The Shape of Surrender

Tor’laen glanced around the small establishment, more charmed than he was willing to admit.

Mikka had essentially dragged him to the Under Deck, though the Ydani hadn’t really resisted in earnest, and brought him to what she termed her favorite bar.

The Ydani could see why. It was small, personal. The bar occupied the ground floor of one of the local residences and held only six seats. It looked almost like someone had just slapped a counter into someone’s living room, and gone from there. The Zakkili woman behind the bar was older, her posture slightly stooped, her silvery-gray hair swept back from a lined face. She merely gave a huff when she beheld the huge alien being dragged into her establishment by the Lieutenant Commander.

“No alien discounts,” the woman had flatly intoned upon seeing Mikka pull him into a seat.

“Oh Zia, you cunt,” Mikka chuckled. “I brought more than enough credits for five guests, so you better not treat the big guy poorly.”

Zia looked mildly offended, but didn’t hesitate to sweep up the pile of credits Mikka had slammed on the counter.

“Very well.” The older Zakkili gave a bow. “Welcome, Mikka. Stranger.” She gave an almost sinister grin. “My home is yours for the night.”

“As it should be, you frosty bitch.” Mikka laughed, apparently enjoying the irony. “Now then, Ydani…your people can drink, right?”

“Our peoples have similar dietary needs, but…I assume you are talking about alcohol, yes?” Tor’laen replied, glancing at the Lieutenant Commander.

“Of course I am.” She jabbed his ribs with her elbow. “What else would you drink off-duty?”

For a moment, Tor’laen’s thoughts fled back to his homeworld, back to the restrictions and regulations pressed upon them.

“My people…” he hesitated for a moment. “We Ydani, we don’t usually drink alcoholic beverages. My last glass of ceremonial…wine, I suppose you could call it, was over five years ago.”

“What the fuck, man.” Mikka shook her head. “Zia, get this man some whiskey. Maybe cut it a bit, yeah?”

“Far ahead of you, Mikka,” the bartender sighed. “No one should be expected to carry on without a decent drink. Even towering aliens.”

The Zakkili woman slid a glass down the counter, her expert aim stopping it just in front of Tor’laen. After a moment’s hesitation, he grabbed it, raising the drink up. He watched the amber liquid catch the light.

“Just how concentrated is this drink?” He glanced suspiciously at Mikka.

“Seriously, Tor’laen? Just take a swig, big guy.” The Lieutenant Commander chuckled.

Mikka hadn’t steered him wrong so far, so Tor’laen did as she asked. The liquid went down his throat with a slight burning sensation…but it was somehow enjoyable.

“There’s the Ydani spirit!” Mikka cackled, taking a large sip of her own drink. “I knew you had it in you.”

The heat pooled in his stomach, warming up his entire being. This “whiskey,” as Mikka had called it, was quite the comfort.

“That’s…that’s rather nice,” Tor’laen admitted, taking another sip of his drink. It burned all the way down, but in a rather pleasant way.

“Damn right it is.” Mikka was grinning at him. “Wait ‘til you try Zia’s snacks along with it. She may look like someone’s granny, but she cooks the best damn drinking snacks in the whole Under Deck.”

“You assume I’m going to cook snacks for you, Mikka,” the older woman sniffed, but a faint smile hovered about her face from the praise.

“You’d friggen better.” The Lieutenant Commander spun in her seat, fixing the bartender with a half-serious grin. “I’m here to pay a damn premium for the best service your wrinkly ass can provide.”

“Oh dear, oh dear,” Zia muttered, already throwing ingredients on her stove. “Whatever would I do without the charity of our dear Troop Commander?”

“She bitches, but you know she’d be lonely without me stopping by,” Mikka said in a stage whisper, winking at Tor’laen. “Also, I’m pretty sure I single-handedly keep this place in business.”

“Ah yes, the generosity of Commander Mikka is a fabled virtue in the Under Deck,” Zia said dryly over the sound of something sizzling behind the bar. “It certainly has nothing to do with the fact that you could probably serve her rubbing alcohol, and she’d still be happy, as long as she gets drunk.”

Mikka fixed the woman with a friendly glare.

