by Will Crudge
KATHERINE: THE MONSTER WITHIN
WAR MASTER CANDIDATE – BOOK 1
BY WILL CRUDGE
“When your enemy is coming to kill you, wake up early and kill him first!”
~Hebrew proverb, Talmud
TABLE OF CONTENTS
FOREWORD
KATHERINE
A CHILD BECOMES AN APPRENTICE
TRAINING BEGINS
THE YEARS FLY BY
POST SHIT-STORM
FUCKING PIRATES
FIRST BLOOD
SUBLIME VENGEANCE
INTO THE ABYSS
SUPER FIGHTER
PRE-BATTLE REVELATIONS
BLOOD BATH
BEST LAID PLANS
ALWAYS SOMETHING
SLASH AND BURN
EPILOGUE
THE BOOKS OF HUMANITY WEAPON
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
FOREWORD
This is the series that I wrote completely out of spite. My beloved wife, Katherine, is not a sci-fi fan… Decidedly not a sci-fi fan… But I adore her, and I wanted to make her a character in the Humanity Weapon Universe despite her protests.
Keep in mind, the Katherine in this book is merely a satirical version of the real thing, so don’t expect her to be the lovely Southern Bell that my wife is.
I did my best to keep a lighter narrative tone with this series than I did with War for Humanity, so be prepared to take it with a grain of salt.
I am truly excited that you’ve chosen to come along on Katherine’s journey.
A journey that will be rife with peril, action, and irreverent banter!
-Will Crudge, Pendleton 2018
KATHERINE
My name is Katherine McAlister. I live in the forty third century. That is to say, not the forty third century according to the Gregorian calendar… In my time, we go by the Post Interstellar Calendar. It counts from the founding of humanity’s first successful colonization of an astral body beyond the Sol System.
My mother is long dead. Killed in action during the last major war that ravaged humanity. That was nearly two centuries ago. I was a young toddler, barely two years of age, when she went off to war. She didn’t go off to war alone, however. My father, Condor McAlister, went with her. My tiny-self was placed in a stasis pod to keep me safe. But I wasn’t ‘thawed out’ for another eighty some-odd years.
You see, my parents were War Masters. They were born into it. As was I. However, that title has to be earned in blood, sweat, and tears.
After my mother was killed, my father was stricken with grief. So much so, that he was effectively out of commission until the end of the war. A War Master’s ability to wage war is dependent on heightened mental stability… Lest, our innate abilities spiral out of control.
He recovered his strength eventually, but he was a warrior. A warrior with no time to raise a child on his own. Or so, he always told me. He always said that he kept me in stasis to protect me. To shield me from the emotional strain of losing a parent, until such time as he felt that he was strong enough to handle it on his own.
It was true, I suppose. My kind are seldom known to use deceit without having a strategic reason for it, after all. War Masters are effectively warrior monks, and are teeming with self-discipline. It takes about a century of training to earn the title, so that stuff gets etched into your brain pretty deeply.
I never got to complete my training, however. Sure, seventy years of it turned me into an effective warrior. But the last thirty was meant to hone me into a being of total self-control. Enlightened, even.
But alas, my time was cut short. I’ll be happy to tell you all about it. But first, let me tell you how it started…
A CHILD BECOMES AN APPRENTICE
I was around twenty when my father took us to our clan’s training temple. It was the only remaining temple outside of the Celeste System, and it had served as our clan’s home temple for thousands of years. I can still remember the sounds of the ship’s drives, as it began to burn for deceleration. We were almost there.
My mind is flooded with excitement, but my heart throbs in fear. It is a rite of passage of sorts, I suppose. Most of my family had gone through it, as did the bulk of my ancestors. I should be riddled with joy. But I find myself holding back tears.
I look to my left where my father is sitting. He takes his eyes off of the holographic display in the main passenger cabin, and turns them to me. His face exudes that of a proud father. His smile is etched into my memory, but it is clouded by the feelings I sense within him. My kind… Our kind, to be exact, are naturally adept to sensing someone’s intentions. Even more so, when that person shares a War Master’s genetic gifts.
He says nothing at first, but I matched his smile to prompt him to break the silence… I’ve never been known to initiate touchy conversations, after all. “I’m so proud of you, Katherine!” He says. He’s being truthful.
“I know, father!” I say, as I lean in to press up onto his arm. It was about as much of an embrace as one may muster, when one is strapped into a five-point harness.
I can feel the inertial stabilizers balance out the heavy g’s of the burn, and a few moments later we get the ‘all clear’ to lose the straps. Now free, I wrap my arms around him and take in his radiant essence. Mind you, this is the same man that kept me in stasis for eighty years, so you may view that as being somewhat cruel. However, it’s actually very common in my culture. And we’re naturally pre-disposed to not cling to grudges.
“I wish your mother was alive to see you off to the temple.” He says all teary-eyed. “Her temple was on Unum, but she always loved the quaintness of this place.” He spoke as if we were already there, so I assumed we were close.
Time is ticking, and the next century will be long and grueling. I may not see my father for decades to come, so I make the most of our time. We spent the next half-our revisiting fond memories, cracking jokes, and teasing Killjoy.
