Cosmic Diligence.
I could still feel the heat from my pistol's nozzle on my inner thigh as I stepped past the barn's partially cracked doors. My eyes squint into the sky, adjusting from the darkness that once consumed me as the distant sun's rays hit me with a bright light.
I turn my head slightly to look back into the large shed. Four legs were sprawled across the ground, the only thing visible in the small crack of light that penetrated inside. A stream of red liquid trails down into the luster as well, sparkling in the sunlight.
For some, taking another's life may leave some time for reflection—maybe even guilt or remorse. Though I understand the terminology through Old Englysian texts, I have never felt either emotion. Or maybe after a while, I stopped caring about what my subconscious told me and just got the job done. They got themselves in most of the situations I run into, so why should I care?
Even then, fortunately for officers like myself, we were trained to leave those types of sentiments behind. During my training period at Crux-Patrol, they had regiments where they put you in specific situations and measured your psyche levels. If you kept a clear head and remained calm under challenging environments, they gave you high-security jobs; if you couldn't take it, they placed you appropriately. Along with that, every officer is sent off to fight on the frontlines before deployment, making sure that if you're on the verge of breaking, you won't survive. Not only that, but war educates you on how our daily lives as officers will go.
High risk and almost no reward. Just trying to survive the next vandolta who wanted to see a burnt hole between your eyes.
I raise a finger into the air, and the white choker device bound around my throat buzzes before a set of gray holograms appears in front of me. I'm still getting used to my Proatrix, and I highly preferred the Vyunegem apparatus they issued back at the institute. In this quadrant, locals mainly use them for entertainment, communication, and navigation. Though officer-issued Proatrixes can do much more, such as find synthesis material and perform call-downs from nearby globe orbitals.
After I made a detailed report about the cult member and the missing transport vessel in my logs, I pinch the screen away.
"Ensign Miya, requesting spool back to Tavaus III immediately."
A black veil of jolting light appears in front of me. I take a deep breath and walk through the portal, closing my eyes to brace for transport.
It's not that I wanted to kill the girl… But you know how it is.
The girl grows up with a vengeance towards the Federation and either grips up or turns to a cricker org to take her revenge.
As an officer for the Ya'valt Galactic Federation, it's my job to ensure that individuals like them don't exist.
Individuals that cause problems.
It's pretty easy to deal with problematic individuals. You just… Hold a gun to their head. 'I won't do it ever again,' they'll say; 'If you give me one more chance, I'll prove myself,' they'll exclaim.
But at the end of the day, these are the type of people you have to worry about the most because they have nothing to lose if they act THAT pathetic.
My eyes open as I reach the end of my transport. The farm terrain transforms into a busy orbital station with silver metallic walls and floors and a spiraling upper deck system expanding high into the ceiling. The cubic elevators on each wing usher dozens of officers and convey vehicles that hurtle up the spiraling venue, though silent due to the glass vacuum they are contained in.
Tavaus III, my home for these past exo-cycles, is an orbital hub that revolves around the 162 Talchia Sector in the Supa Star Quadrant. We're regarded as a smaller branch of the Galactic Federation, our mother branch, that handles planetary evacuations, on-calls, and distress beacons, respectively.
A long glass tube-like elevator towers the sides of the station as well. One leads into the second-most level above the ground floor, holding several vendors and shops that non-commissioned personnel could explore. Though this port is mainly a habitat for officers and ensigns, the hub is also available as a rest stop for cargo hulls and prospector shuttles scouring this quadrant. They say it's to keep a welcoming environment and help newcomers feel more secure. Still, I've noted that it's easier to keep tabs on crickers as they're most likely to avoid venturing near a federal station.
A white-uniformed Mansklig male dashes past my eyes, bringing back my senses to the ground floor. As if I was in a Vytonean Seal Hubble, a sea of busily moving people, androids, and small hovering transfer rails move past me at all angles. The Habitatus Vend, the ground floor, is the central hub of our orbiting station and houses our ship hangars, resting quarters, and R-R-R Pads. The three Rs stand for repair, rearm, and refuel. You would think that you'd utilize all three for ships and shuttles; however, with the ever-expanding types of mechanized suits, VO-class weapons, and self-augmentations, the experience is universal.
I dip my cap lower onto my head and walk past a buzzing group of Manskligs, or humans, as they refer to themselves for whatever reason. Of all the tetrapods I've come across, they're incredibly feeble; Their physique is limited, flabby arms, weak tolerance for augmentations and injections… No wonder they've been enslaved to the Ya'valtian Federation. I have been interested to know how and why, but it has yet to become all that intriguing.
