Date: 76 PST (Post Stasis Time)
Damian stepped off the ship, slowly and carefully as the gravity of Earth fully hit the little Hatil as he walked off of the transport vessel. The birthplace of the Terrans was larger in every way than his original home planet, both in size, and sheer number of visitors. Hundreds of thousands of people swarmed through the spaceport like a tide raging around him as the little mammal made his way through the crowds of travellers going to and fro on their own journeys, people racing with luggage to get on and off of flights across the galaxy.
The entire construction of the spaceport was a testament to the power of the Terrans within the universe, one of two such buildings that could be found on Earth, the structure hanging in the sky allowing the millions of people who left and entered Earth from all around the galaxy to do so quickly and easily. It was absolutely gigantic, looming over the country like a moon about to impact, ships entering and exiting like a tremendous beehive.
Damian was practically swallowed by the mass of people, standing at only 4ft tall, bipedal, covered from head to toe in a light cream-coloured fur. Little paws, large floppy ears and giant black eyes gave him the appearance of a teddy bear mushed with a baby seal. His military uniform was covered in ranks and medals, the fatigues of Terran design, the simple camouflage pattern of their military.
Damian limped along as he took each step, the walking stick held in his left hand out of place for someone so young. His progress was slow and cumbersome, eventually reaching the queue he was supposed to enter, patiently awaiting his turn in the endless lines found in places of bureaucracy like this. Nobody really paid much attention to him outside a few casual attempts to move out of the way of Damian and his walking stick. Out of any location on Earth, this was the one most filled with non-Terran visitors, the spaceport filled with aliens of all sizes and species, showing a selection of individuals from around the galaxy, within the Terran Alliance and beyond.
—-------------
Date: 71 PST (Post Stasis Time)
“So Roosevelt, why’d you sign up?”
The Terran asked the question simply, laying on his bottom bunk bed as the dim lights of the quarters illuminated the tiny living space. While the military had long since improved the conditions of its members, lack of personal space was still a problem, especially when travelling among the stars. The quarters had probably once been a small supply closet on the ship they were riding on, before some bright person had realized they should shove bedding into the tight space and fit at least two more people on the vessel.
“Isn’t it the same as everyone? Estorians are the worst, seeing what they’re doing to people made me want to do something about it.”
Damian answered with a quiet whisper, not even bothering to look over the side of his bed towards his battle buddy, instead staring up at the artificial ceiling as the quiet hum of the ship provided a gentle lullaby to those within. The collection of slaving species that had joined together under the banner of the ‘Estorian Empire’ was officially ‘the worst’, having triggered a war after launching an attack upon a Terran Alliance scientific station. A hatred for one of the worst groups in this part of the galaxy wasn’t uncommon, and half the reason so many of the over 400 species that made up the Terran Alliance had banded together for friendship and protection.
“Nah, I didn’t mean that. Why’d you join the Terran military? Why not stick with the Hatil?”
Terry responded lazily, giving a yawn as he spoke, mumbling the words at the strange little alien he’d met nearly a year ago at boot camp and training. In the twenty years of his life, he’d never had an alien companion before. In fact, before this new endeavour he’d never left his home state of Tennessee. Even in a rapidly expanding universe, not everyone had explored everything the galaxy had to offer, and travelling amongst the stars with the military was a new experience for Terry.
“My parents asked me to, they thought joining the Terran military would be safer. More experience in this war stuff.” Damian said, thinking back to his worried parents, back when the Hatil had first told them about his plans to join the fight against the slaving Estorians. They’d wanted him to stay safe, and Damian had promised them they would.
“It’s not really that dangerous any more, is it? This ain’t the brutal warfare from the historical movies.” Terry mused “All fighting is done with drones and stuff, only reason why they put us through training with actual guns is just in case.”
Many philosophers and educated people stated that war never changes, but those people clearly never studied military history. Whether via the invention of the gun or the mortar, war has undergone plenty of changes through the history of not just mankind, but the known universe as well. The invention of autonomous machines of war had removed the absolute need for mass armies of irreplaceable people, instead focusing training on specialized teams designed around deploying said armies of war. The modern military philosophy was to attempt to win your battles before you needed to expend any trained military members.
The conversation petered out as the pair started to settle down, the dim lights of the ship barely illuminating the room. Damian couldn’t help but feel a small amount of anxiety as they could feel the steady progress of the ship making their way towards his first deployment. It was a simple engagement, a defensive position with one of the Terrans many allies, but the mild background worry still remained.
Then Damian gave a frown, a niggling thought forming between his floppy ears.
“Terry, why do people keep calling me Roosevelt? You do know my name is Damian right?”
