Chapter Six: Bonding
It had been two days since the Earthers had launched their first attack on the Mobian Federation. Aldebaran was firmly in the hands of the Earth Republic. The system had always been an an important system and a strategic weak point in the Federation. One of its jump points lead to the Earth Federation member system of Alpha Centauri, and three others branched off to different Mobian-held systems. It had no habitable planets and few natural resources, but it was a hub for interstellar trade, and its loss in previous years would have doomed the Mobian Federation instantly by splitting it into two pieces cut off from each other. However, with the opening of the Vega-61 Cygni jump point two years ago, this potential problem had been eliminated. In a panic, the Mobian Federation had permanently destroyed the Aldebaran-Mobius jump point by loading a cruiser up with bombs and scuttling it during a jump, a technique that likely wouldn't work on other, older jump points. The Earth Republic would likely never have attacked Mobius itself without subduing the other Mobian systems--just dropping right on top of an enemy homeworld would be suicide--but the Mobian government wasn't taking chances.
For now, the Earthers had halted their attack, pausing to consolidate their foothold in Mobian territory. For Lord Admiral Kryche Akwarus, the tension was almost unbearable. He had taken advantage of this interlude to fortify Mobius' defensive positions. This time his forces were ready. There would not be a second Aldebaran. But, with Earth's strength, would it even matter if they took some losses?
Kryche studied the dossier on the commander of Earth's invasion fleet that he had requested. He always liked to know who he was up against. A picture of a tall, dark-haired human woman who Kryche guessed was in her mid-thirties dominated the first page. The woman's face spoke of an effortless calm and habitual confidence that came with someone who was seemingly born to succeed. Born to money and power, graduated from West Point with honors, and reaching the rank of admiral by the age of 31, Admiral Felicia Townswell was like a military fairy tale. Certainly she was a far cry from Kryche, who spent his childhood in poverty and his youth as an alcoholic before clawing his way to the top. Now, at the age of sixty-one, he wondered how much of his youth he had wasted and how many years he had decreased his life expectancy back when he was smoking two packs of cigarettes a day and drinking a case of beer every three days. Even now, there was always the temptation at the back of his mind to indulge, to sink back into his addiction.
No, he would not go into that downward spiral again. He had been tobacco and alcohol free for over many years and he wouldn't start again now. He had a life. He had responsibilities. And besides, Bookshire Draftwood would have a fit.
Although almost twenty years Kryche's junior, Bookshire was a great source of guidance and the one person who Kryche trusted completely. The middle-aged raccoon had first met Kryche as a bright young boy with a fascination with medicine, a dream of becoming a doctor, and an eagerness to express his (negative) opinion on Kryche's vices. Kryche befriended him despite the kid's constant nagging him to give up cigarettes and drink. At twelve, Bookshire was kind, exuberant, unfailingly optimistic, and as sharp as a knife.
Bookshire mellowed out as he grew older, becoming more serious and losing his manic energy, but becoming even kinder and wiser than ever. Nowadays the man had the patience of a saint and it was more likely that the sky would fall than he would lose his cool, no matter who was dealing with. He even managed to talk Kryche into breaking his addictions. But at the same time, he was serious to a fault, and sometimes a little too sure of himself.
He decided to place a call to Bookshire and see how he was doing. He picked up the telephone on his desk and called up the Bookshire's office at Orbital Station Twelve.
"Hello? O.S. 12 medical department?" said Bookshire.
"Hey, this is Kryche here, just wanted to talk."
"Hello, old friend. It's been a while since we last talked. What's on your mind?"
"Coordinating the war is worrying me sick, so I decided to do something to take my mind off it for a while. Had any interesting patients?"
"Apparently this must be Destructive Career Choices Week at the medical department. We have the entire crew of a freighter that had almost no sanitation or artificial gravity. They were pretty dreadful to behold, with lice all over them and their legs unable to support them because they've been floating for months. I just discharged one of them, a scrawny little kid who looks very underfed. I've actually wrote letters to shipping companies requesting that they improve conditions on those ships but they never listen." Bookshire sighed. "We also have a heavy metal singer who damaged his vocal cords because he thinks guttural screams are a good way to sing. I never liked loud music, especially loud music performed in such a way that the musicians hurt themselves. I temporarily paralyzed his voicebox with drugs so it has time to rest."
