Old Complications

by Vincent Cleaver

  He looked down at the flimsy in his broken paw. A moment later, it blew away.

  The Demon screamed again, and then just… stopped. It fell to the roof and was still.

  Harry walked past the Demon, and kicked it, half-heartedly. He sat down, leaned back against the Hunter, and stroked his fur until the body was cold. The sun was well clear of the distant mountains and moving towards midmorning, when he stood and wiped his eyes.

  “I never told you how much I hate heroes, and self-indulgent martyrs.”

  He walked away, and stepped onto something. It was the stone, and he picked it up. He was wondering what to do with it, when the roof opened under him, and the world went away.

  ***

  The volunteers found him, naked and unconscious, in the ashes, the Infinity Shard clutched in his fist. He had no scars, or burns, but was very warm to the touch, burning up, as if with fever. As if he was on fire.

  ***

  The meeting of the RalEnid followed that afternoon. Parl and the Commish arrived last, to a room full of nervous, angry, and very powerful Gara.

  “As you all know, Den Orrik has suffered a great loss, loss of life and property. Three of my brothers children died, and the son of an employee.”

  The assembled magnates did not tell him that he had invited this disaster in. They merely murmured condolences, and offers of assistance.

  “We will manage.” He looked out, at the ocean. “There is more, as some of you will have heard.”

  “Old Complications is dead. My guest and my kin were killed by a criminal conspiracy, assisted by enemies of my Den, and traitors in the RalEnid.”

  “Parl, I don’t think that-“ began one, who had been a friend, or so he had thought.

  “Traitors!” Parl roared. And added, in the deadly quiet, “By all means, keep talking, Dornik.” When Den Leader Dornik did not answer, Parl nodded to the commish. The Gara’s hands shook with suppressed fury, as he tapped out virtual keystrokes.

  “It’s a small price to pay, poor things. But this is an opportunity, to move on Den Orrik…” the voice was obviously Dornik, who sputtered as another voice clip played.

  “It’s a pleasure to do business with the Markov. This serves both of our interests. Perhaps, after this is done, we can renegotiate some of the contracts that Den Orrik currently has?”

  The Gara to his right hissed, “You fool!” and edged away.

  Harry walked in, then, in a Chicago Cubs uniform. It was probably inappropriate, but it was all he had to wear. The Baseball talk had paid off. He walked over to Dornik.

  “Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer? Not such a bad idea, but choose your enemies with more care. Actually, choose better friends,” he added, and Parl winced.

  Harry looked his way. “Sorry, I’m a little out of sorts; almost dying, and all.”

  “Why is he here?” Dornik demanded.

  “He has testimony to give, and we owe him and Old Complications.”

  “I don’t have to sit here and listen to these lies!”Dornik shouted. “I’m out of here!”

  “You really don’t want to go out there,” Harry told him, shoving his chair back to the table. “There’s a bunch of grandparents and relatives, with, I kid you not, knives! I don’t think that they have all of their teeth.”

  “If, and I do mean, if, you manage to make it through that, there are a couple of security types from Den Orrik, waiting to take you before a magistrate.” Harry looked over the back of the chair, at Dornik, who cringed. “Your laws make for interesting reading. In Den Leader Parls’ absence, his brother, Mikli, is his vice, and magistrate for, quote, ‘internal Den matters’, unquote.” Harry sighed theatrically, but he could not maintain his composure, and he suddenly punched the back of Dorniks’ chair.

  “I’d recuse myself, if I were him, seeing how upset I am over the murders of four heroic little cubs. Imagine if you were the father!”

  “Yes, imagine.” The room turned as one to the commish, who looked to Parl. “Sorry. I didn’t tell you this before, but both parents work for you, directly and indirectly. Jook was my… bastard,” he finished, in a whisper.

  You tended to forget that the little Garas were predators, Harry thought, and then he looked at his own reflection, in the window glass. He wore the very same toothy grin as the rest of the Gara in that room. Just so.

  ***

  “What’s next?” Harry asked, later.

  “Why do you want to know?” Parl responded. He was drained, and had curled up like a dog on a pile of furs across from Harry, in the vehicle which was taking him back to the star port.

  “I care what happens. I kind of got attached…” Harry trailed off; remembering dozens of Gara kits, hanging on Old Complication’s every word. Inspire, to invest with life, spirit. Respire, to breath, to live. Harry listened to his own breathing for a little while, and looked up to see Parl staring at him.

  “You were dead, weren’t you?”

  Harry just nodded.

  “How old was he?”

  “Let’s ask the Rangers, shall we?”