There was a pause as the Terran considered the question, aware of the very clear rules he'd been given when the Hatil had been fated to join his troop. This included a prohibition on calling the alien ‘Cute, care bear, teddy or anything similar.’
“No reason in particular, it's just a nickname, Roosevelt.”
—----------
Date: 76 PST (Post Stasis Time)
Damian slowly limped away from the spaceport, bag on his back, feeling the harsh Texan sun bare down upon him as he left the gleaming spaceport behind. The Haitl could feel a tired annoyance filling his body, just glad he was out of the bureaucratic mess that was customs and immigrations.
Travel had always been a complicated mess, and the introduction of interplanetary travel hadn’t made it simpler. Damian could still feel the plethora of pesticides and disinfectants sticking to his clothes and fur, making sure he didn’t accidentally bring something off world that won’t play nice with the local fauna. There had been the forms and processes to fill out, hours of standing around even with his relatively simple circumstance of being a Hatil, a member of the Terran Alliance. There’d even been the surprising difficulty of bringing a large bottle of Earth made whiskey with them. Even hundreds of years after the invention of flight, security was still touchy about containers of liquid.
Damian pushed through the crowds of people leaving and entering the spaceport, the mass of people mixing with the dry heat of the planet to create a claustrophobic environment that swallowed up the small Haltil as they became one of the crowd, moving through escalators and walkways before taking their place in line as they waited for the train to arrive.
—-------------
Date: 75 PST (Post Stasis Time)
The building was calm, the now abandoned warehouse having been taken over by the Terran Alliance military as a forward command post, the soldiers inside sitting at ease while they did their jobs. While a great many movies and stories had been made about the horrors and glory of war, the actual truth was simple: War was a lot of boring sitting and waiting for something gloriously horrifying to happen. Modern warfare, especially post Stasis Time, was mostly sat watching screens, ensuring the combat drones were being used to their full potential, and only physically engaging in a location if some circumstance required a personal organic touch.
The soldiers not sat at screens or resting patrolled the outskirts of their camp, alongside dozens of the automated drones that made up the bulk of a modern Terran military: Each one varied in size, shape, and function, a mixture of wheeled and flying machines, able to wage war in most forms of land combat. These were painted a dull blue and green, the colours of the Terran Military.
The living organic soldiers were still armed to the teeth of course: While Terran Military protocols determined that an irreplaceable living soldier should only be engaging the enemy if ‘Everything has gone to hell’, Terran Military protocols also stated that you should assume everything is always going to hell at all times.
Damian and Terry stood in front of their tiny screen, looking intently at the multitude of screens in front of them, the thousands of different viewpoints of the drones and their overall positions able to be seen at a glance, giving them a view of the war over the entire planet and the enemy positions they were holding onto.
The current situation on J’tal was stable, the Estorian Empire had attacked the Terran Allied tiny marsupials, the Terrans had responded with a defence in kind. Even better, it was the Hagorthians who were the main force of this attack. The five leading species of the Estorian Empire barely tolerated each other, so each military force was made up of only one of the five, allowing their individual weaknesses to be exploited.
The giant, vicious, war loving reptiles known as the Hagorthians, had a tendency to shove their living soldiers deep into the fray of battle, desperate for physical combat to feed their ever-growing, expanding appetites for war. This allowed the Terran military to slowly whittle away at the hulkish brutes without ever needing to do more than sit behind their machines.
Right now there wasn’t much going on, the two sides were dug into the areas they controlled, while Damian and Terry watched the enemy patrol and move around from a vantage point provided by a nearby scouting drone.
“Those are some very large gators,” Terry remarked, squinting at the small amount of movement being shown below. “Although they ain’t anything when compared to that giant whopper I caught back on Peras.”
‘Large gator’ was an understatement. Hagorthians were a functionally immortal species of bipedal reptile covered in deep red and brown scales, who had the strange evolutionary quirk that they never stopped growing. They were functionally immortal, not that this mattered much: their continual growth fuelled an insatiable demand for ever-increasing requirements of food and territory, meaning very few lived long lives as they battled amongst themselves and those among the stars. To be Hargorthian, was to always be in a state of conflict and war.
“Yeah, yeah, that ‘magic alien fish’ that you ‘totally’ caught when nobody else was looking.” Damian responded with a friendly mocking tone. “Somehow no one on an entire military base managed to get any proof of this supposed ‘monster’ you snagged?”
“It was huge and it happened!” Terry replied with an adamant indignant tone. “I didn’t take no picture because… well technically I wasn’t supposed to be fishing there.”
To be fair to the Terran, it did sound like the kind of thing the well-meaning human would often do. Over the last five different planets and 4 years, Damian had seen Terry get involved in various… shenanigans. In between trying to adopt various native wildlife as a ‘team mascot’ and at least one alleged misuse of explosives leading to half a burned down forest, Terry sneaking off to go fish wouldn’t even hit the top 5 ‘Terry moments’.
