Pinwheel Remastered

"You die again, tree climber."

"R-Raz?" I stammered, indignation warming my icy blood. "I knew it was you, you bitch!"

She released me and stood up, laughing at me as I shuffled away from her on the ground. Thinking better of it, I rose to my feet, brushing dirt off my coveralls and nursing a skinned palm.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" I demanded, checking myself for cuts and scrapes. "You're out of line, Raz. What's your fucking problem?"

My heart was racing, but she just stood there with her hands planted on her hips, grinning at me as her long tail waved back and forth. Both of her fuzzy ears were tracking me as she waited for me to finish, probably savoring the reaction that she had gotten out of me.

"Just another notch on my belt, tree climber," she finally replied. "I thought you guys were the apex predators on your homeworld? Yet you ran away like a prey animal, and you didn't even get very far! Then you whimpered like a kitten when I caught you," she added, leering at me in a way that made me very uncomfortable. She was so smug, as if she had just won an argument, or proven some kind of point. I didn't know what kind of game she thought she was playing, but I was rattled and angry.

"You think this is a joke?" I asked, "is this fun for you? You could have really hurt me!"

"Yeah, you're pretty fragile," she said with a nod. I was livid, a broken bone or a scuffed knee might be easily repaired in a medical bay, but she was flaunting the social contract. She had no respect for me, not for my health, nor for my personal space. Her behavior was baffling, inexcusable. Was she legitimately insane? A sociopath?

"You can't do this," I grumbled, "I'll-"

"You'll what?" she demanded, leaning down to eye-level with me and resting her hands on her knees as though she was addressing a child. "You gonna report me? Gonna go crying to the Staff Sergeants and tell 'em that mean old Raz is picking on you?"

"Maybe I will!" I shot back. She took a step toward me, and I took a step away from her.

"Go on then, monkey, report me. It won't do you any good. My father is the Patriarch of Elysia, he's the most powerful man on Borealis. If your UNN sent me home, it would sour relations."

"So...you're only here because they want to appease your father?" I asked. Raz was taken aback by my remark, her brow furrowing and her pink lips pulling back to bare her sharp teeth in a snarl. She took another step forward, and I took another step back in turn.

"Are you implying that I don't deserve to be here?" she spat. "I'm a better warrior than any of you scrawny little tree climbers. I don't know why my father wants an alliance with the humans so badly," she added with a sneer. "Everyone back home is so impressed with your shiny space fleet and your superlight drives, but you can't fight. You aren't strong where it really counts, like we are. Ten of your Marines couldn't take on a single unarmed Borealan warrior."

I had struck a nerve, apparently, and I wasn't about to let up.

"So you're a spoiled daddy's girl with an inferiority complex, is that it?" I jeered. "You're from a primitive backwater that couldn't even discover superlight technology on their own, and that's why you have such a huge stick up your ass? Now it all makes sense!"

Raz recoiled, hurt by my obviously correct assessment of her. Her round ears flattened against her hair, and her flexible tail seemed to sag.

"And we don't climb trees!" I shouted, seizing the moment. Emboldened, I darted forward and punched her in the gut as hard as I could, immediately regretting the decision as my fist crumpled against her rock-hard abdominal muscles. She stood there for a moment, watching me dance and wave my injured hand, then she reached out and casually pushed me into a nearby bush.

"Like I said...you can't fight," she muttered, wandering off into the darkness as I struggled to free myself from the foliage.

***

The next time that I saw Raz, I was in the mess hall, shortly before lights out. I was eating some rather well-crafted French onion soup at a table with some of my friends, when I saw her enter the room and navigate to the preferred table of the Borealans.

I had cooled down somewhat after our earlier encounter on the torus. I was still angry at her for her immaturity and disrespect, but I was worried that I might have really hurt her feelings. I had jammed a proverbial fork in her eye the moment that I had seen an opening. Maybe it had been wrong to play off her insecurities like that. She certainly didn't deserve my sympathy, but I figured that I should try to make up with her, for my own sake if not for hers. I still had to live with her for the next several months.

I noticed that one of her round ears was still tracking me, at least she wasn't mad enough to ignore me entirely.

