It's A Deadly Job, But Somebody's Gotta Do It

"Destroyed. We saw it go up before we left."

"At least you have some good news. Congratulations, Flight Commander."

I unhooked my safety harness and made to climb out of the cockpit. "Glad to be of service, Sir. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to return to my office."

"Where do you think you're going, Jon?"

"The mission's over, Sir. I'd like to return to my normal duties."

Commander Fear started to laugh. "You think this was it?" he asked, and he sounded like he thought I was joking. "Jon, this ship is coded to you. Tempest has been reprogrammed. For you. No one else can fly the Fish."

He patted the fuselage. "This whole mission was more or less a test. High Command was confident that you'd pull it off without any mishaps. Why, I have about ten priority communiqués on my desk, each commanding you and Tempest on a different assignment.

"I can give you about six hours rest, Jon," Commander Fear told me. "Enough time for a hot meal and a brief nap, then I'm gonna send you on your next mission."

"But . . . But . . . But," I couldn't get the words out. I had a thousand reasons why I was wrong for this assignment, a thousand more why this would never work.

Even Tempest thought it was a bad idea. "What do you mean!" he said to Commander Fear. "No one ever mentioned working with this idiot. I can't stand the sight of him! Look at him! He can't even get a sentence out. He's just sitting there stammering! I won't do it, Fear! I tell you, I wo . . . Jonny, I should warn you that your blood pressure is rising dangerously fas-Damn this new programming!"

"Shut up, Toolbox!" I growled, clapping a hand to my head. I looked at Commander Fear pleadingly. "Do you have any aspirin?"