CONTENT WARNING:
This installment of Fractal Alliances features a post-torture character and includes traumatic dissociation, discussion of self-loathing, and less than healthy friendship dynamics
September 1984 E-10
Ev coughed and stumbled as they hit the warp pad, their vision swimming. Thunder cracked overhead as steam billowed off them, and the blue seams of the warp pad began to dim. Voidwalking themselves here had been a bad idea, even if they had used the power from a half-disassembled warp pad at the palace complex to smooth the way. They were in no state to use Void magic.
After a few minutes, their corporeal formed shimmered into solid form and the tangy aftertaste of the Void was replaced with the all-around scent of ozone. As they stumbled towards the edge of the stone circle, they wondered who would find them this time—CMO VaTiera, or her young trainee. They coughed hard, the taste of iron in their throat from a bloody nose, and fell to their knees. Their vision became tinted with gray at the edges.
Another crack of thunder, and Ev wondered if there had already been a storm brewing, and their sudden use of Void magic had only kicked it off. Heat lightning flickered overhead, and they suspected they were right. Stray drops of acid rain hit their face and began to burn through the fabric of their undersuit. They could already see pits in their armor—an older model, one they only used for sparring that didn’t have as strong weatherproofing. There was a large new dent in their chest plate, and their left knee plate had all but crumpled when they’d been forced onto their knees not twenty minutes ago. The burning pain from a few bruised (possibly broken) ribs made it hard to breathe. Hot blood soaked their left pant leg from mid-thigh to ankle. Their head was pounding.
Their vision blurred out again just in time for voices to reach their ears. A guard squadron broke through the surrounding underbrush. Another explosion of thunder was enough to jar their senses; the haziness ebbed, but the vertigo stayed. They couldn’t stand. The vertigo, they admitted, was not the only reason why.
They pushed themselves back into a sitting position, their breathing ragged, as they lifted a shaking right hand for examination. Two of their fingers were pointing in the wrong direction, and the entire appendage was numb. Distantly, they wondered if it wasn’t their hand. Maybe, just this once, they were seeing through someone else’s eyes and this pain wasn’t truly theirs. Or, maybe, Deis was giving them a taste of what was yet to be done to them, and they could prevent it. A set of burning hands took them by the shoulder and they knew they were just being hopeful.
They registered weapons being slipped back into holsters, then an unmuzzled Hellhound was snuffing anxiously at their damaged hand. They might’ve recognized it, might’ve said its name—it came out a slurred mess if they did—but their ears were ringing. They couldn’t hear its concerned whining, or what the guards around them were saying. When did their ears start ringing? During the first sparring match or the last? Was it before Deis slammed them into the wall? Was it after landing? Two guards slipped Ev’s arms over their shoulders and they didn’t have time to ask. Someone else took their pulse, tried to access their HOLO for a vitals readout. A field medic. They were being spoken to, but they couldn’t understand any of it. Something about a possible concussion.
Ev probably didn’t have a concussion. They were dissociating. They’d been to enough therapy, seen Fin staring listlessly at walls often enough, to know what it looked like. Deis had even told them, when it was all over for the night, that they would likely not be in their right mind for a while. A full day, even.
Someone snapped their fingers in front of them and Ev didn’t respond. Their body wasn’t theirs. Maybe it never would be again. Someone said something about taking them to medical and they let themselves drift away completely. They remembered throwing up when the guards tried to move them. It was mostly bile, they hadn’t eaten in at least twenty hours. There was a buzz of magitech teleportation, a bright flash, and Ev was dead to the world.
When Ev came to, the first thing they registered was the slow, even beeping of a heart monitor. The second thing they noticed was the sharp, anti-bacterial reek of a medical bay, but when they opened their eyes, they were in their bedroom inside Heran Manor. Glow-in-the-dark constellations shone dimly overhead, the paint scratched and chipping, in need of a touch-up. Somewhere nearby, a HOLOdot played quiet Time Vortex music—Era 3 folk songs. Their heart ached for their little sister, the beach, and Cyresian campfire snacks.
