A Conversation with the Grown-Up Child Solider
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Your hive is underground, far below the surface. So deep, in fact, that most land dwellers struggle to get that deep. Sometimes your matesprit struggles too, even as a seadweller. The elevator leading down was fairly hidden, unless one knew where to look. Usually, you could sense your lusus below the waves, in the deep, as you traveled down. He was always excited for your return. His voice rang in your head like a nostalgic song. Typically, he would warn you, especially if your broodmate had shown up.Â
So one can imagine the horror you felt upon the doors opening to an unfamiliar frame standing in your hive.Â
Granted, at first, you thought it was Bruuno. The stranger had his back to you, a long mess of curls cascading down his back, black coat hanging off broad shoulders, tall thick stature. He gazed out the glass wall, into the vast deep where your lusus swam, somewhere. Upon closer inspection, of course, you were horrifically incorrect. You knew your twin well. He didnât have a tail.Â
The stranger turned towards you as he realized your arrival. His fins pricked up and a warm smile decorated his face. Startled, you tossed your cane up to grip it defensively, hobbling a few steps out of the elevator. You fully intended on closing the gap between you two. But his face looked so similar to Bruunoâs, to Deepbiteâs, that it stopped you dead in your tracks. Your blood ran cold for a split second.Â
âLeonra, yes? Hello, hello,â He made no effort to get any closer. If the stranger was thrown off, he didnât let it show in the slightest, âYou may know my title. However, you can call me Atllas. Itâs lovely to finally meet you.â He folds his hands behind his back, but the tail, eerily shark-like, sways low to the ground.Â
âWhy are you in my hive?â Your voice is monotone as ever, ringing out against the stone walls. Youâve already deduced who he may be- at the very least a Monark of some sort. You regret only having your foldable cane to defend your property. Your sword cane was with Iji.Â
âIâm here to speak with you, of course.â The larger trollâs expression softens into something of concern. It does little to unsteel your heart. You take a step closer, priming the cane to swing, should he try anything funny.Â
âI donât like talking. Leave.â A nod towards the elevator you just left from. âOr I jumpstart your retirement.âÂ
His fin twitched, the same way Bruunoâs does when heâs caught off guard. Good. In an act of desperation, maybe, the older troll holds his hands up in surrender, âI wonât be long, I assure you. Five minutes is all I ask of you.âÂ
âI spent my five minutes of Fleet service. Unless you come bearing the news of some untimely deaths, I suggest you leave before I cause yourâs.â It took some real guts to threaten a Fleet troll not just once, just twice. Youâd just settled back on Alternia, finally getting over the nightmares of being back on that forsaken ship again. There was little you wouldnât do to keep yourself here. You were a fugitive once. Youâd be a fugitive again, if need be.Â
The other shakes his head, sighing, âI could never bring myself to do such a thing. Iâm not here to talk you into re-enlisting.âÂ
âThen you can leave.âÂ
And then, he laughs. The ancestor before you laughs at your blunt nature, finding himself endeared, charmed, and perhaps a little frustrated. Somehow, his laughter sparks something in your own chest. You were never much of a laugher, yet his laughter gets you to chuckle. Your shoulders relax ever so slightly. Your guard was forced down just enoughâŠ
âŠto not notice your lusus swimming closer to the glass wall. His giant fin, larger than the wall itself, slams directly into the glass. Reinforced Fleet-Grade Space Travel Glass, strong enough to withstand your lususâ banging. You nearly jump from your skin, gripping the cane tighter and closer to your frame. Why didnât he warn you? He always warned you! The bang is as loud and clear as the message, ringing in your ears. You blink the overwhelming panic from your eyes. The ancestor hadnât moved in the slightest.Â
âI believe you heard MegaDad well enough. Shall we?â Her Beloved Annihilation smiles at you, tail swishing low to the ground. He hadnât moved an inch. Either unaffected by the scare, or too quick to recover for you to notice.Â
You lower your cane back to the ground, forcing your shoulders to relax. You square your jaw. Your heart was still racing, but you are Leonra Monark. And you recover fast. Maybe not as fast at the old bastard in front of you, but youâd be damned before you ever let him witness a moment of weakness.Â
Your dining area was nothing more than a slightly wider open space in a different portion of the cave you called a hive. The dining table, however, was not as pristine as it probably should have been for a guest. You had blueprints, works in progress, things to work on, riddled with notes from yourself and your colleagues. You had just gotten feedback on the plausibility of a psionic-powered set of prosthetic legs from none other than Dr. Hanagi Cheong. This was your current assignment, and one you were enjoying thoroughly. Because of such, everything was justâŠscattered about, no rhyme or reason. As you went to retrieve a glass of water for the old fuck, he found his way to the dining table. You returned to him rather excitedly looking at your designs.Â
âThis is all your work?â He asks as you approach. You hand the glass to him silently. This was a silly attempt to relate to you, to get you to open up to him. An emotional bid of interest. Â
âNot all of it. Prosthetics are just as much medical as they are technical. I am not a doctor, just a man who can do math.âÂ
âFascinating!â For a moment, you actually feltâŠhappy, under his proud gaze. You shove that down. âIâve met many Monarks in my time, as you can imagine. Iâve just about seen it allâŠbut never mathematics. Iâve noticed most gravitate towards the arts, music specificallyâŠyouâre a rare one, indeed.âÂ
Your brow furrows in the slightest, âTheyâre the same thing.â You knew you were falling into the trap of his emotional bid. Fuck, but he struck just the right chord to get you talking.Â
ââDoing mathâ is the simplistic way of saying I solve problems. Iâve chosen to solve these problems,â You wave a hand over your designs nonchalantly, âThe problem being a reprehensible lack of reliable prosthetics. Because of such, I created a solution for the problem. I make reliable prosthetics. I am more than an engineer. I work alongside doctors, alongside therapists. We identify problems, and I create solutions. My prosthetics do not come from nothing. I draw each piece, I work out the size of each little screw, nut, and bolt. Every battery is categorized, each chip tagged and tested for quality assurance. Not many mainstreamed prosthetics built on a line can say such a thing. I identified a problem, and I created the solution.
