Date Point: 5y 4m AV
Hey Ava,
Im sorry Ive not written you since last week. I did get your letter and I hope you know Id have written back if I could Ive just been too thrashed to even pick up a pen. Really the PT here is that hard. Im talking 20 solid hours of calisthenics…when there feeling kind. I swear Im not exaggerating.
Getting a reward today though—a good long letter session a whole hour! Everyone else is calling home or whatever but for me…wow just getting some quiet time to sit and think and write to you is like I never imagined Id think something so simple was such a big deal. I spent half of it just sitting and thinking and getting my head sorted out.
You know I said in one of my letters from basic that I kind of enjoy being shouted at now? Well that’s still true its hard to explain but if Im being shouted at then its kind of a compliment because the MTL knows I can do better and hes telling me so. I mean actual words of encouragement are nice too dont get me wrong but I can see now that it wouldnt get anybody through this.
There training us for the very worst you know? They want to be able to send us into anything and have us be strong enough that if we fail it was never possible in the first place. And theres no way to do that except the way they do it. Theyve been doing it for years they know what theyre doing here and I know that I can make it through this.
So yeah I hurt basically all the time Im tired basically all the time Im so wired that just getting a whole HOUR of quiet time feels like the biggest luxury in the world…but dont be sad for me baby because underneath it all I think Im actually kind of enjoying myself.
If that sounds weird…maybe it is I dont know?
I still struggle to eat enough. There giving me like 10000 calories a day or something insane like that thats a heck of a lot of food and with me not being a big guy some days its almost harder to get all of that food to fit in my belly than it is to do the actual PT.
Itd help if it was Dads waffles or something. A taste of home you know? I dont care how full I am if I had a plate of those right now they’d be gone. I know they were store-bought ones but it still counts as home cooking right?
I love you. I miss you every day and I think the reason is that for all the really big shit thats happened in the last few years youve been there through it all. The hardest part by a mile has been learning how to go through something this huge without you.
Im kinda sorry for that.
—Adam X
Date Point: 5y 4m 2d AV
“Airman Arés!”
Mail call had become the best part of Adam’s day, enough so to shake the ache right out of his abused muscles.
Dear Adam,
Baby, you’re not going through this without me: I read all your letters, and I write you back every time, but it’s not just that.
I may not be there with you doing the PT or whatever. But I pray for you every day, I think of you every minute, and knowing you’re thinking of me even with what you’re going through is what helps me too. You’ve been there for ME through all the really big shit of the last few years too, you know that?
I feel lonely a lot. No you, no Sara, no Hayley…I love (here Ava had written the word ‘your’ and then scribbled over it) Dad, but you can’t have a social life of just one person.
I guess we’re both learning how to cope with just being there for each other in spirit rather than in person, huh?
But believe me corazon, that’s all we need. I’m so proud of you.
—Ava ♥
Adam was smiling as he folded the letter up. “Good letter.”
“She ain’t here, bro. You’re talking to yourself again.” BASEBALL grinned at him.
“Beats your company.” Adam retorted, grinning back.
“Only company your midget ass gets is my belt buckle anyways, so that ain’t that surprising.”
“Hey that was almost witty. Must be ‘cause you sat down, I know your brain doesn’t get enough oxygen at ten thousand fucking feet when you stand up.”
Burgess beamed and stuck out a fist. “Motherfucker.”
Adam completed the fist pound. “Asshole.”
They were interrupted by the MTL, who entered the barracks and announced a briefing and lecture in ten minutes.
“What now?” BASEBALL wondered aloud.
They found out when they settled into their seats in the lecture hall six minutes later. There was the usual rigmarole of standing when the presenting officer—a Lieutenant with the surname “Reed” on his chest—entered.
“Be seated.” he ordered, and six backsides met chair. There was a minute or two of patient waiting while he entered his login and password and called up some files.
“This is a confidential, code-word SACRED STRANGER briefing. You will not share this material with anyone not possessing need-to-know for SACRED STRANGER.” Reed began. “Is that understood?”
