Part 4: Past Perfective
Striving Boronia Naval Training Center (''Perth, Australia'')
02.08.2731 (''September 29th, 1990'')
''Hold up, Cadet!''
Azanael shook her head as the head-shorter girl jogged up behind her, her white shoes tapping the wide flagstones underneath. ''You've got a long way to go before you sound like a runway instructor, Onomil.''
''And where would the fun be in that?'' Onomil slipped an arm around the inside of her senior's elbow and walked on, pulling Azanael onward. ''Four days without you is too long. You're done with training for the day?''
''Not yet.'' The rows of tall trees along each side of the path came to an end, leaving the pair bathed in murky afternoon sun. ''They gave us a break so they could reboot the simulators.''
''Same here.'' Onomil slowed as she came to a crossing, steering the dual parties past a cluster of first-rank trainees on their way to class. ''So... What's new on your side of the base?''
''Nothing really,'' the pilot sighed. ''My cadre should all be certified by now, but they've held us back for extra training a third time.''
''Let me guess - forime aircraft?''
''Yeah,'' Azanael sighed. ''We spend most of our time going over the performance models your analyst friends have been piecing together from recon data. Occasionally we get mock engagements against them in the sim-pods.''
''Sounds like fun.'' Onomil's voice was wistful. ''More fun than stellar cartography and EFD coolant temperatures.''
''You should come to one of the lectures some time - I think you'll change your mind after sitting through an explanation of exactly how a specific branch force deploys preemptive thermal-tracked munition countermeasures...''
Onomil made a face. ''Bleh.''
''That's it.'' Azanael stretched her free arm. ''Heard anything good from the forime-spotters?''
''Hm... Well, it sounds as if the Germanies are going to be reunited.''
''Peacefully?''
''Yes.''
''About time,'' Azanael opined. ''I can't imagine that sort of disunity happening here... I mean, that would be like the administrators of the north and south islands back home refusing to speak with one another - it just wouldn't be allowed!''
Onomil nodded. ''Anyway, have you thought about... it?''
Azanael didn't immediately catch the underlying message. ''Huh?''
''The ritual,'' the other Arume prompted. ''Will you do it with me?''
''Ah... Uh, Onomil, you know I don't really follow the old religion...''
''Come on.'' Onomil slipped her arm around the cadet's waist and rested her cheek on Azanael's bare shoulder. ''For tradition's sake?''
''I'm not even sure what I'm supposed to do...''
''You don't have to do anything,'' the younger of the two insisted. ''Just be there.''
Azanael turned so that they were face to face. ''Onomil, why are you pushing this all of a sudden? Has something happened?''
''I was tempted to make it a surprise, but...'' Onomil's greenish eyes usually had a playful, slightly perverted gleam in them, but right now they were eminently serious. ''I may get a fleet posting once my approval code comes in.''
The taller woman blinked. ''But that's good, isn't it?''
''I'm told it will be aboard the Fifth Fleet's new cruiser, not one of the carriers.'' Onomil bit her lip. ''And we see so little of each other even now...''
''Oh.'' It was true: such a job would be quite prestigious for someone of Onomil's ranking, but it would also leave no room for anything more than a tenuous long-distance relationship in her private life. No wonder she wanted to make a solid commitment now. ''They're selecting crew already?''
''A commanding officer, at least. It's Ekaril, from the - ''
''What, that crow-head?''
Onomil pursed her lips. ''You don't like her?''
''She's naïve.''
''Jealous?''
''Don't be ridiculous,'' Azanael retorted weakly. ''Anyway, the ritual... I guess it's okay.''
''You'll do it?''
''No good reason not to, and it'll make you happy, won't it?''
''Your parents won't object?''
''It's not a problem. You're set on performing it tonight?''
''Tonight, at the top of the hill behind the north dormitories.''
''I'll be there.''
The heads-up display flickered to life, the dull glow of its aging 2D display matrix sweeping over Azanael's visor. A tinny voice sounded in her ears: ''Ready, cadet?''
''Ready.''
''Review and confirm objective summary,'' the voice went on as rows of text appeared in the pilot's field of view.
Vehicle: Type 20-1 MRFB
Target(s): 2x [Mi-24V] escorting 4x [Mi-8T]
Objective(s): engage/destroy
Region(s): 25-40-40-89.35-76
Weather: clear/dusk/moderate wind NE
Approach: pilot discretion
''Objectives confirmed,'' she reported crisply, resting her palms atop the control sticks and flexing her fingers. ''Ready for launch.''
''Stand by for launch. Good luck, cadet.''
Azanael's stomach tingled as the artificial gravity system powered up, and then she was cruising over a sprawling mountain range with six dark spots just above the horizon ahead. This should be an easy run: she had her favorite airframe and free choice in her attack strategy.
Nothing to it.
Onomil couldn't stop giggling. ''It did a barrel roll? Really?''
''It's not funny,'' Azanael muttered sourly. ''Four years I've been training against that design, and all this time they insisted the maneuver was impossible... Now the snoops learn it is possible, so they program it into the simulator without telling us and let me crash as an example!''
