I mumble something to hyer, I don’t know what, and sink into a happy warm blackness, and right before I lose what little grasp I have on reality, I think I feel Erisia kiss me on the forehead. Or maybe I imagined it.
I’m going to pretend it happened.
ELEVEN
As I’m confined to quarters, I decide to put my enforced convalescence time to use learning as much as I can about my fellow Vanguardians’ homeworlds. I figure it’s in my best interests to know if there are easier ways to make friends than getting beaten within an inch of my life. I am determined to become a citizen of the galaxy, if only for my own health and well-being.
Learning all the cultural customs, courtesies, and taboos is actually quite engaging, almost fun. Along the way, I also learn quite a bit about the biological differences between humans and other races thanks to Zqurrl, who is happy to stop by and share his encyclopedic knowledge of the thousands of sentient species within the Alliance — although, truth be told, I wish I could forget some of the things he tells me. Cestrans, for example, dispose of their dead through ritual cannibalism. Like they weren’t creepy enough. The Promans, which gave us Lt. Bote Maasuur and my fellow cadet Daf Gaartiin, have three genders, and all three are necessary for reproduction. One race, the Hallandals, have five genders. Hallandallian honeymoons must be wild.
Interestingly, races with nonbinary gender structures are the exception to the rule; Zqurrl says most races have two genders, and only a relative handful have more. Even fewer are hermaphroditic, including Erisia’s race, the Joenns.
The similarities to humans don’t end there. Most Alliance races are carbon-based bipedal humanoids who breathe some mixture of oxygen and nitrogen, with other trace gases thrown in depending on the planet. Many possess five basic senses, communicate primarily through sound, need water to survive...the Caosus Scale was developed to measure a race’s similarities on a genetic level using as a baseline the people of Caosus Dael Four, who are considered genetically perfect (how they came to that conclusion is an epic unto itself, so don’t ask).
The odds of so many races separated by light-years and millennia of evolution sharing so many qualities are literally astronomical, but there it is. The best scientific minds in the Alliance can’t explain it, though the popular hypothesis is that most known races share a common ancestor. One related hypothesis speculates that millennia ago, long before any world’s recorded history, a highly advanced race of unknown origin traversed the galaxy, visiting worlds with the potential to support life to either tamper with indigenous species and set their evolution on a particular course, or to seed habitable worlds with primitive life forms and let nature take its course.
I’ve had my mind blown a lot lately, but I can’t imagine how anything could blow it any harder than that.
As I study and research, I come across tidbits that hint at how advanced the Alliance is technologically. The use of fossil fuels as an energy source, for example, is practically extinct (pun intended), and what humans would consider progressive renewable energy tech like solar, wind, hydroelectric, and geothermal, while still in widespread use, is considered old school. Even concepts that are merely theoretical on Earth like cold fusion are on their way out. A lot of worlds have learned to tap planetary electromagnetic fields or the rotation of the planet itself to provide a truly limitless energy source, and the Alliance has begun tapping the same cosmic energies the astrarma channel, but they’re pursuing this avenue slowly and verrrrry cautiously. Imagine a cosmic energy conversion facility that is, basically, a giant astrarma. A catastrophic misstep one way or the other could turn the power plant into a supernova or a gravitational singularity (translation: a black hole that would inhale the planet and anything nearby). Either way, the result is one fewer planet in the universe.
One thing jumps out at me as I’m falling asleep at the end of my second day of medical confinement, and it’s one of those weird out-of-left-field realizations. Humanity isn’t as unique as it likes to think. We share so much with so many other alien cultures they might as well be people from other countries rather than other worlds. We even share unexpected quirks such as (for lack of a better term) superhuman abilities. Every race has among it beings who possess what would be considered for that species a super-power, and some of those beings go so far as to assume secret identities to fight crime and injustice.
Yep. Extraterrestrial super-heroes.
