Welcome to the Journal of Now and Forever. This Journal is a collection of my Star Control and Star Control 2 fiction. Note: Some of this material is, by necessity, extrapolation from the slim information provided by canon sources.

New fiction is posted first at My Livejournal before it appears here. This story is in response to 15 Minute Ficlets' Challenge #62.

Dean jogged to the barracks in step with the rest of his squad. He wanted to trudge, but the drill sergeant had other ideas. At least he'd be able to sleep soon.

He'd questioned Nick intently about military training. Nick had taken the news well, Dean thought, when he learned of Dean's turn in the service. He'd offered all of his knowledge regarding boot camp and AIT, and Dean had gladly taken him up on it.

People thought it was easy being a slacker. Hah! It was a lot of work learning how far you could push things, being nice enough to people so they'd excuse your behavior, doing a good enough job to not get in trouble but not doing so good a job you'd be promoted right out of what you knew and into something you didn't. Dean was always testing his skills at being just-friends-enough to get away with things or borrow something or ask for a favor. As long as he didn't do it too often to any one person, it worked just fine. And all this took effort, though he'd never let on.

Naturally, he'd wanted to know all he could about Nick's experiences, because it might make things easier on him when he went through them himself.

It wasn't that simple, of course. Nothing could completely prepare an Androsynth for the reality of forced marches and five-minute meals and the deliberate plan of the sergeants to break you down so you could be built back up. But it must be okay at the end – hell, look how Nick had come out of it – a lot more stable than he'd been when he went in, Dean thought.

So Dean knew not to volunteer, knew about the surprise first meal (they didn't tell the troops it was only five minutes until after four had passed), knew about the tactics they'd used on Nick. Of course, he wasn't the only one to have researched what he was getting into, so the drill sergeants changed some things. Still, Dean was better off than the completely unprepared. One of them – some series Dean wasn't familiar with – had actually fought back, physically, and come away with bruises, a bloody lip, an insane number of pushups and a warning that all this was going on his record.

Of course, the unsaid threat there was: You want a chance to reproduce later on, pass on your wonderful genes, or not?

His reproductive future interested Dean only vaguely at best, since it was nearly beyond his comprehension, but he wanted to leave all his options open. So he did as he was ordered, tried his best to get everything done, didn't talk back, and (as an afterthought) tried to be helpful to the sergeants. He wasn't sure yet if they were buying his act, but he wasn't in trouble, either, so he considered it even.

He'd sent one message to Nick, upon arrival, and understood now why Nick hadn't sent many messages when he was in boot. He was either too busy or too tired most of the time. They want to break you down so they can rebuild you, Nick had said. But Nick hadn't seemed to mind it too much, either, so Dean figured he could survive it.

Half-stumble into the barracks. Prep everything for tomorrow. Hope that overnight, sore, tired muscles would magically become fit like they were supposed to be. Dean hadn't realized that "healthy" and "physically fit" weren't the same thing until he came here. He wasn't overweight – far from it – but it wasn't like he was physically challenged in either work or leisure time.

Dean's head hit the straw-filled pillow. He didn't begrudge doing this, but he still wished his request for deferment had been approved. He closed his eyes and tried to fall asleep quickly. Reveille was in four hours.

Comments? Email me: laridian at aol dot com