First Contact

Chapter 941: The Setting Sun OCOC

All to often we look back and ask ourselves "What if I had..." when looking at the things we regret.

The thing I learned, during those dark years of the war, is that there was no going back without making things worse.

I learned to look at how to live with what I had done.

My failures and my triumphs had happened and wishes wouldn't change that.

So I learned to live with it. - V'Klekt, Treana'ad Warrior, 14 Post Terran Xenocide Event

The music was low, largely an afterthought, from the video jukebox at the back of the bar. The building was largely empty, just some janitorial staff cleaning up, a single bartender, and a single barmaid. Living beings, since the bar was a military bar and robots had a tendency to end up as smashed junk either through impromptu bot battles or someone getting pissed at it.

The bar was just off post, open 24 hours a day. It wasn't one of the more popular clubs, not a meat market and not a dance hall. More of a place for people to sit and drink, take advantage of the privacy screens on the booths, and talk to friends without having to shout, be overheard, or get interrupted by someone wanting to dance or hook up.

But today was a work day, in between paydays (more toward the next payday than the previous), and the constant distant thud of ranges in use all combined to explain why the bar was empty.

There were a few groups. A quartet of black mantid Rangers at a table with the privacy screens bolstered by a scrambler sitting on the table over there. Three Tukna'rn sitting silently and drinking beer, playing a competitive match game right there. Several beings sat at the bar, the bar stools in between them silently letting everyone know they were alone and wanted to be left alone.

At the back was a small group of four. All four were young looking, no scarring, full pelts or plumage, quietly drinking beer with the privacy screens engaged as well as a scrambler on the table.

The Ulvinstren kept stroking one of the feathers on his leg, an idle gesture that just screamed "lifelong habit" to anyone who saw it. A Vuknaraa that was staring into his beer sat next to a Phrewicken who was sipping at a shot glass of whiskey. Against the wall was a Hikken with a cyberleg that started at mid-thigh who was staring at the animated soft-core dancers on the vid-player's screen.

All of them looked like they were too young to be in a bar if it wasn't for their demeanor, which screamed "lifer scum" to anyone with even a passing knowledge of the military.

The song ended and the Hikken looked back at the table, clearing his throat. The others looked at him expectantly.

"If we stay in service, we'll have to go back to school and they're going to break up our crew anyway," the Hikken said. "Apparently the Terran Confederacy believes in rotating tank crews in order to smooth out the boot stew with some salt."

That got chuckles.

"You staying in?" the Phrewicken asked.

The Hikken shook his head. "No."

That got displays of shock from the other three.

"I thought you'd die in the TC's chair," the Ulvinstren chuckled. "We've come a long way, General Ekret."

"No ranks, Cheepeek," the Hikken told the Ulvinstren. He sighed. "I think I'm done with ranks for a while."

"Going to New Hikka?" the Phrewicken asked.

Ekret shook his head. "I'm not sure, Heslettek. Maybe," he gave a slight laugh. "I was younger than I look now when I joined the UMF. Maybe I should try something else."

"Something with a little fuzzy pinkness?" the Phrewicken grinned.

That made Ekret shake his head. "Yeah, actually, Sselssen, I think so," Ekret looked up. "Shade Night and the Second Spoked Offensive knocked my people on their ass. We're actually down, across Old Council Space, to about seventy million of us."

Cheepeek gave a low whistle. "Wasn't there like two hundred billion of you?"

Ekret nodded. "Right up until Hikka-Vandu got obliterated by the Atrekna and then Shade Night killed almost 80% of Known Space."

Heslettek sipped at his whiskey then set the shot glass down and nodded. "With the superluminals down, we don't even know who is where."

"Which is why 21st is suggesting to everyone ETSing that we go to our homeworlds, even if its a new one to replace one the Slorpies trashed," Ekret said.

Ekret finished off his beer and signaled the barmaid for another. The little Puntimat, dressed conservatively since it was morning shift, nodded and poured another beer before hurrying over. She set it down, took the payment and the tip, and rushed back.

"What about all of you?" Ekret asked.

Heslettek tapped his glass on the table. "I already got my orders. I'm heading to Mantid Space to help defend the border. Since the Terrans vanished some dipshits out past the Confederate Rim Worlds think that this is the perfect time to jump the Confederacy to grab a piece for themselves."

"You gonna go tour Mantid Prime?" Ekret asked.

Heslettek nodded. "Hell yeah."

Everyone nodded.

Cheepeek finished his drink and signaled for another, waiting till the barmaid had left before speaking.

