The snout of the Tribune wrinkled in disgust as needle sharp teeth appeared. "So you have no memories of Rally at all? And how does that make you feel?"
"No, I don't have any direct memories of being on Rally or having heard of it before now." Sheila shrugged from where she sat up in the high tech medical bed. "And I'm a little annoyed, as I should be able to recall something. But it's just blank." She met his eyes without a hint of fear, subversiveness or even haughter. Just curiosity.
"So what memories do you have of arriving in Engineering Deck 2?" he asked as he studied the bio signals on the medical scopes built into his desk.
Sheila looked away a moment. "I don't recall anything. One minute I was on a trip in an air shuttle and the next I was waking up in this hospital."
"This is the medical bay of the Bequeathed, a starship of the Compact of Races. We are on a training cruise with graduates from the Space Forces academy from Rally. The best of the Broken with some of the local Tribunes, Thoughtfuls, Builders and even a Brute."
She pursed her lips at the very caste centric descriptors.
"Ah, what thoughts did you have there? There is no judgment, only enlightenment in this session."
"The descriptors you gave are very direct and limited. A system of caste, where what you may become is less than where you come from. I expected that the Compact would want to foster everyone in their best path possible."
Tshusaan (and two names besides) narrowed his four eyes as he considered the question. "This is one of the reasons that the Broken are still considered to be an immature species. The focus on self implies that you are not very social oriented and focused on the larger picture."
Sheila raised an eyebrow at that. "That was an interesting look at your insight."
The Tribune thought over that. One of those sorts, it appears. "I assume you were raised as a gifted child. Did you perhaps get moved a year forward in your education?"
She gave the alien a tight smile. "Of a sort. I was set to graduate by the age of twelve years."
"Graduating mandatory education at a young age is useful." More than he'd expected. "But that is only a Broken education, not the more advanced education that is required of the patrons of the Compact."
"Intelligence is hard to quantify correctly."
"So what sort of things did you study?" he asked in curiosity.
"Medicine, engineering, mathematics, poli-science and history," she replied with a chipper tone. "From old textbooks, so probably not very up to date. Now I need to do remedial studies."
"So you say," Tshusaan replied. "I'm going to give you an in depth questionnaire to answer. It will probably take you most of a day to read and respond due to its length."
"Very well, Confessor Tshusaam," she replied in a calm tone.
He handed her an oversized and rugged tablet. "Until later, Probationer Citizen Sheila." With that, the nearly eight foot tall alien headed to the door and out into the hall that lay just as dim as the room he left.
After another evaluation with one of the 'best and brightest' of Rally, he returned to his quarters an hour later. A check of his messages showed that the girl had sent finished the entire evaluation and submitted it. A note from Faithful Dish'am asked that he make sure to inform his patient of how to use items like the tablet while she suffered from hysterical amnesia.
Tshusaan frowned at that and pulled up the girl's access logs and noted that she submitted the evaluation as her first real use of the tablet. Then she started on accessing academy math and physics training courses. And added a shockspace primer to start reading concurrently. He must have poked her ego greatly if she was trying to prove she could learn such advanced subjects.
Epigone Nutom blinked her four eyes as she studied the medical scopes that relayed unusual information about the Broken sleeping in the bed a day later. "Faithful Dish'am? I am not seeing any of the immunization markers appearing after the treatment."
The pale alien of over seven feet height nodded slowly. "Understood. Group Leader Usal, I think my decision to surgically investigate this anomaly is warranted."
The most senior officer and captain of the Bequeathed considered matters. "It is just a Broken and apparently not even trained or blooded. Take your samples and verify if she is some sort of infiltrator that your scopes can not detect."
Dish'am nodded. "If she is found to have any unusual physical enhancements, I will restrain or eliminate her."
Usal nodded as his muzzle scowled and revealed too many pointed teeth. "If she's normal just put her to work. There are many jobs that need to be done that even an animal can do."
Robotic arms of light tan color deployed and started to stab needles into her body with great precision. Fluid and tissue samples for every main organ and even most of the minor ones.
Ten minutes later, the machine finished and Dish'am frowned at the results in the Thoughtful way. Not a single sign of augmentation anywhere on the machine, even running on a protected network that had been sanitized of any possible computer intrusion. "It appears my suspicions were unwarranted. Start the regeneration treatment to handle the minor wounds, Epigone Nutom."
"As you wish, Faithful Dish'am." The Tribune assistant worked efficiently.
The Faithful came back half an hour later to see the scopes on the patient querying for an intervention.
Jet black eyes widened as he verified the readings.
Instead of taking a full day to recover, the patient would be ready to be released in just six hours. The Faithful now had a new mystery to bring to light.
And if it applied to more than the Broken, perhaps a way off the frontier and back to the core of civilized space.
Sectator Citizen Grace Proctor entered medical to pick up her new charge. Rumor has it that the young girl had been found in a random spot on Engineering Deck 2 and was some sort of assassin sent to kill the group leader. She found that unlikely, as she would be in the ship's security confinement (never a 'prison' on a ship).
The secondary door opened for her and she entered the main medical area.