"I bet it must suck for him to not be able to talk for however long it takes to heal."
"True, but without treatment he would lose his voice forever."
"I think your job is going to get a lot more hectic. I decided to start spreading the casualties among civilian and military hospitals all over the Federation. We don't have room for thousands upon thousands of wounded near the battle lines, or even in our entire military hospital system. Civilians like you will have to share some of the burden as well."
"I suppose I won't be getting much sleep anymore, then."
"Probably." Kryche paused for a moment as a particularly morbid thought struck him.
"Bookshire, we're at a huge disadvantage in this war. This isn't like the War of the Three Powers. We're going to have disastrous casualties even if we manage to get a ceasefire eventually. The Earthers have us outmanned and outgunned, and we have almost no hope of winning. So I just want to tell you that I might not see you again. The Earthers will probably try to take generals and admirals out first, and that includes me. Whatever you do, please stay safe out there. I don't want us both to die in this horrible war."
"You know how important my work is to me, Kryche. If it comes down to life or death, I will gladly lay down my life so that others can be saved. There is always risk in life. As a soldier, you gave an oath to defend your country. As a doctor, I gave an oath to save lives. It is an oath I will not break, even for a friend. You do your job, and I will do mine."
"I understand. It's just that you're almost like a younger brother to me, and I don't want to see you get hurt."
"Don't be ridiculous. I'm forty-two years old and my son is a grown man. I don't need or want to be looked after. Maybe in your heart you still see me as a young boy reading medical magazines, but that was thirty years ago. Don't worry about me."
"I understand. We have to do what we have to do. In case I die, it has been a great pleasure knowing you, and I give you my best wishes. This will be my last call until the war is over. The hopes of Mobius ride on all of us. Let us do our people proud. Goodbye, Bookshire."
"Goodbye, and good luck."
"Just one more thing."
"What is it?"
"Tell your son that my name is pronounced 'kree-chay', not 'crikey'."
"I will do that. Godspeed, old friend
Kryche put the receiver back on the hook and smiled inwardly. In such dark times, he was glad to have such a good friend. He wondered how many people would lose friends on both sids in the coming war. He was not sure he wanted to know.
--
The bar was almost empty when Rex walked in. The threat of conquest and death had quelled any levity among the people on Orbital Station 12. Most people were in their quarters calling family members to say that they loved them, keeping track of developments in the war, or just despairing. He wanted to be away from all the gloom and dread. He saw a thin young hedgehog with fur the color of rust leaning against the railing near the observation dome window at the far end of the bar, a metal cane hooked on the rail beside him. The kid wore a partially unbuttoned white shirt, dark slacks, and loafers and he stared out the window down at Mobius, not making a sound. He looked terribly lonely.
Forgetting about getting a drink, Rex walked up beside the young man, and put a hand on his shoulder. The youth turned to look at him with the most intense blue eyes Rex had ever seen, but didn't say anything.
"Hey," said Rex. "What's your name?"
"Adrian. Adrian Spencer."
"My name's Rex Christensen. I thought you looked like you needed someone to talk to."
"I see your uniform. Soldiers intimidate me. Besides, I've seen you with that Riptos Calavera guy and I don't like him at all."
"Wait, you're the guy who sent the distress call from the freighter, aren't you?"
"Yes."
"What's your problem with soldiers? If it weren't for my squadron you wouldn't be alive right now."
"Because they treat us spacers like dogs, that's why. They're always stopping us at checkpoints, rummaging through our cargo, and questioning me about every tiny detail of what goes on in the ships I serve on while giving me this horrible stare that seems to burn through my head."
"I don't think it's fair to judge people you know nothing about."
"I think I get to know plenty about them while they grill me."
"When we're doing our job we have to be like that. Riptos is my best friend, and my first encounter with him in OCS involved him screaming at my class about how we were all a bunch of worthless shits who would never amount to anything. He rarely seemed to have anything nice to say, never missed an opportunity to put someone down, and said everything so loud that he became hoarse in five minutes. I thought he was the biggest asshole in the world. But I did what he told me to do, gave him the respect that he demanded, and didn't raise a fuss, because I didn't want to take any more abuse from him than I had to. But the day of my graduation, he took me aside, put his arm around me, and told me that he was proud of me and that I was the best cadet he ever trained because I worked hard, did my job, and didn't blow up at him or try to get back at him. I remember how shocked I was to discover that not only did he not think I was a worthless slime, but he actually was quite fond of me. I felt really great to know that he really was a nice guy and did care about me, and at the same time felt guilty for thinking he was such a jerk. Most soldiers are really decent people, and once you actually get to really know one--outside of his work--you'll see that for yourself."
