Valiant

[Valiant #28: Butterflies and Brick Walls]

Log Date: 9/14/12764

Data Sources: Kiwi

Event Log: Kiwi

M.V. Nyroc: Mess Hall

7:32am SGT

I’m not an early morning person.

If given the chance, I would go to sleep every night at midnight or somewhere thereabouts, and wake up every morning at nine or ten. That’s the schedule I usually keep while I’m on surface leave, or when we’re transiting between systems. If I have to wake up any time before eight in the morning, I usually find myself fighting the urge to kill anyone that so much as looks at me.

But the universe doesn’t exactly run on a synchronized clock. There’s almost no planet that has a twenty-four hour rotation, and there sure ain’t a ton of planets that have an orbital period of three hundred and sixty days. Standard Galactic Time is a myth, an invention created by governments and corporations so they’ve got a common point of reference for arranging their meeting and shipping schedules. This means the ship clock often disagrees with the clock of whatever planet we’re currently visiting, as is the case now. The planet clock, which runs on a twenty-hour rotation, thinks it’s currently midafternoon.

The ship clock, and my body, are still under the strong impression that it is early morning.

“You elected not to go planetside with Songbird?” comes Venox’s echoing voice from behind me as he walks by my table on the way to the beverage counter.

I glare at him, grunt through my coffee, and leave it at that.

“Pity. I had imagined that you would like to spend some time with him away from the constant presence of the rest of us.” Venox remarks, reaching up to snag his hood and pull it off. His fuzzy, triangular ears flop through the holes in the fabric as it piles around his shoulders.  “It seemed like you were dying to get some alone time with him over the last ten days.”

“I love him but I’m not going to wake up at four in the morning to catch a day trip down to the surface.” I grumble, brushing some hair out of my eyes.

“I see.” Venox says as he starts to pour himself a shallow cup of orange juice from one of the dispensers. “So what you mean to say is that you love him, but you don’t love him that much.”

“Pff. What do you know about love, you fuzzy little murder gremlin?”

“Presumably no more than you do, which is why I question your assertion of romantic sentiment.”

“Oh boy, look who’s busting out the big words.” I say mockingly. “At least I have someone.”

“I do not require partnership to be complete. I am just as happy on my own as I am when I am paired, which is something you should try to learn as well.” he says, before lapping from his cup.

“Oh, well ain’t that great for you.” I say, rolling my eyes and sipping from my mug. “I know how to take care of myself, thank you very much. I don’t need to learn how to be happy on my own. But I am very happy to be paired, especially with someone that can actually handle me.”

“I would not have thought it, given his disposition. He is more reserved than many of your previous handlers.”

“Yeah, he’s shy, but he can buck up when he needs to.” I say, shrugging. “It’s a work in progress. I’m trying to get him to loosen up a bit more. He’s got some trauma from how the media chewed him up and spit him out fifteen years ago.”

“Being crucified by the media on the galactic stage does leave its scars, I suppose.” Venox concedes, lifting his shallow cup to his muzzle to sip from it, before going on. “It’s endearing to see how much you adore him, but you don’t seriously think the Council will let you join the Valiant, do you?”

I sit up a little bit at that. “It doesn’t matter if they won’t let me. I’m going to, whether they like it or not. They don’t own me.”

“They do own you. Just like they own the rest of us.” he says, lowering his cup as he folds one arm across his chest. “We’re all prisoners of our species, Feather. At the end of the day, we can’t ignore that we owe it to our fellow Masks to make the galaxy a better place for them. Because if we can’t create a galaxy where they can be happy, we know that we’re never going to be happy either. We do it for them, because once they get to have it, we get to have it too.”

My fingers tighten around the handle of my mug. “I can keep fighting for it without having to be chained to the Council. The Valiant exist now, and they’re going to make the galaxy a better place. For everyone, not just us. That’s what I want to be part of.”

The blue glow of his irises fixes on me. “You don’t really believe that, do you? You know better than that, Feather. Real life isn’t a Saturday morning cartoon. It’s messy. It’s ugly. It’s political. And people get hurt. The Valiant are going to be a tool, a political pawn, a weapon to be brought to bear by forces and governments bigger than them. It’s already started with the Viralix and the Masklings pledging their support. They didn’t do that because they believe in what the Valiant believe in. They did it because they want to be first in, and because they want to shape and influence the organization as it grows, in hopes that they’ll have greater sway over it once it becomes a force to be reckoned with.”

