Chapter 5: The mind of the war
Excerpt from A Brief History of the Interstellar Confederations (Volume II, Central Archive of Klynos Edition)
Night settled over the city of Varot like a coat of damp soot. The air was denser than usual, thick with invisible particles that left a bitter taste in the throat. In the distance, the columns of blue crystal still shone, as if the ground itself resisted falling into complete darkness.
Chuet was leaning against a half-collapsed structure, helmet at his side, rifle secured between his legs. He couldn’t sleep. The electric hum of reconnaissance drones orbiting the perimeter was too irregular, too human to be reassuring. And besides, he was thinking.
He was thinking of home. Of the reddish lands of Darnak, his native planet, where roofs were built low because of the acidic winds, and where you slept under thermal blankets not for warmth, but for the noise. There, nights could never be filled. Just like now.
“Chuet?” a familiar voice called.
Rudolph Tant approached, carrying a box filled with plastic plates and small rods of mineral fuel. Tant’s blond hair barely showed with that short cut, but the same color stood out in his trimmed beard. He was tall, probably one of the tallest in the squad. He was the hand of the Purpurina squad, which made him Chuet’s direct superior.
“Give me a hand with this?”
Chuet stood without a word. He walked over, lifted part of the weight and followed Rudolph to the center of the camp, where a small depression served as shelter from the night wind. Between the two of them, they assembled an improvised fire. The flames crackled instantly, projecting trembling shadows over the rocks.
“We shouldn’t be wasting fuel on this, should we, sir?” Chuet murmured, more out of habit than complaint.
Rudolph shrugged.
“Some sleep better with fire. It’s not the heat. It’s the sound, the movement… it reminds them we’re alive.”
They sat facing the flames. Chuet stared into them. The warmth was pleasant, which felt strange, since all recent heat had come from pain. His voice came out as barely a whisper.
“Forgive my question, sir… you knew him before, didn’t you? Captain Durnan.”
Rudolph smiled before answering.
“Yes. Since Cartiza. We studied at the same academy. I ended up in infantry. He… well, he did what you’d expect from a Durnan.”
Chuet turned slightly.
“What do you mean… he’s…?”
“Yes. He’s noble. Not figuratively. Real nobility. A family of colonial administrators since Cartiza’s founding. They own land, industries. If not for this war, he’d be in an office or an orbital governorship.”
Chuet frowned.
“Then why is he here?”
Rudolph took a moment to think.
“I can’t answer things he never answered me. Kael could have been an exceptional politician. He excelled at speeches and receptions. But he enlisted by choice. He always said he wanted to ‘see the ground.’”
“See the ground?”
“Yes. As if he felt he needed contact with something real. He was always like that. Quiet, but with a kind of sadness not explained by what he had, but by what he couldn’t change. The opposite of his brother. Two people couldn’t be more different.”
Chuet looked back at the flames.
“I don’t get it. He could be anywhere else. He’s got options.”
Rudolph shook his head.
“No, Chuet. He doesn’t. Our planet is in this war same as yours. Everything that matters happens here. Nothing else does. I’m sure what happened with his father didn’t help.”
Chuet hesitated.
“His father…?”
Rudolph clicked his tongue.
“Donald, if I remember correctly. As far as I know, he died in battle.”
Chuet froze. Imagining the Durnan Speaker as anything resembling a grieving man felt impossible, though it was obvious: in wartime, the first thing missing was parents.
“Against the Universal Government?”
Rudolph clicked his tongue again before replying simply:
“No.”
And that was all. He wouldn’t say more, and Chuet knew it. He cleared his throat, needing to speak before the thoughts crushed him.
“Today Captain Durnan did something… interesting.”
Rudolph looked at him.
“I don’t know what he did. And if I did, I wouldn’t say it. But whatever it was, Kael doesn’t do wicked things. He has that look you see in people who decided something long ago and will follow through even if it breaks them. But he’s a good man.”
Chuet nodded slowly.
“Today… after we returned from patrol, he was quieter than ever. Didn’t say a word. He was staring at the ground like he didn’t recognize it.”
