by Katie Vack
"I think," Karolus stated, "that we know each other by now."
"Actually, no we don't. I know nothing about the rest of you apart from your weapons, and to a small degree your personalities."
"What are you suggesting?"
"We tell each other a little bit about ourselves."
"And what purpose would that serve?"
"For one thing, the more we know about other the better we'll be able to fight together when we have to. It's like a teambuilding exercise."
Karolus paused, considering the merit of the proposition. "Alright, then. It seems a bit childish, but if it works. You have to start."
"Great." Thief sprung to his feet. "My name is Thief Riptide, and I am a mutant."
The Calm
"Riptide?" Grayson raised an eyebrow.
"Sure." Thief seemed oblivious to the group's amusement. "Before that it was Thunder, before that it was Shredder, then Bolt, Razor, Striker, Venom, and after that I can't really remember. I've found that names are a bit like clothes; you can change them for something more fitting whenever you feel like it.
"If you know much about Other Earth, you should know what life is like there- and I don't just mean what it's like to go sightseeing from the safety of an airship.
"I grew up in a fairly standard scrapheap city, a few kilometres out from the centre. I was one of three children, and while we were never well off, we were never particularly poor either. My father was a good fighter, and my mother was a decent cook and tinkerer, so we didn't really have much trouble.
"I was the third child, and the last. My oldest brother had these cool hands; he had two thumbs, one on either side of his fingers, and all his digits were long, thin, and had more joints than normal. He was always going to be a tinkerer, from the day he was conceived. He was basically born for it.
"My sister was born eight years before I was. She had horns and crablike claws, so she was put down for a fighter. She's damn good at it too, so that was basically our family sorted for protection. With a couple of good fighters people tend to leave you alone, even more so when they're relying on you for equipment repairs. I would have had a few other siblings but they were all weak and didn't survive, so we don't really count them.
"That should have been it: we had someone to continue the trade, and someone to look after them as they did it. Except then I was born. And I wasn't weak; I survived. And so nobody knew what to do with me.
"Where my brother was born to tinker, I was born to fight. With the sword, the tail, and the fangs, there wasn't really much else I could do. I was born a fighter, and yet we already had two of them, both more talented than I. I couldn't exactly work as a tinkerer either, not with only one hand. They trained me as a fighter as I grew up, but I didn't really like it- I had better plans.
"There was an old storyteller nearby, and every evening he would tell the most incredible tales. Tales of wonder, of adventure, of excitement and romance and action and heroes and warriors. He used to be an adventurer, but he took a shotgun slug to the knee. It just about took his leg off, and so he decided to pack it in and give up the life while he still could. Still, he used to talk to us youngsters about his time as a wanderer, and something about it resonated within me.
"I didn't want to be a fighter; I wanted to be a warrior. Someone with a purpose other than simply surviving from day to day. My family never tried lying to me, I'd always known that the only reason they were training me was because they didn't know what else to do. Still, my idea never got much further than idle daydreaming until the day of my thirteenth birthday.
"As my birthday present, my father and sister gave me an antique revolver. I'd been getting pistols off of them for half a decade, but the excitement never faded. Guns are probably my second favourite thing, and getting a new one was one of the greatest gifts I could have asked for. From my mother and brother, however, I got something really special.
"For months, it turned out that they'd been assembling an old CD player whenever I was away from the workshop. They had a few beaten up old rock CDs to go with it too, and that was the day I fell in love.
"You have to understand, where I come from music isn't something you come across. People are tough and hardy, life is brutal, and survival is always the primary objective. If you have unwanted items to trade then you swap them for food, water, weapons, or shelter. We don't have toys, we have knives. Education is all from personal experiences. The closest you get to leisure time is the short break between breakfast and work, and the one between dinner and sleep. So the most music you really hear is the occasional chants of the workers as they slave away. Real music, proper music, is virtually non-existent. That's what made my gift so special: what in some places would be unremarkable was for me a small miracle.
"I listened to that music all day, every day, as I continued my training. The tracks were clouded, static-ridden, and tended to jump, but to me they were perfect. It wasn't just that I liked listening to them; they gave me hope. I listened to those men, singing about the ups and downs of their lives, and all I could think was that I wanted to do that too. I wanted a chance not just to survive, but to live.
"Compared to Other Earth, even Infernus and Helios are easy places to live. My world is filthy, gritty, and backbreaking. We never really complained about it, partly because it was all we knew and partly because we didn't have the energy, but that doesn't mean we liked it. The rest of them, they had a purpose, but I had nothing. I was desperate, but also hopeful. What had been a mere fantasy suddenly became a concrete plan. I was going to leave my hellhole and carve my own destiny. It's because of this that, when I say that music saved my life, I'm not really exaggerating- at best I would have sunk into a deep depression, at worst I would be dead.
