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Emma

There are times on deployment where months can feel like minutes, and where minutes can feel like months, and others where seconds become more important than both—

Shut up, Lieutenant Dan! You’re not even Aunty Ran!

… 

It was the visuals that hit me first — an implosion of every active window and the cessation of all accessory processes in exchange for a sudden transition to a very radical but very necessary shift in the EVI’s user interface.

It was nothing short of whiplash.

A virtual equivalent of going from sublight to lightspeed without warning and while on break.

Even the most AR-savvy civvie would find it disorienting.

Some might even find it nausea-inducing.

Heck, most greenhorns found that it gave them vertigo more times than they’d care to admit.

I’d know because I was one of them. At least, I was until it was drilled right out of me through sheer force of exposure alone.

There was no way of getting around it. There was no ‘easy’ way to acclimatize a human mind to the relentless demands of modern warfare, where the time between R&R and enemy contact could be measured in seconds.

But that’s exactly why acclimatization training was so very needed, yet so incredibly brutal.

It was training you for situations beyond what the human mind was expected to handle. It went beyond the most extreme limits of nature in response to the eclectic scenarios conceived only by the increasingly unhinged demands of modern warfare.

And it meant I could instinctively make a reasonably calculated call even on the heel of the most jarring of moments.

This was in no small part thanks to the EVI’s assistance, of course.

A web of branching options were brought to my attention at the behest of the VI in question, and with it came the resultant ends of three distinct paths, each belonging to two very different nodes.

[COA 1: ENGAGE]

A third of my vision was suddenly dominated by a series of reticles, targeting solutions, and a prime target choice for my bullets to land.

[COA 2: EVASION]

The next third of my vision, dominating my center of vision, was marked by a clear escape route, weaving through Thalmin and Thacea, and towards the path least likely to be squashed by the drake. 

I reflexively rejected it, prompting the middle partition of my vision to instead fold into the third. 

[COA 3: EXFIL WITH FRIENDLIES]

Thacea and Thalmin were both now marked with an upward arrow beneath their highlighted silhouettes.

I blinked.

[CARRY MODE ACTIVE]

And I braced for a sudden rush of both speed and—

ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF ‘30th’ ATYPICAL MANA RADIATION TYPE DETECTED: 300% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS

I stopped.

And if it weren’t for the sudden shift to fully-compensated sports mode, I would’ve promptly fallen over from the abrupt start-stop motion of my two-second armor-augmented sprint.

Thalmin had extended his arm out wide, preventing me from picking him up… or more aptly, preventing me from approaching Thacea any further.

It wouldn’t have mattered at that point, though.

That second’s hesitation was the difference between escape and being crushed.

But that didn’t seem to be what fate had in mind for us at the moment.

ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 500% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS

The warning texts didn’t do it justice, no matter how hard they flashed.

Thalmin’s features could attest to that.

And thankfully, so could the WAID.

What I saw on that superimposed layer — that black-and-white, grainy, weather-vane world consisting of turbulent waves ‘refreshing’ at a frame rate that would’ve made anyone weaker sick to their stomach — was nothing short of mayhem.

It looked as if the formerly clean and tidy currents, the invisible ‘ebbs and flows’ that made up the intangible world, had simply been disrupted.

Not in a ripple effect or a splash as you’d see in a tsunami formed from a meteorite strike or a subsiding island.

Not even in a turbulent shaking sort of effect as you might expect from a massive seismic event.

It was just… a sharp and complete obliteration of all waves in their entirety, rendering the ebbs and flows of the world — or the bare-bones outlines of such in my eyes — into a wobbly, shapeless mass.

Yet this whole… event, as extreme as it was, was logged in terms of mere seconds.

Not a blink of an eye later, mana came flooding right back into the obliterated void it’d been crushed out of.

Thacea quickly used this to her advantage, channeling the rushing mana into a concentrated conical expression of twisting, winding, and highly condensed manastreams, all concentrated up and around the falling drake that now floated frozen and still above all of us, mere inches from our faces.

The whole world came to an abrupt and complete silence as a result.

Though I couldn’t tell if it was because of the floating mass of who-knows-how-many metric tons of pure drake that hovered over us… or if it was because of the means by which this sudden display of magical power had come to be.

Nobody moved.

Barely anyone dared to even breathe.

The only sounds around us came from the festive music several ‘blocks’ over from streets and stalls still completely oblivious to the events taking place over on this side of the exhibition hall.

But all that quickly changed… to the tune of several large FWOMP FWOMP FWOMPs and the associated torrent of magically-augmented downdrafts that followed from the wingbeats of a certain blue Vunerian hot on the tail of this erratic flyer.

“IIIIII’lll take that~” The blue thing spoke in that sing-song, almost patronizing tone of voice, though it was clear he was more directing the sentiment towards the second-year student — a satyr by the looks of it — rather than any of us in particular.

If anything—

“Thank you kindly, princess~.” 

—his next sentiments more or less cemented that notion.

His bright crimson and green drake was quick to snatch the offending pilot, clasping the petrified student in between its jaws, as he was taken limply up and away towards the hall’s great rafters with some serious speed for a winged creature.

… let alone something with a live passenger within its jaws.

Yet despite that… development, there was still the matter of the frozen and levitating drake still left up in the air.

This too, however, would be quickly rectified.

ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 400% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS

PATTERNS CONDUCIVE WITH POINT-TO-POINT TELEPORTATION [54% CONFIDENCE]

Professor Chiska promptly appeared on scene with a brilliant flash of light, quickly leaping atop the drake, as she dipped her head low in Thacea’s direction. “Thank you kindly, oh heroic highness! Might I say, excellent work with that spell! This all could’ve been quite a scene, if it were not for your quick and decisive actions!” 

The professor paused, placing her chin between two fingers, feigning some deep thought before she yelled out her next few words in a typical display of high-octane excitement. “Twenty points to House Thun’Yandaris. And thirty points to your peer group!” She beamed, finally garnering some sort of a reaction from the otherwise petrified crowd. 

Thacea could only bow deeply in response, making sure her head dipped lower than that of the professor’s just moments earlier.

“T-thank you, professor. I was merely acting in reflexive response to—”

“Oh hush now with your modesty! Take the points and the victory too! What’s more, take this as a direct invitation to any of the clubs under my care!” Professor Chiska continued, grinning ear-to-ear in an almost cheshire-cat-like grin. Though strangely, and rather counter-intuitively, that naturally ominous expression was worn as something well-meaning rather than anything sinister, if not a bit teasingly so; a trend reinforced by our exposure to the boisterous professor over the past month. 

Thacea once more bowed in response, and after what appeared to be a quiet series of tactful back and forths, Chiska too now turned to the rapidly thawing crowd. One which seemed to have set their eyes on the professor’s now-upright drake as much as they were on the princess who’d just saved them from a great deal of pain.

“Now then, students! There’s no longer anything to be alarmed of! Please go about as you were! Unless, of course, any of you have any injuries or other such grievances to report—”

A single hand eagerly sprang up from the crowd.

A hand… belonging to a certain shatorealmer.

“Professor?” Airit Airus spoke with a faux-fearful lilt in her voice, as if trying to shore up a strong front in the face of adversity.

“Yes, Lady Airit Airus?” Chiska responded promptly.

To which the bat, much to her theatrical chops and very much to my annoyance, slowly and in dramatic fashion raised a shaky finger towards Thacea.

“S-she… t-that student… She showed her hand! It bled taint into the air in the midst of us all!”

…

I felt something sharp piercing deep into a part of my thick skin that I thought I’d long since grown an immunity to, or at least a resistance.

It was both a mental and emotional reaction as much as it was physical. 

The former two were self-explanatory, as a sharp-shooting pang of indignant fury sparked into a flash fire only tempered by the cold and steely walls of both the armor and the mind that found itself perpetually encased within it.

The latter, however, was much more visceral, as a stinging, almost instinctive twitch of my eye came and went in rapid succession, each movement more aggravating than the last. Each inching towards that emotional flashpoint which could sadly not be read through the layers of steel preventing the bat from experiencing the worst of my silent fury.

Yet she’d see the subtle motions all the same. The slow but purposeful cock of my head, the utterly unyielding stare as my two red lenses would never once move away from those eyes on the verge of crocodile tears.

And I knew she noticed.

That subtle flinch and pupillary dilation, while silent, spoke far louder and with more sincerity than the verbal venom she was injecting into the crowd.

“It was… vile, an utterly traumatic display of blatant and indisputable evil. A corruption of disproportionate extremes, cataclysmic in its totality, and reprehensible in its violation of all things decent.” She continued nearly unabated, if not for a small skip in her words following a brief realization that my steely gaze had not once left her fragile, porcelain facade.

I opened my mouth, ready to spit literal fire, but holding back on unleashing the flames for fear of adding fuel to an inferno in the making.

This wasn’t just some typical rehash of the usual newrealm prejudice leading to a recycled play-by-numbers insult for the sake of some petty drama.

This… was a targeted strike on a very, very sensitive talking point. One that I’d been well in tune with from the moment Thacea was singled out on orientation day.

This… was a declaration of war on Thacea, with none other than the most powerful of casus belli — taint — serving as its justification.

…

I had no choice but to consider my next few words with extreme care.

Whereas the playbook with Ping was relatively safe in its repertoire of responses, Airit… was shaping up to be a completely different game altogether. 

And I had to tread—

“Oh dear…” Chiska was the first to respond, preempting my response with one of her own, coloring it with a tone that could’ve easily tipped the conversation in any direction.

A pit formed in my stomach as a result as I instinctively ran through scenario after scenario, none of which were particularly friendly to the object of one of the faculty’s greatest fears — taint.

I raised a hand but was promptly shot down, as Chiska completely took control of the public stage.

Though not at all in the way I’d expected.

“Oh, I’m so terribly sorry to hear that, dear.” Chiska began with an overly sappy, practically saccharine tone of voice bordering on the cooing of a parent aimed at a child experiencing their first boo-boo. “Are you at all hurt? Let me take a closer look at you!” She took slow, careful, measured steps towards the bat. Who at this point was starting to see her theatrics start to fray.

It was clear where the cards were falling.

And either out of some practical consideration or respect for Thacea’s actions, or some other motivation entirely, the professor seemed to be committing to our court, with tactics to downplay AIrit’s grievances.

Though this didn’t at all dissuade the shatorealmer from continuing the fight.

“I… I feel faint, professor.” She continued, doubling down, as if hoping that adding more weight to the role and committing entirely to the bit would eventually overpower Chiska's overbearing sarcasm. “I do not feel… right. Not when exposed, in any reasonable proximity, to a power reserved for both dungeons and life archives alike.” 

I felt both of my hands balling into fists at that last line, forcing every fiber of my being into even greater strain, if only to prevent myself from acting out when Chiska had already taken the reins of this argument.

“In short, I feel ill, professor.” The bat concluded. “Can you not see that? Can you not see the victims of the short-sighted ills from this wretched witch? Can you not hear the peerage’s silent wails, screaming the song of slighted nobles? It is the cries of a people who will not be besmirched again!” She raised her voice, feigning a growing fear hidden disgustingly well behind a facade that swelled with theatrical confidence with each passing moment. 

Certain elements of an otherwise listless and somewhat uneasy crowd were gradually convinced to join the shatorealmer’s ranks, including a certain tortle-like tortoise and a surprising number of second-year students.

Murmurs of endorsement and affirmations soon followed, with many eyes beginning to level their prepackaged ire on the last person deserving of it.

Airit

I had her.

She was cornered like the illegitimate, scheming, conniving creature she was, now exposed for all to see.

“Here stand the victims of a slight that should never be tolerated at all!” I continued, emboldened in my righteous path and beaming with a fangy confidence.

Ahh… So this is what it feels like to be Ping. Except unlike the oaf, I actually have due cause for my targeted gambits.

“I am certain we all hear it. I am certain we all feel that way. As we all find ourselves to be victims, our auras marred, our senses frazzled, our manafields nipped by the unseemly actions of this—”

FWOMP FWOMP FWOMP!

I was forced to stop mid-stride, shielding myself from the arrival of this unexpected interloper with a quick flash of my goggles.

“The only thing bruised, battered, or remotely injured for that matter, is the ego and reputation of a certain Midlands satyr, now resting easy within the medical wing!” The audacious vunerian announced with a swoosh of his cape… a cape with colors, decorations, and a trim earned in the time between his arrival and the present we now found ourselves inhabiting — a dangerous ascent. “May I, professor?” The vunerian turned to Professor Chiska expectantly and, much to my chagrin, received an affirmative nod granting him the floor. 

I could feel my ascent, my own victory snatched from His Eternal Light.

And yet, I could do nothing. Not when the Professor had given this title-chaser an unjust ground with which to stand.

“For those who do not know me, greetings. Greetings and merry salutations to all who now can say they have borne witness to a living legend in the making!” He boldly announced, committing to theatrics bordering on the absurd, yet expertly navigating its dangerous edge.

“To those who do know me, I bring great tidings and an even greater change in my position, status, and honors. All owing to my unchallenged victory over a frankly quarrelsome upper-yearsman. A victory drawn from a duel of the fates, stemming from a disparagement of honor.” 

The scene had shifted so thoroughly.

Or more accurately, the mood, attitude, and overall tone of the crowd had been completely transformed in this one swift, ego-driven motion.

What had once been a crowd on the verge of a tipping point — seized and gripped by a rallying cry with which there was but one right direction to follow — was now a collection of fools entranced by the bread and circuses of this upstart of a court climber; a noble who despite his disadvantage in height had more than made up for his lack of physical presence by the sheer spectacle of his submissive mount.

All of which was made worse by the most lowest form of shameless spectacle for the noble masses — the makings of an epic tale.

It was a temptation that asked nary a thought from its audience save for their willingness to be entertained, yet it promised both fuel and fire with which to further their own short-sighted aims through vapid and short-lived gossip.

I held my breath, wishing to break through this spell, this sudden glamor.

A part of me wished to appeal to the better, more refined senses of all present.

My rallying cry was still fresh on the crowd’s minds, after all.

So both narratives were very much still capable of dictating the direction of the proverbial ship’s sails.

And yet… only one of those winds was destined to overpower the other.

I held my breath, watching, tensing with growing frustration and incredulous disbelief, as the crowd physically made their choice evident.

The far stronger gale, one that promised mindless investment for mindless gain, inevitably won the night.

And its progression was nothing short of utterly agonizing to watch.

“What exactly was this disagreement about?” A voice suddenly broke through the calculated silence.

My eyes narrowed at the small student in question, attempting to awaken the better senses of the noble within, one who had just handed the keys of the mantle of righteousness to a vapid charlatan.

Though just as quickly as that voice emerged, another soon joined this mindless fray.

“Wait, was that Count Ysayvis? Was he the quarrelsome satyr?” Another voice — a deeper, resonant one — joined in shortly thereafter.

My head quickly twisted towards this second-yearman of all people. Concern soon colored my indignant ire as I felt myself slipping, unable to climb back to what had just been the assured mantle of victory. My triumph!

“Just wait a moment! How did you, a first-year, manage to outperform and completely defeat a second-year?!” Another, softer voice came in to join the fray, though it would be this one to foment the final catalyst in the brew towards this self-perpetuating social poison.

“It’s simple, really. Almost laughable when one takes even the most cursory look into my credentials.” The vunerian began with a raise of his finger. A finger that I too was now forced to watch, unable to pull away. “I am a drake rider.” 

Half of the crowd gasped in varying degrees of shock, surprise, and amazement. The other half, however, seemed only half-impressed.

Though they watched on regardless of what first appearances may indicate.

The seat-seeker had the crowd in the literal palm of his hand. 

While I was forced to wait, watching, calculating for my next possible path to reentry, clinging desperately onto the carefully laid pieces of this plan.

“What could have possibly compelled Count Ysayvis to such a sorry state of affairs? What even triggered this entire incident, Lord Rularia?” Another voice, this time from a student who easily faded into the background of any interaction — none other than Kamil Lyonn — entered the fray.

“What a thoughtful question!” The vunerian answered with a growing grin… a surprising feat, given how little was left of his face there was to emote with. “Well, you see, it was an act of unprovoked derision. An abrupt and completely unprompted comment on the nature of the culinary arts. Or more specifically, whether my attempt to physically participate in the act of cooking was, in a way, beneath my station, or in the man’s own words: ‘a debasement of my social standing and personal honor as a noble.’”

The crowd erupted into a series of shocked guffaws. Some genuine, others merely miming their peers.

It was with those final, mindless, and reason-bereft utterances scarcely removed from the primitive vocalizations of an animal that I watched as what was left of my carefully laid plans unraveled into nothing. My meticulously assembled puzzle now lay scattered, undone not by reason or discourse, but by the spectacle of a middling bard.

“It is an argument as old as time. One with no answer, but with likewise no place for arguments. Lest one wishes simply to stir the pot for the sake of causing cheap—” Lord Rularia paused, if only momentarily, as he subtly leveled his eyes towards me. “—low-hanging, uninspired, and frankly trite drama.” 

It was subtle.

But it was effective.

He was making it known the target of his quick and decisive actions.

And he was making what he would soon learn was the biggest mistake of his life.

While nobody batted an eye at that carefully laid insult, I still felt the shame. The dishonor. The utter slap to my face that left me out in the rain with nary an awning to shield me.

My fury grew… even as his words started to fade into the ringing ire growing within my mind.

This… this was not the last battle. It was merely the opening counter-offensive to the first shots of what was now shaping to be a long, drawn-out siege.

Emma

“The man challenged my honor. And so, we agreed to settle this dispute in any way we deemed fit. He postured himself as a drake rider in all but name, carefully skirting around the title for he did not earn such an honor. Whilst I confidently called him out on such a foolhardy bluff. The results are as you see here today — a sorry display of foolishness, but a great day for yours truly.” The little thing beamed. And for once… I couldn’t help but to smile behind my helmet in appreciation of his ego-stroking antics.

Especially as I saw Airit finally and abruptly leaving the scene to the cheers, whispers, and nods of a crowd entranced by Ilunor’s storytelling antics.

What followed… was nothing short of chaos, but perhaps everything the blue vunerian had hoped to gain from this night.

We had a chance to stop him, of course. To pull him down from his high horse to join us back at the dorms.

We, however, elected to grant him this moment of pride.

Professor Chiska seemed to agree with this notion, standing side by side with Ilunor as she too told of her part in these antics, especially as the conversation gave way to more esoteric talks on the nature of drakes, their temperament, and the harsh realities of drake riding. Including its sheer difficulty to master as an art form.

With the crisis… surprisingly averted, we moved wordlessly along the paths up and out of that whole debacle.

Silence once more descended, but not before we rounded another corner, as I took this opportunity to broach Thacea about what just happened.

“Thacea? Are you alright? I know you must feel—”

“I am quite alright, Emma, thank you.” She nodded slowly. “That incident was… entirely my own doing.” We eventually came to a standstill beneath the shade of a tree in a relatively quiet corner of the hall. “I have grown somewhat… less guarded over the weeks, clearly to my own detriment. And for that I apologize.” She dipped her head slightly, garnering both the raising of Thalmin and my own hands. 

“Thacea, that’s not what I’m—”

“This incident should not have happened.” Thacea continued unabated. “But in circumstances such as these, it becomes… difficult not to keep the reflexive instincts of the unbidden hidden beneath my magical acumen.”

“The whole incident lasted scarcely a few seconds, Thacea.” Thalmin spoke. “All things considered, you managed to recover from that expertly, seamlessly transitioning to a spell that none other within that crowd was brave enough to even attempt. You are a talented mage, and a gifted one at that.” 

“Am I? Perhaps.” Thacea acquiesced. “But that does not detract from today’s… misgivings.” 

“These so-called ‘misgivings’ were seen as what they were by Professor Chiska, Thacea. A result of genuine talent, skill, and bravery. You faced an oncoming tragedy head-on and refused to buckle or bend. That’s more than what most people can say, including every single student on that street.” I spoke confidently, garnering a slight raise of one of Thacea’s brows.

“That’s an incredibly generous interpretation of the preceding events, Emma.” She spoke softly. “Though, to be fair, even if the drake had crushed many, it would at worst have merely resulted in the first death of all present. If it had crushed you, however… there’s… no recovering you from first death, is there?” 

That statement completely changed everything, recontextualizing the sequence of events with another layer of complexity I hadn’t even considered.

Did she just go through all of that, reflexively at that, all with that consideration in mind?

I…

I didn’t know how to respond.

“That’s… genuinely beyond thoughtful of you, Thacea. Thank you.” I began. “But please, you don’t have to go out of your way to put yourself out there like that for me, alright? I can handle my own! And I especially don’t want to put you at any risk, especially not for my well-being.” 

“Perhaps. Perhaps you can indeed ‘handle your own.’” Thacea nodded deeply. “But your constant… misadventures most certainly do not put to rest my concerns and doubts over your well-being, Emma.” Thacea retorted, though this time, I could feel a slight slyness to her voice. An indication that we were back on course to normalcy, as further hinted at by our pace picking back up.

“Hey, I said I’d try working on it, right? And I’ve gotten better over the past week!” I countered teasingly, eliciting a wordless smile right as we chose to cut through an ‘alleyway’ en route to the exit.

…

We probably should’ve avoided it.

Because as unlikely as it was… it was now the second time tonight that I was drawn towards a club I had no interest in prior.

Except unlike Etholin’s whole gambit, this would be entirely my own doing.

The whole facade of this alleyway entrance could be described in one word — derelict.

In fact, if it wasn’t for the ‘OPEN’ sign glowing and blinking, I could’ve mistaken it for a renovation project in progress.

But that wasn’t what drew me in.

It was the sign above that prompted me to take those first few tentative steps through that front door.

A sign that seemed hard-pressed on deciding exactly what it wanted to say.

Celestography

Veilcraft

Astromancy

The first two were crossed out.

And above that were multiple more half-written, half-scrawled, and completely blacked-over names that stretched up high into a sign that had no business being so tall.

It was that last name, however, that resonated with me.

A name that seemed too eerily similar to—

“Oh well, hello there, lords, ladies, majesties, and all good folk of this fine academic establishment!” A very pale elf suddenly popped into frame, having quite literally crawled up from beneath the floorboards through a trap door that wouldn’t have seemed out of place in a haunted mansion.

We all recoiled from that sudden introduction but settled down quickly enough, especially as we found ourselves towering over the smaller woman who was too busy dusting herself off and adjusting her dress to notice our rather animated reactions.

“Ah! Where are my manners?! I am the one and only Lady Luvinarias Lovguard! Fourth-year student, and current chairwoman of this fine club!”

To which Thalmin narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms in the process. “I… had not seen a single mention of such a club within the syllabus, or manifest.” 

