Taking the Steel

Taking the Steel

Chapter the First: Parry and Riposte

Author's Note: This is a story about aliens. In the story, Kusovai is 15, but he's also a legal adult for his species. Neither of these characters are human beings, and both of them are portrayed as being of legal age.


Time Setting: Years prior to the events in Halo: Combat Evolved and “The Last Voyage of the Infinite Succor.” Rtas ‘Vadumee is only the Subcommander of SpecOps, Fil Storamee is a Ship’s Quartermaster but not yet the fleet’s Chief Quartermaster, and the Arbiter was just recently made Supreme Commander of the Fleet of Particular Justice. And Kusovai? He’s not making Subcommander any time soon—poor boy’s still just a rookie.

How many years prior? That’s a matter of conjecture depending on just how old you think Rtas ‘Vadumee and the Arbiter are at the start of Halo 2. I prefer to believe that Elites are naturally longer-lived than humans, and that an Elite can stay fighting-fit well into his sixties. At the start of this story, Kusovai’s just shy of 15 and ‘Vadumee’s somewhere in the neighbourhood of 28. The Arbiter, newly the Supreme Commander, would probably be in his mid thirties in order to have had time to accumulate all that rank. So, I’d set this story somewhere around eight to ten years before Halo: Combat Evolved.

***

SpecOps Subcommander Rtas ‘Vadumee sat at the bar in the Sangheili mess hall aboard the Covenant flagship Seeker of Truth, sipping a drink pouch, doing his level best to ignore the meat-market atmosphere that was pretty much par for the course when the ship’s warriors returned from a dangerous mission or an extended campaign. It seemed to be an instinct ingrained in the Sangheili psyche; if you survived the battle, the logical next step was to find a partner and run off to mate with them—just to remind yourself that you were glad to be alive.

It wasn’t that ‘Vadumee didn’t like mating. Oh, he’d had some fine times with his first consort, Anno ‘Ahpamee. They’d been cadets together at the Iruiru War Academy and Elite Minors aboard the cruiser Righteous Fury, and it had indeed been fun to come back from missions and tumble into a bunk together. Even when they’d both made Major and been sent to different ships—even when their times together were limited to ground engagements or ship-to-ship transfers—they’d been a great couple.

And then ‘Vadumee had won the coveted transfer to SpecOps.

SpecOps soldiers were the best of the best—of a hundred Elites who applied, only one was even permitted to try out. The standards were even higher for acceptance. The challenge of joining SpecOps was enormous; when Rtas had succeeded, he and his partner had celebrated for a solid weekend.

The reason SpecOps was so selective about its soldiers was due to the nature of the missions they performed. SpecOps did the dirty jobs that no other unit could do. They snuck into Human cities to take down communications networks and assassinate officials. They inserted deep into enemy territory by riding drop pods down through a planet’s atmosphere. They did the most dangerous jobs, and they did them alone, usually without Hunters or Kig-yar or Brutes to back them up. And while Rtas was out on the cutting edge of the Covenant spear, his partner was all too often sitting aboard ship or behind the lines, fretting and fearing for his lover’s safety, until he began losing focus on his own tasks and his unit suffered for it.

Finally, Anno ‘Ahpamee had not been able to take the long absences and the constant question of ‘Vadumee’s survival. As Rtas heard it, the beginning of the end came when Rtas had been away on a covert mission for several months. ‘Ahpamee had been involved in a heavy battle and, in Rtas’ absence, had fallen into a fellow Major’s bed. By the time Rtas finally returned from his covert operation, ‘Ahpamee was deeply involved with the other Elite.

They’d fought—furiously—and in the end, Anno told Rtas point-blank that he could not cope with the constant worry and a bunk that was more often than not empty, that he had his own needs and battle-strains and he could not continue fighting without more relief than Rtas could provide. Heartbroken, ‘Vadumee had realized that if he truly loved ‘Ahpamee, he would let the other Sangheili go, because Anno was right…the nature of Rtas’ new job prevented him from fixing the damage to their relationship, and the future would hold only more of the same if he tried to hold on.

