“Who leads here?!” she demanded.
“It is I, Sub-Chief Parendall of the 402nd, Nightmare Brigade,” Parendall said as he dragged the injured Ziva over.
“You are not supposed to be here, Sub-Chief.”
“The way is blocked by Stryver Ender soldiers.”
“All the more reason you should be in the tunnels.”
“My soldiers could not fight effectively within the confines of the tunnels. The Stryvers had a vast advantage and I will not needlessly send my men to their deaths without allowing them the ability to defend themselves.” Parendall held his head high. He imagined he could see her forming the words “coward” on her snout, but she held back, pondering his words and carefully choosing her own before she spoke.
It would be difficult for her to berate a leader of the most decorated fighting unit the Genogerians had ever known; she would not presume to do so lightly.
“Brendeff, get the men into positions with Nightmare platoon.” For tense long moments, nothing happened. Parendall was fearful that perhaps the Stryvers had pulled back and Demeta would believe he had over-reacted to a minimal threat. She looked to him just as a clicking noise issued forth from the opening. It got louder and more furious. There was not a soldier there that did not know the sound. It was that of countless Stryver legs charging along a hard surface.
“Brace!” Parendall shouted.
“Brendeff, rockets! Now!” Demeta ordered. Three missiles, no larger than tapered candles streaked to the opening and in. The first explosion illuminated the grotesquery of hundreds of Stryvers crawling all over each other in their haste to get at the Genogerians. The second showed multiple bodies being flung against the walls and into the ceilings in their separate, individual, still twitching parts. The third partially collapsed the tunnel, crushing untold numbers under the debris. Thick, lung-choking dust blew out and into the cavern. Soldiers turned from the blinding particles and covered their mouths in an attempt to breathe; some flattened to a ground position. It was minutes later that light was able to filter through the cloudy haze. The battle was not over, as a Stryver arm poked through the car-sized opening, rolling heavy boulders out of the way, to prove that point. Parendall fired his rifle when the beast poked its head out to get a look at what was before him. It screamed as the rounds tore through its face and eyes. The creature fell back and was immediately replaced by another. Hundreds of Stryvers died forging a new exit. So many, that the makeshift miners began to push the bodies out, rolling the hulking husks down the debris field, eventually building their own defensive wall from the excavated dead.
The bodies became stacked so high the hole was covered by them. The Genogerians could no longer see their enemy, but they could hear them working. That somehow made it worse. Minutes became hours; Parendall had the presence of mind to send rotating portions of his men outside to get fresh air, something quick to eat and to just feel the sunlight on their bodies. Demeta had at first questioned his actions but soon copied his tactic.
“You lead admirably.” she’d said in a moment that found them outside alone. “Why is it that you are a sub-chief and not chief?”
“My business of warfare does not follow the norm. I am afraid I have created animosity among those in my command.”
“Yet you still lead.”
“It is difficult to dismiss one that achieves results,” he said honestly.
“You care for those under your command.” She’d said it as a statement, but there was a certain questioning element to her words as well.
“We are all in this together. We succeed as a unit or we fall as a unit.”
“That is not very Progerian of you,” she prodded.
“I am not a Progerian!” He puffed his chest out and snorted. “They sit at home, safe and comfortable, many planets away while they order us into every imaginable war-torn corner of the known universe. Millions of our kind have died for them, yet what is offered in return? The whispered chance to rest our old, weary and broken bodies in the nearly unobtainable FreeTown.”
“I can see why you are still a sub.”
At first, Parendall was angered by her words; then he saw the smile with which she’d delivered them.
“We have much to discuss, Sub-Chief Parendall. I would very much like it if you survive the battle so that we may do so.”
“Chief Demeta, there is not a Stryver Ender Soldier that has been hatched that could keep me from doing just that.”
“Chief, Sub-Chief.” Junior Officer Brendeff came out of the cavern quickly. They turned to look at him. “It has gone quiet; we believe the Stryvers are finished widening the cave-in.”
“It would appear that we have more work to do,” Demeta said.
As they entered, an expectant silence hung inside the cavern like a heavy cloak.
“Prepare to fire!” Parendall shouted. His troops raised their weapons, and not a moment too soon as the bodies of the dead Stryvers were pushed over and replaced with the savage masks of those seeking revenge for their fallen. They ran at the front line in a torrent, preparing to overwhelm with superior numbers. The Genogerians held their ground, laying down a blistering curtain of fire, slicing apart their enemies, exploding their exoskeletons and sending ejecta from their soft innards all around the cavern. Stryvers were scurrying up the walls and onto the ceiling before dropping their bulk down onto the Genos, tearing into them relentlessly with their powerful mandibles.
“Controlled withdrawal!” Parendall shouted. “Shoot, step back!”
Demeta looked over to him; her soldiers were hesitant with the orders. “The same! Shoot and withdraw!” she echoed.
