"Rhea wanted to be very sure that this was what I wanted and I wasn't doing it just for her," Hug'sh says, green seeping into his fur. "And Torega, well, she didn't really get it until I came back like this. They both love the results, though." He smirks. "The village knows. The Cyllan doctor knows. My sister and my parents know, though they haven't seen me yet. Other than that...you're looking at the people in the know. I figure that when you get a clean slate, there might be advantages to not immediately broadcasting my old identity. The Imperium certainly doesn't have to know, if we can help it."

Hug'sh mirrors some of Swims's yellow-blue as he ponders the question. "It's...honestly, it's really weird, though it's getting more familiar as I go," Hug'sh says. "I'm suddenly much bigger and stronger and the things I can smell...but it's strange to feel tusks whenever I move my mouth, or when I see a reflection of my fur. And my throat's not good for much but Whiirrsign right now...that's, you know..." The blue in Hug'sh's fur gets a little deeper. "I didn't think I'd miss the sound of my voice that much. There's a lot of Hugh Verrill that went down the drain in that tank, and I like to think it's all parts I can live without, but I'd be lying if I said it was easy to adjust to this...change." He sighs and regains some of that green tinge. "That is the choice I made. I don't regret it."

Hunter smiles and tries to make out the whirr-sign through Ngawai's translation, and set aside how unsettled this makes him feel. Look, it's his decision, and I don't have any way of knowing all the things that went into it. It seems rash, and it seems like it's turning on his past, but I'm not the expert on this. Hunter has some tangential awareness of Narsai'i gender transitions (it's not unheard of for female vets to transition to male after leaving the service), and knows that it operates on a much longer timescale than what this seems to have been. It also seems like something done for elective and voluntary reasons rather than acute dysphoria. All of this is opening up a can of worms in his head, but this is neither the time nor place for Hunter to share them.

"Well, color me surprised. How long had you been considering it?"

"Yellow isn't your color, Hunter," Hug'sh quips, but then considers the question more thoroughly. "Honestly, even if this operation did not exist and I had stayed human, it wouldn't have changed how I felt about my family or how I wanted to live. I didn't know that this was a possibility until a friend of mine brought it up over dinner as something she wanted to do, and while I was excited about it and started considering it right away, I didn't make my decision until I talked it over with my family and some friends." He turns to face Swims briefly. "By the way, Swims-the-Black, thank you very much for keeping our conversation about this in confidence. I would still like for you to visit our school and talk to the cubs, if you have the time."

Hug'sh looks sweeps the room as some blue-yellow seeps into his fur again. "I am sorry that I did not have the confidence to tell you all of my plans beforehand. If I have worried you by keeping you in the dark, that was not my intention. I simply...well, you know me. I am a work in progress. I did what I did for the sake of my family, and I think everyone in this room knows what that feels like, no matter where our feelings have taken each of us." His fur shifts back to a greenish tinge. "And like I said when I resigned my commission, I'm still committed to this team and our struggle against the Imperium. I'm still the reckless idiot you know. Just bigger, stronger, faster - and a little wiser, I hope."

Angel slips past Hugh - Hug'sh - and heads to a spot at the table, sitting back and listening the flow of the discussion, apparently unconcerned about the rather radical transition. More accurately, he's just had plenty of time to process it, working out the funding and back channels. He does however notice the expression on Arketta's face and raises an eyebrow.

"I'm sure there'll be more questions down the line, and I'll be happy to answer them," Hug'sh says. "For now, I just want to say...thank you for your patience. We all have work to do and I don't want to take up more of your time. So, thank you, again."

As the team filters out of the room, Hug'sh motions for Arketta to come to him.

(assuming she does)

Hug'sh pulls out two seats at the nearest table and sits down with her.

"I saw the look you gave me, Arketta. Believe me, I haven't forgotten what I put you and Luis through, and I'll keep trying to make up for it. The least I can do is give you a chance to speak your mind to me now, in private. So, if you have anything to say, please, go ahead."

Arketta sits down with a sigh. "I already said what I have to say. I'm glad you're happy, Hugh - Hug'sh. And I hope that you mean what you say about becoming a better person, and I think you can do it. But good thoughts don't remove the danger Luis and I face walking around on Narsai, and they don't get rid of the fact that you betrayed the team." She crosses her arms. "I'm sorry, but that's how I feel."
Hug'sh is a mess of blue, but nods. "Do not...be sorry. Your feelings are yours, and you said nothing but the truth." He sighs. "I cannot change what I did, and this is not an attempt to wipe the slate clean. Perhaps, one day, I can make all this up to you and Luis - but I know it isn't today. I'll keep trying." He nods again, more to himself than her. "Okay?"
Arketta nods in return. "Okay." She takes a deep breath. "I do think it's a good sign that you did this, though. For Rhea and Torega. It's a sign you can make sacrifices for the people you care about, and put them first." She nods. "That's what I think about..." she waves her hand in his direction, "all of this. I had only read about it on the Cortex before, but it seems to have gone all right for you."
Hug'sh nods again, the blue clearing out to be replaced by a more neutral brown with some dots of green. "I've only been like this for a few days, so I haven't had the chance to check everything - but I went through a very thorough check-up after I got out of the tank, and apparently I'm in excellent health. We'll see. I'm more concerned about how this will affect operations. I guess Turai impersonations are right out now, for starters. And there's a lot of other places where I won't exactly...blend in."
Arketta smirks. "Yes, that was the other thing that annoys me about what you've done. But I've been doing some thinking, and two trins with Wherren warrior-slaves wouldn't be unheard of, after what the hated 815 did with the drones on Napai. You'll have to talk to Swims-the-Black about how to act, but don't think you're getting out of missions just because you're hairy now."
Hug'sh nods. "I've been thinking along similar lines. Wherren slaves can go many places as long as their 'masters' are in sight - and a few more alone where humans are a rarer sight. Once we go loud, I think this body will have an advantage or two. I'll have to consider the issue of equipment, but we're already testing gear with the Wherren training unit anyway. No kaukas for me, so I'll have to get used to taking less stupid risks. It's all a complication in a universe run by humans, but we'll manage, I'm sure."
"Just stick close to Swims-the-Black," Arketta replies. She extends her hand. "I hope you accomplish what you want with this, Hug'sh."
"So do I," Hug'sh says, taking her hand in his large paw and shaking on it.

Hunter had been waiting outside, not wanting to interrupt, but curious about what seemed like an important matter.

"So, I know all of this is very new, but I wanted to know. How much of a break are you planning to create between Hugh and Hug'sh? Is this going to be a secret? Who is it going to be kept secret from? What is the story we are going to tell people we don't want to know the truth? How are we going to keep it quiet, if we want to keep it quiet?"

He hands the new wherren an oversized notepad and sharpie, because he knows his whirr-sign and Hug'sh vocal cords are both incapable of carrying on the conversation.

Hug'sh sighs, but takes the notepad and starts scribbling.

Good questions. No solid plans yet. Will talk to Garrett to hammer out the covert stuff. Ideas? Also you can speak English.

Hunter nods, and starts into english. "Well, given that you've made a dramatic exit from 815 off into Parts Unknown, it's a better opportunity than most other times. Garrett would know more about operational security, but I wanted to ask before you told anyone else, so we had some clear rules on who needs to know, and why. So, when it comes to the village, how likely are they to know? Is it going to be an open secret among wherren, but not shared with off-worlders?"

Hug'sh scribbles on the pad.

The village knows already. I will ask them to keep it quiet for now. Not that off-worlders would ask Wherren anything.

After a moment of thought, he adds another line.

Where is Hugh Verrill? We need a story and breadcrumbs for anyone who goes looking for him.

"Well, he's got this foundation for Whirr, right? Maybe we put his location somewhere deep in the Wherren interior, traveling from village to village or otherwise inaccessible to the average spook. If people start asking around, maybe dial up the off-the-grid Colonel Kurtz-nature of it. Seems as good a story as any."

Hug'sh doesn't bother to write it down, simply giving a nod and a grunted "Yes, that is good." The pad stays forgotten as he puts a hand on Hunter's shoulder. "Thank you for your support."

The mood in the Wherren barracks in the last few days has been...apprehensive. Captain - no, it’s Mister Verrill now - being gone for a day or so isn’t unusual, he’s got his family and other things to take care of, but the extended absence and lack of any information on what exactly is going on have tinged more than a few furs blue and yellow. The troops are starting to talk.

Today, the post-lunch chatter is rudely interrupted by a knock on the door of the barracks room. The Wherren hurry to assemble in position for a quick inspection - could be Lieutenant Decker, maybe? - and fall silent. It’s then that the door opens and an unfamiliar Wherren walks in, ducking under the doorframe and giving his trainees a silent, blue-fringed wave of the hand.

