Knight | ナイト

"Attention, patrons. The B-612 Base Library will be closing in five minutes. Please gather any items you wish to check out, and return reference items to the nearest re-shelving cart. The library will be re-opening at 09:30 tomorrow morning. Thank you."

Exhaling slowly through pursed lips, I look away from the speaker on the wall that just played that automatic recording. I've been tuning the closing announcements out since they started about half an hour ago, but now that it's hit the five-minute mark, I actually have to pay attention and get ready to go. Pushing back from the folding plasticine table that serves as a reading desk, I pick up the heavy folder of Sir Gallant back copies I was half reading, half idly paging through. After depositing the folder on the nearest metal, wheeled cart, I pull my cape around myself and start slowly for the door.

The base librarian, an aging veteran from the first war who signed up to serve again in a support role, gives me a compassionate glance as I pass the reference desk. "Sorry, Knight. Y'know I'd let you stay all night if they'd let me."

I incline my head towards the crow-lined, lilac Star Warrior in thanks. Pausing in front of the desk, I turn to face him and ask in the Chivalry Clan accent I've used for the past three some years, "Any word on whether they'll let you extend the weekend hours?"

He shrugs, not meeting my eyes. "Probably not. If we actually had the usage to justify it, maybe. But you know that most days, it's just you and the handful of distance learning students still working on their degrees back at the Academy." Though currently apologetic, his Southern Courage accent always sounds like something you'd hear on a commercial, very warm and friendly.

I sigh quietly, trying my best to hide my disappointment. "Yeah. I suppose that makes sense."

He looks up at me again. "You're coming up on three years now, right? With how much Nightmare's let up, you probably don't need to reenlist for another tour. Especially considering your platoon hasn't seen real action in months."

I shrug. "I don't know. I'm still thinking about it."

Of course, I have every intention to reenlist. Where else would I go? I have no one to live with back on Star World, and while I've saved enough from my wages thus far to afford somewhere small to live while I found other work, being alone on Star World sounds even more miserable than being alone here these days.

And besides, I know the truth. Sure, maybe Nightmare's making it look like he's running out of monsters, but that's just part of his ever-changing game of bait-and-switch. He's got the Army all but lulled into false complacency again. For the first time since the attack on Startropolis a few years ago, the Army is losing retirees faster than new enlistments are joining. "What about you, Sir? You're coming up on three years in a few months too, right?"

He smiles a bit, tired blue eyes turning to the photo he keeps on the reference desk, which shows him surrounded by a wife and four daughters. "Sure am, and I think I'm calling it quits this time. I miss seeing the girls every day, even if the first two are already grown and have families of their own now. Lavender, my oldest, is expecting her first in Earlautumn, and I want to be there in plenty of time for that."

I break half a smile under the mask, but it's harder to do much more than that these days. "So you'll finally be a grand-da. Just took you what, almost 700 years?"

"653 is not almost 700," he rolls his eyes at me jovially. "Besides, I told you Bramble and I married late; just 'bout thirty years ago, now."

"I know, I know." I take a half step back and tilt my head, signaling that I'm joking with him. "It'll be good for you to see the family again, for sure. It's been since Christmas again, yeah?"

He nods, and then gives me a concerned look. "You'll be taking May Day Leave, right? Since I know you stayed on duty over New Year's and Christmas. It's kind of you to volunteer to stay so more of the others can take leave, but you need to take leave too sometimes, you hear?"

I shrug, defaulting to the same fake excuse I use every time. "Pay goes up for a couple weeks, and my mum and da need all the help they can get anymore. You know I'm their only lad."

He shakes his head in frustrated admiration. "You're a good son, Knight, but I'm plumb sure they miss you."

I swallow back a lump in my throat, careful not to break accent. "Once this war is over, I'll never be leaving the village again; I can tell you that much, Sir."

He chuckles and shakes his head slightly. "Life has a way of surprising you, young'un. You never know."

"Well, here's hoping, at least," I murmur as he slowly gets up from his desk to fish out the keys to the library. I tilt a tiny bow his direction, and leave through the door just as the closing chime plays over the speakers.