âMy brother, he has his own problems to solve. He saw a lack of himself in the world, so he created the solution. He put himself in the world, by creating music. Archai identified a problem in the arts, in handling artwork, in tracking and preserving historically significant artwork. He created the solution. They found problems, and solved them. The arts, my sciences, theyâre the same thing. Iâve dedicated my life to finding my own problems and solving them. The world is full of them. I am starting here. Perhaps one day, Iâll move away from mathematics and prosthetic design. But for now, these are the problems I solve. Much more complex than just..doing math.â As you stop, you finally notice the ancestor of your ancestor had been watching you speak the entire time. He was genuinely interested, holding stars of wonder in his eyes.Â
âIncredible, Leonra. WordsâŠcannot even begin to describe how I feel.âÂ
You tilt your head slightly, face ever unchanging.Â
âYouâŠwere given the worst start possible. Had I known of Deepbiteâs antics sooner, I wouldâve stopped him. I deeply regretted my inaction for sweeps, loathing the fact that I had let you slide under the radar. Truthfully, I hadâŠ.put off this meeting for so long, I was convinced you would be a mess.âÂ
Should you be offended that he thought so little of you?Â
âAny lesser troll truly wouldâve been!â He explained, fins folding down in the same way your brotherâs do, âAnd then I heard you returned to his ship. You went back there, all on your own! IâŠ.I canât even fathom it. Braver than I ever could be. Youâve built such a successful life for yourself despite it all. Youâve done more than just survive, youâve thrived. ItâsâŠwonderful. I couldnât be more proud.âÂ
You stare at the space between his eyes. As he speaks, itâs easy to confuse his face for Imperial Deepbiteâs. In a strange, sad way, you allowed this mental picture to form. Saying the things he would never actually say.Â
âTell me, Leo, how did you do it?â The illusion crumbles. Your ancestor is not the one speaking to you. It is simply just Atllas.Â
What a funny way to refer to such a grand man. Just Atllas. As if he was a friend, not the ancestor of your own. Such verbiage made it easy to open up to him.Â
âI wasnât alone. It takes a cloister to raise a grub, it took a squadron or three to raise a child. It would be insulting to not credit my success to Obsidian, to Romune and Archai, and everyone else on that ship. Give credit where credit is due.âÂ
âThey didnât create all of this, did they?â His scarred hand waves over your work, just as you once did. âThey got you to this point, certainly. But give credit where credit is due, my love. This is your own work. This is proof alone that you are something incredible.âÂ
You were silent. Your eyes return to the designs on the table. This was anâŠunusual feeling.Â
âThey tossed you the life preserver. It was you who made it to shore. You who saw the world as a series of problems to be solved, and got to work solving them. ItâsâŠeasy to think of yourself as a machine, especially in the throws of the Fleet. But, Leonra, canât you see? Youâre so much more. More than you give yourself credit for, more than life ever wanted you to be. Thatâs amazing. Iâm so incredibly proud of you.â Atllasâ voice is firm, but kind. It wasnât the harsh gravel of Deepbiteâs remarks. Atllas was speaking from true admiration.Â
â....I suppose so.â You nod slightly. Your eyes trace over the curvature of your blueprintâs lines. The calf was slightly too wide, perhaps by just a hair. Your attention was pulled away from your comfort by Atllasâ hand being held out to you. You eye his hand curiously. Rough, scarred, calloused.Â
âThat being said, my dear,â Smoke and honey voice washing over you once more, âI would love to know more about them. Obsidian, was it? What an interesting name!âÂ
Slowly, cautiously, you take his hand. Oh, how small he made you feel.Â
âHe picked it himself.â You finally meet his eyes again.Â
âIs that so?â HIs head tilts, coaxing you to say more.Â
And so you do. For the first time in your life, you sat across from someone, and you felt heard. There was no forcing him to hear you, he met each word with a smile, with a question, with a laugh. You werenât just heard, you were seen. Oh, bless the universe above and below, it felt good to be seen.










