The sun had yet to crest the horizon; the nautical dawn had not yet concluded. The light of the twin Rentix stars bathed the horizon in orange, red, and waning purples. Refractions transformed the snow beneath their feet into equally vibrant colors.
Martinez yawned and deeply stretched, reaching for the sky, his breath puffed into steam carried away by the breeze. He had yet to completely awaken after his rude alarm clock this morning, not having had time to make coffee or eat breakfast.
Kyroll, in his infinite wisdom, decided that shooting a round into the sky was the most efficient way to wake Martinez up. Granted, this was after he had tried to wake the disgusting Vuric with a flashlight and a calm demeanor, but Martinez was unaffected by someone trying to rouse him like they were trying to wake him for fire watch.
The Human hadn't stood fire watch since he became a Doc; the Marines had granted him that waylay of responsibility since he was constantly patching them up. So when Kyroll tried that tactic, Martinez treated it like one of them was being an asshole—curling up and telling him to fuck off.
After Martinez had freaked out and dove into a fighting position in his skivvies, Kyroll chuckled at the sight of someone so close to his species preparing to fight specters. Kyroll likely would do something similar—if the Human was bold enough to try.
In retrospect, Martinez could admit that the situation as a whole was somewhat comedic; the sight of him clutching a bolt action knee-deep in the snow, wearing nothing but his boxers, certainly would have made him laugh—if he had not immediately begun to shiver from the cold clawing goosebumps on his skin.
"So how much further is it?" Martinez asked at the end of a yawn.
Kyroll stopped for a brief moment and looked up at the hillside, then back down towards his datapad. "About another kilometer, we should be able to see where the Stags are eating and getting their food for the morning."
At least that was some good news. Martinez might be able to sit down and prepare some of the freeze-dried coffee he had brought along; thank God the Marines had given him that in their care package for him and Lysa.
Lord knew he had missed the sweet black ichor, and the jar in his bag was likely the only source of coffee within several light years.
"Lead on," Martinez replied, trailing behind Kyroll, who had already stepped off.
At least he was honest about how long it would have been; the rest of their journey only took half an hour before they were setting up in a small hide.
Moving shrubbery and digging down into the snow took only a few minutes. To Martinez’s surprise, Kyroll showed some uncharacteristic patience, instructing Martinez on where to set up and how to conceal their position. Martinez had never been hunting, so this was all new, and he was willing to help where he could.
The suns had not yet crested the horizon by the time they had sat down into their camp chairs at the bottom of the small fighting position they had built. While yes it was meant to be a hunting blind, Kyroll had instructed Martinez to make it like one would a fox hole, but only half the depth.
They slumped down and looked out over the valleys below, resting their rifles on their backpacks between their legs.
The vista below them was quaint, pristine, and tranquil, likely undisturbed by sentient life for thousands of Standard years. It was an example of what nature and life were long before the GU considered Renoral a location to settle.
A glacial river ran east to west inside its western flank, spreading into a small river delta. Amidst the delta, thousands of trees and shrubs offered fantastic cover, concealment, and sustenance to any creature within the area.
Like the other plants within the region, these were built for the frigid temperatures that befall this region several months of the year. They were hearty and dark green even though many less resilient foliage had already been grayed and browned.
The sight reminded Martinez of sagebrush that you would find within the mountains in California, but at 300 meters, looking through binoculars, he could not tell precisely how similar they were. If they shot a stag and went to retrieve it, he could compare the plants then.
Where they were was very similar to those mountains. No matter how far you looked in either direction, the resemblance to Earth’s mountains was uncanny. Slate-like rocks crumbled and cracked under the wind, barely clutching at their perches.
A kaleidoscope of colors peaked through the snow-coated hills, hinting at the thousands of metamorphic rocks below the frost. Other than his company, Martinez knew this was the type of place he wanted to live in one day: serine and unmolested by the expansion of sentient species.
With shivering hands Martinez fished from beneath his gear an old Human-issued MRE, one of the few he kept since moving. Inspecting the package, he couldn't help but smirk: menu number 12 beef stew.
Human MRE menu options have greatly expanded since Humans were a single-planet species and now include food from all over Mother Earth. But most Marines, Sailors, and Soldiers had their favorites—and ones to avoid.
Martinez enjoyed the things that were more American. Yeah, some of the MREs that were soups, canned meats, and other delicacies from more adventurous climates and pallets were good; they just weren't the same and didn't give him the feeling of being home.
The only menu item that Martinez liked more than good old 12 was 17 chicken tacos. However, calling those tacos was a bit of a stretch. There were tortillas, cheese, hot sauce, and spiced meat. But it was just not the same.
