Milestones

by Hensley, Alta

  For a reason no one could explain, squad trainees who made it through the preliminary registration earned the nickname of “squivet,” often said with envy by the “nuevets,” or the later applicants who had to pass tests to earn acceptance on the squad. Squivets and nuevets had equal status on the squad, at least technically, but squivets had seniority. While the nuevets labored through obstacle courses and fainted from exhaustion in preparation for their tests, squivets studied First Responder ethics, etiquette, and the chains of command. For every nuevet who graduated as a cadet First Responder, five failed the entrance tests and four more quit before taking them. Squivets, on the other hand, rarely dropped out before graduation. Squivets were the elite, the chosen. Nuevets were the passengers in steerage, battling for each inch of space while squivets rested secure on the top deck.

  “Medical!” barked the recruiter, throwing a red bandana at her. Nonplussed, Karie held up the fabric until she noticed a cluster of girls crowded around another station. All had tied their hair back with the cloth, and white-coated women handed out paper gowns.

  “What?” sputtered Karie to no one in particular, but the girl next to her jerked her elbow.

  “Shh! Don’t talk back, or they’ll kick you out.”

  Karie accepted the tiny, flimsy garment and made a face. She hadn’t come this far only to lose her chance now. She gritted her teeth, stepped out of her clothing, and fastened her hair with the bandana. The white garment, little bigger than a camisole, barely reached her hip bones. Karie flushed as scarlet as her headband.

  Her neighbor yanked her shirt off without embarrassment, and Karie couldn’t help staring at the smooth, shapely curves of the girl’s torso. Karie was strong, but washboard firm rather than curved in the right womanly places. The girl tugged the creased paper gown over her head, wisps of brown hair falling into her eyes. Karie’s breath quickened, and then she looked away.

  “You’re next, Tace!” a girl called, and the brunette flipped her hair into a tight bandana ponytail before walking away. The sea of girls parted for her, and she reached the head of the line. Karie’s gaze couldn’t help following the sway of Tace’s walk, the voluptuous ripple of well-toned bottom cheeks playing peek-a-boo from underneath the flimsy paper covering. Karie licked her lips, wanting to turn away but held in place by some unspoken magnetic power.

  “Last call!” barked the recruiter, and Karie blinked. She couldn’t miss the squivet deadline, not after coming this close!

  She fumbled with her clothes, closing her eyes so she wouldn’t have to see her body’s angles that jutted like those of a teenage boy. On the cusp of marriage, she still looked like the child Kar instead of the adolescent Karie. Would she ever grow into her adult name?

  She knotted the bandana and closed her eyes to make a silent wish.

  “Hey, new girl!”

  Startled, Karie opened her eyes. Tace gave a shrug, a tiny movement of her lean, muscled arm and shoulder. Mesmerized, Karie walked forward. The girl tugged at the hem of Karie’s gown, her cool knuckles brushing against Karie’s quivering skin.

  “She’s with me,” Tace said, and Karie knew it was so.

  ****

  “I don't understand this,” the girl whined, and Sori shook off a rising irritation. She had spent most of her lunch hour going over the most basic tenets of Bastian faith, the explanation of the creed every child learned from the cradle.

  “It's simple,” Sori said, biting back her frustration. She had to submit a report to the Bastil by the end of the day, and Roscel wanted a conference on her new research. Something about the roles of the child whip-bearers for the marriage ceremony. “The second article explains why—”

  “I know all that!” Petulant and impatient, the first-year student slapped her book. “If you're not going to teach me, I'll get my Dis to tell Fathille you didn't do your job.”

  Fathille, the Head of the Bastil that governed Bastia, ruled supreme. If this girl were anyone else's daughter, no one would permit this kind of attitude. Particularly when Sori's department wanted to apply for special research status, every member had to stay in the good graces of Fathille and everyone else connected to the Bastil.

  “I apologize.” Sori tried to infuse some semblance of sincerity into her words. Duty above all. “I have explained to you the best I can, and I am unsure how else to instruct you. How may I be of use?”

