A/N: Yes. I know it's been awhile since I've updated. The good news is that I'm finally done with the semester. It was a rough several weeks for me, but I'm finally past it and looking forward to the next semester, which starts January 17th. In the )meantime, I was going to work my old job during the break, but it appears that that's fallen through the cracks. I'm looking for a seasonal job to help pay the bills, but at this time of the holiday, it may be next to impossible to find anything. Oh well... that just means I'll have more free time to do whatever I want.
I recently got onto a Zelda kick, seeing as how Skyward Sword came out a few weeks ago. I got my hands on a copy of Twilight Princess and finally finished it. I'd played it about halfway through on my brother's Wii a few years ago, until he inexplicably saved over my file. At the same time I finished Twilight Princess, that same brother finished his Skyward Sword, so I "stole" it from him and I'm currently working my way through that game. Pretty good so far!
I've also started to spend time with a lovely lady, with whom I'm finding myself absolutely smitten. If that wasn't already cool enough, she's just as into me as I am into her. We'll see how things work out for us in the near future.
So, aside from that, I've got time to write. I decided to take a slightly different angle with this chapter. If you've noticed the title, you might have guessed that this has a lot to do with Ozma. It does. What I'm doing here is adding inner monologue into the text to express Ozma's thoughts on what's happening at the time. I'd have to say that the closest form of inspiration for this is what you see in the "Fight Club" movie, how Edward Norton's character will frequently add in some colorful, witty insights about whatever... I've never read the book, so I don't know if Chuck Palahniuk does it like this... Anyway, this is my interpretation of that style. All paragraphs in italics are Ozma's thoughts. I actually sat on this chapter for a few weeks, having initially written it like I normally do. I decided to re-write it in this voice instead.
I'm sure my previous work has clicked well with many of you, so you may think, "If it ain't broke, don't fix it." Well, I just decided to do it like this for a bit of a change of pace. I plan on doing the next chapter in the same way, only it follows a different character. Don't worry, I don't plan on doing any more chapters in this way. I just wanted to experiment a bit, and I do consider this story to be my writing laboratory of sorts.
I don't have any additional content pre-written as of this posting. My back's against the wall! With the extra free time I'll have during the break, though, I hope to get a lot done. Until next time... -(12/19/11)
Some days, you just wake up thinking that it's going to be a day like every other day. This is usually the case, but every once in a while, life tends to throw things for a loop, just to keep things interesting.
Ozma rushed up the stairs in his house and immediately pounded on the first door to his left.
"Cal! Are you in there?"
The frantic rustling of covers was all that could be heard through the door until a primitive grunt acknowledged the early-morning disturbance. "Yeah…"
It's only five-past-six in the morning. Yeah, the sun hasn't quite come up yet, but this damn chickling needs to get his ass into gear; he's got to report for duty at his usual time tomorrow morning.
Following a couple of loud footfalls, the door flew open to reveal a nearly-catatonic Cal. How he managed to stand upright in his apparent state remained a mystery at that moment. However, this was not an important detail; a bigger problem existed elsewhere in the Lee Compound.
"Put on some warm clothes and meet me outside… It looks like you were right!"
After saying his piece, Ozma hurried down the stairs. Cal stood at the doorway for a moment while his brain tried to decode the cryptic message. The hallway light boring its way into his eyes caused significant discomfort and the occasional image of his own retinas flashed in and out of his sight. Returning to the soothing darkness that engulfed the rest of his room, he peeled down one of the flaps of the venetian blinds to gauge the situation outside.
Nothing could be identified; a gigantic blanket of snow covered everything. The sky was barely luminous, due to the sun's impending rise. The street lights on the adjacent highway shone upon a monochromatic landscape. Clumps of snow were falling to the ground, but could only be seen after they passed out of the darkness and into the street lamps' radiant cones.
A few minutes later outside, Ozma was busily shoveling the snow away from the front of his garage. A seemingly un-traversable sea of snow defiantly laid in front of him, threatening to stop him from fulfilling his daily responsibilities. It easily came up to his waist and was more than enough to stop him from getting on his way to report for duty on the Quarter.
Where the hell is that kid? He'd better not have gone back to sleep or he's going to get a shovel full of snow dumped on his head in there.
The thought had barely passed through Ozma's mind before Cal entered the garage from the door leading to the interior of the house. Even though he was still wearing his pajama bottoms, he wore his heavy coat and toboggan. He'd seen the snow from the window in his room, but it was far different to come face-to-face with it. His eyes grew larger as he finally grasped the amount of snow that had fallen to the ground through the course of the night. He momentarily slowed his walking pace to take it all in, but then quickly began to look around for some kind of rudimentary tool with which to move the pale obstruction outside of the garage.
"There's another shovel in that cabinet," Ozma pointed out.
Cal quickly joined his commanding officer in clearing a path to the highway. However, from their perspective, it seemed that the road was also completely inaccessible.
Panting from the exertion of shoveling snow, Cal had to make light of the situation, "Kind of makes you wish they'd just let us park our VFs out here, huh? We wouldn't have to worry about stuff like this." He managed a slight laugh, despite being short on breath.
I love driving my car back and forth from the base, but he's right. Being able to fly to work might even be better. No traffic jams, no asshole drivers… just getting to work as the crow flies.
"That would be nice." Ozma was also slightly winded. He was moving as fast as his body would allow; there was no way he'd be late to report for duty… neither rain, nor sleet, nor snow… "I just hope they get that road cleared off real soon."
Fifteen minutes of hard physical labor began to yield results. They had successfully carved an eight-foot-wide path from the garage to the sidewalk on the side of the highway. Almost on cue, Ozma's hopes were fulfilled. A pair of large snow plow trucks slowly passed by, effortlessly redirecting the achromatic precipitate off of the road and onto the sidewalks. However, the sheer volume of snow combined to form a massive white wave, cresting over the curb in a manner that would make a professional surfer envious.
"Watch out!" Ozma yelled, grabbing Cal by the hood on his coat and dashing back towards the garage with him in tow.