  “Perhaps they will tell. Perhaps.” Parl sighed. He looked out on the ocean. They had turned, following the coastline, and were approaching that part of the Star Port reserved for use by Public Security.

  “War is not the business I trained for, so we’ll just have to make it up as we go along.”

  “War, with the Markov? I’m an alien, just learning about the wider galaxy, but, can you do that?”

  “Not so much as you mean, a decisive struggle, might vs. might. We will fight like Gara, and, with any luck, the Markov will oblige us by fighting like Markov.”

  Harry understood, then. These aliens were just that, alien. They were knowable, but round, capable of surprising him. The Markov, to make an analogy, were like samurai: the root word of which meant ‘to serve.’ The Gara were more like ninja, and the characters, the kanji, meant literally, 'one who is concealed' or 'one that endures.' Harry had a foot in both worlds, a Marine and a Company Man. He understood.

  “I’d like to help, but I’ve got another mission, you see. Places to go and promises to keep.”

  “Why are you doing this for him?”

  “Because he asked?’ They laughed, or Parl yipped, and Harry chuckled sadly. You could learn a lot about a person, in a very short time, even an ancient eccentric alien kitty cat.

  “He told me something, last night. That every sentient species struggles with those big questions- What is our purpose, what to we owe each other, and why we’re here. Some people want peace and an end to suffering. Others want to be defined by struggle. This job that OC left for me is a gift. I think of it as a coin, with two sides. Either it will be peaceful, or it will be hard. Hell, maybe it will be boring! But it will be something worth doing, and a small part of The Work.”

  ***

  Another Directorate of Transportation starship, but this time, Harry was received by a welcoming committee led by its Bluehorn Captain, in what looked like a tie-died blue and green uniform, except that, on looking closer, the pattern was of islands and continents and seas. The scout wore a gray coverall solid with mission patches, like a veteran NASA astronaut. Or a NASCAR driver, Harry thought. It looked sort of like a starfish, but Harry could not place its species. Many species, one people, he thought.

  The Rangers were in Black and Gold, a small group headed up by a human woman. There was another Bluehorn, a Trike, an Oddity, and two Markov, as well. A half dozen, where twelve was the magic number, in the Conservancy. Harry found himself staring at the Oddity, and then turned to the human. They saluted, each in the manner of their species, and the human made a Roman-style salute. Harry was in civvies, but he saluted back.

  “I am Ranger Karen Boyle, and I am honored to meet you.”

  Harry took the flimsy with the child’s drawing from his pocket. “Would you happen to be Marianne’s mom? I think that this was drawn by her, and we found it, after. Old Complications…“ Ha
rry could not speak for a moment. Damn that Alien Kitty Cat!

  “This survived.”

  Karen nodded, and took it, eyes bright.

  “This is the Commandant,” Boyle said, introducing the rest of them, in turn. All were students and friends of Old Complications.

  There was a curious ceremony, where they shared water from a battered old container, and grel stew. They poured water for each other, like the dim sum practice of pouring tea for your neighbor, never for yourself. Harry got a chance to do so, for Karen Boyle, and he looked at it. The Rangers ceased talking as he did so, and he looked around.

  “This is a relic, from the OjGara Spacelift, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” Boyle said, nodding. “This is from one of the refuges, where they shared what they had, and eventually resolved to save themselves.”

  The Commandant spoke, and the others joined in.

  “Shared pain is diminished. It passes over us, and through us, and passes away. We do not hold onto it.”

  “Shared joy is increased. It is reflected back, each from the other, and we hold onto it, forever.”

  Karen explained. “We Rangers are nothing, without our sayings and doings. Ritual binds us together, and our strengths cover each other’s weaknesses. Share with us, our memories of Old Complications.”

  ***

  Robert Anson Heinlein used this bit for one of his short stories, and there are a lot of his fans who think, someday, when we go back to the Moon for all the right reasons, there'll be a shipping tag with this written on it. But I like it for OC, too.

  Under the wide and starry sky,

  Dig the grave and let me lie.

  Glad did I live and gladly die,

  And I laid me down with a will.

  This be the verse you grave for me:

  Here he lies where he longed to be;

  Home is the sailor, home from sea,

  And the hunter home from the hill.

  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Robert_Louis_Stevenson

  Thanks for reading, and a one more thing. The Conservancy is based on a lot of ideas, obviously, but I need to single out one for special mention- Star Trek's United Federation of Planets.

  The Galactic Conservancy doesn't exist, but it ought to.

  Vince the Alien Zookeeper