”At ease,” he calls out, flashing a little yellow to demonstrate he’s in charge. ”And...hello, everyone.”
Rodirr steps forward - in the absence of Mister Verrill, he’s stepped into the role of representative of the group. ”Who are you?” he asks, standing his fur on end and rolling red and orange over himself.
The new Wherren looks up to Rodirr and smiles. ”I used to be Hugh Verrill,” he says, a green tinge spreading over his fur to displace the remaining blue. ”Now I’m just Hug’sh, Rodirr.”
The angry colors immediately retreat from Rodirr’s fur as the rest of the group bursts in blue and yellow. ”Apologies, Mister Hug’sh,” Rodirr replies with a nod.
Tarl has a finger curled around one of his tusks out of nervousness. ”...what happened?” he whines.
Hug’sh nods to that and steps forward, raising his voice so all can hear him. ”You know that I am bonded to Rhea, and that we have adopted Torega as our daughter,” he begins. ”But there were many things I could never do for them as a human. So, after some deliberation, I went to the world of the Cyllans and underwent a procedure to turn myself into a Wherren. My mind and soul remain the same, however - as do my convictions. I am sorry that I did not tell you of my plans in advance - but for now, this must stay a secret. I will continue to train and lead you while Hugh Verrill is...away on a long diplomatic tour on Whiirr. I know that I am asking a lot of you by telling you to lie about me. If this is disagreeable to any of you, please, raise your voice.”
There’s a lot of discomfort in the group’s colors, but there’s also a fair amount of curiosity. Hulor’s colors in particular bear out his confusion. “Why would we...lie?” he asks, the word carrying a particularly derisive tone.
Hug’sh lowers his head almost by reflex as blue ripples through his fur. ”Because our enemies know what Hugh Verrill looks like,” Hug’sh explains. ”They don’t know this face. They don’t even know that they should be looking for a Wherren like me. This is a big advantage that will disappear as soon as they learn of what I did. I do not like lying, either, but...such an opportunity will not come again. And while I would like to tell everyone I work with the truth, that will quickly lead to them telling others. It is not my mistrust of anyone, it is simply...nature, as I have seen it many times in my life. One day I will stand proud and admit the truth for the world to see.” His head hangs further as he closes his eyes. ”But today is not that day,” he whines softly. ”My friends and I have taught you many unpleasant things about war. This is another.”
Khodash steps forward out of the group. ”I understand, Mister Hug’sh. Sometimes, we Wherren have to lie, and war is one of those times.” She huffs a sigh. ”But that you feel so bad about it tells me that you really are one of us.” She runs a wave of green over her fur for him as the others nod and grunt their agreement.
Hug’sh tries for a smile. ”Thank you, Khodash. Can you accept this, Hulor?”
Hulor stands up straight and proud. ”Yes, I can, Mister Hug’sh. I am a warrior like you, and if you say we have to do it, then we have to do it,” he grunts, his fur puffed out.
Hug’sh nods. ”Good. Does anyone else wish to speak about this now?”
”No, Mister Hug’sh!” the class barks.
”Excellent,” Hug’sh says. ”When we are outside of this room, please address me as Walks-The-Fire. If anyone asks, I am one of Hiigra’s warrior elders. If that answer is not enough, send them to me. Understood?”
”Yes, Mister Hug’sh!” the class barks again.
”Then I will see you outside in five minutes,” Hug’sh says. ”You will show me what you’ve learned while I was away. Dismissed!”

The group breaks back to their bunks to dig through their belongings and put on their field gear. Rodirr, already in his field gear out of force of habit, simply walks over to Hug’sh with a smirk curling around his tusks. For the first time, Hug’sh literally sees eye-to-eye with the old mercenary. ”Walks-the-Fire?” he asks, a bemused light green covering him.
Hug’sh nods back. ”I hope I can soon introduce you to some friends of mine,” he says. ”They know what it means.”
Rodirr barks a laugh and claps Hug’sh’s hump, keeping Hug’sh pulled in close. ”I’ve heard worse, believe me.” He sighs. ”I approve of this, Hug’sh Walks-the-Fire. You have seemed very uncomfortable as a human to me. This suits you.”
”Thank you,” Hug’sh says. ”And if you don’t mind, I’ll pick your brain on a few things when we have a quiet moment. I have a lot to learn about blending in at shadowports or even Imperial planets as a Wherren, and I think you might know a thing or two about that.”
”Moreso than you, at least,” Rodirr says. ”I might start with teaching you how to look like a Wherren - you still look like you’re worried someone’s going to call you out as a fake any second.”
”It’s not far from the truth,” Hug’sh barks. ”I’ll be glad to listen to anything you can teach me, Rodirr. But for now, let’s get outside. I don’t want to keep the others waiting.”
”Indeed.” Rodirr gives Hug’sh one last squeeze. ”Welcome, Hug’sh.”
Hug’sh claps Rodirr on the hump - a place Hugh Verrill would have needed a stepladder to reach. ”It’s good to be back,” he says.

After several hours of training, Hug’sh has learned two things: one, his recruits haven’t been slacking off, and two, getting a genemodded Wherren body is way better for your endurance than half-hearted cardio. Tired but accomplished, he makes his way back to the administrative part of Mesas Negras - specifically, Garrett Davis’s office. If he didn’t get ahead of the whole secret identity thing, then the next-best move is to catch up with the help of their residential superspy. As he walks there, Army guys give him a berth - weird, even the guys with their backs to him turn around to look at him and then walk away. Hug’sh holds up his arm to his muzzle and takes a sniff - and gets a big whiff of his own musk. Yeah, wow. It smells pretty good to Hug’sh, but it’ll probably knock Garrett out in his little office - he’ll need to squeeze in a quick shower before the meeting.

Ten minutes later, a more subtly fragranced yet also slightly damp Hug’sh stands before Garrett’s office and raises his hand to knock at the door. ”Hello, Garrett?” Hug’sh says. ”Do you have a minute?”
”Yes, let me just get the door,” Garrett barks in reply. There’s a little bit of shuffling about, but then the door opens to reveal Garrett Davis, with Swims-the-Black seated at his desk. ”Come on in,” Garrett says, and steps aside.
Hug’sh shakes Garrett’s hand, then squeezes past him into the office proper. ”And hello, Swims-the-Black,” he says, shaking the elder Wherren’s hands, too. All the while, he sniffs almost involuntarily - the whole place has taken on Swims’s bronze-and-earth smell, something Hug’sh first noticed on Garrett himself. ”Would you please close the door, Garrett? I have something...sensitive to discuss.”
”Yet another?” Swims-the-Black asks with a raised brow ridge and a curious yellow fade.
”More of a detailed discussion of this,” Hug’sh says, softly tapping his hand on his chest. ”We will need to involve Director Barnes, too.”
”Ah, a chance for Samantha to brush up on her Whirr-sign,” Garrett says as he closes and locks the door behind him. ”I’d offer you a chair but…” he says as he slots himself back behind his own desk.
”Perhaps it’s a sign that you need a bigger office, Garrett,” Hug’sh smirks.
”As the office manager here has told me, I have one - in McLean,” Garrett laments as Swims flickers a bemused green and huffs a chuckle. ”Starting the connection now.”

Swims-the-Black waves his arm to open the big holodisplay, currently projecting Garrett’s display to cover the whole width of the room behind their shared desks. The main window says “CONNECTING” for a few seconds, before the merry jingle that indicates a completed vox connection plays, and Barnes’ face appears on the screen. She looks slightly less harried than usual - probably due to the presence of Hunter’s daughter working at the file cabinets behind her desk. “Garrett,” she simply says in English.
“Hello, Samantha,” Garrett replies in his accented dialect. “We’ve got something pretty big to discuss.”
“Does it have something to do with the new Wherren standing in your office?” Barnes asks.
“You could say that,” Garrett replies with a smirk. “Hug’sh?” That gets an eyebrow raise from Barnes.
”Hello, Director Barnes,” Hug’sh says, bowing his head slightly while his fur takes on a greenish tinge. ”I don’t think there’s a gentle way to say it, so I will be blunt: this is Hugh Verrill speaking. As you can see, I’ve...had some work done.”
“Yes -” Barnes clears her throat. ”Yes, I can see,” she grumbles as she forces her throat and hands through the words in Whirr-sign. ”The name was… - it was the tip-off. It’s how the Wherren pronounce your name.”
”Good,” Hug’sh says. ”This discussion should not leave your room. Please tell Katelin, too.”
Barnes visibly weighs her options, then turns around. “Katelin, could you give me some privacy for a bit?” she asks. Katelin, well-accustomed to the idea of information being over her clearance to hear, just nods and leaves with a “Yes, Director Barnes”. Barnes watches her go, and she waits until the door clicks shut before looking back to the screen. “Okay, we’re secure here.” She folds her hands together - something that even now he’s Wherren, Hug’sh still finds disconcerting. “So, Hug’sh. Did it not cross your mind to tell me or Garrett, or any other member of your team before you did this? I assume you didn’t tell anyone else, since I would have heard about something so important from my own Assistant Director.”

Hug’sh frowns, taking on a bit of blue. ”I’m sorry for leaving you all in the dark, but I did not want to involve anyone that was not strictly necessary for the procedure itself,” Hug’sh says. ”There is a very limited circle of people who are aware of who I am. And I’d like to keep it that way, because I think we can use that to our advantage. The Imperium knows who Hugh Verrill is and what he looks like. They don’t have the slightest idea how I look like now.”
“And how do you propose we do that, Hug’sh?” Barnes asks. “Wherren are not exactly given carté blanche in the Imperium.” Swims grunts in agreement at that.
”Slaves travel with their masters,” Hug’sh counters. ”More and more Turai trins are accompanied by loyal Wherren. There are free Wherren of all walks of life at the shadowports, and let’s not forget the Wherren slums on many worlds, where humans will stick out more than I would. I’m aware that it’s a challenge, but I think there are good solutions.”
Hug’sh could clearly see Swims-the-Black’s growing annoyance on his fur as he talked, but Swims stays silent for now. “And who can take over for you to lead Turai infiltration units?” Barnes asks.
”I am certain Arketta will do an excellent job,” Hug’sh says. ”Samal Mani Swao was a fun cover, but he’s replaceable. And as a warrior-slave, I would be right at her side anyway.”
“Is she ready for her own command?” Barnes asks.
”I believe she is,” Hug’sh says. ”But that’s her call. I’m sure Luis would do a good job, too.”
“Are you ready to play the role of a Wherren?” Barnes asks. Swims-the-Black flashes bright orange for just a second before he gets his fur under control and shifts back to a flat and neutral brown.
”Not yet,” Hug’sh admits. ”There’s still a lot I have to learn, and...some things I may never understand. But I have some friends that I trust to show me the way. We don’t have any concrete plans for a mission in Imperial space right now, so I should have some time to work on it.”
“And your combat skills?” Barnes asks. “Have you even picked up a rifle yet?”
”Just before our meeting, Director,” Hug’sh says with a smirk. ”No worries there.”
“And where has Hugh Verrill gone off to?” Barnes asks.
”That is what I’m here to discuss with you,” Hug’sh says. ”Whatever story I could come up with, I would need your help to flesh it out and make it stand up to scrutiny anyway. Hunter suggested that Hugh Verrill is on Whiirr on a long tour of Wherren villages. I think that’s a good start, but I’m open to suggestions.”
“With the Marines only now opening their first remote base, we’ve only been able to explore about ten to fifteen percent of the surface of Whiirr,” Barnes says. “A long-term expedition into the backcountry wouldn’t raise too many suspicious glances, particularly with all the bridges you’ve burned back here on Narsai.” She looks to Garrett. “Garrett, what do you think?”
“Sounds like a good plan to me,” Garrett says with a nod. “My concern is more towards explaining this new Wherren in our midst.”

