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Fal’ran rotated the canister and found ‘Squad M’ labeled on the back in thick ink right above a wide black smear where something else had been crossed out. “It’s our totem.”
“That’s our totem?” Bar’in peered at the roughly foot-long cylinder. “I thought it’d be bigger.”
“I thought it’d be smaller.” Fal’ran weighed the thing in his hands. “And lighter.”
The Trial involved four squads pitted against each other. Each squad received their own totem and was assigned a starting zone in the arena. The goal was to take, by force or cleverness, every other squad’s totem and bring all four to the fifth zone that represented Klah’Eel territory.
“Are they all the same?” Bar’in took the totem from Fal’ran, made a face at the weight, and passed it to Tar.
“Yup.” Patrick pointed at the canister’s underside. “Accept for that little label there.”
“Why did the brass give you a hard time when you picked it up?” Fal’ran accepted the totem back from Sazahk after he’d had his obligatory turn touching it.
Smith pressed his lips together and his scent receded. “General Yal’rest wanted to give our slot in the Trial to a squad of new recruits from eastern Klah.”
Fal’ran felt Tar and Bar’in shrink beside him and that, more than the insult, made him bare his teeth. “That’s bullshit.”
“That’s what I said.” Smith pointed at him. “We didn’t spend a month training and a week building platforms in trees to give our slot to some spoiled politicians’ kids from eastern Klah. They can wait their fucking turn like the rest of us.” He clapped his hands together. “Now, let’s get breakfast.”
Fal’ran tucked their totem into the main pocket of his pack, and they all filed out of the tent after Smith.
“Form up,” Smith barked as they stepped into the ordered chaos of a mobilizing military camp. They fell into position: Smith in front, Fal’ran and Sazahk behind him, Bar’in and Tar behind them. Fal’ran focused on keeping his pace and his heart rate even as they wound through the tents towards the mess hall.
Countless other squads marched past and around them, some whooping and hollering, some shouting calls and responses, some grim-faced and serious. Klah’Eel officers drove around on land cruisers with humans in their own pocket-filled fatigues, and qesh wearing the sleek, skin-tight uniforms of the Qeshian army. Low altitude cruisers roared overhead, and above them ships droned as they hovered high in the air, with a view of all ten of the Trial arenas.
Bar’in, Tar, and Sazahk still oozed nerves, but Smith’s sharp, confident exuberance overpowered them all. Fal’ran inhaled it deeply and adrenaline surged through his veins. He let out a laugh and Smith threw a grin back at him at the sound. They locked eyes for a moment, and Fal’ran’s heart rate spiked again.
He was so ready for this.
When they arrived at the mess hall, Fal’ran pushed Bar’in and Tar ahead of him in their single file line to be closer to Smith. The scent of their leader’s confidence would soothe Bar’in, maybe even get him as excited as Fal’ran, and Fal’ran hoped some of it would rub off on Tar, even if he couldn’t smell anything. Smith grinned at Tar when Tar stepped up beside him and clapped him on the back. He leaned over and said something to the giant klah’eel and Fal’ran saw Tar’s shoulders loosen down his back.
“How you doing there, Sazahk?” Fal’ran put a hard-boiled egg on the skinny qesh’s plate as they went through the line.
“Fine.” Sazahk put the egg back and picked out his usual piece of fruit. “I believe our preparations are the best we could have devised, given the time, circumstances, and resources available. I don’t want to say more than that given the present company.”
They both shot a glance at the klah’eel from an opposing squad behind them, though he seemed lost in his own head.
“And I think despite General Yal’rest’s personal vendetta against Patrick, our squad is more than on par with the others and should have no problems performing adequately.” Sazahk shrugged as they came to the end of the line and picked up his tray.
“I like your confidence, Sazahk.” Fal’ran bumped him with his elbow as they followed Smith to a table. He really did like Sazahk’s confidence, baffling as it was. Sazahk’s belief resulted from a logical equation: if this and this, then that. No emotional baggage required.
Fal’ran dragged his own confidence from deep in his soul and attacked the world with it. He didn’t allow for the cracks of doubt or logic. He couldn’t afford to. He glanced at Smith as they all scarfed their food. Smith was like that too, at least a bit. He wore his confidence like armor he had labored over for decades and polished to a gleaming shine. He had Goddamn earned it. Fal’ran pushed his cleared plate away and drew the back of his hand over his lips and tusks. He’d earn his own confidence like that one day. He’d show everyone what he was capable of.
“Alright, let’s move out.” Smith stood as soon as Tar swallowed his last bite of egg.
They cleared their plates and jogged back out of the mess hall in formation. When they crossed the tree line, the noise of the camp dropped, muffled by the huge leaves of the jungle. Tar gave a sigh of relief as they jogged, twigs and leaves crunching under their boots, and Fal’ran didn’t blame him. The energy in his veins simmered to something more sustainable.
“As you may have all noticed, we’ve got an audience.” Smith pointed into the sky as they passed through a clearing, and Fal’ran glanced up to see a Klah’Eel low altitude cruiser hovering above them. “But I don’t want you to worry about them. I want you to focus on what we’re doing.”
Easier said than done.
They stopped under the first Yelt tree of their base and gathered around Smith.
“So, here’s what we’re dealing with.” Smith pulled a palm-sized tablet from his pocket and tapped his thumb to it. A three-dimensional hologram of the arena appeared over the screen, visible even in the bright morning sunlight streaming through the canopy.
“That’s a fancy toy.” Bar’in leaned around Tar for a better look.
Smith shot him a smile. “It is. Gift from an old friend who’s a Qeshian Emissary’s bodyguard.” He jerked his chin up at the sky. “She’s probably on one of those ships right now.”