Yet what can you expect? MREs were shelf-stable for decades; the one he was about to eat was likely prepared before he was born. At least it was better than any of the GU MREs he had sampled when the Jericho was waiting on resupply from Earth.
He pulled the friction activator on the auto heater, laid it on the ground, and waited for it to heat up. While Martinez poured coffee crystals into his heating cup, Kyroll did the same, pulling out his breakfast and readying it.
Unlike Martinez, Kyroll was eating dried nuts and what looked like a bit of jerky, likely homemade by Nelya.
Martinez didn't know why you wanted to eat something so plain when he could eat some of the canned food from camp, but he wasn't about to ask.
After a few gulps of warm coffee had woken Martinez up, and he opened the simple Mylar bag to spoon a succulent morsel into his mouth, Kyroll surprised him. He willingly started a conversation. "Why are you insisting on trying here?"
"I'm sorry, what?" Martinez replied, setting his spoon down.
"Don't act like you didn't hear me," Kyroll growled.
"No, no, I did hear you. I just don't understand what you mean," Martinez replied before sipping his coffee.
Kyroll hung his head and looked down into his own cup, steam wafting off of it. "Why are you trying to make all of this work? I've made it evident I don't like you. But you are still here—I don't get it."
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Martinez rolled his eyes. How could this man not understand that he was struggling through these interactions and was out in the woods with him because his daughter and wife cared about him and their getting along?
If it were entirely up to Martinez, they would cut him all out of their lives and never look back. The man doesn't seem worth the effort. Martinez cared about Nelya and Lysa and would suffer for them.
"Because you matter to my Ruh'ah. And dealing with you this way is the right thing to do. You might hate me and everyone who's not an Aviex. But I'm not like that; most Humans aren't," Martinez admitted.
Humans were just too new to the GU to have any long-standing grudges. But what the GU thought of the Aviex was beyond a grudge.
Now that Martinez had a full perspective of what the Aviex did, he could understand why so many in the GU hate the species. However, he firmly believes that forgiveness should be given and that one shouldn't be held to the sins of the Father.
That old lesson was something the entire GU needed to learn; Lysa, Nelya, Kyroll, and the whole Aviex species were not the ones who committed those atrocities.
The Aviex war was hundreds of standard years ago. Save for a few long-lived species, no one who would have fought in it is alive, and their grandchildren are likely not alive anymore. It was time for everyone to move on.
"I suppose you Humans are better than I am, at least that way," Kyroll sighed, scanning the valley with his two remaining eyes.
"What do you mean by that? I thought I was the only Human you knew?" Martinez asked, genuinely curious. Kyroll’s answer might explain why the old Aviex had a Human Marine flag in his den.
"That's complicated," Kyroll replied, trying to rebuff the digging.
"Well, I figured. You are basically a walking enigma. So, just get to the point, man. No point beating around the bush here," Martinez insisted, not caring that Kyroll was attempting to deflect.
Kyroll tossed some jerky in his mouth as he pondered the idea of letting Martinez know a little bit more about the events of the past. What Nelya had told Martinez already was essentially forbidden knowledge. Why did Nelly have to tell him? If she had not, Kyroll might have had options to eliminate the Human.
Now? Not so much; there was only one option for those who knew the reality of the Aviex and the GU—unpersoning. Death was a solution, but that was just the start. His old Unit would erase him from existence.
Destroying his records would be easy enough. But the trouble Kyroll faced was Nelya and Lysa. How in all the universe could they accept that Martinez never came back? They would know too much—more than he could cover up or ask them not to talk about.
Kyroll knows he is a monster, a boogeyman lurking in the shadows of the GU. But could he kill his own family to hush up information? Could he stomach that? Pondering it, even for that brief moment, hurt more than any gunshot.
“I worked with one for a while. It wasn't for very long, but he was a good lad, fought like hell, and knew when to keep his mouth shut. But I was still subject to his rants and raves about trying to be nicer," Kyroll said, ending his sentence with a dry, raspy chuckle. “You might have given him a run for his money with your stubbornness."
"You'd be amazed how often I hear that I'm stubborn," Martinez replied.
"Likewise," Kyroll retorted, "Nelly tells me that the only thing more stubborn than myself is gravity."
Both of them chuckled briefly; it was something they could agree on. Kyroll was almost as stubborn as gravity, with Martinez coming in a close second.
"So you worked with a Human for a while; what did you guys do?" Martinez questioned.
"Nothing fun, kid. I understand you were in the military and had some time in combat; I did, too, but none of that prepared me for what went on when I was working directly for the Aviex government," Kyroll admitted, sipping at his drink. "Stuff like that never leaves you, and you can't leave it—at least my commander told me that."
