SNAFU: Survival of the Fittest

Brokehorn followed Ripper’s gaze. It was a banner — gold on black. There was a lion in profile, scaling what looked like a pile of dead hyenas. Red slashes were stitched all over the lion, who seemed to be roaring, likely for the final time.

“They give that to those who died in battle,” said Brokehorn, remembering what Ripper had said but speaking the words all the same.

“So you did. Your actions were heroic, believe it or not. The Order of the Fallen Lion, and you the only living member,” said Ripper. “I am impressed, not just for the deeds you accomplished.”

“What else would impress you?”

“That you did believe in the ideals we expressed before that battle to spend your life in pursuit of them,” said Ripper.

“That was the mission,” began Brokehorn.

“No, the mission was incidental. You died as true as you lived. So few beings ever do,” said Ripper.

A small door opened, and Nurse Sera stood there, her hands on her hips, glaring at the Tyrannosaurus.

“I’m leaving, I’m leaving,” Ripper grumbled, turning away from her and heading toward the large doors on the other side of the room.

“You’ll…” Brokehorn began, and then forced himself to ask. “You’ll be here tomorrow?”

“I will,” promised Ripper. “Sleep well, friend.”

Brokehorn watched him go, and he was left alone with Nurse Sera as she went about her tasks. He was tired, but he had slept for weeks and had questions. “Nurse,” he said, and she turned toward him.

“Lancer, what can I do for you?” she asked him.

“The humans I saved, do you know where they are now?” he asked her.

She frowned, and gave a small shake of her head. “Hopefully they found their parents and are trying to recover, physically and mentally, but I truthfully don’t know. Children are tough though — they bounce back faster than you think.”

“That’s good then,” Brokehorn said, thinking of how the young humans had looked at him while he ripped apart the Khajalian. How many nightmares would that bring on?

Sera paused, visibly thinking, and then moved closer to Brokehorn. “May I ask a question?” The Lancer nodded for her to go on. “Why did you do that?”

“Because he was trying to kill me,” said Brokehorn, and then realized that he had been thinking of the Khajali that he had slaughtered.

“I know that,” began Sera, misunderstanding, “but you killed yourself saving human children. Why though? It’s obvious the Illurians don’t care — the ones who aren’t fighting, that is. So why do you? You could have left them to their fate and no one would have thought less of you,” she said. Her voice was soft, and she had moved closer to him, resting a hand on his crest and looking him in the eye.

There was only one answer he could give her that would be true, and to voice it would be to accept his status as Separated and no longer simply Old Blood. “Because it was the right thing to do,” he said, meeting her gaze evenly. As he said it, he realized there would be no mate from the garden worlds for him. He would never be part of a herd of Lancers, and would remain forever ignorant of that which bonded his own kind.

For a second it was frightening, and then he saw Sera push tears away from her eyes, and smile down at him. “You are all so wonderful. Thank you,” she whispered at him, turning away. He felt the fear vanish at her sincere expression of gratitude, and instead it was replaced by a cocktail of emotions he had no name for. The dinosaur turned his head with some pain, to look at the banner that hung above him. He had traded away easy pleasures for the hard road, but so be it. It would not be a lonely road, at least, and some would live that otherwise would not.

His last thought before he settled back down to sleep was a human one. He had no regrets.

Sucker of souls Kirsten Cross

“Is that as fast as you can run? Because fella, I’m telling you right now, it ain’t fucking fast enough!” Snarled from a frightened man way, way out of his comfort zone and desperately trying to appear in control of an uncontrollable situation so as not to ‘frighten the civvy’ as they stagger-ran.

Soldiers, even ex-soldiers who now got paid to babysit grave-robbing archaeologists, shouldn’t show fear. Ever. Even when they were faced with an enemy that apparently had powers well beyond those that could be controlled with a quick double-tap from a Glock.

Fuck.

This was gonna be one well-earned pay cheque. If he lasted long enough to collect the damn thing, that is. What they had just witnessed had challenged Flynn’s whole concept of what was worth seven hundred dollars a day plus expenses and what wasn’t. And this very definitely wasn’t.

“I’m sorry?” The archaeologist didn’t seem to get the barely controlled desperation, panic and outright ‘what the actual fuck was that?’ tone in his babysitter’s voice. Flynn was still in control of himself. Just.