Witnessing their training and participating in the conversation thereafter helped to alleviate much of Regaari’s concerns, at least on an intellectual level. Understanding the human psyche was the key. With them, it seemed it wasn’t about who was the “best,” at least not entirely. The big humans instead seemed more interested in the individual and what he could achieve, and what that person could offer the group. It was certainly illuminating to hear Baseball and Warhorse rattle off every Gaoian strength they perceived (including some Regaari had not considered) and every human weakness they could think of, some perhaps exaggerated.
“Valuing the underdog” was how ‘Base put it as his best friend struggled for words. ‘Horse, for all his many gifts, was not exactly a scholarly being. “Plain-spoken” by ‘Base’s description.
Which, as ‘Horse pointed out, “Is exactly the point were making, bro!”
A wise worldview, Regaari felt. But he couldn’t help feel it was perhaps a bit too convenient to the situation. That was a mindset for underperforming groups, not what was more and more obviously the pinnacle race in the galaxy. Could this be how humans actually saw their world? As a challenge requiring cunning and teamwork, and no small amount of luck? Did they truly not understand how the galaxy lay prone before them, if they would but take it?
It was hard to say. Earth was a challenging world, Regaari knew, and some of the things he had seen while visiting were impressive indeed. Their environment was so unlike Gao, where his kind lived unequalled and supreme before they had developed language or oral tradition. Earth remained a genuine challenge for that remarkable species, even today in the face of modernity. And that wasn’t even considering their society. That was almost incomprehensible. All of which would serve to color their instincts and worldview. How fiercely must Earth impress itself upon its children, and how strong those lessons must be!
If he could only get over the feeling the humans were merely humoring him.
It was an especially illuminating conversation with both men sprawled out and near motionless on the kitchen floor, guzzling electrolyte water from their CamelPaks, still sweating profusely and suffering from their epic exertions. The conversation seemed to distract them from the agony they tried so valiantly to hide…but Regaari knew. He could actually smell the pain they were in and he marveled at their perfect stoicism. When he pointed this out, that little conversational diversion proved fascinating indeed, though why they kept their routine experience of agony from their fellows—excepting Firth, whom they had “adopted”—went beyond his understanding of the situation. Yet another minor mystery to file away.
And so they talked, and Regaari learned. Like any good intelligence analyst he extended the fruitful conversation by helping them warm their pre-prepared food and promising to clean and mop afterwards, for which they were extremely grateful. They talked, and they each ate enough food to feed the biggest of his Brothers for a week (even on the new nutritional program), then grunted as they tiredly thumped their way towards bed and promptly passed out.
‘Horse didn’t even bother to close his door or prepare for sleep in any way. He simply dropped his shorts and collapsed on his bed with nothing covering his nakedness, still rank and dripping wet with sweat. He fell almost instantly stone-still and breathed the deep, powerful breath of an unconscious Deathworlder.
Regaari pondered what he learned for quite some time before cleaning up and joining ‘Horse. By the third day all the brothers had roomed up with the men of SOR, showing ‘Horse’s fears about rank and decorum to be seemingly misplaced or perhaps obeyed out of respect. Regaari wasn’t yet sure. Nevertheless it was a greatly appreciated gesture, especially once the men had all—awkwardly—offered to share their large, comfortable beds.
The offer itself seemed to embarrass them to the Brother’s near infinite amusement. The social subtleties of that embarrassment were naturally the subject of much teasing and speculation, but all were grateful for a good mattress instead of a flat, hard mat. Regaari, for his part, suspected this may be an engineered bonding exercise. If it was the men weren’t telling. It sure didn’t stop him from crawling into the warm, soft bed and curling into a ball. Nor did it stop ‘Horse from immediately swallowing him in an almost-but-not-quite-crushing hug like he did every night, enveloping Regaari in a powerful, burning-hot and overwhelmingly ‘Horse-scented sleep-snuggle of affection. How the humans regulated their strength even dead asleep was yet another mystery.
Regaari briefly wished the tight hug wasn’t so comforting and found himself immediately regretting such sentiment. He chirred to himself in rebuke, then exhaled in relaxation, letting the tension flow out of him. He snuggled into ‘Horse’s inescapable, happy embrace and fell asleep almost at once.
The next day
Training grounds, HMS Sharman, Folctha, Cimbrean
All of that gave Regaari an excellent framework to put his Brothers’ minds at ease. His own doubts aside, he could not afford for this mission to fail, and if that meant “going all in” with the humans and proclaiming their virtues, so be it. And it was a good thing, too. The explanation about their expected plateau did not go over well with the Gaoian Brothers. They were all—Regaari included—perhaps somewhat guilty of hoping the humans had some secret they could share which would catapult Gaoian ability forward. A silly hope, of course. Biology always wins. But the effect on morale was painfully obvious. Fortunately Regaari meditated overnight on the discussion he faced.
