by Trey Deibel
With no control over my own dream, the scene from my past played out before my eyes. I watched myself watching a news broadcast coming from a holographic projector resting on a stand to my past self’s right. For this particular dream, my vision was over the shoulder of my past self. It was a strange point of view, to say the least.
The broadcast played. “Citizens all across the planets under the protection of the Alliance of Republic Worlds, or ARW, are calling for action after the latest incident regarding the dytirc species’ recent invasion. If rumors are to be believed, the once divided species of dytircs are now fighting as one. Allow me to turn it over to my co-host to elaborate on that scary thought,” the first reporter finished.
The camera zoomed in on the second reporter. “Indeed. Panic... is a word every citizen in the ARW should get used to hearing if we go to war with these dytircs. One hundred billion! Let that number sink in for a moment. That is the reported number of dytircs in the known Milky Way, and last I checked… that is four times larger than the combination of all four founding species in the ARW! If we go to war, despite our technological advantage over the dytircs, we will lose.”
It’s funny how time can shift and mold just about anything and everything. But at the time of that news broadcast, the citizens of my alliance, the ARW, hadn’t a damn clue as to how big the picture really stretched. It had been a well-kept secret that war had already started. At the time, the war had only been taking infant steps, and, to put it metaphorically, the war was only in the tadpole stage. Eventually, the wildfire-spread of the news that we were at war drilled panic into the civilian population of my alliance. Luckily, that panic was eradicated. In fact, in my present, the war with the Wersillian Legion has been an ongoing, galaxy-shaping conflict for nine years. I, myself, must give those four-armed, exoskeletal, power-hungry dytircs points for their tenacity. Maybe it’s because of the bonies’ overwhelming numbers or brutal nature that's helping them win this war. Or maybe it’s their allies, the lycargans, that are to be praised - or in my case blamed - for the sickening direction of the war. Together, the lycargans and dytircs, the two species allied as the Wersillian Legion, are a more than formidable opponent for the ARW.
Suddenly, my vision merged with my past self’s and I could see and hear everything from all those years ago - only I was along for this ride with no control. My past self tuned his ears to the conversation of the two others in the room. At the time, this was going to be my first step into a future I'd envisioned for myself. As far as those men went, they were to give me a drop of insight into the ocean of people enlisted in the military.
“--and my buddy - he is already in the war - says the dytircs have already begun to attack a system adjacent to their own. Me… I can’t wait to introduce myself to those grey bonies.” The first man clinched his fist and grinned.
The other took a puff from his cigar and blew out a ring. “Word has it those bonies can take a hit.”
War had crafted its marks on both of the men’s flesh. Their rough and edgy facial features stood out like a cat at a dog park. Both were cut and built, a sight often seen in the military. At the time, I lacked the experience they'd obtained. I was the odd man out - a feeling that was journeys-far from new to me.
“You? What’s your thoughts?”
Still stuck in my mind, locked within the constraints of my dream, I was unable to say anything. My past self was stuck in thought, unaware one of the men was speaking to us. What was I thinking all those years ago? The better question is: Why am I reliving this now?
After I neglected to respond, both of them got up and found their way in front of us. One stood with a hand on his hip. “Hey, prick! I asked you a question.”
The second man chortled to the first, still puffing at his cigar, “Look at this rookie. He barely looks eighteen.” They laughed, and he focused his next question at my past self. “Did you get off a stop early, prick? God knows only veterans are cut out to be legionnaires.” For a moment, our eyes locked and I saw interest mixed with spite. “Can’t remember the last time I saw a redhead. Who are you anyway?”
“To you… no one,” my past self responded.
“No one, huh? Why?”
“Call me old-fashioned, but without respect for each other on the table, I don’t see a reason to feed you what you want to know.”
He chuckled with a peppering of mockery. “You’ve got a colorful way of saying what’s on your mind, but you’re right about one thing: I don’t respect you. Wanna know why?”
