— Interlude —
Sotto Voce
In an undertone (i.e. quietly)
Two tents stood side by side beneath the shadow of two withered trees that clawed at the sky with twisted, skeletal branches. The trees, brittle and lifeless, seemed desperate to escape the planet's inhospitable grasp, reaching upward as though yearning for deliverance. The tents themselves were crude constructions, patched together with an odd juxtaposition of tattered, ornate fabric and rough strips of animal hides, their mismatched textures bearing silent witness to their makers' resourcefulness. Arranged in a cross pattern, the tents faced one another with their entrances aligned, while a roaring fire blazed at their center.
It wasn't miraculous that the barren land yielded enough dry wood and kindling to sustain the flame, but its existence brought a fleeting vitality to the desolate landscape. The fire's warm, flickering light cast long shadows and painted the surroundings in hues of orange and gold, a rare touch of life in a place that seemed long forgotten by it.
The dancing glow illuminated a figure seated against one of the gnarled tree trunks. A young man with an athletic build gazed intently into the crackling fire, his amber-toned skin catching the shifting light. His armor, once a gleaming silver alloy, now bore the dull marks of years of wear and countless battles. The silver plates, connected by thick black piping, encased his chest, waist, arms, and legs in a seamless and practical design. Beneath the armor, a black combat suit clung tightly to his form, stretching from the thin choker at his neck down to his feet. Despite the rigidity of the plating, the armor allowed for surprising flexibility, as evident in the relaxed posture of the young man's outstretched legs crossed at the ankles, his boots resting near the fire's edge.
"Hey, kid!" A gruff, familiar voice rang out from within one of the tents.
The young man shifted uncomfortably at the sound, his posture stiffening slightly. His arms crossed tighter over his armored chest, and his head tilted just enough for the small bundle of decorative hairbeads tucked behind his left ear to catch the faint breeze still lingering from the earlier storm. The beads clicked softly together, a subtle counterpoint to the roaring fire. Thick shoulder-length brown hair framed his face, his long, unruly bangs partially veiling piercing green eyes. Those eyes, catching the firelight in brilliant reflections, betrayed no warmth—only an icy, unwavering focus as they remained fixed on the flames.
"I know you can hear me, boy!" the older man's voice bellowed again, the tent quivering with his movements. "I thought I sent you out for better rations before we left?!"
The young man tilted his head back against the rough bark of the tree, his piercing green eyes fixed on the flickering flames with an air of detached coldness. The musky breeze that swept through the camp stirred the pendant hanging from the choker around his neck, causing it to tap softly against his chest plate. The ruby-hued adornment—a magatama design embedded with three small, shimmering jewels—marked him unmistakably as a fledgling Hunter. Though the draft carried the foul stench of decay, which briefly wrinkled his nose, he remained motionless, his gaze unwavering.
A commotion from the nearby tent broke the silence. His attention shifted briefly toward the source of the gruff voice. The tent's porthole opening quivered as its occupant awkwardly backed out, his rear emerging first in an ungainly display. The older man grunted and cursed, his stiff frame ill-suited for the cramped space. It was a wonder the flimsy structure hadn't collapsed under the strain. His eyes flickered to the scene for only a moment before returning just as quickly to the fire, uninterested in the spectacle.
Finally free of the tent's grasp, the older man fastened its flap with exaggerated care. Crawling across the dusty ground, he grumbled under his breath while juggling an awkward assortment of items: emergency rations tucked under one arm, another ration pack clenched between his teeth, and two sheathed swords precariously pinned beneath his other arm. Despite his clumsy movements, his rugged build betrayed his capability. Beneath his threadbare trench coat, lightly armored garb hugged a frame that still exuded strength, even in age. His scruffy salt-and-pepper hair was a spiked mess, partially hidden beneath a gray bandanna, and a patchy stubble on his square jaw gave him a grizzled appearance that made him seem older than he might have been—or claimed to be.
As he approached the base of his chosen tree, the older man spat the ration pack onto the ground and let out a dry chuckle. "Yeah, bud. I got it," he said, feigning exasperation as his dark hair beads swung wildly, catching the firelight. "Thanks for offering, though."
The younger man didn't respond. He sat silently, his armor-clad frame a stoic counterpoint to the older man's noisy struggle.
Flopping down against the tree opposite him, the older man finally set his burden down. A thin leather cord slipped free from his coat, allowing a pendant similar to the one across from him to flash brilliantly in the fire's glow. It marked him as a full-fledged Hunter, its embedded jewels catching the light like tiny stars. As he sorted his supplies, brushing dust and filth from his coat, he glanced at his companion.
