Endpoint: Confluence

By J.W. Griffin

Buckle up and brace for impact.

 

The Endpoint series continues as two forces collide to form the least likely pair in the known universe.

 

Ryan journeys to Centauri to learn who marked Earth for destruction, but he's drawn to a greater mystery in the form of Khattara Eschala, a royal outcast w

• Language: English
• Publisher: John Griffin
• Release date: Jun 8, 2021
• ISBN: 9781733678490

J.W. Griffin

J.W. Griffin has often gazed up into the starry night and imagined a chance meeting someday in an off-world cantina. With a penchant for otherworldly adventure, he is an avid scuba diver and former air cargo captain. Interests in anthropology and religion propelled him through a B.A. from Lewis and Clark College. He draws from these interests and writes with a desire to capture moments that transcend basic human instinct. J.W. Griffin currently resides in Oregon with his family and two rowdy Bouvier des Flandres. Please visit his website at jwgriffin.us and drop him a line.

Book preview

1

Spheres of Reality

Nearly clear, her mind raced ahead; where would she go next?

Long shadows stretched off towers of stone rubble lining the dusty streets of a ghost city. A small form scurried between the high, crumbling piles, just ahead of voices barking like hounds over the evening air. The small form was a Centauri child, and her small feet pattered in time with her dual racing hearts. The girl didn’t know where she was going, but she was desperate for any twist or turn that could lead her away. She could hear the voices behind her; they were growing louder.

She approached a massive building that had once been a factory, perhaps a hundred years in the past. Tarnished metallic sheet panels formed the exterior shell, and rust streaks at points of connection made it look as though the building had wept over the passage of time. An entry bay for large transport vehicles had long since lost its original doors, and the gaping hole led to a darkened interior. The girl surveyed the abyss and glanced back over her shoulder toward the voices before darting inside. Several spots in the three-story-high ceiling had breached open and revealed the first stars in the darkening sky above. Mounds of industrial wreckage littered the floor, and the young Centauri scrambled past, mere seconds ahead of growling silhouettes waving torch lights.

Hot on her tail, the mob of Takers entered and flanked out across the floor expanse in a coordinated effort to surround her. They were closing in, and she realized the distance to the far end of the building was too great; she wouldn’t make it out before they overtook her. But the girl was clever; she’d held a line along the building perimeter wall, and her quick eyes surveyed an enormous, twisted pile of debris just ahead. At floor level, she crawled into the tiniest opening and was obscured beneath it. She scrambled deeper, crab-walking through turns and tight spots until her back came to rest against the factory’s perimeter wall.

Buried under bent rebar, warped pipes, and chunks of concrete, the grimy faced child was none other than Princess Khattara Eschala, or at least she had been. The apple of her father’s eye, weeks earlier she’d enjoyed playing military board games with him, and much to the king’s delight, her natural aptitude with strategy had begun to emerge. He’d often seen her eyes twinkle in victory and gazed lovingly into brown irises encircled with a ring of violet. Those moments were worlds away from her now. Recent events had caused Khattara Eschala to be cast away, and at just eleven cycles old, she was now marooned on this planet called Shorcanton.

With wide eyes, the girl hugged her knees and rocked inside the small pocket. Her chest burned for oxygen, but she dared not breathe. Khattara Eschala heard a dozen footsteps thump past, and only then did she take measured breaths with her head between her knees. Her back rested against the sheet metal of the exterior perimeter wall, and she felt it give a little. As the wall moved outward, the skin of the siding near ground level pulled along the throats of headless rivet fasteners. The child froze rigid at the first screeching sound of metal on metal.

Holding quiet, Khattara Eschala heard excited voices and flashes of reflected light as the torches hunted for her. It grew quiet for a moment, and she strained to hear whether the Takers had passed. Suddenly, the debris above shifted, and many bright lights shone down into her eyes. The mob howled with delight as frenzied hands clawed down toward her.