The irony of meditation on his problem with the humans did not elude him.
“What are we to them? We are hopelessly outmatched, Regaari. Outmatched in every single way we can be outmatched. Why are we proceeding with this farce?”
“To learn, Faarek.” Regaari did his level best to present a calm and unflappable persona.
“To learn what? That a five kilometer run almost kills us? And that they can do that run in a third the time, with twenty times the load, in gravity that could kill us? And run ten times further under that same load? Repeatedly? That they have the strength to put Stonebacks to shame?”
There was a rolling murmur of dismay at that last point.
“To learn,” repeated Regaari. “Their tactics, their abilities. We have all made many important observations about them. They think differently than us. They move different, too.”
“And this matters how?” Faarek’s tone bordered on insubordination. “We’re not their peers, Regaari. We’re their pets. They think we’re cute and adorable!”
“They behave the same with each other, Faarek. It’s how they show affection.”
“SOR do, yes. Other humans don’t act like that with each other. But every human seems to want to pet our fur, or hug us…”
And it was true. Their fur, their looks, the general cultural zeitgeist of the humans, all conspired to make a Gaoian almost instantly adored by any human they met. This was not as pleasant as one might expect.
But Regaari could see this was general frustration acting out, frustration he sympathized with. Best let it play out.
“That is true,” Regaari agreed, “And, yes, humans are generally more reserved with one another. But have you ever witnessed another group of close friends? They are much the same as SOR. The difference, I think, may be time and experience. The SOR seem to trust and understand each other very deeply. And having experienced a small fraction of their training, I can only imagine how deeply that shared set of trials must bond them, as our Clan Rites do.”
There was a general nodding in agreement.
“Very well, I will grant that. That does not explain why they are indulging us. What is it they hope to gain? Even their first-year SOR inductees are so far ahead of us I cannot envision ever comparing.” Faarek chittered in frustration, “Again, I cannot help but feel like a pet.”
“Maybe that is fair,” agreed Regaari, “Maybe there is an element of indulgence. But then, if they were doing such a thing, would they push us as hard as they have?”
Uncertainty framed Faarek’s face. He lowered his ears in mild acquiescence.
“I think they do view us as peers, Faarek. Obviously they have insurmountable advantages. But we have abilities they do not. Consider their natural weapons. They have no claws and that changes how they fight. They bludgeon with fists and feet instead of slashing with claws or biting with teeth. It suggests we may devise counters to their martial arts. And it further suggests they may find us useful in ways we’re not considering.”
Faarek did not seem convinced.
Regaari pressed on. “Consider also their senses. We already have evidence that ours may compliment theirs. Their vision is quite obviously superior, for example. It’s abundantly clear their color depth is better than ours, and they notice things moving and hiding almost like they were a living sensor platform. Squirrels! They see them before we can even smell them!”
He paused, to emphasize the contrast, “But I think they may be scent-blind. Or, at least, they don’t use scent like we do, or maybe they’re numbed against their own overwhelming musk. And that’s something they believe, too. Just smell their ‘cologne.’ It’s so powerful it’s painful!”
The Brothers collectively shuddered at the memory of Starfall and his ‘Axe’ spray.
“They don’t act like it!” That was the strong young medic of the group. Thurrsto seldom spoke so boldly, despite his intimidating size and almost comically ugly face. He was usually quiet and friendly. “They react to each others’ pheromones almost perfectly!”
“And yet they seem not to notice very basic scent cues. I suspect you’ve all noticed this.”
There was a subtle head-ducking of agreement.
“We must remember why we are here, Brothers. To learn for the Clan and to build friendships. They seem very much to like us, and I for one am increasingly fond of all of them. They mean us well. And their abilities are peerless, even amongst the humans. Remember that, Brothers. The SOR are their absolute best and they are sharing that with our Clan, and only our Clan. That is an immense honor and advantage.”
He favored them with a sly little grin, “And do not forget, Brothers. They have not seen the best of our people. In a fight or a contest of strength, I would put a prime Stoneback up against any human outside the SOR, and I would bet on the Stoneback!”
There was a cautiously optimistic chittering.
“Against their scientists and thinkers? Let them test the minds of Clan Highmountain. Builders and engineers? Clan Ironclaw could no doubt teach them a trick or two. Do you see? We could list examples until twilight. Do not underestimate our kind.”