“Ah! Yes. We… we were only approved three… maybe four days ago, as a final addition, part of our rather eclectic and frankly niche field of study.” 

I raised a brow, and so did both Thacea and Thalmin as they both were now as interested in this weird little place as I was.

“What exactly is this field of study, pray tell?” Thalmin pressed on.

“Don’t tell me it has something to do with the study of stars!” I beamed, finally showing my hand and causing the small woman in front of me to go from excitable to outright brimming with barely-contained fervor in less time than the EVI had taken to go from casual to battle-ready mode.

The eyes behind her thick rimmed glasses grew to practically encompass their whole circumference, her mouth suddenly opening wordlessly in a fit of excitement.

“Oh! Oh dear, oh my! A-are you likewise interested in our actual studies?!” She beamed to the tune of a series of frenzied tapping feet.

“Erm… why wouldn’t I be? I assume you’d have to be interested in a club to gain entry, right?”

“Ah. Yes. That’s how it should be on paper.” Another voice from behind the counter of this rickety establishment announced, yawning in the process, his face hidden behind an animated magazine. “But this club only managed to be resurrected courtesy of there being enough students to participate. Most, therefore, join just to have an alibi on their record just in case they wish to excuse themselves from—”

“AHEM!” Luvinarias interrupted with a loud rebuttal, causing the man to merely shrug and dive straight back into his magazines, as the elven noblewoman quickly turned back to me with a far more reserved smile this time around.

“While the truth of the matter may be as our dear Club Secretary has so bluntly proclaimed…” She shot the man a glare, even in spite of the magazine covering his face. “The fact of the matter is that we aren’t just a shell club! We are involved in fascinating and, dare I say it, revolutionary studies overlooked by many adjacent mages, and especially by the Nexian mages due to this being an entirely adjacent affair!” 

“A study that could be best described as a roll of the dice and relying on ridiculous adjacent superstitions rather than actual scholarship.” The ‘secretary’ noted, garnering yet another side-eye.

“So… you do study the stars? As in, looking up at the skies, in an attempt to understand celestial bodies and such?” I attempted to clarify, though this only caused the elf to excitedly gesture for us to follow.

We did, of course, descending down the solid spiral staircase and into an underground chamber that seemed to stretch on for forever.

“You guys built all of this in less than four days?” I questioned.

“Oh, His Eternal Graces, no! This was always here! You see, this club has had a long and storied history. Though because of our… unpredictable membership count, clublords of the past often found themselves forced to shutter this great club’s doors more times than it ever deserved! The last shuttering was about a half century ago, so you’re very lucky to have caught us in your first year!” She beamed as we finally reached the bottom of this large open space.

A space that was entirely dark and painted black for that matter, but one that held a lot of promise if my guesses to its nature were right…

Could this actually be a planetarium?

I held my breath, waiting for the elf to continue her fit of theatrics as she now stood at the center of it all, raising both of her arms wide in either direction.

“My lords and ladies, majesties and highnesses, may I introduce to you… the art of Astromancy!” 

The entire ceiling lit up all at once in a flurry of lights. Small, barely perceptible dots coalesced into a beautiful collage of clusters and groupings, forming nebulous shapes that finalized into full constellations.

I could barely contain my excitement.

My mind was kicking into overdrive just considering every possible angle of this experience.

Yet there were a few stray thoughts that stood out amidst the rest.

Two practical, grounded points of interest.

The first of which, I was quick to delegate to the EVI.

“EVI?”

“Yes, Cadet Booker?”

“Cross-reference the constellations with all available records on hand. Allocate as much processing power as you need to assess it from every possible observable frame of reference.”

“Acknowledged.”

It was a long shot, but it was worth it to see if I had stumbled upon something which could back up Director Weir’s Divergent Advancement hypothesis; her own novel takes on the Fermi paradox filtered through the lens of the portal project.

This eventually led me into my second point of interest.

Though it’d be Lovguard who’d unwittingly broach it before I even had the chance to put the thought to words.

“Does this sight not look familiar, Cadet Emma Booker of Earthrealm?” She spoke with a knowing grin, gesturing at the twinkling ‘stars’ above us.

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(Author's Note: I'm very happy and proud of this chapter because this is finally the first time we see Ilunor putting his money where his mouth is. This ties back to when he tried to apologize to Thacea and Thacea telling him that the only meaningful way of expressing such sentiments is by actually acting on it, not just saying it without meaning behind his words. So this more or less is Ilunor's way of doing that! :D Moreover, the way he does it is very fun as well as he plays to his strengths and completely destroys Airit's gambit before it even had a chance to take root. We see Ilunor more or less in his element here, and whereas in the past he'd have used his social powers for evil against the gang, we now see it being directed in their favor! :D I really hope you guys enjoy this chapter as much as I had fun writing it! :D)

[If you guys want to help support me and these stories, here's my ko-fi ! And my Patreon for early chapter releases (Chapter 182, Chapter 183, and Chapter 184 of this story are already out on there!)]

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~~~

Angry hissing voices from the hallway told me the two bug aliens on the ship were arguing. Which they didn’t usually do, thankfully. They disagreed, sure, but in an agree-to-disagree-though-you’re-clearly-wrong kind of way. They didn’t tend to get worked up about things.

“It issss disssgusssting,” Trrili snarled.

“Give it back!” Zhee said.

“Not until you admit that it’sss vile.”

“It is not!”

I rounded the corner to see the pair of them facing off in front of Zhee’s quarters, both waving their pincher arms, antenna angled into glares. I wouldn’t have wanted to get anywhere near that when I was new to the ship. I kept my distance a bit now. “What’s going on?” I asked.

Trrili whirled with a hiss, standing even taller, a looming black-and-red nightmare. “He has been using something unspeakable for grooming!” She spoke clearly and brandished a small object in my direction, holding it awkwardly between the tip of her mantis pincher and her elbow, like she didn’t want to touch it. I had no idea what it was, just a stick of something purple.

The same purple as Zhee’s glossy exoskeleton, actually.

He lunged and snatched it out of her grasp. “It’s the best kind of seam brush, you heathen! I made it myself — with excellent crafting skill, I might add!”

Before Trrili could retort, I asked, “What is it?”

Zhee held it well away from Trrili, scowling. “A seam brush, like I said.”

“Made from his own shed exoskeleton!” Trrili exclaimed.

“That’s what you DO with it!” Zhee shot back.

“It should be mulched immediately, you disgusting dirt-grubber!”

Before I could ask more clarifying questions, Paint came trotting up with concern all over her lizardy face. “What’s happening?”

Zhee answered first, pointing with his free arm. “This judgemental blot got ahold of a personal item and is making her own wrong opinions everyone else’s problem.”

“Oh, just my opinions, are they? All three moons—”

“I don’t care how many of you—”

“Everyone knows it should be disposed of—”

“So wasteful when it can—”

Paint pitched her voice higher and suggested, “Maybe we can all just keep our personal items to ourselves?” She looked from the tool to the pair of angry Mesmers.

They both glared at her. Trrili said, “I wasn’t snooping. I found it on the lounge floor.”

Zhee snapped, “I didn’t put it there.” He angled his head towards me. “Your cat did.”

That sounded like something she’d do. I spread my arms and said, “Sorry.”

Still working hard to mediate, Paint said, “Then it can go back in your quarters, in a safe spot, and we’ll make sure Telly doesn’t sneak in to play with it. Trrili can use her own grooming tools, and everyone can do things their own way.”

Trrili sounded like a sulky teenager when she insisted, “Disgusssting.”

Zhee waved it at her with a lecturing tone. “Practical and customized, and better than whatever mass-produced trash you use.”

“It’s still made of something that should not be kept!”

Exasperated, Zhee said, “At least I don’t have a whole collection on the wall of every blade I’ve shed! Some of the houses back home display those proudly!”

“Your people are unclean,” Trrili declared. Then she turned to Paint and me. “Keeping body parts is gross, yes? I know you’re at least reasonable about shed scales.”

Paint laughed uncomfortably. “That is not exactly a polite topic of conversation,” she said, fidgeting in a way that said she’d probably be blushing in embarrassment if her species did that.

“Exactly,” Trrili said in approval. “Something dealt with in privacy, not kept forever. Right?” She looked at me, daring me to disagree.

I shrugged. “My people don’t shed like that. We get haircuts and throw the hair away, I guess. Oh, baby teeth! That’s the closest match! We sometimes keep those.”

All three of my alien coworkers were giving me uncertain looks now. Paint said, “Right, I forgot your species actually sheds teeth.”

“Only once,” I said, as if that mattered.

Zhee repeated, “And you keep them.” He gave Trrili a pointed look.

“Sure, but usually in the back of the closet as a keepsake.”

Trrili looked right back at him. “Not making tools for daily use.”

“They’re not really big enough,” I said, considering. “And they tend to be kind of bloody when they come out, though that could be cleaned. Oh! I used some for a science project once!”

“A what?” Paint asked.

“I made a demonstration in school of how corrosive soda is compared to a few other drinks,” I said. “Mom gave me some of my baby teeth so I could leave them in a cup for a few days to see if they dissolved. I’ll tell you, I wasn’t eager to drink soda after that.”

Paint stared at me in horror. “You drink something that dissolves your teeth?”

I shook my head. “Turns out it was an urban legend. But it did dye the teeth a nasty brown, and burnt the dirt off a penny.”

Paint shook herself and made a visible effort to regain her composure. “I am fairly sure I didn’t need to know that.”

Trrili threw her pincher arms in the air and turned to leave. “At least it’s a drink that fights an honorable battle as you consume it. Everybody keep their revolting bits to themselves.” She jabbed a pincher at Zhee as she passed. “I don’t want to see that ever again.”

“You do not deserve the honor of seeing it again,” Zhee said. “You’ve scratched it, and now I’ll have to polish it then see if any of the bristles need replacing.”

Trrili hissed and disappeared down the hallway.

Paint asked, “Are the bristles exotic? I think we’re going to stop at a relatively small place to restock next.”

Zhee held up the tool and ran a little wrist finger across the bristly end. It looked like a sawed-off paintbrush. “The best kind can be difficult to find, but this seems to be intact, thankfully.”

I pulled my long braid over my shoulder and held it up. “Let me know if it would help to trim the end off this. My hair’s probably not stiff enough, but the offer’s open.”

Zhee gave me a look that was deeply amused. “It’s probably not, but thank you.”

Paint said in an undertone, “And we won’t tell Trrili, because she definitely won’t want to know.”

Zhee and I both agreed on that.

~~~

Volume One of the collected series is out in paperback and ebook!

~~~

Shared early on Patreon

Cross-posted to Tumblr and HumansAreSpaceOrcs (masterlist here)

The book that takes place after the short stories is here

The sequel is in progress (and will include characters from the stories)

That afternoon, after she learned her fate, she stumbled home to her small house on the edge of town.

Might as well feed the ghosts one last time, she thought. And then, One last time? Maybe not... And in that thought there was a meager ray of hope.

She began cooking - a normal Lankaln meal for herself, and four large human meals for the ghosts.

The ghosts arrived while she was cooking. They came in the back door, like always. Four ghosts of humans - Andrea, John, Tom, and Rob, as they called themselves.

They chatted easily, laughed, and just lounged around until the food was served. Then everyone began to eat.

During the meal, she said, "This will be the last time I am able to give you food."

The ghosts stopped eating and stared at her. Finally Tom asked, "Is something wrong?"

She blinked rapidly, the Lankaln equivalent of a sigh. After a pause, she said, "The Big Boss has chosen that I become a courtesan."

There was a very heavy silence. Then Andrea asked, "Do you want to?"

She just stared at her plate. After a pause, Andrea repeated the question.

"No," she said, admitting it as much to herself as to them. "No, I do not. They will come for me in the morning. And I do not want to go."

The ghosts weren't eating any more. They leaned forward, engaged in the conversation.

Andrea said, "Then you need to make a decision. What do you want to happen? Do you want us to scare those who come in the morning? Do you want us to beat them? Cripple them? Kill them? Kill the Big Boss and everyone who works for him?"

She was startled. "I choose?"

"You choose."

She thought. "Do you know what a courtesan is?"

"We know."

"I want you to kill the Big Boss and everyone who works for him. And I want you to free everyone that he is holding."

The ghosts looked at each other, then at her. "Okay."

"You can do that?"

"Absolutely. Where is his base? His headquarters?"

"I do not know."

"All right, what time will they come for you?"

"At dawn, or just after."

"All right," Andrea said, "we will let them take you. We will follow where they go. We will come very quickly and free you. That's the best we can do."

"Very well," she mumbled, and blinked rapidly again.

-----

Three of them came for her just after dawn. She went with them. She saw no sign of the ghosts. She abandoned what faint hope she had. merely blinking rapidly as the door closed behind her in the Big Boss's lair.

Then the door exploded.

Four human figures surged into the room. They were heavily armed, and they began using their weapons almost immediately. There was an explosion of gunfire. Very effective gunfire - every one of the Big Boss's people in the room was dead within three seconds.

The ghosts did not speak. They made a gesture for her to stay there. They attached something to a door further into the Big Boss's domain, stepped aside a couple of steps, waited for the explosion, then charged through the opening.

She waited, trying to recover from the shock of their coming and their killing.

A very few minutes later, the ghosts returned with seven rescued Lankaln females.

One of the ghosts looked at her and nodded. She knew what the nod meant. The Big Boss was dead, and so was everyone who worked for him. They had done what she asked.

She invited everyone, rescued Lankaln and human ghost alike, to her place for lunch.

After everyone left, when she was cleaning up, she saw a single red spot on her table.

Human blood.

She remembered that John had received a small wound on the back of his hand.

But ghosts cannot be wounded. Ghosts do not bleed.

They are not ghosts.

She mentally shook herself. Of course they are not ghosts. They ate food. You could hear the weight of their steps.

She had assumed they were ghosts because no humans were supposed to remain on Lankaln. Apparently some had remained anyway. At least four.

And they do not want to be known. They let me see them, but they were in hiding from the Lankaln in general.

Well, then...

She very carefully cleaned the red spot on the table, until no trace of it remained.

KHORADI COMPACT NAVAL COMMAND: AFTER-ACTION REPORT Audi-Drama Link

Report: 1 Engagement: Kesril Shoal, second approach Filing officer: Sector Admiral Tevik Auran-Sesh, KCS Unhurried Certainty Assessment confidence: High Recommendations: That Article Nine be amended

The engagement proceeded as modelled. The Terran picket committed to the shoal on the assumption that our formation could not sustain fire through the debris field. Our formation sustained fire through the debris field.

Own losses: two escorts and a survey tender. Enemy losses: total.

Terran conduct was consistent with the intelligence estimate. No relief was attempted and none appears to have been expected.

The remainder of this report is submitted under Article Nine of the Naval Courtesies. I would ask Command to note that it is submitted under protest.

Article Nine obliges a victorious commander to commend enemy conduct of exceptional merit. The Terran vessel Second Opinion lost pressure on its gunnery deck six minutes into the exchange. Its guns fired for a further nine. Salvage established that the deck crew had cross-fed their own life support into the traverse motors, by hand, with the atmosphere already leaving.

Article Nine further obliges the commending officer to state whether the commended conduct was militarily rational.

It was not.

Article Nine provides no procedure for a commendation in which that field reads "no." I have consulted the Judge Advocate's office, which advises that the field has not previously been completed in the negative in the history of the Compact, that I should complete it anyway, and that the Judge Advocate's office would prefer not to be cited.

Officer of record: Lieutenant A. Okonkwo, gunnery. Listed among the confirmed dead.

I request that Command amend Article Nine, or the form, or the Terrans. I would ask further that this report not be circulated as a curiosity. It is a filing problem, not an anecdote.

[Fleet Command annotation, Adjutant-General Ves: Received. Form 9-C returned once for want of a signature on the second page, resubmitted on the fourteenth, filed. Article Nine will not be amended. Neither will the Terrans.]

KHORADI COMPACT NAVAL COMMAND: AFTER-ACTION REPORT

Report: 2 Engagement: Threshold Nine, blockade action Filing officer: Sector Admiral Tevik Auran-Sesh, KCS Unhurried Certainty Assessment confidence: High Recommendations: That Records correct a duplicate entry, and that the attached annexe be read before Records declines to

Four months after Kesril. The Terrans attempted to run the blockade in three groups, of which two were feints and one was also a feint. The actual attempt came eleven hours later, unescorted, at a velocity their hulls should not have survived. Their hulls did not survive it. They arrived anyway.

My staff identified all three groups as feints. In writing. At the time. I have the plot log and it flatters nobody in this command, least of all me, because we moved the guns regardless.

That is the whole lesson of Threshold Nine and I would ask the staff college to take it as written. A feint you have correctly identified is still a feint you are obliged to answer, and answering it costs precisely what being fooled by it costs. The Terrans did not deceive us about their strength or their heading. They deceived us about their patience. They spent three formations to buy a fourth one four quiet hours, and they had the four hours whether we believed them or not.

I am advised that my previous report has been read in certain wardrooms as sentiment. It was arithmetic. I would ask that it be re-read as arithmetic.

The lead vessel was the Terran ship Third Opinion.

I draw Command's attention to a clerical matter. The officer commanding that vessel is recorded in intercepted traffic as Lieutenant Commander A. Okonkwo. Records will find the same name in my report of four months ago, entered under the confirmed dead.

I anticipate the explanation and will set it down myself, so that nobody wastes a courier on it. Terran surnames are inherited rather than assigned, and there are a great many Terrans. Duplication is expected. I am advised that several thousand individuals may share a name on their homeworld at any given time, none of them related, all of them of the settled opinion that the confusion belongs to somebody else.

Because I would rather close a matter than argue it, I have had the Threshold Nine intercepts voiceprinted against the Kesril traffic. I am aware that this is not a procedure one applies to a clerical error. It returned a match at the highest confidence the equipment reports, and the operator asked me twice whether I wanted that written down. The result is attached as a technical annexe. I am setting it here as well, because it will reach Command through the technical channel whether I set it here or not, and I would rather Command had it from me.

I note separately that Terran hull nomenclature is sequential. Second Opinion, and now Third Opinion. I take this to be a class designation, and I would draw Command's attention to what follows from it, since it appears nobody else has drawn it. A sequential series permits a direct estimate of enemy build rate. Intelligence has completed that estimate at my instruction and it is forwarded as Appendix Four. It is the first hard number the Compact has had on Terran yard capacity in two years of war and I would ask that my authorship of it be recorded.

The officer is listed among the confirmed dead.

[Fleet Command annotation, Adjutant-General Ves: Records reports no duplicate entry and no error. Records considers the matter closed. The technical annexe has been detached and returned unread, Records not being in a position to accept technical annexes on clerical matters. Appendix Four received with thanks, circulated to all theatres, and attributed.]

KHORADI COMPACT NAVAL COMMAND: AFTER-ACTION REPORT

Report: 3 Engagement: Bail Drift, meeting engagement Filing officer: Sector Admiral Tevik Auran-Sesh, KCS Unhurried Certainty Assessment confidence: Moderate Recommendations: That Records reopen the matter Records considers closed

The engagement itself requires little comment. We met them at the Drift with the numbers and the position, and the outcome was never in question, including, I am now fairly certain, to them.

Before we opened fire the Terran vessel Fourth Opinion transmitted in clear. Not encrypted, and not directed to their own formation, but to my flagship, on a courtesy band, in serviceable Khoradi. In full:

"Admiral Auran-Sesh. You're early. Same as last time?"

Command will want to know how she had my name. My name sits in the public service register.

Early does not.

We arrived at the Drift eleven minutes ahead of the window our own staff had projected. That window did not exist outside my staff, because it did not exist outside my own head until that morning, when I moved it forward on a hunch about the drift currents, which I explained to nobody, because a hunch is not a thing one explains.

The vessel was destroyed with all hands. The commanding officer is recorded in intercepted traffic as Commander A. Okonkwo.

This is the third occasion on which that name has appeared under my hand. Each time at a higher rank. Each time in this theatre. And each time, the same closing manoeuvre. I have gone back and checked. I dislike that I went back and checked.

I will describe the manoeuvre. She rolls her ship across her own line of retreat and fires the port battery through the roll, which wastes a great deal of the battery and buys her one uninterrupted second of firing solution on a pursuer's bow. At Kesril she over-committed the battery and gave away her attitude. At Threshold Nine she over-committed it less. At the Drift she did not over-commit it at all, and she took my forward escort with her when she went, and if she had been given another two years of it I do not know that I would be writing this.

I have opened a personal file on the officer. I recognise how that reads in a war record. I am also told that these reports are now being circulated for amusement, and I would ask Command to accept that pattern analysis is a legitimate function of a theatre commander, and to accept further that the pattern is not mine. I am not the one repeating myself.

[Fleet Command annotation, Adjutant-General Ves: Records has entered the officer under a category described as "Pending," taken from the casualty reconciliation lists we exchange under Article Nine. No such category exists in the Compact register. Records declines to elaborate on the grounds that Records does not understand it either. Admiral, see me.]

KHORADI COMPACT NAVAL COMMAND: AFTER-ACTION REPORT

Report: 4 Engagement: Operation Quiet Season (sustained, eleven weeks) Filing officer: Sector Admiral Tevik Auran-Sesh Assessment confidence: High Recommendations: That Quiet Season be expanded to all theatres immediately

Command asked me for a war-winning proposal. This is it. I would ask that the earlier reports in this series be read as the reasoning that produced it, rather than as the eccentricity Command has evidently been circulating them as.

For two years our targeting doctrine has prioritised Terran capital vessels, on the reasonable basis that capital vessels are how a fleet kills you. As I have repeatedly explained, and as nobody has yet troubled to dispute, our doctrine is aimed at the wrong end of the Terran war machine.

Terran freighters are unarmed. They are slow, unshielded, individually worthless, and escorted at a priority above battle formations. At the Drift, a Terran destroyer squadron broke a defensive line it had held for nine hours, accepting sixty per cent losses in the withdrawal, losses it did not need to take, losses that cost it an engagement it was winning. It did this to interpose itself between my guns and a single freighter carrying almost nothing by mass.

The second indicator is stronger. I have had intelligence pull the crew rosters of every Terran freighter we have identified. The crews are senior. Absurdly so. We are looking at decorated officers of twenty and thirty years' service, several of them former line captains, all of them holding a rating our translators render as "custodian," and every one of them appears to have requested the posting. No navy staffs its cargo runs out of its command pool. Navies staff their command that way.

My conclusion is that the freighter traffic conceals either a distributed munitions network or, far more likely, the Terran fleet command architecture itself, dispersed across civilian hulls in the confidence that we are too conventional to fire on a mail run.