The base reminds me of the auxiliary trailer that was built outside the middle school when Forest and I were kids. At the time, the school needed it to handle the overflow of growing class years. I was only ever in it once or twice for annual testing (to make sure I was staying on grade level), but it was basically just a metal box with very temporary rooms inside it, filled with folding tables and chairs. The base is much the same way: hastily constructed, poorly lit, and forever cold. This remote planet is habitable, at least. A lucky thing, too, considering this building would never stay sealed for long.

I move slowly through the halls, in no rush to get to my bunkroom. Lights out isn't for a couple of hours yet, which means I'd have to find some excuse to stay busy and avoid my two bunkmates talking to me if they're already in there. Our third bunkmate finished his tour about two months ago, having joined right before me in a pure fluke. Since then, we've had one corner of the room empty, but it doesn't seem likely to be filled anytime soon.

The base was built to house around 360 soldiers comfortably, and about 450 max. I think the highest we've ever hit was around 290, and that number's been slowly going down over the past three months or so. Luckily, it's not because anyone is dying, but the decreasing number still makes me nervous. This planet is one of the closest colonies to the solar system where we suspect Nightmare's Fortress is (which, of course, gives me anxiety for all number of reasons). On the bright side, because this is such a minor colony, largely populated by miners, Nightmare has pretty much ignored us over the past few years. On the less bright side, we're awful close to enemy lines with dropping numbers of soldiers stationed here to keep this outpost safe.

I never really intended to end up in some corner of the Galaxy where I'd see almost no action at all, though I guess I should be thankful the lull has lasted this long. I don't know what else I was expecting when I enlisted, given how many people earned higher ranks due to family connections, history at the Academy, or sometimes, just plain money. Out here are the nobodies, those from poor families who enlisted out of a sense of duty, the old timers like the librarian (whose name I learned once a little over two and a half years ago and have never remembered since, and I'm far too embarrassed to ask again at this point), or the blank-slaters, soldiers like me. Those are the ones who elected to choose a new name and forego all of their past connections for some reason or another. We don't have any kind of history that would earn us higher ranks or better outposts. So, we get to be some of the farthest soldiers from home, on a technically-habitable but largely-barren planet that's barely more than a glorified asteroid.

At least it's not crowded like the Academy was. I was there for about a month while they figured out what to do with me once I skipped through most of basic. They decided to send me here, and I didn't argue. That's basically become my trademark at this point as a soldier, I suppose. I go where I'm told, and I do as I'm told. 'Knight' is, by all appearances, just a poor Chivalric lad who's a good Private—well, Corporal, technically, now; I just finally got bumped up for the first time a few months ago, purely by default.

It's not like I'd have earned a rank advance through actions in battle. Nothing happens out here. It's just us, largely being bored, wandering around our rickety metal box on a rocky planet and having nothing much to do, except run drills and socialize.

The latter of which, obviously, is not one of my favorite activities.

The Star Warriors I pass in the halls occasionally offer me a nod or half-wave of acknowledgement, and I nod or incline my head back at them. I'm pleasant enough, I suppose, so nobody really dislikes me. But I'm not close to anyone. They probably all just assume I'm in a different circle than they are, never noticing that I don't really have a circle. It's fine by me. I'm not here to make friends, after all. I'm here to fight and defend.

It's just that, so far, there hasn't been much fighting or defending to do.

I reach the metal, narrow-windowed door to my hall—which also looks like something out of a school building—and hesitate at it. You'd think my bunkmates would have figured out by now that I'm not one for chatting, but even after all these months, they still try. I think they're convinced that if they try long enough, they'll get me to finally open up. Unluckily for them, I've gotten quite talented at letting Knight run the show.

Quiet Knight. Obedient Knight. Don't-ever-rock-the-boat Knight.

If Blossom could see me, she'd probably be disappointed that I turned out to not be anything after all.

