Valiant

[Valiant #44: Conciliations]

Log Date: 2/10/12765

Data Sources: Kiwi, Feroce Acceso

Journal Of An Unknown Maskling

9/27/10494

Had a conversation with a young Maskling today at the Quill Sanctuary on Snohjem. He was there to request a new Maskbearer — his previous Maskbearer was terminally ill when he was Masked, so he only had a few years of life left in him, at best. I didn’t say anything, but I couldn’t help thinking to myself that I was looking at a living consequence of shutting down the Tabula Rasa program. Our people are now forced to accept whatever the other nations will give to us, and this is what we get: their lame, their deaf, their blind, the sick and the infirm. If this continues for many more generations, it won’t be long before we’re a nation of cripples, the dumping ground for burdens that other nations have no interest in caring for.

But the young Maskling didn’t understand that, or was not concerned about it. I assume that was on account of his age. He was born after the Rasa program came to an end; he does not know the galaxy that I knew when I was young. Our current reality is all he has ever known — what I view as our forlorn state is, to him, normalcy. I suppose you cannot miss what you have never known; such is the ignorance of youth, but it is an ignorance for which they are not at fault.

What stood out to me most was that he was nervous — it is not an uncommon thing for young Masklings that are about to take on a new Maskbearer. I understand it well, remember that I had the same trepidation when I was about to take my second and third Maskbearers. That feeling never really goes away, no matter how old you get — there is always that fear of taking in something new, the fear that you might lose what you presently are. The worry that, after you take on a new Maskbearer, you will look in the mirror and not recognize yourself. That fear has heightened ever since the Republic began phasing out Rasa Maskbearers; many of the Maskbearers our people can pick from nowadays are full beings, with lives and histories of their own, and as such, their identities now carry more weight. There is much more to reckon with during the process of fusing, and it has been… difficult for our people to adjust to. Some of the older Masklings have elected to die rather than take new Maskbearers when their time comes, and there is the general feeling among the populace that we were not well-equipped for this transition. We do not yet have the tools needed to handle this change gracefully, and it may be another generation or two before we have adequately developed those tools.

All in all, it left me troubled. I worry for our youth; I worry for the legacy we are leaving them. In trying to improve our standing with the rest of the galaxy, we have made their lives harder, and I cannot help but wonder sometimes if we have sold the barn to buy the cow. Our people will adapt and survive; they always have. But surviving is not the same as thriving.

At the very least, this encounter has reaffirmed the need to keep a few branches of the Rasa program running in the reaches of dark space. I had only intended to keep the clandestine branches running long enough to stock the Cradle, but we have long since met that metric, and as the Council seems to be none the wiser, I have kept the branches running to continue stocking Rasa Maskbearers in other clandestine facilities and bunkers. It has become clear, with the Republic’s failure to adequately prepare for the wind-down of the Tabula Rasa program, that they cannot be trusted with building safeguards for the survival of our species. I will continue to ensure that our race is prepared against a day of ruin — we certainly have enough enemies that would like to see it come to pass.

Event Log: Kiwi

Sunthorn Bastion: Songbird and Kiwi’s Apartment

4:21pm SGT

The ringing of the apartment’s doorbell pulls me out of my perusal of the old journal, and I look up, glancing at the clock. It’s easy to lose track of time when you’re reading, not that it was something that I experienced often. “System, show the door cam.” I order.

The holoarray in the living room shimmers to life, casting a feed of the front door into the middle of the room. It looks like Ridge is standing outside with Quincy beside him; I can tell, by the way Ridge is fidgeting in place, that he’s nervous. It looks like he’s got a bottle in hand — if I had to guess, he’s come to apologize to Songbird.

Bookmarking my spot in the journal, I set it on the coffee table, then get up off the couch, heading towards the door. Once there, I unlock it and wave it open, Ridge snapping to attention as it spirals open. “Oh. Hi, Kiwi. Is… Songbird home?”

“Not right now. He went on walkabout, wanted to clear his mind.” I say, sizing up the canteen that Ridge has in hand. Looks like one of the tumblers that the hemopharmacists use as refillables, so it’s probably got blood sealed in it. “He might be up at the Sunthorn Spice, or somewhere he can get a good view of the rings.”

Ridge seems to deflate a little; he’d probably worked up the courage for this moment, only to find that the expected encounter wouldn’t happen here. “Oh. Okay.” he says, looking a little lost. “Uh… guess we’ll go check the Spice, then.”

I fold my arms, leaning in the doorway. “Trying to find him so you can apologize?” I ask. Unlike Songbird, I’m not delicate about this kind of stuff.

He’d started to turn away, but he pauses at that. “Uh, yeah. Just, y’know. Wanted to check and make sure he was okay.” he says quickly. Ever since the fiasco in the Phobos chamber, Ridge has kept his head down. The gossip about Songbird’s second run had ripped across Sunthorn like wildfire, fueled by the revelation that Kaiser had fired the shot that killed Nova, not Songbird. While almost no one was talking about how Ridge triggered the run in the first place, he seemed to be sensitive to the fact that he was the reason Songbird’s traumas were getting shoved into the station’s spotlight.

“He’s recovering.” I answer. “And you learned a lesson about letting your temper get the better of you, right?”

“Yeah. I shouldn’t have done that, I know.” he mumbles. “I didn’t know it would be… I didn’t know his fears would look like that.”

“Fear looks different for everyone. The older you get, the more you start to fear your failures. Your past.” I say. “You’ll understand when you’re older and you’ve got more mistakes under your belt.”

Ridge nods quietly, and seems ready to leave again, but hesitates again. “Is it okay if I ask you something? About Songbird?”

“Depends on what you’re asking.” I say, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, it’s just about his run… do you know why he’s scared of Blueberry Bubblegum?” Ridge says, glancing at Quincy as if looking for validation that this is a reasonable question. “It just seemed… oddly specific, y’know? I thought he’d be scared of Kaiser, or Nova, or CURSE, but not a pop star that went missing a couple years ago.”

“All he’s told me is that he used to be part of the band. Maybe he didn’t get along with her.” I answer. “He doesn’t talk about it a lot, and maybe that’s why. If you want to know more, you should probably ask him about it, though after what you did, I’d recommend holding off on that for a bit. Stick to the apology and save the nosy questions for a later date.”

“Yeah, yeah. Right.” he nods, a subdued assent. He looks like he’s about to turn to go again, then hesitates yet again. “Uhm, are we, like, safe with Kaiser around? Can we trust him after what we saw in the Phobos chamber?”

I shift a little at that. “I wouldn’t worry about being safe. He’s one of the Valiant, and Kaiser knows that if he steps out of line or betrays us, Songbird is taking the gloves off. As for whether we can trust him… I can’t say. I trust him do his job. But that’s about the only thing I trust him with, after what I saw in the Phobos chamber.”

Ridge nods. “Yeah, that makes sense. Okay. Some of the rookies were worried. If he was willing to throw Songbird under the bus like that, we were wondering if there was anything keeping him from doing the same with us.”

“Technically there’s nothing keeping him from doing it again.” I say frankly. “But now we know what he did, and he knows that it means people will be watching him now. It’ll be harder for him to get away with it now that we know what he did to Songbird, and I’m pretty sure that’ll keep him from pulling anything like that anytime soon.”

Ridge continues nodding, as if he found that answer reassuring. “Yeah. Yeah, I hope so too. I wouldn’t ever want something like that happen to me.”

“Gives you a better appreciation for everything he’s been through, doesn’t it.” I say, though I don’t wait for a reply. “Anyhow, you’re better off looking for Songbird, instead of talking to me. Check the Spice or the observation lounges. He likes quiet places where he can see the big picture whenever he’s in a mood.” I give a half-assed motion of my hand to Quincy. “You keep him out of trouble. He’s already met his quota for the month and we’re only ten days in.”