Oh, yeah… Killjoy. He’s a gigantic tiger. A Zodiac, to be precise. Zodiacs are so named, because they come from a variety of predatory species. They’ve all dedicated themselves to the twelve clans that make up the War Master Guild… Even though, only seven clans still exist. But that’s a story for another time.
Killjoy is a little less than half a metric ton. He shares some of the genetic gifts that War Masters have, and so are considered ‘our kind’ as well. He has the intellect of an elite chess master, and his hide is extremely resistant to damage. He’s basically a biological battle tank with claws… and the ability to comprehend advanced mathematics.
A Zodiac is paired with a War Master after he or she completes his or her training. They are then referred to as a ‘War Master’s Mounts’. We develop a deep mental and emotional bond with our mounts, and they keep us grounded. By ‘grounded’, I mean to say, they keep us from using our innate abilities to inadvertently kill ourselves… Handy, right?
The ship landed without incident, and all three of us disembarked accordingly. I have a simple duffel bag strapped to my back. It contains every possession I own. We’re not the most ‘materialistic’ culture, if you know what I mean?
The hallowed halls of the temple greet us. The smooth archways pass by over our heads as we walk. They’re simple but elegant. We continue on, as we walk along with other families. Our kind are relatively few in number, so it’s a pretty rare sight to see so many War Masters in one place. Even during times of war, our kind tends to be stretched thin across the cosmos. My eyes are as wide as planets, as I see people donning armor similar to my father’s. The suits of armor are more ceremonial than anything else. A trained War Master can survive injuries that would be otherwise fatal, of course. Plus, we heal quickly. Which may be
why we age so slowly, as well. To be honest, at that point I didn’t know all that much about what secrets flowed through my veins.
We eventually arrive in the main courtyard. At least, that’s what it’s referred to as. It’s more like a circular room with an ancient stone floor, and a ceiling that towers one hundred meters above. There are concentric levels above us. The generations of trainees are assigned to each level in accordance with their progress. Generally speaking, it takes roughly a decade to move up to the next. But it hinges on individual progress, of course.
The century of training may actually take eighty five to one hundred and ten years to complete. We just round it off to a century in plain speech. But nobody is judged if they take longer than others. I’ll come to learn that in time.
Light chatter, tears, and laughter fill the space with sound. The dozen or so families are now gathered, as they take advantage of every remaining second. Our training will begin the second that our parents and loved ones depart, or so I’ve been told. That’s all we’re allowed to know by tradition. Even my close bond with my father isn’t enough to get him to spill the beans. I don’t know if it’s his love for me that kept him from divulging details, or something else. Perhaps, he’s merely trying to protect me. I guess I’m about to find out. Yay.
My father’s arm remains wrapped around me. I don’t protest, but rather take it all in. He’s normally not this affectionate, but I suppose this event warrants it. My genetic gifts may have been unlocked when I was barely able to walk, but they are still largely useless without training. So, I can’t fully gage what’s going on inside my father’s mind. Or his heart, for that matter.
I just soak up the attention, as I caress Killjoy’s furry shoulders. I realize I’m going to miss that big damned cat! He’s been as much a part of me, as my father has. Their bond is powerful, but I don’t quite understand it that well. All I know, is that both of their life-energies permeate each other’s beings, and by extension, Killjoy is my father too. He’s always been kind to me, and even taught me how to read. I can only pray that I get paired with a Zodiac of his caliber one day.
But my inner world snaps to the present, as the room goes inexplicably silent. I look to my father, but his eyes are fixed on something else. I scan to see it for myself.
It is a War Master. Aged, at that. He stands on the second tier above the courtyard, and is dressed in his full ‘Samurai-esque’ regalia. Granted, we’re not Samurai. But the best way to describe traditional War Master Armor, is to imagine a sixteenth century CE Samurai, but without a helmet, and with more modest adornments.
He speaks. “Welcome, clan-mates and candidates! I am War Master Fredrick Erikson. I will be the senior drill instructor for this class of candidates. Please, take one last moment to say your goodbyes. Training begins in five minutes.”
That’s all he says. He just turns around and disappears from view. Five Minutes. Shit! I think to myself. No pomp and circumstance? No long speeches? What am I getting myself into?
“It’s time, Kat.” My father called me ‘Kat’. He almost never does that. The last time he did, he was comforting me when I got my first period. This isn’t good.
“Are you leaving?” I ask. “We just got here!”
He nods solemnly. His eyes crease more than normal. He’s not exactly young, even by War Master Standards, but his wrinkled eyes are more pronounced than ever. His frown seems to have aged him by a century or more. Even his tiny grey streaks seem to shine through his, otherwise dark hair.
“I must go. It’s time for your journey to begin.” He says. I don’t need fully developed War Master Skills to get a sense of his feelings. He’s fighting back tears. I feel a lump in my throat, and fear in my soul. I cling to him one last time. Although I am stronger than most humans, my ability to harness trans-dimensional energy is non-existent, so even I can’t squeeze him hard enough to make me feel any better. I take a moment to bend down and squeeze Killjoy’s massive neck. My blonde hair slumps over him, and mingles with his exotic stripes. I wish I could make time stop. I just want to be with my two ‘dads’ forever!
