The mat was cool and softly firm, I do not feel it was fair that I hit it quite so hard.
I lay there for a moment, breathless, the scents of the training room burned into my senses.
The harsh smell of the plastic coated synth-foam mats, the heat spreading through my body from todays bruises, the scent of sweat and the strange musk of the reptilian Tir’kish. The hum of the ships engines thrumming through the floor. Metal. Oil. Ozone. Food. Perfume.
“Gonna lie there all day, Rathi? Have a little nap, maybe?”
I blink and roll quickly, avoiding the knee coming down, equally unfairly striking the innocent mat where I lay only moments before. I roll to one knee and scramble to my feet, still without the breath for a rejoinder, and face my opponent.
Chandra is smirking faintly, but her eyes are cold, her pale green skin shiny with a faint beading of sweat, her stance is perfect, her wings pulled tight to her spine, I can see how ready and confident she feels. I am mostly wobbly inside, I know I cannot win. I mean, I never have.
I let out a little huff, and her smirk widens into a grin and she advances with quick steps and I am suddenly ducking, weaving, blocking, feeling the sting of glancing blows as she presses me, the heat of blood and chill of adrenaline and fear singing through me as she forces me back across the matting.
I make an attempt, at least, throwing my fist forward. I can feel it even as I do, my balance is poor, and there is no real power behind it. My heart sinks as I feel her hand on my wrist, her hip suddenly against mine as she steps through my punch, leveraging my body, I’m sorry, mister Mat, it looks like we will becoming familiar once again… This time I am not so surprised, and I flail as she throws me, I feel my knee make contact with something as I am restored to my position on the ground, followed by some cursing, and then laughter.
Gentle hands roll me over, Chandra is smiling, bleeding from a split lip.
“Did you mean to do that, Rathi?”
“Um… If I said yes, would you believe me?”
Her smile widens, laughter dancing in her eyes.
“No.”
“Then yes, it was totally intentional.”
She laughs, taking my hand and helping me up, dabbing at her lip with the other hand.
“Well, the instinct was good. You gotta make it hard for whoever you’re fighting, even if you don’t think you can win. No one wants to catch a knee to the face, no matter how good they are.”
“I… I guess…”
I sigh, and her wings twitch.
“What is it, Rathi?”
“It’s just… I will never be as good as you at this, it’s frustrating… I normally pick things up much quicker than this.”
She chuckles, her lower teeth, normally white, pinkened by her blood.
“I’ve been training in close combat for years, Rathi. You’ve been at this for what, a month? You’re doing fine.”
“But we’re heading to the front… I… I just don’t want to let you down…”
“Oh, hun. You worry too much. You’re the medic, if you’re fighting, that means something’s gone wrong. This is just in case, right?”
“I… Yes… Just in case.”
Her eyes flick to the wall chrono.
“Come on, let’s get something to eat. We’ve got insertion at seventeen hundred.”
A chill of real fear strikes through me now. Insertion. We will be at our position on the front line before tomorrow. The Mandalorian war is calling us, and I am terrified. The pay is good, and it will all go home to mother and Rin’hi, as long as I survive.
We make our way down to the mess, the rest of the team waiting. Seeing Charons face, a cheer goes up.
“Eyyyy, finally got her gud, eh, Rah-rah?”
“Sshe’ll be crussshing the Mahndalohriansss before we can even pull a trigger hss hsss hsss”
“Shut up, you degenerates, she got a lucky knee in, alright?!”
Howls of laughter and Tir’Kish’s hissing chuckle as Charons face flushes, but she rolls her eyes with a smile.
“Hey, at least she didn’t break our new medic, alright, now shut up, and eat, no clue when we get another chance.”
The basso rumble belonged to Captain Russo, a tall and hirsute human, his bearded face split with a grin as Charon settles next to him, one of her wings absently wrapping around his shoulder as the S’kytri combat specialist settled next to her mate.
Tir’Kish shifts up slightly, the massive rogue Kon’Me taking up the huge majority of the bench, already half-way through his eighth meal of the day, a fish easily as wide around as my waist. My stomach flipped a little at the scent of the flesh, but it was nowhere near as bad as if it were from a red fleshed animal.
I select a salad with thick mushrooms mixed through the greens and the tangy vegetables and my gaze wanders up and down the table, taking in my squad, still adapting to the idea that the galaxy even contained so many races and species.
Virin, the silent and quiet Twi-lek, her blue skin dusted with tiny violet freckles, a wicked scar on the side of her neck from the removal of her slave brand. Captain Russo told me she did it to herself with a sharpened spoon, willing to risk destroying her vocal cords or nicking her jugular and bleeding to death rather than remain marked. The first occurred, but she escaped the second, and her enslavement. She offered me a slow blink before returning to her noodles, flicking her Lekku in what I had learned was a shrug, as if to say “I see you. So what?”
Last of all was the insectile Fzx’Nis Koo’xi, it always brought its work with it wherever it went, always tinkering, its large compound eyes gleaming in the light of the mess as its quick and clever fingers assembled another of Charons drop charges, its soft proboscis-like mouth wrapped around a thick straw, sucking up its nutrient goo. Fzx was our gear technician and something of a genius, at least to me. According to it, it was only an average artisan by its species standards, but did have a gift for explosives tech, which our little company seemed more than happy to take advantage of.
My eyes flick to the chrono as the warning buzzer sounds, the little lights indicating landing was imminent. It was fifteen-thirty, and curses of various kinds rose up from around the table. We were early. I felt the chill, flushing through my body as Captain Russos deep voice cut across the complaints.
“Enough bitching, gear up.”
He checks his holo a moment
“Yeah, we’re coming in hot. Touching down in ten. Get your gear on. We’ll be joining with the seventy-third as a specialist unit, but remember your orders come through me, right?”
The last was addressed to the open air, but I know it was directed at me. Only ever take an order from your officer, and never from anyone else if you want to live. My brain was a whirl trying to remember all the information I had tried to absorb in the last whirlwind month as I jogged from the mess to strap on my armor, my helmet, my blaster cold in my suddenly clammy hands. The ship shakes as we come in to land, crunching on this alien soil, a fight for our lives waiting beyond the blast doors, I can hear the sounds of blaster fire… explosions… screams… I take a deep, shuddering breath, my skin darkening from the influx of oxygen as the group gathers, Captain Russo in front with his thick, heavy armor scarred from a thousand battles, making me feel safer, knowing that he is between me and the chaos.
“Right. You all know this by now. You know what to do, where to go. You’ve watched the vids on Mandalorians, their gear, their tactics. Don’t take a one on one fight if you can help it, and watch out new medic. Got it?”
Varies positive acknowledgements raised from a variety of throats, including my own. He slams his hand on the door release.
“Let’s get to work, then!”
The door opens on a flaming hellscape of grey dust and flames and blaster fire, less than fifteen meters distant.
Trial by fire.