What to Do with Jardin (Fan Fic)

[sunphoenix]

I know just the room for her! Single cabin, great view, roomy... an airlock!

[Krulle]

There are other, larger rooms.
The currently empty hangar. It dors have more soace, and a much larger openable frame to enjoy the scenery.


Once they lift off lunar base, the shuttles and fighters want to dock again.

[Absalom]

What if the Soia deliberately installed an mechanism for Soia-loren races to crossbreed with their template races?

That would mean that someone didn't want to resequence for diversity when they already had fertile females of the target & fertile males of the reference. It would still be present only because something happened to prevent it from being removed. The gender ratio could even be a result of the same. Good engineering often resolves to very intentionally designed laziness.

There are other, larger rooms.
The currently empty hangar. It dors have more soace, and a much larger openable frame to enjoy the scenery.


Once they lift off lunar base, the shuttles and fighters want to dock again.

Small cleaning & maintenance closet. Pick one small enough to require curling up, put in a shelf with a cushion around waist high, designate the space under for her personal equipment.

Then find some way to allocate a normal-sized cabin for the displaced cleaning & maintenance supplies. Install a workstation for maintaining the cleaning & maintenance equipment to justify the allocation. It would be easier to justify with higher crew densities, so perhaps dedicate another cabin to training duties for crew from other ships ("unit cohesiveness and training verification" or something of the sort), just to increase the effective crew density of the ship.

[ShadowDragon8685]

Note: Doing some post-reordering to try and keep these in something approximating chronological order. So the post after this one will actually contain the story chunk from the post immediately preceding this one, which will have been deleted. Sorry.

====================

Fireblade was vaguely uncomfortable as she slipped through the bridge of Swiftwind. Beryl looked up at her as she walked through the bridge; the mizol was sitting with her back to the console,working on a tablet balanced in her crosslegged lap. She smiled, and raised her hand to the right side of her head, and Fireblade returned the gesture, without the stiffness and speed she would use in a more formal moment.

She was uncomfortable, she realized, because Stormrage was holding the boy's hand. Her son's hand. That was... Odd, to Fireblade's mind. Also holding the hand of the quietly-staring youth who had come with her, the one who had been implanted with those... Things. Augmentations, Jardin had called them when he seemed to be under the misapprehension that they had been voluntary, and her first instinct was scorn; did he think so little of his natural prowess that adding machinery to enhance it seemed like a reasonable option?
Then, on second thought, perhaps for humans it wasn't unreasonable; they had no sanzai, no telekinetic powers. They needed to eat far more and made much less effective use of what they did consume, needed far more sleep... If not for him proving time and again that despite his natural handicaps he had as much valor, spirit, drive and loyalty as any warrior she had had the pleasure to serve with, she wouldn't think much of humans.

And again, she was reminded of the time their minds touched, not telepathically, but mechanically. If that feat could be replicated, she would gladly endure having a device implanted to enable such communication with him; not analogous, exactly, to sanzai, but certainly incredible, and it had made them a frighteningly fearsome force in the cockpits of those two giant machines the Historian had assembled.

Still, Stormrage was... Different. She had changed, greatly; and she had not been, strictly speaking, a typical Loroi beforehand. She had always been sentimental, forming deep attachments and suffering for it, as all Loroi did, but perhaps moreso than most for the ease and depth with which she bonded with others. Indeed, Fireblade knew all too well exactly how deeply into her shipmates Stormrage could become, having on more than one occasion chosen to overlook Stormrage's habit of adding a physically sexual component to intimacy with her fellow warriors.
Not technically forbidden, but such acts were deeply frowned upon, of course. Still, Fireblade felt, it wasn't affecting their duties, and Stormrage at least - she carried with her far more than her fair share of survivor's guilt; she was the last survivor of her diral, about half of them having gone up with the heavy cruiser Deathwind, of which Stormrage was one of precious few survivors. If she found some additional solace in such unusual behavior, and it didn't interfere with their duties, Fireblade wasn't going to reprimand her without a direct order to do so, one which never had come.

She was different now - different, intense, her mind guarded as a rule, yet clinging tightly to the child and the young woman with her. Fireblade couldn't imagine doing that - the thought of what touching the mind of one so young must be like seemed bizarre to her. She had only flashes of memory from when she was that age, young enough that it would have been from before they were placed in their diral. The thought of it was deeply uncomfortable to Fireblade; not to mention the thought of what touching the young woman, Snow White, must have been. What she had been through, Fireblade couldn't imagine. Didn't wish to imagine.
Still, loss she didn't need to imagine; loss she felt all-too-keenly, from the first girl lost in her diral, to the most recent crew lost in action, and Reed's constant example that the shells were a viscous, unfeeling lot devoid of valor and honor, who would corrupt a warrior's mind to turn her upon her friends. Loss was something she and Stormrage shared, both in the abstract and in the shipmates of Tempest lost to both of them.

It has been a very long time, Stormrage, she sent to her old subordinate. I see your journey reaching this place has taken you quite a long time.
It has been a very long time, Fireblade, Stormrage replied. Prevarication has never been your way before. What is it you wish to ask?
Fireblade smirked; Stormrage was right, it was not her way. Her damnable human friend's influence, no doubt. I was wondering what you were thinking. Or if you were simply... Curious? Bored; sexually frustrated, even? It would be... Understandable.

Stormrage snorted, allowing some glimmer of contempt for the question to get through her mental barriers. It was not mere curiosity... We became close; comrades, friends. It is clear to me you are very fond of your pink alien male. You trust him, you regard him as a warrior; an equal first and foremost. With Charlie and I, it was very much the same. I found him to have valor and honor in abundance, loyal to his friends and comrades, steady in the face of danger. You must know what that is like.

Fireblade nodded. It is true. Alexander Jardin is all of those things. Many other things besides; irascible, irritating, occasionally irresponsible... But yes, he is a Warrior, as much as you or I are.
And you know full well how... Deeply I take my attachments with some warrior-friends of mine.
Fireblade snorted, smirking, the image of having accidentally come across Stormrage and a Soroin Marine in the showers at a time when they and they alone were scheduled - in a full quarter of the ship - to be off-duty seared into her mind. I could not forget with the aid of our strongest drugs, she teased Stormrage, and Stormrage telekinetically flicked the back of her head in playful retribution. She grinned, taking it in stride.

With Charles, it was the same; perhaps even more urgent, in fact. Unable to touch his mind, I was forced to speak with him, to intuit his states, to read his body... And some signals are not hard in the slightest to read.
And so you threw yourself at him, Fireblade asked, looking back, arching her eyebrow. Stormrage smirked at her.
It had been five years since I was with a male. One year since the last time I was with another warrior in that way. Here was an opportunity to be with both at once, and to learn more about one of my very best friends, to try to approximate the closeness I could feel with one of my fellow Loroi, and you know full well that when presented with the opportunity for such closeness, even if it carries the risk of heartbreaking loss, I gamble future pain against present intimacy. Of course I took the opportunity before me; do not attempt to deceive me by claiming you aren't tempted.

Fireblade turned back to look; offended by the suggestion she would attempt to lie, to find her old subordinate smirking at her. A joke. Fireblade rolled her eyes and stopped, turning and leaning against the bare wall across the entry hall from the airlock doors. Of course I am tempted. We alternate sleeping in the same bed and have for two months. He and I have shared a mental connection no Loroi has ever shared with another, thanks to a mad Historian genius's construct. We have battled shells and other foes side-by-side, back-to-back. I have seen the reckless fool hurl himself, heedless of his importance as a diplomatic envoy, into danger to protect Loroi unknown known to him, shed his blood at our side, and shed tears for those he could not aid. How could the thought fail to enter my mind? But that is all it is; a thought. Acting on such an impulse would be inadvisable at best, doubly so now that we know that human males are apparently capable of impregnating us. We thought we could call that a gross fluke of that Hos'te Blec beverage, but your Charles certainly never sampled any.

Hos'te Blec? Stormrage blinked, and smirked. Charles had never, but I had. Surely they of the clan partook as well?
Fireblade raised her eyebrow, snorting. Perhaps the connection cannot be ruled out after all... Nevertheless, it would be inadvisable, for many reasons.

Inadvisable? Stormrage smiled, sadly. Everything about our lives is 'inadvisable,' Fireblade. If it was security and safety we sought, we would have refused to serve as warriors and become Maian farmers.
Fireblade smirked; she knew that proclivities such as Stormrage's were somewhat more common among the civilian population than the warring castes. It would seem that you would have been better able to indulge yourself leading such a life, too, yet I know this: that no matter what else has changed in your journey aboard the human warship Cydonia , you are and remain a Warrior; Unsheathed, at heart. We are the warriors, our lives are filled with pain and loss in the hopes of someday, against the odds, living to see the last shell's carapace crushed under our boots. Such connections can only make the pain worse; was it worth it?

Stormrage smiled, a deeply bittersweet smile, and she knelt down, lifting the purple-skinned, half-human boy, clutching him to her armored chest with one arm, and he in turn wrapped his arms around the back of her neck, holding on tight, laying his head against her pauldron. It made Fireblade uncomfortable, seeing her yellow-green-haired comrade, who looked so very much as she had when Fireblade last saw her, incline her head, rubbing her cheek on that of the child, kissing his cheek softly. Yes, Fireblade. Yes, it was worth it. When he was with me, we were... Entwined. As one. Certainly I mean this sexually, but you are doing me a great injustice, bordering on the insulting, if you think it was merely lust which overcame me. So what if I did throw myself headlong into his customs, or his arms? It was worth it... And as long as Kamielle is alive, and well, in a way a part of him lives ever onward; not anonymously, but knowingly.

Fireblade shook her head, and sighed. Such tales always end poorly, Stormrage; you know this.
Such tales would be... Very convenient for reinforcing the dominant ethos of our society, would they not? Stormrage arched an eyebrow, as Firestorm furrowed hers, uncomfortably reminded of Jardin's demonstration of the human fiction of the 'fable.'

What are you implying, Stormrage? That our histories are falsified?
Stormrage shrugged. I would not put it beyond the realm of possibility... After all, all it takes is one cynical-thinking liar to recite an altered version of one of our tales, and have that version become memorized and passed down by others in good faith. But it would not even take such extreme measures; all that would really be necessary are for any... Inconvenient examples of such bonds which ended perfectly happily being forgotten about.

Fireblade stared into Stormrage's eyes, searching them. Stormrage seemed somehow cheerfully cynical about the possibility. But your tale is already ending poorly, she pointed out. Charles is lost to you. How can you live with such grief?
Stormrage's expression softened, and she looked down at the deck. The youth at her side pressed in, hugging her, and her son clung tightly to her. Our lives are and always have been going to end poorly, Fireblade. Some of us may be fortunate to see the end of this war, but it is very unlikely I will be among them, and only marginally more likely you will be. You know this. We rain the fires of a thousand Hells on our foes in the name of the Union, of our race, and we do so gladly; when the time comes, we both expect to die selling our lives so dearly that the shells will find it a poor bargain they should not have made. That seems to be the most that you and I can hope for. We do our duties, often thankless, arduous duties, and we do them without complaint, for they are ours to perform. Surely, you do not believe I have become so changed that that has changed?
Fireblade shook her head, sending back her belief that it had not, and Stormrage continued. Tell me, Fireblade, do you remember your first mating? Your first child?
Fireblade frowned; that had been a very long time ago. She remembered it, but clamped down on the memories, not wishing to revisit them. I remember that it was awkward, and I was full of lust I had barely any concept of what to do with. I remember giving birth to twins, and being very thankful for good anesthetic. I remember shortly over six years ago, when their diral had successfully become new warriors, being lucky enough to be called to shear their hair off. I did not recognize them.

