War Master Candidate Omnibus

by Will Crudge

  “What kind of range can we get out of this thing, and can it even fly in the atmosphere? It won’t do us any good if we can’t break orbit.” I say.

  “It’s a long-range model, so yes. That’s why there’s two seats. It allows for a two-person crew to rotate through rest cycles. Not to mention, most LISD sanctioned races either start or finish in atmospheric conditions. It’s fully capable of getting us off this rock!” He replies.

  “There’s a ‘but’ coming isn’t there?” I say as I rock my hips to one side and cross my arms.

  “Fuel.” He says plainly.

  “Is it bone dry?” I ask.

  “No, it has enough for a test run and thruster diagnostics. But from what I can tell from the wreckage, the racing fuel for this thing was stored in external tanks. They were either blown away by beam fire, or they were intentionally jettisoned to cut weight.”

  “Racing fuel?” I say as I bury my face into my hands out of frustration. “I’m guessing even the Nova doesn’t have any of that crap in its auxiliary fuel supply, does it?”

  “Not racing fuel, I don’t think.” He says. I immediately poke my eyes up from my hands and glare at him.

  “You don’t ‘think,’ or you don’t ‘know’?” I ask sternly.

  “Well, I don’t have any data to tell me the molecular makeup of whatever ‘racing fuel’ this thing calls for.” Marbles shrugs. “These thrusters might seem to have extremely tight tolerances, but they don’t exactly have a radical design either. They’re pretty simple, in fact. Just high thrust to mass ratio.”

  “Do you think the military spec fuel on the Nova will work?” I ask.

  “Ha!” He lets out a burst of sarcasm.

  “What?”

  “You said ‘military spec’ when referring to the garbage on the Nova!”

  “Ok, I’ll play your silly game, Marbles… Explain.”

  “The UACH builds advanced ships, but they’re designed to use whatever garbage substances that have adequate potential energy. In fact, to cut down costs, they buy shitty fuel as a rule. ‘Military spec’ fuel might as well be called ‘garbage molecules’”

  “So we’re pretty much fucked?” I say as I slump against a ruined bulkhead.

  “Nope. I didn’t say that.” He replies. I perk up a little. My hopeful side is playing me for a fool, and it’s doing it quite well.

  “We just need to get this thing back to Nova’s engineering suite. I can do a chemical analysis of whatever drops of fuel are left in its tanks, and see if we can make due.”

  “What are we fucking waiting for, then?” I say with a shit-eating grin. I walk over and slap him on the back. “Let’s fire this thing up and get back before the suns set!”

  “I’d love to.” He says.

  “But?” I say with a head tilt. There’s always a ‘but’ with him.

  “We have to figure out how to get this thing outside of this wreck first!” He says as he gestures towards the warped blast door that leads out of the hull. My heart drops. The door is probably twenty centimeters thick. Thicker than some of the hull plating.

  “Shit!” I scoff. “It’ll take another thirty years to cut through that!”

  “That?” He points to the doors again. “Are you dense? We just have to go through there!” He points to the beams of sunlight that are gleaming on the other side of the hold. I totally forgot about that. I’m an idiot. We’ve been using the natural light from the binary suns since we’ve been in the hold, and I’m so thick-headed I didn’t give it a second thought.

  “I was just kidding,” I say as I try to play it off.

  “And I’m a toaster oven.” He jeered.

  Open mouth, insert foot. My idiocy aside, we spent the next thirty minutes clearing a path for the skiff. My super-human physique proves useful, but Marbles isn’t constrained by the need for oxygen. He slings boxes and pushes crates away like they don’t weigh a thing. Show off!

  Eventually, we clear enough debris for us to take a try at pushing the cradle. It took several tries to get the caster wheels extended down enough to bear the weight of the cradle and space donkey, but we persevere in the end.

  “This cradle doesn’t have any brakes, remember. It’s meant to be moved by a moving bot, and wasn’t meant for manual maneuvering.” He reminds me.

  “Well, let’s wait until it’s outside of this wreck before we do something stupid then!” I say. I’m nervous as hell about breaking the one thing that may get us off this rock, so I revert to sarcastic humor as my go-to response.

