Valiant: Tales From The Archive

[CURSEd #4: Moving On]

Log Date: 10/26/12763

Data Sources: Darrow Bennion

Axiom’s Journal

One of the hardest things you’ll ever do is watching someone you care about struggle, but being unable to help them.

And it’s not for lack of wanting to help them, or inability to do so. What hurts the most is when you do want to help them, and you know you can help them.

But they won’t let you help them.

So you watch them struggle, you watch them suffer, knowing the entire time that you could step in and lighten the load, if only they would let you. But they won’t let you, so even if you could do something, you can’t do anything. Not if you respect them, or value them. If they decide they don’t want your help, you have to stand back and let them struggle. 

And that is one of the hardest things you’ll ever have to deal with.

Event Log: Darrow Bennion

CURSE HQ: Gritter’s Bar

8:28pm SGT

“I think — and hear me out here — that if we could find a way to transform all your angst and depression into electricity, then we might be able to power the entire HQ for a week and a half.”

I give Kent a flat look over my drink. “Ha bloody ha. Very funny.”

Kent gives an innocent, exaggerated shrug. “I’m just sayin’. We could even flip it on and off whenever we needed. Every time Roya’s having a bad day, we can turn off the station’s fusion cores and hook you up to the power grid instead. It’d work like a charm, and one hundred percent eco-friendly, to boot.”

“I’ve gotta stop paying for your drinks.” I mutter, sipping from mine as I look away. It’s a decent night here in Gritter’s; the bar counter is full up, and so are most of the booths. Some of the new recruits are starting to warm up to the place and make it a regular haunt. “You run your mouth when you’re buzzed. More than usual, at least.”

“I mean hey, am I wrong?” Kent says, leaning back in his side of the booth. “I see you moping around the station, I can almost one-hundred percent guarantee you it has something to do with Roya.” Noticing a lingering grease stain on his forearm, he grabs a napkin and wipes it away, then goes to town on some of the other oil smudges on his forearms. Leftovers from being elbow-deep in machine repair, no doubt. “I would’ve thought you’d’ve gotten over her by now, man. Isn’t she the one that broke it off an’ said she didn’t want to be friends any more?”

I don’t answer that, opting to look away and take a sip from my drink instead. I know what he’s going to follow up with, and I don’t feel like hearing it tonight. Not because I’m in denial, but because he’s going to say the exact same thing that I catch myself thinking all too often.

“Hey. Axe.” Kent leans forward to snap his fingers in my face. “I’m over here, dude. I asked you a question. Roya doesn’t even wanna be your friend anymore, so why are you getting worked up when she’s having a bad day?”

I look back at him. “What, I should just stop caring about a person because they don’t want to be friends anymore? Seems like a pretty shitty way to be, as a person.”

Kent stares at me for a moment, then pushes his drink aside and hits the button on the wall for the privacy screen. A hazy-blue, semi-transparent wall flares up around our booth; it doesn’t hide us from everyone else in the bar, but it does keep our conversation from drifting beyond our booth. “Axe, have you considered seeing a counselor?”

I squint at him. “…you, of all people, are recommending that I get help.”

“Yeah. I am.” Kent says, doing his best to clean up his syntax and sound serious. “Like, at first, I won’t lie. This was kinda funny. It was cute, watching you do the heartbroken puppy thing over losing a friend. Honestly I probably shouldn’t have reacted that way; I should’ve been more supportive, instead of mocking you. I’m starting to see now that whatever it was you had with Roya, whatever it is you still feel for her, it’s unhealthy.”

“Being concerned for someone you care about is unhealthy?” I say, glaring at him.

“I know, I know.” he says, putting his hands up. “I know I don’t have a lotta room to talk; my area of expertise is cheesy pickup lines and one-night stands. I’ll freely admit that. I enjoy it; that’s how I roll, and I know I’m no relationship counselor.” He drops his hands back to the table. “But I do have my head on straight, so hear me out. It is no longer your job to give a damn about Roya. She decided she did not want you as part of her life, and as far as I can tell, you respected that, but now you need to respect yourself too. If she’s havin’ a bad day, it’s not your job to worry about that. You cannot be expected to invest yourself in caring about someone that wouldn’t do the same for you. I know that’s the definition of your job — as a Peacekeeper, protecting the galactic public — but that’s your job. You’re compensated for that. This thing with Roya? It’s not part of your job.” He folds his arms on the table, leaning forward. “That hero complex you have while you’re on the job shouldn’t extend your personal life. You need to allow yourself to be mortal when you’re outside of the Axiom suit. You need to allow yourself to have flaws. You need to be allowed to think of yourself, and take care of yourself.”

I look away from him again, thinking about that. “So basically, you’re telling me to be selfish.” I conclude after a moment.

“Yes. Absolutely.” Kent confirms nearly immediately. “Something I’ve noticed about you is that you blur the line between your job and your personal life. You act like Axiom, the Peacekeeper and the hero, even when you’re not wearing the suit.”

“Isn’t that the way it should be, though?” I ask. “I shouldn’t become a different person once I step out of that suit. I should try to live those values whether I’m wearing the suit or not.”

“I get what you’re saying there, and I know why you would think that.” Kent says carefully. “We have this idea that it would somehow be dishonest if you were a different person inside the suit than you were outside of it. But that’s not realistic. You may be a hero, but that’s also your job, and nobody acts the same at their job as they do in their personal life. If they value their job and their sanity, they keep the two separate. Because the vast majority of us have to be different people at work; it’s the only way we’d keep our jobs, and it puts a barrier, a shell, between our personal lives, and the stress of our work lives. That’s why you’re so mopey and guilty all the time; it’s because you’re carrying your work life with you even when you step out of that suit. Your job requires you to care about everyone, but you have your limits, dude. When you’re not wearing the Axiom suit, you don’t have to care about everyone. Just care about the people that would do the same for you. It’s okay to think of your own needs when you’re off the clock.”