The Hatil decided to drop it, instead focusing on the task at hand, staring at the screen, giving a frown as the enemy were starting to do something. Activity could be seen as a new ship approached, the Terrans not able to get a clear view of exactly what was approaching.
“Hold on” Damian said, alerting the rest of the soldiers in the room to a new development. “Something's happening. Anyone know what kind of ship that is?”
He paused for a moment, as the other Terrans around him rushed over to focus on the screen as well, murmurs of confusion rippling through the group of soldiers as they stared at the blurry picture of the distant object.
“Wait, is that a Lelzoil? Since when are they here?”
A Terran named Jason asked the question, causing everyone to focus even more intently on the screen, noticing that leaving the newly arrived unidentified ship, was indeed one of the brightly coloured avians. Several of them in fact, all of them leaving carrying a large unknown object. The bird like species were one of the five leading members of the Estorian Empire, well known for their technological prowess and willingness to do whatever it took to gain more knowledge and power from a harsh universe.
The real confusion was why the two were actually working together. Sure, they were technically allies, but that was in name only.
“Someone contact HQ, this can’t be good.”
The order was never acted upon, however, as a more pressing issue raised its ugly head. The device the avians had brought with them started to glow as the Lelzoil did something to do it, then with a flash of light, the picture cut out. The combat drones that were once patrolling the base, each gave frantic beeping error codes before falling still where they stood, the activation lights turning red as each of them were disabled remotely.
Immediately alarms started blaring out from around the outpost, as the assigned to each squadron of combat drones started frantically trying to regain a connection to the major advantage the Terran had brought to this battle.
All for naught, as Damian started to feel a growing dread in his heart as he sat next to Terry, frantically working to regain control of his small part of the Terran military, realizing that absolutely nothing was working across the board over the entire planet. Somehow the Avians had managed to neutralize the major advantage the Terrans brought with them.
—---------------------------
Date: 76 PST (Post Stasis Time)
Damian watched Earth zoom by below him as he stared out of the window, looking down as the American landscape shot past at record-breaking speed. It had taken what was once known as the United States of America significantly longer to build itself a functioning high speed rail system, but even the most stubborn of cultures couldn’t deny the advantage of being able to cross the breadth of an entire country in only a few hours.
The lines of travel hung in the sky allowing the cabins to punch through the air at ludicrous speeds, treating the passengers inside with a perfect bird's eye view of the American landscape. Much had changed over the years, but much had remained the same. The cities now extended far into the sky, entire metropolises hanging in mid-air to allow the never ending expansion of humanity and the living spaces it required as populations continued to grow. Even against the noon sun, the cities glowed with lights and power, the full glory of a modern Terran society on display as they travelled over the entire country, where billions of humans, uplifts and AI lived out their lives on their origin planet.
However, even in between this technological push spanning generations, the Terran love of nature was still on display, as swathes of wilderness as varied as the planet itself could still be seen from Damian's position. Rolling pains, vast green forests, giant mountain sides dominating the landscape. Many species around the galaxy considered Earth to be a dangerous place, filled with vicious animals and dangerous environments. All of these were on display from the Hatil’s window seat.
He turned away from the window, looking around at the other passengers for a few moments. The train was nice, well maintained leather and chrome giving a clean classy look. Carriages such as these were some of the first impressions off world visitors would have of Earth, meant that effort had been placed into making the train systems that connected the spaceports to cities across the world.
The amount of non-Terrans had decreased drastically as Damian travelled further away from his original entry to Earth, the vast majority of the other passengers on the Train being humans, uplifts or the unseen AI. However, there were still enough off world visitors to avoid anyone really paying attention to the Hatil sat on the seat. A feline Kigrel sat in one seat, probably carrying a silly amount of bladed weapons with them, while a family of amphibious Zorthians occupied another grouping of seats as they chatted with each other excitedly. Earth was a popular tourist destination for many species.
Damian turned away and looked out the window once again, the stunning American landscape still there as the Hatil gave a small sad sigh, each second passing allowed the train to bring him closer to his final destination.
—----------
Date: 75 PST (Post Stasis Time)
“Roosevelt, slow down buddy!”
Damian could hear Terry screaming at him from the other seat as he drove the Armoured Troop Carrier at high speed towards their target, the vehicle careening through the abandoned and destroyed streets with the Hatil at the wheel, while the eight occupants inside held on for deal life.
