Xandrian Stone Book 1: Beginning of a Legend

by Breitenstein, Christian Alex

  Little side-note: I remember that conversation now because the gift of foresight has manifested itself in me a couple of years ago. Only after all the events I am going to describe – so that was unfortunate. Then again, it would have made my story much less exciting, so there's that. It foreshadowed itself though, by those feelings Eandras described. They saved my ass many times, in unlikely ways. I know, some of the turns of this story will sound like some writer dreamed them up, sitting in his bedroom and staring at the screen of his computer. They were real.

  Ah, digressed again.

  Waking up was the weirdest thing. I did not gradually wake, as normal, but suddenly. One moment I was out, the next I was fully awake, alert and aware. I got up, patted some dust off myself and looked at my classification officer who was watching me with a little worry in her face, holding the Classification Rod in her hands. The bright white glowing Classification Rod. "How do you feel?" She asked me. "Great, thank you. What's the verdict?" "Follow me into the office, we'll discuss everything there." We walked to the barracks in the back of the field and I noticed that every single rod was glowing white and everyone was looking at me. Thinking back, I had not seen anyone else being knocked senseless, so what had happened to me must be special.

  I also noticed that three officers were lying on the ground, being treated by medics. I had always been able to sense if someone was hurt, but usually after touching them. Now I could tell that those officers were hurt across half the field. Especially one young man who seemed to have lost his eyes. "What happened?" "Some of the Classification Rods overloaded and exploded. Not your fault. Those rods were older, but deemed safe. We're going to revise the criteria for that. Don't … where are you going?" Those last words were spoken to my back, as I had changed direction and was jogging to the worst hurt officer. I sensed excruciating pain, fear, panic, disorientation. Something had to be done to help that poor man.

  When I reached him, the medics wanted to be difficult but were waved away by the officer following me. I pushed by the slowly moving medics and gripped the hurt officer's head on both sides. Focusing on his pain, I took it into myself and worked from there. What I omitted earlier, was that healing meant taking the pain of the patient, analyzing it and healing the patient's wound like it was your own. That means that basically the amount of pain you were willing and able to suffer ruled how good a healer you were. There were tricks to dull the pain in yourself, but that influenced the results in a negative way – leading to bones mending at an angle, eyes through which wooden splinters had been driven to stop bleeding, but to never work again, that sort of thing.

  I hate pain. With a passion. But I hate even more seeing other people in pain, especially knowing that I can do something about that pain. So I was never afraid to assume the pain of others to heal them. I started with cuts and bruises. Then I worked myself up to a broken finger. That was bad, but I realized that it was really nothing when I encountered my first broken leg. In three places, with a busted knee to top it off. Apparently that farmer had fallen off a harvester which then proceeded to slowly roll over his leg. Fortunately the knives and such that the harvester used to harvest were attached to the front end, or it would have been messy.

  So, I was used to lots of pain. What caused me trouble was the mental state of the officer. That farmer had been matter-of-fact, he knew that stuff could happen and in his case did happen and now he'd have to deal with it. The officer was – not a farmer. His fear and despair were so bad that I actually had to find a way to deal with those first, so that I could concentrate on the eyes. I ended up mentally giving him the mother of all slaps and yelling at him to focus. That last bit was aloud, and cause of many rumors and stories. You'll likely have heard one or the other, if you are in the navy yourself.

  It did, however, work. He focused just a bit, but that was enough. From the outside it looked like (someone filmed it, so I saw it later) the splinters were pushed out of his eyes and they unfolded themselves, popping into their former forms. Then the lids regrew and closed and I crawled away from him, leaning my back to his desk and burying my face in my hands groaning.

  Whenever you heal, then and now, the pain does go away almost instantly for the patient, but not the healer. It always takes a couple of seconds for the perceived pain to dissipate, which all healers describe as the most difficult part. You can do nothing about it, you just have to wait and sit it out. That also means that a healer cannot heal indefinitely, they will require breaks. Rather long breaks after a large healing like busted eyes.