Khattara spun around and pushed her shoulder further into the loose metal siding. A vertical seam between panels parted, but the opening was too small to crawl through. Bracing with her legs, she shoved harder, but something heavy on the ground outside blocked the panel from bowing further outward. She strained and flexed the triangular end of the sharp metal to and fro. Crimson streaked over the burred edge as frantic fingers pried outward. Pushing with all her might, she’d squirmed part way through when rough hands seized her ankles. Khattara shrieked and bucked as though touched by high voltage. She fought their pull and kicked hard until she broke free. Pushing forward again, she wiggled through an opening that matched the width of her hip bones. Unfettered panic erupted into a feverish scramble on hands and knees out between debris that led to the open street.

Nearly clear, her mind raced ahead; where would she go next?

For the planet’s newest resident, the entire area was a labyrinth of horrors. Through the dim light of two moons, she navigated down alleys and across open space. Khattara Eschala ran and ran and stumbled through many corners and low passages for what seemed like an hour.

She continued until she was sure no one could have held pursuit. As she looked and listened with bated breath, the silence confirmed that she’d lost them; she was safe. With a hand over her upper heart, she felt the drumbeat below, and for a single moment, she allowed herself to sob. Just then, bright lights shone on her from every direction, and at once the mob converged upon their quarry. She screamed as many strong, hurtful hands pawed and pulled at her within their tightening circle.

◊ ◊ ◊

Khattara shot up in bed and cried out, first in terror, then in relief at being out of the nightmare. Under a nightshirt soaked with sweat, she gasped, desperate for more air. Veins across her neck and arms bulged like surging roads on an animated map, and her nostrils flared in parallel with quick breaths. Years earlier, Khattara’s entire body had been surgically laced with strength augments, and glistening muscles now flexed beneath her flesh, hard as steel. Her choppy breath was muffled with short sobs, and her head shook in small quick ticks.

Just a dream. You’re out…You’re here...Be here...Be here now.

A soft glow bathed her bedroom from a small light that had shone throughout every night since she’d returned from Shorcanton, and her eyes caught the reflection of a silhouette in the mirror hanging off the closet door. A warrior wielding a pistol stared back, her hand and arm covered with raised, pulsing veins. Khattara glanced down at her service weapon and only then realized that she was the pistol-wielding warrior in the reflection. Brushing across her lips with the back of a shaking hand, she trilled softly before turning and laying the pistol on the bedside table. The quavering percussion from her breath was a Centauri trait and came from air passing over a separate set of vocal cords; for many of her species, anger or anguish caused these strands in the throat to tighten, so that exhalation produced a trilling sound.

As Khattara’s toes registered the cold floor, she buried lithe fingers deep into her jet-black hair. After a few moments, her heaving breaths diminished, and she peeked out between her palms at the clock. It was earlier than usual, a full four hours before first line call. She stood and held a palm to her forehead.

Shuffling off toward the bathroom, she mumbled in a mechanical cadence, Strengthen the body, strengthen the mind…strengthen the body, strengthen the mind…strengthen…

She would do as she always had, as she’d learned to do over the many years since Shorcanton and the real nightmare that had come just after her rescue. Through vigorous regimens in waking hours, she’d learned to eclipse the memories of dark voices and hurtful hands. In mere moments, the woken warrior dressed and donned running shoes. The main portal slid open, and as Khattara stepped across the threshold, she spoke upward. Lock it up. She secured her hair back tight and began to jog down the hallway toward the stairs.

Nearly clear, her mind raced ahead; where would she go next?

◊ ◊ ◊

The distant echo of a little boy’s shriek caused Ryan to shoot up in his bed and thrust his hand out.

No…don’t!

The silence that followed in his darkened room was like the smothering quiet just after the massacre on Gamma Andoria so many years ago. The memory of the child the Daerk had murdered that day spun over and over into Ryan’s sleeping moments, and in recent days it had recurred with greater frequency. As the glow of dawn grew brighter outside, Ryan’s thumb and forefinger wrenched the stupor of sleep from his eyes. As he glanced around, his mind registered where he was, and his heart rate slowed.