The thought makes my heart pang a bit, and I quickly shake it off. I still try to write 'letters' to her every so often, but nothing's happening to write about. Besides which, my bunkmates started to inquire about the folder of unsent letters accumulating under my cot. I could have framed some lie that they were for a dead sweetheart or something—probably would have stopped the incessant questions about whether I have a girl back home, too—but I didn't feel like having to keep up yet another false sob story, so I just told them I was saving them for someone who doesn't have a proper mailing address at the moment. I don't know what they took that to mean, but it satiated them enough to quit asking as long as I keep the folder out of sight. I have a feeling that if I take it out again, though, they'll start the line of questioning right back up.

I hear someone approaching down the metal halls behind me, so I finally free one glove from inside my cape, shove the door to my hall open, and step inside. From one of the rooms, muffled rock music is playing; as per usual for Private Treble any time before lights out. He came here while taking a break from a music program at the Academy, wanting to take advantage of the chance to graduate debt-free if he served a tour. He'll be here about another year. His bunkmates initially complained about the constantly-running stereo, but I think at this point they enjoy it. It's something to break the monotony. I don't particularly like it, but since he's good about shutting it off before lights out, I don't bother complaining about it.

There's fifteen rooms on this hall, housing around 50 soldiers in total now, but able to room up to 60 'comfortably.' The tiny closets are built to be able to hold a fifth cot per room in event of overflow, but we've never gotten anywhere close to that. Once in my senior year of high school, I toured the Academy dorms. When I saw them, I remember thinking unhappily that the spaces dedicated for two people each were smaller than my (to be fair, pretty spacious) bedroom at my parents' house. These rooms are a bit smaller yet than those, and each one houses four.

I continue down the hall towards my room on the end, my cheaply-welded, standard-gray metal boots clanking against the aluminum floor as I go. This hall is one of six halls available on the base, which sort of spindle out from the center in a sort of wagon wheel design, if you took out the actual outer wheel part. One of the halls is for the male support staff and the unlucky officers who got stationed out here, and then three are currently dedicated for male enlisted soldiers. Two halls house all of the ladies, and then one hall is empty at present, not having ever needed to be used so far.

I've floated the idea with my commanding officer once or twice of me taking a spare room in one of the halls, but the Army HQ wants to avoid running the lights anywhere we don't really have to. I guess it makes sense, but it's annoying that budget problems keep me from having any real space of my own. I mean, it's the Army; I didn't exactly expect lavish lodgings or anything. I did hope I could have a place to get away from everyone when I wasn't on the battlefield or something, but, well... Clearly that was too much to hope for.

Despite my still-slow pace, I finally reach the door at the end of the hall. I give a grateful sigh of relief when I see there doesn't seem to be any light coming out from under the door. Looks like the other two haven't turned in for the night yet. I suppose it makes sense, given it's a Saturday and lights out is later than normal by an hour. It should give me time to 'write to' Blossom before climbing into bed in time to miss them getting back. As long as I'm in bed convincingly faking sleep, they usually won't try talking to me.

I let go of my cape and let myself into the room, opting to flick on the small lamp on the one desk in the room rather than the flickering, bright overhead fluorescents. I tug the folder of almost a hundred letters to Blossom out from under my bed and set it on the desk before taking a seat.

I sigh and flip the folder open, resting my masked face in one glove as I flip through the newest letters resting on top. Some of them don't contain many words, and instead are filled with sketches I've done of the other soldiers in the mess hall or gym or whatnot, to show her the people I've been surrounded by here. One of the more recent letters, one from a couple months ago, contains an overly-detailed drawing of a horrible excuse for beef stew they served us one day for dinner. I smirk slightly despite myself, able to clearly visualize the disgusted look on her face she'd make as soon as she saw it. I'd probably get bapped with a rolled-up letter for it, but it'd be worth it. And I know we'd both laugh.

Well, assuming I remember how to by that point. I don't think I've had a real laugh since before she left.

Pushing the stack of letters aside, I take a brief glance through the yellow, lined sheets underneath, filled with any leads I found as to Forest's presence over the first year or so I was here. I asked everyone if they'd met any forest-green Chivalry Clan soldiers a few years older than me, sword wielders with a bratty demeanor and a penchant for wisecracks. Unfortunately, though a couple of times I heard promising responses, I never actually found him. Sure, for all I know, he might be out there faking a Knowledge Clan accent or something, but I know he'd be awful at it.

