She flicked her eyes up and down on me. "I really don't," she said. "And trust me, we weren't in basic training together."
"You rescued me," I said. "On Coral."
She perked up a little at this. "No shit," she said. "No wonder I didn't recognize you. The last time I saw you, you were missing the lower half of your head. No offense. And no offense to this, either, but I'm amazed you're still alive. I wouldn't have bet on you to make it."
"I had something to live for," I said.
"Apparently," she said.
"I'm John Perry," I said, and held out my hand. "I'm afraid I don't know your name."
"Jane Sagan," she said, taking it. I held it a little longer than I should have. She had a slightly puzzled expression when I finally let go.
"Corporal Perry," one of her companions began; he had taken the opportunity to access information about me from his BrainPal, "we're kind of in a rush to eat here; we have to be back to our ship in a half hour, so if you don't mind—"
"Do you recognize me from anywhere else?" I asked Jane, cutting him off.
"No," she said, slightly frosty now. "Thanks for coming over, but now I'd really like to eat."
"Let me send you something," I said. "A picture. Through your BrainPal."
"That's really not necessary," Jane said.
"One picture," I said. "Then I'll go. Humor me."
"Fine," she said. "Hurry it up."
Among the few possessions that I had taken with me when I left Earth was a digital photo album of family, friends and places that I had loved. When my BrainPal activated, I had uploaded the photos into its onboard memory, a smart move in retrospect since my photo album and all my other Earthly possessions but one went down with the Modesto. I accessed one particular photo from the album and sent it to her. I watched as she accessed her BrainPal, and then turned again to look at me.
"Do you recognize me now?" I asked.
She moved fast, faster than even normal CDF, grabbed me, and slammed me against a nearby bulkhead. I was pretty sure I felt one of my newly repaired ribs crack. From across the commissary Harry and Jesse leaped up and moved in; Jane's companions moved to intercept. I tried to breathe.
"Who the fuck are you," Jane hissed at me, "and what are you trying to pull?"
"I'm John Perry," I wheezed. "I'm not trying to pull anything."
"Bullshit. Where did you get that picture?" she said, close up, low. "Who made it for you?"
"No one made it for me," I said, equally low. "I got that picture at my wedding. It's . . . my wedding photo." I almost said our wedding photo, but caught myself just in time. "The woman in the picture is my wife, Kathy. She died before she could enlist. They took her DNA and used it to make you. Part of her is in you. Part of you is in that picture. Part of what you are gave me this." I held up my left hand and showed her my wedding ring—my only remaining Earthly possession.
Jane snarled, picked me up and hurled me hard across the room. I skipped over a couple of tabletops, knocking away hamburgers, condiment packages and napkin holders before coming to rest on the ground. Along the way I clocked my head on a metal corner; there was the briefest of oozes coming from my temple. Harry and Jesse disengaged from their wary dance with Jane's companions and headed over to me. Jane stalked toward me but was stopped by her friends halfway across.
"Listen to me, Perry," she said. "You stay the fuck away from me from now on. The next time I see you you're going to wish I'd left you for dead." She stalked off. One of her companions followed after her; the other, who had spoken to me earlier, came over to us. Jesse and Harry got up to engage him, but he put his hands out in a sign of truce.
"Perry," he said. "What was that all about? What did you send her?"
"Ask her yourself, pal," I said.
"That's Lieutenant Tagore to you, Corporal." Tagore looked at Harry and Jesse. "I know you two," he said. "You were on the Hampton Roads."
"Yes, sir," Harry said.
"Listen to me, all of you," he said. "I don't know what the hell that was about, but I want to be very clear about this. Whatever it was, we weren't part of it. Tell whatever story you want, but if the words 'Special Forces' are anywhere in it, I'm going to make it my personal mission to ensure that the rest of your military career is short and painful. I'm not kidding. I will fuck your skull. Are we clear?"
"Yes, sir," Jesse said. Harry nodded. I wheezed.
"Get your friend looked after," Tagore said to Jesse. "He looks like he just got the shit kicked out of him." He walked out.
"Christ, John," Jesse said, taking a napkin and cleaning off my head wound. "What did you do?"
"I sent her a wedding photo," I said.
"That's subtle," Harry said, and looked around. "Where's your cane?"
"I think it's over by the wall she slammed me into," I said. Harry left to go get it.
"Are you okay?" Jesse said to me.