Theirs was not the only vehicle doing so: the streets were alive with a mass of military movement, as the entire Terran Military on the planet of J’tal worked as one strike force, rushing the streets in an attempt to destroy the Lelzoil machines that were stopping their combat drones. Military intelligence suggested there was a chink in the Estorian’s defence, which the Terrans were looking to fully take advantage of with a swift attack en mass.
Right now a large section of the military power of the Terrans had been disabled, whatever technology the Avians had brought to their allies aid was jamming the signals the drones used to communicate with ones giving orders, meaning they were effectively rendered inert: Terrans had enough genre experience with fictional sci-fi to know that allowing your automatic killing machines to make their own choices, without constant confirmations, meant having those machines used against you nine times out of ten.
While the Terran military could function without the artificial implements of war, having one of their major advantages on the battlefield nullified was not plan A. Taking out whatever machine the Lelzoil had brought with them to aid their partners in this war, was priority number one.
“I thought Terrans like going fast?!” Damian screamed out as he took a turn to the sound of wheels sliding over rubble. “Let’s go fast, no time like the present.”
Damian could hear the sounds of explosions and gunfire rattling off in the distance as other units also contributed to the Terran assault, ignoring them and focusing on driving the machine at high velocity. While the vehicle did come with a variety of automated driving functions, Damian was choosing to ignore all of them, since they were talking of silly notions, such as ‘Slow down’ and ‘Excessive speed, please reduce’.
This was a consistent problem with Hatil members who joined the Terran Military. The Terrans were almost revered amongst the little teddy bear-like aliens, with their military prowess being one of the major sources of awe: No less than 70 years ago the Terrans had completely humiliated the Hatil’s attempt at an aggressive force during the war between the two sides.
This, in addition to Terran fiction dominating the Hatil’s culture, led to those who joined the Terrans in arms being… more ‘Terran’ than your average Terran. Damian was no different, having grown up on a heavy diet of Earth’s action movies, this caused him to have an inflated opinion about what level of competence and bravery was required to exist within their military. Damian was a surprising number of years old when he learned that the long-running ‘Fast and Furious’ series was not based on true events. This led to the little Hatil being the best driver of the group, drifting the bulky troop carrier around corners as he raced long the rubble filled streets.
Unfortunately, war for an individual can be considered mostly luck. The vast majority of casualties in any conflict will come from weapons not fired at the unlucky individual. Artillery and bombardment of all kinds have taken far more lives than any amount of bullets, random explosives being highly effective when used in mass. It was this, not speed, which would be the Terran squad’s undoing.
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The transport did its job admirably at absorbing the impact. The strike wasn’t direct, Damian’s story would have ended far sooner had the artillery strike been a direct hit. But it was close enough to require the extensive lightweight shielding on the carrier to do its job from stopping the occupants inside from being turned into non-person biological matter. The eight people inside, including the driver, were all kept perfectly safe as the explosive round blew a crater into the ground in front of them, kicking up rocks and dirt as it did so.
Unfortunately, the laws of physics still apply. There are no technologies or magic secrets that can stop force being applied to an object. The shockwave caused the vehicle to tip to one side as it was moving at high speed, the resulting forces making the Armoured Troop Carrier tumble and flip several times, before careening into the side of a building, demolishing the wall of what was one an office building as the vehicle span out of control.
Tumbling and spinning, the world from Damian’s point of view became a jumble of sights and sounds as the universe twirled out of control, the harness being the only thing keeping the Hatil out of danger as the vehicle, for a few seconds, became the world's largest tumble dryer. Then, as suddenly as it began, it was over, the world became still again, although Damian’s brain was not. The world was fuzzy and out of focus as the crash had rocked him, the sounds of people shouting and moving surrounded his person, distorted and unable to be formed into intelligible noises.
He tried to move, to get up, managing to merely flop to his side as he unclipped the harness that kept him suspended. Light, movement, the taste of rubble mixing with the taste of blood in his mouth as the Hatil struggled to reorientate himself, unable to find the exit in the upturned vehicle. Damian’s brain was still firing off confused signals after the beating it had taken in the crash.
“Terry? You good?”
There was no verbal response to Damian’s call, instead a moment of movement as he felt a large five fingered hand grab the collar of his uniform and pull him upwards into the light, being hoisted from the vehicle, the relatively small mammal being light work for the hulking giant of a man he called his friend.
“Gotcha buddy, not letting my Roosevelt go!”
He could see the Terrans large beaming grin as Damian gave a vague nod, finally being dropped to the ground and able to gather his still fuzzy senses. The squad of eight had come out of the tumble unscathed, the spinning and flipping the Armoured Troop Carrier had gone through being far below the operating limits a crazy Terran engineer had dreamed up.