He too was quartered at the Centauri war college, and the gray stone exterior of his four-story building was identical to the one across campus where Khattara resided. It had been so many years since he’d held a room on a planet, and the sensation of being grounded stirred up feelings he’d thought lost to time. Smirking, he shook his head at the predicament. Although driven by mission objectives, Ryan McBain couldn’t halt the sentimental feelings that connected him back through time to his attendance at Earth’s military academy. The parallels caused him to huff aloud. Looking up, he thought, You believe this, Ragn? All at once, his mind was flooded with many fond memories of his dear friend. The joy evaporated just as quickly as the Earth-ending recollections that followed, and the lingering residue caused Ryan’s cheek to tighten. His head bobbed lower. Time to move…keep movin’, McBain.

The moment was interrupted by flashes and vibrations coming from a seemingly possessed tablet beside him on the bed. A stream of text containing schedule reminders, advisories, notes, and status requests rolled in from Violet. Ryan’s smile blossomed as he thought about her way; for hours, Vi had monitored vital stats and waited for him to regain a conscious state.

He squinted at the screen, and his brow crinkled when he saw forty-three individual memos.

Someone’s been busy. Can you highlight and prioritize the important ones for me?

Ryan waited for a moment as the screen refreshed. The messages reappeared in the exact same order, except each was now tagged with a small red flag. He shook his head, smiling.

Well, unless Daerk are bustin’ through the front portal, I’m gonna hit the head and then get somethin’ to eat.

Ryan rose off a narrow mattress in a bedroom with a style that was best described as standard issue. The color of the bare walls was off-white, just like the bedding and fabric drapes. He walked across a cold gray floor made of a vinyl-like material. The single bathroom off the bedroom was institutional, with a small shower, toilet, and pedestal basin. Looking at himself for a moment in the small oval mirror, Ryan wondered how some of the other species would fit in such a small place, particularly the Guarone species attending this academy. The shoulders on those beasts must be five feet wide. He’d later learn there were quarters with differing designs based upon the average physical size of the assigned occupants.

He turned the faucet handle and marveled at the endless stream of running water in the sink of his own private bathroom. As a cadet here, he’d scored what would have roughly translated to officer quarters long ago on his home world.

Minutes later Ryan was enjoying a crumbling, oat-like food that bore a striking similarity to Earth granola. The main room of his quarters was rectangular and split into two sections. A kitchen on one end was separated from a living area by a raised bar. Ryan sat on a stool at the high counter and responded to Violet’s messages between bites. She was a chatterbox of additional directions and reminders about his cover story.

Much of the content repeated itself. Ryan rolled his eyes. I know, yes. He nodded at a map of the campus and the location of his first class. Vi, I got it. I’ve been here for three weeks in off-worlder orientation. I’m good. It’s gonna be OK. Ryan looked down at the tablet, waiting for the response.

Have a good first day of school, Commander.

Ryan smiled. You can be nervous for the both of us.

I am synthetic; I do not do nervous.

As Ryan exited his quarters, he noted long cold stares from everyone shuffling down the hallways and stairwells. His dress and physical appearance as a Paavi could just as well have been a neon sign overhead. He chuckled, thinking how the original purpose of the Eylon Walach persona was to blend in and be anonymous. In the context of a Centauri military academy, there was little he could have done to be more conspicuous. Just after exiting the building, he took a hard shoulder from another passing student. As he continued his morning walk through the campus courtyards, he could feel the stares multiplying.

Although the social environment was less than warm, the open green space was welcoming. Ryan took several large breaths of fresh air as he progressed through the campus. Of all the worlds he’d visited, this planet and its people could have been twins of Earth.

Violet piped into his ear. Your destination is ahead and to the right. It is one hundred and five feet from your present position. Prepare to make a right turn into the entry. Are you prepared to make a direction change? You are on final approach. Do you see your path ahead?

Ryan smiled and shook his head. Vi, I got it, he whispered.

One of the core classes for first year students at the Centauri war college was a section on martial arts that taught balance, defense, and counterattack. Ryan wandered in with other first-year students to a pure white-over-white tiled locker room. An overhead audio recording instructed the students to find class uniforms in individually assigned lockers. The recording continued to provide basic instructions for donning the clothing and advised the group to report outside thereafter for class.

The far end of the changing room led to a central courtyard. Just outside, a squishy, rubber-like surface gave underfoot, and the master instructor stood waiting out in the center. The padded ground tiles had a checkerboard design with red and blue squares, each of which Ryan estimated to be five feet long. The square courtyard was about one hundred and fifty feet across. The instructor bowed as the students approached and introduced himself as Master He’achow. Ryan was compelled to bow in response; his gesture did not escape He’achow and drew side glances from the others.

