12y 9m AV
HMS Sharman, Folctha, Cimbrean
Champion and Sergeant Daar of Clan Stoneback
Advanced training progressed very quickly. Both Stoneback and Whitecrest possessed active warrior and soldering traditions and that proved critical, since it gave them a strong aptitude for the tasks at hand. And all the Brothers were, of course, effectively the very best Gao had to offer, each in their own ways.
Whitecrest were the consummate problem solvers and masters of tactics and deep perception. Their minds were every bit their greatest weapon, and they had their now greatly improved bodies to back their thoughts and stratagems with force and skill.
And if that was not enough? Daar, the pinnacle Stoneback, a supremely physical being by either Human or Gaoian standard, stood with them. He may not have possessed the deeply analytical and clever mind of a Whitecrest but he was far from stupid. He consistently showed a cunning and an intelligence the humans found impressive. Book smart? Absolutely not. But give him a practical task or problem and he would amaze. He was a born engineer and took to his studies with relish, rapidly working his way through the many practical exercises and scenarios almost as fast as Sikes could recall or devise.
He knew the men by name, now. They delayed the briefing as long as they could but, alas, given the environment and the nature of the training, they could not hold out forever. When he had finally received the DEEP RELIC briefing it was one-on-one with Powell and Vandenberg. It affected him deeply, and personally, for he now understood the nature of his intelligence assignment and what it may have cost him, had his cover been blown. That of course didn’t even consider the cost to his people that would have eventually fallen, if the Humans did not survive.
It made for a quiet evening. Daar sat on the bed with Rebar as they watched videos in silence. Not even stupid cats could cheer the two males. Eventually Rebar gave up, put his tablet away, pulled off his shirt and shorts, and made for bed. Daar quietly curled up on his favorite spot, which was right at the foot of the bed, against the wall.
“…Rebar?”
“Yeah?”
There was a very long pause. “Why did you share this with us?”
If one struggled mightily, it would be difficult to ask a more loaded question.
Vandenberg sighed and turned over to face Daar. “Honestly? This ain’t necessarily a popular opinion, ‘kay? But, uh…you’re the only species worthy of it. I mean, who else?” He scoffed, “All the rest o’ galactic life, ‘cept maybe the Celzi, they’re, uh, either too alien or too useless, or too compromised. An’ the Celzi, well, they’re prol’ly too violent, too.”
“So…we’re your last resort, then.”
“Wh—no! Dude, we see the best of us in you. You…okay. We’re aliens, right? But here we are, sleeping in the same goddamned bed together. Why? Because we like you. That ain’t no accident, and there ain’t no other species out there that matches up as well as we do. And, um…” he groped for words, “I don’t think we’d really learn as much from anyone else, either.”
Daar imitated a human gesture and raised an eyebrow. “After everything you’ve showed us that’s hard to believe.”
“Well, you showed me how to flip a truck!” He grinned and pulled Daar into a hug.
Daar produced a frighteningly deep, rumbling chitter. “That hardly counts as revolutionary.”
“Maybe not. ‘Know what it showed us? A training deficiency. We Defenders, we’re all about altering the terrain to our advantage, right? Be it space or land. A lotta times that’s with tech and explosives or whatever. But honestly? Most of the times, it’s just muscle power.”
Daar pointed out, “You’re way stronger than me!”
“So? We ain’t being good at it if we’re not thinking about the process of work, are we? I mean, most of what we do is pushing, pulling, punching, hauling, digging, smashing…it’s a lot of work. And, y’know? You were right. You saw immediately we were relying too much on being strong and not enough on being smart. We needed someone like you, who was trained since forever to be both. Make sense?”
“I suppose…”
“Naw, don’t suppose, dude. Know. And that right there? That’s just the first thing you taught me on the first fuckin’ day we met. Watching y’all learn has taught us as much as we’ve been teachin’ you. Trust me. We sometimes feel like we’re getting the better end of the deal outta this.”
“…really?”
“Yeah really. C’mere.” A quick noogie and an affectionate neck scritch communicated more than words ever could. “We fuckin’ love ‘ya guys, man. And that means something. It’s gotta, right?”
“…I suppose.” He didn’t sound entirely convinced.
“Okay.” Rebar knew enough to let it ride, for the moment, “Let’s get some sleep. Just…think about that. You don’t gotta believe me, but watch us tomorrow, man. See if I ain’t right.”
Rebar rolled over to sleep, ending the conversation. “Goodnight buddy.”
“Goodnight.” Daar curled up into a ball, tucked his nose under his tail, grumbled a bit, and followed Rebar to dreamland.
