And so there you were: the bright-eyed and bloody-toothed Irken Elite, a sprightly hundred and thirty-four, and kind of a big deal.
That's not arrogance or vanity, pal, that's a fact. It's no stretch to say you were one of the biggest stars on Devastis. Maybe they knew you from the broadcasts. Maybe they remembered you from the time you gutted their backwater hamlet or mid-tier metropolis during your climb to the top of the Elite. Or maybe they had your collector card (holofoil, double-sided). Maybe they owned the Ripper you borrowed—that's BORROWED, not stole—that one time and they couldn't let go of the past. Pretty unhealthy way to live a life, in your opinion.
On the chance that they didn't know you by your more than respectable six feet and ten inches (not counting antennae), then they knew you by your eyes. You'd been told multiple times by multiple Irkens of multiple heights, plus three Vortians, five Plookesians, and one grudgingly awed Planet Jacker that you had a beautiful set of purple eyes. They were all correct. However, if they didn't know you on sight, then they knew you by name, rank, or reputation. Name matched the eyes; not hard to put together.
If somehow they still didn't know you from all that, then they at least knew your partner's reputation. From day one, Red had made it his personal business to be sure everyone on every square foot of the planet knew who he was, whether by high scores or broken bones. Usually both. Everyone needed a hobby.
The point is, when Purple of the Irken Elite stepped into the room, heads turned. Or rolled, depending on the situation.
Thus, when The Indomitable landed during the first leg of finals and Almighty Tallest Miyuki requested your presence, it surprised you… but not much.
Meeting her alone meant Red got stuck waiting outside. That part bothered you more than you'd like to admit. The two of you had been working together for so long, it felt like losing a limb. Not a big deal—limbs grew back and complaining wouldn't make it grow faster—but it still felt weird and wrong, and you had to relearn how to do everything in the meantime.
Without Red by your side, you suddenly had a lot more empty space to work with. Nobody walked with you down the long corridors. Nobody laughed when you had to pull yourself up and into the chair two sizes too big for you. Nobody stood in the wings to back you up in case something went wrong.
And there was a very good chance something had already gone wrong.
No matter the Era, no matter your rank or height, there are only two reasons an Almighty Tallest requests a personal audience: good and bad. If you can walk away with all your body parts, count it as a good reason.
Spotlighted alone in Almighty Tallest Miyuki's office, you tried to search her face for which reason it might be. You couldn't meet her eyes for long, but for the few seconds you managed it, she was unreadable. Normal. Good sign. Probably. …Maybe.
It had started decently enough. Exchanged formal greetings, offered your utmost gratitude for the privilege of breathing her air, thanked her when she offered the opportunity to sit.
Miyuki rose from her desk, clasped her hands behind her back, and watched. Didn't stare—sweet Irk, you'd have collapsed into a schmillion pieces if she'd stared . No, she just… watched, the same way one watches an old data file. Occasionally, she blinked.
Shifting in your seat and watching both feet dangle in the air, you realized that you'd forgotten to shine your boots. They still had scuffs and blood on them from the arena match. Had The Tallest noticed? Stupid question, of course she had. She noticed everything.
You glanced at the skull collection on her shelf, trying your best not to eyeball the pocky in her pocket. What was that, strawberry? Sure looked like it. But sometimes raspberry could be pink too, so maybe raspberry? Blood was also pink. They didn't make blood flavored pocky did they? That'd be weird. Everyone said that Miyuki's Favored Snack came in all sorts of flavors, so blood could be possible. You didn't know how flavors worked with pocky, but you'd have sure liked to find out. The texture seemed delicate, and the colors were layered on top, so it had to be frosted or—
Wait, was Miyuki talking?
When did that happen? How long had she been talking?