“Doesn’t surprise me. He thinks war can be fought with honor. That there’s a way to do this without betraying who you are. But this place doesn’t forgive ideas like that.”
“And you?” Chuet asked. “Do you think we can come out clean?”
Rudolph gave a small, humorless laugh.
“No. But some stains are worse than others. And if I follow Kael, at least I won’t end up covered in the wrong blood.”
“And what’s the wrong blood?”
“The blood you don’t even know why is on your hands.”
A long silence stretched between them. The fire crackled softly, scattering tiny sparks that died in the air.
Chuet lowered his voice.
“Do you imagine surviving this?”
“Sometimes,” Rudolph replied. “But not as before. If we survive, we’ll have to decide whether we want to remain who we were. And I don’t know if that’s good or bad.”
“I just want to go home,” Chuet murmured. “I want to hug some people.”
“Who?”
“My sister. She lives in the equatorial belt of Darnak. She’s a teacher. She taught me to read, you know.”
Rudolph’s expression softened.
“Then go back for her. Make it matter.”
Chuet nodded in silence.
And so they remained there, two more soldiers beneath a night that promised nothing. The crystal columns still glimmered in the distance like lanterns dimmed by time.
Aeryn’s face flickered on the hologram, distorted by interference. Communications in Tau Ceti were awful, and every time Kael managed to connect, her image had a ghostly sheen, as if she were trapped between worlds.
“The connection still sucks,” Kael muttered, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
“It doesn’t matter. As long as I can see you,” Aeryn replied.
She was beautiful. She had always been beautiful, but distance made it worse. Kael thought of her much more than he could admit.
He swallowed.
“How are the kids?”
“They’re fine.” Aeryn looked away for a second, as if doubting her own answer. “Kieran asked about you this morning. I told him you’re on an important mission. He played all day. I think he was pretending to be a soldier fighting predators with his dad.”
Kael snorted.
“Not sure that’s the example I want to set.”
Aeryn gave a crooked smile.
“Well, it’s what we’ve got.”
Silence stretched again, suffocating.
Kael nodded.
“Tell the little ones I’ll bring something when I return.”
“Sure. When you return. Then I’ll think of what to tell them when they ask me exactly when that is.” Her words lingered in the air, unbearably heavy.
Guilt clenched Kael’s stomach. Time between them was becoming as blurred as the hologram itself. Tau Ceti wasn’t only keeping him physically distant.
“Aeryn…”
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
“Don’t start, Kael.”
Kael clicked his tongue. He didn’t want to argue. Not now.
“Start what?”
“Asking for forgiveness. Promising things that don’t depend on you. This is how it is. We both know it.”
Kael clenched his jaw. Powerlessness hurt worse than any wound. He could dodge bullets, he could plan strategies, but he couldn’t fix this.
“I…” His voice cracked. Before he could continue, the signal flickered. Aeryn glanced off-screen.
“Are you there?” she asked, her image dissolving. “I can’t… very well… I think… failing…”
“Aeryn? Can you hear me?”
Kael tapped the device even though he knew it wouldn’t help. Damn Universal Government. Couldn’t even ensure their communications.
“Can you hear me now?” Aeryn’s voice returned, clearer.
“Yes.”
She smiled. A trace of the old Aeryn showed through.
“I don’t want to take more of your time. I know you have to get back.”
“We can keep talking…”
“Kael, love, I don’t want this to be another call where we stare into nothing. I know you’re doing your best. I know you’re where you have to be. Better days will come, okay?”
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Kael smiled sadly. Something knotted inside him.
“Of course. I’ll make up for all this.”
The image flickered, and the last thing he saw was her silhouette before the transmission cut.
He remained still, staring at the black screen reflecting his own face. Then he sighed and stepped outside.
The campfire crackled at the camp’s center, casting violet flashes as they reflected off the crystalline shards sprouting from the ground. The mineral formations twisted upward like jagged spikes, vibrating with a constant murmur just below hearing. Kael sat on a polished black stone, his jaw tight, his thoughts still trapped in the conversation with Aeryn.
Some soldiers laughed quietly, their faces lit by blue reflections from the flames. Others stared into the fire as if expecting answers. Kael feared for those who sought refuge in the flames: it was a sign of disconnection, never good before a battle.