I did discover one thing that is utterly unique to Earth, that doesn’t exist anywhere within the entire Kyros Alliance: magic. Abilities that initially strike me as magical in nature are, upon further research, actually the result of highly advanced technology implemented in radical ways. Magic as I understand it is written off as ancient superstition, and that’s on the very rare occasion I read anything that mentions a discipline that sounds remotely like a supernatural power. Spellcasting? No such thing. Parallel dimensions? Nonsense. Extradimensional entities? The stuff of myth and fairy tales. In the entire known universe, Earth alone knows that magic is real.
I learn all this on top of teaching myself whole new ways of doing mundane, everyday things, which is proving more of a challenge for me than combat training. As rigorous and punishing as it is, I can handle the drilling, I can deal with someone pushing me to my limits and demanding more — that’s all cake, but something as simple as telling time? That’s such ingrained, almost instinctive knowledge it’s tough to adapt. The time difference doesn’t help — and by time difference, I mean the difference in the length of any given unit of time from what I’m used to. One Kyros minute is equal to ninety Earth seconds, which means an hour on Kyros (which has only fifty Kyros minutes, to make the math even more complicated) is equal to seventy-five Earth minutes. That means the thirty-hour Kyros day is equal to thirty-seven and a half Earth hours. My sleep cycles are so messed up I could cry.
Could, and have.
Screw this. I’m going to break quarantine tomorrow and see if Commander Dorr can find it in his heart (or equivalent organ) to let me come back to training. I need to get out of this room. I need something else to keep me occupied, something to keep the crippling homesickness lurking in the back of my brain from breaking free and reducing me to a blubbering mess. I can only distract myself for so long.
***
“Carrie!” Erisia says, pleasant surprise tinged with mild dismay. “What are you doing here?”
“I believe she is joining us for breakfast,” Mells says.
“Yeah, against Commander Dorr’s orders,” Pardo-En points out.
“Oh. Yes.” Mells levels a stern gaze at me. “You should be resting.”
“I know, but I was going stir-crazy,” I say, sliding into the seat between Mells and Erisia.
“Stir-crazy?”
“It happens when you’re cooped up in one place for too long. My race generally doesn’t handle extended periods of solitude well.”
“Or prolonged physical assaults,” Pardo-En says. “You humans are a fragile bunch.”
“Not all that fragile,” Erisia says, giving me a friendly elbow to the side — right into my cracked ribs. I bite down on a grunt of pain so I don’t undermine hyer vote of confidence.
The simple act of sitting with friends for breakfast does wonders for my morale. Sure, I still hurt all over, and I might get chewed out big-time for daring to defy Commander Dorr, but I needed this so badly. I needed the companionship.
I needed to not feel so alone.
After breakfast, we fly to the training commons. Commander Dorr furrows his brow when he spots me, but I tell myself it’s because he’s disappointed in my utterly graceless landing. I walk right up to him and stand at attention as best as my pain-wracked body will allow.
“Commander, I respectfully request to be placed back on the active roster,” I say.
“You were ordered confined to quarters for one full training cycle, cadet,” he reminds me.
“Yes, sir. I know. I’d rather return to my training.”
> “And why should I allow an injured cadet back on my training field before she’s ready?”
Aw, come on. Three days ago you were ready to throw me right back into the meat grinder, now you’re making me work for it? I do not get you.
No, I take that back; I totally get you. You’re all about testing people and forcing them to push past their limitations. I show up battered and bruised and say I want to get back to work, and you want to see if I’m serious. Oh, commander, you have no idea how strong the Hauser stubborn streak is.
“Because the Black End isn’t going to wait until I’m feeling better,” I say. “Why should you?”
Until this moment, I was not aware someone could grunt with pride.
“The morning session will begin in ten minutes,” Commander Dorr says.
On my way back to share the good news with the others, Grafton Grun steps in my path, blocking me. He snorts, gives me a funny sneer, and holds up a fist. I read about this yesterday, as it so happens; this is the Etrojian version of a fist bump — a sign of friendship. Who saw this coming? Not me. I smack the meaty side of my fist against Grun’s, and then he walks off like it was no big whoop.