"…impressive kill-count precedes you, Elite." The Tallest spared a glance out of the ship's window. Red paced along landing dock, practicing his shock spear jabs and ignoring the knot of smallers watching him. "As do your…unorthodox methods. You've chosen a strange time in your career for an allied strategy. I'd understand if it was solely for Elite training, but you're both preparing to become Invaders. Invaders work alone."
"Yes, ma'am."
Red himself had made that clear every ten minutes the first year of your alliance. Every few weeks after the alliance became a partnership. Then, every six months after the partnership shifted into… whatever the two of you eventually became. (Even now, you're not sure what the word for it is.)
"It's not permanent," he still told you—or himself—every now and then.
You'd never understood why he bothered. Nothing was ever permanent.
Before your Elite encoding, you were a Soldier, a Cadet, a smeet, and a chunk of flesh floating in a jar. At least a third of your missions specialized in espionage and information extraction; any given time on any given planet, you could "be" lots of people. Twenty years ago, you were a Foodcourtian insurgent dedicated to reclaiming the galaxy's best snacking hub and flipping it back to… whatever Foodcourtia was before Irk improved it. Twelve years ago, the Screw Heads knew you as a gentle Irken defective on the lam from the mean old Irken Empire who'd only wanted peace (and also tech secrets). Those missions were what bumped you into Invader training in the first place.
The past few years, you'd been the smoke bomb guy, the sniper guy, and on really fun days, the rip-out-a-spine-and-wear-it-like-a-scarf guy. The guy who sipped slushies while sweeping the area. The guy everyone knew and liked because you were easy to like. You had the face and the height for it.
It'd been nice being yourself. Even nicer being yourself with Red.
"You've become quite accustomed to each other," Miyuki continued. "In fact, I can't recall seeing the two of you apart for most of the last decade."
It took every ounce of your self-control not to smirk. "Well, yeah. We like winning." Stats and reputation spoke for themselves, and yours could talk for hours. "Teamwork's within protocol, and if it works, it works."
"It's a cute gimmick, but I wonder what you intend to do once you graduate."
"Um. My job? What else would I do?"
Miyuki raised an eyebrow, and the rest of the question became clear: what do you intend to do without Red?
Again, she watched you. This time, you tilted your head up to meet her gaze.
"I intend to do my job , My Tallest. I've worked solo before; I can do it again if I have to." You shrugged as if you could split the team right then and never look back. At the time, maybe you believed that you could. "It is what it is."
"And that's all? No plans, no future ambitions?"
"What's there to plan? It's not like I can choose where I'm assigned. Besides, plans change as soon as you make 'em. I think it's better to just, you know, be prepared for whatever happens. Handle the future when it gets here."
That said, you had a good guess where it went from there: graduation, celebration, and a tag-team bar fight for old times' sake. Become an Invader. Grind a few planets beneath your boot. Rule over whatever rock you'd conquered, and earn a cushy title if you conquered it well. Presuming you didn't die first.
Where Red fit into all that, you couldn't say. Thinking about it too long got your squeedlyspooch feeling all gunky, so you didn't think of it. Or anything else, really.
"That's good to hear, Elite Purple." Slowly, Tallest Miyuki nodded and smiled. A blink-and-you'll-miss-it incline of the head, a centimeter of mouth twitch. Small smiles were the safe smiles. You were almost definitely not in trouble. "Because I've come to administer your final exam."
The word shot out before you could stop it. "Why?"
Miyuki narrowed her eyes.
Awesome. Open mouth, insert plasma rifle.
"Um. That is, it's kinda… unusual, isn't it? Finals are in the simulation pods. You can assign and monitor those from anywhere." Both antennae perked up as it clicked. "…Unless mine isn't."
"No, it is not." In one smooth motion, Miyuki slipped a pocky stick between her teeth and handed you what appeared to be a collapsible thermos. "Your assignment is Vada IV, a sister moon in orbit of Vada Prime."
