It was only meant to be a test, so Mary didn't know why she was so nervous. Although she was early, the lab bustled with activity, white-coated scientists poring over clipboards and checking equipment. Their actions were methodical, well-planned, and Mary knew they were being certain that a malfunction didn't turn she or Momo's brain to mush in the process of trying to drift together. It should put her at ease, but it only filled her stomach with butterflies of terror. She pressed her fists to her mouth and tried to control her breathing, doing the breathing exercises they'd learned in training.
She didn't look like much of a pilot, even a trainee; she was barely five feet, with thick white hair braided straight down her back. Normally, she let Momo braid it, the other teenage girl's hands calm and sure as they combed through the curls. But today she'd gotten up early to do it herself, not wanting to seem too reliant. She'd prove she was worthy of being Momo's copilot. Sure, the Kisaragi siblings had a higher chance of being chosen to work together, since relatives usually were. But Momo and Mary worked well together, and Mary wasn't going to let her best friend slip through her fingers.
There were other trainees here now, and Mary glanced up, but none of them were her ginger-haired friend. There were three of them, and they crossed immediately to one of the scientists and began to ask him questions. Mary wondered if they'd come to see Momo's sync test. The lab was off-limits to civilians, but that didn't stop those who were both personnel and fans of the idol-turned-trainee from abusing the opportunity.
She perked up as one of the psych analysts walked over to her. He surveyed a file of papers in his hands, then glanced up at her, looking bored.
"Kisaragi's not coming," he said, and Mary felt her face fall.
"W-what?" she stammered. Momo lived off-base, but it was inland, and not a particularly dangerous area, so she should be okay, right?
He continued, unaffected by her shock. "The press caught wind of her sync test being today, and they're blocking the gates trying to get in. We've rescheduled."
That wasn't so bad, then. A lot of worry for nothing, but they'd continue another day. "I can go home then?" she asked, swallowing. She'd call Momo and they'd laugh about this later, and everything would be fine.
"No," he was saying however, shaking his head and turning over a page. "It'll be a waste of funding if we cancel the test now. We have all the equipment up by now, so we're running it anyway. One of Tateyama's trainees is standing in." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder, and Mary looked over at the three who had entered earlier. The girl seemed to be furious about something, but both of the boys seemed to be laughing at the fuss she was raising.
The psych analyst handed her the folder and she clutched it, but her mind was whirling far too much to read the words that swam before her eyes. Drift with a stranger? They wouldn't make her unless their tests had flagged them as compatible previously, but she hadn't even let herself think about what would happen if she ended up having to pilot with someone besides Momo. The folder bent beneath her fingers.
Across the lab, the man that had been pointed out to her— Tateyama?— looked over his shoulder at her, and all three of the trainees looked up and stared at her. She felt her face go hot and she hid behind the folder, pretending to be absorbed in the documents she still hadn't read. She didn't look up again until an adult's hand settled on her shoulder.
"We're getting the Pons ready," the engineer told her, and guided her to the scaffold-like mock-up of a cockpit. They didn't have the machinery to waste on tests like this, and the little half-helmet that they were adjusting in front of her looked nothing like the headsets they'd use when they graduated. It was just the bare minimum, not built to stay on during battle, and made to fit as many different heads as possible. She would probably never wear this one again, whereas the combat helmet she'd wear when she was a ranger would be custom-fitted within the centimeter for her head size. She felt a bubble of ridiculous laughter in her throat as she wondered if she'd have to cut her hair. It was just nerves.
She stepped into the footrests carefully, and they contracted around her small feet, locking her in place so she wouldn't hurt herself if the memories became too much. She wouldn't need it. She'd practiced for months to get to this point, and there was no way she was going to lose control on her first time in the drift. The folder was taken from her, and she looked over at the other trainees again. Two of them had vacated the room, which made sense as she'd only be drifting with one of them. She spotted them up at the windows that overlooked the lab, where there was a control room. They both leaned against the windows, peering down at the room below. The girl had both hands cupped around her eyes to see better, her mouth set in a grim line. The blond boy was pulling a face.
Mary heard a laugh off to her left and she looked over. The third member of the group was returning the silly face up at them as his blood pressure was taken, a process she'd already gone through on arrival. So this really was a last minute decision, then.