“Do I care? No. But I’ll wager you’ll feel the urge to tell me anyway.”
“That’s the second thing you’ve been right about. And what I'm going to say would eventually be said by someone else anyways, so why not myself? You’re young. You don’t belong here. I see in you inexperience that'll get veterans like us killed, or worse.”
I could feel the same feelings I had in the past all over again. I looked from one of them to the other, fighting the urge to knock the lights out of them both. I remember thinking that action would make one hell of a bad impression.
“Huh… I guess we’ll see whether I die of ignorance first, or if you die with that cocky-ass grin you so proudly wear on your face.”
The man pulled out his cigar form his mouth. Spitting the next few words, he said, “Who does this prick think he is? Maybe we--”
The first man cut off the second by grabbing his shoulder and gesturing at me - or rather at my fist clinching the armrest of the wooden chair I sat in. Then I saw the look in their eyes, a look I used to see in the year prior to my joining boot camp, a look that projected “freak” from their eyes. It was then I realized why. In my grasp, the once sturdy wood had become splinters and sawdust from the force of my grip. Such isn’t a normal thing to witness, and people - especially humans - were still warming up to the thought of unnatural beings in their midst.
“The hell?” The man dropped his cigar to the floor, continuing to wear a mask of fear and unease. “You’re one of them, aren’t you? I’ve heard the stories of freaks like you popping up.”
“Aces. That’s what we’re called, you hickory dip,” I corrected him. “Sure as hell aren’t freaks!”
Unsettled, the first man jerked his buddy away and back to their corner of the room. “Come on. Let’s leave this prick to his thoughts.”
I ground my teeth, holding back my anger. I remember all the doubts I had about joining the military at that moment, unsure if those two men were a sample of the pot of people I'd soon call allies. I mean, not too long before this moment, I recently joined the military to try to get away from those looks and all the people who saw me as some damn monster. I was glad to be proven wrong by the family I’ve come to know in my current timeline.
I blinked, and everything had changed; the setting, the time, the people. It seems I’ve been taken further down this mystical dream-road. Too bad it's out of my hands.
I was inside the legionnaire training complex’s mess hall. The room was vast; concrete block walls, dome ceiling, black stage at the front, and only tables and chairs to furnish the place. This complex was still partially under construction. Still trapped in this dream, I lay back in the chair, tapping my knee with alacrity while observing the room. At first glance, around a few hundred individuals sat listening as the instructor at the front of the room spoke. The audience was mixed, with all four founder species allied under the ARW: Dor’o; qwayks; maelkii; and humans. At the time, I was the youngest stud in a room full of individuals with battle experience and valor under their belts.
Brightstone lights scattered around the room brightened as the beam aimed at the front stage dimmed. A dor’o female stepped backward and out of view. It was obvious the speech was finished, though I'd heard none of it; I guess my memory of this event was spotted and lacking in every detail.
With one last look, I spotted the female dor’o leaving the mess hall through a doorway. As a species, the dor’o almost look like small devils, with the c
harm to match. On the tops of their bald brown or red-brown scalps, they have what they call stumps, which resemble cut off antlers extending only a few centimeters out of their scalps. Stumps remind me somewhat of an axed tree trunk. Dor’o are also the smallest species in the ARW, at almost half the size of humans, but their arms are just as long. Their advantage lies in their agility and endurance, which surpass all other ARW species. Names; that's what make them pop out from the crowd. Dor’o measure their names like currency and hope to add as much weight to it before their end. To them, dragging their tribal-like names through the mud can destroy their typically large egos and pierce deeper than a blade.
The lights flashed, and in that instant everybody was gone! Same room, but with every chair empty. I heard a soft whisper, then something pulled at my arm. It felt like a hand; three stubby fingers and a thumb gripped around my entire arm, and the texture felt like a pine cone against my skin. I looked back to Valiic, sitting beside me. This isn't how I remembered this memory playing out. What’s going on?
“James,” Valiic whispered, “you and I have been friends for a long time. I know when you’re hiding from reality.”
