2. Proslo
2
PROSLO
M y protective gloves allowed my claws to punch through, which was just as well, since otherwise, I’d have no other way to provide enough grip to climb this tree. On either side of me, two other officers were doing the same thing, scaling a towering coconut palm tree at Kimo’s behest.
We could, and did, do other things to build our strength and agility, but here in his hula class, we did things in the tradition of his people. Up the towering trees with only our hands and feet, nothing else to aid us. Only myself and a handful of others whose hands had to remain in as pristine condition as possible were permitted to use the claws borrowed from our battle forms. Then back down, followed by a swim in the simulated surf and a run down the sandy beach. After all that, we’d practice our actual dancing. It was grueling but exhilarating. I much preferred this period of thrice weekly training to the once a week combat training, especially if it was swordsmanship.
I got to use practice swords as did the rest of medical and the sciences, not that it prevented us from bruises and strained muscles. The rest of the crew, however, regularly came in with enough deep cuts and even the occasional broken bone that I had grown to loathe the sight of anyone sparring. I knew it was necessary, of course. We were warriors, and if we were to come under attack, we needed to be ready to defend ourselves within the walls of our ships. Unlike projectile and energy weapons, swords and daggers were incapable of punching through a ship’s hull.
I reached the top of my tree and paused to catch my breath. It was unfortunate timing, as the mere thought of fighting and hull breeches unlocked a memory. I wrapped my arms tightly around the trunk, knowing I had to face it so I could think myself past it.
My father strapped his twin daggers and sword on, kissing my mother briefly before hurriedly pressing one against my brother’s forehead, and then mine.
“Do not open the door for any reason, and if they try to get in, lock yourselves into the safe.”
I glanced over at the hidden door inside my father's closet. It was designed to act as a weapons safe while doubling as a safe room in case of emergency. Locked inside, we’d not run out of air and Nigellos, our ship’s AI system, would turn a part of the floor in the corner into an open hole we could eliminate in so he could whisk it away to waste processing. Each set of quarters had such a safe and each contained a signal booster coupled to the ship’s distress beacon as well as each safe’s beacon which would allow rescuers with security access to Nigellos to pinpoint those of us locked away. A small food cache and mini replicator were also inside.
“It will be fine,” Marmar reassured us and I smiled trustingly up at her. Our mother was always right, and Dathir was a strong warrior. He participated in competitions and our walls were covered with many of the awards he’d won. He’d see whoever dared to try to board our ship off to the afterlife. He was so good he could have joined the Fleet instead of working for a salvage crew.
Our ship rocked violently and Marmar’s face paled.
“Come, we will go into the safe, just in case,” she said.
Minutes stretched into hours and hours into what had to have been days. At first, the ship shuddered and groaned while my younger brother and I clung to our mother. She began to tell us stories until the ship fell quiet at last and her voice became a mere rasp.
My brother Lisos peered up at her hopefully. “The bad guys have gone. Now we can get out.”
She shook her head. “Nigellos has not given the all clear,” she reminded us. “We must remain here until he does or your father comes to release us.”
Time crawled by even slower, and we ate a few of the ration bars, sipping water to wash them down. Exhaustion finally took us one by one, and we fell asleep, dozing in fits and starts. Despite the floor facility opening and resealing itself shut, the small space began to stink from our unwashed bodies, and where myself and Lisos missed aiming our piss completely through the hole.
When the door to our haven slid open at last, it wasn’t Dathir that greeted us, but a member of the Fleet wearing a respirator. His face wore a grim expression as he held a bag out.
“Grab a respirator,” was all he said and Marmar hurried to obey. She quickly strapped them over our faces before doing the same with hers, and another Fleet officer standing behind him had us turn around so he could fasten three small cylinders onto our backs.
“How bad is the breech?” Marmar asked.
“The bulkheads kept this section and the bridge airtight, but the rest…” His voice trailed off as he shook his head.
We followed them through our quarters, the officers kindly giving us time to grab what precious things we could easily carry. My mother took a tablet which held all of our family pictures, grabbing one of my father’s shirts and some of his awards from the walls. My brother and I grabbed our favorite toys of course, but the way my mother took Dathir’s shirt niggled at me, prompting me to return to their bedroom and grab the pillow he’d slept on every night.
The corridor outside was filled with the families of the rest of the crew, also clutching a few meager possessions and wearing respirators and air tanks. The need for this became apparent once the fleet officer in charge of the rescue party opened the emergency airlock in the hull and led us through the see-through umbilical tunnel which connected us to their warship.
“Close the children’s eyes,” one of the officers said but it was too late. I whimpered as a body floated past, missing an arm, eyes frozen open unseeing. It was my friend Glyop’s father, in the battle form I’d seen so often while watching my father and the rest of them train. Somehow making things worse, his arm had not been cleaved off. Where it had been was a burned stump, his pants on that side also charred. He’d been shot with an energy weapon of some kind. I glanced back at our ship and saw the gaping hole close to the cargo area. We were part of a salvage company, collecting debris and taking it to recycling processing centers and occasionally to small shipyards, if we came across a small craft. Had the attackers mistaken us for a merchant vessel?
Sobs broke out as others took in the grim reality before us. I turned my head, looking resolutely ahead. I had to get my mother and brother to safety aboard the warship. I had to be brave and strong so when Dathir came, he’d know I was a strong warrior, just like him. Only he didn’t come, and in the end, I too gave into tears.
I blinked my eyes to dislodge the moisture there. I was no longer that small boy of six. I was a fully mature male, a fully trained Mylos warrior in my own right who chose to heal rather than maim, and a proud member of the Fleet. I scrambled down and dusted myself off.
Kimo looked at me appraisingly but said nothing. He jerked his chin toward the water and I spun around to run headlong into the waves, happy to let them wash away the feelings those memories always left me.