The Mansklig's most admirable trait, if any, is their several hues of color. Some are extremely pale, while others are as dark as gladonite. It's pretty rare for a race to have such an expanded color scheme but not uncommon.
I've also come to recognize they speak in a form of Englysian that's loose and rigid. Since their insertion to this hub, other officers and I have picked up some of their dialects and use them regularly.
Compared to my white uniform, theirs is a darker scheme and covers most of their body, which signifies that they're mainly used as reliants. And though it's a generous name given their position as war slaves, it truly means they're sent into unknown territory to test for environmental spooks, traps, and as moving shields.
Though I'm supposedly in their same gene pool, I've never had any reason to converse with them. Even then, why bother? I'm way higher than them on the hierarchal scale, all things considered, and I would rather keep to myself. Above all, I'd rather not give them another reason to harass me.
"Did you hear about the Sector 70 transfer? I heard that the Ukrsa massacred half a platoon in mere seconds!" A Mansklig male informs with his arms crossed.
Ah yes… The S70 transfer… Whoever thought of that idea was a total dumbass.
Sector 70, also known as the 'Warring System,' has had interplanetary disputes that have lasted entire solar cycles. Travelers across the verse come to witness their colliding planet fields and battles… From the safety of their ships, of course. In fact, that's plausibly where that transport ship I found on Acuraspat was heading from.
I don't know why the Ya'valt would consider such a dangerous route or what they would even want in that sector, but I could care less. The life of a meat shield is a hard one, I suppose… I bet the Ya'valt had no casualties.
"Apparently, while the Ukrsa were eating us alive, the Ya'valt opened fire on both us and the monsters… Jerem was in that platoon too." A younger Mansklig female responded with a dreary expression.
I clench my fist as I continue to a white metal reception desk in the middle of the walkway.
"Munaayi, Miya! How was your exploration?"
A young Ya'valtian woman with colorless skin and matching long white hair braided down her back offers a soft smile with a tilt of her head.
Nanako, the newest field receptionist, is one of the nicer Ya'valtians stationed here. That, or she still needs to be brought up to speed on how things work around here.
I nod towards her as I struggle to place my white card on top of the desk on my tipped toes.
My height leads to some disadvantages… But Nanako doesn't seem to mind it.
A group of men, wearing my same uniform but with several shining medallions across their tops, laugh with huge smiles and reddened cheeks as they walk toward us. Their skin was as ashen as Nanako's, with red eyes and golden flakes surrounding their pupils.
My hand almost reached the top of the counter, but a sudden shove to my forehead made me falter and lose my balance, causing me to collapse onto the ground.
I look up to the broadest man in the group. He gives me a sneer before turning back to the receptionist. "Hey Nana, let's go drinking while I'm on break darlin'!"
The team of men behind him waves their metallic satchels of booze toward her with wide grins.
Nanako gazes at me, still on the ground, then at them with a hand placed on her cheek.
"Sorry dears, I've got overtime today… Maybe next time?"
I get up on my knees, my eyes glaring at the man beneath my cap as he tries to persuade her to get a beverage.
“… Yubrash no’ kenni!”
A sudden white light flashes across my eyes as a blunt force makes my back hit the floor. I look to see one of the Ya'valtian women in the group press her boot into my chest as my lungs lose all the air they had previously stored.
Several people talking amongst themselves turn their heads toward the woman and me, with a sudden circle forming around the reception desk.
The woman pinning me down then takes her foot from my chest and grabs a fistful of my hair, dragging me from the floor and making my body linger in the air. My skull is on fire from the stint of my locks being tugged; I cling onto her arm as she chuckles at my demise.
Despite most Ya'valtian females being a lot slender, this one was brawny with a short buzz cut and purple MU-hybrid eye implants that allowed her sight through almost virtually any physical object.
"I saw that dirty look you were giving the boss." She sneers with a heavy bass behind her voice, most likely augmented. "Do you know who that is? That is your Major, and honestly, any Ya'valt here outranks you as far as I'm concerned you, inferior half-breed!"
My eyes reflectively close as I see her hand coming at me from the side, a sting on my left cheek, and my nose makes me hick as blood pools down my nostrils.
At this point, the crowd, primarily passerby Ya'valtians, seemingly pleased with her performance, give me eyes of disgust along with the occasional smile and giggles. My eyes open, turning to look at the group of conversing Manskligs from before. I make eye contact with the woman reminiscing about her fallen comrade.
Our eyes meet; However, she clenches her teeth and crosses her arms, turning her eyes toward the ground.