”We’re already training a company of Wherren right now,” Hug’sh says. ”There are warriors on Whirr and free Wherren from all over the galaxy that want to work with us. I don’t think a new Wherren will draw that much attention by himself. We should probably come up with a story for why I’m working so closely with 815, though.” Hug’sh strokes his chin. ”Perhaps if you knew me from the original liberation of Village 815? One of Hiigra’s warriors?”
Swims-the-Black grunts as the orange floods his fur again. ”And are you willing to explain how you understand Imperial and English fluently, know how to operate Imperial technology, and have more than a third-year understanding of math and science?”
”That is the story for the soldiers of Mesas Negras,” Hug’sh says. ”They hardly see me outside of my training with the Wherren - I believe casual observation of what happens there will not lead any of them to doubt the story. All these things you mention will need to be explained when we go on a mission, yes, but we will require a different explanation for that anyway - one that will fit whatever cover I use.”
Garrett coughs. ”Uh, unless you want that to be the cover you have whenever you’re on Narsai, I’d recommend rethinking that one, Hug’sh.”
”Soldiers talk, and if our opponents find out about you, they will be watching,” Swims adds, the orange intensifying in his fur.
”You’re the expert, Garrett,” Hug’sh says. ”Do you have a suggestion?”
”A refugee from any one of the Thousand Worlds,” Garrett grunts with a shrug. ”Swims-the-Black came across you in his travels, you were a mercenary or a slum protector or some other kind of warrior, and when you arrived on Whiirr and Hugh ran off into the bush, you stepped in to fill his place.”
”Doesn’t answer why you would be having sex with Hugh’s bondmate, though,” Swims grunts.
”Do you think that the Narsai’i would really look that closely?” Garrett grunts back. ”They can barely tell Wherren apart.”
”Perhaps,” Swims grunts in return. ”Best not to bet on that if we can avoid it, though.”
Hug’sh nods to that. ”I think that works,” he says. ”How should we handle spreading that story, though? Should we be upfront with everyone, or only answer direct questions?”
“Anything related to Task Force 815 is need-to-know, even inside GRHDI,” Barnes replies. “We’ll handle it as we would any other information related to 815 activities, that should be enough.”
”Sounds good to me,” Hug’sh says. ”Can you think of anyone else we need to tell the truth? The Bashakra’i certainly deserve to know, in my opinion, so that means Brinai, Onas...Paul…”
”Bello’s going to have a heart attack when he hears about this,” Garrett grunts with a smirk, and a wave of green echoes up and down Swims’ fur.
“Do we have any other concerns for the moment?” Barnes asks.
”I think that’s everything on my agenda for now,” Hug’sh says.
”I’m good,” Garrett grunts.
”I have nothing more to discuss with you, Director Barnes,” Swims replies with a nod in her direction.
“Then I will leave the three of you to sort out the details,” Barnes says. “Hug’sh, I want a full write-up of the official cover and any details voxed to me tomorrow, understood?”

”Yes, Ma’am,” Hug’sh grunts. After the vox shuts off, he turns to face Swims. ”What’s on your mind, Swims-the-Black?” he asks.
”A great many things,” Swims replies. He stands up and stretches, exposing all of his teeth in a massive yawn. ”It’s lunch time. Garrett, I think Hug’sh and I are going to take a long lunch. Can you cover for me?”
Garrett nods. ”Can do.”
Swims steps over towards Hug’sh and claps him on his hump. It feels very different from the similar gesture he got from Rodirr earlier this morning. ”Come, Hug’sh Walks-the-Fire. Let’s you and I take a walk.” Garrett snorts at the “Walks-the-Fire” part of Hug’sh chosen name.
Hug’sh gives him a blue-fringed smirk at that. ”Takes-Stupid-Risks was already taken,” he quips, then puts his arm on Swims’s back to return the gesture. ”Lunch sounds...good.”

Down in the parking lot at the base of the GRHDI office complex, Swims-the-Black swipes his ID for a cart and climbs on. ”Come, Hug’sh. You’ll have to sit in the back, they don’t make these things for us.”
”Got it,” Hug’sh says, climbing onto the cart as instructed. He tries to think about exactly how much legroom he would have now in a normal car, and the thought isn’t encouraging. He holds on to the cart’s roof pillar and the back of Swims’s seat as the seasoned captain reverses his vessel out of its parking spot and then gets it on track towards the gateport. ”Do you have a driver’s license?” Hug’sh barks over the low whine of the cart’s electric motor.
”We’re not on public roads,” Swims barks back. ”But I am almost ready - Garrett is teaching Ngawai and me to drive. Flying a ship is much more complicated. The main hazard is Ngawai and her exuberant driving style.”
”I’ll take your word for it,” Hug’sh answers. ”So, where are we going? Atea?”
”Boranai,” Swims replies. ”The food is better there than at the dining complex here.”
”That’s not really high praise,” Hug’sh says. ”But sure, that sounds good to me.”

Swims-the-Black drives on in silence for the few minutes it takes to drive the couple miles to the Gateport. The cart is parked at the reserved spots for them and plugged in, and then Swims leads Hug’sh to the waiting area for the next Boranai Gateway - five minutes away. Hug’sh finds a free seat - well, three free seats - and plops himself down in the middle. His neck swivels left to right, taking in the crowd. A week ago, he wouldn’t have had anything to say about them, but now he does: they’re all humans, with Swims and Hug’sh the only Wherren to be seen in the waiting hall. Hug’sh doesn’t think too much of it, but...he notices.

The PA announces the one minute warning for the Boranai Gateway connection, and Swims and Hug’sh walk down the ramp with the others - some of them are rebels returning to their posts, but most are Narsai’i soldiers returning from a day off on their home planet. Swims averts his eyes as the Gateway flashes open, and then the pair lumber through the Gateway and into the air of Boranai. The elegant lines of the Imperial-construction gateport on this side still look the same, if proportionally smaller to Hug’sh, while the smell of bubblegum remains exactly the same - some quirk of universal biochemistry Hug’sh really doesn’t care to know about. He looks to Swims in a “Take me to your chef” kind of way and smiles. It really is time for lunch.
”Have you been to this place that does fried spink eggs?” Swims grunts.
”Yeah, we went there shortly after we took Boranai,” Hug’sh recalls. ”The eggs are really good.”
Swims nods. ”Then let’s go. It’s a couple miles north of here, yes?”
”Yes, it’s a bit of a hike,” Hug’sh says. ”Come on, I know the way.”

Swims-the-Black falls in next to Hug’sh as they make their way out of the Gateport and onto the streets of Boranai proper. Some curious looks from the small detachment of Narsai’i soldiers helping the Kansat secure the Gateport aside, neither one attracts much attention from anyone, the bustle of the Gateport complex providing plenty of cover. Once Hug’sh leads more than a block away, however, his fur starts to stand on end of its own accord as he can feel the eyes of half the people walking down the pedestrian quarter of the street eyeing Swims-the-Black and himself. Some clutch the bags slung across their chest a little tighter, while others move aside to give Hug’sh as wide a berth as possible. It’s subtle for the most part, but for someone who’s used to just blending in and being normal, it feels like the whole street is judging Hug’sh.

”Not a lot of Wherren here,” Hug’sh grumbles, his fur starting to take on a blue fringe. He turns to Swims. ”How common is this reaction?”
”Very,” Swims grunts. He nods up ahead. ”You should look where you’re -”
Hug’sh feels someone ricochet off of his chest, and when he turns around there’s a young woman on the ground, looking up at him with terror in her eyes. Hug’sh’s eyes widen and he backs up, barking a quick apology while his fur flashes a wild mixture of yellow and blue - which just causes the woman’s eyes to go even wider and scream “Help!”
Hug’sh backs up further, lowers his head and raises his hands in the standard “Not a threat” gesture, but the damage is already done - the spike of shame and fear and anger is immense, since this is the exact moment he remembers that he still can’t handle speaking Imperial. His eyes dart to Swims, pleading with him to intervene.
Swims is already stepping forward in front of Hug’sh, his fur forced down to a neutral brown. “Apologies for friend,” he grumbles in Imperial. “He was not looking.”
There’s now more than a few people standing and watching from the outside of the small clearing in the crowd that Hug’sh and Swims find themselves in the middle of, as the woman simply looks back and forth between Hug’sh and Swims-the-Black in terror, waiting for one of them to make a move.