I do my best to soak all of that in, still looking away. “Is that who I want to be, though? It just feels… wrong, I guess. To stop trying to be a better person just because I step out of the suit.”

“It doesn’t mean you have to be a complete asshole once you step out of the suit.” Kent says. “And it doesn’t mean you can’t aspire to be a better person. That’s what your job is for. You step into the Axiom suit, you take up the challenge of being Axiom, of being a hero, a selfless person that embodies the best of what we believe in. You step out of the Axiom suit, you get to be Darrow Bennion. You get to relax, be yourself, do the things you want to do. You get to have fun, watch movies, have drinks with your friends, play games, and only care about the people that you want to care about.” He reaches up, hitting button on the wall and dropping the privacy screen. “Anyway, this is all a huge tangent. What I was trying to say is that Roya’s not your problem anymore. If she’s havin’ a bad day, it’s not your job to worry about it, and it’s not like you could fix it anyhow, since she doesn’t want to be your friend. And until she decides she wants to be your friend again, you don’t owe her a damn thing. Do something for yourself, like get the number of that pretty liddle recruit you’ve taken under your wing, or talking Whisper into going on a date with me.”

I raise an eyebrow. “So when you say ‘do something for yourself’, what you really want me to do is do something for you.”

Kent reaches out, pulling his drink back to himself. “Look, dude. You’re hoggin’ the sexiest little spitfire this side of the galaxy. Help a brother out! Let the rest of us get summa that.”

My answer to that is a shrug. “Whisper and I are just friends. I don’t see what the problem is. If you or anyone else wants to go on a date with her, all you have to do is ask her.”

Kent shakes his head disapprovingly. “Clueless. Absolutely clueless. One of these days, you’re gonna look back and regret how completely oblivious you are.”

“If you say so.” I say, draining the last of my drink and setting it aside. “Think I’m gonna turn in early tonight. I’m embarking for an assignment tomorrow, and besides…” I look around the bar, and all the new faces. “It’s a little more crowded in here than I’m used to. I’m not sure I like it.”

“Ain’t a bad thing.” Kent says, sizing up tonight’s crowd. “Place could do with a little more life anyhow. And some of these recruits are… admittedly pretty cute. Think I’ll stay a little longer and put a few lines in the water.”

I snort, tapping my bracelet to the register panel in the center of the table. “Better make that drink last, because the next one’s coming out of your pocket. You have a good night, Kent.”

With that, I step out of the booth, and wind my way through the bodies in the bar and out into the wide halls of the HQ. Out in the open, without the background murmur and the confined spaces, I’m able to clear my head and relax as I wander my way back to my quarters, thinking on Kent’s advice. It wasn’t that much different from the advice Whisper had given me right after Roya decided to end things.

I owed it to myself to do something for my own sake and not for Roya’s, and it was about time I moved on.

Event Log: Darrow Bennion

C.V. Justice: Boarding Deck

10/27/12763 9:02am SGT

“…and that should be the last of them.” Kwyn says as the last person steps through the docking tube, the doorframe flicking green as it scans the chip embedded in the operative’s uniform. On the data slate she’s holding, the last box checks off, the personnel count turning green at the top of the screen, and she looks to me. “We should be ready to go now, right?”

“Almost.” I say, nodding to the data slate. “We’ve got all our personnel, but we want to make sure all the equip’s loaded as well.”

She reaches up, swiping through to another screen that shows the inventory for our platoon. “Inventory count is showing green here, so I suppose that means all our equipment has been loaded into the hangar bay, right?”

“Yup.” I confirm as the boarding hatch spirals closed, locking and sealing. I turn and start walking as the docking tube starts to retract, pulling back to the station. “The rest of the checks will be on the captain’s end. If everything’s clean and green on his end, then we’ll be good to embark.”

Kwyn skips a little to keep up with me as I start making my way to the elevator. “What does the captain have to check on his end?” she asks, tucking the data slate under her arm.

“He’s got a whole laundry list of things.” I answer, moving to one side of the hall to stay out of the way of a few of the ship’s staff as they walk past. “Fuel check, crew check, systems check, uh… probably a few other things. Can’t say I’m that familiar with his checklist. I know the basics of space travel, but I don’t know much beyond that.”

“Are there certification classes for that sort of thing?” she asks as we come up on the elevator.

“Somewhat?… not really.” I say as the glass doors slide open for us, and we step inside. I tap my bracelet against the door, and once it recognizes my clearance, I select the option for the main bridge. “Astroneering is more a career field than something you just pick up on the side. There’s a lot that goes into interstellar ships, from the power systems, steering, navigation, the entire scientific principle of gravity and how it gets used in interstellar travel, hyperlight sciences, and then the maintenance of hundreds of ship systems… it’s a lot. You might be able to pick up strike fighter piloting, but that cert takes a few years as well because of how much you have to learn.”

“I see.” she says, brushing away the creases in her rookie operative uniform. Like other CURSE operative uniforms, it’s two-toned in white and grey, with yellow highlights to indicate that she’s a rookie. My own uniform is much the same, except that the highlights on my uniform are red, to indicate my Peacekeeper rank. “I think I’ll focus on my mixed martial arts and marksmanship certs right now.”