Pause for dramatic effect. Regaari smirked inwardly in that bitter-proud way all intelligence operatives do when using dirty skills for high purposes. Clinch it for maximum impact.
“Perhaps no Gaoian is a complete match for a human. Perhaps none of us can ever compare to SOR in any dimension.”
He shrugged, “Maybe the humans really are better than us. But we know what our real competition is, now. Only they are a true challenge in this Galaxy. One we will rise to. What will our Clan Grandfathers achieve in five or ten generations, now that we have a clear goal? Before long, perhaps we will stand alongside the humans, secure in our capability and our alliance. What then? Will we get there if we fear them? They want our friendship! They want to teach us, and to learn! They are practically begging for equals amongst the stars. And it is us, and only us, that can rise to the occasion. How could we possibly shy from such an offer?”
It was a good speech. Regaari almost believed every word of it.
The next day
The pep talk of the previous night threatened, at first, to unravel their confidence, since the very first thing Warhorse wanted to do was interval training. These were a series of exercises wherein some form of calisthenic was performed for a predetermined interval—say, pushups, leg raises, or crunches—followed immediately by a short, all-out run, and then without rest, more calisthenics. This pattern went on until everyone was exhausted, which, for the Gaoians, did not take long at all.
Worse, the humans were so much better at this form of exercise it was outright humiliating. Now it had to be be said that neither Warhorse nor Baseball saw it this way—for them, the progress was the important thing, and where one may have started along the journey was less relevant than the improvement: the ‘gains,’ as they said.
It also didn’t help that the humans were again literally running circles around them, this time with a full ruck on their backs. it was all Regaari could do to maintain his professionalism in the face of such overwhelming and casual ability. He was contemplating what he may do—
Faarek lost discipline first, right after the tenth set of flutter kicks, an exercise particularly difficult for Gaoians as that part of their core wasn’t nearly as heavily developed as in humans. Humans used their core as an anchor for all their upper body movement, while Gaoians—still functional quadrupeds—use their strong backs instead. This had several disadvantages for bipedal and upper-body function. Gaoians were built to run on all four paws and that meant their core was designed around that purpose. Their abdominal wall evolved primarily to maintain body tone and curl their core and legs back into a ball, ready for the next springing bound forward, driven by the power in their back and their surprisingly large-muscled rear legs.
And that was exactly what Faarek did. Rather than further embarrass himself with a slow, awkward bipedal gait, he dropped his harness, fell seamlessly to all fours and ran with such sudden and explosive speed that he managed to overtake all of the humans already on the trail. Titan, when he saw he was being swiftly passed, attempted to pour on speed…but it was too late. Faarek was there at the finish line waiting for him, panting heavily and smiling, stretching out his legs and raring to run again.
The humans stood stunned and silent. The physical difference on display was startling. Standing tall? A Gaoian looked to a human like an oddly thin and lanky being, with short, strange legs and a too-long and narrow torso. But on all fours? Faarek looked sleek, strong, and swift, like a long-haired greyhound or better yet, a soft-furred Irish wolfhound. The proportions and shapes weren’t entirely dog-like, but the similarities were clear and obvious.
Warhorse and Baseball weren’t quite so enamored.
“Hold up, hold up…what was that?” he asked, running a now very critical eye over the Brothers. It was the same evaluating look he had given on that first day, one so deeply predatory it gave them all pause, even the other humans. “Regaari, can you do that too?”
“Yes,” he said, expertly keeping the rush of victory out of his words, “We all can.”
“Show me.”
And so they did.
‘Horse and ‘Base ran them through their paces quickly, still reserved about whatever they were thinking. They had each Brother run multiple sprints alone and against their fellow humans, and finally against themselves as well. And the results were interesting. Gaoians were fast on fourpaw. So fast, in fact, the elite SOR struggled to maintain pace. And it must be said the Brothers were a bit “rusty” on fourpaw; while Clan Whitecrest—like all the martial Clans—preserved their fourpaw heritage from ancient times, the Females in particular were not fond of such “primitive” actions from the “civilized” Clans. Nor did quadrupedal motion permit tool use, obviously a major drawback.
Nevertheless, speed could be useful and it has a charisma and a power all its own. Even Bozo meandered down and joined in the races. He was the fastest, but only just; Faarek couldn’t quite catch him. Perhaps with more practice, and if he were better rested…
By now Stainless had joined in, jogging from his office to see the commotion. He and the two Protectors held a quick discussion in hushed tones. A suddenly ominous discussion. Something about the general mood grew tense, a social discomfort that set in shortly after the Brothers ran out of energy. Running did take it out of anyone, after all, especially in a mode not well-practiced.
Regaari suddenly noticed the other humans had snuck away like whispers on the wind.