They tried to sit up, but their arms felt numb and cottony. They looked down and saw their right hand in a splint, healing runes circling around their wrist and dislocated fingers. Their left hand, which had been covered in a painful rash from the time Deis sent them scrapping across the concrete, was bandaged and laden with healing gel—bande. Their head felt thick and cottony too, like they’d just woken up from being under sedation. The knife wound in their left thigh no longer stung. Their ribs throbbed still, but the pain had ebbed. Their nose was no longer bleeding, and someone had set it.
A soft ping from their HOLOchips startled them. It was a message from Chaser—Lorral VaTiera:
( Chaser017: You can remove the monitoring equipment as long as you put it away nicely. Eat something, and don’t remove your IV. )
After how many times they had ripped off her equipment and trashed their medical room in a panic upon waking, Ev thought that was a little generous. More grace than they deserved. Still, they were grateful. As they worked feeling back into their good hand, they sat up and began removing sensor pads and the vital tracker cuff on their left wrist. They glanced at the heart monitor as it went offline, then up at the IV bag hanging beside their bed from a medical drone. Basic fluids. They must have been dehydrated. No surprise.
They took a look around their room. Things looked about the same as they had before they left two months ago: spare clothes neatly folded on top of their dresser, stacks of books and papers on their desk, mismatched rugs and spare furniture. The sword they had misplaced and been unable to find for two months was propped against the wall by their bathroom door. They looked down to see they had been given a change of clothes: a soft, clean-smelling Talkian Army Corps shirt, a pair of sweatpants they recognized as a pair Fin had stolen months ago, and mismatched socks. They still felt disgusting underneath it all, but at least they were medically stable.
Once the finished setting all the monitoring equipment back its proper place on the cart that had so graciously been provided, they considered VaTee’s corner to eat. They could place an order with the Manor staff… but they’d rather make their way to the mess on their own. They stood, intending to shower and checking their wounds, but their medical drone beeped in warning. Apparently its scanners were keeping track of their vitals now. They scowled at it and limped to the end of their bed, where their battered armor lay atop their trunk. They were examining the damage to their chest plate when a sound like erupting flames caused them to jump. They turned in time to watch Fin Heran materialize from a column of Hellfire, looking panicked.
He stood frozen on the carpet, eyes wide, arms spread wide for balance. He pointed to the medical drone holding their IV bag. “Got an alert that you were up,” he said.
Ev nodded. Made sense that he’d been cued in. A medic would probably be by soon too.
“Where are you hurt?” he asked.
They blinked, a little surprised, and pointed. “Ribs, thigh, recently healed nose. Both arms.”
He hesitated, then started towards them and wrapped them in a tender, careful hug. Ev still felt like they were being crushed. He let them go, careful to step around their IV, and looked them over. When he was satisfied that they were able to stand without toppling, he hugged them again, arms loosely encircling their waist.
“What happened to you?” he asked, choking up.
When they didn’t respond, he gently pushed them away to look them in the eye. They shrugged, unwanted tears pricking their eyes, and he pulled them back in again, tucking his face against their neck as they brought their arms up around him, sinking into his warmth and solidity.
“You showed up on my doorstep bleeding out, incapable of speaking, locked in a dissociative state…” he trailed off, voice cracking. “I was worried, ikta."
Ev took a shuddering breath and rubbed his back. He smelled like cinnamon and armor polish. “Sorry.”
“Tu-kas,” he swore. Fuck you. “No. You’re not the one who needs to apologize after whatever the fuck happened before you came here.”
He sniffed hard and came away teary. He wiped his eyes dry and frowned at them. “What… what happened before you came here?” he asked again.