The towering wave of freshly-fallen snow crashed onto the driveway, where the two pilots had just been working. The plows had disappeared down the highway, but they left in their wake ivory mountain ranges on each side of the road.
You have got to be freaking kidding me…!
Ozma noticed that Cal was wearing the same expression on his face. There was nothing they could do but complain at this point. They both sighed and quickly got back to work, clearing the snow away one shovelful at a time. At least Ozma got what he had hoped for, but it came at a price. "This 'snow' business is overrated," he grumbled.
Our first snowfall and already I'm annoyed by the new season. I must be getting more cantankerous in my age; something that I'd always enjoyed as a child is now nothing more than an inconvenience. On the colony ships, if we wanted to play in the snow, it was simply nothing more than a trip to Island-13. I don't know if I like having to deal with such a dynamic and uncontrollable weather system… Wow… I'm getting old if I have to complain about something as trivial as the weather. This is how Humanity has lived for thousands of years on Earth. If they can deal with it, so can I.
It took them another ten minutes to carve a path through the rest of the snow, but Ozma was finally able to back his car out of the driveway and onto the highway. Cal stood out on the road to watch for oncoming traffic, signaling when the coast was clear. Once he was out on the road and turned in the right direction, Ozma rolled his window down to talk to Cal, who was back on the driveway again.
"I hate to ask you this, but can you knock out at least some of this snow off of the driveway? I know this is your last day off, but just do me that favor."
"This is my last day to sleep in, too!" Cal whined.
I'm beginning to wonder how much I'd enjoy cramming that shovel sideways up his ass.
Cal quickly changed his attitude once he'd seen the look on Ozma's face. He clicked his tongue and agreed to the task laid out before him.
The sound of a loud horn honking alerted Ozma to the presence of other traffic on the road behind him. He glanced into his rear view window for visual confirmation. "I'm counting on you, Cal… get it done!" he barked. He had to play the clutch a bit to help his car get traction on the icy road, but soon succeeded and sped off on his way to the base.
I don't even charge the kid rent. I think the least he could do is help me out from time to time…
Just as Cal peered around the corner of the nearby wall of snow to see who was doing all of that honking, a transit bus passed by a few feet in front of his face, startling him a bit. "Well, at least the bus system is still working…" he muttered to himself as he turned around to shovel snow once more. He had only worked on the nearby snow bank for a moment before he stopped to wrap his brain around the magnitude of the task. Suddenly, this job became all-the-more daunting for him, now that he'd been left to complete it on his own. "I've got to be crazy to be doing all of this by myself. I'm going to be out here all morning, freezing my ass off." By then, he'd forgotten that he was still wearing his pajamas under that heavy coat.
He'd relieved some of his frustration through the verbal rant, but it still didn't get any of the snow removed from the driveway. He rammed his shovel into the large bank near him and wiggled the handle up and down to loosen the powdery material for immediate relocation.
All of a sudden, he felt the impact of an object on the back of his head, followed by the chilling sensation of snow falling down his coat's collar. He yelped a bit as he fanned his hand across his head and attempted to scoop the cold ice out of his shirt under his coat. His bulky gloves simply drove the snow deeper under his coat. Angry and confused, Cal turned around to investigate the source of the attack, only to find the answer somewhat refreshing.
Klan stood behind him with her hands in her coat's front pockets. Even though she wore a heavy scarf around her neck to cover much of her face, he could read in her eyes the satisfied grin hidden behind the cloth wrapping. She felt no shame in what she'd just done and it simply incriminated her as the undeniable culprit.
Even though he was happy to see her, a bit of a mean streak coursed through his mind. He grabbed the handle of his shovel and pulled out a large pile of snow. Holding it to his side and taking an aggressive posture, it appeared that he was about to charge at her with the powdery ordnance in tow.
"Don't do it!" she warned. He was wearing that look on his face again…
…
Although it was moored in the water at the military harbor, the Macross Quarter did not escape the fate that had befallen the rest of the city. From the bridge, Captain Wilder looked out in the bow direction of his ship. The ARMD-L section to his left, which served as the fighter hangar and launch deck, was being cleared of the accumulated snow. Even the destroids working with the crew on the flight deck appeared tiny, from his perspective on the bridge. All they could do with the snow was to simply knock it into the water below. A handful of the crew members were wearing large tanks on their backs, using an attached spray hose to give the deck a steam-finish. One of the doors behind the Captain opened, and he turned around just as Ozma rushed through it.
"Sorry I'm late!" he panted, "That traffic was hell!"
Wilder simply smiled, lightly shaking his head. "Don't worry about it. That snow has got the entire city shut down." He turned around to continue looking out onto the flight deck, nonchalantly inviting Ozma to join him at his side. "The ship only has a skeleton crew right now, and they're all out there trying to get the flight deck cleared. I could have called in some of the crew early from their leave to help, but I figured I'd put these guys up to the challenge." He chuckled to himself for a moment. "I'm sure they're hating me for giving them such a difficult task."
The image of Cal standing on his driveway with a shovel in hand suddenly popped into Ozma's head.
Maybe I was asking a little too much of him? Bah, he'll get over it. It'll help him build some character.
Ozma started to laugh at his own thoughts, leaving Captain Wilder in the dark as to the inspiration for his sudden display of jocularity.
"What? Do you think I was asking too much of them?"
Realizing that the Captain had just repeated what he was thinking, Ozma laughed again, but shook his head. "No. It's nothing. You just reminded me of something funny, that's all." He quickly recomposed himself and looked around the bridge. "Am I the first one here?"
"Actually, no. Monica's here, but she went down to the galley to scrape up some coffee and cake. We're just waiting on Stephen."
Only a moment later, the door opened to reveal Monica, who was pushing a serving cart. "Oh! Hi, Ozma!" she greeted as she parked the cart and started to place some dishes onto the meeting table at the center of the bridge.