The master spoke in a low and even tone. In our short time together, we will seek a path that will guide us toward a harmony between body and mind. Our goal is to understand the nature of mindfulness and how it will draw us toward the foundations of greater focus. Ryan stared ahead with a goofy grin. He’achow’s words were like water over parched lips.

The Centauri master was dark-skinned, and his hair stood straight out in one-inch-long kinky curls. He was small in stature, and his soft manner conveyed the subtle essence of balance. He enunciated with measured care over wide lips and the brightest of white teeth. While the teacher’s presence was not at all menacing, the focus of his mannerism led Ryan to believe Master He’achow could more than handle himself in a brawl. Though he did not resemble Ryan’s own former master, Sa Bom Nim Cho, Ryan knew in his heart that the two would have been fast friends.

Master He’achow continued. Together we will discover that focus is a core tenant of inner strength, and strength is a necessary requirement for a proper defense. Let us begin the first lesson together. Our Paavi, Mr. Eylon, is it?

Ryan’s stare ahead broke to make eye contact, and he bowed. Master He’achow smiled pleasantly and bowed in return.

Mr. Eylon, please step forward here.

Ryan stepped forward and stood right in front of the master.

Today we will be practicing basic techniques used to repel non-weapon attacks. We will do so in pairs. As he spoke, Ryan noticed a door open off the building on the far wall behind the master. Ah, that would be our class assistant. For this session, we will be joined by a third-year student who also holds master qualifications. She will be our class teaching assistant helping in your development.

Ryan struggled to hold his jaw closed as he recognized the woman passing through the doorway; it was none other than the Princess Khattara Eschala Menduvalli. Her stride was long but balanced, like the swagger of an approaching panther. Her smoldering gaze was constant and level despite the sway of her gait. Khattara’s eyes were focused ahead on the Paavi, and Ryan swallowed hard as she bowed to He’achow.

Class, this is Khattara. You will address her as Master Khattara and follow her teaching words as an extension of my own.

Ryan pinched his lips together as he bowed. As his eyes rose, he struggled to display an emotionless presence. Her eyes were laser focused into his.

Mr. Eylon, if you would, please execute a swinging lunge at Master Khattara. Class, in response to the attack, she will demonstrate an example of a proper blocking technique, and we will then practice it in pairs. After a moment, He’achow motioned with his head. Mr. Eylon, proceed; you may commence your attack.

Ryan stood with wide eyes, and smoke could very well have come from his ears. He and Khattara stared into each other.

Mr. Eylon?

Ryan’s head snapped toward the instructor’s voice, and he bowed. Master He’achow, forgive me. I’m not accustomed to attacking Centauri royalty. Perhaps if—

Ah, yes; I see. You needn’t worry about that, Mr. Eylon. This is only training. He looked to the Centauri princess. Master Khattara, please, if you would.

She nodded and flashed a wicked smile. You cannot harm me, Paavi boy. Do not swim in fear; I will not hurt you, at least not sufficiently to linger more than a few days.

Her words caused Ryan to crack a small smile. Khattara cocked her head in response, and her temper roiled hotter, like a liquid forming small bubbles toward a boil. Once again, Ryan stared motionless, and the two squared off like gunfighters in a deserted street.

After several seconds, Khattara spoke. Paavi, why do you delay? Are you unable to attack? I’m not sure how you got in here, but if you cannot mount a simple training attack, then you shouldn’t be attending this academy. Delays and hesitation cost lives. Imagine I’m a direct threat to your squad, and you must take me out in order to save them.

Ryan held motionless as he gazed into her glare. Master He’achow’s head cocked as he noted the Paavi standing with balance and control; there was no sign of tremor or change in his even breaths.

Khattara looked to the master. His kind would look on and do nothing as their own were attacked. She shook her head and snarled. Paavi won’t so much as lift a finger in their own defense.

Ryan squinted and tilted his head. Perhaps then as a warmup, the Princess could demonstrate a proper attack upon me. I might in fact find a finger to lift in such an exercise. With the eye opposite He’achow, Ryan bated her with a wink.