There was a chorus of “Yes sir.”
“Good.”
Reed loaded up a presentation slide and Adam groaned inwardly. ‘Death by Powerpoint’ was a running military gag that he had so far been blessed to suffer only mildly from. He hoped that streak of good fortune would continue.
“Seven months ago,” Reed stated, lingering on the first slide, “The British Royal Navy’s two captured and refitted alien starships engaged in a skirmish with the Hunter blockade around Cimbrean. They acquitted themselves well in the battle, which was fought to rescue the crew of a refugee freighter who had unwittingly blundered into the Hunter fleet. You should all be familiar with the Hunters, if anybody here requires a refresher, raise your hand.”
Nobody did.
Reed gave a shallow, satisfied nod and continued. “During the battle, a Special Boat Service team led by one Captain Owen Powell boarded the freighter and extracted its surviving crew. The operation was a resounding success, but Captain Powell and the commanding officers of HMS Myrmidon and HMS Caledonia recommended to the Ministry of Defence that a review be conducted into the requirements and viability of a dedicated force of spaceborne special operators capable of extravehicular activity, or EVA.”
“That review was shared with the Department of Defence and the Pentagon and the result is that we are now founding an international joint unit, provisionally known as the Spaceborne Operators Regiment, or SOR.”
“This is an initiative that’s still in its infancy. No commanding officers, no operators, no gear, no crest or motto, nothing.” He continued. “Its mission, however, is already well-understood. The SOR would serve to defend and protect the people and interests of Earth, Cimbrean and any future colonies which may arise from extraterrestrial threats. It will conduct search-and-rescue of stations and starships that become adrift or damaged, will provide humanitarian aid to castaways and those affected by disaster, and will be available to defend stations and large ships, as much as is possible, from Hunter strikes and piracy. These missions will also benefit the human race through propaganda, through the Dominion Development Credit bounties that are awarded for recovering liferafts, and by securing extraterrestrial technology from derelicts.”
He paused. “I should note, gentlemen, that when I mention ‘extraterrestrial threats’, I refer to any and all enemies of our species, including the alien force responsible for the destruction of San Diego, the exact nature of which is deemed need-to-know.”
Adam and Burgess exchanged glances.
Reed advanced the slideshow. It was now dominated by something that looked like a hybrid of a NASA spacesuit and an Interceptor body armour system, though sleeker than either.
“The defining equipment of Spaceborne Operators will be their Extra-Vehicular Military Action Space Suit, or EV-MASS. This has been designed by private-sector experts from the Hephaestus LLC on Ceres who hold records for most and longest extravehicular activity, working alongside experts from CQC Limited, who produce the Osprey Armor System.”
“Now, you’ve all been given a brief introduction to the SOR concept. A full briefing of this system and its capabilities, variants and requirements will be saved for those of you who choose to commit to joining the program. For now the important point is this: the EV-MASS is a fully functioning spacesuit designed to allow the operator to engage the enemy in the vacuum of space and maneuver in zero-gravity. That combined functionality means that it has a base weight of one hundred and three pounds, before gear and accessories.”
There was no breach of discipline as such, but all six of the PJ candidates exchanged glances. They were all strong enough to wear and use a suit that heavy, thanks to the intensive physical training of the pipeline, but doing so would suck. Remaining agile and mobile for prolonged periods under the combined weight of that suit and their bags, gun, equipment and maybe even a patient, who might even be wearing the same suit and all of their gear, all added up to a daunting prospect.
One of them put his hand up, and Reed pointed to him, inviting him to ask his question.
“Sir, if a man wearing one of those has to carry one of his buddies, that’s gotta be, uh…six hundred pounds at least. Hell, it could be a lot more. How’s anybody supposed to hump that kind of weight any kind of a serious distance?”
Reed acknowledged the question’s validity with a nod. “It’s a big ask.” he agreed. “The suit does contain some passive load-bearing structures which will help, but the operators wearing it will need to be exceedingly strong. Which is why we’re coming to you now, with…this.”