“Yes ma’am, we’ll keep our heads down.” Quincy says as he starts to move away from the door. “C’mon, Ridge. We’ll want to get to the Spice before the evening crowd starts showing up.”

“Okay. Thanks for the advice, Kiwi.” Ridge says as he follows Quincy. I wave the door closed soon after, heading back to the couch and starting to reach for the journal — but I pause, and after a moment, I reach for my phone instead. Unlocking it, I go to my messages and pull up my thread with Feroce, and consider telling him that Ridge is looking for him. Deciding that it would stress him out, I instead tap out a shorter, simpler message:

love u

Leaving it at that, I set my phone down and pick up the journal again, opening it back to the page I’d bookmarked. Even though I wanted to do more, sometimes that was the most you could do for a person — let them know that you cared, and give them space to take care of the rest themselves. And it’d been pretty clear from the last few days that Feroce needed some room to sort through through things and get his head back in order.

I just hoped it wouldn’t take him too long to get back to normal.

Event Log: Feroce Acceso

Sunthorn Bastion: Titan Hangar

2/11/12765 7:46pm SGT

“It’s like a car, like a stick shift! Manual transmission, it’s all about the timing!” Jaree shouts into the headset she’s got on as I make my way to the garage in the hangar that the Titan crew are working out of. “You gotta pay attention to the engine, listen for when it ramps up and hit the shifter gears at that point!”

“Oh! Hey, Songbird!” Jill calls to me, jumping off the workbench outside the garage when she sees me coming. “Droppin’ by to check on the kiddo?”

“Yeah, I suppose you could say that.” I say, watching the Shrike jet parked outside of the garage. At the moment, it looks like it’s halfway through transformation into its bipedal form, though it looks like it’s gotten stuck halfway through transforming one of the legs. A cordon’s been set up around the jet, demarcating the safe distance to maintain while the jet is shifting modes. “How long have they been at it?”

“Couple of hours now. They spent most of the day going over the automatic transformation and practicing that, but you know Renchi. Automatic transformation was too slow for her, so she wanted to learn the semi-manual transformation.” Jill says, brushing some mechanical grit off her oil-stained coveralls. “Jaree thought it was a little bit too advanced for her right now, but she wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

“Sounds about par for the course.” I say as I come to a stop next to the workbench. The sound of a blowtorch kicking on grabs my attention, and looking to the side, I see that Payton, the stocky human mechanic, has lined up a set of of sliced-open baguettes on the table, and is lining their interiors with slices of cheese and frozen meatballs. Brant, the skinny elvish mechanic, is holding the blowtorch, getting ready to run the jet flame over the baguettes that Payton’s already prepared. Both of them realize that I’m staring at them, and they freeze in place.

After a long, awkward moment, Brant points to the baguettes with the blowtorch. “You want one? I got another couple baguettes in the garage.”

My gaze bounces between the blowtorch and the baguettes. “What… exactly are you doing?”

“Meatball subs. We haven’t been able to hit the mess hall yet because the kid’s on a tear tonight.” Payton says, lining another baguette with cheese. “This was what I was able to rustle up out of storage before the cooks chased me off.”

“I mean, you weren’t able to get any of the spaghetti sauce, so this is more like cheeseball subs.” Brant points out.

I furrow my brow. “You’re… cooking meatballs… with a blowtorch.”

“Well, yeah. We’re going for more of, like a panini-type thing.” Brant says, waving the blowtorch around a little. “Gonna nuke the meatballs with the blowtorch, and the ambient heat should be enough to melt the cheese on the sides and give a light toasting to the bread on the edges.”

“Oh, give me a break.” Payton scoffs. “Does this look like a fancy elvish panini to you? No. This is a homegrown meatball sub.”

Brant gives Payton a flat look. “If you wanted a sub, you shouldn’t have grabbed baguettes. Baguettes are fancy bread, and you toast or lightly grill a fancy bread for a panini. This is therefore a panini.”

“Do you think I don’t recognize a sub when I see one?” Payton says, hitching a hand on his hip as he motions to the row of split baguettes. “A sub is a footlong sandwich made from a bread roll. Everyone knows that.”

“Yes, but these are not bread rolls. These are baguettes.”

“A baguette is just a fancy bread roll.”

“That’s like saying that cheese is glorified milk. It’s technically true, but it’s not really correct.”

“Fine. You wanna bet on it? Ten credits says that these are subs, not paninis.”

“Oh boyo, you just lost ten credits. Go on, look up paninis on Chikipedia and tell me what breads they’re made with.”

“I will, thank you very much.”

At a loss for words, I glance at Jill, who shrugs. “This is just how they are. No point getting in the middle of it; they’ll just find something else to argue about.” she says, grabbing a rag and wiping her hands off. “You sure you don’t want one? We can whip up another one, no sweat.”

My eyes dart back to the baguettes laid out on the grimy workbench, and my yet-unvoiced concerns about quality of this ‘cooking’ setup. “Uhhhh…”

“Well I’ll be damned.” Payton mutters as he squints at his phone.

“What was that?” Brant says, cupping a hand around one of his pointy ears. “Go on, read it so the rest of us can hear.”

Payton rolls his eyes, letting out a sigh. “…’the name panini is given to a grilled sandwich made using various breads, including baguette, ciabatta, focaccia, and michetta’.”

Brant holds his hands out to either side, taking a slight bow. “Thank you, thank you, please, hold your applause! No, really, it’s nothing. It’s not as hard as it looks, being this smart.”

“That’s great. Less gloating, more cooking.” Jill interrupts at this point. “This girl’s hungry, and those meatballs aren’t going to defrost themselves. Let’s get a move on, I wanna eat before midnight.”

“Alrighty, chill out. No sense in rushing a master chef.” Brant says, swinging the blowtorch back around to apply it to the long paninis. “Trust me, this’ll be better than anything you guys can get out of the mess hall.”

I cover my mouth with a hand, fighting the impulse to tell Brant to stop as he starts torching the baguettes down the center. Watching these people make grilled sandwiches on a mechanic’s workbench using an industrial blowtorch — this is the sort of stuff that gives nightmares to both chefs and workplace hazard inspectors. Hearing Jaree shout into her headset again, I turn in that direction, walk a few steps, then can’t contain myself and turn back around.

“I’m sorry, I just— the meatballs. Make sure you’re rotating them after every pass with the blowtorch. Otherwise you’re gonna end up with one side being frozen and the other side being scorched.” I blurt out. “And dial back the flow on the blowtorch, it’s too hot. At that temperature, you’re just searing the outside. Take it slower, or the inside of the meatball isn’t gonna cook properly.”

Brant gives me a blank look, and I decide that’s my cue to hurry over to Jaree and ignore the travesty taking place on the workbench. She glances over when I arrive, closing a pawhand around the mic on her headset. “Hey, Bluebird. Here to check in on the kid?”

“Yeah. Working on transformation sequences?” I say, sizing up the half-transformed Shrike.

“We got the automatic down, but she wanted to try the semi-manual. Told her that was a little too advanced for her right now, but she didn’t want to listen.” Jaree says. “She hasn’t developed the instinct for it yet. I’m gonna make her practice it in the sim chamber before she tries it in the Shrike again.”

“Will she be able to get through this transformation?” I ask as the engine revs up again, and there’s a unpleasant clanking, grinding sound as the servos in the leg assembly try to transform again.

She gives a short shake of her head. “I don’t think so. She’s getting frustrated. You know how that snowballs.”