I push my coffee away. I don’t need it anymore; the anger churning through my veins has got me wide awake. “It doesn’t have to be that way. Songbird doesn’t want it to be that way. They’re going to avoid the mistakes that the Challenger program made. Mistakes like selling out to corporations and governments in exchange for funding.”

“What Songbird wants is irrelevant. He’s a weapon, and a nuclear one at that, even if he doesn’t realize it yet. And that’s how the Valiant are going to use him—”

“Well maybe that’s why I want to join the Valiant!” I snap, standing up. “He’s a weapon like me, but at least he still has some freedom!”

Venox is silent at that. I glare at him; he stares evenly back; both of glance when we hear something shift at the door. The Maskling that had been about to step in, and probably heard the tail end of our exchange, puts her hands up and backs out of the mess hall, leaving it to us once more.

“I’m on your side, Feather.” Venox says eventually. “And I know you’re happy you’ve got your special handler back. I’m just saying — don’t let your emotions blind you. You know that reality will be different than the ideal. Dreams are like butterflies, and reality is like a brick wall. If you chase the butterfly blindly, you won’t see the brick wall until you run into it.”

I grit my teeth. I know he’s got a point, but I’ve never taken well to being told what I can and can’t do.

“A brick wall isn’t going to stop me.” I growl at him. “If I have to climb over it or tear it down to catch the butterfly, that’s what I’ll do.”

Turning away, I stalk out of the mess hall. I’m wide awake now, and more determined than ever to get back to Nichoyae and give the Council a piece of my mind. To demand my freedom, my right to make a difference in the galaxy the way I want to, not the way they tell me to. And if they refuse…

I’m joining the Valiant one way or another.

Event Log: Kiwi

M.V. Nyroc: Exercise Room

10:08am SGT

I’m at a loping pace on the treadmill when door to the exercise room opens, and Forecast steps in. He’s dressed in the relatively simple ship uniform, rather than the usual duster and collared shirt he wears when he’s planetside or out on assignment. I can tell, just by the way he clasps his hands behind his back and takes up a leisurely pace, that Venox has told him about our little disagreement this morning.

“Don’t even.” I pant, checking the treadmill’s dashboard and how long I’ve got left on this run cycle. “I already know what you’re gonna say.”

Forecast raises an eyebrow as he idles his way around the weight racks. “Oh, do you? I wasn’t aware you’d developed precognition. I imagine it’ll be handy at dinner parties.”

“You think you’re so funny.”

“An understated sense of humor will take you far in social circles.” he replies as he walks along the side of the treadmill. “Venox tells me that you’ve been rather strident about joining the Valiant.”

“I’m joining them whether you like it or not.” I say, picking up the pace as the treadmill starts to get faster. “I’m just letting you know now, so you and the Council have time to get used to the idea.”

“Well, I can’t say it comes as a surprise.” Forecast says, picking up one of the hand weights and studying it. “You’ve always been willful. But this is taking it a step further than you usually go.”

“I always disobey orders. You know that.”

“I’m well aware. But this would be more than disobeying orders.”

I roll my eyes. “What are they going to call it? Defection? It’s not like the Valiant are our enemies. They’re an organization that we’ve been supporting and providing personnel to. I’d just be one more person on that list.”

“Not defection. Dereliction of duty, likely.” he says, setting the weight back down and clasping his wrist behind his back. “That is not to say that the Council will decline your request. They may actually grant it. But if they don’t, I think you should think carefully about how you plan to respond.”

“So you’re telling me not to throw a temper tantrum.”

“I would hope that I wouldn’t have to tell you that, since you’re an adult.”

I start to slow down as the treadmill does so, reaching the end of the run cycle where it goes into walk mode for several minutes. “Why is this such a problem? This should be a no-brainer. I’ve worked with the Valiant. I have history with them. The one person that can handle me works for them. He’s the core of the whole damn project! If anything you’d think they’d want to get me in there so they have someone on the inside.”

Forecast gives me a flat look. “You and I both know that you lack the social finesse to be an influence agent.”

