Date Point: 15y6m2w4d AV
Folctha, Cimbrean, The Far Reaches
Gabriel Arés
“Bless me padre, for I have sinned. It has been… I don’t know. A few months since my last confession.”
Folctha’s Catholic congregation had completed construction of their church only about seven months previously. Our Lady the Guiding Star church had handsome white walls, an intricate altar mural and much of the decorative wood was Cimbrean Pinkwood.
Gabe was an… irregular attendee. Work generally kept him too busy. He always imagined what his Abuela would think of that, but she’d have liked the padre, who nodded gently on the far side of the screen and had a warm, reassuring voice.
“What do you wish to confess?”
“…I lied to a grieving father,” Gabe explained.
“I see. Was this a cruel lie, or…?”
“To the contrary. It’s a lie he wanted to hear, and I think he needed to hear it. And there’s a big grain of truth in it too, so I… I always try to be honest and I generally feel like directly lying to a man’s face is… but this time, my gut tells me it was completely the right thing to do. I’m conflicted by it.”
“Tell me what happened exactly.”
Gabe studied his knuckles for a second as he assembled history in his head and edited it down to a short version. “His daughter… She went into danger and ignored her friends who were telling her to stop, and… well, she was murdered. By a very dangerous man who really was planning to do something awful that would have resulted in a lot of deaths. Her father and I finally spoke about it yesterday and I told him… I told him she saved lives. But really she didn’t. The danger had already been called in, and a response was already on the way. So in reality she she died pointlessly, doing something very stupid.”
“Would it have helped him if you’d told him that?”
“Absolutely not. It would have crushed him.”
“So your objective was to spare him some pain, and maybe even help him heal?”
“Yes. I just…” Gabe sighed. “I wish I could have done it a different way, I guess.”
“Well. If you feel it’s a sin you wish to atone for, then that’s your decision. For what it’s worth, I don’t think there’s any question about your contrition. As for what you can do to satisfy it and put it right… I would suggest you try to guide your friend and help him reach the point someday where he can hear the truth and be made whole by it.”
“That’s… good advice. Thank you, padre.”
“Spend some time in prayer, too. It’ll help. Is there anything else?”
“Nothing I can think of.”
“Then I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good.”
“His mercy endures forever.”
“Go in peace.”
Gabe did as suggested, and spent some time sitting in a pew in contemplation. He thought more than he prayed, though, mulling over what exactly it was that bothered him so much.
It wasn’t like he’d always been perfectly honest in his life. Everyone told little white lies all the time, they were the lubricant of society. Every diplomatically held tongue, every nod and polite “sure” or “I don’t mind…” They were daily, necessary occurrences.
Maybe that was the problem. This wasn’t on the same scale as just holding his tongue and saying something polite. This was an active lie, even if well-meaning.
And he didn’t feel better for having confessed it.
He stood up and checked his watch. He’d been sitting on the pew for nearly half an hour, and he realised that his leg had gone slightly numb. He shook it out and left the church in the vague hope that perhaps blue sky and sunlight might help him.
The church was in Midtown, a block or two north of the river. Home was south-west in the Lakeshore district, and he didn’t want to go home at all. He headed east instead, through the market toward Quarterside.
Folctha’s market was the absolute textbook definition of a melting pot, and a place where every micro-drama of a mixed human and extraterrestrial society could be witnessed, from the weary Gaoian Mother resignedly counting out notes into a beaming vendor’s hand while a small battalion of cubs enjoyed their ice cream, to the coffee stand owner explaining to a Vzk’tk that he couldn’t sell caffeinated beverages to non-humans no matter how much they tipped.
Then there were the less explicitly alien but still very Folctha things, like the dreadlocked Japanese goth girl in boots so thick-soled they were effectively stilts, who was crouching down and going all gooey over Bozo. The dog was happy to see her—he was happy to see everyone—but he seemed to sense his services were needed elsewhere when he spotted Gabe.
“Wurf!”
“Hola, gordo.”
The giant muscular mutt came ambling over, using the rolling, galumphing gait he had for when he wasn’t particularly hurried about anything. Gabe gave the dreadlocked girl an apologetic shrug, which she returned with a smile and turned back to tending her stall full of vivid corsets.
