---Facilities---

---Chreptrii’s perspective---

The Terran places me on the ground and, a moment later, pulls off the cloth he used to blind me. In so doing, he reveals a cavern in which stands the single most fearsome looking being with which I have ever shared an enclosed space!

This creature stands easily more than [2.5m] tall, is covered in a thick coat of dense white fur, overtop of which is a fabric uniform in the usual Terran snow white [camouflage], only this one is streaked with bands of scarlet (which stirs a memory… though, right now, I’m too terrified to recall the significance of white and red Terran clothing), has a canine snout with clearly predatory teeth matching clearly predatory claws at the end of every digit and predatory, forward facing, yellow eyes.

I am in no doubt that this brute must be the master of this warband!

That they carry no weapon and wear no armour reads as more threatening than if they were radically armed and armoured! As if to say ‘I need no weapons, no defence, not even stealth, and, even still, I shall be your superior in all matters of war and death!’.

Likewise, the placid expression with which they look down on me is, somehow, every bit as menacing as if they had their teeth bared in wrath!

Next to this white furred titan sits… a woman… Terran, Human (not a cousin)… she doesn’t look particularly tall or bulky by Terran standards… rather, she’s average height and slim looking. The most notable things about her are the elegant, sheathed plasma blade that rests across her lap, the scars that cover every inch of exposed skin that I can see and, strangest of all, the white cloth entirely enclosing the top half of her head!

One look at her unrestrained hands, holding a weapon, discount her being a prisoner like me… but why else would she be blinded like that?

I don’t have to wait long for my answer as the Terran who carried me here approaches her and not the predator standing to her right. He gives her the translator and she (presumably having explained to her what it is by the giant whose voice, it turns out, is surprisingly soft) pokes it underneath her head wrapping. As she does, she reveals the edge of a patch of raw, burned flesh… those wrappings are bandages.

The moment she manages to activate the translator is made obvious by the fact that her whole body is wracked by violent shuddering, clearly indicating a dearth of experience with nervejacking.

“…ting, testing, 1, 2, 3…” she says, her tone being rendered as almost bored.

“I hear you.” I volunteer.

She gives a mirthless exhale “*huh*… Would you look at that! A working translator! A translator that works on Humans… this thing must be worth its weight in gold!”

A little confused I answer “It’s… a lot more valuable than the same weight of any naturally occurring element, Ma’am.”

Another humourless puff as she turns her face to me and answers “A figure of speech… I mean that it’s extremely valuable.”

I suppose they only started asteroid mining a few centuries ago… Being from such a high gravity world, gold was probably quite scarce in their crust, for the majority of their history. Being so rare will have made it valuable. Language may not have caught up to that no longer being the case…?

Alright, I’m not here to ponder linguistics, I had better introduce myself “I am Groupleader Chreptrii, son of Kirerit, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance…”

A sneer and curt bob of her head followed by “[untranslatable rank: ‘Commander’. Meaning: one who orders and is obeyed] Emiko Miyazaki, leader of the [UTC 10,091st Rangers], and I wish I could say the same…”

This is not going well! Her translated voice is layered with scorn and contempt. Also, did this blind woman just reveal that she is ultimately in charge? Not the monster? Does that make them her bodyguard?

“…this is Fang ‘Doc’ Lowell…” she says, gesturing to the enormous carnivore to her right “…and you’ve met [untranslatable rank: ‘Sergeant’. Meaning: one who serves] Hrom Rivers.” Accurately gesturing (despite her sightlessness) to the armoured one who carried me here “…speaking of; Thank you, [Sergeant], you are dismissed. Please release our guest’s hands before you leave.”

The bronze haired man stiffens, brings his hand to his breastplate and begins tapping out a staccato cadence, reminiscent of the automatic firearms with which Terrans fight.

Listening a moment, the woman gives a mirthful puff and says to me “[Sgt] Rivers seems to think he needs to stay here, in case you get violent. Would you mind telling me your species so I know exactly how hard to laugh at that?”

Stumbling a little on the fact that Terran soldiers can, apparently, communicate through nothing more than rhythmic tapping, I manage “… I’m… a siQeten, Ma’am… I’m the current leader of the sisiQeten detachment on Vissi…”

“Fang, describe him for me, would you?” she interrupts, indifferently turning to the white predator.

“Hizgoht grei foor, forrahmz, forrlegz, rodentain appiranss…” the canine says, looking at me appraisingly.

She bursts into hysterical laughter, it’s some moments before she manages “A [Chinchillataur]…?!” my translator gives me an apologetic shrug over the word it’s flagged as untranslatable “…*hahahahaha* Nice try, Rivers!… Release his hands and, then, kindly [untranslatable expletive: ‘fuck’. Nearest approx.: copulate] off! Fang will look after me, even if he is a man of peace!”