“How are those going for you?” I ask, glancing askance at her. She’s got her blizzard-white hair back in a tight, neat ponytail — noticeably different from the looser, more relaxed version that she seems to prefer in her downtime.

“The mixed martial arts one is definitely working me over.” she admits, rubbing a shoulder. “The instructors go hard in there. I’m pretty sure I’ll be able to pass my benchmarks, since we square up against our classmates for those. I’m not so sure about the final — I heard that you have to fight one of the instructors for the final.”

“You do.” I confirm as the elevator starts to slow. “They don’t go all-out on you, but they don’t make it easy either. Has the marksmanship cert been easier on you?”

“Oh yeah, that’s actually gotten a lot easier after you gave me those tips.” she says, stepping out after me as the doors open, and we step out onto the command deck, making our way down the hall to the bridge itself. “My rank in the class shot up once I started making those adjustments. I was having so much trouble with the moving targets before that.”

I smile as we reach the bridge, tapping my bracelet against the access pad. “Don’t shoot are where they are…”

“…shoot at where they will be.” she finishes with a grin of her own.

“I actually learned that one from Whisper.” I say as the door spirals open, and we step onto the bridge, where the elegant, clean white interior matches the rest of the ship’s design, and blue holoscreens abound. “She trained me when I was a rookie, the same way I’m training you right now. She still kicks my ass in hand-to-hand combat, though.”

“Is Whisper the one that was sitting beside you during the Challengers? The one with the short black hair?” Kwyn asks as the door spirals shut behind us.

“That’s her. If I get the chance sometime, and she happens to be free that day, I’ll see if I can introduce you to her.” I say, making my way through the bridge to the captain’s chair, where Markos is comfortably seated. “Captain. How goes it?”

He looks up and over his shoulder. “Axiom. Do you have your platoon loaded?”

“Everyone’s onboard, along with all of our equipment.” I answer, glancing back out the wide, forward window of the bridge. Off to the right, parts of the CURSE HQ station are visible from where the Justice is parked at one of the docking terminals. “Have we received clearance to embark?”

“We can request it once we finish running our checks. Most of them are done; we just need to get a count back on our missiles and a final all-clear on the warp drive and the shield emitters.” Markos says, sitting up a little more in his chair. “Who’s this with you?”

“Operative Resquill, sir.” Kwyn says, saluting. “I have the privilege of training directly with Axiom.”

“Huh. First time I’ve seen you take on a direct trainee, Axiom.” Markos smirks. “You planning on knocking him off his throne and taking the Axiom suit from him, rookie?”

“What? No sir, I think it fits him better than it fits me.” Kwyn replies, looking surprised.

“Oh, I dunno.” Markos says, glancing to me. “That’s old Challenger tech, isn’t it, Axiom? I heard the interlock plating and pilot cavity for the Axiom suit are adaptive. They’ll conform to the shape of the pilot’s body. That’s why it’s had multiple pilots, and there have been multiple Axioms.”

“Sorry, but that’s classified information, and I can’t comment on the specifics of the Axiom suit’s capabilities.” I say, deflecting the question.

“Bah, you’re no fun.” Markos says, checking the holoscreen over the arm of his chair. “What about this assignment you’re on? Details were skimpy when it came over. All we got was a system address and a platoon manifest, and it said you were in charge, and would be dispensing details as needed.”

“Also classified, actually.” I say apologetically. “And before you ask, all I can tell you is that we’re visiting an archaeological dig site on a moonworld. Everything else will be on a need-to-know basis.”

“Now you’ve got me curious.” Markos muses, glancing at his screen. “Looks like the all-clear came back from shields and warp drive. We’re green across the board. Requesting embarkation permissions now.”

“Do you have a shipwide channel?” I ask.

“I do. Have an announcement to make?” Markos says, tapping at his screen.

“Sort of. I’m going to cue the platoon in on the mission outline. Figure you and your crew should know what we’ll be doing down on the surface.” I say as he pops a flat little mic out of the arm of the chair and holds it up to me. Taking it, I hold it up and start speaking. “Hey there. This thing working?”

I’m immediately rewarded by the overlapped reverb of my voice echoing through the bridge’s speakers. Wincing, I look at Markos. “Sorry ‘bout that.” he says, tapping on the holoscreen on the arm of his chair. “Try it again.”

“Alright, let’s give this another go.” I say, relieved when I don’t hear my own voice echoing back at me. “For those of you that don’t know me, I am Peacekeeper Axiom. Those who are in the platoon that was assigned to this vessel likely noticed that the assignment details were scarce. I’m going to fill you in now.

“We’re going to be heading to Chibundi, a moonworld in the Gnist System. The system is in dark space and largely unexplored; officially, it belongs to the Viralix Empire, but they’ve designated the entire system as an ecological preserve, which has prevented anyone from settling any of its worlds. However, a private expedition ventured to this system about seventeen years ago for an archaeological dig, ignoring the ban on surface visits that the Viralix had in place. Three months after arrival, the company lost contact with the expedition, and when they sent a scout vessel to follow up, the ship was intercepted by Viralix military ships and ordered to turn back under threat of deadly force.

“The Viralix still haven’t lifted their ban on surface visits in the Gnist system, and we have not informed them of our intention to drop in and take a look around. We will not be staying there as long as the expedition did — our objective is to get in, find the dig site on Chibundi, figure out what happened, and get back out. If things go well, it shouldn’t take more than a day. I don’t expect we’ll be in the system more than three days at longest.