It was probably a better idea to make up with her now, rather than to wait until we were back in our quarters where it might come off forced. Or worse, her retribution would be out of view of the other trainees and staff...

Gingerly, I left my seat, approaching the Borealans. Their orange heads turned to track me, the whole table staring at me with their eerie, yellow eyes as I approached from behind Raz. Her tail was trailing on the floor like a fuzzy snake, and I sidestepped it, careful to avoid treading on the appendage. She continued to eat nonchalantly, one of her ears facing backward.

"Hey Raz," I began, "can we...uh...can we talk about what happened earlier today?"

Her ear flicked, was that amusement? Annoyance? She continued to face forward, her claws sinking deep into her steak as she chewed into it, the red juices staining her furry fingers as I waited for a response.

"What's wrong, tree climber?" she chided over a mouthful of meat. "You back for a rematch?"

"A...rematch?" I asked, cocking an eyebrow in confusion.

"Yeah. I told my pack about how you challenged me to a fight earlier and got trounced."

"I challenged you to a fight?" I asked, my cheeks flushing as I started to get angry again. "That's not how I remember it. I came here to make peace, and you're telling people lies about me?"

"No need to be a sore loser," she shot back, taking another bite out of her steak. "You thought that you could take me, and you failed. Maybe now you'll respect Borealan fighting prowess."

I was shocked by her audacity, and I couldn't believe that I had ever felt sorry for her. I stormed back to my table, returning to my soup as her cohorts laughed and spat what must have been insults in their feline language. I hadn't told anyone about the incident, and my friends were confused by my dour mood. I didn't need word getting around about my feud with Raz. I had worked my ass off to get here, and my future was on the line. Raz was just a pampered brat with family in high places, she was only here as a token to appease her father.

I would keep this under my hat, and I'd either deal with it myself or hope that she slipped up in a way that the Staff Sergeants couldn't ignore. I spooned soup into my mouth, no longer appreciating the flavor.

***

Not long after, Vasiliev called for us to make our way to our bunks over the P.A system. What few recruits were still dawdling in the mess hall filed out, mingling and chatting amongst themselves, save for the Borealans who remained in their pack as Raz had called it. They must be very tribal creatures, which might go some way toward explaining their shitty attitude.

As I neared room forty-seven and my small group of friends parted ways, I realized that much of my courage was just bluster. I was afraid of being alone in a room with Raz. I didn't believe that she would seriously injure me, but her bullying was wearing on my nerves, and wondering what she might get up to next was making me anxious.

I should be focusing on my training, not worrying about what she might be doing, or where she might be lying in wait for me. I seriously considered lodging a complaint with Vasiliev about her attitude, but came to the conclusion that it would only make me look bad. There was little evidence of her mistreatment besides for hearsay, and the incident at the pool. But even then, what would be my complaint? That Raz was being mean to me? It was a surefire way to draw unwanted scrutiny, and potentially the ire of the officers, who might see it as a sign of weakness.

I was distracted from my thoughts as a large, orange hand ruffled my hair, a little too forcefully to be described as affectionate. I ducked away, turning to see Raz grinning down at me.

"Ready for bed, roomie?" she purred. Her saccharine display might fool the other trainees crowding around the dorms, but not me. I scowled at her, and she gave me an exaggerated pout. "What's the matter, are we not friends anymore, little monkey?"

I ignored her, making my way into the room, and she followed in behind me. She closed the door, then strode over to her bunk, sitting down and crossing her long legs. The mattress sagged under her weight, the springs creaking, and she bobbed one of her paw-like feet in the air as she watched me change. As I stripped off my uniform and pulled on my pajama pants, I heard her croon from across the room, turning to see her eyes lingering on my naked torso as her long tail waved back and forth idly.

"Maybe an adolescent, rather than a kitten," she muttered. "You're pretty developed."

I put on my pajama top, covering myself as she smirked at me.

"What are you talking about?" I asked, stowing my boots in my locker.

"You're short, but your body is pretty developed, like a kitten who had been lifting weights." She chuckled to herself, apparently enjoying the mental image that she had conjured. "Or maybe an especially stunted adolescent who was trying to catch the eye of a girl that he liked."