He looked more like a soldier than she did, more than half a foot taller then her and with wide shoulders that made her feel tiny in comparison. If they did get paired together— which wouldn't happen, because she was going to partner with Momo— then how did they expect them to spar to up their sync rate? She pressed her lips together with worry. A technician was telling him he couldn't wear hair ornaments under the test Pons, and with a laugh he pulled a plastic clip from his bangs. Her worry intensified. Was he taking this seriously at all?
The engineers slipped the test Pons over her head and it fit almost immediately. They held a thumbs-up towards the control room, and the headset crackled in her ear.
"Can you hear me?" a stern voice asked, and Mary's eyes flickered up to the control room, where the supervising NBO watched over them.
"Yes sir," she said clearly, a cheerful "Yep!" echoing her to her left.
"Kozakura Mary and Seto Kousuke, we're about to begin test five-one-oh-oh-three, and all communications from here on out will be recorded for future training. I understand this is your first time in the drift?"
"Yes sir," she repeated. The other boy, who she supposed was Seto, remembered to say 'sir' this time as well. The supports around her had begun to whir with energy, and she fought to keep nervousness down. She needed to be clear-headed for this.
There was almost a mirth in the NBO's voice as he replied. "In that case, enjoy your stay."
A shock ran through her, like being zapped by a light switch but a thousand times worse. Her ears popped and she clenched her jaw to keep quiet. Images flickered across her vision, realer than she'd expected them to be. Illustrations from her favorite fairy tale book swam before her eyes. Drawings from her childhood took form as though she was just now creating them. And in mere moments they weren't just images anymore; the warmth of her mother's hand filled hers, and she felt the burn of tea in her throat. Cold water touched her ankles.
Water?
She turned in confusion, no longer bound by the restraints of the mock-pod, just in time for a wave to strike her in the face. She knew it wasn't real, but still she panicked and held her breath as she sank, her hands covering her nose and mouth. She was going to die— she was going to—
Mary forced her eyes open, forced herself to remember the test room around her, the digging of the test Pons into the bridge of her nose. Her eyes found the window above her, the dark form of the NBO. His voice echoed through the headset. "Don't let the fear take you," he reminded them, and Mary wouldn't, she was stronger than it. The girl who had come in with Seto was trying to get back to them, but the light-haired boy caught her arm.
The cold water filled Mary's mouth again and she choked, whipping her head sideways to look at her drift partner. Seto's eyes were wide and unseeing, and he struggled against the harness, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He looked terrified. This was his memory, she realized, as the mind-river sucked her in again. He wasn't coming out.
She took a deep breath, entirely useless because it was all in their heads, and let the water take her. She sank like a stone, searching through the shared memory until she found him, a tiny shape of a boy below her.
All her training told her to push the memory away, to fight it and drift perfectly and get another good score that he would have to make up later. But he'd looked so afraid. She committed herself to the memory and began to swim towards him.
It was hard to believe the tiny body belonged to the same person she'd seen in the test room, but she grabbed the back of his hoodie anyway and struck out towards the surface. It was hard, convincing herself she didn't need to breathe but believing in the water enough to keep moving. As she swam upward with one arm, she tried to put together a safe memory above the surface. Through her fingers she saw trees, green and safe and comforting, and when her head broke the surface and she rolled his body onto the bank, it was suddenly the floor of her childhood home, an impossibly idyllic cottage. She knelt on the floorboards, breathing hard, and somehow he sat up, staring at her. Birdsong floated in through the window.
"Remember," she begged, trying to ignore the fantasy around her, "this isn't real." His eyes widened, and hoping he wouldn't hold on, she dissolved the memory around them.
She landed in her physical body with a feeling like a thump, and in the back of her head a voice that was not hers said Oh my god. She smiled and looked left and he was grinning like he could hardly believe it, his big shoulders heaving like he'd run a marathon.
I know!, she thought back, before she could put together thoughts more coherent and eloquent, and his head jerked up in shock. They both laughed.
"I'm writing this in as a successful attempt," the NBO said dryly in their ears, and she heard him twice, and her brain was buzzing like having soda bubbles up her nose but not nearly as bad.
"Preparing for disconnect in 3….2…."