An Unity dignitary was sent for the quaint ceremony, arriving in a convoy with great pomp. The base did not even stop to attend to it except the honor recipients, highest officers and a small group invited to buffer the audience. There’s a small stage we built next to the base’s command tent and this is where we’re formed up, waiting for the beginning. There are screens set up through the base though - you can guess who was in charge of setting that up.
I’m in formation, between Sergeant Kano and Captain Castanho, and I’m doing the best I can not to sneeze - the dignitary is a plant or mushroom-analogue, and his spores are driving my allergy into overdrive. The Unity does not grant Purple Hearts lightly, so I don’t even qualify for a medal, only a brief citation. The ceremony begins with a quick listing of the citations. There can be many of them and they stay on our records, granting some benefits in the military career advancement; medals grant recognition and bonuses in the public service if a soldiers opts for it. I’m surprised to receive two citations more than I was expecting.
Lieutenant Rafael Barro’s Citations
* Purple Citation for being injured in the line of duty.
* Extended Appendage Citation for putting oneself at risk while rescuing wounded comrades.
* Giant’s Bane Citation for helping defeating a mythic of prodigious size compared to oneself.
Nice enough. But some people I know and like do get to receive medals today.
“Private Rudá is granted the Purple Heart, 3rd Class. Congratulations, Private, the whole Unity is proud of you, sporeling,” Gentlebeing Aztuz’s vine-like appendages affix the medal to the Kurupira’s chest as he comes forward, visibly proud to be the first of his people to be decorated. We clap and someone from the back even cat-calls before Major Delavegas’ murderous stare brings back order.
Another four of those are given, one of the 2nd class for a Trasgo soldier who had his two arms cut off fending off Diggers from the surprise attack to our command center that day.
“Captain Bumba is awarded the Diamond Shield, 3rd Class, for shielding a retreating patrol for certain annihilation. Congratulations, spellcaster, it was a most noble deed.”
The usually shameless Kishi is bashful at the commendation for once, and we clap again. None more enthusiastically than the soldiers he saved, present in the audience.
Sergeant Geni, low-key as usual, receives a Blue Sun medal for her role in rallying troops to expel the Barkers from the base without orders. Two other sergeants are equally decorated with that same medal, the lowest awarded for exemplar performance in combat.
The next commendation is for an unit, not a specific trooper. “The Peccari Riders are awarded the Hoofed Gallantry Award, 3rd Class, for sallying against the incoming mythic and buying the base enough time to organize.” A Caipora Captain accepts it with a huge smile and I hear sergeant Aiowara whooping from somewhere to my right. We all clap the first decorated unity of Brazil, but we’re already looking forward to the last, but not least award.
“Lieutenant Colonel Valente is granted the Guardian Medal, 3rd Class, and Purple Soul, 1rst Class,” Gentlebeing Aztuz declares at last, and we clap enthusiastically as the bemused man is brought forward to receive the medal. I’m happy to see him barely reacting to the alien dignitary or the mythic staff officer who guided him up. He’s still not cleared for duty but he’s visiting Pantera base from time to time in the attempt to improve his memory recovery. The dignitary then wraps up the ceremony and I don’t have a chance to speak with my former boss, busy as I am. Instead, I hurry to the small, makeshift village we’re preparing on the south side of the hill, before the base proper.
I thought I would only have to set up a few tents and a few buildings, but it turns out that Gnodarians are actually burrowers. So instead of setting things above ground, which I could do with the quartermasters at my leisure, I’ve had to dig. Turns out digging is hard and the Gnodarians dig their burrows deep. So I’ve had to ask help from the engineers and from our spellcaster with geomancy skill, namely Lieutenant Bumba.
“Pará!” I call out as I approach the subterranean village to the left of the road that climbs the hill. The 2nd Regiment’s legendary foul-tempered chief engineer greats me with a scowl, leaning on the only building we’ve constructed above ground. Its main purpose is to provide us a more neutral place to interact with the incoming aliens, preserving their privacy below ground.
“Took you long enough,” she grumbles, even if I set up a screen so they could watch it from here. Tom emerges from the building, leading a train of grav-carts full of dirt, and nods to me in greeting. The plan is to build protective earth mounds around the building with the displaced material. That way we can set an energy shield to protect only the ceiling from stray artillery shots and spells. I nod back and return my attention to the engineer lest she gets (more) pissed off..