“This is a checkup and exploration mission, and we anticipate a low threat level on this assignment, which is why many of you rookies are currently in the platoon assigned to this vessel. Still, because of the background of this assignment, we will be treating it as an excursion into hostile territory. When we deploy to the surface, it will be in full gear. When we are within the system itself, I will be providing more details on the assignment once we locate the dig site and have a plan of deployment. Axiom out.”

With that, I hand the mic back to Markos, and he clicks it back into the arm of his chair and kills the channel. “While you were giving your speech, we got the greenlight from the HQ. We’re good to disembark.”

“Alright. I heard it was almost two weeks to the Gnist System?” I ask as the Justice starts moving away from the station so it can line up for the jump.

“Twelve days with a normal drive, but we’ve got Challenger drive in this beaut. She can make it in six.” Markos replies. “Navcom, how are we looking?”

“Drive is charged; we have our jump course locked in, Captain.” the officer at the navigation console answers. “We are ready to initiate jump on your order.”

“Well, we’re not getting any younger.” Markos says as the view through the forward window settles and becomes still, pointed towards a dark patch within the thick band of the galaxy’s outline. “Let’s hit the road. Take us out, navcom.”

“As you say, Captain.” the officer says, reaching forward to tap his console. A growing hum shrouds the Justice as the starscape starts to blur, stretching around us like a bent lens as the warp drive goes active, bending spacetime around us as we get on our way.

The News

“…continues to mourn the loss of Millican Crane, the founder of Crane Infosec, but perhaps best known to the rest of the galaxy as Echo, one of the more famous Challengers of the Challenger era. Mr. Crane is often remembered for his measured and level opinion, calm demeanor, and his willingness to speak out against the flaws of the Challenger program before it was shut down. His decision to retire from the program, which at the time he claimed as a matter of conscience, eventually spared him the shame and ignominy that fell on the rest of the Challengers when the Songbird Incident occurred two years later.

The manner of his death — what appears to be a late-night assassination while he was in his home on Vanui — has been attributed in recent days to the rogue Challenger Songbird. A number of tabloid outlets have published images and video which appear to show Songbird exiting the lobby of the arcology that Mr. Crane lived in. Local and galactic authorities, which until now had refused to comment on the tabloid reporting, today confirmed that Songbird was in fact at the arcology at the time that Mr. Crane died. Though they did not say that Songbird was responsible for Mr. Crane’s death, the Vaunted did state that Songbird was a prime suspect in the ongoing investigation. The statement was enough for several politicians to make the assumption of guilt, and call for a bounty to be placed on Songbird’s head, dead or alive. Others still raised the prospect of passing legislation that would subject nations that harbored rogue Challengers to hefty sanctions and fines — a proposal that the Maskling senator immediately matched by offering a bill that would levy the same fines and sanctions on nations known to be affiliated with SCORN.

In the meantime, Chi Nimick, better known as the former Challenger Gossamer, and now a consultant for CURSE, released a statement on behalf of CURSE, mourning the passing of Mr. Crane. In it, Ms. Nimick recalled her days as one of Echo’s coworkers, and eulogized him as a beacon for morality and conscience. In closing, her statement vowed that CURSE would continue to carry Echo’s torch, and that they would renew their commitment to eliminating the last of the rogue Challengers, offering that they stood ready to assist the Vaunted in their investigation in any way possible…”

Event Log: Darrow Bennion

C.V. Justice: Officers’ Lounge

11:41pm SGT

“You know, it’s a damn shame about Echo and all that.”

Sitting at one of the tables in the officers’ lounge aboard the Justice, I watch Markos as he pours himself a glass of… something. I haven’t really bothered to check what it is; all I know is that it’s alcoholic and he offered me some. I declined because hyperspace and alcohol don’t mix well in my stomach. I’d settled for a little bit of fizzwater instead.

“Yeah, I hadn’t expected that.” I say as Markos comes over and sits down at the table I’m at. We’re the only ones in here, with as late as it is, at least by the ship’s clock. “I don’t get it. Echo was a retired Challenger; wouldn’t they want to recruit him, instead of killing him?”

“Maybe the rogue Challengers did try to recruit him.” Markos says, sipping from his glass. “And when he turned them down, they decided they didn’t want anyone else getting their hands on the genius.”

“Yeah, but killing an old man that couldn’t defend himself?” I say, tapping my fingers against the side of my glass. “That’s a low blow, even for a rogue Challenger.”

“This is Songbird we’re talking about, man.” Markos says. “The guy that killed Nova. You think he’d have any qualms over killing Echo?”

“They never did confirm that Songbird was the one that did it.” I point out.

“Oh c’mon, Axiom. Who else could it have been?” Markos scoffs. “They confirmed Songbird was there on the night that Echo died. They even had video of him leaving the lobby of the arcology. You’re gonna tell me that somebody else killed Echo on the night that Songbird just happened to show up on Echo’s doorstep? Gimme a break.”

“Yeah, it was probably him.” I admit. “I wonder why the Vaunted don’t just come right out and say it.”

“Legal. They have to jump through the hoops of an investigation and all that.” Markos says, waving a hand. “We all know what the result of the investigation’s going to be. We’re just waiting for them to wrap it up and make it official.” He takes a sip of his drink, then points it towards me. “Now, what I want to know is why Songbird didn’t just mind-control Echo like he did with Prophet.”

I tilt my head back, groaning. “Markooooos. Please don’t do this to me.” I’m not sure I’m ready to sit through thirty minutes of Markos meandering through the latest crackpot conspiracy theory that he read while he was hitting the treadmill. “Let’s talk about something else. Like, uh… shit, I don’t know. Have you watched any good shows recently?”

