Rebecca Daniels
Not everyone was born kissing dirt. I cam screaming into this 'Verse in zero-g aboard a boat with the unlikely name of the Banana Split. She was a circus ship and my family were circus folk. cruising the black, traveling from world to world giving performances. Bringing smiles to children and adult alike with our high-larious antics and feats of daring do. My folks, mom and dad, and my twin brother formed a high wire and trapeze act. The Flying Daniels! I got raised to be part of the act.
We didn't bother telling the rubes our names. They'd never remember. No, we kept it simple. To the audience we were Mom and Dad, Brother and... well, that's where it all begins. We couldn't be Brother and Brother. My folks flipped a coin to decide which of us got to be the boy. I got "tails", so, I got to be Sister. I didn't mind. Truth be told, it felt natural. No one seemed surprised when I started dressing the part outside of the show, too. Hell, unless they were reminded, I think everyone forgot I'd been born with boy parts.
Growing up, things ran smooth. Mostly. Brother and I got into trouble with the locals, from time to time. Mostly because I couldn't stop myself from kissing some of the cute local boys. Sometimes, the girls didn't like that so much. Sometimes, the boys got into groping and figured out my training bra was stuffed with something besides girlflesh. The first time we came home banged up, we got yelled at. The second time, we got head duty for a month straight. The third time, my folks threw up their hands and handed us over to Hercules.
Hercules was the circus strongman but, more importantly, he used to run the mixed martial arts circuit. He knew the ins and outs of making people hurt using just his body. He made sure we did, too. Also taught us restraint. Holds and locks that could put someone down without hurting them too bad.
When I was fourteen, I found out there was a word for folk like me. It was getting harder to pretend to be a girl in a leotard, what with my body changing and all. We were performing on Persephone when I caught the attention of Christine. She was like me. Born Chris but knew all her life that she wasn't. She sussed us out after the show. Not just me but my whole family. Talked to us. Told us who she was, asked me about me, explained what transgender meant and how the whole process worked. She was sweet as pie about the whole ordeal and, when I left, she made sure I was stocked up with plenty to read and the right meds to start me off.
I had my family, I had my circus, and I could finally make my body match my soul. I was flying high. Then I crashed. Well. Everyone else crashed. I'm still not clear on the whatfors and whys, to be honest. It was the opening days of the war and somehow the Banana Split ended up in the middle of a skirmish betwixt and between the purple and the brown. First we sucked missiles. Then we sucked space. My folks managed to shove me and Brother aboard the shuttle and were going back to help other folk in when the engine blew. The explosion threw the shuttle clear of the boat.
A browncoat medical frigate picked us up. The Banana Split was gone. Me and Brother, we were orphans. And we were angry. They told us it was an Alliance ship what did the deed. Truth be told, if an Alliance ship had picked us up and told us the Independents had blown up our boat, we'd have believed them, too. We were so angry we weren't so much people as weapons, ready to be pointed. These folk saved our lives and told us the purple bellies had murdered our family. We believed them.
The browncoats probably didn't believe us when we said we were eighteen instead of sixteen, but they were so hard up for troops they didn't ask many questions. We went off to basic. The brass there figured out right quick that Brother and I were a cut above the rest. We didn't know how to shoot but the obstacle course was a joke compared to our circus routine and we could take down men twice our size, hand to hand.
Brother and I got booted from normal army to special forces. The 6th Recon Unit, to be precise. Aka the Tunneling Rangers. The fellas were a bit reluctant at first, what with us being green and me being a boy pretending to be a girl and all, but we were pretty skilled, angry, and eager to learn how to cause some hurt. They came around and we became part of the team.
Weren't a family, though. Understand that. We were all angry, all had our reasons for pushing through and doing the impossible. We watched each other's backs but that sort of anger doesn't forge families. It forges weapons. Truth is, that's all command wanted. Folks willing to go anywhere, do anything to get the job done. And we did.