''Only fair,'' Onomil pointed out. ''You have the best simulator record in the entire class, after all.''
''Meh...'' The pilot looked around as Onomil, clad in a rough-spun robe, led her further into the woods. She was grateful for the cooler air here, but she was starting to wonder if they'd be able to find their way out of here once they were finished. ''Where exactly are we going?''
''It should be close,'' Onomil replied distractedly, ''but I've only been up here in daylight before... Wait, this is it.'' So saying, she pushed between a pair of bushes and came to a clearing amidst the trees. ''Are you ready?''
''More or less. Um... was I supposed to wear something special, too?''
''No, no - I just borrowed this for convenience.''
''Convenience...'' The cadet pilot's tongue got stuck changing gears as Onomil, moving efficiently, shrugged out of the robe, hung it from the stump of a broken-off branch and advanced on her companion. ''Ah... Er... Uh...''
''You aren't having second thoughts, are you?''
Azanael kept her eyes firmly fixed on a tree across the clearing. ''Um, no.''
''Mm.'' Onomil's fingers glided over her throat. ''Can I do yours?''
Azanael nodded. Better to just shut up now than babble through the whole thing. Her self-control was up to that task, even when it couldn't prevent an anticipatory shudder as Onomil's fingertip traced down the centerline of her body, the seam of her close-fit suit parting in its wake.
''You don't need to be self-conscious,'' the other admonished gently, tugging the suit off her shoulders. ''It's just you and me.''
Another nod.
''Leg up,'' Onomil prompted. ''Other leg... All done.'' She stepped back, taking Azanael's hands in her own. ''You look amazing.''
''Th-thanks...'' Azanael could feel herself developing a blush of incendiary intensity. ''Did our ancestors really... do this?''
Onomil's eyes twinkled as she retreated, guiding Azanael to the center of the clearing. ''Should have taken that cultural elective after all, hm?''
''Maybe.''
''You're cute when you're stubborn.'' Onomil knelt. ''Here,'' she instructed, indicating her lap. ''Lie down and place your head here.''
Azanael gingerly stretched out, flinching a little at the feeling of cold grass on her exposed back. ''I though you said I'm cute when I'm angry...''
''Shh.'' Onomil closed her eyes. ''I'm beginning.''
''...''
There was a weighted pause before the petite one spoke again. ''First Mother, giver of life to this world, in whose footsteps we follow, hear the plea of this timid heart...''
Azanael found her mind starting to wander elsewhere as she gazed at the night sky. It was a clear night, thousands of stars shimmering behind the rosy veil of gas and dust which hung closer to her vantage point. She wondered what it looked like for the forime: they had no nebular interference to hinder their stargazing, but she'd never yet seen a picture of their sky. It's like the view from space, maybe? All those stars shining against a black void?
Onomil distracted her by laying a hand on her belly. ''...Grant her quick conception, uncomplicated carriage and painless delivery, and let our children be...''
That's why I hate the way people look at me... Jealous, covetous, it's all the same. They look at me like I'm a commodity. At 24, Azanael was the tallest in her cadet group - taller than most of the others by at least a head. In a world where more and more girls experienced stunted growth, their corrupted genes freezing their development halfway through adolescence, she was one of the lucky few, the grownups, the ones who were desirable for their ability to give birth without the nerve-wracking complications experienced by everyone else. Soon that would change, though. Soon there would be forime women, so many of them, to solve the old crisis... And then we'll be free to follow our own path.
''...For which you have our gratitude.'' Onomil opened her eyes. ''It's done. What do you think?''
''I thought it would be longer,'' Azanael admitted, sitting up. ''What now?''
''Now?'' Onomil was positively purring as she scooted forward and wrapped herself around her partner's back. ''Now that we've invoked the First Mother, it's only right that we consummate our bond.''
''Just like that?'' Azanael squinted. ''You're making this up, aren't you?''
There came the softest of laughs. ''You don't want to?''
''I didn't say - mmmph..!''
Words were superfluous after that.
Bebeep-bebeep-bebeep-bebeep-bebeep-bip!
''Yes..?''
''Azanael?''
The pilot sat up in her cockpit, blinking. She didn't recognize the curt voice on the other end. ''Yes.''
''Flight Chief First Class, Fifth Fleet Command?''
''No... I mean, I used to be, but I was discharged.''
''Says here you're still on the reserve roster.''
''...Who are you?''
''I'm with Personnel Affairs. Your... family told us we could reach you at this number.''
''Family?'' Azanael felt a sense of danger come on. ''What's this about?''
''Mobilization orders. You're to report to the training center in Nagano first thing tomorrow morning for service evaluation.''
''Tomorrow..? Do you know where I am right now?''
''I can check, but maybe you should just tell me.''
''I'm in Sarajevo. I'm also exhausted.''
''Can't be helped.''
No sympathy to be gotten from this one. ''I told you, I was discharged.''
''Doesn't matter. If you want to file for a deferment, you'll have to show up anyway.''
The line went dead, leaving one thoroughly confused Arume with a buzzing handset and a head full of questions, questions which would only multiply going forward.
It was the Ninth of March, 2016. The dogs of war were beginning to slip from their collars.