I scoff at that. “I don’t need ‘social finesse’ to give Songbird puppy eyes. But you didn’t answer my question! What’s the problem with letting me work with the Valiant? It’s a good fit and it gives us another Maskling voice in the organization!”

“You know you’re not a normal Mask Knight, Kiwi. You’re a unique case, and because of that, your deployments are at the discretion of the Council.” he says. “I do not always have insight into those decisions, and my ability to influence them are limited.”

I scowl at that and look away, snatching my hand towel off the dashboard and wiping my face. The anger I’d felt this morning comes back, itching and bubbling just beneath the skin, making me restless. Ready to last out at something. Anything. Like a bird with its wings pinned, thrashing and trying to get free. And being aboard this ship, in these confined halls and rooms, wasn’t helping. I was starting to wish that I’d gotten my ass up and going with Songbird this morning, so I could at least be down on the surface of the planet. Out in the open, free air, and not hemmed in on this floating cage in low orbit.

“I hate it, Dad.” I say, throwing the hand towel down on the treadmill’s dashboard as I reach up and turn it off. “I hate all of it. The politics, the rules, the media games, all of it. I been doin’ this shit since I was sixteen. Been taking the Council’s orders for the last twenty-seven years, and I’m reaching the end of my rope. I’m tired of being someone else’s weapon.” Planting my hands on the handrails of the treadmill, I look at him. “I will fight for a better galaxy for our people, but I’m gonna do it my way. Whatever the Council’s strategy is, it ain’t got us anywhere over the last three decades. Hell, things got worse after the Challengers went under. And things are only just starting to get better with the Valiant showing up. I’m tired of doing shit and none of it mattering. That’s been every mission the Council’s sent me on. Pulling the strings behind the curtain. Shifting the needle a couple of micrometers. Changes so small and timid they literally don’t mean anything.”

“Those changes accrue over time—” Forecast begins.

“I don’t want to wait, Dad!” I snap at him. “I can’t stand by and wait for all these tiny changes to build up into something while our people keep living like this, afraid to tell others what they really are! Our people can’t be proud of what we are. Being proud of what we are gets us killed. We shouldn’t have to live like that, but that’s what it’s been over the last thirty years! Nothing we’ve done has changed that! Nothing I’ve done has mattered! And then Songbird came along and he—”

I stop, catch myself, hold in what I was about to say. Snatching the towel off the dashboard again, I use it to wipe the back of my neck as Forecast studies me with his brown eyes, then looks away.

“Songbird came along and he changed everything.” Forecast concludes for me. “Funny you should say that. I’ve always seen him as reticent to action. Full of doubt and reluctance.”

“He is. He’s uncertain. Scared of making the mistakes that others have made in the past.” I say. “But it doesn’t mean he lacks conviction. When he’s pushed to defend what he believes in, he is unstoppable. You weren’t there at the Cradle when CURSE ambushed us. You didn’t see what I saw, what he was capable of. That’s the kind of action we need, the kind of action I want to be a part of. Not these delicate little changes, this behind-the-scenes tinkering the Council is always doing. I want to be part of a change that people can see. Part of a change that makes a difference. That’s why I want to be part of the Valiant. Because they do that.”

Forecast takes a deep breath, as if he was absorbing those words, and digesting them. “You know I’ve been around a while, right? Long enough to see both the rise, and the fall, of the Challenger program.”

I snort. “You’re gonna tell me that it’s not all it’s cracked up to be and I’m too young to know any better.”

Forecast’s fingers tap along his clasped wrist as he considers his words. “…no. I will tell you that the kind of change you’re talking about, the fast and drastic change, has a price. There is a reason the Council moves slowly and carefully, seeking change by degrees. It is because sudden change, fast change, drastic change, always comes with backlash. It takes time to change the hearts and minds of societies, on the order of decades and centuries. People do not handle quick change well; your average individual lacks the intellectual flexibility to quickly adapt to major paradigm shifts on a short timeframe. And when they are unable to adapt, they lash out. Sometimes, in trying to make things better, we end up making the problem worse.”