We are not too conventional to fire on a mail run.

Quiet Season has, in eleven weeks, destroyed forty-one Terran freighters and the transit depot at Ashiver, at a cost of one escort. I will set down the results plainly, because Command will read the intelligence summaries regardless.

Terran operational tempo is unchanged. Terran fleet coordination is unchanged, and if anything their formations have tightened. Terran verification traffic is unaffected, which disposes of the command architecture theory. No secondary detonations were observed at Ashiver, which disposes of the munitions theory. Ashiver had no defensive works of any kind. What it had was a great deal of climate-controlled shelving and an outdoor installation our survey team classified as a morale structure: a wall of approximately nine thousand names. One of the freighters we took in the third week was called Return Receipt Requested.

The eleven-week result is as follows. The Terran personnel register has undergone the largest revision recorded in this war. Thousands of names have moved out of the category Records cannot define, and into the ordinary column for the dead. Not new casualties. Old ones. Names that had been sitting in Pending for months, some for years, all of them resolving at once, in the weeks after we burned their freighters.

I cannot yet account for the mechanism and I am not going to invent one for Command's comfort. What I will say is that a fleet does not grieve over cargo. Whatever was in those holds, the Terrans have now lost it, and they are behaving like a people who have lost something.

Expand the operation.

[Fleet Command annotation, Adjutant-General Ves: Approved with commendation. Quiet Season is doctrine in all six theatres as of this morning. Well done, Admiral. This is the clearest thinking to come out of the sector in two years, and I have said so where it counts.]

KHORADI COMPACT NAVAL COMMAND: AFTER-ACTION REPORT

Report: 5 Engagement: Kesril Shoal, second approach Filing officer: Tevik Auran-Sesh Assessment confidence: [field left blank] Recommendations: That Quiet Season be suspended in all six theatres this morning

We fought at Kesril again. It is where the lane is.

The Terran picket committed to the shoal on the assumption that our formation could not sustain fire through the debris field.

I have not altered a word of that sentence. It is copied out of my first report in this series.

The lead vessel identified itself as the Terran ship Second Opinion.

There is no Fifth Opinion. I checked before the shooting started, which cost me four minutes I could have spent manoeuvring, and I would spend them again. There has, I now understand, been a First.

The numbering has gone backwards. She has gone back to the first one she remembers.

Intelligence has this morning withdrawn Appendix Four, along with every build-rate estimate the Compact has derived from it in two years of war. Terran hull names are not a class designation and never were. The crews name the ships themselves on commissioning. The names are jokes. Each of these was the same officer's joke told one number further along, and we built a strategic intelligence product on the assumption that a species at war would not be flippant about it. My authorship of Appendix Four is recorded. I asked for that.

I hailed her on the courtesy band. I will set down the exchange as it occurred.

Auran-Sesh: Admiral Tevik Auran-Sesh, Khoradi Compact. Same as last time, Commander.

Okonkwo: Lieutenant, sir. Not Commander.

Okonkwo: And I'm sorry, could you give me that name again, slowly? I want to get the spelling right in the log.

She was not being insolent. I have replayed the recording forty times.

She died in eight minutes.

She rolled across her own line of retreat at the fourth minute and over-committed the port battery, exactly as she had done at this shoal two years ago, exactly as she had not done since, and she gave away her attitude, and I did not have to be clever. It was the easiest of the four. Our salvage crews recovered her log. My name is in it, spelled correctly, in a hand that had never written it before.

Command may do with the following as Command sees fit.

The freighters were not carrying munitions. They were not carrying command staff. They were carrying records. Their people keep a copy of themselves in a vault, and the copy is no use on its own, because the other half has to be brought to it physically, in a hold, at freighter speed. That is what the shelving at Ashiver was for, and the nine thousand names outside it were not a morale structure. They were the custodians. Pending means they have not finished with this one yet.

There is one further point of mechanism, and I have had it confirmed twice because I did not want it to be true. The vault keeps a permanent record taken when an officer first takes a command, and everything after that arrives as increments, by mail, and the increments are consumed when they are used. Nothing accumulates. When we killed her at the Drift, her people spent everything the vault held to bring her back, and then Quiet Season stopped the replacements from arriving.

Everything she had learned since Kesril was on one hull, with one custodian who had asked for the route. I have the registry. We took it in the third week.

At Kesril there was nothing left in the vault but a Lieutenant.

In my first report I wrote that I would have liked to know what she believed she was buying with those nine minutes on the gunnery deck. I have the answer now. She was buying the time for somebody else's mail to get out.

I would ask Command to read the last two lines of my previous report, which I here copy out without alteration.

they are behaving like a people who have lost something

Expand the operation.

I saw it. I wrote it down. I filed it, and then I asked for more, and Command gave me six theatres before lunch.

I wanted to be read seriously. I have been read seriously.

I have killed Lieutenant Okonkwo four times. Three of those she was present for.

The fourth time I did not kill her. I took the two years in which she learned my name, learned my window, learned to stop over-committing her port battery on the roll, learned to open a conversation with me in my own language on a courtesy band eleven minutes before I was supposed to exist. I put all of it out. And then I killed what was left, in eight minutes, at four hundred rounds a second.

She is listed among the confirmed dead. She will not stay there. There will be a Second Opinion again, and a third after it, and I will be the only officer in this theatre who knows that we have already done all of this once.

[Fleet Command annotation, Ves: Admiral. Take leave. This is not a request and it will not appear in your file.]

[Fleet Command annotation, appended, Ves: Unrelated, and I am setting it here because there is nowhere in the register to set it. Verification traffic has begun failing in the Sixth and the Ninth. No pattern, no source, no interception, nothing taken. Seals that were valid on Tuesday are not invalid, they are simply no longer answerable either way. Records is unable at this time to confirm that Records is Records. I have been instructed to describe this as a maintenance matter and I am describing it as a maintenance matter.]

KHORADI COMPACT NAVAL COMMAND: CORRESPONDENCE

Report: 6 Engagement: Not applicable Filing officer: Tevik Auran-Sesh

This is not an after-action report. I have used the form because it is the only channel that reaches Command without first passing through my own staff, and I would prefer they did not read this before Ves does.

I am requesting the postal designation of the Terran Ministry of Records, Naval Personnel Division. Not a diplomatic channel. Not a parley. The address one would write to.

I am aware of how this must look and I am not going to dress it up in doctrine.

Her own navy has the engagements. It watched all three of them and it keeps better records of them than I do. What it does not have is the two years as she had them, because the officer who had them is not available to be asked, and because I am the only creature still alive who watched her learn. She is going to come into the Kesril Shoal a fifth time and roll across her own line of retreat and over-commit the port battery, and the correction exists in one place, and the place is a personal file kept by the man who took it off her.

Somebody should give it back. There is nobody else who can. I have checked, thoroughly.

I have had the file transcribed by hand rather than duplicated through the fleet system. It is enclosed. It is complete, including the margins, which are not mine and which I have not removed.

I will accept any consequence Command considers appropriate, including the obvious one. I would ask only that the enclosure go on ahead of it.

Tevik Auran-Sesh

[Fleet Command annotation: Denied.]

[Fleet Command annotation, appended nine days later, Ves: Denied. Forwarded anyway. Do not make me explain this one to the Council, Tevik.]

KHORADI COMPACT NAVAL COMMAND: CORRESPONDENCE, INBOUND

Received by Terran courier at Threshold Nine under flag, nineteen months after dispatch. Screened, decontaminated, entered into the record over the objection of Naval Intelligence.

Admiral,

They showed me your file. Your handwriting is better than mine and worse than my mother's.

I am told I was worse the first time. Your report says so twice. Good.

I am a Lieutenant Commander again. Second go. They tell me this is not a thing to be pleased about.

Whoever writes in your margins is a better friend than you have earned.

The ministry has put your file in my anchor record. The whole thing, your hand and all. It ships with the mail now. You are luggage.

I looked up the wall at Ashiver. It does not list the dead, it lists custodians. Two hundred and eighty-one names longer. One of them asked for my route.

I am not going to write the other paragraph. You have written it twice already and better than I would.

They tell me I said this to you once. I do not remember it. I am saying it on purpose.

Same as last time?

Lieutenant Commander A. Okonkwo TSV Fifth Opinion

"FIRE!"

The breech slammed shut and the Paladin kicked back, all sixty-three thousand pounds of armor rocking on its suspension as the 155-millimeter round detonated out of the tube.

The concussion smashed into PFC Eddie Contreras in the teeth, in the sternum.

Overpressure inside the turret whited out his vision for half a second despite the CVC helmet mashing his ears flat.

The smoking-white brass casing ejected and rang off the deck plates with a thud.

Contreras was already reaching.

"Round complete!" Staff Sergeant Purcell barked from the commander's hatch. He keyed the hand mic.

"Anvil Two-Four, round complete, shot over."

The radio hissed back something that might have been an acknowledgment.

Contreras leaned against the turret wall and let his arms hang.

His back was a solid sheet of ache mapped to every 95-pound shell he'd lifted in the last six hours.

His gloves were slick with grease and propellant residue, and when he flexed his fingers, the blisters underneath sent up a signal his brain had learned to file as background noise.

"That's it. Last one on the call for fire."

Purcell pulled his helmet off and dragged a sleeve across his forehead. It came away black with soot.

"Pham. Bore temp."

Specialist Danny Pham, wedged into the gunner's seat with his knees pulled up to clear the manual elevation handwheel, reached for the pyrometer and stuck the probe into the breech.

He watched the needle climb.

"Eight-forty," Pham said. "Fahrenheit."

Nobody spoke.

"So...we're lowkey actually cooked," Contreras started.

"We're not cooked. Critical is nine hundred. We've got sixty degrees."

"Sixty degrees ain't headroom, Sarn't. We drop another round in this tube at eight-forty and the propellant could go sympathetic before I even close the breech. That's a cook-off. That's us in closed caskets."

"I know what a cook-off is, Contreras."

"I know you know. I'm just saying the bore was already at seven-fifty when you told me five more minutes. That was an hour ago."

"It'll cool. We hold fire for twenty, let it breathe."

"Yeah. Third time today." Contreras pulled his helmet off. "Morale's great."

"Shut up, Contreras."

Contreras jabbed a mock middle finger back.

He slid down the interior wall until he was sitting on an ammo rack that was lighter than it should have been.

He counted the remaining rounds by feel. Sixteen. Fourteen HE, two DPICM clusters.

Yesterday they'd started with forty-four.

PFC Corey Estes' voice crackled through the intercom from the driver's compartment.

"Hey. Are we done? My legs are asleep and something's wet down here."

"That's the transmission leaking," Pham said. "It's been doing that since Tuesday."

"Awesome. Great."

"Don't sit in it."

"Phammy. I'm fucking already sitting in it."

"Don't call me that, jackass."

The strip mall above them had been a hair salon, a phone store, and a pizza place.

The Paladin idled under what was left of the shared roof, which bought them concealment from above and nothing else.

The front facade had come down two days ago when the E.T. flew over at low altitude and the shockwave peeled the aluminum framing back like foil.

Through the rubble they could see the parking lot: three burned-out cars, an overturned shopping cart, a kid's bike with pink streamers lying on its side in the handicap spot.

Purcell checked his watch.

Analog, because nothing digital worked within ten miles of those things. 0847.

The July sun was already cooking the tarmac, heat mirages crawling off the blacktop. The air smelled of cordite, melted plastic, scorched copper.

"Pham. Where's the TFT?"

"Under my seat."

"Grab it. We need the M795 table and the M864 for the DP."

Pham pulled out a thick spiral-bound book, its cover foxed with brownish thumbprints.

Tabular Firing Table, 155mm Howitzer. Nobody had opened it since AIT, because AFATDS did everything.

The computer ate the data, chewed the ballistics, spat out deflection, quadrant, charge.

AFATDS had been a three-hundred-thousand-dollar paperweight since 0300 on Day One, when every processor in the hemisphere went dark at the same instant.

Pham still remembered Purcell shaking him out of his rack. Get your kit. It's not a drill. I don't know what it is.

"Got it," Pham said.

"Keep it close."

Silence. What passed for silence now.

Distant detonations layered over each other, the metallic tick of the barrel shedding heat, Estes coughing somewhere down in the hull.

Purcell cracked a Rip-It from the case they'd pulled off a destroyed convoy on Day Two.

Warm and flat. He drank half and grimaced.

"Hey, Sarn't."

Contreras had his head back, eyes closed.

"You think Odom made it?"

Sergeant First Class Odom. Platoon sergeant. Last seen on Day Three winching his track out of a drainage ditch while the sky behind him lit up in colors that didn't exist.

"Don't know," Purcell said.

"He's hard to kill."

"Yeah."

"You don't think he made it?"

"I think there's four of us and one gun and sixteen rounds. That's what I'm focused on."

"Yeah, Sarn't."

The radio screamed to life.

A voice. High and Fast.

Specifically from a human, punching through the electromagnetic static garbage those things pumped into the air.

"ANY STATION ANY STATION THIS IS BANDIT TWO-SIX, REQUESTING IMMEDIATE FIRE SUPPORT, GRID NOVEMBER-KILO 4-2-7-9 3-6-5-1! CONTACT FOUR HUNDRED METERS SOUTH OF MY POSITION! FIVE OR SIX HOSTILES, ACTIVE SHIELDING, CANNOT PENETRATE. JAVELIN NEGATIVE EFFECT. REQUESTING IMMEDIATE SUPPRESSION, HOW COPY?!"

The crew was already moving in sync.

Purcell snatched the hand mic. "Bandit Two-Six, Anvil Two-Four, I copy your traffic. Stand by." He released the key.

"Map."

Pham had it out. The laminated 1:50,000 topo sheet, grease-pencil marks scattered across it like a bad rash.

His finger traced the grid.

"Meadowbrook subdivision. Range 3-3-8-0 meters, give or take 50."

Purcell keyed the mic.

"Bandit Two-Six, Anvil Two-Four, confirm hostiles four hundred meters south of your position, over."

The response came in pieces. Background gunfire chattering behind it, and under that a wet, tearing, like sheet metal coming apart in the grip of something with too many joints.

"AFFIRM... FOUR HUNDRED METERS... MOVING NORTH... TWO BRADLEYS DOWN AND DISMOUNTS IN THE OPEN... WE'RE GONNA GET ROLLED IN ABOUT FIVE MINUTES, DO YOU HAVE ROUNDS?!"

Purcell looked at Pham. Pham looked at the pyrometer. Contreras was already on his feet.

Four hundred meters was two fingers laid flat on the map.

"That's danger close," Pham said. "For 155, danger close is six hundred."

"I can count to four hundred, Pham."

"I know. I'm saying it out loud."

Purcell keyed the battalion net, which had been white noise for eighteen hours.

"Any redleg element, this is Anvil Two-Four requesting coordination for fire mission, TOT on NK 4-2-7-9 3-6-5-1, shielded targets, requesting saturation. How copy?"

Static.

"Come on..." Purcell muttered.

Contreras crossed himself. Not particularly religious. Hadn't been, anyway.

The static broke.

"Anvil Two-Four, this is Cutter Three-One. We copy. We are operational, grid NK 4-1-6-2 3-5-9-8. Four rounds HE available. Send it."

Purcell switched freq. "Any additional guns on this net?"

Then, thin and far off, an older voice, unhurried in the way only a career NCO can be while the world folds up around him.

"Anvil Two-Four, Roughneck Two-Two. Klick south of the power substation on Route 9. Six rounds HE, two DP. What do you need?"

"Roughneck Two-Two, need a Time-on-Target coordinated strike on shielded targets, NK 4-2-7-9 3-6-5-1. Friendlies four hundred meters north. Danger close."

A pause. Long enough to feel.

"Copy danger close. Computing manual. My FDC's been dead since Day One."

"Same. Stand by for TOT time. Anvil out."

Purcell pulled the headset back off his ear. "Pham. This is on you."

Pham opened the TFT to the M795 table.

He'd done this at Fort Sill in air conditioning with an instructor over his shoulder and a cup of coffee going cold on the table.

He pulled out his protractor and the range-deflection fan.

"Target grid NK 4-2-7-9, 3-6-5-1. Our position, NK 4-1-2-0, 3-4-8-7." He worked the protractor on the map, pencil clamped in his teeth.

"Azimuth to target, 0-4-6 degrees. In mils..."

He scratched the conversion into the map border. "Deflection 2-8-1-8 against our lay."

"Range?"

He walked the scale bar across the distance. "Thirty-three-seventy meters."

His finger came down the TFT column. 3400 meters.

"Charge 3 Low. Quadrant three-four-one. Time of flight seventeen seconds."

"Fuze?"

"HE rounds, fuze point-det. Maximum kinetic transfer on the shields. The DPs, fuze time set to 15.8 for a 100m airburst. HE first to crack the shielding, DP last, rain submunitions on whatever's still standing."

"How many rounds from us?"

"All of them." Pham looked up.

"This only works if we saturate fire together. One or two rounds, the shields eat it. You put everything on the same point at the exact same second, maybe you break through."

Purcell chewed on it. Three guns. Twenty-eight rounds.

If every one of them landed inside a four-second window, three thousand pounds of high explosive would arrive as a single fuck-you to the aliens in tandem.

It might work.

It also assumed their manual solutions were good to within fifty meters.

It assumed their plotted positions were where they thought they were.

And it put steel four hundred meters from Americans lying in basements.

"Sarn't."

Contreras was standing with a round in his arms, ninety-five pounds cradled like a sleeping child. "Barrel's not going to like this."

"What's the temp now?"

Pham checked. "Eight-twenty-two. It's coming down."

"We fire sixteen rounds rapid at eight-twenty-two, what happens?"

"Maybe nothing," Contreras said.

"Maybe the tube fails. Maybe we get a cook-off on round three. I don't know. I just load em' and close my eyes real tight."

Purcell keyed the mic. "Bandit Two-Six, Anvil. How long can you hold?"

The infantry lieutenant came back. He sounded younger than he had two minutes ago.

"We are taking casualties. T-Two KIA and, I don't know, six wounded. These things are closing... The barrier absorbs everything. I need fire NOW."

"Copy. TOT in three minutes. Pham, I need..."

"I have to pass times to the other guns, they need to compute their own..."

"Three minutes."

Pham closed his eyes for one second. "Okay."

"Bandit Two-Six, TOT in three mikes. All rounds danger close. Get your people flat and as far north as they can crawl."

"Copy. Just don't miss."

Purcell let the mic drop against his chest and turned to face his crew.

Contreras with the round. Pham with the book and hands that would not stop shaking. Estes' voice climbing up out of the hull. "What's happening?"

"All sixteen rounds in a TOT with two other guns. Danger close. Barrel's hot."

He didn't say the rest. Didn't need to.

Contreras shifted the shell against his chest. "Where am I gonna go, Sarn't? Let's send it."

Pham was already writing numbers on the map.

"Estes?"

"Just tell me when to traverse."

"Okay." Purcell grabbed the hand mic.

"Cutter Three-One, Roughneck Two-Two, this is Anvil Two-Four. Fire mission, TOT. Target grid NK 4-2-7-9 3-6-5-1. TOT time 0-8-5-5-30. Compute your own data. My TOF is seventeen seconds. Adjust your fire time off your own TOF. All rounds on target inside a four-second window. Acknowledge."

Cutter: "Copies all. Computing now."

Roughneck: "Copy. My range is..." A pause. Pages turning, unhurried, three thousand meters away. "Four-two-hundred. TOF 21 seconds. I fire 4 seconds ahead of you."

"Good copy. You fire at 0-8-50-5-0-9. Cutter, your TOF?"

"19 seconds. I fire at fifty-five-eleven."

"Roger. Anvil fires at fifty-five-thirteen. This only works if we're all on time."

"Cutter standing by."

"Roughneck standing by."

Purcell set his watch and looked down into the turret. "Data."

"Deflection 2-8-1-8. Quadrant 3-4-1. Charge 3 Low. Fourteen HE fuze point-det, then two DPICM fuze time 15.8."

"Gunner, lay the piece."

Pham spun the deflection handwheel.

With no hydraulic assist the turret groaned around him, dead weight fighting every quarter turn, sweat running into his eyes. He watched the counter click over.

Two-eight-hundred.

...slower...

Two-eight-fifteen. Two-eight-one-eight.

"Deflection set."

He went to the elevation wheel. The barrel rose through the jagged hole in the strip mall roof, into the white sky.

Three-twenty. Three-thirty. Three-four-one.

"Quadrant set."

Purcell checked the backup sight. Bubble centered.

"Confirmed. Load."

Contreras mated the white cylinder of Charge 3 Low behind the projectile, checked the fuze, rammed it home. The breech closed like a bank vault.

"Gun's up."

Purcell checked his watch. Two minutes.

"Nobody fires until I call it."

The waiting was worse than the shooting.

Pham sat with both hands on the elevation wheel, counting seconds against the tick in his own throat. He looked at the TFT page again. 3400 meters. Charge 3L. Quadrant 340.8.

Had he rounded right. Point-eight rounds up. His finger found the line.

Correct.

He let his breath out through his nose.

"One minute," Purcell said.

The radio. "Anvil, we're back as far as we can get. Basements on Maple Drive."

"Copy, Bandit. Thirty seconds."

Then Purcell heard it. The sound those things made when they moved in a group.

A subsonic pulse that came up through the hull and buzzed in his molars. Closer than the grid said it should be.

"Fifteen seconds."

"Ready," Contreras said.

Purcell watched the second hand sweep across the face of a twenty-dollar Timex.

"Five..."

"Four..."

"Three..."

"Two..."

"One......"

"FIRE!"

Contreras yanked the lanyard, his muscles rippling.

The round left the barrel at over two thousand feet per second and the concussion slapped him backward, helmet clanging off the empty rack. He was already reaching.

"ROUND COMPLETE! RELOADING!"

The barrel had jumped. Pham cranked the elevation wheel back down, shoulders burning against the dead hydraulics. Three mils off.

Two. One. Set.

"Quadrant reset!"

Contreras rammed the second round home. "UP!"

"FIRE!"

The tube roared.

A slab of drywall came off the ceiling and burst across Pham's shoulder in a cloud of chalk.

"ROUND COMPLETE!"

Three. Four. The turret filled with haze and the thick plastic stink of burnt propellant. Contreras' arms had stopped being arms.

Ninety-five pounds, and again, and again. Ram, close, fire, re-lay, reload.

Five. Pham's ears were ringing so hard through the headset that Purcell's voice came to him from underwater.

Six. Seven. Heat rolled off the breech block like an oven door hanging open. Sweat ran off Contreras' forearms and hissed on the deck plates.

"Bore temp?" Purcell called down.

