January 1907 E-10
—
When Fin completed his first official borderlands tour, walking into Vendetta Township from the outback two days after meeting the Emperor of Aetheria, he was dead on his feet. He marched himself to the barracks of the city’s main base, put himself through a shower on autopilot, and crashed into the nearest empty bunk as soon as he passed his medical check.
Four months. He’d been Arv’hein for four months. His mom had walked out of a security meeting with the genera’ka, handed him the arv’ahl and her access card, and warped out of the dimension four months ago.
Three months and two weeks ago, his dad had gone after her. Three months ago, the genera’ka had split into two factions, four generals siding with Malekahn provincial loyalists, two attempting to stay neutral and align with the Crown, and four others splitting to side with the Lakeshian idealists. Three months ago, Talki was on the brink of civil war over Syne Heran’s disappearance, and now, at the start of 1907, it was still teetering on the same precarious edge. Two months ago, his coronation had almost ended with his head on a platter. One month ago, he’d left on “sabbatical.” Officially: the mandated borderlands patrol tour all Arv’heins of Talki embarked on at the beginning of their reign.
Two months ago, he ceased to be Trice Commander Fin A. Heran, an officer in the Talkian Armed Forces specialist division, and became Arv’hein Finlay Alexsandr Heran.
One month ago, he ran away from that.
He mulled everything over again as he slept on the first proper bed he’d found himself in in thirty days. He frowned at the weird wrinkles in all of it: his mother’s sudden abdication, the splitting of the genera’ka, the civil unease, the suddenness of it all. The Starspawn attacks on the eastern border he’d been chasing information on for weeks, and multiple instances of those attacks being culled by warriors in full Aetherian war armor. Meeting a strange, out-of-place trespasser calling themselves the Emperor of Aetheria on perhaps the worst day of the entire borderlands tour—the day he woke up hungover and decided the best remedy was to drink more.
The Emperor of Aetheria. Fin snorted derisively into his pillow. On top of everything else, I had to be the one to make first contact with them.
—
A week and a press tour later, while he was up to his nose in paperwork he hadn’t been taught how to fill out (legal documents were much different than requisition forms and incident reports, thank you), Fin received an out-of-world ping. Suspicious, he opened it in a secured container program. It was from a user with a standard military abbreviation: “AI-E_RAZ.” He smiled and took a guess that that was the “Emperor of Aetheria” he had met in the outback. Part of him was still convinced they were a hallucination from mixing alcohol with stim shots until he opened their message and saw coordinates.
( AE-I_RAZ: coordinatesFile.atch
Tracked a pod to the north part of your province. Requesting authorization to deal with it personally? )
He snorted into his coffee. He could practically hear the way they would say that, with all the implied snark. He set his mug back on the folded anarchist flier someone shoved at him at the end of the press tour and opened his stock files. Entry authorization was one type of paperwork he was familiar with; he had a template file for this exact request. He picked through his folders to find it, then hesitated.
A lesson he learned the hard way years ago came to mind, one he’d learned when his rank was low and he’d only been through basic training and a few months of TAF standard operation.
On one hand, using blank, impersonal interaction to engage with someone of higher rank than you was the most proper method of communication. Respect and passivity went a long way, especially for someone whose temper ran hot, like his. Theoretically, interacting with someone outside of your military whose rank was unknown but presumably higher than yours would benefit from the same formality. But on the other hand, once you achieved a general officer rank in Talki, most of that went out the window. That, and Talkians were community-centric—”clannish, but genuinely amiable,” one of his friends in the Fireflier Corps liked to joke. They tended to throw formality out the window as long as rank was respected when it needed to be, such as when issuing or receiving orders. If this Razienne was Talkian, he would be under no obligation to treat them formally right now.
And, theoretically, the Arv’hein of Talki was still the “Emperor” of Talki. That’s what the title meant literally; a holdover from before his parents dissolved the ancient Tritaran Empire, of which his mom had once been heir. So, therefore (hypothetically), he and this Emperor of Aetheria were of the same rank even though they weren’t of the same state. And even if they weren’t and his rank was still technically more like “king” or a less translatable term whose obsoletion had created its own unique role, then he was still the leader of the province and Razienne the First was still the leader of Aetheria. Equal playing field.
Right?
Fin weighed the consequences of interdimensional political fraternization with what he was about to do. The funny voice in his mind that he supposed was what remained of his common sense said maybe it was a bad idea, that maybe it could spiral out of control and lead to the breach of Aetherian neutrality and start a war. The rest thought it would be hilarious. He decided to go for it.
( FHeran_TCMDR: Do you always manage to convey snarkiness in your HOLOmessages like that? )
( AE-I_RAZ: Are you always this prone to informality or is the informality connected to being hungover? )
Fin hummed bitterly and took a sip of coffee. They’d noticed that? He hadn’t told them he was hungover when they met, that was for sure. Tor might have, though.