“Sorry,” I apologize even knowing she saw the ceremony and that I had no choice in the matter. It’s just not worth it arguing with the Trasgo, she’s incredibly bull-headed and has a repertoire of curses that would make a sailor blush. “How is it going?” I ask, motioning to the ground.
“The warren’s structure is set in accordance to the plan we hatched out, Bumba’s finishing the last individual burrows. If these bastards weren’t so big everything would have been a lot easier.”
We’re expecting nearly one hundred Gnodarians so besides their burrows we had to dig connecting corridors and three communal kitchens.
“That’s good, that’s good. Are we missing anything?” I ask, scratching my head.
“Most likely. The information you provided wasn’t very detailed,” she replies, shrugging.
“The Unity doesn’t have much experience with these guys, they aren’t kept on the front worlds usually,” I explain. “And I wouldn’t even think to check if they lived in different structures if sergeant Cariri hadn’t raised the point.”
“Thank god not everyone is as thick as you, Barro. Goat-boy will be helpful to you. But from tomorrow on, this little village will be your exclusive responsibility, the Engineering Corps has done enough,” she says, shooting me a challenging look. And damn, why doesn’t she have a Racial Sensitivity enforcement on her VI?
<
<
Erm… Fuck. Let’s not talk about that, I’m not ready yet.
I shake my head slightly to clear the screen out of my overlay, and I raise appeasing hands to prevent an angry outburst from Pará. “Yes, I know. Thanks for all the help, Pará.”
“Man, the situations you put yourself in… It doesn’t hurt to use your noggin from time to time, box-pusher.”
“Thanks for the sage advice, Pará,” I reply, slightly exasperated.
This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.
“Don’t you whine to me, Barro. I’m trying to help your sorry ass. Go fetch the stuff that Fiddler prepared for your alien pets and quit staring at me.”
I raise my hands to the skies in frustration, but depart without another word, not in the mood to get into a shouting match. Entering one of those with Pará is like wrestling a pig in the mud: you both get dirty — and the pig likes it. Lieutenant Pará is competent as hell, but extremely tiresome to work with.
I make my way through the base to reach Fiddler’s tent. There’s a variety of soldiers, humans and mythics of all kinds, using the training range our AI asked for. It’s pretty noisy, actually; spells and guns common and not are flying downrange. It seems like it was a pretty good idea, though I’ll have her recycle all the ammo they’re spending. No way in hell I’ll ask LC Polansky something out of the ordinary. The man is still pissed at me because of the Gnodarians. Fiddler can recharge the wands being used too, but they will eventually lose more and more of their capacity to store it. A problem for the future though, it takes a while.
As I’m approaching the tent itself, I note a Cabriola walking slightly ahead of me and heading the same way. Not that I’m good at distinguishing between mythics of the same species, but it looks like a new one to me - his horns are twisted a bit backwards, his fur is a mix of white and chestnut and he moves kind of funny - don’t ask me how, he sorts of glides over the ground. And I’m afraid that the ‘other race effect’ that usually ended up with white people misidentifying black people accused of crimes is even worse with in regards to some mythics. Our brains suck at doing it and the lack of familiarization with others from early on doesn’t help. I didn’t know what a Cabriola was one year ago. Still, I’d wager this guy is not a Pig. A Snake perhaps? I could check on the overlay, but where would be the fun in that?
Both of us near the tent, and my eyes bulge when I notice he’s disregarding the warning affixed to the outside of the tent.
“Oi!” I shout, waving my hand and pointing to the sign when he turns. “I know goats like to court danger, but I won’t have the boys waste time picking up piece of you if you get blown up,” I berate him.
He looks sheepish - wait, is that racist? Goatish? **BZZZT**
Already used to the headache the damn VI causes me, I shake my head at the digital construct and the new guy both. “I’m Lieutenant Barro, Quartermasters. You’re a new guy?”
“I’m with Engineering,” he replies smoothly, too smoothly.
“Nah. You’re a spook,” I decide and he looks mighty miffed at my flawless, sherlockian deduction.
“What the hell? You’re that Barro, the one Nicole was talking about?” he complains, crossing his arms and frowning at me. “How did you know?”
