"We fought them before you had figured out how to make fire. We faced what you call the Terror. Our second greatest accomplishment as a people is an almost thirty percent win rate against them. And we will ride that statistic to the heat death of this Universe. But our greatest accomplishment was the day they embraced us as brothers, and helped us free of the shackles of our biology.

I am what I choose to be. Not what what I would once have been forced to be by my biology. Do not tempt fate. Learn the lesson we learned from them long ago. Choose, and remember. The bladearm that that has stirred the cream to perfection a thousand times is the same bladearm that will whisper quieter than the wind as it takes off your head." - Moomoo Tender u/Bergusial, speaking to a Dra.falten diplomat

Red eyes at morning, drunkard's warning, Red eyes at night, Reaper's Delight. - Wemterran Saying

What commands respect more: someone to whom acts of good come as easily as breathing, or someone who actively works every day to do good? Those who chose, again and again and again and oof that was a stumble but then chose again to do what is right and what is good are those who are the most deserving of a stranger's respect. Because you're CHOSING to do right for those under your domain / in your circle / weaker than you, because you COULD have just as easily chosen a different action. - Philosopher Fyrebarde, Great University of Great Learning ethics and philosophy instructor, 25 Post-C3

"What's up brown noser?" the Hikken female asked from where she sat underneath a makeshift overhang.

The new arrival, a Telkan dressed in rumpled ACU with a battered and faded softcap pulled low and scuffed boots, just shrugged.

"Waiting for the PIMM (Preparation for Interstellar Mobilization and Movement) to finish so I can get going," he said. He looked around. "Big Mike already gone?"

The female nodded. "Yeah. He left yesterday while you were busy shining the Warfather's butt," she held out a bottle half full of cloudy liquid. "Little taste of Ol' Smokey No?"

"Sure, Cathy," the Telkan said. He took a long drink and handed it back, looking around and giving a long sigh. "Is it weird I'm going to miss this place?"

"Naw, Bit.nek, it ain't weird," Cathy said. She lit two smoke sticks and handed on to Bit.nek. "This war, that's been weird."

"Yeah," Bit.nek looked up at the sky. The clouds were low and heavy, the bottom illuminated by the lights of the military base.

"You going back to Telkan to keep polishing the Warfather's butt?" Cathy asked.

The Hesstlan by the garbage barrels, wearing tanker boots, heavy jeans, and a tie-dyed shirt, took a drink off the bottle and belched.

"Gonna go back to Telkan and see the family?" Almret asked, tapping the heel of his tanker boot against the rusted box he was sitting on.

"Naw," Bit.nek said.

"How long have you been gone?" Cathy asked.

Bit.nek shrugged. "Forty-two years personal, three years Galactic," he said.

"And you don't want to go back? I was kind of thinking of seeing if I could do a tour with Planetary Defense on my old home-world," Cathy said. "Spend some time with my family."

Bit.nek shrugged again, grabbing a narcobrew and sitting back down. "There ain't nothing on Telkan waiting for me but a couple of arrest warrants," he admitted. The old joke felt slightly flat and lifeless.

"Oof, sorry," Cathy said.

Bit.nek just shrugged again. "It is what it is."

"I did what I did," Almret added.

"I said what I said," Cathy finished.

"Warfather already gone?" Almret asked.

Bit.nek nodded. "Left this morning. Him, Inertia, that big Terran Casey."

The trio were silent for a while.

"Wanna go check out the Conex Brothel?" Almret asked, nudging Cathy. "Heard there's some noobs and boots down there now."

She shook her head. "Naw. Ain't the same when I'm not riding the Warfather's LES."

That got smiles.

"I'm gone, day after tomorrow," Cathy admitted. "21st Replacement, get my orders, pull out."

"Tomorrow afternoon, already got my orders," Almret said.

"Same," Bit.nek said.

"Where you going?" Cathy asked.

"Confed Space. Someplace called the Ultressian Contested Zone. It's out near the old BASS border," Almret said.

"Same," Bit.nek said.

There was silence for a bit.

"Gonna miss you guys," Cathy admitted.

The other two just nodded.

They didn't bother to promise to write or otherwise stay in contact.

They knew they wouldn't and didn't want to cheapen the last time they'd be together with lies.