“Form up, Brothers. Something is wrong.” And it was a good thing he said that. The conversation broke and all three men were livid.
“CLAN WHITECREST! TEN— SHUT!!”
‘Horse barked out his order with absolutely terrifying force. It was so sudden, so loud, so compelling, Regaari hadn’t needed to say a thing to his Brothers. They immediately found themselves standing in absolutely perfect formation and at attention: shoulders square, ears pointed directly forward, as straight and tall on their legs as they could manage—unlike humans, their knees did not lock out—and standing well-planted on their feet, the heels very slightly off the ground. Like all positions of attention, it was mildly uncomfortable and required constant, well, attention to execute correctly.
A pause, while the humans evaluated them. Then all three descended on Regaari.
“HOW COULD YOU HAVE KEPT THIS FROM US!?” Warhorse yelled it a mere inch from Regaari’s face, with Baseball on the right and Stainless on the left, both towering over him just as close and intimidating as ‘Horse. All three were absolutely livid. All three yelled at once, all three demanded his undivided attention, and all three practically trembled with rage.
Regaari had never felt so intimidated.
“—DESIGNED YOUR TRAINING AROUND—”
“—WILLINGLY CRIPPLE YOUR ABILITY—”
“—DENY US TACTICAL OPTIONS—”
And repeatedly, loudly, and angrily: “WHAT WERE YOU THINKING!?”
They shifted around, too, each of the three taking their turn front and center, each unloading on Regaari while his brothers stood rigidly at attention. The ordeal lasted a seeming age. Eventually Regaari could feel his discipline slipping, his terror starting to show—
Sudden calm. Warhorse stood in front, and the other two backed off a bit.
“This doesn’t help at all, Sergeant. We can’t train you properly if we don’t know something basic like this.” Forcefully, “Why did you hide this from us?”
Warhorse wasn’t typically an easy man to anger, nor was he any good at “faking” it. It took something quite special to earn his ire. He stood, visibly angry, confused, even a bit betrayed.
This was not a man Regaari could deny. With a quiver to his voice, and in the best English he could manage, “Cultural and practical reasons, sir!”
Warhorse paused and considered for a bit.
“…Tool use, right?”
Regaari was far too intimidated to be surprised. “Yes sir!”
Another pause. Much of the anger seemed to melt from Warhorse but his stern countenance remained. Regaari dared not spare a glance at Stainless or Baseball.
“…Okay. I get that. But I am really disappointed. Now we need to think how we adapt to this.” He glanced at Stainless, who nodded, and one of those seemingly telepathic exchanges occurred.
“Okay. Sergeant Regaari, do you understand the source of our anger?”
“Yes sir!”
“SOUND OFF LIKE YOU’VE GOT A PAIR. DO YOU KNOW HOW Y’ALL PISSED US OFF!?”
“YES SIR!”
“AGAIN!”
“YES SIR!”
“ANY MORE SECRETS LIKE THIS!? OTHER HIDDEN ABILITIES? NO SECRETS, BECAUSE WE SURE AS FUCK AIN’T GONNA KEEP ANY FROM YOU!”
“NO SIR!”
“ARE YOU SURE!?”
“YES SIR!”
“GOOD.”
Quiet, now. A long, uncomfortable moment. “Right. Me and ‘Base gotta redo our entire training plan now. In the meantime I expect y’all to train yourselves like there’s no tomorrow. I trust this will be a very good session for you lot.” The emphasis on ‘trust’ stung, like a bee defending its hive. “Don’t you be holding back anything. You use your real abilities. Understand?”
“YES SIR!”
“Out-fucking-standing. GO.”
“YES SIR!” He retreated with his Brothers, talked quietly for a moment, and they begin their exercises anew. These incorporated forms and movement suitable for their four-legged abilities. All three humans watched with a keen eye, then retreated, leaving the Brothers to their devices.
They didn’t finish until late evening.
11y, 6m AV
Training grounds, Cimbrean
End of “Walk” phase
Horse and crew did not remain angry for long. It wasn’t in their nature, firstly, and Regaari and his Brothers had learned early on that humans in particular had a difficult time maintaining any genuine aggression against Gaoians of any sort.
Regaari gave his brothers strict orders not to abuse this subtle advantage. They were here to train, after all, and they would not be maximizing their benefit if the humans went soft. Not that he expected that was likely, but one could never be too careful.
Nevertheless they dutifully incorporated fourpaw movement into their training routine, and once the humans and Gaoians had wrapped their heads around the new tactical possibilities, training improved greatly for all involved. Most of the “Walk” phase, therefore, incorporated the basics of tactical maneuver and emplacement, adapted for the unique abilities a Gaoian/Human team brought to bear.