Monica. When I'd first met her, she was fairly demure and shy. Over the years, she's outgrown her old habits and has gained the respect of her shipmates as a leader. Cathy told me about how she has a crush on the Captain, but I still can't wrap my head around the concept. Although we all have a feeling like there really is something more between them, we never ever see it physically manifest itself as irrefutable proof. I generally choose not to think about the matter; rather, I'll just let the situation play itself out over time. They'll slip up eventually…
Ozma bid her a good morning and hurried over to help set things up. "Glad you made it in okay. Was it tough to get here?"
The usual attempt at small-talk, but maybe there's a reason she and the Captain are seldom seen apart from each other. Do they live together, or something? She almost seems like a housewife right now, tasked with the creation of a hospitable atmosphere for her "husband's" guests. She shouldn't feel compelled to be responsible for this sort of thing. I'd look like a chauvinist if I didn't give her a hand.
"No. Actually, I've been staying on the ship for the last few days to keep an eye on things while they finish installing the ship's upgrades."
"Don't you want to spend your last few days off with your family?"
She smiled and sighed before answering, "I'd like to, but I felt that this was a little more important. I've spent plenty of time with my family during the last few weeks, but they understand that my career is important to me. Ever since I heard that my promotion was made official last week, I've felt invigorated; my sense of ambition renewed."
Damn. I was hoping she'd say something along the lines of "The Captain is all the family I'll ever need!" Wait, why am I trying to find out the truth when I just told myself that I'd rather not worry about it? Dammit. Maybe there's a rumormonger in all of us.
The door to the bridge opened again. This time, Commander Ortiz strolled in. He seemed distraught at his tardiness, but the Captain gave him the same forgiving look and invited him to take a seat.
For some reason, Commander Ortiz looked different than from before. On one hand, he appeared more seasoned as a command-level officer. His disposition has changed from before the moment he joined the crew to present day. He's more confident in his ability to command this ship in the Captain's stead. On the other hand, he looks like he has the weight of the world on his shoulders. I know that look… It's the look of a man burdened with a taxing relationship. That filly, Wentz, might be more than he'd bargained for. This is why I don't really like relationships to form between officers and their subordinates. That reminds me… I need to talk to Nene and Will Garrett about their relationship. They both seem like the kind of people to go and do something stupid together.
Before she sat down, Monica handed Captain Wilder a fresh cup of coffee. He took a sip and immediately reacted to the taste. "Mmm…! Once again, you put the perfect amount of sugar and cream in it."
See? Either he's kissing her ass through unnecessary compliment, or she knows him well enough to know exactly how he takes his coffee. It's not that great… it's just coffee. Shit, there I go again, trying to figure those two out.
Wilder took another sip and set it down at the end of the table as he took his seat. He cleared his throat and moved his tablet in front of him, unlocking it by punching a password onto the screen. "We got a lot done in yesterday's meeting. We all know that we're kind of operating on a short time table, but I have to, unfortunately, inform you all that we've got something of a new task coming up soon." He let a few moments pass for the dramatic effect. "We received communications from yet another wandering Zentraedi fleet. They have requested permission to establish a home here on Aimo, and it looks like the administration is going to grant them that request."
"Again?" Commander Ortiz asked, "We can barely support the Zentraedi population we already have!"
"Come on, Stephen," replied the Captain, "You know that's not really true. Even if it were, we don't own this entire planet. Our sovereignty as a colony only stretches so far on this continent. There are many citizens who have the pioneering spirit necessary to venture out into the wilderness and unexplored areas of this planet, in search of a place they call 'home'. Most people just choose to live in the city, where we have strength in numbers. The immigrating Zentraedi feel the same way, and that's why we have the city of Laplamiz on the opposite side of the bay."
Commander Ortiz might be a good officer, but he doesn't seem to have an opinion of his own, when it comes to the civilian life. I'd pegged him as someone with a bit sharper insight than that. Maybe this is what Cathy and Cal were talking about the other day…
"Well, I keep reading all of these stories on the news and every day, they talk about how we're on the brink of depleting our resources. People are going to start going hungry very soon because we aren't producing enough food. People are going to be living on the streets because we can't build houses for them fast enough…" Stephen began to trail off as he realized that he was babbling.
Yup, I was right. Damn shame. Oh, well. To each, their own, I guess…
"Let's leave the politics out of this," Ozma interjected, "We're here to figure out how we're going to do our jobs. Right, Cap?"
Wilder nodded in agreement and continued with his announcement, "The Zentraedi starport is going to serve as the staging area for the incoming fleet. The NUNS has requested that we volunteer some of our manpower to help keep the peace over there. That's where you come in, Ozma."
"You need me to post my pilots out there?"
"Yes. Starting tomorrow, I need you to post a squad at the base, 24-7. I'd suggest rotating them every eight hours, as usual."
"What's with the need for firepower out there?"
Captain Wilder fidgeted in his chair for a moment. "Well, they're expecting a bit of an immigration protest there from some of the groups of political activists. I'm sure nothing's going to happen, but the administration has made it clear that they don't want any incidents. The last thing we need to happen is to have one of the new incoming Zentraedi being incited by the crowds and doing something stupid."
"So… we have to protect the protestors from being attacked by a Zentraedi?" Ozma looked down at the table as he continued, "Seems kind of stupid. If I was one of them, the last thing I'd want to see is a bunch of assholes telling me that I'm not welcome here. I wouldn't blame the Zentraedi if something happened; that crowd is asking for trouble."
Wilder sternly interjected, "Again, this isn't a politics argument. Let's just do the damn job, okay?"
I must have lost some of my laser-like focus during my time off. First, I'm finding myself concerned about the status of this "relationship" between Monica and Jeffrey, and now I'm getting caught in Stephen's stupid political state of mind. Just put me in the cockpit of my bird and all of that shit will wash right away. I'm a pilot; I belong up in the air.
"Right. Sorry. I'll get right on it."
"Glad to hear it," Wilder replied. He looked down and tapped his tablet a few times to bring up some more notes. "Monica, how are the ship's refits coming along?"
…
Good God, people! Why do you feel compelled to be out in this mess, when you could have taken the day off like everyone else did?
A sigh escaped from Ozma's mouth as he rather impatiently waited in his car. In front of him, several cars obscured the view of a handful of work trucks making their way across the highway. The car's radio served as his only form of company; the chatter-like voice of the traffic reported rattled on to seemingly no end.