"I guess that does make a lot of sense."
"See? We're not that bad. Now just relax. You've been all tensed up since even before I started talking to you. Are you always like this?"
"You could say that. I'm feeling especially rotten now because Dr. Draftwood decided to give me a ten-minute lecture on why I should change careers. He probably has the best intentions and was really kind when I was moaning and bitching about how everything hurt and I couldn't get up, but I was ready to explode when he got on his high horse and started telling me what to do in my life."
"Ah, Bookshire. He's a friend of mine. He's a friend of everyone's. Riptos and him are really close; they go back twenty years at least. He doesn't mean to seem patronizing when he does that preaching. Sometimes he just lets his ego get the better of him. Everyone has their foibles, even doctors. But believe me, when you're sick, he's the best friend you could ever have. How many friends do you have?"
"Not many. I've got a few human friends from Earth because a human family took me in when I was only a few days old. Particularly dear to me is my first doctor, Jacob Roth. He was a really entertaining guy, and really cool. I've been pretty much alone since I turned 18 and went to Mobius. I had a girlfriend but she dumped me because she apparently got fed up with me disappearing for three months and then coming back in a miserable shambles. Never mind that it was with my money that she was able to afford all those expensive baubles she liked to buy."
"Well, I can see why you don't have many friends. You don't give yourself a chance to warm up to people. You're always thinking that other people think you're worthless, and when anyone does or says something that rubs you the wrong way, you treat it as a confirmation of your suspicions no matter what the person's really like. You're always building walls around yourself. No, please don't turn away. I'm not saying this to be mean. Come on, let me buy you a drink."
"I don't drink. The last time I had alcohol, I woke up in the back of my car with a strange man rubbing my tail. They say my screams for help could be heard from two blocks away."
"Oh, come on, there's hardly anyone here. No one will spike your drink. And if anyone did, I would beat his ass down. So just relax and have a beer. It will help you come out of your shell."
"I prefer liquors. Beer tastes awful and you need so much of it to get buzzed that you end up looking like Jabba the Hutt if you drink it regularly."
"What reason do you have to worry about getting fat? Look at yourself. I can see the ridges on your breastbone. You're so skinny it's unhealthy. But I'll buy you something else if you want. What would you like?"
"Scotch on the rocks."
"Can you walk well by yourself yet or should I help you?"
"My legs are still a little weak, but I can manage it myself."
Rex nodded, but still stood a little closer to Adrian in case he fell. The young man picked up his cane, but just as he let go of the railing so he could walk over to the counter, his legs buckled as his entire weight fell upon them. He cried out for help as he fell backwards. Rex instantly caught him in his arms. Adrian leaned against him for a few moments, panting heavily, before he put the end of the cane on the floor and pulled himself upright.
"Thanks a lot," said Adrian.
"No problem. But after that little performance, I think I'll help you walk whether you want me to or not."
"Fine." Adrian flicked his eyes over to glare at a tall fox sitting at the counter, who was sniggering quietly, apparently hoping Adrian wouldn't notice. The man stopped laughing immediately.
"What were you looking at?" said Rex.
"I was giving some jerkoff a dirty look. He apparently thought I wouldn't hear him laughing at me. I don't like being made fun of."
"You've got to be less sensitive, Adrian. People wind you up because they know you'll get mad at them and blow up. Don't give assholes what they want. Grow a skin. Don't let the bastards get you down."
"So you just want me to stand there and take it?"
"That's exactly what I want you to do. If you don't give them the satisfaction of seeing them freak out, they'll stop giving you shit, and they'll probably respect you more."
"Now you're making me feel stupid."
"You're not stupid. In fact, I think you're quite the opposite. You just need to learn how to keep yourself under control." Rex began to walk him over to the counter.
"It's just so hard when there's always someone who wants to ruin my day."