Mandatory ear-scritches ensued, along with a single, dignified snuffle. The big bastard knew how to keep it polite when he wanted to. He fell in alongside Gabe and just… kept him company.
“I see you ‘escaped’ again, huh boy?”
Bozo just bounced happily on his front paws and wagged his tail.
Actually, that was a white lie too, when Gabe thought about it. Nobody made any attempt to keep Bozo penned up, partly because he’d demonstrated it was impossible early on except through excessive engineering, but mostly because he was so mild-mannered despite his fearsome size and appearance.
Past the market were some pubs and eateries, clothes stores, a World Foods store, a big-brand cellphone company’s outlet and then, finally, Quarterside Park where there was a little more elbow room.
Things really had come a long way. Just ten years ago, Quarterside Park had been a field with trucks and ATVs parked on it, surrounded by temporary buildings and the dense little chalets that had served the first-wave colonists as housing. Now it was a thriving social hub, iconic thanks to the Alien Quarter wall that ran along one side and the Multi-Faith center in one corner right next to the Starmind monastery. The Gaoians had imported a number of trees from Earth and elsewhere, and no two of them blossomed at exactly the same time: there were always petals underfoot, from Cherry pink to the soothing duck-egg blue of a Gorai native.
Each park had its unique character, too. Riverside was active, noisy. A place for exercise and children and playing in the river. Quarterside was artistic, contemplative and peaceful, an escape from the hubbub and constant construction noises of the city.
Bozo vanished in a thundering blur, shouldered his way under a bush, and returned with a tennis ball. Gabe didn’t question it, he just accepted the slightly damp toy, tossed it in his hand a few times, then turned and flung it across the grass. This naturally was the most exciting thing ever, and Bozo wound up faceplanting in the dirt and tumbling end-over-end as he tried to catch it.
He didn’t seem to notice the mishap at all, just squirmed to his feet and retrieved the ball, which was subjected to a lengthy chewing before he remembered that if he brought it back he’d get to play again.
Gabe chuckled to himself and wandered off to…he wasn’t sure, really. He’d done about as much thinking as he felt he had energy for. Right now he just wanted his head to be empty.
There was a WURF!! from behind him and Bozo rampaged past on a mission to say hello to another Friend. Gabe didn’t recognize this one: A painfully skinny woman in a red MBG jacket was sitting on a bench just… watching the world go by, as far as he could tell. She chuckled and made a fuss of the dog, who seemed to completely lose control of his rear end and throw the whole thing into wagging as hard as caninely possible.
“Traitor,” Gabe said affectionately as Bozo flopped on his back for chest rubs.
The woman laughed. “Is he yours? I’ve never seen a dog so…” She obviously came up short on a more original adjective, so eventually settled for “…huge.”
“He’s more kinda the town dog. Bozo.”
“…Perfect name.”
“New arrival?” Gabe asked, politely. It was a safe bet in a town of nothing but colonists and immigrants.
“You could say that. Kinda took a roundabout road, but…”
Recognition dropped into Gabe’s brain. “…Wild guess here, but would you be Doctor Wheeler?”
“I am… And you look a heck of a lot like one of the HEAT troopers who rescued me.”
“My son. You probably know him as Warhorse.”
“God. You must be about the proudest parent ever.”
It was Gabe’s turn to laugh, and he decided he liked Wheeler. “I might be,” he agreed. “May I sit? Or were you looking for some alone time?”
“I’ve had enough alone time to last me the rest of my life. And honestly, now I’m curious: I could have sworn men like Warhorse didn’t have parents. Architects, maybe…”
Gabe half-laughed. “…That’s probably more true than I wanna admit. But he swears up and down he’s healthy and…well, he gave me a grandkid, and whatever he does to be like that lets him do his job. If he couldn’t do that I don’t know how he’d cope.”
“…That sounds like there’s a long and sad story there.”
“Not sad, but not without tragedy.”
Wheeler nodded, and scooted aside to make room for Gabe on the bench. He sat, and was rewarded by Bozo with a by now thoroughly soaked tennis ball, which he held in his fingertips to throw away before wiping his hand dry on his pants.