A figure stepped out of the shadows.
He wore the tanned hide of what seemed to be a Vershixi, iridescent under the firelight. Chains of crystallized bone clinked with each movement, producing an eerie melody that resonated with the planet’s hum. His face was painted with red and black lines forming chaotic patterns that amplified his too-wide smile, a smile that seemed to enjoy a private joke.
“Brothers of war,” he greeted with a mocking bow. “Will you accept me by your fire?”
Silence. Everyone knew saying no to a Balmorean wasn’t an option.
“Since when do Balmoreans want to share a fire with… what do you call us? Fences?”
The man snorted.
“Nonsense from the past. I just want to talk. May I?”
Kael hesitated, though not because he had a choice.
“Go ahead,” he muttered. “Your name?”
The man dropped onto a nearby rock with a raspy laugh, stroking its crystalline surface with knotted fingers.
“Nuka. Call me Nuka.”
The group took a while to resume talking. Constantina Dull, one of the infantrywomen, broke the silence.
“Hey, Chuet, I heard you dropped three predators in a couple of seconds. When did your balls grow?”
Chuet was young, barely able to grow facial hair after months away from home.
“The same time yours did, Cons,” he replied.
The soldiers burst into laughter. Kael allowed himself a faint smile, surprised by Chuet’s quick wit.
Diemano, sitting near Chuet, turned to Kael.
“Did they execute the predators we caught?”
Kael glanced at Nuka. No reaction.
“Some. Others stayed alive.”
Diemano raised an eyebrow.
“And why keep them alive?”
“To deliver them to Bagur, of course,” Nuka said with a smile that made Kael’s stomach churn.
Diemano huffed quietly. Nuka’s eyes snapped to him.
“Is there something you’d like to say?” His voice was soft, but the threat beneath it was clear.
Diemano froze. He looked at Kael, who subtly shook his head.
“No. Thank you.”
“Better,” Nuka said. “Some things shouldn’t be played with.”
Silence settled. Only the crystalline hum of the ground persisted.
Nuka tilted his head, observing them with the pleasure of someone who enjoyed having power over others.
“Today was a good day. We found a straggling enemy patrol. Four soldiers, a communications officer, a pilot. The woman tried to negotiate. Begged us to take her prisoner and let the others go. Amazing what people offer when they’re afraid.”
Kael felt his men tense.
“And what did you do?” Constantina asked, though she already knew.
Nuka smiled widely.
“I agreed. I let the others go. I’m a man of my word.”
Silence weighed heavily.
“But first, I made them watch.”
Someone shifted uneasily.
“Bagdur is generous,” Nuka continued. “But only with those who offer everything.”
Kael felt a cold edge in his gut.
“What did you gain from that?” he asked quietly.
“Gain?” Nuka tilted his head. “Nothing. But I saw fear in their eyes. That is better than any victory. And I was kind enough to leave her in a state worthy of offering to Bagur, so my soul is closer to salvation.”
Kael stared.
“And why tell us this?”
Nuka gave a dry laugh and stood.
“So you remember what happens to those who oppose us. Thanks for the fire, friends. May Bagur bless you with more stories.”
He walked away, melting into the darkness and the crystalline vibrations.
Kael noticed clenched jaws and white knuckles around him.
“What a bastard,” Garran muttered, pale under the violet reflections.
Kael exhaled.
“Don’t provoke them. Not now.”
Roq approached.
“Kael.”
“I know.”
“There will be a meeting. With the Balmoreans.”
Kael closed his eyes.
“About what?”
“The sacrifices. They say they’re insufficient.”
Kael felt something cold crawl up his spine.
“They’re going to demand more?”
“They always demand more.”
Kael rubbed his face.
“Who will be there?”
“The high priest, Dritor Fick, and some of our representatives.”
“And us?”
“We watch and remain silent.”
Kael stared at the violet flames.
“This is disgraceful.”
Roq crossed his arms.
“It’s what we have. We need allies. Sometimes we yield.”
Kael watched the shimmering crystals, knowing the planet’s pulse reminded them they didn’t belong.
War doesn’t destroy only bodies.
