The Conciliation of Adversaries and Their Mainstream Effects on Humans, Aliens, and Teenagers

Private Edge.

The air was putrid with soldier's raining sweat condensed into a single barracks. The atmosphere was still deathly cold, as it should be, since they were drifting within the deep space aboard Staton 5, the mothership of all motherships. Named after the great Staton scientist himself, of course. Gravity was manipulted on board the Staton, but it was kept inconsistent to test the young men's strength, endurance, and adaptation, perhaps the reason why everyone was especially stinky today. In case the Briac's did any tricky business, they were totally one step ahead of them. Go team.

Edge hardly wanted anything to do with the war with the Briacs, but apparently that's all you could get into these days. If you manufacture something, it was to support the troops in space in their fight against the Briacs. If you were to sell something, some of that proceed ought to go to those brave kids dying because of them Briacs. If you were to buy something, then you must have been purchasing supplies to make banners for your loved one's return. Not that he had any loved ones, anyway. Well, not that he was a loner, either--

"You realize, Private Edge, that your report on the boy is inconclusive."

Immediately, Edge halted his pull ups to salute the Major properly. The other shook his hand away at the formality and bade him to speak, obviously impatient to get the business over with. "It's not like I have anything conclusive to write about. The boy made sure that none of us could."

Major Knox wasn't going to have any of it. "Private Edge, get off your ass and start sending something worth a shit for once. You know it's bad when I have to start visiting you personally to motivate you. I expect another report completed by 2100 hours, waiting in my box or I swear I'll have you deployed the second the next battle cruiser signifies lift off. And I know you wouldn't like that." After another glare down, Major Knox abruptly turned to leave, recieving more salutes as he passed other privates in the dorm by. Something was up his ass today.

No, not just his. Everyone's.

Edge wanted to roll his eyes but protocol restricted him from doing so until all higher authorities were clear of the premises. The Major left him only an hour to write five pages of more bullshit. That would take up all of his free period time.

When he thought about it, he never did have any free time, anyway. It was obvious they were pressuring him to take one tiny misstep, having suspected for a long while now that he was a traitor in league with the Briacs. He was, but not "directly", as he'd like to put it. Which was why he was so inconclusive to them, too. Nothing legit they could gutter him for. Yet. There was no time to be idle when it came to life and death.

This was what he earned for having been former aquaintances with "the boy". The boy's name was like profanity on board the ship nowadays, for abandoning his duty as the weapsys's main master. The only reason anyone ever backed out from duty was to join the Briacs. Not even a dying little sister was going to stop you from kicking some alien ass. It was the wordless law around here.

But this time, they were right, for once, to guess that the boy had indeed joined enemy lines. It was intricately kept at rumor level, however, as it was Edge's duty as not only a spy on board but also as a true soldier of Earth to keep it that way. He'd rather serve someone like the little boy who outsmarted a whole government than a government who lost to a little boy.

Okay, so perhaps he and the boy were still close, but hell, he was trained into thinking he was just as much another player in this big game of space chess as anyone else. Drilling independence into his core should he ever be tossed out on his own was more important than admitting he actually liked the kid.

You owe me so bad, Edge thought to himself then, booting his handy dandy NetNotes to begin the report.

---------------

The Prodigal Son.

Today was truly the first and foremost of many in his young life. Today, he would be joining a good amount of other adolescents shot with high doses of hormones. Yes, it was the beginning of high school. Today.

Again for him, actually. This second time, he wasn't attending because he failed one too many classes and was making up credit or that he missed his teachers so much he just had to come back. If he'd wanted to have anything to do with reminiscing happy memories of bookwork then he would have nothing to do with school nor its people.

There was a higher purpose to his being here. This second time, his true aim was to study and understand a rather reverse sort of atmosphere as opposed to what he was accustomed to, along with its adverse effect on the people living or loitering round the premises. Instead of having chosen a school life in which students were in control of classes as much as the professors were or where student lounges were prepared with hot boosters and the latest HRGs, he was planning to travel backward into a more economically struggling social structure in hopes of gathering information surveys and background checks simply could not.

His destination was level one of the domes from today and who knows how long. In other words, the "ghetto".

The first minute he arrived at Burschiski High, there were stares and whispers prodding at him worse than a moth to a light. Which was to be expected. Everyone within sight was at least a foot or more taller than he could ever hope to be within the year, but as far as reputation went, his stretched further than the musky skies of modern Earth and beyond. At least two from every group of three or four cliques steadily recognized the stature of his dazzling repute and turned to each other to gossip in unison. Not once did he acknowledge their pointing.