Master He’achow stammered, I, uh…well…really don’t think that wise. Master Khattara’s trained, and that would be unusual for—

"It’s OK. The princess will not harm the Paavi boy...at least not permanently." Khattara squinted and stepped forward.

Ryan nodded. The Paavi accepts the princess’ consideration if it pleases the master.

Before He’achow could answer, Khattara sailed into Ryan with a vengeance. Her arms and legs were a blurred fury of fists and kicks. As Ryan backed and blocked, he could feel the subtlety in how she used her strength modifications. To this point she’d demonstrated amazing balance and control, but he saw the hint of something else in her eyes. Her gaze glowed brighter by the moment, fueled by an emotion that was intimately familiar to Ryan— carefully controlled rage.

Ryan could feel Khattara augment her strength with each successive blow, and he labored to block her attacks. She was like an angry hornet’s nest. Her technique was focused, and she varied her approach in the relentless attack. With wide eyes, Ryan continued to block and back away. He countered potentially debilitating strikes to his head and organs, but the force of impact to his extremities would later blossom, revealing multiple subcutaneous hematomas. In each passing second, it became clearer to Ryan that she was the better between them. If he allowed the melee to continue on even terms, he was in big trouble. Adrenaline coursed through Ryan as his mind raced for a method to upend the terms of the engagement. Two hundred years of experience had gifted him with an awareness, and Ryan embraced a pattern intrinsic to his survival: Move in closer to the threat and create an opportunity. In this case, provoking Khattara’s rage was the answer, assuming he could survive it. Ryan grimaced at a vision from the ballpark; the old man was up in the stands eating popcorn and watching intently.

His brows furrowed. Get in closer.

Ryan stopped his retreat and held fast into her fury. After a subsequent block, Ryan snatched Khattara’s wrist and pulled her close. Their eyes connected in a milli-moment that stretched long, and inside its hollows, Ryan swung his shin into her hip. Khattara careened to the ground without taking her eyes from Ryan.

The Paavi had knocked down the Centauri warrior. All eyes from the class were wide watching the spectacle. The temperature of Khattara’s glare rose by a thousand degrees and could well have lit Ryan on fire.

She arched up off the ground in an instant, and Ryan stoked her with another wink. Wide eyes brimming with fury rushed back at him. She rolled in hot with strikes and kicks that would have broken unaugmented bone. The contact between sets of blurred arms and legs made gruesome thuds that echoed throughout the courtyard.

Some of the first-year students gasped and winced at the clashes, while a few others held fingertips over their lips. Everyone froze in place, transfixed by the spectacle.

Khattara hammered down on the Paavi, again and again, until the flood of rage took her slightly off balance. Ryan was hanging on for just such an opportunity. Once again, he shoved her to the ground, and Khattara saw the Paavi openly smile down at her.

Khattara rose and the cycle continued, but this time Ryan followed her to the mat. He pinned an arm behind her back, and she summoned all her mod strength to repel him. Ryan’s fully taxed nanites weren’t enough to hold her, but for a brief moment he was able to whisper close, I know that which blocks you.

Ryan jumped up, and Khattara quickly returned to her feet. Then she growled with a trill and lunged at him. Frenzied blows now sailed in hard and fast with full mod strength. The rest of the first-year students in the class whispered to one another with wide eyes, and Master He’achow inserted himself into the brawl. He called Khattara’s name and caught her swinging arm.

But the fire in her eyes put her elsewhere. Khattara continued without hesitation. Ryan could see her begin to kick around He’achow. Having felt the sting of her boot from their first meeting in the courtyard, Ryan pulled down hard on the moment using the temporal manipulation trick the Maker had taught him. As time slowed, he snatched her foot mid-kick. Then he pushed Khattara’s entire leg into He’achow, shoved the both of them, and released the moment. Ryan watched as the two toppled over and landed in an angry ball.

For the first time, the master raised his voice. Khattara, enough! That’ll be all. Now go! We will speak of this later.