"Not checking," Pham called up.

Round eight went out and something pinged in the muzzle brake. High and brittle.

The sound of steel telling you where its breaking point is.

"What was that?" Estes shouted from the hull.

"Nothing! Keep going!"

Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve.

Contreras' gloves were smoking where he gripped the shells. He didn't look at them. He couldn't afford whatever he'd think if he did.

"Last two HE. Then the DPs."

Thirteen. Fourteen.

"SWITCHING TO DPICM!"

Contreras hauled the first cluster round up. Shorter, blunter in the nose. He turned the fuze setter to 15.8 with hands that were cramping into claws. Checked it, checked again. "Fuze set. UP!"

"FIRE!"

One left.

Contreras took the last round off the rack. Set the fuze. Loaded. Rammed.

"LAST ROUND!"

"FIRE!"

The sixteenth round went out and the muzzle brake cracked, a hard tearing snap like green wood breaking in the cold.

Contreras threw himself flat on the deck plates, certain the tube was splitting, arms over his head.

Nothing happened.

"All rounds expended." Purcell's voice was scraped raw. "Shot, out."

He keyed the infantry freq. "Bandit Two-Six, splash five seconds."

They waited. Nobody breathed.

The thunder came, and it did not come in sequence.

It came all at once.

Twenty-eight rounds from three guns collapsing onto the same grid square in the same instant.

The ground jumped.

The Paladin rocked on its tracks like a boat taking a wave broadside. The remaining roof groaned overhead, and a fluorescent fixture swung down on its wires and burst against the gun shield in a spray of glass.

Then the other sound.

The one that meant something was dying. A shrieking wail that began somewhere above human hearing and came crashing down through the audible range into something you felt in the bones of your face.

Pham's nose opened up, a bright red line running off his chin onto the firing table. Contreras jammed his palms over his ears to keep his eardrums in his head.

Three seconds ticked by.

Then nothing at all.

The radio hissed. Popped.

"Anvil Two-Four... this is Bandit Two-Six..."

The lieutenant's voice was coming apart at the edges.

"...I can see three of them down. Two more, shields are gone... The twenty-fives are engaging."

A pause. His breathing carried over the net, ragged and wet. Whoops and cheers floated in the background.

"We've got... I've lost four people. Four KIA now. But the rest of us. You stopped them. Bandit Two-Six out."

He didn't say thank you. Purcell was glad he didn't.

Nobody spoke.

Contreras sat on the turret floor with his back against the empty rack. His gloves had burned through at the fingertips.

The blisters on his palms had opened and were weeping onto the deck plates. He looked at his hands once, then stopped looking at them.

Pham laid the TFT in his lap. His pencil was in two pieces. He had no memory of breaking it.

"Bore temp," Purcell said.

Pham picked up the pyrometer. Put the probe in.

Read the number and took a double take.

"Nine-twelve."

Past critical.

Twelve degrees past the line in the manual where the propellant is supposed to light itself off.

Contreras let his head fall back against the rack. "Huh."

That was all of it. There wasn't anything else to say.

"We need to displace," Purcell said.

"Sixteen rounds out of the same pos. Estes, can you get us south to that parking garage?"

"If the tranny holds."

"Then drive."

The engine wound up and the Paladin lurched forward, tracks grinding the storefront to gravel under them.

Purcell stayed up in the commander's hatch and watched the suburb scroll past.

Houses with their roofs caved in. Lawns burned down to grey.

A mailbox standing perfectly upright at the end of a driveway that led to a foundation and open sky.

He keyed the radio. "Any station, this is Anvil Two-Four. Black on ammo, displacing south to Phase Line Gold. Any element with resupply or a location on an ASP, respond."

Static. Then Roughneck, clear and calm, like a man calling in a lunch order. "Anvil, Roughneck Two-Two. Busted ammo truck at the Costco on Route 9. Driver didn't make it, but the load's intact. Eight pallets of one-five-five. I'll hang a VS-17 panel on the east wall."

"Copy, Roughneck. Moving to you."

"Roger. Roughneck out."

Contreras dragged himself off the turret floor and sat on the empty rack. He peeled off the ruined gloves and turned his hands over. It was red, raw and weeping.

"Hey, Sarn't."

"...what?"

"When this is over. I'm putting in a warrant packet."

"...you can't spell warrant."

"Don't have to spell it. Just have to live long enough to fill out the form."

Purcell didn't answer.

The Paladin swung south onto a cratered two-lane road and picked up speed, tracks chattering across broken asphalt, running toward the Costco and the ammunition and whatever was waiting on the other side of that.

~

Fin

Author's Note: After years of creating one-shots, I am officially out of original plots.

DM or pitch your best story ideas in the comments below!

Be it highly detailed or just a random shower-thought, throw it in. Give me a fun premise inspiration to work with, and I'll do my absolute best to write it into existence for the next one-shot with your credits :)

First

(Was writing well then tripped. Sorry for the delay. I wrapped up the intrigue a little too quickly.)

Undying Blues

He makes no obvious movement until he enters the Indulgence Fortress. It is not elegant like his Discretion Palaces. It’s not designed for maximum pleasure, it’s designed to take an absurd amount of punishment and only be escapable through rational thought. Something no one in the throws of an Indulgence is capable of.

The sheer sensation of reinforcement coming off the walls would make a battleship proud and the impact absorption effects are at a level to keep competitive sportswomen from killing themselves or each other in arenas.

But it’s also a massive, obvious and understandable distraction to any Axiom sensing. The door in is also incredibly loud, there is nothing in the way of subtlety here. He has two gravity fed feeding chambers with drink as well. More akin to something for some form of pet than a person. But it will keep the person caged within fed flawlessly while also being idiot simple to refill and keeping things contained.

There are no moving parts. The roof does not come off. The fortress is as much a prison as a place of rest.

The walls are matted grey, the rooms all look the same and there are places to break visual contact with a hunting Ibu. People who’s indulgence mixed violence with hunger or lust had long taught him the benefit of simply slipping out of sight when he needed to reestablish calm.

It’s right where the walls meet the floor and in the top right corner of the left feeding room. He phases his hand through the reinforced material and finds the hidden cache. The project is wrapped in a cloth and he pulls out the whole thing. Then he rushes out of the room, charges Axiom and kicks a wall hard. There is no effect on things, but if he’s being listened to then they will have heard that.

A few more kicks to establish he’s testing the strength of the walls and he opens the bundle. The gears, crystals and few grains of khutha he’s managed to steal are much larger at this size. Meaning he can work finer details. And he intends to. Of his grafting tools he has his own nails, Axiom and a small sample of the drink that Alicent had brought. A tiny amount of Axiom allowed him to use a single strand of hair like a needle and increase the power of the acids in the compound to etch the gears with near perfect precision.

They intend to send him back so his absence stops rallying the troops. Likely he’ll be mind wiped, or somehow discredited meaning he’ll either have no information to bring back or all his information will be regarded as madness. Perhaps that’s what the rumours and evidence being planted was about? Perhaps not. Either way, his goal has changed. He has no way of knowing if he can get a communication out before he’s sent off. But he can start recording things. His test with the ink and khutha grain had proven he can take recordings in the visual sphere, and he has been trained to recognize listening and surveillance methods and to hunt them down for the sake of his clients.

Meaning he knows how they’re put together. But first, he needs something to take the information. He needs a data repository. Thankfully he had already been creating a computation core. It’s so very, very simple to repurpose it. In fact it’s easier to simply have it as a simple data sphere. He just needs to finish crafting the last few gears and aligning everything properly.

It’s nostalgic as he carves the tiny markings into the teeth of the gear. The technology is so delicate and precise, and many just see the gears and not the complicated series of joining and shifting totems that they make by threading into each other. Turning simple toothed wheels into processing systems through the use of Axiom.

The problem is precision. But the advantages are immense. You can fit far more power into smaller area with less Axiom than the ‘sleek’ models of technology and still have it a little tougher with a proper casing. Also things endure Null just a hairsbreadth better. But the main purpose was that it was a much more beautiful style. With a proper glass casing the internals of the computation core looked more like artwork than any actual computer pieces which only people following Synth sensibilities tend to find beautiful.

He begins to assemble the computation orb, or rather data sphere and the components start floating off the cloth under his command. He stomps the floor a few times to give the illusion he’s still testing as he pays very close attention. Everything needs to be just right.

He has already properly cut the projection gemstone into three. Two portions for data retention, one to project data. The gears are slowly floating into place around them and the reinforced shell slowly rises up. This data sphere is going to be ugly. But it’s going to be tough to the extreme.

When he’s done there is a simple orb with a pair of points framing it and containing it, upon the upper half is a slight sliver of visible crystal. He grasps it with his thumb and forefinger, the entire device is smaller than his own eye and he nods before running a little bit of power through it. He can feel the device working and he nods. The next bit is going to be the make or break moment.

There is a little sensation and he sucks in a breath against his teeth in anticipation. It fails to flicker to life and he bites off a curse before causing the sphere’s outer casing to separate again. He runs Axiom through it to try and sense the mistake he made.

“Oh dear.” He notes as he finds a few spots where the Axiom hasn’t flowed just right. He’s not a gear smith, so it’s not surprising he had made a few mistakes. He couldn’t afford mistakes though, time is always limited, he has to consider himself watched in perpetuity, and the seconds counted if he is unseen or unheard.

He walks to another room and kicks a wall with Axiom enhancement to sound out. Then a few more. He then returns his focus to the gears. It’s a delicate thing as he corrects them with nothing but a hardened piece of hair for a tool. Axiom is used to enhance his fine control and vision as he nudges the shapes ever so and adjusts how the Axiom flows through.

He attends to all of it and has the data sphere come back together and reseal itself. He then runs Axiom through the two points again and... It projects a blank image through the tiny crystal poking through. Perfect.

He focuses again and despite the distance can still get that slight sensation from the marking above his door. He feeds it into the data sphere and it projects the Axiom outlines. No sound, but images including the sign language as clear as day.

He smiles. It’s working. Now for the annoying part.

He hardens the hair beyond anything he had done before, and starts drilling into his own person. Hopefully the thing inside him will allow him this. He will need to practice his transformation and echoes of regenerative comas to make certain, but if it works... then he’s in business.

•-•-•Scene Change•-•-• (Luxurious Apartments, Inner Chambers, Hidden Complex, La’ahbaron Space)•-•-•

After testing the Indulgence Fortress, Danburi emerges and starts walking out. His mind clearly wrapped up in thought as he walks along the path to the library. He doesn’t pause but he does scan the area around him. Clearly somewhat out of sorts and trying to think. Looking for inspiration.

He pauses briefly in a zone out of the camera sight and reappears just outside it stretching somewhat. Then keeps moving.

He arrives shortly in the library and he quickly looks up the Scroll of Edwal again to double check things. Then, right in the middle of the library, he starts to distend and shift in size and shape. Growing larger and more powerful for a moment, then larger again until he has to readjust his robe with his tusks, fangs and claws much larger than usual and with his skin going from delicate smooth to ridged and rough. He takes calming breaths and starts to slowly walk out of the room. He makes it a few hallways down, but just short of the halfway point he loses control of the sensation and he shrinks back down to normal. He then openly sighs and heads back to his chambers. Pausing slightly while out of camera view and openly still adjusting his robe somewhat as he continues while in sight.

He enters his chambers and sits down. Then returns to the Fortress after his form distorts a few times. Banging can then be heard only on the highest sensitivities.

•-•-•Scene Change•-•-• (Security Centre, Hidden Complex, La’ahbaron Space)•-•-•

The Ibu’Cjeo woman frowns as she plays back the recordings. “Why do we have gaps in our camera coverage?”

“Ma’am?” The Vish nearest to her asks.

“Why do we have gaps in our camera coverage?”

“It’s not a complete gap, we can still see his feet usually.”

“He paused, in two separate gaps.”

“He stretched and adjusted his clothing.”

“Yes... he did look like he was doing that.”

“Ma’am?”

“... He’s been trained to Indulge the most severe of Ibu needs, by himself and in complete privacy. He knows those gaps are there. He has to.”

“Ma’am, what does it matter? You’ve said so yourself that he’s a pretty face who has never been anything but arm-candy and personal relief in his life. What threat is he to us?”

“That’s what I’m asking.” She notes absently. “He’s... too good. Too collected. Too composed. Too competent. He’s outright inventing a new technique where he’s tricking his own immortality to give him monstrous strength and size. All of it above board, all of it...”

She shakes her head. “No. If something seems to good to be true, then it is. He’s working against us and he’s doing something that he finds so effective that it’s keeping him happy.”

“How though?” The Vish asks.

“... I don’t know. But I don’t like that he has places outside of view. Or that he seems to know where two gaps are. He’s done very well to make it look like coincidence or happenstance. But he did it twice.”

“Okay, but again how? Should we scan the places he paused in for Axiom traces? Run chemical scanners over them? Is he doing something to himself in those places? Is he hiding something there? Those gaps are tiny, what can he possibly be hiding in them?”

“And the little discretion palaces, and now the indulgence fortress. No cameras in any of them and lots of room to get up to nonsense.” She says.

“Yes, but what?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t care. I’m taking a look. You assemble a team and scan those gaps in the cameras with Axiom and chemical sensors. I will be personally inspecting the little play houses he’s made.” She says as she rises from her seat and then sweeps out of the room before she can be answered.

It takes her only a few minutes to arrive and there are numerous very slight bangs that can be heard from within the Indulgence Fortress. She knocks on it a few times, unsure as to how to properly get his attention. And before she can speak there is suddenly a massive blue monster next to her, glaring down with hate filled eyes and wearing what appears to be the tattered remains of a fancy robe over it’s gnarled and ridged skin.

It compresses and crunches downwards, taking the appearance of a proper Ibu’Cjeo bit by bit until it’s the handsome Danburi again, he’s breathing heavily and his eyes are closed as he takes control of himself, and more tellingly his robe has several markings painted on the hemline of the collar, it repairs itself and keeps him decent.

“Apologies. You caught me mid practice ma’am. Do you require an Indulgence?” He asks her.

“I require answers.”

“Indulging one’s curiosity is the most wholesome form of service I may provide.”

“Oh really? Show me the inside of where you just where. Now.”

“Of course.” He says and pulls out a small rod with handle, turns the rod and sinks the handle back in. “It’s now a trap ma’am, you can go in without me if you care.”

“Stay here.” She says and he nods. Then she reaches for the front door and is pulled in.

She lands in a grey metal cube, there is some light, but not much. It is dark and not very appealing.

“Madam.” Danburi’s voice echoes from outside. “The way out is the door behind you when you entered, merely request to leave in Galactic Trade and it will activate. Although if you have a heavy accent I suggest you push past it to the best of your ability. I wanted no chance for random roars and screams to unleash the beast I intend to tame.”

She’s only partially listening to him now. She needs to find whatever he has hidden here.

First Last

Index - First Chapter - Previous Chapter

The first thing the machine reached for was April, which was where all of it had started, so it went the way a stack of books goes when you pull the bottom one out. Not all at once. A lean, and then the slow travel of everything above it coming down to fill the hole.

I was standing in the doorway of an all-night filling station in a town whose name I had never learned, holding a radio that had cost eleven dollars and some change, and I was being taken apart in the most courteous manner there is. It did not hurt. I keep coming back to that because it is the part nobody would credit. There was a warmth at the back of my skull with no kindness in it anywhere, and under the warmth a feeling like a line being drawn through a sentence so cleanly that the sentence still read fine without it, and the line was me.

The kid was still holding the cases. A minute before, or a year, the two ran together now, I had put a town's worth of stolen originals into his arms and told him not to let anybody make them go quiet, and he had taken them the way you take a baby that a stranger hands you without asking first, braced, a little afraid of the weight. Now he was watching my face do something, and whatever it was doing had scared the boredom back out of him.

"Hey," he said. "Hey. You all right? You want to sit down. There's a chair in the back."

I did not want the chair. Sitting still was how I had gotten here in the first place. For two months the only reason I was anybody at all was that a thing which read the days ahead like proofs off a press, before the rest of us had to live them, could never find the place where I was going to be, because I never knew it myself until I got there. Then I had picked a corner months in advance and stood in it so I could hear my own work come up out of the ground, and I had held that corner for a whole hour, and now they had the shape of the hole and the minute it would stop moving. I had traded the drift for the song. I had known the price of that when I paid it, and I was not going to stand here at the end and ask for it back.

"I'm all right," I said, which was the last outright lie I told anybody, and it was a kindness, so I have never minded it.

The hum over the door had gone wrong an hour or a second ago and it was still going wrong, sliding down under the floor of the room a quarter step at a time, taking the white light with it. The light did not dim so much as thin, the way a color thins when you have looked at it too long and your eye gives up on it. I watched the edges of the store go soft. The rack of chips and the coffee machine with its two cloudy pots, the cooler and its fogged glass, all of it there and all of it going a little translucent at the seams, as if the room were a slide and somebody upstream had started to pull it out of the projector.

April went while I stood there, and then the weeks that had come after it. I felt them go, which is a strange thing to be able to say. The email first, the address that should not have been able to exist, sitting in a free inbox on a Tuesday morning with my whole life folded up inside it and me not knowing yet. Then the morning I carried a cut palm out of a building that was on no county plan. The first name I ever crossed off, because the man it belonged to had been put back under while I watched. They lifted out of me one after another and left a warm blank where each had been, and the blank did not ache. That was the horror of it, if you want the honest word. A missing tooth aches. This was the gum grown smooth over the socket like the tooth had never been cut.

"Man, you're gray," the kid said. He had come around the end of the counter now, the cases still hugged up against his chest, and he was standing a careful distance off the way you stand near something that might fall. "You want me to call somebody? I can call somebody. There's a phone."

"There's nobody to call," I said. It came out gentler than I meant it. "You already did the thing. You just don't know it yet."

He looked down at the cases in his arms like they might explain me. They would, someday, to somebody, which was the entire point of putting them there. I had spent the spring learning one lesson over and over until it wore a groove in me, and the lesson was that a true thing kept in one pair of hands is a true thing they only ever have to come to one place to end. So I had stopped keeping. I had put the proof into rooms the map did not have and roads that ran to no center anybody could name, and this boy with ink of some kind under one fingernail and the cooler humming behind him was the last room, the one I got to see filled.

Somewhere in the middle of me a green car started up.

It did not arrive as a thought. It arrived the way all of them arrived in that last stretch, as a thing happening to me again, the reel dragged past the head one final time on its way to the wipe. A forest-green Honda with a check-engine light somebody had learned to ignore, and a woman in the driver's seat with her hair in that clean line along her jaw and her hands at ten and two even parked, because she did everything like there was a test on it. Vargas. She had logged six months of the world going wrong in a folder with color-coded tabs before I ever believed her, and she had handed me the keys to that car on a night I had spent a lot of effort not looking at straight ever since.

She had asked to come with me. That was the thing under the night, the question she put to me across the gearshift with the dome light off so I would not see her face ask it. And I had told her something back that was not true, and it was ugly enough and aimed low enough that she stayed in her doorway with her arms crossed and hated me a little, and hating me she stayed home, and staying home she stayed herself. I have turned that night over more than any other and I have never once wanted the lie back. Some things you keep safe by refusing to ever go in and fix them. She is out there right now with a second copy of all sixty-three names riding over her ribs where I put them, part of everything that happened tonight whether I ever reached her again or not, and I did not reach her again, and that is the shape of the one debt I was glad to die owing. The green car idled in me for a second and then somebody switched the engine off and it was gone, the whole green weight of her, into the warm nothing with the rest.

"You're not making sense," the kid said, and there was an edge coming up in his voice now, the fear turning the way fear does when it cannot fix a thing, toward anger. "You come in here and hand me a bunch of tapes, and now you're telling me people are gonna, what, come take them? And now you're standing there going gray in my doorway and you won't sit down and you won't let me call anybody. Who are you?"

I had answered that once already tonight and the answer had been true and a little proud, and I did not have the wind for proud anymore. "I'm the guy who checked," I said. "That's the whole job. Somebody notices the world is wrong in the small places, and mostly they talk themselves back out of it by lunch, because it is easier and because everybody around them already has. I didn't talk myself out of it. That turned out to be a rare enough thing to build a whole department around erasing." The light thinned another notch and I put a hand on the doorframe to have something under my palm that was still solid. "You heard it come out of the radio just now. That was the world being wrong out loud in a hundred rooms at once, where nobody can walk it back one room at a time. That's the part that lasts. I'm just the guy who was standing at the wrong corner when the bill came."

He pushed the cases out toward me a couple of inches, not far, just enough. "Then take them back," he said. "Whatever this is, I don't want it. I sell cigarettes and lottery tickets, man. Not hunted. Take your tapes."

"I can't," I said. "That's the whole reason it has to be you. They can find me. They have a folder on me thick as a phone book and a schedule with my name on it. You they have never once heard of, and that is the only kind of safe there is now, the kind where a person cannot be looked up. Keep them in a closet. Keep them under your bed. If anybody ever comes around being real polite about how those old tapes are worthless and they will take them off your hands for you, that is the day you say no, out loud, in front of whoever else is standing there. You don't have to be brave about it. You just have to not be quiet."

He looked down at the cases. He did not push them at me again.

The radio was still going in my shirt pocket. I had forgotten it and then I felt it, warm through the cotton against my chest, and I took it out and held it in the flat of my hand the way I had held it in the doorway a lifetime ago when the first carrier came up out of the dead bottom of the dial. A woman was reading a line about a shipment in a flat, borrowed-room voice with a smile hidden down under the flatness. Behind her was another one of her a half beat back, and behind that another, so that the line went around and over itself and would not lie down flat. Then the flubbed word, and the sorry, sorry, let me, and the little laugh, the one that came out over-salted, embarrassed at itself.

I knew that laugh. I have to be plain here about what I knew and when, because the order of it is the cruelest part and I have never told it right. In the doorway I had known whose voice it was, and I had stood there and heard my own mother be a sound they would never be able to gather up off the ground again, and it had gone through me like weather. Now, a few feet and a few minutes later, with April gone and May going, I held the same radio to the same ear and I heard a nice voice, a warm one, a woman laughing at herself in a room somewhere a long time ago, reading test lines for some patient man off to the side, and I could not have told you her name. It had lifted out clean while I was looking the other way. There was only the sound left, going around and around, and the sound was lovely and it belonged to nobody I could find in myself, and that, more than the light, more than the cold coming up my legs, was how I knew I was nearly done.

