Shattered Lives
Lesley stared at her comm station’s screen in dismay. She’d managed three paragraphs in two hours. The case wasn’t complex; any other day she’d have already finished writing the military’s opinion and sent it to the presiding overseer. But today wasn’t just any day.
Someone knocked at the door and opened it without waiting for an invitation to enter. Laura strode into the office, shutting the door behind her. “Do you have time to investigate a tip we just received?” she asked as she sank into one of the guest chairs and crossed her legs.
“Yes, I do.” Lesley turned away from the comm station. “I don’t seem to be getting anywhere with this opinion.”
“I’m surprised you agreed to write it. Isn’t Mo coming back today?”
“Yes.” The Falcon had docked with Space Station 72 an hour and five minutes ago, to be exact. Mo would soon be sitting in a conference room at the shuttle base. Would one of the couriers call her name? Lesley swallowed and tried to focus on the conversation.
“If you’d asked me to, I would have told Blair you were busy.”
Lesley couldn’t blame Laura for doubting her. The first time Mo had returned to Rymel after their separation, Lesley had agreed to write an opinion, wanting to keep herself occupied. What a mistake! She’d almost missed the deadline, and reading the opinion now would probably horrify her.
“You said you’d never try to write an opinion when Mo was on leave again. I remember it clearly. You said Interior supply patrols, yes, Defence supply patrols, yes, investigate tips, yes, opinions, no.” Laura ticked off each point on her fingers.
“I have almost a month to write this one, and it’s straightforward.”
Laura raised an eyebrow. “And you decided to start it today?”
Lesley sighed. “I know, bad idea.” By now she should have accepted that her brain stopped functioning when Mo returned and only started working again when she left. At least that had been the case for Mo’s past two leaves, and it looked as if her third would have the same effect. Three tours . . . almost two years . . . “I don’t know if I want her to get her Papers today or not. Part of me wants to stop living in limbo.”
“And the other part?”
Lesley hesitated, but only for a second. “The other part doesn’t want it to be over.” Two years ago she never would have been that honest with Laura. But somewhere along the way, they’d become friends, despite the almost twenty-year difference between them. Lesley had grown so close to the Finney family that she’d stayed with them the last time Mo was on leave. Mo had bunked at the Military Academy over her first leave and, as far as Lesley knew, would do the same for this one. According to Michael, she couldn’t stay on the Middleton estate, not with Lesley so close. Wanting to be fair, Lesley had told Michael that they’d alternate, that she’d stay at the Military Academy the next time. But Laura’s invitation had changed her plans. You can use my son’s room—he’s at the Indoctrination Academy. And no, I’m not offering so I can keep my eye on you. I know I can trust you. The sentiment was mutual, hence her honesty. “I do know it’s over, but I guess I won’t fully accept it until the Chosen Council makes it official.”
“You’re twenty-seven now. That’s the average age for Papers, so you might get them soon, before Mo does.”
Ideally she would, and while Mo was on tour. The notification party, the fuss, the “celebration,” it would all be over by the time Mo returned. Lesley had decided that she wouldn’t live on the Thompson estate, even if she were the Principal. It wouldn’t be fair to Mo and their Chosens and would be a disaster in the making.
Laura uncrossed her legs and leaned forward. “I know this doesn’t mean much, but you’re doing all right, and she’s doing all right. Life did go on.”
Perhaps, but it had lost its spark. Yes, she could become absorbed in writing an opinion or forget for an hour while she investigated a tip, but the ache was always there. She thought of Mo first thing in the morning, when she closed her eyes at night, and numerous times throughout the day. So many reminders . . . something would catch her eye or ear, and the ache would flare into an unbearable pain. She was trying to keep an open mind about building a life with her Chosen, but that life would be one gigantic lie. Lesley had learned that she could exist without Mo, but couldn’t live without her.
But enough with the self-pity; it wouldn’t change anything. “Life did go on and I have a tip to investigate,” she said to steer the conversation away from Mo, though she knew she wasn’t fooling Laura. “What is it, exactly?”
Laura played along. “A counsellor sent us a dispatch. Apparently she’s received a fair number of new clients lately, all coming from the same counsellor, who’s Joined.”
Lesley waited for more, then said, “That’s it?”
“Well, we do prefer that everyone err on the side of contacting us,” Laura said. “And I doubt anything can top the one I investigated last week.”
Lesley chuckled.
“How much time do we spend at the Indoctrination Academy role-playing all sorts of scenarios?” Laura stood. “Months! And people still don’t understand what’s considered flirting under CT21. I rushed all the way to A3 because someone said, ‘I like the colour of your shirt.’”
Lesley chuckled again. The dispatch had made it sound as if two Rymellans had been caught in the act.
“But better that than someone turning a blind eye.” Laura blew out some air, then pulled out her comm unit and tapped at its keys. “I’ve just sent you the dispatch.”
Lesley turned back to her comm station and skimmed the missive. Sector B4. She flicked off the monitor and rolled back her chair. “I’m on my way.” With luck, investigating the tip would distract her for an hour or two. She’d already arranged to spend the evening with Karen, William, and her new nephew, Richard, and would be busy with supply assignments over the next three weeks. So perhaps she’d already weathered the toughest day and the rest of Mo’s leave would be easier to bear.
As she reached for her cloak, the ache that dogged her every moment mocked her.
Mo clapped for the officer waving an envelope in the air and stared at the single remaining courier. Please, please, let him call my name. He stepped up to the microphone and peered at the envelope in his hand. “Lieutenant Steven Hughes.” An officer three rows in front of her leaped to his feet and bounded down the aisle. She clapped again and blinked back tears.
“Thank you, everyone, and congratulations to all who received their Papers today,” said the lieutenant who’d opened the meeting. “Dismissed.”
She remained seated while everyone ripped open envelopes or rose to leave the room. To whom did she have to beg to receive her Papers? She’d get down on her knees in front of them, if that was what it took. She didn’t know how she’d bear another six months without Les. Sure, she could still get her Papers before she left for her next tour, but the chances of that were slim. Of course, Les could get hers anytime. No, she couldn’t; not if they were Chosens, and they were. So why hadn’t they received their Papers? Les was already twenty-seven, and Mo would be soon. What was the delay? They could have had a daughter by now, instead of sitting around waiting for life to resume. Wasn’t that the point, to have children strong in the Way? So where were their flaming Papers? Where were they?