Good-byes
Mo uncrossed her legs and drew them up to her chest. Her bum was starting to hurt. Maybe she should have booked a meeting room; then everyone could have sat around a table instead of on the floor in her quarters. But she hadn’t planned on holding a gathering to mark her twenty-fifth birthday—she wasn’t in a celebratory mood. She’d grudgingly agreed to an impromptu party to appease Les and David, who’d insisted that spending her birthday alone, or with only Les, could draw the wrong type of attention from her superiors. After all, it was her twenty-fifth. She was supposed to be beside herself with joy at the prospect that a Chosen Council courier could be waiting for her when the Falcon docked in two weeks’ time. Just last week an airhead in the Dance Hall had blabbered on to anyone who’d listen that she couldn’t wait to Join and start having babies. Ugh.
When Les had turned twenty-five a couple of weeks into the tour, she’d invited her close friends to a five-course supper. She’d booked the room and ordered the food weeks beforehand, at the tail end of their last tour.
Mo, on the other hand, had frantically beeped everyone last night to see if they’d drop in for a couple of hours, sit on the floor, and listen to music blaring from a comm station while they snacked on leftovers scrounged from the canteen. To her surprise, all those not flying a shift had agreed to come, including Ann. Mo hadn’t wanted to be rude by leaving her out. She’d braced herself for a string of jokes about her age, her Chosen not being able to see her, or other such nonsense, but Ann had been quiet all evening. Come to think of it, Mo couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen Ann with that new pilot she’d hooked up with. Maybe they’d broken up. Ann couldn’t seem to hang onto a boyfriend for longer than five minutes.
“I’m getting bored of the Falcon,” David said, dragging Mo back to the conversation. “The mock battles are fun and you guys are great, but I wouldn’t mind a change. Most of the pilots we started with have already moved on. Steve’s transferring to the Osprey after this tour, so that’ll be one more gone.”
“I hadn’t heard that,” Les murmured as she carefully dunked a piece of carrot into the vegetable dip that sat in the middle of the circle everyone had formed. Mo stifled a giggle. Les would probably prefer to eat with her right hand, but Mo was holding it and had no intention of letting it go.
“Most pilots only spend two or three tours here,” Jackie Quinn, who’d come with David, said. They’d been seeing each other casually for almost two years. David didn’t seem bothered that his Chosen Papers, or hers, could be ready when they returned to Rymel. It’s not as if we’re in love, he’d said when Mo had asked.
“I’m surprised you’re still here,” David said to her. “You even transferred here. Don’t you ever wish something would happen?”
She tipped her head from side to side as she considered his question. “Sometimes I think I want to see real action, but if it happened, I’d probably wish it hadn’t, if you know what I mean.”
Several heads bobbed in agreement.
“I’ll definitely be on the Falcon for a while,” Sheila said.
David’s gaze shifted to her. “You’ve never thought about transferring?”
“Well, I have, but . . .” She reddened and glanced around. “Well . . . I wasn’t going to say anything, but . . . well, you know Ruth went into fighter maintenance when she didn’t make it into the fighter pilot program. We’ve been trying to get assigned to the same ship, and we finally managed it. She’ll be on the Falcon next tour.”
“That’s great!” David said. Mo echoed the sentiment along with everyone else, but she couldn’t help feeling envious and understood why Sheila would have preferred to avoid the subject. Sheila and Ruth would reunite and could stay together as long as they liked. She and Les, on the other hand, could face the end of their relationship every time they stepped back onto Rymellan soil. Nobody was talking about that tonight, but it must be on everyone’s mind. They all knew why she’d only wanted a quiet gathering for her birthday—they weren’t stupid. She squeezed Les’s hand, but didn’t look at her.
“You must both be Solitaries,” Jackie said.
“Oh, sorry—yes, we are,” Sheila said. “I forgot you weren’t in the program with us. I made it into the fighter pilot program, but she didn’t. So she went into fighter maintenance, hoping we could serve together. That worked out okay until I was accepted to the Falcon but she wasn’t. She kept applying, but there never seemed to be a position for her. Then all of a sudden, there was.” She snorted. “All of a sudden. It only took four years.”
“Four years,” Jackie repeated, shaking her head.
“Yeah.” Sheila paused. “I heard a rumour that if your relationship lasts longer than three years, they make more of an effort to place you together. But I don’t know if Ruth finally got a position because of that. It could be a coincidence.”
If Les had been a Solitary, Mo wouldn’t have minded being one; she could take or leave children. But four Solitaries probably would have disappointed Papa. Mama too . . . if she were alive.
“Being separated from Ruth when you’re on tour must be difficult,” Les said.
Sheila nodded. “It was fine when we were both on 72. Sometimes our off days didn’t coincide, but for the most part, we were together. It’s been rough since then. The last few weeks of the tour are always excruciating. Every day feels like a week.”
Mo swallowed.
“Why didn’t you keep flying domestic?” David asked. “Then you could have stayed together.”
“We considered it, but she didn’t want to hold me back.” Sheila shrugged. “I wouldn’t have minded, but it would have bothered her. So I started going on tour, and we just hoped that it would eventually sort itself out. And it finally has.”
“I might apply for a three-year tour in a couple of years,” Keith, a former 73 pilot, said. “My brother . . .”
Ann waved to Mo, catching her eye. “I’m going,” she mouthed, pointing at the door.
Mo nodded to her and started to rise, but Ann motioned for her to remain where she was and crept away. Moments later, Mo’s comm unit beeped twice. She glanced at its display, in case the dispatch was from one of her superiors, but it was from Ann. What witty joke had she sent this time? Thanks for inviting me. Happy birthday. Perplexed, Mo slid the comm unit back into its holder. Maybe the joke was that it wasn’t a joke?
David was going around the circle, asking about everyone’s future plans. Mo half listened, wondering what she’d say when he reached her. As long as she was in a cockpit and with Les, she didn’t care what ship she served on. So she’d say something vague about wanting to go on a longer tour at some point. Nobody was taking notes.