Date point: 15y 4m AV
Planet Akyawentuo, The Ten’Gewek Protectorate, Near 3Kpc Arm
Chief Special Warfare Operator Daniel (Chimp) Hoeff
The Ten’Gewek—well, the surviving forest race, anyway—preferred to live in small tribes of about a hundred or so, each about a half-day’s travel apart at a minimum, and each with very carefully-delimited and scrupulously respected hunting grounds between them. The details of all that were very complex and from what they had heard were a major part of what the Given-Men managed between each other. Usually it was peaceful, sometimes there was a good-natured tussle. If they failed to keep the peace there was the constant, lingering possibility of breathtaking violence, where Given-Men tore tribes apart both figuratively and literally. They were definitely a people who believed in good fences making good neighbors, even if they hadn’t bothered to invent the concept of fences yet.
Or what a neighbor was, exactly.
That was how things were most of the time. Ten’Gewek were territorial and any unexpected meeting between tribes could be tense, especially if one tribe might have poached prey off the hunting grounds of another, or if the tribes hadn’t recently traded daughters. Tribal diplomacy was complex and often involved symbolic, insanely physical “war” between the Given-Men, even if it all usually ended in friendship and shared fires.
But not this time. It was spring on Akyawentuo and the Ten’Gewek were fizzing with energy. The Given-Men had returned to their tribes from their annual Lodge and apparently had decided on a huge Gathering, so damn near twenty thousand of ‘em had gathered over the last week—pretty much everyone left in the species. After some wary meetings they had all pitched their camps in a rugged patch of the woods about ten klicks square. By Ten’Gewek standards that was practically right on top of each other and it set them all on edge.
In Hoeff’s mind that was probably ‘cuz of how the tribes usually had lots more space to hunt and gather. It was frankly stunning how much meat the Ten’Gewek needed to eat in order to sustain their physiques, and he wasn’t exactly ignorant to that reality; he was a military athlete himself and strong as shit for his size, but that meant he had always been a bit of a glutton, even moreso now that Julian and Walsh were double-teaming him with their Hanz and Franz routine. But still, the Peoples’ endless appetites were something else entirely.
That usually meant food and hunting was the biggest thing on their minds in any given day’s activities. But not just then. At the moment there were more Important things to do. Like boastin,’ wrasslin,’ and fuckin’ each other senseless. The gathering had so far been nine days of non-stop revelry with no end in sight. Even Vemik had been dragged from his forge to cavort with his fellows and flirt with the lady-monkeys—no doubt at Singer’s instance—though as always he only really had eyes for her. Hoeff couldn’t blame him, really.
That didn’t stop Vemik or Singer from having fun with the tribes, though. The mood was teasing and flirtatious once the Given-Men were happily settled in next to each other. Daniel had said there was definitely something like a fertility rite at play, which was obvious in everything they did, even their morning songs, though nothing seemed like it had been ritualized or anything…
But something was different. The changing seasons had also brought with them much longer daylight hours and temperatures that were just straight sweltering. That triggered something in them. They’d spent the last month gorging themselves and stockpiling food, anything to get something fresh after a few months of smoked meat and the preserved food that Julian had taught them to make. All anyone had to do was pay a little attention to ‘em and how they lived, and the reason why everything was happening in the first place became painfully obvious. It felt weird just thinkin’ it, ‘cuz it seemed primitive even for them…but the Ten’Gewek were in rut.
Everyone was eager for the newness of a young year. Everyone was suddenly a good deal more…assertive, much more aggressively forward than usual. For the People that was really saying something. A restless energy had settled on them all, as if something big was coming and they needed to prepare.
And prepare their bodies did; the men were at the peak of their fitness and would roughhouse or show off at the slightest excuse, the Given-Men were bulging and lean like goddamned comic book characters. Yan, the de-facto king of the Given-Men, was heroically absurd by anyone’s standard, HEAT included. The huge bastard had lost none of his size over the short, deep winter. In fact, thanks to their new-fangled salted meat and all the rest he’d managed to put on even more weight than was his annual springtime norm. His crest had grown taller and thicker, and faded from a neon red at the base into a deep, shiny black in last inch or two of his fifteen-inch-tall mohawk. It was unlike anyone else’s and several inches taller, too. Nobody had ever seen or heard of such a crest, except in some of the old stories the Singers told…
Hoeff had wanted to ask Yan about all that but the big dude was too busy drowning in the attentions of the lady-monkeys. Several at once, usually, and it’d been ongoing since the whole affair started. The smug, oversexed bastard. Hoeff didn’t think Yan would be willing to entertain interruptions and besides: the Ten’Gewek women were…distracting, to say the least.