"You just need to get out more often. Hell, half the people you probably get angry with weren't even being ugly to you--you just perceive them that way. From now on, whenever I'm off duty, I'm going to take you with me and we'll go relax and have fun together. It would be a lot better for you than locking yourself in your room and brooding."
"It doesn't matter, because I'm getting off this station as soon as I'm fit to travel."
"Oh, I'm sorry, I don't think that would be possible anymore. You see, this station is under lockdown by order of Captain Parks. Nobody gets in or out except for fighter sorties and resupply. You're going to be stuck here for quite a while I'm afraid."
Adrian's face fell a mile. "They locked the station down and trapped me here? This is insane! I'm only twenty-one! I have my whole life ahead of me! I don't want to die up here!" Now everyone in the bar was staring at him and Rex.
Rex put a hand behind Adrian's head and rubbed him behind the ears. "Please calm down. It's going to be all right. If things come to the point of Mobius' orbital stations being threatened with destruction, we're prepared to surrender. There are thousands of civilians just like you on these stations. We won't let them die. Trust me."
Adrian tried to calm himself, unclenching his hands. Was this Rex Christensen telling the truth? Was he really safe? He had already shattered so many of Adrian's assumptions and conceits that he didn't know what to believe anymore. Rex seemed like a nice enough person, even though he was dressed in a navy uniform. He decided to trust him. After all, he was stuck here anyway, so he would be better off trying not to drive himself crazy. "Fine," he said. "I believe you. And now everyone's staring at me. I'm such a chump."
Rex snorted. "Lighten up. If you're not thinking ugly things about other people, you're thinking ugly things about yourself. I'm surprised Bookshire didn't keep you in for psychotherapy. Hold on to me. I'll help you up onto the barstool."
Adrian clutched Rex's shirt as the navy officer took his cane and hoisted him up onto the stool. Rex then handed the cane to the bartender. "Could you keep this safe for him? He just got back from working on a space freighter and is still a bit wobbly from being in low gravity for a long time."
"Of course." The bartender took the cane and stowed it under the counter. "What would you like me to do for you, sirs?"
"I'll have a glass of Heineken. Give him a scotch on the rocks. I'll pay for both of them."
"Is he a friend of yours, Lieutenant Commander? I haven't seen him before."
"I just met him, but he needs a friend, so I'll be one for him. Maybe then he'll be able to calm down for once."
The bartender chuckled. "A good idea. I'll have your drinks in a moment."
Rex patted Adrian on the shoulder. "See? Relax. They're not going to bite your head off or anything." He briefly rubbed the back of Adrian's neck with his thumb, kneading the muscles through the young man's collar. He could feel the tension in them release slightly.
"Here you are," said the bartender as he handed Rex and Adrian their drinks.
"I suppose your life these past few years has been pretty lousy, huh?" said Rex.
"Yeah. I've had ups and downs, mostly downs."
"You know, most of the unhappiness in your life is of your making."
"Maybe."
"I get the feeling that your job is a major source of your troubles. I actually considered the job once and researched it, so I know how much it sucks. It's hot, the hours are horrible, it's filthy, and every year you're stuck with a completely different ship and crew so any friends you make are lost. It's also why you need that cane to get around. It's damaging both your mental and physical health."
Adrian looked down at his drink. Being dumped by Nadia was still a sore spot for him, so he wasn't happy to have another person criticizing his choice of careers, but the guy did have a point. He looked over at Rex, who had finished his beer and was ordering another one.
"I was wondering," said Rex to Adrian again. "What made you pick that job."
Adrian sighed. "You know how the type of high school you go to is determined by a test you take at the end of primary school? I didn't study enough for that test or I didn't care enough, or something, hell, I don't even remember why--but for whatever reason, I got a really low score. They put me into a low-level high school where all the dimwit kids went. I did pretty well there, but when I graduated and tried to get into college, they told me that I couldn't get into college because I didn't get into a good enough high school."
"So what? Lots of people never go to college and they don't end up slaving away aboard a flying hellhole."
"The humans who had adopted me were fairly well-off, upper-middle class, they have a nice house and big flashy car and never seem to worry about money, and I was so used to that that I wasn't, and perhaps I'm still not able to really accept being poor. Wages for tradesmen have gone so far down the toilet now that they're no better off than the guy who bags your groceries at the supermarket, so I sought a good living by doing a job that paid well because it was so awful that no one would ever accept less for it."