"Hey Kaz'," he older man asked while arranged his supplies around him. He settled in and dusted a bit of the dirt and caked-on grime his coat seemed to collect from their earlier adventure.
The young Hunter called 'Kaz' glanced over the dancing flames to watch his mentor open one of the rations. He slowly pulled out a long, pale, cream-colored insect. Its wormish, alien-like body had turned almost translucent from sitting in the bag of preservative liquid within the container. The older Hunter turned his nose up and scowled at both the sight and the smell of the foul creature. The young man watched as he closely examined the long, dead insect with both hands as if he was both afraid to touch it and also contemplating how he was supposed to eat it.
"This can't be Mycian standard," the older man muttered as he took one look at the creature's head and face with a furrowed brow. "Yeah, I'm not starting with you..." his thoughts escaped as he stared in the insect's ghostly, opaque eyes and quickly twisted the creature around the opposite way to avoid the ghoulish image. He twisted the creature around, inspecting the other end as though it might prove more palatable. Leaning in to take a bite, he hesitated, his face twisting in renewed disgust. "...Yeah, that doesn't seem much better."
He slowly looked over to the young man with an expression as pale as the vermin in his hands. "I don't suppose the fearless apprentice, Kazon Locke, would have any objections to such a..." he paused mockingly as he wiped away a bit of the goo that had dripped from the carcass onto his lap with a gulp, "….'delicacy'."
The younger man met his mentor's eyes briefly, his expression unreadable, before turning his gaze back to the fire.
"Yeah, I figured as much," the older man sighed, crestfallen. "Lighten up, will ya? I know you think it's dumb we're here, but we need the Kem." He tapped his pendant for emphasis. "We can't afford to take any more useless jobs."
"This is a useless job, Ouspi..." the younger man finally replied, his tone low and cutting, his words blunt and unwavering.
The older man exhaled sharply, his jaw tightening for a moment before a rueful chuckle escaped him. "You've got a mouth on you, kid," he muttered, shaking his head as he returned his attention to the offending insect in his hands.
Ouspi's steel-gray eyes, weary but sharp, met Kazon's dark, unflinching gaze as he lowered the ration onto his lap. A sly grin spread across the older man's face, betraying his amusement at his apprentice's sharp retorts. "I guess that means you don't want your space bug then?" he teased, lifting the grotesque insect as though it were a prized artifact. Tilting its morbid, morbid featureless face toward the younger man, he added with mock solemnity, "That's a shame. He sure seems pretty upset that you keep flaking on him, Kaz'…"
"…Stop calling me that," Kazon snapped, his icy glare cutting through the fire's haze with an edge of contempt.
Ouspi chuckled softly, dropping the theatrics as he twisted the bug around to inspect it. Brushing aside some of its floppy legs for a better grip, he quipped, "Can't blame you, Kaz'. This thing looks worse than my cooking."
Kazon's expression darkened further as he watched Ouspi's antics. The older man's disregard for his irritation was frustrating, but Kazon knew better than to voice further objections—it would only encourage him. He sat silently, annoyance simmering, as Ouspi leaned in to take a bite from the pale insect's sticky, translucent body. With a grimace, the aging Hunter bit into the center of the creature, snapping it in half with an audible squelch.
Ouspi leaned back against the tree, his mouth full of the bitter, slimy insect. He tried to focus on chewing, willing himself to endure the experience, but no amount of determination could mask the disgust that overtook his scruffy face. Each gnash of his teeth seemed to drain what little color remained in his complexion. Finally, he relented, leaning forward with a groan and spitting the gelatinous clump of "meat" into the fire. The flames hissed and flared as they consumed the foul mass, embers scattering into the air.
The flames hissed as they seared the offending clump, the fire's glow momentarily intensifying and sending a spray of embers into the air. Kazon's expression hardened at the sight, his scowl deepening as the embers danced in the firelight.
Ouspi coughed harshly, scrubbing his tongue with a gloved hand in a futile attempt to erase the foul taste. "Blech…" he muttered, his grin returning despite the ordeal. "Too bad you didn't find any water holes around here…"
Kazon's glowing green eyes locked onto Ouspi, his expression flat and unamused. He held his mentor's gaze for a moment before lowering his focus back to the flames, unimpressed by the older man's antics.
