Pioneers: Creation

Prologue

Prologue


three years earlier...


         Kyrie woke up early, as was usual lately.  Ever since Kenshi had left months back she hadn't slept much.  She mumbled her regular, “Bastard,” as she climbed over the lump next to her and half fell, half climbed to the ground.


         There were pictures here and there, mostly her and her remaining family, but there was a couple with Kenshi showing proudly as well.  None were paid any mind as she stumbled to the bathroom to relieve herself and wash quickly in the shower.  Her mind was groggy, but, as usual when she was alone, her mind kept jumping back to him.


         The two of them had been close and she was sure he'd have asked her the big question any time, so his sudden disappearance had hit her hard.  Never even warned her.  Just up and left.  And joined the MMC Navy SEALS.


         Well, not just no warning.  He’d had thoughts of joining before.  It had been something of a dream to the guy for as long as she had known him, but she thought she’d talked him out of it years ago.  SEALS operatives were always in the thick of the MMC’s battles and often left for prolonged tours.  They lived life on the edge of a blade every day they weren’t at home, so she heard.


         ‘Get over him.  Get over him.  Get over him,’ her mind said in a mantra she’d been using for 11 months now.  Of course she should have gotten over him.  11 months was a long time for a girl to wait.  But dammit, he was something else.  And she’d loved him.


         Whenever he got back Kenshi was going to get it.  Yelling, screaming, throwing whatever was available and 50 lbs. or less.  Oh, yes.  He was going to get it.  Until then, Kyrie would just start sleeping around with other guys...or continue sleeping around with other guys.


         Sure, Kenshi was great and all, but until she had recited some vows she was still single, which meant she could do whatever, or whoever, she wanted.  And military girls were sought after.  Trim, athletic, shapely women made from the MMC’s strict physical guidelines were just as sought after as the men, especially when there weren’t as many women in the military as there were men.


         But Kenshi...he was good.  Different from a lot of the other guys, a sort of breath of fresh air.  Every person is unique, but something about Kenshi was always off.  Quiet, contemplating and sarcastic Kenshi had an air to him which could never be named or characterized, much less copied.  Besides that he was a Terran, which was rare enough even in the MMC, but he was a big Terran too.  6'2'' and a lean musculature, Kenshi was not only big for his kind, but a monster compared to the average 5'5'' of other races.  And the rarity didn't stop there.  Dark, fire red hair, forest green eyes, handsome features of both sharp and soft, high cheekbones, well toned, hard muscles, those loving green eyes, those rough hands, those hungry lips, that large...


         Now she was getting ahead of herself.  Terrans were often the cream of the crop in more ways than one.


         "Damn you Kenshi Tamaki!!!  Once you get back I'm going to break your fucking neck with my own two hands!!!"  She knew that was untrue.  It was almost impossible as she came from a significantly weaker race known as Rittu.  Known for tanned skin, petite bodies and unmatched hand-eye coordination, Rittu were usually given jobs that required abnormal dexterity.  That's why Kyrie was a pilot.  "No sex for him for a month," she promised herself.  Also untrue as she was horny as hell even with all the men she'd been around lately.  She'd probably jump him the second she saw him.  ‘Magic fingers’ he’d say with a grin.  Addictive, more like it.


         Kyrie sighed and stepped out of the tub to walk into the kitchen part of her small home, stopping only to grab a robe and cover herself.  The place was typical for military housing - white walls, flimsy, light colored plywood for cabinets and tables and small, stiff furniture.  Made for convenience not comfort.


         She made a cup of coffee for herself - an acquired taste considering that most people believed that it was some sort of recycled material the MMC concocted and not real coffee - and sat down on the hard couch.  She turned on the HV and relaxed as best she could on the lumpy piece of cloth and plastic.


         "...ing news on the Orlius battle today," the newscaster hurriedly said in the classic no personality charismatic voice.


         'Oh yeah.  The famed Orlius Massacre.  Wonder if they found any more survivors.'  Orlius was a backwater system run by pirates.  A week ago part of a fleet had traced the Hell's Demons pirate group heading past an asteroid field.


         Hell's Demons may have been some of the best known criminals in existence, despite the rather stupid name.  They were as close to a household name as criminals could get and their leader was known to be a vicious and ruthless killer, greedy and sadistic beyond anything.  They were a large group even by pirate standards and had avoided any and all capture or neutralization until that week.


         The Ninth Fleet was a respected fleet lead by Admiral Degross.  They had great leaders and were known to be on the front lines of many of the major battles in the last decade.  The section they’d taken to battle had also outnumbered the pirates 3:1.


         No one really knew what happened, but the Ninth Fleet and Hell's Demons fought in the asteroid field of Orlius to the point where the battle took the lives of nearly everyone who participated in it.  Just about everyone was shot down or hit by stray asteroids from both sides and survivors froze from the harsh conditions of space.  All command ships were destroyed and the pilots couldn't land their fighters in the carriers because of this.  They lost power before help arrived.  The only survivors known were a pirate leader who had been disabled and thrown out of the asteroid field and most of the bridge crew of Pironess, the main MMC carrier in the fleet.  Crews were still working on getting them out alive.  The question was, what went so wrong that over 16,000 people lost their lives because of it?  Kyrie focused on the HV.


         "A soldier was found today amongst the rubble of a pirate battlewagon.  After extensive questioning he revealed that a fellow team member was the cause of much of the disaster, as well as the escape of the pirate leader, Ruki," the newscaster announced.  The scene switched to a white conference room where a black-haired Terran sat.  The screen said his name was Petty Officer 3rd Class Terrace Burlai.


         "He jumped out ahead of everyone in what was supposed to be a surprise attack.  He warned them we were coming.  Then it was just chaos.  He managed to survive and jumped into hyperspace with their leader at the end.  He abandoned the rest of us," the man said in a quiet, deep voice.  He sounded as if he hadn’t slept in days.


         "What's his name?"  Some reporter asked from the audience.


         "Kenshi Tamaki."


         Kyrie dropped her coffee.  Other questions were asked, but Kyrie could only stare at the HV with wide eyes.


         Her Kenshi was a traitor?  Her Kenshi was responsible for the deaths of 16,000 men and women, many of whom were barely out of adolescence?  There was some mistake.  Her Kenshi would never do this.


         A picture of Kenshi was shown on the screen.  He stared coldly at the camera.  No emotion.  No love.  Just cold, angry green eyes.


         "Kenshi?" she whispered.