Ev whimpered, swaying unsteadily, and against their better judgement they slumped forward into his arms again. Their cast all their weight onto him and Fin shifted to hold them upright, holding them as steadily as he could manage with their healing ribs. Ev let his stupid, comforting fire magic smell envelope them and released the remaining tension in their body, trusting him with the added weight of their exhaustion and guilt. They suspected a little bled out into their aura. Fin eased them onto the rub beside their bed and they sat together their head still nestled in the crook of his neck as he sat against the bed frame. Their medical drone beeped chidingly, but followed them to the floor to avoid ripping out their IV.
“Ev’ara,” Fin said softly, his hand stroking their hair.
Nothing else. Just their name, modified in Talkian to mean “Ev is well.” They sobbed a little. They were not well. Not after—
A lot had happened. Ev was glad they were mostly too tired to break down again from thinking about it. With Fin’s soothing, healing fire licking across their skin, they couldn’t even dissociate. They tried to be grateful for that, for receiving real medical care from the TAC, instead of being bitter and tired. In broken words, they did their best to give Fin the big picture.
Two months ago, they had been delivered a grueling schedule for a new training regimen with the Vanguard, the duration of which had been overseen by Deis, not Garris. He had explained the memories and horrific illusions they were forced to spar and train through were part of a program to immunize them all to psychological warfare—to mindbreakers, like him. An impossible experiment, one that would never yield the results he claimed he wanted. It had only broken the members of the Vanguard he had subjected to the new regimen. Everyone had allegedly been forced to face their worst fears, their greatest regrets, and then had been expected to fight through them. For most Vanguard soldiers, that meant fighting the people they’d killed, and Ev suspected they had been dealt a heavier hand than most.
After a hellish six weeks, Ev and Loresia had been dragged from garrison to garrison on a circuit with Deis and Garris, the entirety of which was a blur of uniforms and speeches Ev didn’t really give. It was all faded, spotty with the effects of Deis’s blackout control. Two weeks of that, and Ev had finally been brought back to the Palace last night, while Loresia went out on patrol with the ANIC. She hadn’t been through the training regimen. She hadn’t endured much else besides her cousin’s sniping comments and blackout control. She was shaken up, but not worse for wear. Not like Ev.
Upon returning to the palace, Ev had been subjected to sparring with Deis, as if the last two months hadn’t been enough. He threw them around the salles for hours, toying with their mind, manipulating their thoughts, their emotions, their memories… When he was done, and Ev was beaten within an inch of their life, he let them stumble to the palace warp pad and leave.
“Run away to your hellspawn friends,” he had sneered. “Be back in a week, no later.”
When they landed at the south ridge warp pad, Ev hadn’t slept in two days. They hadn’t even eaten in at least twenty hours, and they hadn’t been entirely sane for a while. They finished telling Fin as much, then sank back into his arms, shaking. He tucked his face into their hair and sighed, hugging them close. Warm, safe fire danced across their skin and they sank into it, already drifting towards sleep again.
“You need to shower, drink, and eat,” he said, sensing them pulling away mentally.
“Too tired,” they mumbled against his chest.
“You can’t just go back to bed like this.”
They could, and they were going to.
Fin grumbled in protest, a surge of fire leaping from his hands to their shoulders, and they pulled away, glaring at him. “I’ll sic my medics on you again,” he threatened. “Vah-tee might not be willing to give you a stimulant shot to get you through twenty minutes of self-care, but the new Chaser will.”
New Chaser? “I thought VaTee was…”
“She’s going on maternity leave soon,” he said. “Tor valPaola, the CMO for the Fireflier Academy, is here to fill in and take over Padma’s training. If I call her, she’ll bring you a stim to get through breakfast and basic care.”
Ev cringed. They didn’t like stim shots. Made them feel all jittery. “I’ll manage without. Just- help me to the sink, will you?”
They staggered to their feet with the support of Fin’s hands, using their bed as an aid. They both turned unsteadily as the door clicked open and a medic came in to remove their IV. Ev stood and let xer. Xe took the drone with xer when xe left, then Fin put their arm around his shoulders and helped them to the bathroom. They sat on the counter while he helped them work off their shirt, then stood to kick off their sweats. They began to sponge themselves down, and Fin stayed to help until they got to their filthy boxer briefs.