Uncomfortably so in Hoeff’s opinion. He’d been propositioned more than once in fact, and found to his personal shame that he’d seriously considered taking them up on their offers, too. They were…very robustly human, in some important ways. Hoeff wasn’t sure what to think about that but he was pretty sure that all his talking gorilla friends would eventually be going back to their stomping grounds tired, sore, stuffed to the gills with food, and most likely pregnant.
Hell of a way to rebuild a species, that.
At the moment it was early morning, right after the Singers had delivered their song to the sun. They all raised their voices across the spread-out encampment at exactly the same time, kinda like a call to prayer back in the Desert. Every song was a little different, but every one…haunting, complementing the others. Individually, the Singers weren’t always that impressive to Hoeff’s ears. Together…
Together they could weave something truly beautiful.
And definitely playful toward the end. Festivities were already ramping up and the sun had barely risen. Hunting parties were coming back laden with prey, new ones were about to head out, fond promises were whispered to each other with trilling giggles and playful body language. But nothing more would happen until the Given-Men had met and discussed the news.
Which was why Yan’s massive, bigger-than-bowling-ball biceps were wrapped around Hoeff’s torso and squeezing him like a tube of toothpaste. The Given-Man was a full head taller before one considered that huge mohawk of his, easily possessed enough strength and mass to flatten Julian or Walsh like a bug if he really wanted to, and had arms which were each bigger around than Hoeff’s torso. Yan was usually very careful and generally meant well but the strength disparity was seriously epic, so there wasn’t much Hoeff could do but grimace and bear Yan’s rib-shattering, ever-tightening bear-hug.
That kind of thing happened to him a lot, lately. Yan was the Given-Man and he seemed to like Hoeff’s company, so it was only natural that he would drag the little SEAL along for the ride, heads smashed up close together and Hoeff held up to eye level so the two could watch the news together. Most likely Yan wanted to get any new words explained before the other Given-Men heard them.
Which Hoeff would happily oblige…if only he could breathe. He kicked his feet feebly and pounded his fist against Yan’s literally rock-hard forearm. The big Given-Man grunted by way of apology and loosened up a bit, allowing Hoeff to draw a thin, shuddering breath of stale air. It had all the moist, chewy stench of Yan’s sweat-oily armpits combined with the cloying aromas of the two-hundred other testosterone-dripping gorilla supermen that were all snuggled up close and piled on top of each other. The HEAT had nothing on their combined musky rankness.
Worse, they seemed to prefer there be not a millimeter of space between them and actively competed to crowd closer, which was a problem when the smallest of them was twice the size of Walsh and considerably stronger to boot. Such was the fate of the little guy. All of the Given-Men were squeezed in so tightly around Walsh and crew that if Yan were to put Hoeff down, there was a reasonable chance he’d be accidentally crushed to death in the press to see Ms. Ríos explain the current situation.
It wasn’t pretty.
“Dawn over Lavmuy, the start of another day in a conflict that dwarfs any in human history. But at last, the end may be in sight…at an incredible cost.
This morning, Allied Extrasolar Command declared that major combat operations in the Gaoian Emergency had been completed. An hour later, the Rods From God fell. In an act of stunning aggression, the pragmatic calculus behind Great Father Daar’s strategy became apparent: It took just half an hour to reduce most of Gao’s major cities to rubble, burying the enemy forces under a relentless steel rain.”
There was an awed, solemn note in Ava’s voice. She was a San Diego native, Hoeff recalled. One of the few hundred people who’d survived that city. Now she was reporting over a highlight reel of literally dozens of mushroom clouds blossoming on the horizon.
“As the Rods fell, the Office of the Great Father released a statement explaining that this overwhelming strike was ‘necessary to forestall the permanent collapse of Gaoian society and to prevent a never-ending series of disasters which the Gao no longer have the un-implanted manpower or expertise to manage.’ Speaking at High Mountain Fortress shortly afterwards, Great Father Daar made no attempt to sugar-coat his decision…”
The video cut over to the big furry dude, who stood ready in front of a collection of weird-looking banners. He was…Hoeff felt himself and Yan behind him deflate, along with the rest of the team. Daar stood tall, proud and fierce, a dignified avatar of justice who would brook absolutely no nonsense from anyone. He looked the very picture of a capable and regal statesman.
He looked dead inside.
