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Playing the Hero: “First Battle” Clemmis Version

Once upon a time this scene was in Playing the Hero. It was deleted and rewritten from Vathion’s POV for v2 of the book. However. Here’s Clemmis’s side of the story (with minor edits).

Enjoy!

**

Clemmis was not usually a jerk to other fleet captains and admirals, be they Imperial or privateer. However, that Ha’Vathion had been exceedingly rude. Admittedly, Clemmis had drawn up his battle plans before speaking with Ha’Vathion, as he had intended to force this new admiral to show what he was made of. Now, however, it would be personally satisfying to see the little untried snit get his butt kicked.

He sighed as he cracked his knuckles, watching the readout on his screen even as his scanner officer reported, “Admiral, the Natan Fleet has taken center rank.” Meaning he had filled the hole between Clemmis’s Sports ships and his heavies that would come in behind.

“I didn’t think he’d really be that stupid,” Clemmis sighed and pulled a breath to call out his orders to be prepared to haul the battered Natan Fleet out of the mess they were about to get into. Continue reading “Playing the Hero: “First Battle” Clemmis Version”

Serving Wilsaers

 

His first day at his new job had gone well. Or well enough. He hadn’t had any major incidents – such as dropping people’s orders or forgetting anything important. He’d managed to keep everyone’s drinks filled and spoke to the customers in their own language. Then again, he hadn’t had more than a Carken, two Wolfadon and six Gilon sit down at the tables he had been assigned. The diner wasn’t that large, consisting of perhaps thirty tables. Besides Vathion, there was Cale, and six others who worked as servers in the restaurant. Cale was a slightly pudgy young man who was working at the café to save money in order to get off world. He really wanted to go to Heartland for college. He had hopes of becoming a restaurant owner someday, or a chef. He loved food, and it was obvious.

While Vathion’s first day had been fairly easy, Vathion could tell by the look on Cale’s face that today was going to be a trial. Turning, he looked towards the door and immediately spotted the group of six crawling across the ceiling. They were roughly gilonoid with tails whipping along behind them. Wilsaer…

Vathion had heard of Wilsaers before. He had seen them on the Vid. They always said silly things like “Hi mom!” to the cameras whenever they could sneak into view. You had to be deaf and blind to not notice them. The Wilsaer that appeared to be their leader would have been fairly tall if he were standing on the floor. He had long neon green hair, neon yellow skin, and bright red eyes that glanced around the room, searching for a waiter. His eyes fell on Vathion and Cale and a wide grin spread across his face.

“They’re going for your table,” Cale said with obvious relief. “Your customers!” Cale dashed for the kitchen. Vathion turned slightly, hand raised to call Cale back, but the kitchen door closed before he could even draw a breath, and shortly after, Vathion distinctly heard the back door shut as well. Cale had gone to hide in the pantry. Continue reading “Serving Wilsaers”

Afternoon Conversations

Afternoon Conversations

“I don’t get it, Vath,” Mirith said as she played with a blade of grass, sitting on the curb as he scrubbed at a bug stain on the front bumper of his mother’s car… which he still hadn’t gotten to learn how to drive.

“Get what?” Vathion asked, half soaked, but thankfully it was a warm enough day that it didn’t matter. Jathas was on the hood of the car, scrubbing as well.

Mirith shifted, leaning back and linking her hands around her knees as she looked up at the sky briefly. “You know everything there is to know about the Natan Fleet ships, but you hate the show.”

Vathion paused, looking back at her. “I don’t hate the show…”

“Yes you do.” She looked at him with her head slightly cocked. She had just gotten her hair cut and it was curling around her shoulders now. For the longest, she’d had it down to her shoulder blades. His hair was nearly down to his mid-back, but he knew that would be changing soon. Lisha had demanded that he get his hair cut like Natan’s for that stupid play. He had decided he wasn’t going to do it ‘til maybe the day of. “You complain constantly about how this or that is inaccurate. You mutter about how ‘Natan would never say that’ or complain about how women throw themselves at him on the show.” Continue reading “Afternoon Conversations”

Battle Fleet Simulation: Loss of Kimidas

Taking a breath, Vathion chewed his lower lip as he settled into his seat on the bed. He adjusted his headset. Eyes narrowing, he viewed the readouts on the datapad at his right hand. Around him, the virtual room was quiet. The small sounds of buttons being pushed and keys typed and screens peeping status reports came through his earphones. It was a busy quiet on his bridge, and Vathion rather liked it. It meant things were boring, and in his opinion, boring was good. Especially in a war, and especially in a war that had been going on for as long as this one had. Vathion’s own father had been but a boy when the war had started, and now, it was a question as to whether the Rebel Gelran would be defeated or die of old age first. Honestly, most Gilon were hoping for the latter. It would be a tidy ending to the whole problem and no one would be charged with killing the uncle of Emperor Daharn.

“At this point,” Jathas spoke up from where he sat tucked beside Vathion, “Would anyone care if someone accidentally stabbed that dishonorable scent-deaf jerk?”

Violet brows furrowing, Vathion shot a look at his Bond, “Behave, Jathas! Such blasphemous thoughts. He should be hung for a traitor. That way no one gets splattered with his blood. Ancestors only knows whether that kind of insanity and depravity is contagious!”

“That’s why we should hire that famous assassin, Red Dagger, to do it,” Jathas cheerfully joked, and if Vathion was not used to his Bond’s sick sense of humor, he would have worried about the Hyphokos’s sanity. As it was, he was still a little disturbed and gave Jathas, a slightly undersized yellow Hyphokos a long look. Turning fully to look up at him, Jathas clutched Vathion’s shirt “I’m sorry, that was going a bit too far, but you have to admit that this war is a little stupid. Gelran was disowned rightfully and Armalan took his place rightfully, which means that Daharn is now Emperor, rightfully.”

Continue reading “Battle Fleet Simulation: Loss of Kimidas”

Dinner with Wilsaers

This was originally the last chapter in Playing the Hero. However, I decided to cut this scene for the sake of trimming out unneeded parts. Thus, this scene DID happen, however it is now an extra found only on the site.

**

Playing the Hero: Dinner with the Farem

Vathion was grinning by the time they reached their destination, which was deep within the rambling tunnels and halls of the Hub Core. They had passed hundreds of Wilsaer along the way, and he had awed them all with his graceful bounding from one wall to the other, somersaulting and kicking off walls and down into tubes after his guide, who had taken one glimpse back and had gotten the idea that he could speed up their trek.

As soon as Vathion had left his honor guard at the door, they began whispering to each other and withdrew from view. The room was a large spherical chamber with a circle of chairs on the far wall in which there were already a pair of Wilsaer. In the center of the room floated a lighting device, casting strange shadows on the walls. Otherwise, the room had smooth walls painted white to keep the area from being a cave.

Koska’s brows raised as she looked up to see them, and she stood politely. Her father, Dagamaee, did not have to stand, but he did look up. “You’re early,” he stated in Wilsaer.

Flashing a grin, Vathion sprung across the room and twisted to stick his toes to the wall and straightened, facing Dagamaee and Koska, “And I brought desert offerings,” he replied in the same language.

A Wilsaer sprung across the room from another doorway and Vathion handed over the pack to that one without looking at the man. “For how many?” Dagamaee asked, smirking.

Continue reading “Dinner with Wilsaers”