Scratch that, the Hatil probably had a concussion, much to the ghostly disappointment of thousands of hours of RnD not creating a perfect protective transport vehicle. There wasn't any time for Damian to focus on that, retrieving his discarded gear from the remains of the vehicle as the group started to work on tipping the still working carrier back onto its wheels. Unfortunately for them, they wouldn’t have time for that.
War has a tendency where an entire ten-hour shift can have only ten minutes happen in it, and ten minutes can contain an entire ten hours worth of activity. This was one of those latter times. The squad heard the noises first, growling and howling, hissing and snapping as the enemy approached, the heavy sound of clawed feet and clacking teeth, causing the Terran Alliance soldiers to take defensive positions, abandoning their attempt to flip their vehicle and instead focus on the incoming threat.
Then the shooting started.
A cavalcade of noise erupted as both sides engaged with each other, the sound of gunfire erupting from the abandoned ruins of the building the Terrans had crashed into. From this position Damian could see the Hagorthians in a far more horrifying detail, brown and dark red scales, vicious claws, and giant yellowing teeth. The group attacking them were a minimum of 10 feet tall, each one made up of nothing but muscle and a desire for battle, adorned with the various trophies they had claimed in their previous duels or hunts.
The Hatil just fired his weapon, training taking over as the mass of new targets flooded his concussion-addled mind. This close and personal, it was clear to see how this species had become known for their power across their small section of the galaxy, Damian watching as one of the reptilian attackers took fifteen armour piecing shots to the chest before finally slumping to the floor, dead. The only small relief to the Terran Alliance squad was the Hagorthian tactics, or complete lack of them. Their entire culture believed in fighting with the weapons god had given them with their endless hunger and aggression, the small energy-based firearms they carried being used to keep their enemies from running out of cover for too long, their only acceptance to how most of the galaxy did war.
No words were spoken aside from shouted commands and information, everyone focusing on the task at hand while bullets and explosions kept the horde of Hagorthian’s back, funnelling the attackers through the hole in the side of the wall the vehicle and crashed through, focusing their fire on any of the giant reptiles who lost their patience and tried to attack. Damian wasn’t sure how many of them there were, and it didn’t really matter as his world descended into focusing on the ones he could see taking cover behind walls and rubble, ensuring his own rain of fire never ended
Which means he didn’t see the one that had been making their way closer, running from cover to cover, sprinting to get within range. He didn’t see its final desperate lunge of aggression towards him until it was too late, the Hatil’s gun spinning too slowly as a clawed hand reached down and hoisted the little soldier up into the air. Damian did see the Hagorthian’s bloodlust filled face, its cruel uncaring eyes, and its sharp vicious teeth as it bit deep into his side.
Pain and the sound of his hip crunching as the powerful jaw did its work, tearing through bone and flesh alike as Damian screamed out in pain. A second later, the reptile's head exploded as a concentrated burst of fire ripped through its skull, dropping the Hatil to the ground, a little too late. He lay there amongst the rubble, blood gushing out of the new wounds decimating his leg and belly, looking on in shock as he could hear the sound of Terry screaming his name.
—--------------------------
Date: 76 PST (Post Stasis Time)
The town was small. Even with the expansion of humanity and the increase in population that the Terrans had undergone over the last few centuries of development, some people would rather live a quiet life. In an infinite universe full of infinite possibilities, a certain population of people were perfectly happy to live their lives in a small community close to nature.
Sure, the buildings Damian passed by as he walked down the street weren’t primitive. The trappings of modern life, of various amenities and luxuries were still on display, but in between the weathered painted wooden buildings, or the simple maintained gardens, there was a simplicity to the Hatil’s surroundings.
Damian gave a stretch of his back and aching leg, the journey to this little Tennessee town had been a long time sitting in the self-driving vehicle, before continuing to limp along on the stone paved streets. Here he could see a few active members of the town, Terrans of all kinds, stopping and staring at him as he made his way slowly towards his destination.
The Smokey Mountains were not a popular tourist destination for your average alien visiting Earth, as dangerous wildlife and treacherous terrain did not make for an enticing package. Even those who were more adventurous would stick to the more popular routes and large tourist cities that scattered the edges of the nature reserve. A non-Terran arriving at this sleepy little town was an event in a location that very rarely had events, so Damian could feel various pairs of eyes burning a hole in the back of his neck as he walked. It wasn’t malicious, but instead… curious, like seeing a strange vintage car drive down the road, the clunking sounds from their inefficient engines practically demanding you stop and stare, maybe even a small proclamation of “Huh, that’s neat.”