I rub a knuckle against my jaw. “…you mind if I get in there and help her through it? Just to make sure it doesn’t get stuck between configurations overnight. I don’t imagine it’s good for it to be stuck halfway for extended periods of time.”

Jaree’s yellow eyes flick to me. “You think you can get it shifted?”

“Yeah. They had me do test runs in the prototype, and I’ve piloted a Hybriddyr before. I’m familiar with transformation sequences.”

“Alright.” she says, taking hand off the mic. “Standby, cadet. Open the canopy; Songbird’s going to be coming up there to help you out.”

The Shrike settles again, and I walk through the holographic cordon, striding over to the half-shifted jet and around the side that’s most intact. As I’m climbing onto the wing, the canopy pops its seal and starts sliding back, and has fully retracted by the time I’ve gotten up to the cockpit. Renchiko is in the middle of wrestling off her helmet with the signature impatience of a frustrated pilot.

“Hey, little sister.” I say as I get up to perching on the edge of the cockpit. “Mind if I?”

She waves an aggravated gesture at the controls. “Have at it.” she grunts, unbuckling herself and starting to climb out of the cockpit.

“Well hold on, don’t go anywhere just yet.” I say as I start to slide in the pilot’s seat. “Scoot up here, just behind the seat. Watch how I do it — it might help.”

Renchiko had started to climb onto the wing, but at my urging, she turns and clambers up on the modules tucked behind the seat. Slipping my arms into the pilot sheathes, I get my feet settled on the pedals, and refamiliarize myself with the Shrike’s interfaces. “I’m more accustomed to empath piloting, but manual piloting is a prerequisite to that — it’s better to learn stick shift before automatic, metaphorically speaking. Gives you a better feel for how the machine functions.” I explain.

“Aren’t most cars nowadays automatic?” Renchiko points out.

“Yeah, the only stick shifts you see are usually for specialized vehicles. Industrial equipment, racing cars, heavy transport, and in our case… configuration-shifting weapons platforms.” I say, carefully revving the engine as I rotate the left pilot sheath, lifting one of the wings at the same time that I angle one of the foot pedals below. The grinding clanking starts up again, but this time, we can hear something catch, and the clanking turns into a cleaner clicking as the leg assembly starts to shift into the proper configuration. Slowing down the left side, I quickly repeat the process with the right side, with the Shrike gradually evening out as it rises up into its bipedal configuration. Renchiko clings to the back of the pilot seat until the Shrike finishes settling, and I park it in place, pulling my arms out of pilot sheaths as I power down the engine.

“I couldn’t get the timing right.” Renchiko sighs as I start pulling my arms out of the pilot sheaths. “Didn’t think it would be that hard.”

“It’s an acquired skill.” I say, standing up and leaning on the rim of the cockpit. “Hey Jaree, can we get a ladder over here?”

“Stay where you are and don’t do anything stupid. I’ll get the disembarkation ramp over there.” Jaree says, turning and heading towards the garage and a mobile maintenance ramp parked near it.

While she does that, I sit back down in the pilot seat, turning sideways and glancing at Renchiko. “You got some time to talk?” I ask.

She presses her lip together, and I can tell that she knows what I want to talk about. But she doesn’t try to dodge it. “Yeah. I got time.”

I nod, fully shifting to sit sideways in the pilot’s seat. “I wanted to apologize for what you saw back in the Phobos chamber. I didn’t want to put you through that, and I’m sorry that you had to see—”

“No.” she says, shaking her head. “It’s okay. I’m glad I got to see it.”

I glance at her. “You… what?”

“Not, like, glad as in happy.” Renchiko says quickly, realizing how it sounds. “Like, glad, as in… I know now. I know what happened. It’s hard to… it’s peace of mind. I don’t have to wonder about really happened anymore. I got to see it, I know what happened… I know that what Kori convinced me to believe wasn’t true. I can see now that my mom didn’t give you a choice.”

I’m quiet, thinking back on those last moments in the Firefly Blue, and nod, taking in a deep breath. “Yeah. She… she was always looking out for me.” I say softly, pressing a thumb into my other palm and tracing the lines of my hand. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do more. I’ve had years to think about it, and I know now that there’s nothing I could’ve done beyond what I did, but it doesn’t make me feel any better.”

“I don’t blame you.” Renchiko says, folding her arms atop her knees. “I don’t remember a lot from back then, but I know that Mom was the one in the charge. She was the one that gave the orders and all that, and you always followed them, even when you didn’t agree with them. And everything I’ve learned since I’ve started training with the Valiant, following orders and sticking to the chain of command… it’s not your fault, big brother. She was your commanding officer and you did the best you could with the orders she gave you.”

I nod and don’t reply right away, instead listening to the distant sound of Jill, Brant, and Payton arguing with each other, and Jaree starting up the mobile maintenance ramp. “Between your father and your mother, you can probably see why your uncle didn’t want you joining up with the Valiant. It’s a dangerous line of work. You know that better than a lot of the other rookies we have. At some point, they’ll probably learn what you already know, though you hope they’ll never have to learn it the way we have. And if you ever decide that the price is too high…” I finish tracing the lines on my palm, looking at her. “There’s nothing wrong with walking away from it. Plenty of Challengers have done the same.”

“I’m not gonna do that.” Renchiko replies without hesitating. “I heard what I needed to hear when you were facing down your Knightmare. I know why I’m here and what I’m going to do with my life.”

That takes me off guard. “You heard… what did you hear?”

Renchiko waves a hand, looking a little embarrassed. “The song it was singing. The point it was trying to get across to you. About the people you couldn’t save, the people that have died for you, and making sure that you’re making the most of their sacrifices. I know it was meant for you, but it got through to me too. Reminded me that there are people that have died so that I could be here, could make it this far. I’m going to make sure their sacrifices were worth it.”

I press my lips together. The trauma of that day was still riding on my shoulder; I was still working through it, and it didn’t help that a lot of people were looking at me differently now, though it was now edged with pity rather than caution or fear. Word had gotten around the station, and I wasn’t sure I liked the change in how people viewed me. All of this was on top of the fact that I was still having trouble handling my encounter with the Knightmare; I had thought that having faced it once, I would be prepared to face it again. But it’d been two decades since my first encounter with the Knightmare.

And a person can change a lot in twenty years.

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s a good lesson to learn.” I quietly agree with Renchiko. “It’s one I’ve been learning my entire life.”

Renchiko opens her mouth, then closes it; she must see something in my expression that makes her reconsider what she was about to say. For a little while, we just sit there, listening to the sounds of the hangar crew bantering with each other, and Jaree muttering Halfie curses as she fights with the controls of the mobile maintenance ramp.

“You know know what Mom would say about it, though.” Renchiko eventually says.

I chuckle a little, ducking my head. “Waste of time to feel sorry for ourselves when there’s work to be done.” I start shifting in the pilot’s seat. “You ready to call it a day? The rest of your crew is trying to do meatball subs for dinner, although I’ve got my doubts about their methodology.”

“I could eat, yeah.” Renchiko says, looking over the side of the Shrike. “I guess you’re not supposed to disembark from the Shrike while it’s in bipedal configuration.”

“Yeah, no.” I say, peering over the edge to see that the maintenance platform is starting to rise up along the side of the Shrike. In fact, it had already risen halfway up, but Jaree’s now elevating it the rest of the way. “Captain Leafly. Did we keep you entertained?”

“Seemed like it’d be rude to barge in while you two were having a moment.” she says as the platform starts to draw level with the cockpit. “Figured I’d wait until you were done. I assume you’re ready to come down, judgin’ by the way you went and poked your heads over the edge?”