"It's a mess out there! Even though the snow has shut much of the city down, there are still many brave… or foolish?... souls who dare to get out there in this thick soup. If you plan on going anywhere, expect delays of up to 90 minutes, depending on what routes you take and how far you have to drive. We'll do our best to keep you up-to-date on all things traffic here on this station… Starting out near Laplamiz, Highway 38 northbound at exit 16, we've got a three-car pileup that's just now getting cleared off of the road, but traffic is backed up about three miles, starting at exit 12…"
The voice seemed to fade out from Ozma's consciousness as he caught sight of a group of people in a field just off of the highway. A war of epic proportions raged on nearby; powdery-white bombs sailed through the air in between two rudimentary structures constructed from the white material abundant in the area. However, each time a "soldier" was hit by a ballistic powdery projectile, they would recover as if nothing had hit them. In response, they would immediately reach down, scoop up a handful of the white material, magically sculpt a new powder-bomb from it, and hurl the bomb in the direction of their enemies. Their laughs and smiles indicated that there was a more positive effect from their conflict.
Nearby, other "soldiers" appeared to be creating elemental creatures made out of the white medium in which they stood. Somehow, they felt as if dressing these golems in their own clothing would imbue them with life and a sense of purpose, which perhaps would be to attack their adversaries on the other side of the field.
Ozma's imagination seemed to be running away from him for the moment. His train of thought was rudely interrupted by the sound of a horn honking once again. Looking forward, he saw that the traffic had cleared up a bit and the work trucks were no longer seen on the highway. He threw his shifter into second gear and slowly let out his clutch to give his tires an advantage at gaining traction on the slippery highway surface. As his car began to move forward, Ozma looked out of the corner of his eyes to watch the snowball fight still raging on at the side of the highway. The snowmen being built were not weapons of war, but just simple representations of their creators. For a moment, he laughed at himself and the fact that his imagination had formed such a contrast to the reality of the situation.
Maybe it was a good idea to take the post at the flight school. War seems to be spilling onto my civilian side of life while I'm off-duty. I've seen so much combat since I joined the NUNS as a teen-aged, snot-nosed punk. I thought I'd seen enough of the horrors of war after witnessing the destruction of the 117th Research Fleet. I'd somehow taken responsibility for the deaths of Ranka's family members as a way to cope, when, in fact, those things were well beyond my control. This conflict has been going on for almost a year and a half, but maybe… just maybe I'll soon have the power to help bring it to an end, once and for all. Then, I can focus my attention on settling down with Cathy and building a family with her. She is, without a doubt, the most amazing woman I've ever met. I'm happy… and lucky… to be the apple of her eye.
Even though there was more snow than the city could handle, it was probably a grand way for his pilots to end their leave time. Surely, they were all out in the elements at that very moment, taking advantage of the winter wonderland gifted to them by the seemingly unpredictable weather patterns of their new home. Part of him was thankful for the snow, since it might be a long time before he and his pilots return from their next tour of duty.
Sometime later, Ozma followed a well-dressed hostess through a rather high-scale restaurant. In every direction, tables were fully seated with affluent citizens who had finally braved the elements to enjoy a well-prepared meal. His NUNS uniform was partially hidden by his old SMS jacket, a far cry from the professional and formal clothing worn by the other patrons in attendance at the time. One would think that he was improperly dressed for this restaurant, but even when he first arrived, the hospitality bid him a warm welcome and immediately knew where to take him. Even though they offered to check his jacket, he respectfully declined their offer.
He immediately recognized a very familiar group of people waiting for him at one of the larger tables near the corner of the restaurant. Among them, Cathy sat at one end of the table; she patiently waited with her hands folded on the table in front of her, flashing him a smile as they made eye contact from afar. A glint from the engagement ring on her finger immediately caught his eye, reminding him of their new commitment to each other. She, too, was in full uniform. The rest of the people sitting at the table had been busily chatting with each other, but immediately stopped what they were doing to greet him.
"Ozma!"
Several voices coincided with each other to show their glee at his arrival. Ozma grinned as he acknowledged everyone in attendance. The gang was all there: Ranka, Alto, Sheryl, Luca, Nanase, and Brera took up the other end of the table. Just as he was about to say something, he noticed that the hostess was politely holding his chair out for him so that he could sit down. He made sure to thank her as he comfortably took his seat. Following a smile and affirmative nod, she quickly disappeared into parts unknown.
"Wow…!" he exclaimed with a huff, "This place is… nice!"
"I'm glad you approve," Cathy replied. She handed him her menu so he could choose from the list of meals and appetizers.
"Great! Now we can order!" Ranka playfully chided Ozma from her seat next to him. She quickly put her arm around his shoulder and gave him a side hug. "I'm glad you could make it."
I've recently come to the realization that I'm probably not going to see Ranka again for quite a while. She already lives a busy schedule and rarely makes time to see me anymore. I'm going to be very busy with my own duties for the next week before we ship out, too. Why does this feel like some kind of "goodbye" meal?
"A meal with the two most important women in my life and a host of good friends. It's almost like we're one big family, isn't it?" he asked.
"We are a family, Ozma," Cathy declared as she reached forward to cup her hand over his. She then looked over towards the rest of their guests to her right to get their opinions on the matter.
"Yeah!" came a couple of replies in agreement to Cathy's statement.
Family. I was just thinking about forming one of my own, but maybe I've overlooked the one that's been in front of me all of this time. For 12 years, it's been only Ranka and me. Now, I have my future wife sitting in front of me, and a group of kids who see me as something of a big brother to them. Cathy and I are the patriarchs of this family. We supervise and support these younglings as if they were our own. Look at them… They're just sitting there in their little clique, having the times of their lives. I watch as Cathy looks at them with that maternal gaze. She's proud of what they've become. So am I. We're going to make awesome parents someday.