Ouspi slouched against the tree trunk, letting out a disappointed sigh. He'd hoped for some reaction, but Kazon's stoicism proved unshakable as always. Still, Ouspi chuckled to himself, finding humor in the one-sided exchange. "Y'know," he started, his tone light and teasing, "I've known you for five years now. Don't you think it's time to change up the whole 'tough guy' act?"
He grinned, shrugging nonchalantly. "You're never gonna get a girlfriend, you know?" he added with a laugh, his voice dripping with mock concern.
Kazon didn't respond. He simply fixed his mentor with a cold, piercing stare, the firelight catching in his unblinking green eyes. The intensity of his glare seemed to bore straight through Ouspi, a silent reproach far sharper than any words.
Ouspi and Kazon had shared countless one-sided conversations like this over the years, all ending in much the same way. Ouspi, ever the prankster and life of the party among the Hunters back home, would prod and joke, while Kazon remained stoic, keeping his thoughts locked tightly inside. It was simply who they were. Ouspi couldn't recall a time when Kazon had been particularly outspoken—except when a job struck him as particularly pointless. Missions that stranded them on desolate planets covered in endless stretches of dead dirt, for example, always brought out his sharp tongue.
Even after taking Kazon under his wing, teaching him the intricacies of their trade, Ouspi had quickly learned how to manage the biting tone and aloof demeanor of his dark apprentice. He'd grown accustomed to the way Kazon's few words often left him uncomfortable, especially when no reply came at all. Over time, Ouspi found ways to navigate the moodiness—mostly by poking fun at it, even if his jokes fell on deaf ears.
"You're a bright kid, Kaz'," Ouspi said suddenly, his tone softer, carrying an unusual note of reflection. The unexpected compliment caused Kazon to cant his head slightly to the side, though he was careful not to make his surprise too obvious. "Way smarter than I'll ever be," Ouspi added with a faint grin. "But you still don't know everything...yet." He sighed, long and weary. "I don't know how anyone could handle you sometimes."
"I don't need to be handled," Kazon replied coldly, his words snapping Ouspi out of his musings. The very idea grated on him. "You're in charge. There isn't any deep thought that goes into it," he added, lowering his gaze to the flames. "I just do what I'm told to do… regardless of the circumstances."
Ouspi's expression shifted as those last few words caught his attention. "The circumstances…?" he echoed, raising a skeptical brow.
Kazon stared silently into the fire, the crackling flames filling the pause with an uneasy tension. The quiet lingered like an unwelcome presence, far heavier than any stench the wind might have carried.
"All that matters to me is the job," Kazon said at last, his dark eyes lifting from the fire to meet Ouspi's. "…And I wouldn't have taken this one."
Ouspi shook his head with a resigned sigh. Picking up the two remaining pieces of the insect he'd tried to eat earlier, he tossed them into the fire one by one. The flames flared briefly as they seared the remnants. "I took what the Corporation was willing to—"
"What's so interesting to Tedan Tippedai about this place?" Kazon interrupted, his tone cutting and callous at the mention of their client. "We're Hunters. Surveys should be left to science teams."
"You—" Ouspi countered sharply, his voice brimming with authority, "—are an apprentice. I took the job," he added, jabbing a gloved finger toward himself. "And just like you said, you're going to do what you're told. We are not going through this again..." His gaze hardened as he nodded firmly. "Trust the job, Kaz'. If I've taught you anything, it's patience."
Kazon turned his face away, the defiance clear in the set of his jaw. "Whatever..." he muttered under his breath, his tone dripping with disdain.
Ouspi let the conversation hang in the firelit silence, shaking his head slightly as the flames continued their steady dance between them. He shrugged lazily, shifting into a more comfortable position as he leaned back against the tree. He locked his hands behind his head, creating a makeshift pillow with his arms. "It's not like I have an answer for you anyway," he said with a smirk. "I don't trust Tedan Tippedai any more than anyone else…"
His gaze drifted off into the dark, misty void beyond their campfire, the firelight barely illuminating the jagged outlines of the dead trees. "Maybe they thought there was something dangerous out here?" he mused with a halfhearted shrug. "But we've been out here for hours and haven't seen so much as a fly. So that's not it." Settling deeper against the trunk, Ouspi closed his eyes, the corners of his lips curling into a coy grin. "And if that's the deal, it's easy money, I'd say. So you might as well enjoy the sights."
Silence reclaimed the campsite, broken only by the occasional crackle of the campfire and the mournful whistle of the wind rattling the mangled tree branches overhead. The flimsy tents shuddered softly in the breeze, their fabric flapping weakly against the stillness. The two Hunters remained motionless, each lost in their thoughts as the heavy lull stretched on, widening the unspoken chasm between them.