Vada Prime, huh? It had been a couple years since your last map check, but that sounded like Meekrob territory. Totally different solar system, but still within the same star cluster. Too close for your taste. Rumor had it the Meekrob had gotten their telepathic tentacles in a twist and started casting their psychic nets farther and farther out from their home planet.
"Guess I'm taking the long way around." Annoying, but getting your head exploded into handsome chunks probably wouldn't get an S-Rank. Invasions required stealth landings anyway, so sure. "Exploding the place is probably out too, huh?"
The pocky bobbed between the Tallest's teeth as she snapped off a piece. "Not unless you plan to blend in with a smoldering pile of ashes, no. My Empire has more than enough rubble heaps, thank you. It's standard Invader protocol; location aside, the rules of the test stay the same."
Which still sounded weird to you. If the rules didn't change, then… After a quick guesstimate of Miyuki's mood versus your inherent value as a soldier, you decided to err on caution. "Permission to request further information, My Tallest?"
She snapped up the rest of the pocky in two bites. "Granted."
"In that case, what is the point of risking valuable Irken resources in the field?" Namely, you. "It sounds harder to monitor progress, especially when the testing site covers a whole planet—"
"Moon. Call it a special case for a special soldier." The smile returned, wider this time. "The natives possess a rhythmic language with a specific cadence and speech pattern. As of now, it's too complicated for the translation algorithm, and your PAK data from the time on Vada IV will help write a new one."
"Huh. Not that I'm ungrateful, My Tallest, but is there a reason you've selected me and not a researcher or like a… language-type guy?"
The Tallest moved closer and beckoned you to stand. "You've something of a given talent—a decommissioned encoding found in rare numbers now." She leaned over you and tapped the side of your PAK with a fresh pocky stick. "You're what they call an old soul, Elite. A war poet, to be exact."
"Oh."
Louder than its newer, shinier peers, the PAK between your shoulder blades hummed and clicked and whirred through the daily grind of keeping you alive. An appraiser told you once it came from Era 21. Before you were Purple, you used to be someone else. Before that someone else, you were another someone else, and another before that. It's a thought you hadn't really considered until then.
You'd never heard of a poet before, but you already knew what one was. Someone who made things out of words that sounded nice together, and war poets used those nice words to praise and honor the Empire. Like what The Announcer did, but fancier. Maybe Era 21 didn't have Announcers.
Tallest Miyuki nodded her approval. "Try a stanza."
A little surprised to already know what a stanza was, you bounced on your heels, trying to think.
"Uhhh… I think it would sure be a sham/If I went out and bombed my exam/But these rhymes do not blow/And that's how I know/That a winner is what I still am—OH man, lookit me! I'm a war poet!" For extra flair, at the end you added some pitch and what you suddenly understood was a "melody". Together, those things made a "song". Neat!
This called for another verse. (Songs had verses, not stanzas.) "Okay, here's another one: I once knew a guy in Foodcourtia/Who ate a grenade on the floor-ia/I just had to lament/'Cause that's not what I meant/When I said that I'd like to see more of ya. Oh—oh, wait I have a better one—"
"No. No, that's alright. I believe you." The Tallest sighed. It was a very long sigh. "You're a natural, Elite Purple, as expected." She lifted a finger before you opened your mouth again. "You can stop now."
"Yes, My Tallest." Verses two through twenty would just have to wait. Oh well, genius couldn't be rushed.
"Do you—hm." Miyuki spared a glance at a table drone who'd come scuttling up during your amazing performance. She took the bubble tea from his head, broke off the end of a pocky stick and… dropped it.
She dropped it right into the drone's waiting little tiny glove. On purpose. That two-foot nothing got almost a third of a stick while you—you, the golden egg of the Irken Elite—were stuck staring at forbidden pocky in holograms! And did that twerp wink at you on his way out? The world had no justice sometimes.
Miyuki cradled the bubble tea and gently sipped it. "Do you have any more questions?"
"Yes, actually. Not complaining about lunch, but what's with the fancy therm—WAUGH!"