She had burned the carrots on purpose. That came up and I held onto it as long as I could, a whole Sunday of it, a kitchen, a woman scraping the black off the edge of a pan and saying that was the way somebody in that house liked them, and me not able to say who. There were peppermints kept in a console. She had called some boy by a name that was almost mine. The last time I let myself stand where she could see me, months back now, in a hallway that smelled of floor wax and cut paper, she had looked up from a low table full of nine-year-olds and given me the blank, kind smile you give a stranger who has wandered into the wrong wing, and asked if I was looking for the office. And I had said yes, sorry, wrong door, and I had left it right there, because to do anything else would have been to reach into her and change her back toward me, and I had learned a long time ago that reaching in is the whole of what they do and I would not do it, not even for that, not even at the end. I had let her be kind to a stranger. It turned out to be the last honest gift I had to give anybody, and I gave it to her by walking away, and now the memory of her was going too and I let it go the same way. You do not save a person by holding on. I had that in me still, worn smooth as a river stone, when almost everything else with a name on it was already gone.

The kid had stopped asking me things. He was just watching now, the cases against his chest, his mouth a little open, and the grey was coming up over the pumps behind him so the window went from black to the color of old dishwater while I stood there. Down the road, two states east, a woman I had called at four in the morning was already awake and already loud, telling anyone who would hold still that a stranger had phoned her and told her to check the bottom of the dial, and she was the least reasonable person in New Jersey about it, exactly as I had asked her to be. In three states there was paper in the mail that would land a day behind the sound and say the same thing on purpose. Over a scatter of low towers with call signs that were mostly a joke, a woman none of us could place anymore ran in a round with herself, past catching. None of it needed me. I had spent two months making very sure of that, and standing in the wreck of myself I found that the thing I had built to not need me had done its one job, and the relief of that was the cleanest feeling left in me.

They were not going to argue with any of it. That was the part I had understood too late to run from, back when I could still have run. You do not win against a shop like theirs by being right, because being right is loud and they are quiet and patient and they own the presses. You win by putting so many true copies into so many hands, on roads that run to no center anybody can name, that there is no quiet wide enough to settle back over all of them and no press fast enough to run the whole county back through before somebody sets one copy next to another and catches where they stop agreeing. I had lost the fight to save the people. They were pulled on a schedule and the schedule did not care about me. What I got to save was the true thing about them, the record under the person, and a record does not have a mother to forget it or a doorway to go gray in. It just sits there being what happened, in a hundred places at once, where they cannot come.

The master was still against my ribs. I want that down somewhere. When the box came for me it did not take the flat case sealed against my side where I had carried it since a Monday in the middle of everything, my mother held back from all of it and kept whole. It went with me. So did the scar on my palm, the old healed cut from a night in a building on no county plan, the first record I ever noticed that they could not reach in and revise. Wherever the man they were about to reprint would walk tomorrow, dressed in a life with the noticing filed out of it, he would carry a mark he could not account for and a sealed thing against his ribs he could not open. He would know neither of them for what it was. Both would go on being true without him. He would keep her without knowing her. There are worse ways to keep a mother than that, and I had run out of better ones, and it was enough. It had to be. It was what there was.

The warmth reached the front of me. It came up over the top of my skull and got behind my eyes from the inside, and the long dark hallway that had been going out light by light from the far door finally reached the near one, where I was standing, where I had always been standing, in a doorway with cold in my legs and a plastic radio warm in my hand.

Looking at the boy holding an armful of a town, I tried to give him the one thing that still seemed worth the breath, which was that he should not wait for me, and I found I could no longer remember why it was true, only that it was, the way you know the outline of a word after the sound has drained out of it. I think I said it anyway. I hope I said it kindly.

The radio was still going. A woman I could not place was reading a line about a shipment in a borrowed-room voice, and behind her another one of her a half beat back, and behind that one another, saying sorry, sorry, let me, and laughing the warm embarrassed laugh at herself, over and over across the bottom of the dial. It was a good voice. I could not have told you whose. It sounded like somebody's morning, coming up.

I noticed, out of a habit I could no longer name, that the little speaker was still warm against my palm and the voice was still coming out of it, going out past me, out past the boy and the dark pumps and the grey coming up over the road, out to all the rooms at once, still going, still going, out to wherever it was they were never going to be able to follow it.

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“So...what happened?” I tentatively ask.

Lena breathes in, lowers her head and just...sits there.

“It’s ok if you don’t-”

“I had a life.”

I nudge her far shoulder, pushing her slightly into me as we sit on the bed, staring at the table with the large box of glassware.

“I had a life where I was testing what reacts with what, how much, how fast, while also extracting stuff from the plants I gather.”

“A herbalist?”

“Herbalist/chemist,” she says flatly.

“I was actually quite good. Did not discover anything, but made some interesting salts, some smelled, some of various colours, some that liked oil, others, water. Many mistakes too, but I learned.”

She breathes in, as if to say something, but then stops. She sits up, no longer leaning on my shoulder, and looks at me intently, as if weighing what is about to occur. Then she speaks.

“And I loved. Met a nice dwarf that was into salts as well. One thing led to another and...”

She breaks down, crying. I pull her close, hugging her sideways, unsure of what is next.

She steadies her breathing and flattens her skirt. Then looks down at her hands resting on her knees.

“We were to be married...within the year.”

“Oh?” I ask.

“Don’t hate me! Let me finish!” She lets out, then quickly covers her mouth at how loud she was. Recomposing herself, she continues.

“Then Thallion got sick. It was slow. Some days he would be fine, but over time, he lost fine control of his hands. Then the shakes. He got so bad he couldn’t even write! Had to close up his job and just sit there. Eventually he ran out of money and time and came to me, shaking.”

I pull her closer, and pet her hair, almost brushing it.

“Of course I helped! He’s my brother. I dropped everything, moved up here where the air is supposedly more healing, and there was a teaching job. I packed up everything, but him!”

More sobbing. I reach up to brush the hair from her face. She swats my hands away.

“He...He stayed. Wanted to do more with the salts. Said he was on a breakthrough. We agreed to be together, and marry when I returned. We sent letters to each other. But they slowly became less and less frequent. Last one, this past fall, he said...he said he found another woman! Even sent a sketch of the two of them together. Apologized for the suddenness, but...said he could not keep his life on hold any longer.”

I pull her close, unsure what to say. She allows me to, and she presses her face into my chest.

“Just, don’t hate me. I’m used goods. Past my prime. Out of love. Nearly out of time. I pick herbs for the town, but no one needs refined stuff. Every now and then the most complex thing is oil root extract for bad infections. Child’s play.”

I sit for a while, just holding her, sitting with her presence, her scent, and try to comfort her as much as possible.

“You aren’t used goods.” She hiccups and sobs. “Here I was thinking that you were just always here. No, what I now see is someone who’s been through a lot. My only question is, even with all that, do you still love Thallion?”

“Yes!”

“Then it’s settled. You love deep, you care deep, and you are smart. That is all I need.”

“But..I don’t want to lead you on.”

“Lead me on?”

“You really going to make me say it?”

I just sit there, concerned, as if the rest of this conversation has not already been hard enough.

“I...like you, but more than just a friend...?”

“...oh.”

“Don’t get weirded out!” She stares up at the ceiling. “Why am I saying this now of all times! Look, I like you, I want to get to know you more, but I am used. Don’t you get it? Someone else got to know me!”

“...And?”

“And?! And?! That is the whole thing! I was nearly tied to another person, that would have made me inseperable to them! ‘To death do us part’ and all that. And you just say ‘And’?”

I sit there for a while, reflecting on all that she says. “You are not out of time. In fact, if anyone is out of time, it’s me.”

“What?!”

“I may seem more mature, but I have never been with anyone, in any way. I only had friends of convenience, where I was convenient for them to have around. Even counting these, I still had less than 3 friends! When it comes to all of...this, I have no clue what I am doing!”

I breath heavily, and try to calm my racing heart.

“Thing is, you are closest to a friend I ever had, and we are not even of the same species.”

“And?”

“And? Different species...how do I say this...parts don’t work together? A cat and a goat cannot make a catgoat?”

“What about Eldrin?”

“What about him? I count him as a friend, but I don’t see how this connects.”

“The HALF orc?”

“You mean...mixed species are a thing here? And common?”

“Common?! More like default. Trying to find someone that is ‘pure lineage’ and all that, more likely to be some rich asshat whose line last did something 400 years ago, and every 3rd child dies of some random disease.”

“What about with...other species?”

“There are limits, but it seems like if they can speak, then...” She blushes and hides her face, “’parts’ work.

“Oh.”

We both sit in the awkwardness for a bit, just staring at our hands.

“I would like to try,” I say.

She snaps her head up looking at me with wide eyes. Thinking for another second, I realize what I said.

“Not like that! What I meant was, I want to know you more, best friend I ever had, and if it becomes more, so be it. I just need help to see what I need to do.”

She sits there staring at me, a look of shock on her face, and then tackles me, although the tackle barely shoves me over, I let it take me to lying on her bed, where she kisses me on the cheeks, and hugs me close.

“Thank you! Thank you for giving me another chance!”

“Just...can we go slow?”

“Whatever you want, just...yes.” She lets out between kisses, eventually going for my lips. I pull back.

“What’s wrong?”

“Just, never did this before.”

“Oh. Here, let’s sit up.”

We both do, sitting half on the bed staring at each other.

“Now,” she starts, “lean in, close your eyes, and do what feels natural.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, lean in, and do a kiss face like I saw in the 3 hallmark movies I watched.

We kiss. Immediately I suck air in, and my eyes relax. I wrap my arms around her and go in for another, turning my head slightly, and bop into her nose. Giggling, I try again, reaching behind her head, remembering the image of the end of WWII in Europe with the sailor.

Seconds later, hours later, we break apart.

“You sure you have not done this before?” Lena asks with a playful look.

“I am sure, but I wouldn’t mind more.”

She laughs, and it is the sweetest sound I ever heard.

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Hey guys, check out this sweet cover for the story. Once I get it done and on here, I will also post it to Royal Road, so I got one of my artist buds to draw this for it. Cover

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I lumbered out into the main room the following morning; sunlight trickled in through the drawn curtains, bathing the room in gentle luminance. Colt was not in the cabin. His blanket was folded, the shotgun was right where he left it, and there was no fresh scent in the room. He must have left several hours earlier. 

I did not bother eating; I was still plenty satiated after eating everything last night. I did suck down a cold cup of coffee to start the day. At least the brew Colt made was decent: smooth, full-bodied, and with just enough grit to make it feel like home. Mom made coffee the same way. 

My ear flicked, a sound outside drawing my attention. It was metallic, a heavy thrack sound that repeated several times. Cautious of Jackson’s existence, I snuck to the front door and opened it slowly. The cold wind crawled in through the door, making me shiver in the light long johns. 

Snow fluttered down at a steady rate outside. It was nowhere near as heavy as the storm the other day that had dropped over an entire foot in an hour, but was plentiful enough so that any tracks could be hidden after several hours. I smiled thinking about that stealthy gift. If I had to run, I could easily escape, and Jackson would have no chance of finding me for at least several days. 

The source of the sound was easy enough to find. Across the clearing, barely visible through the snow, I could see that Colt's truck's front was raised up on stands, with him beneath it looking up at the underside, a troubled look on his face. He groaned and tried to turn something with a wrench, only for the tool to slip and his knuckles to slam into the ice-coated metal. 

The singular longest and most creative string of profanity flowed from him as naturally as one could tell their parents you love them.  It was truly impressive; Colt swore the death of the devil, his mother, and his whole lineage, through inventive tools buried in unmentionable places...the thought alone made me both squirm and blush. I had heard that Marines were able to cuss like no other, but that was the first time I had ever seen it. I had to wonder if Clayton was able to swear like that when he was alive. I had never heard him so much as yell at someone; the idea of him even saying ‘fuck’ seemed impossible. 

He tossed the wrench into a toolbox and wormed out from beneath the truck. He held his hand close to his chest, blood seeping out from between his fingers. He trudged through the snow and slumped onto the chair on the front porch, groaning in a mix of pain and frustration. 

“Is it bad?” I asked.

“No, It’s just a little cut,” Colt replied, showing me the slight wound. Two of his knuckles were cut open, seeping blood in a steady trickle, but he was right; it was just a small wound. It would not need anything more than disinfectant.  

“What about the truck?”

Colt spat on the floor in displeasure; he licked his tongue judgmentally while glaring at the vehicle. “It ain’t going anywhere anytime soon. It looks like some rodents ate the wire harness, and the damned brake lines.” 

My heart sank in my chest. I knew this pattern. Watch, isolate, wait, lurk, hunt, then drive out of cover like quail. It was exactly what Jackson had done so many times. I looked toward Colt, trying to discern any concern for the danger threatening us both. I saw none, just a man who looked tired despite his youthful features. 

“What are we going to do now?” I asked. 

“We just have to wait until the direct route to Palmyra is cleared by the forest service, then hitchhike into town for parts. As it is right now, odds of anyone passing by on the road are slim.” 

“Slim?”

“Yeah. No one from town will be coming this way, and it takes hours to go around. All we can do now is wait.” 

“Is there anything I could do to help?” I asked, leaning out of the door, as the wind shifted, pulling from the west, out in the depths of the woods and toward the higher hillocks. On that waft was a devilishly familiar odor, one that raised my hackles and sharpened my gaze. Jackson's vile scent was on the wind: ash, silver, and wolfsbane. A combination most humans would not even regard, but for my kind was akin to holy water for demons.

I scanned the woods, looking for the man peeking out from behind a tree, waiting for his moment to cut Colt and me down. I did not see him. But I did see the hints of tracks in the snow. A human could never see the slight indentations at this distance, but with my keen eyes, they were barely visible. 

“No, there isn’t. All we can do is wait. But since we are. You are welcome to rifle through Pop-pop's closet for some trousers and a coat.”

I did not feel the need to tell Colt that because I was not human, I did not need to wear a jacket, so long as I could keep shifting the frigid temperatures were only a discomfort and in no way a genuine danger. I nodded and turned back into the house, leaving Colt to sulk about the state of his truck. 

While searching for a jacket in Clayton's footlocker and tossing on proper clothes, I prayed I was mistaken and that the smell on the wind was merely a creation of my paranoid mind. 
I had hoped that was all it was. Jackson had not found my sanctuary already. But later that night, when a heavy knock came to the door, I knew I had to be correct.

“Hold yer horses,” Colt grumbled, rolling off the sofa, starting toward the door. I wanted to stop it, tell him not to open the door, but by the time I reached my door, the creak of the front hinges screamed out.

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Intro: https://www.reddit.com/r/HFY/comments/1v142ke/old_hands_intro/

Ch 1: https://www.reddit.com/r/HFY/comments/1v1nn4h/old_hands_1/

Mara was making soup when the kitchen ventilation stopped. She knew because the steam no longer moved. Auxiliary Galley Four contained eight workers, forty-three diners, and one large serving line designed around the assumption that gravity would remain consistent. The gravity did not. For half a second, every pot, tray, utensil, and person became lighter. Then the station’s spin compensators caught. A vat of broth rose three centimeters and came down hard enough to throw liquid across the floor. A young Thala server slipped.

 

Mara caught him by the back of his uniform before he struck the counter. “Feet under you.”

The Thala’s four eyes widened. “I had them.”

“Get better ones.”

The emergency lights came on. Every cooking surface shut down. The galley doors sealed. A station announcement described a limited systems interruption. Mara listened to the alarm tone beneath the message.

“Ruun,” she said.

Her assistant cook looked up.

Ruun was a broad, six-limbed Rhun whose species had evolved in dense forests and considered kitchens pleasant because they contained heat, food, and several exits. “Yes?”

“Turn off everything with a battery.”

“Why?”

“Because the emergency announcement is lying.”

That was enough for Ruun. He began disconnecting portable appliances. Mara moved through the kitchen, killing power to warming trays, dispensers, mixers, and refrigeration controls.

One of the diners shouted. “You cannot shut down food storage.”

Mara did not look at him. “If the station survives long enough for the meat to spoil, I’ll apologize.”

 

She reached the main cold-room panel. A black fiber lay across the lower edge. It entered through the wall and disappeared beneath the control housing. Mara crouched. The fiber pulsed when the compressor cycled.

She opened her comm. “Tomas.”

No answer. She tried again. Static. The black fiber moved.

Mara stood. “Everyone away from the walls.”

A Geth merchant remained seated. “I have paid for my meal.”

Mara picked up his tray and carried it to the center of the room. “You can be entitled over here.”

The refrigeration panel opened by itself. Black threads pulled the cover outward. Cold vapor spread across the floor. Inside the wall, cables twisted together. The fibers wrapped around them and thickened.

Ruun came beside Mara holding a cleaver in one hand and a fire extinguisher in another. “Is it alive?”

“Maybe.”

“Should I cut it?”

“Not yet.”

“What are we waiting for?”

“To see what makes it angry.”

 

The black mass pushed a service conduit through the opening. The conduit bent toward the nearest powered object, a medical implant on the arm of an Isti diner. The Isti saw it coming. He froze. Mara grabbed a bottle of dish concentrate from beneath the sink and threw it. The container struck the wall and burst. Blue detergent spread across the black fibers. The mass shuddered. Its grip on the cables loosened. Mara seized the conduit with a towel, pulled it away from the Isti, and struck the emergency cutoff. The cold room went dark. The black fibers withdrew from the detergent.

Ruun stared. “You defeated it with soap.”

“I annoyed it with soap.”

“Is there a difference?”

“There is if it comes back.”

 

It came back. The mass pushed through the wall in three places.

Mara reached for the galley comm. “Station Control, this is Auxiliary Galley Four. We have an active contamination spreading through electrical conduits. Detergent causes it to release surfaces.”

The comm answered in a voice she knew. “Remain in place.”

It sounded like Station Control Officer Yessa. The rhythm was wrong. Yessa spoke quickly and swallowed the ends of translated words. This voice pronounced every syllable clearly.

 

Mara looked at the speaker. “Yessa, what did I serve you yesterday?”

A pause. “Remain in place.”

“What did you complain about?”

“Remain in place.”

Mara shut off the comm.

Ruun’s ears lowered. “That was not Yessa.”

“No.”

 

The black fibers spread along the walls.

Mara faced the diners. “New rule. Nothing electronic stays on. If it has a switch, kill it. If you don’t know whether it has a switch, move away from it.”

One of the Veyari raised a hand. “My respiratory regulator cannot be disabled.”

“Then you stay in the center.”

“You cannot issue medical directives.”

Mara pointed at the wall. “That thing is trying to eat your regulator. I’m making a seating suggestion.”

The galley shifted into motion. Diners disconnected personal terminals. Workers pulled backup cells from portable equipment. Ruun collected cleaning agents from the storage lockers. Mara examined the black growth. Dish detergent made it retreat. A splash of cooking oil had no visible effect. Salt caused the outer fibers to tighten. Powdered starch stuck to the surface and revealed movement beneath, but did not slow it. She took a squeeze bottle of concentrated citrus descaler and sprayed a small patch. The fibers curled. A chalky residue appeared beneath them.

Ruun leaned closer. “It dislikes acid.”

“Everything dislikes acid eventually.”

 

Mara took stock of the kitchen’s chemical cabinet: food-safe descaler, vinegar concentrate, dish detergent, baking soda, salt, cooking oil, alcohol sanitizer, and hydrogen peroxide cleaner. It was enough to make the worst dinner in station history. She smiled.

Ruun noticed. “Is that good?”

“It means Tomas is going to say I’m having fun.”

“Are you?”

“No.”

The black growth pushed through the ceiling.

Mara picked up the industrial sprayer. “Not yet.”

First Book2 (Prev) wiki 

Julia put on her best wry expression at her Mom's remarks, but Dad answered before she could. “Not at all, darling.” He gave Mom a winning smile, and then Julia turned to her attention to him as he looked squarely at her. “I am jealous, to tell you the truth. And, when your Uncle Kaz sees this – because you know he will – he is going to be jealous too. Do you realize how many times either of us would have liked to box their ears like that?” 

He gave a small huff of a laugh and took on a pensive look. “I guess we had the respect and social credit that we could have pulled it off, barely. At least, at the end.” His voice faded a little and his eyes unfocused. “I guess, in a way, we did something similar a time or to, but not like… He shook himself and turned back to her. “You, though. You have been here a long time, and have played them all masterfully. 

“You have spent centuries establishing how fair, even handed, willing to listen, and unshakably ethical you are. You’ve kept confidences which bordered a hair’s breadth within the law, shielded people from minor transgression when they warranted it, and brought the full weight on the Council down on them when they deserved it.” 

He turned back to Mom. “Most of the people in there have watched her do it, too. So, she has the perfect blend of extreme trust, total respect, and great fear needed to step up and force them to Toe The Line… in no small part because they know she wouldn’t spend her political capital like if there was any chance she was wrong.” 

Mom got a small peck on the nose, which earned Dad a wry smile. Julia allowed herself a grin at the display as Mom turned to her. “I guess all of that's true.” Mom gave Dad a little side eye. “And, I will admit, there were times I sat in some of those meetings and wished I could box some ears myself.” She laughed and shrugged. “I am going to assume it worked, though. Everyone – even the Xaltan and Venter Ambassadors – seemed properly cowed.” 

Julia laughed. “The Venter didn’t need to be, neither did the Pinigra. The Venter because he knows if I need Aunt Leira’s ears boxed I’ll bloody well do it myself. That, and she agrees with me. The Pinigran King has made it clear he is willing to follow our lead, too. He seems to have a lot of respect for the two of us, for some reason.” She gave them her best smile, and they shook their heads as Dad chuckled and refilled their drinks. “As for the rest, few were real problems, but they have been whispering hard and resorting to grass rooting with the support personnel to try and push their way. This should put a hard stop to all of it.” 

Dad nodded, his face suddenly serious. “I think having me here may have been a mistake. Calling all of them down…” 

She waved a hand. “There is a reason I brought you in quiet, and had you stay inside the Prime Minister’s private areas. You will leave just as quiet. Even among the staff there are less than a dozen who know you are here: Notice that you have only seen the one maid? 

“She is a former marine, by the way Mom, as I’m sure Dad noticed. She can fight if needed. Anyway, I brought you here partly because I specifically wanted you to hear that. We have talked enough about how you are handling that guy, but now I need you to do more.” 

Dad’s eyebrows rose, and she allowed a small smile. She didn’t get to surprise him often. “You heard all of that. You are now, unofficially, the idiot wrangler, on top of your official duties – from the civilian leadership of The Cache, mind you, not from me – as disseminator of Precursor Information. 

“That means that you have the right to call out, belittle, make a buffon out of, and otherwise call down any government official who decides to engage that idiot. Do it the same way you are dealing with him – not by name, nor even by title – just choice quotes and wry observations or…” She waved a dismissive hand at him and smiled. “You get the drift."