“Kansat, coming through, make a hole, people!” a woman’s voice shouts.
”Excellent,” Swims grunts, the sudden wave of orange implying that this is anything but.
Two women in the orange and bronze uniforms of Kansatai make their way through the crowd, and position themselves quickly between Hug’sh and Swims and the woman. “What seems to be the problem here?” the first one - Kansatai Quol - asks.
”I bumped into her,” Hug’sh says, trying to get his rioting fur back to neutral. ”It was an accident, I didn’t mean any harm.”
“Shit, I fucking hate hairball calls,” Quol mutters and snaps her fingers. “Central, we need a Wherren translator down here.” She turns her attention back to Hug’sh. “Sir or madam, I need you to take a few steps back, all right?”
“I speak Imperial,” Swims grumble-barks.
“Perfect, just take a few steps back,” Quol says as her partner helps the woman up off the ground.
Hug’sh steps back, trying to suppress a frustrated growl. He understands all this, it was a stupid mistake, if he could just make himself understood...
“My name is Swims-the-Black, friend did not mean harm or touch,” Swims continues as he steps back. “Accident.”
Quol just holds her hand up to Swims as she turns to the woman, now standing but still shaking like a leaf. “Ma’am, is that what happened here?”
“I...I was just minding my own business when it bumped into me,” she says. “I didn’t think they were allowed around here -”
“Wherren have been allowed access to all neighborhoods since the Narsai’i took over, ma’am,” Quol says.
“Okay, but...it just came at me!” she wails.
Swims-the-Black bows, and gives Hug’sh a look to do the same. “Many apology, was accident,” he grunts in as deferential a tone as he can muster.
Hug’sh bows his head in imitation of Swims’s gesture. ”I am sorry,” he repeats, hoping that someone here will understand at least that.
“Stand up,” Quol orders, and taps Hug’sh on the shoulder with her baton. “Come on, stand up.”
Hug’sh straightens up, but keeps looking downward.
“Look at me, both of you.”
Hug’sh looks at Quol as ordered. She double-taps her helm once as she looks Hug’sh in the eyes, and once more for Swims-the-Black. Two more Kansat officers arrive, and Quol nods in Hug’sh and Swims’ direction. “Just waiting on ID before we secure.” The two new Kansat officers walk behind Hug’sh and Swims, and Swims takes a long, deep sigh. A few seconds later, Quol raises her hand. “Hold up, we’ve got a VIP here.” She looks over to Swims. “Okay, we have you on file, Swims-the-Black, but not your friend here.”
“He is new, new escape from Imperium,” Swims replies. “Not registered yet.”
“Well, make sure that he gets put on file,” Quol replies. “You’re free to go, but -” she pokes Hug’sh in the chest with her baton, “- you, watch where you’re walking. Understood?”
Hug’sh nods and keeps his head down, another ”Yes, I’m sorry,” sneaking out of his throat.
“Good,” Quol says. “Get out of here.”
“Gladly,” Swims grunts, and walks off down the road as the crowd parts before him.
Hug’sh follows behind, blue forcing its way back into his fur. He can still feel the looks burning on his back. ”I didn’t see her,” he explains to Swims. ”I didn’t - I was just looking at you for a moment, and…”
”I know, Hug’sh, and that is why you have to look where you’re going when you’re in a crowd with humans,” Swims grunts, not looking behind him. ”The restaurant should just be on the next block, I think.”

Hug’sh does not reply to that, he just keeps walking towards the restaurant, hoping to put the whole mess behind him. His eyes dart from side to side, now hypervigilant for anyone who might even potentially cross into his path. His weary eyes spot the fee-floating holo sign advertising the eatery; with a yelp of ”Go ahead,” he motions for Swims to enter first, content to let him take the lead.

Swims and Hug’sh neatly fill the waiting area in the small-ish sidewalk restaurant, and an older man walks briskly over to you both. “What can I do for you?” he grunts word-by-word.
”We would like to eat lunch,”” Swims replies, somewhat more slowly than usual for the man’s benefit.
”Good,” the man says with a nod. ”Follow me.” Then, despite there being a few open tables inside, he leads Hug’sh and Swims out front to the street-side tables, and to the table furthest from the door, and gestures towards the table with a smile. ”Please sit. I will get you menu.”
Swims ruffles his fur a bit. ”Could we sit inside, perhaps?”
The man keeps his smile on, but freezes at the question. ”Why?”
”It’s just rather hot out here, and it’d be more comfortable inside,” Swims replies.
”So sorry, big group coming,” the man says.
”We could sit in the very back, out of the way,” Swims offers.
”Apologies,” the man replies. ”You must sit here.”
Swims looks around. ”Here is fine, then.”
”Very good,” the man grunts, and hurries off as Swims takes a seat.
Hug’sh reluctantly takes a seat opposite Swims. ”I thought about complaining,” he says quietly, ”but I can see the reflections of two Kansat in the windows. I think they followed us. I do not want to give them an excuse.”
”Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that,” Swims grunts as he straightens his vest. ”This place is actually much better than many of the other places around here. We might not have been seated at all, or asked to sit around back.” He nods graciously to the waiter as he returns with menus, and points a claw to a line of Wherren runes on the bottom - “Wherren Customers Welcome”. ”See? We’re welcome here.”
”I have to admit, I was surprised to see someone understand and speak Whirr-sign,” Hug’sh says, a cautious note of green on his face. He sighs, trying to let the last of the anger and embarrassment go. ”We’ve walked a few miles, but I can see we still have a long way to go.”
Swims grunts in agreement. ”Now do you see why I respect and appreciate Garrett and the rest of 815?”
”I do,” Hug’sh says with a nod.

The way back passes in a blur - ducking from empty alley to empty alley, staying well away from the crowds - until Swims leads Hug’sh back out to the main road, with the gateport just ahead of them. Hug’sh’s fur takes on a greenish tint as he follows the elder Wherren across the road. Home free, almost, until a piercing whistle goes through the Gateport square, and Hug’sh sees a familiar face - Tei, Onas and Paul’s right-hand woman on Boranai. She waves in their general direction. Hug’sh’s green tint grows stronger as he smiles and waves back. She motions for Swims and Hug’sh to come on over; Hug’sh just walks behind Swims-the-Black, his green tint staying on at seeing a familiar face.

“Heard about what happened on the scanner,” Tei says over the crowd as Hug’sh and Swims draw close. “Sorry about that; people still aren’t used to seeing Wherren just walking around here. And sorry, but I don’t speak more than ’Hello’ in Whirr-sign - used to have people to do that for me.”
”It’s okay,” Hug’sh says. ”Swims-the-Black, can you speak for me?”
Swims grunts and nods. “It is fine.”
“Just coming by to make sure everything is all right,” Tei says. “Onas and Paul send their regards.”
“Thank you, and thank them,” Swims grunts. “Things not change in one day. Or three months.”
“Onas and Paul are making sure the Kansat stay on crimes against Wherren, so things should be getting better,” Tei replies. “And next time you want fried spink eggs? There’s a place in the industrial district that’s better - and in a neighborhood where you don’t have to worry about being shot.” She nods to Hug’sh. “Who’s your friend?”
Hug’sh bows his head slightly. ”Walks-the-Fire,” he says, leaving it at that, which Swims translates after a few seconds to form the words.
Tei nods. “Fresh off the homeworld?” she asks. “Well, word of advice - stick to the neighborhoods that aren’t quite so nice. People had more contact with Wherren there pre-Narsai’i, so they’re not as...stupid about your species there.”
“And you?” Swims rumbles, throwing in a fur ruffle.
“I was a smuggler - what do you think?” Tei replies with a calculated smirk.
Swims nods as he turns a bit greener. “Thank you, Tei.”
“Just send us a message before you come, we can get you an escort,” Tei says, and bows to Hug’sh and Swims. “Speak to you soon, Swims-the-Black.”
Swims bows in return. “You too, Tei.”

She takes her leave as Swims simply walks towards their scheduled Gateway. Hug’sh follows behind.

”I’ve had better lunches,” Hug’sh says. ”But as a fact-finding mission, that was very illuminating. I think it is obvious that I won’t be much use until I can at least say some Imperial words. How long did it take you to learn, Swims-the-Black?”
”Six months to be able to form the correct sounds at something resembling a conversational pace,” Swims replies. ”It is the soft-hard sounds that are the most difficult, I think.”
Hug’sh nods thoughtfully. ”If you can spare the time, I would like to learn that from you, Swims-the-Black.”
Swims takes a seat in the Gateway waiting area. Hug’sh never noticed it much before, but it’s now hard for Hug’sh to miss the two or three people in the crowded waiting area that steer clear of Swims and himself. ”I believe you have a tutor living with you already, but I will help where I can.”
Hug’sh considers that. ”Of course,” he says. ”Piugash is a good teacher. But…” He sighs. ”I have started to realize that I have not treated you as well as you deserve, or honored your contributions to our fight. Part of it is that I never made the effort to get to know you better. You, on the other hand, seem very interested in my well-being - you have gone out of your way today to show me this, for instance. There are things you wish to teach me, and I would like to learn. And whatever I can do to help you in return, I will do. What do you think, Swims-the-Black?”
Swims grunts. ”I am doing for you what I would do for any part of my crew, Hug’sh,” he says. ”And I am also doing this for the cubs that you will be serving as an example for. You have joined my people, and so I think it is right for you to understand what it actually means to be Wherren, not just the ideal picture that you have from your time at the orphanage. You need to know what the Imperium expects from you - subservience, deference, and submission - if you are to survive our missions. There will be people who will not hesitate to discipline an uppity slave like yourself, and harshly, and that will put our missions at risk. But I have not forgotten that you have had this perspective forced upon you, and recently. You are my fellow Wherren now, and you have always been part of my crew - but we are not friends simply because you climbed out of the gene tank with tusks, Hug’sh. My friends are the ones who gave me respect without having to be forced to see how little we Wherren can expect.”
Occasional sparks of yellow break through Hug’sh blue. ”I do not expect us to be friends just because I climbed out of the gene tank with tusks, as you said. I have not put in the effort for that. I will have to work at being your student before I can think of something like that.” There’s a brief flash of orange, but Hug’sh forces it down and stops talking.
”Speak your mind, Hug’sh,” Swims says. ”It is the Wherren way to be honest.”
”You speak so quickly of what it means to be Wherren,” Hug’sh says. ”But I ask myself, what about your roots on Whiirr? You do not seem very keen to return there. Do you know what became of your family after you were taken?”
”My father died on a hunt, and my mother is still alive and bonded with another,” Swims-the-Black replies plainly. ”I have sent word that I am alive and well.”
”Did they wish to meet you?” Hug’sh asks.
”Yes, and they will soon,” Swims grunts.
”That is good,” Hug’sh says, assuming a warmer shade of green.
”But that has nothing to do with our discussion,” Swims asserts. ”I know why I am reluctant to go back to my village - I am no longer Kharak, and my mother and siblings would little recognize the Wherren that would be standing before them - which, if we are to be keeping score as to our individual ‘Wherren-ness’, as you were implying, is a very First-damned typically Wherren reason for it,” Swims barks, his fur bursting into the orange he had been suppressing. ”And as for your insistence that you and I spend time together - you and I are crewmates, which is a bond that I hold sacred. But you are also the same person who served Garrett Davis and Ngawai Holoni up to the Narsai’i as a sacrifice to save yourself - and now I think you know exactly how offensive and enraging your actions were. I can count three humans that have treated me as a true equal - Master Farsad, Garrett Davis, and Ngawai Holoni, and you attacked and put at risk two of them. So, I apologize if this is not what you wanted to hear, but hurt feelings take time to heal, as you well know.” Swims turns away with a huff, trying to get his rolling orange and red fur under control.
Hug’sh’s green first gave way to blue, but finally mirrors Swims’s orange. ”Time and effort,” he replies. ”I can only affect one. If you do not wish to spend time with me, then please say so.”
Swims sighs. ”No, I did not say that. It is just...it is difficult to move on. I almost lost my only friends because of you, Hug’sh.” Blue rushes into his fur. ”Do you understand exactly what that means, now?”
”I’ve learned a bit about loss in the last months,” Hug’sh says. ”I cannot speak of friends, but...I have seen a little of how fragile the things are that we love most. Perhaps I still do not understand, truly. But I want to. And I...I never want to fail any of you again, the way I did when I chose my government over my...crew.” Hug’sh turns a deep, ashamed yellow. ”I’m sorry I put you on the spot there. It is still hard for me to restrain what I want and consider how it affects other people. I am working on it.” He looks back up to Swims. ”Thank you for everything you have already done for me, Swims-the-Black.”
Swims-the-Black sighs, and wraps an arm around Hug’sh and pulls him in close, rubbing his muzzle against Hug’sh’s. ”Again, you are a part of my crew, Hug’sh. I can’t turn my back on you. You have already learned much - I have hopes for you yet.”
”Thank you,” Hug’sh barks.