Single for the first time in his adult life—for he and ‘Ahpamee had fallen in love while they were at the Academy, still uninitiated adolescents—Rtas had sampled the conventional practice of unattached Sangheili. After his next big mission, he’d found another SpecOps soldier looking at him appreciatively and, with no reason to decline, he’d gone to the warrior’s bed.

They’d had a nice time—there was something to be said for immediate comfort and distraction—but the next morning, ‘Vadumee had found himself with nothing to say to his bunk-mate. He barely knew this warrior, and the other Sangheili seemed to have no interest in conversation. Rtas had watched as the other soldier replaced his armour in silence and walked out the door. ‘Vadumee remembered lying there alone in the strange bed, feeling odd, and when over the course of the next few days the warrior in question had treated him just as casually as before, ‘Vadumee had felt cheap and used. The experience had been nothing like the affection and trust that he and ‘Ahpamee had shared, and the dirty sensation that clung to him took his mind off battle, badly enough that he got himself wounded in a moment of unfortunate distraction.

Lying on his back in the Seeker of Truth’s medical bay, Rtas ‘Vadumee could not help but feel that he’d gotten what he deserved. And in that moment, he swore off one-night stands. The scar from the wound to his arm would be a reminder to him not to repeat that mistake.

So, with a life in SpecOps making him ill-suited to long-term relationships and a vow not to mate casually, Rtas ‘Vadumee turned his focus wholly towards war. With all his pent-up aggression and energy devoted to battle, his combat technique improved rapidly and in the course of time he found himself promoted to Subcommander. Overall, his new lifestyle was working very well for him; the only difficulty was on nights like these when there was no fighting to be done, when the battle planning would take place on the morrow, and all the other Sangheili were off mating, leaving him alone, wondering what to do with himself. The last battle he’d been through had been absolute hell—the SpecOps team had found themselves moving through alleys containing the entrails of the 58th Assault Corps splattered all over the pavement and walls—and the drink in his hand wasn’t doing a damn thing to soothe his nerves.

“Sir?” came a voice, very loudly, right near his earbud.

Rtas ‘Vadumee turned to see a smaller, leaner warrior standing beside him. The soldier was vaguely familiar; ‘Vadumee tried to stop thinking about how it had felt to jump over a pile of debris and land in a puddle of guts that had once been the 58th’s commander, and start thinking about where he’d seen this Sangheili before.

The warrior was wearing black armour, SpecOps armour. Under the helmet he looked very, very young. Rtas slowly recognized the newest SpecOps recruit, Minor Domo Kusovai. Yes—three things stood out about this one. First, he had no family name. Secondly, he was new—he’d been accepted into SpecOps just before the last battle. Thirdly, he was allegedly less than a year out of War College, having completed only one tour of duty. What in the name of the Forerunners was he doing in SpecOps so soon?

Kusovai’s eyes were wide and wild, and when he put his hand on the bar, his whole arm trembled. “Sir, I was wondering if…” His voice trailed off and he swallowed hard to summon his courage. “If you desired companionship tonight.”

Was this rookie actually propositioning him? Rtas narrowed his eyes as he looked Kusovai up and down. Clearly the boy had not as yet heard that ‘Vadumee was not interested in mating. The rest of SpecOps—the rest of the entire ship—had stopped asking him long ago.

And it took some nerve for a rookie to make the first move on a Subcommander.

“No,” ‘Vadumee snapped, just to see what the boy would do.

Kusovai’s eyes widened as he jumped backwards. “Sorry to have bothered you, sir,” he said, and turned to go.

‘Vadumee watched him. He looked lost. After a few steps, he hesitated in the middle of the mess and looked around longingly.

Rtas glanced quickly around the room. There were no other SpecOps personnel in sight. They’d all clearly paired off already and headed out to private hideaways.

Then the door opened and in walked a trio of the 812th Infantry, grizzled and scarred, laughing loudly amongst themselves. The 812th were a mean bunch of Sangheili, shock troopers, a legend among Humans and Jiralhanae alike for their gratuitous brutality. ‘Vadumee considered the unit ill-disciplined and poorly controlled; their commander seemed to have no interest in keeping a leash on them. It was getting to the point where they were beginning to show inappropriate aggression to other Sangheili…

…And they were heading straight for the rookie.