Ryan remained balanced at the ready as Khattara quickly rose to her feet. The instructor remained between them and held his palm up toward her. With clenched fists and a heaving chest, she glared around the master at Ryan. After a long moment, she squinted and turned to walk away. Ryan gently exhaled and slowly blinked.

Two centuries of patterns and convention in Ryan’s mind had just shattered like flawless crystal spreading away from a point of impact. From the first encounter with Khattara in the courtyard, he had sensed the Centauri princess was unique, but this represented something entirely different. She was extraordinary in close combat and far superior to anything he’d ever witnessed.

Even though several parts of his body throbbed in pain, the corners of his mouth blossomed upward into a grin. Holy crap!

Ryan nodded for a moment before closing his eyes and bowing. Holding his palms upward, he spoke a Paavi prayer of thanks and expressed specific gratitude for the ability to slow time. Ryan’s chanting was interrupted by a vision of the old man in the ballpark. The frowning Maker stood, shook his head, and threw his popcorn bag down on the infield. Then the Elder swatted the air in front of him and stormed up the stairs.

Oh, really? You wanna come on down here and do a few rounds with her?

Without looking back, the Maker swatted his right hand down and behind before disappearing into the exit tunnel between the stand seats.

Ryan opened his eyes to see the entire class watching Khattara’s long strides toward the far side of the courtyard. The Centauri warrior glared over her shoulder at Ryan one last time before reaching the portal. She nearly took the mechanical door off its hinges when she opened it.

◊ ◊ ◊

Both her hearts were pounding, and Khattara’s face felt white hot. She was angry and confused, and her blood was loaded with three different types of kertinene. The natural cocktail was a superior Centauri equivalent of human adrenaline and augmented her physiology. One type caused her hearts to beat in stagger and increased blood flow. A second kind caused shape changes in her arteries to accommodate higher fluid pressure and direct more blood flow to her muscles. The third was a chemical that instantly caused the release of a type of stored glucose in her muscle fibers. The result made Khattara feel as though she could levitate in the moment of battle.

How could he repel me? I am not repelled. That does not happen; no one holds me down!

She clenched her fist, screamed, and kicked over a container full of dirty towels. She stood motionless in the quiet that followed and surveyed the result. Khattara nodded for a moment, thinking back on the Paavi’s whispered words.

That which blocks you.

She pursed her lips and turned her head to the side. She held still for a moment with eyes closed and then nodded. Then Khattara bent down and scavenged the towels back up.

Beyond her loss of balance, Khattara had felt the manipulation of time. From some of her earliest memories, she’d had a special temporal sense. Khattara called these dizzy moments time slips or slip-outs, and they seemed to happen when she lost control of her anger.

You let yourself slip out.

She plopped down on a bench and rubbed the lower ribs on her left side. The knuckles on her right fist were numb, as was the top of her left foot. All over her body, she started to feel the aftereffects from blows in the battle moments earlier. She felt flushed and slightly nauseated, and her hands shook with a gentle palsy. She was in the throes of what soldiers commonly called a kertinene hangover. Centauri all felt the same aftereffects, but Khattara was more susceptible. Beginning with Shorcanton, the trajectory of her life regularly put Khattara into situations of fight or flight; as a result, the glands in her body responsible for the release of kertinene were enlarged and overdeveloped. Even with the price of hangovers that had increased in strength over the years, Khattara relished the battle presence she felt under the rush of kertinene.

As she drew even breaths, the moment the Paavi knocked her down once again played in her mind. She could feel a tender spot where he had kicked her. The thought of being injured by a Paavi in combat caused her temperature to rise again. She took a few breaths through the flop sweat and braced with an open palm on the cool metal lockers. An image of the Paavi winking at her flashed to mind, and she rattled her head as though trying to shake loose a pebble caught in a hollow. She shed her robe and pawed with purpose through her locker. Khattara snatched what she needed as her agitation simmered up to a rolling boil. Moments later the front entry door for the master locker room blasted open, and Khattara made double time for the school administration building.

◊ ◊ ◊

After the class was released, Ryan started to move away, and He’achow spoke softly. Mr. Eylon, a word.

Ryan nodded and noted side glances from the other students. He saw them whisper and glance back at him as they wandered toward the locker room.