  “Go over it again, but make it easier this time.”

  Sori closed her eyes and focused on the counting exercise Dis Novia had taught her to use each time she lost control of herself. 1... Basti. 2... Basti. 3... Bastia. By saying the name of the deity she served, Sori calmed her anger. “A true servant of Basti is not proud or arrogant,” she had studied in the scriptures. Often quoted from childhood, she had absorbed its message as best as she could. A true servant of Basti put her needs aside to do her duty to her superiors and subordinates alike, and she did not allow passion to get in the way.

  “When Basti first walked on the earth, she blossomed in a shimmering ball of light,” Sori said, focusing on her restored equanimity. “She created us to serve her first and to care for each other. She gave us these articles of faithto help us do that better.”

  The girl frowned. “I don't have to serve anyone,” she contradicted.

  Sori thought to herself that the girl might be better off if she did. Sori didn't like many of the requirements of Bastian law, but she had dedicated her life to understanding it, researching it, and conveying Basti's will as best as she could. “This might go a little faster if you let me finish,” Sori suggested, one eye on the clock. Roscel would not be pleased if she had to cancel their appointment.

  “That does it!” the girl exclaimed, grabbing her books and stomping toward the door. “I'm going to tell Dis, and you'll be sorry for not treating me better!”

  Sori put her head in her hands. She massaged her aching temples and focused on her counting. 1... Basti. 2... Basti. Why did Basti hate her so much as to send these tribulations her way?

  “I'm sorry,” she said immediately, lifting her hands in prayer. “I didn't mean it. Just... Basti!”

  Sori smiled to herself ruefully. Praying and apologizing probably were cancelled out by her swearing, but she would get there eventually. Would she ever be as calm and in control of herself as her Dis? Maybe not, but all she could do was try.

  Chapter Two

  “Dis, I'm so sorry, I got caught up and Roscel wanted to go through her paper again...”

  Sori burst into the front hallway of her home, only to be greeted by a thundercloud.

  “Sori! Are you all right?” Her Nur came toward her, only to be silenced by her Dis.

  “I came home as soon as I could.” She had arrived later than usual, but why were they so upset?

  “Sori of Nov, how could you disgrace us like this?” Novia stared at her from her heavy, upholstered armchair. Sori gulped at the sight of it.

  “Because I was late? But—but...or did...” Sori stammered, terrified Fathille's horrible daughter had already made contact. Would she lose her job? Oh, why had her supervisor ever given her that cursed task in the first place? Everyone knew Sori liked books better than people. She shouldn’t be held responsible for mistakes with people. Especially rotten ones.

  “Your Nur and I waited forty minutes for you to show up for your meeting with your future Nur,” Novia said, and Sori's stomach dropped to the floor.

  “Was that today?” she asked feebly, not needing anything more than Novia's grim silence for confirmation. “I'm sorry, I'll go and apologize, and...”

  “Not good enough,” Novia snapped. “The girl ran off and who knows where she went. Do you understand the shame you've brought upon our House? I should take you to the home altar and...”

  “Oh please, no!” Sori sank to her knees in front of her Dis. “Forgive me, for I have sinned and am unworthy.”

  Her Nur came closer. “Novia, she forgot. She's been under so much pressure lately, and...”
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  Novia sighed, and the weight of her sigh hurt more than her anger. Sori remained kneeling, praying for lenience. Yet she knew, as she always had, what her Dis would say.

  “Other people make mistakes,” Novia began, as Sori knew she would. “The House of Nov does not. Do you understand me, Sori?”

  “Yes, Dis,” Sori whispered, trembling. She had only felt the switch on a handful of occasions, but each one instilled enough fear to keep her from committing any sin a second time. “Please forgive me.”

  The awful silence lasted for several agonizing minutes. Uncharacteristically, Novia leaned forward and took Sori by the shoulder. “You are special,” she said. “You have been given a gift like no one else, and your calling is to serve Bastia.”

  Sori blinked back tears. She had heard Novia's promises since childhood, but never before had they sounded like a rebuke.