"I'm heading for the Saurian Compact Rimworlds. Another group of dipshits are jumping the Saurians now that they think they can get away with it," Cheepeek said. "Got my orders already. 5th Imperial Guards (Old Blood)."

"Terran unit?" Sselssen asked.

"No. Saurian Kobold legacy unit," Cheepeek said.

"So they send the big bird to lizard town," Ekret laughed, then looked at Sselssen. "Where are they sending the lizard?"

"Hesstla. Not sure what unit, but I'm heading for 21st Replacement on Hesstla," Sselssen said.

"Those big bunnies like their armor," Heslettek said. "Digital Omnimessiah knows we've worked with them enough."

Ekret frowned. "Hesstlan Armor Corps doesn't use hover tanks," he said.

Sselssen nodded. "I know, tracked only."

"Well, your reflexes and muscle memory are all gone, maybe some time in a ground chewer will mix things up," Cheepeek said.

Sselssen gave a low laugh. "Yeah," he looked at his glass thoughtfully. "Maybe some time driving one of those big monsters is just what I need."

The laughs were genuine, but tinged with a slight flavor of melancholy.

They sat and talked for a while more, getting up and going their separate ways before lunch.

They all knew it, even though none of them said anything.

It was the last time they would see one another for a long time, if ever.

-----

Ekret stood in front of the desk, watching the printer whirr and spit out the last of his paperwork.

The Kobold behind the desk took the papers, examined them, then handed them to Ekret to look over. There were no errors, so he signed the copies for the Kobold and took the copies that were for him. He opened his suitcase, put the paperwork on top, and put the card that stated he was honorably discharged in his pocket.

He handed his ID card to the Kobold, who handed him his retiree card.

"Live well," the Kobold said.

"You too," Ekret said. He hefted the suitcase.

It felt weird, leaving.

He was still in his adaptive camouflage uniform. No plating, just the soft comfortable cloth.

He tugged down his hat and headed over to where taxis were waiting.

The movers had come and got his stuff that morning, what little of it there had been. He had spent the last years slash decades of his life living out of a tank. His personal effects were long gone, lost during the Second Telkan War. All he had was a simple suitcase in his hand with two changes of civilian clothing and his discharge paperwork.

The Puntimat behind the wheel of the taxi waited till he was buckled in before pulling out. He drove in silence to the spaceport and Ekret paid him from a cred-stick and headed into the terminal.

The trip to New Hikka would take seven weeks, six of them he'd be in cryostasis. The transport would be using the middle jumpspace bands, which were largely clear of shades and had few Hellspace anomalies to avoid.

The stewardesses were polite but firm as he checked in his suitcase, changed from his uniform and into the paper gown.

The stewardess let him switch out his ACU for comfortable civilian clothing for the 'personal effects' bag that he would be given when they reached New Hikka.

He laid down in the cryopod, breathed deep, and things went dark.

-----

The fact he'd recovered from cryoshock in minutes rather than long hours made him appreciate his rejuvenated youth.

He was dressed in simple clothing. No sashes, no holograms, no smartcloth. No synth-fibers. Just good old fashioned plant fiber and dye. Denim pants, tight weave t-shirt, soft cloth overshirt, comfortable shoes (that felt a little weird since Ekret couldn't remember the last time he had worn anything on his feet that wasn't tanker boots), fuzzy socks, and a hat with "Magician Hat Games" on it.

The fact he was just another Hikken heading to New Hikka was hammered home by the fact that he didn't board the dropship shuttle first, that he didn't rate any special treatment. There no adjuctants or other staff.

Just a young looking Hikken male with almost two centuries of combat under his belt and lodged in his brain.

He stared out the window at New Hikka. Where his old homeworld had been a single continent world, this one the super-continent had broken up into eight different continents of various sizes. The axial tilt was nearly 9% and the orbital path was slightly off center, meaning there would be seasons.

He found himself smiling as he looked at the planet.

For once, I'm not sitting in a tank, in a drop pod, heading down to blow big holes in everything, he thought to himself.

The landing was easy.

Going through customs was a little more complex than he had hoped for.

He didn't have his combat mods anymore, the cybernetics having been removed, but he still had a cybernetic leg, one cybereye, a hearing implant, in addition to his retinal link.

The scanners weren't invasive, it just took a while and people stared when he was pulled out of the line.

Once he was done, he picked up his suitcase and headed to the taxis.