“We’re ready, yeah.” Renchiko says, scooting towards the edge of the cockpit as Jaree starts extending the ramp to us. “Songbird says that the crew was making meatball subs.”

“Those miscreants are making an affront to god and good cooking, is what they’re doing. But it might be edible, since Songbird gave them some tips before he came up there. Let’s go see if whatever they’ve done is salvageable…”

Event Log: Kiwi

Sunthorn Bastion: Central Operations Room

2/12/12765 3:26pm SGT

“Our source within CURSE has high confidence in the information they’ve passed along.” Forecast says. “CURSE has already composed their assignment briefs, and their teams have been assembled. They may have already dispatched their operatives to the next artifact.”

“If we move on it now, we may be able to get a ship out there at about the same time that CURSE does.” Tony adds from where she’s standing beside Forecast, a data slate in one arm. “It would not be there to deliver Valiant assets, but rather pick them up after we have deployed them using the DIRT network.”

Kaiser’s eyes flick over the holoarrays in the operations room, the glow of the central column of light reflected against his spectacles. “I am to understand that this is an artifact identical to the one that we received from 5402?” he asks as his eyes rest on the scan of the artifact that we got from Laughing Alice.

“We do not have confirmation on that. But it stands to reason, given what we know of the artifacts so far.” Tony says.

“If they’re part of a matching set, then we should probably make sure we have most of the set.” Legaci says, her arms folded. “Dragine artifacts that work in sets are usually more powerful than single artifacts, but usually only operable as a set. Having the majority of the set will make it more difficult for other parties to acquire and utilize it.”

“The assumption that we will be able to utilize the artifacts if we acquire the full set is premature.” Kaiser says, clasping his hands behind his back. “But your reasoning still stands on solid foundations. Acquiring as much of the set as possible will reduce the likelihood that other parties will collect the set, and potentially abuse it.”

“Plus, this is a chance for us to ambush CURSE, and not the other way around.” I add quickly. “Up until now, they’ve been ambushing us left and right. We’re always on the back foot. I think it’s about time we flipped that around and gave them a taste of their own medicine.”

“While I am no fan of CURSE’s continual harassment, it was decided that we will avoid engaging them where possible.” Kaiser replies. “We want to keep the door to a potential truce open and within reach. Our organization exists for more than just being a thorn in CURSE’s side, and the more resources we dedicate to them, the less we have available for pursuing other objectives.”

I press my lips together, folding my arms. “So whose choice was that? Drill’s, or Valkyrie’s?”

Kaiser’s amethyst eyes flick toward me, even though his head doesn’t move. “It was the joint decision of Valiant Command. If you would like to be part of those meetings, and the Valiant high command structure, you are welcome to pursue the necessary steps to qualify yourself for such a position.”

“We all know that’s not going to happen.” Tony says without looking up from her data slate. “The role she currently occupies as a Special Agent is better suited for her temperament and skillset.”

“Funny, I didn’t see anyone asking you.” I shoot back at her.

“Simply pointing out the obvious.” Tony replies blithely.

“That’s enough, girls.” Forecast interjects. “Kaiser, we will continue to provide you with any intel updates we receive. But that more or less concludes the report we wanted to provide to you and Legaci.”

“This planet that CURSE is going to, Svyash — it’s in a system that’s close to Kasvei.” Legaci says to Kaiser. The way she says it is pointed, as if she expects him to know what she means by that.

Kaiser’s eyes flick aside to her. “It is.” he concurs. “Considering we will be deploying a vessel to the area and it would be a waste of fuel to send it there just to pick up the team and bring them back, we can assemble a package of missions within the area instead of just the one. It would be a more judicious use of our deployed resources.”

“If we are planning on visiting Kasvei on that mission package, I would like to be part of that deployment.” Legaci says. “I want to make sure that it’s handled correctly.”

“Noted. We will discuss it later.” Kaiser says, returning his attention to Forecast. “Is there anything further you wished to discuss, Forecast?”

“That will be all.” Forecast says, inclining his head. “Thank you for your time. Tony, Kiwi.” With that he turns and makes his way for the door; Tony follows him, her footsteps crisp against the glass floor, and I turn and do the same as Legaci’s hologram flickers and disappears. But when I reach the door, I stop short, instead of passing through; when Forecast and Tony don’t seem to notice I’m lagging behind, I wave the door shut, turning to face Kaiser, who has started pulling screens out of the central holoarray column. Hearing the door spiral shut, he turns his head towards me, then lowers his arms and clasps them behind his back once more.

“Special Agent.” he says. “I presume you have something to say to me.”

I narrow my eyes at him, idly treading back across the floor. “Why don’t you ever use their names? Why do you only refer to them by their numbers or titles?” I know I don’t need to explain to him; he’s smart, dangerously so, and he knows what I’m talking about.

“It is a matter of professionalism. Names introduce sentiment, which can be problematic in a workplace environment.” he replies calmly, his eyes slowly tracking me as I pace around the central holoarray column.

“So they’re just numbers to you.” I say, searching his face for something. Any sign of emotion that gives away his inner thoughts or feelings. But there’s nothing — just a cold, neutral expression with no need or desire to find commonality with other living things. “Easier to throw a person under the bus when they’re just a number and not a name.”

He arches a brow with me. “I will hazard a guess. You wish to vent your distaste for my treatment of 5377.”

“Maybe.” I say, coming to a stop and folding my arms. “What good would it do, though? You don’t give a damn. You admitted what you did in front of your old coworkers and a room full of rookies, and then just moved on like it meant nothing to you.”

“The past cannot be changed. I see no value in trying to relitigate it.”

I’d intended to just stand here with my arms folded, but there’s something about that cool, calm tone that just drives me up the wall and aggravates me to no end, so I start pacing again. “I’m not saying that the past can be changed. My problem with you is that you feel no remorse, no guilt for what you put Songbird through — all that suffering, and you feel nothing.”

“If it is any consolation, that is not unique to 5377.” Kaiser states patiently. “I feel very little of anything, aside from vague annoyance from time to time, in relation to particularly vexing circumstances or individuals.”

I shake my head. “I don’t know why I’m wasting my time on you. It’s like trying to squeeze blood from a stone.” I walk back around the central holoarray column, my boots echoing against the floor as I head for the door. It’s only when I’m about to step out that Kaiser finally speaks.

“I thought he would succumb to his shortcomings, and die.”

I stop, then turn around to see Kaiser examining his immaculately trimmed nails. He continues speaking, though he does not lift his head to look at me. “I am aware of what I did to Songbird; I am not ignorant of the travail he has faced since then, nor was I ignorant of the hardships that he would be subjected to when I decided to let him take the blame for Nova’s death. My actions were premeditated, and executed with the belief that he did not have the strength or ability to survive what was to come. I thought that letting him take the fall for Nova’s demise would neatly rid me of both of them — and indeed, I was tired of dealing with both of them. Nova’s hunger for power was insatiable, and Songbird’s sentimentality was obstructive; between the two of them, I was cleaning up messes left and right. I felt such relief when I was able to use Songbird as the bow to neatly tie up Nova’s death; using one problem to solve the other, and being rid of both of them.”

He returns his hand behind his back, only slightly turning his head towards me as he continues. “I do not understand Songbird. I doubt I ever will. I do not know how he survived his fifteen years of exile; in what I observed and calculated during our years in the Challenger program, he should’ve died, either killed by Nova’s aggrieved followers, or yielding to his own grief and arranging his own death. I do not find it impressive that he has survived this long and has somehow managed to grow stronger in the interim. I find it irritating, because it follows no apparent logic, and flies in the face of reason and available evidence. But I am not above admitting that I made a miscalculation in how I dealt with him. He is clearly capable of more than is readily apparent on the surface.” His spectacles flicker with the reflected light of the central holoarray as he looks at me properly. “I will not make that miscalculation again.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “That… almost sounded like an apology.”

