by C. C. Ekeke
Each player’s massive holoscreen displayed whatever aspect of their faction they were currently maneuvering. Several smaller screens appeared in the corner of the larger screen, ready to be accessed at a player’s discretion. The mood was light and fun, with the usual competitive jabs being flung back and forth. Just another regular PlaMa game, like when they were Star Brigade recruits.
Back then Tyris had roomed with Surje, and the two hit it off instantly. During their first month on Hollus Maddrone, Surje had introduced Tyris to Khrome, a huge PlaMa dork already who had gotten their mutual Ciphereen friend hooked. The trio became inseparable, even outside their twice-a-week PlaMa games. A short while later, Khrome had befriended another recruit in the form of Jan’Hax, bringing the young Ciphereen into their circle. Despite a grating penchant for long and fancily worded explanations, Jan’Hax ended up using a pre-hyperdrive society to win his first ever PlaMa game. In short, he fit into their group like a missing puzzle piece.
Of the quartet, Tyris was the only one not from a Union memberworld, colony or territory. Being a legal alien from a non-Union world had earned Tyris the informal classification of ‘outworlder’. The Tanoeen wore the label without shame, but Khrome forbid him from using it on just himself.
“Why do you care what I’m called?” Tyris had asked in confusion.
“Because,” the Thulican had replied blithely, wearing that trademark sparkly grin. “We’re all stationed somewhere that’s not a homeworld for any of us. Technically we’re all outworlders.” Hence, how their group’s informal name came about over a year ago. Since then the group had enjoyed a recurring cast of satellite members, many who made guest appearances during PlaMa game nights. But the core four members of the ‘Outworlders’ remained unchanged.
As expected, the PlaMa game was a seesaw of action, suspense, twists, and strategic genius between four experienced players who knew each other too well. But in time, certain mistakes revealed player weaknesses. Jan’Hax surprised no one by dismissing Tyris’s tribal faction and attempting to subjugate Surje’s spacestation/moon colonies by force instead of negotiation. This, along with the Ciphereen’s overextended forces that were uniting the planet, left him open to Khrome’s space invaders. Surje’s faction, which could have provided much needed defense against the space invaders, ended up tag-teaming against Jan’Hax, leading to a massive global war.
Meanwhile, Tyris made stealthy moves with his ignored faction via guerilla-style attacks on Jan’Hax’s forces. The Tanoeen then kept acquiring more and more technology in hopes of reverse engineering it. That drew the attention from a small cadre of Khrome’s factions, looking to team up against Jan’Hax’s crumbling empire.
“No fair!” Jan’Hax whined. “Everyone’s ganging up on me!”
“Only because you suck at ruling a world government,’ Khrome threw back gleefully. “Now you’re gonna get crushed.”
After over three full orvs, the quartet took a break from gameplay to recharge. Everyone shut down their holoscreens and took off their gameplay visors.
It was Surje who finally broached what everyone had avoided. “Are we going to talk about it? The all-hands meeting? Tomorrow? For Star Brigade?”
“Not sure which Star Brigade all-hands you mean, since we’ve had so many recently,” Tyris snapped, with more bite than intended. The Tanoeen just wanted to spend time with his friends and not dig into Star Brigade’s fate.
“Easy,” Khrome told Tyris before addressing the group. “You think Star Brigade’s toast?”
“Yeah, pretty much,” Surje answered quickly.
“No clue,” Jan’Hax gave a stiff shrug. “Honaa and Sam aren’t talking.”
“Maybe,” Tyris finally admitted, a hard thing to say after almost two years. But with so little movement or communication from their remaining superiors, what other conclusion could he draw?
“What are we going to do now?” Surje asked the group.
Tyris had given his future post-Star Brigade a lot of thought over the past few months, so he answered first. “Think I’ll hook up a merc company. Remember what actual combat feels like.”
“Ah. Combat…” both Khrome and Jan’Hax cooed nostalgically.
The thrill of combat, the taste of a hard-fought victory, danger around every nook and cranny of a battlefield. Tyris had expected that when joining Star Brigade. But other than a few sparse side missions from months past, the Tanoeen had found nothing but disappointment. “All the boom-boom and ka-BANG of a skirmish. Starting to think I imagined it from another life.”