“You ever serve me rubbing alcohol and I’ll chuck you out an airlock.”

Tor’laen watched the two, faintly bemused, as he took another sip of his pleasantly bitter drink. Among his people, friendships were much more…solemn. Bonds forged in training and tempered in battle. It wasn’t like they weren’t important and meaningful, but there was something lively, something comfortable, about this. There was no obligation here, no unspoken promise of fighting side-by-side.

Zia placed a tray of small skewers between Mikka and the Ydani, and the Lieutenant Commander nudged him again.

“Try some of these with that whiskey. It’s going to blow your mind.”

Tor’laen followed her advice once more, taking a long sip of his drink, then pulling a piece of meat off of a skewer with his teeth. It was sublime. The salty, savory taste of the meat seemed to be thicker, smokier, enhanced by the tangy bitterness of the whiskey still lingering on his tongue. Incredible.

“Told ya.” Mikka snickered, clearly pleased by his reaction.

Tor’laen merely nodded at the woman, hurrying to take another sip. As he sometimes heard the Lieutenant Commander say, the night was still young. The Ydani settled in on the slightly too-small bar stool, getting a little more comfortable. It was going to be a long night, and he was looking forward to it.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

Tor’laen was buzzed. Or, at least, that was the term Mikka had used. The woman herself was past that stage, now clearly drunk. That level of intoxication was almost unheard of among his people, but he had seen it before. A cadet had gotten into a store of ceremonial wine and lacked the common sense to stop himself. The boy’s punishment had been severe, after he had sobered up. A stain on his family’s honor for an entire generation.

“How’s the highball?” Saia asked from his other side, nursing her beer as she grinned at him. He had gone from drinking a watered-down whiskey to the same liquor mixed with some kind of carbonated beverage.

“Quite enjoyable.” He nodded. Tor’laen found he liked the fizziness.

He and Mikka had been joined by Saia and Rila, both women still in their uniforms. Rila, the sergeant who had originally objected to him carrying a weapon, had softened up to him quite a bit. Tor’laen wasn’t surprised. Fighting side-by-side tended to cause that to happen.

It made an interesting contrast — Tor’laen and Mikka were both still in the officer uniform of the Aegis, while the corporal and sergeant both wore their combat fatigues. It triggered some small part of the Ydani’s brain about officer and enlisted fraternization, and he had to push the feeling away. That wasn’t relevant here.

“Here. These will go well with that highball.” Zia placed a plate of food in front of him, receiving a grateful nod from the Ydani.

He took another sip, and reached for the snack. It was some kind of crisp bread, with a generous amount of melted cheese on top of each slice, still warm from the oven. Tor’laen took a bite, and closed his eye, savoring the rich taste.

It all felt so indulgent. Almost wrong, in a way. He wasn’t drunk, but he couldn’t deny the fact that his judgement was impaired, his reactions slow and clumsy. It was a feeling the Ydani had not experienced even once in his eighty years of life.

But it was…fun. The small bar was now full, the last two seats taken by a pair of civilian women. They seemed friendly enough, but kept glancing over his way and giggling, carrying on a long, whispered conversation. Regardless, Tor’laen could understand that he was among friends here.

Friends. He spun the word around in his head, even as he swirled the liquid in his glass. When he had surrendered to Nalyra, he had internally given up on the concept, silently bidding farewell to the connections he had built. He had accepted the reality of his new life, a political prisoner among his people’s supposed enemies. To be mentally poked and prodded, and paraded around in front of his conquerors. A spectacle. A trophy.

A not-insignificant part of him even expected to be executed in some secluded location, quietly disposed of after the Queen and her Monarchy had no more use for him.

He shook his head. This was not the night for dark thoughts. Though…he seemed to have less control over his mind than he was used to.

The same seemed to be true of his Zakkili companions. There were constant light Presses of amusement and enjoyment coming from all sides. That in and of itself seemed like a form of intoxication, their joy almost infectious.

“Tor’laen, big guy.” Mikka gave his arm a light punch, her words mildly slurred. “You having a good time?”

“An excellent time, Mikka.” He smiled down at the woman.

