~February 6th, 140 AH~
~Joint Base Akra, Kurator Corps HQ, Terminal One~
“NO!”
With a scream of agony, fear, and grief, Asena bucked against the restraints that held her to her seat.
For her, there was no four-legged Syntropy to charge toward, no comrade-in-arms to save. And now that her connection to the Nexus had been severed, she sensed only the veil of darkness that was her headset.
“What’s wrong, Corporal?”
A familiar voice broke through the veil, but it was not the voice she needed to hear. She tried to push herself off the chair, tried to reach for something real. The best she could find was her own pain as leathery bands dug into her arms, legs, and waist.
“Asena! Get a hold of yourself and explain what you just saw!”
“Makiri…” she managed to choke out, though she herself could hardly believe the thought that was about to pass through her lips.
“Makiri was in this fragment? What about him?”
“He was killed.”
“What?”
“I just saw Makiri die in front of me.”
Silence. In the most complete sense of the word. Asena was aware of the hurried rise and fall of her own chest, as well as her racing pulse that seemed to surge and rush through her entire being. She also thought she felt movement beside her, shifts in the air as bodies swapped positions and equipment got moved around. But she could hear none of it, owing to the headset. Then—
“Asena, can you hear me?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve asked Private Aliyu to leave the room, and I’ll be taking over her duties for the rest of the session. Given the extraordinary nature of what you just reported, I’m sure you’d understand. Now, start from the beginning and tell me again what exactly you just [EVOKED].”
An eerie calmness filled Asena then. The utter absurdity—the impossibility—of what she’d just experienced made her feel detached from reality. As she answered her father, she felt as though someone else spoke through her.
“In 136, Lieutenant Athelstan was partnered with Makiri for an Anamnium retrieval mission in Sector Gemini. As per your reports, this mission was also the first confirmed sighting of versatile defense unit GC-04, designation ‘Kentavros’. Also as per your reports, the pair of Reiters managed to work together to destroy said Kentavros. In the process, however, Makiri lost his life, by sacrificing himself to disable the enemy’s laser cannon.”
“That’s impossible. I needn’t even tell you that.”
“I saw what I saw.”
“Makiri is alive. Has been for four years since the events you just described. It must’ve… must’ve been an incomplete fragment. Or you misinterpreted what you—”
“I saw what I saw.”
Silence. Darkness. Shifting air.
“Has the subject encoded this memory?”
“How should I know?”
“You will go back to him immediately. You will [UNRAVEL] this latest fragment before it forms a part of his new identity. Then, that will be all for today. We’ll have to discuss what—”
“[UNRAVEL]? But isn’t that your job, Father? You were his Kuratorial handler, after all.”
Silence. Darkness. Tension.
“Falsehoods though they might be, you’ve just experienced something… distressing. So, I’ll forgive your insolence this time, Corporal Shiranui. You know as well as I do why my getting involved at this time is not an option. I won’t repeat myself again: resume your interview, [UNRAVEL] the false memory, then end the session.”
Silence. Darkness. Then something shifted within Asena herself.
“Zelen. Are you there? Please respond.”
Silence. Darkness. Fear and longing.
“Silon?”
The voice on the other line was small, crumbling, tear-swept. A lump formed in Asena’s throat, but she pushed it down.
“You were telling me about your first mission with Spindrift.”
“Was… was I? But I just… I just saw—”
“It was a difficult mission, but you pulled through, Zelen. As you always do. The first day went smoothly, save for a slight hiccup. But the second day was when you really showed your mettle. You and Spindrift both. Kentavros is a challenging proposition at the best of times, let alone the first time any Reiter has faced it, with no data to draw from.”
“But… that’s not… that’s not what happened, is it? Makiri, he—”
The stirring began in her sternum and spread into the Nexus. Asena saw the thread, clear as day. It was fraying, split, barely hanging on. It didn’t want to hang on. It would’ve been the simplest thing for her to just… give it a tug, let it snap and fall apart.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
Let it [UNRAVEL].
But then, she found another thread. One she hadn’t seen from her last foray into the topic at hand. It was a different memory—sturdy, permanent—one that had stood the test of time and recollections.
And even before she pulled on it, Asena knew what this second thread would [EVOKE].
~July 17th, 133 AH~
~Joint Base Akra, Reiter Garrison, Classroom 2A~
Cadet Zelen Athelstan awoke with a start, then instinctively wiped the drool that threatened to fall off his chin.
With bleary eyes, he took in the view of an entire classroom-ful of gazes converging on his position. Some of the faces smirked irreverently, while others looked sufficiently horrified. Still others, like the one that belonged to Instructor Ambrose Vasseur, were but stony masks.
“Vakta, you’re the closest. Kindly welcome Cadet Athelstan back into the world of the living.”
The ensuing smack was an (impressively) clean hit, right into the back of Zelen’s head. The force of it nearly pushed his face back onto the desk.
A smattering of stifled snickers. Zelen drew in a sharp breath and shot an accusatory look at his friend, who—infuriatingly enough—also looked to be on the verge of laughter as he shrugged and mouthed sorry.
“After that refreshing bit of respite, Athelstan, I believe you’re ready for more PT,” Instructor Vasseur remarked, his eyes already back on the textbook he’d been teaching from. “On your feet. Back of the room. Make yourself familiar with the Stick of Honour.”
Zelen hid a groan as he obeyed, lest he invite more punishment.
The Stick of Honour, of course, was a standard issue TF-3 Carbine that rested against the back wall of the classroom, fully loaded (with blanks) to give it that extra heft. He picked it up, stood facing the rest of the room, then held it out horizontally in front of him with both arms straight.
