Macross Quarter Hangar Deck
Landing Bay, New Frontier
0857, 03 May 2060
The flight deck was already calm from the morning patrol launches by the time Sheryl Nome stood upon the deck. She was not exactly a stranger to the deck crew, but she was hardly a stranger anywhere she went. The faces she recognized regarded her with a respectful nod if their eyes met, a gesture Sheryl returned. The ones she did not recognize were younger and less inclined to glancing as they were to outright staring. She wondered how many of them were fans or simply thought she was a pretty sight.
A crash and a shout drew her attention to one area of the deck. "Be careful!" a gruff voice yelled, "We just finished building that plane! I don't want to have to explain to the deck chief why an unflown bird already has a ding in it!"
At the source of the commotion amidst the busy ground crew and a mess of tools and workbenches was the sleek, streamlined profile of a VF-25F Messiah in fighter mode, pure white with sky blue stripes and black accents. The painted metal shined under the fluorescent deck lights, gleaming along its long nose and swept back wings. The numbering on the tail said in bold letters SMS-029. Sheryl slowly walked toward it, coming to a stop a scant few meters from the starboard intake. She resisted the temptation to take the last few steps and reach out and touch it. She was no pilot. She didn't feel comfortable touching someone else's plane, same as she wouldn't feel comfortable touching someone else's car without their knowing, but she could not help but admire it, if only from a distance, nor could she help the instant attraction she felt toward it.
It was a strange feeling for the singer. She remembered a time when Valkyries were just Valkyries to her and nothing too special, merely what pilots flew into battle. She couldn't place a time when her attitude toward them changed, it was so gradual, and perhaps she just had so happen in the last year that she hadn't noticed until her life had calmed down.
Her career as a singer kept drawing her away from her studies as a pilot at Mihoshi Academy. It assumed her choice of curriculum was an eccentric dabble of hers or something to do with a beautiful young man named Alto. She had even posed for a wide assortment of publicity stunts for it, and maybe in the beginning that was all it was, a publicity stunt, but here she was, a year later, still in the pilot program and now finding herself longing more and more for a Valkyrie to call her own.
A low whistle suddenly emitted from behind her. Sheryl winced, Not again...
Sheryl put on a frown as she slowly turned to face down another would-be suitor. It was a young man, of course, with unkempt black hair and dressed in overalls smeared with engine grease and black soot. In his hand was an oversized wrench covered in oil and a rag he was using to clean with as he spoke. For a moment she thought he was a new grease monkey, but the pilot wings on his chest spoke otherwise. She noted his rank was equal to her own, Warrant Officer. No wonder he felt so emboldened. She put her hands on her hips as he spoke to her, "Hey, beautiful, you look lost. Maybe I can help you find what you're really looking for." His jockish grin and general lack of tonal subtlety left it pretty clear what he was hoping she was looking for. She turned her nose up at the thought.
"Sorry, but I'm not into animals," she retaliated. Not her best.
"Hey, I can be anything you want me to be, my darling miss- err.." His gaze fell to her name emblazoned on the left breast of her fatigues, S. NOME, and with that glance his pompous ego deflated as he finished his sentence in disbelief, "... Nome?"
Her hard frown broke up to a look of momentary puzzlement as confusion set in on him. He looked back up to her face in disbelief, then to the name tag again, then back and forth. It wasn't uncommon for her to be recognized, but it was rare for that recognition to cause the attitude to drop. It usually just made it worse.
Sheryl's gaze was then distracted by a figure walking around a tool bin from behind him. She recognized the face as Catherine Glass, one of the Quarter's bridge officers, and she looked none too pleased. In an instant she gave a shout loud enough to give the dumbfounded young man a start. "WARRANT OFFICER DYSON!"
The young man whipped around with a hasty salute. "Yes, ma'am!"
"Are you harassing your fellow soldier?" Cathy asked with an unfriendly tone.
"No, ma'am! I was just introducing myself, ma'am."