The leader of the pack said something to Kusovai, which was lost in the noise of the mess, but the rookie bowed his head and answered. Words were exchanged among the pack and they laughed. The leader reached out and put his hand on Kusovai’s shoulder, jerking the boy towards himself. More laughter. Kusovai looked frightened now, but he did not resist as the other three Sangheili began herding him out of the mess without even bothering to seek food or drink.

‘Vadumee had a very bad feeling. Before he knew it, he was on his feet and heading for the rookie.

The pack had just reached the door when ‘Vadumee cut in front of them, wrapped his arm possessively around Kusovai and yanked the boy against him. “What do you think you’re doing with my recruit?” he snapped. Kusovai’s lean body was shaking all over as the rookie pressed against him.

“Oh, is he yours?” the scarred Sangheili said tauntingly. “Doesn’t look like it to me. Boy didn’t have any argument about coming with us.”

“This boy is still learning, and teaching him is my job.”

They stared each other down for a long minute. The 812th had the nasty personalities of Brutes, and there were three of them, but ‘Vadumee was a Subcommander, and everyone knew that SpecOps personnel were the hardest sons of bitches in the whole Covenant Fleet of Particular Justice. In the end, rank and unit won out over numbers and attitude, and the 812th trio scowled and backed down.

‘Vadumee let out his breath. For a moment there, he’d wondered if he was going to have to pull his sword and break the rule about fighting in the mess, and he knew SpecOps Commander ‘Coradee would have had a few things to say about that. With his arm still around Kusovai’s shoulders, he bodily turned the rookie around and marched him out.

It was absolutely criminal to leave this kid unattended in there.

Kusovai didn’t say anything as ‘Vadumee led him down the hallways of Seeker of Truth. When they stopped in front of ‘Vadumee’s stateroom, the kid laid his head docilely on ‘Vadumee’s shoulder. He was still quivering.

Condemantion! ‘Vadumee could not just send the boy back to his own bunk. The battle today had clearly done a number on the rookie’s nerves.

Rtas pushed him inside, stepped across the threshold himself, closed the door behind him, and locked it. Then he turned to watch Kusovai.

The rookie stood in the middle of Rtas’ cabin, looking all around with wide eyes, giving off that same air of lost and scared. No wonder he was such easy meat. He had taken off his helmet and was holding it in both hands as if uncertain where to put it.

“Take off your armour,” Rtas said gruffly, “but leave your jumpsuit on.”

Kusovai looked at him and then, still without speaking, he placed his helmet carefully on the floor and begain to strip the rest of his armour.

‘Vadumee took off his own helmet, hung it on a hook, and then began to rid himself of his own armour plates. He found himself hesitating long enough to watch the rookie. The boy was good-looking, but by the Prophets, he was so young.

Then Rtas had to scramble to get rid of the rest of his armour when he realized Kusovai was already down to his jumpsuit. Quickly stacking his plates, ‘Vadumee put his arm around the lieutenant and guided him to the edge of his bunk. “Sit.”

Kusovai sat, never once taking his eyes off the Subcommander’s.

“By the Rings.” Rtas shook his head, bewildered by how he’d come to have this boy in his cabin. “Let’s get a few things straight. I’m not going to mate with you.”

The rookie remained expressionless. No disappointment, no anger, none of the usual reactions of a spurned suitor. Kusovai continued to watch him with the same faith and trust that a soldier on the battlefield showed his commander.

“You’re going to get in my bunk and you are going to go to sleep, do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.” Kusovai obediently put his feet under the covers and laid down on the far side of the bed.

Rtas sighed, dimmed the lights and laid down beside the rookie. Kusovai was holding absolutely still, as though he barely dared to breathe. Rtas sighed again, put his arm around the rookie and pulled the boy across his chest. Kusovai suddenly clutched at him, his arms clinging to him, and his body started to shake.