Surje fixed on Tyris with one of his intense, unblinking stares when something bothered him. “What about heading back to your homeworld?”
Tyris responded with a stony frown. “And do what?” Titanoa hadn’t felt like home since the ‘Temporal Incident’ many years ago. Now Titanoa had become infested with Imperium military bases and research stations. Other than the occasional visit every few years, Tyris had no plans on returning.
“Might head back to the Twin Spheres for a while,” Khrome sighed, “figure out my next move.” Unlike Tyris, the Thulican actually missed home.
“Me too,” Surje nodded hastily. “Head back to Aurealis, not the Twins. See the parents and take a breather.”
Tyris exchanged a look with both Khrome and Jan’Hax at this news. “You better not turn all Joiner celebrant on us when you go home—”
Surje rolled his colorless eyes. This wasn’t the first time his friends had expressed such concern on this particular matter. “Lights be gone, I won’t! My parents know that’s not the life I want.”
“Until they try talking you into it for the zillionth time,” the Tanoeen retorted, unconvinced. He’d known Surje to talk tough about defying his parents…when they were light years away.
Surje glowered, his complexion darkening. “Not this time.”
“Like how they didn’t talk you out of dating a human?”
“Oh, go fall in a black hole,” Surje snapped, the glow of his red skin as angry as his expression.
Taking the hint, Tyris leaned away. “Point made. You’re inconvincible.”
A tense lull landed in the conversation, during which Jan’Hax cleared his throat. “Isn’t anyone going to inquire about my post-Brigade activities?” he complained.
“Does it involve heading to Fortuna to waste your currency on gambling?” Khrome asked flatly.
The length of Jan’Hax’s pause spoke volumes. He raised a webbed finger defensively. “Wasting is such a harsh word.”
“Then why ask?” Khrome decided, drawing laughs from Surje and Tyris. “Really feels like UComm plutoed us. All that training and time, wasted.”
“Wasn’t entirely wasted,” Tyris countered. “Met some great sentients, got some invaluable training. And…we all became better friends.”
“We don’t know if tomorrow’s a death knell for Star Brigade,” Khrome insisted. Clearly his hopefulness was undimmed.
“Then explain to me why this is the first all-hands we’ve had in months,” Tyris threw back, throwing cold water over Khrome’s optimism.
“Not just the field operators,” Surje chimed in. “Analysts, pilots, astroengineers. Anyone with any part in Star Brigade.” The Voton suddenly turned a shade of heated red. “Even the reserve Brigadiers. In one room.”
Jan’Hax’s eyes narrowed. Tyris began clenching and unclenching his fists. If the mention of Star Brigade’s decommissioning had ruined the quartet’s jovial mood, talk of reserve Brigadiers detonated it entirely. Everyone in the room knew who Surje so subtly referred to—a former earthborn friend, who had ducked out of active Star Brigade service after completing a xenobiology fellowship. The memory still stung.
“Oh, come ON you guys!” Khrome groaned with annoyance. “Lily never had any contractual obligation to become an active Star Brigadier after her fellowship ended. Stop punishing her already.”
Only Khrome remained on the Liliana Cortés bandwagon. But in Tyris’s opinion, the Thulican f
orgave others way too easily.
“Khrome’s got a point,” Jan’Hax conceded after a long and loaded silence. “And it’s not like Lily went and pulled an Addison Raichoudry.”
The memory of Addison Raichoudry and her unceremonious departure sent a collective cringe through the group, Surje more than most.
The Voton leaned forward, staring at nothing. “Earthborn women are strange,” he muttered.
“No joke,” Tyris agreed with a rude noise. Of all the odd species he had encountered in Union Space, humans offered both a surprising adaptability and a volatility that could be troubling.
“The meeting could be good news,” said Khrome, not accepting defeat.
“Or that the Brigade’s getting decommissioned.”
Khrome gave Tyris a reproachful look. “You’re just a comet full of sunshine, you know that?”
If the Tanoeen had a visible mouth, it would reveal a broad and toothy smile. “Comes with the sparkling package.” He always knew how to push the Thulican’s buttons.