  “When you leave this House, you will have to guide, shape, and correct your Nur to follow Basti's will. In order to do that, you must be perfect.”

  I can't be perfect! Sori wailed inside where no one could hear. “Yes, Dis,” she answered.

  “When I punish you tonight—”

  Here, both Sori and her Nur gasped.

  “I said when I punish you tonight, I want you to feel every lash and remember what it means to be chosen of Basti. When you correct your own Nur, you must never allow your personal feelings to sway you from your duty.”

  Sori had to marry because it was the duty of every citizen in Bastia, except for some exceptions, but she couldn't imagine herself ever raising a hand to her life partner. “I don't want to correct anyone,” she whispered. Novia shook her head before she finished her sentence.

  “Enough of being a child. You will become an adult in a few weeks' time, and you will perform your duties to your Nur. Or you will be subject to the Bastil for a Pun of your own.”

  Sori nodded and rose to her feet, recognizing the closing cadence of the last words. She waited for Novia to stand, and she followed at a respectful distance.

  I will do better, she vowed to herself. I will live up to my duty.

  ****

  “No!” Too old to shout, Karie raised her voice. “I will not marry her! You saw how she shamed us. She refused to show up!” She stormed around the living room, kicking at chairs and tables. “I’m a squivet. Don't you understand what that means? I've got a real chance to be someone important!”

  Unthinking, Karie shivered with the electric thrill of skin against skin, a sensation that still sent rivulets of pleasure every time she took out the memory. She hadn't understood what it meant to become an adult until Tace, that amazing girl Tace, had smiled at her that afternoon and told her to “Come here.” She felt grown-up in all of the right ways, confident and powerful. She would kick booty and conquer every idiot who tried to introduce crime to Bastia. No one would get hurt on her watch, not when every bad guy quaked in fear at Karie the First Responder.

  “We raised you better than this!” Tanatha did shout, until a glance from Gritel made her draw in an angry breath. “I apologize for shouting, Karie. But you will not dictate what happens to you. You have a duty.”

  “Who gives a flying frapel about duty?”

  “Karie.” This time Gritel's voice broke in, shocked and wounded.

  Karie grew quiet. “Frapel,” a vulgar term for a woman's private parts, was a word reserved for the coarsest of company. Some of the recruits that day had tossed the word around, and Karie wanted to talk the way they did. She had overstepped the line.

  “I apologize, Nur.” She had to struggle to make her voice respectful, but she accomplished it. “I should not have brought that language into our House.”

  “Is that what those ruffians taught you?” Perspicacious as always, Tanatha narrowed her eyes at her daughter. “You know our objections.”

  The First Responders were rough, but they had to be. They fought in the most dangerous of situations, and they dealt with the worst of society. Karie's genteel parents might sniff at the First Responders, but no one in Bastia would remain safe without them.

  “We taught you better,” Tanatha said, and Karie lowered her head. They had. The first item on the First Responders' code of conduct was respect for authority. In order to perform their duties, all First Responders swore to obey authority.

  “I was wrong, Dis,” Karie repeated. “But please don't make me marry Sori. I don't want to get married.”

  She knew it was foolish as she said it. The duty of each citizen of Bastia? To marry and serve Basti from within the structure of family. “Please.” her voice trailed off.

  ****

  “When you accept the whip from the whip-bearer, you must nod to acknowledge him.”

  Sori's head spun with the endless details to memorize. “What if I forget?” she asked, but Novia's disbelieving stare silenced her.

  “You must raise the whip while turning toward the statue of Basti, but do not turn your back on Fathille. A forty-five degree angle, like this.” Novia demonstrated, turning halfway to an imaginary statue and halfway to the presiding Head of the Bastil. “Wait ten seconds, no more or less, for silent prayer until Fathille offers her blessing. Karie will present herself for the whipping.”

  Sori cringed. The Mar was bad enough without inflicting pain on an innocent girl for no reason.

  “Just one lash will do, to symbolize your power as her Dis. Remember, if she does not feel pain she will never learn to respect you.”