"A few days after my birthday, I managed to summon up the courage to speak to my parents. To be honest I was terrified of how they might react to my plans. I might have been a pointless son but I was still their son, and they could have taken my decision as an act of betrayal. However, I knew that if I put it off for much longer I'd never get off the planet at all.
"I needn't have worried. They weren't just accepting of my decision, they were overjoyed. I had always been another mouth to feed, serving no real purpose, so it took that pressure off of them. However, what it also did was gave them all a chance at fame: I was no use to them where I was, but if I could somehow become a renowned warrior some of that glory would filter back to them, and I would have paid them back for all the time and effort they put into me.
"I set off a couple of weeks later and they gave me Sunrise," he indicated his bike, "as a parting gift, with the knowledge that we probably wouldn't meet again for decades. Since then I've fought on Earth, Helios, Vasticia, Bratius, and eventually wound up here. That's it; my story."
"Fair enough," Karolus said, "it could be worse. It lacks a little in the way of recent history, but I believe it will do." He stood up and Thief sat down. "Alright, then. My name is Karolus Sen Tans. I was born into a common family as the first of two children, my sister being born three years after me.
"I was trained from a young age as a warrior, as is normal for the firstborn of a common family on Aetheria. When I was eighteen I enlisted with the aetherial military and spent fifteen years and two months working my way up through the ranks. Eventually I reached the rank of Skylord, roughly equivalent to a Warrant Officer. Technically my career was going exceedingly well- I was one of the youngest non-noble Skylords in the history of the Aether. However, that turned out to be more of a problem than anything else.
"I had risen too far, too fast, and people hated me for it. The class system on Aetheria is extremely pronounced, and that goes for the military too. Nobody reached my rank unless they were a noble of some kind, and yet there I was, having gained it through my personal merit rather than my birth. It was taken as an insult that a mere commoner could somehow be above his noble betters.
"Nobody ever listened to me. When I walked into a room it would go
silent and they'd turn their backs to me. When I gave an order it would always be somehow misplaced or get lost along the chain of command. They would all whisper about me whenever I was away, spreading rumours of me being a bastard and my mother being a whore.
"Eventually I just gave up. I couldn't take it anymore, and being nothing more than a figurehead anyway I didn't really have much to lose. I quit the military, left Aetheria, and went looking for a job where I wouldn't be looked down on for success. I became a mercenary, and I've worked as one for the last twenty-three years. There are few places I haven't been, and few foes I haven't fought, and I have the experience and skill to take on any threat we should come up against." He paused, as if deciding whether or not to continue. "That's it for me."
"You know," Thief pointed out, "you accused me of being vague, but you really didn't seem to be much better."
"I came to the conclusion that extra detail wasn't really necessary. I call it being adaptable."
"You? Adaptable? Do not make me laugh." Zack seemed to be a lot quieter than usual, which Grayson found interesting.
"Yes," Karolus frowned, "hilarious. And now we know who's up next, don't we?"
"I do not see why it is necessary for us to do this."
"And I don't see why you feel you have a choice."
"Very well." The mechsuit emitted what Grayson assumed was a sigh, and sprung up to its feet. "My name is Zackineruchrisse Voleurenid. I was created ninety-six years ago on Verna primary. My batch was created as a fighting unit, and the fifty of us were tasked for the military. We grew up together, we trained together, and once we were five we began our sixty year national service.
"The Vanis military is unlike any other military in the Alliance. We are expected to follow orders no matter what, regardless of the consequences of doing so, in order to maintain the proper respect for our superiors; and yet my Company, at least, was barely ever issued them.
"Our Company worked best as heavy support or in sledgehammer assaults, as you can probably tell from my mech. Every one of us had the power to take down entire enemy platoons, and after a while we had the experience and training for our judgement to be trusted in most circumstances. The majority of the time we would be told our overall goal, and over the number of years it took to achieve that goal we would receive specific orders only once or twice.
"I suppose that, when I left the military, it was this independence which allowed me to transition so smoothly into mercenary work. While the conditions are different, and the lines are a lot less clear, the basic premise is the same: get in, complete the objective at any cost, and then get out again. I have nearly a century of experience, there are very few worlds I haven't fought on at some point or another, and I know exactly how to counter or nullify almost any opponent. Happy now?"
"No," Karolus frowned, an expression he appeared, to some degree or other, never to lose, "but at least I know who you are now. Who's next?"
"I." Seth lumbered up to his feet, revealing a crater he had made in the dirt by sitting there. He raised his hand as if he needed to do so to gain their attention. "I Seth. No brothers, no sisters. Born over twenty back. I strong, I stupid." He spoke the words with no trace of emotion, as if it was simply a fact of life which he had long ago gotten used to.