( FHeran_TCMDR: I’m taking a risk. Informality among equal ranks is a cultural norm. )
( AE-I_RAZ: Interesting that you’d extend that to me. )
( FHeran_TCMDR: answer my question. Besides, what’s your excuse? )
( AE-I_RAZ: They pasted a picture of me under the definition of snark in a dictionary in my home town. I wish I was joking.
As for my excuse, I’ve been told I hold a grudge against any and all authority figures. )
( FHeran_TCMDR: no shit. )
He snorted and pulled up the approval bulletin to find the corresponding request for temporary authorization. He typed back with his free hand.
( AE-I_RAZ: Are you going to approve or deny that authorization request? Thought you didn’t want anymore hellbeasts tearing up your outlands. )
He punched in his new authorization code, copied the output form, and scribbled his signature onto it, then forwarded it to them.
( FHeran_TCMDR: I don’t. You’re free to do what you want with them as long as you steer them away from Vadetta Heights. )
( AE-I_RAZ: Acknowledged. )
Their status beacon blinked offline and a moment later he received a border control ping about an Aetherian dropship breach on the northeastern coast. He ignored it in good conscience and returned to his documents and his open dictionary of legal jargon. Some time later, when he was on his next cup of coffee and was considering adding a little kick to it from the flask he had stashed under his desk, he got another ping as the Emperor came online again and sent him another message.
( AE-I_RAZ: Two breaches, one chimera and one lionere, both rendered extinct. Half an hour, personal best. )
( FHeran_TCMDR: Any damages? )
( AE-I_RAZ: Just to the Starspawn and a ridge out by the voidbanks from the gunship cannon. Might have activated a small avalanche in the direction of the banks.
Is your username supposed to be your previous title? “Trice Commander,” was it?? )
Fin nearly spat his coffee out. He set it down and let his head fall into his hand. Dammit. He pulled up his account settings.
( FHeran_TCMDR updated their name to FHeran_ARVHN )
( FHeran_ARVHN: Not a kas’eraa word. )
( AE-I_RAZ: cute.
I’m going to regret asking, but what’s “kas’eraa?” )
Fin cursed himself. The first thing he taught this fool about the Talkian language was going to be the word “fuck.” He sighed, knowing he’d already dug his own grave by taking this conversation the way he had. These were the consequences of his actions. They would, however, be very amusing consequences. Hopefully. He typed out the explanation—“kas” meant “fuck,” the suffix implied an action, thus “kas’eraa” was the emphatic “fucking.” Then, just to be funny, he added:
( FHeran_ARVHN: And “kas’era” with one “a” is “fucking” as in the other kind. )
The chat log showed the Emperor typing and pausing, typing and pausing several times over before scrambling, then stopping completely. Fin held his breath, his heart pounding in his chest because shit, what if this was the wrong move—
Another message came through, this time a video clip. Cautiously, bracing himself for a verbal declaration of war or infringement, he opened the file.
Raucous laughter erupted from his HOLOchip speakers as the video showed the inside of an Aetherian gunship loaded with at least six other people. The video panned across the troop hold until it returned back to the Emperor themselves wearing a hilariously flat expression. Under the video, another text message came through:
( AE-I_RAZ: They were reading over my shoulder. Please tell them that wasn’t a proposition. I’m the butt of enough jokes as it is. )
Fin broke into surprised laughter, leaning back in his chair. Documents temporarily forgotten again, he took a moment to try and come up with a response that wouldn’t actually get him on the Emperor’s bad side.
( AE-I_RAZ: seriously, they’re never going to let me live this down
…Was it a proposition? )
( FHeran_ARVHN: not unless you want it to be <3 )
There was a long, tortuous pause between the last message sent between them and the next. Fin’s hand twitched toward the flask under his desk. When Razienne finally replied, it was with another video of their squadmates laughing their asses off as they themselves slumped lower and lower in their gunship seat, their cheek tagged with a heat indicator alert. Then:
( AE-I_RAZ: if you’re going to be cheeky like that, call me Ev. )
Fin tapped his fingers anxiously on the sides of his chair.
( FHeran_ARVHN: short for…? )
( AE-I_RAZ: in some cultures, asking for a full name IS a proposition.
Or a proposal.
Not mine, but some. )
He snorted and made a note of that, and took the decline with grace.
( FHeran_ARVHN: well if we’re going informal, call me anything else but “Fin” or “Heran” next time we meet and I’ll bring you up on trespassing charges )
They sent another shot of their face, which he could now see was bandaged in a few places from lacerations. But they were smiling in this one, their pistol raised into the frame.
( AE-I_RAZ: good luck arresting me then, HERAN )
He barked out a laugh and went red in the face as an officer passing in the hall stopped in front of his doorway in surprise. He waved her along and sank back into his chair.
This, he thought, was the beginning of a wonderful (or potentially terrible, depending on the outlook) friendship.
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