“Fine. I’ve really been enjoying Courageous. You watch it?” he says, leaning back in his chair a little. “I think they’re gonna end the show before it reaches the Songbird Incident. End it on a good note and all that.”

“That’s the one anime, the one about the Challengers, right?” I ask, sipping from my fizzwater again. “I watched a few episodes with Whisper a while back. Some really clean work on the animation there.”

“Yeah, it’s a delight to watch. You should start it from the beginning, the entire series is worth a go. Gossamer, Headache, and Whisper make cameos throughout all five seasons, although Headache always complains that the scriptwriters muck up what really happened on the episodes where she shows up.” Markos says. “Always goes on about I was there, I know what happened and it didn’t happen that way and all that.”

“I mean… she was there.” I point out. “She was a Challenger. I figure she probably knows what she’s talking about, since she literally lived that history.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Markos says, rolling his eyes. “I’m just saying, if she doesn’t like how they’re making the series, why doesn’t she call up the studio and tell them how things really went down? I’m sure they’d pay through the nose to get a firsthand account.”

“Unless the firsthand account is boring, or doesn’t fit the storyline they’re trying to sell.” I say. “If Headache’s account doesn’t match the overall arc of the story they’re trying to tell with the series, then they’re going to tweak and twist things to match what they’ve created so far. The opening credits of the show admit that the story is only loosely based on historical events.”

“Yeah, but most of it’s gotta be true, right?” Markos says. “Like the big picture stuff. I get it if they get the little details wrong, or adjust them to make things fit a little better. But the big picture stuff should be all accurate, I figure.”

“I guess.” I say, mostly because I don’t want to argue it with Markos. He’s a good dude, but his grasp on what’s true and what’s not has always been a little… shaky. Not enough to affect the way he does his job, but enough that it makes you wonder exactly where he gets his information from.

“So how about this assignment, then?” he asks, perhaps sensing that I don’t want to talk about the Challenger anime anymore. “Viralix, huh? Some pretty spooky stuff.”

“Yeah, it’s definitely weird.” I agree. “The background pretty heavily implies that the Viralix disappeared the expedition, but the Colloquium couldn’t do anything about it. The expedition broke the rules and they probably paid for it with their lives.”

“Seems a little extreme, if you ask me.” Markos said. “I mean yeah, I get it, they were trespassing, but that’s not a reason to go and kill everyone.”

“It doesn’t surprise me. The Viralix have always been pretty territorial.” I say, taking a long sip from my glass. “They’ve got this paranoia that people are gonna come take their worlds and kick them out. It’s why most of the systems they own are in dark space.”

“Most of their systems are in dark space because they don’t get along with the rest of the galaxy.” Markos opines. “It’s a pity, because they’re kinda cute. Bunch of little psion foxes roaming in their cloaks and stuff, just toiling away at whatever it is they do.”

“You’ve met a Viralix before?” I ask, lowering my drink.

“Yeah. Diplomacy mission, back when I was still a bridge officer.” Markos says, folding one leg over the other. “CURSE wanted to touch base with all the major nations, and the Viralix Empire was one of them. We visited an embassy on one of their outlying worlds.”

“Interesting.” I say, leaning forward. “What was that like?”

“I mean, they’re basically vulpine Halfies. Just… really small ones.” Markos shrugs. “So imagine a fox Halfie, and then like… scale it down to like five feet, on average? And then just imagine hundreds of those, with most of them in cloaks. That’s pretty much what the Viralix are. You visit one of their worlds, you spend a lot of time looking down because they’re all so short.”

“Huh.” I say, trying to visualize that. “I mean, I know what they look like, I’ve seen some of their psi-pop stars in the news, but I’d never seen a large group of them before.”

“The thing is, the cute wears off once they start talking.” Markos says, shaking a finger at me. “Because they’re psions, right? The entire Viralix race is psions. So they don’t ‘talk’ like we do; most of the time, they’re chatting in their hivemind, which the rest of us can’t hear. And they’re so used to chatting in their hivemind that when they have to talk to normal people, like you and me, they automatically start projecting their thoughts at us.” He leans forward on the table, setting his glass down. “You hear them before they actually open their mouths and start talking. It’s like this soft whispering you can hear in your mind, and everything they say comes about a half a second behind everything they’re thinking at you. So the entire time you’re talking with them, you’re getting this odd reverb, this double voice where you’re hearing, like, whispers around the edges of your mind while hearing what they’re saying to you with your ears. Freaked me right the hell out the first time it happened to me, so I get why the rest of the galaxy isn’t comfortable with them.”

“I mean, it sounds like they can’t help it.” I point out. “They’re born that way. It’s not their fault.”

“I mean yeah, but they’re just. Different from us.” Markos says, shrugging as he picks up his glass again and sips from it. “It’s probably for the best that most of their nation tends to keep to themselves and stay in dark space.”

I stay quiet at that, because I don’t want to point out that it’s not a problem with Viralix, but a problem with a galaxy that doesn’t trust psions. There’s a lot of different types of racism to go around in Myrrdicato: racism against vampires, racism against Halfies and other human-animal hybrids, racism against Cybers, racism against Masklings… the list could go on and on, but psions are on that list somewhere. The idea that psions should just stay to themselves and only associate with their kind is one of the ideas that strengthens the prejudice against them, cloaking itself in a fake sense of compassion — that they’d somehow be better off with their own kind, instead of mingling with the rest of the galaxy.