  We begin to heave and haw. It’s like trying to push a stubborn baby elephant into a circus cage. We labor and fight with the constantly shifting inertia. The casters haven’t been used in ten years and could use some lubrication. Absent of said lubrication, we’re forced to man-handle the space donkey towards the gash in the hull.

  We’re losing daylight fast, and we have no idea what kind of night-flight capabilities this thing has. Most spacecraft with atmospheric capability can fly at night seamlessly, but I don’t speak fluent space donkey, so I’m just catastrophizing about every little thing in my head.

  Before long we are victorious! The space donkey has emerged from its mothership for the first time in a decade. Now I can prepare for my first ride in a self-propelled vehicle in three decades!

  Marbles hooks himself up to the ship once more. He stands still. It’s creepy when he does this. He sends his consciousness into the digital realm, and his body seems devoid of life. It bugs me. Even though I know he’ll snap out of it, it scares me that he’ll be trapped inside some kind of contraption for life. And I’ll be stuck. Alone. Nice to meet you! This is my brother, Marbles! He’s a sentient space donkey that just sits here on this cradle doing nothing! Can I offer you some champagne?

  But he snaps back into life and just gives me a thumbs up. He detaches himself from the space donkey and climbs into the cockpit. I just watch as if I knew what was going on. Which, I don’t. But in the attempt to not look stupid, I just stand there with my shoulders squared and my head held high. If I’m going to be clueless, then I need to do it with confidence!

  There’s a whirring sound, and then a high-pitch squeal. The thrusters are coming to life. I let myself enjoy a small twinge of hope in response. I was dreading going through all this trouble just to not be able to get this thing started.

  A moment later, a pulse of electromagnetic energy makes the hairs on my neck stand up. The ship’s thrusters are spooling up the A-grav system, and the space donkey begins to rise off of its cradle. With the canopy still open and upon its rear-mounted hinges, Marbles hovers the space donkey a few meters away from the cradle and then extends the three landing struts.

  The craft settles back down on terra-firma, and Marbles gestures for me to climb in. I don’t hesitate. Complete with a stupid grin and a girlish giggle, I enthusiastically hop into the vacant seat. Marbles hits a switch, and the canopy closes over our heads. My ears respond to the pressurization change, and I pop my ears with a few awkward jaw movements.

  Away we go! We rise into the air, and Marbles points towards the vector where the Nova is waiting for us!

  I can see for hundreds of kilometers in any direction as we begin to gain altitude. The nameless planet finally reveals its rocky splendor. Spiked mountain ranges, deep valleys, and open plains dominate the view from the tiny cockpit. The suns are setting, but we can cheat sundown by seeing over the horizon.

  For the first time in a century, I see a natural body of water off in the distance. A river that lazily cuts into the mountains and forms a stunning valley. The river’s delta terminates into a pristine lake that’s surrounded by picturesque snow-capped mountains. I catch myself tearing up slightly, so I try to wipe my face on my shoulder without dumbass noticing. But he notices everything. Fortunately, he doesn’t say a word. I think he’s as spellbound by the natural beauty as I am.

  I may have not seen things like this since I was a girl, but he’s never seen them at all. Not in perso
n, in any case. I forget how sheltered he is, and my thoughts turn to him. My brother.

  His copper-colored hide might be tough as nails, but he’s actually a big softy. He loves to watch archived videos of puppies and farm animals. I think he’s love to have a pet for himself one day. I hope so. Maybe he could even meet some Zodiacs that would broaden his appreciation for nature. Maybe.

  “What are you smiling at, slut?” He says. Even his irreverent banter can make my grin budge.

  “I’m just so happy you can experience something this new and wonderful! I bet you’re having the time of your life right now!” I say. I reach up to cup his chin like I often do. He doesn’t have the chemical reactions in his brain that humans and most animals get from physical contact, but he approximates the gesture in a form he can best relate it to. He’s always had a natural instinct on how to process mushiness. Even if he fancies himself an asshole. But he’s my asshole. He’s my shiny warm asshole!

