Patience

"...and man, he punted me clear over the field!" The excited voice of the young Soldier had me smiling behind my sunglasses. He stood near me, just slightly shorter, checking out my new set of graviton armor. "So, it really let's you stand your ground?" He was admiring it like a kid in a candy store window. "And why do you wear glasses all the time? It's nearly dark."

I breathed in slowly, used to all the questions from new enlisted folks, but a part of me was unwilling to remember the why's. I was about to comment when a short, speedy blue armored something flashed through the area. I tried to keep sight of her as she ran through, but it was difficult. She was certainly fast. I had seen her here and there, but this time I had actually gotten to see her and not just her armor. Blue skin...? Something in me grasped that knowledge and tucked it away. There was just a hint of it shown as she had tilted her head. Just at the neck. Blue skin...

The young soldier kept going from foot to foot near me. He was filled with energy. He was hyper. Poor kid, he's probably ignored everywhere he goes the way he jabbers. I tuck my helmet further under my arm and absently scratch at my goatee. The kid was probably still in his learning stages. He probably didn't even read the Welcome to Hell regulations and handbook they pass out at Basic. My bronze eyes study his pale blue one's from behind my sunglasses. I pause for a moment and I use my breathing to bring patience to my "self". If I was back home and working and suddenly did that I'd laugh out loud at my actions. But not here. No, not here.

"Everything depends on levels, types, and your training more than the armor itself," my voice is low and even. I find myself surprised it sounds that calm. Especially when all I want to do right now is run and go into some battle with something huge and heavy that splatters really, really nicely with my shotgun. "Graviton armor does, however, help with the stuns and knock back's through kicks or punches as an added tool. Think of it as a tool more than the whole reason it all works for you."

The kid was nodding and taking it all in, barely. He kept staring into my glasses. I'm sure his reflection was there. I puff out my cheeks and close my eyes with impatience, but that was a mistake, it made memories flood in.

The wormhole itself hadn't been difficult to traverse. The reaction my eyes had to it, however, proved to be excruciating and extremely traumatic. I remember grabbing my skull, preparing to rip out my own eyeballs, once my feet had gained ground again. I recall my knees hitting the flat surface of the worm hole pad, scraping fabric, skin, and tissue as the awful pain shot through my eyes and into my head. I don't remember if others were crying out or in pain. I just remember my own screams and terror of that one moment. It sucks when reality slams into you and gives you a wake up call.

I remember the gentle hand working within the confines of rough, calloused one's, working back my head and then the cold, soothing liquid being placed in my burning eyes. Drop by drop the pain melted away and was replaced by relief. The gentle hands seemed to belong to a sweet voice, and as I blinked varied times to clear my vision, I could see a woman close by, working on others who had reactions to the wormholes. Her voice carried over everyone as she spoke. "Your reaction is normal. Many have gone through with these symptoms. They will eventually fade and you will only have this as a memory."

Someone close to me spoke up, sounding harsh as the pain faded from her person, "Will this happen every time we travel through a wormhole?" She grunted out the last part of the words as a wave of pain smacked into her torso once more. I tried to see through the blurs and splotches. It looked as if the woman was holding her stomach area.

"No, this is the only time you'll have a reaction," the woman, who I know now was a medic by her uniform, assured all of us for the next 24 hours as we recovered, got strength again, and got used to the planet's atmosphere, that all of what happened was a gift. It wasn't just a coincidence that we've become sick. More talk about gifts. Do these people work for Santa or something? If someone seriously wanted to give me any more gifts here in this place, they can just send me a card!

"So, the sunglasses are just for looks? Intimidation? They can't see your eyes so they'll feel weak?" The kid's voice broke my visions and I almost jerked, as if waking from a dream. "I see a lot of people with them," he shrugs and looks around. My patience returns slowly and I shift closer to the kid some.

"I was one of the those who had a reaction to the wormhole upon arrival here on this planet. The sunglasses protect my eyes from oddities that affect my vision," I moved carefully and removed the glasses. The natural light during the day actually hindered my vision, but it was dark enough to allow a peek, now. The kid studied my eyes closely, the question always on people's minds: Did it hurt? I waited a moment and then took in a slow breath to gain more patience. "Yes, it hurt like hell."

"I only puked," the kid scratched at his neck absently, as if emptying guts from your person wasn't nearly as cool as nearly having your eyes burned out. As he plucked up his gear, and I told myself to stay still and not do a clog of joy, he watched me. "I hope I can get better at this."

I rub my jaw as I actually do study him this time. Lanky little fella... "Look, we all have something to bring to this or we wouldn't be here," I move to adjust me helmet again so it won't fall out of the crook of my arm. I have no idea if what I'm saying got the kid what he wanted to hear.

"I hope so." The kid moved off with a muttered "thank you", his walk swift and making headway toward the barracks. As he disappears from my sight I feel as if I had failed in whatever the kid had wanted from me. I feel awkward, and my head is filled with thoughts I really didn't want to have again. I slowly move to don my helmet, adjusting one of the straps with too much attention. Time for some battle. Time to forget. Again.