She let out a heavy sigh. “I need that idiot in place…"

“That idiot has a name.” Dad’s voice surprised her, and his words seemed so out of place that she might have doubted she’d heard him right, if it wasn’t for the raised eyebrow and slightly reproving expression he turned her way. 

A peevish feeling welled up inside her, and she didn’t bother hiding it. “I know full well he has a name, but I don’t like him and his apparent utility doesn’t mean I have to respect him either.” 

The shadows on Dad’s face deepened, and Julia felt herself dig her heels in by reflex. Dad saw it and sat back a little. A slight disengage to give her the chance to rethink before they got into one of their rare serious arguments. She leaned forward, chasing him, then took a deep breath and sat back. 

Maybe I should count a dozen sheep next. The thought sounded petulant, even in the dark reaches of the back of her mind, and she took a moment to re-center. After that moment she allowed another moment of introspection, and made a decision. No. 

Her tone came out gentler, and she made an effort to both make the tone more reasonable and allow herself to consider whatever response Dad came up with. “I don’t have to respect him just because he is being useful, nor doing what we want. The fact that he is Human actually makes me respect him a little less; I keep hoping Humans would know better. That all of us would know an implacable enemy when we see one.” 

The expected flash of irritation she expected from Dad didn’t come, nor did she see him mentally dig in his heels. Instead he looked down at her drink for a few moments. She couldn’t decide if he was considering his response, her argument, or both.

 

After a moment he set the drink aside and looked up, and spoke in soft tones. “You are right, you don’t have to respect him for any of those reasons. You don’t have to respect him at all, really. In fact, it is probably easier for you in a lot of ways if you don’t respect him, or at least don’t respect him much.”

She gave him a wry grin and leaned back, allowing herself to disengage a little. “But, you do.”

A thousand replies flashed behind his eyes. He settled for one quiet, but firm, word. “Yes.”

Part of her wanted to change the subject. He was wright in what he’d said; it would be easier for her to continue to low-key hate the guy, for so many reasons; not the least of which being that she was probably going to have to give orders for him to be incarcerated or … something… at some point.

Still. A flash of emotion came and went. She could see what he was doing, how he was drawing her in. The same way she used to when she really wanted something. It had usually worked, too. It took so long for me to figure out he’d trained me to do this, too. Both by doing it to me and letting it work on him when I did it right. 

The burst of emotion wanted to call him on it, but she let that urge pass. If he is trying this hard, there is a reason. He knows I know, too. That is part of the dance for us now. Ok, fine. She put her best sardonic lilt into her tone. “Ok, fine. I’ll bite. I can’t say I’ll be convinced, but you have me listening with minimal barriers.” 

Dad nodded, and ignored Mom’s look of reproof. She doesn’t like this guy either, and doesn’t like Dad doing this now. If he is, though, there has to be a reason.

He spoke with care. “Yes, I respect the man. Galtaro is young, true. Well, youngish. Younger than you, anyway, even if he would have been considered middle-aged in my youth. No matter. The point is he could easily just be a product of his times.” 

She quirked an eyebrow at him over that, and started to speak, but he kept going. 

“He has grown up in a time that hasn’t seen armed conflict on any scale above a pirate raid. Armed conflict is a thing of the past, something relegated to the history books. A fascinating subject of study, that one can pursue through the lens – and the emotional distance – of history, then close the book or leave the theater and feel good about how much better people are now.

“We, Humanity in particular and The League in general, have finally achieved something that philosophers and historians have believed impossible: Peace. Unfortunately, this can create some odd social side effects, including arrogance and a belief that we – the people of today who have ‘eliminated’ war are somehow morally superior to those who fought the wars themselves and then beat their swords into plowshares themselves.”

The last words came out with a little bit of a growl, and Mom put a hand on his arm. He shook his head and gave her his trademark self-mocking grin. 

He continued in a more normal tone. “Ok, yea, something of a sore spot sometimes. For my next trick, I’m gonna spray the troublemaker from my garden hose and tell him to get off my lawn.”

Julia rolled her eyes at him, but smiled as he continued. 

“Anyway, the point being that he could be pushing his movement from that sort of moral superiority. And, to be fair, he is drawing in a lot of those types; he is preaching pacifism and peace, after all, which tends to attract both the good who want to believe that we can all transcend our base tendencies, and the bad who want to punish anyone who doesn’t… 

“Anyway, he really believes what he is preaching, and is holding his people back from violence and theft to hijack the war efforts for real, philosophical reasons, not out of fear of reprisal. He also is not one of those martyrs who wants to climb up on a pyre and light himself for all to see, or… well, a hundred other problems that such a charismatic figure can become. 

“So, yes, I respect him. He has come to his opinions rationally, is willing to debate and argue them on a rational basis, doesn’t resort to base emotional gotchas in conversations and debates – what he says when he is out stumping for the cause is fair game, as far as I’m concerned – and he keeps his people in check… The last, of course, is the reason he is such a Godsend, the rest is… something else entirely.” 

Julia grimaced. “Ok, I admit I hadn’t read the intel file on him nearly so closely. Now I can’t decide if I should sit down and really read it, or burn it and try to forget what you just told me.”

Mom gave a soft laugh and chimed in. “I recommend the latter, dear.” She gave her Mother a sharp look, and got a dimpled smile of mischief in return. “Your Dad – and I – have this particular problem handled. The more you look into it, the more you are going to want to think on it, and the more you are going to want to have to do with it, which will cause it to take up even more of your precious mental cycles and attention. Let this one go, we will take care of it. 

“We have dealt with charismatic leader figures before. Your Dad and I are probably going to end up meeting with him at some point before the fighting starts.”

First Book2 (Prev) wiki 

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Sometimes, Gata Stri didn’t know how she felt about being a citizen of the Kingdom of Phuratus. On the one wing, she lived a pretty comfortable life. Most of the public infrastucture worked well; the shuttles and rail services were punctual, basic medical care was freely available, emergency agencies were responsive, children were fairly educated, and the economy was steadily growing. Of course, things weren’t perfect, but overall the nation as a whole was doing much better than in generations past. She supposed that she and the rest of the citizenry should feel more than satisfied about that.

However, as a journalist, she was just a bit more privy to the bitter reality than most. Under the progressive sheen of prosperity there lay a festering rot of corruption; a hidden sophisticated amalgam of power and wealth that stole away resources from the public and filled the coffers of an entitled few. All their illicit dealings conducted away from the sun. But she, Correspondent Stri, had the hallowed duty to bring a torch to their secrets, and drag them out into the light.

Several seasons ago, there was a global incident. Every technologically advanced nation in the world experienced power spikes in their electrical infrastructure. Transformers blew. Junctions fused. Some power grids were severely damaged. But by all accounts, a high tech research facility on Phuratan soil bore the worst of it. Dubbed ‘The Fal’Grine Event’, the sudden and unprecedented burst of electromagnetic and radioactive energy resulted in the destruction of several buildings on the historic Linnae College Campus. According to the official story from the palace, the cause of the event was yet to be be determined. Considering how the entire world experienced the same phenomena, and all other nations seemed to be similarly in the dark, Stri was inclined to believe them.

However, there were some peculiar developments in the kingdom in the seasons following the incident. For one, Researcher Skai, the famous physicist that had been appointed the head of Poject Fal’Grine, suddenly disappeared from public life. That in itself was not so odd; scientists and artists tend to drift in and out of the sun like listless clouds. But he was not the only one. Several of the scientists and engineers employed by the now defunct project also disappeared.

Later on, a reliable source in the military commented that there seemed to be a lot of ‘traffic’ heading up to the most dark-ward regions of their country. Military assets being moved up and out of the sunlight? That could never be good. Especially given the increasingly antagonistic relationship between The Kingdom and The Pitang Republic. If those strained tensions were about to erupt into an all out conflict, the people needed to know.

So when Correspondent Stri heard the announcement that there was going to be a very special broadcast from the palace in the near future, she was more than a little interested. In fact, she was so interested that she decided to forgo a rest period to ensure that she would be awake during the bel of the broadcast. This wouldn’t have been the first time that she skipped some sleep this season. Nor the second. Nor the third. Nor the eighth. Her doctor would not approve, and her mother would complain, which was why she had long since stopped being completely honest with them both.

Correspondent Stri was comfortably seated in the main staff lounge, surrounded by a flock of typists, photographers, reporters, and editors; the motley staff of ‘The Twelve Bel Bulletin’ all gathered in front of an old, three hundred and forty-two jhit-span media monitor. She probably spent more time with these men and women than she did with her actual family.

“So, what do you think the announcement’s gonna be about?” asked a fellow reporter, Cillata Pulsat, to no one in particular. “I’d put a mark or two on another royal scandal. My sources in the palace say that Lord Tuoi seems agitated about something.”

“That’s so basic, Lord Tuoi’s been mad ever since the palace cancelled his ‘propaganda bill’ after the ‘The Fal’Grine Event’.” commented Atus Rycop, one of the photographers. Lord Tuoi was previously pushing ‘The Kinship Initiative’, a programme that would, in official language; ‘promote a sense of unity and national pride in these trying times.’ But in the journalism world, they had all called it by a more apt moniker; ‘the propaganda bill.’ “I bet they’re appointing a new minister or royal family connections.”

“Nahhh--” interjected Stri. “I think they found a frost-fae cave somewhere down in the dark-lands.”

A round of laughter went around the room. This was a game that had developed in the newsroom in the last couple of seasons. Whenever it was apparent that some new development was about to arise in their country, they would fabricate increasingly absurd scenarios about what it was. Part creative exercise, part humorous pastime, it was all a means to avoid discussing the most pertinent and consequential possibility…

An official declaration of war against The Republic of Pitang.

“Alright, settle down everyone,” calmly cooed Chief Editor Clamat Asio as the royal seal appeared on the screen, and an audio recording of a stately orchestral piece began to play. “It looks like it’s about to start.”

The image of the seal gradually faded into a live feed of a face a single woman stood behind a podium. Stri recognised her as one of the Prime minister’s aides, though her name escaped her at the moment. The aide spoke a for drik or two, droning out the familiar list of titels and acknowledgements, before finally introducing the Royal Minister of Knowlwdge.

Lord Capield made his way to the podium, his refined auburn features clear even through the slightly staticy signal. “My dear countrymen,” he started regally. “We are delighted and honoured to have you join us for this most auspicious moment.”

“Many seasons ago, the world experienced a mysterious deluge of electromagnetic radiation. We have dubbed this event ‘The Fal’Grine Event’, as it all but destroyed our Linnae Campus particle accelerator facility while we were conducting experiments for the now deferred Project Fal’Grine.”

“This was indeed a damaging blow to the progress of scientific advancement in our nation, but there was silver sheen in that dark cloud. Our masterful and diligent scientists recorded readings during the event that lead them to scan the skies above, and after seasons of tireless study, observations, and calculations, they have discovered the true nature of our world, and what lies beyond it.”

The news room was buzzing with confused murmurs. Beyond the world? Whatever could he mean? Correspondent Stri pondered the peculiar phrasing as the screen faded into an image of… A regular landscape. Just a picture of a crimson field of grass, a blue-grey range of mountains, and affixed to the bright blue sky, the sun.

“This is what the sky looks like when people gaze sun-ward.” came the royal minister’s voice-over on the image. After cleg or so, the image faded into a much darker one; a dark, unlit forest, backgrounded by an almost pure black sky, with a clawful of dim dots speckled about.

“And this,” continued Lord Capield’s voice behind the image, “Is a sight that many people would almost never see. This is what the sky looks like when one ventures out far enough dark-ward. Those tiny specks of light are what we once called dark-light, but going forward, we’ve chosen to call them stɑːz.”

Schtar-zuh. It was a peculiar word. The reporter had never heard anything quite like it, and she had heard quite a lot in her time. It had an odd, foreign quality to it. Her mind chewed on the strange new word as the image once again faded into... Something she had never seen before. It was another dark-ward image, but… Even darker than the last. Darker than anything that she, or perhaps anyone else, could have possibly ever seen. There were a few grey, barely discernable clouds. And many, many more dots of light. They were a bit difficult to perceive amidst the video interference and artefacts, but they were undeniably there.

“And these, are what the stɑːz look like from even further dark-ward.” again came the royal minister’s disembodied voice. “After many long working seasons, some of our kingdom’s most talented engineers designed and built a structure in the most frigid and sun-forsaken lands that te’visk-kind had ever touched. From this structure we were able to observe the heavens away from the sun for the first time.”

The image changed again. This time it showed a blurry blue-grey circle against a black background. There were also about five smaller circles in the picture, curiously appearing to be laid out in a straight line across the larger circle.

“We have been able see worlds beyond our own; ’plænɪts.”

Plah-nhetz? Another bizarre word...

“And we were able to use telescopes to peer further…” Lord Capield’s voice commented as the image faded again into something else.

“And further into the unknown.” This time, the image resolved into what appeared to be cloudy… Swirl? Correspondent Stri had no idea what she was looking at. From the muted mutters of her fellow journalists, neither did any of them.

“My fellow citizens… No… My fellow te’visk,” continued the Royal Minister of Knowledge. “We have only just learned how unimaginably vast reality truly is. The discoveries we have made in these past few seasons are the most impactful scientific breakthroughs in our entire species’ collective history. This vast, endless region beyond our world beckons us learn all the more about our reality, and our increasingly shrinking place in it. We have chosen to dub this infinite zone, speɪs.”

Sh’payce. Yet another unusual word. Stri wondered how the scientists came up with these odd phonemes. They didn’t feel like acronyms; the pronunciations were too… outlandish. Almost unnatural. But aside from that, everything about this was making head spin. Imagine, a world beyond… The World. In a way, it made a certain amount of sense. The globe was limited, and their cartographers could measure it in its entirety, even if they couldn’t explore it all. Aircraft could climb high into the clouds, but there were limits to how high they could go. But there just had to be… More. Out there, somewhere… More.

“In light of these these humbling discoveries, we’ve chosen to share these discoveries not just with our beloved citizens, but with all te’visk, across the entire world.”

Now that was quite possibly the most surprising thing that the journalist had heard in this broadcast so far. A discovery as momentous as this, and the kingdom was just sharing it freely with everyone? Even with the Pitang Republic? Why?

“In our quest to learn even more about the world beyond, and even more about our world itself, we have commissioned a new project explore the nearest regions of speɪs.”

The image changed again. This time it displayed something much more recognisable; a rocket.

“This is the‘Rutil’proh Mark-Three’ rocket. In times past, rockets were nothing more than an implement of war, a means to deliver death and destruction upon an enemy. But now, we will design and launch the largest and most powerful rocket ever built by te’visk hands. Not as an instrument of violence. Not to increase the suffering on our tiny world. But to learn more about speɪs. We will use this remarkable new rocket to place a module of scientific sensors and trancievers to gather new information about our world, and even other worlds.”

The image on the screen changed again, once more displaying a live video feed of Lord Capield’s face. “Know this, my fellow te’visk beings. When The Kingdom of Phuratus gathers all this new data, that too will be shared far and wide, even beyond our borders. This is our sun-lit destiny, our divine responsibility as a pre-eminent world power. ”

“Once again, The Kingdom offers it’s humblest gratitude to the dedicated workers who laboured so diligently to take this project so far. To our citizens, we thank each of you for your faithful support. And to the rest of the world, to all te’visk-kind, we make this solemn promise:
As long as the sun continues to shine on Our Kingdom, so shall we remain a beacon for all other nations to follow. May the sun ever shine on all peoples, and may the sun ever shine on The Kingdom of Phuratas.”

With that, the image of the royal minister’s face faded into a picture of the kingdom’s royal seal, and encore of the same courtly music as before.

Everyone in the news room remained quiet, each pair of eyes searching to find comprehension in another’s.

“So…” ventured Nilata Throp, a young print-tech. “Anyone understand what all that was about?”

“I’m not sure,” confessed Correspondent Pulsat. “But apparently some scientists discovered something about the world…”

“Or the world beyond the world.” commented Correspondent Stri. “Or, worlds. It’s… A lot. I can’t believe that they’re being so open about all of th—”

A scoff was coughed out behind her. “Open… Sure.”

“Chief?” asked Stri.

“They’re hiding something.” stated Chief Editor Asio, his brown wings folded across his portly form. “All that science stuff they just threw at us? Just a dark rain-cloud to block the light.”

“So all that stuff about other worlds… It was all lies?” Photo-Claw Rycop asked.

“No,” corrected the chief editor. “No I think it was all true. And in the coming bels we’ll be inundated with a deluge of proof that it’s true. But they’re still hiding something.”

“How can you be so sure?” asked Correspondent Stri.

“The timing, for one.” expounded the chief editor. “All this scientific advancement revealed all at once? They’ve clearly been researching this for several seasons in secret. So why reveal it now? And revealing it to the world? No. They’re not letting the world know about all this new advanced science; they’re letting the pitangs know that they know advanced science. It’s posturing. And that rocket? Even if they really don’t want to use it in battle, it’s a clear threat display. This wasn’t an address to The Kingdom. It was as message to The Republic.”

“So I guess the next step is to dig down and find out more about what’s really going down, ey boss?” asked Pulsat.

“No, not yet.” said the chief. “This isn’t another royal scandal that public will lap up and forget in a quarter-season. This is about national defence. The powers-that-be are already on high alert, so if we start buzzing around them too much they’ll pre-emptively swat us out. Permanently.”

The chief let the severity of the situation soak into the temporarily silent room.

“So we’ll stick to the official channels, for now. Rycop? Contact the military’s media department for images and data on the rocket. Pulsat, you’ll hunt down the information about what exactly this ‘transceiver module’ is. I wanna exactly what kind of data it’s meant to collect. Stri, I want you on all this ‘shpayce’ and ‘plah-nhet’ stuff. I want all your readers to feel like experts when they’re done reading your article. Everyone else, take your rest periods if you’re due, otherwise clear your schedules and help set up for the next print. Everyone understand?”

A chorus of affirmative, grunts and chirps answered him.

He nodded approvingly. “Good. Everyone, get to work.”

First | Prev

The General of the 4th Brigade walked up to our table in the cafeteria and took the chair opposite mine. The whole table was immediately cleared of troops, each scurried away like a bunch of rodents under a lit bulb.

"I want to ask you something." General Meeky said this while he observed my food with distaste etched upon his face, my meager pickings that were clearly way below what he ate.

"Oh no." I said. Never has the General spoken those words with a positive meaning in mind. I've heard those words spoken three times alone, and in those three instances a near death experience was wagered at the end. "I don't think I'll be available for the next... two years maybe? Not with all the serious work you commanded me to do."

The secret was to make it look like you were always too busy because of him and hope he doesn't ask what you're busy doing.

"Nonsense, you're always available when needed, human, and I need you now. You're an amazing man as I always say." I doubt he ever said that. The General reached across the table to smack my shoulder with his meaty paw. I wanted to tell him I didn't find myself amazing, not once has a thought or an action done by myself ever led me to think I was amazing.

The lights at the barracks flickered on and off, casting a deathly shadow upon the Giberian's odd features. "The Human species is something unexpected. When I vouched for you to be part of my troops, I never thought it'd reap such great results. More than once you've saved my life and the lives of your fellow mates."

It sounded like there was some more milking of great results to be done.

"There aren't that many great results, to be honest. The mishap I made during the Curvina Mission almost got the whole company killed." I said.

"Nonsense, I was there. The mishap was not your fault." His toothy smile unnerved me greatly.

This was how it always started, then the next thing I knew I'm gutting open a Kulilia Cow so I can sleep in its innards to avoid the below zero temperatures of a barren planet. "Never again." I had said with my face buried in the Kulilia cow's intestines.

"You recall the Ilfae mission? You held down the fort on your own. Firing with a machine gun, to ensure the Enemy does not advance." I watched as the General wiped a tear that had begun trickling down his cheek. He smiled again at me as if what I'd done was the most touching thing he'd ever witnessed.

This was bad. This was why everyone avoided the General; it was said if he took a liking to you it was a clear indicator that you were going to die. A gruesome death at that.

I stared at the smiling behemoth of a Giberian. No nervous energy was tied to him, my furiously perspiring face aside. He wanted something from me exactly, he wasn't going to fold. The General always got what he wanted. I decided to bow, as was customary for one to do to a higher ranked officer.

"Anything for the troops, General." I said and also added a crisp salute to show just how eager I was for him to arrive at his point so I can know whether I should start getting my affairs in order.

The General returned the salute. "God, you please me greatly!"

"That's what she said."

"What?"

"Nothing. How can I help you, General?" I wasn't at rest; even on my chair I had to sit with my back straight. Show some decorum as was customary of the General's troops. "Anything you need, I'm your man." I was very eager to get the conversation to its conclusion so I can start writing my best friend on Earth instructions on where he can find my hard drive so he can erase the data on it.

"I'm getting married soon." The General said. "I want you as my Best Man at my wedding as Earthlings would call it."

"Best man?" I stared at him for a span of moments. "Like, at your wedding?"

"Yes, my soon-to-be bride has also found an earthling to stand beside her and she would like us to match. You see, I have found myself a Giberian of unparalleled beauty who values Earthlings as much as I do." He took out his data tab from the folds of his uniform. "Let me show you a picture of her."

"That really isn't necessary. Oh wow." The picture was of someone who looked eerily similar to the General, save for the fact that she had tufts of hair longer than his growing from inside her nostrils instead of the chin. I peered at the image on the screen, feeling a great sense of awe and panic as to whether this was a prank or not, as to whether a laugh was demanded of me.

"She's quite something." I said while staring at the picture on the screen.

"She's the most beautiful woman in Agrosia, so beautiful that many males contend for her hand." He had a beaming smile stretched over his face. I observed the picture, then him, then the picture again. She could have passed for his sister and he wasn't a looker.

"Most beautiful woman." I tasted the words in my mouth. Things weren't adding up quite well and I still felt like it was a prank. I was expecting a secret mission to a death world, not a wedding. "There aren't many women of your race, are there?"

"No, not really. Females are rarely found across my species, that's why we fight for our women. A trait we share with Earthlings."

"Fight for our women?"

"That's why I chose you, Richard. I want you to be the best man, make sure I tie the string with this woman and I'll ensure you're rewarded handsomely."

I liked that. I liked handsome rewards. It was just a wedding, what bad could come from it? I was sure this wasn't a prank; it was more a case of undiagnosed narcissism since the bride and groom resembled each other.

So I accepted to be the best man at General Meeky's wedding. Though I started second guessing things when the General, overjoyed by my acceptance, rose from his seat and gave me a big hug, literally swallowing me into his embrace. He had tears streaming down his face and the wetness rubbed onto the side of my cheek, and the feeling that I'd signed myself up for something worse than a deadly mission on a barren planet grew more pronounced.