  SHINY WARM ASSHOLE

  It only takes about ten minutes to make the sixty-seven click flight. Although we could’ve easily made it in two or three minutes, Marbles elected to conserve fuel by cutting our velocity. Or so he told me. I just think he enjoyed the scenery too much to hurry.

  We land as close to the engineering suite as space would allow. There was still enough proximity for us to run data cables or even fuel lines if needed, so we didn’t want to run the risk of damaging our only chance of escaping this planet. I helped Marbles make all the needed connections before I went to grab some food.

  The XT-80 food unit will not be missed when we leave this rock. I may owe my life to it, but that doesn’t mean I’m obligated to like it. It’s designed to analyze an individual’s unique dietary requirements with a quick bio-scan, but that often leads to a grotesque concoction, in my case. It will give you what you want it if feels you don’t have any nutritional deficiencies, but if you’ve been hiking sixty-seven clicks with small snacks to eat, it will detect a myriad of imbalances it feels it needs to correct.

  Designed to prevent health conditions from a lack of a diverse diet in ship crews, the XT-80 is an overbearing Russian grandmother that wants to feed you green slime and shoe leather in a horrifying soup-like liquid. When all is well, it’s turkey and dressing. When you’re slightly off on your body chemistry, its gargoyle semen, and whale carcass.

  The most frustrating part is my unique genetic makeup. The XT-80 is optimized for the typical augmented physiology of UAHC Soldiers. For folks like me, whose genetic gifts are difficult to quantify, it often makes me a menagerie of horrific dishes that are seemingly unfit for human consumption. God forbid I’m menstruating! I suppress my cycle as much as I can lest I eat bicycle tire rubber with a side dish of petroleum noodles for a week straight!

  Culinary nightmares aside, I enjoy my food. Even the chunky pond-scum-stew is comforting with enough heat… and a large amount of hot sauce. I finish my horrendous meal and take a long-awaited shower.

  Now cleansed from head to toe, I put on my most comfortable hand-woven footy pajamas, and curl up in my bed. I was out before my head hit the pillow.

  But unlike Marbles, I require more than twenty-three minutes of continuous sleep…

  “Kat, wake up!” He shakes me. I groan in response.

  “Wake up! It’s amazing!” He shakes me again. I kick him square in the chest with my bare foot. It doesn’t hurt him. But he doesn’t necessarily enjoy been launched back into the frame of the bulkhead door either.

  “What the fuck was that for?” He shouts as if he were an annoying kid that just got slugged in the arm.

  “For waking me up!” I say without even opening my eyes. “Go away!”

  “Pfft! As if!” He scoffs.

  “Go!” I shout as I reach down to grab a slipper and throw it at the source of his voice.

  “Missed me.” He says flatly.

  “What’s your problem? Don’t you have a space donkey to molest, asshole?” I scold. My eyes haven’t opened at all. I can tell the lights are on, so I cover my head with my other pillow.

  “I’m all done ‘molesting the space donkey,’ and that’s why I came to wake you up!” He scowls.

  “Why can’t it wait until the morning?” I say.

  “I did wait until the morning! It’s 0600.” He says.

  I open my eyes. It’s not the light fixture that’s turned on. It’s the bulkhead door wide open, and the natural sunlight beaming through the nearby hull gash. Even though it’s morning, it’s still early. I wake up at sunrise as a rule, but I also go to bed at dusk. My physiology requires more rest than a normal human, so sleep is my greatest weapon. Sure, I can’t go days without sleeping, but that requires me to tap into interdimensional energies to sustain my body and mind. I prefer to maintain them the old-fashioned way. The way that doesn’t turn my body into an instrument of the apocalypse, as it were.

  “Alright.” I moan. “What are you so excited about?”

  “I was hoping you could finish packing so we can leave.” He says.

  “Leave?” I say as I perk up out of bed.

  “Yes, leave. I’ve packed up most of your crap in a duffel bag, but I figured you’d want to use the remaining space for any keep-sakes or whatevs.” He says with a playful shrug.

  “Wait a minute? Did you figure out the fuel issue?” I ask eagerly.

  “Yep. Easy.” He says with a nod. I’m expecting a ‘but.’

  “And?” I say expectantly.