A smile crept across Ozma's face as he surveyed the table. They all wore their Sunday best to make sure that this dinner was as impressive as the wine list on the menu. Even Alto was wearing a nice suit. He didn't seem to feel uncomfortable in such clothing. Perhaps Ranka or Sheryl had managed to inspire him to be more conscious of his outward appearance. Maybe it was out of respect for Ozma…
Cathy managed to flag down their waitress and she happily sauntered over to their table, taking out a notepad from her front apron pocket. "Oh, great! Your group is now complete, huh? I take it everyone is ready to order, then?"
Cathy then turned to the young group of friends sitting at their table, "Order whatever you want, guys. Dinner is on us!"
"Are you sure?" Sheryl asked, "We can just go Dutch, Cathy." Unwilling to impose, she had offered to split the bill. After all, they were at a fairly expensive restaurant.
Cathy smiled and amicably waved her hand in a downward motion towards Sheryl, "I invited you guys to come, so you shouldn't feel obligated to pay. We want you guys to have a good time, alright?"
Sheryl quickly thanked Cathy for her generosity and rejoined the rest of the gang in their conversation while the waitress hovered around them to take their orders.
Ouch, my wallet! These prices are ridiculous! I can't even pronounce the names of most of these dishes.
"Are you sure we can afford this place?" Ozma asked Cathy, using the menu to shield his words from traveling too far.
"We'll be fine, sweetie. Just order whatever catches your eye."
I don't even know what is in these dishes. The short descriptions underneath each menu item don't really tell me much about what I'm ordering. I just want a chunk of seared, dead animal on my plate and a cold beer.
Ozma felt slightly pressured to choose something from the menu, since the waitress was now standing next to him. Unbeknownst to him, she was in no particular hurry and he could have asked her to move on so he could have more time to choose. "I'll have the… uh…" He squinted at the menu in his hands, trying to figure out how to pronounce the words. "En… Entr…" He finally stopped trying and put the menu down flat on the table. "I'll have that, right there," he said as he dropped his finger down on one of the menu entries.
The waitress politely leaned over and smiled as she read what he was pointing out, "Oh, entrecôte à la bordelaise. Good choice!"
Ozma looked back at her, as if he was upset that she could pronounce the dish with a perfect French accent. However, the smile quickly returned to his face. "Showoff…" he joked, handing her the menu.
"I didn't know a lick of French when I first started working here," she said with a laugh, "They made me take some basic lessons before I started waiting my own tables, so don't feel so bad, Sir."
After taking Cathy's order, the waitress moved on to finish taking orders from the remaining guests at the table. Ozma and Cathy found themselves relatively alone, since the rest of the gang was engrossed in their own conversation.
"Nice girl," Ozma casually commented in reference to their waitress. Cathy could only nod in agreement, since she was in the middle of a sip of wine. "How was your day?" he asked. No matter where you are in the galaxy, no matter what year it is, some formalities remain the same. Small-talk still isn't a lost art.
"You know how it goes…" she casually remarked, "So much to do, so little time to do it. You just do what you can." She stared at her wine glass on the table, rotating it by delicately twisting the stem with her fingers. "I'm going to have to get used to not seeing you again, you know."
Based on the look on her face, I had a feeling this was coming. I really hope I don't have to see that look ever again.
"Aw, come on…" Ozma didn't really want to hear that from her, but she was right. Plus, the same concern was probably lurking around somewhere in the back of his mind. "Just think of it this way: When I make it back, you won't have to worry about that anymore." Sometimes, he wonders why he says such obvious things. Of course, she was well-aware of that fact, but maybe deep down inside, he knows that she just wants to hear him say it.
"…And tomorrow, your chicks will return to the roost. You'll definitely have your hands full for the next week, huh?" She took another quick sip and set the glass back on the table. "By the way, I hope it's not too much of a bother to have to 'borrow' one of them for one of my pet projects." She must have been referring to Cal. "I know he's got a lot on his plate, so I just hope I don't burn him out."
"He'll be fine. The thing with him is that you have to keep him motivated or he'll just follow the path of least resistance. So, I'm okay with it. Besides, they've all had several weeks of leave, so I'm not concerned about burning any of them out. Just make sure you return him in one piece." Ozma shifted in his chair, much like how he shifted the subject a bit, "Everything's okay on all other fronts, I take it?"
"Yeah…" She didn't seem to be able to make any eye-contact with him at that very moment, though. "I just keep getting this feeling that, despite my best efforts, something is going to come along that I didn't anticipate. My instincts tell me that something big is going to happen very soon. The question is: 'Are we prepared for the worst of scenarios?'"
"Let's not talk about such dreary things right now," Ozma replied, reaching across the table to place his hand on hers. "I'm just excited to get back up the air, after all of this time being grounded!" Ambition and anticipation beamed from his face, giving Cathy a reason to smile and look into his eyes again.
"Yeah, I know. Are you guys doing the security detail job at the base?"
"Mhm," he could only mumble a response, since he had just taken a sip of his wine. As expected of the restaurant's stock, it went down smoothly, instantly rewarding him with that warming feeling in his abdomen.
A glance outside at the snowy landscape really helps me appreciate the contrast of the cold weather and the side effects of the consumption of good alcohol. It's not a beer, but maybe something even better. I think I could get used to this…
"It's not quite flying, but it's a start. At least we'll be spending time with our birds."
"Have you decided who's going to be taking the first shift?"
Before Ozma could answer, he heard a voice from behind, "Excuse me…"
One of the other restaurant patrons was turned around in her chair, directly looking at them. She wore a red pantsuit, glasses that sat a little lower on her nose than usual, and an inquisitive look on her face. A man, who was probably her husband, sat at the other end of their table, wearing an equally curious expression. "Are you both pilots?" she asked, looking at their NUNS uniforms.
"I am, but she's not," Ozma cordially replied. He pointed at Alto and Luca sitting at the other end of the table, "They are, as well."
"Oh, I see," came the reply with a nonchalant nod. Her smile slid to one side of her face, transforming into a wry grin. "I just want to say 'thanks'…" She paused for a moment, letting the comment soak into both Ozma and Cathy. However, her well-groomed eyebrows moved closer together, wrinkling the skin in between them. "Thanks for getting us stuck in this god-forsaken war!"