I knew now I was no longer reliving a memory; yet, everything was familiar, and that’s when the thought hit me: This fiction was identical to my dream last night. And it seemed I now had control of the wheel again.
“It-It’s just a dream… nothing more.” I adjusted my position in the chair so I faced Valiic.
“This isn’t just a dream, James.”
“Then what is it?”
“This is your way of reliving your choices, the choices you think may have led to Bremco’s death. You forget, I understand you more than you think. I know you’re questioning… questioning if you hadn’t joined boot camp, accepted the proposition to be a legionnaire, or met Captain Landis, would Bremco still be alive?”
“Am I wrong to wonder that?”
Valiic placed his heavy palm on my shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault. Now, awaken.”
Those words turned everything black, and I blinked open my eyes. I'd returned to reality.
“Awaken, James.”
I heard the words again and sat up to see Valiic tugging my shoulder. He gave me a smile and took a seat next to me on the bench.
I gazed around and was surprised to see the room full of people dressed in formal black. The ceremony had just begun. Captain Landis, the captain of my unit, was upfront, giving a speech at a podium. While I’m sure it was touching and moving, my ears weren’t focused on her voice; instead, my thoughts were still stuck on the moments before Bremco died. And as I looked to my side, I could see Valiic and his cohinla, Narrisa, were at my side. She'd cleaned up in time for the ceremony. Noticeably late was the fifth member of my unit, Shadow-Walker. Being the cheerful, class-clown type he is, Shadow-Walker is probably afraid to let others see him while his grief is at the forefront of his usually cheery thoughts. I guess you can tell a lot about someone by how they deal with loss. I try to take it on alone, Valiic tries to bring everyone together, Narrisa unleashes her grief through punches, Shadow-Walker hides in it, and Captain Landis is...well, she's a mystery, as she usually is. Some squad we are.
Chapter 3: A Mystery Arises
September 24, 2111
James Stone
A mere week following Bremco's funeral, the commander over my unit, Commander Sizar, had us on a mission. With our former lieutenant dead, Captain Landis promoted me to the positon as second-in-command of our squad. And to fill Bremco’s large and clean shoes was a new medic named Uslar Kip, making him our new sixth member, along with Captain Landis, Valiic Bessile, Narrisa Bessile, Shadow-Walker, and myself. As the 1070 Legionnaires, we're typically assigned to small scale missions that have a massive impact on the outcome of a battle. That's what we were trained to do, and today was no different.
On the Parlor-2 Dropship, I relaxed, extending my feet as far as they'd reach. I let my ass leave its mark on the seat cushion while my back rested snug against the backrest. We were all waiting for Captain Landis to make it on board. Across from me, Valiic Bessile and his cohinla, Narrisa Bessile, whispered to each other. Their massive stature covered the entire seats in which they sat. A few seats down from them, Shadow-Walker snored and drooled with his beloved custom scout rifle snuggled up against his chest. His bald red-brown head hung at an angle over his seat’s lock-in straps while the stumps protruding from his bald head rested against the strap’s inertial-dampening fabric. Shadow-Walker is an exceptional engineer, and an even more superior sniper. Our new medic, Uslar Kip, a qwayk, waited in the corner seat on my side of the dropship, shaking his white knee and thumping his fist into the nearest wall. This being his first mission, I couldn't blame the kid for being antsy. As a species, qwayks have white, flowing hair and light-gray to pale white skin. What makes the qwayks stand out are the wrinkle-like waves that start from the base of their eyes and finish at the tip of their chins, which the qwayks call vantors. Other than that, qwayks a very human-like with typically nimble builds, making them not as strong as humans. Yet, due to their long foreheads, what they lack in strength, they make up in brainpower.