“I’ll… step out,” he said, blushing at the tip of his nose and cheek bones. “Underwear is your top drawer, yet?”
They nodded and closed the door after him. They looked at themselves in the mirror.
Dark, dark circles sat under their eyes, and their hollow cheeks made them seem like a walking skeleton, or a zombie. Their hair was a rat’s nest, in need of a complete trim to address the state of it. Someone had cleaned the cuts on their face and combed the blood from the strands of hair that fell in front of their ears, but the rest of it was matted and dirty. They needed to wash their hair. They knew they couldn’t.
With a sigh, they stepped out of their boxers and finished washing up. Their legs had been wiped down already, courtesy of the medics who had dressed their thigh wound, their shattered—now completely healed—kneecap, and their sprained ankle. They sponged themselves off again anyway, then dried themselves off with a towel and used the toilet. A sufficient amount of time later, Fin knocked. They stood behind the door as he stuck a hand in, holding clean underwear and a shirt that definitely belonged to Hirosea.
They couldn’t help but crack a smile at the boxers he’d handed them—a gag gift they’d received a decade ago, bright pink with the words “analyze me” printed on the back with “anal” in bold. He was trying to elevate their mood. It was working… a little. Ev dressed and shuffled back into their room, right into his arms.
“What do you want for breakfast?” he asked.
“Don’t know.”
He hummed and they heard him tap an order into a screen. “Okay, I ordered for you. Do you want help washing your hair.”
They hesitated, arms tensing around him. They were close friends, and he’d seen them in worse states than this, but they didn’t really want to admit they needed that much help.
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to,” he said softly. “May I?”
Something that may have been their heart stirred in their chest and their cheeks warmed. “Okay.”
He led them into the bathroom again and made them lean over the sink. They summoned the clippers out of one of the drawers and handed them to him. He hesitated.
“Buzz it,” they sighed. “It’ll grow back quick.”
He turned on the electric clippers and started shearing their matted hair into the sink. After, he still massaged a bit of shampoo into their scalp, washing away any remaining blood and dirt. They dried off again, and by the time he helped them over to their couch, breakfast had arrived. A Manor Guard on KP duty slipped through the doors with a big tray of pastries, four hyalla fruit, and drinks. She blushed at the sight of Ev in boxer shorts, but set down her tray and left without a word. Ev snickered and tossed them a pair of clean sweats—his sweats, the bright red and white pair from his trip to a former Talkian colony world. They slipped them on and sank back into the sofa.
Now that they were properly awake, Ev noticed their room had been lit by multicolored orbs of Light magic, softly glowing in a variety of warm hues. It was a little ethereal. With the morning light filtering through, adding to the soft glow of it all, it just felt like home. Fin saw them looking and smiled sheepishly.
“Got bored while you were washing up,” he admitted. “Figured you wouldn’t like being out here in the dark this early in the morning, after… well. Everything.”
They smiled at him and his eyes twinkled. After everything—Phantasma, the unrest in Darekaeii, the times they had spent in isolation or being kidnapped—Ev wasn’t afraid to admit they were a bit scared of the dark. Fin knew that, and he had always been good at gauging when they needed comfort.
He began dividing the mound of breakfast pastries between them and tossed them a hyalla fruit. In the meantime, he told them about the K9 unit’s recent development. Heran Manor hadn’t had an official K9 unit in years, but since Alkaline and Ameria had taken in some old military hounds and given them a cozy retirement, they had begun some light Hellhound breeding. They’d coaxed Fin into starting a new unit to take in an train some of the puppies. Lex, he said, had taken a liking to the pups.
The image of a thirty-foot-tall wyvern being won over by hellhound puppies was too cute for Ev to brood over. They grinned broadly as Fin sent them an entire album of Lex-and-puppy pictures.
He sat next to them and they cuddled up to his side, leaning their head on his shoulder. They took a muffin he offered them—firewheat, cinnamon, and sweet berries—and felt his gaze linger on their braced wrist. His aura flashed with discontent and they looked up at him, concerned.
