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Their aircraft and vehicles are well maintained. They have regular formations and do daily physical training. Military courtesy is observed and enforced—salutes and greetings are exchanged. It’s a textbook garrison unit…not so sure it’s a combat unit or even a combat support unit…or ever will be.’ ‘Anything else you noticed?’ ‘Not a single hard stripe or commissioned officer who isn’t female. A few maintenance specialists and a handful of male warrants but essentially…petticoat junction. Their security platoon, what there is of it, appears to be deployed picking up trash and painting rocks white…and even it is over three quarters female.’ ‘Is that going to be a problem you can’t handle?’ ‘Just an observation, general. We both know that none of these folks went through even a realistic stint in basic training. It’s doubtful that any of them have fired a weapon since their last annual qualification—although I’m sure all of their personal and crew served weapons are well maintained. The reality of the situation hit her like a kiss to the heart, a light, carefree feeling spreading out from her chest. It didn't matter what the decor was. She was here. Attending the Pop Party at last, less than an hour away from her own snuffing. Sure, it was nice that no one online was likely to argue much over the decor surrounding her death, but there were more pressing matters. After all, there was only... how long left to wait? "Where's the clock?", Aja asked, turning her head slightly to look about. Erin helped, pointing over to one end of the room. A pair of massive picture windows showed footage of a moonlit grove, projected so well that from far away Aja almost felt it must be real. Between the two of them an oversized grandfather clock ticked away, ornate hands indicating it was a mere two minutes to midnight. Turning to grin at her new friend, Aja squealed in excitement. Smiling widely back, Erin stepped a little closer, clearly wanting to share the special moment.
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