Better for Everyone

Chapter 4: Tally. Sparkle. Pickle. Pull.

Aerial Outcomes Gym. Travis Air Force Base, California. Republic of Gilead.

Duckling strained with a primal roar and she lifted the bench press bar away from her chest. Mongo stood over her, the huge Turk counting each repetition in Dutch.

"Zes... zeven... achy... negen..."

Duckling's arms quivered.

"Kom up! Negen... Kom up!"

Ducking pushed with one last gasp and got the bar onto the rack.

"Tien! Goed werk!" Mongo said.

Mongo high-fived Duckling's hand. Duckling sat up. She took a drink of water from a plastic sports bottle. She looked around the gym. Her and Mongo were the only two contractors inside. That was strange. Where was everybody?

"Sta op," Mongo said.

Duckling got up from the bench. Mongo grabbed Duckling's water bottle.

"Wat is did?" Mongo asked as he held up the bottle.

"Fles," Duckling said. "Water bottle. Waterfles."

Mongo the Turk had been learning Dutch over the past few days because there was nothing else to do while their squadron was grounded for maintenance. He was a fast learner but most pilots were overachievers and Mongo was no different.

"Waterfles, " Mongo repeated. He pointed at Duckling. "Je waterfles."

"Correct," Duckling said. "My water bottle. Je waterfles."

A knock arrived at the door to the gym. An Dutch Aerial Outcomes employee stood at the door with a clipboard.

"Jullie twee zijn nodig in de klaar-kamer," The man said.

"Wat?" Mongo asked.

"We're needed in the ready room," Duckling replied in English.

The pair grabbed towels and their water bottles as they left the gym. They moved down the hallway to the Operations Ready Room. All of the other contractor pilots were already sitting down with their notepads out. The Project Director stood behind a podium. Next to him was a whiteboard. Projected onto the whiteboard was the word "Secret" in English, Korean, Turkish, and Dutch.

"Close the door," The Project Director said.

Duckling closed the door. Something was wrong. All of the other pilots were looking at her. She scanned the room, inspecting each face. Some of the pilots looked like they were about to burst out laughing. Santa looked especially amused. Duckling's sharp eyes settled on the squadron roster. She scanned the board. "Duckling" was no longer on the board next to "Mongo," "Belly," "Top Hat" and "Santa." But there was a new name on the board: "Puddles."

"Nou... krijg de kolere, jongens." Duckling said.

"Well," Santa said. "The next time you piss your flight suit, don't tell your wife about it over a monitored company computer."

The room burst into laughter. Duckling... now Puddles sat down in her ready room chair. She extended both middle fingers over the backrest at her squadron mates.

"Settle down," The Project Manager said. "Well, I may have a way for you to redeem yourself, Puddles." The Project Manager clicked to the next slide. "Gilead has decided that we are going to give Utah a little payback."

Downtown Honolulu, Hawaii. USA.

The two women seated in Marty's office had tried their best to look good. Both the mother and the daughter were caked with makeup. They had their hair done. They dressed well in what were obviously borrowed Mumus. But it was the shoes that gave them away - their sandals were worn from the constant walking of refugees looking for work.