"Sectator Citizen Proctor, you are nearly late." The Thoughtful in charge blinked his two sets of eyelids slowly. "Never mind. You will take charge of Probationer Citizen Sheila Henderson. She has recall issues and does not remember Rally at all. She has been investigated and thoroughly counselled, only to respond with polite compliance. You will take her down the exercise hall and assess her physical health and conditioning. Even with her compliance score of 1.0, Group Leader Submissive Ashtun is overseeing a level 1 surveillance of the subject." An impossible compliance socialization score.
"At your behest, Faithful Dish'am." Grace blinked as she processed the information.
The tall and pale Thoughtful turned away and went back to his private office
A girl of pale blond hair stepped out of the containment ward and looked around. The Space Force academy uniform looked odd on her as they met nearly eye to eye in height.
"Probationer Citizen?" Grace asked in a soothing tone.
"I would prefer you just use my first name unless that is considered impolite. I'm Sheila," she said as she held out her hand."
Grace looked at her oddly, then remembered the archaic shaking of hands. "Please don't do that with the other species of the Compact. Human hair and sweat can cause an allergic reaction in Tribunes."
"Is that why some humans cut their hair so short?" Sheila asked as she dropped her hand. She really needed to get a better idea of how to fit into this culture, as she suspected the wrong misstep could get herself killed or lobotomized. Or maybe worse.
"Very well, Sheila. Let's go down to the physical fitness area and see how well you've recovered," the older girl said as she led them down an overly tall hallway
Blue-green eyes noted the wear and tear of the corridor and its flooring. "Not the newest ship in the fleet, I take it?"
"Bequeathed is an older cruiser and a good fit for a relatively calm area. Our planet Reach is far from the core of the Compact worlds, but it is not really a frontier world any more." Grace took the nearest stairs to the right deck, thumping down the overly tall and deep steps.
Five minutes later Sheila looked around the exercise area. She noted Grace's expression went flat as an adult human man walked over.
Sectator Robert Killgrave smiled in a smarmy way. "So, amnesia girl, ready to rumble? Sectator Proctor's friend should be able to handle a cord thin girl."
"A Verrish is beyond what any human can deal with," Grace noted with a thin frown.
The blue alien with snake-like tintas stood over seven feet tall and tried to look casual with her arms crossed over her chest.
Sheila blinked and decided to mention a truth that might stop her from having to reveal her superhuman ability too early. "I didn't realize you started training eleven year olds on serious combat techniques."
Robert Killgrave and Grace Proctor both looked over at her in confusion. The Verrish, Allyria te Neu, spoke first. "You are a bit tall for an eleven year old."
"With a few more growth spurts left," the light-blond haired girl complained aloud.
"Get on the treadmill," Killgrave ordered after a long moment. "I'm sure Sectator Citizen Proctor would be happy to exercise along with you to keep your company."
Sheila nodded even as she ignored the lightly armed Tribune in the corner behind a weight lifting machine. She very carefully matched and exceeded by the smallest margins her 'buddy' during her run.
Pack Leader Nasham (and four names besides that) kept a discrete eye on the Broken girl as she jogged along effortlessly. A quick query to the medical office confirmed that she could be immature, just tall.
Killgrave moved them on to lifting weights on exercise machines. Sheila lifted more than he expected and almost as much as the scarred military officer himself could, at the upper end for human males. "Guess you aren't a wimp."
Sheila looked over. "If you say so. Compared to Dolph and Dana, I've always felt really weak." She could only lift a ton or two, after all.
Sectator Proctor walked over to Killgrave. "Sectator Killgrave, I am required on the bridge for a training exercise as we shock jump to our next location. I am requesting that you take charge of the probationer for the duration."
Killgrave did not look happy as his scarred face twisted, but nodded. "I assume charge of Probationer Citizen Henderson. Sectator Citizen te Neu, clean up and meet me at the firing range."
"Understood, Sectator," the blue alien replied formally.
Sectator Killgrave took the too tall stairs at a bone-jarring hop down in the slightly too high gravity of the Bequeathed. The human with white-gold hair followed him down the stairs in far greater grace and poise, as if the 10% gravity difference mattered nothing to her. Sectactor Citizen te Neu narrowed her eyes as she followed down the stairs that matched her much larger stride.
"This isn't your first time on a Space Force ship?" she asked the supposed girl.
"It is my first time." Sheila looked over her shoulder as she kept gliding down the steps. "I have a very high kinesthesia, so a few too tall steps are nothing to worry about."
"And the Tribune standard gravity?"
She blinked. "Oh. I thought I was just feeling a bit sluggish today."
Really?
Killgrave led them down a corridor and to an armor hatch. He tapped an admittance sequence on the door panel. "Decorum, people."
Sheila's eyes narrowed at that. So a Tribune was in charge of the firing range? And the attached armory of course.
The door hissed open and showed a ready Tribune of slightly lighter gray color in teal with the chest patch of a Pack Leader. The same one from the exercise room twenty minutes ago.
"Pack Leader Nasham," the human officer called out and saluted.
"Sectator Killgrave. Sectactor Citizen te Neu. And Probationer Citizen Henderson. I stand in stead of Sectator Prime Riu," he said in his deep voice.