“Hey!” I call out. He stops and turns. “So that’s it? Just like that, we’re buds now?”
“You showed me your heart, and it was worthy,” Grun says. “I saw it in your eyes; you would rather die than submit. I know now I can trust you to fight at my side.”
I close the distance between us until I’m practically nose-to-nose with him. Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing. His culture respects confrontational behavior. He won’t hit me.
I think.
“Okay, Grun, look. I know you have your ways and I respect them,” I say, which is true. I don’t like his ways, but I respect them. “But you don’t need to fight your way through the entire squad to prove to yourself you have reliable allies. Every single person here has your back. In fact, they’re more likely to cover you if you don’t kick the crap out of them first.”
Grun wrinkles his scarred brow at me.
“I know, weird concept, right? But that’s how it is. You’re my teammate. I would have watched out for you. So will they.”
Grun glances past me, toward Erisia and the others, then holds his fist up again for another bump. Check me out, making friends out of enemies and brokering peace between races. That’s going to look great on my college applications.
You know, assuming I survive my own stupidity, which is iffy at best. Commander Dorr throws me right back into the deep end, pitting me against not one but two other cadets for the morning session. If I were at one hundred percent, a two-on-one would be challenging, but in my current state, I’m hilariously outmatched. I spend the day getting knocked around the sky like a human quaffle.
(Or would I be a bludger? Nuts, I’ve been away from Earth for so long I’m forgetting everything I know about Harry Potter. That’s bad.)
Commander Dorr calls lunch. I land and promptly collapse to my knees, my head spinning. I let myself fall onto my back, onto my dear old friend the grass. Hey there, grass, it’s been a while.
“Have you finally dropped dead?”
I open my eyes to see Pardo-En standing over me. “Maybe a little. Is that a problem?”
“It’s preventing me from getting lunch, so yeah.”
“Your sympathy knows no bounds.”
“It knows plenty of bounds. Come on, get up, you lazy mammal.”
I sit up with a grunt and stand up with a groan. My body hates me so much. Guess I can’t blame it. I haven’t been a considerate owner lately.
“You good? Can we go?” Pardo-En prods.
“Jeez, hold on a sec.” I scan the training grounds for Grun. He’s easy to find; he’s the only one, aside from Commander Dorr, who isn’t hanging out with his own little group of friends. “I’m going to see if Grun wants to come with us.”
“What? Why in Skkrts’s name do you want to invite him?”
“He spends every lunch break alone.”
“There’s a reason for that: he doesn’t like anyone. And no one likes him. The man wants to be alone and I’m perfectly happy to give him what he wants.”
“I’m not.” I ignore Pardo-En’s grumbling and walk over to Grun. “Hey. We’re heading to Plaza North for lunch. You’re coming with us.”
Grun’s eyes pop, and for a fleeting moment, he’s completely flabbergasted. He quickly reasserts his quiet badass façade and says with a dismissive snort, “Not interested.”
“It wasn’t a request. Cut the sullen loner crap and come socialize like a normal huma— er, Etrojian.”
Staredown time. Grun glowers at me. I fold my arms and wait him out. With a low growl, he flicks a hand toward me: lead the way.
“Oh, good, he’s coming with us,” Pardo-En grumps. “I was worried we might have too much fun.”
If anyone kills our lunchtime buzz, it’s Pardo-En. He spends our break sulking and grumbling under his breath and giving Grun some heavy-duty stink-eye. To be fair, Grun isn’t exactly a sparking conversationalist, but I get the distinct feeling he’s more interested in listening than talking. He’s the new guy trying to make sense of the clique he’s been invited to join. I feel you, Grun. Been there, done that.
After polishing off several servings of grtschflnt, we head back to the training commons where Grun unceremoniously parts company with us.
“See? That wasn’t painful,” I say to Pardo-En.
“It wasn’t a delight, either,” he says.
“And whose fault is that?” Erisia says.
“My inclination is to blame Pardo-En,” Mells says. “Oh, was that intended as a rhetorical question?”
