“I’m sorry, did you just say ‘watch out for falling angels?’ Sir? Sir?” Charlie shook the handheld comm several times before shoving it into her flight suit’s bicep pocket. “Good thing the Lieutenant was done. I see what they mean about military issue equipment.”
Butler leaned against the wall outside the comms pod in a poor attempt at playing casual.
Oh, it might have fooled someone who hadn’t grown up watching for signs of Father’s temper. She noted tense shoulders, the position ready to spring forward the epitome of coiled lethality, a pen casually twirling in one hand that served as an impromptu weapon.
“It’s the same everywhere.” He shrugged. “Standard equipment is just barely good enough.”
“I wouldn’t have known.” The words were sour. Her life might have been unhappily restrictive – and about to become moreso, had her father been able to marry her off to that aged haroom’zadeh successfully – but before she’d run for the spaceport and the stars, she’d enjoyed the benefits of wealth and custom work.
Such as wealth had been, on a planet she’d come to learn was considered wildly backward, but at least her jewelry had paid their fees here. Her mother’s indulgence for offworld tutors had barely covered the basics, and hypnolearning tapes had been all that had gotten her education qualified for basic training by the journey’s end.
Butler hadn’t been much better off. At least he’d been used to being physical, as part of her father’s guard, while she’d had to fight for every horseback ride and chaperoned promenade. His brow furrowed in a look she’d come to know all too well on the flight here.
“Nothing about coming here has been what we expected.”
She blew out her cheeks with a sigh, red bangs that needed a trim to stay in regs fluttering. Charlie made a note to take care of that before heading to their next assignment. “So. Ell-tee told me we’ll stick together again after training. I’m still shocked we’ve managed to stick together as long as we have.”
His shoulder twitched. “I might have some insider information.”
Charlie leaned forward, snatched the pen from his hand, and threatened him with it. “Spill.”
“Not here. Over a drink.”
She mused upon how far she’d come in six short months as they settled into the bar and waited for the bot to pour their drinks. Uniformed, physically active, and alone at a table with a man – even drinking. Although – she felt herself flush with mild embarrassment – a small portion, and barely alcoholic at that. Doora’s warnings about caution had struck home all too well.
Still, what had been unfathomable was enjoyable, even if she still wouldn’t partake without Butler nearby. She waited with barely contained impatience for him to return with their drinks before waving the stolen pen in his face. “Spill.”
He swatted the pen from its perilously close position near the tip of his nose. “First, we toast.”
“Fine.” She let out a sigh, and rolled her eyes, but let a grin peek through.
“To both of us heading to the 57th,” Butler said. He clinked his mug against hers, took a sip, and let out a rare smile of his own. “Known as the Fallen Angels.”
Charlie squealed, then cut her reaction to an excited whisper at his hand signal. “You do have intel.”
“I have RUMINT,” he corrected. “Rumors, put together from careless instructors’ tidbits, only some of which make sense, and none of which are proper intelligence.”
She waved a hand. “I’m aware. But all I have is a flight number and a masked planet name on the itinerary for my first military assignment. So spill. The details, not the beer.”
“No.” Butler leaned forward, his face grim. “You can’t get your hopes up. I swore to protect you, and that vow doesn’t end. I need to know that you can be independent, even if one of us is reassigned tomorrow.”
She raised her glass, took a sip, and – temporary courage acquired – pushed the mug aside. “On my honor as a Davarian.” The words coated her mouth like thick motor oil, six months foreign to her tongue.
“I think we’ve been paired.”
Charlie leaned in. “I have no idea what that means.”
“Rarely, two people are supposedly so complimentary that they’re partnered for special training. Which is what the Fallen Angels are known for. The first assignment that’s also a continued training and selection process.”
“For what?”
Butler shrugged and spun his mug in a circle of melted condensation. “That, I’ve no idea.”
***
Thanks for the falling/fallen angels, nother Mike! Check out what Marissa did with ancient space artifacts (and more!) over at More Odds Than Ends!