Then the war was over. We lost. Brother and I weren't ready for it to be over. Anger ain't like a bucket full of water. You don't throw it out, a cup at a time, and eventually end up with an empty bucket. No, anger's like a bottomless pit. The more wrath you deliver upon the enemy, the more wrath seems to be waiting for delivery. We needed an enemy.
Colonel Ngyueyn gave us one. The war wasn't over, he told us. It just needed to tunnel underground for a bit. He recruited us into a program. We'd train as cooks, worm our way into important places, and act as needed. That mostly meant spying but he made it sound like there'd be death in the offing, eventually. Brother and I signed up. Honest, it was a nice change of pace. More important, I could start taking my hormones regular again. My supply during the war'd been pretty sporadic. It'd been okay then. I hadn't been interested in being a boy or a girl then. Just in revenge... and the extra testostorone had help keep me going. Now, though, when I wasn't constantly on the wrong side of the front line, I had a chance to remember that I liked wearing pretty dresses and makeup.
The vectors of the 'Verse are funny things. After I finished my training, I got "assigned" to be a cook in a joint owned by Maximillian Whale. He was a crime lord in the Syndicate. Our enemies, Ngyueyn, was convinced, weren't just the Alliance. We had to deal with the scum who bought off officials and profited from a corrupt government, too. Turns out getting me that job was a mistake on the Colonel's part.
See, by this point in time, I was the spitting image of my mom and, as it turns out, mom was Max Whale's little sister. When she was in her teens, she met dad, ran away, and joined the circus. Uncle Max recognized me straight away. It wasn't all hugs and cuddles, though. Turns out when mom had left, she'd taken a big old lump of cash with her. Uncle Max's cash. He never forgave that. Wanted his money back. I explained that. He didn't care. The result of the battle that followed was two dead goons, three hospitalized goons, and me captured. My fighting'd impressed Uncle Max. He gave me a choice. I could be dead or I could fight for him on the circuit.
Guess which one I picked.
Honest, I didn't mind the circuit. The other fighters were real folk and worth knowing. In a lot of ways, it was like the circus again. Maybe that's why my anger began to die out, finally. Revenge didn't seem so important no more. Not like I was working for the browncoats no more, anyway. Colonel was angry but, you know what? He was all the way out there and my uncle's men were close by with big guns ready to aggrivate my lead allergy.
Honest? Life wasn't too bad just then. Until Uncle Max decided he could make more money if I threw fights than if I won them. The first time I did that, I felt dirty. I had to wonder, what would my folks think if they saw me? After a couple more times, I couldn't stand it no more. I won my next fight. Uncle Max didn't like that much. His men grabbed me, knocked me out, and I woke up in a coffin.
Let me tell you, I've flown a hundred feet up without a net. I've run through storms of bullets. I've faced down angry men three times my size. But nothing terrified me like being in that coffin, underground, dirt crushing down on top of me and oxygen running out. I panicked. I screamed. I cried and I begged. After what seemed like hours, they dug me up. Uncle Max seemed pretty sure I'd do what I was told. He locked me until he could deliver me back to the circuit.
I jack rabbited instead. My uncle's insane. The next time he might decide I'll listen better if his thugs shove ice pickes in my ears till my eardrums pop. I ain't going to stick around for that. And...
... I'm tired. Growing up, my folks always encouraged me to be who I felt like being. They never pushed or prodded or tried to mold me into something they wanted instead of something I wanted. Ever since they died, all I've been is something other people want. The Independents wanted a weapon, Nguyen wanted a spy, my uncle wanted a money maker.
I ain't angry no more. Not really. I'm just tired and wanting to be me again. So, I signed up aboard this ship as a cook. I'd like to earn the money I need to finally have my operation. The war sort of put that idea on hold. I'm also gonna lay low until I think its safe to contact Brother. Hopefully he'll have spent his wrath, too. Hopefully, he'll understand.
CHARACTER SHEET