“This isn’t right,” he said. “They’re putting you through torture, forcing you to take it or face execution. They’re trying to break you.”
Fin didn’t know the half of it. They’d been trying to do that since Star-Delta’s obliteration. Shas hated that their squads’ death hadn’t broken Ev, that they were still holding on. It was only in recent years—since 1980—that he’d begun to let Ev and Loresia run after periods of torture or near-torture. They usually went to the Manor. Occasionally, they went to Enzia, where Thelia Sparkes was more than willing to give them medical care and a safe haven. They had stopped going to Trivaal because seeing them beaten stirred up the Chirrells too much—especially Karian, Arinya, and Lyran.
“I can’t resist,” they said softly, picking at their muffin. “Besides, I’m used to it.”
“You shouldn’t be,” he murmured.
“What’s it matter?”
“You don’t deserve to be treated like shit!”
“I am shit, as far as the Council is concerned,” they grumbled. They took an indignant bite of muffin.
Fin was silent. The glaze of his pastry—a scone-like thing filled with chocolate chips—crinkled. Ev had thrown their muffin wrapper onto the breakfast tray and taken a hyalla before he even moved again. When he did, he slipped his hand down their bandaged left wrist, healing fire licking over the wraps until his thumb brushed over their palm.
“Vi’ardor,” he said in warning.
Ev stilled, an icy chill under their skin. He didn’t use that voice with them. It was the one he used in the war room, when things were looking serious.
“This is the third time this year that you’ve shown up on my doorstep nearly dead.” The burning sensation of voire taratan made them meet his eyes. “I made a pact when I renewed the Tartarun-Aetherian Alliance, but I’ll tear the whole thing apart if you keep saying things like that after being beaten within an inch of your life.”
They dropped their gaze.
“We worry about you here, you know,” he said, squeezing their hand gently. “The genera’ka, VahTee and the medic batallion, Banshee squad… I worry about you, Ev. The Chirrells do too.”
They cursed. “You’ve told them?”
“Of course I did. They care about the people they consider family. They ask about you, now that you don’t show up at their doorstep in shreds anymore. They want to help.”
A lump formed in their throat. “They can’t.”
“They could try… I mean, you know what they’re like, what kind of family they come from.”
Six generations of Ialuan Dreamwalkers…
Ev shook their head. “No, Fin. I won’t bring them into this.”
“But you’ll involve me?”
They sat up, suddenly clear-headed. “This is different.”
“How?” he scoffed. “You shouldn’t tell me half the shit that’s happened since Star-Delta’s execution. I should never have found out about what they do to you at the palace. What they’ve been doing to you for years. Hiro, Arinya, and the twins know enough, they’re powerful, they have friends in shady, powerful places. They could do a lot more than house you and patch up your wounds! Hell, I could—”
“They can’t do shit if they’re dead as soon as they know,” Ev snapped. They pushed away from him, their lip curling. “Fin, the only reason you’re not dead is because you’re the Head of the Coalition, and you live in an impenetrable pocket dimension. The Council can’t touch you, literally or politically. The Chirrells are powerful, but they don’t have that kind of protection. Neither does Aviera—that’s why it scares me so much that she’s investigating them. There’s a reason I don’t go to Korenna, where they’d arguably be able to do more than Talki ever could.”
They swallowed hard. “I don’t want anymore people to get hurt in my name.”
They’d lost too much. Most members of Star squad, then joint Star-Delta had met terrible ends. Some happened naturally on the battlefield, others were orchestrated, and some died directly as a result of Ev’s own actions against the Council. The IAF High Council was half made up of Imperial Councilmen, or their family members. The Chirrells and Alcairo might be able to stand up to the Imperial Council—to Shas and Deis—but the might of the Imperial military would crush them without batting an eye. They lived in fear of the day Shas or Deis learned how to breach a pocket dimension and come for the Heran family.