  I felt a hand on my arm. "Don't move, a colleague is getting a glass of water for the both of you. My brother is a healer, he told me." The water arrived a bit later, and I sipped it cautiously. It helped put my mind at ease. Also, the worst was over and I was becoming aware of what was going on around us. Apparently a couple of healers had arrived and taken care of the other two wounded, sitting together with glasses of water themselves. When they saw me looking around, they toasted to me and I toasted back. The painful disciplines of magic created a tight relationship between the wizards that nobody from outside of those disciplines could really understand – nor should they. If I was given the choice of replacing the pain with having to dance around half naked and making a total fool of myself, I'd take that choice in a heartbeat. And so would all the others.

  But things were – are, actually, as they are and I have always taken bucket loads of solace by the fact that I was actively helping people.

  "Let's go, you are not yet hired. And the others would like to continue with the testing, now that everything is all right again." She did smile at me, so I smiled back. "Aye, let's do this." "'Aye'? Read too many old navy stories?" I grinned. "Aye." She sighed and led me to the barracks. Inside, we entered a meeting room with a desk and a couple of chairs around it. "No interview?" She just held the Classification Rod up, which was glowing bright white. "Oh." She pointed to the desk, on which a piece of paper lay. "I'll be outside, you read that and sign it. Otherwise, I'll beat you with this:" she waved the rod, "until you do." She grinned and left.

  I felt no ill will or so, just playful messing around. I also felt that she would never hit me, that was just not in her character. How I knew that I did not know, but thinking about it made me wonder. No answer was forthcoming, so I shrugged, sat and read the contract.

  STANDARD NAVAL EMPLOYMENT CONTRACT

  EMPLOYER: Swiss Federated Space Navy

  EMPLOYEE: Xandrian Stone, Omni Wizard, natural, balanced

  By signing this document, the EMPLOYEE dedicates no less than TWENTY-FIVE YEARS of his or her life to the service for the EMPLOYER in a willfully entered two-sided contract. The rank of the EMPLOYEE upon signing of this contract will be Cadet.

  The EMPLOYEE will carry out the orders he receives from the EMPLOYER in a timely and proper fashion, as long as these orders do not conflict with the Book of Morale Conventions.

  Given the nature of the EMPLOYER the EMPLOYEE accepts that the EMPLOYER will at all times attempt to take the EMPLOYEE's personal safety and health into account when giving orders but special situations may inhibit that.

  The EMPLOYER will pay the EMPLOYEE the standard salary as defined in the Book of Laws, private sector, as a basis, upon which he will add special salaries as defined in the Book of Laws, private sector, as the EMPLOYEE changes in rank and specialization.

  After TWENTY-FIVE YEARS of service the EMPLOYER and EMPLOYEE both may terminate the contract with ONE YEAR's NOTICE to the end of the following year. If either does not do so, the contract will automatically be renewed for a period of FIVE YEARS.

  After FIFTY YEARS of service the aforementioned renewal period changes to ONE YEAR.

  The Handbook of Service in the Swiss Federated Space Navy is an integrated part of this contract. If the Handbook of Service in the Swiss Federated Space Navy contradicts any part of this contract, the contradicted part of this contract will supersede the Handbook of Service in the Swiss Federated Space Navy.

>   EMPLOYER HAS SIGNED

  EMPLOYEE HAS NOT SIGNED

  I chuckled. The Handbook of Service was a tome of several hundred pages that was ever changing. But it could only rule non-essentials, the navy could not be warped by it to something unrecognizable. Both the Book of Morale Conventions and the Book of Laws, private sector were parts of the contract and would supersede the handbook, protecting the contract.

  When I put my thumb on the appropriate position the last line of the contract changed to "EMPLOYEE HAS SIGNED".

  I took a deep breath and stood up. I was SNECed. Cadet Xandrian Stone. I smiled to that.

  When the door behind me flew open I was busy dreaming of saving the Swiss Federation from all kinds of evil-doers, so I was caught by surprise when a powerful voice smashed through my daydreams. "Ateeen-TION Cadet!" 'Cadet'. Wow. I whirled around and stiffened myself to the best of my ability. For a reason I never really understood - in retrospect one could almost say that the Supreme Divine smiled on us both that day - the nameplate from the lieutenant in front of me caught my eye immediately: Radaean McGlennan.