I shake my head, stepping off the treadmill. “I can’t sit by and keep doing this. I can’t wait another thirty years for things to get better, Dad. I’m going to join the Valiant. And if we end up making things worse… it is what it is. But at least I can say I tried, I did something, instead of sitting by.”

He nods. “I will plead your case to the Council, then. I cannot promise they will approve of it, but at the very least they will have some insight into your mindset and the actions that result from it.”

I pause at that, looking at him. “You’ll talk to them for me?”

“I will. I would rather not see the debacle of you trying to sneak off Nichoyae in defiance of the will of the Council and trying to smuggle Songbird offworld at the same time.” he says, starting to make his way back to the door of the exercise room. “If you get your way, I hope you find what you are looking for with the Valiant. They are good people, but there is much work ahead of them, and there is a lot they will need to overcome.”

“There is.” I agree. “That’s why they need all the help they can get. That’s why I need to join them. The Council needs to see that. And if they don’t see it, I will make them see it.”

The corner of Forecast’s mouth quirks up at that. “I’m sure you will.”

With that, he steps out, leaving me alone in the exercise room. Puffing out a breath, I look down at the hand towel, then use it to wipe my face again as I grab my water bottle and move towards the door.

I should get a shower before Songbird comes back.

Event Log: Kiwi

M.V. Nyroc: Observation Lounge

4:04pm SGT

“Okay, so let me get this straight, he… found the hidden power generation array at the Challenger Valiant outpost, snuck into it, slipped and almost impaled himself on one of the crystals, tripped again and faceplanted into the coolant pool at the bottom of the array, swallowed a bunch of crystal water, and now he’s being expedited back to Sunthorn because he’s sick and delirious?”

I lean back against the wall outside the observation lounge, listening to Songbird’s voice drift through the open door. He’s currently on a call with Valkyrie, who’s been waiting until we hit a pit stop to get in contact with him. Now that we’re currently resupplying in low orbit, he’s finally gotten around to returning her call.

And from the sound of things, it seems like Ridge just can’t stop getting into trouble.

“Anaya above.” I can hear him sigh. “This kid… okay, will he be okay? He’s not in any immediate danger, right?… you don’t think so? Okay, good. I’d come back right now, but we’re on our way to the Maskling homeworld. We’re trying to get the Maskling government to let us have Kiwi… yeah, yeah, I know, I know, I’m sorry. I know it was sudden, but I didn’t want to pass up the opportunity because it might not come again. Yeah, I, I know it’s put a kink in the mission schedule. Legaci was chewing me out earlier… yeah, I know. Look, I think the investment will be worth it. She’ll be a good… operative? Soldier? What are we calling individual Valiant again?… Agent? Oh, that sounds good, I do like that… yeah, yeah, I think so too. It’s got an ambiguous feel to it. It’s not as militaristic, you know? A Valiant Agent. An Agent of the Valiant?… eh, it’s got some flow issues, but I like it overall. Agent’s a good term, I think we should stick with that for now.”

It’s interesting to listen to him talk. And not just to talk, I suppose, but to see what he’s like when he’s working and I’m not around. Songbird’s not a big talker; he’s one of those people that’s quiet most of the time, and only speaks up when he has something to say. He almost struck me as boring when we first spent long periods of time with each other, and it took me a while to realize that talking is not the way he likes expressing himself and his feelings. He prefers to do that through music and art — for him, talking to other people is a second language, and one that he’s fluent in, but isn’t comfortable with.

“Yeah? Oh, there’s been news on that front, then? Another neuranium heist… yeah, that sounds like Alice. Mmm… yeah, we should do something about it; it would polish our public image, but god, I just hate the thought of having to face her again. I tried to train her towards the end; she trusted me more than a lot of the other Challengers. I’m not sure why. She could’ve been a good Challenger; she just needed direction, guidance, but you know how the administration was before the program shuttered. She needed help and instead they threw her into Accounting to weaponize her… I can only imagine what Kaiser put her through, considering what he put me through… oh yeah, hell no. I don’t want Kaiser within a mile of our new recruit and training program. The only things he should be involved in are intel and covert ops.”

