THE MUNDAN EXEMPLAR
TOPICS FOR THE CONSCIENTIOUS RIGHTEOUS
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BUSINESS. Doloric fuel futures rise 2.4% following successful ARC advance on Cambodian footwear conglomerate. Casualties in the mid-thousands; forecast predicts increased profits in the second quarter of FY54. — Corporate investment in major THRONE foundries reaches all-time high. — Azrael Biologics and Seven Trumpets Technology Solutions compete for top spot. — Lifeway Conglomerate Int'l quarterly report reveals higher-than-predicted profits.
POLITICS. Rapture leadership proposes opening a path to citizenship for expatriates of UCF-Japanese territories. — Strong pushback from vocal members of the Democratic Ethnoconservative Party. — Heated debate between D.E.P. Rapture Seat Thor Archgun and Liberal-Fascist People’s Party Rapture Seat Brutal Ovdeth. — Leadership to convene for a decision at the May 2nd Rapture Summit.
WEATHER. Low 100s across the Northeast corridor; major flood warnings in New York, Philadelphia, and Boston. — Heatwave along the Gulf of Amerexico. — South Texas sun-hazard warnings as temperatures climb to the mid-110s; significant sun protection recommended. — Blizzards through the Gulf of Goldwater; temperatures plummet to −10 along Juneau, Anchorage, Seward.
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The Mundan Exemplar, morning circular, Axis Mundi edition, UCF 04/02/454
Mess Hall, UCFS Rumsfeld, low-earth orbit, UCF 04/02/454, 1230 hours
Flechette sighs, pulls up a newsfeed on her datapad while she sips coffee and munches on a block of rehydrated protein gel. Trinity’s scampered off on some errand — something about a routine implant diagnostic — and left Flechette several precious hours to herself. Trinity is — Flechette doesn’t really know how to sum up what Trinity is like. She grates on Flechette immensely. She feels like Seraph’s attempt to forcibly draw her out of what he certainly perceives as a post-traumatic slump. Exactly his brand of inelegant overkill, Flechette groans resentfully. She’s also an incredibly perceptive student — Flechette recalls their last lesson on battlefield strategy. Trinity offered a terrifyingly brutal and penetrating analysis of positioning and attack vectors, then ran an alternative course on the sim, lighting up the field with so many successful attacks that Flechette had to sit down, stumped, as Trinity broke into her signature cackle. It was brilliant. And — Flechette admits contritely — hot. But the 24/7 Trinity Hopeland blitzkrieg is also genuinely exhausting. And to Flechette’s credit, she has been making an earnest effort to mentor the little pilot.
So. Lunch. Flechette chews on her protein block. Unfocused. Sharpen yourself, little knife. Her eyes wander over the datapad, looking at the words but failing to meaningfully take anything in. The exhausted pilot slumps back in the cheap aluminum seat, looking up through the massive ferroglass windows overhead, at the bright blue ceiling of Earth high above, almost overcoming her with vertigo, as if she’s going to be plucked out of her heavenly refuge and placed back amongst the people of Earth and all of their messy intricacies. Under her breath, Flechette thanks Heaven for offering to house her.
I’ve got about 6 hours to myself. As Flechette wonders what to even do with herself, she realizes to her mild chagrin that she’s already gotten used to filling her hours with Trinity Hopeland. She absentmindedly taps on her knee, comforting herself with the familiar tic of deeply ingrained marching rhythms. The reality is that she knows exactly what she wants to do — it’s been picking at her like a buzzard since she smashed the datadrive.
Tang’s diaries. There’s something in there she needs to see. To understand. She hasn’t been brave enough to open them since that feverish night in Point Valley. The puzzle of it calls out to her, in Tang’s voice. Come find me, someday.
Back in her quarters, Flechette seats herself deliberately on her bunk, knees raised, instinctively protecting the datapad and her vital organs, facing the door. From her pocket, she slips the tiny drive — that precious record of Tang’s life — and slots it into the pad.
She immediately opens another one of Tang’s diaries. Comes face to face with her cross for the first time in weeks.
“Hey Flechette.”
“You know, I always wanted to be a soldier. Little girl watching the ARC guys march past, back home in ‘Nalo, with their shiny boots, slick tunics, pressed uniforms. God, I thought they were so cool. They’d give the keiki candy when we came running, brought us toys and books from the Mainland. I thought they were superheroes. I came home one day, told Aunty Leilani I wanted to grow up to be an ARC soldier. Oh, she wen give me lickens. Haha, god. She knew something I didn’t. I didn’t get it, at the time. I guess I didn’t get it for a long time. Carried that hurt real deep inside — why wouldn’t she accept my dream? Me, just a little girl, man. What’s wrong with wanting to grow up to be so strong, so cool, so brave?”
“Ahhh, she was stuck in the past, I thought. Next day, to apologize, she took me to ʻIolani Palace. Flooded with haole tourists, what’d you expect, eh? But you should have seen the place. Gorgeous. She looks at me, and I’m grinning my stupid face off, asking her who lived there. They must have been brilliant, to live in a house so big, so beautiful. She looks down at me. Crying. Only says, ‘Oh, she was.’ Later on, civics class, we learned about the overthrow of the Kingdom, obviously. Taught us the words to Aloha ʻOe. I came home whistling the tune. Oh, you should have seen the way her face scrunched. I thought she’d eaten a lemon!”
“I’ve been reading. I don’t think you know that. I’ve been trying to be pretty slick with it. Not books by the UCF. Old, old books. The world is so big, man. I thought I seen it all. But I been seeing it through the cockpit of a mech. It’s not the same. I think that what we’re doing — the soldiers, with the candy. They weren’t being nice. They were buying us. And you, and me, brother. We’re the two hapa guys that got bought.”
Flechette finds herself with tears streaming down her face silently, beautiful glimmering spots on the datapad. She sniffs, wipes her face on a sleeve. Breathes deep. Tang, oh Tang. Why couldn’t we have just talked? Flechette puts the datapad away, reseals the digital casket, and stares at the ceiling. Waiting for time to leave her alone.
Hours later, a quick rap on the door, followed by it being ripped open by a giddy Trinity Hopeland. Her face wearing that huge, toothy grin.
“Combat Op. Hangar 16. Now!”
She sprints off down the hall, cackling and whooping. Flechette gets up, looks through the doorway, hears Trinity’s calls of “Combat op! Combat op!” echoing down the hallway.
First combat op since — since then. Flechette clenches her fists. Worse than the dread, she feels an inkling of another emotion, seeping through. The taste of it makes her sick to her stomach.
Relief.