  Sori made an impatient movement. Respect, pain, fear, duty. How could Karie ever learn anything but to hate her? Why did Sori have to be the messenger of chastisement?

  “Can't I give her a tap, the way others do?” she asked. “When Roscel got married, she didn't have to whip her Nur.”

  Novia turned another disbelieving stare toward her. “Roscel is not of the House of Nov.”

  “Yes, Dis.” Sori sighed. “How long do I wait after the lash?”

  “Fathille will raise her arms for prayer,” Novia answered. “Karie will rise, and her Nur will assist her in replacing her clothing. Her Dis will present her to you and kneel in submission.”

  Sori hated that part even more than the whipping, if it were possible. Dis Tanatha outranked Sori, still not yet an adult. “Why?” she complained. “It'll be embarrassing.”

  “Because Dis Tanatha will acknowledge your sovereignty over your Nur.” Novia drummed her fingers on the edge of her armchair. “Karie will never learn to respect you unless you become worthy of her respect. By accepting Dis Tanatha's submission, you pledge to honor and care for Karie for the rest of her life.”

  Sori swallowed hard. She struggled to fulfill all the responsibilities in her lab: how could she be responsible for an entire human being? “And then?”

  Novia smiled. “And then Fathille will bless you with your adult names, and you will be announced to the Assembly.”

  As much as Novia had prepared her for the ceremony in their daily talks, Sori still could not imagine walking out of the Assembly as an adult, with an adult name, and walking to an adult House of her very own. The House of Sor! She shivered, imagining it.

  “What if I mess up?” she asked, fearful, and she knew the answer.

  “The House of Nov does not make mistakes.”

  ****

  Gritel wiped her eyes as she embraced Karie one last time before the Mar. “We barely got to have you,” she wept. “You grew up too fast.”

  Tanatha, less emotional, cut her words short. “Honor your Dis in all things,” she said, and Karie realized that by “Dis” she meant Sori rather than herself.

  “You were the best Dis I could ever have,” she mumbled, sniffling into Tanatha's shoulder. “You, too, Nur,” she said to Gritel.

  “We'll be late,” Tanatha said, blinking hard. “Can't have you making a bad impression on your first day as a Nur.”

  ****

  “I introduce to the Assembly Soris and Karielle, the newest House of Bastia!”

 
Applause broke out in the room, even though Fathille frowned on applause in the House of Basti. Some traditions died hard, and each creation of a new House meant celebration from start to finish. That is, for all but the new couple. Sori, or Soris as she would now be called, held her hand out to the angry, weepy girl—woman—who would now be known as Karielle. Karielle, she thought to herself, rolling the syllables in her mouth as if they tasted good. A soft name, a gentle name. Nicer than “Soris,” a harsh address for a reluctant taskmistress.

  “I'm sorry,” she wanted to say, but Novia's lessons remained strong. “Take my hand,” she ordered instead, making her voice stern. “Or I'll punish you when we get home.”

  Karielle's eyes grew wide with fear, and Soris bit her tongue as the girl obeyed. Novia was right: Karielle would respond to discipline. But couldn't someone else make her do it?

  ****

  Karielle followed her new Dis to their home, prepared with fragrant boughs on the doorstep. She stiffened as Soris leaned down to kiss her on the lips, the traditional welcoming gesture and the only time they would kiss in public. Applause rippled through the crowd of family and friends, and Gritel stepped forward. Karielle's Dis performed the ceremonial role in the Mar, but her Nur would offer the last rite of relinquishment before the new couple would be allowed privacy for their first day.

  Discarding with the tradition of formality, Gritel embraced Soris and kissed her on the cheek. Like a daughter. “Take good care of her,” Gritel said, and she waved for the crowd to disperse.

  ****

  Inside, Soris walked from room to room, pretending to inspect the immaculate home. Her parents had provided for their every need, right down to Soris' desk in her bedroom. She needed to work each night. She struggled to find something to say the girl who perched on the chair in the hallway, an unhappy visitor who wanted to be anywhere but with her.