It didn’t take long to find the house, since there weren’t many houses to walk past regardless. The building didn’t stand out at all, the wooden house looking just like all the others. This one was empty though, it would always be empty, that’s just how the universe was now. The front garden was overgrown and unmaintained, scraggly grasses and wildflowers being cut through by a simple brick path. Damian continued limping onwards at a steady pace, entering the unlocked front gate and moving on towards the equally overgrown back garden. A little shed stood at the end which he made his way towards, which was also unlocked. There was nothing to steal inside, as it was just filled with scrap wood and a host of creepy crawlies.
All the actual valuable items left behind had long since been taken by relatives for safe keeping.
Damian awkwardly shifted the mess around, empty plant pots and other minor items not worth keeping indoors had been left here to rot, a chaotic mess that even with the instructions Damian had been given, it took the Hatil a good fifteen minutes to dig out what he’d been looking for: An old dirty ceramic plant pot with a narrow entrance, third from the right, on shelf in the back, exactly where he’d been told it was. Something rattled inside, and Damian tipped it upside down, a rust dappled key with a label long since faded to time falling out and being caught in his paw.
Exactly what he was here to find.
—----------------------
Date: 72 PST (Post Stasis Time)
“Of course, it was that at that time the teacher walked back in. I was covered in the stuff from my head to my paws, and she looked so shocked!”
The pair both rang out with laughter as Damian concluded telling his story, the joyous sound echoing along the walls of the ship. Their division had just come back from the successful defence of the home world of the double-headed serpentine Zassu, meaning now was the time for rest and relaxation as their vessel headed back to Terran space.
“Mr. Sensible was able to do shenanigans? Call me shocked!” Terry replied with mirth in his voice, sat on the cheap plastic seat, his feet on the table. They weren’t the only ones here, the recreation room was filled with soldiers in their own groups: talking, drinking and dealing cards; In general, winding down after a successful deployment in aid of a Terran Alliance member.
“I can be reckless as well.” Damian responded. “I just look boring because I’m sat next to you!”
The Hatil was correct, as Terry had quickly made a name for themselves as ‘Most likely to be on latrine duty’, due to the sheer number of idiotic decisions they consistently made, bringing the ire of all superiors down upon him. It wasn’t so much that Damian was a model soldier, rather that he looked that way when sat next to the chaotic Terran.
“And you wouldn’t have me any other way Roosevelt!”
Damian had long since worked out why the Terrans had given him the supposedly random nickname, a reference to a long dead Terran leader who had the nickname ‘Teddy’. The Hatil soldier had long since gotten used to the way the Terrans reacted to his ‘cute’ nature, finding it less annoying and more endearing.
He took a drink from his own beer bottle, giving a deep sigh as he let himself relax, a few moments of silence permeating the pair until Damian dropped a question he’d wanted to ask for a while.
“So Terry, what’s with the bottle of whiskey? Seems silly bringing something you can’t use as your personal item.”
Every soldier had the ability to bring certain items from home, up to a certain weight limit, to maintain morale as they travelled around the Galaxy defending the Terran Alliance from external threats. In Damian’s own locker he had several keepsakes from his own home planet. Terry had used up most of his own allowance with a bottle of Terran made whiskey. This technically wasn’t against the rules, but the item was constantly held under lock and key out of reach of a potential ‘event’.
“It’s… special, made by my grandpa. Before I joined up, I’d never even left Tennessee, all this stuff in the Galaxy going on, and I spent the first twenty odd years of my life not doin’ much.” Terry replied. “I didn’t get to meet my grandpa, but I did live in the house he’d built, and spend my summers fishing in the cabin he made. I know he would have been real excited about the galaxy and stuff. So I decided to sign up: see aliens, shoot some slavers, travel the universe. So I’m bringing it with me, in a little way I’m bringing him with me as well. Then, when it’s all done, I’ll take that bottle that he made that’s now travelled the galaxy with me, and I’ll drink it right back where it started at the cabin he left behind.”
Seconds passed in silence as the Terran finished speaking with a surprising sincerity, an impressive amount of seriousness being imparted with Terry’s words. Damian gave a small soft smile.
“So, has travelling the galaxy been everything you expected it to be and more?”
“Of course! I made an alien buddy, you’re the best battle teddy a man could dream for. I fully expect you to be sat by my side next to that lake, that’s a promise!”
—----------------------
Date: 76 PST (Post Stasis Time)
The morning sun did little to fight back the chill that hung in the air, clinging to your body like the light mist that had rolled in during the morning hours. Damian had spent the night in the only Bed and Breakfast in town, before heading out at the crack of dawn to begin his journey. Now, he stood at the edge of the small Terran town, hovering over a wooden picnic bench and slowly going through the list of items he’d brought with him.