By then, the peanut gallery had all turned their backs on him, and Instructor Vasseur had resumed his lesson. Oddly enough, Zelen couldn’t even remember what the lesson had been about. Had he actually slept through the entire thing? Even now, words trickled through his ears but struggled to find purchase anywhere in between.
Far too soon, his arms began to tremble with fatigue. The first time he’d been subjected to this punishment, he’d inwardly scoffed, thinking: how hard can it be to hold onto a 3.5-kilo object for a little while? As it turned out, mass times gravity multiplied again by the passage of time equalled a profoundly unhappy pair of arms.
“The Second Law of Thermodynamics,” the Instructor was saying now. What happened to the First Law? Zelen would have to borrow Megha’s notes later—if he could even remember to do so. “Within a closed system, any process that might transfer or transform energy will always trend toward increased disorder. Now, which of you have been keen enough to read ahead? What concept am I describing here?”
Within the closed system that contained the Stick of Honour and Zelen’s tired arms, things certainly wanted very much to fall into disorder. If this lesson didn’t end soon, he’d surely cause more ruckus…
“No one? Let me give you an analogy. Might jog some of your memories, assuming any of you are literate enough to crack open a book from time to time. Take your quarters for example. Your beds, your footlockers, the floor… What would happen to them if we Instructors left you to your own devices, if we never kept you honest with surprise inspections? Stained bedsheets laid bare for all to see, days-unwashed unmentionables littering the floor, and god knows what else. And once the mess is made, it never unmakes itself, unless you intervene. What am I talking about here? Anyone? Still no takers…”
Against all odds, something did land upon the space between Zelen’s ears then. A classroom not unlike this one, except much smaller. Everything in that classroom was smaller, including Zelen himself. Including the man who stood in front of the class and gave them nearly the exact same analogy (minus the stains on the bedsheets).
“Athelstan! How’re you and the Stick of Honour getting along?”
“Marvellously… sir…” He had to strain so hard to keep his arms up that it was a struggle to get the words out.
“Don’t lie to me, Cadet. Looks to me like that Stick wants no part of your company, and who can blame it? I’m willing to put it out of its misery, if you can answer my question. The Second Law of Thermodynamics. The example with the messy room. What’s the word I’m looking for? What’s the concept that governs all the randomness and uncertainties of the universe?”
Something echoed from a distant past. Something whispered from a far-reaching future. Zelen spoke it into being, into the here and now.
“Entropy.”
~April 23rd, 136 AH~
~Sector Gemini, somewhere to the north of Korak Valley FOB~
The only decision Zelen made, as he and Spindrift set off toward Objective Charlie, was to change his loadout from the first part of the mission.
Double [GLADIUS], RS [BOMBARDIER]… and LS [AEGIS].
It was by far the most unconventional setup he—or perhaps any Reiter—had ever employed. Melee weapons on both arms? Not even in the chaos of proto-Reiter scrimmages had anyone been… well, deranged enough to try this.
Yet, Spindrift’s feedback was surprisingly understated. He simply asked, “Can you picture yourself winning fights with this? And surviving?”
Zelen’s answer too had been simple, and borne by a confidence that felt as authentic as its source was amorphous, “Yes.”
“Then I have no objections. Let us depart.”
Next came the 200-km flight to Objective Charlie. This took the Reiters over an arid and carcass-strewn desolation that used to be the site of a great river. Zelen spent most of the trip in silent contemplation, save for a brief conversation with his Spiegel.
I sense a steely determination about you, Kingfisher: a laser focus on the task ahead. It’s heartening, but there’s also something else. Something beneath the confidence that’s agitating to break through—to come to the fore of your mind.
“You’ll have to be more specific than that, Silon.”
I’m sorry, Kingfisher. I myself can’t quite put it into words. Perhaps it’s nothing.
“I can sense something about you, too. Did you… want to ask me something else?”
It’s only that both you and Spindrift have been awfully quiet on this flight. Did you not say that you wanted to know your mentor better? To build mutual trust?
Zelen did give this some thought. He too wondered at his own 180 from yesterday. Not only did he have no desire to ask Spindrift anything, there also seemed to be something more to it: a sense of disquiet, agitating to break through to the fore of his mind.
It told him that today wasn’t the day to get to know Makiri Shiranui.
To Silon, he simply said, “I trust him inherently,” and left it at that. His Spiegel didn’t press the issue.
The new unidentified unit waited for them at the heart of Objective Charlie. The two Reiters hid themselves behind a pile of rocks atop the quarry. Then Spindrift initiated an impromptu tactical briefing.
“Goes without saying we have no data on the unidentified enemy. Taking cues from its morphological features, however, I expect it to be a slow-moving defensive unit with a variety of ranged options as well as melee weapons on standby. Thoughts, Kingfisher?”
“If it’s slow-moving, it must have capabilities to defend itself from a fixed position and deal with approaches from all ranges and angles. I believe victory comes down to our ability to disable these defensive options, first and foremost. The two… ‘arms’ of the centaur… they look to be where most of its energy fluxes are concentrated. Perhaps, if one of us could get in close and destroy at least one of those arms…”
A pause, followed by a soft pop of static. Did Spindrift just… laugh?
“Don’t mind me, Kingfisher. I’m just surprised you knew what a ‘centaur’ is. I agree it’s an apt moniker for this Syntropy unit.”
Zelen blushed. How did he know what a ‘centaur’ was? But now wasn’t the time to jog his own memories about trivia, and Spindrift too was back to all business as he came back onto the waves.
“Can you do it?”
“Sir?”
“Considering our respective loadouts, I thought you might be more suited to this role you described, of getting in close and disabling the centaur’s armaments. Can you picture yourself accomplishing that… and living to tell the tale?”
The answer came out in a barely contained snarl, borne by an anger that felt as reassuring as its source was multitudinous.
“Yes. Let me do it.”