12y, 9m, 3w
After graduation
Master Sergeant Harry (Rebar) Vandenberg
“We have you literally red-handed.” Rebar gave the angriest look he could muster.
“Pawed. Whitecrest have hands like yours. Stoneback, we have paws.”
He held up his massive mitts to illustrate the difference. While they were, indeed, still hand-shaped, and had proper digits and opposable thumbs, the construction was vastly more rugged and calloused well beyond the point that simple hard work could induce. That gave them a frankly awe-inspiring toughness and a grip strength to rival any man on the team. The tradeoff was an almost comically non-existent sense of touch, along with a slightly clumsy precision grip that relied heavily on his claw tips. Calling those meathooks ‘hands’ was clearly inappropriate.
Regaari chimed in. “And anyway, it was good training. We rely too much on claws for climbing and honestly? Whitecrest never considered it a utility skill to teach all our Brothers. We do now.”
“Plus,” added Daar, “You already have your giant castle up there and Adam and John have their little Feet everywhere, and then there’s that hidden dagger you can only see from on top anyway. You can’t tell me we’re wrong.” By now Daar had learned that Rebar’s very worst Motivations for pranks and such were generally benign.
Unpleasant, yes. But not ultimately so terrible as to dissuade anyone from hijinks. Putting their mark on the most important human installation there was? Totally worth it.
Vandenberg knew they knew, of course, and he couldn’t maintain his scowl. “Oh, I’m not mad.” Quite the opposite, really. “Personally I think it’s pretty awesome. I take it those are Whitecrest and Stoneback logos?”
“I think ‘mon’ would be a better term,” said Regaari. “A Clan’s symbol is always reproducible with a single color and avoids intricate detail.”
Rebar stroked his chin. “I gotta admit, they’re pretty. I assume the one with the big mohawk is Whitecrest?”
“The crescent moon atop a stylized Gaoian head.” Regaari corrected him. “The symbology is elaborate. Light the darkness, but do not reveal too much…”
“It’s pretty abstract…but I see it, now. Stoneback’s is very different.”
“Our name and motto in our ancient Clan script, inside a diamond,” said Daar. “The diamond is the traditional shape of a battle flag.”
“What’s the motto?”
“Can’t tell you, sorry.”
Rebar raised his eyebrow at that. “Serious?”
“Part of the Rites. It’s a tradition of the very most ancient Clans.”
“He won’t tell me and we’re Cousins. And Brothers, now.” Regaari saw Vandenberg’s look, “Yes, I know the implications. Call it a less than perfect translation and leave all incestuous possibilities out, please.”
“Heh, okay.” Rebar chuckled and shook his head.
“Anyway, Whitecrest is a very modern Clan and came long after those traditions. We’re less than a hundred years old. Stoneback? They’re—”
“At least fifteen thousand years old, if our archeology is any good.” Daar rumbled, proudly.
Rebar whistled. “…Man. Dude, my home country is only, like, two hundred and fifty years old. Fifteen thousand is… I don’t think we had writing back then. Or even the wheel.”
“Regaari, didn’t the unified script come out around five thousand years ago?”
“About that, yeah.”
“Wow. That’s really, like, past my scale. We forget how young we are, y’know?”
“We do not.” There was a loaded humor in the statement, a suggestion of some of the old bitterness Regaari once felt towards the humans and their manifestly impressive accomplishments in such a short history. He’d since moved on to rueful resignation and acceptance.
It never failed to make the humans uncomfortable, either. Regaari watched with some small satisfaction as Rebar squirmed a bit in embarrassment.
But only for a moment. “Right. Like I said, I ain’t mad. But see, we had to pay a price for our shenanigans. Need t’convince Admiral Knight they should stay, yeah? So I’m thinking…Tigger!” This was Daar’s callsign and one he really hated. “You’re in luck! We have one field left that needs to be plowed up and re-sown with new turf. The original Cimbrean stuff is gettin’ all sorts of dead. Why don’t you rig up a harness and git ‘er dun?”
Daar blanched at the order. “That…it must be a hundred hectares!”
“Should keep you busy all week, then. And weren’t you braggin’ just the other day your legs are stronger than anyone on the team? Prove it.”
Daar deflated, already sensing the pain he would be suffering. “Yes, Sergeant First Class.”
“Good boy.” Rebar smirked a little. “This doesn’t excuse you from training, either. Be lucky we’re entering our light rotation.”
“Yes, Sergeant First Class.”