A man of peace!? That thing!?!?!?

The one called ‘Rivers’ shrugs, draws a small blade and deftly cuts my bindings before making to go.

“Rivers…” calls the [Commander] causing her subordinate to stop and look back “…get some rest… I’m sure you’re tired…” she says, her voice softer than I’ve yet heard it.

The man gives a bob of his head before leaving.

“Now…” says the woman, her translated tone ice cold and her sightless gaze returning flawlessly to my location “… I must say that I’m impressed you’d have the bravery to walk into our lair… you’re not at all scared that we’re going to [untranslatable term: ‘flay’. Meaning: peel/strip the entirety of an organism’s skin] you alive(?!)”

I wasn’t until the moment she said that!

“I’d offer you a drink but I’m afraid your choices would be [tea] or instant [coffee] and while I don’t know if you could survive drinking [tea], I’m fairly certain our [coffee] would kill you… You could have water, I suppose?”

“Thank you for the offer…” I say, trying to be as cordial as this woman is terse “…I’m not thirsty… If you don’t mind my asking… the one to your right… what is his rank?”

“He doesn’t have one. He’s a [untranslatable term: ‘civilian’. Meaning: one not engaged in military service]…” she shrugs.

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“A [civilian]? What is a [civilian] doing on a military expedition!?” I ask, incredulously.

“[untranslatable term: ‘Humanitarian’. Meaning: concerned with or seeking to promote welfare] observer and embedded medic.” she answers, nonchalantly.

I appraise the red and white clad man, recalling, now, the meaning of that livery.

“That… seems like a bit of a waste of talent, in my opinion…”

“You’re entitled to your opinion…” she says, flatly.

“…but you don’t share it?”

The blind woman gives an appraising puff through her nose but does not answer… I have never felt as heavily scrutinised as I do right now!

“You’ll have to forgive my appearance… one of your compatriots gave me the pleasure of a plasmaspear to the face, yesterday(!)…” she doesn’t sound particularly apologetic. Also, strange… do Terrans consider war wounds pleasant to receive? That seems to be what she just implied…

“Your appearance is forgiven…” I hesitate over whether to apologise for her injury or congratulate her on her apparent happiness about it. I opt to say nothing.

“So… a white flag, huh?” she asks, smugly.

“Research indicated that it is the Terran symbol of truce and parley.”

She scoffs “Maybe in the [22nd century]! These days white’s a funerary colour!… I’m told that Rivers initially reported your appearance with the words ‘I’ve got a mourner here’(!)” she mocks.

“So… a white flag is outdated? What would the modern equivalent be?”

Her lips tighten as she says “There isn’t one!… we haven’t fought a real war for centuries… until this one, that is… and, in this one, you’ve been a little too busy trying to [untranslatable term: ‘exterminate’. Meaning: kill/destroy entirely (note: often associated with the concept of ‘vermin’)] us to set any rules of engagement!… Not much point in surrendering to those whose stated aim is your [untranslatable term: ‘eradication’. Meaning: utter destruction]!”

“It isn’t as if…” I begin trying to defend.

“Both of my parents were aboard the Paloma…” she interrupts, entirely forestalling me.

“Ah…” I wince “…my condolences…”

“All they wanted to do was talk you idiots down from this stupid [fucking] War…” she says, with acrid bitterness.

I give her a moment.

“So… tell me, why are you here?” she asks, in a low, seething anger.

I steel myself to answer “I am here… to discuss a surrender… this senseless fighting has gone on long enough…”

Her lip curls in what my translator informs me is both disgust and contempt. What have I done wrong!? Wasn’t she just saying…?!

“I’m afraid we haven't the proper facilities to take you all prisoner, sorry(!)” she sneers.

“What?!” I ask, flabbergasted.

“We’d like to but we can’t accept your surrender(!)”

Of all the answers I had considered… that was not one of them!

I begin pleading “[Commander], please! Be reasonable! You must…”

“SHUT… UP…!” she snarls in the most dire, chilling, ghastly voice I have ever been exposed to.

I look to the [humanitarian] who gives me a seemingly sympathetic curl of his mouth… How could I have so thoroughly misjudged both of them, initially?!

The mass of fury, that I had thought a woman, continues “…I don’t know if it’s the pain I’m in, the [untranslatable term: ‘painkillers’. Meaning: drugs that murder pain] I’m on or just the whole [fucking] situation but I’m feeling in the mood to unload so you are going to sit there and listen while I vent! Is that understood!?…Don’t answer that!” she says, preempting the paradox of me being asked to confirm that I understand that I am to say nothing, before my brain has caught up to it.

I say nothing.

