(seven years ago)
The cadets awoke to a door slam.
She brightened her eyes and checked her tie on her uniform. The instructors liked to slam the door on purpose to keep the girls awake during movie time. Sleeping during class was not tolerated, nor was slouching in their chair. The assistant instructors liked to wade in-between the desks, slapping girls on their back, to straighten them, or for amusement. Nancy was always correct, she was never sloppy.
The classroom was lit up only by the television. The History of the Great Calamity was playing again. The instructors played this whenever the cadets needed to be disciplined, mostly for being too chatty. At least, that’s the way the girls saw it. Sometimes, it seemed they played the video just for fun when the instructors wanted to take a break. The girls had to sit up straight, awake, and in silence through the whole program regardless. Cadet Daisy had a ripple of snot slowly draining out her nose. She didn’t dare try to wipe it, and she kept her hands flat on the desk and face forward, as all girls did. That girl, Daisy, was always on the verge of crying and was always sickly. Girls that cry were weak. Nancy kept herself straight, silent, and still.
The last great war produced the super-virus, the “Great Calamity,” right on the verge of nukes being fired between the superstates. And it spread rapidly, starting in the Chinese mainland, and then through Eurasia. America was hit with her first case within two weeks. Each side blamed the other for the super-virus as states like to do. The positive thing about the virus, if a girl could see a positive thing, was that it stopped the war. The men on all sides were being annihilated, and there was no point in fighting anymore. Even now, the girls couldn’t agree on why the war started. After two months, the super-virus had taken the entire world. The men couldn’t hide, not even in the polar caps, as the male scientists there were affected and died. The cadets were supposed to learn about the morality of war from this program. And so the girls did, in a way, but the girls also learned that the superstates never gave up their nukes, not even when the they were taken over by the girls, politics continued.
Once infected, the men died within days, depending on their condition. Old boys went fast, but the younger ones could hold out for a week or more. They died with more pain. Within six months, every boy and man were gone.
On a Saturday afternoon in June, the last man died. It was televised for months after that, playing on television regularly, so every girl had seen him. His name was Hugo Flores. An avalanche of flowers surrounded his hospital bed, and network cameras stacked in as thick as they could. He was just a simple man, a farmer from a small village in Argentina. Divorced with no children, but his ex-wife was there holding his hand. Beside them was a sister in her habit holding her rosary beads. Sister Miranda would become the world’s first Mother Most Superior. Nancy knew that because it was always a test question. His death happened live, broadcast across the world. When he spoke his last words, that’s when the instructors liked to return, so they could search each cadet’s eyes for tears. They liked to shame girls caught crying.
“My mother…,” Hugo started, “I remember my mother ... she said I would be important one day. I didn't know ... I didn't know.” When his eyes closed, the picture cut to a blonde newscaster, barely functional, overcome with feelings. She only said, “That was… that was...” Then the picture cut to black. Nancy had seen this before, many times. All girls had, but she wouldn’t cry. Daisy would, she always did. Yet, the instructors didn’t walk in. Instead they let the credits roll.
The cadets all began to whisper to each other. Daisy took a chance and wiped her face on her sleeve. Then the assistant instructor smacked open the door, finally.
“Cadet Nancy Rose. Report to Commandant Primrose. Your mother is here to see you.”
The girls whirled around to look at Nancy. Some snickered, others looked with horror. Daisy sniffled and just stared with red eyes. Nancy knew a visit from her mother was a bad sign.
The commandant’s office was a long march. She took her time through the main square though, skipping over puddles in her black strapped shoes. No one was holding formations now, so it was a barren area, and she was all alone. Her mother never came unless there was something wrong. When she started military school, just a month after she bled, she got in a fight with a girl almost twice her size. At least that’s how she remembered her. The fat girl said something cocky to her and then pushed Nancy on her ass. There was no good reason for it, the fat girl just didn’t like Nancy.
“Roses all stink,” the fat girl had said, looking down at Nancy.
“Roses don’t stink,” that’s all she could think to answer her. Not witty at all, but she was just thirteen at the time.
Later, little Nancy found the fat girl in the cafeteria. She was eating and laughing between bites. Nancy remembered that she was with another girl, one that died by falling off a rope and breaking her neck. The girl was named Mary, a frail girl, the same age as Nancy. She also remembered the fat girl laughing about her too.
Nancy had moved through the cafeteria table lanes stealthily and deliberately, making her way to the fat girl’s table. Holding her metal tray tightly in her hands, she struck the back of the fat girl’s head with it. The fat girl reacted in a rage. Striking away with their trays, she and the girl sent potatoes and stew flying into the air. The other girls all started screaming. When it was all done, they were both being pulled away. The fat girl had a smashed nose, bloody and broken. Nancy had only bits of food on her uniform; she was unhurt. That was the first, and only time, her mother had to be called to the school. She was almost kicked out, under just one month, but the other girls testified that the fat girl was a bully. Daisy said Nancy was a hero. Her mother wasn’t pleased anyway. But Nancy got to stay. The fat girl was moved to another school. No one seemed to mind, not even the instructors, though some girls called Nancy, “hero,” with contempt under their breath from time to time.
The commandant’s office was up high on a hill overlooking an orchard of peach trees. Occasionally, while in season, the commandant would let the cadets pick their fill. But only the girls about to graduate could, for the younger cadets it was a forbidden fruit, though a thief was hardly punished if caught.
In her office, Commandant Primrose stood stern and joyless, but that was always the way she was. Next to her was Nancy’s mother, a faint touch of humor showing on her face, brushing her blonde locks back from her blue-green eyes, a beautiful girl, not dour or hard chinned like the commandant.
“Cadet Rose,” Primrose said properly, “Your mother, First Lieutenant Rose, has something to tell you. Normally, I would advise waiting after the school day, but she flew all this way here for an important message. A surprise.” Primrose almost wanted to crack a grin, but she held it back, “Therefore, well, Lieutenant, you should tell your daughter.”
“Nancy, you won,” her mother said, then snatched her off the ground.
Nancy coughed in the hug, “What?”
“You won the lottery, Nancy.”
She staggered backward after she was released.
“You are getting married, cadet,” the Commandant said, rolling her eyes.
“Mother,” and that’s all she said back.
Her mother was ecstatic, nearly jumping out of her low-cut heels, “We will have to hurry, Nancy. We need to plan. I have a mission starting next spring.”
“You’re going to the moon? Finally?” She didn’t know how to handle everything. She just shot it out.
Her mother just nodded, her happy expression warming the room.
“Very well, Cadet Rose. You may take a leave with your mother for the rest of the day and tomorrow.” The commandant stiffly walked to her office door with a very careful, well no one would call it a smile, Primrose didn‘t like to break face after all, just something less than a frown, “You have plans to discuss, I imagine, hero.” She said that like she hated the last word; then left the room.
“So, Cadet,” her mother said, “let’s have lunch and talk about it.”
The day couldn’t have been more perfect, when she thought about it. She was getting a husband, and her mother was getting the moon. She wanted to cry, but her mother was there.