---Oskar’s perspective---

---Saturday, 14th of July, 2683 Terran Calendar---

---Southern England---

“Masquerade… cycle… pause… rejection…” I say, trying out the words as I lie in my room, Esme atop me.

“Yup… 1:30,000,000 rate of incidence… according to the professor they called up to look at me… Though, she did admit that it isn’t her main expertise…”

“So… you’ve just been walking around for 8 months, fertile as you ever were and none the wiser because you weren’t getting your period anymore?”

“Seems like it!…Honestly, it’s amazing it took this long with the quantity and regularity of sex we’ve been having!” she smiles, joylessly.

“And… we’re going to be… parents?”

“…Are you… angry, Oskar?” she asks, looking slightly worried.

“No!… A tiny bit disappointed that we missed the boat to Krwndw but… I guess… I’m, sort of, just… shellshocked, more than anything else!”

“Same… Didn’t think I’d ever make it to motherhood… turns out, it came to me(!)” she quips, dryly.

“And… I’m guessing… you don’t get an ‘out of the military free’ card for being an expecting mother, do you?” I ask, flatly.

She shakes her head and bitterly says “I don’t… I’m reprieved for the moment but they’re figuring out what to do with us during and after my pregnancy, now… They let me know that an honourable discharge was out of the question for either of us!… I didn’t even have to ask about it!… They told me the sex, too… didn’t get the choice about whether that could be a surprise or not!”

“What’s the sex?” I ask, instantly.

“Male.” she answers, simply.

“A son… we’re going to have a son…” I say, still dazed.

“Yup… Weeell… she might let us know she’s actually our daughter at some point… but, to start, we are going to have a child with XY chromosomes, at least!”

“And… how far along did they say you were?”

“9 weeks… I’m due next February.”

“9 weeks… so… we probably conceived in Stranraer, then?”

She groans and allows her head to drop, impacting my chest.

“What…?” I ask, confused.

“Why’d you have to point that out?” she moans, pathetically.

“What’s wrong with that?”

“What’s wrong is that I can now never unknow the fact that I conceived my first child while dressed as a schoolgirl!… That is going to fucking haunt me for the rest of my life!”

She bounces on top of me as my diaphragm contracts in chuckles.

“Privates Esme Reid and Oskar Taylor… Report to my office immediately.” comes Sands’ voice over the PA.

---Esme’s perspective---

Me and Oskar walk into Sands’ office and are met by the sight of her, sat behind her desk, and a dark haired man with his back to us, staring out of the window.

He turns to look at us, revealing two piercingly blue eyes, set into a handsome, Sapiens face with just a whisper of Denisovan (maybe a great grandparent?)

In terms of his height, build, skin and hair colour, he could be Oskar’s older brother!

He’s perhaps in his late 20s-early 30s? Noticeably younger than Sands is.

He breaks into a smile and greets us “Pvt Taylor, Pvt Reid… it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance! LtCpt Nathan ‘Wellington’ Burrows, at your service!”

By comparison to the poshness of this man’s voice, Oskar’s accent is positively vulgar(!)

“A pleasure to meet you too, Lieutenant-Captain…” I say, admirably holding in my mirth at the man’s gentility “…Is there something we can… do for you, Sir?”

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He smiles “That remains to be seen, Private… I heard about your situation and have just been properly briefed by WO Sands here… It seems the two of you find yourselves at a loose end for the next 7 months, now don’t you?”

“Yes… Sir.” I answer, hesitantly.

“Normally, a pregnant draftee and the father of her child would be in the Stockade awaiting their court-martial but, given that you were exonerated of any wrongdoing, it seems the Army is not exactly sure what to do with you… Discharging you (honourably or dishonourably) is rather out of the question. We would be inundated by copycat attempts from reluctant draftees if we did that but, well… we can’t simply allow you to stay here and collect your salary for doing nothing, as the next batch of recruits come in… Perhaps, you could be given some camp functions and Pvt Taylor could continue in that role until the end of the time that you will be waylaid. I’m afraid, however, there aren’t very many roles on an Army camp that don’t require strength and mobility that a woman in the latter stages of pregnancy simply won’t have…”

“I… get the sense that you have an alternative in mind, Sir?” I ask, tentatively.

“I do… I would suggest both of you enter Officer Training, Privates.”

“Officer Training, Sir?” I query.

