late already." He said, clenching his jaw a little as he kept having a feeling it might have been too late, as well as him having failed to actually look after her properly. Hartman saw Levine's face tighten. She knew that look. She had worn it herself more often than she cared to remember.

"You're looking after her child, Levine. I don't see how you could have done much more." She picked up her cap, turning it over in her hands until the Liberty Star was uppermost. "I'll contact CS once I'm back at Bragg later today. They'll likely want to talk to you as well."

She caught the concern in his face. Strangely attentive, for a woman who had apparently been running exercises all day. "You know, there's a strange thing that happens to people in our profession. Heard it happens to the paramedics too. We're guardians, Lieutenant. Why did you sign up? To fly the flashy planes? To put a bullet in the skull of a Rheinlander? Plenty of people say one or the other, but I don't think that's true.

When you get down to it, we put our names on that little dotted line to protect people. Not because we want to kill, or want to die, but because someone has to do it. Funny thing is, that doesn't stop when you take that uniform off. It's not a job, despite what the ads'll tell you. Protection is part of who you are before you sign up, not what the Navy makes you.

There's something else we learn too. You can't save everyone. You can sure as hell try, but there're no guarantees here, any more than there are in the outside world. You did everything you could. You've come here. You're already making sure her child is cared for. Don't tear your hair out about what might be. We'll get CS in, they'll do what they can."

He moved his hand over his head, apparently no hair there. "Guess, I tore it all off already." He simply said, but still had his jaw clenched as he still felt he had failed in the past. "And this whole... Navy thing was more to keep me occupied. Needed some order in my life, and where better to find that than in a Military organisation, or Navy... whatever." He said with a sigh. Unable to really get himself to just say this was all that could be done.

"Well, you'd be the first I know of to enlist as a hobby." Outstanding. Now he had her concerned as well. "What's done is done. I'll put in the call ASAP. In the meantime, I'd suggest you get some rack time. Not to put too fine a point on it, but you look like you've been hit by a bus." She considered ordering the man to take the day off. Normandie's systems hadn't fully recovered from the exercises, and the warship wouldn't be back in central space for at least twenty four hours. No. She knew how irritating it was to cooped up like an animal. It would have driven her insane.
"Could say I feel like I have." He replied on the comment about the bus.
"And to keep accidents from happening, no flying alone?" He asked, only asking because it was what Markley had suggested to him.
Hartman nodded. "I'll have you rotated through to Colorado as well. Things have been a bit quieter out that way. I'd rather not risk one of our top pilots against the Rheinlanders before we can get this straightened out."
"Top pilots hm? I actually hate being given that kind of honour." He said, able to give out a careful smile, but being serious about his comment.
"Oh?" Hartman's face was impassive.
"Makes me feel uncomfortable." He said simply. Having that issue as he couldn't do everything he wanted as well in certain situations when it came down to combat alone.

Normandie's Commander inclined her head, leaving the matter be. Everyone had the right to some quirks, and it wasn't her place to interrogate her pilots.
"But Colorado is fine." he replied to fall back on the main subject.
"And... there is another thing I actually would like your opinion about. Does the Navy accept ex-Bundschuh members? Perhaps nothing as a pilot, but desk like work?" He asked on a rather neutral tone, but showed a faint smile afterwards.
"Know someone?" Hartman couldn't keep a note of surprise from her voice, a corner of her mouth curling up. "It would depend on the individual. Beyond that, I'd have to consult with the Admiralty. It would be an unconventional move, certainly. Those people have some extreme ways of fighting their war."
"Think she's a little different than them. Which is why she doesn't feel like staying around there. She's another fine pilot though, but I was thinking that was a bit too much of a step." He said, at least able to smile a bit more free.

Some of the tension evaporated from the room as the discussion shifted to professional subjects. Hartman was glad to see it go. Demanding as she was of her crew, professional struggles were very different to personal battles.

"We need all the fine pilots we can get. If you can convince her to get in contact with us, the least we could do would be to hear her out." She hated to admit it, but it was true. Conflicts in Rheinland and Bretonia, and the constant drain of holding central space against pirate incursions took a heavy toll on the Navy's personnel. "How did you get in contact with the Bund-" She frowned, struggling to pronounce the word. "Pilot concerned?"
"She helped me out on some strikes in Hamburg apparently. But I'd rather convince her not to fly. Considering her to be a little young." He admitted, even when she was an excellent pilot.
"How old are we talking about here, Lavine?" She hoped this wouldn't be another Pita. Dealing with one child latching on to her personnel had been stressful enough.
"Nineteen." He replied simply.
"The minimum age for active service is still eighteen. If she was accepted and wanted to serve in a combat role, I'd be hard pressed to find cause to stop her." She said. "She'd still have to pass the combat training assessments, regardless of where she came from. That would be a year, minimum. So, twenty years old by the time she gets onto active duty." It wasn't shockingly young. Hartman had served her first tour with the Marines at nineteen.
"Right." He replied, still wanting her at a less dangerous job but didn't really continue on it.
"It would still be up to her. We can't control everyone, Lieutenant."
"Was just an idea. Trying to see what options there are if she was to stay in Liberty rather than Rheinland." He replied, looking around the room briefly.
"As I said, put her in touch. Sounds as if Liberty's safer for her than Rheinland." Hartman's gaze settled on the pile of papers on her desk.
"Will talk with her." He said simply. Following her gaze to the paperwork.
"So to summarize, you're going after the CS to get something arranged. In the meantime I'll be assigned to Colorado, and I'll hear from you once something has been arranged?" He said slowly.

Hartman nodded curtly. "Correct. CS will likely be in touch with you later today for details. Names, places. Normandie's hangar crew come back on duty at 1330 hours, so if you want to get some rest in the meantime, you're welcome to do so."
"Prefer my own bed." He said kindly.
"Can't hold that against you." Hartman still wasn't used to her accommodation aboard Normandie. Compared to a bunkroom on Douglas, it felt horribly extravagant. "We'll be slowing to manoeuvre in half an hour, and you'll be able to launch then, if you're quick. I don't expect it'll be a problem for you.

Other than that, I'm afraid you won't find much aboard. Most of the crew are sleeping off the last exercise. You caught us unprepared, Lieutenant."
"Heh... my apologies then" He said with a small smile.
"I'll let it go this once." She retrieved a pair of pen from the desk's drawer and slid the uppermost form from the pile. "If that'll be all, Mr Levine." Was it a trick of the light, or was Hartman actually smiling?
"For now, don't hesitate to call me in any real emergencies though. As long as you can provide enough cover for my back in major events." He said, somewhere still wanting a form of freedom.
"I'll keep that in mind. We wouldn't want you getting too comfortable out there." Hartman began to write. Evidently, the exchange was over.
"Have a good day Commander and thank you for your time." Levine said and stood up to leave the room.
"You're welcome, Lieutenant." Hartman glanced up from her paperwork. "If the situation changes, you know my door is open."
"Aye, good day." He said as a final and moved out to head for his ship.

//Co-Written with Pete Levine (SeaFalcon).

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This character is retired.