He closed the slideshow and opened a video.
“This is footage of Lance-Corporal Aaron Baxter, United States Marine Corps. Baxter was involved in a vehicle collision during a training exercise two weeks ago, and suffered a, uh…” Reed checked his notes, pronouncing the medical terminology slowly and with care. “A…posteriorly displaced…open comm-in-uted…intra-articular tibial plateau fracture with an…intimal tear of the…pop-lit-e-al artery.”
He looked up. “As I understand it, that basically means the poor bastard’s knee got flattened and everything broke into little bitty bits.”
Everybody grimaced.
“Right, you understand.” Reed noted, nodding. “This is a crippling injury, a career-ender. That knee’s never going to be the same again, and if he escapes amputation, getting it working again even half-normally is going to involve probably a prosthetic joint, and certainly a lot of physiotherapy and rehab. Ordinarily, Baxter would be out of a job and living on his VA benefits and medical care. Fortunately for him, he came along at exactly the right moment to be the guinea pig for a new medicine purchased from Extraterrestrial sources.”
While the footage of Baxter continued on one half of the screen, the other half began a quick animation detailing the origins and capabilities of the drug. “It’s called Cruezzir-Derivative Compound A, but for the purposes of common usage, we’re calling it Crue-D. Don’t ask me how, but it hugely accelerates and improves the healing process.” Reed continued. “Baxter went under the knife to have all those little bitty bits put back together and the plumbing fixed, and while they were at it, he let them inject this stuff right in there.”
On the screen, Baxter’s dressings were being removed. “This is him only thirty hours after the operation. Notice, there’s no surgical wound, nor a scar from the open fracture. That had closed up by the six hour mark, and If they’d put sutures in him, they’d have had to operate to get them back out again. Fortunately they foresaw that and only clamped the wound and compressed it. But when they X-rayed the kneecap at eight hours, they found out it was damn near perfectly intact. They kept him in bed for another day just to be sure, but…”
Baxter stood up, and jaws dropped around the room.
“That’s incredible.” somebody muttered.
“It’s goddamn alien space magic is what it is.” BASEBALL grunted.
Reed nodded agreement, letting the interruption slide. “And for the time being it looks like we’re stuck relying on the Corti to make it for us. When our scientists tried to figure out how it works in the lab, they say the samples just dissolved into water and some weird organic molecules, like it’s got a self-destruct built in. But the results are plain—Corporal Baxter is fit and well and back with his unit, under observation for long-term side effects but otherwise unscathed after what should have been the end of a promising career as a US marine.”
He turned off the screen. “So…what does this have to do with the six of you?” he asked, rhetorically. “The short version is that with the physical demands of the SOR program being so high-end, we want to use this stuff therapeutically during the physical training. Slap-patches, joint injections…You’re all familiar with the theory behind muscle gains?”
There was general nodding. “Good. But to spell it out for the sake of clarity, the very basic version is that the muscles and ligaments suffer minor damage, and heal stronger than they were before.”
“With this stuff,” he continued “we think we can take that process to a new level. Completely thrash the trainee during the day, then they heal perfectly overnight thanks to a contact patch of Crue-D. Throw in some of the latest developments in Sports Science and we think it’s possible to produce operators whose bodies exist on the absolute limit of what’s humanly possible.”
One of the others put his hand up. “Begging your pardon sir, but…You want us to do that?”
“I’m putting it out there for you to think about. Like I said, the SOR is still in its infancy. We’ve got all the necessary infrastructure in place, now all that’s needed are volunteers. Any such volunteers will be plucked from the pararescue pipeline and put onto the SOR highway instead. This will closely mirror—and often take place alongside—pararescue training, but will be even more physically intense, and will then be followed by SOR-specific training and possibly astronaut training as well. Any questions?”
Several hands went up. Reed acknowledged one of them with a point of his pen.
“Sir, what are the risks here?”