“Do not accustom yourself with it. It will not happen again.” he says, returning his gaze to the central holoarray. “I have said my piece on the matter, and will comment no further on it. I am sure you have other matters tend to, so I will not keep you any longer.”

“Mm. Yeah. Well, I won’t argue with that. I’ve got other things I’d rather be doing.” I say, waving the door open. “So long as we understand each other, Kaiser. He didn’t have anyone to stand up for him sixteen years ago. That’s not the case anymore.”

“So you say, but I am not blind to the fact that you use him much the same way as Nova once did.” Kaiser says, starting to pull more windows out of the central holoarray column. “The method may be different, but the effect is the same.”

“Yeah, well, there’s one big difference.” I say, stepping out. “Nova didn’t love him. I do.”

The doors spiral shut after me, depriving Kaiser of the chance to reply. Tucking my hands in my jacket pockets, I start down the hall, puffing out a a long breath as I go.

If these were the kind of coworkers Songbird had to deal with when he was in the Challenger program, it’s a miracle he didn’t come out of it as more of an asshole.

Intercepted Communications

Sunthorn Bastion, local text thread, 2 participants

8:19pm PST

Legaci: Hey Kaiser, I think I’ve got positive confirmation on the group that zeroed out one of the Four Ravens on Charisto. Looks like it was a small group of Preservers that’s contracted with CURSE.

Kaiser: Unfortunate. I had considered recruiting the responsible party, but if they are contracted with CURSE, I doubt they will be open to an overture from the Valiant.

L: I wouldn’t be so sure. I’ve slowly been gathering data on them and they seem kinda… erratic.

K: Explicate.

L: Hard to put into words. From what I can pull from public flight manifests, looks like their ship has been all over the place recently, visiting dark space systems and Ranter colonies. They got involved in something that required a hospital stop at the Marshy world of Velennia, and a while back I picked up rumors of a CURSE recovery team that got hardcore brainwashed in Rantecevang while the Preservers were visiting, and had to be picked up by a second recovery team. I don’t have any hard evidence, but it’s a lot of small things that aren’t really adding up, if you know what I mean.

K: A preponderance of anomalous factors that do not indicate a normal relationship with CURSE, effectively.

L: Yeah. That.

K: Is it actionable?

L: Not at the moment, no. I can keep digging, see if I can find out more if you think the outreach would be worth it.

K: I would decline but for the fact that they are Preservers. There may be some value in having active Preservers in our coalition — the Academy isn’t always the strongest ally, but they are generally respected, and their involvement often lends legitimacy to an enterprise, especially in the eyes of the more educated classes. Continue monitoring them and see what else you can dig up — if peeling them away from CURSE and folding them into the Valiant is within the realm of possibility, I would like to pursue it.

L: Understood. I’ll keep nosing around their case and see what else I can find. If it turns out to be actionable, I’ll compile a mission brief and send it over.

K: Acknowledged.

Event Log: Feroce Acceso

Sunthorn Bastion: The Reflection House

2/13/12765 2:56pm SGT

Standing in front of the archway that leads to Valcalia’s alcove, I take a deep breath, tighten my grip around the mop and bucket I’ve got in hand, and step into the tiny little chapel.

The Reflection House has dozens of these little alcoves branching off from its main chapels, little sanctuaries that serve as their own tiny chapels for the deities to which they’re dedicated. Many of them go unused or untended, simply because of volume of belief systems across the galaxy. Each world has its gods, whether they are local deities, or deities belonging to religions that stretch across multiple worlds. And with thousands of habited planets across the galaxy, there are an equally large number of gods to worship.

Of those many gods, only one holds my attention, and it was the one whose chapel I’m currently mopping. While I had learned about other gods and religions while growing up, and during my Challenger training, I’d never really looked into them all that much, and that was on account of my Anayan faith. Now that I had left the faith, I find myself following familiar patterns in different places, under the eye of my new goddess.

In truth, I still don’t know quite how to worship Valcalia. Where the Anayan faith had specific traditions and rituals and was bound by scripture and doctrine, worshipping Valcalia seemed a lot more open and nebulous. I’d done some research in the moments of spare time I had available to me, and hadn’t found much; Valcalian churches didn’t really have much presence or organization, and the larger ones seemed to act as informal musical groups in the cities where they were located, providing choir or orchestral services for other organizations or events. Other Valcalian churches seemed to operate as musical schools, or places that curated musical collections or instruments, and I’d come across a couple that provided recording studio services. But those were all large congregations — it wasn’t clear how a lone follower of Valcalia was supposed to worship, on their own and away from a larger group of Valcalia’s followers.

So I’ve fallen back on what I knew and had grown up with: acts of service, which was why I was currently mopping the floor of Valcalia’s little chapel in the Reflection House. When I’d first stopped by, it was absolutely coated in dust, which I suspected was the case for most of the other chapels in the Reflection House. A decade of hibernation is bound to have left its mark on Sunthorn’s local structures, and the current Valiant roster hasn’t really struck me as particularly pious. I wouldn’t be surprised if I was the only visitor that the Reflection House saw on a regular basis.

Once I finish the mopping, I realize, with a sinking feeling, that I’d done the cleaning in the wrong order — I should’ve dusted first, then mopped afterwards. If I try to dust the statue of Valcalia and the shelves in the room now, all that dust is just going to fall onto the damp floor and dry there, undoing all the work I’d done to mop the floor. Sighing, I reach up to rub my eyes with one hand — at least there was no one here to witness my idiocy.

“I was wondering if it was gonna click.”

I turn towards to the voice to find that Valcalia’s leaning in the doorway of the chapel with a bowl of sliced strawberries, idly popping them in her mouth as she watches me.

“Oh! Valcalia!” I stammer, my heart jumping into my throat. “Uhm, okay— what are you doing here?”

“You sent me a prayer about a week ago. Something about wanting help getting over your past traumas.” she says, licking one of her fingers. “You know you can text me, right? I gave you my phone for a reason, and you’ve got my number.”

“Oh. Uh.” My hand goes down to pull out the phone in my jacket. “Well, I… I thought it would be more respectful to send a prayer, y’know…”

“I appreciate the thought, but prayers get filtered through my angels. They take care of the small stuff so I can focus on my divine responsibilities.” she says, motioning to the phone in my hand. “That’s a direct line to me. So if you text me, I will get the text faster than I will get the prayer.”

“Wait, seriously?” I say, glancing down at the phone. “You’re a goddess, and a text message will reach you faster than a prayer will?”

“I mean, a text message is just a prayer in text.” Valcalia says, pushing off the archway and walking over to me. “Sit down, take a load off. What’s been bothering you?”

I suddenly find myself sitting at the base of Valcalia’s statue, the mop and rolling bucket next to the archway. Valcalia is sitting down beside me, her jacket rustling as she gets comfortable. After a dumbstruck moment, I think back to my run in the Phobos chamber, puffing out a long sigh as I run a hand through my hair.

“You ever get the feeling that… you just… you feel like a failure?” I ask. “All the training, and all the power you’ve got, and it’s still not enough to save the people you’re supposed to protect. That no matter what you do, no matter how strong you get, there are still people that die on your watch, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“Not really? But bear in mind you’re asking that question to a goddess.” Valcalia says, eating another strawberry slice.

“Ah. Right. How could I forget, you’re all-powerful.” I sigh. “Of course you wouldn’t know what that feels like.”