Ozma flinched, as if he'd been hit in the face with a paperback book. "Excuse me?"
"It's because of people like you that we got into this war and we're still in it now! If we'd just minded our own business and stayed out of Vajra territory, we wouldn't be in this mess. Your warmongering brought this conflict upon us and countless people have died for it. We should be spending our resources building this colony, rather than fighting a war in which we have no business. Instead, our fleet is out there needlessly provoking attacks from the Vajra and the Galaxy colony's defense forces."
The nerve of some people… It's one thing to be upset for a legitimate reason, but this chick has no goddamn idea of what she's talking about. I wonder what bubble she's been living in for the past year and a half.
"You're wrong!" Cathy interjected, immediately coming to Ozma's defense, "We were attacked. It's our job to put our lives on the line to protect people like you. If you knew of what was really going on, you'd be a lot more grateful for the sacrifices that the servicemen and women of the NUNS have made for you."
Cathy's response was met with a scoff. "That's what they want us to think. Blaming this war on Galaxy is just an excuse to continue killing; defense contractors and politicians get to line their pockets on the backs of the citizens. War is big business, you know! Now, you've even got those kids over there to do your dirty deeds for you too, huh?"
Ozma smugly looked back at Cathy, "A conspiracy theorist…" Suddenly, he didn't feel so threatened.
Judging from her appearance, this bitch is probably some kind of scholar or teaches at the university. I'll bet that she didn't even take her "husband's" name in marriage, or her last name is hyphenated. These guys think they're so smart, just because they have a Master's or a Ph.D. in some subject that nobody gives two shits about. If you ask me, they just have a B.S. in B.S. Then again, I could be wrong about that. She could've just married into a rich family and behaves as if she's self-made. Oh, what it must be like to be able to live in a bubble of their own delusional reality. Yeah... That explanation makes more sense to me.
"Don't be so naïve!" the woman chided, "The facts are all around you!"
"Like what? Educate me," Ozma replied.
"Well, uh… There's, umm…" she appeared to be flummoxed at the question. She quickly shook her head and regained her composure. "Look, I'm not going to waste time answering that question when you can always just look it up. You should try reading sometime. That is, when you're not in an adrenaline-fueled killing frenzy."
Wow! This really goes to show how the lengths to which some people will go to keep their heads buried as far up their asses as possible. All of that talk and she can't even back it up with a single example.
Ozma stood up from his chair and faced his adversary; it looked like the line had just been crossed. "Get it through your thick head, lady: we're not killers, we're protectors. I don't like being in war any more than you would and I don't appreciate being compared to some kind of psycho."
The woman's husband reached across the table from his chair and gently grasped her hand. "Hon, just let it go. It's no use arguing with idiots. They'll drag you down to their level and then beat you with experience. You should have expected as much from someone who's only been trained to kill."
I can't believe I put my ass in harm's way for people like this. At the risk of proving their attitudes towards me right, I am really considering beating some sense into them. I can already feel my hands involuntarily curling into fists at my side.
"Cathy," Ozma said through his clenched teeth, "Maybe you should get everyone out of here for this."
Before she could even respond, the waitress jumped into the scene and grabbed Ozma's shoulder. "Whoa, whoa, whoa! Sir, please sit down!" Expecting him to resist her request, she calmly turned in front of him, patted her hand on his chest, and looked into his eyes with ambitious smile. "I'll take care of this."
Surprised by the situation, Ozma did, in fact, sit back down. The look in the waitress's face was all he needed to convince himself of her sincerity on the matter.
"Ma'am, these soldiers both deserve our respect and admiration," she began to chide her own customer, "Every day, they make the conscious decision to put their lives in front of our own. It's because of people like them that we were able to find this planet and make it our new home. It's because of them that you're still alive! And I'll be damned if I'm going to idly stand by and let someone say things like that to our great soldiers." She paused for a moment. It was as if she was beginning to consider the consequences of her outburst. "Enjoy your meal!" she angrily blurted, turning to walk away.
One of the restaurant managers happened to be walking by and caught the tail end of the waitress's rant. "What is going on here?" he demanded. Immediately, the waitress lost her nerve and sheepishly looked down at the ground as she turned to him. He aggressively grabbed her arm and dragged her away from the two tables to speak with her out of earshot of the involved customers.
Rather than stare down their adversary, Ozma and Cathy watched as the manager became increasingly agitated at his subordinate while she tried to explain to him what had happened. They felt badly for her, seeing as how she'd put her own job at risk to defend them. The whole situation seemed like a complete role-reversal. At some point, the manager began to calm down and responded to a call from a nearby customer. Apparently, this guy had some input on the matter. After walking over to speak with the other customer in the distance, they both began to look back towards Ozma, Cathy, and the belligerent couple at the table next to them.
Another minute passed before the manager and waitress approached the argumentative couple. The waitress was still very demure, but had a bit of a smirk on her face. She knew what she'd done was wrong, but she couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction. The manager, with every bit of seriousness on his face, apologized to the couple first, "I'm very sorry about this, Sir and Madam. Please accept my apologies for what's happened here. Your meal tonight is gratis."
The two customers momentarily smirked and looked back at Ozma and Cathy, then back at their waitress, who'd just verbally torn into them minutes before. The manager wasn't done, though.
"However, we'd like to kindly ask you to leave the restaurant now. We don't appreciate customers hassling other customers for any reason."
Everyone at Ozma's table was pleasantly surprised at this sudden outcome. However, the feeling wasn't mutual at the other table. Their smirks had quickly run away from their faces.
The manager continued explaining his decision, "We especially don't appreciate our customers disrespecting our servicemen and women like that. My father was a 14-year veteran pilot in the NUNS and he was most certainly not a 'killer'! Good day to you, Sir and Madam!"
The woman puffed with anger as she stood up and fumbled with her purse. "Well, I will definitely not be coming to eat here anymore! I'll be sure to tell my friends about this insulting experience as well!"
