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Mum finally has enough of dad's sexual torment.

Tlacotli. A hundred years ago, her name would have trapped her in the Crafter Guilds as an animal handler. Thankfully, that sort of hidebound thinking hadn't stopped her. Janetta was probably the best pilot I'd ever seen, and arguably the best the brass had seen, too.

Top Flight is located at Ute War base in the Northern Desert of the Northern Continent, where the best of the best in the Air Service compete in war games. For three out of the last four years, Janetta's team has won first place.

Coming in with Janetta were seventy-nine picked volunteers. Eight flights of ten fighters. Until the magnetic catapult was completed, Janetta's job would be to make them into a cohesive fighter wing. Until they were transferred to the space station, Viracocha's Glory, they would supplement the aerial defenses at Guardian War base. Naturally, our first space station was named after the first Chimorro Emperor.

Janetta. A lot of things have happened since then, but I still recall how she first looked as if it were yesterday instead of sixteen years ago.

We were both freshly minted Sublieutenants straight out of the Air Academy, taking advanced courses at Tikun War base in the Yucat__n. I had already failed my own tests to become a fighter pilot. I could handle a rotary wing, a prop-job, and a shuttle, but I didn't have the reflexes for supersonic combat. I could have gone into Ground Service Air Defense, but opted to stay in the Air Service and train in logistics and operations.

It was in Basic Tactical Command class when I first saw her, and with one look I was smitten. Tall, lean, copper skin with enormous black eyes that showed intelligence and drive, and lustrous, shiny black hair that, when braided, hung halfway down her back. Pert rounded nose and full, rounded lips, and big, white teeth. High, firm breasts, narrow waist and a slim butt. She was full-blooded Nahuatl.

Janetta wore the usual Air Service colors of dark blue trousers with a cyan blouse, but she also wore her pilot's flight jacket. Covering the entire back panel was the rising Imperial Sun in yellow, orange and red supported by two upright jaguars on each side. She came into the room chatting with three young men, also sporting similar flight jackets. Seated at her chosen desk, she looking like a coiled cat ready to jump up at a moment's notice.

The graceful way she moved was pure poetry in my eyes. A hundred years earlier, she would have had a warrior's headdress with thousands of feathers, stones, and patterns of cloth streamers, her chest bared and covered in tattoos, a macuahuitl sword in one hand and Chon semiautomatic pistol in the other. Of course, a hundred years ago, we were just learning how to fly aircraft. Thankfully, the warrior women no longer had to remain celibate upon pain of death.

My first day of Basic Tactics class was a haze. I kept sneaking glances at her.

And then finally class was over. I was still working up the courage to ask her out when, in the rush of everyone leaving, I lost track of her. Dejected, I collected my books. Tomorrow I would make sure I spoke to her.

I was walking down the hall when suddenly Janetta came up from behind me, pushed me into a supply closet, and slammed the door behind us. I started to move, looking for the light switch, when she pushed me back and I sat hard onto a box. Her hands then reached down and quickly opened the zipper on my trousers.

"Hey! What are you doing?" Only the barest bit of light came in from under the door. All I could see of her was her outline.

"Relax. This won't hurt, I promise." I could hear the laughter in her voice. "You're Vedan, aren't you? I can tell by your coloring. Gold-brown skin, blue eyes. How'd you get in here, golden boy?"

Her hands found my cock, which was quickly hardening.

"My father is a scientist. They fled in 2317. My -- ow! Hey! Be careful there!"

"Sorry about that.

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