“If the Brigade ends tomorrow,” Jan’Hax cast a sweeping gaze over his three friends, “it’s been fun serving with you all.”
Khrome’s grin stretched ear to ear. “Truth.”
“Likewise,” Tyris added with genuine enthusiasm.
“Hear, hear!” Surje raised a fist in the air, for no apparent reason other than to show his agreement.
Jan’Hax wasn’t finished. He waved his webbed hands to get everyone’s attention. “How about this post-Brigade idea? And no, it does not involve Fortuna or gambling, so save me the sermon, celebrant!” Jan’Hax countered as Surje opened his mouth angrily.
“Alright, humor us,” Khrome allowed, arms spread wide.
“Us four, traveling through Union Space, taking in all the sights.”
Tyris perked up. “Like a space tour?”
“Yes,” Jan’Hax continued. The Ciphereen smacked his duck-billed mouth with excitement. “We pick some planets to visit, no set time table on how long we stay on any of them.”
Tyris considered the proposal. He had been curious to see more of Union Space since arriving here over five years ago. And who better to take in the sights than with his best friends? He nodded with cool acceptance. “You’ve had worse ideas.”
Surje agreed, lighting up with a warm red shine. “I like it. Jan’Hax’s idea. Seeing more would be fun. Of Union Space, that is.”
“Let’s do it…if Star Brigade get decommissioned,” Khrome added.
“Which it will,” the Tanoeen insisted.
Khrome ignored him. “Now, can we finish the game? I’m not done conquering this world.”
Surje scoffed, putting back on his gameplay visor. “Not going to happen. My faction may be a bunch of colonies, but I’ll still win. The planet, that is. I’ll rebel against you.”
“Which I’ll be ready for, now that you’ve told me,” Khrome crowed, reactivating his holoscreen.
Surje swore in loud Votonese, his skin flashing bright red at his misstep.
Jan’Hax snorted. “Worst. Intel Operative. Ever—OW.” The Ciphereen jumped in his seat. Surje had given him a hard, electric-charged poke to the ribs.
Khrome and Tyris both guffawed. “You asked for that,” said the Tanoeen between squally-like bursts of laughter.
Territorial
V’Korram Pryderi-Ravlek’s victory roar rang across the unremarkable rolling plains long after he had finished, again and again, each echo growing more distant.
Every nerve ending tingled with triumph. His senses felt heightened and alive from the high of killing something.
Or in his case, killing several things.
The Kintarian stood at his full six-foot-nine-inch height, massive chest heaving, exerted but not exhausted. Through curtains of stringy ginger hair, he stared at the dark blood soaking the length of his tawny fur-covered frame and dripping from his clawed fingers—blood that wasn’t his own.
V’Korram smiled in satisfaction. Glancing around to appreciate his handiwork made the smile broaden to display razor-sharp teeth.
A small slice of the short bluegrass plains surrounding him was torn up and littered with bleeding, mangled corpses—Kintarian corpses. The sinking sun cast a warm red glow over the grasslands, adding a macabre glow to the scene many would called gruesome.
V’Korram, however, reveled in its beauty.
Some of these carcasses had their throats ripped open; others were missing limbs or heads, while a number had their innards spilling out of shredded abdomens.
Every Kintarian lying dead at V’Korram’s feet were members of his clan or immediate family, which was precisely why he had slaughtered them. This was how he had spent the afternoon of his day off.
The Kintarian’s three litter brothers, his two litter sisters, numerous siblings from his parents’ other litters, both mother and father—V’Korram had taken his sweet time with those two in particular before killing them.
These clan members had once been his everything, only to abandon him at his lowest moment, believing others’ lies, disowning him from the Pryderi clan and the greater Ravlek pride.
The Kintarian turned a dispassionate eye down at the face of his father, which resembled juicy shredded meat. V’Korram hocked deep in his throat and spat on it. Family only meant that they eviscerated you with a reassuring smile.
If only you were real, V’Korram noted sullenly.
And the smile began to fade, as did the euphoria. Just like every time before.
Any time the anger and self-loathing threatened to devour him, and even the sweetness between Bevrolor’s thighs wasn’t enough to satiate him, V’Korram ‘killed’ hardlight holograms of his disloyal clan to unwind.