“Killing me,” Pardo-En mumbles.
The afternoon session is even rougher than the morning, but that’s on me. I’m pushing myself too hard too soon, and it catches up to me with a vengeance. I nearly pass out twice. On the plus side, I’m so out of it that the time breezes by (though I should maybe be a little worried I barely remember anything that happened).
“Cadets! Training is at an end for the day. Dismissed,” Commander Dorr announces. “Except for you, Cadet Hauser,” he adds. Uh-oh. This can’t be good.
“Commander?”
“You performed admirably today.”
“I did? Commander, are you sure you were watching the right cadet? I feel like I was a total hot mess out there.”
“If by hot mess you mean you were barely competent during today’s exercises, then you’re correct. You were an embarrassment to yourself, your comrades, and to me.”
OUCH.
“Then what did I —?”
“You made a comrade of Cadet Grun,” Dorr says. “Grun is belligerent, combative, and antisocial. These are not qualities conducive to forging friendships.”
“I didn’t think we were here to make friends.”
“Make no mistake, cadet, for all our power as individuals, unity is what makes the Vanguard truly strong. Together we can achieve results one of us alone could not.”
“Not without destroying ourselves,” I say. “That’s what Erisia and Mells told me.”
“They’re correct. Several Vanguardians, coordinating their astrarma, working in concert, could inflict literally world-shattering damage.”
Maybe it’s the exhaustion messing with me, but what Commander Dorr says isn’t what I hear; my brain turns it into Several astrarma working in concert could inflict world-shattering damage.
Oh my God.
Galt.
***
A knock on my door jolts me out of a deep, sound sleep. I sit up too quickly, and a sudden attack of vertigo almost sends me toppling out of bed.
“Cadet Hauser?” Commander Do says from the hallway. “Are you all right?”
“Give me a minute,” I say. Once my head settles down, I cautiously ease my legs over the side and stand up. The floor is nice and solid beneath my feet. I can work with this.
I let Commander Do in. She takes
in my face with its assorted bruises, the edges of which have begun to turn some truly grotesque shades of green and yellow, but refrains from commenting.
“Thanks for meeting with me, commander,” I say.
“You saved me the trouble of asking to meet with you,” she says. “The council voted this afternoon.”
Her news causes the entire length of my spine to lock up. “They sure took their sweet time,” I say in a strangled voice.
“It was a highly contentious issue. General Gretch laid out some compelling arguments, and he does have —”
“Commander,” I say. “I don’t need to know the details. Just tell me whether I’m going to have a planet to go home to when this is all over.”
Commander Do nods. “The matter has been tabled indefinitely. The consensus among the generals is that this is not the time to divide the Vanguard’s focus and resources.”
I let out a moan. My legs melt out from under me, and I fall back onto the foot of my bed. I didn’t screw up. I didn’t throw Earth into an intergalactic war. I didn’t make the worst mistake in a life filled with some truly spectacular, show-stopping mistakes. If vomiting in relief isn’t already a thing, I’m about to make it a thing.
“However,” she says.
“However?”
“This is not to say the issue won’t be revisited once the Black End has been defeated. It most certainly will, but not for quite some time — time that you can use to influence the council’s eventual decision.”
“Tell me how,” I say. “Whatever it is, I’ll do it.”
“They will be watching you,” the commander says in a low voice, as if worried she might be overheard. “Let them see nothing but an exemplary Vanguardian. Let them see your skill, your dedication, your courage, and your spirit. Destroy their every expectation. Answer their contempt with dignity and respect. Become the very best your race has to offer.”
“Oh, is that all?” I say with a nervous laugh. “No pressure.”
“Carrie —”
“I get it, commander, I do, and I swear to you I’m not brushing this off, but if I didn’t laugh, I’d cry. You know?” She nods. “And maybe I can start earning my brownie points now. I didn’t ask you here to talk about the council; I wanted to talk about Galt.”
Action Figures - Issue Seven: The Black End War Page 11