“Sorry, sir,” the boy said through clattering mandibles, “I can’t…I don’t…”

“You’ve got battle shock,” ‘Vadumee told him. “It’s natural. Don’t worry about it. Let it out.” He found himself gently stroking the recruit’s back as the young warrior pressed against him, like a hatchling to its mother.

After a while, Kusovai stilled. Rtas wondered if the boy was asleep, until he saw the telltale shine of light reflecting from his eyes.

“Can I ask you some things?” ‘Vadumee queried.

“Yes, Subcommander,” the boy said, tucking his head against ‘Vadumee’s shoulder.

“Were you really down there to find a mate tonight?”

“I…suppose so, sir.”

“You sound uncertain.”

“Well, sir, I’ve been told that’s what’s done after a battle like the one that ended today.”

“It’s true that mating is customary,” Rtas said, rubbing the rookie’s shoulder blades, “but it’s not mandatory.”

“Yes, sir.” He closed his eyes and sighed happily; the massage probably felt good, and ‘Vadumee could not help a private smile.

“Kusovai, you don’t go to bed with someone and keep calling them “sir.” While you’re in my cabin, my name is Rtas ‘Vadumee. Understand?”

“Yes si…uh…’Vadumee.” He bunted his head against ‘Vadumee’s neck, as if the familiarity of using a superior’s given name had to be accompanied by a gesture of submission.

“By the Forerunners…how old are you?”

“Fifteen next month, sir.”

Rtas let out a harsh breath.

Sangheili typically hit adolescence at ten years of age—the age when young males went to War Academies and young females went to Finishing Colleges for four years to learn their trades. When they graduated and were initiated, they became legal adults, prepred to take on their duties in Covenant society and also receive the benefits of maturity, including sanction to mate. Kusovai had been an adult for less than a year.

“How did you get into SpecOps?”

“They tell me I’m good with swords, si… ‘Vadumee.”

Rtas stroked the boy’s head. “Do you even understand how close you came to being the night’s entertainment for those three degenerates in the bar tonight?”

Kusovai shivered and clung closer. “Yes…but I thought that was how it was done.”

“That’s not how it’s done. You’ve got the absolute right to refuse to mate if you don’t want to. The new Supreme Commander doesn’t tolerate forced mating in his fleet.”

“I thought the other SpecOps would look at me funny if I refused.”

“They don’t look at me funny,” ‘Vadumee snapped. “Listen to me, Kusovai, this is the voice of experience talking to you. There are few things worse than the next morning when you feel cheap and dirty. Frankly, mating is overrated and…” His eyes narrowed. “You don’t have a consort outside SpecOps, do you? You weren’t in the bar picking up just because you felt it was expected, were you?”

“No,” the boy said quietly. “I don’t have anyone.”

‘Vadumee rumbled in his throat. “SpecOps is hell on relationships. I suppose you’ve discovered that.”

“No.”

Rtas sat up, startled. “No?”

Kusovai blinked up at him from the pillow. “I never had anybody, sir.” He paused. “’Vadumee.”

Rtas’ mandibles dropped open with surprise. “Nobody? After four years of War College? What did you do on graduation night?”

Kusovai cringed. “Practiced my sword forms in the gym.”

‘Vadumee shook his head. Everyone got lucky on graduation night.

Except, he supposed, Kusovai.

“It’s not that I didn’t want to,” Kusovai said reluctantly, “but I didn’t have a boyfriend and all the single males went off with someone else and none of the females from the Finishing College in Iruiru wanted to mate with a clanless nobody like me.”

Clanless. That was right—Kusovai had no family name, just a given name ungraced by the usual “ee” suffix.

“There is genetic testing available,” he murmured. “No matter how many mates your mother took…” Having multiple mates was no shame for an unmarried female, and often females would increase their odds of a fertile egg by breeding with more than one male during their season. But why had his mother not simply given him her name?

Kusovai shrugged. “Don’t know who my mother is either, si…‘Vadumee. They found my egg in a garbage chute. I’m told I was about ten seconds away from being Jackal chow.”