Of course you didn't, Fireblade, Stormrage sent to her. How could you have? They were as strangers to you; girls you given birth to, and then were sent away to be raised by others so that you could be sent off to war. They were complete strangers to you; they might have been anybody's daughters. I am not saying they were Fireblade, merely that they could have been.
Fireblade's eyes narrowed, searching Stormrage's eyes, carefully. Are you proposing that our way of life is... Flawed, Stormrage?
Are you claiming that it is perfected such as to be beyond critique or improvement? Stormrage raised her eyebrow, curiously, and Fireblade stared into her eyes, stony-faced, both of them guarding their thoughts, yet seemingly trying to search them out in the other's eyes; a curious habit both had apparently developed independently through prolonged exposure to humans. Had it been anyone but an old comrade and friend across from her, Fireblade would have felt wary of an attack.

Why ask about my first, Fireblade finally asked, and Stormrage smiled.
Because Kamielle is my first. She squeezed the boy, and set him down, carefully; he clung to her hand, and to her armored thigh. Fireblade's eyebrow raised.
How is that possible, Fireblade asked, surprised, and Stormrage shrugged, and smiled, sadly.
My first time with a male was... Not successful. I neither complained nor mentioned it. I had not had a second opportunity by the time I was assigned to the Argent Fire's mission to find Earth. And now, for such a long time, my son has... Been with his family. Even after Charles... Vanished, I was there for him.

Fireblade met Stormrage's eyes again. What, then, is your ultimate plan? Abandon your duty to the Union to... Attempt to raise him yourself?
Stormrage shook her head. You do me an injustice by even suggesting it, Fireblade, she sent back. Perhaps, if the war had been won in my absence. Perhaps if it ends while I still draw breath. But as long as the Hierarchy are out there, threatening our race? Threating all the races of the Union? Threatening these, our Human cousins, threatening the Barsam and Neiridi, Pipolsid and Golim, and the rest? No, Fireblade. You know me, you know that I will not fail, I will not falter. But at the same time, I have taken personal responsibility for my son, for Snow White. They cannot return to the Union; it has no place for such as them. You know this, Fireblade; and that is why I seek to leave them here, where hopefully they will find safety, and some kind of life. I can not; I will not take them to a place where they will be experimented upon as scientific oddities, or disposed of as being too alien to be Loroi, and too Loroi to be alien.

Fireblade tilted her head to the side, intentionally evoking one of Jardin's body language gestures for confusion. And yet, you think they will find a place among the humans?
I do, Fireblade. Consider; they took in the Orgus without hesitation. Cydonia took in the survivors of Argent Fire, and Alexander Jardin has taken in you - oh, of course, physically he was in the Union for most of this time, but he took you, and Beryl, Tempo, into his heart, made you his friends. You yourself said he will throw himself heedless of personal danger into the fray to protect us. Men and women like him are exemplars of humanity; far more open-minded than we are, almost self-righteously so. But that is one of their race's great virtues, as the valor they share with us and the natural gifts which are ours alone, or the Barsam's spirituality, or Pipolsid intellect. Yes, I do believe they will be safe here, that they will find a life here, especially with Kamielle's grandparents. And knowing that they are indeed safe, I will be able to return, and fight all the harder for it.

Fireblade sent nothing back for a time, mulling over what Stormrage had sent to her. Finally, she pushed off the wall, and walked to the airlock, opening the inner door. She entered it, with Stormrage and her charges in tow, and the airlock began to cycle. Her friend seemed so very strange, so very changed - and yet, still the same person she always had been, driving herself beyond all reasonable calls of duty, almost fatalistically resigned to her fate.

By the way, Fireblade, Stillstorm gave me and me alone extra instructions on that voyage. She ordered me to find a way to penetrate the human's lotai.
Fireblade snorted softly, and looked to her friend, raising her eyebrow. It is impossible, she sent back, and Stormrage shook her head.
Not impossible, Fireblade. She let go of the hands of Snow-White and Kamielle, held them up, towards Fireblade. The older Teidar blinked, looking down at them, well aware of what Stormrage was offering. The intense intimacy of such contact with someone she had not known for five years was daunting... But Fireblade raised her hands, clasping Stormrage's firmly.

Waves of emotion suddenly hit her; fierce protectiveness, intense connection, joy, sorrow. Stormrage stared into her eyes. The human's lotai is incredible, innate and it is subconscious, Fireblade. We know this to be true, and it only amplifies when they are unconscious; and attempting to breach this screen by force is a fool's effort, rewarded only with pain. But they have thought, and minds, just as we do. Their minds can be touched, just as ours can.
Fireblad was doubtful, and Stormrage responded with amusement. You will not like it, Fireblade; it is without use as a weapon. It requires trust - absolute, unhesitating, total trust; an intimate connection. For Charles and I, it happened in the throes of sex, clinging to one another, blinded by emotion and pleasure, and then, suddenly, I could feel him - not just his body, but his mind. Just for a few moments, just as he was releasing himself inside me, but I felt it.

Fireblade blinked, staring at Stormrage's eyes. Doubt overcame her, and she shook her head. I... I cannot believe that. I am absolutely sure that Alexander trusts me as much as is possible. Our minds have touched, not with sanzai but with the aid of machinery. I have felt the beating of his heart, the straining of his mind and body in the heat of battle. I would give a great deal, my friend, to feel that again, but though we have touched many times since, I have never felt such contact with him... Are you sure you were not simply imagining it, projecting the emotions you felt, those you wanted him to feel, onto him? You have a history of becoming... Absorbed in your lovers. Stormrage clearly believed everything she was sending, that wasn't in doubt. Stormrage smiled at her, a sense of... Ambivalent serenity coming over her.

Perhaps. Perhaps not. Are you sure that I was, Fireblade? Stormrage squeezed her hands, and Fireblade squeezed hers back, closing her eyes, letting herself become lost for a moment in the other Loroi's conviction. She let out a sigh, and opened her eyes again, to see Stormrage smiling sadly at her. It is not ours to question why, Fireblade; it is but ours to do, and to die. This I accepted long ago, and so did you, but that does not mean I must accept it for them. The 'them' she was referring to were clearly Kamielle and Snow White. It does not mean I will resign my son to a lonely, bitter fate of being genetically undesirable and having his fate chosen for him by those with no love for him. I will not allow the poor child - Snow White, of course - to be executed summarily as a security risk by short-sighted ignorant fools, or to be turned into a research project with no more given to her feelings or wellbeing than that of a culture of test tissues in a laboratory. I have served the Union ever loyally, and I ever will; until my parting breath, at least, or that of the last shell - whichever comes first. I think our people can spare me the lives of a Loroi and half-Loroi they do not care for to be sent to a place of my preference, yes?

Fireblade sighed, softly. You are unyielding on this, she noted.
As unyielding as you would be if you felt Alexander Jardin's life were in danger, Fireblade; or that of any of your other friends. Stormrage conjured up thoughts of Beryl, Tempo and Reed, bringing them to the forefront of Fireblade's mind, along with the intensity she felt for them all. The association was too much, and conjured unbidden also thoughts of Talon and Spiral; barely known to her at the last time Stormrage had seen her, but since having become equally close. The thought of them imperiled made her shudder; all of them were, she admitted, Warriors; but she was Unsheathed, not they; it was her place to be the final line of defense for her friends who were without the power she wielded. It was, she knew, wholly irrational; Talon and Spiral easily commanded far more destructive power at the controls of a starfighter than the power of her mind, and Alexander commanded enough firepower in even his tiny fleet of corvettes to sterilize a world should he have need to do so, yet she felt it keenly. Tell me, is it somehow less intense an attachment you feel for those you hold in your heart, than those I hold in mine, simply because you do not touch your most intimate companions, and I do?

There was a touch of sarcasm in Stormrage's emotions, but primarily sincerity. Fireblade opened her eyes, looking into Stormrage's, and her old subordinate smiled, wryly at her. And if you think it is such a great failing... Why did you not punish me, or forbid me from having such contact with my intimate companions aboard Tempest?

Fireblade blinked at the question, and closed her eyes. Because I felt that we could all be dead at any hour, of any day. I did not expect to live as long as I have. I did not expect any of us to do so. I felt that if it gave you and your... Intimates some sense of... Relief, then that if it was not impairing your duties, and you sufficiently avoided notice as to prevent it affecting morale, I was not going to discipline you over it. She snorted, softly. I considered disciplining you that time I caught you in the showers, but it was a pure vagary of chance that a line had so ruptured, soiling me whilst I was on duty.

Mirth filled Stormrage, and she squeezed Fireblade's hands, running her thumbs over Fireblade's palms. It had been the work of weeks, taking extra duties upon ourselves, to adjust our duty shifts such that we would begin our time off-duty when nobody else in that section would be off-duty; weeks of yearning, burning to lay my hands upon her and have hers upon me, to touch her, to give her such relief and pleasure as I could, to say nothing of the difficulty in learning to silence your mind whilst in the throes of pleasure. It was quite a shock, honestly, when you walked in, fulminating with simmering annoyance, completely oblivious to us until you laid your eyes upon us.

Fireblade snorted; smirking. She felt vaguely uncomfortable at Stormrage's description - let alone the imparted feelings of longing, of desire, of lust and fulfillment interrupted - but it was amusing. The look on your faces was... Punishment enough.
As was the look on yours, Fireblade, Stormrage sent back, breaking into a quiet laugh, and bringing Fireblade with her a moment later, the two of them quietly, mirthfully chuckling. Stormrage then sighed, quietly, mirth fading. But you know why I must do as I am doing.

Fireblade nodded, opening her eyes; she clearly could feel the sense of duty and obligation Stormrage felt towards the two behind her. Stormrage slowly drew her hands away, stepping back and wrapping one arm around the short, young woman's shoulder, the other taking the child's hand. Fireblade closed her hands, looking at the trio.
Tell me, Fireblade, why do you suppose it is that nobody ever asks me if I know what the shells were doing with her, Stormrage asked, sending across slight puzzlement. Do you suppose it is so uncomfortable that nobody asks? Or they do not believe that I would know?

Fireblade peered from Stormrage to the youth - her face stony, impassive, looking up at Fireblade quietly, and the older Unsheathed looked back to Stormrage. I do not know. I assume from your question that you do know what they were doing, then?
Stormrage nodded, and reached under the white-haired girl's hair, pulling it back. The girl closed her eyes, turning her head, and Fireblade sucked in a breath as she saw the cybernetic access ports extending even into her head. Snow White is a most potent telepath; Farseer potential. The shells could not control her powers directly, but they could torture her into compliance, and reward her for it.
Fireblade felt a sudden burst of hot anger welling up within her, and fought to tamp it down and keep it within, lest she alarm the crew, as Stormrage continued, elaborating Without an amplifier, she could not give them interstellar range, but her powers were still useful to them, interfacing her mind with their sensors, allowing her to plot the locations of detected minds on systemwide maps. With her consent, we reassembled the device, interfaced it with Cydonia, and she performed the same service for us, too.

Fireblade blinked, looking down again at the youth, who gave her a very thin smile in return, drawing herself closer to Stormrage. Just because someone is unusual and has no place in a strictly ordered society into which they do not fit, does not mean they are unable or unwilling to be useful. I have discovered that, and surely you have, too. Stormrage smiled, and the airlock began to cycle; Fireblade presumed that she had telekinetically actuated the button. She saved all of our lives, several times. Our people would reward such service with mistrust and execution, or endless laboratory experiments. You know I must shield her from that, Fireblade. Farewell for now - I hope we shall see one another again.

The airlock cycled, and Fireblade blinked, as it opened onto the gantry leading out to the moon-base. Stormrage and her two charges started out, and she followed them; the two Soroin guards on-duty snapped-to and saluted her, and she almost absentmindedly forgot to return the gesture, which she compensated for by making her return as smart as possible, as Stormrage departed.

