Skies Over Tomorrow: Constellation (15 page)

Though she and Harris were good friends, they were also rival candidates in the Nzingha Project, and seeing the Casanova at work made her shake her head. He moved his hands one after the other, as if they were fighters, simulating aerial maneuvers. By the look of giddiness on the face of the young lady, she seemed impressed with the fable he told.

“Lieutenant Harris and I completed his flight exercises yesterday,” said Sankofa, “and—”

“Shut up!” said Chiera. In her peripheral vision a shadow crept from the right. She stopped and looked and found herself standing beneath her fighter; staring up at the nose of the fuselage, she smiled, feeling silly for almost passing it by. Taking a couple of steps backward, her hands found her waist, as her eyes rolled down the right side of the plane, into the air intake, up onto the wing along its leading edge, out to its tip, and back down its side, to the tail section. She was proud of it. Even more so, she was proud of the hard work that went into restoring its streamlined, stylish, and overwhelming mass. Every part of the plane was impeccable. “Be patient with me, luv,” she finally said to it.

“Lieutenant Williams!” the ground chief said, approaching her.

Chiera moved to greet the chief.

“Will you be taking her up today?” the sergeant said at the top of his voice.

“No!” she said. “When the finishing touches are complete, secure the fighter and make sure I'm scheduled to take her up two weeks from today!”

“Yes, ma'am!”

“Once that's done, dismiss your crew!”

“Yes, ma'am!”

“Relax for a couple of days or so! Your people have earned it!”

“We'll do that, ma'am!”

“Oh, and Sergeant!”

“Yes, ma'am?”

“I was planning to treat you guys at the Tavern, but I won't be able to make it! That doesn't mean you need an officer with you to have fun, so, enjoy, and thanks!”

“You bet we will!” the crew chief said. “Thank you, ma'am!”

“That's all, Sergeant!”

The chief presented arms, and after Chiera returned the salute, he dropped his hand, turned about, and went to brief his crew.

Chiera, striding back pass the ghost, headed for the showers.

“Lieutenant Williams!” said Sankofa. “I see no point in accompanying you to your quarters! I'll remain here to perform the Owl's preflight checks!”

“Yeah, you do that!” Chiera said over her shoulder as she walked away. When she reached The Landing, she felt she should not waste time walking the corridor, but it was the only way to dispel the shock of encountering the ghost. “Why'd he name her Sankofa?” she said under her breath, thinking of her father. She could not believe how closely it moved, sounded like, and resembled her sister, though its ginger skin was a bit pale.

She walked a short while before turning into the side hallway to her barracks. Appearing from the shadowy corridor into the bunker foyer, she once again approached the private on desk duty. Her hard face warded off any comments from him as he simply held out the ID register. It read her hand and unlocked the doors, which opened as she neared them, and closed after her crossing right into the locker room.

Chiera went to and opened her locker. Checking the time, she peeled off her watch and placed it on a shelf within the elongated cubbyhole. She then sat and pulled the scuffed work boots from her feet, sighing as her toes cooled from the open air through the sweaty socks. She stood back up and removed her grungy jumpsuit, turtleneck, bra, panties, and socks, and threw everything into the locker to be cleaned later. The showers were so close. The feel of hot water pelting her skin, loosening and washing away the many layers of sweat and filth, could not wait any longer. She had not bathed once in the months she spent working on her fighter, and the only recourse to her frustration of not being able to fly her lover was to put on fresh underwear after a nice, long shower.

The pilots' communal shower room was more like a sauna when Chiera entered. The steam from hot water wavered about, as the vapors churned along with the air current of the ventilation system. She glanced at a group of officers engaged in idle conversation around the furthest of the twelve shower masts in the chamber. She walked to the nearest vacant column and twisted both the hot- and cold-water, steel star-shaped handles for one of its shower heads. Beading water fell upon her, and she adjusted its combined temperature and strength to her liking. “Good,” she said, and rotated under the flow a couple of times, stopping with her back to the shower and enjoying its gentle massage of her shoulders.