Rex reached forward as the bartender handed him another drink. "So you basically put yourself through hell because you want to live like your folks."
"That's about the size of it."
"Well, there's probably half your trouble right there. You don't regard your job as a worthy endeavor or something to be proud of. You see it as a paycheck. And you'll sacrifice your health and dignity to make more. That's a bad way to look at your job. You're making yourself the next best thing to a prostitute. How can you look in the mirror every morning?"
"What do you want me to do?"
"I want you to find a job that means something to you, even if it doesn't pay well. Don't try to chase the almighty dollar, because if you do it will fuck you and make your life a nightmare. In fact, there's even still a way for you to go to college."
Adrian's ears pricked up. "What is it?"
"The officer training corps. The military puts you through college and gives you a dorm and blah blah blah, and in return, you serve for eight years as a military officer in a billet related to the field you chose."
"I don't know if I could do that. Sure, I can get over my grudge against soldiers. But actually becoming one? I'm not cut out to fight. The idea of combat for me is terrifying."
"Probably the majority of the men in the armed forces will never have to fire at anyone. There are plenty of jobs that don't involve combat. You could be a communications officer. You could be an engineer. You could even join the medical corps and stop people from dying. You know that doctor on Earth that you had such a friendship with? You could be like him, or if you're not willing to get a full MD, get a bachelor's degree and become a physician assistant, which is pretty close. Instead of slaving away for a company in conditions unfit for a slave, you could be important."
"I never thought of that," said Adrian. "I'll think about it. I've never really amounted to anything in my life so far. Perhaps it would be a good idea."
"See? That's the spirit. The instructors are also a bit nicer in fields where you don't have to learn to kill people. They don't shout cuss words in your face and punch you in the gut when you screw up. By the way, you still haven't drunk that scotch."
"Oh." Adrian downed the shot of whiskey in one gulp, the liquid burning his throat. He had forgotten what drinking alcohol was like.
"It should kick in in a few minutes. Considering how skinny you are, you probably won't need another. You should see a human drink. They often need three or four before they really feel anything."
"I'm aware of that. My parents would sometimes drink on special occasions."
"Would you like another?"
"No, that will be enough."
Rex pulled out his wallet and paid the bartender, and then helped Adrian down. "Now I think we should go somewhere quiet so you can unwind."
"Somewhere with a nice warm bed would be nice."
"I could take you to my quarters. I share it with Riptos, but he's out on patrol and won't be back for another few hours."
"It's his room as well as yours, and I don't want to intrude on it without his permission as well as yours. I rented a room for myself right around here. Let's go there instead."
"Sure."
"I want to thank you for striking up that conversation and buying me that drink. I was wrong about you. You're a really nice guy."
"It's no problem, really. I'm free for the rest of the day because my fighter wasn't fit to fly today. Those things break down all the time."
Adrian stopped as he approached the door to his room. He swiped his keycard through the reader and then opened the door. Adrian walked over to his bed and not so much climbed as fell into it, exhaling slowly and closing his eyes for a few seconds. He unbuttoned his shirt and removed it, putting it on a chair next to his bed, and then removed his shoes and socks. He stretched out on the bed as Rex sat in a reclining chair across from him. Rex decided to strip down to the waist. Keeping all of his uniform on might make Adrian nervous.
"Oh, this feels good," said Adrian. He never liked to be drunk--he would invariably get sick if he drank enough to get stupid, but did enjoy the euphoria that came from a small amount of alcohol. The tension had left him, leaving a warm glow that seemed to fill every part of his body. "All that's missing is a cute girl to give me a foot rub."
Rex chuckled. "Thank goodness you didn't ask for another drink, or you'd probably ask me to do it."
"I wouldn't object if you did."
Rex smiled. He liked seeing Adrian finally enjoying himself. Adrian seemed to revel in it, as if real happiness and fun were something new and exciting. Perhaps they were for him. Hell, Rex thought, I would even rub his feet if he would be like this more often. We'd probably regret it when the booze wears off though.
"Hey, Rex? I was wondering, did you grow up on Mobius? I suspect that you didn't."