He planned to keep slaughtering his former clan as long as it took, until they were utterly dead to him. And when every member of his clan was actually dead, they would mean nothing to him.
Given Star Brigade’s current state, he had absolutely needed to—how did earthborns phrase it—‘blow off steam.’
The field operative training sessions with his alleged teammates had been an embarrassment. And this legendary Habraum Nwosu that Sam brought back to ‘save’ Star Brigade, had been less than encouraging thus far. ‘Out of his depth’ would be the understatement of the millennium. V’Korram wasn’t sorry about what he’d said to Nwosu the other day. How could any Brigadier trust in the crimsonborn’s commitment, after he’d left when times grew tough?
However, the Cercidalean didn’t have much to work with in terms of seasoned Brigadiers. Sam and Captain Ishliba had more experience between the two of them than any of the remaining Brigadiers on the roster—literally.
And something smelled off about the Rothorid. The onset of some disease, possibly. Whatever the issue, V’Korram had respect enough not to say anything to Honaa. As long as this illness didn’t compromise Star Brigade’s ‘progress.’
And the euphoria had vanished completely. V’Korram bristled.
The Kintarian contemplated running his personal HLHG program again, but decided against it. Twice in one day was enough.
“End program,” he ordered in a brusque growl.
The rolling plains of bluegrass, the deep-red sunset, the bodies of his clan, even the rivers of blood staining his body —all of it vanished. Now the only things covering the towering Kintarian were tight black athletic shorts and sweat. The latter saturated V’Korram’s tawny body fur and the long ginger mane he tossed back from his face. Neon blue walls surrounded him now, pulsing slowly with energy.
The Kintarian strode from the HLHG suite, his swift yet graceful footfall never making a sound. He had passed through the suite’s rotund atrium and headed for the exit of the HLHG Sector.
And that was when V’Korram’s attention got drawn to his right.
Down the gunmetal grey corridor he saw HLHG-1 occupied, as indicated by the deep red square at the top of its rectangular door console. V’Korram’s ever-present scowl deepened. “Who?”
&nb
sp; Curious, the Kintarian turned on his heel and strode for the very first of the six Hollus Maddrone HLHG suites. As he approached, V’Korram took a quick whiff of the air, catching the lingering scent of whoever had last entered the HLHG suite—recognizing its fragrant, human softness.
Her. V’Korram’s pointy ears flattened, his already sour mood turning pitch-black.
‘Her’ being Dr. Liliana Cortés, that feeble, undertrained weakling of an earthborn underserving of her maximal powers. Frail, skinny and weak, even for a human.
One lucky shot during an organization all-hands had Captain Nwosu convinced this Cortés had field active potential. The notion was laughable, and further proof of Nwosu’s questionable leadership. Cortés had no business as a field operator, let alone stepping foot on Hollus Maddrone. V’Korram knew that the moment he’d met her at Bilbao Interplanetary Spaceport. Cortés had gotten nauseous on the trip to Hollus…from being inside a spacefaring craft. What Star Brigadier got nauseous on a spacecraft? And the training sessions during which she’d frozen or just curled up and shrieked her nonsensical head off?
The memories quickly filled V’Korram with near explosive rage.
He almost spun around and stalked off…almost. But a wickedly curious part of him couldn’t resist. The Kintarian just had to see this earthborn’s attempts to better her nonexistent skills.
Cortés must have expected everyone to be off-base today. Probably why she didn’t make her training session private. One optical scan from the side console, and the doors slid open for V’Korram.
She crouched in the dead center of the neon-blue room. The black tank top and tight grey active nanoclothe ¾ pants she wore overtly emphasized how the doctor’s body was mostly legs, topped off by a slim built torso with spare arms.
Her usually light honey complexion was flushed from exertion, the cropped boyish black hair lank from perspiration, her delicate features a mask of unthreatening determination. The air was awash with her scent, which V’Korram found gallingly aromatic. At first, the Kintarian couldn’t tell which program the doctor was running, until he followed her gaze up toward the globe-shaped mechanoid circling several feet overhead.
