Intervention
Lesley paused at the entrance to the pilot training complex and breathed in the fresh morning air. If not for her scheduled practicum session, she’d stay outside and stroll around the academy. While she enjoyed the training stints at Space Station 72, the arboretum and artificial lighting were poor substitutes for the sun, the breeze that coloured her cheeks, the trees lining the paths, and the flowers dotting the dormitory’s garden. She couldn’t fathom being away on a six-month tour of duty; fortunately, she wouldn’t face one for a couple of years. Perhaps by then she’d be used to seeing darkness whenever she looked out a window.
She strode across the lobby and swung open the door to the simulator wing. Only one more practicum before graduation. In three weeks, she’d become Sub-lieutenant Thompson. She’d been surprised to learn that graduating pilots skipped ensign rank. Defence valued fighter pilots more than she’d realized.
Lieutenant Leeds stood near the equipment counter, two helmets in hand. Leeds had taught several of Lesley’s classes, but hadn’t supervised any of her practicums. Lesley nodded to her, and the lieutenant returned the gesture. “It’ll be interesting to see what you can do in the cockpit,” Leeds said, smiling. “Of course, I’ll see you in action a lot more often from now on.”
Lesley didn’t know what she meant—a few sessions in the simulator was hardly a lot more often.
Leeds noted her blank expression. “You haven’t heard? I’m moving to 72 to supervise its domestic patrols. So we’ll be seeing much more of each other, maybe even flying together. I’m not one to sit in an office all day.” She handed Lesley a helmet. “Anyway, let’s get to it.”
“We’re not suiting up, Lieutenant?”
“No.” Leeds started up the corridor to the simulators. “Once you have the maneuver down, we’ll fly an intermediate, but that’s at least a session away. Did you remember not to eat?”
“Yes.”
“Good,” Leeds said over her shoulder as she hit the Enter button to one of the training simulators. “I’ll take the right.”
Lesley settled into the left seat and lifted her helmet.
“Not yet. You haven’t logged much time in this model. I’d like to review the controls before we start.”
“Yes, Lieutenant.” She lowered the helmet. Leeds was certainly thorough. Lesley’s other practicum supervisors had only reviewed the controls the very first time she’d flown a particular craft. She may not have flown this model often, but she had flown it, and recently.
Leeds leaned across her. “Let’s start with navigation.”
Annoyed, Lesley pushed herself back against her seat. Why couldn’t Leeds point out the controls on her own panel, clearly visible from Lesley’s position? Holding her body away from Leeds was uncomfortable and interfered with her concentration. By the time Leeds finished, Lesley’s muscles ached.
“Now you can put on your helmet.” Leeds lifted hers.
Lesley gladly complied, relieved to have some breathing room.
“Are you ready, Cadet?”
“Yes.”
“Ready,” Leeds barked into her mouthpiece.
The simulator darkened.
“Go!”
Leeds turned out to be a superb and patient instructor, though reviewing the controls had left them only enough time to run through the maneuver twice. “I’ll view the replay, identify areas that need improvement,” Leeds said after they’d turned in their helmets. “Why don’t we meet in my office before our next session? We can discuss which steps need work.”
“That sounds like a good idea, Lieutenant,” Lesley said, once again impressed with Leeds’ thoroughness and efficiency. Her other supervisors had always used the first five minutes of the following session to review the last one.
“Excellent, I’ll book the time. And well done today, Cadet. You’re a quick study, and handled the craft well. I’m very much looking forward to seeing you in action again.”
Lesley felt herself blush. “Thank you, Lieutenant,” she said, embarrassed but pleased. Too bad Leeds had only been assigned as her supervisor for this one practicum—they worked well together. When Leeds had told her about her move to 72, Lesley hadn’t cared one way or the other, but now she considered it good news.
Mo surveyed the open closet in dismay. All those times she’d tossed something into one of the boxes on the closet floor with the intention of dealing with it later had come back to haunt her. Later was now. She and Les had to be out of the room in three weeks, so if she didn’t sort through everything here, she’d have to lug it all home.
Three weeks, and then they’d no longer officially room together. They’d have their own rooms on the space station, a perk she could do without. Nothing would stop them from spending their nights together, but it wouldn’t be the same. Les would be glad to have her own closet, though. She probably wanted to scream every time she opened this one.
A pair of boots sat on the topmost box. Mo moved them to the floor, then lifted the box from the pile and set it down near the bed. She opened it with a feeling of anticipation. Several pairs of shoes, what a letdown! They could wait; she wasn’t in the mood to sort through them. She shoved the box out of the way against the nightstand and turned back to the pile in the closet. Now that it was shorter, she could see the top of what looked like a rolled-up piece of cloth, propped in the corner behind the boxes. Curious, she reached for it.
Someone knocked at the door. “Come in,” Mo shouted, turning. She felt her face tighten when Ann stepped into the room.
“So this is the love nest,” Ann said, glancing around.
“What do you want?”
“Charming.”
“Well?”
“I want you to link with me.” Ann avoided Mo’s eyes. “I’m having . . . well, I don’t quite have maneuver 16C down. Ross said that if I can’t demonstrate that I’ve got it by graduation, I’ll have to stay behind until I do.”
“So go practice it.”
“I have been. But I need someone to watch what I’m doing, give me a few pointers.”