And considering I don’t know Markos too well, and he’s a few years older than me, I’m not sure it’s my place to educate him on why it’s wrong to think that way.

“I dunno.” I say, draining the last of my fizzwater. “People seem to like the Viralix psi-pop stars. It might be nice if we could see more of their race.” Pushing my chair back, I stand up, heading over to the counter and putting my glass in the dishwasher. “It’s late, and I think I’m gonna turn in for the night. I want to set up a schedule for myself so I can stay on top of things over the next five days, instead of just lazing around waiting to arrive at Gnist.”

“There’s a smart man. It’s easy to lose sense of time while you’re in the warp. If you want to sit down for a game of cards in the evening, hit me up. I’m usually free in the evenings.” he offers, raising his glass to me as I head for the door. “Take it easy, Axiom.”

“You too, Markos.” Giving him a small salute as I step through the door, I tuck my hands in my pockets as I head down the hall. Though I’m sure the offer for cards was well-intentioned, I don’t think I’ll be taking him up on it any time soon. There are some noticeable gaps in the things that each of us believe in, and I’d probably spend a lot of time fighting the urge to disagree with him.

There’s a lot of things that are worth doing in my spare time, but cards with Markos isn’t one of them.

Event Log: Darrow Bennion

C.V. Justice: Hangar

10/27/12763 4:53pm SGT

“Alright! Last suit-up drill of the day!” I shout, my voice echoing across the hangar. “It’s seven minutes til five, which means the ship’s cooks are firing up the grills right about now. Grab your suits and form up on this line here!”

The column of forty or so soldiers of our platoon shift direction, leaving the part of the hangar where they were running laps around the parked strike fighters. As they get nearer, the column starts to break up, each one grabbing their suit and filtering over to the launch line that’s on the floor of the hangar.

“Who gave you permission to start putting it on?” I shout at some of the rookies that have arrived early. They quickly drop it on the ground in front of them, standing at attention as the others begin arriving and following the example of those that are already there. Once everyone has arrived and is at attention, I start pacing the line, searching the faces. “Operative Resquill! Step forward and come here.”

Kwyn looks startled at that, but steps over her suit, coming over to me. I take the data slate out from beneath my arm, handing it to her as I start pacing back along the line of rookies. “Would any of you like to hazard a guess as to why Operative Resquill will be exempted from this exercise?” After allowing them ten seconds to reply, I answer the question when no one speaks up. “It’s because she’s the only operative that completed her last suit-up drill in under two minutes. She was the first among all of you, clocking in at one minute and thirty-two seconds. Because of that, she no longer has to participate in suit-up drills for the rest of the week. She will instead be timing each of you as you complete your suit-ups.”

Turning about, I start making my way back to where Kwyn’s standing. “Two minutes is the standard suit-up time for the CURSE Operative Light Power Armor. In the event of an attack or an unexpected event, you need to be able to quickly don your suit so you can respond to threats and adverse occurrences. An efficient suit-up can save lives and be the difference between victory and defeat. Each of you will continue these suit-up drills, day after day, until your suit-up time comes in under two minutes. Once you achieve that benchmark, you may sit out the drill whenever we have them. Is that understood, operatives?”

“Yes sir!”

“Good.” I say, stopping by Kwyn again. “Set the stopwatch.” Turning to the rookies again, I lift a hand so I can count down on my fingers. “On my mark. Three… two… one… suit up!”

A mass shuffling begins as the rookies start shedding their clothes so they can wriggle into their power armor. Most of them start with their legs; others start with their arms and go from there. The light power armor isn’t a fully mechanized, hermetically sealed suit like the Axiom suit is; it’s primarily powered plates that lock together, provide limited protection from infantry weapons, and can grant limited strength support and movement assist. Plate coverage is extended to the torso, back, shoulders, forearms and hands, lower legs, and the outside of the thighs and upper arms. What isn’t covered by the plating is instead covered by an environment-resistant combat weave, into which conduction veins are woven so that power can flow from the main battery on the back of the suit to the limbs of the suit. An enclosed helm with a transparent face visor rounds it all off, providing limited HUD support.

This is the gear that most rank-and-file CURSE operatives wear when deploying to an active combat zone. As gear goes, it’s a couple steps above what most other militaries provide for their grunts. It’s not impervious by any stretch of the imagination, but it can prevent a direct hit from becoming a fatality in many situations. On an active battlefield or in a sustained firefight, the suit does a good job of drastically increasing survival rates for the standard operatives.

That is, if they can get it on in a timely manner.

The formfitting nature of the power armor means that the wearer has to strip down to their skivvies before putting it on, and even though it’s a single piece, it can be surprisingly tricky to get it on without it sliding all over the place. Once it’s on and sealed up, the fit is usually pretty snug — it’s just getting it to that point that’s a challenge. One that rookies tend to struggle with for a while before they get into the habit of it.

Even with the incentive to get their suits on fast, it’s almost four minutes before everyone has their suits on and fully calibrated. Kwyn’s been tracking finish times as I call out the names of each operative as they finish suiting up; once the last one’s suited up, I hold out my hand for the data slate. Kwyn hands it over to me, and I filter the platoon’s roster for all operatives that managed to make it under the two-minute mark.

“Danes, Crenson, Cheletori, Nymers.” I call. “You all made it under the two-minute mark. You may take off your suits and put them away, and you no longer have to participate in suit-up drills. The rest of you, I want to see three laps around the strike fighters. That will give your peers time to get a head start on the mess hall. Get to it.”