The young man was hardly surprised to discover the extent of damage on this level of the dome. Traveling between buildings, he saw graffiti ran rampantly through the walls worse than the clothes on his bedroom floor on a hot Sunday night. They were vulgar, vicious words with no other meaning than to hurt. Hideous colors, reflecting the storm ridden thoughts of its originators. Perhaps the reason there was so much vandalizing in the first place was because of the fact that buildings were falling apart and were hardly ever painted to cover up the grime of aging structure since it first began showing.

Windows were poorly covered with excuses for tints. The floors were littered with spider webs of cracks and breaks to the point it was almost impossible to fall head over heels while strolling. Yet in spite of it all, he felt that opportunity still beamed valiantly through the diminishing flanks left and right because these days, even at this level of poverty, the people here were lucky to have such a privilege as this. He's seen the unfortunate, knew their sorrow as it bled into him, was amazed at the genial nature of the poor who understood the difference between loss and hope. People who should have broken when they were struck but only grew stronger. Of course, he had no notion of what to think of the others here, but he was hopeful that people would show him their values ranged far beyond black and white.

Classes began promptly at eight fifteen, standard of all Earth-based uniform schools. Rooms were awfully cramped with a suffocating aura eminent of bored teenagers and staff alike. Desks, which usually had built in computers for classroom texts and papers to easily be shared, transferred or changed, were in lacking and scribbled on with only more tag. Whiteboards for instructors were the only thing available to write presentations on. Obviously, the gov has been more negligent than ever, using the invasion as an excuse to get away with their laziness.

The first task that was done, besides being handed contracts for class terms, was assigning textbooks. As he went up to receive his copy, a yellowed page, titled You and Your Rights as an American drifted to the floor from the book. A puzzled look was exchanged with the teacher, who merely shrugged and pursed her lips in reply. Oh, well, her gesture insinuated.

He inspected the poor creature even further upon settling in his wooden chair again; its pages were barely holding on together, mostly taped up at the spine in hopes of preservation. Some words were completely covered with red, unnamed muck. Dust tickled his nose hairs to the point it irked his brain and could no longer flip through its worn pages. Others seemed to be suffering the same predicament. It was appalling, since books in a physical form besides CG were rare and often kept in mint condition. These simply went uncared for, being recycled again and again despite its outdated information.

Ignoring each student’s complaint, the teacher began the first lesson of the year. You and Your Rights as an American.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

"Why'd you come to this school?" His head lazily rolled to the source of the feminine voice next to him. A light application of make-up, tightly tied up chestnut hair mirroring his own color, hazel orbs glinting with genuine curiousity. The boy saw, somehow, that she was very much unlike the others. More to her than meets the eye.

Suddenly, she shifted slightly, obviously uncomfortable under his analytical gaze. The eyes of a former space monger always managed to make a land dweller feel shifty. Clearing her throat gently, she tried again, "I would say you're lacking discernment...but obviously there's a deeper logic punching holes here."

"I wanted to come here," he returned curtly. It wasn't anyone's business why he be here. Just his.

The girl's schoolbag jingled as she leaned forward. "How old are you? By Earth standard."

"Eleven."

Her brows lifted in visible surprise. Which he found was strange that she saw it as strange. Where he formerly attended, children even younger than him were studying what adults over thirty were. Sure, conflict arose from envy but the old farts knew better than to harm the future of mankind. They jeopardize everyone if they allowed their egos to mess them up.

"Can I see your schedule?" She was handed a canary paper, especially signed and leased by the headmaster himself. The boy was glad his mind could be taken off of calculus for the moment. Though people praised him a genious left and right, the work was still a bother.

After a quick inspection, she nodded and returned the canary paper. "That's really something. Don't know why I didn't expect it. I'm Lea. Nil, right?" He nodded. "Okay, Nil. I'm a loner, too, so let's hang out. Don't give me that look. I see you always watching us like we're wolves. Well, okay, maybe we are, but not all the time. Look, we'll talk after class, so don't leave me behind."

And just like that, an aquaintance was forced upon Nil.

Every news channel declared him the modern Da Vinci. Magazines hailed him the next Alexander the Great, reborn again to save humanity from the Briacs. But to Lea, he was Wonder Boy. Boy Wonder. Which he couldn't understand; anyone could be a genius. It was simply a matter of how hard you worked.