It destroys everything it touches.
The quarters assigned to the M-4 block captains had no windows. Only white walls, recycled a thousand times, framed by metal borders where safety instructions once hung, now torn or buried under dust.
The light was dim. The energy system flickered between two intensities that never fully resolved. Even the illumination seemed uncertain in that station.
Reis stood shirtless, leaning against a makeshift shelf-table. The synthetic military wine vibrated in his plastic cup, mocking him.
On the bed, Alis covered herself with the sheet up to her chest. She didn’t speak at first. She watched his back, the new scars, the involuntary tremor in his shoulders. She knew he was breathing faster, and not out of desire. Out of frustration.
“It’s fine, Reis,” she said softly. “I swear. I’m fine.”
He didn’t answer. Didn’t turn. His fingers tapped the edge of the shelf.
“It’s not you,” he murmured. “You’re not the problem.”
“I know,” Alis replied, firmer now. “And it’s not you either, if you want the truth. It’s all this.”
Reis turned. His face gleamed with cold sweat.
“How do you know if it’s me or not?”
“Because two days ago you walked in with shrapnel in your chest and not one damn officer asked if you could even breathe again,” she snapped. “Because you don’t sleep. You don’t talk. And every time I touch you, it feels like you’re on another planet.”
Silence cut like a blade. Reis turned back to the shelf and poured another cup.
“You have no idea,” he said quietly.
“I don’t,” she admitted. “But I didn’t climb on top of you out of pity.”
“Then why?”
“Because I wanted to. Because I thought maybe the two of us could disconnect for a moment. But you don’t want to disconnect from anything. You want to punish yourself. You’re always at war, even when there’s no one shooting.”
Reis clenched his teeth.
“Don’t start lecturing me.”
“These aren’t lectures,” she said, sitting up, no longer covering herself. “You’re dragging everyone down. You’re becoming just like them.”
He finally looked at her, eyes glassy but not with tenderness.
“What the hell do you know about that?”
“I know you don’t say a word when they send us on suicide missions. I know you stay quiet in meetings, nodding like just another soldier. But you aren’t. You’re the commander.”
“So now I’m supposed to be everyone’s dad?”
“You’re supposed to try not to get us killed. It’s not a lot to ask.”
“And what do you know about commanding?” he barked. “How many orders have you given that weren’t ‘cover the flank’ or ‘reload ammunition’? You have no idea what it means to carry all this!”
“Of course,” Alis said with a hollow laugh. “Because I’m just the girl who sleeps with you, right?”
“Because you think that by riding me you understand what I go through, what it feels like, and no, you’re just a stupid girl. Stupid.”
“You’re pathetic, Reis.”
“And you’re an opportunist,” he shot back. “You’re with me because you want me to save you. Give you a safe place. Sit comfortably. But I don’t have that. You’re not special. You’re nothing.”
Silence, heavy and suffocating.
Alis stood. Dressed slowly, not with wounded pride but with a calm filled with fury. At the door, she paused.
“I’m scared too, Reis. But at least I’m not hiding behind a cup or hurting the only people who still believe in you.”
She left.
Reis stood where he was, the door closing behind her. His wine trembled again, but this time it was his hand.
He drank in one swallow, then leaned his forehead against the shelf. The cup fell, rolled, and stopped without breaking.
The tears didn’t burst out. They fell slowly, as if seeping from somewhere too deep to contain. He didn’t sob. Didn’t scream. He only drew in breath after breath, as if he needed to drown to feel something real.
His uniform lay tossed on a chair. His rifle against the wall. He didn’t touch it, but it comforted him to know it was there.
With his chest bare, he was just a broken boy, with hardened skin and a heart half-buried.
The war went on. And Reis no longer knew whether he was part of it, or just another victim still capable of walking.
Night spread across the camp with the weight of cold iron. Fires crackled in scattered pits, sending pale smoke up toward a starless sky. Kael had unlatched his chestplate and was about to lie down when Roq’s rough voice called from outside.
“Kael. Don’t sleep yet. Come.”
He cursed under his breath but got up, tightening his campaign jacket before stepping out. The wind sliced at exposed skin, making the tents creak.