An hour later found him sitting in a comfortable diner, looking over the ads on his dataslate. It was old, battered, an older military one that the Confederate Military let him keep, since it would take 5 seconds to run off a more modern one.

But he'd had it for decades.

He looked over the job listings, startled at how many there were.

It only took a few minutes for him to submit his discharge papers and his CWD-214 (Confederate War Department) to the proper authorities. He signed up for a telcom service, then, once he got his comlink number, he signed up for post-service counseling, registered with the employment department, and with the Office of Veteran's Services.

The fact he qualified for pretty much nothing on the employment website didn't startle him. After all, it was extremely doubtful anyone outside of the military would want a tank commander. Sure, he could do entry level labor and the like, enter the service industry, or something like that.

But his long service as a tank commander didn't exactly have the employers banging down his door.

He sat for a long moment, munching on a meal, when it dawned on him.

He didn't have a General Officer's Quarters apartment to return to.

There were plenty of places to rent and he went through the signup process, sat through the credit check, then did a few tours of various hab-blocks, apartment complexes, and the like.

The little one bedroom apartment he settled on, on the outskirts of the city he was sitting in, was good enough.

He sat for a long time, staring at his datapad.

Finally, he opened up the search engine, enabled the app to track his location and look at his personal history.

Roughly five minutes passed before the app said it was ready to assist him in anything he wanted to search for.

Typing slowly, and feeling foolish, he input a simple request.

What do I do with my life now?

The app paused for a moment, a wand circling a sparkling top-hat showing him that the app was working.

It spit back a list of possibilities.

Ekret was just grateful it hadn't asked "What do you want to do?" like the base computers had.

Job training and entering education were the top two.

Join social groups was the third.

Take a week to adapt to civilian life was the fourth.

Go on vacation to the islands was the fifth.

The rest were just variations.

Ekret tried to remember the last time he had been on vacation.

He didn't think the six month Confederate Most High Training Course, where he'd made his lateral promotion official, counted for a vacation.

He looked through the vacation ads until one caught his eye.

Lose your homeworld? Shade Night leave you adrift? Take a Social Cruise of the Spidercrab Tropical Islands and meet others just like you!

He stared at it for a long time.

The last time he'd been on the ocean he'd been firing atomic charges into islands.

He reached out and tapped the icons, signing up for the next cruise, choosing the middle options.

Why not?

-----

The beach was brightly lit by the bonfires. Hikken milled around, watching the entertainment, eating from the buffets, getting drinks at the bars, and mingling with one another.

Ekret sat with a group of Hikken who had just arrived, eight of the nine having come in on the same transport he had taken. He was wearing a loose oversized shirt with an eye searing pattern of flowers on it. He had flowers around his neck and a frosty fruit drink in his hand.

The Rigellian female band was playing a song that Ekret had never heard. Well, he'd never really heard any of the new songs that most of the Hikken seemed to be familiar with. It was upbeat and happy and Ekret enjoyed the voices of the reptilian females.

He'd learned that everyone on the cruise had terrible stories of the years leading up to The Flash, and that there was an unsaid agreement to talk about other things. To talk about the triumphs and good things rather than the horrors of the last decade.

That suited him just fine.

"Do you want to dance?" a woman by the name of Wret'l asked him, standing up.

"I don't really know how, but why not?" Ekret smiled.

"Neither do any of them," Wret'l smiled, waving at the crowd on the dance floor.

Everyone was moving differently. Some held another close and just swayed side to side, others jumped and flailed around, still others hopped foot to foot swinging their arms.

"Guess I can't do any worse," Ekret said.

Wret'l led him onto the dance floor and pulled him close, laying her head on his shoulder and just shuffling side to side with him. "I like this one," she sighed. "I miss being held."

Ekret knew that she had lost her husband and two children during Shade Night, her extended family to an Atrekna attack the year before that. She'd taken advantage of the Confederate Refugee Service's offer to return her to Hikken if she wished.

Even though he'd never been much of a dancer, well, ever, he realized that he was enjoying himself, dancing on a checkered platform that lit up with random colors on the squares, less than a hundred meters from where the ocean washed up on the beach, with the stars and both moons overhead. He could even see the cruise liner just off shore.

When the dance was over Wret'l looked up at him.

'We don't have to go back to the group. I don't really know anyone there from before the cruise," she said. "We could somewhere a little more private and talk, if you'd like."

"I don't either," Ekret said. He opened his mouth to suggest they go back anyway when what she meant hit him like a lightning bolt. He blinked away the shock and looked down at her before he smiled. "I think I'd like that."