Lea, in Nil's mind, was brought up silently tough, an unaccredited type of genius. When someone shoved Nil out of line during lunch, she shoved Nil and herself in front of that person with a distinctive glare that could be felt leagues away. There were always clicks of anger and confusion from the other but people hardly touched the two. They simply became the untouchable duo. Rumors even sprung overtime, in which Lea was a pedophile and Nil knew how to earn some nice ass. But neither hardly cared. It was just a small conversation starter to pass the time in class. She even pretended, now and then, to smother him as only a child molester could. The acts earned a modest chuckle now and then from spectators, a confirmation that no one really believed the rumor anyway. It was almost hard to remember what he had come her for in the first place, having gotten quite comfortable after only a short period of time. The people really were friendly here, if you ignore the talkative part.

Over time, Nil learned Lea’s hobbies were everything to do with engineering and painting choppers.

"What are choppers?" She simply stared back in disbelief. He remembered seeing a few photographs in a history book on transportation of a bladed flying machine that hovered in the air and traveled long distances, but choppers was their informal term. It looked like old fashion, smaller versions of carriers. She shook her head. No, not exactly.

Antiques, she informed him, and by far one of the most beautiful she ever laid eyes on. In fact, the nearest bike shop (surprisingly, they existed throughout the various domes) two miles from school was her second home. It was personally owned by a flame haired punk named Jones Harvey who's origins was kept so confidential it was rumored anyone who carried his secrets died with it. Informally, he was called Rev. You never called him Jones. Or Jonesy. It was Rev. Confident, snide, fearless Rev. He was like Lea's brother, what with the fighting and the bickering. Despite that one minor setback, she loved working there, one of the most greatest upturns of her life.

One day, Lea decided to take him with her to the shop after school.

There were peculiar policies when it came to the hiring of Grayhill Choppers' workers. A few things Rev needed to basically know about anyone.

"You straight?" Rev bluntly inquired within a few minutes of meeting Nil. He had to project his voice above the monstrous machinery Lea was working with next door. Ancient artifacts must require ancient technology.

"What does that matter?" Nil eyed in return.

"Just answer the question. You like guys or girls?"

"…I don't know."

Rev raised a brow, carefully pulled the paint gun away from the fender. Nil couldn't tell his expression clearly from across the room but there was always a way to clearly differentiate moods from the way he moved or talked. From his gestures, he was edgy. Or so Nil observed. "...Okay. Do you feel anything for Lea? Do you find yourself thinking of her jugs? Hips? Ass?"

Well, it's not like Nil hadn't gone through puberty yet, but to be questioned on what he thought about another person's assets, his own preferences...Nil decided to not answer at all in the end. It was common, after all, to see every sort of relationship in the world today, in all domes he has ever traveled to, including the mother ship Straton 5 drifting in Earth's orbit, so the thought never occurred to him to have an “orientation”. And no, he never found himself thinking of anyone that way. Of their physical parts, at least. Rev joked, throwing his hands up in defeat, "Okay. Asexual. That's cool, too."

Rev obviously leaned towards males. And had something against 'straight' people, from the way he flinched when a customer came with a female mate and vice versa. Nil thought it was hardly an issue these days but he supposed he was just lucky to land in the stranger of crowds.

He guessed Lea was a "lesbian", as he was later confirmed. Strictly women, and Rev was indeed strictly men. After concluding Rev was picky about his worker's orientation and therefore the people he would surround himself by, why not? This was a "gays" only zone, as far as he was concerned. In fact, there was only one other employed here besides Lea, a male who was "sworn to men since embryonic stages".

He tried questioning Lea about it as she was polishing frames and finishing them with chrome. "Rev's nice, even though he's a heterophobic. I know, weird and a little stupid. He forces me and Andrew to tend the customers if he doesn't know them personally. He can only handle calls or standing up in a big crowd but won't risk associating with straights, face-to-face. He's never told anyone why, though, so he's a pretty mysterious guy...Anyway, he only hires us gays. The guys who applied here, including myself, we were rejected by other companies 'cause they were too homophobic."

"I'm guessing companies who don't like...Gays?"

"Yeah."

"That's stupid!" Nil exclaimed, furrowing his brows. "If word got around on Staton, they'd would of gotten guttered where they stood for discrimination. And Rev just might, too, for the heterophobia part..."