Now that most of the general basics of fighting and moving have been covered for the two human factions, training moves on to the more specific realms - one of which is Zaef Utari’s specialty. Since hand-to-hand fighting training is somewhat hampered by the lack of a soft surface to land on, the 100-odd Bashakra’i and Narsai’i are moved inside the Mesas Negras base proper, into a large storage room outfitted with floor pads for just this occasion. In the middle of the room as the two groups are lead in by Lt. Decker, Sgt. Lee, Garrett, Arlana and Arketta is Zaef himself - and four other Imperials, all with the same muscles-and-sinew look as the 815 member.

“Quads, form up!” Arlana bellows. The assembled humans hustle into their assigned quads and stand at attention. “Mr. Zaef and his friends are here to teach you how to use the only weapons you have that won’t run out of rod or charge, and never jams or snaps!” She strikes a Turai combatives stance. “Your bare hands! And you’d better pay attention, or else you’re going to have a long day in the medicae ward down the hall! Understood?”
“Yes, Samal!” the trainees shout, even the Narsai’i.
“Good!” Arlana turns to Zaef. “They’re all yours, Mr. Utari,” she says with a bow.
Zaef gives her a nod, and turns to address the crowd. “I am Zaef. These men and women,” he says gesturing to the toned fighters beside him, “are Naeph, Sausais, Hehan, and Yarta. They are some of the best close-quarters combatants and instructors the Bashakra’i have - they are my equals or betters, and you will afford them the same respect you reserve for your superior officers.” Zaef pauses here, takes the time to stare meaningfully into the crowd, before continuing. “We will begin simply. Pair up with someone outside your quad. You will spar amongst yourselves, and we shall see how you fight. Begin.”

There’s an awkward minute as everyone splits up from their quads and reforms into five groups of twenty each, which gives Zaef and his trainer friends time to split up and survey each group. Neither side is really going at it - a lack of familiarity with the other side’s forms and combat breeds an abundance of caution - and so there’s mostly a lot of slow-motion grabs, throws and mimed blows. The Narsai’i and Bashakra’i combatives aren’t too far apart - both emphasizing quick takedowns and rapid physical dominance, but while the Narsai’i are focusing more on dragging their opponents to the ground, the Bashakra’i are more focusing on crippling strikes, followed by joint snaps and bone breaks on the ground. Zaef overhears Sgt. Lee describe it as something more similar to LINE, not that he knows what that is.

Zaef lets them go on for a bit before bringing the exercise to a halt. He walks down the line a bit before coming upon a Narsai’i soldier looking worse for wear than the others. Zaef motions for him to step forward. “What’s your name?”
“Specialist Aarons, Sir!” the soldier barks.
Zaef nods. “What do you think of how your partner fought, Aarons?”
“It was...different, Sir!” Aarons shouts. Zaef can see all of his trainer friends either snickering or rolling their eyes at Aarons’ response and gung-ho Super Soldier attitude.
A frown forms on Zaef’s face. “Be more specific, Aarons. Different how?”
“Uhh…” Aarons returns to Narsai’i. “’They used more strikes and kicks, and joint attacks, Sir!’”
Zaef nods, and motions Aarons to take his place again before continuing. “That’s right. We don’t just kill you, we fuck you up for free. We aim for blows that don’t heal quick: pop a joint, break some bones, pluck out an eyeball if we can. Seems like overkill to you?”
The Narsai’i don’t say anything, but some of them now are looking at the grinning instructors with more than a wary look in their eyes.
Zaef smirks. “Wrong answer.” He holds up a silver disc. “You better know what this is by now. Say it loud.”
“Kauka, Sir!” both Narsai’i and Bashakra’i shout, the Narsai’i a bit louder.
Zaef nods, a small one. “This little ring can re-grow whole limbs, sew wounds shut, undo burns. Gives you blood infusions, too, though you’re going to feel shitty afterwards. Everything short of a headshot can completely undone with a wave. And it’s standard issue for every Trin.” Zaef lets the hand holding up the kauka drop, and continues. “That’s why we go for disabling blows alongside killing strikes. If we’re not thorough about putting Turai down - and keeping them there - then they can swipe a kauka when we’re not looking and get right back up, or crawl off and find reinforcements, and then get right back up.” Zaef’s gaze sweeps through the crowd. “We will teach you how to fight this way. You will need it if you want to survive on the other side of the Gate. Any questions?”
“No, Sir!” the Narsai’i shout, while the Bashakra’i contingent simply nods knowingly.
One of Zaef’s eyebrows shoots up, and falls just as suddenly. “Good,” he says, and turns towards the Bashakra’i. “Your name, please,” he says to a soldier he picks at random.
“Shenloma Abeon,” he replies.
“What did you observe about your partner’s fighting, Abeon?”
“They’re mostly about getting you down on the ground,” Shenloma replies. “It’s a good way to fight one-on-one, but if you’re against more than one opponent, it’s a problem.”
“And Turai don’t submit - us or them,” the skinny woman next to him pipes up. “A broken arm’s just a painful inconvenience.”
Zaef frowns. “They’ll learn that soon enough. But this is something we take for granted...and that will have to change soon. You will soon be deployed in a combat zone where you will have the advantage of numbers, and dealing with people who may actually surrender. Against these combatants, our philosophy is overkill, and the people there will resent us for it. You will need to pull your punches if you wish to succeed in Afghanistan.” Zaef points over towards a wall with a set of double doors set in it. “In the room beyond are Narsai’i instructors who have volunteered to help teach you how to fight as your companions do. We have much to teach each other, and I would like to begin soon. Any questions?”
The Bashakra’i seem either slightly bored with the idea, or interested in learning another way to fight. A chorus of “No”s sound out from the Bashakra’i.
“Then we shall all begin actual training shortly. Go, and treat the Narsai’i trainers with respect. I will learn if you do otherwise.”
There’s a few laughs from the Bashakra’i as they turn to leave. “Shut it!” Arlana shouts. “March your disrespectful asses next door!”
“Yes, Samal!” the Bashakra’i shout back.

Zaef glares, frowning, at the Bashakra’i as they leave the room. Then he turns back to the Narsai’i divisions. “Form a ring. We shall show you how we fight, firsthand.” The Narsai’i quickly step to form a circle around the five Bashakra’i instructors, including Lt. Decker and Sgt. Lee.
Zaef turns toward a male instructor. “This man is Naeph,” he says, and turns to a female instructor. “This woman is Yarta. They will demonstrate for you, in the strongest way.” He stares intensely into faces in the crowd. “Do not look away.” A few of the Narsai'i roll their eyes as he turns to Naeph and Yarta. “You may begin, instructors.”

Naeph and Yarta both strike a similar fighting pose to what the Narsai’i are familiar with - hands raised, elbows held to guard against strikes from the side, legs stanced for stability. There are some notable differences - hands held open and palms forward, ready to grasp, elbows held further out to the side, and the legs spread wider. It seems to the Narsai’i like a great way to invite a kick to the groin - and indeed, that’s what Yarta starts out with, but Naeph quickly twists to one side and absorbs the snap kick against his thick muscular thigh. He moves to take advantage of the closeness the strike requires, and lashes out with a backhand jab, which Yarta swats away. The two fighters circle each other like caged arias, all bared teeth and exposed claws. A couple times one charges in, and the other fends off their attack. Until Naeph tries something different - Yarta darts in for a quick jab to open him up for a more devastating move, but instead of blocking, Naeph darts backwards just as quickly as she comes in, and when her jab flies, there’s nothing but air there to meet it. Nothing, that is, except Naeph’s hand. He grabs ahold of Yarta’s wrist, and that’s when Zaef knows the fight is over. In an instant, Naeph twists Yarta’s arm back, elicting a cry of pain from her lips as she bends over backwards to keep her arm aligned, and then with her elbow locked solid, all it takes is one rising snap kick to the joint and Yarta’s elbow reverses with a wet crunch that echoes in the silent space, stabbing a dagger of bone through her skin as she screams out. The Narsai’i suddenly groan and look ill, but Naeph isn’t done yet - he twists her broken arm around to drag her closer, then lets go of her bleeding limb to wrap his thick arms around her neck, and only then does he stop and let her go.