“We can get you out,” Fin urged softly. “You and Loresia, at least, we can—”
“You can’t,” they snapped. “I won’t permit you to destroy yourself trying to save me.”
That was the crux of it all, why they kept coming to Heran Manor. Fin and most others who followed the Tritaran Code—most of Talki—were honor-bound not to fight for others unless asked. Fin himself was so concerned with consent, trust, and honor that they knew he wouldn’t interfere until they said so.
Fin knew he wouldn’t. He stared at them with furrowed brows and a curled lip. Fury broiled beneath his icy exterior, and Ev skin began to prickle with the heat he was radiating. Finally, he peeled his eyes from them and took an angry bite of his pastry, the rage simmering. They studied him a moment longer, then settled in and began peeling their hyalla.
“Thank you for being concerned,” they said eventually, when their own hot head had cooled. “I do appreciate that you want to fight my battles, Fin.”
“They’re not even your battles,” he snarled, “you’re a victim in all this, not the leader of the opposition. You’re a pawn, you’ve said it yourself.”
Ev thought about the last time they’d talked to Jesse Feht, to the Hackerie twins, and wondered if that was true.
“You can’t take on the Imperial Council,” they sighed. “Right now, I don’t think there’s anyone who can. Not directly.”
This year alone, so many people had died for knowing things about the Imperial government. Where money for humanitarian aid in the satellites really went, how the Council maintained control over the Emperak, what really happened to Star-Delta. They didn’t want to bring down the entire Coalition by letting the Head of it get involved in their shit-show.
“If you help me,” they reiterated, “they will kill all of you and make me watch.”
Another admission that could get him killed. Fin seemed to feel that weight as they said it. He shifted uncomfortable and continued to scowl at them nonetheless.
“You have to remember that,” they said. “Please, remember that.”
He chewed in silence. When he was done with his pastry he whispered, “Sometimes I had to remind myself you’re not in control, there. That you’ve never been in control of them.”
Ev peeled a piece of hyalla free and ate. “Sometimes I forget that that’s still a new idea for you.”
As new as the 1950s, but still… Fin scoffed, Ev did too, and they leaned into each other again.
“You know we—the Chirrells and I, Aviera, Thelia—we’d go to war for you and the freedom of Aetheria, right? If it came down to it.”
Ev choked and Fin patted their back until they could breathe easy again.
“I’m not saying we declare war tomorrow,” he said to ease their mind. “But you know we’d consider it, right? That we care for you—for Loresia, for the Vaguard and all the souls the Empire is trying to destroy—enough to consider that an option?”
They shook their head in disbelief. “You can’t just say things like that…”
He shrugged and put his arm around their shoulders. “You’ve grown on us, ziojic’a. What can I say?”
They exhaled through their nose and ate another piece of hyalla. “Fuck you and your insufferable sense of justice.”
Fin laughed and jostled them. “There’s the old Starkie!”
The mood seemed to creep towards light with the dawn, and they talked about nicer things as they ate. Lex and the Hellhound puppies. Ameria’s new girlfriend, Thelia’s new proposal to set up democratic voting in Azia. Ev’s buzzed hair. The hot legionnaire from Feldspar that Fin had gone on a couple dates with. After an hour, Fin called someone to take the empty breakfast try back to the kitchens. Then a medic came by the check on Ev: a tall, red-haired woman from the Fireflier academy who announced herself as the stand-in Chaser, a transferred Chief Medical Officer. When she left, Fin walked Ev back to their bed and helped them lay down.
“You should sleep,” he said.
Stand-in Chaser explained they had warped in around one in the morning, and thus only slept for a few hours after being sedated. For the rest of their wounds to heal properly, Ev should sleep through the rest of the healing process.
Fin swept their covers up around their shoulders and they grasped his wrist.
“Can you stay?” they asked.
It was selfish, especially after they’d snapped at him and admitted to practically using him because of his morals. They waited for him to say no, to say he was busy or that he needed space.
He didn’t. He smiled and said, “Sure.”