The feral woman continues “You have no idea what I’ve lost to this War! Me! PERSONALLY!!! What your little attempted [untranslatable term: ‘genocide’. Meaning: deliberate and systematic killing, aimed at the destruction of a group] has robbed me of; my parents, more friends than I can COUNT, my face and, most recently, my [fucking] eyesight… My eye… for the SECOND time! Right now, if our two sides had never bumbled their way into eachother, if we were still able to live, unmolested, on OUR planets, you know what my biggest concerns would probably be?” she brings a hand to her chin and looks up in mocking mimicry of deliberation “Should I do a post-grad? Should I start my career? Should I travel first? Where should I travel? I sure hope my classmates don’t saddle me with an embarrassing epithet! Should I shoot my shot with that hunk of a classmate before we never see eachother again?… You know where I am instead!? Here!… I’m thousands of lightyears from Terran Space, fighting you guys, solely to keep you here and not at the Front! I’m almost certainly never going to get an epithet because I’m almost certainly not making it off this planet alive! I’m forced to play Commander to a bunch of teenagers who already consider me part of the ‘old-guard’… I’M TWENTY FOUR!!! I never wanted to be a soldier! You understand?!?!?!…” she doesn’t give me the chance to answer before she stands, slams the chape of her sword against the floor and continues “And, now… NOW you think you can just waltz in here and demand our surrender just because you’ve given us a bloody nose!? You can mark my words; the 10,091st will surrender over. my. dead. BODY!!!”

The blind woman stands, her chest heaving from the exertion of her wild ‘vent’. She glares chillingly through her bandages. During the entire time she spoke she managed to keep perfect track of where I am in space.

Eventually, after an eternity of silence, I manage the courage to ask “May I speak now, [Commander]?”

She gives a disdainful sigh… and waves a hand in a way that my translator informs me means something like ‘if you must’…

“You… seem to have misunderstood… I’m not here to demand your surrender…”

She twitches her head, confused “But you said…”

“I’m here to offer you the surrender of the Planetary Forces of Vissitrith…”

She slumps back down onto her seat.

“I don’t believe it…” she says, breathless.

“It’s true.” I confirm “Though, honestly, I’m a little confused. You seemed to understand that, at first, but then started talking as if you thought I wanted you to surrender! It was as if, originally, you were saying the opposite of what you meant, for some reason!”

“You mean the movie quote…? The whole thing about how we don’t have the facilities?” she queries “Does your language not have [sarcasm]?”

I listen carefully to my translator’s explanation of that term, then answer “It does not, no.”

---Emiko’s perspective---

---2714 Terran Calendar/11 months AF---

I pour myself out a measure of sake and raise it to the scowling, eyepatched face in the photo.

“Here’s to you, young lady. You’re still here!… You made it!… Well… most of you did… but the parts that didn’t got pretty looking replacements…” I gesture to my purple eyes and the silver streak in my hair “…53, today… I’d say you’ve more than made up for the youth you lost to that War… You got over yourself… eventually… You managed to wipe that permanent scowl off your face… You grew into your epithet…”

I consider, for a moment, whether I should have let anyone know it was my birthday…

No… I don’t think so… I’m much happier not being subjected to a song and dance!… A cup raised to the past is as much marking of the occasion as it needs.

At that moment, I hear a knock on the door.

I frown slightly.

“One moment…” I say, throwing on my yukata over my chemise.

I open the door to see a shock of frizzy, vivid, orange hair one head below mine and one of jet black ringlets two heads above mine.

“Ms. Hunter… Ms. Loper… to what do I owe the pleasure?” I smile.

Thran thrusts a nice looking bottle of high ABV shochu at me and mumbles “Happy birthday…”

I beam “Oh, you shouldn’t have! How did you even know?”

“It was in the file I got for you, when I became your bodyguard…” she says, almost guiltily.

“I didn’t get you anything, I’m afraid… someone didn’t tell me until I bullied it out of her, just now(!) Still… happy birthday, regardless.” smiles Xon, playfully.

“Appreciated, nonetheless!” I laugh “Would the two of you like to join me for a drink? I’ve just come into possession of a lovely bottle of shochu that I think would taste better shared(!)” I hold up the present.

The two women share a look before turning back “We’d love to!” grins Xon.

“Perfect… please leave your shoes in the footwell by the door and come in!”

The two ladies step into my room and follow me back to the couch I was sitting on.

Xon emits an admiring whistle and gestures to the centre of the photo of the 10,091st “Who’s that hotty with a body and a shotty(!?)”

I laugh “She’s a young, dumb soldier who thought the galaxy revolved around her… she’s an old lady now…”

Both women sit before Xon says “I’d like to hear all about her…”

I chuckle and sit “I can tell you about her… if you’re sure you won’t regret asking…”