“Still sounds like quite a journey, to use a cliche.”
“Yeah. I’ve been worrying after him since he started, so…I guess really since he was fifteen. Anyway. I’m not about to unload on somebody I only just met…” He was about to change topics when Wheeler shook her head.
“I found it surprisingly helpful just a bit ago. There’s this Gaoian named, uh… Gyotin?”
“I know him. My daughter talks to him pretty much every week.”
“Wow. Warhorse has a sister?”
“Adopted sister. One of those tragedies.”
“What’s your name?”
Gabe blinked, and then scowled inwardly at himself. Where the hell was his head at?
“Madre de Cristo, I am a mess today. I’m Gabriel. Gabe.”
“And I’m Rachel. Ray.”
They shook hands and traded a nice to meet you each way.
“You know… I think you and Gyotin are the only two people who haven’t treated me like I’m made of glass since I got here,” Ray confessed. “We’re just… talking. Two strangers getting to know each other. What’s your secret?”
“I can’t speak for Gyotin, but I know from experience I hated to be treated like that.”
“Past tense?”
“Yeah. Had some injuries it took me a long time to recover from. You?”
“Oh, nothing major. I just kinda… died.”
Gabe picked up the dry humour behind that light comment, and ran with it. “No big deal, huh?”
“I’m still here aren’t I?”
“Right. So you died but got better.”
Ray had a surprisingly musical laugh. “Exactly. Funny, everyone seems to act like I’m a few seconds away from… I don’t know. Bursting into tears, or going catatonic or whatever. But really, it’s amazing how healing it was. The worst literally happened, and here I am sitting in the sunlight chatting with a…” She made a show of leaning forward to look around him and inspect his left hand. “…sadly married handsome stranger.”
Gabe couldn’t help himself: His next laugh came from the belly and completely blew out the cobwebs. “Újule! You don’t beat around the bush!”
She grinned. “Life’s short. Say what’s on your mind!”
“Hmm… I wish that was true all the time.”
“Another tragedy?”
“Part of the same chain. It’s… ah, hell. You’re obviously interested. You wanna hear the story?”
She nodded. “I do.”
He told her everything. She listened solemnly, staring off into the middle distance without comment or question as he went through what the Tisdales had gone through, how one girl’s death had thrown so many lives down their wildly unusual courses. She nodded softly when he got to the part about lying to Mark.
“…And to sum it up, my adopted daughter was left adrift, a man I admire has been grieving for years without any real escape, and my son built himself into far and away the strongest man to ever live. And he’s still…broken, deep down. I think we all are.”
“Her name was Sara?”
“Yes.”
“…The way you tell it, it sounds like maybe I’m only alive right now because this girl died.”
Gabe blinked, and found himself completely struck dumb.
“No, really!” Ray pressed. “If the HEAT—if your Warhorse hadn’t been there then I wouldn’t be here. I owe you and him everything. And I think I owe Sara, too. It’s not what I’d want, I mean… she died too young, and too innocent. But I’m still here. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to really say how grateful I am for that.”
She cleared her throat and sat up a little straighter. “…Thank you for telling me that, Gabe. And if it’ll help… maybe I should meet your friend. I think at the very least I owe him a hug.”
“I…” Gabe trailed off. He had no idea what he wanted to say next. “…That might help.”
Ray nodded, and that seemed to settle the matter for her. She scratched at Bozo’s ears a little, and Gabe realized that the dog had returned to lie down next to her sometime during the story without his noticing. She glanced down at him, then across at Gabe and nodded again.
“Then I’ll help,” she said.
Date Point: 15y6m2w4d AV
HMS Sharman (HMNB Folctha), Cimbrean, The Far Reaches
Technical Sergeant Adam (“Warhorse”) Arés
Today was one of Adam’s better days. Diego had found a consistent sleeping pattern in the last week, which let Marty sleep for a solid four hours between feedings. It was doing wonders for her recovery and Adam couldn’t help but feel super awesome about that! As for himself, he had long been used to two four-hour sleeps a day with a workout in-between, so he found the new nighttime pattern—eat, sleep, bottle-feed, eat, lift, eat, bottle-feed, sleep, eat—just abou t perfect.