I roll the sole of my foot against the floor, feeling both bored and vaguely intrigued. Listening to former Challengers talking to each other about other Challengers was a glimpse into a strange world, one that lay behind all the stories and holos that the media and entertainment industry had churned out. A glimpse behind the curtain at what those people were actually like, rather than the polished, well-tread stories that everyone else thought they knew. And it’d be more engaging if the way they talked about it wasn’t so damn boring, as if they were talking about coworkers or old friends, instead of some of the most famous or infamous people in the galaxy.

But I suppose that’s what they were to each other — coworkers and old friends that just happened to be some of the best-known people in the galaxy.

“When will I be back? I dunno, it depends how long we’re on the Maskling homeworld… a month, maybe? The big problem is just the time it takes to get there and back again. The Nyroc doesn’t have a bridge drive, it’s too small, so it’s tunneldrive all the way there, unless we can manage to hitch a ride with a superfreighter heading in that direction… yeah, I know. A month’s not ideal. Any news on getting the DIRT network back up and running?… still locked behind fifth-layer access? Yeah… guess we’re stuck with normie transport for the time being.” There’s a long pause, as if Valkyrie was doing a lot more talking. “Alright yeah, I gotchu. Don’t let me keep you; I know you’re busy. Put Sierra to work if you get the chance; I know she’s been lazing around. Yup. Right. You have a good one too, Valkyrie.”

Even though I can’t hear the call end, I hear the long sigh Songbird lets out, paired with the creak of the couch he’s sitting on. After allowing a minute or two, I push off the wall and slip into the lounge, making my way over behind the couch he’s on and bracing my arms on either side of his tilted-back head. “Hey there.”

He cracks open a ruby eye. “Well well well, if it isn’t my favorite problem.”

I grin at that. “The best favorite problem.” I say, bending down to give him a quick kiss on the nose. “How was the visit to the surface?”

The other eye opens at that. “It was okay. Nice to breathe the free air. Was able to get a few basic changes of clothes.” He tugs at the unassuming t-shirt he has on, then on his birthday-pink hoodie. “Found a fabricator and had them reprint my hoodie so I wouldn’t be cold on the ship.”

I wrinkle my nose at that. “Seriously? You carry around the print pattern for that thing? On what, your phone?”

“Yeah. Stored in all the major file formats so I can have it printed by any major fabricator company if I need a replacement.”

Snagging his shoulders, I push him forward a bit to see the same navy-blue, jagged graffiti text scrawled across the back. Get Rekt. “Oh my god, it’s literally the exact same hoodie. You have a problem.”

“I’ve got style.”

“Exactly, your style is the problem.” Climbing over the back of the couch, I settle in beside him, getting comfortable. “I’ll take you shopping once we reach Nichoyae. I can get you something to look nice when we’re meeting with the Council.”

“What, I don’t look nice now?”

“You look like a walking advertisement for cotton candy. And your work jacket is beaten to hell and back again; why haven’t you replaced it yet?”

Songbird glances to the side, where his hooded longcoat is folded over the arm of the couch. Reaching over, he holds it up, both of us staring at it. It’s a map of burn damage, singed holes, melted crysteel-weave threads fused together into a brittle sheen that’s crackling off in some places, slash marks, jagged tears. The only saving grace is that it’s black, so if there’s any bloodstains, it’s hard to see them under all the battle damage.

“Eh.” Songbird says after a moment. “I think I could wring a few more years out of it, don’t you?”

I give him a gentle shove with one hand. “You’re a real comedian. That thing’s two weeks from falling apart at the seams; there’s no way it’s gonna last another few years.”

“Yeah, I know.” he smiles, lowering it back onto the arm of the couch. “Sierra says she’s going to have Fashionista tailor some custom overwear for both of us once I get back. She said it’d be combat-rated.”

“That guy’s got a screw loose.”

“Yes. Yes, he does. I’m not looking forward to it.” he yawns, stretching his arms.

“You can’t be tired. It’s only four in the evening.” I say, poking a finger into his yawning mouth.

“Ackpth.” Spitting out my finger, he rubs an eye. “True, but I’ve been awake since four in the morning. And the sun was already down when we left the surface. My body clock thinks sleepytime should be rolling up soon.”

“Well, you can’t go to sleep yet. I haven’t gotten my Songbird fix.” I say, turning on the couch so I can sprawl across his lap. “You could always come sleep in my room tonight.”