“We’re assured that, when used correctly, Crue-D has no side effects. And to head off the next question, the only incorrect use we know of was a couple of cases where the original medicine—Cruezzir—entered the patient’s gut biome, where it was absorbed by intestinal bacteria which mutated and began to produce a constant supply.”
“What happens when that happens?”
“According to the Corti, the subject undergoes rapid muscle growth, an increase in bone density, and…basically reaches their maximum physical potential without the need to exercise their way there, not to mention becoming permanently able to heal from even quite serious injuries at a remarkable rate. There’s also some suggestion that they become biologically immortal and may experience improved skill-learning and the tapping of latent genetic potential that exists inside the human genome, such as the ability to see some way into the infrared.”
There was silence, then somebody else put their hand up. “Begging your pardon sir, but why the hell aren’t we going with that?”
“One, because Crue-D has been modified to preclude exactly that scenario because it scares the bejesus out of the Corti. Two, because it seems to come at a serious cost to the subject’s mental health.” Reed explained. “The two known cases so far demonstrated reckless, self-destructive behaviour and possible signs of a schizophrenic or Dissociative Identity disorder, respectively.”
“Besides that,” he continued “We have no idea if that’s just in the short-term. The long-term effects of Crue-D applied topically in a targeted and safe fashion, we are assured, are nil. Nothing is known about the long-term consequences of keeping the human body indefinitely soaked in the original Cruezzir.”
He cleared his throat. “The only remaining thing that could be a risk factor would be nutrition. You’ll be packing on muscle and bone mass at such an incredible rate that your diets will have to be strictly controlled down to the last milligram and calorie. Every snack, every meal. You won’t even be able to grab a burger without planning and training ramp-down, and if done incorrectly you might find yourself suffering from malnutrition. At the very least it would be a wasted opportunity. At worst, well…”
This was met with thoughtful silence. Reed let them mull it over for a moment, then spoke again.
“This is, obviously, an enormous decision. You would not be here if you were so impulsive as to just take it on immediate notice, which is why we’ve informed you today so you can have your weekends to consider it. This briefing will continue on Monday at fourteen hundred hours. Dismissed.”
“You’re going for it, ain’tcha?”
Adam looked up. He’d been considering how to write back to Ava, tell her that his training would go on for at least another two years beyond what they had discussed, without breaching confidentiality or classification. He knew she’d accept that he couldn’t discuss such things with her, but she still deserved an explanation, and he was carefully assembling that explanation in his head.
“This is what I got in for.” he said, simply. “I knew there had to be aliens involved somewhere, and…yeah.”
BASEBALL sat down. “You did?”
“Dude, antimatter? Nobody on Earth’s got that shit.”
“We’ve got alien healy-juice though. They didn’t tell me about that shit when I first heard about the SOR.”
Adam nodded. “Yeah.” he said. “That one’s new on me, too.”
“Man, I ain’t sure about this Crue-D stuff.” BASEBALL rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I knew too many guys got ‘roided up in school…You sure you’re not rushing into this?”
“These ain’t roids. This shit heals you stronger, man!”
“Yeah, but…man, you trust anything ET makes?”
Adam sighed. “I’ve been thinking about it for a long time, Base. The SOR’s going to be going up against the group that killed my mom and my friends. That’s why I joined in the first place—’cause a group like that, needs people fighting them, you know? I don’t know if I trust ET, but I sure as hell trust us, you know?”
“So you’re going for it, then?”
“Yeah.”
”…Okay. I’m with you, Hoss.”
Adam paused: “Base, bro, you don’t have to.”
“Bullshit. We’re a good team, you’re the heavy lifting motherfucker, I’m the brains of the outfit.”
Adam laughed and gave him the finger.
BASEBALL laughed too, then reached out, flipped Adam’s hand over, grabbed it in a knuckle-creaking handshake and dragged him in for a solid masculine slam-hug.
“Besides, we get to be fuckin’ astronauts.” he added. “You KNOW that’s a ticket to pussy.”
Adam laughed again “Alright, you sentimental fuck. You’re with me…I appreciate it.”