The manager confidently stood straight up with his hands folded behind his back. He wasn't willing to tolerate their presence any longer. "I said 'Good day'!"
"Hmph!" the woman scoffed as she turned and walked towards the exit. Her husband made sure to give them all a dirty look before putting his arm around her and leaving the area.
Breathing a sigh of relief the manager turned towards Cathy and Ozma. "I'm so sorry that this happened. I'll be sure to discount your check as compensation for this mess."
Almost in unison, everyone at the table responded to the gesture. "No, that's okay!" Ozma and Cathy interjected in unison. They almost felt bad for having been accomplices to the preceding situation.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, it's fine!"
The manager sighed again and nodded to acknowledge their decision. He took a step away, but halted and turned back towards them once more. "Oh, and thank you for your service," he said as he held his hand out to shake Ozma's. He did the same for Cathy, Alto, and Luca, before he moved past the waitress. She still had a demure composure from what had just happened. He briefly looked at her face and patted her on the shoulder. "Please don't do that again," he said to her with a slight laugh. He then left as quickly as he had come.
The waitress began to pre-bus her now-empty table. A large portion of her former customers' meals were still on the plates and it seemed like such a waste to have to throw away such carefully-prepared and delectable food. She turned around with her arms full of various dishes, taking care to avoid making eye contact with Ozma and Cathy as she walked past. However, she quickly felt a tug at the corner of her apron.
"Miss."
She turned to see Ozma and Cathy smiling at her.
"Thank you for what you did back there. If you're worried about your lost tips, we'll take care of it, okay?" they reassured her.
"It's the least I can do to show my gratitude for your service," she replied while shaking her head, "Thank you, though."
"I hope we didn't get you into too much trouble with your manager."
She nervously laughed at the fact that she's still somehow employed at that restaurant. "I was in hot water until that guy over there confirmed everything I had said to my manager," she replied, pointing out the other customer in the distance. "He saw everything as it happened, so he kind of saved my neck."
At that moment, the other customer was looking in their direction. He smiled, nodded, and respectfully raised his glass to the waitress, Ozma, and Cathy.
"I think he's got your tips covered, too!" Cathy joked.
…
It seems to me that the social unrest in this colony could be coming to a bursting point. This war and the stresses of building an entirely new colony are taking a toll on the civilians. I can understand that some people might have a differing opinion on things, but to just walk around believing in outright lies is extremely frustrating. I'm beginning to see why Cathy is doing what she's doing with Cal. She might be grooming him to be some kind of media attack-dog. I'm interested to see what he'll do when she finally lets him off of the leash.
The familiar Lancia Delta slowly crawled along the driveway at Ozma's house. A very light layer of snow was on the pavement, but it looked like Cal had cleared most of it off of the ground during the day. Ozma panned his head from left to right as he took notice of the results of what looked like Cal's extracurricular activities. Despite the fact that it was fairly dark outside, he could see something of a menagerie of humanoid figures and various objects sculpted out of snow and ice populating the yard. A large mound of snow formed a rudimentary wall facing the next yard.
What the hell has he done to my yard? My neighbors are going to see this and wonder what kind of nutjob would ruin his yard this way! It makes my house look so tacky!
He glanced into the neighbor's yard and noticed that there was a snow fort built in their yard, along with a couple of snowmen. Suddenly, it didn't seem like such a big deal anymore. There were hundreds of footprints all over the driveway, leading into and out of his own yard. The number of trails led him to believe that a huge battle had taken place here while he was gone. A smile crept across his face, realizing that at least Cal had enjoyed his day.
I guess he finally met the neighbors. I've been meaning to ask them if they can watch my house while we're gone. I need to make sure to take care of that before we ship out.
Waiting for the garage door to finish opening, he finally looked forward and saw that there was a heavy-duty string adhered to opposing walls inside of the garage. On it hung countless articles of cold-weather clothing. They drooped down low enough to rub all over the top of his car as he finally parked it, smudging his windshield. Getting out of his car, he had to fight with the suspended clothing just to get some articles out of his backseat.
There'd better be a goddamn good explanation for this. That kid is really starting to irk me.
Hands full, Ozma opened the door leading to his living room and saw Cal just sitting on the couch, watching television. A huge blanket was wrapped around him, practically taking up the entire sofa. Already annoyed by the scene outside and in his garage, Ozma glared directly at Cal.
"What is all of that shit out there?" he demanded.
"Shhh!" Cal hushed Ozma. He then tugged at the blanket next to him to reveal a sleeping Klan leaning against his shoulder.
Mortified by his outburst, Ozma quietly shut the door behind him and carried his belongings to the nearby breakfast nook.
Cal used extreme caution as he managed to separate himself from Klan without waking her up. He wedged some pillows and blankets against her to serve as a substitute for his shoulder and got up to join Ozma at the small table near the living room.
"Sorry about the mess in the garage, but your dryer broke down. I called a repair guy and they said they'd come out to fix it the day after tomorrow."
I don't know what it is about this guy. Every time he does something, it makes him look like a screw-up. However, the results always manage to come out in his favor, justifying his actions. When it looks like he's going to fail, he makes the necessary course corrections. It appears that he truly has the pilot's instinct. I already had to come to Klan's defense with her little stunt out there a couple of months ago. I kind of hope I don't have to do the same with him.
Ozma laughed as he started to unpack everything he'd brought in with him. "I was wondering what that was all about." He looked back at Klan on the couch, then back to Cal. "Did you guys have fun hanging out today?"
Cal smiled at the question. The answer was pretty obvious. "We successfully defended your house from invasion by the neighborhood kids."
"You two against all of them? Isn't that kind of unfair?"
"Yeah! For them!" Cal smiled as he looked back at the sleeping Klan. "You should have seen her. She was just amazing out there. It was like we were two kids playing in the snow." He stopped when he sensed that he was probably getting a little too mushy for comfort. "You know how you know when you're in love with someone?" he asked with a laugh, "It's when everything she does, no matter how insignificant in reality, leaves you with a sense of admiration and awe."
