Friends of the Sky
Epilogue: Azure

Death is the state from which there is no recovery. Love is what forever rejects that state.

A thousand years passed. Ten Ghost 205 fighters and an armored merchant came back to the Azure Moon in its azure light. Two thousand years the chalet on the smooth hill had waited, and all it took to look good as new was to have the dust swept from the balcony and the windows. They parked their fighters in the bay under the rooftop, while Tasmania alit in the icy front yard. The Tasmania cats, now up to a dozen, moved right in.

“Needs a few improvements,” Natasha judged, as she and the other pilots, and Kalkar and Padfoot and the quite pregnant Shawna Shelleen, stood in the empty galley. “Working kitchen. Hot tub.”

“Definitely hot tub,” said Apple.

“We need more bedrooms,” said Kalkar. “How much time are we going to spend here?”

“We are going to set up patrols,” said Rachel. “Patrols, of hundreds or thousands of light years. All of us will only be here together every, oh, couple hundred years? Couple thousand, maybe? And either we all go somewhere together, or six go one place and four another, and Tasmania goes with someone. Li’s going to have a baby? No prob. She and Tim just go with Tasmania. That’s my concept, anyway.”

“It sounds like an excellent concept,” said Kalkar. “Not one my dear Su Park would have come up with, but she’s dealing with her own problems. For all we know, she’s fighting the Ngugma at her end of the Arm.”

“In the year 15,000?” said Clay. “I wouldn’t put it past her.”

“Still, I stand by what I said. We need more bedrooms. Including some suitable for our tentacled friends. Having a shallow pool in your room—that actually doesn’t sound so bad to me.”

“We can do Ngugma lodgings,” said Rachel. “Heck, we got a big ol’ bath up on Five, you should put in one for your crew.”

“I’m not exactly sure what will be wanted,” said Kalkar, wrinkling his forehead and gazing at Shelleen, who rolled her eyes.

“Definitely more room,” she said. “And the ladies would love a bath. I don’t know what the gentlemen will want, but they can’t share.”

“You know, I get it,” said Clay.

“Yeah,” said Rachel, “but Clay and Tim are very cleanly and we way outnumber them so they have to behave.” She kissed him quick, then said, “We really are going to need to add a second wing, I don’t think we want to go higher than five floors and no one will want to be underground.”

“Oh, no,” said Shawna Shelleen, “you have to have a lovely view while you’re sleeping, of course.”

“More bedrooms would be great,” said Kalkar.

“More bedrooms,” said Rachel, tapping at her tablet with her right hand. Clay felt her left hand in his right, taking it, taking him all over again, for the millionth time, as her own. They looked at each other, smiled, then kissed.

“We know you only need one for the two of you,” said Kalkar.

“It’s not that. It’s just, we’re not used to having such a big bed.”

“I’m sure you’ll find some use for all that room.”

“Clay,” said Vera, “what did you mean, ‘now we see as through a darkened glass?’ How did you know?”

“Something I figured out about the way we see things when we get that close to the speed of light,” said Clay. “I don’t really get it myself. But I realized, this is how mouthholes operate. You don’t see them, then you do. It’s all to do with that sideways drop we took at light speed.”

“And the France?” she asked. Clay gave her a funny look, but didn’t get the chance to reply.

“So what do we do,” asked Apple, “now we beat the Enemy? I mean, I get that the Enemy will be back and all—!”

“The Enemy never left,” said Vera. “Either they’re still holding out somewhere in the Arm, ready to infect more systems, or they’ll be back across the Empty Lane in a hundred years, a thousand, ten thou. Either they’ll try and come through us, or we’ll see them from here trying to sneak around us. We just have to keep patrolling.”

“And we need,” said Li, “specifically, to clean up what may have been established at those points along the spiral path we charted, from Slime Ball to Armpit.”

“We keep patrolling,” said Rachel. “It’s how we stay young. It’s not magic. We go a hundred years to someplace, and a hundred more somewhere else, and we circle back to Azure every thousand years or so, and it’ll be three months later. Split up—Alpha goes one way, Beta, Millie-Miz and Tasmania go another way, we meet back here in a thousand. Find a spore flower, a bunch of mouthholes, whatever, we blast them. If we find an infestation, we message the Ngugma and they come whip up some astatine.”