“I can smell spooks, the Quartermasters have agreed to give you a different toothpaste.”
“What?! That’s highly-” he breathes in to start a tirade, and I cut him off.
“Oh, chill, man. I’m joking. Or am I?” I waggle my eyebrows at him.
“Wow, Nicole wasn’t joking. You’re an ass.” I have to control my grin, knowing he’ll definitely check that out and be made fun of because of it.
“And you’re rude. Just like her. I’ve already given you my name,” I retort, shrugging. I’m finding I enjoy egging these guys on a bit too much.
“Urgh… Lieutenant Góis,” he replies, resigned.
“One: you walk funny. You kind of skulk about, that’s shady. Two: Pará would have ripped your dong off and shoved it where the sun doesn’t shine if you really were an engineer and not helping her right now. Three: Quartermasters know people and work with the Engineers, so that was a shit disguise.”
“…” he pauses for a second. “Fair enough, I guess, I’ll keep that in mind. But do you really stop every time to-” he begins to ask, pointing out to the sign when stray green beams start flying from inside the tent.
“Down!” I scream as I dive to the ground, pulling him by the arm with me. I cover my head and hope we’re not hit.
“Oops! Come on! Stop it already!” We hear Fiddler shouting until the beams start coming. When it’s safe I raise my head to see random growths of grasses maturing and lifting themselves out of the earth and skyward in record time. They’re nearly my size when they grow brittle and break, stopping the ridiculous growth. I give Gois an “I told you” look and he nods, bewildered at the scene.
A robotic head with some grasses growing out of it peeks from inside the tent. “Nobody was hit, right? That would be a pain to report…” she grumbles as she looks us ouver, “And to heal,” she adds belatedly and a bit embarrassed.
“I don’t even want to know, Fiddler. Just don’t hit me with it,” I say, rising to my feet.
“I believe that’s the reason I’m here, madam Fiddler. I’m Lieutenant Gois, Intelligence,” the man says, nodding to her,
“Oh, I love you guys! You always find an use to my toy-, I mean, inventions!” Fiddles Maniacally gives a little excited jump and the grass on her head sways, making me chuckle.
“We do, and I’m sure we will with this one too. I just wasn’t expecting to learn of its efficacy in so… so a first-hand manner?”
“You do realize you have plants growing out of your head, right?” I have to add — it looks ridiculous.
“Really, Barro? Can I rock it like hair? Being bald bothers me for some reason.”
“I… I guess you can?” I reply, scratching my head at the thought and looking at Gois.
“With some styling, perhaps?” he adds diplomatically.
They go inside while I wait, and soon the spook exits the tent, nodding to me. He stops and rubs his horns indecisively for a second, turns back towards the tent and half-shouts, “Don’t forget I’m leaving tomorrow at 20 hours with the diplomat!”
Fiddler says something back I can’t quite hear and Gois then leaves, motioning me inside.
“You haven’t turned my garbage can in a flower bed, have you, Fiddler? I haven’t gotten around to getting a new model yet,” I say as I enter the tent.
“Of course not!” she answers, a bit indignant at the question and a bit ashamed, knowing it’s a valid question after this last episode. There are some random things strewn about with green stains and growths on them, but my drone is luckily not one of them. The tent is even more of a mess than I’m used with, the fabricators working hard on the background.
“Come on, Fiddler. Don’t overuse those things. You know they cost a fortune to repair,” I admonish and she chuckles.
“Oh, I always fix them myself. A broken replicator is just asking for an upgrade, you know?”
No, I don’t. And I’m half tempted to call it a lie even if I can’t talk with the machine spirits. But she’s a good gal, so I’ll let it go. I open my mouth to ask a question and I yelp, feeling a poke at my behind.
“What the hell!” I curse as I turn around, seeing my trusty dumpster, now 2.0. “Tell me, Fiddler: what will you do with Frankie?”
“Frankie?” she asks, puzzled.
“Frankenstein,” I answer, deadpan, earning a manic laugh. A bit scary actually. Too close to home, I suspect. I was afraid she wouldn’t get the reference, but the AIs just devour fleshies’ literature and other forms of art.
“Oh, Barro, you’ll love it! I’m going to change this, I’ll put that…”
I know right then that this will take a while and that Pará might have cursed my great-great-great-great-grandparents by the time I’m back.