"…If we had brought the Borobdin," Kazon finally muttered, breaking the stillness, "I could have actually gotten some work done."
"What?!" Ouspi's eyes shot open, his expression a mix of shock and disbelief. He leaned forward so abruptly it seemed he might throw himself into the fire by accident. "The Borobdin thing? Again?!" He pointed an accusing finger at his apprentice, his voice tinged with exasperation. "Kid, this is exactly what I'm talking about! You don't bring Borobdins on a mission like this! Administration would have our heads!"
Kazon unfolded one arm from his chest and gestured toward the surrounding darkness. "I really don't think anyone would notice," he replied dryly, his tone steeped in sardonic defiance.
"It's against the regs'!" Ouspi barked, shaking his head as if to rid himself of the thought. "The last thing I need is that bald-headed, pony-tailed bastard barking up my tree again." He shuddered at the mental image. "Besides, you're just an apprentice. You're—"
"…not ready?" Kazon finished the sentence for him, his voice dripping with venom. His green eyes narrowed into the icy glare that Ouspi had come to dread, a look that cut deeper than any weapon ever could. The firelight danced in Kazon's gaze, making the intensity all the more palpable.
"Don't try to make a case out of this," Ouspi sighed, relenting with a weary shake of his head. "Give it some time."
"You don't even use it," Kazon shot back, his voice sharp and accusing. The bitterness in his words hung heavy in the air, cutting through the crackling of the fire like a blade.
"I have no need to use it," Ouspi dismissed, his voice firm but tinged with weariness having had the conversation so many times before. "Blades are always more versatile for any job than some bulky nuclear cannon. Besides, you're too young to use one anyway."
Kazon's eyes narrowed slightly, though the subtle change went unnoticed by Ouspi from across the campfire. "Gren is barely older than I am."
"He's licensed," Ouspi replied, leaning back against the tree trunk once more.
"Yeah. Today..." Kazon shot back sharply.
"He was due," Ouspi countered with a casual shrug. "We both know that."
"You let him borrow yours two weeks ago," Kazon retorted, his voice rising, pressing the point with unrelenting precision.
"I owed him a favor," Ouspi replied evenly, matching Kazon's escalating tone.
"You owe me," Kazon fired back, his voice now sharp and commanding.
"I'm blacklisted!" Ouspi roared, his frustration finally boiling over. He pushed himself up from the ground with a hollow grunt, towering over the campfire. His arms stretched wide in exasperation as he thundered, "What am I supposed to do, huh?!"
Kazon sat in silence, his expression indecipherable as he stared up at his mentor through the shimmering heat waves of the fire.
Ouspi's gloved hand reached for the cord around his neck, yanking it forward to reveal the black pendant that hung from its clasp. He jabbed a finger at it, his voice trembling with anger and self-reproach. "You don't think I know this hurts you too? You're paying for my screw-ups, and I let you do it every damn day. Tell me how I'm not supposed to notice that?!" His voice climbed to a level it rarely reached, the raw edge of his emotion stark against his usual bluster.
The pendant dropped back against his chest, and Ouspi turned away, disgusted—not with his apprentice, but with himself. Straightening his coat with a harsh tug, he propped himself against the gnarled body of the tree beside his tent, his shoulders sagging under the weight of unspoken guilt.
"The only thing I have left to fight for," Ouspi said quietly, his voice carrying a solemn weight, "is you qualifying for early licensing. And what's that now? A week? Maybe two? You think I want to let you screw that up?" He paused, taking a deep breath as he struggled to steady his tone. "Or let me screw it up for you? Administration and Ghomvak be damned; they see what I see in you. They just don't believe in me."
Kazon's brow furrowed slightly, his gaze falling away from his mentor. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but no words came. The firelight flickered across his tense features, reflecting the unspoken conflict swirling in his mind.
Ouspi shrugged his shoulders, his eyes narrowing with a mixture of resignation and sadness. "I know I owe you. That's the problem. I probably owe you for more than you even know." He let out a bitter sigh. "Taking you in wasn't a favor for either of us," he admitted, his voice low and heavy with reflection. "But I owe you for being the one who's holding you back."
The fire crackled softly between them, its light casting long shadows that danced across the battered terrain. For a moment, neither spoke, the weight of Ouspi's words settling over the camp like a thick, suffocating fog.