"Well, the world's not as nice as you think. Not everyone is tolerant of the whole gay concept yet." Her voice drifted and grew misty in thought for a second. "Well, anyway, he also hires according to skill, as you'll notice." She winked at that. "That's why there's so little of us. Gets hectic, I tell you."

Nil joked, "You think Rev would hire me?"

Lea didn't look up. From her tone, it seemed she had taken him seriously. "Yeah, sure, if you don't mind a lot of conventions and shit like that. Not much people being able to afford to have and maintain a chopper these days but we keep busy enough somehow. And we'll get double the offers if we got the Boy Wonder on our side." Of course. Marketing and publicity was, in the end, the deciding factor for any company. They must have had a good reputation to some extent, despite their tiny appearance from roadside view.

He decided to return to the former topic, having no intention of really joining the business. He hardly knew choppers existed until hours ago, after all. "Do you have a girlfriend?"

"Yup, but she's down in Spain on call. I'll introduce you when she comes back." He made a perfectly shaped O with his mouth, immediately recognizing her girlfriend was of relative importance in whatever her job was. It was difficult getting around on Earth. Even for him, it had been a great hassle with all the paperwork and reservations.

"You want something to eat? Lunch today was garbage. It's always garbage." The two agreed on that. Nothing they, or anyone else for that matter, except the rich, ate was ever natural, which was understandable seeing all domes were so limited on resources. Grown foods were terribly difficult to purchase. He knew he couldn't complain, but lunch still sucked.

They decided to munch on chips, watching Rev scribble away on a notepad a distance aways. He wore glasses, which managed to magically tone down his attitude by tenfold. There really did exist a gentleman in him. Lea interrupted his thoughts through a mouthful of chips, "You seem too nice, Wonder Boy. Your mom and dad must be nice, too." Her voice seemed dreamy at the notion of parents.

"They are," Nil agreed, "My mom always took me to parks, to help volunteer whenever I had free time on my hands. Cleaning up trash, feeding homeless and teaching them and their little kids how to read and write. Stuff like that. It's fun. Then my dad takes me to work with him on weekends, fixing war carriers for the military. I help him get the smaller areas, since my figure's so puny." He didn't mention he often travelled outside of the domes to do these things. Not a lot of people thought those who never made it into the domes years ago were still alive and kicking somewhere.

She didn't suspect anything, to his relief. "Gee, I was expecting you to be trying for a Nobel Peace Prize or something." Nil shrugged. He couldn't care less about prizes. Not after what he's been through, as boastful as it sounded.

"You never try for the Nobel Peace Prize," Nil answered rather seriously. "That's not how it works."

Lea laughed, throwing the crumpled trash into a bin in the far corner. There was a subtle sigh and the trash was gone for good. "Ease up, Wonder Boy. It was only a joke. Now, c'mon, let's take you home since your parents are probably worried by now." Nil couldn't object. It was almost six, and his mother would have been calling soon for dinner, anyway.

Picking up her keys, she knocked on Rev's table to signify they were leaving. He lifted a hand in acknowledgement without really disturbing his work, muttering numbers and letters to himself so he couldn't lose track. Lea motioned for Nil to follow her into the shop's garage.

The thrill of riding double on a chopper was a thrill of its own class. Everyone turned to look at Lea's customized bike, the fenders and framing decked with black and red flames intertwining behind an eagle's head. Or perhaps they were staring at Lea herself, a computerized model come to life and equipped with every man's fantasy.

The image would have been perfect for a whole page in a fetish magazine, except for that little boy sitting on her lap, holding on to dear life with a wide, stupid grin plastered onto his face.

Nil wanted to feel the wild force rushing throughout the folds of his body forever. This freedom from apprehension. It wasn't as fast as the star hoppers were, but to hell with that. You couldn't feel any squalls of speed in space so it's not like anyone could have screamed about having the adventure of a lifetime, anyway. Gazing up and spreading his arms far apart, he felt a superiority over the massive star fleet Staton 5 cruising casually above them beyond the mirror of the dome's protection. Never would they have been able to give him any joy of what he was going through right then.

When they arrived with quite a bang at Nil's beige apartment, he was sad to see Lea leave. A few people came to their windows to see the commotion, having never heard such a ferocious roaring from a bike before. All they witnessed, however, was little Nil from nearby conversing with a thug in leather, and then quite much nothing.