I hear a little bit of groaning and whining, but the rest of the platoon starts jogging back to the strike fighters in their suits, while the four I called out start taking them off and getting back into their clothes. Tucking the slate under my arm, I look to Kwyn. “You can go with the other four to get dinner ahead of the rest. You’ve earned it.”

“I actually wanted to ask you something, when you have a moment.” she says, with a meaningful side look at the other rookies. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out it’s something she’d rather discuss without everyone else listening in. Giving her a nod, I turn and make my way to a pile of supply crates, pulling myself up and taking a seat on them to watch the other rookies finish their laps. Kwyn, in the meantime, goes back to gather up her suit and pack it away with the other four that made the suit-up in under two minutes.

It’s roughly another four or five minutes before the rest of the platoon starts to finish up their laps, by which time Kwyn’s packed away her suit and has made her way over to the supply crates I’m sitting on. I hand her the data slate, which I’ve been poking at for the last few minutes. “Put in your order for dinner, and one of the ship's ensigns will bring it down to us.” I say, raising a hand to dismiss the rookies one by one as they get back into their clothes.

“Oh, neat.” she says, scrolling through the mess hall’s menu. “Peacekeeper privileges?”

“Yes and no. It’s technically a privilege that officers above a certain rank are allowed.” I explain. “The idea is that sometimes we’re too busy to wait in line to get a meal, so we can have our meals brought to us instead, so we can keep working. Normally I wouldn’t use it if I could just go on my own, but this’ll give us an excuse to stay here for that chat, instead of going to the mess hall.”

“Right.” she says. “That makes sense.” Tapping on the slate, she hands it back to me. I take it and hit the order button after typing instructions to bring it to the hangar and the supply crates specifically.

“Hey, teacher’s pet, you wanna come grab dinner with the rest of us normies?” one of the other rookies shouts, waving to Kwyn.

Kwyn looks around, swiping some of her hair out of her eyes. “No, I’m good! Go ahead, I’ve got a few things I need to help Axiom with.”

I lift my eyes from the slate. “It doesn’t bother you when they call you that?”

Kwyn shrugs. “They’re just envious. They want to get the rewards without putting in the work. No big deal. What about you? Are you bothered when you get accused of favoritism?”

I can’t help but smile a bit at that. “Well, I don’t have much room to speak if the accusations are true…”

She raises her eyebrows. “Are they true?”

“Yes, but not in a bad way.” I explain, setting the slate to the side. “I have my favorites for a good reason. You do get preferential treatment, but that’s because you work hard, and you’ve earned it. You’re always willing and eager to volunteer, doing what’s asked of you, and then some. I don’t think it’s unreasonable to say that you’re one of my favorites because of that.” I tilt my head to the supply crate next to me. “You can take a seat if you like, you don’t have to keep standing down there.”

“Thanks. Kinda worn out from today’s exercises.” she says, planting her hands on the edge of the crate and boosting herself up so she can twist around and sit on it. “Are we going to be doing these tomorrow as well?”

“Tomorrow’s going to be sparring matches and suit-up drills.” I say, looking back to the other rookies as the last of them arrive and start getting out of their suits. “The day after that we’ll be practicing breaking down the rifles, cleaning them, and putting them back together. And suit-up drills, of course.”

“For someone that says they’ve never trained anyone before, you do a pretty good job of it.” Kwyn says, resting her forearms on her knees.

“I mean, I can do group training pretty easy. All I’m doing is remembering how my instructors trained me when I was a rookie, and doing the same thing with this group.” I demur, mirroring her posture. “When it comes to one-on-one training, I’m a little more out of my depth there.”

“You’re doing okay so far.” she says. “I’m looking forward to getting some field experience. I’ll be with you when we deploy to Chibundi, right?”

“Yeah. You won’t be assigned to a squad; you’ll be my support unit.” I confirm. “I’ll be trusting you to watch my back, and it means you’ll be leading point with me. On point is one of the most dangerous places to be if we get into an engagement — you’re okay with that, right?”

“Peacekeepers don’t hide at the back.” she answers, reaching back and pulling her ponytail band out, shaking her head. “At the front is exactly where I need to be. That way I’ll be used to it by the time I become a Peacekeeper.”

I can’t help glancing at her, watching as she messes with her hair. It’s that kind of brave, calm determination that I can’t help but admire. She has a goal, she knows what it is, and she’s focused on it; she’s not afraid of doing what needs to be done to get there. I find myself envious of her, wishing that I’d been so certain of myself when I was her age… even if I didn’t know how old she was. She couldn’t be more than a few years younger than me, probably.

“Something wrong?” she asks past the hairband in her teeth, noticing me staring at her.

I smile and look away. “No. I just wish I was more like you when I was your age. You’re confident, you’ve got integrity, and you’re not afraid to do what needs to be done. I only had one of those when I was younger.”

She reaches forward, snatching her hairband out from between her teeth. “Which one did you have?”

“When I entered the program?” I ask. “Integrity. I picked up the other two over time. I did a lot of growing up between now and the time I was a rookie.”

“You haven’t been doing it that long, have you?” she asks. “You don’t look that old.”

“I’m thirty. Been with CURSE since I was twenty.” I answer, lacing my fingers together in front of me. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-five. Guess I’m getting a late start compared to you.”

“It’s a good start. You’ll move through the ranks faster than I did, I’ll bet.” I say, looking up to check the other rookies. The last of them are wandering off to pack away their suits. “I didn’t go on my first assignment until four months in, so you’ve got me beat there.”

Kwyn finishes redoing her ponytail — this time looser, more relaxed, leaving free some of her hair at the front — then follows my gaze to the rookies. It’s not until most of them are out of earshot that she speaks. “We’re not going there to find out what happened to the expedition, are we.” she says.