-----

The office door opened, admitting a Telkan Marine in a perfect uniform with glossy boots. The Telkan officer, one Major Tut'el moved to exactly a pace away from the front of the Battalion Commander's desk, stopping at attention. At one side of the room sat a Sergeant Major, a Kobold whose scales were as polished as his rank tabs.

"Major Tut'el, reporting as ordered, sir," the Telkan Marine officer said.

The Lieutenant Colonel, a Kelkark reptilian with a nametag that read "Ssalressk", saluted back. "At ease, Major," he said. He pointed at the chairs next to the wall. "Grab a seat."

"Thank you, sir," Major Tut'el said. He moved over and sat down, his back rigid, his knees at a 90 degree angle, his hands on his knees.

"This is Sergeant Major HsstSsar," the Colonel said, pointing at the Kobold. "The Battalion's Sergeant Major."

"I've perused your record, Major," the Colonel said, tapping the blank screen on the dataslate on his desk. "Thirty-eight years personal, four Galactic Standard," he shook his head. "Lots of classified redactions, but enough to tell that you've been following the standard career track for those officers that desire staff rank."

"Yes, sir," Tut'el said.

"Six years 'detached ecclesiastical duty' is listed," the Colonel said. "Heavily redacted."

"Yes, sir," Tut'el answered.

"Fourteen years 'detached duty', again, heavily redacted," the Colonel said.

"Yes, sir," Tut'el stared above the Colonel's head.

"Shade Night, Terran Xenocide Event, Spoked Offensive Defense, Operation Black Cherry Buster," the Colonel said, tapping the blank dataslate.

"Yes, sir," Tut'el answered.

"Well, Major. The Ultressian are a near-peer opposition force. While they, like everyone else, haven't manage to master warsteel, their weapon systems, defensive systems, vehicles, and other war fighting equipment are top notch. Their troops are highly trained," the Colonel said. "We'll be undergoing PIMM in two weeks to move to the edge of the Contested Zone."

"Yes, sir," Tut'el answered.

"Right now, from all available briefings, they're pushing on the old BASS worlds, hoping to slice a piece off for themselves," the Colonel said. "We'll be joining the rest of Sixty-Fifth Corps to assist in pushing them back to their own borders."

Tut'el didn't say anything.

"Well, there's more briefings later today, Major," the Colonel said. "Anything you have questions about?"

"No, sir," Tut'el said.

"Well, welcome to Nine Nine Two Infantry Battalion. Dismissed then, Major," the Colonel said.

"Thank you, sir," the Major said. He stood up, saluted the Colonel, and left the office, his movements precised and controlled.

When the door closed the Colonel looked over at the Sergeant Major.

"What do you think, Ssar?" the Colonel asked.

"Never met a Telkan before," the Sergeant Major said. "Guy's got a massive stick in his ass."

The Colonel tapped the dataslate. "Like most of these guys coming in from the Big-C3 and the Two-PW, most of his records are redacted or make no sense," he shook his head. "Weird to think that he's got four decades of war under his belt while only four years have gone by for us."

"Think it'll be a problem. That's a lot of time," the Kobold said.

"Hopefully not. I'd rather not have to replace another XO this close to deployment," the Colonel said. He sighed. "Keep an eye on him."

"Will do, sir," the kobold said.

-----

The Captain stared at the disreputable looking Telkan in front of him. While his uniform was unrumpled, his boots sort of polished, the Telkan male gave off the aura of being dissheveled and somehow slouching even at attention.

Most Telkan were sharp troops. The Captain had three other Telkan in Kilo Company.

None of them had the record the Telkan at attention in front of him had.

"PFC Bit.nek, no other name," the Captain said.

The PFC didn't answer, just kept staring off into space.

"Busted repeatedly. I've never seen someone busted and promoted back to PFC thirty-six times," the Captain said.

The PFC still didn't answer.

"Confederate Cluster of Gallantry for redacted actions during Shade Night," the Captain said. "Decorated for heroism and valor fifty-two times. No purple heart, no wound stripe," the Captain looked at the dataslate where the words "REDACTED" flashed over three quarters of the file.

"Qualified in light and medium power armor, crew served weaponry, close quarters assault," the Captain said. "Lot of licenses here."

The Captain looked up. "I would prefer you restrained what appears to be your natural instincts. I've heard that the Atrekna and Lanaktallan Contested Zones were often confused with a breakdown of leadership, but Kilo Company expects your best."