Her next words were entirely flat, "I can see you're doing a fine job. Have you even bothered telling her your name yet?"
He spun around to face Sheryl again as he wiped his right hand off with the rag and offered it to her, his smile as friendly as he could manage without seeming too much like a pervert. "Warrant Officer Victor G. Dyson, ma'am."
Sheryl eyed his hand for a moment, then looked back up to him with her brightest fairy smile, the one reserved for complete mischief. She took his hand. He was gentle. Sheryl was not. Her grip gave his face a twitch of surprise. "Warrant Officer Sheryl Nome. Pleased to meet you, Dyson." She left particular emphasis on her full name. He seemed to know it, and he seemed to be sweating slightly more for it.
"Likewise," he said quietly, taking his losses with a respectful nod.
"I think you have work to see to, Dyson," Cathy hinted, "Dismissed."
He turned back to Cathy with a click of his heels and a salute, "Ma'am." And with that he quickly made himself scarce.
Cathy stepped in his place with a sigh. Sheryl saluted her superior. "At ease, Nome." Sheryl dropped her hand and assumed the standard at ease pose. Sheryl noticed Cathy had dropped some of her own formality, she even smiled a little. "So, were you eying that brand new VF-25?" Cathy gave an indicating nod to the fighter Sheryl had just been looking over.
"I suppose I was," Sheryl said coyly, looking over it again with a lingering gaze.
Cathy turned toward it and gave it a thorough optical inspection. Sheryl followed suit. "Well, it looks like they put it together properly. F variant. Undoubtedly it will serve its pilot well. Do you still dream about one day flying one of these?"
Sheryl smiled a little, "Yeah."
Cathy chuckled, "You're a mystery to me, Sheryl. Joining the Pilot program like you did during the Vajra Conflict was just a publicity stunt, you said so yourself. That ended nine months ago, and yet here you are, still trying to earn your wings. You, the songstress of the galaxy, the Galactic Fairy, who only came to Frontier for your own concert tour."
"That was a long time ago," Sheryl said, "A lot of things have happened since then." She ran a hand through her hair out of habit. It brushed against her earring.
Cathy glanced at her for a moment, smiling again, "You know when we first met I thought Galactic Bitch was a more appropriate monicker for you." Sheryl turned at her suddenly with shock and hurt in her eyes. Cathy held up a hand defensively and quickly added, "Not that I think so now! I just mean to say you've changed a lot in my eyes since then, and maybe you've changed a little in your own, too." Cathy glanced again at the plane, specifically the worker in front of the canopy as he began peeling away painting tape. Cathy continued on, "You are a strong-willed woman with the right heart to go with it. Maybe you didn't sign up with flying Valkyries one day for real in mind, but you stuck with it because you want to help and protect people, and that's a better reason than most sign up for. You do that uniform proud, Sheryl. That's why the day is coming sooner than you think..." Cathy made another glance back to the plane as the technician pulled the ladder from the nose. She gave a nod toward it for Sheryl, but her own eyes watched the fairy's with a knowing smile.
Sheryl's confused gaze turned toward the fighter again, and in an instant her eyes widened and mouth gasped loudly. Her hands clasped over her mouth in sheer reflex as she again read the single line of loving script written under the seam of the canopy.
Warr. Off. Sheryl Nome
She looked back to Cathy in disbelief and seeking some sort of confirmation. The woman was facing her now with a wide smile, her right hand thrust forward while the left held up an open jewelry case. Inside was a set of polished brass wings. "Congratulations, Pilot."
Sheryl's eyes were fixed upon the wings for a long moment before she finally regained some composure, yet still she dripped with spunk at the news. "Thank you, Commander Glass!" Sheryl said quickly as she reminded herself of proper etiquette and shook Cathy's hand.
"May I?" Catherine gestured to Sheryl's collar. Sheryl nodded with a small coo of approval, and she stood tall as Cathy pinned the wings to her chest. "And there you are. So, want to go for a test flight?"
Sheryl's devilish grin was all the affirmation needed.