He could see them spread out in front of him, enough supplies and materials for two days of hiking among the Smokey Mountains, and of course, the bottle of whiskey. Oversized and far too heavy for such a trek, but important nevertheless. Damian stared at it, the simple bottle having been sealed a long time ago, over a hundred Terran years if you didn’t count the time the species had been stuck in stasis. A faded paper label with hard to read handwriting showing the man who’d originally brewed this so long ago. It felt heavy in his paws as he picked it up, held down by history and the importance the container was filled with.
“You must be Damian.”
The voice caused the Hatil to jump, the bottle in his paws trembling for a moment before he managed to set it down and turn to look at the newcomer who had snuck up behind him: a plainly dressed woman. It was difficult to tell the real age of a Terran, since the species had long since learned how to combat the toll of ageing, their medical technology leaving them effectively immortal if they were never killed. Most took the appearance from their mid-twenties regardless of actual age.
But there was something in her eyes that suggested she was far older than Damian, as the look in a Terrans’ eyes as they aged was the one thing technology couldn’t hide, the burden of years pushing against that window to their soul. The Hatil also knew exactly who she was, having seen her various video calls Terry had made back home. A guilt shot through his heart, as he saw her, leaving him speechless as the woman stood in front of him.
“People around here do like a good gossip. I’d heard a Hatil had visited his house, figured it’d be you.”
She spoke softly, sadly, both of them knowing why and not needing to say the reason.
“I’m sorry.” Damian finally choked out the response, not being able to live his eyes from the ground. “I really am sorry, I should’ve been able to-”
“Nonsense, none of that blame talk, he wouldn’t want it.” The Terran cut him off abruptly, her stern voice leaving no doubt that such words would not be accepted here. “I’m just here for a quick hello, before you head off. You're going to the cabin, right?”
Damian kept his head down, unable to respond, instead simply giving a small nod as silence permeated the morning air, the Hatil feeling far colder than the temperature would allow for.
“Good.” The Teran final spoke, her voice full of her own grief and sadness as she stared at the alien. “Every time we talked he spoke about you, you know. About his ‘awesome alien friend’. So excited. He’d be very happy to see you there. It’s just the right thing to do.”
—-------------------------
Date: 75 PST (Post Stasis Time)
“Hold on buddy!”
Reality faded in and out as Damian was dragged along for the ride. Noises, sounds, lights, all swirling and running together as consciousness faded in and out. There had been a lot of blood after the Hagorthian had bitten into the Hatil, blood that was medically important to keep the various body parts that made up his person running. Nothing made sense, the mass of confusion stopping proper thoughts from forming as the world went on without Damian.
“Come on Damian, I got you!”
There was also pain. Enough pain to occasionally jolt that Hatil’s mind back into consciousness, fractured snapshots of what was going on around him: Being dragged along a rubble filled pavement. A mass of gunfire, shooting at the enemy. Explosions, fire, noise. Staring up at the ceiling of the transport carrier.
“No, the Medigel won’t work! He’s a Hatil, get me his supply kit!”
That was the one constant through the confusion. Terry’s voice. Filled with fear, with worry, through the swarm of noises and lights, he was there by Damian's side while he floated in and out of consciousness, a leaf on the wind of life pulling him too and fro.
“I promised I’d show you where I grew up, I promise I’d show you the lakes and mountains. You gotta pull through this!”
Consciousness returned slowly to Damian, like a thick treacle dripping lazily out of a bottle, the signals to his brain not making any sense as his injury addled mind tried to piece together what he was seeing, what he was feeling.
Damian was lying down. He could see the military issued portable stretcher, floating on its power, along with all the medical equipment he lugged around with him at all times, attached to various parts of his body. The extra weight he'd carried with him through the last four years of his military career had always been a pain, but right now it was keeping his life-threatening injuries at bay.
The next thing he saw was Terry, just out of reach, a determined desperate look on his face as he fired his weapon. All of the Terrans were doing so, hundreds of them, shouting and firing with the ferocity they were well known for, all the while enemies assaulted their position. Crowds of the native population were rushing behind them, thousands of civilians trying to avoid the fighting, trying to make their way to the safety of the Terran Alliance ships dragging them off planet.
Everything was a mass of chaos. Damian clearly had missed some developments during his injury, he wasn’t sure why they were evacuating, the Hatil had no clue how badly the battle had turned; with the Estorians bringing in a mass of new reinforcements to push back the Terrans now crippled military force. What he did know was he was supposed to help.
Damian tried to get up, pushed back by a wave of tiredness, and a feeling of… wrongness in his body. There was no pain, the amount of painkillers the Hatil had pumped through his veins was making sure of that, but the way his leg and hip ground against itself, even in its immobilizing cast, triggered the instinct that moving right now was wrong.
It also triggered a series of bleeps and alerts from the small medical devices attached to Damian, causing Terry to turn around in panic, the well-meaning man rushing over to the Hatil’s side as he realized his friend was awake.