  “Nothing. No ‘but’ this time. The Isle Burner is fueled up, and all systems are operating nominally. Turns out the racing thrusters are extremely forgiving when it comes to fuel. There was an ample supply of hydrogen-based additives in the engineering lab, so I was able to closely approximate the ‘racing fuel’ it needs.” Marbles explains. I’m still fixated on the name Isle Burner.

  “Isle Burner? It has a name, or are you high?” I scowl playfully.

  “Nope, that’s the registered name in the transponder. The IDENT is not only fully populated, but it has a credit store.”

  “Credit store?”

  “It’s like a pre-paid account for use at space-stations for fuel, food, and transit costs. My guess is that space donkey races can span multiple systems, and the isle Burner is set up for long distance endurance runs. Having a pre-paid credit store allows them to keep moving without having to manually process transactions along the way. I have no idea what the state of the economy is, but I’m hoping it’s enough to cover a few hyper gate stations or maybe some HAL launches.”

  For once the universe is throwing me a mercy batch of Karma. I have no money. Marbles certainly doesn’t. Long range or not, the little racing skiff has its limits, and space is a big damn place. I concede to my feelings of elation and decide to just accept the news as a blessing.

  I quickly jump on task. I take a quick inventory of what Marbles has packed for me. It’s not much, but it’s not like I have a lot of stuff anyway. I’ve been shipwrecked for thirty years, after all. Besides, my people are anything but materialistic. We have minimal possessions as a rule. In fact, we rarely have money of our own. The War Master Guild is financially backed by the Unum government, so all of our needs are provided for. We only receive money if it’s required for basic necessities or for specific missions.

  I don’t have too many keep-sakes either. They are symbols of holding on to memories, and that doesn’t bode well with my spiritual beliefs. I am far from perfect, as far as my current state of spiritual development, but I accept it. And that’s just it. Holding onto the past distracts us from living in the present. The loss of possessions or unwillingness to let them go is poison for the mind and spirit. Defeating one’s cravings for anything beyond our basic needs is the path to achieving enlightenment. Some War Masters achieve it prior to completing their training, but most don’t. In fact, that’s why they seldom receive a pairing with a Zodiac until a few years after their training. We need to fully master ourselves before we can offer anything meaningful i
n a melded bond.

  My list of necessities is pretty basic. I try to keep it simple. Clean undergarments, personal hygiene supplies, and weapons. Long rifles don’t fit inside a duffel bag full of clothing, so I concentrate on a small assortment of pistols and sub-machine guns.

  Fully packed, I eagerly get washed up and slip on my sub armor. Marbles helps me install a fresh power pack. I decide to keep the dark grey base color of the sub armor to save power. I don’t have anyone to impress in the cockpit of a space donkey, so power is a priority over fashion. I also pull all the power packs for my sword off of the charger that Marbles rigged years ago. I can’t take the charger with me, so I’ll have to hope I can reach Unum before they’re all expended.

  Unum. I can’t believe that I’m heading there. The seat of power for the War Master Guild is a dream come true for me. I can resume my training at the last remaining temple, and we’ll be protected. Unum has a vast security force under a permanent contract, but no military of their own. But they’re closely aligned with the mighty United Assembly of Human Civilizations, or the UAHC. Unum Planetoid is in the Celeste System, which butts up against UAHC controlled space. If there’s an attack, then the UAHC Fleet forces will rain hellfire down on any aggressors. I’ll be safe. I’ll be with family.

  I continue to fantasize about what it will be like to be among my own people. The War Master Guild has their own secure compound on Unum, and there’s even a community of Zodiacs, as well. Marbles will be given sanctuary, and he’ll be able to live a full life. Perhaps he might even get to meet Midas. Midas is the most ancient and powerful sentient AI in existence. His wisdom is legendary, and most of humanity believes him to be nothing more than a fairy tale. But he’s real. If anyone would know how to help Marbles adjust to living somewhere other than in total exile, then it would be him.

  My thoughts begin to flood my mind, and I quickly realize I’m wasting time. I look around my Spartan quarters one last time, throw the duffel bag over my shoulder, and walk out. I won’t miss this place. But I will treasure my experiences. Both good and bad.