"Family train Seth fight, tactics." Grayson wondered idly whether the lizard's knowledge of strategy extended any further than 'scream and fire'. "Tactics good, fight good, brain bad. Family no like brain, Seth bad honour. Send Seth away. I know fight, I start fight. I mercenary, fight good. I fight man, flying man, fire man, water man, ice man. I fight good. Now I fight new man."
Nobody spoke; nobody wanted to be the first person to break the awkward silence. Grayson had heard more than a few depressing tales in his life, but never before had they been told in such a matter-of-fact manner. The man seemed perfectly calm and accepting of his circumstances, but if anything that only made it sadder. He felt, against his will, a growing sympathy towards the spurned hellion. Any real warrior would hate sympathy and find it nothing more than patronising, but Grayson couldn't really help himself. If nothing else, he knew how it felt to be an outcast.
He turned to Sora. "Your turn, treehugger."
She didn't even blink at the insult. "There's not much to say, short stuff."
Normally Grayson would be incensed by such a comment; especially considering that, being nearly a foot taller than him, she did have a point. Tonight though he was too tired and sore, and it seemed that their insults were more out of recently developed habit than anything else. "Just get it over with."
"Fine." She made a point of remaining sitting. "My name is Sora Netta. I'm twenty-six years old, and I'm an only child. I grew up with my parents on Bratius tertiary, but it always bored me. Silvans in general tend to be fairly placid, and that irritated me. One day I'd had enough, so I took the chance to get off the shard and do something interesting with my life. I became a mercenary, and I've been fighting as one ever since. That's all I have to say."
"That wasn't particularly detailed." Or truthful. Grayson was pretty sure that only a complete idiot could believe that kind of lazy attempt at a lie, and yet none of the group seemed to have noticed anything.
"I didn't see it as necessary. Besides, it's your turn now. Go on."
He shrugged, rolling his eyes. "Fine." He'd intended to present a convincing story for his past, but considering how utterly oblivious everyone else appeared to be, he changed then plan. It might be more useful to test the boundaries of just how hopeless they truly were.
"I'm an only child too. I was born here, on Luminacht, seventeen years ago. My parents were both typical lumin: devoutly religious farmers. I didn't like church, I don't believe in the lumin gods, and agriculture bored me. I decided I'd rather do something interesting, and that I'd like to become a warrior. Since I can't use lumin magic I had to learn to fight with my body, so I became a mainly self-taught martial artist. I've been fighting as a merc ever since."
He stopped, and everyone took a minute to realise he was done. Sora locked eyes with him, which was as disconcerting as ever. "That wasn't particularly detailed."
"I didn't see it as necessary."
"You know," Karolus broke into the conversation, "you two actually seem pretty similar. Your stories are nearly identical."
Sora didn't drop her eyes at all. "Yes. Isn't that a coincidence?"
Grayson held her gaze. "Yes. Interesting." Then he lay back, pretending to yawn whilst making a show of looking around at the now dark world. "Well, it's late. We've got a big day ahead tomorrow, and I need to sleep. There was a rumble of assent from the rest of the team, and they all lay down for the night. None of them said anything more- they still weren't on particularly friendly terms, and there wasn't much else to say anyway. They knew their roles, and they were all as prepared as they could be.
Grayson lay there on his lacerated back, listening to the slowing breaths of his comrades. He had lied about being tired, but he simply hadn't wanted the conversation to go on any further. He'd discovered long ago that a little lie every once in a while could make life a hundred times easier, and he was good enough with them not to get caught. The truth was that he couldn't sleep. He was apprehensive about the mission tomorrow, and unhappy at the way his hands were tied, but of course that wasn't the real problem.
He didn't like Sora, he didn't trust her, and he was more than a little scared of her. The way she had lied about her past had only served to remind him just how little he knew about her, and how much of an unknown she was. Having her on the team was bad enough, but being partners with her was much worse. There would be no running, no hiding, no escaping.
The verbal jabs seemed to the others like harmless rivalry, but the two of them knew that there was something much darker going on beneath. A storm was brewing between them, and the gods only knew what might happen when it broke.
Heart uncertain, eyes cautiously open, he lay wide away, listening to her breathing, making cert
ain that he always knew what she was doing.
Across the smouldering fire, a few metres away, Sora did the same.
* * *
The next day they woke, much to his resentment, a few hours before dawn. They packed up quietly, nothing needing to be said. The mission could hardly be called covert, so the fire and traces of activity were left where they were. Karolus reiterated their roles and timings as though they really needed telling twice, and then the group split up. Grayson and Sora, the only pair who had to walk the next five miles, were the first to leave. They set off into the forest, relying upon silvan navigation to reach their target location on time.
Grayson had always liked it in the forest. It was cool, calm, and quiet. It was the kind of place where you could go whenever you felt like being alone, and it would never turn you away. As long as you knew what you were doing with it, it was also a relatively safe place to be; or, depending upon how you were feeling, an exciting one. He drew his direwolf cloak closer around him.
