Chapter 9 - The Bottom of the Pool
The water was crystal clear, illuminated by the bright underwater LED fixtures that made the pool look like an oversized aquamarine gemstone.
Resting on the blue mosaic tiles at the very bottom of the eight-foot deep end lay the prosthetic.
The carbon-fiber socket, molded to the exact contour of Jack’s residual limb, looked dark and surreal against the white plaster.
The titanium pylon gleamed under the water, completely unaffected by the chlorine, while the hydraulic ankle joint sat locked in neutral.
It looked lonely down there.
Like a forgotten relic of a war that had ended years ago.
Maya looked at the pool, then looked down at Jack’s bare right stump, which was resting against the edge of the lounge chair.
Without saying a word, Maya reached down and slipped off her flat black dress shoes.
She reached to the back of her neck, unhooked the silver chain she wore, and laid it carefully on the dry glass table beside Jack’s chair.
"Maya, you don't have to do that," Jack said. "The maintenance crew can fish it out with the skimmer net tomorrow morning."
"The maintenance crew didn't pull you out of the dirt in Kunar, Jack," Maya said quietly.
She walked to the edge of the pool, her bare feet leaving faint, moist prints on the stone.
She didn't hesitate.
She stepped off the coping stones and slipped into the water with a clean, low splash that barely disturbed the surface.
The cool water engulfed her, soaking her dark cocktail dress until it billowed out around her legs like dark silk.
Maya took two deep breaths to adjust to the temperature, then filled her lungs and dove straight down.
Jack watched her glide through the illuminated blue space.
Her form was clean and powerful, kicking her legs with the rhythmic strength of a rescue swimmer.
She reached the bottom in three seconds.
Her fingers wrapped firmly around the titanium pylon just below the hydraulic unit.
Planting one foot against the pool floor, Maya kicked upward with all her strength, breaking through the surface with a sharp intake of air.
She swam to the shallow end with one arm, holding the heavy prosthetic out of the water like a retrieved flag.
She climbed up the wide concrete steps, water cascading from her dress and hair, leaving a wide trail across the patio.
Jack watched her, his throat tightening with an emotion he couldn't quite put into words.
Maya grabbed two thick, clean white beach towels from the poolside cabana.
She wrapped one around her shoulders, shivering slightly in the ocean breeze, and used the other to carefully, methodically wipe down the prosthetic.
She dried the carbon-fiber socket first, checking the interior silicone liner to ensure no grit or debris had settled inside the vacuum ring.
She dried the pylon, the socket bolts, and the hydraulic seals with the focused attention of a squad armorer cleaning a primary rifle after a sandstorm.
When she was finished, she walked over to Jack’s chair and knelt on the flagstone floor beside him.
She held out the leg with both hands.
"Your gear, Captain," she said softly.
Jack looked down at the limb, then looked into Maya’s eyes.
There was no pity in her gaze.
There was no uncomfortable sympathy, and there was certainly no disgust.
There was only the quiet, unbreakable loyalty of someone who had bled on the same patch of dirt and refused to let the world take another piece of him.
Jack reached out his hands.
His fingers closed around the cold metal strut.
"Thank you, Maya," Jack said, his voice thick with unspent emotion.
May you like
"Not just for this," he added, gesturing to the dried prosthetic. "For everything."
"You don't thank your squad, Jack," Maya smiled, brushing a wet strand of hair behind her ear. "You just keep the perimeter secure."
