Ana
“There will be no further questions”
The PR officer gave Ana a weary look as she turned back from addressing the crowd and lowered her head into a slight bow. “Thank you, Specialist Cardoso,” she said, whatever trick she’d used to amplify her voice now gone. “I’m sure you’re looking forward to some much-needed rest.”
Message received. They probably didn’t like much of what I had to say. A headache that had been steadily building throughout her interview hammered at her temples. She wasn’t sure exactly what they’d expected, parading her around as they had without warning. Still, it’s not like any human wouldn’t lose their temper at the Imperium’s bullshit, right? I’m just the first one to do it wearing their uniform. Why do I need to be their poster child anyway?
As she went to step down off the podium though, Ana couldn’t help but seek out that one kespan in the crowd who’d caught her attention. There, the smaller one. That was… lipstick, wasn’t it? And nail polish. Above that though, what stood out was how thin she was. Wiry muscles bound like taut rope to sticklike bones. Even smaller than the Vice Admiral. Maybe the difference between the war-forms and their regular citizenry really is that great.
When the doors to the auditorium closed behind her for the second time that morning, Ana turned to the relations officer again.
“That kespan who asked about my tattoo,” she prompted, and the officer stiffened, clearly intending on a quick escape. “I was a bit overwhelmed up there, and I didn’t catch her name. I don’t suppose you remember it?”
“His name,” the officer corrected, and Ana blinked in surprise. Ah, I’d heard rumours, she thought. I suppose that confirms them. “I can check the transcript. One moment.” Her eyes darted from side to side behind her eyepiece. “Jelakka Mar’miar, with Galwave magazine. It’s a fashion and lifestyle publication, very popular among men.”
“Among men?”
“I’m sure they have more than a few female subscribers as well,” the officer shrugged. “And not every species is binary in their configurations, but yes, their main target audience is males. They’re quite well established across the galaxy, one of a few big names in that space.”
“I… thanks,” Ana said. “Also, before you go, I was wondering when I’d be able to have a communicator of my own?” She grinned sheepishly as the officer raised an eyebrow. “You know, to answer those questions you mentioned?”
“Oh, it’s not a problem or anything,” the officer frowned. “I was just under the assumption that had already been taken care of. I’ll raise it for you.”
“Thank you.” Her own alien phone. Ana could hardly contain herself, she wanted to grin like a lunatic. “Um, would that be able to access the net?”
The officer’s brow twitched, and she answered with a curt tone. “In a limited capacity. The Admiralty archives a curated list of qrrr’tarrls each week, mostly entertainment and galactic news. Those will be available for you to browse at your leisure. Communications with anyone outside this system are subject to screening and can be made through the fleet’s intranet.”
“Curtarls?”
“My translator informs me that the closest analogy would be a human website.”
“Gotcha. And no intergalactic forums for me. That’s unfortunate. Oh, there was one other thing—”
“Specialist Cardoso,” the officer cut in. “Respectfully, I am not your point of contact with the Admiralty. My entire job here today has been to attempt damage control during your interview, and you haven’t exactly made that as easy as you could have.”
Ana frowned. “I’m not apologizing.”
“I don’t expect you to,” The relations officer sighed. “And I don’t blame you, personally. For anything you’ve said today. But I’ll ask you, in turn, not to judge me for wanting to go back to my bunk and get comfortably inebriated as soon as possible. My shift should have been over an hour ago, and with the amount of media presence on board I’ve been run ragged. Please excuse me.”
She inclined her head towards Ana and then about-faced, marching away quickly.
Hmm, she might have a point. Guess I should be asking the sergeant about these things.
It turned out she didn’t need to, because less than half an hour later, as she, Bruiser and Singer were setting their gear down in their temporary quarters, a junior officer knocked on the door.
“Specialist Cardoso,” the officer, a kespan, greeted her after an exchange of the traditional chest-high Imperial salute. “I’ve been told to give you this.”
“Hmm, a 600-series,” Bruiser remarked from inside the room as the kespan officer held out a small black box. “Not exactly cutting edge.”
Ana didn’t care, seizing it greedily in both hands. “Thank you, ma’am,” she grinned, already tearing into the package.
The communicator was plain looking, and slightly larger than the ones she’d seen in the hands of her squadmates ,but extremely light. The moment she touched it, the screen lit up with a bright flash, and her translator tickled her brain in that peculiar way she still wasn’t quite used to.
[New User Detected. Examining Biosignature. Confirmed. Welcome, Specialist Cardoso.]
It was uncanny, like a whisper through her brain, new information streaming directly into her consciousness. Reaching out mentally, she became vaguely aware of something, like someone had grafted a new limb directly to her synapses. A light tingle spread across her scalp, and she breathed a sigh of relief as the headache vanished.