Zaef’s expression flickers a moment, and he reflexively clutches at his right side - over a couple ribs, if anyone’s paying attention. Yarta drops to the floor, curls up and clutches towards her fresh compound fracture, grunting in agony through clenched teeth. Some of the Narsai’i start to rush in, but barked orders from the other Bashakra’i instructors keep them back as Naeph hits his knees next to her, and before any of the Narsai’i think better of obeying the orders of people who break each other’s bones in sparring practice, grabs for Yarta’s arm and bone. He nods at her, and she nods back, and then with a yank and a blood-curdling scream of agony, pulls Yarta’s arm straight and sucks the shattered bone back into her arm in the process, then jams the jagged ends back together.
“Kauka!” Naeph barks. Zaef responds quickly, dashing forward to the two. He kneels down beside her, nods at Yarta, and waves the kauka over her injury. The ring glows, and with one more sharp breath, the flesh in the wound seals together and skin starts to fill in with the familiar monotone brown of a healed kauka wound. In fact, all of the instructors - Zaef included - have a very particular pattern of kauka scars near the knees, elbows, wrists and ankles, remnants of similar compound fractures sustained in sparring.
Zaef lets out a small breath, then stands up and looks out at the assembled Narsai’i. There’s a lot of different looks on the faces of the fifty Narsai’i - disgust, horror, surprise and shock, and fear. All of them, Zaef notices, have taken a few steps back from the Bashakra’i instructors. “Don’t worry - we will not be as harsh on you,” Zaef says. “Now, you have just seen three things here today. All are important.” Zaef considers asking for volunteers - just for a second. He points at a random soldier. “Tell me one of these three.” The Narsai’i just stares at Zaef, slack-jawed.
Zaef’s frown deepens. “Firstly, you have seen a demonstration of how we fight. Keep it in mind. Secondly, you have seen what happens when we fight. Your reactions earlier hinted that you might be unprepared for seeing us go this far in sparring. I believe it’s important to show you what we do, and how we do it, without pretense. After all, soon you will be capable of doing this,” here he gestures towards Yarta’s arm as Naeph helps her to her feet, giving her a supportive embrace, “ and you must be able to do it right. It can - it WILL - save your life. Lastly…” Zaef holds up the kauka. “You have seen this device in action. It is one thing to hear what it does. It is quite another to see it. You may balk at using this, in future fights. In truth, I don’t care if you use it or not. But your enemy will not hesitate to. And you will need to be prepared.” Zaef doesn’t explain further, but instead turns toward Yarta and throws a quick jab towards her formerly injured arm. Yarta simply blocks the blow with her forearm, which was a few minutes ago horribly broken.
Zaef grins, and nods his head. “Thank you both.” He turns back towards the Narsai’i ring, hints of a smile still clinging to his face. “Any questions? Speak up now. After this, instruction begins.”
The expressions on the faces of the Narsai’i are starting to diversify a bit - some are still stunned at the sight of breaking someone’s arm in “sparring’ and others by the up-close demonstration of the kauka. There’s other looks, too: interest and excitement in the training, wariness about what these instructors might find acceptable, and a couple looking angrily at Naeph for daring to assault a woman. No questions, though.
“Then let’s get started,” Zaef says.

It’s a slow start, to be sure - Zaef’s friends rib more than a few Narsai’i about being afraid of getting their bones broken - but there’s certainly the beginnings of understanding. It’s not a terribly complicated fighting technique; what’s hard about it is making the motions instinctual and eliminating the in-born fear of, well, wrecking the body of another human being. Practice dummies, made of synthetic muscle with resettable bones for maximum realism, have been brought over from Atea, but today is all about familiarization and basic technique. Learning how to get used to snapping someone’s ulna can wait for tomorrow. The Narsai’i learn the basic stance, blows and blocks well enough, and a good few of them practice vigorously enough back to the instructors to deliver a few bruises - and some congratulations.
Still, it’s time to break for lunch, and Lt. Decker whistles loudly to signal that the training session is over for today. “Class, fall in!” he barks, and the recruits shake the hands of their instructors and fall into formation. “After lunch, we will be reporting back to the classrooms for further culture and language instruction, but for now, thank Mr. Utari and his friends for their time!”
“Thank you, Sir!” the class barks in unison.
Lt. Decker turns to Zaef. “Mr. Utari, anything you wish to say?”
“You’re doing fine,” Zaef addresses to the group at large. “You may go.”
“Right, you heard the man!” Lt. Decker barked. “Ten minutes, be on the bus or you’re walking back!”

The Narsai’i filed out, and Sausais walks up behind Zaef and claps him on the back. “Thanks for this, friend,” he says. “They’re all right. Soft, but all right.”
Zaef grins. “They’re holding back now,” he says. “But they won’t hesitate on the other side.” He claps Sausais on his shoulder. “And I should be thanking you, for coming out here and helping.”
Sausais grins back. “Hey, this was a blast. I think there’s a few of them that have what it takes to really make a go at fighting this war.”
Zaef shakes his head, still grinning. “I think you’re underestimating them. Like the Imperium.”
“Maybe, maybe,” Sausais replies. “They certainly seem brave, and they certainly know how to fight.”
“Just a matter of will,” Yarta adds as she walks up. “Not sure if they can make sacrifices, not like we’ve all had to do before.”
Zaef regards the departing troops in silence. “If will’s what you’re worried about...we will definitely teach them how to keep fighting, when the chips are down, and come out on top.”
Sausais and Yarta nod. “That’s why we’re really here, Zaef,” Sausais says as he rubs Zaef’s shoulder.
“I’ve always tried to teach my students how to fight, how to survive.” Zaef sighs. “And I don’t want to fuck it up this time.”
"I can't think of the last time you have, Zaef," Sausais replies, giving Zaef's shoulder a squeeze before letting go.
"Yeah, compared to the rest of us, you're the responsible one," Yarta teases, and slugs Zaef in the shoulder. "Being Brinai's favorite and all."
Zaef snorts. “Hardly. Just means I get away with less.” Zaef rubs his shoulder in mock pain, and there’s a hint of a smile on his face.

The Sheen in the village sent the contents of Brita Huawador’s vox off to the technical branch members on Narsai straight away, and it was a matter of hours before the dataspace found the right qbit combination to pop the contents wide open. A couple more names popped up in connection to “bomb”, “attack”, and “smuggle”, and strike teams were put together posthaste, this time with Hana and Koni accompanying a team each. One of the young men was caught asleep in his house, but the other was out on the street - it was a brief chase, but it certainly left a memorable effect on the other villagers, four robots the size of a small skimmer loping down the street while two black-winged flyers buzzed down at him. One of the flyers finally tagged him in between the shoulder blades, knocking him to the ground, and he screamed in terror as two of the ground-bound Sheen hauled him to his feet. Hana shouted and banged on one of their shells to put him down, and there was a moment where it turned a red-glowing sensor pod on her, and Luis could almost see the Sheen weighing knocking her out, but instead it just lowered the terrified terrorist-wannabe to the ground and bobbed the sensor pod to the village elder.
Hana didn’t say anything to the Sheen; instead, she walked over to the young man. She fixed him with a harsh glare. “Why?” she asked.
“You’re not going to ask if I was going to do anything?” the young man asked, a bit overly dramatically.
“I know you already did,” Hana replied, keeping in her own character. “So, I ask again, why?”
“Because they’re going to kill us all,” the young man spat. “They’re Sheen.”
One of the Sheen actually simulated a scoffing sound. “Buddy, if this is genocide we fucking suck at it.”
Hana gave the Sheen a curious look, but then nodded. “He is yours.”
“Traitor!” the young man shouted as the other Sheen held him over its back and walked away. “Traitor!”
Luis watches the Sheen take the young man away, and shakes his head to himself. “This is going to get worse before it gets any better,” he mutters to himself.
“No shit,” the other Sheen replied.

----

It’s a cliche that the further up the chain of command you get, the more time you spend shuffling paperwork. Even in a nearly paperless unit--given the Sheen, there’s still truth to the cliche, though, and Luis finds himself spending most of his days between his morning and afternoon reviews of the town behind a desk in the improvised command post, reviewing Sheen feed summaries, activity reports, requests from the town council, and more. Today he’s re-reviewing the Sheen analysis of the captured voxes from a few days prior, running again through the multithreaded, hyperdimensional data cloud for anything he or the Sheen might have missed already, and it’s enough to make him want to take his afternoon review early. However, that won’t make his to-do list any shorter, so instead he just stands, and walks from his desk to the door to stretch his legs, before settling into the supply reports for a change from staring at the same data for the fourth time and hoping to see something new.
That was until he feels the tell-tale rumble of an IED in his boots. The Sheen tactical group channel bursts into static-filled life, none of the individual messages distinguishable to his meat-based central processing unit, but it’s obvious that something bad has just gone down.
“Report?” he says into the tac channel. “Grey Goo, sitrep for me if you’re not engaged.”
“IED went off in one of the charging station locations,” Grey replied. “We’ve got five shells down, and seven stations. Moving to backup.”
“All right, let’s go to REDCON 1,” Luis says. “Everyone be alert, and I want a sweep of the other charging sites.”
“Already on it,” Grey replied. “Nose and I are checking out the north side -”

Another blast cuts off Grey mid-sentence - from the north side of the town. Luis swears, then calls back onto the Sheen tactical net. “Clear the charging stations until we’re sure there’s not more bombs!”
“Back up and running,” Grey replies.
“I’m fine too, by the way,” Nose adds.
“Whatever,” Grey says. Luis’ head fills with static for a moment. “Just gave the order to clear the stations and sweep the neighborhoods, Percussive Maintenance spotted someone toss a bag over the wall at the north station just before it blew up.”
“Meatbag!” another Sheen cuts in - Breaker Bar Good. “Spotted a human going for the west side station, they’ve got a scrambler and I’m returning fire!”
“Take it alive if you can, dead if you have to,” Grey replied.
“Other sites, be alert for more,” Luis says, grabbing his rifle from beside his desk, just in case they come for the command post, too.
A flood of “got it”s and “affirmative”s came over the channel; leaving Luis standing outside of the command post with two trins of Sheen in both heavy gunner and human-sized assault shells.
“Anything here?” Luis asks, as he surveys the street.
A request for visual uplink slides out of the right side of Luis’ vision. “Take a look for yourself,” Percussive says. He accepts, and the window slides the rest of the way out to show an aerial view from one of the Sheen drones flying far overhead. The rest of the streets around the command center look clear - and not just free of threats, but clear of anything that isn’t black and robotic, or Luis.
“Too empty,” Luis says. “That feels wrong.”
“Suits me fine,” Organ Grinder replies.
“We had any unusual visitors today?” Luis asks. For a moment, he has a vision of the place going up in a real fireball, like back in Iraq, not the flash-explosives of the exercise, but he shakes it off and focuses on the view from the drone.
“Nope, the locals are still steering clear,” Grinder replies.