Ouspi tried to rein in his frustration as he yanked a dry, brittle twig from the tree's decayed husk. "'Kaz' is as good as Gren', I told them," he said, his tone laced with forced optimism. "Hell, I told them you were better. And that's the only thing I've said in over 20 years that they've actually halfway believed. Not because it came from me—but because they know how good you really are." Ouspi's eyes rolled slightly. "...then you go and and get in your own way by doing your own thing when we are out."
He rolled the twig between his fingers absentmindedly before snapping it in half and tossing the pieces over his shoulder into the fire. Then, as if searching for a distraction to cover his emotions, Ouspi bent forward with a low groan, his body weary from years of strain. He grabbed the two curved blades he had dragged from his tent earlier and planted them firmly in the dirt at the base of the tree. Fumbling slightly, he knocked the white hilts into an "X" formation against the trunk, adjusting them carefully to ensure they wouldn't topple over.
Kazon's gaze fell to the swords as Ouspi pulled a small card from the breast of his coat. The device, with a tiny red globe protruding from one corner, was placed at the base of the tree between the two sheathed blades. With a quick press of a button, several glass-like shapes began to materialize, forming a transparent polyhedron around the base of the tree and encapsulating the weapons. As the shield finalized its formation, the top of the tree wobbled, severed cleanly by the energy barrier, before Ouspi gave it a firm nudge away from the camp.
With a loud crash, the splintered branches and dead wood hit the ground, sending up small plumes of dust. Through the settling haze, Ouspi wiped at the ridge of his nose with a gloved finger, his posture stoic yet weary. "I'm not saying this to change whatever it is in your head that makes you… you," he said quietly, his voice steady but tinged with unspoken emotion. "But don't act like I don't know what I owe you..."
Kazon remained silent, his gaze fixed on the shield that now encased the tree stump and the swords. He seemed unaffected by the fallen timber, his attention drawn instead to the intricate design of the curved blades now locked behind the barrier.
Ouspi turned, ducking into the porthole of his tent, only to pause. Reaching inside, he retrieved a small satchel tucked into one corner. Backing out of the entrance, he tossed the bag at Kazon's feet.
"The wind's picking up again…" Ouspi said, his voice stripped of the emotion it held earlier. "You didn't find any water, but that mud hole you scouted about half a klick south might be the only shot Tedan Tippedai has on this trip." He pulled a small, dark cylindrical object from his front pocket and fiddled with it absently. "Get it done and get some sleep. We're cutting this one short—back to Myce in the morning."
His words were hollow, delivered without conviction. Ouspi retreated into his tent, fumbling with the flap until it was securely fastened. Kazon didn't bother to look at him, his expression as impassive as ever. He listened to his mentor's fading voice with the same cold detachment that seemed permanently etched onto his face.
His focus returned to the swords, now safely encased in the protective shield. The weapons rested in their white lacquered sheaths, their surfaces worn from years of use. Kazon's eyes traced the elegant curvature of the blades and the small, oval engraving on their hilts—a design he had always thought resembled a pill bug. He could almost hear Ouspi's voice calling them his "little pests," a phrase he often used with an odd mix of affection and exasperation.
The fire crackled softly as Kazon continued to stare at the weapons, lost in thought.
Kazon let his arms fall to his sides, rising from the ground with minimal wasted effort—a stark contrast to his less graceful mentor. He cast a brief glance toward Ouspi's tent while brushing away clumps of caked dirt that had managed to wedge themselves between the plates of his alloy armor. Inside the tent, a soft, intermittent light flickered as Ouspi wrestled with his lighter, trying to ignite one of his late-night cigars. The faint silhouette of his mentor fumbling with the ritual—a vice Kazon had always detested—was unmistakable. He scoffed quietly to himself before bending to retrieve the small cloth bag at his feet.
Kazon strode over to his own shelter, ducking inside just long enough to grab a slimline pair of viewing goggles and a sturdy belt holstering a compact sidearm. Both items hung neatly at the apex of the wooden frame, right where he'd left them earlier in the night. Slinging the belt around his waist and adjusting the goggles over his thick, unruly hair, he stepped back out into the night, his movements steady and deliberate.
As he made his way around the campfire and passed Ouspi's tent, Kazon reached out and gave the fabric a firm tap with his gloved hand.
"...don't smoke that whole thing in one night," he said flatly, his tone matter-of-fact, without a trace of humor.
Without waiting for a response, he turned and continued southward, his figure gradually fading from the firelight's warm glow into the dense, encroaching darkness. The soft whir of the goggles resting on his forehead adjusting to the gloom accompanied his departure as the faint rustle of his steps disappeared into the void.