“It’s already been configured to accept your biosign,” the officer said, stepping back from the door. “I’m sure your squadmates will be happy to explain how it works.” She strode away as Ana kept repeating her thanks.
“You have no idea how much I’ve been wanting one of these,” Ana wasted no time in scrolling through the phonelike device, then blinked in surprise as it started to respond faster than her hands could move. “Woah!”
“It connects to the same chip that your translation software is installed on,” Bruiser explained, shifting over so that she was sitting on the end of her bunk opposite Ana. “It doesn’t actually respond to touch, you just need to think about what you want it to do, and it will do it.”
“First things first,” Singer looked at Ana seriously. “Let’s set up your filters.”
Bruiser nodded solemnly, as Ana cocked her head. “Filters?” Ana asked.
“The last thing you want is some errant thought opening, ahem, the wrong kind of files while you’re in public, right? The communicator already has some filters preinstalled, to stop it from just searching up every piece of information you think about. You need to focus on the device, and then on what you want it to do. By default, it will ask you if you are sure about opening any sensitive files or queries. That’s not good enough for a professional setting though, so you’ll want to blacklist those searches and only allow them on private browsing mode, which you can access by…”
Half an hour later, after receiving a basic rundown on the use of the communicator, Ana’s excitement was tempered at last as she scrolled through endless iterations of ‘Local Systems Got Talent’ shows and a seemingly infinite number of cute alien animal pictures.
Is this seriously all I can access right now? Soap operas and child-safe YouTube shorts? Who the hell is Freeblethorp, and why is everyone in the galaxy so interested in his dating life? Most of this stuff is just absolute dreck.
She narrowed her searches down to only include documentaries and was gratified to find some interesting-looking shows, which she bookmarked for later. Let’s focus on the social sciences for now. I’m sure there are plenty of interesting nature series out there, but I need useful information.
Then, one video jumped out from the rest. ‘Ratio Twelve? An investigation into the consistency of gender ratios across species and why females form the bulk of the galaxy’s population?’ Huh. Definitely giving that one a watch. And there’s so many female dating strategy channels. ‘Why men won’t look your way: a modern woman’s guide to getting rich and getting laid?’
It was uncanny how everything was switched. It took some digging, but in one of the side columns she found a ‘For Men’ selection. When she toggled it, the screen was instead filled with fashion, shopping, and gossip channels.
Part of her wanted to launch straight into investigating the strange gender dichotomy that was apparently the galactic norm, but there would be time for that later. For now, she finally had some time alone with her squad mates that wasn’t allocated to training.
“Okay Singer—”
“Vrina, please,” the Ulu interrupted, preening another loose feather from beneath her wing. They’d finally gotten the chance to remove the tight-fitting suits, and the avian’s preferred choice of leisurewear was apparently to go almost completely without. Her only concession was a bangle of colourful shaped stones clipped beneath the feathers on the side of her head to hang down like beads. “No need for callsigns when we’re alone.”
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“Vrina then,” Ana glanced over at Bruiser.
“Same with me,” the ursinian confirmed. “But it’s Corporal Banta to you, Specialist.”
“She’s fucking with you,” Vrina deadpanned, and Banta grinned. “We came up through the ranks together, she hates it when I call her by her rank. Don’t get too comfortable though. Raker is still Sergeant Rea’ar, and the duradians are all specialists. Apparently, it’s a point of pride to them that none rises above that rank. That said, they’re also sticklers for the rules, so even if you learn to distinguish them, stick to just calling them Specialist, and they’ll be happy.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Ana nodded slowly. There was so much to wrap her head around, different rules for different species, a new role in a foreign military and all this while she was about to spend her first full day in space. Christo, I’m still not over that.
“If you need any help, you can ask either one of us,” Vrina offered, and Banta nodded enthusiastically. “It’s got to be a lot to take in.”
“I have lots of questions,” Ana agreed. “But first, we were talking on the way to the conference about war-forms.”
“Now is a better time to speak about that,” Vrina chirped. “What did you want to know?”
“You answered most of it on the walk, but… you’re both war-forms yeah?”
“Of course,” Banta acknowledged. “Almost everyone in the military is. Regular beings can’t keep up with the training requirements nearly as easily. I know of a handful, but they mostly stick to civilian roles and leadership positions.”
“Like the Admiralty?”
“Like the Admiralty,” Banta nodded. “And to be clear, that’s not an issue. I know it would weigh on me pretty heavily to make decisions that influence so many lives. We’re not wired for it.”
“Is there really such a big difference between war-forms and non-war-forms?”
“It’s something like a thirty to fifty per cent muscle mass increase depending on the species,” Vrina explained. “For ulus, war-forms are simply much bigger than the rest of the population. For kespans, and other species like our ursinian friend here, they might be a little taller and a lot more muscular. We’re better at reacting under pressure, but big-picture stuff tends to give us headaches.”