I glance at her. Even if those tawny eyes aren’t directed at me, I can tell she’s not fooled by the original briefing I gave to the rest of the ship.

“Officially, that is the purpose of this assignment, and for all intents and purposes, that is what I was supposed to tell the rank and file, and Markos.” I reply quietly. “But I suspect you know that we already have a good idea of what happened to the expedition.”

“If knowing what happened to the expedition was important, I’m pretty sure they would’ve sent a followup team seventeen years ago, not now.” she says, resting her hands on the edge of the crate on either side of her legs. “The only reason to investigate it now is because new information came up. There’s something that the expedition found. Something sensitive, if you haven’t even disclosed the true purpose of the trip to the captain of the ship that’s taking us there.” Her eyes flick to me on that last sentence, asking the question without saying it.

“Mm. Maybe.” I answer, using the nebulous reply to buy time. Mulling over how much I should tell her, if anything at all.

“You don’t have to tell me if you’re not allowed to.” she says, looking away again. “I’d understand. I know there are some things that are sensitive, and I’m just a rookie.”

“It’s not something I’m supposed to be discussing with anyone outside the CURSE administration.” I say. “I wasn’t lying when I told Markos that everything beyond the basic details would be on a need-to-know basis. But, since you’re going to be my support when we deploy to Chibundi…” I pause, debating it a moment more, then going on. “…yes. The expedition found something. Something that the Viralix didn’t want them to find.”

“Something worth silencing them for?” she asks, watching as the last of the platoon leaves the hangar.

“Something to that effect.” I answer. “Designating the entire system as an ecological preserve was meant to keep people out, and gives them a pretext for punishing people that trespass. It’s a convenient mechanism for hiding something you don’t want found, and taking action against people that try to find it.”

“Do we know what it is the Viralix were hiding?” Kwyn asks, kicking her feet back and forth where her legs are hanging over the edge of the crate.

“We don’t. We just know that whatever it is the expedition unearthed, the Viralix were willing to make them disappear so they couldn’t tell anyone else about it.” I answer, checking the data slate for the progress of our dinners. “We think it may be related to something the Challengers already have, a superweapon of sorts. But we don’t know if the expedition found the weapon itself, or just information pertaining to it… and that’s why we’re on this assignment. To go find out what exactly it is they found, and see if we can retrieve it.”

Kwyn nods. “Well, that’s good to know. I feel better now that I know why we’re here and what we’re supposed to be doing.”

“You do?” I ask, glancing at her.

“Yeah. It gives me a sense of purpose. It’s a nice feeling to have.” she says, crossing her legs at the ankles. “What about you? You look concerned every time we talk about the assignment.”

“I feel a sense of responsibility. I know how important this is.” I admit, setting the slate aside. “The safety of the galaxy hinges on our ability to succeed here. Last time I went on an assignment, I failed, and the resurgent Challengers got away with a powerful asset that could allow them to take CURSE head-on. That failure is the reason why this mission is so important, because it could help keep the playing field level.” After a moment, I glance at her. “What I just told you is classified, though. The rest of the rank and file aren’t aware that the resurgency could become a serious threat to CURSE. The Administrator wants the rest of the galaxy to think that we still have the upper hand, because the galactic public might panic and we might lose our credibility if we didn’t.”

“We don’t have the upper hand?” Kwyn asks, raising her eyebrows.

“Well, we still do. For now. I think.” I say quickly. “All that the resurgents have is some no-name mercforce and three Challengers, last I checked. CURSE has a full roster of Peacekeepers, the operative corps, most of the old Challenger fleet, access to their leftover tech, a surveillance angelnet, and connections with most major governments and the Vaunted. We definitely have the advantage in numbers and resources.”

“So why is the Administrator worried about losing the upper hand?” Kwyn asks.

“Because the resurgents have the backup archive.” I explain. “It’s a complete backup of all Challenger intel and resources from before the program shut down. If they can access it, they’ll have access to all Challenger resources. All the things they hid from CURSE before they got shut down, and all the things CURSE couldn’t take away from them before the end.”

“Will we be able to defeat them if they have access to all that?” she asks, her tawny eyes searching me.

“That’s the question, isn’t it?” I answer with a question of my own. “We might not be able to. The Challengers were powerful because they had a century of infrastructure built up behind their organization. When they fell, CURSE was able to grab some of that infrastructure, but not all of it. What we didn’t grab is still out there, just waiting for someone with the right access codes to come along and reclaim it. If the resurgents do get their hands on the old Challenger infrastructure, the Administrator wants to be ready.” I look back at her, meeting her gaze. “And that’s why this assignment is important. Because what we find could give us the edge we need to defeat the resurgency, if worse comes to worst.”

She nods. “I suppose I’m not allowed to tell anyone anything that you just told me?”

I smile. “Let’s try to keep that on the down-low until the Administrator makes it public knowledge.” Picking up the slate, I check it again. “Looks like our food’s on the way; it’s about time. Were you planning on doing anything after dinner?”

“Getting a shower. I’m all grimy from exercises today. Why, did you have training planned for me?”

“Nope, but I heard they’re going to have a screening of Spiderdrone 4: Taking Out The Trash in the rec room. I think some of the other rookies and the ship crew are going to be seeing it.”

“Oh really? Is it any good?”

“Nah, it’s terrible. That’s what my friend told me, anyway.”

“Oh. Shame.”

“Wanna go see it anyway?”

“…y’know what? Sure. Why not.”