Not only no father, but no mother either—and no clan, no heritage. Rtas couldn’t even imagine growing up clanless, much less the courage it must have taken to come from such shameful origins and yet claw his way to the top.

“I’ve been called a loser all my life, so I decided to shut everyone up by winning my way into SpecOps. I guess I practiced a little too hard, instead of having fun with my fellow soldiers, because I spent almost a year as a Minor and nobody propositioned me…I didn’t even have any friends, really…but I got even better with my blades and I earned my way into SpecOps. Then I figured when I got here, I ought to start fitting in and stuff.” His mandibles drooped. “So much for that.”

‘Vadumee had to admire the boy’s nerve. Fighting his way into the Sangheili military’s most elite combat unit, at his age, through sheer willpower and sacrifice and nerve…it wasn’t that the boy didn’t have a warrior’s spirit.

“What you’re missing,” ‘Vadumee murmured, “is some experience and wisdom to go along with that skill of yours. Get a little of that and you’ll be a force to be reckoned with, I’m sure.”

Kusovai muttered, “From the way you tell it, I’m going to be made into minced Brute jerky before I live long enough to get that experience.”

Rtas lay back down again so that he could look the boy eye-to-eye. “Or you could just listen to me, because I’ve been through most of it already, and you can learn from my mistakes instead of having to make them all for yourself.”

“Okay, si…’Vadumee.”

Rtas could hear the exhaustion in the rookie’s voice. “Listen. I’m going to ask SpecOps Commander ‘Coradee to put you into my battle unit so I can watch you fight. When we wake up tomorrow, I’ll teach you a few things, but now it’s time to go to sleep, understand?”

“Yes, ‘Vadumee.” He yawned. “Good night.”

And the rookie nuzzled up to him, neat as you please, and closed his eyes. Within seconds he was snoring softly.

‘Vadumee looked down helplessly at the rookie. “Good night, Kusovai,” he said at last, and closed his own eyes.

By the Rings, he’d forgotten how good it felt to have another warm body in his bed.

‘Vadumee immediately pulled his mind out of whatever gutter it had been heading for—the Minor was hardly more than a boy, for Forerunners’ sake—and forced himself to relax and go to sleep.

*

‘Vadumee was shaken awake the next morning by Kusovai whispering, “Sir? Sir! Subcommander ‘Vadumee!” in his earbuds.

Rtas cracked one bleary eye. “Huh…Kusovai? What?”

“Sir, I gotta go or I’m gonna be late for mission form-up!” Kusovai already had most of his armour on, and was trying to snap his left thigh guard and his right arm guard on at the same time.

‘Vadumee blinked. “Get going, then. I’ll see you later.”

Kusovai finally got his armour on. “Bye sir!” he called back over his shoulder, before his stealth unit activated and he vanished from sight. The door opened as if for a ghost, and closed behind him.

Rtas sat upright in bed, blinking, not entirely sure what had just happened. He had this strange intuition that his life had just taken a turn he hadn’t forseen.

*

The Marines were like Grunts…small and fragile and slow, no match for a Sangheili one-on-one, but they were everywhere, swarming, wearing down his energy shields with the constant bombardment of their primitive projectiles. With his cloaking device shot out and his shields at zero, ‘Vadumee stopped blasting at the Humans with his plasma rifle and rolled for cover behind a nearby rock.

He came out of the roll on his belly and found himself looking up at a Human with a handful of plasma grenades.

The Human was too far away to reach with a sword lunge, no matter how quickly he got to his feet. ‘Vadumee felt that he was moving in slow motion because he just couldn’t get his feet under him, but the rest of the world had speeded up because there was a grenade coming at him right now, ready to stick to his head or back and blow him apart…

Then something flew through the air, a flash of plasma lightning that swatted the grenade to the side and away from ‘Vadumee, while another bolt struck for home and cut the Marine in two. The blur of light and shadow leaped back and clear when the Human’s other grenades exploded, rattling the ground beneath Rtas.

More Humans arrived on the scene. ‘Vadumee finally found his footing and got up, drawing his energy sword, slashing at the Marines.