Kyroll was not sure why he added that at the end. Was he essentially begging Martinez to leave? Was he trying something to avoid having to do what he had planned? The memory of Emil was not infecting his decision-making here—Right?
"My old lieutenant told us the exact opposite. Raleigh emphasized that when we were out of the military, away from combat, we needed to let it go and be ourselves for a while," Martinez replied, stuffing the empty food container into his trash bag and then into his rucksack.
"If I hadn't followed Raleigh’s advice, I wouldn't have ever asked Lysa out. I'm glad that I did listen to him." Martinez finished by zipping his bag up and looking out into the valley.
Instead of immediately responding, Kyroll grunted and looked down at the valley, hanging up instead of using binoculars to scan slowly from horizon to horizon. Using the moment to ponder the idea that Martinez might not have to die without everything falling into place so perfectly.
It was almost tragic. If Raleigh had not told him that, the Human would have stayed clear of Lysa and out of this grim mess. But the die was cast, and Kyroll had to pick it up.
After he was confident that there were no Stags in the immediate area, he lowered the binoculars and continued to speak. "So, are you going to get out of the military?" Kyroll asked, aiming at alternative solutions.
"I mean, yeah, I will. I have Lysa and am able to start a career working fully in medicine. Don't get me wrong; I love the Marines and the sailors I worked with, but lately, I've been seeing other options. But—" Martinez started but paused, unsure of what he was going to say.
Martinez loved the Marines but couldn't fully quantify why he was ready to move on to a new life.
"But you did your time," Kyroll added. "Plenty of guys that I worked with did the same thing. A few of the ones you saw at my place did one or maybe two contracts, but then it was their time."
"Yeah, I suppose that's one way to put it," Martinez muttered, reflecting on his life up to this point and how much it had changed since arriving on Renoral.
Draun, Renoral, the Trauma Center, Lysa, his friends, and now Nelya and Kyroll had changed him; they gave him new perspectives on what mattered and essentially had given him a new lease on life.
When he was first assigned to Draun, he thought nothing of it; it was just going to be another assignment, another place to wait for the next deployment for the next war, but not anymore.
Yes, Martinez still had specters lurking within his dreams, memories that would gradually fade. But he no longer felt that yearning desire to return to the field, to return to fronts where his friends—no, his family—slowly but surely bleed out, be vaporized, and die in a war that they truly didn't understand.
But they were Marines, Sailors, Soldiers, Warriors. They had answered the call to a war the GU and Humanity had justified.
Martinez supposed it was time for him to face the reality that he was ready to move on. He admitted it to Kyroll, which he hadn’t even done with Lysa. Maybe the old man was more of a kindred spirit than he initially thought.
That reflection pushed him further and made him think of the positives and negatives of what would happen if he decided not to go back; he could easily remain here on Renorall in Draun and never go back to Earth.
Many of the Marines always spoke of one day going back home and settling down, but there were those few who, once their contract was done, simply got off the ship at whatever port the ship stopped at.
His friend Dee was thinking of doing just that, jumping ship in Draun and settling on Renoral, so living here until he was old and gray was a prime option for the Corpsman.
Kyroll recognized the look in the young man's eyes all too well. Martinez was deep in thought and weighing his options. Kyroll had done that many times throughout his life: before leaving the military, before joining it, before becoming a security detail or Special Operations. Every man had to go through that thought process once or twice in life.
Kyroll bit his inner lip, the thoughts of what he had to do swirling like a dark vortex, nipping at his heart and soul, cracking what little amounts of it remained.
Even he had to admit Martinez was not a bad person by any means, in fact he doubted his initial worries as a father will hold any weight. Martinez was not the type of man to hurt Lysa, but that was not the issue here; it was what Nelya had told him.
Nelya knew, and no one was allowed to know that. They were both not supposed to know; Kyroll just happened to learn it and told her when she was angry about him always leaving.
Kyroll would rather keep those secrets buried in the darkness where they belonged. But what if Martinez had already told Lysa? That’s just another loose end. And his fucking family, no less.
Martinez was a different story; Kyroll did not know him, didn't care about him; if it wasn't for Nelya or Lysa caring about this Vuric, Kyroll would have already taken him out back, shot him, and buried him deep.
It would have just been another body, another life snuffed, and someone else to be forgotten about. But Nelya and Lysa would know and would not stay silent.
The weight of their thoughts buried them throughout the rest of the day. Neither truly paid attention to the valley, the wind, the cold, or the snow; none of it mattered.
Both of these men of violence and resolve had to think about what they were going to do with one another.
Neither liked their realities.