Off in the distance, Luis hears a sudden chorus of whaps from a few beam rifles. It sounds like it’s coming from the south, well away from any of the charging stations. “Perimeter south, report!” Luis says.
“Coming from inside the town, no Sheen reporting being under attack,” Grey replies, doubtlessly echoing what the Sheen combined dataspace knows.
“Percussive Maintenance, get me a look,” Luis orders.
“On it,” Percussive replies.
An incoming vox connection pings in Luis’ ear, and his call display tells him it’s from Hana’s vox. He picks up. “Yes?”
“Are the Sheen on their way to defend me?” Hana asks. “My ‘attackers’ have fired enough, I think.”
“Not yet,” Luis says. “We were just getting intel here.”
“Well, we’re ready whenever they get here,” Hana replies, and disconnects. Luis switches back to the Sheen tacnet.
“That was the town council,” Luis says. “They’ve got hostiles. What are you going to do?”
“Well, shit,” Hal replies. The channel buzzes and crackles with static for another instant.
Grinder makes an exaggerated sigh-like shrug next to Luis, as Grey opens a connection with Hana’s vox on the tactical channel. “We’re on our way, Hana,” Grey replies.
A few high-pitched screeches from a pantaki come over the line. “About damn time!” Hana shouts.
“Just don’t fucking shoot us, too,” Grinder adds as it lumbers off.
Luis follows in its wake as it moves out into town.

“All right, converging on the scene,” Hal calls out over the tactical net as it bounds down the street. “Hana, are you under cover? How many humans do you have with you?”
“Just my family, four people and myself,” Hana replies in between pantaki shots.
*Grey, where the fuck are you?* Hal asks.
*On my way in a heavy shell,* Grey replies.
*All right, everyone,* Hal says as it slides to a stop. From far overhead, Percussive’s real-time feed is quickly dissected into fire zones and no-fire zones - if Hana’s numbers are right, the cluster of five humans inside a house is her and her people, and all the other warm meat dots blasting their fake-as-hell weapons fire are the bad guys. With the heights of the surrounding buildings like they are, Hal hacks together an instruction set for the assault and blasts it out on the tactical net. The next instant, Hal’s pinged with a half-dozen ACK signals from the other Sheen on the scene. *And...go.*

Hal barrels forwards towards the nearest hab, and with one jump, lands deftly on the roof and starts galloping towards the target. Sensors show three more shells doing the same, each converging in pairs on the human bad guys’ firing positions. One of the Sheen is wearing a stealth/close quarters shell, and Hal sees through its sensors as it slides through an open window behind the gunmen at another house, and Grey’s fire support is 9.73 seconds away.
At 2.00 seconds, Hal pulses out another go-code, and all four Sheen leap into the air once again - and land directly between the attackers and Hana’s cover.
“Go!” Hal calls to Hana over the tactical net, as fake beamer shots splash and crackle against the Sheens’ armored shells. Simulated damage warnings start to flicker across its perception, but the four Sheen lay on the damage with chained accelerator bursts. A sensor pod swivels towards the third group of attackers, and sees them raise a spearbomb - and then immediately drop it out of the window, as the stealth shell fires four suppressed accelerator shots and gets four clean kills. Hana and her “family” run out from cover, just in time for Grey to appear and provide both cover and covering fire as they get to safety. It’s almost unnecessary; by that point the attackers are already in full retreat, and the one or two that “survived” the attack are already gone into the nearby streets and alleys.
After the Sheen clear the street, Luis moves to join Hana. “Are you all okay?” he asks.
Hana nods as she lets out a deep breath through her nose. “We’re fine,” she says, and looks to her fake family and her suspiciously old “children”. All four of them nod.
“Yes, Sir,” one of the “kids” says.
“Good,” Luis says, and turns to look over the street. “Looks like things are stepping up a bit.”
“It’s about damn time,” Hal and Hana say simultaneously.
“What’s the situation at the other sites?” Luis asks Hal.
“Contained, but shit be fucked up,” Hal replies. “Lost 17 charging stations and a dozen shells.”
“How does that leave us for capacity?” Luis asks.
“Still at full strength, just down on options,” Hal says. “Gonna be more heavies and stealth shells on the streets until we can get resupplied, and we’ll have to go back to charging on rooftops.”
Luis turns to Hana and raises an eyebrow. “Will the council be alright with that?”
Hana looks at Hal. “Probably not, but we do not have much choice.”
Luis nods at that. “Okay. Hal, let’s head back to base. I want a list of resupply to send up the chain, and we should review security and footage from today.”
“Resupply list is sent,” Hal replies, and Luis’ vox pings a moment later. “And all feeds have been uploaded to the dataspace while you were yammering.” It turns to Hana. “Good to know you’re so grateful for us saving your ass,” it says, its voice carrying a sarcastic edge. Hana opens her mouth to chew Hal out, but Hal speaks up again first. “But next time, call us instead of the meatbag here. We’ll get there faster that way.”
Hana still gives Hal the evil eye, but nods and says nothing before being escorted off by Grey, who Luis can hear apologizing for Hal’s behavior.

“That wasn’t exactly keyed to win hearts and minds,” Luis says to Hal as they start to head back to the command post.
“Yeah, well, you’d think ‘saving’ her and her ‘family’ would get us a bit of cooperation,” Hal replies, raising two limbs to make the requisite sarcasm quotes.
“Maybe true, but it doesn’t justify being offensive,” Luis says, shaking his head.
Hal shrugs. “She’s right, they don’t have a choice. We’re here, assholes are trying to kill them, so they gotta do what we say. Who gives a shit.”
“Because if we don’t do this right, more of us get killed, and more of them get killed,” Luis says.
“Yeah, and they don’t have to like us to keep them from getting killed,” Hal replies. “We just blow away the bad guys when they come up, and keep the idiot humans from getting shot.”
“And if we piss them off too much, they become more bad guys,” Luis says.
Hal actually pauses for a second. “Why? We’re the good guys, and we’re protecting them. They’d have to be really fucking stupid to kill us when we’re keeping them from getting killed.”
“Think about those kids,” Luis says. “Their mom’s getting shot at for working with you, and all you showed her was scorn for it. Maybe they decide that the real problem is you, that you’re not the good guys.”
Hal shrugs. “Then I guess we gotta kill them if they try to kill us. We’ve got slugs.” It pauses again. “But then we’re trying to kill everyone, and then we’re not the good guys anymore. Shit.” It fake-sighs again. “Can we just go back to being murderbots? Murderbots was more fun.”
“That’s the problem. Murderbots was why the Imperium decided the only good Sheen was a dead Sheen,” Luis says. “It’s not fun, but this way you’ve got a chance of working with people. I know I appreciate the backup--when I can count on it. That’s what this is all about.”
Hal shakes a sensor pod. “Fucking lame. I get it, you’re right, but being polite to assholes is fucking lame. Maybe get Grey to brown-nose next time, then, instead of me.”
“It’s a necessary skill to have,” Luis says. “It’s critical to learn, lame or not. Now, let’s get back to command.”
“Man, this sucks,” Hal says again, and keeps walking.
It’s only just starting to get really bad, Luis thinks to himself as he follows.

One of the beneficiaries of the new GRHDI buildings at Mesas Negras is Samal Arlana Quis - as befits her position as training officer for the combined Narsai’i/Bashakra’i training program, she’d been given a small office down the hall from Garrett, Swims-the-Black, Hugh-cum-Hug’sh, Zaef, Luis and Angel. It’s only seen use as a storage locker/dressing room and report writing space, but more and more recently, it’s served as a private brooding and worry space. Arlana closes the door behind her, her carapace shedding the dust from outside, and pops the seal on her helm as she tries to mentally assemble today’s training report to the GRHDI and Narsai’i officials - but other thoughts keep getting in the way. Well-practiced motions pull her hair out from the back of her armor, and her chamakana is safely stowed in its locker, but Arlana’s thoughts refuse to stay on topic. As she waves towards the holodisplay on her desk, her worries battle their way to the front of her mind yet again, and five minutes later, she still hasn’t taken her eyes off of her vox’s background image - a picture of her family taken a couple weeks ago, all four of them in civilian clothes at the Bashakra’i village site in Virginia. Both married couples are arm-in-arm in the lovely Narsai’i sun, Arlana herself a world away from her Turai carapace in her reddish-brown sleeveless tunic and billowing tan pants. She sighs; Ody is still living at the site, several hours away by skimmer, the Gateway isn’t open yet, and her husband is simply too busy to interrupt during the day.

Arlana smiles and reaches out for her husband’s projected image in midair, and then hears two familiar voices talking as they walk down the hallway - Garrett and Ngawai. A door down the hallway opens and closes, leaving Arlana alone with her thoughts once more. She finally flicks open a text field to start her report, but the small peek of Arketta’s eye on the side of the display refuses to let Arlana’s worries fade into the background. On the contrary, they only get louder, her brow furrowing and wistful smile turning into a frown. With a frustrated “Hmph” and wave of her hand, Arlana closes the display entirely in favor of a run around the GRHDI complex to clear her mind - not the first one this week.