“And every species is this way? The soldiers are happy with the status quo?”
“Not all of us become soldiers you know,” Banta said, a little reproachfully. “We’re still citizens, not serfs. We can choose to go off and do a trade. Maybe half of us do, especially after serving for a few years. We’re better at hauling stuff than the rest of the population, so some also go into shipping or other forms of manual labour. Of course, if the military needed them, most would down tools and join up. It’s a predisposition more than anything else.”
“Okay, sorry for the implication,” Ana wasn’t quite done though. “But surely there are war-forms with political callings?”
“That’s more of a thing with pre-induction species,” Vrina chimed in. “Plenty of planetlocked governments end up under the thumb of some warlord or other. They don’t do so well once they go spacefaring. Too much politicking and trade, not enough hitting things with sticks. There’s no room for posturing and powerplays when you’re the newest kid on the block, and your neighbours have better tech.”
“Like nanobot killing machines,” Ana couldn’t keep the venom out of her voice.
The room was silent. Then, Vrina sighed, finally fishing the offending feather out from her wing and tucking it behind her bunk. “Yes. Like those.”
“We haven’t had much time as a team up until now,” Banta said, strolling over to the sole cupboard in the room and fetching from it a long cylinder. She placed it on the ground and then sat down with a thump and lay across it to roll out her back. “I’ve been meaning to ask you a bit about yourself, Ana.” She grunted as a series of mute cracks sounded out from her spine. “Ooooh, that was a good one.”
“I’m not so interesting.”
“Oh but you are,” Banta pushed. “You’d be interesting even if your species’ induction had gone off without a hitch.”
“I’m really not though.”
“Tell you what,” Vrina said. “We can go question for question. You’ve asked about war-forms, and we’ve spent the last half hour getting your communicator sorted. We get to ask you a question, then you can ask us one. We keep going until you don’t want to talk. Sound good?”
“I guess,” Ana shrugged. “What do you want to know?”
“You’re from the same place we just came back from, right?” Banta wasted no time. “What was it like, you know, before?”
Vrina looked over at her sharply, “Banta…”
Ana hesitated.
The ursinian looked away. “If it’s too much…”
“No, it’s okay,” Ana said. “It was… colourful. Filled with sound, music and people.”
“We’ve said it before,” Vrina kept her voice low. “But we’re sorry, you know?”
“You didn’t press the button. As far as I know, you had nothing to do with it.”
“I was asleep,” Banta offered glumly, and Vrina pecked at her. “Ow.”
Ana sighed heavily, and they sat in silence for a few moments before she collected her thoughts. “They looked at me the same way they look at you, did you know that? The people down there. Even when they saw my face. I was just another invader, like you. Maybe I’m the one who needs to be sorry.”
“You’re helping though,” Vrina offered. “Not everything will be fighting. They’ve got us working with the humanitarian effort next.”
“Hmm,” Anna closed her eyes. “We’ll see. It’s my turn to ask some questions.”
“Fire away.”
“What’s with your men?”
“I feel like that should be our question for you,” Banta chuckled. “Your species is the only one with an even sex distribution.”
“I know that. What I meant is, why have I only seen one alien dude in the last six months of working with the Imperium?”
“They’re all at home,” Banta shrugged. “I mean, there are some military roles that men fill, but not combat positions. There might be a few reservists out there, but men aren’t usually war-forms and they’re already much rarer than women, so it’s not surprising you haven’t come across many.”
“Not to mention that the vast majority would prefer to be anywhere but orbiting an unstable fringe world living off fabbed food alongside a bunch of sweaty Imperial troops,” Vrina added. “No offense intended towards your unstable fringe world.”
“What do they do instead?” Ana asked, curious.
“Shop,” Banta supplied with a laugh.
“I mean, she’s not wrong,” Vrina warbled in amusement. “I think the statistics are that about half of the economy is driven by male shoppers.”
“It’s the cosmetics,” Banta said. “Expensive scents, clothes and jewellery. Every household budgets an amount for the man to spend on himself, it’s a driving force behind galactic prosperity.”
“Really though, they do whatever they want,” Vrina continued. “Although most of them would rather stick to activities that won’t chip their species’ equivalent of talons. Not many have to work to make money, but everyone needs something to fill their time with. The ones who want to make a difference tend towards nursing and doctoring. You said you saw a male on board, right? I’d hazard a guess that it was a doctor.”
“A journalist, actually.”
“Really? Huh. A male journalist all the way out here.” Vrina cocked her head. “Was he cute? I like me a go-getter.”
“She’s never known a man’s touch in the time we’ve been friends.” Banta piped up, then ducked a swat from Vrina’s wing. “Ah! Hey, cut it out!”