A pair of legs dangled out of your thermos, which was something that a thermos was almost definitely not supposed to do. The Maybe-Not-A-Thermos stretched to grow a torso. And two arms. A pair of ocular sensors the color of Miyuki's robes blinked out of what you now realized was a head all along.
"Oh. Well. That answers my question."
The blue oculars adjusted themselves, trying to focus from the awkward position in your grip. "Good afternoon, Master! I'm detecting some audial distress. How are you feeling today?"
Weird thing to ask someone. Talking to robots didn't feel right, especially when a Tallest stood in the room. You looked to her for guidance, but Miyuki only gestured for you to continue. "I'm… fine?"
"Great!" It smiled when you put it down. "Say, would you like to know about the flora and fauna native to Devastis?"
"Stuff lives on Devastis? Besides us?"
Apparently so. A screen popped out of the robot's shiny little head and skimmed through a list of funguses, mosses, bugs, and all the death-beasts that lived in the coliseum. It sorted all of them into one of two columns. A third listed just one species: Irkens; Class 9 Sapient Life.
"This," Miyuki told you, "is a prototype designed to gather information vital to your mission, in addition to providing mental stimulation and well-being. The Companion Information Retrieval unit, or C.I.R for short. You asked me how you would be monitored." She nodded to the robot, who waved back. "There you are. Your PAK and home base will provide additional surveillance."
"Good afternoon!" The C.I.R. chirped. "Would you like to hear a funny joke?"
"No thank you." Though she seemed to consider it. "That's all for now. Mute, please."
Not a second too soon. Robots ought to be seen, not heard. And away from you. Robots got in everyone's business, never shut up, and weren't even fun to eviscerate. In any case, you had no use for a unit right this second. "Go ahead of me and prepare The Famished . And wipe your feet; I don't need dirt in my ship."
A prototype meant it was still in testing, which meant it could have bugs to work out, which meant getting in your way. But that was Miyuki for you. Never do one thing when you could do five. "Trying out all the new invasion material, My Tallest?"
"Irk favors efficiency, but you'd know all about that, wouldn't you?" She smiled. "With your partnerships, I mean. No, it's a good thing. Not everyone still knows how to work in groups. Especially sensitive to your surroundings, too. You've a strong instinct, and more often than not, you're prone to follow them. It's an admirable quality… most of the time."
"Thank you, My Tallest." Though you weren't positive if it she'd meant it as a compliment. And speaking of instincts, all of yours told you that there was more that Miyuki wasn't telling you. "So, what's this moon like, anyway?"
Almighty Tallest Miyuki raised an eyebrow. "That's for you to find out, isn't it? You are the Invader in this scenario."
"Of course, My Tallest, but… Vada Prime's two hours from Meekrob with a good ship. My head's not gonna… go all explodey, is it?"
"Head-explodeys or lack thereof is a matter left up to you, Elite. Do remember to pass through sanitization upon return, though. Vada's been known for contaminants."
Tallest Miyuki approached slowly for a final appraisal. A staggering nine feet and eleven inches arched over your antennae, so close you heard the shift of her armor. Darkened beneath her shade, you were a tiny thing. Six-foot-ten was nothing. Nothing at all.
She blinked slowly, for The Tallest never rushed. With all the time in the universe at her leisure, there was no need. "I've been told you show promise, Irken Elite Purple. I expect that promise to be fulfilled."
"I will, My Tallest,"
"Good. You are dismissed."
"So?" Red dropped the four-foot nobody he'd been dangling over a balcony and dusted off his gloves. He always did know how to make the most of his time. "When's your execution? I hope it's not tomorrow, I've got stuff that day."
"Hi to you too, starshine. She says I'm—"
Something metallic crashed in the background, followed by a glass tinkle and a wavering little "I'm okay…" in the distance.
"Wow, good air."
Red smirked and buffed his nails on his gauntlet. "I know."