“You better.”
Hey Ava,
Baby, I’m sorry to do this to you, but there’s a career opportunity come up that’s just perfect for me. It’s everything I got into the military to accomplish. I wish I could discuss it with you, but it’s all confidential.
The downside is that the training is two years longer than we’d planned for, and it’s going to be really hard to get the time to visit you during those two years.
I wish there was time for us to talk about it properly, but they want my answer on whether or not I’m signing up for this thing on Monday, and there’s just not time for me to get back and with the emails only updating once a day, by the time your reply gets to me, it’ll be Monday anyway, so…
I’m sorry Ava. But this is too perfect to pass up.
Write me back. I’ll understand if you’re mad.
—Adam XXX
Date Point: 5y 4m 5d AV
Folctha, Cimbrean, The Far Reaches
Jessica Olmstead
“Oh my God, Ava!”
Jessica had never been the kind of teacher who believe in keeping an emotional distance from her students, and so when Ava shuffled into the classroom a quarter hour early and looking totally ruined, she dropped everything and dashed over to give the younger woman a hug. “What happened?”
Ava ran a shaking hand through unbrushed, unwashed hair and lost whatever grip on her composure she’d had, burying herself in Jess’ sweater and shaking fiercely.
Jess just held her until finally Ava managed to pull herself together and straighten up. “What happened?”
“I just…I checked my emails, and there’s one from Adam, and…” Ava looked away and made an angered expression at herself, fighting to stay in control. “He changed the plan.”
“Changed the…? I don’t understand.”
“I was fine with him doing two years of pararescue training and some deployments, and…I don’t know! All that, we’d got it sorted out and I was fine with it! But now he’s talking about four years of training and maybe not being able to see each other at all in those extra couple of years! And who knows how long after that!” Ava threw her hands up and engaged anger circuits that Jess had never seen in her before.
“Que se supone que haga? Él no me preguntó, él no me habla de ello …el hijo de puta me acaba de enviar una CARTA DE MIERDA y espera que yo sea bien! Eso pendejo desconsiderado! Eh?”
Jess sat on a desk. “I don’t speak Spanish, Ava.” she pointed out, gently. “But watch your language, the kids’ll be here soon.”
Ava went still, then deflated and sat down, miserably. “He just…it’s not just his life.” she complained.
Jess gave her a moment to be silent. When Ava wiped her eyes and began to sort herself out, she took the opportunity to be constructive. “What are you going to do?” she asked.
Ava made a bitter little noise. “I should have learned this by now, shouldn’t I? Don’t plan for anything, because tomorrow you might get nuked.”
“So…?”
“So what I’m going to do is…whatever seems like a good idea at the time.” Ava said.
“So what seems like a good idea right now?”
“Hah! Dumping his ass.” but Ava was shaking her head to indicate that she had nothing of the sort in mind. “But…whatever, so he’s been an insensitive jerk and made a huge decision without me. So what? At least he cares. He still loves me, and I love him too, even if he’s been a huge jackass right now.”
“So…?” Jessica repeated.
“So I guess what seems like a good idea is just…forgive him and try to be happy.” Ava shrugged. “Be happy in the moment, right? That’s what our Gaoians are so into. And I…I think I’d be unhappier without him.”
She sighed, and stretched. “What do you think?”
Jess considered the question. “I guess my marriage broke up because we weren’t able to forgive when we hurt each other.” she conceded in the end. “I don’t know, there’s so many arguments either way, I guess you do just have to go with whatever seems like a good idea at the time.”
“Like he did.”
“Like he did.” Jess agreed. “I think that’s what love is, is understanding when one of you comes first. Sometimes it’s you, sometimes it’s him.”
She hesitated, then decided to put her money where her mouth was and say what seemed like a good idea at the time. “And…Ava, he’s a soldier now. Soldiers…they don’t always come back. I think you’re going to need to get used to trying to live as well as you can ‘in the moment’ and not…and figure out how you’re going to get by without him, if that ever happens.”