“A little too feminine for me,” Ana snorted in amusement at their antics. “No meat on his bones at all. His makeup game was on point though, definitely better than mine. I’m just not into the girly boys.”
Vrina and Banta looked at each other, then back to Ana in confusion.
“So by girly you mean… petite?” Vrina asked.
“You wear makeup?” Banta frowned.
“Yes, and yes,” Ana acknowledged. “Neither of you do?”
“I don’t need to attract women,” Banta shook her head. “I don’t swing that way.”
“Only warpaint,” Vrina blinked. “Which is different.”
Ana’s mouth quirked into a sly grin. “How is that different?”
“It just is.”
“There’s no shame in wearing makeup you know.”
A feather sprung up on top of Vrina’s crested head. “It’s not makeup. It’s warpaint. It’s womanly as fuck.”
“So it’s ultra-feminine makeup?” Ana was smiling widely now, and Banta was grinning too, sitting back to watch the fun from the comfort of her bunk.
“YES! It’s as feminine as it gets!”
“But it is makeup.”
Banta howled with laughter as Ana dodged a wild flurry of wing slaps, and a moment later, all three were laughing, tears of mirth prickling at Ana’s cheeks. She hadn’t belonged in a long time. It felt good.
If only it didn’t come with this hollow feeling in my chest. Was this really the right choice? The laughter died.
Once they’d caught their breath again, Ana looked up at Vrina and Banta. “Oh right, I sent that journalist a message by the way.”
“The male one?” Banta raised an eyebrow. “Wait, what about?”
“Well, I haven’t spoken with a male alien yet,” Ana said. “I want to find out the difference for myself. I asked to meet him tonight.”
The feathery ridgeline above Vrina’s eyes narrowed into a frown. “That’s… rather forward. Do you mind if we read it?”
“I mean, I went through the proper channels,” Ana said sheepishly, handing over her communicator. “I don’t see the issue.”
Banta sidled up to Vrina as the avian pored over the text on Ana’s device, then leaned back into a booming chuckle that caused the bedframe below to vibrate. “Cultural exchange? You sly bitch Ana, go get you some.”
“I… what?”
“It is rather forward,” Vrina said, more gently. “But it looks like the humanity department has added a note. Hope you don’t mind if his wife tags along.” She snorted, a strange sound coming from a beak. “In future, you should really direct a request like this to his wife, or to his guardian, which is the military right now. They’d usually pass on the request on your behalf. It’s galactic etiquette.”
“I don’t mind at all,” Ana said, bewildered. “But I don’t see the issue. I’m quite certain I kept it professional.”
“You come off a bit… bold,” Vrina tilted her head. “And it doesn’t help that there are… rumours.”
“About me?” Ana asked, alarmed. “I’ve only been made public an hour ago!”
“About humans,” Banta supplied. “And how… eager… your men are.” She delivered the news apologetically. “Plenty of folks assume that makes the women even worse.”
“OH COME ON!” Ana cried out, hands in the air. “How is it that in a world where most of the men are gone, they’ve still managed to make the rest of us look bad?”
“The good news is that he’s already accepted the invitation,” Vrina passed Ana’s communicator back. “He must really want that interview after all. Looks like you’ll get your chance to see the difference between our men and women soon enough.”
---
Thousands of kilometers of empty vacuum away, in an office darkly shrouded by the expanse of space, a kespan in a dark suit pressed a button on her transponder, which crackled to life on her desk.
“I saw the recording,” she said before the call’s receiver could utter more than a syllable. “You told me you had her handled.” She shook her head slowly as the apologetic simpering started up, “No, no excuses or half-measures. I want her under control, do you understand? Max it out if you need to, I don’t want a repeat of this morning.”
The woman reclined, her tall chair barely moving as she settled her sinuous form into the shadows of the backrest. The voice on the phone changed its tone, placating, promising. She snorted. “Good. I don’t want to make a call like this again, am I understood? Get a handle on these fucking apes, or I’ll start thinking maybe there’s something wrong with your brain that needs adjusting.”
She pressed the button again, and the call ended. Swiveling her chair to face the viewport, she reached back across her desk for a glass and swirled the crimson liquid within. Around and around, the waves lapped at the rim of the glass but never spilled. Controlled. Always controlled.
Raising the glass to her lips, she reached for another button under her desk and pressed it. Slowly but surely, the stars in the window moved, her constellations disappearing from view off to her left to be replaced by new stars. Wild space. Uncharted, uncontrolled. And on the edge of both, Ervamir. She watched it, the curved line of blue, green, and white as it crossed the window from right to left, growing to dominate the viewport until it was all she could see. Ervamir. The word sent a pleasurable tingle down her spine, the excitement of delayed gratification, warm and smoldering.
Soon you will be mine. And then progress can resume.
She sipped again at the glass.
Mmm, sweet.