What bugs me is, given he must be a nobody like me, since his real name isn't shown in any enlistment lists, he ought to be out here or on another nowhere base, which should make him a lot easier to find. Still, no luck. I try to avoid thinking about how that raises the likelihood that he's been one of the so-called "unfortunate few."

Shaking off that line of thinking once again, I shove those sheets aside and pull out the nearly-out-of-pages notebook underneath. It's the fourth one I've gone through since being shipped out here, mostly for letters to Blossom, occasionally for sketches requested by other soldiers. One thing I haven't been able to keep secret is my penchant for drawing, although I don't see why others like it so much. I'm not even that good. Sure, I'm better than some—Forest, for one, and Blossom too; she could barely draw circle figures—but I'm not super skilled, either. I guess out here, anything is enough to stave off boredom for a while.

I open the notebook and pull a pencil out of the folder's center pocket. Dear Blossom, I start it off, and then pause, trying to think of anything worth talking about. Nothing's really happened in weeks, but it's been almost a month and a half since I last wrote.

"Once this war is over, I'll never be leaving the village again; I can tell you that much."

The words I spoke earlier sprang back into my head out of nowhere, and once again, they bring the lump to my throat. Half despite myself, I put pencil to paper.

I wish you were there to come home to. I don't like staying here, bored, over holiday leaves, but what else is there to do? Where else is there to go? I know the village must be beautiful right now, with all the decorating for May Day in full swing. You'd be insisting on wearing flower crowns around the library all the time again. You always looked so beautiful, framed in flowers. It was natural for you. I guess it's because of your name.

I miss you. I know I say that in almost every letter, and I know that when I show you these one day you're gonna be rolling your eyes and gagging at this point, what with how many instances of sappiness you'll have been through in however long it takes you to read this far. It's still true, though. I'm lonely as anything here, and I miss Mother and Forest, too. But most of all, I miss you, and your smile, and the scent of cookies in the library kitchen, and the knowledge that no matter what, you were there to come back to. I'm sorry if I ever took you for granted. I know I never meant to.

I hope that—

My writing is suddenly interrupted by the door bursting open, and I quickly throw the notebook shut before anyone gets a chance to look over my shoulder. I twist in my chair to face the intruders (though it's technically their room too).

Gibbous, a pale yellow-white Star Warrior from Industry Province, grins wildly at me from the door. "Knight, there's been an official dispatch out just tonight, and you'll never believe it."

Behind him jostles in a juice-orange Star Warrior from the outer Startropolis region, technically from Courage Clan but from the No-Clan's-Land that is the planetary capital. "Dey've announced dat tours've been shortened down to two anna 'alf yeahs," Pax informs me with a grin just as overjoyed.

"What?" I ask instinctively, sure if I can't have heard him correctly.

"Yes," Gibbous agrees, casting a mildly-annoyed glance at Pax for apparently stealing his thunder. Pax just shrugs, still grinning, while Gibbous turns his attention back to me. "They're sending out a few troop transports with the next cargo load in a few days. Those of us whose tours are now up due to the change are free to go home then."

"Oh," I say, still half disbelieving. Great. The Army's gonna start bleeding numbers even faster now. Just what Nightmare wants, I'm sure.

"Man, Ah can't wait ta get back ta good ol' Stah Metro," Pax drones, throwing his gloves behind his head. "Ah've missed civilization so bad, out heah."

"Agreed, although it's Gōngyèchéng for me," Gibbous waxes, dropping into a seated position on his cot. He rests his face in one glove a moment later. "And just in time for May Day, too. Everything will be so pretty."

"Especially da laaadies," Pax wisecracks, leaning against the door to push it shut.

"Of course," Gibbous agrees with a calm chuckle.

While they chatter, I busy myself with gathering everything into the folder and flipping it shut, trying to figure out what excuse to give to be able to leave the room.