As I waited, I loosened up my armored vest a hair. In times of war, one’s armor is one’s identity. And, in my brain, the ARW had our enemies beat in this department. As legionnaires, we are elite infantry and can pull down the strings for quality armor. That said, each species is different. Maelkii are traditional in that they all use heavy plated and dense sets of armor to complement their natural durability and strength. Dor’o are the opposite, picking speed and flexibly over durability. Humans and qwayks wear quite similar armor: plated yet flexible sets that provide medium protection against damage, but will not withstand concentrated or sustained gunfire, especially high-caliber weapons. Though, qwayks’ armor sets are more elegant and sleek while human’s armor sets look blockier and worn. And, due modern science blessing our collective asses, most units don’t use physical helmets, the exception being the maelkii. Our sets have a see-through stasis field that emits from our necks and covers over our heads. This is meant to protect us from a few minor shots to the face before having to recharge. It was down-right glorious.
Captain Landis paced into the dropship. A young woman with a legendary reputation and beauty to match; curls, caramel like her skin, touched her shoulders and knotted around her ears, and she had sharp eyebrows and lips that accented her assertive demeanor. There was a story behind her beauty, one yet to be uncovered. Unlike most drooling men, her allure wasn’t at the forefront of what I saw from the great Captain Landis. What I saw and what I admired most about her, was her leadership.
As she walked past Shadow-Walker, she pulled him off the seat. His nimble, tiny body jerked as he fell, but he caught himself with his long arms.
“Hey! I was dreaming about kittens and ponies.” He got up and plopped down on the seat, sticking out his tongue at Landis.
Ignoring his quip, Landis said, “I’m sure each of you knows where we are.”
“Grathefer-Qwayk, the qwayk home world,” Narrisa responded.
In the corner, Uslar Kip flexed his jaw and got more riled up than before. Hell, I was pissed, too. Grathefer-Qwayk was one of the three planets colonized by the qwayks, making it an ARW home world. It also happened to be where Uslar was born. Up until that point, the Wersillian Legion had never invaded an ARW home system. So it goes without saying that this strange advance had us all on our toes.
Landis sat down to my right. “Today marks the first time the Wersillian Legion has ever set their eyes on anything in our Alliance's most defended system, the Qwayk System. I don’t have to explain the significance of this.”
“The Wersillian Legion must have grown a pair since our last scuffle,” I added.
“Maybe. But then again, their attack is far too light to hope to take control of Grathefer-Qwayk.”
“Even say… even say they did launch a full-scale attack on one of our home systems. I can’t imagi
ne the Wersillian Legion believe they could win a battle on our home turf, could they?” Valiic wondered.
“It is strange. Our planetary defenses are too strong for the fleet they brought today. This advance has the ARW’s best military minds brainstorming possible motives,” Landis added.
“Maybe the legion’s attack is more targeted. They only seem to be invading the Tegun Trade City,” Valiic suggested.
“I agree. Whatever the legion wants, the answer lies in that city,” Captain Landis concluded.
“Taking off… now,” the pilot of the dropship reported.
Our dropship detached from our designated star cruiser, the Tempest of Titans. Entering the atmosphere caused the ship to shake and lag. Add in entire fleets of ARW and dytirc starships firing recklessly at each other, and our dropship underwent some collateral damage. Each strike from a plasma blast whipped around our ship. Our bodies were at the mercy of the lock-in straps holding us to our seats. Through the dropship’s front window, I was just able to make out hundreds of other dropships and fighter-class starships entering the atmosphere in front of our ship.
Next to me, Landis whispered, “James, don’t go off on another heroic undertaking like last time.”
Recalling our last mission, I got a bit up my own ass and idiotically tried to distract a few dozen lycargan and dytirc soldiers as the rest of my legionnaire squad planted a bomb in one of their bunkers. My bold plan made the mission easy for my squad; however, I got myself into a lockup. Long story short, with some dumb luck I made it back to our dropship a few seconds before they had to take off. That was mere hours before Bremco took a plasma shot to the chest.
“Don’t tempt me,” I responded with a cheeky smile.
“You know, you may be strong, fast, and can even heal faster than anybody should--” she started.