And then the shadow was by his side, a whirling dervish of vengeance and destruction, slicing through the Human ranks without mercy, like the incarnate wrath of the Forerunners. It took ‘Vadumee a moment to recognize Kusovai, with an energy blade in each hand, chopping up Humans until the enemy lost their courage and fled. Even then, Kusovai pursued a few steps, picking off those who ran slower than their comrades, until the Marines disappeared into the cover of the forest.

Kusovai deactivated his blades and approached ‘Vadumee. “Subcommander, are you injured?”

‘Vadumee was bleeding from a scattered handful of cuts, and he’d have a terrible bruise on his left shoulder tomorrow, but he’d heal. “I will recover,” he said, surprised at how breathless he sounded.

And by the Rings, he couldn’t take his eyes off Kusovai.

Two blades. Only the most skilled of Sangheili could handle two blades—most Swordsmen only ever mastered one. ‘Vadumee himself still considered himself a better fighter with one than with two. And here was Kusovai, barely an adult, carrying two blades and striking humans down with a skill that would be the envy of a Swordsman twice his age.

By the Rings, he was magnificent. Who would have thought that the sweet and shy rookie could turn into a dark angel of vengeance on the battlefield and pierce the Humans’ hearts with such terror?

And ‘Vadumee had a sinking suspicion that he was probably going to go straight to hell when he died, because the rookie looked good, not just in a “capable-soldier” kind of way but in a “slam him down and mate with him” kind of way. By the Ancestors, it had been so long since he’d felt any sexual interest in anyone and now all of a sudden he had a raging hard-on for little Kusovai.

But Rtas ‘Vadumee did not become the SpecOps Subcommander by lacking in self-discipline. Just as well. It was taking every once of that iron self-discipline to keep him from jumping Kusovai right here, right now.

*

‘Vadumee was not the only one to notice Kusovai’s battlefield accomplishments. SpecOps Commander Arde ‘Coradee gave the rookie a Mention in Despatches, and apparently Quartermaster Storamee was starting a betting pool on how long it would take for Kusovai to win his first medal. Rtas felt unusually cranky after the battle and decided to skip the mess-hall ritual entirely. Kusovai would be fine; with accolades like that to coast on, he’d be able to have his pick of partners. Rtas should have been feeling proud of him, but instead he felt irritable.

‘Vadumee had been wrapped up in his blanket, trying and failing to read his favourite book, The Arts of Combat, for some time when there was a knock on the door. As he crossed the room, he wondered why the book was failing to hold his interest.

He opened the door, and there was Kusovai.

“Hi sir, can I come in?” The rookie’s eyes were shining again.

“What do you want?”

“To see if you were okay, sir.”

“I’m fine.” ‘Vadumee scratched at a row of stitches on his neck. “I’ve had a lot worse. Is that it?”

“Well…” The Minor was practically bouncing with excitement. “Would you like to hear me brag insufferably about my Mention in Despatches?”

Rtas sighed. “Why don’t you go brag to the mess hall?”

“I’d rather brag to you, sir.”

“And I thought I told you to knock off that “sir” thing in my quarters.”

“I’m not in your quarters ‘cause you won’t let me in the door.”

“Smart ass,” ‘Vadumee grumbled, but when he stepped back to permit the young Swordsman entrance, ‘Vadumee was smiling.

Kusovai walked in, took off his helmet, put it on ‘Vadumee’s desk and then hesitated. “Hey, can I make myself at home again or would that be rude?”

Rtas sighed. “You already look pretty much at home, so go right ahead.”

The next thing ‘Vadumee knew, Kusovai was reading The Arts of Combat and asking questions, and the two of them found themselves discussing various aspects of military strategy. Finally, when Kusovai’s head began nodding, ‘Vadumee turned off the lights and the two of them nestled together under the blankets of ‘Vadumee’s bunk.

‘Vadumee wondered if he ought to be concerned about how comfortable the rookie looked, tucked into the curve of his arm. If he wasn’t careful, Kusovai might start thinking he belonged there.