Also, he was back to making careful, incrementally gradual progress in everything, and that was super high on his List of Things That Were Awesome. He’d maybe never grow like a mutant weed again, but that was okay as long as he kept ahead of the mission need. Besides, he found the little improvements more rewarding now, since he had to work so much harder to get them.
Even better, his Special Projects were doing good! Julian had finally grown confident on the rings the last time they trained, which went a long way toward building confidence for when he was hanging out in the trees with his cool monkey friends. Firth was growing so fast he’d probably catch up to Adam in a few years! And ‘Base too, maybe!
Hell, the Gaoians were doing pretty damn amazing too, especially Daar. The big bastard had been primed to explode since before they met, and once they’d got his regime a bit more scientific instead of ineffectively bro-headed, he’d grown like a weed and filled himself out about as far as his frame could go; his body was just perfect for enduring strength and he was already outperforming Firth. If Daar kept hardening up, and Adam saw no reason he wouldn’t, the big furry goofball would probably be able to snap Yan in two one day!
Well…maybe. Adam knew he tended to be a little over-optimistic about this stuff, but still.
Marty was the best damn wife anyone could ask for, especially Adam. He was an irredeemable meathead who liked learning but hated classwork, which made her encouragement exactly the kind of kick in the pants he needed. And besides, it was just one more thing to train, right? He kept plugging away at it and she kept encouraging him, rewarding him…okay, so he was really damn easy to lead in some ways. Also a lot of the math was fun, actually. Before he knew it, he was only one CLEP short of his degree prerequisites, and his thesis was maybe only a week or two from being done…
And he had a son. A beautiful son, whom he loved so much it made his whole body ache.
And he had a forty-eight ounce blood-rare steak in front of him. Life was good.
Also it was the last of their light-duty recovery days from LOST CUB and their recent deployment, so their training schedule meant this was more or less a freeform day. No classes or skills training today, just PT and Project Time. He and the rest of the Lads had just finished several “skins” game of Gravball and were hanging out in the kitchen, wolfing down their scheduled meals before they headed downstairs to finish off the business day with a few hours of heavy lifting.
It was as good a time as any to catch up on the news.
[“That smells worse than Keeda’s balls! And you’re sure you can package it well enough they won’t notice?”]
The Gaoians were plotting Shenanigans against Daar and Father Regaari, who were stuck dealing with the fallout of LOST CUB. There were promises of a visit in the next week or so for some mission closure and couch time, but Daar had responsibilities and had needed to delay. What could they do? Obviously, this affront could not go unanswered.
[“I don’t know if they’ll fall for it…”] Carebear was, as always, the cautious one. [“They check the mail pretty carefully, and Daar has the ‘most bestest’ nose.”]
The Gaoians chittered a bit at the Stoneback-ism, partly because Thurrsto’s imitation was so bad. He was a Whitecrest to the core and the Clan accent shone through.
Adam swallowed his bite and chipped in. Gaori was fun to practice! [“Daar will totally smell it. I can smell it and I don’t care how well you wash the packaging, that’s not going away. Also, invisible ink might end badly. What if he gets some on the] President? Or the King?”
“And y’all already did the ink trick,” Firth grumbled from behind his mountain of diced chicken. “Try something different! Like, I dunno…send him caffeine?”
Daar on caffeine was an experience Adam wouldn’t wish on anyone. Fortunately there was an easy escape.
“Can’t. [Goldpaw Customs considers it a controlled drug and Straightshield would censure us.”]
“You’re such a downer, Carebear.”
“Man, y’all ain’t thinking nearly evil enough.” Baseball crashed into the bench and slammed himself against Adam, then put an arm around his shoulders for a quick brotherly hug. ‘Base had a giant platter of fajita makings which made Adam slightly jealous, until he remembered his steak.
Adam asked, “What would you do, bro?”
“Easy! You wanna get everyone around him angry? Send Daar a karaoke LP for his record player. Ain’t no way brother’ll be able to resist that!”
There was a silence as everyone in the room turned their heads towards Baseball.
“…I’m fuckin’ worried now.”
“Yeah dude, that’s just downright evil.”