The PFC just stood silently.

"We'll be mobilizing in two weeks. Until then it's weapon and equipment qualification, briefings, and preparation. You've come at a busy time, Private."

Bit.nek just stood there.

"Report to your platoon sergeant," the Captain said. He looked back down at the dataslate. "Dismissed."

The private, still giving off a faint aura of slouching, moved out of the office, shutting the door between the Company CO's office and the busy Orderly Room.

The Captain turned to the Company First Sergeant. "What do you think, Top?"

The Verprit shook his head. "Troop looks like a problem. The Telkan Marine Corps is usually pretty disciplined. Not sure how he slipped through the cracks."

"Confederate Cluster of Gallantry doesn't make you look twice?" the Captain asked.

The 1SG shook his head. "Doesn't change the fact he's been busted. I wish the Services didn't permit only field grade punishments from following a troop from posting to posting. Be nice to know what kind of trouble he got into that got him busted all those times."

"Well, we'll see," the Captain said. He tapped the phone. "I'll make some calls."

-----

The knock at the door made Lieutenant Colonel Ssalressk look up. "Enter," he said, frowning.

Battalion Training NCOIC Sergeant First Class Narmer'lat came in, closing the door behind him.

"You seen the qualification scores, sir?" the SFC cut right through the banter.

"No. Why?" the Colonel asked.

"Well, you have us keeping an eye on the XO and a couple guys out of the Atrekna Contested Zone," the SFC said. He stepped up and set a dataslate on the desk. "All four of the ones you were worried about passed easily, but I thought you might want to see this."

"What am I looking at?" the Colonel asked.

"First one is Major Tut'el's qualification with his sidearm," Narmer'lat said.

The Colonel hit play and watched the video.

The Major stood slightly to the side, heavy magac pistol held down by his leg. The buzzer sounded and the pistol came up. Each shot was precise, half of the time meeting the holographic target as it was spinning up. The Major's face didn't change expression as he fired repeatedly, changing magazine's smoothly.

Ninety out of Ninety.

"Huh," the Colonel said. Major Tut'el's demenor and pose looked more like it belonged on a dueling field than the indoor pistol range.

He watched the next two. Both passed, one with 75 out of 90, the other with 68 out of ninety.

"Here's Kilo Company's newest possible problem child, one PFC Bit.nek," the Training NCOIC said.

The private looked like he had slept in his uniform and was standing in the firing position, slouching, his helmet scuffed and battered somehow.

The buzzer went off and PFC Bit.nek snatched the pistol up, rapidly engaging the targets, a bored look on his face.

He fired fourteen times and a loud buzzer went off. The range shut down and Major Tren'stek ran up and started shouting at the PFC.

"What happened?" the Colonel asked.

"He shot out the holoemitters."

"I thought those were shielded," the Colonel said.

"They are. By his second shot he was hitting them just perfectly to knock them out," the SFC said. "Hit play, watch his second try."

The buzzer sounded and the PFC picked up the pistol, looking bored. The shots were spaced, steady. The reload smooth and bored looking.

Ninety out of ninety.

"His power armor qualification was worse. We're talking performance way outside of specs. He's fast, aggressive, and extremely skilled," the SFC said.

"He should be. He's been fighting for like fifty years," the Colonel said.

"Watch when he opens his helmet at the end of the course," the SFC said.

The Colonel waited.

The image suddenly stilled. Warning tags were floating in the image.

"Oh, shit," the Colonel said.

"Run it again. Watch Tut'el completing the armor qualification course," the SFC said. "Watch when he takes his helmet off."

Again, the picture stilled.

"Dammit," the Colonel said. He looked up. "Did psy-warfare verify it?"

The SFC nodded.

"Are they deployable?" the Colonel asked.

"Telkan apparently have a sensitivity to it. Roughly four percent of their troops came out of the Atrekna Conflict with it," the SFC said.

"Damn. All right, keep an eye on both of them. What about the other two Telkan?" the Colonel asked.

"Nothing. Both are good, solid infantrymen."

"All right, like I said, keep an eye on them."

"Yes, sir," the SFC said. "I'll authorize their deployable status."

With that, the SFC left.

Lieutenant Colonel Ssalressk rewound the files and looked at them both.

"Dammit," he whispered again.

Both Telkan's eyes burned a soft amber.