He’achow turned to Ryan and studied him for a moment. For the past few years, I’ve trained Khattara, and she recently achieved the same fifth-tier master rank as I. She has a unique, natural ability, and in truth, I myself have difficulty repelling her attacks. Some of what you just demonstrated is familiar…other parts new, but all of it was very effective. There’s only one reasonable explanation for your capacity. He’achow bowed. "May I ask in what tradition you’ve trained, Master Eylon?"

Ryan smiled and put his hand over his heart. One from a place and time far from here. I studied under Sa Bom Nim Cho, and I strive to honor his teaching. Ryan bowed. I believe you and my former master would have been friends.

He’achow smiled and bowed his head.

Ryan continued. My tradition is a kindred thread across a galactic fabric of balance and harmony.

Master He’achow thought for a moment and nodded gently. Your training is from an art outside my experience, but one that nevertheless fulfills the basic requirements of this class. It may well satisfy the requirements for your overall training at this institution. I’m going to recommend you for a trial in our simulator and test you out of this class.

Ryan cracked a smile. That would be preferable to another round with Master Khattara.

I’m very sorry. I should never have allowed it. The situation progressed quickly, and I should’ve intervened before it began. I wasn’t expecting her aggressive behavior; she’s never acted in such a way toward a first-year student. I’m not sure what came over her. Master Khattara will receive my counsel as well as considerable time for meditation to better reflect on what occurred here. She’ll also receive appropriate discipline for striking out against a first-year student.

Ryan held up his hand. Please reconsider judgement upon her; no lasting injury resulted from her actions. I’ve been in far worse altercations, ones not simulated.

Really?

Ryan redirected. Well, uh, I’m Paavi; we tend to be targets. Please, if I could make a request: no discipline. Her words suggest she took action based upon concern about a Paavi in attendance here and the perception of a threat to the integrity of the academy. It’s my hope that what just occurred here will serve to change her opinion and become a catalyst that changes behavior.

Master He’achow said nothing in response, projected a polite smile, and tipped his head down.

◊ ◊ ◊

Khattara made a beeline for the main administration building, the oldest structure in the region. Originally utilized as a royal hunting retreat for some distant, deceased relative that Khattara could no longer recall, the entire estate had been repurposed for the military academy. The surrounding property was large enough that it could have been its own governing region; it ran over a thousand miles in two directions away from the main campus. The grounds provided ample room for training.

The main administration building was a four-story masonry structure that had been converted two centuries earlier into administrative offices. Rough-edged, tan stone blocks three feet long by two feet high formed the main walls. The smooth corner columns were made of four-foot cubes of cream-colored stone. The outside-facing edges of the corner columns had three equidistant, vertical grooves carved two inches deep and spanned from a foot off the ground to the eaves. The roof was composed of small black slate tiles, and the building was shaped like a capital L, except that both wings were equal in length. Both wings connected to a center round that had a diameter measuring just under half the length of the wings. The rounded front face of the building had regularly spaced, large windows. Each consisted of many metal-framed, small panes of occluded glass with a finish that resembled roughly chipped ice. Over the years the building had undergone dramatic interior remodeling, and the only original portion was the stonework. Two flights of light-gray cobblestone steps led up to the massive wooden double doors of the central round’s main entry.

Khattara took four steps per leap and put her hips into the swing of the door. The grand entry had a vaulted ceiling, and dual grand staircases wrapped in both directions around the rounded front wall to the second floor. She scrambled up, making a direct line for the office of the school’s commandant, General Bayhden Menduvalli. In this moment, however, Khattara sought more than the leader of the school; she needed the counsel of her Uncle Bayhden.

The general’s chief of staff, Chzu Sandhall, had heard the main door fly open and the first quick steps up the stairs. The cadence revealed who was coming well before he could see her. Popping up from his small desk in the hall outside Bayhden’s door, he shook his head and raised a palm toward Khattara’s rapid approach. Sandhall blurted, Stop! You can’t just barge in there.

She was undeterred and held her gait. He knew better than to attempt to physically block her and instead raced back around his desk. At the same moment, the general’s office door blew open, and Sandhall’s voice crackled through the intercom speaker. Your niece!