[ShadowDragon8685]

Fragile Storm was not having a terrifically good day. Certainly, an historic occasion, the formal alliance of the Terran Colonial Authority and the Loroi Union, was well underway. That did not please her, as she could not shake off the feeling that, in some way or another, it would be an event which she could look back upon and pinpoint as the moment when things began to change.
Exactly what sort of change it would herald, however, was an unknown to her. She was not a diplomat, she was Torrai, before that, Teidar. It was her place not to predict political outcomes, but to effect them as dictated by her superiors. Predicting them was the job of the Mizol, and it was a task she was deeply unenvious of. Still, it gave her an uneasy feeling.

The shells could destroy us from without, she thought to herself. This was not pessimism, it was fact. The Hierarchy was so large its extent was unknown to the Loroi, and they seemed able to replace their ship losses with even more ease than Loroi could replace warrior losses. The humans, loathe though she was to admit it, were uniquely positioned to change that; they were positioned far from the fighting, with plenty of space around them entirely uncontested. As long as the Loroi could keep the Umiak from destroying them - preferably, from even finding them - they could become an industrial juggernaut to match the Hierarchy. Or at least, large enough to turn the tide.

The irony was not lost on her; humans reproduced faster than Loroi in peacetime, as their reproduction was unrestricted, but at wartime, Loroi could reproduce far faster, and replacing ships was the problem. If the human's space became an industrial powerhouse capable of producing the vital war materiel - or even whole vessels and munitions - the Union needed... The war might turn around. The humans even had an historical analogue for this in their own history.
Of course, as the Mizol who had briefed her on that history pointed out, two of the three great powers of humanity who had banded together to overthrow that which was bent on conquest and extermination of phenotypes they considered inferior later turned on the third over severe ideological differences; and compared to the difference between Loroi and most humans, those ideological differences were minor. If human space became the Arsenal of the Union and assisted them in winning this war, how long would it be before those differences became serious enough for the humans to cut their ties - only with the industrial base which had pushed the Hierarchy back well within their control?

But there was another possibility, too, one she was not sure was not worse. From what she had seen, humans had a highly-developed sense of social interaction. Almost each and every one of them was at least as capable as a young Mizol. Some of them, like Jardin, had such a force of personality that she was not entirely convinced his circle of Loroi would turn on him even if the Emperor ordered it. Indeed, the Emperor herself found him amusing, charming and dynamic, and favored the annoying pink alien.

An enemy that conquers you with warheads and plasma foci, was an enemy that Fragile Storm knew how to fight; with point-defense and pulse cannons. What did one call an enemy who conquered you with words, who could convince you that water wasn't wet? Could you even use the term enemy, or would something else be appropriate? And what would be the reaction, she wondered; she had already seen what Jardin could do, she had four hundred Loroi that had only been his to command for half a year. They were changed, of course.

Not even necessarily badly; all remained loyal, all remained committed to their race and the cause of decisively proving victorious over the shells. But they had a very high opinion of Jardin, for which she could not blame them as he had, in fact, unquestionably saved all of their lives, but also a high opinion of humanity. And then there was his circle of ataches, absolutely devoted to him. And perhaps worse, he to them; she could no more imagine Jardin turning on them than she could Fireblade turning on Jardin.

What did one call an enemy who was loyal to you, who liked you and was in turn well-liked by you, but who also had great potential to corrode your culture and effect with words the kind of changes that a more traditional enemy could not effect with bombs?

Fragile Storm had a suspicion the word was "human." The way she saw it, though, they were entirely out of options. If humanity didn't become the Arsenal of the Union, the best they could seemingly hope for was utter stalemate. Their other allies... They either could not, or would not, contribute what was necessary to win this war. Only humanity both theoretically - and at present the capability was entirely theoretically - could, and would.

What strings were going to be attached to this, though... That was not Fragile Storm's problem, yet it worried her. As she had many times before, she examined her latest reports. That, at least, was something she knew. It was better to examine her reports, anyway, than to dwell on the matter Jardin had brought her, of the survivors of the Argent Fire. She shook her head, wondering what Stillstorm had been thinking detailing a lone frigate to attempt to find the homeworld of humanity. Clearly, Stillstorm had vastly underestimated the tenacious pink aliens.

She had no what she was going to do with this situation. On the one hand, it seemed absolutely intolerable to allow aliens to retain custody of Loroi, let alone a Loroi male, even a half-breed freak, but Jardin had made it absolutely clear that under the laws of humanity, being born to a human father aboard a human ship made him as much a citizen of humanity as of the Loroi Union, and between that and his mother's wishes that he not be return to the Union, for his own safety and psychological well-being, it could become a sticking issue. Then there was the matter of that girl, 'Snow White,' whom had been captured by the shells. As it was feared she would simply be disposed of if returned to the Union, and as she had (through her caretaker) requested asylum, that, too, could become a sticking issue.

Fragile Storm was sorely tempted to simply tell the humans to keep them both. He had also raised the issue of the full-blooded Loroi male born aboard the human destroyer, but as his mother had not made any such requests for asylum on his behalf - yet - they didn't feel it was likely to become a sticking issue. That was good, because she had a feeling things would become hot if a contest emerged over keeping a normal Loroi boy - if any boy whose first three years had been aboard a human warship could be said to be normal. Fragile Storm was very glad she was not among those whose purpose in life was to educate young male Loroi; whomever got the child would have quite a time on their hands turning him into a normal Loroi male.

The girl who had been experimented upon, though - that Fragile Storm could see becoming a real issue. If not over security concerns, then over concerns of having dire need to find out what the shells had done to her, how they'd done it, and what the purpose was. Scientists and specialists would need to be consulted, of course, and if the humans were going to make her health and wellbeing an issue, it would probably not well please them if she were experimented upon.
Perhaps, she thought, we should simply make that a problem for them to deal with, then. Charge them with somehow obtaining all necessary information from her without violating their scruples. Cynically, of course, she could say they would try, inevitably fail, and be forced to let the Loroi do it. Annoyingly, however, she somehow had the feeling that they would take it as a challenge, one which they would accept and rise to.

Fragile Storm, the auditors we sent to take stock of the corvettes currently under Jardin's command have mostly returned. Listel New Moon is reporting in place of Sorimi Opalstorm as Opalstorm is currently being detained in the brig of Swiftwind on a charge of mutiny. Fragile Storm looked up at the door separating her office from the bridge, in shock. I presume you would like to debrief New Moon personally?
Arrested... For mutiny? She isn't even part of the crew! Fragile Storm returned her sister's report with surprise, disbelief. She sensed a headache coming on, and dug in her desk's drawer, taking out a smooth, slick capsule containing medicine that would help to suppress it, using a sip from her glass of water to wash it down. Send her in.

The door to her office opened immediately, and the young Listel walked in; New Moon, Opalstorm's much-suffering adjutant. There was more stiffness in her back now than Fragile Storm could recall having ever seen the youth display, and the girl sent the traditional telepathic salute acknowledging Fragile Storm as her superior, as she walked up to Fragile Storm's desk. Commodore, I have returned from taking stock of Swiftwind per instructions. Would you care to hear the state of the ship, or should I skip to Fragile Storm's incarceration?

Fragile Storm raised an eyebrow, thinking to herself I haven't seen this girl so pleased... Ever. She gestured to one of the seats in front of her desk, which New Moon sat in, carefully folding her hands in her lap, awaiting a response. After a moment, Fragile Storm nodded to the girl. By all means, deliver the report I sent you to take.

The ship has taken significant damage, but with the aid of engineers and parts we provided previously, repairs were completed shortly prior to our arrival. The ship was in fine shape when we arrived, orderly and intact, with all systems functional. Crew morale was exceedingly high, as was discipline. I regret to inform you that crew morale began a meteoric dive shortly after our arrival, and discipline suffered considerably as well.

Fragile Storm wanted to blame Jardin; she really, really did. But she had the strong feeling that she wouldn't be able to, not this time. Continue, Listel, she said, and the youth nodded.
Captain Jardin has exercised his right to impose certain native military customs on his crew, as a practical matter. Specifically, he has instructed his crew to greet superior officers by standing with a rigid, formal posture and giving a visible salute by raising the right hand to the side of the head, to which the superior is expected to return the salute.

Fragile Storm nodded slowly. That... Makes sense. Blind to sanzai, he would have no way of percieving our traditional salute, she conceded. What happened?
Discipline and morale was so high that using these formal, physical gestures spread throughout the ship - indeed, throughout Jardin's fleet - even when among only other Loroi. The guards at the airlock greeted Opalstorm in this manner, and she chose to interpret the gesture as an alien vulgarity, and began to discipline them most harshly for it, then went into the vessel, where she was greeted with more of the same.

Opalstorm. Fragile Storm shook her head. How bad was it?
New Moon looked down, hesitated for a fraction of a second, and then looked back up, meeting Fragile Storm's eyes. I don't believe I've ever perceived such vitriol and outrage before. She was furious beyond reason, for no cause that I could adequately detect, and began to hurl abuse at the crew of Swiftwind with tireless fervor, berating them for the tiniest failures to conform - the ship's medic wears, by choice, the hair of a newly-shorn warrior. I found out this is for reasons of medical practicality, but Opalstorm tore into her for displaying insufficient warrior pride, and reduced her nearly to the point of tears. Others she berated for failures which were entirely imaginary. Then the Unsheathed with the... The strange child, the half-breed, and the woman with the cybernetic implants turned up, and things went from bad to worse.

Fragile Storm raised her eyebrow. Explain, she sent, and New Moon nodded.
Opalstorm demanded to know who they were, and the Unsheathed introduced herself as Stormrage. She was assigned to Tempest when Alexander Jardin was rescued from the wreck, and -
Fragile Storm interrupted. I have been briefed and know who they are. Simply explain what happened.

Yes, Fragile Storm. Stormrage explained that she was there to see Captain Jardin, and Opalstorm became even more upset, demanded to know who those Loroi with her were. Stormrage explained that the boy was her half-human son, and the woman was a victim of Hierarchy experimentation whom the crew of the human Destroyer Cydonia had rescued. Opalstorm became incensed beyond all reason, and attempted to order Stormrage to execute her immediately... Stormrage refused. She then attempted to order the nearest armed officer to detain Stormrage and carry out the execution of the security risk.

Fragile Storm shook her head as New Moon continued her story. The crew were... Rather unwilling to comply with such an order, but Stormrage agreed to be detained pending the arrival of higher authorities, and surrendered her weapon to Pulsar, one of the gunners aboard Swiftwind. Her party were detained, and then Opalstorm proceeded forward to the bridge, and she began to berate the bridge crew. Shortly thereafter, Captain Jardin and his party returned. They were, those I could read of them, in a state of cold fury, and Captain Jardin demanded an explanation from Opalstorm. She did not wish to deign to speak to him and ordered me to speak aloud in her place, but his Unsheathed companion compelled my silence and demanded that she speak aloud.

It did not go well. She explained that she found the crew's discipline wanting and had been taking corrective measures. Captain Jardin perceived that she had some grievance with the crew, and invited her to discuss the matter privately, in his office; he made it clear he felt that such grievances were not appropriate to air in front of the crew. She spurned his offers, used a slur to describe him... He ordered her to depart the vessel, she insinuated that she felt he had somehow enticed his crew to display such contempt for her that she would have had him executed if it were within her authority to do so. Captain Jardin gave her a second opportunity, out of respect for you, to depart from his ship, and she again spurned him. He then ordered his Unsheathed bodyguard and the gunner to draw their weapons and take Sorimi Opalstorm into custody on a charge of mutiny. He gave very unambiguous instructions to shoot her if she resisted.

For a moment, Fragile Storm felt a brief glimmer of hope that Opalstorm's pride had gotten the better of her and she was no longer among the problems Fragile Storm had to deal with, but it dashed itself instantly; after all, her sister had already informed her that Opalstorm was in the brig, not dead. I find it amazing that the gunner refrained from her drawing her weapon until given an order to do so by Captain Jardin, New Moon informed her. She was practically shaking with rage as Opalstorm hurled abuse at herself and her crewmates. Nevertheless, they drew on her - Opalstorm was, I believe, so consumed by her own incandescent fury and explosive self-righteousness that she blinded herself to just how much hatred she had engendered in an impressively short period of time - and after the gunner took aim when she tried to pull her hands away from the restraints, she allowed herself to be taken to the brig. Captain Jardin then took me into his office, debriefed me about the incident, and gave me leave to return here and inform you that he will, in his own time, remand Opalstorm formally as a prisoner to your custody.