“You’re awake! Quick! Someone get him on the ship! You’re going to be OK buddy!”
“What’s happening? What’s going on?”
Damian tried to get up again, this time, pushed back onto the stretcher by Terry’s hand placed on his chest. The Terran gave a strained smile, before glancing back at where the fighting was going on.
“We’re getting off the planet, evacuating everyone we can. Get on the ship and I’ll be following right behind, just as soon as we’ve gotten everyone else to safety.”
The Hatil once again tried to get up, this time barely moving as the damage to his body overwhelmed him, striping his mind of the ability to fight as he felt himself start to move away from his friend by unseen hands pulling his stretcher away to safety.
“No, no, I need to help you. I can’t leave you.”
The Hatil voice was tired, mumbling and slurring as he felt his mind slowly drifting back into a painkiller induced state of unconsciousness. Terry just gave a smile and a thumbs up in response, shouting out a final statement before diving back into the fighting. One final statement before Damian’s vision darkened, and he saw his friend for the last time.
“I’ll be fine. I promise.”
—--------------------------
Date: 76 PST (Post Stasis Time)
It was a beautiful place. The mountains and pine forests stretched off as far as the eye could see, the mist rolling in between the rivers and trees, reflecting the morning sun in a swirling mass. The sound of wildlife emanated through the land as Damian trudged onwards, the singing of birds and the sounds of far off creatures creating a soothing backdrop to what most people would consider to be a good day’s hiking.
The Hatil didn’t find it soothing at all. The trail would have been difficult even for a Terran; The path Damian was taking was rarely used, barely even a path, not marked on most maps and dragged any would-be hiker through mud sodden routes and steep inclines. Terrans were well known for their stamina, able to traverse long distances before becoming tired, and the Hatil were not known for such feats of strength.
In addition, his leg continued to hurt, each step a dull thudding of pain, a reminder of what happened a year ago. His physical therapist would be very disappointed to know about what Damian was doing, but he didn’t really care. This was something he had to do, something he had to see to the end.
Minutes turned to hours as the little mammal pushed on, forcing back any sense of tiredness or the desire to surrender. He made a promise, that was something he was planning on keeping. His body ached, not just his bad leg, but everything from the tips of his floppy ears, to the bottoms of his paws cried out for him to stop. Yet he continued, only collapsing in rest whenever physically required, looking at the map and the miles still left to go, before continuing on again.
Normal hikers might have been taken aback by the natural beauty of the landscape, trying to take pictures or drawings of the local fauna, but the Hatil was here for one reason only, and that was to push on towards his destination.
The sun continued on its path across the sky, turning from a bright noon sun to a soft orange sunset as Damian finally climbed the final path towards his destination. It had taken longer than expected, partly because of the Hatil’s physical limitations, partly because the directions he’d gotten from Terry all that time ago had been unhelpfully vague in places. But after a full day’s hiking, he was finally here.
The lake sat hidden between the trees and mountains, off the beaten path and known only to those local to the area, a pristine body of clear water that reflected the skyline to create a never ending sunset. Sat at the end of the lake, was a small cabin, just as had been described. Damian gave a sigh of relief, making the final steps over to the structure.
It wasn’t a grand thing, made out of logs and mud, calling it a cabin might be a stretch for the single room structure. A workshop, a place? Whatever it was, the lock on the door opened as the Hatil inserted the rusted key, the door swinging open to reveal a small dusty space inside, illuminated by the sunset streaming in through the window.
A series of workbenches could be seen inside, holding the contents of twenty years of Terry’s summers. Engravings carved in the wooden walls from a child that no longer existed, fishing gear that would never be cast again, drawings of birds and other animals left discarded and covered in dust on various tables. Damian walked through it all, idly staring at this time capsule that belonged to his once Terran friend, before giving a sigh and leaving it behind.
Damian looked out onto the lake as he sat down upon an old weathered bench, taking a moment to rest and stare out at the clear water, the perfect reflection only occasionally broken by ripples of fish moving underneath. Ten, fifteen minutes, wondering just how many days and nights had Terry sat in this exact same location while he grew up.
Then with a sad sigh, he opened his bag, pulling out the bottle of whiskey and two glasses that he’d dragged all the way out to this location. The whiskey that had been made by Terry’s ancestors, that had travelled the galaxy before being brought all the way back here. The top was twisted off with a satisfying pop, before Damian slowly filled the two glasses he’d set in front of himself. He reached out with his own paw and picked up the glass closest to him, toasting it to a friend that didn’t exist. Then with a simple movement drank the liquid in one chug as the sun continued to set.
Just as he’d promised to do.