I guess… I would do the same thing if I were in her shoes…
The woman holding me hostage then lets me fall to the ground with a thump. With a sniff, I look toward the floor, my hands balling into fists as I take a deep breath.
“… I’m… Sorry… I won't… Do it… Again…” I pause between words, trying to contain my anger.
She chuckles and squats in front of me, grabbing me by the hair and lifting my head, so our eyes meet.
"Demen clovenu'… Apologize in my native tongue when you address me, whored brat."
My eyes start to water, but I fight back my tears by pushing my nails deep into my hand.
"Ya… Yato… I’usa…” I stutter with unease.
The woman throws my head down and releases my hair with a laugh. "You're Ya'valto tongue is absolute shit! It makes it even more obvious you're just a fuckin' half-breed!"
Her posse, still behind us, joined in her laughter, followed by the cackles of the surrounding crowd. I pinch my palms harder as I feel a tear start forming in the side of my eyes.
I feel a tap on my shoulder to my side, with Nanako now from behind her desk handing me my white card and a blue cap with a considerate smile.
My eyes soften as I stand up from the floor, shove my cap on my head, and stride away. My hands ball into fists at my sides as I bite my tongue, a metallic taste filling my mouth.
If only I was a bit bigger… And stronger… And a higher rank… Then I could've shown her off in front of everyone.
My mouth gives off a sigh as my pace slows.
But even with all that stuff, you can't change the fact that I'm—
—Thump
My lowered head bumps into an unseen object, causing me to stumble back while rubbing my forehead.
I then look down at the black shoes and the white uniform pants it was stuffed in, already following the routine for whenever I made a mistake against one of… Them.
"I'm sorry for my callowness… As a mere insect amongst you, I will strive to better myself—"
"… You talk a lot, shut up." A raspy male voice interrupts my apology.
I look to see an older man, also Yal'vatian but this one sporting a white coat along with his military uniform. His crimson eyes and long eyelashes were somewhat visible beneath the transparent lenses on his face.
My head lowered, and without noticing, I started to cry with my tears, creating specks of water on my black boots.
"You let them see you like this and that'll only make them want to target you more. Let's go to my office." The doctoral soldier proposes.
I nod and walk behind him with my head still lowered to the ground.
Someday… I'll kill them all.
Cosmic Diligence.
I could still feel the heat from my pistol's nozzle on my inner thigh as I stepped past the barn's partially cracked doors. My eyes squint into the sky, adjusting from the darkness that once consumed me as the distant sun's rays hit me with a bright light.
I turn my head slightly to look back into the large shed. Four legs were sprawled across the ground, the only thing visible in the small crack of light that penetrated inside. A stream of red liquid trails down into the luster as well, sparkling in the sunlight.
For some, taking another's life may leave some time for reflection—maybe even guilt or remorse. Though I understand the terminology through Old Englysian texts, I have never felt either emotion. Or maybe after a while, I stopped caring about what my subconscious told me and just got the job done. They got themselves in most of the situations I run into, so why should I care?
Even then, fortunately for officers like myself, we were trained to leave those types of sentiments behind. During my training period at Crux-Patrol, they had regiments where they put you in specific situations and measured your psyche levels. If you kept a clear head and remained calm under challenging environments, they gave you high-security jobs; if you couldn't take it, they placed you appropriately. Along with that, every officer is sent off to fight on the frontlines before deployment, making sure that if you're on the verge of breaking, you won't survive. Not only that, but war educates you on how our daily lives as officers will go.
High risk and almost no reward. Just trying to survive the next vandolta who wanted to see a burnt hole between your eyes.
I raise a finger into the air, and the white choker device bound around my throat buzzes before a set of gray holograms appears in front of me. I'm still getting used to my Proatrix, and I highly preferred the Vyunegem apparatus they issued back at the institute. In this quadrant, locals mainly use them for entertainment, communication, and navigation. Though officer-issued Proatrixes can do much more, such as find synthesis material and perform call-downs from nearby globe orbitals.
After I made a detailed report about the cult member and the missing transport vessel in my logs, I pinch the screen away.
"Ensign Miya, requesting spool back to Tavaus III immediately."
A black veil of jolting light appears in front of me. I take a deep breath and walk through the portal, closing my eyes to brace for transport.
It's not that I wanted to kill the girl… But you know how it is.
The girl grows up with a vengeance towards the Federation and either grips up or turns to a cricker org to take her revenge.
As an officer for the Ya'valt Galactic Federation, it's my job to ensure that individuals like them don't exist.
Individuals that cause problems.