I went back to folding my uniform, trying to ignore her.

"Have you ever had a girlfriend, Mister Monkey?"

"Of course I have," I replied. Giving her a reaction was probably counterproductive, but the day had been long, and she was trying my patience.

"I don't think you have, you're far too small. Is that why you've been working so hard, so that you can impress one of the girls? Which one do you like?"

I paid no attention to her, closing my locker and climbing into bed.

"I bet it's that one with the yellow hair and the big boobs, right?" she prodded as I threw the covers over myself. "Well, big for a monkey, anyway."

She stood and began to pull down the zipper on her uniform, disrobing as I lay in my bunk and tried not to stare at her too conspicuously. She dragged it down from the collar to her belt line, the weight of her breasts parting the tight-fitting garment, even from within the tube top that she wore beneath. Once again, I caught a glimpse of her sculpted abs, the perfect rows of muscle catching the light as they emerged from the shadow of her clothing. They flexed as she leaned forward to tug the lower half of her coveralls down, bulging from beneath her porcelain skin. She gave me a view down her cleavage in the process, her top compressing the two heavy globes of fat together. They wobbled gently as she danced on the spot, struggling to get the uniform down past her hips, then she stepped out of it and threw it haphazardly into her locker.

"I can't believe how small some of those human girls are," she muttered, slamming the locker and running her clawed fingers through her mop of orange hair. She yawned widely and exposed her pointed teeth, then turned her back to me as she appraised her bunk for a moment, stooping to rearrange the pillows. The alien hadn't made her bed even once, it looked like a giant rat's nest, and she seemed to prefer it that way. I caught an eyeful of her rear, the elastic of her bike shorts doing nothing to conceal her firm, round cheeks. My eyes wandered down to her milky thighs, I could see her blue bedspread through the gap between them.

"So what's your type, tree climber?" she continued as she flopped down onto the mattress. She rolled over to face me, resting her cheek in her fuzzy palm. She must have noticed that I was blushing, because she smiled, striking an overly dramatic pin-up girl pose on her bunk. "How about me?"

I couldn't stop my gaze from following the curves of her body as she lay on her side, her wide hips tapering into a pinched waist, her heavy breasts spreading under their own weight beneath the insubstantial fabric of her top. I traced the prominent outline of her hip bone down toward the waistband of her tantalizingly low-cut shorts, the black material contrasting with her lily-white skin.

I felt a twinge in my loins, a dangerous, inappropriate twitch. I broke away and turned my eyes toward the floor, my cheeks flushing. Raz brought a furry hand up to her mouth to stifle a laugh, apparently entertained by my reaction.

"I like making you go red, tree climber. Unfortunately for you, I'm off-limits."

"You're crazy," I began, "as if I'd ever-"

"If I fucked you, you'd probably die," she interrupted as if it were a matter of fact. Then she rolled back onto her bed, lying spread-eagled as she laughed at my embarrassment.

"H-how can you-" I stammered, completely blindsided by her vulgarity and her lack of tact.

"Don't worry, monkey boy, we'll find you a girlfriend. Maybe we'll have a look in the trees on the way to drill tomorrow morning. Oh, I forgot, you don't climb trees." She rolled around, holding her stomach and pretending to be wounded. "Oh no! The human has punched me, my organs have liquefied! Bleh!"

Her tongue lolled out of her mouth as she played dead, and I was surprised by its length. It was almost as long as my forearm and covered in what looked like dull barbs, pink in color with a tapered tip.

I rolled over and put my back to her, trying to focus on the upcoming drill rather than my roommate's childish antics. Her chuckling eventually died down, and she began to snore. I pulled the sheets tighter around me, trying not to think about the involuntary swelling in my shorts.

CHAPTER 3: BULLSEYE

The next morning, I was again roused by Raz's noisy exercising. I had no reason to believe that she wasn't doing it just to get a rise out of me. My complaints fell on deaf ears, and so I got dressed and headed into the mess to get some food. Most of the trainees were already there, and I located a group of my friends, chatting with them as I wolfed down my breakfast. Before long, Vasiliev's voice came in over the P.A system, and he summoned us to the briefing room. Once there, he informed us that we would be starting our rifle drills today. The recruits muttered amongst themselves, eager to be allowed back onto a range again for the first time since leaving their homeworlds.