Bayhden was reading at his desk, and the barrel-chested man jumped at the coordinated ruckus. Khattara tossed her pack on a dark leather couch and spun around, still holding the door. She smiled at Sandhall standing in the passage just before bringing the door closed.

The general’s large fingers slipped under his impossibly small readers and wrenched into tired eyes. You know, I could’ve been in a meeting. What if I’d been changing clothes? I could have been in the middle of a passionate embrace with a secret lover. Could at least knock.

Yeah…thanks for all the creepy visuals. I’m fine, by the way. How are you? She noted he was wearing a flight suit and looked like an overstuffed sausage in a dark-green wrapper.

Bayhden stood and moved toward her smile. Khattara’s were few and far between but most often spotted in the presence of her favorite uncle.

Presently, I’m in mortal combat with legions of paperwork; it’s the usual nonsense. He approached with massive open arms. To what do I owe the surprise visit?

She winced and grunted under a hug fit for a bear.

Bayhden recoiled with a cocked head. What’s the matter? You injured?

Khattara pursed her lips. There’s a Paavi here.

Bayhden smiled as he turned and moved back toward his desk. Ah, yes; so I’ve heard. Apparently, he’s skilled in the combat arts, but I guess you already know that.

Khattara’s face tightened as she scowled. How—

I see everything! I’m like a khaythal. That’s why I’m the big boss. Bayhden beamed and chuckled in self-satisfaction.

Bardthol. You mean you see everything like a bardthol. If you’re going to taunt, please do it properly. On Centauri a bardthol was a type of raptor with enhanced nocturnal vision similar in capacity to an Earth owl. A khaythal was a large and fierce creature that looked like a six-legged polar bear; while khaythals were formidable in close quarters, their vision and perceptions at range were unremarkable.

Your visit is perfect timing. I was just reading a message here from Master He’achow that I couldn’t believe. You? Really? Did anyone film it?

I don’t wanna talk about it. Khattara plopped down on the leather couch and looked down at the ornate rug that covered the sitting area. She flexed a sore hand open and closed.

Bayhden looked to her. Hey…seriously, you alright?

I should go.

Bayhden rose Hold on. Why’d you come all the way down here if you didn’t wanna talk about it?

Khattara shrugged.

You think maybe it was wrong to attack a first-year student like that?

Khattara sat quietly for a moment. Perhaps, but there’s…something’s not right with this one. She turned to her uncle and motioned with her palm held upward like a tray. Paavi won’t even fight to protect their own, but then there’s this one. Today I learned he has augments…so a Paavi with combat enhancements. What exactly do we know about him, and why are we even allowing Paavi into this school?

Bayhden took a long breath. We have alliances with many species, and that includes their respective military. Would you rather a race like the Paavi, with billions more than our own, begin to evolve their military capacity around us? Each and every year, we reserve admissions space and invite several other planetary groups to this facility. The Paavi have politely declined longer than I’ve been alive. Frankly, I’m excited someone inside the Paavi world took interest in working with us, even if it is their trade guild. He paused for a moment and gazed at his niece. Sounds like you share my enthusiasm.

Khattara’s eyes widened. What? Her jaw tightened as she thought of the many times during the prior weeks of orientation when she’d looked for the Paavi between classes.

Bayhden raised his eyebrows. It’s come to my attention that you made some big last-minute changes to your schedule in order to be the assistant for the particular session of combat arts with the Paavi. So it appears that you too have an interest in working with him.

Pent-up dread released as an audible hiss over Khattara’s lips. She tipped her head forward into her hands, and her considerable locks spilled over to her elbows. The class…Gods, I have to show my face in that class again.

Bayhden smiled. Fear not; Master He’achow wants to put your Paavi friend, Master Eylon, into the simulator to test him outta the class.

He’s neither a friend nor a master.

He’achow thinks so, at least on the master part. Regarding the other, I’d like you to keep an eye on him.

A disapproving grunt emanated from somewhere deep within Khattara’s black tresses.

You know, it could just be you’re bitter because you got your ass handed to you by a Paavi.

I didn’t get beat! It was a draw.

Bayhden nodded. If that’s true, then maybe he’s right.

Khattara sat upright and squinted at her uncle. What’s right?

"He’achow thinks we should tap him