It started with the Harness.
Warhorse and Rebar concocted it, inspired by some of the equipment they’d discovered while researching Bozo’s pulling harness and hiking packs. what they came up with was part load harness, part ruck, part tactical vest, and part rescue frame. It was designed with MOLLE-style webbing, allowing Regaari and the Brothers to totally customize the placement of everything for easy access. It was light, itself weighing only a few pounds, even with all the little pockets and accessories attached.
It took advantage of Gaoian anatomy as well; Gaoians had narrow, strong backs and relatively deep chests, exactly as one may expect of a running animal. This allowed them to put the most frequently accessed stuff in the ample side panels and the heavier, less commonly handled things (CamelPak, radios, rations, etc.) directly on their back. it enabled the Brothers to carry much heavier loads far more comfortably, and once ‘Horse had found a more breathable material and better padding? The overheating problems went away too.
Combined with the quick-release strap, it was Regaari’s opinion that this was possibly the finest piece of field kit he had ever owned. The possibilities for further development when he got it home made him practically giddy with excitement!
And as it turned out, the harness was critical to the success of their new tactics. What the humans learned about Gaoian kinesthetics was interesting; they were made for shock and ambush. The startlingly easy way with which a Gaoian could slide between bipedal and quadrupedal modes made them ideal raiders, as they could charge forward on all fours at incredible speed, maul with claw and teeth, and finally bound up to their hind legs and engage with weapons. They could then take appropriate cover and catch their breath while their human friends provided distraction. Then the Gaoians, having caught their wind, would simply down an energy shot and charge back into the fight, if necessary, or fight from emplacement.
The harness also had another important function. One major weakness that even their fourpaw movement couldn’t overcome was endurance. While a Gaoian on all fours could generally expect to surprise a human with his canine-like speed, he could not maintain that speed for long. Unlike dogs, and especially not like humans, a Gaoian simply didn’t have “gas” like either of those two impressive species. A simple schoolyard dash was enough to both impress the humans and wind the Brothers, and that was a genuine tactical weakness.
The Brothers could move slower for much further, of course, but even then their range was currently measurable as a dozen kilometers at most, and the humans could of course jog much quicker and further under load than a Gaoian’s awkward lope, made worse under heavy gravity. Sprinting? The gravity had little effect on their motion. Their lope, however, was thrown completely off by the too-quick rate of fall. It made their bounds smaller and more exhausting in exactly the same manner as lower gravity paradoxically exhausted the humans. Gaoian frames weren’t built for distance in this gravity, with torsos too long and limbs a bit too short. Quite the opposite of a human’s compact, powerful upper body and his long, strong legs.
And so, despite the Brothers’ slow-but-continuous improvement, the men of SOR could easily run ten times further than a Gaoian under far greater loads. So much greater, in fact, that they could effectively carry a Brother and his entire equipment load with them and not sacrifice much range. The harnesses therefore included hooks to clip onto the human’s massive backs, where the Brothers provided their keen hearing and smell, along with a second set of eyes. This was, of course, not unlike Regaari’s first adventure with the SOR. That impromptu team-up proved quite successful, so why mess with a good thing?
They trained, and learned tactics and maneuver, and hardened their bodies for the new tasks before them. Slowly, painfully, they grew in ability and gained endurance, strength, and even a little speed. Their understanding of English grew better day by day in the intensive training environment, as did the SOR’s comprehension of Gaori. Body language was soon no mystery to either species. Before long the Brothers—Human and Gaoian—had bonded so tightly together they would freely code-switch languages in conversation, sharing metaphors and cultural references and in-jokes so private to their group it was almost impossible to divine their origins.
It was almost as if the training program had been designed with this in mind; Regaari and Faarek were virtually certain it had been. It was difficult not to admire the obvious foresight and planning by the unseen army undoubtedly guiding Warhorse’s mighty hand, amplifying his natural talents as a teacher to impressive heights indeed. The Grandmasters of the Clan could even learn a trick or two from his example, which as far as Regaari was concerned was an honor no being in the flower of his youth had any right to claim. And yet, there it was. Horse was good, incredibly so, and so was every other aspect of their training. The training environment was so effective, in fact, Regaari expected his regular reports were already producing useful new insights into human psychology and ideas for the new Rites even now being re-designed.
This all by itself made the entire endeavor worthwhile. And they weren’t done yet. They finally approached the “Run” phase, where weapons and live-fire simulations would be taught. Everyone eagerly awaited this day. At last, they would begin to see the fruits of their painful labors.
But not before a serious and deeply alarming talk with Stainless.