  Lieutenant McGlennan radiated sincerity, discipline, hardness but no malice or sadism at all. Instantly I respected and liked the lieutenant. He looked at me with what I now know to be his best 'drill face', making me feel very small and cadet-like. I loved that feeling and desperately tried not to grin in happiness. "Wipe that smirk off your face Cadet!" I tried harder.

  "Ah, you're hopeless, Cadet! Fall in line and march to the quartermaster's office!" With that he turned to the door and stood still. I neither knew what he meant by "fall in line" nor where the quartermaster's office was. I did doubt, however, that I was supposed to drop to the ground trying to look like a line. The only thing that made sense was that the Lieutenant wanted me follow him, so I moved behind him and tried to stand on an imaginary line extending from him backwards. "Right foot forward-MARCH!" He thumped his right foot on the floor and marched. I failed to start at the same time and had to jog to keep up, then I tried to march in the same rhythm as the Lieutenant. After a few steps I started feeling confident and noticed that the Lieutenant's shoulders were as empty as mine, where the ribbons would be. "File - STAHP!" I thumped into his back, still too focused on marching and looking at the Lieutenant's shoulders. "Sorry, sir." I moved back to be "in line" again as he turned around to punish me with a hard stare. At least what I thought to be "in line". Then it hit me: The candidates I had seen dusting themselves off had misinterpreted the order to fall in line!

  I was getting a hang of controlling my face it seemed - the Lieutenant just snorted and turned around.

  "Pay attention Cadet! Forward-MARCH!" This time I knew the rhythm of the order and we thumped our feet almost in unison and marched pretty much in step. "Oh, sir, I forgot the contract!" "File - STAHP!" I marched only one step too far this time. He turned. "In running step - MARCH!" I ran.

  When we reached the quartermaster's office I was holding my contract in the left hand ("Keep your fighting hand free, cadet, or do you prefer that piece of paper to a sturdy stick you may find at a moment's notice to fight your enemies?!"), we thumped our right feet exactly in time with each other when we stopped and looked generally militaristic. I was a little proud, I have to admit.

  "WHAT!!" The Lieutenant had turned to look at me. "Still grinning like you just je-" "Lieutenant!" The Lieutenant started a tiny little bit. "Ateeen-TION!" We both stood stock still, while the Quartermaster approached us. "Leave those dirty jokes at the door, this cadet is hardly of age yet." Out of the corner of my eye I did see an amused twinkle though. "At ease you two. Now, Cadet, follow me if you please. Lieutenant, carry on." The Lieutenant saluted smartly and marched away, thumping his foot like his life depended on it. "A good man, but from a long line of ground officers. Too much indoctrination I fear. Your service booklet and SNEC please." I handed him both. "Take a seat. Someone will be with you momentarily."

  A little side note on the ground officer thing the Quartermaster mentioned: Up and until some fifty years before I entered the navy there were two sets of ranks: Ground and Naval. The ground ranks were intended to be some form of prolonged trial period for naval ranks, a way for cadets to be rewarded for distinguishing themselves. In principal, that worked well but there were all kinds of misunderstandings all the time. Naval lieutenants outranked ground generals, which had a tendency to cause unnecessary friction between ground and naval ranks. Add some alcohol into the mix and you end up with a rather epic bar fight that made the news across the colonies and caused the navy a lot of embarrassment.

  It was too useful to have a way to reward distinguished cadets, so the rank of cadet was split into 8 tiers or levels: flat black, which I was about to get, and up to 7 white dots clustered in the center of the flat black cadet insignia. Those were officially all called "cadet", but unofficially they were called cadet-0 to cadet-7 or cadet-cadet (cadet squared) to cadet-general. There were of course also other less... civilized jokes and labels, like that you could easily see how many brain cells a cadet had and others. I personally have always found the brain cell thing to be greatly amusing.

  The problem with that system was that one could guess early in their career if they were going to make it to lieutenant (or, earlier, naval lieutenant) by the speed at which the dots were being awarded. That created a culture of hard-ass cadets who had lost hope of promotion and instead of advancing their minds trained their bodies to be the best warriors they could be.