“I could. Whether I should is another matter altogether.”

“Nobody on the ship’s gonna care. We’re all adults.”

“I think your dad might take issue with it.”

I roll my eyes at that. “I’m an adult and I’m allowed to sleep with who I want. He can’t tell me I can’t have you in my room.”

“He can’t, but I’d rather not have him give me the laser stare the rest of the way to your homeworld.”

I reach up with one hand, thumbing his chin. “If you don’t want to share a bed with me, just say so, Songbird. Don’t fish for polite excuses to decline.”

He tilts his head at that, as if processing it and figuring out how to respond. He doesn’t answer right away, and I can tell he’s thinking about how to respond. “…it’s not necessarily that I don’t want to. I do kinda crave that. I’ve just never slept with anyone else before, never shared a bed unless you count trenches or foxholes, and that was always a matter of necessity. I have no personal experience, no idea how to do any of that.”

I scrunch up my face at that. “…seriously? You had to be a horny teenager. Teenagers are always horny. What about your twenties? If you don’t get some when you’re a teenager, people usually have enough confidence to chase it in their twenties once they’re out on their own.”

His lips quirk in a smile, but it’s a bitter one. “No, no no no.” he says softly, reaching up to take the hand I’ve got on his jaw. “Not for people like me. Not for Anayans. We are raised in a repressive environment, in a religious culture that celebrates family and community, but fears sexuality.” He turns my hand over, his fingers tracing the lines in my palm before gliding down along the inside of my wrist. “For all that Anayan religion teaches about hard work, service, and good for the sake of good, it disservices its adherents with the heavy burden of an unspoken purity culture. That fear of sexuality guises itself as chastity and modesty; passes itself off as virtue to hide the harm it does to the congregants.” His fingers lift slightly, leaving only the pad of his middle finger to slowly surf along my forearm to the divot on the inside of my elbow. “That purity culture is a sinister parasite that creeps into nearly aspect of your life, bending, twisting, and warping the way one views intimacy and the way you view relationships with anyone. It is a poison that requires years of psychological deconstruction to repair the damage it does over time.”

I stare at him. Part of me wants to make a joke, my reflexive response to lighten the mood when things start getting a little too deep for me. But watching Songbird, the way his eyes are so empty and lustless while he traces my arm, I realize he’s being serious. Being raised in this religion seriously screwed him up, and he knows it, and he’s probably spent decades trying to repair the damage on his own.

“Do you even feel anything?” I ask softly, almost scared of the answer. “When you look at me.”

His eyes move away from my arm, to my face. “I do. I love what I feel when I look at you, because it reminds me of things I haven’t felt in a long time. Things I thought had been crushed out of me by guilt. Guilt of a religion that said such feelings were sinful and something to be ashamed of. The feelings are… inconsistent, because as a teenager I was conditioned to shove them down or ignore them whenever they surfaced. But I’m getting better at letting myself feel those emotions. Those urges. It isn’t much in the way of progress, since I’ve never had the chance to act on them, but… small steps.”

I sit up at that, running a hand along the back of his neck as I lean in and kiss him without warning. Because listening to this is infuriating; I’m not mad at him, I’m mad at the system that did this to him. I just want to take him and show him what it’s like to be with another person, to get lost in passion and reckless desire, the thrill of throwing away caution. Because that? That is amazing, and the fact that he’s never experienced it before, that he was conditioned to avoid it like the plague and be ashamed of it, is a goddamn crime.

But I also know it’s something I can’t just push him into. He’ll have to find his way there, in his own time and in his own way. I can be there to help him along the way, but in the end, he has to choose to go there himself.

“Come sleep in my room tonight.” I murmur as I release him from my kiss. “Nothing more than that; just sharing a bed. Learn what it’s like to fall asleep next to another warm body. And we can work our way from there, at our own pace.”

I can see him hesitate, as he has so often before, and I now understand where that hesitation is coming from. But he’s only hesitating because he’s feeling something, and I can see that in his eyes. Bright eyes, vivant ruby, probably fresh off a bottle of blood he got while visiting the surface.

“Okay.” he whispers. “I think I’d like that.”

“Yeah.” I agree. Reaching up, I stroke his cheek before pulling him into another kiss. “I think you will.”