Her ginger form was solid, like that of a bronze statue sculpted and refined to perfection, as she watched the water stream down her torso. It ran over her hips and down to the insides of her thighs, past her knees and over her calves, down to her ankles and heels, and onto the tiled floor, and on down the drain around the base of the shower mast. Indulging in the long-overdue soak, Chiera dawdled away at the six-headed pole, oblivious to when the group of officers left the shower room.

“Well, look at this.”

Chiera looked up, and then to the entrance to see Lieutenant Monty Harris. “Well, hey,” she said.

He approached her with a smile. “I see you're almost finished with repairs to your mech,” he then said, taking the next available shower head on the column at which she stood. “It's looking great. When are you going to take it up?”

“I had hoped today, but Torres assigned me the Owl to do two weeks of flight exercises—the ones you completed yesterday for the Nzingha program from what that ghost of Miranda tells me.”

“Yeah,” he said, “but I feel sorry for you. After all the work you put into your fighter.” Monty took hold of a bottle of body wash and a sponge clothe from the shower mast, as he then said, “Well, you'll test it out sooner or later.”

“I prefer sooner.”

“Be patient,” he said, lathering the sponge. “Besides, flying with the replicant isn't so bad. Interesting personality it has.”

“Don't tell me it has Miranda's personality.”

“No, it doesn't, but you should give it a chance.”

“I have no interest in building a relationship with some clone that has a biocomputer for a brain, no matter how much she acts or looks like my sister.”

“You're slippin'. You called it a she.”

“Whatever,” said Chiera. “Besides, why'd they build a gunsuit that requires both a human and a replicant?”

“I hear it's the most sophisticated mech ever built, especially with the weaponry it's supposed to have.”

“Who really knows?”

“Everybody except us, that's for sure,” he said.

“Why'd they even let Torres oversee this project?”

Monty looked at her.

“He's not that good,” she said.

“Then why don't you challenge him?”

“I will.”

“Seriously, challenge him, so you can die, and I won't have to compete with you to pilot Nzingha.”

“Ha. Ha,” she said and was quick to turn off his hot water. The bone-chilling spray chased Monty away.

“Come on, I was just kidding,” he said, reaching through the cold shower to the hot-water knob.

“What are you concerned about that for, anyway? You're ahead, and more than likely, Torres will recommend you.”

“Yeah, well, that's only because you had to repair your mech, and things will change once you've completed your two weeks. You are scheduled to go up, remember?”

Chiera mumbled affirmation, resuming her entranced stare at the flow of water down her body.

“I'm finished,” Monty said as he turned off his shower.

“That was quick.”

“Well, I'm not as dirty as you. Wash your face.”

“My face is still dirty?” Chiera said, rubbing her cheeks. She looked at the smudge on her fingers.

Monty smiled, and as he walked off, said, “Good luck.”

Chiera pulled a sponge hanging from the shower mast and lathered it with soapy liquid. She rubbed her face, washing away the filth. As the rich lather dripped from her chin, she adjusted the shower temperature and stuck her head under the spatter, clearing her eyes and face of the soap. She smiled as the lukewarm water sheeted over her. Pulling back from the shower, she again ran her palms and fingers over her face, and looked into her hands, and they were clean. She felt good and released a deep sigh.

Chiera turned off the water and looked about for a moment. Only the twelve shower masts kept her company, and she left them. Exiting into the locker room from the showers, she picked up a towel and dried her face, neck, and shoulders, and finished with the bath cloth by flipping it over onto one shoulder, all the while, walking the grated floor of the bunker down the right side aisle of the lockers. Then she stopped. On the low bench that spanned the length of the aisle, in front of the locker next to hers, sat the ghost of her sister. The eyes of humanoid machine glowed green from the projection of its virtual self-diagnostic check.

The lieutenant did not say anything as she proceeded on to her locker. She stood with her back to the replicant and opened the rectangular compartment and exchanged the towel for a fresh pair of panties.

“I trust you had a pleasant shower,” said Sankofa.

“Yeah, I did.”

“We have twenty-five minutes until our first flight exercise.”

“Really.” Chiera slipped on the underwear and pulled it up to her hips, and then grabbed her timepiece from the shady interior of the locker. “Damn,” she said, fastening the watch on after a quick read of its digital face. In a hurry, she pulled out and slipped into an athletic-style brassiere. “Is the Owl ready?”

