Free Battle Station by Ben Bova Page B

time, then went into the shuttle’s passenger compartment. He hung there weightlessly a moment as the hatch behind him was swung shut and sealed. Most of the seats were already filled. There was an empty one beside Yang, but after their little scene at the hatch Hazard was hesitant about sitting next to her. He glided down the aisle and picked a seat that had no one next to it. Not one of his crew. Not Jon Jr.
    There’s a certain amount of loneliness involved in command, he told himself. It’s not wise to get too familiar with people you have to order into battle.
    He felt, rather than heard, a thump as the shuttle disengaged from the station’s air lock. He sensed the winged hypersonic spaceplane turning and angling its nose for reentry into the atmosphere.
    Back to … Hazard realized that home , for him, was no longer on Earth. For almost all of his adult life, home had been where his command was. Now his home was in space. The time he spent on Earth would be merely waiting time, suspended animation until his new command was ready.
    â€œSir, may I intrude?”
    He looked up and saw Stromsen floating in the aisle by his seat.
    â€œWhat is it, Miss Stromsen?”
    She pulled herself down into the seat next to him but did not bother to latch the safety harness. From a breast pocket in her sweat-stained fatigues she pulled a tiny flat tin. It was marked with a red cross and some printing, hidden by her thumb.
    Stromsen opened the tin. “You lost your medication patch,” she said. “I thought you might want a fresh one.”

    She was smiling at him, shyly, almost like a daughter might.
    Hazard reached up and felt behind his left ear. She was right, the patch was gone.
    â€œI wonder how long ago …”
    â€œIt’s been hours, at least,” said Stromsen.
    â€œNever noticed.”
    Her smile brightened. “Perhaps you don’t need it anymore.”
    He smiled back at her. “Miss Stromsen, I think you’re absolutely right. My stomach feels fine. I believe I have finally become adapted to weightlessness.”
    â€œIt’s rather a shame that we’re on our way back to Earth. You’ll have to adapt all over again the next time out.”
    Hazard nodded. “Somehow I don’t think that’s going to be much of a problem for me anymore.”
    He let his head sink back into the seat cushion and closed his eyes, enjoying for the first time the exhilarating floating sensation of weightlessness.

Space Weapons
    Somehow I have gotten the reputation of being a hawk.
    Apparently this stems from my advocacy of the Strategic Defense Initiative (a.k.a. “Star Wars”). There are some people—even people within the sophisticated science fiction community—who pin simpleminded labels on others, based on their own political prejudices.
    It is sad to see reviews of my novels begin with statements such as, “Ben Bova, whose pro—Star Wars views are well known …” Sad because I know it’s going to be an unfavorable review by a writer who lets his politics blind him to the beauties of my prose!
    Perhaps this situation stems from the polarization of the Vietnam era. Or maybe it goes even deeper, back to the beginnings of science fiction fandom, in the fractious 1930s.
    Whatever the roots, the result is that anyone who suggests that SDI might be a concept worth exploring, that laser-armed satellites might lead to a war-preventing International Peacekeeping Force, is branded as a war-mongering hawk who wants to turn the pristine realms of outer space into a battlefield.
    I don’t consider myself a hawk. Or a dove. Maybe an owl. The owl is the mascot of my alma mater, Temple University. The owl is also sacred to Athena, the one goddess in all the world’s religions who is worth worshiping. Originally a warrior-cult goddess, Athena grew into the patroness of wisdom and civilization, of arts and
industries, of cities and