Future Love Contract (GL) - Chapter 21

The theoretical learning phase was unbearably dull. If it weren’t for the promise of boarding a spaceship and venturing to another planet, Zhao Xinyun doubted she could have endured it. She wasn’t alone in this sentiment—the internal BBS was full of complaints.  

Even Gresya, who had always appeared so passionate about the mission, occasionally showed signs of impatience, though she rarely voiced them. Perhaps she didn’t want to contradict her earlier enthusiasm?

Because of her special abilities, Zhao Xinyun had to study more than most other trainees. Now, however, she appreciated the advantage: she had a week more experience. The schedule, it seemed, was quite scientifically planned.

Fortunately, theory was behind them. They had moved on to practical training, and today they would operate a vehicle designed for extraterrestrial transport.

“Its prototype, known during early development as Mars B803, was originally built for use on Mars,” explained the young man on stage. “However, Mars was already developed by then, so it was repurposed for Venus. There, it found new life and underwent many upgrades. The current model is highly adaptable.”

Most trainees had heard this lecture before. Zhao Xinyun yawned, slouching in her chair. She’d had a bit of coffee last night and struggled to sleep. Judging by their expressions, others weren’t much better off. They had all read the operation manual countless times and were now just waiting for actual hands-on experience.

“Pair up and line up outside the door,” the instructor announced. Excitement replaced fatigue as the trainees stood to form lines.

The simulation area mimicked alien terrain—a raw stretch of Martian land. Zhao Xinyun had an edge. Unlike many who had only lived on Earth or Mars, she had seen such vehicles on Venus. Out of curiosity, she had once examined one closely. That curiosity was now paying off. Gresya also seemed confident; she had probably had experience with them too. Zhao Xinyun recalled Gresya once mentioning her Venus background as an advantage.

They entered the vehicle. Though it could seat ten, only the driver and co-driver would be practicing.

Their route was displayed on the screen. To simulate alien conditions, there were no visible markers on the ground. Zhao Xinyun still felt nervous, but she and Gresya worked together seamlessly. The exercise went smoothly.

Dripping with sweat, Zhao Xinyun pulled off her helmet and returned to her seat. Her tablet displayed their score.

“Eighty-seven points?! First place?!” she gasped. Her jaw nearly hit the floor.

“I thought you did great,” Gresya said, patting her shoulder. “We’re from Venus—of course we had the advantage. It’d be strange if we didn’t rank first.”

There were only around forty trainees, limited by the size of the facility. Refurbished Mars vehicles weren’t in short supply, but space was.

Next came equipment repair. Though technicians handled most repairs, every member needed to know the basics in case of emergency.

This part was harder for Zhao Xinyun. She grasped concepts quickly and had solid technique, but she was forgetful. She’d skip steps—forget the anaerobic adhesive, fail to latch a clamp, even leave components behind. Once, Gresya had to remind her: “Double-check everything. Don’t forget anything.”

She’d had this problem before traveling 600 years into the future. Apparently, it had followed her.

The instructors recognized her talent nonetheless. One lunch, a trainer joked she should have become a repair technician. Another replied, “What about her wavelength? You want her to do two jobs?”

Before anyone could answer, Zhao Xinyun said, “I wouldn’t mind, but I’d need someone to follow me around reminding me. Not practical.”

That shut them up—until Gresya chimed in, “I’ll assist you. How about that?”

Zhao Xinyun was speechless. “Why?! Don’t you have your own work?”

“Forget it. I was joking.”

Everyone laughed. They knew the relationship between the two and changed the subject. Some discussed technical issues; others gossiped about BBS posts. Zhao Xinyun chewed her food, replaying Gresya’s words. Did she really mean something more?

Repair training was extensive. One day, Zhao Xinyun sighed, clipped her safety tether to the wall, and half-sat in position. Though the environment had gravity, procedures were done as if in zero-gravity, to instill muscle memory.

She didn’t quite buy into it. How could you “sit” when there was no “down”? But rules were rules. Besides, real zero-G training would happen later, on an orbital ship. It was cheaper to launch them up than simulate gravity here.

Her only zero-gravity experiences had been during transit to Venus and Mars. Some trainees had years of orbital experience. She was nervous again.

True specialists, like orbital mechanics, weren’t part of this training. A separate department handled crew selection. They would likely only be support staff.

Cautiously, Zhao Xinyun opened her toolbox and pulled out a wrench. Thankfully, the tools were tethered, both for zero-G and for clumsy users like her.

As she raised the wrench, she looked at Gresya’s focused profile. Zhao Xinyun remembered reading that some celebrities were only confident about one side of their face. But Gresya’s left and right sides were both beautiful—far better than hers.

Wait—was she seriously crushing on her? Now? Was that even appropriate?

Shaking her head, she grabbed her tablet and opened the manual. Chapter 7, Section 32. She wasn’t trying to become a real technician. Why is it so complicated?

The manual had eighteen chapters, almost 800 sections. The number alone was terrifying. Thankfully, memorization wasn’t required—they only had to know where to find key procedures and emergency protocols.

Determined not to mess up again, she triple-checked everything. There was no time limit, and she wasn’t slow. She fit the wrench in place.

Of course, the tools were just named after 21st-century ones. The physical act of turning screws by hand had long been replaced by automated drivers.