"And Knight'll be able ta finally deliver all dose lettahs," Pax laughs, interrupting my scheming.

I flinch at having the conversation turn to me, but try to hide my discomfort. "I've actually decided I'm staying another tour anyway," I say, hoping it'll shut them up. "My Mum and Da could use the money after all—"

"Awh, come awn, Knight, ya at least deserve a break," Pax urges, still grinning. "And ya can't tell me ya don't want to see the gal ya haven't been sendin' dose to."

I give him an annoyed glance. "I never said they were for a lass."

Gibbous snorts. "Nobody writes his mother than often, no matter how devoted a son he is. And besides, if they were for your mother, then you'd be sending them."

"I never said they were for my mum, either." I roll my eyes, trying to brush it off. "And like I said. I'm staying. End of."

The two look at each other and roll their eyes, smirking. I feel my face growing hot despite myself, and take a breath to steady my emotions out. "Besides. There's a war on. It's no time to be thinking of 'da ladies' anyway, as I would think you'd both realize."

"There won't be a war on for much longer," Gibbous points out, sounding confident. "There's only been two incidents Galaxy-wide in the past week, and they both lasted less than an hour. Less than a dozen casualties. It's all but over; otherwise the brass would never be letting us all go home."

"'less it was ta save a few Stahs," Pax interjects with a snort. "Dey don't have ta pay us or feed us if we ain't out heah."

"Fair point," Gibbous shrugs. "But you know Head General Arthur would never sign off on a troop cut if he didn't think it was actually the right course of action. You know how trustworthy he is."

I can't much argue with that, given General Arthur was the one who got people to start taking the war seriously in the first place. Even then, though, this feels strange to me.

"We're sure the dispatch came directly from HQ and wasn't a fake transmission or anything?" I question.

"Geez, Knight, lighten up a bit," Pax waves me off. "Officers checked 'n verified dis dispatch same's dey do all of 'em. It's not a fake."

"I see," I mutter, shoving the folder of letters back under my cot. "Still. I'm staying."

Gibbous rolls his eyes before flopping onto his back. "Your loss. You're gonna be pretty lonely in here come Tuesday, though."

"Thank the Star Power," I mutter under my breath, careful for it to be too quiet for either of them to hear.

Pax laughs. "Jou kiddin', Gib? He ain't even gonna miss us. Guy's nevah liked us bein' around anyway." His words aren't mean or annoyed, just assured.

I still roll my eyes, even as I don't make eye contact with either of them. "I don't hate you two, so don't go blathering as if I do."

"You don't exactly like either of us, either," Gibbous chuckles, also not sounding mean or annoyed. "It's fine. Some of us are just introverted. Won't stop us from bothering you every chance we get over the next few days."

"Jou got dat right," Pax half-smirks, half-grins. "Gotta make up for all da chances we'll miss."

Rolling my eyes, I fall into a seated position on my cot, raising my gloves in defeat. "Alright, alright, so I'm not much for chatter. So sue me for being boring."

Despite Gibbous and Pax's declaration just now, though, they don't bother to answer me, now too busy chattering about what they'll do after going home and making plans to meet up sometime in the summer to catch up and introduce each other to the girlfriends they're both sure they'll find.

I let my gloves drop to rest on my feet with a sigh. It will certainly be nice to have some peace and quiet around here, though I wonder whether they'll keep the base open much longer if everyone whose tour just ended early leaves. I know the troop transports will probably bring a half dozen or so new enlistees when they arrive, but even then, it'll be a miracle if we're breaking a hundred anymore, especially when the number of officers goes down thanks to so many enlisted soldiers leaving. I wouldn't be surprised if I get moved somewhere else, or if they just consolidate the remainder of the male enlisted to a single hall or something, forcing me to get used to new bunkmates all over again.

Shaking my head, I close my eyes. In my mind, I finish the letter to Blossom that Pax and Gibbous so joyfully interrupted.

I hope that I find you soon, Blossom, despite the odds. I don't know how to open up to these people, but I need somebody. I can't just keep facing the universe alone. It's impossible.

Please write back soon.

Ever yours,

—Meta