“And maybe we get reinforced,” said Clay. “Su Park went a couple hundred light years back; any day now, new recruits might show up here. Skzyyn might have sent some Tskelly. I miss those crazy bastards.”

“I know you do,” said Rachel. “I miss Skippy.”

Kalkar, looking out the window at the big planet on the horizon, laughed. Clay said, “I miss a lot of people. But the thing is.”

“I’m glad it’s you guys,” said Vera. They looked around at each other: Alpha Wing.

“I’m just glad I get to be near you guys,” said Mizra Aliya.

Clay Gilbert grew up in Rockland in the state of Maine, on the planet Earth, third planet of the solar system of the star its locals simply called Sun. He flew shuttles into orbit and to the Moon, he listened to old music, he hung out with friends, he drifted away from his sort-of girlfriend, he read science fiction. Then he was hired for a certain job.

Now, by some measures, fourteen thousand years had passed. Clay was married and he lived in an apartment on a hill, where all his friends, all his co-workers lived. They were all married too.

Clay had been an Earthling. He was still a human, but an Earthling no more; he was not even a Bluehorser. He was a resident of Azure Moon, in the Azure System in the Empty Lanes between the Orion Arm and the Scutum Arm, and just down the street from the Milky Way’s central bar.

Two Earth days after their return from their millennial mission, the ten pilots and the crew of the Tasmania gathered, in vac suits, on the low plain of blue ice just below the chalet. There, on that airless world, under the black sky and the doleful gaze of the central bulge of the Milky Way, Mizra Aliya and Millie Grohl officially got married. Kalkar, of course, officiated. Afterward, they had their usual fighter pilot and freight crew party, but the real party was just around the corner.

Three weeks after the task force returned to Azure, ships were seen at the edge of the system: ten more Ghost fighters, a cruiser that was some sort of descendant of the venerable Abstraction, and twelve Fyaa fighters, along with a modest-sized Ngugma freighter.

“We were here four hundred years ago,” explained Captain Madeline Katz of the cruiser Serene. “396, to be exact. We came through Slime Ball, so we knew roughly what you would be up to. We found a scouting route across some nearer systems of the Arm that would take us back here about when you got back, and here we are.”

“After twelve thousand years of travel,” said Kalkar, “you deserve a nice two-week vacation building more rooms for yourselves. Welcome to Azure.”

“Hey Rachel,” came Bonnie Bain’s voice. “Guess who gets her first wing command under you.”

“Oh geez,” Rachel called, from patrol with Clay: the two of them had scrambled on first news of mysterious ships in the system. “I hope you brought Leith with you to keep you in line.”

“No worries about that,” called Jamaica Leith. Clay grinned at all this—and then his message light lit up again, and a familiar-looking, if inhuman, face appeared in a box on the right of his display.

“Clay Gilbert, Clay Gilbert,” a squeaky voice called. “I am Wing Commander Di’ivv. Fleet Commander Skzyyn sends his greetings.”

The new additions arrived and set down, and set about adding to the chalet. The Ngugma freighter unloaded a full cargo of technological gear and biotic material; Serene carried four new cats to add crucial diversity to the Azure feline gene pool. Everyone set to work. A month later, they had a second wing of the building, mostly without ruining anyone’s views. It was finished just in time for the return of Fonnggark. The new human pilots—Bain and Leith were the only ones born in the same millennium as Clay—housed in the new building, along with the Serene crew. Tasmania and Fonnggark’s crew took over the first three floors of the original building, and a basement that included a sort of Ngugma spa along with the squash courts.

Aliya got to be a wing commander out of the deal—she and Millie Grohl were paired up with a couple of twin girls of biological age 18 or so, products of Bluehorse born in the Year of Our Lord 5050. They were happy to report that as of that date, now (in some frames of reference) ten thousand years in the past, Bluehorse was prosperous and peaceful, trading with Ngugma, Fyaa and Primoids. “We had to come here to find a fight,” said one of them, either Kia or Kella (Clay couldn’t tell which).

“Well, there’s plenty of fight,” Vera replied.

It was decided to stay at Azure for a whole Earth year, to set up missile systems to intercept all the giant pods already en route from the central arm of the galaxy. Then the entire population would head out on long patrol, in three or four new directions, with plans to return in, say, exactly 982 years. But first, they would practice, and organize, and deal with the inevitable surprises of life, which took on a familiar feel even way down here at the base of the Orion Arm, ten thousand light years from Bluehorse.