Parendall had looked over to her in acknowledgment and spotted the Stryver that had zeroed in on her. He fired two shots over her head and slightly to the left, twisting the large arachnid to the side before laying him open with a broadside hit. A coating of hot blood splashing across her forehead let her know just how close to death she had been. Parendall had removed all of the Genogerian soldiers from the cavern before the Stryvers could complete their pincher maneuver. Once they were all out, he ordered his munitions officer to blow the entire cavern with enough explosives to make the side of the mountain concave.
“Was that your plan all along?” Demeta asked once the dust had settled. “To draw them out and then bury them?”
“It was.”
“Those are not typical Genogerian tactics.” She was studying him intently as she made the statement.
“I am no ordinary Genogerian,” he replied in a matter-of-fact way.
“I can see that, Sub-Chief Parendall. What will you have me tell the Progerian Command?”
“The truth. There was a great victory here today. Some brave soldiers gave their lives, but took many, many more of the enemy in return.”
“A deep thinking Genogerian; I did not believe such a thing was possible. You are indeed a strange one.”
“I prefer unique.” He yawned.
“I would like to lay with you, Sub-Chief Parendall,” Demeta said boldly. “As soldiers, our lives are preternaturally short. I have always taken the initiative when there is something I want today, for there may be no tomorrow.”
“It is a soldier’s life we live; sometimes great sacrifices must be made.”
“Are you referring to war or to me?”
He smiled. “We will lay together, Chief Demeta, though I fear once we part you will never again know as great a joy as you will tonight.”
“Humble as well as brilliant. Aren’t I the lucky one?”
The two moved as one the entire night and into the early morning, only stopping as the sun began to rise. They were spent and exhausted. But without an enemy to fight for the immediate future, they were given the day off in leave. Neither moved very far from the other the entire day. They were still together when the night came.
“I have never had these feelings for another, Parendall,” Demeta said.
“I told you. One cannot simply be with Parend
all, and then not be.” He was smiling. “I am sorry, I jest. I would not have let you know so quickly, but you appeared to be getting angry and I do not want you to shoot me. I felt something for you the moment I saw you across the cavern floor. An attraction—no, that doesn’t seem the right word.” He considered the moment, reliving that feeling. “Almost a destiny. That we were meant to be together, you and I.”
“Presumptuous, don’t you think?”
“Yet, here we are, Demeta.”
“Well, I cannot deny that fact.”
“If I die tomorrow or I live to be a hundred, I will not forget these past two nights.”
“Nor I,” she said honestly as she laid her head on his chest.
* * *
***
* * *
The next morning he checked on his injured friend, Ziva
“You look much better,” Parendall said.
“Thanks to you, Parendall. I believe you have now somehow saved my life twice. It is not a debt I will soon forget.”
“We are in a constant state of war, Ziva. I would imagine at some point you will be able to repay me.”
“It will be my honor, Sub-Chief.”
“We will be receiving new orders later today and tomorrow the shuttles will be coming down to move us to our next point of attack. Will you be able to come with us?”
“I will make certain that I can. I don’t dare risk being re-assigned. There is not a commander out there that cares for his soldiers like you do, and there is not a male or female amongst us that would not lay down their life in exchange for yours.”
“Let us hope it does not come to that. It is good to see you are doing better. I will check in with you before we get ready to leave tomorrow.”
“Tell Chief Demeta I said hello. Was that supposed to be a secret?” Ziva asked jokingly. “There is not a person on this planet, including an errant Stryver or two, that does not know about your union. As far as mates go, she is a vast improvement on the ogre you found back on that outpost.”
“I agree, Grengen may have not been the most pleasing to gaze upon but she was a tender female.”
“If saying that allows you to keep the nightmares at bay then who am I to say otherwise?”
“Perhaps I should have left you in that tunnel.” Parendall walked away.
When the shuttles arrived the next morning, Demeta was nuzzled with Parendall, oblivious and unconcerned that any might see.
“We will be together again,” she vowed before stepping aboard her transport.
“That is my sincerest hope,” Parendall replied.
The next seven months were a whirlwind of nameless planets and savage battles. The Progerian high command could not ignore Parendall’s unparalleled success and eventually gave him the rank of chief. He’d just been pinned with his new insignia by a Progerian junior commander and was about to celebrate with his men when the junior commander pulled something from a pocket in his uniform.
“I wasn’t going to give you this; I still struggle with the idea that Genogerians can read. But there is a part of me that appreciates what you savages do. Without your deaths to protect us, many great Progerians would die in your stead.”
“We are here to serve, Junior Commander Asuras,” Parendall said through gritted teeth.
“I read it, mind you. I don’t know why. Boredom perhaps, or curiosity. You rut like animals so I guess this shouldn’t come as any surprise.”
Parendall was nearly shaking with rage but kept a tight control on his emotions. He knew he could kill the junior officer swiftly but that would doom not only himself, but more importantly, his men.