Fragile Storm briefly considered the idea of instructing Jardin to keep her, but that would undoubtedly end poorly. Perhaps amusingly for her, but poorly nonetheless. I see. You say that she engendered outright hatred. Would you say bordering on murderous?
Beyond, I would say. So great was the abuse she was hurling at the crew of Swiftwind that I can only attribute someone not deciding to attack her to the spectacular morale and discipline that is the general state of the crew. I believe they had utmost confidence that Captain Jardin would deal with the matter upon his return, which he did.

I see. Fragile Storm nodded. This was serious - too serious. Weapons had been drawn, and Opalstorm had wound up in detention. On the other hand, it no longer mattered who Opalstorm's mother was - this matter was sufficiently serious that no voice would raise in objection. Very well. Go, she sent, and New Moon stood up, turning and walking smartly out of the room.

She seemed almost pleased. Fragile Storm smirked at that, and shook her head. Captain, please report to my office at your earliest convenience. Opalstorm has finally gone far enough to warrant proper discipling.
I am free now, her sibling sent back, and she entered as New Moon was leaving. However, we may have a problem. What New Moon described would require a formal military tribunal.

So? I fail to see the - oh. The problem, of course, was that Jardin was entirely deadened to sanzai, and they could not glean the facts of the matter from the accuser's mind. That will complicated the tribunal. Fragile Storm sank back into her chair, as her twin occupied the seat New Moon had just vacated; neither requesting, nor needing to request, leave to do so.
We could conduct the tribunal aloud, of course, but that might open...
Avenues of relief for Opalstorm from judgment, if she found a higher authority than mine sympathetic to her. Her sister and she essentially finished one another's thought, and Fragile Storm tapped her boot on the deck.

We could execute her for mutiny, Fragile Storm suggested, though she clearly didn't like the idea, and Fragile Spear nodded.
It would be a waste. She is not irredeemable as an officer yet... Though she may be the closest thing to it I have seen without going over the line.

Fragile Storm nodded, and turned around in her chair. She held her hand up, and focused. A gentle tuft of psychokinetic force manifested at her will, pushing the bottle which had been a gift from the TCA Scout Corps admiral off the shelf, and she drew it into her hand as it fell. She smiled thinly; it was difficult for her to exercise such control, and the practice was useful. She turned around, put out a pair of glasses, filled them with a finger's width of each, as she saw her sister was beginning to smile.
You have an idea, sister?
Fragile Spear called one of the glasses to her hand - her own telekinetic power was unimpressive, but not nonextant - and smiled, raising the glass, taking an experimental sniff. New Moon said that she had said she would have liked to have had Jardin shot without, as far I can tell, justifiable cause, yes?
Fragile Storm nodded. Yes. You propose, then, we could allow the humans to deal with it as a matter of unwarranted aggression against one of their own?

I do not know I would go so far as to claim to propose such a course of action, but it is an option. Fragile Spear shrugged, and Fragile Storm nodded, lifting her own glass. Another possibility, one I expect would amuse you greatly -
Transfer her to his crew, Fragile Storm intuited with a smirk. I was planning to formally relieve him of duty after decorating him, and place Opalstorm in command of his flotilla. Clearly, that is out of the question now. On the other hand, I suspect crew morale would suffer terribly if I relieved Jardin of command at present, in light of Opalstorm's... Tantrum.

Demoting her is not an option, unless you seek a pretext to kill her, her sister reminded her, and Fragile Storm nodded. Which you do not... Do you believe she can be salvaged as an officer?
Possibly. If she's capable of becoming even a quarter of the woman her mother is, we have to try... But it will not be simple.
Fragile Spear nodded. I agree. And, as amusing as the thought is, there are... Problems, with assigning her to Jardin.
They were immediately obvious, of course; Opalstorm and he appeared to be in outright conflict. The chances of her commanding the respect of his crew was nearly nil, and given her poor grasp of leadership... Yet, Jardin seemed capable of working miracles; he had turned a pack of green crew into the kind of girls who could literally do the impossible, survive an ardous transition across the great wastes, and have soaring morale and discipline on the other side.

The thought was tempting. She and her sister drank their glasses simultaneously.

[ShadowDragon8685]

Everything had been going so well, Alex thought, before the politicians got involved.
Alexander had spent the afternoon, the evening, and most of the night engaging in horse-trading. After a few more rounds of conference calls, the largest of which included Captain Blake, Admiral Callan, Fragile Storm, Stormrage, and Lt. General Christopher Aldridge and his wife Angela, things had seemed set to go well. Fragile Storm didn't want Snow White or Kamielle. The Aldridges were perfectly willing to take upon themselves the responsibility of raising their grandson. Snow White had become another matter of concern, but after some time - and after Stormrage had explained exactly the state she was in when she was recovered, and what sort of 'welcome' she had received by Opalstorm, they had even been willing to take her in, at least long enough to familiarize her with Earth.

Of course, there were security issues regarding her - not to mention technical ones, necessitating ongoing monitoring of her and a comprehensive study of her implants. This, naturally, Lt. General Aldridge understood all-too-well.
Then the politicians got involved. They wanted a slice of the pie - the South African government wanted to host the Loroi embassy in exchange for taking upon themselves the first Loroi-Earther citizens, the Pretoria city government generously volunteered the city's research universities for any biomedical experimentation that would need to be done - of course, with suitable donations of financial and scientific resources to ensure proper facilities...

He was left with the distinct impression that his life would be more satisfying and possibly carry a higher life expectancy if he lifted ships and flew back to the Charred Steppes to go rejoin the hot war. Fortunately, for certain values of the word 'fortunate,' more and more politicians got involved, the gaggle of Mizols became involved, and he and Captain Blake (and then later, Admiral Callan and Fragile Storm,) became sufficiently sidelined that they were able to make a more or less graceful exit.

He didn't envy Stormrage or the Aldridges though; he was glad he wasn't them. When he glanced down at the time, he saw that it was 01:00. It had taken the evening and rest of the night to escape that political clusterfuck. I've fought shells less tenacious than a politician who smells a whiff of money on the wind, he concluded.

Rubbing his eyes, Jardin checked his messages. The most important ones came from Beryl and Kelly: Beryl's report was a summary of most of the individual reports filed for him, summarizing that the ship was in great condition. Crew morale had rebounded now that Opalstorm was in the brig, the crew expressing opinions that Opalstorm had been completely out of line and entirely unreasonable, and they were glad he had taken such a hard line against her. That was, he thought, a slightly-dangerous attitude; she was still a high-ranking officer, after all... And sadly, that was not likely to change. On the other hand, he agreed, she had been entirely out of line, and he had absolutely needed to take the actions that he'd taken. Beryl noted that the other vessels had also received similar fleet auditors, though in no other cases had it gone so dramatically poorly. Most, in fact, had gone quite well, even if some of the auditors had been puzzled by the snap-to and salute. Coldfjord and Firelance had gotten poor marks on ship readiness owing to the amount of systems they had which were still in bad shape, though this was largely tempered by the fact that both had been very heavily damaged, and were in the process of being repaired vigorously, now they they held an atmosphere and no longer held radiologically contaminated areas, respectively. Their engineers reported a one week turnaround estimate for full readiness.

That's good, at least. It probably won't be my problem by then, though... He rubbed his eyes, and checked the next report. Kelly had checked every schedule she could, and there were no big planning meetings or anything on the TCA's side that required his attention - unless Fragile Storm required him, he was, as near as she could tell, clear for the day. That probably wouldn't last long, as Tuesday began a new round of strategizing and such, and he was expected to report at 06:00 aboard the fleet headquarters in orbit of Earth.

Beryl had also provided for him a list of citations and decorations, as he'd asked for; Tempo had helped, as had Spiral, and the commanders of the other eight craft. The first thing he noted was that everyone had been recommended for two decoration; Beryl had annotated that recommendation with the explanation that the first decoration was for fighting a last stand so that others could withdraw (the Corvettes baiting the Hierarchy forces away when Jardin pointed out to -27 that it could have its objective (him,) or the fleet, but not both, and another for volunteering for a suicide mission (the fleet's vote to attempt the insanely risky double-jump instead of fighting a vainglorious last stand.)

Jardin grinned. He wasn't entirely sure both of those qualified, but he approved the recommendations anyway. Then came the decorations for being injured in conflict with the enemy, and sadly he noted the citations for the engineers injured in Firelance's reactor malfunction, and approved the whole lot. The entire crew of Coldfjord were up for decorations for professionalism in the face of unreasonable adversity - crewing a ship which was half-exposed to vacc; an additional recommendation for that merit was listed for everyone in the fleet for enduring heavily overcrowded conditions and restricted rations for extended time.

After the group citations came a host of recommendations for individual skill, bravery, and sacrifice. Jardin smiled as he noted that Spiral was up for a medal for exceptional valor for her stunt in leaping across meters of open space between ships under 30g acceleration, which he heartily endorsed. Quite a few others were up for those - sadly, he noted the engineering crew of Firelance were up for decorations for valorous self-sacrifice, staying at their posts to save the vessel and their crewmates rather than flee, potentially saving their own lives by evacuating. Jade Disk was up for performing above and beyond the call of her training and stationing by performing the medical duties of an experienced doctor, and Jardin gladly approved that; quite a few Loroi would live to fight another day thanks to her efforts who otherwise would not have. There were quite a few other decorations for crew rising to the occasion, performing the tasks required of more experienced, better-trained crew when need pressed, which Jardin approved.

It was a long list; practically everyone on his fleet had been brevet promoted at some point or another. He hoped at least some of them would stick, or at least be taken as a reason to formally advance them from their prior ranks. A great many of his crew deserved at least some advancement. Thankfully, attached to the list of awards he was suggesting them for, there was also a list of the crew which had been brevetted, along with reports from their superior officers about the circumstances in which they had been given field promotions, and how well they had discharged their duties.

It wasn't all perfection here - there had been some mishaps and mistakes, as there were bound to be when field-promoting green crew with barely-adequate training. Firelance's reactor mishap was the most serious of these, having been traced back to probably having been the result of a missed step in a maintenance routine. He wasn't going to recommend any disciplinary action; other than Opalstorm, that is, every problem they'd had had been dealt with to his satisfaction whilst underway, and they hadn't had any repeats, either failures to follow procedures, or disciplinary problems.

Alex rubbed his eyes, and looked back down as the nightly report pinged onto his screen, containing a list of his vessels and their current states. He was glad it was nicely color-coded and indented, at least; a wall of text in white on black or vice-versa wouldn't have been very fun as tired as he was.

Task Group 73
Scout Squadron
Commander: Captain Alexander Horatio Jardin

Flight 1 (Formation: Diamond)
Center Fore: Swiftwind (Squadron Leader)
        Class: CT+ Traveler-class Courier Corvette
        Commander: Captain Alexander Horatio Jardin
        Status: Fine

Starboard Wing: Coldfjord
        Class: CTd Catapult-class Courier Corvette
        Commander: Tenoin Arrir Spiral
        Status: Poor
        Notes: Minor to moderate hull breaches suffered across the ship which were irreparable in flight, having rendered half the vessel unusable without environment suits. Hull breaches are now repaired, and full restoration underway. Estimated time to normal status: one week. Combat-capable in a crisis. Ordnance magazines full with one in the pipes.

Port Wing: Vortex
        Class: CTd Catapult-class Courier Corvette
        Commander: Soroin Mallas* Winter Gale
        Status: Fine
        Notes: Ordnance magazines full with one in the pipes.