The command tent greeted him with the smell of burnt oil and damp leather. At its center, resting on a makeshift table of boards and the bones of pack beasts, lay the continental map. It was stained with wine, sweat, and dirt; every commander had handled it as though it were a battlefield itself.
The map didn’t depict a vast continent, but a fractured one. To the north, the Dravik mountain chain, shattered by narrow, treacherous passes. To the west, the port of Varnek, the only access for maritime supply routes. The south was an endless plain, perfect for marching and disastrous for holding. And in the center, the Karvell River, the black vein that connected villages and routes until it vanished into the sea.
Kael set his knuckles against the leather.
“What do we have?”
Roq leaned over the map, moving a flat stone with his finger.
“Squad Four and Squad Five are crossing onto the same path. If we leave them like that, we’ll duplicate efforts and leave Dravik Pass open.”
Kael narrowed his eyes.
“Four goes south, following the Karvell to Ovrin. Half a force is enough to secure the route. Five digs into the hills of Dravik. Better to cover the valley than wander aimlessly.”
Roq grunted in agreement, then looked at him closely.
“You look tired. If you spoke a bit slower, I’d think someone knocked the brains out of you.”
Kael let out a bitter laugh.
“Who hasn’t? A soldier must battle on, but the days weigh. Especially with unwelcome company…”
Kael’s mind drifted again to the same fantasy: walking around a fire and spotting one of those animals who dared call themselves Balmoreans. Holding a stake. Closing in as the creature remained clueless until the stake sank into its stomach again and again, blood spilling across its body. Few fantasies pleased him as much.
Roq cut the silence.
“You can’t afford to choose allies. None of us can. They’re here because they’re necessary. That’s it.”
Kael muttered something but didn’t argue. He returned his attention to the map.
“Squad Seven is disarmed,” he said. “They need real leadership.”
“Who do you propose?” Roq asked.
“Constantina Dull.” Kael tapped the map. “She has character, she’s tough, she knows when to speak and when to stay quiet. Div Kut and Chuet are good soldiers but just boys. You can’t put them in command yet. And Diemano Vashila doesn’t have the spine for it.”
Roq lifted an eyebrow, then nodded.
“Constantina it is. She’ll be the hand of Seven.”
Kael nodded, satisfied.
“And at the center, we need a voice to keep morale steady. I won’t waste time repeating orders or soothing nerves.”
“And who do you have in mind?”
“Rudolph Tant. The troops respect him. He says things as they are and his voice doesn’t shake.”
Roq snorted.
“Tant’s soft.”
“I don’t need a monster,” Kael shot back. “I need obedience. And he gets it. They’ll follow him.”
They marked new positions with charcoal. The black lines spread across the map like veins in a sick body.
Kael pointed to a cross on the northwest.
“The Balmorean camp is ten or fifteen kilometers away. Good. Close enough to coordinate, far enough not to interfere.”
“That’s not enough,” Roq said, moving a stone north. “We need them to set another camp here. If not, we’ll never cover the central strip.”
Kael slammed his fist on the table.
“Even then we’re two gaps short. The western pass and Varnek port.”
Roq folded his arms.
“I’ll speak with Devouir. I’ll try to secure reinforcements.”
Kael glanced up.
“Sir… if you allow the question… Devouir… is he solid?”
Roq’s face hardened. Kael clarified immediately:
“I don’t doubt his abilities. Or following him. But people talk. And it’s not always good.”
“Devouir is unorthodox, yes. But he’s the only one who can sustain a rebellion of this scale. Without him, the cause collapses.”
Kael exhaled, lowering his gaze.
“I suppose we must trust him, then.”
Silence settled again. Outside, the wind battered the tents, and smoke seeped through the seams as if trying to listen. Inside, the charcoal marks and stones on the map were the only illusion of control left.
Kael ran a hand over his forehead and murmured, mostly to himself:
“This continent will devour us before we ever take hold of it.”
Roq heard and, for the first time that night, allowed the hint of a smile.
“Devour or be devoured. Life never offers much else.”
Kael didn’t respond. He nudged another stone across the map, as if moving it might somehow alter destiny.