It's pretty easy to deal with problematic individuals. You just… Hold a gun to their head. 'I won't do it ever again,' they'll say; 'If you give me one more chance, I'll prove myself,' they'll exclaim.
But at the end of the day, these are the type of people you have to worry about the most because they have nothing to lose if they act THAT pathetic.
My eyes open as I reach the end of my transport. The farm terrain transforms into a busy orbital station with silver metallic walls and floors and a spiraling upper deck system expanding high into the ceiling. The cubic elevators on each wing usher dozens of officers and convey vehicles that hurtle up the spiraling venue, though silent due to the glass vacuum they are contained in.
Tavaus III, my home for these past exo-cycles, is an orbital hub that revolves around the 162 Talchia Sector in the Supa Star Quadrant. We're regarded as a smaller branch of the Galactic Federation, our mother branch, that handles planetary evacuations, on-calls, and distress beacons, respectively.
A long glass tube-like elevator towers the sides of the station as well. One leads into the second-most level above the ground floor, holding several vendors and shops that non-commissioned personnel could explore. Though this port is mainly a habitat for officers and ensigns, the hub is also available as a rest stop for cargo hulls and prospector shuttles scouring this quadrant. They say it's to keep a welcoming environment and help newcomers feel more secure. Still, I've noted that it's easier to keep tabs on crickers as they're most likely to avoid venturing near a federal station.
A white-uniformed Mansklig male dashes past my eyes, bringing back my senses to the ground floor. As if I was in a Vytonean Seal Hubble, a sea of busily moving people, androids, and small hovering transfer rails move past me at all angles. The Habitatus Vend, the ground floor, is the central hub of our orbiting station and houses our ship hangars, resting quarters, and R-R-R Pads. The three Rs stand for repair, rearm, and refuel. You would think that you'd utilize all three for ships and shuttles; however, with the ever-expanding types of mechanized suits, VO-class weapons, and self-augmentations, the experience is universal.
I dip my cap lower onto my head and walk past a buzzing group of Manskligs, or humans, as they refer to themselves for whatever reason. Of all the tetrapods I've come across, they're incredibly feeble; Their physique is limited, flabby arms, weak tolerance for augmentations and injections… No wonder they've been enslaved to the Ya'valtian Federation. I have been interested to know how and why, but it has yet to become all that intriguing.
The Mansklig's most admirable trait, if any, is their several hues of color. Some are extremely pale, while others are as dark as gladonite. It's pretty rare for a race to have such an expanded color scheme but not uncommon.
I've also come to recognize they speak in a form of Englysian that's loose and rigid. Since their insertion to this hub, other officers and I have picked up some of their dialects and use them regularly.
Compared to my white uniform, theirs is a darker scheme and covers most of their body, which signifies that they're mainly used as reliants. And though it's a generous name given their position as war slaves, it truly means they're sent into unknown territory to test for environmental spooks, traps, and as moving shields.
Though I'm supposedly in their same gene pool, I've never had any reason to converse with them. Even then, why bother? I'm way higher than them on the hierarchal scale, all things considered, and I would rather keep to myself. Above all, I'd rather not give them another reason to harass me.
"Did you hear about the Sector 70 transfer? I heard that the Ukrsa massacred half a platoon in mere seconds!" A Mansklig male informs with his arms crossed.
Ah yes… The S70 transfer… Whoever thought of that idea was a total dumbass.
Sector 70, also known as the 'Warring System,' has had interplanetary disputes that have lasted entire solar cycles. Travelers across the verse come to witness their colliding planet fields and battles… From the safety of their ships, of course. In fact, that's plausibly where that transport ship I found on Acuraspat was heading from.
I don't know why the Ya'valt would consider such a dangerous route or what they would even want in that sector, but I could care less. The life of a meat shield is a hard one, I suppose… I bet the Ya'valt had no casualties.
"Apparently, while the Ukrsa were eating us alive, the Ya'valt opened fire on both us and the monsters… Jerem was in that platoon too." A younger Mansklig female responded with a dreary expression.
I clench my fist as I continue to a white metal reception desk in the middle of the walkway.
"Munaayi, Miya! How was your exploration?"
A young Ya'valtian woman with colorless skin and matching long white hair braided down her back offers a soft smile with a tilt of her head.
Nanako, the newest field receptionist, is one of the nicer Ya'valtians stationed here. That, or she still needs to be brought up to speed on how things work around here.
I nod towards her as I struggle to place my white card on top of the desk on my tipped toes.
My height leads to some disadvantages… But Nanako doesn't seem to mind it.