-----

The Treana'ad Warrior was older, his carapace had a slightly pebbled and faded look that Treana'ad got as they aged. The huge insect was looking over paperwork, consulting his datapad and his desktop computer, then back to the paperwork.

Finally he looked up.

"Your paperwork is in order and has been approved," the Treana'ad said, the translator changing the buzzing clicks to Unified Standard. "Your choices will help you re-enter society and begin life anew," he said.

Ekret nodded then gave a nervous half-smile. "Is it normal to feel anxiety at this decision?"

The Treana'ad nodded. "Indeed, it is," he said.

"I'm still not sure this is the correct course of action," Ekret said.

The Treana'ad lit a smokestick then spoke through the cloud. "While you look to be a twenty-year old Hikken, you are, in fact, a man with two centuries of experience under their belt."

Ekret went to speak and the Treana'ad held up one bladearm.

"However, your experiences are extremely limited and focused. You have next to no life experience as a civilian. You have spent nearly your entire life following orders and mission parameters. You are no different than the other Hikken participating in what you have chosen. Your age doesn't matter," the Treana'ad said. He shuffled the paperwork. "I will tell you, like I tell everybeing who comes through my office: Do not forget to take part in social activities. Do not sit in your room and do nothing. If nothing else, take walks every evening. You have lived your life inside a tank for centuries."

Ekret nodded.

"Good luck, Ekret," the Treana'ad said, pushing the papers forward. "We'll speak again in a month."

"Thank you," Ekret said.

-----

The campus was huge to Ekret. It wasn't the largest on the planet. Hell, it wasn't even the largest in the city. A university, a place of higher learning that before the Big C3 Ekret would have only seen as he was driven by it in a taxi. The buildings were all grand structures, form merged with function in a way to remind the students the gravity of what they were doing.

He had passed the entry exams.

When he had submitted his service record to see what training and experiences translated into university courses he had been surprised to find out that not a single thing translated over. Over half of his classes were remedial courses, some of them bare bones stuff that were now being taught to children.

When he had gone back to his dorm room that night, he felt like he had wasted his whole life. He had sat in his room, alone, drinking a few narcobrews and wondering just what the hell he was doing. He wasn't worried about the fact he was slowly working his way up from a six-pack of narcobrew to a half-rack in one night.

He could handle it.

He just didn't know what the hell he was doing at university.

But his choices were either university and education or an entry level job in retail or something like that.

The first two weeks of classes, he noticed that quite a few of the Hikken in the remedial classes seem to feel the same way he did. Almost ashamed of themselves, like they had done something wrong to end up in the classes. He noted that some were resentful, like they believed that it wasn't fair that they had to attend and pass the remedial courses. Still others had an odd feeling of defeat, like the fact they had to attend the classes meant they had failed somehow.

At his weekly counseling sessions with a Treana'ad spirit healer, Ekret had mentioned how he felt.

The spirit healer had told him that it was perfectly normal to feel the way he was feeling, and had begun teaching him the tools he would need to overcome the feelings of inadequacy. He learned that starting a new life was difficult for most beings, and that leaving behind an old life so completely left a being feeling lost and adrift and questioning their life choices.

It wasn't easy, but Ekret put forth as much effort toward the spirit healer's lessons as he did his classwork. He got up early, showed up to class early, did his assignments and projects before anything else.

He had spent centuries as a soldier, adhering to a college schedule where he didn't have to get up till the outrageously late time of 0800 was easy.

It didn't take him long to realize he felt out of place with the other Hikken students. Most of them were just out of their parent's homes. This was their first taste of freedom, most of them had never lived anywhere but their parent's homes.

He had honestly expected to meet more refugees, but among the majority of the first year students, refugee camps seemed like a thing that had never happened.

Eket found himself slightly envious of his fellow students.

His spirit healer noted that he was withdrawing slightly from the other students and recommended that he take part in social clubs. When Ekret said he was thinking of just joining the veteran's social group the spirit healer told him to join two other social groups in addition to the veteran's group.

It wasn't easy, but he worked at it.

Drinking narcobrews when he got home made it easier.

He had expected the veteran's group to be full of beings just like him.

Instead, they were all former conscripts. A few that had joined the Confed military for a single hitch and then left.

He found he had less in common with them than he did with the civilian students. Still, he went to club meetings, went to bars with them, and drank with them.

His spirit healer had merely nodded and stated that the spirit healer had suspected that that would the case.