But I’m not trained to do that. If that’s even a thing I’ll learn. To be honest, I know very little of the curriculum I’m going to be facing. I’ll eventually figure out how the lack of preparation for my training is, by extension, part of it.
My father has been preparing me for this for years. I just don’t know it yet. But I’m about to.
I try to cling to him one last time before he turns to walk away. It’s as hard for him, as it is for me, I suppose. But he’s a trained War Master. He’s spent more time in combat, than I’ve spent breathing… Not counting stasis. In stasis, you don’t actually breathe.
But he leaves. Killjoy does as well. I watch him go. My soul longs for him to turn, and take one last look at me before he disappears. But he doesn’t.
He’s gone.
A few moments later… the shit hits the fan, and I don’t have an umbrella.
TRAINING BEGINS
The ancient term, ‘shock and awe’, doesn’t hold a candle to what is happening. Moments after our families’ ship dusted off, the courtyard was filled with yelling. Loud yelling. Roaring, even.
By roaring, I mean exactly that. In addition to younger drill instructors, there are a few Zodiacs as well. One is a panther, another is a jaguar, and another is some kind of K-9 species I don’t recognize. The five human drill instructors are donning War Master Regalia, while the Zodiacs are bare. By ‘bare’, I mean, without garments. Of course they have fur, and the distinct voice modules, which strap around their necks..
The eight men, women, and creatures alike, begin to spout orders. Some are clearly annunciated, while others were a garbled torrent of babble. Either way, it all made me pee a little. Okay, fine! Maybe more than a little, but still less than others.
We get corralled into two lines of six candidates. I’m on the second row. We all face forward… At least, I think so. A circular room doesn’t really give you any frame of reference, as far as cardinal directions are concerned. But I digress.
There are nine young men, and three young women, counting me. And we’re all being bombarded with a well-concocted emulsion of equal parts profanity, and semi-audible commands. We’re being chastised for not knowing how to stand at attention, as if our parents bothered to teach us.
Of course, in time I would see the pattern myself. None of my peers’ parental figures taught us what to expect… let alone, how to stand at attention. In reality, we weren’t expected to know any of it. That’s the point. We were being held accountable for things we couldn’t possibly control.
Lesson number one… We will be held to an impossible standard, and we will be punished for not meeting said standard.
But it only got worse. A lot worse.
I’ve never experienced what a normal human goes through on their first day of boot camp. But I do know one thing… They weren’t allowed to be harmed to any extent that couldn’t be treated with basic medical aide. Especially, if that injury caused a loss of training time. But we’re not normal humans.
We heal rapidly, even from injuries that may be life-threatening to normal meat-sacks. There was little or no mercy to be had within the confines of a training temple.
We were belittled, surely. But that was just traditional hazing, and it was something I was mentally prepared for. Nope! Just kidding. I was prepared for only two things. Jack and shit!
The only limitation our drill instructors had, or so I would eventually learn, was A. We could not be sexually assaulted. And B. We could not be killed.
But marching in the nude for the next twenty-two hours, whilst being pelted with stones, and splashed with ice-cold dirty mop water, was within the rules.
That’s right. In the nude. It’s not a sexual thing, so don’t get it twisted. The one thing that our parents do teach us, and for obvious reasons, is to master our own libidos. It’s a critical skill to have for any hormone infused adolescent!
Having a child doesn’t disqualify a candidate from beginning training, but raising a child does. In my culture, you’re expected to raise your own child. Adoption is not an option, unless both biological parents are deceased. Likewise, Abortion is illegal for our kind… It’s not for the sake of morality, per say, but it’s simply pragmatic. Our gene-pool cannot be cloned, and our breeding population is critically small. Stasis pod, you ask? Sorry. Nope. That’s reserved for War Masters during a time of war… and only with approval of the clan chief.
Controlling our libidos to prevent the urge to procreate is the only option we have. And thus, ultimately why we often find ourselves in the nude among our own.
Our bared flesh is to make us feel vulnerable. None of us are embarrassed by it, for the normal reasons one may be. It’s not a shameful feeling. We don’t care much about how we all look. We all have superior genes, and thus none of us are hard to look at.
It’s more primordial. We have a racial memory that ingrains us to seek clothing to survive harsh climates. Clothing protects us from the elements, and also helps to prevent injury. Having no clothing forces us to embrace our deepest primal fears.
Eventually, I’ll learn about controlling fear through experience and acceptance… But not today. All I know is pain. The drill instructors are not tired, of course. They can tap into interdimensional energies to sustain themselves with ease.
We cannot. It sucks. Gigantic monkey balls. It’s sucking gigantic monkey balls while staving off dehydration, hunger, and whatever warm fluids that keep discharging from my God-knows-where, and trickling down my God-knows-what!
Finally, we get the order to halt. We must have gone for miles. But we’ll never know how long. It’s hard to keep track of distance since we never left the courtyard. But, at least the endless hours of marching in circles was over.