Ah well, that was a problem for another night. Tonight, Rtas was simply going to enjoy the warmth and comfort of his new bunk-mate. He closed his eyes and settled off to sleep.

But then he dreamed.

In his dream, he saw Kusovai in battle with the Humans, his twin blades striking them down like lightning in his fists. Kusovai wore no armour, not even a jumpsuit. When the last Human fell, Kusovai approached Rtas, naked and glorious, and fell to his knees before his Subcommander.

“’Vadumee,” Kusovai murmured, “the battle is done…I seek neither rank nor medals, only the bestowal of your favour upon me.”

And for some unfathomable reason ‘Vadumee wasn’t wearing anything either, and as he reached out for Kusovai, the rookie whispered, “Make me yours, Subcommander…I beg you…”

He was on the verge of taking Kusovai from behind—a hair’s breadth away from sinking his fangs into the sweet spot on the back of Kusovai’s neck—when he woke up, hot and hard and absolutely panicked.

By the Forerunners. Rtas ‘Vadumee knew he had no business even imagining something like that.

But he had imagined it.

And he had enjoyed it.

And he had been disappointed when he realized it was only a dream.

And sweet young Kusovai was innocently nestled in his arms, sound asleep, and Rtas ‘Vadumee…well…he now knew he wasn’t going on any Great Journey after all. He was definitely going to hell, via the express route.

*

As the months went on, events repeated themselves until they became patterns, comforting in their familiarity. SpecOps would go out on missions, and ‘Vadumee and Kusovai would fight side-by-side. ‘Vadumee would go to mission debriefing with Commander ‘Coradee and his fellow Subcommander, Elka ‘Raininee, and when he came back, he’d just about trip over Kusovai, sitting in the hallway by his cabin door with his cloaking cammo active.

When it became a regular occurrence to stumble against the rookie’s legs, he’d sighed and given the Minor the codes to his stateroom door.

After that, when he came back from mission debriefing, he’d find Kusovai curled up on his bunk, wearing his jumpsuit with his armour stacked neatly on the floor, reading a book or watching a holovid, waiting for his return. At that point he would join Kusovai and they’d think of something fun to do—sometimes a game, sometimes a holovid, sometimes just a long and interesting discussion. And finally, when they both started getting sleepy, they’d cuddle up together and rest.

Rtas always woke up to the sound of Kusovai in the shower; when the rookie emerged from the head, he’d have his armour back on, and he’d wish ‘Vadumee a good day before engaging his cloaking and sneaking out, back to his own barracks.

‘Vadumee was always torn between how good it felt to have some proper companionship—he hadn’t realized just how boring it had been to be constantly alone—and a measure of guilt for tearing the boy away from proper integration in his squad. Kusovai was apparently on civil terms with the rest of SpecOps personnel, but nothing further. Quartermaster Storamee told ‘Vadumee that according to rumour, Kusovai was “a nice enough guy and one hell of a soldier, but quiet and distant.” She also described him as “you might not notice him at your party, but you sure want him at your back in combat.” And then she looked at ‘Vadumee with that uncanny knowing stare that seemed to insinuate that she knew more about his own thoughts than he did.

Rtas felt he was partly to blame for the popular conception of Kusovai. He really ought to be encouraging Kusovai to make some more friends of his own age and rank. But he was being selfish, hungering for the rookie’s generous affection and quiet admiration and the way he could always make Rtas laugh, no matter how wearying his day had been.

And by the Rings, the way he felt in bed…

In bed, where ‘Vadumee fell asleep and had the dreams.

In the dreams, Rtas woke up to find Kusovai nuzzling his mandibles with his own in a gesture of intimate submission. They were both somehow missing their jumpsuits, and then Kusovai would whisper, “Subcommander…teach me…” And then…then…

‘Vadumee would wake up and roll over on his side so the innocently cuddling Kusovai wouldn’t notice the hard lump of his shaft pressing against his jumpsuit, wouldn’t hear his rasping breathing, wouldn’t feel his body dripping with sweat as he tried not to imagine how he wanted that dream to end.

And Rtas ‘Vadumee did not know how long this situation could go on.

*