“Carrots too.”
The attention turned on to Murray, who grinned.
“Explain?”
“It’s bloody simple. Carrots are his ‘most favoritest ever,’ right?”
“Along with a bunch of other things, but go on.”
“Well, either he shares them, an’ he won’t wanna, or he does’nae and everyone else misses out. Win-win.”
“…”
It was true. Gaoians loved carrots. Something about the crunch and taste made them by far and away Folctha’s most successful export crop to Gao.
“We would need to determine what the ideal carrot count would be. One for him and his immediate circle, I think. If he shares, he only gets one.”
“Aye, well.” Murray leaned back and folded his hands behind his head. “I did my bit. You lot can work out your carrot optimisation algorithm all by your aen.”
“This is why you’re an honorary Whitecrest,” Faarek commented. “That’s just sneaky enough, and the best part is he’ll never suspect malice.”
Adam swallowed another mouthful of steak and chipped in. “Will Regaari, though?”
“We can handle Regaari. The Great Father, on the other hand, mustn’t suspect a thing.”
“Don’t unnerestimate him,” Firth cautioned. “He’ll come back an’ wrassle’ us all in retaliation.”
A wave of grim chuckling and chittering swept the room. Daar was mean when he really wanted to be, and everyone had experienced his determination to win more than once.
“But we’ll have sent him carrots!”
Faarek’s look of wounded innocence was so convincing that Adam nearly choked on his steak. By the time he’d finished coughing his airways clear again, they’d been joined by a fashionably late Blaczynski, who sauntered into the kitchen and flung himself carelessly onto Firth, slapping a copy of ESNN’s Unlocked magazine down as he did so.
“So Coombes did the thing,” he said, as Firth pawed a plate of food round the table and deposited it in front of him. “It just hit the newsstand today, saw it when I was out jogging.”
“You know, a sane species would have rendered those obsolete by now,” Thurrsto commented.
“Hey! Lookit my fuckin’ paws, man.” Firth laid his mitts on the table. “I can’t afford how much I keep breakin’ tablets, y’know? Also it’s more funner to scribble notes with pens and highlighters.”
“I don’t care how many devices you smash, there’s no way you keep the newsprint industry alive all by yourself.”
“There’s something to tactile learning, though.” Baseball was in danger of nerding out. “It’s been studied repeatedly over the years. I’m with Firth, e-paper screens still kinda suck and I don’t like looking at glowing screens all day long, either.”
“Coombes,” Blaczynski repeated himself and tapped the magazine, “did the thing.”
‘Base chuckled. “…Oooh, shit! Why didn’t you say so?”
“…Just fuckin’ read it.”
Everyone wolfed down the remains of their meals, then piled around and on top of ‘Base while they collectively read through the article. As always, he was the speed-reader among them and needed to be constantly reminded to turn back a page while everybody else caught up. For a few minutes, the only sounds in the room were pages turning and food being unconsciously snarfed down.
Firth was the first to speak after they reached the end of the article. “…I gotta admit, Ava’s a hell of a photographer. Lookit him, he’s…”
‘Base flipped back through the pages until he found the biggest and most iconic one: the full two-page spread.
“Terrifying?” he suggested.
“…Yeah. Fuck yeah. He’s like if a tiger, a bear, and, I dunno, somethin’ like a giant pitbull had a baby. And he were drawn by a comic book artist. And lookit all the fuckin’ scars on ‘em! I didn’t know he had so many!”
Ava had apparently decided that the best way to capture Daar was with shadow and contrast. It did nothing at all to lessen the sheer threat he radiated.
“He usually has at least a little fur on. Even at the worst of his deployments with us he kept most of his undercoat. This is just short of shaved.”
“And he looks…sad. Somehow.”
“Don’t know if I blame him, really.”
“I’m more interested in the article itself. It’s…well, fuck. Y’all read it.”
Faarek keened quietly. “Maybe…we should send him all the carrots.”
“…Aye.”
Adam looked down at the last bites of his steak, and the untouched rice and vegetables next to it. Dutifully, he wolfed down his food in mostly silence. Nobody was feeling particularly talkative.
“…Lemme read that a second time,” he said.