  Physical close combat had its uses, but at the time it was thought that anyone with a weaponized staff could blow a close combatant away before they ever came into range. So, those hard-ass warriors were never met with much respect. Quite the contrary actually. They proved themselves right in the coming events though, and nowadays rigorous close combat training is a pre-requisite for promotion into officer ranks.

  Actually, Rad was one of the first hard-ass heroes.

  "Xandrian Stone?" "Um, yes?" "That will be a smart 'present!' And get to your feet, Cadet!" I jumped to my feet, yelling "present!" and tried to assume a posture that at least looked like I was standing at attention. It seems that I succeeded partially, because the "Follow me, Cadet. We'll get you your uniform." sounded less like my life was about to end in a most horrible fashion. So I followed the figure in front of me, still uncertain if that was a man or a woman - its voice could be both.

  We reached a large room full with uniforms, shoes, rain gear and such. The thing in front of me turned and while it asked "Size?" I decided that it was probably a man. Maybe a woman. Certainly a lieutenant. Then it hit me: Hermaphrodite! "Well?" "Standard eleven." "Hm. You'll fit into a twelve soon enough, son! So take both." "Okay, thanks. May I ask a very personal question?" He/She sighed. "If it must be." That surprised me. After all, we were in a more or less tolerant society and the fear, suspicion and general not-wanting-to-have-to-do-anything-with-you Hermaphrodites had had to deal with in the past should have been over for centuries. He/She shifted his/her shoulder forward a little, calling my attention to the bright yellow band over her shoulder. It was about 1 or so centimeter wide and reached down about 4 or so centimeters and made of a sturdy fabric, made to endure obviously. On the top of her shoulder the band bore a little, square plate of a silver metal and along most of the band to its end, maybe 5 centimeters below the metal square, there was a long silver rectangle attached to the band, almost covering it. That must be a sensor ribbon! "Oh, you are a sensor wizard?" "Sensor instructor to be precise, son. And you are partially wrong - our society is only on the surface as tolerant as you believe. You'll see soon enough I am afraid."

  Huh? "Um, may I kindly ask if you read my thoughts?" He/She chuckled. "Your thought was more to the point. And yes, I do. And to your question: What do you think?" "Well, I must confess that you are the first Hermaphrodite I have come in contact with so I know next to nothing about you guys. Do you want to be spoken to as either male of female? Do you have a preference in the first place?" He/She shook
his/her head and nodded immediately after. He? shook his head. She nodded. "This is weird, but fun!" I grinned and felt amusement from her. Also, I got the distinctive feeling that she was impressed at my respecting her for what she was, even though I had shown a lot more curiosity than she was comfortable with.

  Wait, what?

  I focused on her and her feelings became much clearer immediately. "A little more, son. You're almost there." I focused a little more and suddenly knew that she was thinking 'There! Now tell me if you feel the need to peek around in my head and learn all my secrets?' I did not, much to my own surprise. 'This seems to be an in-built defense against temptation. Who-or whatever made existence has thought everything through it seems. We know of no better explanation.' That made much more sense to me than it should have. In fact, as I pulled back from her mind gently I realized that I had felt uneasy peeking around in her mind.

  At the same time I felt her presence in mine and did not mind at all, which surprised me most of all. 'Some kind of telepathic familiarity link?' "As far as we can tell, that's as good an explanation as any." I felt a powerful presence closing and both the Lieutenant and I went stiff as the presence entered the room. Turning to it, I saw that it was in fact an elderly man in a pure white uniform, whose rank insignia showed the two thick horizontal bars of a commodore, with a golden rim and whose shoulders were brimming with ribbons of all colors. All those ribbons bore at least two pips, the yellow sensor ribbon the wide silver bar of an instructor and a weird green one bore three pips. That weird green was and still is commonly called yellow-green, it is the color of navigation. Some also call it navigreen – though that never really took hold.

  "At ease, at ease. We are amongst ourselves here." I felt amusement from him and the Lieutenant who, as I realized, had just imitated my behavior. "Amongst ourselves?" 'Sensors.' I heard a loud thought from him. I was not in his mind, though - but both he and the Lieutenant were in mine. 'Is it not getting crowded in here?' They both snorted and left my mind. "So, we can also transmit our thoughts?" They looked at each other and ignored me.