“Now, as for you, Dex,” he fixed Regaari with his death glare. “You’re gonna help. Someone’s gotta sow all that seed and turn all those rows over. You’re welcome to recruit the rest of your Brothers…”
A trap. It was, of course, a full-team effort to get the enormous mons painted overnight, but only those two had literal red hands (or paws) to show for it. Since Rebar couldn’t prove anything…
“I’ll manage, Sergeant First Class.”
Vandenberg nodded approvingly. “Good. I may send them out anyway, but the responsibility is yours. Now, the way I see it, your week starts tomorrow, so you may as well spend the weekend gettin’ yer’ harness rigged, Daar.” He paused, “I’ll, uh…help you get it rigged. And maybe I’ll help get you started, too. ‘Kay?”
That was the important thing about Motivation. It needed to ride a fine line between “awful” and “punishment.” Generally speaking, this meant the NCO, if he was a good NCO, would suffer along with the Motivated men, at least a little.
Rebar was a very good NCO.
“Yes, Sergeant First Class.” They said it in unison.
“Good, off you go.” They turned to leave.
At the last moment, a thought struck Vandenberg. “WAIT. You said something about a giant dagger?”
“…Yes. Part of the landscaping. You can only see it from on top of the water tower.”
“Hmm.” Rebar stroked his chin. “How long has it been here?”
“How should we know?”
“Fair ‘nuff. ‘Sides, I know exactly whodunit…dismissed.”
They parted ways, Dexter and Tigger without any particular enthusiasm. Rebar, on the other hand, stormed up to the barracks.
“HIGHLAND, FRONT AND CENTER!”
It was remarkable how quickly the barracks drained of any Human or Gaoian not in the immediate line of fire. Any other man in the SOR would have obeyed with an air of trepidation or resignation. Murray on the other hand seemed more confused in his polite, mild way.
“Yes, Sergeant First Class?”
Vandenberg studied the big Scot for a moment.
“I have a bit of a pickle and I think you’re just the man to help me out.” He grinned grimly, “Seems someone quite enthusiastic about daggers and subtlety did a bit of landscaping a while ago. I wonder who that could be?”
“I can certainly see why you would come to me, Sergeant First Class.”
“Indeed. Let’s consider our options, shall we? Could it have been Righteous? …Nah. It’s only his adopted symbol, for one, and that kinda quiet little thing just ain’t his style. Would you agree, Colour Sergeant?”
“A fair and reasonable assessment, Sergeant First Class.”
“See, I thought so.” Rebar flashed a bit of a grin; both men knew what was coming but that wouldn’t stop them from enjoying the play. “Could it possibly have been Stainless? Now, that would be dangerous for me to go accusing my superior officer of disobeying his own orders, don’t you think?”
“That it would, Sergeant First Class, though may I ask which order specifically you’re referring to?”
“Oh, our very favorite, the ‘General order and discipline’ clause. Nice little rule. Makes it real easy to Motivate anyone being a horse’s ass. Particularly, say, when Admiral Knight inevitably learns of this. I just know he’d be tickled pink by the surprise landscaping, wouldn’t he?”
“I’ve always considered the Admiral to be a man with a fine sense of humour, Sergeant First Class.”
“Hmm. Humor from officers, see, that terrifies me. Must be an American thing. Anyhow, we haven’t gone through all the candidates! There’s also Starfall to consider. But… well, I just can’t see him exercising that level of… what’s the word… foresight?”
“As you say, Sergeant First Class.”
“Now, that I think gives some progress! Who else could it be… suggestions?”
“Our list of candidates is definitely getting limited, Sergeant First Class.”
“Hmm, yes indeed. Tell you what, we’re getting big into cross-training these days, yeah? And I always think better after a little Motivation in the gym, don’t you? Go and get changed. We can think about that list while we pump some iron. We’ll kill two birds with one stone! Oh, and I’d strongly suggest you bring your Crude, too. I wouldn’t want you to miss out on any of the Defender experience.”
“Yes, Sergeant First Class.” Murray took the Motivation with apparent good humor, which suggested he’d got away with it for more than long enough to balm his ego.
“Oh, and Murray?”
“Yes, Sergeant First Class?”
“It’s leg day.”
That deflated him. “…Right you are, Sergeant First Class.” He stalked off to change, and perhaps to fortify his mental resolve.
Rebar, on the other hand, ambled over to check on Daar. He was in their tool shed with the two-furrow plow, his harness, some chain, and some eyelets. He was just contemplating the TIG welder—and how he might fit the welding mask over his snout—when Vandenberg arrived.
“Hey bro, put that down for a bit. We got a Scotsman to train.”
Daar growled happily and followed.