“Many of our brightest and most talented were implanted, and all were lost within a heartbeat of each other. It is with profound regret that I ordered this action. Simultaneous to this strike, and in coordination with our Human allies, we have begun operations to retake Wi Kao, Lavmuy, Den So, Kanmuy, and Shem Yui. Stoneback’s Fangs will form the leading point on the assaults. The eighty-second Airborne Division will form the bulk of our wedge, and our growing Army of the Gao will secure and hold everything as we reclaim it, as they have already done so admirably across the countryside. May this war come to a quick and victorious end, may we preserve our heartland and our future, and may our Brothers and Sisters get the justice they deserve. Thank you.”
Lately the Ten’Gewek had wanted to know what “Daar Given-Man” had been up to. He’d been instrumental in saving their people, they knew, and the youngest children in particular talked excitedly about him and the “angry werne rides” he gave to anyone asking. But the mood of what was happening spread quickly. Hoeff listened. The boisterous noises of so many nearby people had quickly dimmed to a quiet murmur.
Ava was back on-screen, standing on the concrete at Camp Farthrow wearing a correspondent’s blue body armor and a hollow expression. Her knuckles were white around her microphone.
“There has been no official estimate of the death toll, and an accurate count may actually be impossible in the long run, but even the most conservative estimates suggest that about a billion Gaoians were implanted in some manner…all biodroned in the space of seconds. Sources within AEC suggest that the slaughter in the immediate hours of the conflict may have numbered at least another billion, and we may never know how many Gaoian civilians still survived inside the quarantined cities before the orbital strikes.
Clean-up operations continue in the countryside and around the planet but this morning, just for a few hours, the conflict stands still…and the unprecedented living cost of this war can finally start to sink in. …Ava Ríos for ESNN, Lavmuy, Gao.”
The feed returned to the studio and a trio of blathering idiots in suits started making inane noises about what they’d just heard. Hoeff wasn’t listening. Nobody was. It was just…Billions. That number was too…
[“How…how big is this] billion?” Yan said it quietly but everyone heard him. He put Hoeff down then sat back on his haunches, and the crowd of Given-Men backed up to give them room.
“…I…[I don’t know. It’s too big to know.”]
Walsh added his bit. Quietly, and mournfully. [“It’s big like the stars, Yan. Big like light is fast.”]
“Turn it off, Julian.” Hoeff couldn’t bear to see anymore.
Julian nodded and closed the news app with a contemptuous snarl, before putting his arm back around Xiù’s heaving shoulders. There was a long, painful silence, broken only when Yan turned his head slowly and grunted toward camp with a nod of his head. The two hundred Given-Men turned tail and walked away without a word between them.
He turned back to the crew, thought for a moment, and sighed. “I…not know what to do. But maybe do this.” He lumbered over and swept them up into a vast hug, this one much more restrained than his usual rib-breaker.
Sometimes, alien or not, people were the best medicine for anything.
Julian was the first to speak. “Um…sorry we wrecked your party.”
“No.” Yan was adamant. “Many die, every year. We remember too. This…” he gestured across the gathered throngs, who were spreading the news amongst themselves, “Vemet want us Take from life. Take what good, and Give good to other. No sad.”
Xiù wiped a tear from her face and nodded along glumly. “…I wish we could have helped.”
Yan switched to People-speak. [“I don’t know how we can help. People are dying in countings too big to know.] He heaved a big, sad sigh, [And you showed me where the Hierarchy killed the rest of us. Now only the forest-people live, and there are so few left I almost know them all.”]
Professor Hurt also nodded along. [“Daar wasn’t lying. He wants you to live, Yan Given-Man. You and all your people. You must grow much stronger before you fight an enemy this big.”]
[“I know.”] Yan shook his head and heaved another great sigh from deep in his chest. [“It feels wrong. Daar Given-Man is friend. We would be dead if not for him. And for you. All of you! What do I have to Give? You have the magic of lightning!”] He looked at his fists, and at his feet. [“All I know is what leaves will make you sick and where the yshek live.”]
“And you have saved my life thrice so far,” said Professor Hurt, holding up three fingers. “Not even Julian Sky-Hunter knows how to survive in the wild better than you.” The big woodsman crossed his arms and nodded along. “You or any of your people, Yan. Maybe that’s not as big as you want but…thank you, again.”
Yan nodded, but there was still a depressed air of futility about him. Yan was a warrior. He wanted to fight but he knew there was nothing he could do. At least, nothing on the scale of galactic conflict. As big and impressive as he was in person, without a fleet or an army…
…The professor did have a point, though. Hoeff was no stranger to roughing it but the People had it down so well, it was as easy for them as breathing, or flipping through the trees, or—
Hoeff spoke up as the idea smashed him across the head. “I know how the People can help.”