“Yes, Private…” he smiles, flicking some information from his holo to the screen that acts as Sands’ desktop. I’m quickly able to identify them as mine and Oskar’s service records “…These are some moderately impressive stats and scores you two have… Don’t get me wrong, they aren’t so amazing that I would be scouting you without your specific circumstances… I do, for instance, observe that Pvt Reid as a few notes on her ‘insubordinate attitude’ from early on in her training! There’s also a dip in her more recent physical scores but we know why that is now, don’t we! Regardless, I see promise here!”

“I’m not… exactly sure I’m Officer material …” I say, sceptically “…my parents ran a chipshop, Sir.”

He chuckles “You think every Officer grew up on a country estate, Private(?)… It’s the 27th Century, not the 19th!… These days, more officers than not are actually rank and file, field promotions… certainly at the lower ranks… An illustrious lineage is not a requirement!”

“O…K… but isn’t Officer Training quite physically demanding, Sir?”

“It is usually but, since you’ve already undergone Initial Training, we can work something out for you… Any physically demanding portions you were required to undertake could be front loaded so as to allow you to complete them before your strength and mobility wane… the rest would all be academically orientated, Private… Of course, we shall also be more than happy to grant any leave you need for medical appointments and arranging care for your future child…”

“I think you should do it, Esme…” comes Oskar’s voice, startling me as he usually doesn’t speak in public, unless spoken to.

Burrows frowns “This offer extends to you as well, Taylor?”

“I don’t believe I would make a good Officer, Sir…” Oskar answers, flatly.

“Oh yes… Sands told me you had said something to that effect… is there a particular reason you think so, Private?”

“Yes, Sir.” responds Oskar.

“And what is that?”

“I have mild autistic spectrum condition, Sir. As a result, reading others is more difficult for me than most and I believe myself to lack the charisma and likeability necessary for effective command of subordinates.” he says, dropping the bombshell of his ASC on me but, seemingly, not Sands or Burrows.

“I am aware of your diagnosis, Private…” smiles the blue eyed man “…and I must disabuse you of the notion that likeability is a prerequisite of command!… Certainly, an Officer must be both likeable and (more crucially) competent enough that those subordinate to them don’t resort to fragging them, but… being an Officer often means needing to be the hardarse, the killjoy and the stick-in-the-mud!… Troops will forgive a lot more obnoxiousness from the CO than they will incompetence and, from your record, Taylor, you seem more than competent enough… Ability to read your subordinates is a requirement. However, ASC does not disqualify you from Officerhood. As a matter of fact, there is a small but statistically significant overrepresentation of those on the spectrum in the Officer Corps compared to the general population! My recommendation would be for both of you to agree to this but… we would be able to accommodate one of you in a nonOfficerial role… That would mean separate sleeping arrangements though!”

“You mean we’d get to share a room if we both did it… like, officially, Sir?”

He gives a jovial nod “Oh, yes, Private!… I’m told that the two of you have effectively been sharing a broomcupboard together for the last 6 months(!)… You can expect more agreeable accommodation at Sandhurst but, well… it still won’t exactly be palatial(!)…You will also receive a salary increase, though, don’t expect Soldiery to make you fabulously wealthy(!)”

I think for a moment before I turn to Sands “What would you advise, Ma’am?”

She looks from me to Taylor and back before she answers “I’d grab the opportunity with both hands if I was you two, Privates… Though, we can’t force you… We just need to find somewhere to put you until you’re back to fighting fitness.”

I look to Oskar’s unreadable face before turning to Burrows “Could we have some time to talk it over, Sir?”

“Of course, Privates!… Sands tells me that the next batch of trainees should arrive to fill this billet on… Wednesday? So, why don’t I give you today and tomorrow to discuss it and come back on Monday for your answer?”

I nod “Sounds good, Sir.”

He smiles and gestures to the door “Dismissed, Privates.”

Oskar and I give the man a nod and turn to leave.

The door closes behind us and we begin walking in the direction of our room.

I look up at Oskar’s frowning face.

“You never told me you were on the spectrum…” I say, keeping accusation out of my voice.

“I never thought it would matter…” he says, forlornly “…I definitely would have if I’d known you were going to end up as the mother of my child… I’m really sorry you weren’t able to take that into consideration, Esme!”

“Hey! No!!!” I reproach “None of that, lad! You have nothing to apologise for!… I mean, if anything, I should be the one apologising for accidentally babytrapping you(!)”

He gives a joyless smile.

I take his right hand in my left and give it a squeeze.

He turns to look at me.

“It wouldn’t have made any difference, alright?” I smile “And it won’t make a difference to how I feel about him.. I’m going to love him to bits, no matter what!”

He smiles back and nods.