Center Rear: Swift Tide
        Class: CT Herald-class Courier Corvette
        Commander: Tenoin Mallas* Deep Current
        Status: Fine

Flight 2: (Formation: Claw)
Center Rear: Swift Dagger (Flight Leader)
        Class: CS Hidden Dagger-class Scout Corvette
        Commander: Soroin Mallas* Icelock
        Status: Acceptable
        Notes: Intermittent power interruptions continue in non-critical systems, necessitating frequent repair. Systemic cause remains unknown. Engineering staff from 79th Task Group remain aboard, investigating cause. Combat capable.

Starboard Fore: Gladius
        Class: CSg Gladius-class Scout Corvette
        Commander: Soroin Mallas* Poison Blossom
        Status: Fine

Port Fore: Unsung Blade
        Class: CSg Gladius-class Scout Corvette
        Commander: Tenoin Mallas* Windrunner
        Status: Fine

Center Dorsal Fore: Firelance
        Class: CS+ Sidearm-class Scout Corvette
        Commander: Soroin Mallas* Cloudskimmer
        Status: Poor
        Notes: Suffered a reactor mishap underway and reactor room was heavily radioactive for the last two months. Clean-up was recently completed with help from TCA engineers, full evaluation and repair underway. Estimated time to normal status: one week. Combat-capable in a crisis.

Center Ventral Fore: Quickdraw
        Class: CS+ Sidearm-class Scout Corvette
        Commander: Soroin Mallas* Grey Skies
        Status: Fine
*Rank is brevet.

Jardin closed his eyes after reviewing the report, laying his head forward in one hand. When he'd detached the corvettes to lead the shells away from the fleet, he'd had twenty-two ships. Two had been lost in action before the infamous Double-Jump. Two more had been lost in it; he had no way of knowing if they'd materialized inside the star and had died swiftly, or if they'd found out what happens when you overshoot and punch through spacetime into "negative hyperspace." He hoped for their sakes it was the former, because the hypotheses and stories for the latter were... Significantly less pleasant than a swift death in starfire, and that was the same whether you asked a Loroi or a Human. Or even an Historian, for that matter.

Jardin yawned, into the palm of his hand. He was tired, and he really did need to sleep. He had three options; the bunk in his cabin, the bedroll under his desk that he could roll out behind himself... Or he could just put his head down on his desk. The latter option was the most immediately tempting, but he knew he would regret it when he woke up. On the other hand, if he left to go to his cabin, it meant enduring the bridge crew standing-to and saluting. He smirked at the irony of that.

Could just split the difference and use the bedroll, he thought, but he lifted himself upright and shook his head. No. In for a penny and all that. He slipped away from the desk and stood up, yawning, stretching his arms, and locking the door to his office. He undressed, hanging his jacket in the closet next to his spare, informal duty uniform, stuffed his formal uniform into a bag for later cleaning, and took a shower. He could use the main crew showers, of course, but he still hadn't quite gotten used to the idea of showering with a gaggle of very attractive Loroi, if for no other reason than that he didn't want any misunderstandings to arise from getting an erection - even if it meant showering in a cubicle barely large enough to spread his elbows.

Once showered, wearing his informal uniform and carrying the bag with the formal, he slipped out onto the bridge, he was instantly noticed; Swift Harpoon turned and stood from the commander's chair, saluting smartly. "Captain on deck!"

The rest of the bridge crew, in light of the fact they were either writing or handling reports or running diagnostics or simulations, all stood and came to attention, saluting as well. His own fault, really; he'd trained them too well. Alex smiled, returning the salute smartly. "As you were," he said, and they returned to their duties, though Swift Harpoon remained standing, expecting him to say more. "I've read the latest reports, all seems to be well," he said. "Swift Harpoon, is the ship in your opinion in fine status?"
"Sir. The ship is fully prepared," the orange-armored Tenoin said to him. He nodded.
"Excellent." He glanced down at the time - 01:30 - and nodded at her. "Make us ready to cast off in five hours," he said, and she nodded. "We have a prisoner to remand into the commodore's custody."

Swift Harpoon smirked in response to that. "Yes sir," she said with obvious relish, and he nodded.
"That'll be all. I need to catch some rack time," he said, and she nodded, turning back and sitting down, rotating the chair forward to look at her consoles, as he slipped away aft, saluting a few crew as he passed back, towards the forward-most bank of euphemistically-named staterooms. He dropped off the bag with his formal uniform in it for cleaning on the way aft, and smiled sleepily as he pondered the vessel.
Thanks to the increased use of automation on the refit Traveler-class Courier, there was somewhat more bunk space than was usual on one of these ships, allowing for something vaguely approximating VIP accommodations, not that he had had any VIPs. Indeed, with the ship overcrowded, even he had been hot-bunking with Fireblade in the captain's cabin.

He supposed that with the crew pressure alleviated, she'd probably request other accommodations; even though her rank would normally entitle her to single accommodations (space permitting,) Fireblade had typically preferred bunking with the marines aboard Tempest, and in most of the five years the group had been together, his friends and he had generally shared one or two cabins.

He was kind of glad they couldn't sense his mind, honestly; he thought he might expire of embarrassment if Fireblade were aware of the fact that he rather enjoyed the way his bunk smelled after she had occupied it. As he was pondering that, he realized he'd passed by his cabin, and was half-way aft. Making a snap decision, he continued on, to the brig. There were only three cells, and they were rather smaller than those aboard Tempest had been. The second cell had an armed guard in front, wearing full combat armor, and she snapped-to, saluting him.

"Sir!" He nodded, and saluted back. It took him a moment to recognize her under the combat armor; even the guards at the airlock were wearing only their duty armor. Soroin Pideir Cloudshadow, one of the gunners, one of Pulsar's subordinates; unusually pale-skinned even for a shipboard Loroi, with brilliant gold eyes and golden hair cut short, around her face - not that more than one or two bangs could be seen inside her helmet.
"At ease. What's the prisoner's status," he asked, and she rolled her eyes.
"Annoying," Cloudshadow said, bluntly. "She ate and slept. Every now and then she sees fit to remind her guard that she is the very model of a proper Loroi and we're all bringing shame to the Union and our ancestors by not holding you in utter contempt. Mostly she just sits there reciting rulebooks at us."

Alex snorted. "I'm surprised she asked for them if she holds you in such contempt," he said, and Cloudshadow smirked.
"She didn't. She has the damn things memorized."

He could only roll his eyes. "Oh for the - she's one of those," he said, and the guard grinned at him.
"Apparently she is. At this point, I think she's doing it just to annoy us." Alexander rolled his eyes. He considered telling Cloudshadow to open the door, but rejected the idea. He didn't need an argument with his most recent antagonist when he was heading to catch some rack time.
"And Reed?" Cloudshadow closed her eyes, a mournful expression coming over her face. Once it had become clear that she hadn't spontaneously decided to frag the ship's original command crew, but had been made to do it by some mental control the enemy was exerting over her, they had mostly relented on blaming her. Some, though, wouldn't say it was a kindness to keep her alive, wondering how she could ever live with herself, even if they could break the three-day cycle of her existence.

"Unchanged. She spent yesterday consumed with grief. Today she's going to be little trouble at all, and tomorrow we're probably going to have to explain to her that her memories are five years out of date and the pink alien man she thinks she's supposed to escort off Tempest is now in command of the ship she's now on."

"Assuming I am still in command then," Jardin said with a grin, and Cloudshadow smirked at him.
"Assuming you are, sir. I wonder why she always goes back to that day. That was years ago, wasn't it?"
Alex nodded. "It was, and... I honestly don't know." He shrugged, and sighed. "I'm hoping the medics on Retribution can help her. We haven't exactly got a fully-staffed sickbay here."

Cloudshadow nodded, inclining her head, but staying quiet. He imagined the unspoken question; what if they can't? And he didn't have an answer. Not one better than 'find the shells responsible and make them tell him how to fix it.' Assuming they'd bothered to figure out how to reverse the side-effects of whatever they did, which was a huge 'if'.

Alex inclined his own head, and nodded. "Very well. As you were, Cloudshadow." Cloudshadow nodded, straightening up; not to attention, but coming to rest, her arms crossed behind her back, resting over her slung rifle, as Alex turned around, heading back to the fore. He passed a few of the crew in the hallway, saluting them in response to their salute, and slipping past to the VIP cabins that had been redesignated for officer use - though they were still being used for more than one crew. Or they had been at least, now, not so much. He yawned, opening the door to his cabin, and walking in.

It took him a moment to notice; Fireblade was standing by the closet, completely nude, apparently having packed her uniform away. He blinked, as she turned her haed to look back over her shoulder at him. "Alexander. I had presumed you would be up all night, as you are wont to do," she said, and he snorted, turning his head away, trying not to let his mind linger on the sight of her nude back.

"You've had a long night yourself," he said, rubbing his eyes. "Usually you sleep in the mid-afternoon," he commented, looking around the part of his cabin he could see without bringing Fireblade into view. It was much nicer than the bunks he'd had aboard Bellarmine, considerably less nice than some of the VIP guest quarters he'd had on several Loroi vessels, and worlds better than sleeping in the wilderness - or the brig - from the point of view of amenities. The bed was attached to the wall in the far corner; it was nothing particularly fancy, but it was comfortable, and that was plenty. Long bed, wide enough for two if they liked one another, with a pillow built into the mattress itself as a raised section, comfy, off-white yellowish sheets. There was a desk much like the one in his office but smaller, a wardrobe that Fireblade was standing at, an equipment locker, and a wall-screen. That was about it, and he had no complaints. He heard the bed rustle, and presumed that meant Fireblade was dressed, but turned to find her sitting nude on the mattress. His mouth went dry.

"Um... Fireblade?"
"I am troubled by recent events, Alexander. I have been pacing the breadth of the Luna-9 facility, attempting to... 'Collect my thoughts,' as it were. I have come to no satisfactory conclusions," she admitted, shifting to sit crosslegged. He swallowed; it wasn't that he hadn't seen her nude before, and it had usually been accidental, as it had this time, but she typically had covered up. There's significance to that, he thought. The Loroi were usually very modestly dressed, from a human point of view - not because of any body-modesty, but because of the skin-contact telepathy taboo. "Are you well," she asked, looking up at him, and Alex nodded.

"As well as usual," he said, looking back at her, trying to focus on her piercing emerald eyes; he could picture it all, though, and after a moment, looked away, then back, looking from one side of the room to the other, taking in a full view of the Unsheathed warrior; tall, fit without being particularly muscular, with firm, neither-large-nor-small breasts, very long legs, a cascade of bright red hair, and, of course typically for Loroi, not a trace of body hair, including pubic. He closed his eyes, and sighed, then walked over, sitting on the mattress, next to her. "Are you?" This is unusual for her. I should be careful... And not read anything into it, but I don't usually see Fireblade showing that something is bothering her.

"I keep thinking of Stormrage, of... The time before you arrived, when she was one of my direct subordinates. She had a... Reputation. I believe you and Tempo have spoken about Loroi sexual practices between warriors?"
"We spoke of it briefly," Alex said, "Mainly my explaining the ancient Spartans and her telling me how there were analogous warrior tribes in Loroi history, but then the Neiridi Hierarchy sympathizers attacked and we wound up barricading ourselves in the embassy."
"Ahhh." Fireblade smiled thinly, "Yes. As I believe you would say, 'fun times,'" she said, sarcasm dripping, and Alex snorted, grinning and closing his eyes.
"Yeah... So, uh... What about it?"

"As I said, Stormrage had a... Reputation for that sort of thing, which I believe you understand is looked poorly upon, although not outright forbidden, yes?"
Alex blinked, and nodded, slowly. "I remember Tempo saying something along those lines, but as I said; we were interrupted. Why, though," he asked, and Fireblade shrugged.
"It has been on my mind; many things have been, concerning her. She has always discharged her duties with exemplary valor and dedication, despite some considerable prejudice against her on account of several times being the sole survivor of some disaster. And yet, she has always has her oddities; aboard Tempest, she was... Notorious for making her relationship with others physical. I chose to overlook it."