We left the barracks and marched down to the section of the military quarter where the armory was located. There was much more activity here than there was around the recruit barracks and the recreation center. Squads of Marines jogged past our procession, wearing their signature black combat armor over their Navy-blue fatigues. It was made up of ceramic plates that would dissipate the heat of plasma bolts and stop bullets, the smooth surfaces reflecting the sunlamps with a polished sheen. Beneath the plates was Kevlar that would ward off blades and shrapnel. They wore full-faced helmets in the same matte black, their features obscured behind opaque visors.

There were engineers in their yellow overalls, transporting unidentifiable technology on trolleys or inspecting weaponry and crates of ammunition. The sound of officers barking orders rose above the din of the crowds, and for the first time since arriving on the station, I felt like I was really in a military environment. The fight might be far away from the station, but we were still at war, the sight strengthening my resolve to make it through the program.

We entered the armory building, making our way to a firing range that occupied one wing of the structure. There were all manner of weapons sitting on racks against one wall, most of which I didn't even recognize. To our right were the firing booths and the range itself, paper targets hanging on hooks from the ceiling at various distances. The far wall was padded with thick ballistic gel that would prevent the rounds from penetrating and damaging the station itself.

"You've all done firearms drills with the preferred weapons of your respective planets," Vasiliev began. He walked down the line of recruits, raising his voice to ensure that everyone could hear him. "But now, you must familiarize yourselves with standardized Coalition armaments."

The Staff Sergeant made his way over to a table, where an odd rifle was laid out. He lifted it, showing it to us as we shuffled closer, crowding around to get a look at it. The frame was built from some kind of sculpted plastic or polymer, the same matte black as the Marine armor, save for a few details here and there like warning notices or exposed metal. It had a long barrel, which was ringed by copper-colored coils that were spaced out at intervals. The grip and trigger were molded into the frame, it was all very clean and compact, the stock adorned with a padded butt plate. The magazine well was situated behind the trigger and was currently empty. Vasiliev turned it over in his hands as we gawked.

"This is the X-Species Modular Rifle, our standard issue battle rifle, better known as the XMR. Because of the nature of our enemy, and the multi-species composition of our Coalition, this weapon has been designed to be completely modular."

He walked behind the table relative to us, and we watched in awe as he field-stripped the rifle. Every component was detachable, from the stock to the barrel. He popped a large mass out of the stock that looked like it might be a battery, and then with a few clicks, he had removed the latter entirely. Next was the long barrel, sliding out of its attachment point, followed by the forward grip and the reflex sight. After only a few seconds, the naked frame that made up the basis of the rifle was sitting on the table, surrounded by the components.

"This is the frame," Vasiliev explained as he lifted the considerably lighter weapon. It was little more than a mostly hollow, receiver-shaped piece of polymer now. "It comes in three sizes. Small, medium, and large. This is a medium, it's a suitable size for the average human and serves as a good basis for anything from a bullpup assault rifle to a DMR. The smaller frames are used as a basis for building submachine guns and personal defense weapons. The Krell and Borealans will probably find the large frame more comfortable," he continued, gesturing to the far wall where there were many of the weapons sitting in racks. "Everything is standardized, which means that if a Marine runs out of ammo in the field and his only companion is a Krell, they can use the same magazines, and they can make use of the same replacement parts."

He lifted a lump of polymer and metal in his hand, about the size of a soda can, showing it to us.

"This is the receiver, it slots into the top of the frame. See how the rail is hinged? Just pop it up and hit the ejector. There are two varieties, and you will be expected to have both of them on your person at all times, right there in your rig with your extra magazines. You will learn to switch these out in a pinch. Doesn't matter if you're in the dark, upside down, or being shot at. By the end of this training, switching receivers will be as second nature to you as swapping out an empty mag."

I watched as he assembled the rifle with the same speed and finesse, then he slammed a magazine into the weapon and marched over to the range. He shouldered the rifle, firing it with a loud crack. The paper target downrange fluttered as something passed through it at high speed, and the projectile slammed into the ballistic gel on the far wall.