One day, during the "Job Fair", he found himself talking to the recruiters for the New Hikka Planetary Defense Force as well as a Confederate Armed Services recruiter.

It took only a few minutes to realize he had nothing in common with either group. Even though the PDF recruiter was interested in signing Ekret up, Ekret found himself disinterested in joining. True, part of it was the fact that the PDF told him he would have to join up like any other recruit, and the PDF was more focused on stellar defense than ground combat forces, but a larger part was the fact that the recruiter had no experience at where the metal met the meat.

He thought about rejoining Confed, but had felt an odd sort of relief when the Job Fair was over and the Confed recruiter left.

He thought about it over narcobrews in his room, stacking each empty bottle onto the pyramid he was building against one wall.

He found himself waking up too late, sometimes completely missing his first class. He found himself dawdling between classes. Found himself leaving lunch late and arriving at his first after lunch class late.

A few times he didn't even bother going to class. He just sat in his room in the dorm drinking narcobrew and staring at the wall. Or going to a bar and drinking by himself.

He wasn't worried, he had it under control.

He was struggling with the fact that he felt completely out of place. There was nothing here for him beyond just endless classes. He didn't know anyone. He had nothing in common with any of them.

Detainee's tits, he was older than the instructors.

Even though he wanted to go back, rejoin the Confederate military, he knew he couldn't.

It wouldn't be the same. Even if he went back and found himself inside a tank, it wouldn't be the same as it had been during the Big C3 and the 2PW.

So he went to classes and promised himself he would spend more time getting to know his fellow students. Instead he found himself leaving his last class to go to the bar and drink, then go back to his room and drink until he was tired enough to lay down.

His spirit healer had him take a blood-medication level test.

Which, like the last few tests in class, he failed.

He admitted he'd stopped taking his medication. That it didn't matter. It wasn't helping.

The spirit healer prescribed an armband.

Ekret hated it.

But he wore it.

He was already on academic probation during the beginning of his second year, now he was on veteran's services probation too.

Over spring break, when everyone else went to vacation spots or went to parties or went home to see family, he locked himself in his room, poured out the alk and the narcobrews, and waited.

By the next morning he was raving.

Campus security and medical services found him on the floor of his room, his forehead bloody from where he had beaten it against the shower wall.

He detoxed at the campus medical clinic instead of in his room.

The university was kind enough not to punish him. They waived the damage to his room and the medical services.

He had to sign a pledge not to drink alcoholic beverages to excess.

His spirit healer chided him gently for not seeking medical help with detoxing.

Feeling slightly ashamed, he went back to class when Spring Break ended. He went out of his way to engage his fellow students in conversation and do more than just drink at the social club meetings. He found himself going to the veteran's social club less and less.

Ekret was surprised to find out that, in a weird way, he had more in common with them then he did with the members of the veteran's social group. Like him, this was their first experience where they were in charge of their own lives. Where they had nobody to answer to but themselves.

By the end of second year, he found himself enjoying the two civilian social clubs he had joined more than the veteran's social club.

He just quit going.

His grades improved. His third year he was no longer on probation. None of his classes were remedial. He was told to choose a major and he thought long and hard about it, consulted his spirit healer and the other counselors, and settled on general education, finding out he still had that strange inability to make decisions for himself.

He still wore his armband.

One spring morning he went out and sat on a bench, watching several students working on a heavy cargo hauler.

Curious, he went over and started talking to them.

He had had no idea that hovercraft mechanics was a degree.

He ran out and changed his major at lunch.

More than a few times he relapsed, but he always got back onto 'the wagon' and did his best to stay sober. His fellow students in the hovercraft mechanics program seemed to understand why he avoided alcohol, which he found strangely gratifying.

It was his fourth year in hover mechanics that he started being approached by recruiters for jobs.

He stared at the Planetary Defense recruiter and told him to put on a clown suit and jump up his own ass.

He took a job with a company that maintained hover vehicles.

Keeping sober got easier.

He met a female Hikken on PopTop, dated, broke up. Rinse, wash, repeat. Sometimes it was him, sometimes it was her, sometimes it was both of them, and other times it was neither.

He bought a little house, using a combination of his backpay, his retirement pay, and his salary from working on hovercraft.

After some time, he met a Hikken female that he got along with and grew to love.

They had children that played in the yard and made his life a chaotic mess that he fully enjoyed.

It dawned on him, one day, sitting on the couch in the front room of the little house and reading to the youngest children, a pair of twins, from an ink and paper book, that he was something he hadn't expected.

Happy.