“I know what it feels like; I just haven’t felt it in a while.” she says. “For me, it’s different. You feel like no matter how powerful you are, you still can’t save the people you care about. For me, I know I have the power to keep people from dying, but I have to stand by and watch most of them die. So to your question, Feroce, I would answer this: just because you have the power to save people doesn’t mean you get to use it as often as you would like.”

I glance at her. “Is that because of some kind of cosmic rule, or…?”

“I suppose. Sort of.” she says, poking a finger around in her strawberry bowl. “But it’s mostly because death is part of the natural cycle. Life is given meaning because of death; life has value because it is finite and limited. Taking death away removes the value that life has. Which is not to say that you simply stand by and let death happen; if you can prevent it, then by all means, prevent it, and extend the lives of those you care for. But when you cannot prevent it, know that it is not failure on your part. Think of life as a song: it has to end, sooner or later. If it never ended, you’d get rather tired of it, wouldn't you?”

“Yeah, I suppose so.” I say, churning that over in my head. “So you… you can save people, but you choose not to?”

“ ‘Choose’ is a bit of a strong word. I have that power, yes. But there are consequences for using it recklessly or in excess.” she says, pulling a sugar shaker out of her jacket and dusting her strawberries with a layer of sugar. “Death teaches us things; it makes room for others to grow up into the space that was once held by those that came before. If I was to roam this galaxy, saving every endangered life that I came across, I would be depriving many people and places of the opportunity to learn from those deaths, to grow and evolve and become more than what they were before. It would be a disruption to the natural cycle of life and death, and it would be unhealthy for the societies and communities that then have to deal with that disruption. Simply because I have the power to do something does not mean that I should use it — you know this well, as someone who holds substantial power yourself, and having watched what the relentless pursuit and use of power did to the friend that you loved so dearly.”

The reminder is a sobering one, and I nod quietly. “Yeah. I guess you’re right about that.” I concede softly. “It’s just that…”

“People resent hypernaturals for precisely that reason.” Valcalia says, picking another couple of blood-red strawberry slices out of her bowl. “They reason that if we truly are all-powerful, then we are cruel to permit all the suffering that happens in this universe. They think that if it is within our power to stop it, then we should stop it, consequences be damned.”

“Could you fix those things, though?” I ask, looking at her. “You and all the other hypernaturals, if you wanted to.”

“We could, yes.” Valcalia says, brushing a lock of white hair back behind one ear as she looks at me. “But it is not the job of gods to clean up the messes of mortals. We teach you, we listen to you, we guide you, but that is all. We are not your maids — when mortals make a mess, mortals must clean it up. It is how you learn and grow. We can show you the way if you ask us for help, but we are not going to do the work for you. That is your responsibility.”

I can’t really argue with that. More than that, it’s an inversion of what I hear in most churches, where the pastors often tell the congregation that problems, whether they be personal or galactic, will be solved if they just pray to the deity that the church venerates. Valcalia’s making it clear that that’s not how any of this works — mortals are responsible for the suffering their societies create, responsible for fixing what they have broken. Gods are not going to swoop in to save mortals from their mistakes just because a few prayers were thrown their way.

“That’s comforting, in a way.” I say, rubbing my palms over each other. “It’s comforting to know that all the evils in the galaxy, all the bad stuff… it’s not because you’re punishing us. Those are just evils that we’ve created. Suffering that mortals are inflicting on themselves.”

“Well. Most of it.” Valcalia mutters past a strawberry slice. “Tirsigal was our mess. We’re working on getting that cleaned up.”

I stare at her. “…wait. The Collective world that was torched… are you saying that was done by a god?”

“A goddess, technically, but yes.”

“Gods are allowed to do that?”

“What? No. Can they do it? Absolutely. Are they allowed to? Absolutely not. We just had an assembly about how to punish the goddess that was responsible for it.”

“Why didn’t anyone try to stop her?”

“Nobody tried to stop her because nobody knew she was going to do it. We have Rules in place to prevent this sort of thing, and we function on the assumption that our kind will follow the Rules. And when they break the Rules, we punish them.” Using forefinger to stir around the strawberries in the bowl, she picks one up and looks it over. “Even then, there is nuance in what she did. The Collective has long tested the boundaries of the Rules. Stealing worlds, assimilating their populations… it is not technically forbidden when it is carried out by the mortal component of the Collective, but it is distasteful and downright infuriating when the world that is assimilated contains many of the people who worship you or look to you for guidance and purpose. I am not surprised that Azra snapped and went on a Collective killing spree; if not her, then it would’ve been some other hypernatural, sooner or later.” She tilts the bowl of strawberries towards me. “I apologize. I did not come here to vent to you, but the last month has been stressful for me. Azra is a younger member of the pantheon that I am part of, and while I care for her, that girl is capable of the dumbest shit sometimes. I get why she did it, but she picked the worst way to get her point across.”

My mouth twitches a little at that, and I look down, remembering the way that Ridge had shoved me into the Phobos chamber. “Yeah. I know the feeling. Dealt with something similar a week ago.” Reaching over, I gingerly take one of the strawberry slices from the offered bowl and tentatively nibble at it. “So because a goddess created the mess on Tirsigal, the other gods will be cleaning it up?”

“Somewhat. It was decided that since mortal hands set Azra free, mortal hands have to return her to her prison. The Gathering — that’s the hypernatural government — is keeping a close eye on it, though, and has appointed multiple overseers to monitor the entire affair and make sure Azra doesn’t extend her killing spree to any other Collective worlds. There’s a lot of politics at play; I won’t burden you with the details.” Prying the last two slices of strawberry out of the bowl, she tucks them in her mouth and starts licking her fingers. “But that’s enough about me. How has your life been, beyond your scrape with a Knightmare?”

I shrug, mentally reviewing the last week and not finding much to report. Not much that would be of any interest to a goddess, at least. “The usual. Training new recruits, going to meetings, helping plan upcoming missions and the like.” After a moment, I voice what’s always on my mind when I have to field questions like that. “I wonder sometimes, if, like… any of this is making a difference. The missions, the organization, all this training… I wonder if we’re really making a difference.”

Valcalia gives me a sideways look. “That’s stupid and you know it.”

“Well— yeah.” I concede. “I mean, it’s just hard to tell sometimes. Hard to feel like we’re making any progress.”

“You are making a difference. It might not feel like it, but you are.” Valcalia, putting the bowl to her lips and tilting it back to drink the strawberry juice collected at the bottom. Once it’s gone, she sets it down and continues. “The work is hard and often it doesn’t pay off immediately. Sometimes you only see the effects years down the line. But as the Valiant grows, and once you’re able to get CURSE off your backs, you’ll be able to focus on other things, to help people and intercede in situations that need the Valiant’s assistance. It’s gonna take a while to get that plane back in the air after it’s been grounded for so long, but once you reach cruising altitude, you’ll start seeing the payoff for all the work you’re putting in right now. Stick with it. You can make a difference; you just need to give it time.” Pulling out her phone, she checks the screen. “I gotta go. Maelstrom’s calling me; he probably wants advice on how to deal with his genocidal hellcat of a daughter.”

I glance at her phone. “Is that…?”

“He’s Azra’s father. She inherited his stubbornness, and he’s always had trouble keeping her in line. Not for lack of trying or for lack of creativity, mind you.” she says as she starts to stand up. “I don’t envy him. A daughter like that is a handful and a half. But that’s parenthood; it’s many things, but easy isn’t one of them.” Picking up her bowl, she turns to me. “Next time you want to talk, just text me. Just don’t do it too often, though — I am a goddess, and I do have responsibilities.”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course.” I say quickly, standing up as well. “I’ll keep it to a minimum. Only text you when I need to.”