Alex bit his lip, and looked down; he meant to focus on the floor, but looking down brought Fireblade's legs into his view, and he couldn't help but lock his eyes on them, even though all he could really see was the knee of her left leg. "Could you have reprimanded her for it?"
"I could have, yes. Some would say I should have," Fireblade added. "It is considered... Potentially corrosive to crew morale. Liable to lead to warriors questioning whether the first loyalty of a warrior who engages in... I am hesitant to use the word sex, but it seems the only word that really applies - with one of her fellows will be to her duty to her ship... Or to the one whom she... Mates with."
Alex snorted softly, and nodded. "I know what you mean. Human militaries have similar... Concerns," he said, with a chuckle. "Though admittedly, far more of our concerns are related to such relationships occurring between officers of different ranks. Even with peers though, it's... Not officially frowned upon, but a superior officer could reprimand two lovers if they start to shirk their duties because of it."

"She never has," Fireblade murmured. "That is one reason I chose to overlook it. As I said, I never found her to be anything except exemplary. And yet, her... Proclivity always marked her as odd, strange. To be regarded with some... Suspicion."
"Ah. And now she's wound up with a child by a human father, and you're not sure what to make of it?" Fireblade chuckled.
"She made the circumstances surrounding that... Abundantly clear, Alexander. I continue to wonder why she continues to do it. This will make the fourth time she has lost such a lover in action that I am aware of. I wonder how many more will go by before a lover loses her?"
Alex shrugged. "I... I don't know. Who can say?"

"Noone can," Fireblade admitted. "Still, she asked me something that weighs on my mind; is the intensity of what she feels for others somehow magnified because it involves sex? That one question... Puzzles me. You have surely seen Loroi touching, perhaps by chance, passing by a pair holding hands in a dark corner, or whilst eating in the galley."
Alex nodded. "I've seen you and Tempo, or you and Reed; occasionally you and Talon touching one another, sometimes, when you were off-duty." He looked up at her; don't ogle her, don't ogle her, he told himself, as his eyes trailed up, past her firm abdomen, over her firm breasts with - he noted sidelong - hardened, dark-blue nipples, into Fireblade's face, peering into her eyes. "I often presumed you were doing so to speak privately, but after some time, I didn't think that could account for all of the times I'd noticed it. And you're right, I have from time-to-time seen the crew doing so."

"Certainly, private communication is one reason we do so," Fireblade said. "It makes it almost trivial to sharpen our sanzai focus down to just her, to erect a lotai to keep others out. I have seen Commodore Fragile Storm and her twin, Fragile Spear, do so, at the parade. But we also do so for reasons of intimacy."
Alex nodded, and snorted. "Makes sense," he agreed. This kind of feels like a conversation I'd have with Tempo, really, he thought. "What's that... Like?"
Fireblade thought for a moment, flexing her toes, he saw, deep in thought, but her eyes didn't close.
"It is not exactly like what you and I experienced when our minds were linked mechanically. If I touch Tempo, open myself to her and she to me, for instance, I do not become cognizant of the beating of her heart, the way I did of yours. But the depth of emotion, of mental touch, is overwhelming. You know well why and how such contact can be extremely stressful, unwelcome, even dangerous... But between two who are intimates, who trust one another deeply, it is... Intense. It is a great relief to be able to let all guards down, to share in another's thoughts and emotions and share yours with them, especially when you are troubled and require counsel the likes of which only an absolutely trusted friend can provide."
"Like we're doing now," Alex said, raising an eyebrow, and Fireblade smirked.
"Yes, but with speed and clarity that... Words cannot possibly express. Honestly, Alexander, I find it amazing how your race or any other manages to have any form of intimate relationship at all. Doubly so that you have managed to forge such relationships with us."
Alex laughed, and shook his head, grinning and closing his eyes. "Well, we do. It isn't always easy... Then again, Loroi pretty much can't help themselves but escalate most disagreements into full-on disputes. There is something to be said for having the ability to just shut yourself up about something to preserve good relations with someone you value, even if you and they strongly disagree on something."

Fireblade snorted, and he felt her hand touch his knee, causing him to look down. "I disagree, Alexander. That seems to me like it must inevitably lead to resentment, and simmering anger. It seems as if it must only delay the inevitable."
"Is airing such strong feelings any better? We've come to the verbal equivalent of crossed blades several times over deeply-disagreeing opinions about matters that are, fundamentally, in the past." Alex moved his hand down, placing it over Fireblade's; she sucked in a sharp breath, but didn't pull away. "We may never agree on many things, but I value you far more than I value any idea of... Of being right at your expense."

Her skin was, as always, cool to the touch and soft , and Fireblade chuckled. "And I you, my friend," she responded. "Tell me, have I offended you? Or upset you?"
"What?" Alex blinked, looking up into Fireblade's eyes; always so richly green. It's so weird, seeing her without her amp on. But then, using it for a long time can cause damage, so it's probably a good thing. "No... Why would you think that?"
"You seem to be reluctant to look at me," Fireblade pointed out. "I was worried that I had upset you somehow."
"Ah... Er..." Alex bit his lip, and bowed his head. "No. I am not offended at all... It's just that you're nude, and that isn't usually the case."
"I usually do sleep nude," Fireblade noted, "But we usually sleep alternate to one another. Why does that cause you to look away?"
"Um..." Alex bit his lip, and sighed, quietly, deflating. "Because... I'm afraid if I look at you, you'll become offended. And I know damn well you could throw me across the room, amplifier or no, if I offended you," he pointed out. Fireblade laughed, and let go of his hand, reaching up and wrapping her arm around his shoulders.
"If I were upset at the thought of you seeing me unclothed, Alexander, I would cover myself." She smirked, and shook her head, sighing. "Does it... Bother you, somehow?"

Alex sucked in a breath. On the one hand, it made him uncomfortable. On the other hand... Well, he had, privately, always wished for a good, long look at her - at any of his friends. He sighed, and bit his lip, looking up at the ceiling of the compartment, biting his lip. "It makes me somewhat... Uncomfortable. I... I have to keep telling myself that no matter how similar we are, we remain fundamentally alien to one another, and I can't rely on what my... Instincts are telling me about your... Intent behind some of the things you do."

"Ah. Your instincts, then, are telling you that I am attempting to mate with you," Fireblade said, and Alex sighed, lowering his head, rubbing his eyes. There was no point in denying it.
"That is exactly what my instincts are telling me, yes. But I know they're wrong, so..." He snorted, and started to laugh, quietly, shifting. He pulled his feet out of his boots, and toed his socks off, raising his legs to perch them on the edge of the bunk. Then a worried thought hit him, and he looked up, into Fireblade's eyes, asking with a shaky voice, "They are wrong, right?"

Fireblade smirked, and reached up; she slid her hand into his sand-colored hair, squeezing a fistful, enough to take positive control of his head, not enough to hurt. "Alexander, I assure you, should such be my goal, instincts won't enter into it; I will make my intentions unambiguously clear."
He couldn't help but laugh, curling his toes, and she grinned back at him, releasing his hair. Man, I bet her hair feels good, he thought, the notion popping unbidden into his head, as she softened her hawkish grin. "If it bothers you, I can put on a sleeping tunic," she offered, and Alex bit his lip, then shook his head.
"I'll deal. I've always tried to be as... Accommodating to you all as possible. Not," he hastened to add, holding a finger up, "in this case because of any ambassadorial obligation. Because you are my friend, and frankly, if you trust me enough to bare yourself in front of me, I wouldn't want you to cover up."

I should probably put a stop to this. It would be wise... Fuck wisdom. I've always wanted to know Fireblade - all of them - far better than I always have. I need to understand my friends. Alex smiled, and Fireblade smiled back at him, then bit her own lip. "Alexander, may I ask a question that will probably make you uncomfortable?"

She's naked, and she asks that? Alex snorted. "If I had a problem with Loroi asking me questions that made me uncomfortable, I would have asked someone to keep Beryl at least five kilometers away from me at all times a long, long time ago," he said, with a laugh, and that made Fireblade grin.
"Your point is well made... Alexander, have you ever considered mating with us? I am not speaking, in the abstract, of members of my race - I mean myself, or Beryl, Tempo, and Talon."

He blinked, his throat suddenly feeling dry as the Sahara. "Uh..... Well..." Alex bit his lip, and reached up, scratching the back of his hair. I ran right into that one at flank speed. Her eyebrow raised.
"If you would rather not answer the question, then make it clear; I would be upset if you prevaricated," Fireblade cautioned him, and Alex snorted.
"It's not a simple question to answer," he said. "It would be much simpler if I could just put my hand on you and make you... Privy to what I'm thinking," he admitted. Fireblade's eyebrow raised.

"I mean... You are all very, very attractive women," he said, without hesitation. "You have an... An incredible, strong-willed, fierce attractive quality, piercing eyes, a beautiful face that's so strong," he said, faltering once, then after it started, it kept coming. "Tempo is just, an absolute beauty, especially when she lets her hair down. Beryl is adorable - just an unfettered, adorable, bubbly... It's hard to actually describe, but I can hardly look at her, or listen to her, without wanting to hug her, maybe run my knuckles over the top of her head. In human terms, she's a manic pixie dream girl, and if you get to know her at all, you can't help but be fond of her, want to hug her - at least, if you're human, as I think Ensign Kelly adequately demonstrated today. She beat me to it by a split second. And Talon, well... I like girls who fly, a lot. I love her voice - actually, I love all of your voices, but hers stands out for being a little raspy, a little smoky. I love the way she teases me, the way she jokes around. Honestly... She reminds me a lot of Ellen."

"You have mentioned Ellen before - Ensign Kirkland, yes?" Alex swallowed, and nodded. "Was she your mate?"
"Um..." Alex sighed. "We weren't married or anything. We weren't exclusive to one another, or anything, but we... Yes, we had sex. Not infrequently, at that," he said, blushing and grinning. "Which was no... Small feat aboard Bellarmine, as you might expect." He let out a quiet, wry chuckle, then looked down, suddenly, freezing up.
"Alexander?" He felt an arm shake him, but it was numb, distant. "Alex?"
That brought him back; Fireblade very seldom used the diminutive form of his name, even when literally sitting nude beside him, baring her soul to him. "Alex, I... I am sorry."
"It's okay, Fireblade," Alex said quietly. "It just..."
"Took you to the last moment you saw her," she said, and he swallowed, hard, nodding.

"We were in our suits," he said, recalling the events five years previously as though they were fresh in his mind. "Standing on the deck in front of a... In front of a gulf between the front and aft sides of our ship. We received the order to get to the shuttle with anyone we could, when... I just saw this... Lance of light, so bright, spear through Bellarmine's aft section. It blew - the fuel flashed from liquid straight to plasma just two hundred meters away. I don't know how I survived, I just.... Something hit my helmet, or maybe my helmet hit something. I must have been thrown free of Bellarmine's forward section. I remember Ellen, yelling my name... Then blackness. When I came to, after I patched my helmet, she was the first person I called for, but... Nothing." He let out a slow hiss of breath, and after a moment, blinked, as Fireblade drew him against her side, tightly. She was tall, and strong enough, and he didn't object as the motion of her drawing him close caused his head to slump to the side, her cool shoulder pressing into his cheek.

"Someday, even if it takes until after this war, Alexander, I will help you find those responsible for the destruction of your vessel. It will not alleviate the pain, but I will help you have revenge nonetheless," Fireblade said, quietly, and Alex closed his eyes, sighing heavily.
"I just..." He let out another sigh. "Ellen was within arm's reach of me. Why am I here, and she's gone?" What could have... Spared me, and not her? Why?"
"Why is a fruitless question to ask, if you seek a cosmic answer," Fireblade quietly murmured. "There is no 'why' beyond that someone chose to fire upon your ship. As for the question of what could have left you alive and killed someone within arm's reach of you, I confidently believe we both know that you know that any number of things could have done so. And we both know that no answer is truly satisfactory." Fireblade lowered her head, laying it atop his, and Alex closed his eyes.