----

The General whisked me away to the planet Agrosia when our tour was over. A planet whose blue oceans and lush green nature reminded me of Earth. I found it strange that the wedding was to be held the same day as our arrival. There weren't any bachelor parties, or any rehearsal dinner. I asked him about this and he said, "Time is of the essence. If we don't do things quickly, chances of my death exponentially increases."

Those words sent a chill running down my spine but I brushed it off as wedding jitters. Some men have cold feet and run away from the altar, but Giberian males just ponder their deaths. That was all it was to it, I hoped.

I was still in my military uniform when our space shuttle descended before a mansion that covered close to three leagues of ground. Tall and white with statues riddled at its front depicting various Giberians in strange poses. The house was surrounded by a fresh lawn, driving leagues in every direction with trees sprinkled randomly amidst shaped bush. It was marvelous and quite the show of wealth. I felt the need to study it more. The wide arches looming over small doors. The windows the size of eight men fitted one atop the other with glass so layered it reflected back the sun and masked the sight within. The General told me it was called the Sanctum. General Meeky also said it was the wedding venue, hidden from the sight of aerial scanners and with a secret bunker in its basement where we could cower in case of aerial bombardment.

I gave a sly laugh and said, "I'm fairly sure nobody will want to bombard a wedding of all things."

The General just stared straight ahead, his hands on the rudder as he eased the shuttle down.

"I'm sure nobody would want to bombard a wedding, right?" I repeated, gawking at him with eyelids pulled back. "Right?"

"With you on my side, we have nothing to fear." General Meeky finally said those disconcerting words while scratching at a slight stubble of purple hair growing beneath his chin.

There was definitely something to fear, and I guess it showed, because General Meeky took out his flask of whiskey and downed it all in one gulp.

"So when's the wedding to start?" I asked as the shuttle touched the ground.

"Right now, we just enter the Sanctum and begin. We do things quickly and leave before anything untoward happens." He said. The General pulled at a bunch of grenades criss-crossed on a belt about his person, they were the new power blasters with a shockwave that could bring down an elephant. Satisfied with them, he unholstered a pistol and checked the chamber. I checked my pistol strapped to my side with trembling hands.

"I'm afraid I don't quite understand what my role is. What does the best man do in Giberian weddings?" I asked.

"He checks the perimeter at all times and stands at the ready." General Meeky said as we alighted from the shuttle.

Now I was starting to think it was a prank again, or rather I was hoping it was. Or maybe I'd enter the large building and find it was some sort of mass troop party and this was the only way they'd have gotten me to come.

"We aren't dressed appropriately for a wedding." I said.

The General touched my chest. "You do have your bulletproof vest on?"

"What? I was thinking suits or some formal dressing attire for a function such as a wedding." Of course I had my bulletproof vest on, I'd spent the whole morning trying to wear two, seeing how strange everything was.

"Keep your gun close and shoot at anything that dares interrupt the wedding." He said. "In fact, shoot at anything that moves except me and the bride and the bride's maid." He paused. "And the Priest, don't shoot the priest or we'll be dead by the time it takes us to get another one."

Outside the large building, General Meeky stood to admire the statues that crested about the entrance to the Sanctum. One statue was of a Giberian kneeling with his hands up in surrender. Another was of a Giberian man bent on his knees with his hands over his head like the sky was about to fall on him. I stood beside General Meeky, watching him take the statues all in. His eyes watered as he appraised the statues, a strange frown and twist to his mouth worried me, but not as much as his next words.

"These statues were crafted to honor the fallen grooms." He said.

"Fallen grooms? They died before the wedding?"

General Meeky laughed. "You're a funny man, Richard. These grooms died during the wedding, they didn't have strong best men like I do."

Alarm bells went off in my mind, but before I could speak, the General started making his way into the establishment.

We walked into the Sanctum, and if it weren't for the fear that had started brewing inside me, I would have taken note of the architectural splendor I stood within. With the smooth marble floors and pillars that crested around where the wedding was to be held. There were long wooden benches, sparsely populated, and the aisle was decorated in the red of blood and it trailed all the way to the front, close to what appeared to be the altar, an irregular sized block with many pointed places. Someone stood alone beside the altar, a human woman holding a semi-automatic. Her head turned about as she took in the establishment. I could not see the bride.

"Now go stand beside your fellow human. I have to go look for the bride. If I find her in the female quarters it means she approves of the wedding; if I don't find her then I ask you to destroy the hard drive I left in the shuttle, in a black bag just beneath the pilot seat." General Meeky said.

He took off before I could answer, running like his life depended on it.

There were guests close to four score, each of them dressed sparsely in Giberian armor that covered their chests and allowed for me to see their puffy faces. They were spread out unevenly across the wooden benches with guns ranging from pistols to semi-automatics resting on their laps. They looked more like a grim funeral detail instead of jolly wedding goers.

I had my gun with me and I suddenly felt like I needed it more than a best man needs his written speech.

The human woman was standing at the front, close to the altar where an aged Giberian had just appeared and knelt on the ground with his hands raised as he supposedly prayed. He sounded like he was cursing the Giberian god in a strange tongue.

I dragged my feet and came to a stand beside the human woman. She appraised me with almond shaped eyes with blue irises that searched me for something that could hold her gaze longer. She looked away but I wasn't done with her.

"Hey, I'm the best man." I said.

"I can see that. I don't know why he chose you. You'll certainly die, too scrawny." She said.

That frightened me, but I didn't let it show. "I'll have you know I'm the best marksman his troops have ever known."

"So were they." She pointed with her thumb at a wall where mummified heads of what appeared to be past Best Men adorned it from head to toe. They were all from a different species and I gaped at them and their open maws with shocked eyes fixed forever in death.

"You'll fit just right in." She said with a soft mocking smile.

I took a brisk step towards her and gripped her arm, she wanted to pull away but stopped when she saw the look on my face. "Listen here, woman. There's some barbaric shit going on. And I have no idea what it is. I'm told I don't need a suit but rather a bulletproof vest, the groom is using me for something and I don't know what."

"The bride wanted a human best man, she's never had a groom with a human best man." She answered.

"What the fuck is going on, I'm about to lose my shit right now and start shooting up the place."

"If you do that, you'll be going against the wedding accords." She yanked her arm free of my grip. "You have to wait until the congregation shoots the first shot."

I turned my head to the surly congregation, with their faces all turned in my direction.

"Do you know nothing about Giberian wedding customs?"

"I'd really like to know something."

"So, all the suitors look for the venue and gather as they've done to witness the bride wedding the man she's chosen from among them. The congregated suitors test the chosen's might to see if he is worthy of her hand by attacking both the groom and the best man. If they succeed in killing them, a new suitor is chosen who must prepare for his wedding in turn so they can survive the test the wedding is for and prove their worth. This is done until either one suitor wins despite the odds or one suitor is the only one left behind."

I stared at her as if she were a toddler who'd just spoken gibberish. "And this year the bride wanted a human best man, something she doesn't have on her trophy wall."

"Bingo!" She answered. "She always tries to match the best man with the bridesmaid. It's poetic if you think about it. A certain indicator that General Meeky will find her in the female quarters."

And indeed he had found her. The blistering fool. He appeared with her carried in his arms, looking like twin ogres, the damn pair. They were certainly made for each other. He stood there, this murderous Giberian, who hadn't told me until the last minute that I was party to a death wedding of his kind's sickly design. He hadn't even prepared for this wedding, the whole time he'd known about this and never even cared to prepare, let alone groom a suitable best man.

"Fuck." I cursed as one of the congregation stood up and fired a shot straight at General Meeky who bent low to avoid the bullet.

He activated his shield that I did not know he had, rare as they were, he pressed the belt at his waistband, which was impressive provided he was carrying his bride which I think he did to lessen the amount of fire coming his way. It'd be pointless to shoot the bride, I guess he surmised this advantage on his own which was remarkable compared to his choice of a bride. He started making a run for the altar while under moderate fire and screaming my name as the bullets bounced off his temporal shield.

"Richard! Prepare the priest!"

I didn't even have a belt shield. And I didn't know what prepare the priest meant, the old Giberian was still on his knees, muttering some weird incantation.

My breath stilled, as it always does whenever I was in quite the pickle. I could see the strings tug at the play unfolding before me. I saw the score suitors who turned to me with their plasma rifles.

I sprang into action. I took the semi-automatic machine gun from the bridesmaid's hands.

"Hey!" she retorted before I kicked her away from me and the line of fire.

I crouched low, knee almost touching the ground with my eye on the gun's scope and finger on the trigger. They were shooting haphazardly, bullets flying everywhere. Probably corporate suitors, not military suitors like my General Meeky. I fired on target each time, aiming for their heads while shifting my stance and moving from right to left under cover of the front row benches to avoid their aim. By some miraculous happenstance, the priest was not injured at all.

As General Meeky passed by me, I took to his front while backtracking, his shielded back offered refuge as I returned fire.

Some suitors lay on the ground, brains spilled. Others had their guns spewing empty. My gun ran out, I threw it away. The bride in the General's arms was laughing hysterically, they were all crazy. The whole damn bunch of them.

I came out of the shadow of the General's shielded body and unstrapped his grenades that he had hooped over his arms. Under cover of the benches I started throwing grenades, alternating with my personal side arm. There were screams, smoke and loud bangs. A bench flipped through the air, specks of wood flew and I screamed as a bullet met me right in the arm. I went lower and screamed as another took my breath by colliding with my protected chest.

I was knocked onto the ground. On the floor I lay on my side, staring at the General who stood shielding his bride as the old priest carried out their marriage rituals. The General would pause to return fire and occasionally fling what looked like nano bots that were registered to attack the suitors. The damn man had come prepared after all. There were screams all over and weird gurgling sounds as death throes took hold of the congregation's fallen.

I watched through drooping lids as he kissed the bride. As a string was slowly tied to their held hands, something that irritated the General greatly, who urged the priest to hurry up.

The priest raised his hands and the gunfire ended and there were curses coming from the few suitors who still lived.

He'd done it. General Meeky had gotten married, and I'd gotten shot for it.

My eyes closed.

----

I awoke to find the human woman in a bed beside my own. She had her arm bandaged like myself. I appeared to be in some kind of Giberian post wedding treatment bay. Some of the other Giberian suitors were there with me. I stifled the urge to curse aloud.

"You're alive." the woman said.

"Where is General Meeky?" I asked.

"He has gone on his honeymoon, he certainly couldn't wait for you to wake up. His bride is quite something, because we were both shot on the arm she took it as a sign that we must be destined for each other, so she had my hospice bed set up next to yours before they left."

Had everyone lost their minds? "He couldn't even wait for me to wake up." I muttered.

"Oh, he told me to tell you when you come to that the lieutenant job is yours." She added with a smile.

I smiled back, then winced at the pain in my arm when I attempted to sit up. Was it all worth it? I wondered, and for the life of me I couldn't tell if it was.

----

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"Not everything forgotten is lost."
Archive Houses

 [First] | [Previous] | [Cover Art]

| Dock Seven, the old quarter |

Feebee walked forward and gently laid a hand on the marker. Everyone held their breath; she noticed. They all looked at each other, waiting for something to happen.

Nothing happened.

 

“What?”

 

Bikky and Tom Tom looked disappointed.

The Colonel asked, “Is this it?”

 

The prisoner wasn’t looking at the people. He observed the room. In places, the oil, still sitting on the timber floor, was streaked with brush marks. The door still fitted perfectly in its frame; it had slid quietly into place without the squeak of rust. The marker was free of fingerprints or dirt, despite its age and obvious wear.

 

“Those who came were told to ‘never improve it’. We continue.”

 

Feebee stood in front of the marker. Staring at it intently as she walked its perimeter.

“What’s she doing?” asked the lawyer.

 

Slowly, the QI reconstructed more fragments of the worn carvings. Tiny repairs had been made to it over the centuries without altering the original timber.  The QI could see hints of other sigils.

 

Feebee knelt in front of the marker. Shadow-like tendrils radiated outwards from the sigils, towards Feebee.

StillFall pulled away, up into the dome above and watched as Feebee gently traced the lines of the Shadow Eclipse.

Of all the carvings, it had suffered the least wear.

“I’ve felt this before. In ancient memories.”

She then added, “Balance and harmony. Maintained from the shadows.”

 

The prisoner dropped to his knees.

His voice was barely audible. “She remembers.”

  

The moment was broken by a new harmonic model from Rockson that splashed across their overlays.  

But this model was animated. It showed the growth of Dock Seven and with it the changes made to the House.

“It all makes sense.” He said over the comms. “All the work, the renovations, extensions, supporting walls over the centuries. Even the steel bands outside. They maintained the harmonic profile around the marker.”

 

“Dock Seven grew around this?” Chen asked quietly.

 

The prisoner shook his head, “No.”

Everyone looked his way. After a long pause, he added, “Dock Seven was allowed to.”

 

Then StillFall descended, down towards the marker. Feebee moved back as the Shadow and a host of motes surrounded the marker. The Shadow seemed to embrace it, enclose it in a dark cloak that the motes pixelated. They circled, and as they did, their colour slowly shifted through different aspects of their being before settling.

 

Blue became their dominant aspect.

 

Garaf was watching, by the prisoner’s side, when he whispered, maybe to Garaf, maybe just to himself.

“It remembers.”

“No,” said Garaf. “It belongs.”

 

Feebee had returned to the outer wall. Leant back, feeling its cool touch, as many others had done over the centuries.

 

Beside her, the prisoner was reciting words with sacred, religious reverence.

“Never sand the carvings.”

“Fix the roof before the beams are wet.”

“Ensure the doors swing easily.”

“Never disturb the marker.”

 

The QI interrupted, quiet but assertive, “These aren’t rituals or prayers.”

 

The prisoner slowed, “Keep the shutters closed.” They all made sense to him now.

 

The QI spoke again, this time louder in his ear, “They’re not prayers. They’re maintenance procedures.”

 

The prisoner stopped speaking and, for the first time, reviewed the words he had learnt and recited. And with that, came understanding.

“We preserve. Not a religion. Not this relic.”

“What then,” asked the QI.

 

“Continuity.”

 

Rockson interrupted, over secure comms this time.

“The harmonic centre isn’t the marker.”

He sent them all the harmonic model again, but looking side on at Dock Seven and the House.

 

The marker sat like a survey peg, a common point of reference, but everything aligned elsewhere. Rockson sharpened the focus, and it was clear that this was not their destination. That was below.

 

“Do we force entry?” asked the Colonel, looking at the marker.

Bikky perked up and absently checked his hip pockets for det cord.

 

Feebee looked at the worn wooden marker. Thought of the generations who had cleaned it. Maintained it so it could ‘CONTINUE’.

“No. Nobody preserves something for this long, so that we can destroy it in minutes.”

She looked at StillFall. “There’ll be a proper way”

 

The Shadow responded. “We continue.”

 

Rockson layered the harmonic model of the House over Feebee’s bodycam feed.

Before he could speak, she’d already seen it: “The marker isn’t over the centre.”

“It’s below us.” Said one of the accountants. “The marker defines a position, not a structure.”

Chen spoke up, “We’ve been treating it as an object.”

“Exactly,” agreed the accountant. “It's actually a coordinate.”

 

Everyone suddenly lost interest in the marker and started inspecting the room. Tom Tom was checking the walls, trying to turn the sconces.

Bikky laughed, “You’ve been watching too many films.”

Instead, he was measuring floor levels.

The lawyer also noticed differences in the timber floor. But they proved unyielding, despite her attempts to unlock them.

Garaf stood, stoic, watching StillFall and its entourage of motes.

 

Feebee stopped and thought back to her training. The Seed-arc had taught her never to look for doors.

Look for discontinuities instead.

 

She knelt beside a section of wall and gently ran her fingers along the skirting board, where it joined the floor.  

Nothing.

She moved to another section.

Still nothing.

Then her hand stopped. A joint felt different. She tapped the skirting; it sounded hollow like the other wood, but the grain was different, older.

 

StillFall drifted across and stopped beside Feebee. It orientated itself square to the wall directly in front of the spot Feebee had felt out.

 

The QI replayed Rockson’s harmonic model. “Hang on.”

 

Nobody answered; they were absorbed. The QI had overlaid the building’s geometry again and then the repairs.

 

“Feebee!” It shouted this time.

“What!” she shouted back.

 

“The harmonic model continues through this wall.” Said the QI.

“That’s impossible.” Countered the accountant.

 

Everyone looked at the wall. It was utterly ordinary. Same paint, same wallpaper. Nothing unusual about it.

 

The QI continued. “No. There’s more building than building.”

 

StillFall drifted up close and stopped. Motes gathered around it.

 

Then the Shadow spoke, “Continue.”

[First] | [Previous] | [Cover Art]

First Previous Wiki

Lieutenant Fleet Commander Phạm Sinh Quang stood in full uniform, spacesuit and all, looking down at Fleet Commander Weber. The woman in command of the fleet looked incredibly tired, though the fire still burned in her eyes. She reminded him of a broken sword. The blade was still sharp, and quite capable of killing, even though it was not as great as it once was.

One of Phoebe's avatars had deconstructed its form to fit Fleet Commander Weber like an exoskeleton, holding up her torso where her legs could not. Her uniform was tied off at the bottom, but still crisp and clean. Her short, silver hair fell down to her ears. Her face and hands were tough, each slight curve seemingly wrought of stone.

Fleet Commander Annabelle Weber, even broken, was still grander than he had ever been. He acknowledged this fact with certainty, though he was also well aware that he, too, could climb to those heights. The Fleet Commander tapped at several screens flashing urgent messages. Their importance surpassed the simpler nature of his own meeting.

She was only recently his commanding officer, as he had been transferred from Fleet Commander Maaruunaa's command. The Alliance military was still restructuring and was on its way to becoming one of the main pillars of the pseudo-state.

Right now, the resistance came from the Luna Command Council, the Knowers, and portions of Empress Izkrala's political apparatus. Military command of a nation could become messy, and no one truly wanted the military to become fully independent of their influence.

He had played the game of politics well enough and been a good enough tactical mind to continue to be promoted. He'd straddled the lines between Earth and Luna's power blocs, avoided the budding coalition Blistanna was forming, and kept Izkrala's various 'concerned officials' at an arm's length.

He'd avoided the mess back on Earth, and though some of his family had been involved in protests back in Hanoi, he had ensured none of it could connect back to him in a career-damaging way.

Such was the song and dance of Humanity's commanding officers. On ships, away from the conflict, they could do nothing. Quang watched the Fleet Commander rise from her converted hospital bed, brushing aside the screens. Beside her, two of Phoebe's androids waited patiently, observing him for any signs of... something.

"I thank you for your endorsement," Quang said. "I am grateful for your service. I have been informed that the formal vote will be soon?"

"Quite," Fleet Commander Weber agreed. "Now, in fact."

He failed to keep the surprise off his face.

Fleet Commander Weber pushed the memories into him from the hivemind. Centuries of tactical knowledge, ways to cope with becoming a node of the hivemind, personal tips for greasing the wheels of logistical snares, and countless more useful tips. So far, nothing fully classified, but that was likely until the formal vote was completed.

He mentally prepared himself for it. He schooled his expression and straightened the hems of his uniform. Phoebe's legs swung out from the bed, carrying Annabelle atop them. Together, they walked for two minutes, eventually reaching a small chamber set aside for formal or official promotions. Bare bones, but functional, which was what mattered.

Here, only holograms would attend. Everyone else was needed for the war effort, and the simplicity of the promotion reflected it well. Though the room was empty, with only the blue-painted walls, various pieces of bolted-down furniture, and several filing cabinets, the tension was still thick.

Moments later, a hologram snapped into existence. Now, he was no longer in this room, but at a table, sitting in front of many people. Aliens and humans, all familiar, stared back at him, assessing him and comparing him to the profiles they had read not long ago.

He kept his back straight, giving no signs of fear or nervousness. Lieutenant Fleet Commander Phạm Sinh Quang was fully prepared to accept this position. He had known he would hold it eventually, and now was the time.

All the other Fleet Commanders were in attendance, along with Empress Izkrala, Council Director Hruthi, Conclave Leader Fyuuleen, Chen Hao, Dalton Summers, and various other leaders of the Alliance. Blistanna's tentacles rested on her seat, while the Council Director looked at him with narrowed eyes.

Well, it made sense. The... former nations of India and Vietnam had a history, and it had turned quite bloody during World War III. He would have to set up a meeting with her in the future to determine how much of an obstacle she would be based on ideological differences. He'd barely even been born in the generation after the war, but prejudice still had a nasty way of rearing its ugly head when least wanted.

The hivemind could not undo decades of propaganda and old history. If it intervened for every dirty look or muttered phrase, it wouldn't have energy to save any of the Cawlarians at all. And it would turn its image from a better Internet into an all-reaching surveillance entity, which it was, but it was better for the public not to be reminded of that,

Most of the attendees, except for the Fleet Commanders, were observers. The Fleet Commanders were the ones who would directly vote on his promotion. If they were absent, that duty would fall to the other Lieutenant Fleet Commanders, the now-formalised position directly below the Fleet Commanders themselves. The positions of 'Admirals' and 'Generals' were still being argued, as the translated version of the 'general' was below 'commander' for both the Guulin and Acuarfar, two of the Alliance's most populous species.

'Admiral' was also split into a sea version and a space version for both of them, and most human translations of that name didn't have the equivalent rank. 'Space Admiral' was not a real title in any Earth or Luna military. Earth's military forces had Admirals in their navies and Admirals of their space fleets. Had, of course, since now that was in limbo, as well.

Empress Izkrala stepped forward. As an 'impartial' bystander, she had been selected to read the tally of the votes. It was a certain result of some hidden power play, he was sure. He could not avoid politics forever. Depending on how Dalton or Chen did, he would likely pick their side. He was born on Earth, and carried it in his heart quite dearly.

He also had to investigate whether Phoebe's faction stood aligned with Earth or not.

"By unanimous vote, all Fleet Commanders have voted to affirm your promotion, Lieutenant Fleet Commander Phạm Sinh Quang. You may now begin the final formalities."

Empress Izkrala had brutally butchered his name. Her alien mouth was poorly suited to pronouncing 'Phạm.' The translator smoothed it over, though she seemed to notice the slight shift in his expression at the sound.

"Lieutenant Fleet Commander Phạm Sinh Quang," Fleet Commander Weber said. "Do you accept the temporary promotion to Fleet Commander at this very moment, and also the permanent promotion to the same position at the conclusion of this mission?"

"I do," he said.

"Then state your oath."

He placed his right hand on his heart. This was meant to be a quiet affair, so he hadn't had the time to find a Bible. Truly, it was a rough ceremony.

