First Contact
"Miss Shanesseigh?" asked the hawk-faced secretary, poking his head around the door and peering over his spectacles at the trio of stone-faced uniformed women sitting in cushioned chairs in the waiting room. "They are ready for you. Best not keep them waiting."
The red-haired woman sitting next to Sabine nodded and stood up, then paused as Sabine reached out to touch her hand. "Good luck, Meg," she said, giving her hand a squeeze. "Knock 'em dead in there."
Meg Shanesseigh snorted. "Don't wish me too much luck. You might be needing it yourself. Besides, I might edge you right out of the program."
"Eh." Sabine shrugged. "I'm not worried about that. You take my luck. I won't need it." The two women exchanged self-assured smirks that convinced neither of them. Sabine saw Meg swallow hard, felt her return the squeeze, and then let go. Meg adjusted the lapels of her uniform jacket and the position of the beret under her arm, straightened her spine, and marched stiffly out of the room and out of sight, accompanied by the secretary.
Sabine was left alone with the one other remaining woman in the room. There had been twenty of them at the start of the day, but she was one of the last two. This was the curse of having a clan name starting with "T". She always came near the end of alphabetical lists, especially since well over half of the planet's population had no clan name and had to go by their patronymics - patronymics which nearly always began with "Mac-" or "Nic-".
The only other remaining person in the waiting room had her nose in a book and seemed totally at-ease. She was a dark-skinned woman about five seasons older than Sabine, whose dress uniform sported the midnight blue jacket and crimson kerchief of a major. Sabine felt under-dressed in her lieutenant's black and forest green, though she was pleased to note that the major only had a single golden starburst emblazoned on her lapel. One in-space combat, the same as Sabine herself.
There was a fourteen-hour analogue clock on the wall. Its ticking provided the only sound in the waiting room. After a few minutes, Sabine found her finger idly tapping against her leg in rhythm with the sound.
"Are you next, or am I?" Sabine asked at length. The major put a finger in her book to mark her place and looked up.
"Almost certainly you," the major said in a husky alto. Her accent was crisp and precise. She was from the city, not the outer provinces like Sabine or Meg. "My clan name is Walsh."
"Ooh..." Sabine winced in sympathy. "That's unfortunate. I'm a Tolmach, and I already was near the end of every list at the academy. What I wouldn't give to be a Byrne."
"Or an Aalanach," agreed major Walsh, and the two women shared a grin of understanding.
The secretary reappeared a few minutes later. "Miss Tolmach?" he asked.
"That's me." Sabine rose to her feet, placing much of her weight on her cane - an elegant piece made from polished dark wood and inscribed with the Tolmach clan sigil. She adjusted her jacket, did up her top button, and nodded to the other woman in the office. "Nice meeting you, major Walsh. I wish you luck." Then she clicked her booted heels together and followed the secretary out of the room at a brisk march, her can making a rhythmic "tap, tap, tap" on the tiles all the way down the hallway, fighting all the while against the butterflies kicking up a storm in her stomach.
This message was last edited by the player at 06:46, Thu 04 Feb 2021.