For the minific meme, 479er and Carolina in U?
U. Coming home.
So at the end of the war – ‘The war’. Singular. What a fucking joke. Which war? And when? One of how many real or metaphorical? – Four-Seven-Niner finds there’s a certain level of work available to morally flexible combat pilots with nothing to lose. She comes highly recommended. She comes with her own drop-ship. She comes with a head full of slip-space trajectories and read for flash-jumps through the contested voids between one UNSC system and the next. She has a head for ducking law.
In the end, she’s just looking for a color.
She finds it in a space port along the outer systems, eating burgers and fries from a docking cantina, hair buzzed up the back, sticking up on top. Niner taps her on the shoulder. She turns around, blinking green and Niner isn’t sure why this occurs to her: an image of a skyline, a horizon frayed by the rippling green of trees, a long stretch of rolling hills that climb from her feet to the edge of that great wood. She imagines a rocket, no, a single bottle rocket, winding a trail of smoke into the atmosphere. Popping in the sky. The smell of hotdogs on a grill.
Niner’s eyes burn a little. “Hey, there Carolina.”
And the woman with a green eyes, a new massive scar across her cheek, she says, “Fuck you, Four-Seven-Niner.”
Then she lunges out of her seat and Niner’s weightless and spinning. She’s tasting ketchup and salt. She’s kissing a women two steps from SPARTAN, saying her name to make it stick. And home is the sound she makes when Carolina says her name (her real name) in a time of peace.