“Good, good.” She nodded sagely, or at least what she must have imagined to look sagely. Drunk Mikka wasn’t quite that graceful. “Finally got you drinking. Now we just need to find you a woman to warm your bed. Gotta get you laid.”

Tor’laen coughed, some of his drink going down the wrong pipe at her words.

“Mikka…I don’t think—I mean, that doesn’t seem appropriate…”

Even without his buzz, Tor’laen doubted he would be able to calmly navigate the topic. Such things were not spoken of between friends among his people.

“Eh, why not?” Mikka took a long draw of her drink. “I assume you’ve got working equipment between your legs, right?”

Tor’laen didn’t even acknowledge the question, simply taking another pointed sip of his drink.

“Come on, you’re telling me Ydani don’t fuck for fun?” Mikka nudged him with her elbow.

“Such a thing is strictly kept between life-partners.” Tor’laen raised an eyebrow at the woman.

“Damn, that’s sad,” Mikka sighed. “You guys are missing out.” She took another drink. “You got someone waiting for you back home, Tor’laen.”

He shook his head.

“I heard one of the Armswomen the other day say this, and I think it fits me perfectly. I was, as you Zakkili might say, married to my work.”

“A shame. You’re a good-looking guy, I figured the Ydani ladies would have been throwing themselves at you.”

Tor’laen snorted in amusement.

“That’s the second time you’ve called me that, but surely you jest. I’m a one-eyed old battle axe, quite undesirable among my kind.” He swirled his drink again, watching the tiny bubbles move through the liquid. “On top of that, early in my career I experienced an almost meteoric rise through the ranks. Once you reach a certain height in our navy, a high rank is far more a deterrent for potential mates. There’s simply too much attention and pressure there for most.”

“That’s fucked, Tor’laen,” Mikka said flatly, almost slamming her glass down on the counter, earning her a glare from Zia. “You don’t deserve that.”

Tor’laen blinked down at her, mildly surprised. Didn’t deserve it? He had never considered what he deserved. It was a strange concept to the Ydani. Everything in his life, he had earned. His skills on the battlefield, his command, his title, his survival…all of it had been stubbornly carved out of his future with his own two hands. His scars and left eye the cost he had paid. His social isolation the natural consequence.

Before he could consider the idea further, Mikka leaned forward, looking around the Ydani’s large body.

“How about it Saia, you want to take Tor’laen home with you tonight?”

He could only stare at the brazen Lieutenant Commander, his eye wide.

“LT…I’m pretty sure the regs have like an entire section on sexual harassment,” Saia replied casually. “Besides, I’m seeing someone now.”

“Oh you found someone new? Good for you,” Mikka said, completely ignoring the woman’s first point. The Lieutenant Commander patted Tor’laen’s arm fondly. “Too bad, big guy. No action for you tonight.”

The Ydani gave a sigh filled with exasperated amusement. This woman was incorrigible. Still, he couldn’t keep a grin off his face.

Mikka took another deep draw of her drink.

“Not just you, I gotta get laid,” she muttered, her voice slightly maudlin. “I’ve been in a damn slump lately…”

“Is it really so important?” Tor’laen asked, glancing down at the woman.

“Well, first of all, you literally don’t know what you’re missing,” she snickered. “But…yeah. I guess so.” She gestured to Zia, motioning for another drink. “It’s just…when I’m not fucking or fighting, everything seems so…listless. Boring. Drinking helps, but it’s not the same. I dunno, maybe I’m just a bit messed up in the head.” Her fingers tapped restlessly against the side of her glass.

Mikka’s emotions Pressed at him. A tinge of regret, a dash of longing, a measure of boredom. Yet, warmth lingered beneath it all. For him. For her soldiers. For Zia.

Tor’laen stared down at the woman, contemplating. He could partially relate — the Ydani also felt oddly alive during combat. It was nothing he was ashamed of, but not something to be proud of either. As for the rest, the listless feeling…it wasn’t something he personally experienced. But looking back, it was something he recognized the signs of in some of his subordinates. The only difference was his people simply buried it in duty, he supposed.

A consideration for later. More of the cheese bread for now.

The conversations continued to ebb and flow around him, as he sipped and snacked. It was a nice evening, a welcome respite. A night among friends.