"That's correct."
"Figures. I could tell by your accent. I grew up in Alabama, and sometimes my parents would take me with them on vacation to Florida. A lot of the people there had the same kind of accent you have."
"Yep, I'm from Florida. You're a clever boy."
Adrian chuckled. "A lot of the people who've interviewed me for jobs assumed I was slow because my school performance wasn't so great. A few of them were quite surprised by how sharp I really was. Shame on me for being so lazy when I was in school."
"Too bad you can't go back and fix things, huh?"
"Yeah. What was your childhood like?"
Oh shit, Rex thought. The bizarre story of how he came to be who he was not one he liked to tell. It was a story of crime, deception, and pain. Lots of pain. But he couldn't keep a secret from the kid, who was fast becoming his friend. Besides, Adrian was smart enough to see right through him if he were to lie. He decided to tell it straight.
"I originally wasn't a Mobian. I was born a human to human parents. I spent the first fifteen years of my life as a human. Some kid named Brian Carson wanted me to test his new science project. He claimed it was a teleporter. I didn't believe him, but I decided to humor him. It turns out that he didn't build it and it wasn't a teleporter. I got stuck in the machine for three days. I don't remember anything that happened inside it, but when I was finally found, they said I was lying naked in a pool of organic gunk, unconscious. It turned out that the machine had disassembled and reconstructed me as a hedgehog. The organic gunk was about 80 pounds of me that was left out in the process. And then it turned out that Brian Carson was not Brian Carson, but a rat named Skamper who was a crony of the infamous career criminal Takeo Sekaro. The machine was built by another criminal named Dr. Ivo Robotnik. I was a human guinea pig for their prototype nanoassembler. I'll spare you the details of what happened to them, but let's say their careers are over."
"That's perhaps the most fucked up thing I've ever heard in my life."
"It's the truth. I can even show you my birth certificate to prove that I was once human."
"So what was it like when you woke up as a hedgehog?"
"It was the worst time of my life. I spent almost a year in the hospital re-learning how to do all the basic functions of life in a body a third the size of my old one, and then I had to prove to all my friends that I was still me. Even then, a lot of my friends didn't want to associate with Rex the Freakhog anymore. Even my father had a hard time accepting me as a hedgehog sometimes. I was as messed up as you are, if not more."
"That sucks, man. Sorry to hear that."
"Oh, don't worry about it. Worry about your own life. You have enough worries already."
"I would just die for an ear rub right now."
"Are you all right? Most people don't ask me to do things like that."
"It's the alcohol talking. I've always enjoyed being touched, and drink makes me feel a whole lot less inhibited."
"So you're not gay at all then."
"I wouldn't completely rule out men, but it's generally not my thing. But alcohol does make me horny and more likely to see a guy that way." Adrian looked at Rex's chest for a few seconds. "Yes, I do have an attraction to you right now. That's because I react very strongly to booze. I won't make any advances on you, don't worry. Oh Jesus, this must've been a bit more than one shot. I'm going to feel this the next morning."
Rex decided Adrian's momentary crush was harmless. He seemed more interested in chilling out than anything else anyway. "Sure, I'll give you your ear rub," said Rex. "Hell, I'll give you a foot rub."
"Thanks."
"You're welcome. I don't really mind your feelings all that much. Now when real gay person who's perverted even when he's sober gets drunk, now that's scary."
"You know one?"
"Yeah, he flies for our squadron. The advances he makes when he's sober are just teases. It's when he's drunk that he really gets serious. They don't let him into the bar anymore."
Adrian chuckled briefly and closed his eyes as he felt Rex's fingers sliding between his toes. His laugh trailed off into a soft purr of pure contentment. He had never felt this good in years. For once, he was completely free of anxiety, just enjoying the moment. The euphoric feeling was trailing off into an incredible feeling of tiredness. His eyelids drooped and he became less and less aware of Rex kneading the soles of his feet. He had no idea how long he had lain there before finally falling into a wonderful, restful sleep.
Rex looked down at Adrian, who was now fast asleep. He felt glad to have helped the young man come out of his shell, if only for a few hours. He smiled as he pulled the covers over the sleeping hedgehog. He put on his undershirt and uniform jacket, and left Adrian alone in the room.