“Here is your message, though I fear it means less than nothing to one like you.” He slapped it into Parendall’s chest before embarking on his shuttle.
“You should have snapped his neck,” Ziva said. His friend had been standing next to him and had been promoted to the newly vacated sub-chief position.
“I would have done so if I felt it would have done more than get me and our men killed.”
“This is true. You would have been executed before the night was through, then I would have been pleased to graciously accept becoming chief.”
“That is what I was concerned about. I was thinking more along the lines that you would then be leading them into battle.”
“You jest…?” At first, Ziva questioned. “You jest!” he exclaimed when he got it. “I will leave you to your message.”
The message was four words long, yet Parendall read it a dozen, two dozen times. Attempting to conjure an image of the face of the Genogerian he loved and to comprehend the potential meaning behind her words. “I am with child.” One thought pervaded: how would he get back to her...then a thousand thoughts and concerns took its place.
A half hour later, Ziva came to check on his friend. “Are there some big words you perhaps need help with?” he asked.
“I am a sire.” Parendall finally looked up from the message.
“It has taken you long enough. I have sired fourteen, no fifteen...perhaps seventeen.” Ziva was thinking.
“I have never wanted to before. I did not want an offspring of mine to have to live in a constant state of war. I do not believe this to be the natural state of things.”
“I always thought Grengen would have been a perfect female for you to sire with.”
“How so?” Parendall asked after a moment. He’d been thinking on Demeta until that statement wormed its way through his thoughts.
“The offspring would have been so ugly you would not have wanted anything to do with it,” Ziva laughed.
“Grengen was not that hideous.”
“Did you notice that she would never look anyone in the eye?”
“That is true.” Parendall was remembering.
“Do you know why?”
“I do not, though I fear you are going to tell me.”
“It is because she was afraid she might catch a glimpse of her own reflection in the other’s.”
“I must see her.”
“Grengen? Why?”
“Demeta, you idiot.” Parendall was moving toward Asuras’s shuttle, which had not yet departed.
“What are you doing?” Ziva struggled to keep up with his chief.
“Junior Officer Asuras, this is Chief Parendall. I request the honor of speaking with you for a moment,” he called up through the open hatch.
It was long moments before the junior officer came out. “You might not understand this Genogerian, but I am busy. Much too busy for the likes of you.”
“This message, could you tell me where you were when you received it?”
Asuras’s eyes narrowed. “I could,” he said without elaborating. “What would it matter, though? If she were on the other side of this continent or the other side of the galaxy, you could not see her unless I permitted it, and there are far too many battles to be fought for me to allow you time with a dalliance.”
“It is more than a…dalliance, sir.”
Ziva came up and placed a hand on Parendall’s shoulder. The Geno had tensed up like a coil ready to spring. He was fearful his chief would do something rash.
“It would mean a great deal to me if I could see her again,” Parendall stated, doing his best to not run up the ramp and tear his officer in half.
“There are things we would all like, Chief Parendall, but this war requires sacrifice. Do you believe that I would choose to be here among your kind? I would much rather be in the Capitol City among the elite and sophisticated, yet I do what I must against the Stryver threat.”
“I have been a soldier for fifteen years. I have won more battles than you could know. I have killed more Stryvers than the number of Progerians you are acquainted with. I have not once, in all that time, asked any of my commanders for any sort of leniency. Yet, this is of enough importance to me that I ask you now.”
The Progerian officer looked at him thoughtfully. “It is indeed strange to see one of you so concerned about a pregnant
female; that is usually something reserved for higher beings. Your kind are more like weed farmers, plant a seed, walk away and never look back. For offspring to be well educated and reformed they must be tended to like crops. The masses of your kind will never understand that, but perhaps, for whatever reason, there is a glimmer of that in you.”
Parendall stayed still as Asuras unknowingly or uncaringly hurled speciesist insults his way.
“Next month, I will be by this way again, perhaps if you both yet live I will allow a reunion,” Asuras said as he was getting ready to go back in.
“Sir, we live a very dangerous life; one or either of us will most likely be killed within that time frame.”
“Then I suggest you stay alive, Chief, if you ever wish to see her again.” With that he closed the door and within minutes they were preparing for take-off.
“You are lucky he did not take your newly appointed rank from you, Parendall,” Ziva said.
“Rank has no privileges among our kind, Ziva. We all die the way we live; servants to their whim. Come, we have a month to prepare for Asuras’s return.”
“Don’t you mean your reunion with Demeta?” Ziva asked.
Parendall said nothing.
It was six weeks later that Parendall was informed that Asuras’s shuttle would be returning the following day.
Parendall and Ziva waited by the designated landing zone. Asuras and a team of his officers disembarked. Parendall felt a sharp and acute pain in his chest when he did not see Demeta. That immediately vanished when he saw her at the very end of the ramp; she looked confused, but relieved when she saw him standing some feet away.