"I'm back from my meeting, where Tallest revealed that I'm taking my Invader Exam in the field. It's on a small moon near the Meekrob's star system, and if there's reasons for why, I'm afraid that I missed 'em." A few soldiers stopped to stare as you passed them on the way to your quarters. No doubt, they marveled at your exceptional language skills.
"Why are you talking like that?" Red shifted away, just in case whatever you had was contagious. "And what's with that… weird thing your voice is doing? It's going all loopy."
"That's called a melody, and I've gotta get my practice in soon because that's the cool fancy way they talk on the moon." You stopped and thought about it. "Actually, when you do it this way, I think it's just called singiiiing ." And it turned out, you could still sing without rhyming anything. Good to know.
"Creepy."
"Well, I think it's neat!"
"Because it's really creepy!"
He had you there. Even if you never visited another singing planet again, you could always use it to psyche out enemies. Or to bug Red on a slow day. Both were good. "I think my verses need more oomph, a little more power."
Red blinked at that. "What's the rush?"
"I leave in an hour." Your gauntlet beeped. "Actually more like forty minutes."
It took a moment for him to realize you weren't kidding. "Oh."
The Irken race kept their emotions the same place they kept all soft, squishy bits of themselves: on the inside. Nobody wanted to see a heart flopping around on the floor, getting everything all sticky. Anything besides basic panic, anger, or excitement took a close read. You were never one for studying, but you'd always been a pretty good reader.
You watched Red's face shift as he sorted through several emotions, and hoped he didn't land on jealousy. It'd be a bad note to end on, especially if one of you stopped being alive between now and your homecoming. Red had an annoying habit of holding on to spiny feelings until his gloves bled. It came in handy when he needed a boost for mowing down enemies, but you preferred not to be one of those enemies.
Eventually, he settled on resignation. "What happens when you get back?"
"How am I supposed to know?" What was with everyone asking you that today? "I don't even know when I'll be back. Whatever happens happens, I dunno. I'll torch that bridge when I come to it."
Red gave you That Look. That you're an idiot who's going to get your head blown off look, which was a really rude thing to think of someone just because they didn't have a fifty-year plan in their pocket. Half Red's plans didn't even work, so he had some nerve marching around like some snooty snoot-master. "You don't have an invasion strategy at all, do you?"
For a second, you considered countering that practicing the native language counted as invasion prep. However, a future invader had better stuff to do, and the shrug you gave told him so. "Can't prep for a planet you don't know anything about."
"I thought you said it's a moon."
"Whatever. It's a field test, open notes, open fire. I'll learn when I get there; that's the whole point. And not to be that guy—"
"You're always that guy."
"—but I AM the first one in our batch to get their final exam. I know what I'm doing." And I'll be just fine without you. You didn't say that last part because you didn't have to.
The same way Red didn't have to say that he didn't need you either.
In fact, you didn't need each other so much, neither one said a thing through the process gathering test supplies, choosing rations, or giving the Commander your leave of absence.
The Commander already knew, of course, but it never hurt to remind her. She didn't show it, but your assignment impressed her because of course it did. It impressed everyone, once the news spread. Between the Elites and Elites-in-training between missions, stuck on-planet with nothing to do, word spread fast. Fancy strategy or no strategy, Elite Purple was still awesome and cool, so there.
Red trailed beside you, fiddling with his notes and pretending not to sulk all the way to the landing dock. He glanced at The Famished , crouched beside his own Lenient . Twin Spittle Runners alike in all ways except that one was warmed up and already hovering, ready to go.
The C.I.R. waved and smiled (seriously, since when did robots smile?) from the windshield.
"Hey, Plurps. Don't die out there, okay?" Red gestured to the little crowd pooling a few feet away. "You're one of the only jerks out here I tolerate."
"Please. Dying's for losers and short people."
"Why'd you say losers twice?"
That called for the highest of fives. "Heh, later."
"Later."