Alex swallowed, and shook his head. "I just..." He sighed. "The worst part is not knowing. Not know... Tempest recovered fifty-seven... Bodies. Ellen's was not among them. I can't help but wonder; was she... Was she in some compartment your rescue and recovery team didn't pry open before you turned Bell into monoatomic vapor? Was her radio jammed, and she was banging pointlessly on the bulkhead, trying to get their attention in vacuum? Was she already dead, was she blown clear of the wreck like I was, her suit radio destroyed, and she... Died alone in space, unable to call for help?" He swallowed, hard, and Fireblade was quiet, her cool fingers stroking the left side of his face. "She was... She was my friend. Yes, we had sex, but first and foremost, she was my friend. She pushed me to be better, to be better than her, and I pushed her to be better than me. Sometimes it got us in trouble, but that... Drive, that friendly rivalry, that's what got us onto that ship in the first place... And I... I don't know what happened to her."

"I cannot answer these questions, Alexander," Fireblade said, quietly, leaning into him. "Would knowing her ultimate fate be a relief to you?"
He thought about that question. "A very slight one. Unless it was like, 'was blown free of the bell and taken prisoner by the aliens who destroyed her.' That would be a huge relief."
"We are both warriors of action," Fireblade said, shifting in the bed. She turned, leaning back and turning herself to face him, and he sucked in a quick breath as she pulled him into her front, her long legs wrapping around his waist. "That would be a huge comfort, would it not? It would turn grief into an objective. If she were still alive, even held prisoner by hostile forces, we could, in theory, mount a rescue operation. Is that your hope?"

Alex swallowed, and closed his eyes, shaking his head, as Fireblade held it against her shoulder. "No... I... I would like to believe that, you know damn well I would. Just like... Just like I'd like to believe that everyone from the Bell that you didn't recover dead was alive... And I'd like to believe that everyone we've ever lost and haven't found their... Their remains, was alive, just... Languishing in some enemy prison somewhere, just waiting for us to learn of it and go running in to rescue them."

He shivered, looking down, with his eyes closed, taking comfort in the blazing starfire silhouette engulfing him, throbbing with emotion - with pain. With loss, and sorrow, and understanding. "We both would. We'd love that, because then there would be something we could do," he said, reaching down, taking Fireblade's hand into his own, squeezing it, and her squeezing his hand in turn. So close to her, he inhaled with his nose against her collarbone, scent filling his nose; she smelled cool and clean, somehow, with overtones of sea-breeze; the smell he'd come to self-consciously enjoy on his pillow. That thought made him let out a sigh.
"But that's not the case. Maybe for some few of them, maybe, but it's not likely," he admitted. "We both know it... And that hurts us both, doesn't it?"
"It does indeed, my friend," Fireblade murmured. Slowly she leaned back, and Alex blinked as she pulled him to the surface of the bed, clinging to him tightly. Not, he realized, comfortingly; as if pain were an enemy she could physically shield him from. It was the same instinct he himself felt, and he sighed, opening his eyes, the smooth expanse of the front of her shoulders in front of his eyes, her right arm trailing up away, below, where their hands clasped one another. "I am sorry my question... Conjured up such painful memories."

Alex swallowed, hard, and shook his head. "No - it just... It just hit me, really. All at once." He closed his eyes again, turning his eyes behind their lids, letting the blazing starfire field of her psychic presence fill his vision. "I should be sorry. It's not... Seemly to just..."
Fireblade snorted, her breath running through his hair. "Our defenses are down," she said, quietly. "We are sharing deep truths; it is no wonder that such circumstances could bring the best and worst of painful memories to the fore, my friend."
Alex smiled, softly, at that, and sighed. "Yeah... Well... To answer your question, I mean, of course I've thought about it... You're all... Very, very intense, very energetic, magnetic almost. Of course the idea's run through my head, and sometimes, I dwell on it. Actually think about it, put... Put thought into it." It felt numb to say it, but he really didn't want to come off as having evaded her question. "But honestly, right now, I don't... Feel like talking about anything, really."

"I understand, Alexander," Fireblade murmured. Slowly, she relaxed her protective death-grip, and he slid back in the bed, pressing his back against the wall of his cabin, and she turned her head, to look into his eyes. "Do you wish me to go?"
Alex blinked, and shook his head, closing his eyes. "I hope you won't think me weak, but right now, that's the last thing I want," he admitted, with a slight smile, and she nodded, closing her eyes and laying her head back, on the pillow-wedged section of the bunk. She was on her back, and he on his side pressing into her, and he closed his eyes, stretching his head out, next to hers. She smelled fundamentally good, her hair curiously-scented from the shampoo or perfume she used, he couldn't tell. There wasn't a great variety aboard, especially a small ship like their corvette, but he still found it amusing how Loroi vessels considered stocking at least a small variety of different haircare products to be a quality of life crew essential... Though he wasn't honestly sure Fireblade used any perfume at all. He couldn't recall seeing her apply any, unlike Beryl or Tempo.

Alex reached down, pulling the covers up, and Fireblade took them from him, finishing pulling them all the way up, around their shoulders. Then, wordlessly, she took his left hand in her right, pulling it across her body; over the bottom of her ribs, to wrap around her abdomen, with her hand clutching his, her grip strong. He opened his eyes, then shut them again, letting her psychic impression fill his field of view. Is this... Fireblade starting to feel romantic towards me? As if. Sexual? Remotely possible. Two comrades, hurt and vulnerable, their thoughts on their lost loved ones, huddled together for warmth and mutual protection? Sounds probable. Just the most reasonably comfortable way for two people to share a smallish bed? Could be. He didn't know, but whatever it was, he was glad for the presence of one of his best friends, strong and fierce, prickly, but once she'd decided you were her friend, intensely loyal. She stretched out, and he stifled a yawn in the pillow, then he was out like a light.

[Krulle]

Wow, very personal. I like it very much!
Thank you.

[ShadowDragon8685]

Wow, very personal. I like it very much!
Thank you.

Thank you for reading my insufferable walls o' text.

One interesting challenge about this sort of thing is keeping in mind just how weird this sort of thing is for the both of them. And also that, from Fireblade's PoV, she's hardwired to instinctually protect the male, no matter how much she knows damn well that this one is not some soft maian prettyboi. And Alex... Pretty much exactly the same on his part, in reverse.

[Krulle]

And how education shows the cultural differences.
There are Loroi tribes who still live and raise their kids together.
They've been marginalized by a society trimmed on their perceptions of "efficiency", and whatever the others do is considered "abnormal".
Likely though, in historic times most Loroi lived in tribes/families.
Sometime during the "civilization"ing of the Loroi, this changed and kids have been brought into specialized upbringing groups.
Harsh on traditionalists who love being with their family.

I like the contrast shown very much.
The Loroi of Stormrage prove that the Loroi are much closer to us Humans than they think.
The question is will they change once the war is over to reap the rewards now instead of preventing future pain?
Sounds much like a society too much based on safety. But they are forgetting that even the warriors are living and feeling beings.
And feeling alive is one of the best reasons to take up arms to defend those who made you feel alive. So that they can live.

[ShadowDragon8685]

And how education shows the cultural differences.
There are Loroi tribes who still live and raise their kids together.
They've been marginalized by a society trimmed on their perceptions of "efficiency", and whatever the others do is considered "abnormal".
Likely though, in historic times most Loroi lived in tribes/families.
Sometime during the "civilization"ing of the Loroi, this changed and kids have been brought into specialized upbringing groups.
Harsh on traditionalists who love being with their family.

I like the contrast shown very much.
The Loroi of Stormrage prove that the Loroi are much closer to us Humans than they think.
The question is will they change once the war is over to reap the rewards now instead of preventing future pain?
Sounds much like a society too much based on safety. But they are forgetting that even the warriors are living and feeling beings.
And feeling alive is one of the best reasons to take up arms to defend those who made you feel alive. So that they can live.

Um... I'm sorry, what? You've kind of lost me there.
Stormrage is one Loroi. She was raised much like Fireblade, but she's spent the last three years aboard a human destroyer, ECS Cydonia, where she very much picked up a lot of human cultural traits - like I'm trying to show that Jardin has, in fact, picked up quite a few Loroi cultural traits - things like him referring to the Umiak as 'shells,' even in his internal monologue, which is a Loroi derogatory term for the race, much like "Gerry" and "Jap" (to say nothing of much worse words) have been used by humans in our history to denigrate and dehumanize our enemies. As much as he's changed his friends, they've also changed him. Humans and Loroi are social animals who instinctively adapt themselves to their social group. (See also: an epic crapton of green crew picking up the habits Jardin imparted very rapidly.)

Anyway, we're gonna see some of Alex's Reasons to Fight, sometime Soon(tm).

[Suederwind]

Very, very good!

Just some minor nitpicking:

I just saw this... Lance of light, so bright, spear through Bellarmine's aft section. It blew - antimatter is... Pretty damn vigorous stuff.

Wasn't the Bell powered by fusionfuel?

[ShadowDragon8685]

Very, very good!

Just some minor nitpicking:

I just saw this... Lance of light, so bright, spear through Bellarmine's aft section. It blew - antimatter is... Pretty damn vigorous stuff.

Wasn't the Bell powered by fusionfuel?

I thought everybody used antimatter?
I mean, if Bellarmine was fusion-powered, it would have been powered by Helium-3, which isn't explosive any way you slice it. Even if it was hydrogen powered, hydrogen is not explosive when not in the presence of oxygen, and there wouldn't have been enough oxygen even in all of Bellarmine, intact, to create a proper fuel-air mixture of hydrogen-oxygen to get any kind of good, vigorous explosion, let alone the kind of explosion that can vaporize half a starship.

That had to be a matter/antimatter reaction.

[dragoongfa]

Fusion powered and the explosion was the compressed fuel suddenly finding itself explosively uncompressed.

[Tamri]

I thought everybody used antimatter?
I mean, if Bellarmine was fusion-powered, it would have been powered by Helium-3, which isn't explosive any way you slice it. Even if it was hydrogen powered, hydrogen is not explosive when not in the presence of oxygen, and there wouldn't have been enough oxygen even in all of Bellarmine, intact, to create a proper fuel-air mixture of hydrogen-oxygen to get any kind of good, vigorous explosion, let alone the kind of explosion that can vaporize half a starship.

That had to be a matter/antimatter reaction.

We at one time discussed this issue. So much so, that, most likely, there was a simple pressure explosion. On contact with oxygen burned part of the deuterium and energy of the enemy guns warmed up the remaining volume of the Bell's tanks to the plasma-shaped state. However, even in this version are many inconsistencies because this energy guns should numbered of terajoules, with one standard unit of damage specified in weapons tables, in this case corresponds to at least 10 TJ, which clearly does not fit in here somewhere specified Jim framework "40-50 TJ" necessary for shooting Rapier, whose five paired with the peak of the Medium Blasters damage 6 conventional units every.

If five kiloton antimatter detonated so close to Alex, comics wouldn't have happened.

[Mr Bojangles]

Another interesting addition, Shadow.

To add to what dragoon and Tamri have said, humans in Outsider don't yet have the tech to produce antimatter on an industrial scale. The Loroi and Umiak do, but they actually use an exotic matter annihilation process - if I recall the forum discussions correctly, it's as energetic as a typical M/AM reaction (or nearly so), but slightly easier to store. It's called 'taimat' in the Lexicon.

[Krulle]

Huh. NOW I notice there was/is also a wall of text on this page.
You ARE productive, Shadow.

This one's been even more private than the Fireblade/Stormrage conversation my comment actually referred to.