A banging in the hallways made them both look up—it was the clear sound of the class starting to arrive. “If you want to borrow a hairbrush, there’s one in my office, on the desk.” Jess offered.
Ava smiled. It wasn’t a strong smile, but it was genuine. “Thanks, Jess. I needed…thank you.”
Jess gave her another hug. “I hope I helped.”
Ava nodded, then slipped out the other door a few seconds before the class started to enter, in usual boisterous mode.
Jess straightened and got herself back into teacher mode. The first, and hopefully worst, of the day’s crises was dealt with.
Dear Mr. Arés,
As I said to you when Ava first arrived at our school, she has always struck me as being much more intelligent than she believes herself to be. I am very pleased to tell you that, over the last few months, she has vindicated my belief in her and excelled at her studies. As you know, the free-form approach to schooling that we use at this school does not allow me to break down her performance by subject, but she has achieved outstanding performance in every single module she has chosen to pursue.
As the sole member of our senior group, with the next students not due to enter that group for another three years, she does however pose a slight administrative problem for the school, which I believe would be best resolved by graduating her at the end of this coming summer term and then taking her on over the coming school year as a teaching assistant. This will not only enable her to continue to study ahead of her university plans, but will give her some practical experience and income that will serve her in good stead.
She has indicated to me that she wishes to attend the London School of Economics to study for a career in photojournalism. Challenging though this choice of career will doubtless be, I have complete confidence that she will excel in it.
Her combined overall grade for this semester is: A.
Yours sincerely,
Dr. J. A. B. Olmstead Junior and Senior Groups Tutor, Folctha Comprehensive School.
“Wow…that’s, uh, easily the best report card I ever had.”
Gabriel took off his reading glasses. “Yeah?”
Ava sighed. “Every other one I ever had always had the words ‘could do better’ in it.” She said. “I guess they were right, huh?”
“I guess they were.” Gabriel agreed, though he left out his opinion that if her performance had previously been lackluster then that probably reflected more on the education system than on Ava herself. “You gonna go for it?”
She hesitated. “Do you…think I should?”
“It sounds like an excellent opportunity.” Gabriel told her. “Experience, money and education all in one go? Chances like that don’t come along too often.”
“True…”
Gabriel knew what the trepidation was about. “Why not discuss it with Doctor Olmstead?” He suggested. “If you want plenty of time to get out there and practice your photography, maybe she can help.”
Ava nodded and pulled the camera out of her handbag. She was constantly fiddling with it nowadays, usually with a frown. “I do need to practice more. I keep looking at Sara’s old pictures and seeing…you know, seeing new things in them. Things she was doing that I didn’t even know how to see before…”
She sighed. “She was…really talented, Gabe. I want to try and do justice to her, try and…bring back some of her spark, but I don’t think I can.”
“Even if you don’t,” Gabriel told her. “In trying, you’ll find your own talent. Don’t think of it as bringing back her spark, but as…I dunno, reincarnating it. Same spirit, but different, yeah?”
“Maybe…”
She put the camera away, then stood up and kissed him on the forehead. “I’d better get home.” she said.
“See you tomorrow?”
“Of course!”
Date Point: 5y 5m 1w AV
Lackland Air Force Base, San Antonio, Texas, USA, Earth
Adam Arés
Indoc had taught Adam a trick. It had taught him how to notice that he was exhausted and in pain, but to treat those facts as an abstract.
It was a useful trick. One that kept his feet kicking, hour upon hour upon hour, in a pool of cold water, with his goggles flooded and his muscles saturated with lactic acid. The mind went to a quiet place without thought, where the absence of any stimulation but the physical exertion didn’t matter, and where the exertion itself was not the immediate, intimate issue it might once have been, but was instead…academic. It wasn’t even tedious—his ego was so shut down as to not care that he’d received no real intellectual stimulation for hours.
There was just the task: Keep kicking.
In that mode, he might have gone on until his body finally gave out. And that, he suspected on those rare occasions where he was permitted to be lucid, was the point.
