September 17, 2111
James Stone
There was a time when war had rules. War crimes would have their justice, and the victors would determine history. No such guidelines or punishments exist anymore. Anything goes.
War. Loss. Two horrors that go together like guns and ammo. Scale that up to an intergalactic setting, and out pops a recipe for misery and grief. Almost a decade deep into a losing war, and there's still no end in sight.
In the year that I've been a soldier, one hard fact has burned into my mind: War is chaos, and I love it for that fact. Not for the reason one might assume; I don't have a lust for blood or battle. What keeps me here are the bonds forged in the fields of war, and those same bonds keep me fighting the good fight. Because without the family I've come to know, the family that's my unit, I'd feel as lost as I did before I first strapped on my military boots. But war is not without its bills, the biggest of which is lives. Sure, seeing men and women gurgle their last breath before my eyes pulls my heart down to my stomach, but the biggest gulp of pain I've had to endure was losing a member of my family. His name was Bremco, my unit's former lieutenant and second-in-command. In just a few hours, we'll mourn his loss and celebrate all he gave before his passing at his Illumination Ceremony.
The air was warm from the working crowd of people behind me setting up benches and chairs in preparation for the ceremony. At the front of the room, I stood staring down at a table. Its only contents were a thick, worn picture book, a camera beside it, and two framed pictures at each back-edge of the table. One picture was of my unit posing in front of our star cruiser's bar, with Bremco in the middle, the other was of Bremco holding his daughter and wife in his arms; each picture represented one of his two different families.
With my hand, I flipped through the picture book. It took me to family parties and get-togethers. It took me through the harrowing tale of how Bremco conquered a hike up Mount Servidio. It told a timeline of when Bremco met his wife, their marriage, and the birth of their daughter. Then came the pictures of my unit, followed by still-framed tragedies of war taken during our missions. Those pictures led all the way up until a week ago. Then it stopped. No more pictures.
I was startled as a hand tugged at my shoulder and my best friend and fellow squad mate, Valiic, appeared to my right. "I knew I'd locate you in this room," he said.
Valiic isn't human. He's a maelkii male with glowing red eyes and hard red skin covered in the black, formal robes he decided to wear for the ceremony. He dwarfs me in size, as all maelkii do. Their species, on average, weigh roughly four times as much as humans and grow a few heads taller. They're also nearly nine times stronger than humans and have skin durable enough to act as a suit of fine-grade armor. Their eyes are like black abysses, with center glowing pupils, they have upside down triangular mouths, and their heads look too small for their bodies. Maelkii are the muscle in our armed forces; warriors at heart, they hold honorable virtues, such as companionship, loyalty, and self-sacrifice as trophies. And since many traditionalist houses believe lifetime partnerships lead to powerful armies, they encourage families to fight side by side with each other. They're the only species in our alliance allowed to do this.
Gazing back to the table, I forced a half-smile. "Bremco loved to take pictures. Sad to see that as the photographer, he's in so few of them." Looking back to Valiic, I loosened the tie on my suit.
"How are you handling yourself? You know what happened was unavoidable. It wasn't your fault."
I chuckled. "You said the same thing to me in a dream last night."
"Sounds like an intelligent man. I'd heed the advice of us both if I were you."
"Still… can't help thinking about those seconds before he got shot. What if I'd done this over that, that over this… could there have been anything that may have saved Bremco's life? I-I can't be the only one who feels that way."
"Everyone in our unit feels as you do, James. But standing alone next to Bremco's memorial in grief won't take away the pain. Surrounding yourself with your family - people who are going through what you are - that is how we get past this tragedy."
"You should tell that to your cohinla, Narrisa. I'm gonna take a shot in the dark and guess she's in the sparring room." In maelkii culture, a cohinla is a partner for life without the dishonorable option to separate.
Valiic tilted his head to the side. "That she is. Narrisa has her… traditions when it comes to releasing frustration. She's independent. She always has been."
"I don't envy her sparring partner."
"According to her, you owe her a spar tomorrow," Valiic teased.
"Great." I rolled my eyes. "Just another day of getting my ass kicked up, down, and all over by her."
Valiic chuckled. "I've told you probably a hundred times to use your faster reflexes and speed to overcome her superior technique and strength."
"And I've told you it doesn't matter. Hitting a maelkii with my knuckles is like punching concrete, and believe me… that bullshivf doesn't tickle."
"Fists are not the only tools you were given to fight with."
"If you keep reminding me, I'm sure I'll remember someday," I teased.
He chuckled. "Never lose that wit of yours." Taking a moment, he added, "Would you care to join me as I search for our other squad members before the ceremony?"
"I, ah… I'd rather lay down for a bit. It's been a long, hard day."
I could see sorrow and disappointment in his eyes as he nodded and left me to myself. You can always count on Valiic to try and keep the unit together during hard times.
The room was nearly ready as the last benches were being put into place. I left the table and found my way to one of the padded benches at the front, where I let my weight rest in the comfort of the bench and drifted to slumber.
There was a hint of burning cedar in the air. That was the signal that let my mind know I was in a dream. Strange, isn't it, that I always smell burning cedar when I dream? I wonder how many others, if any, have some way of knowing if they're dreaming. Maybe I'm alone in this regard. Hell, it wouldn't be the first time. For me, when I dream, it's like the dream is a movie but I'm in each scene as a ghost who can't change the narrative.
Humid air leaked through the doorway into the thrown-together rec room before me. While a WindMaker cooled the room at all angles, a tarp hanging from the doorway flapped around with each breeze. I could see myself, or at least a past version of myself, sitting on a wooden chair, with one foot on top of another chair, waiting, in the back corner of the mostly empty room; three worn-down wooden tables spread far from each other and chairs to accompany the tables like butter to bread. It was at that moment I understood this dream not to be a corny fantasy or dull fiction, but rather a memory of my first day arriving to the legionnaire training complex. It was there, on that day, I would began training as a legionnaire to fight in a newly shaping military. I remember the weeks leading up to this day from the past, all that time I spent alone, an outcast in an evolving society. In desperation, I sought company by joining boot camp, which later led down a path to the legionnaire training complex. I remember the hope I carried for my future and the doubts I had in my decision to join the military.
I remember thinking the company was light for a training complex; two men, farther back, were engaged in conversation. At the time, I didn't know the rest were scattered to other rec rooms, waiting to be summoned to the mess hall of the training complex.
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 gray 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.
"Hah, 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 from 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 charm 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.