“Good. Oh, and there’s someone outside that wants to apologize to you.” Valcalia says, heading towards one of the mirrors on the walls. “See you around, Feroce. Don’t forget to sing for your girlfriend every now and then.”

With that, she steps through the mirror, answering the call she was getting. Within a few steps, she’s disappeared, and left with only her parting advice, I turn towards the archway and walk back into the main chapel. Standing up near the rostrum at the front is Kori, staring up the spiral symbol mounted on the wall behind the podium.

Crossing through one of the rows of pews, I make my way down the center aisle, arriving to stand beside him. He glances aside at me, then returns his attention to the wooden spiral on the back wall. “Kiwi told me you’d be here.”

“Surprised she volunteered that information.” I say, noticing the layer of dust that lies on the pulpit and seats on the rostrum. I could take the time to clean it away, but I don’t think I will — for now, I’m content with the scope of my janitorial duties being confined to Valcalia’s chapel.

“She was pretty smug about it.” Kori says. “She knew why I was asking.”

I nod. “Yeah, that sounds like her.”

He glances at me again, then hooks his hands in his pockets. “I owe you an apology. You did the best you could with the situation Ratchet put you in, and at the end, I think she recognized that you shouldn’t have to pay for her mistakes. That’s why she made sure you got out.” He’s quiet for a moment, then goes on. “My anger was misdirected. I think, deep down, I knew it was my sister’s fault that she got herself killed. But you were the only one that came back from that mission, and I didn’t have anyone else to take it out on. That wasn’t fair to you, to try to make you answer for my sister’s mistakes, and I see that now.”

I mull over my possible responses. A younger part of me wants to be snide and vindictive about it, but it’s faint and small. With as long as I’ve been alive and everything I’ve been through, I really only feel a deep melancholy with this apology. Glad that it’s finally been given to me; sad that it’s a decade past the time when it would’ve done any good. But better late than never, I suppose.

“We all make mistakes, Kori.” I reply quietly. “We all deserve second chances.”

Taking a hand out of my pocket, I reach up and pat him on the shoulder a couple of times, then turn and start making my way back down the center aisle. As nice as it was to finally have that apology, there wasn’t much to be gained from dwelling on it. It didn’t actually change anything that had happened; it was just the bow that finally tied up the matter and laid it to rest once and for all.

Just another dead grudge to leave behind, so we could look forward to the future.

Event Log: Kiwi

Sunthorn Bastion: Central Tower Grounds

2/14/12765 3:17pm SGT

“Checkin, my ass.” I grumble as I come down the steps of the central tower, with Forecast trailing behind me. “More like the Council checking to see if I’ve gotten tired of Songbird. When are they going to realize that this isn’t a phase?”

“They are taking stock of their assets, Kiwi.” Forecast explains patiently. “The scorching of Tirsigal has many governments on edge, ours included. They want to know what assets they’ll have at their disposal if something unexpected happens.”

“Well, I’m not their asset anymore. I work for the Valiant.” I retort. “They’ve got thousands of other Mask Knights they can lean on, not to mention the S-Twos through the S-Fives. They don’t need me when they’ve got them.”

“You are posted with the Valiant, not employed by them.” Forecast reminds me firmly as I start striding along the main path through the grounds around the central tower. “The Republic still cuts your check. That is the agreement that is in place, made in part to help alleviate the financial burden on the Valiant.”

“And to give the Council a way to keep a leash on me.” I say pointedly. “What happens if I can get the Valiant to put me on their payroll?”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“Songbird will get me on payroll if I ask him.”

“That would be unfair to him, and it would not work, because it would need to be cleared through Valiant Command, who understand that headhunting one of the Republic’s most valuable assets would be a diplomatic issue.” Forecast says, his long stride bringing him even with me. “Moreover, it would require abandoning your duty as a sworn defender of our nation, which would inevitably result in a court martial and prison time.”

“Yeah, well you and the Council didn’t exactly give me a choice in becoming a sworn defender of the nation, considering you trained me for the job ever since I was a teenager, and had me take the oath the moment I turned eighteen.” I snap back at him. “So what I am doing now is choosing to stay with the Valiant and the person I love, and if the Council doesn’t like that, they can go take a bath in a cement mixer. I’m not property of the state; I’m a living being that has a right to make decisions for herself.”

“You know that the Council does not view it that way. You and the other Series Masklings are engineered creatures, produced by state funding, and as a result, you are wards of the state. The state has made sure you are cared and provided for, but they expect something will be provided in turn.”

I whip around on him. “I didn’t ask to be created! I didn’t ask to be made like this, and I sure as hell wasn’t given in a choice in it! I have given twenty years of my life to the Republic, done what the Council has asked, and struggled the whole way through how I was created. I am owed something for the burden of my design, for everything I’ve had to go through over the years, and if I owed any debt to the Republic in the first place, it has long since been paid off. The Council does not own me anymore; I have done my time, I have paid my dues. And if you won’t tell them that, then I will.”

Forecast comes to a stop just as I have, slipping his hands in his pockets. “I am sure you will. And you know, as well as I do, that it will be to your detriment. You know that I am your advocate with the Council, Kiwi. I am doing my best to make sure that you can live the life you want, while still trying to meet the needs and expectations of our nation. You may have forgotten it, but the entire reason for this partnership, the early backing of the Valiant Project, was to benefit our people. To improve our standing in the galaxy, and to secure a valuable ally for our nation.”

“And we did that!” I protest, swinging an arm out. “The Valiant have been helping us! Taking mission requests from the Republic! What is the problem with letting me go and officially become one of the Valiant, payroll and everything? Hell, I figure the Council would want that! Isn’t that what we do most times anyway? Sneak our people into organizations and governments so that we can steer them from within?”

“Yes, but that is not actually what you want to do.” Forecast points out patiently. “You are not asking to join the Valiant because you wish to steer it in a direction that is beneficial to the Republic; your desire to fully join the Valiant is because it will allow you to secure a future with Songbird. And the Council is not convinced that you would remain loyal to the Republic if they allowed that.”

“So what, I’m not allowed to have a life? I’m not allowed to have relationships?” I demand. “All because I had the misfortune of coming out of a lab instead of being born normally?”

“Stop and think, Kiwi. You want to surrender your obligation to your nation for the sake of a relationship that’s barely more than a year old, cumulatively speaking.” Forecast reasons. “What happens if that relationship falls apart? Where does that leave you? Working for an organization where you will continue to see your ex every day, having burned your bridges with the Maskling government. This has always been your greatest weakness; you do not look ahead to the future and consider the effect your actions will have later on down the line. You act without thinking; you make decisions impulsively and based on your emotions, and you inevitably pay for it later on.”

“And why do you think my relationship is going to fall apart?” I retort. “Do you think that I can’t make this work, that I end up destroying everyone that I fall in love with? That I’m going to ruin this just like all my other relationships?”

“And would I be wrong for thinking that, with the history you’ve built for yourself to this point?” Forecast counters gamely.

I grit my teeth. “I don’t have to sit and take this from you.” I say turning and stalking away again.

“Alright, I— Kiwi, I’m sorry. I know that was a cheap hit.” Forecast says quickly, letting out an exasperated sigh. “I am simply trying to protect you. You know I care about you; I have taken care of you since you were a child. But you are rash, and prone to self-destruction. Picking a fight with the Council is not a smart idea, which is why I’m trying to steer you away from it. I worry about your relationships because you have had many of them, and you know how they’ve ended. You are your own worst enemy sometimes, Kiwi; we both know this, but you often forget it. That’s why I point it out, because you need to be reminded of that when you lose sight of it. Am I wrong?”