Besides, pool days were comparatively gentle, compared to the weight sessions. Those were the days when the Crue-D came out in force, when muscles sprained and ligaments tore and were forced to mend almost on the spot. You worked until you broke, and were then fixed. And then, while you healed, you trained something else.
If he hadn’t learned how to notice his pain without experiencing it, he couldn’t have borne it.
There was just the task: Keep lifting.
Keep kicking.
Keep improving.
He wasn’t even waiting. He was just doing, until the whistle blow summoned him out of his trance and allowed him to stop doing again. Allowed him, once he was out of the pool, to become Adam again and realise just how trashed and tired he really was.
Adam, who was packing on muscle at an incredible rate. He’d known that he would, of course. The SOR briefing had been clear on that. But it was still jarring sometimes to look at himself and recall that just two years ago he’d been a skinny teenager who didn’t even fill out the small shirts in the store, whereas he now wore Extra-large sized shirts like a second skin.
“Line up!”
He met BASEBALL’s eye as they lined up alongside the pararescue candidates. They stood out, now, clearly on a different career path. The PJs were strong as hell, but Adam and BASEBALL were both much, much bigger. Their ability to wriggle into tight places had been sacrificed to prioritize the raw power they needed to remain mobile and active under crushingly heavy loads.
Being lined up after an exercise was nothing new—it had hitherto been the prelude to another task. This time was different. This time the MTLs lined up in front of them, at attention, and Master Sergeant Allen—the team leader—stepped forward, studying them carefully.
Devastated as they were by what must have been a truly epic session in the pool, every one of the airmen held at attention perfectly. Finally, he nodded.
“Airmen.” he said. “You have now completed the Indoctrination section of your Pararescue training. You have done something that is literally better than a one in a million event—precious few men have ever accomplished this task. You’re not Pararescuemen yet, but as of today, you’ve proven that you are all worthy to follow in the green Footsteps of the giants of your chosen unit. You have cleared the first and most difficult hurdle on the road to your maroon beret, and it has been our honor and privilege as your Military Training Leaders to witness this feat.”
He saluted, as did all the other MTLs. The exhausted airmen returned a precision salute with equal snappy enthusiasm. “Congratulations.”
The salute was held for a moment, then relaxed, and the MTLs softened with it, advancing forward to exchange handshakes, hugs and smiles with men they’d been yelling at only minutes before.
Adam was running on fumes, but he joined in gladly. He’d known he could do it.
Finally, the congratulations died down. Master Sergeant Allen finally called an end to it. “Alright, get back to your dorms and get some sleep.” he ordered. “And sleep in. Tomorrow is a Liberty day. Get checked out, get laundry done. Don’t you worry about your gear just this once, we’ll take care of it. You’ve earned it.”
He paused, then smiled. “But don’t get stupid.” he added. “training resumes the next day.”
Date Point: 5y 9m 3w AV
Folctha Colony, Cimbrean, the Far Reaches
Gabriel Arés
“Ah. I thought so.”
Gabriel looked up from toying with his glass of water. The waiters of Folctha’s first restaurant—and what a restaurant it was!—had been discreetly keeping him supplied with water for a few minutes now. Ava had spent her first paycheck arranging for him and ‘someone else’ to be among the place’s first diners.
He had to admit, he was intrigued. He hadn’t been on a date in years, and never on a blind date. Though, like the woman who had just said ‘I thought so’, he’d had a sneaking suspicion he knew who it would be.
“Wow!” he commented. He’d been right, but he barely recognised her.
Jess Olmstead giggled. “That’s a good start!”
Gabriel stood and pulled back a seat for her. “Heartfelt.” he promised, as she settled into it, carefully dropping her handbag beneath her. Whenever he’d interacted with Jess before she’d been in teacher mode, favouring a black cardigan and a red scarf with a long skirt. Comfortable, sensible and plain.