He's got that right. That's exactly how I feel about Cathy. I cannot possibly imagine the scope of the things she does in a typical day of work. Admittedly, I sometimes wonder why she'd possibly want to spend the rest of her life with me, but that's probably the way all guys feel when they've found someone special to them.
Ozma nodded in agreement. He unpacked a wine bottle and box from one of the bags he'd been carrying, piquing Cal's curiosity.
"What's this?"
"I had dinner with Cathy and the gang tonight. Leftovers…" he shrugged, "Here, help yourself." He pushed one of the larger boxes towards cal, opening it to reveal a delicious chocolate cheesecake inside.
"Nice!" Cal quickly grabbed a plate from the nearby cabinet and served himself a slice with Ozma still rummaging through his duffel bag on one of the nearby chairs. While Cal chewed on his first bite, Ozma nudged the wine bottle in his direction, inviting him to have some. "Wow! Cheesecake and wine! I feel so sophisticated!" He mockingly dabbed his mouth with a napkin, imitating someone of impeccable nobility and refinement. Cal took a sip of the wine from his glass and his eyes widened, "This is really good! I mean, really good!" He quickly took another sip of wine to help him chew the cheesecake a bit better.
"It better be good. That cheesecake and bottle of wine cost almost as much as your weekly salary," Ozma nonchalantly replied. He then sat in one of the chairs and leaned back, resting his arm on the table.
Cal immediately stopped chewing; he glared through the table and his face had a blank expression. At this point, he wasn't sure if he was supposed to swallow the food and wine. He sat back and started at the cheese cake, then at the wine in his glass. His cheeks were still full of food.
"It's fine!" Ozma chided, "I'm certainly not going to finish this on my own before we leave." He tapped his fingers on the table during the pregnant pause. "So did you even go anywhere today?" he asked, shifting gears on the conversation.
Cal finally finished chewing and reluctantly swallowed. "No. The snow pretty much cancelled all of the plans that I had today. Bell-Casse called me to tell me not to come into work. Cathy texted me to tell me to stay home." He laughed at himself for a moment. "I'm kind of glad we got this snow, then." He tilted his head in Klan's direction as he continued, "She showed up right after you left and we just had a blast playing out in the snow together."
"She didn't have to report for duty?"
Cal shook his head, "They told her they'd contact her when they needed her again. Seems that that snow has put everyone on a different schedule."
Lucky bastard. I would have enjoyed a day at home, fire roaring, cold glass of beer in one hand, lit stogie in the other. Oh well. Such is the responsibility that comes with my position.
"Well, I'm glad you guys got to spend some time together before you report back to duty. Speaking of which, are you all ready for it?" he asked as he poured a glass of wine for himself.
"Yes, Sir!"
After pouring, Ozma lifted his glass towards Cal for an impromptu toast. "Well, here's to good luck and success on our next tour of duty."
"…and to a quick and safe return home!" Cal happily toasted to Ozma's cause. He was honored to share a drink with his commanding officer. He was even more happy with the fact that he was the object of Klan's affection. That, at any time of the day, he can think about her, and feel good about the fact that she only has eyes for him.
In his mind, he replayed an event from several hours earlier where they were both together outside, taking cover behind one of the walls of their small snow fort. Snowballs sailed all around them from the kids in the neighboring yard. Just as Cal was about to charge forward on their final snow-borne assault, she grabbed his coat and looked directly into his eyes.
"Don't worry, I've got your back!"
The look on her face was one that he'd never forget… Despite the fact that it was a simple snowball fight, he could tell that she had and would always have the utmost confidence in his ability to succeed. She now sees him as an equal, as a partner, and she'd do anything to keep it that way. Together, they were unstoppable; together, they were a team.
Back in the present, Cal snickered to himself as he put the final piece of cheesecake into his mouth.
Things sure have come a long way since Cal first joined the squadron. I knew I was taking a chance on him back then, but I think things have paid off with dividends. All of those times Klan came bursting into my office because he'd pissed her off again and then me having to calm her down… I have to admit, I'd almost lost my patience with them both, but they managed to turn themselves around and come to a mutual understanding of each other. It's almost as if they had always been fighting to overcome their inhibitions and it just manifested itself as them always butting heads with each other. I had originally thought that they were just incompatible, but now… I see that it was just that they each complement each other's weaknesses.
Cal checked the time on his phone and hurriedly got up from his chair. "Damn, it's getting late already." He took his dishes into the kitchen and quickly washed them before replacing them where he'd initially found them.
From the looks of it, he's planning on getting up at his usual on-duty time. I guess I don't have to worry about him getting back into the usual routine.
Ozma watched as Cal cautiously approached Klan, who was still fast asleep on the couch. "Come on, Half-pint…" he grunted as he bent down to pick her up from her seat. Klan did little to respond to being jostled in her sleep. She let out a sleepy grumble and quickly wrapped one of her arms around his shoulder to cling to his body. He simply left her wrapped in the heavy blankets, taking care to not trip over the dangling corners as he rounded the staircase bannister. Fortunately, she'd already bundled her long hair up into a bun on her head.
I wonder, if they ever get to that point in their relationship, how they're going to get around her genetic disorder. Is he okay with her miclone form, or is he going to macronize himself to be with her? She's going to be expecting some level of physical intimacy from him at some point. She is, after all, a woman. I'm sure he has to be thinking about this already. As a guy, it takes a lot of self-control to not act on primal instinct when we see an attractive woman. It must be tough on him… on both of them, for that matter.
Ozma took some time to put the rest of the cheesecake and wine into his refrigerator before heading to bed himself. Just as he got to the top of the staircase, Cal's bedroom door opened and he emerged with the comforter and a pillow bundled up in his arms.
"You're not sleeping in your bed with her?"
"That bed is kind of small for both of us to be sleeping on it. I'm just going to sleep on the couch."
Ozma raised an eyebrow.
Is it too small, or are you just uncomfortable lying in the same bed with her?
"I would kind of prefer that you slept in your own bed so you'll get plenty of rest, but if you insist…" Ozma replied with a shrug. He turned away and headed towards his own bedroom. "Good night."
"Good night."