Sheila gave him a small nod.
"Have you any firearms training, Probationer?" Nasham asked simply.
The young girl frowned in thought. "Not really. I read a couple of firearm safety books, but those were slightly dated."
The Tribune held back a sigh at the Broken's response. Instead, he directed Sectator Killgrave in teaching the girl the basics of firearm safety and how to take apart and then reassemble the basic pistol in front of her.
Fifteen minutes later, Nasham watched as her finger flew through the process of putting the weapon back together. "Time." The computer recorded the fastest time ever on the Bequeathed. "Take your firing position behind the line. You will fire until you miss."
"Yes, Pack Leader Nasham." Sheila took a textbook perfect firing position with both hands to steady the pistol.
And then started to hit the hologram markers with the muted buzz of on target for each one. One minute passed and Allyria watched as the girl blew past what she thought an untrained civilian would know. She and Killgrave watched on in consternation as she kept hitting targets for over five minutes.
Nasham's four eyebrows rose for a second as she continued to hit the targets for another five minutes, even when the computer tried to force a miss to keep the Broken humble. First by making the target move to the far area of the shooting range. Then by trying to 'accidentally' shift the target into ultraviolet wavelengths outside of human vision. Then it tried to force a fail by strobing three targets, which she still somehow hit in the 100th of a second.
"Halt. I believe that is adequate," Nasham called out as he tapped a diagnostic order on his tablet. He also tapped a response to Group Leader Submissive Ashtun (and two names besides) that he did not know how or if the girl cheated. "I do believe that may be a new record. Sectactor, clean up this area. I will return shortly." He then walked to the armor door and closed it behind him.
"Well, I'm starting to doubt you've had no training," Killgrave said with a very sour look on his face at having his high score thrashed. "There is a roll of wipes in that panel right there." He pointed to a wall.
Sheila just shrugged and started to clean up the nearly spotless room. The Tribune could have come up with a lie at least to report in.
And then an alert came over the address system to prepare to jump to FTL.
Allyria pulled her over to a warning-marked wall panel and opened up seat and quickly buckled her into the too big chair while Killgrave strapped himself in. She followed suite with herself a moment later. They all listened to the textbook perfect countdown and then...
...reality shattered as the old cruiser blasted its way out and then back into normal spacetime in a massive shock to travel only a few meager light years away. It blindly wallowed along as it shed energy into the void of space.
Sheila shook her head as she recovered from the hiccup in reality. She looked down across her torso to see a jagged red line fading across her body. "What-?" she said as she shook off the vestiges of the shockjump.
The larger blue alien studied her. "That was... different."
"Got to get my eyes checked. Goddamned shock's making me see things," Killgrave complained as he blinked at the girl as the glowing red line faded.
The young blond looked over at Allyria. "Well, no one has ever asked me if I'm normal. Which I'm not." She gave a cheeky smile to the blue alien and winked.
"Yes, you just reek of normalness." Her tinta writhed to showcase her humor and tasted her smell a little more.
Killgrave loosed himself and stretched. "Alright you two, back to work before Pack Leader Nasham comes back."
"I hope food is somewhere on our schedule," Sheila groused a little bit. She did not have breakfast and 'should' be hungry.
"We've got an hour or so to go before lunch. The Tribunes run on a standard day that is about 30 human measured hours." Allyria showed the girl how to stow the emergency acceleration seats.
Hours later, Sheila finally found herself escorted to a private bunk across from Allyria's bunk space with the other sectator citizens (which she had deciphered to mean provisional or recruit ensigns until they passed their first voyage test).
"Good night, sectator," she called out and closed the door behind her. She walked over to the wall and pulled out a small desk and chair to start studying the math behind shockspace and faster than light travel.
Up near the bridge, Group Leader Submissive Ashtun (and two names besides) frowned as the girl started to 'hit the books' to learn math of all things.
He tapped a button on his personal console. "The target exhibits no real aggression and stays polite even under pressure. The Broken acts like none I have met, but may be one of those 'advanced' minds that appears in the lower species." He frowned in frustration as he skimmed the report from the confessor. A one on the Kiener-Wernham social assimilation index. A test designed to discern the unruly and unsettled among humans. The higher the score, the worse they were. At five, you were deemed a threat to society and chemical implants were ordered. Or worse.
The highest rank confessor on the Bequeathed had stated that it should be impossible for a Broken to have such a low score. Even a cheat program to prompt you would not work, yet the girl had passed as the most stable person. Or the best cheat among a billion Broken.
He barely skimmed the physical scope readings that showed her to be very healthy and at the top percentile of the Broken.
"I had nothing but a cold twist in my liver that tells me the girl is dangerous. The target practice proves that, yet her vitals on the scopes showed her to be perfectly calm. She has only been polite and curious."
He narrowed his lower eyes to better see her computer search.
Why would she search for the 'Earth restoration terraforming project'?
Near the edge of the star Terrahope, a six kilometer blade lay resting and repairing itself slowly. In months or years, it would awaken itself to resume its near-single minded war that even with its vast mind could not see itself winning.
So all it could do is die slowly and somehow forestall losing until it could find a way.