A group of men, wearing my same uniform but with several shining medallions across their tops, laugh with huge smiles and reddened cheeks as they walk toward us. Their skin was as ashen as Nanako's, with red eyes and golden flakes surrounding their pupils.
My hand almost reached the top of the counter, but a sudden shove to my forehead made me falter and lose my balance, causing me to collapse onto the ground.
I look up to the broadest man in the group. He gives me a sneer before turning back to the receptionist. "Hey Nana, let's go drinking while I'm on break darlin'!"
The team of men behind him waves their metallic satchels of booze toward her with wide grins.
Nanako gazes at me, still on the ground, then at them with a hand placed on her cheek.
"Sorry dears, I've got overtime today… Maybe next time?"
I get up on my knees, my eyes glaring at the man beneath my cap as he tries to persuade her to get a beverage.
“… Yubrash no’ kenni!”
A sudden white light flashes across my eyes as a blunt force makes my back hit the floor. I look to see one of the Ya'valtian women in the group press her boot into my chest as my lungs lose all the air they had previously stored.
Several people talking amongst themselves turn their heads toward the woman and me, with a sudden circle forming around the reception desk.
The woman pinning me down then takes her foot from my chest and grabs a fistful of my hair, dragging me from the floor and making my body linger in the air. My skull is on fire from the stint of my locks being tugged; I cling onto her arm as she chuckles at my demise.
Despite most Ya'valtian females being a lot slender, this one was brawny with a short buzz cut and purple MU-hybrid eye implants that allowed her sight through almost virtually any physical object.
"I saw that dirty look you were giving the boss." She sneers with a heavy bass behind her voice, most likely augmented. "Do you know who that is? That is your Major, and honestly, any Ya'valt here outranks you as far as I'm concerned you, inferior half-breed!"
My eyes reflectively close as I see her hand coming at me from the side, a sting on my left cheek, and my nose makes me hick as blood pools down my nostrils.
At this point, the crowd, primarily passerby Ya'valtians, seemingly pleased with her performance, give me eyes of disgust along with the occasional smile and giggles. My eyes open, turning to look at the group of conversing Manskligs from before. I make eye contact with the woman reminiscing about her fallen comrade.
Our eyes meet; However, she clenches her teeth and crosses her arms, turning her eyes toward the ground.
I guess… I would do the same thing if I were in her shoes…
The woman holding me hostage then lets me fall to the ground with a thump. With a sniff, I look toward the floor, my hands balling into fists as I take a deep breath.
“… I’m… Sorry… I won't… Do it… Again…” I pause between words, trying to contain my anger.
She chuckles and squats in front of me, grabbing me by the hair and lifting my head, so our eyes meet.
"Demen clovenu'… Apologize in my native tongue when you address me, whored brat."
My eyes start to water, but I fight back my tears by pushing my nails deep into my hand.
"Ya… Yato… I’usa…” I stutter with unease.
The woman throws my head down and releases my hair with a laugh. "You're Ya'valto tongue is absolute shit! It makes it even more obvious you're just a fuckin' half-breed!"
Her posse, still behind us, joined in her laughter, followed by the cackles of the surrounding crowd. I pinch my palms harder as I feel a tear start forming in the side of my eyes.
I feel a tap on my shoulder to my side, with Nanako now from behind her desk handing me my white card and a blue cap with a considerate smile.
My eyes soften as I stand up from the floor, shove my cap on my head, and stride away. My hands ball into fists at my sides as I bite my tongue, a metallic taste filling my mouth.
If only I was a bit bigger… And stronger… And a higher rank… Then I could've shown her off in front of everyone.
My mouth gives off a sigh as my pace slows.
But even with all that stuff, you can't change the fact that I'm—
—Thump
My lowered head bumps into an unseen object, causing me to stumble back while rubbing my forehead.
I then look down at the black shoes and the white uniform pants it was stuffed in, already following the routine for whenever I made a mistake against one of… Them.
"I'm sorry for my callowness… As a mere insect amongst you, I will strive to better myself—"
"… You talk a lot, shut up." A raspy male voice interrupts my apology.
I look to see an older man, also Yal'vatian but this one sporting a white coat along with his military uniform. His crimson eyes and long eyelashes were somewhat visible beneath the transparent lenses on his face.
My head lowered, and without noticing, I started to cry with my tears, creating specks of water on my black boots.
"You let them see you like this and that'll only make them want to target you more. Let's go to my office." The doctoral soldier proposes.
I nod and walk behind him with my head still lowered to the ground.
Someday… I'll kill them all.