For tonight, she’d worn something substantially sleeker in dark blue, with a neckline that pulled at the eyes, punctuated by an attention-grabbing, slim little minimalist necklace and a smile that said ‘go ahead and look’. Her hair was out of its usual loose ponytail and swept into something just a little bit more elaborate. Gabe had enough experience with women to know just how much time and agonising would have gone into crafting such an apparently effortless appearance, and knew enough about perfume to scent that she was wearing an expensive one.
Good signs, especially considering that she claimed to have suspected who her date was.
“Ava’s got to be so proud of herself right now, playing matchmaker.” he noted, sitting down again.
“Well, I had my suspicions.” Jess confessed. “There aren’t many other people she could have set me up on a date with.”
“Likewise.”
“And yet, here we are.”
“Here we are.” Gabe agreed, mirroring her smile and pleased that he’d put similar effort into his own appearance, between getting the fit of his suit adjusted and treating himself to a wet shave. He’d even subtly dipped into Adam’s left-behind stash of “manscaping” products, which had been a strange experience for him, being of a generation of men that didn’t traditionally wear cosmetics of any kind. Ava had reassured him that the result was dashing and sophisticated, especially when coupled with his cane.
The maitre’d spun by with the wine list and a recommendation, which they agreed to with nods and murmurs.
“She was pretty thrilled with your recommendation.” He revealed. “So was I. I think it’s exactly what she needs.”
“I hope so.” Jessica poured herself a small glass of water from the complimentary jug between them. “She’s…an amazing person, really. Her and your son both.”
“Don’t I know it.” Gabriel agreed. “I don’t think I’d be coping so well if I wasn’t so proud of them both.”
“Yes, I heard Adam was an ‘honor graduate’?”
“I barely recognised him!” Gabriel said. “He walked differently, he looked around differently, he was so much more…focused.” He sighed. “I guess the military suits him. On the one hand I’m pleased, but on the other…you know, he’s signing up for a very dangerous life. After everything that’s happened…”
Jess leaned forward, unconsciously echoing his sigh. “Heaven help us if we ever get used to the idea of our kids doing dangerous work.” she commented, and nodded along when he nodded.
“Si. He’s his own man, and Ava’s her own woman. I just wish I knew how to make their lives…happier.”
Jess smiled. “Start by making your own life happier.” she suggested.
“Well, that’s why I came down here.” Gabriel said.
Jess smiled and sipped her water. “I’m glad to hear it.”
“You think it’s that simple?” Gabriel asked. “That I’ll help them by helping myself?”
“I do.” Jess nodded. “And they’ll help you by helping themselves. It’s plain how much the three of you love one another.”
The wine arrived along with a couple of slim menus, which distracted them both for a few minutes as they mulled over their options and ordered.
“Like you said.” Gabe continued once their orders were placed. “They’re amazing people. With everything that’s happened they’ve only grown tougher and more mature.”
“What about you?” Jess asked him.
Gabe just shrugged a little. “A little weaker in some ways, a little stronger in others.” he suggested. “I’m ready to date again, for instance. That’s a big step forward for me.”
“You still held a bit of a candle for your ex? I know it took me ages to get over my divorce…”
”…No, I don’t think that’s it.” Gabe mulled it over. “I think I was more…bruised and weary, if that makes sense?”
“I understand.” Jess nodded, fiddling with the stem of her glass and listening to him with her chin on her hand.
“What about you, does your ex-husband know you’re living on an alien world nowadays?”
Jess giggled. “My ex-wife and I haven’t spoken in years.” she said. “I have no idea what she’s doing with her life, and I haven’t let her know what I’m doing with mine.”
Gabriel cleared his throat. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be.” She reassured him. “I only mention it when it’s relevant, and it’s only relevant with people who…”
“Who…?”
She just winked at him. Her nose wrinkled a little when she did so, and Gabriel practically fell in love on the spot.
He raised his glass. “To a good first date.” he proposed.
She raised her eyebrows, picking up the wine glass but not yet meeting his toast. “First date?”
“First date.” he repeated, projecting as much confidence as he could muster.
She smiled, causing her nose to wrinkle again, and her glass rang against his.