Several months later, in the fifth floor bedroom he shared with Rachel and one of Kalkar’s grandkittens, overlooking the back yard and a long slope down into a cute little ice crater, Clay woke hazily of a morning.

He heard Rachel in the bathroom. He was awake, he did not especially have to pee, and the black and white kitten was not sleeping on him, so he got up, pulled on a bathrobe, and wandered out into the middle of the top floor, the realm of the ten fighter pilots who had made the journey together. Five bedrooms adjoined the central room, the apartments of five married couples. There were a dozen chairs of various styles, and three tables. In the middle sat a large round bathtub. Li and Timmis sat together at a table, in bathrobes, eating some version of French toast; Aliya and Grohl, in vac suits, were playing chess; Tasha, Vera, Apple and Izawa were all in the tub, dressed as one dresses for a tub. One of Kalkar’s cats, the black and white male, sat on the table and watched the chess game: in reality, the cat was avoiding the Tasmania, which was somewhat overrun with kittens.

“The couple that plays chess together stays together,” said Clay, looking over Mizra Aliya’s shoulder.

“I can’t let up on her,” said Aliya, petting the cat, “especially now we’re wedded.”

“Oh, you’re not letting up at all,” said Millie Grohl. “I wouldn’t worry about that.”

“Come join us, Clayburger,” said Natasha. “Lose the robe,” said Vera.

“Yeah,” said Apple, “Wifey won’t mind, she can join us too. Where is she?”

“She’s using the bathroom, if you must know,” said Clay. He shrugged and took off his robe, which he tossed over a chair near the tablet on which he was rereading the Witch Tales of some magic chick lit writer of 26th Century Bluehorse, who would be dead for 25 millennia if Clay ever went back to get an autograph. “I think she’s showering.”

“Is she?” said Natasha, with a bit more knowingness than Clay knew what to do with.

“Yeah, actually,” said Clay. “She likes to shower before she comes out and gets in the tub. Personally, I don’t bother.” He began to step in, and something made him turn and look at Timmis and Li, who glanced his way. “How’s the nausea, Commander?” he asked.

“It’s pretty much gone,” said Li. “I think we’ll have smooth flying for the next six months.” She laughed and looked at Timmis.

“Then all heck breaks loose,” said Timmis.

“Oh, she’ll be a perfect child, just like you and I both were, I am sure,” said Li. They both smiled at the bathers. “We’re going to name her Daisy,” said Li. “The place needs more flowers.”

“You’re going to beat Padfoot,” said Aliya. “She’s due in seven months, I think. Shelleen’s big as a house. Emily’s pregnant too, so’s Angele. Raea’s gonna have twins. Poor Captain Kalkar. That ship’s crawling with cats, soon it’s going to be crawling with babies.” She smiled at Grohl.

“I’m not going to,” said Millie Grohl. “Miz might. Commander, I mean.”

“Oh, possibly,” said Aliya. “You guys think about it?”

The four women in the tub scoffed as one. “Come on, hunkburger,” said Vera, “stop showing off your ass and grab some suds.”

“Ms. Santos, really,” said Clay in his best Su Park imitation.

He dropped into the tub, as he had done every morning (every 24 hours, that is) for the past ninety 24-hour days. They smiled around at each other, playing rather innocent footsie. The five pilots did not have the chance to resume their banter: the door to Clay’s bedroom opened and out came Rachel, wearing no bathrobe, her sensor device in her hand. She was grinning.

“Oh, let me guess,” said Vera.

“No, let Clay guess,” said Natasha.

“What?” said Clay. He looked at Rachel, who continued grinning. Her eyes were glowing. “Wait,” he said. “What?”

“Is it?” said Natasha. “Are you?”

“That’s what it says,” said Rachel. “Tasha! Oh my goddess!”

“Well, get in here and get your hugs,” said Vera, making space between her and Clay.

“Jeez, Clay, man,” said Apple. “You know what just happened, right?”

“I know nothing,” said Clay, relaxing into the bath. He couldn’t help grinning at Timmis, who grinned back, and they gazed at the women around them, the smart, talented, clever, formidable, murderous women around them, and out at the azure landscape and the Milky Way rising above it all.

THE END

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