I stop, curling my hands into fists. I hate this, I hate it, because I know he’s right. I have a bad habit of giving into my impulses, and doing stupid shit that I end up regretting later. But that doesn’t mean that I haven’t made good points, or that what I’ve said so far is invalid.

“He is good to me, Dad.” I say after a moment. “He is kind to me, and it sounds stupid, but he’s different from the others. I didn’t know it could feel this way, that it—” The words catch in my throat, unexpectedly, and I have to struggle a little to get them out. “He feels like home. I feel safe when I’m with him, and it… it feels really nice. I don’t want the Council to take that away from me.”

Forecast doesn’t answer right away. I don’t think he expected that, and he’s weighing that, thinking about what to say to it. “Does he know that you’re your own worst enemy?”

I nod, not really looking at him. “Yeah. Yeah, he knows.”

“And he stays with you in spite of that.”

I keep my eyes down. “You don’t need to rub it in.”

“I’m not rubbing it in. I just need to confirm.” he says, starting to walk again. “I will recommend to the Council that a long-term posting with the Valiant will give them the best return on their investment. In return, I expect you to prove me correct.”

I watch as he walks past me. “Don’t you ever get tired of taking orders from them, Dad? Wouldn’t you rather be free?”

“There are many that think they want to be free, Kiwi. But then you give them freedom, and they don’t know what to do with themselves.” Forecast says. “I’ve tasted freedom before. It’s sweet at first, but the bitter aftertaste sets in quickly. And it doesn’t guarantee you happiness — you have to put in the effort to create your own happiness, your own sense of purpose. Freedom is a blessing only if you are willing to do the hard work to secure the satisfaction and independence it can offer. Most people that are given true freedom do nothing meaningful with it — they quickly find that they are uncomfortable with it, and retreat to the surety of a stable life with limited accountability.”

I consider that, and I know he has a reason for saying what he’s said. But that’s not the future I see for myself, and I’m not ready to concede the life I’ve dreamed of, outside of the control of the Council. “I’m going to do something with my freedom when I have it. I’m going to live the life I want to live, even if it’s hard.”

He nods. “I figure you’ll do your best. I wouldn’t expect anything less from you. But until then, fulfill your obligation to your people and your nation, and do your best to get along with the Council. And give your relationship the attention and cultivation it needs. Taking something for granted is usually the easiest way to lose it.”

With that, he heads on his way once more, and I don’t move to follow him. I wait until he’s gotten onto one of the rails that provides transit around the Bastion, and once it’s taken off, I turn and go my own way, shoving my hands in my pockets. I never enjoy coming off these conversations — my independence, my freedom from the Council always feels like something that gets put off until later. I did get something out of it — it sounds like Forecast is going to ask the Council to make my posting a permanent position — but it’s still not the complete freedom I was wanting.

I would just have to take my victories where I could get them.

Event Log: Kiwi

Sunthorn Bastion: Songbird and Kiwi’s Apartment

5:57pm SGT

I don’t announce my arrival when I get back home; I just step in and start unlatching my boots by the door. Feroce must’ve heard the door spiral open and closed, because he appears out of the kitchen a moment later, drying his hands off with a dishtowel. “How’d the meeting with the Council go?” he asks.

I finish getting my boots off, then start shrugging my way out of my jacket and hanging it on the rack as I give him a Look.

He seems to read it in an instant, quirking his mouth as he drapes the dishtowel over his shoulder and holds his arms out. I shuffle over into that open invitation, slumping against him as I wrap my arms around him and rest my head on his chest. “Do you think if I misbehave more, they’ll finally give me a discharge and kick me out?”

“I doubt it, considering how much you misbehaved over the last couple of years.” he says, folding his arms around me. “Did they give you orders to go somewhere else or do something else?”

“No. They were just checking to see if I’d gotten tired of you and moved on.” I mumble into his shirt. “I think they want to move me to another posting, but they can’t justify doing it if I’ve got a handler that’s working better than any of the other handlers I’ve had so far.”

I feel him press a kiss to the top of my head. “Well, you are a lot to handle, I can confirm that much.” he says, one of his hands tracing errant little circles over my back. “If you need an endorsement, just let me know. I can get Command to give the Council a glowing review about your performance with the Valiant, if that would help convince the Council that this is the best place for you to be deployed right now.”

I snort. “The fights I’ve participated in over the last six months haven’t exactly been unqualified victories.”

“Yes, but they don’t need to know that.” he says, squeezing me a little tighter in his arms. “Also, it’s Valentinsdagen.”

I smile and shimmy a bit in his embrace, looking up at him. “Yeah? Do we have anything special planned tonight?”

“Meatballs in sauce and penne noodles, nothing fancy. But, I did make something special for you.” he says, loosing an arm from around me so he can turn to gesture an arm into the kitchen. I look, then gasp when I see what looks like a glass rose floating over a hoverstand on the table.

“Is that a crystal rose?” I say, letting go of him and moving over to the table.

“Sugar glass, actually. You can eat it.” he says, coming over and snapping one of the leaves off of it, holding it out to me. “Go on, try it.”

“No way, it’s edible?” Taking the leaf, I bite off a chunk of it, crunching it between my teeth. “Oh, it’s sweet! And kinda tangy. Got a bit of a pop to it.”

“Yeah, that’s the kiwi syrup I used for the flavoring. The stem and leaves are kiwi-flavored, and the rose petals are strawberry-flavored.”

I smile at him, shaking my head in disbelief. “Unbelievable. Where’d you learn to do this?”

He shrugs, snapping off another leaf and popping it in his mouth. “My mother was a dessert chef for a local cafe back on the world where we grew up. I learned a lot from her.”

“Yeah, but how’d you get it into this shape?” I ask, running my fingers up the winding length of the rose’s stem, all the way up to the smooth curves of the petals. “It looks so real…”

“Oh, you have to do a mold for that.” he says, motioning to the counter, which looks like it has a jumble of transparent blocks on it. “A little pricy, but you can get them off the galaxynet. The hard part is getting the sugar mixed and poured, because you have to heat it until it’s molten, stir in the syrup flavoring, then pour it before it cools and try not to splatter it all over yourself. If you take too long on any of the steps, it ruins the whole thing and you have to do it all over again. I had to do this one a couple times before I got it right; the first two failed attempts are in the sink right now.”

I sweep my finger along the edge of one of the petals, before turning to him and taking his face in my hands. “I am so lucky.” I murmur, brushing the tip of my nose against his and staring into his limpid ruby eyes. “Let’s have tonight to ourselves, just you and me. Pretend like we’ve got nothing to do tomorrow.”

“Mmm. But that’d be so irresponsible.” he murmurs back, taking the dishtowel off his shoulder and slinging it around my waist, catching the other end and using it to pull me a bit closer. “What would the other Agents say?”

“Just tell Sierra we were working on ‘bonding activities’. She’ll give us the day off.”

“Haha! Is that what the kids are calling sex nowadays?”

“That and ‘relationship maintenance’.”

“That almost makes it sound like work.”

“I wouldn’t object to a little ‘workout’.” I whisper with a grin, pressing in a little closer against him. Running a thumb over his lip, I push it in a little further, brushing over one of his fangs. “It’s been a while since you’ve had a sacrament, hasn’t it?… let me take you to church tonight.”

His eyes flick down to the thumb I’ve got in his mouth, then to my neck. “And here I thought you were a heretic.”

“You go to a different church now, don’t you? Different rules, different commandments, different ways to worship…”

“I suppose I do…”

“Exactly. So let me be your sacrament tonight. Your sin and salvation, all in one.”

“Mmm… alright. Dinner first, then we can go to church afterwards.”