“Yes, preflight preparations are complete.”

“I didn't think I spent that much time in the shower.”

“It has been one hour and thirty-five minutes since you left the bay floor.”

Chiera did not respond as she pulled on the elastic apparel of her gravity suit. It hugged her figure with a firm grip.

“I had the chance to inspect your fighter. You've done an excellent job.”

“Thanks.”

“Of course you should know that Major Torres requested that I look it over.”

“What?” Chiera said, pausing her dress to look at the replicant.

“Because you will not be able to run test flights for the next several days, he asked that I inspect it for certain probabilities.”

“What kind of probabilities?” Chiera resumed dressing.

“Primarily, I had to determine the likelihood of the fighter crashing from a mechanical or system failure, or both.”

“What?” Chiera stopped again and looked at her artificial co-pilot, its eyes still aglow from the virtual display.

“There is no reason to be riled, Lieutenant Williams. It was an unofficial report between myself and Major Torres.”

“It sounds as if he thinks I can't fly or something.”

“More or less.”

Chiera, looking over her shoulder as she suited up, stuck her tongue out at the ghost.

“Major Torres is concerned about you. Your file indicates you have not flown well the last few times you were up.”

Chiera ignored the comment and continued to gear up.

“In particular, the month before last.”

“Spare me, will you?” she said.

“Then I shall inform you that failing today's exercise will disqualify you from the Nzingha program.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Chiera. She took out her helmet and rested it on the bench, next to the replicant.

“Don't be naïve, Lieutenant Williams. There is a high risk factor to consider in today's exercise.”

“Isn't there always?”

“This one constitutes an 89.3 percent probability you will die, factoring in your performance over the last six months.”

“That we'll be killed,” said Chiera.

“No, I am the constant, repairable. You, the last pilot paired with me in this evaluation process, are the variable, and replaceable.” Sankofa blinked, turning off the virtual display, and as the green glow of its eyes faded, it stood.

Chiera stopped once more and looked at the artificial lieutenant. “Well, that's nice to know,” she said before heaving and locking on her flight vest. “You think you can guess my chances at surviving a flight challenge against Torres.”

“It's unlikely you would survive a flight challenge against Major Torres.”

“Ha.”

The clone was steadfast.

“Let's go,” said Chiera, slamming the locker closed and grabbing her helmet from the wooden bench. She, with the replicant one step behind and to the right, exited through the sliding entryway of the barracks, into its lobby, and down the corridor that led to the main tunnel.

Chiera's stride was graceful despite the weight of her flight gear, as she and the ghost walked to bay floor. She skipped into a sprint to meet and keep pace with a lifter, as she was not going to let it pass them by, and asked for a ride. The operator nodded, giving her a sign to jump on the cargo he hauled; he was not going to stop. Chiera and her co-pilot hopped on the freight and coasted on to the hangar bay. Once there, she put on her helmet to deafen the noise. Teeming and scurrying personnel seemed to tend to the maintenance of aircraft, gunsuits, tanks, and other vehicles, as well as the bay itself on a continuous basis.

An increasing pitch reached into Chiera's helmet and caught her attention. She looked and saw that it was the engines of the VF-27 Owl; a ground crew was completing final preps to the variable fighter. About to be carried away from the Owl's lot, the two lieutenants sprung off the lifter's load, as it rolled on its way, and maneuvered the bay floor to their plane's station area. Its howl was constant.

After reaching the Owl, Chiera and Sankofa saluted the crew chief and received his status report. They inspected the plane with a short walk through, and satisfied, they boarded it and rechecked the flight systems. Chiera looked out of the open canopy and gave the crew chief the thumbs up, who in turn signaled the guide. The guide then ushered the lieutenant to creep the fighter from its parking lot to one of three transit runway channels. At that point, the Owl received a signal to proceed forward. The VF-27 taxied through the intermediate tunnel, crossing two checkpoints; massive barrier doors at each closed after it passed, as it followed guide lights that sparked one after the other along the bottom corners of the strait, toward a swell of gleaming light at the end of the third and final section. The fighter and its pilots emerged from the somber sanctuary of the bay floor out into a brilliant and sunny afternoon, where another guide met the aircraft and directed it to runway 13, pointing to the southeast.