He motioned for them to scoot over and, dumbfounded, Ev did. Fin slid under the covers next to them and turned so they could hold him and he wouldn’t have to worry about hurting them. They wrapped their braced arm around his chest and held their bandaged one against their own, against his back. His tail coiled around their right calf.
“I wish I could make you promise me you’d be okay,” he whispered into the silence some time later.
Ev was already drifting back to sleep, but they managed a weak “Sorry.”
He clicked his tongue and squeezed their uninjured forefinger, avoiding the others. “None of that, ziojic’a. Go to sleep.”
They tried, for what it was worth.
GLOSSARY
CMO Chaser — in the Talkian Army Corps, the title of "Chaser" may be bestowed upon a Chief Medical Officer of a given base, operation, or division if they achieve everything on a short list of high-level requirements. Achievements include: being willing to chase down the most stubborn of corpsmen to administer medical care, wrangling the Arv'hein into a medical bay, successfully sedating Evansen Stark, and others.
Lorral VaTiera is the 17th Chaser at Heran Manor, specifically.
Ev’ara — "ehv-ah-ruh" — Ev's Tartarun-modified name. In Talkian, it means "Ev is well." In several west coast dialects, including the one Thelia Sparkes speaks, it means "the evening (or the night) is good" and is sometimes a greeting/farewell.
** In many east-coast dialects, the word for "evening," "dusk," or "coming-of-night" is eveah ("ee-vay-uh" or "eh-vay-ah;" pronounciation varies.
Alkaline has a modified version: Ev'aira ("eh-vy-ruh"). This is a modified language-mashed word that means something along the lines of "beautiful (or pretty) sunset," or "beautiful coming-of-night." He made up the word, so he changes the definition from time to time.
IAF — Imperial Armed Forces — sometimes IAAF (Imperial Aetherian Armed Forces). The entirety of the New Empire of Aetheria's military force.
The IAF High Council is the commanding council made up of Councilmen, High Generals, and certain Aetheria centra governors
The subdivisions of the IAF include:
ANIC — Aetherian Neutral Interference Corps
ASMC — Aetherian Satellite Maintenance Corps
AHDC — Aetherian Home Defense Corps
IV/AV — the Imperial Vanguard/Aetherian Vanguard
Ikta — "ick-tah" — "idiot" in most Tartarun dialects. Almost never a serious insult.
TAC — sometimes "tack," but usually spelled out as "T-A-C" — The Talkian Army Corps, or specifically: all ground forces that make up the Talkian military. Subdivision of the UTAF.
Other Talkian military groups include:
the Fireflier Corps — the aerial division of the UTAF. Originally named for the fire-breathing drakons the corpsman rode upon. In modern E-10, the corps include flight-capable (winged) divisions, drakon-riders, and hovercraft operator.
the District armies — subsections of the TAC; where soliders return to when not needed by the province. The Lakeshian Armed Forces (LAF), the Rekhan Armed Forces (RAF), and the Malekahn Armed Forces (MAF). Have their own subdivisions.
the United Talkian Armed forces (UTAF) — all divisions, all provincial armies; basically all Talkian military personnel.
the Talkian Voidship Fleet (TVSF) — ziois border patrol, port security, and interdimensional aid ships.
Has their own Border Patrol division
Special Forces (SF) — carries out interprovincial operations, off-world missions, and arguably the toughest (and most ridiculous) corps. Each District army had an SF division, which are sometimes interchangeable with the UTAF's SF division.
Border Patrol (BP or TBP) — what is says on the label. Where all the trouble makers go. Primarily observe the border between Talki and Gelligar or Moreah.
Tu-kas — "too kahs — "tu" meaning "you" and "kas" being the root-word for "fuck."
ziojic'a — "zee-oh-jick-ah" — the word ziojic, meaning "of the Void" or "Void magic user" plus the affectionate Talkian modifier ('a). A nickname Fin or one of his Captain's came up with, which has since been adopted by most of the people Ev is friends with.
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