I couldn't imagine me having such a conversation with a Loroi.

SpoilerShow

there has been more in previous instances too, but this time I stumbled harder over it and couldn't let go. Sorry.

I assume you use a text editor with auto-correct, as after "..." you always continue with a capital letter, even if the sentence is continued (due to the characters pausing their speech while searching for words) and the letter shouldn't be capitalised... Won't comment further on that, as it just happens too often.

[...]

"Um... Fireblade?"
"I am troubled by recent events, Alexander. I have been pacing the breadth of the Luna-9 facility, attempting to... 'Collect my thoughts,' as it were. I have come to no satisfactory conclusions," she admitted, shifting to sit crosslegged. He swallowed; it wasn't that he hadn't seen her nude before, and it had usually been accidental, as it had this time, but she typically had covered up. There's significance to that, he thought. The Loroi were usually very modestly dressed, from a human point of view - not because of any body-modesty, but because of the skin-contact telepathy taboo. "Are you well,"(missing a space here)she asked, looking up at him, and Alex nodded.

[...]

"Certainly, private communication is one reason we do so," Fireblade said. "It makes it almost trivial to sharpen our sanzai focus down to just her, to erect a lotai to keep others out. I have seen Commodore Fragile Storm and her twin, Fragile Spear, do so, at the parade. But we also do so for reasons of intimacy."
Alex nodded, and snorted. "Makes sense," he agreed. This kind of feels like a conversation I'd have with Tempo, really, he thought. "What's that... Like?"
Fireblade thought for a moment, flexing her toes, he saw, deep in thought, but her eyes didn't close.
"It is not exactly like what you and I experienced when our minds were linked mechanically. If I touch Tempo, open myself to her and she to me, for instance, I do not become cognizant of the beating of her heart, the way I did of yours. But the depth of emotion, of mental touch, is overwhelming. You know well why and how such contact can be extremely stressful, unwelcome, even dangerous... But between two who are intimates, who trust one another deeply, it is... Intense. It is a great relief to be able to let all guards down, to share in another's thoughts and emotions and share yours with them, especially when you are troubled and require counsel the likes of which only an absolutely trusted friend can provide."
"Like we're doing now," Alex said, raising an eyebrow, and Fireblade smirked.
"Yes, but with speed and clarity that... Words cannot possibly express. Honestly, Alexander, I find it amazing how your race or any other manages to have any form of intimate relationship at all. Doubly so that you have managed to forge such relationships with us."
Alex laughed, and shook his head, grinning and closing his eyes. "Well, we do. It isn't always easy... Then again, Loroi pretty much can't help themselves but escalate most disagreements into full-on disputes. There is something to be said for having the ability to just shut yourself up about something to preserve good relations with someone you value, even if you and they strongly disagree on something."

[...]

Fireblade smirked, and reached up; she slid her hand into his sand-colored hair, squeezing a fistful, enough to take positive control of his head, not enough to hurt. "Alexander, I assure you, should such be my goal, instincts won't enter into it; I will make my intentions unambiguously clear."
He couldn't help but laugh, curling his toes., and she grinned back at him, releasing his hair. Man, I bet her hair feels good, he thought, the notion popping unbidden into his head, as she softened her hawkish grin. "If it bothers you, I can put on a sleeping tunic," she offered, and Alex bit his lip, then shook his head.
"I'll deal. I've always tried to be as... Accommodating to you all as possible. Not," he hastened to add, holding a finger up, "in this case because of any ambassadorial obligation. Because you are my friend, and frankly, if you trust me enough to bare yourself in front of me, I wouldn't want you to cover up."

[...]

He blinked, his throat suddenly feeling dry as the Sahara. "Uh..... Well..." Alex bit his lip, and reached up, scratching the back of his hair. I ran right into that one at flank speed." Her eyebrow raised.
"If you would rather not answer the question, then make it clear; I would be upset if you prevaricated," Fireblade cautioned him, and Alex snorted.
"It's not a simple question to answer," he said. "It would be much simpler if I could just put my hand on you and make you... Privvy to what I'm thinking," he admitted. Fireblade's eyebrow raised.

[...]

"We were in our suits," he said, recalling the events five years previously as though they were fresh in his mind. "Standing on the deck in front of a... In front of a gulf between the front and aft sides of our ship. We received the order to get to the shuttle with anyone we could, when... I just saw this... Lance of light, so bright, spear through Bellarmine's aft section. It blew - antimatter is... Pretty damn vigorous stuff. I don't know how I survived, I just.... Something hit my helmet, or maybe my helmet hit something. I must have been thrown free of Bellarmine's forward section. I remember Ellen, yelling my name... Then blackness. When I came to, after I patched my helmet, she was the first person I called for, but... Nothing." He let out a slow hiss of breath, and after a moment, blinked, as Fireblade drew him against her side, tightly. She was tall, and strong enough, and he didn't object as the motion of her drawing him close caused his head to slump to the side, her cool shoulder pressing into her his cheek. (This one filled the barrel where I couldn't hold myself in. I really find it astonishing how few faults I've been stumbling over when reading your posts.)

[...]

"I cannot answer these questions, Alexander," Fireblade said, quietly, leaning into him. "Would knowing her ultimate fate be a relief to you?"
He thought about that question. "A very slight one. Unless it was like, 'was blown free of the bell and taken prisoner by the aliens who destroyed her.' That would be a huge relief." (I would replace the marked "her" with Bellarmine, as "her" is ambiguous and might refer to Ellen too.)
"We are both warriors of action," Fireblade said, shifting in the bed. She turned, leaning back and turning herself to face him, and he sucked in a quick breath as she pulled him into her front, her long legs wrapping around his waist. "That would be a huge comfort, would it not? It would turn grief into an objective. If she were still alive, even held prisoner by hostile forces, we could, in theory, mount a rescue operation. Is that your hope?"

[...]

He shivered, looking down, with his eyes closed, taking comfort in the blazing starfire silhouette engulfing him, throbbing with emotion - with pain. With loss, and sorrow, and understanding. "We both would. We'd love that, because then there would be something we could do," he said, reaching down, taking Fireblade's hand into his own, squeezing it, and her squeezing his hand in turn. So close to her, he inhaled with his nose against her collarbone, scent filling his nose; she smelled cool and clean, somehow, with overtones of sea-breeze; the smell he'd come to self-consciously enjoy on his pillow. That thought made him let out a sigh.
"But that's not the case. Maybe for some few of them, maybe, but it's not likely," he admitted. "We both know it... And that hurts us both, doesn't it?"
"It does indeed, my friend," Fireblade murmured. Slowly she leaned back, and Alex blinked as she pulled him to the surface of the bed, clinging to him tightly. Not, he realized, comfortingly; as if pain were an enemy she could physically shield him from. It was the same instinct he himself felt, and he sighed, opening his eyes, the smooth expanse of the front of her shoulders in front of his eyes, her right arm trailing up away, below, where their hands clasped one another. "I am sorry my question... Conjured up such painful memories."

[...]

Alex reached down, pulling the covers up, and Fireblade took them from him, finishing pulling them all the way up, around their shoulders. Then, wordlessly, she took his left hand in her right, pulling it across her body; over the bottom of her ribs, to wrap around her abdomen, with her hand clutching his, his her grip strong. He opened his eyes, then shut them again, letting her psychic impression fill his field of view. Is this... Fireblade starting to feel romantic towards me? As if. Sexual? Remotely possible. Two comrades, hurt and vulnerable, their thoughts on their lost loved ones, huddled together for warmth and mutual protection? Sounds probable. Just the most reasonably comfortable way for two people to share a smallish bed? Could be. He didn't know, but whatever it was, he was glad for the presence of one of his best friends, strong and fierce, prickly, but once she'd decided you were her friend, intensely loyal. She stretched out, and he stifled a yawn in the pillow, then he was out like a light.

Um... I'm sorry, what? You've kind of lost me there.
Stormrage is one Loroi. She was raised much like Fireblade, [...]

My fault. I meant Loroi who still raise their kids within a more tribal environment. If I remember correctly your story alluded to some of those. Living in monasteries or otherwise "in the outback" of the Loroi civilization.
But then Stormrage shows that Loroi do get affected by their immediate protégés if given the chance to bond with them. A very Human-like reaction to social interaction.
Ours is built around the born-family, theirs seems to be built more around the diral. Much like boarding school pupils care less for their family, and care more for their friends from the boarding school.

[sunphoenix]

I am extremely pleased by this Wonderful writing. I really do like the tenderness shown by Fireblade.. it was very touching!

I am very honored to have had my input on Stormrage included in these wonderfully unfolded tales! Thank You!

[ShadowDragon8685]

Another interesting addition, Shadow.

To add to what dragoon and Tamri have said, humans in Outsider don't yet have the tech to produce antimatter on an industrial scale. The Loroi and Umiak do, but they actually use an exotic matter annihilation process - if I recall the forum discussions correctly, it's as energetic as a typical M/AM reaction (or nearly so), but slightly easier to store. It's called 'taimat' in the Lexicon.

We at one time discussed this issue. So much so, that, most likely, there was a simple pressure explosion. On contact with oxygen burned part of the deuterium and energy of the enemy guns warmed up the remaining volume of the Bell's tanks to the plasma-shaped state. However, even in this version are many inconsistencies because this energy guns should numbered of terajoules, with one standard unit of damage specified in weapons tables, in this case corresponds to at least 10 TJ, which clearly does not fit in here somewhere specified Jim framework "40-50 TJ" necessary for shooting Rapier, whose five paired with the peak of the Medium Blasters damage 6 conventional units every.

If five kiloton antimatter detonated so close to Alex, comics wouldn't have happened.

If you can't make industrial antimatter by 2160, give up and go home. Seriously, the hardest part with making antimatter is the energy required to do so, but by this point in the comic, they have access to the biggest fusion reactor in the game: Sol itself. Park some giant fuck-off toruses in close solar orbit, use some giant fuck-off solar panels, some really honking big magnetic tanks to store it in, and bob's your uncle.

And yeah, I wouldn't think 5,000 tons of antimatter would need to be assembled in one place, ever.

Fusion powered and the explosion was the compressed fuel suddenly finding itself explosively uncompressed.

If Bellarmine was using metallic hydrogen, I could believe that, but metallic hydrogen is useful primarily for reaction mass, you can't feed a fusion reactor with it. She wouldn't be able to make any hyperspace jumps like that.
And I'm skeptical about 5,000 tons of compressed helium exploding that way. Helium is very inert stuff. That would pretty much just escape along the path of the beam...

[Siber]

Acting on such an impulse would be inadvisable at best, doubly so now that we know that human males are apparently capable of impregnating us.

So I guess Alex hasn't had a reason to explain the idea of safe sex in those five years, eh?

[ShadowDragon8685]

Huh. NOW I notice there was/is also a wall of text on this page.
You ARE productive, Shadow.

This one's been even more private than the Fireblade/Stormrage conversation my comment actually referred to.

I couldn't imagine me having such a conversation with a Loroi.

I imagine Beryl being one of your BFFs desensitizes you that kind of thing.

I assume you use a text editor with auto-correct, as after "..." you always continue with a capital letter, even if the sentence is continued (due to the characters pausing their speech while searching for words) and the letter shouldn't be capitalised... Won't comment further on that, as it just happens too often.

No, that's not an autocorrect artifact, that's just how I write.

[e]Also, I fixed those typos and errors you called out, except for referring to Bellarmine as 'her.' That one isn't, I think, too confusing for the reader, nor Fireblade.

So I guess Alex hasn't had a reason to explain the idea of safe sex in those five years, eh?

Would you want to explain the concept of the condom to a race whose entire form of government arose from the need to strategically allow/restrict sexual access to males to prevent explosive population growth in times of non-war?
I can see a few possible reactions to that, ranging from "Heresy!" to society-shaking revelation.
Either way, I don't see an outcome in which the males of Loroi society are particularly thankful.