This time, though, as she steps outside, Arlana hears Garrett’s voice down the hall, babbling nonsense to Naloni. It gives her pause, and that pause turns into a new plan of action. Her purposeful walk turns around, and she clunks down the hall in her carapace boots to his doorway. She knocks briskly on his door. “Garrett?”
“Come in, Arlana!” Garrett calls. “I’ve just got my hands full with a certain someone.”
Arlana opens the door, and can’t help but smile. The sight of Garrett bouncing his infant daughter on his knee as she smiles and coos (and drools) instantly melts her heart, and she takes a knee next to him. “Aww, who’s the cutest pudgy little spink?” she asks. Naloni rolls her head quickly in Arlana’s direction, her dark brown eyes wide as she takes in Arlana’s gleaming carapace. “May I hold her, once I get the gauntlets and chest plate off?” Arlana asks Garrett.
“Of course,” Garrett replies with a smile. He looks back to Naloni and gives her a big smile. “Ah-boo!” he coos as he bounces his knee once more, supporting his daughter under her arms, and she laughs.
Arlana watches Garrett echo “I love you” to Naloni as she unseals her carapace pieces, and remembers watching Ody do the same thing to Arketta when she was that age. The Turai grant six months of maternity leave and two years of local-only duty - must let the next generation grow up strong and proper - and Arlana doted on Arketta every last second of it. She’d probably claim I still do, Arlana thinks as she strips her armor down to the skinsuit and boots.

Garrett stands up, Naloni cradled in his arms, and waits for Arlana to set her armor pieces to the side. “Ready?”
Arlana nods, and Garrett passes Naloni over. She holds her the same way she did her own daughter - cradled in her crossed arms, her little head resting in the crook between her arm and chest. Naloni squirms slightly, her wisp of black hair and little brown toes pushing against Arlana’s biceps as she holds her, but Naloni settles down a moment later and stares off into space. “How are you doing?” Arlana coos. “Hmm?” She lifts Naloni up and rests her on her shoulder, both arms cradling her. “I have a daughter, just like you, you know,” Arlana whispers to Naloni. “She’s all grown up now, but…” Arlana’s eyes start to dampen. “But even though she’s a big hero, and even tougher and stronger than her mother now, she’s still my baby daughter and sometimes I just want to hold her just like this and never, never let her go. Someday, maybe you’ll feel the same way about your little daughter, Naloni.” She gives Naloni a peck on the back of her head as she cradles her. “You’ll just want to wrap her in her sling and never let her go.”
Naloni, for her part, simply squeaks and blows a spit bubble.
“Oh, I know,” Arlana says as her smile widens. “I know.”
Naloni starts to fuss and wiggle around a little more, her head turning from side to side.
“And that’s the sign you want your father back,” Arlana says to Garrett with a smile, and gently hands Naloni back to her father.
“That’s the sign it’s time to eat, actually,” Garrett replies with a smile of his own, pulling a bottle out of its warmed sleeve in the Imperial infant sling sitting on his desk. “I’m just a part of the process.” He carefully balances Naloni on his lap as he puts on the sling, and then lifts Naloni into place. Finally, the bottle is maneuvered in, and Naloni’s little hands grasp ahold as she suckles away.

“So,” Garrett says, keeping his eyes on his daughter, “I gathered that you’re not here just to see my daughter.”
“No,” Arlana sighs as she takes a seat in the office’s one and only guest chair. She stares at Naloni as white milk runs down her dark brown cheek, captivated for a moment before speaking up again. “How do you and Ngawai do it, Garrett? After all you have seen, what makes you both want to stay on Narsai?”
“Spite has something to do with it,” Garrett admits, flashing Arlana a smile for a moment. Arlana chuckles a bit at that, her broad shoulders shaking. “Both Ngawai and I...we don’t take too well to being told we can’t do something when we both know it’s the right thing to do - and especially when the people telling you not to do it are - are jerks,” Garrett continues, catching himself. “If that many bad people want Ngawai, Naloni and me gone? We both figure that’s a good enough reason to stay all by itself.” He stares at Naloni for a few more seconds, and she stares back. “But there’s other, better reasons too.”
“I should hope so,” Arlana replied.
“Narsai isn’t exactly a rough place for a human to grow up,” Garrett continued. “The food, air and water are all clean and plentiful, so she can grow up strong. There’s not a lot out there that’s poisonous or trying to eat her, another plus.” He looks at Arlana. “Plus, this is my home, you know? And Ngawai wants to make it her home, and we want it to be our daughter’s home. Sure, there’s...jerks, out there. And yes, that won’t make things easy, but this is our home. I think we’re fighting a war for the right to keep our home safe and intact. Wouldn’t make much sense to let another group of jerks chase us off of it while we fight to keep it.”
“Yes, but…” Arlana sighed and crossed her arms. “The threats against you and your family, don’t they scare you?”
“Of course,” Garrett replied. “Why do you think I’ve been pushing so hard for the Bashakra’i village to go through? I want my family to live Narsai’i - but, you know, that doesn’t mean we have to live side-by-side with people that want to kill us. Ngawai and I want Naloni to grow up with every advantage - and that includes Naranai’i medical care, culture and education. If that means I have to build her a place so that can happen with my own two hands, then that’s what I’ll do.” After a second, he looks over to Arlana. “Or with your husband’s hands,” he adds with a smirk. “He’s been more than instrumental in making the village happen.”
“Ody can’t resist a good construction project, especially when it’s something he believes in,” Arlana says, smiling herself.
“So, my first question is, do you want to stay here on Narsai?” Garrett asks.
“Of course,” Arlana said. “It’s a lovely planet, and many of the people here are...well, they’re nice enough.” Her smile fades. “But they are not the ones I am worried about. I’m worried about Ody, I’m worried about Arketta, Luis, and their future children. Ody has also told stories about Narsai’i hassling shipments and people coming to and from the village site, sometimes carrying weapons.” Arlana’s brow furrows, well-worn worry lines deepening around her eyes as her maternal softness hardens into the disapproving glare of a Samal. “My little daughter was already shot in your capital, Garrett, and I think I am allowed to be worried about my family’s safety living in such a place.”
“No argument from me,” Garrett replies. “But if you’re so worried about Arketta’s or Ody’s safety here, why not take Brinai up on her offer to move to Atea, like Arketta and Luis have done?”
Arlana sighs, and her shoulders untense slightly. “I...I’m not entirely sure. For right now? Because Ody is working on the village project, and I am working on this training. And I certainly was thinking about it more before the training started, but...I have seen the character of the Narsai’i - the good Narsai’i - and there is...there is this hope and optimism and firmness in their beliefs that I haven’t seen since, well, since Arketta came back from Turai instruction - and then again when she contacted us from Narsai. And that’s something that I miss.”
“Being around people like that?” Garrett asks.
“Being like that,” Arlana replies. “I remember having that fire once. That certainty that I was on the right side of things, that I was doing good for people. Then...my first pacification order came, and I cried in my bunk every night afterwards for two weeks. My mother embraced me on my first leave afterwards, and we sat for hours while she talked to me about how to keep my head held high and focus on the good - the terrorist plots stopped, the murderers put down - and put the other times out of your mind. It worked, but...I never felt that fire again. I did the same for my little daughter when she first came back from leave, and despaired for her - but then, seeing her when you all walked into our hab, I could see that she had that fire again.” She smiles at the memory of seeing her daughter again after her defection. “She was certain that she was fighting for what was right, and that came back to her here.” Arlana sighs, and shrugs her shoulders. “I suppose I want to feel that way again myself, and maybe here, with the Narsai’i, I can find that fire like she did. Look at you, for example.”
“Me?” Garrett asks, sliding Naloni into her sling for her post-meal nap.
“You have been shot at, conspired against, blown up, and betrayed by your own people more than once, and you are still the loudest champion for the Narsai’i I know,” Arlana says. “Why?”
“Well, someone’s gotta do it,” Garrett jokes, but then his smile fades as he rocks Naloni back and forth. “But mostly because I know that the people that are attacking us are wrong. They don’t represent what the Narsai’i stand for - what they should be standing for - and what our ideals are. Freedom, equality, civil rights, that’s what the Narsai’i are about, and that’s something that needs standing up for, both with the Imperium and with the Narsai’i. There are people here - many people - who disagree with that, that prefer control and domination over freedom, but, well, they’re wrong too. I haven’t left Narsai or the Narsai’i because I know that there is a difference between what many Narsai’i say and do, and what the Narsai’i should be saying and doing, and if no one is going to stand up to them and tell them where to get off, then what are we doing here?”
Arlana smirks back. “I suppose so. But...what if they don’t accept your message?”
“What do you mean?” Garrett asks.
“I have read some of the things that Arketta has sent me, files from the founders and philosophers of your people, and even they admit that this is a more difficult way for a people to live,” Arlana replies. “It requires that your people be engaged and involved with their leaders, and always vigilant for groups and ideas that threaten that equality and freedom. The Imperium...well, it is easier. The Emperor makes the decisions, the Court decides how they are enacted, and the people only have to follow the rules. It is a simpler way to live, and the Imperium might not like what your freedom asks of them.”
Garrett shrugs. “It is the same way here. Before this, I worked in a part of the world where their beliefs took precedence over the right to speak freely, the rights of women to be any more than slaves to their fathers and husbands, the right to say or do almost anything that did not line up with what they believed. And I gotta tell you, we didn’t make a dent over there. They still believe all the things that they did before, because this is what their lives have been for hundreds of years, and we were only going to be there for, what, a decade at most? But I still did my best, and even if we didn’t change the society for the better, I was at least there making an honest effort, and even with all the bad shit that happened, I know we inspired people to maybe try to change things for the better, and maybe someday those people will inspire others, until someday everything changes for the better. And that was just in a place where we weren’t committed to changing. That’s the power of these ideas, Arlana. Yes, it’s more work and it’s more difficult. It’s easier to let other people do the thinking for you. But even with all of that, if you give someone the honest option, they will almost always choose the harder but better path.” Garrett leans back in his seat, cradling his daughter in his arms and smiles. “So, no. I’m not that concerned.”
Arlana smiles. “Well, forgive this old cynic, then.”
Garrett smiles back. “You followed a hope for a better life for your family across the galaxy. I hardly think you’re a cynic, Arlana.”
Arlana laughs at that. “Maybe not, then. Maybe I’ve already picked up on some of your Narsai’i optimism.”
“We can only dream,” Garrett replies.