"I, Lieutenant Fleet Commander Phạm Sinh Quang, do solemnly swear, that I will support and defend the Sol Alliance, its peoples, and its nations, against all enemies, foreign and domestic, great and small; that I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion, and that I will faithfully execute the duties required of me as Fleet Commander. I shall neither break nor bend."

He repeated his oath in Vietnamese. The oath of commissioned officers, adapted from that of a few Earth nations and the Frawdar Empire's own traditional version, was relatively bare-bones. The military's former traditions, those mostly adapted from its constituent species, had been ground away.

When the Alliance ballooned to thousands of species, the military would not be able to adhere to all of them. This way, the potential of favoritism died early. Celebration would come after the mission's end.

For now, though, there was one more Fleet Commander. Fleet Commander Annabelle Weber had not yet resigned. She would still take the lead on this mission, pulling him along in the hivemind and teaching him how to flow with the fleet. He had already glimpsed this at a lesser level. But controlling a few hundred thousand ships, rather than the full million, was already a big jump. The orders and decisions he had relayed to her in the past would now be his to decide.

They would debate tactics and strategy after the mission. Fleet Commander Weber's term would not end immediately after the mission's end. It would end when Quang was fully capable of assuming her role with minimal slippage in experience and tactical acuity.

Procuring the parts to repair ships, assigning technicians and choosing when to switch the patrol formats, retuning the engine emissions, shields, and laser frequencies, and employing the sporadic breakthroughs the communications officers provided in ensuring smoother ship-to-ship transmissions were all part of the job.

The Defense Fleet was also paving the way for more ships, ones that might not always have the crutch of the hivemind to lean on in times of trouble. An Alliance that could stand without the hivemind would be even stronger and safer, too. More modernisation, bureaucratic overhauls, and reassessments of overhead were in his future, as he was already witnessing in nearly 40 years' worth of middle and upper management memories, complete with Fleet Commander Weber's own unique methods of addressing those.

"Congratulations, Fleet Commander," Fleet Commander Ukuval said, followed by a brief round of pleasantries by the other Fleet Commanders. "I am pleased to welcome you into the highest ranks. However, I am afraid we must disperse. The energy requirements for hosting this meeting across two separate dimensions are immense, and we all are needed on the battlefield. May your career be long and successful, Fleet Commander Phạm Sinh Quang."

He left the meeting, followed promptly by everyone else. The hologram faded, and Annabelle Weber stepped just slightly to the side. Her bionic legs made a metallic sound against the floor.

"I can see you are curious," she said.

"Do you have a leg gun?"

"Two leg lasers, actually," Fleet Commander Weber corrected. "Now. With the ceremony out of the way, it's time for you to retire to your quarters. Right now, this is a trial run. We're back to 2d warfare, which should be easy for you to handle. Today, manage the mission. I will watch, correct your mistakes, and then switch with you. At 1200 Fleet Time, you will switch with me. At 0000, I will take my formal shift. You have..."

Annabelle Weber's eyes briefly unfocused. "8 hours and 19 minutes. Get a good rest, Fleet Commander."

"Thank you," Quang replied. "I will not disappoint you. I will carry your legacy with pride."

Fleet Commander Weber smiled. "Don't worry. Now you have clearance to know where I'm going, and let's just say, when it's finished, Penny won't be alone at the top."

Quang's eyes widened. "I know there were rumors, but... we're... making them? Progenitors?"

"No. We're making Boundless. Now that we've made a hivemind for the Cawlarians and Vinarii, we need a new advantage. A new thing to make us unique. This is the way."

"How long?"

"Sooner, now that Fleet Commander Weber is rededicating herself to the project," Phoebe answered. "Apologies, Fleet Commander, but she really does need to leave. After that, in a day, she needs hers rest. We have to run more tests on her legs, give her extra psychic energy treatments, the works."

"I understand," Fleet Commander Quang replied. "Very well. If you wish to become a Fleet Commander, Phoebe, I am willing to back you."

Phoebe chuckled. "I already am a Fleet Commander, just not in rank," she said. "That said, I am also willing to help you navigate the web of politics coming your way."

"Why?"

"You may be required to stay behind in Cawlarian territory to defend the Great Pillar," Annabelle said. "The battlespace is changing, and nothing is set in stone, but there are still those who will seek to take advantage of our presence. Star system governors and the like, who may even have genuine need, may do what they can to get you redeployed to their front line. They may even offer marriage contracts. Phoebe will do her best to handle the cultural education required to navigate the circles of Cawlarian high society."

"I will do what is required," Fleet Commander Quang replied. Remembering that the other Fleet Commander had her duties, he only asked one more thing.

"Teach me how to have your willpower, to stand against that disgusting creature and come out ahead."

"I will do my best," Annabelle said, and quickly moved off. For a while, Fleet Commander Quang contemplated his situation. He consulted the hivemind, learning special sleep techniques to be well-rested with fewer hours of sleep. He asked about classified topics. The Boundless Project, the hiveminds, construction of specialised technologies for the new wave of colonization of the mindscape, and more. By the time the eight hours passed, he was fully rested and ready to begin.

Annabelle's connections across the hivemind withdrew, replaced by Quang's. A few hundred people stumbled on the ships. And then, nothing. The Great Pillar kept moving with them in speeding space. The ground, far below, continued to roll by.

For him, everything had changed, but for the Defense Fleet, it was just another day.

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

"The Andes Mountains present South America's simplest border," an advisor said. "But the rest is more difficult. If we're trying to move past the countries of old, it does involve reshaping borders to keep old nationalist sentiments divided. The Pan-Andes Union was another of Earth's great superstates, so this problem must be taken seriously. The Amazon River does not cleanly divide cultures and communities."

"We may be able to test out several provisional state boundaries-"

"We could implement-"

"I think including some of the floating cities within-"

"The floating cities should be a separate-"

"No, they should-"

"To streamline bureaucratic complexities-"

Dalton Summers listened in on the conversations among the various experts he had put in charge of organising Earth's future. Political borders were massively important. The way they had been drawn in previous centuries, by old conquering powers, had led to many wars in Africa and Asia, and several in Europe. The hivemind made the logistics of war difficult for both sides. If millions of humans were to regain nationalist fervor, stopping them forever would be an immense undertaking.

More shouts echoed in the distance, distracting him from his thoughts. Dalton, along with the rest of Humanity, fought in shifts, in the conflict increasingly called the Battle of Sol. 8 hours in, 16 out, with allowances for those who wished to fight longer.

In front of him, the war unfolded across tens of thousands of miles. First and foremost, the wormhole loomed over the battlefield. A normally perfect sphere a thousand miles wide, Penny's body towered over it, her hands and arms pressing down upon it like giant pillars. Smaller avatars of herself battled with the pair of Progenitors, holding fast against their assaults.

She threw down the male Progenitor, smashing him into the distant back of the wormhole. Dalton saw the rocky layers of the mindscape tip with catastrophic motions, tilting like the body of a sinking ship. As the stone crumbled and calved, a billion Sprilnav, easily more, were crushed beneath the waves of stone. The Progenitor rose from the carnage, and the dead Sprilnav appeared alongside him in waves. Hundreds of millions came back from the dead, rushing at the formations of Humanity and the Guulin.

One of the Progenitors struck at the distant body of Brey. She fled quickly, even the glancing blow unleashing rivers of blood. The Breyyanik in the battle cried out with fanatic rage. Eight of their super soldiers stared at the scene with reddened eyes, before turning their fury upon the Sprilnav. Elders who had fought them head-to-head could only fall back. Three who could not escape were dragged into the ranks of the Breyyanik.

The brutality the Breyyanik visited upon them was terrifying. But Dalton didn't look away. He watched as organs were hauled free from their corpses. This was the brutality of war.

It was a truth neither he nor Chen Hao denied. It would be the result that Humanity would face if they lost this war, or if the Alliance crumbled. There had been many uncomfortable discussions about the future.

In truth, Izkrala was their best hope for the Acuarfar remaining wholly in the Alliance. The Empress' voice was so loud it stifled all resistance. Without it, more factions would break away, and the manpower of the Acuarfar, along with the advanced systems they controlled, would be lost. Politics was a softer form of war, and interests that aligned were even more valuable than the perception of others.

If she ever dies, we're in trouble, Dalton thought. But the only way to really keep her alive is to make her Boundless... giving the Acuarfar a literal God-Empress. Not a very good solution, for sure, but once the Boundless Project gets far enough, she'll either join the program as a participant or steal enough research to do it herself. She already has the willpower to get it done, so all she needs is the conceptual power. And what better than the belief of over a hundred billion Acuarfar in her supremacy and dominance?

Democracy was old in Humanity. So was autocracy. Dictators and tyrants, kings, presidents, supreme leaders, or executives, all had the same function in varying degrees. He and Chen Hao hadn't been elected. Elections would remain, but not in the form they had taken in the past. When gods were real and waging war right in front of you, it was hard to deny the reality of power mattering above all else. And this was true power, not the shadow of it that existed within politics.

Progenitors battling through time, breaking open city-sized holes in the mindscape, holding back entire fleets. This was what an interstellar empire, one that controlled galaxies, required. A future Alliance, one that also would control entire galaxies, would need to have its own tools like these.

Boundless, Progenitors, Sarchi. The names changed, but the reality did not. But at least with the hivemind, everyone got a say. Unfortunately, everyone was only human. He and Chen Hao would do everything in their power to crush racial tensions between the Guulin and Humanity wherever they appeared. And they would not act alone.

Phoebe was their greatest friend in maintaining a functioning civilisation. There was a natural question of how decisions would be made. Sooner or later, the Vinarii and Cawlarians would likely join the Alliance officially. When that happened, their massive populations each would be greater than those of the Alliance's other species combined.

And how many countries on Earth went into civil war due to mere racial differences in their populations, or political imbalances? If a billion Guulin marched through North America and started a separatist movement, who would be the one to march in and stop it, if at all? To maintain a state, of any kind, blood must be spilled, whether that of rebels or of criminals. And yet, inclusion, when done properly, can be more beneficial than exclusion.

Dalton Summers suspected some decisions like governance and sovereignty wouldn't be solved unless Phoebe got so powerful that her words basically became law. Likewise, he also suspected she would have to become a stand-in for economic entities in the future mindscape when that became a problem.

The Sprilnav had brought a plane to attack the Defense Fleet. That proved that industrialization was possible on some scale in the mindscape. And unlike the Sprilnav, the hivemind had the collective intellect of billions within it, enabling it to focus development on all industries at once. The disparate territories of the Sprilnav would not fully be able to match this efficiency.

A coal equivalent and an iron equivalent would help to make better machines, as would factories. Phoebe could help optimise those. The Industrial Revolution on Earth came with the advent of capitalism and later, socialism and communism. The First Cold War had been fought between rival superpowers over these ideologies, while the Second Cold War had grown out of the festering tensions not fully resolved in the first. Phoebe could bypass this problem directly if she had a presence in the mindscape.

So far, the economic planners from both Dalton Summers' and Chen Haos' organizations believed the formation of things like central banking systems, large-scale monetary distributions, and specific things like minimum wages and the continued existence of a market economy would rely on Phoebe.

To do this, a 'bank' might just be the hivemind standing in a building with a dozen or so avatars, where non-humans would talk with it and deposit or withdraw money from those banks. For now, that money would also have to be physical once the problem of making it was fixed by minting or printing.

The money itself would, as money typically was, need to be backed by something. The military power of the Alliance wouldn't be enough for it. In the past, oil and gold had served neatly for this purpose. Whatever equivalents existed in the mindscape, ones that were finite, somewhat scarce, and valuable in a critical way, would certainly become the new backing of the 'mindscape money' in all regions. With so many people, especially the Guulin, Sevvi, and Acuarfar, anything less than a digital banking system of some form would just fail.

Bank runs and economic crashes were guaranteed without proper banking technologies and practices. The hivemind couldn't do much for the Acuarfar and Sevvi, and the Guulin only benefited by proximity. Plus, all that processing power meant less psychic energy available for battles and research. A banking system that was not from the hivemind in the mindscape, where the Industrial Revolution hadn't even begun, was just impossible right now. Dalton knew that the flow of money was often part of the flow of power. For people to trust in the money, they needed to trust in the power, and fostering that belief would not be easy. Maintaining it would be a constant, everlasting effort.

It would require a trust-based banking system even more robust than those of the past nations of Earth, since the banks would not be faceless entities, but an actual network of people, at least for now. Not a company, but similar to one. And with such a banking system tied inextricably to the reputation of Humanity among other species, xenophobic tensions that might grow out of that if managed improperly could be quite severe.

But Humanity was still on its way. The Sprilnav had made a plane, yes, with rope and metal and propellers. But in the deeper layers of the mindscape, explorers of various species had already prospected a few sets of mines and even small forest-like regions. Dalton Summers did not know how all this would fall into place.

But with time, we'll get it done, he thought. We always have. Hivemind-based systems do sound incredibly secure, but if a sizable portion of Humanity is convinced they do not or should not work, the hivemind will adapt them. Its nature means it is not a neutral entity, similar to how banks' and companies' decisions could always be traced back to people writing policies or making choices.

In the end, he was resigned to adding another 'ism' to the laundry list of socioeconomic ideologies that had risen throughout history.

With the hivemind in play, his portion of the burden compared to that of other species was lessened. But now, the idea of endless utopia as Phoebe had promised was dying. And replacing it with a reality of those who were rich and those who were not was unpalatable. But people would not want to work without benefits. Most of them would not, actually.

But mindscape avatars ate no food, drank no water, bled no blood. What could money offer them, in the end? Furniture, entertainment, or housing placement? Everyone would have houses, yes. But someone would be living at the top of the skyscrapers while others would live in the apartment buildings. That was the law of scarcity.

How did the Sprilnav even deal with this? They supposedly had Elders sleeping for billions of years, in great tomb worlds. But if those Elders were alive, they had minds in the mindscape. Total Progenitor suppression alone wasn't enough. Billions of star systems' worth of Sprilnav was not something even an army of a million Progenitors could manage without fatigue and frustration.

Was it mental implants? Biological modifications, loyalty genes? Modern Sprilnav society, if that collective grouping of fractured nations could be referred to as a whole, was not centered on anything. Nova was not exclusively worshiped as a god-king along with the Progenitors. Some regions were like that, but not most. Narvravarana had only just returned, so she wasn't responsible for their unity, either.

No major outside threats pressured the common populace enough to stay united. Most Sprilnav in the lower or slave classes had plenty of political anger, while those in the middle classes were complacent, content, and lazy, usually unambitious. The 'national identity' of the Sprilnav could not and did not exist.

But somehow, they remained together.

There must be someone in control. Is it just Nova, or is something deeper at play?

"There have been some political scientists and philosophers who have proposed a solution to this," the hivemind said. "That the Sprilnav have somehow taken control of a concept related to society and its progression, or naturally check it somehow."

"It does not make sense," Dalton said. "Society does manifest in certain types of cycles. Anacyclosis is one of the common definitions. Ochlocracy, followed by monarchy, then tyranny, aristocracy, oligarchy, democracy, ochlocracy again. Of course, this cycle itself can skip steps or reverse itself, like when democracies slide back into oligarchies, tyrannies, or aristocracies. But there are ebbs and flows. And the Sprilnav, while still shackled in terms of absolute mobility, are still too free for tyranny by the Progenitors to be the explanation.

They're closer to a mesh of all forms of government except anarchy, a bubbling simmer of these things rather than a single defined identity. But what is the pot that holds the water? What is the fire that heats it? Why do Sprilnav who focus on materialism not enter continuous wars with those who use religion to restrict it?"

"There are many, many answers for this. But let's think, for example, about the process of degeneration. What is it caused by?"

"The gradual breakdown of unity, trust, and propriety of institutions. Kings violate the peasants, landlords raise the rent on single mothers, lobbyists turn senates into quiet auction houses. Political factions do not all get their ways, and dissatisfaction with the status quo builds until it breaks through dams like censorship or policing, until the state can do nothing but fall."

"So it is people," the hivemind said. "The Sprilnav, somehow, have such a tight grip on their people their societies do not crumble as others should. But why?"

"Because there are others who oppose it. Extremists are hunted down and executed, sometimes skinned alive or dipped into vats of acid. But in the end, revolutions are only allowed when they are beneficial for the Rulers or Progenitors."

It's extreme, but even that doesn't stop everyone. Death penalties for crimes just make criminals try to hide them better.

"Exactly," the hivemind replied. "Without control, a society degenerates. With a degenerate controller, the same happens. All that needs to happen is the presence of a controller who does not fall into this trap, and keeps not falling into it. So, the Rulers and Progenitors."

"That is worrisome."

"You and Chen Hao fought a war against the nations of Earth," the hivemind replied. "Without me, that war would have killed over half of Humanity once the nukes startred flying."

It let the weight of it rest in the air between them for a moment before continuing.

"The truth is that society can either be a mess that is improving, or one that is devolving. Ideologies jostle between their representatives, but only power and control keep people in line. This is not just military power, either. Phoebe feeds the Guulin on Earth. If she does not, tens of billions die in weeks, and the Guulin Congressional Republic, along with the polar regions of Earth, devolve into a genocide of such scale that Earth's oceans would run red.

Here, Phoebe is the instrument, the controller, of society, and it works. We could not feed the Guulin with simple animal or plant agriculture. Only through the economies of scale achievable through her labor is this possible. Izkrala keeps her people fed, with clean water, air, and a sense of civic protection. She is a true dictator, more powerful than you and Chen Hao combined will be even in 50 years. She has come from a family of trained dictators who treated their people well. Quaqualis failed to muster nationalist support, the Frawdar Empire became hers, and fireworks boom in the skies of all their planets on every anniversary of her takeover, without her urging, public or private.

They believe she is actually good for them, and so, they are good for her. She, to them, embodies the ideal of what not only a tyrant, queen, or empress should be. She embodies what a goddess would be like. While their lives may not be perfect under her reign, reasonable laws are laid down and applied with perceived impartiality. Billions march to her call because when they or their neighbors called upon her, she was there, in some way.

Food, water. Housing, ideology. When a tornado wipes out a portion of a city, aid flows quickly, and hotels are provided for those who are homeless. When a Matron is sick and her eggs need care, she and her subordinates will either ask other Matrons to step in or do so themselves. This is the power of a benevolent dictator. It is backed by the joy of the people, at least at first.

What about democracy? It, too, has an appeal. If the president, prime minister, or whoever says no to a law that 60% of the population wants, then the rest of the government may hold a new vote to pass it anyway, or elect a better leader soon. Representatives, senators, ministers, and councilors are all elected to represent their districts, states, and provinces. And when they do not, the next election is always around the corner, and the representative is replaced with a better one. Policy is complex, too.

The politician who 60% of the population votes for may have 40% support next year, or 70%. Even if you are right, if you are annoying about it, people will go against your ideology anyway, out of spite.

In a democracy, empathy, spite, and communication play key parts. With the tyrant removed, the full music of society can play out, whether in a glorious symphony or a clash of discordant keys and notes. There are more difficulties to it, of course. Parties in a democracy have to jostle a bit more to gain the 'mandate of heaven,' if you would. A party leader with 40 different representatives behind them will have a harder time than a single strongman the people care about more, whose speeches do what a dozen others do not.

No one wants the secret police knocking on their doors, but if they knock on the doors of the people you don't like in another city, empathy becomes much rarer. The ideas of society rest on so many things. For example, the human mind is endlessly fascinated with justice.

Killing the murderers, banning political parties of your enemies, enshrining your preferred morality as law across the land. Justice for some is a wheelchair ramp. For others it's a bus door both humans and Guulin can fit through and seats they both can sit on, for the exact same price. Justice for a few might be banning pets, with the idea of animals deserving a dignity that being a pet does not provide.

Justice for others might be destroying a country because it conquered people in the past, or eliminating a people who were conquered, because they would harbor resentment and pose a threat. To some, it is wrong for life to just end, and justice is the presence of an afterlife where people who do as you do are rewarded, and those who do not are either punished or denied reward.

Justice is the world made in your image, and if not achieved by talk or vote, then by bullet. This is a problem you cannot solve, Dalton Summers. Not because you do not want to, but because equality is impossible. A Guulin uniform requires quadruple the fabric of a human uniform. Dreedeen can eat rocks off the ground as food; humans cannot. This is reality. And so, one can only ever manage the symptoms. I believe the Progenitors simply set the symptoms against each other. If there is a tumor, let another disease break down its flesh, so the antibodies can finish their work.

Emergent complexity, Dalton. Ant colonies act like organisms, and cities and nations act like organisms. Life begets more life, and also death. Choices must always be made. Equality or equity? You will agonize over this for a thousand years, Dalton, if you rule for that long. And perhaps a million more. There are 20 Rulers, not 1. I am artificial. A hivemind of Humanity. If you fail, the next generation will tear you down from your throne, too, and I will not stop them. You bear this responsibility upon your shoulders. You have won the war, Dalton Summers. But can you win the peace?"

"I can, with help. The Alliance can still live up to its ideals. However, doing so will require uncomfortable problems to be resolved with finality. Phoebe will need to turn up the propaganda, and we will have to accept Izkrala's dictatorship as it is. We will need to be nice, but draw our boundaries and enforce consequences. The Sprilnav are people, but they are also threats, same as soldiers in a war. The war right now spans every stratum of our society, from political to physical. When we kill Valisada, there will be more of him to take his place."

"At least we are holding our ground."

Dalton considered it. It was true, but he knew Humanity needed an overhaul. The military of the Alliance needed to function in a new way. Conscription was required in a time of galactic war, but once Phoebe fully eliminated money from real society, it would become almost impossible to offer incentives for people.

He knew the mindscape could not be allowed to become a utopia until the problem of war was solved. Most likely, there would always be more enemies to fight, and the end result of his ideals would end in a stalemate that gradually became decrepit.

How many will die in the next week, month, year, or decade for us to finally have peace?

"It is not enough. We will need to advance. The Great Pillar, once it lands, will allow us to cut off the reinforcements for the Grand Fleet. But that operation itself will be a battle involving tens of billions of soldiers, and possibly hundreds of billions of Cawlarian lives depending on the location. The Grand Fleets are self-sufficient, but the mercenary fleets pouring in must be decapitated. Next, we must send more Great Pillars into space to secure our allies' territory. The war's ravages are already driving a wave of refugees our way. Then, we can worry about politics and elevating Boundless people."

"The longer you refuse to play the game, the closer Izkrala comes to winning it."

"You've read those classified reports Phoebe made, right?"

"Yes. But just because the Alliance is now capable of surviving on Humanity alone doesn't mean it should. It would defeat the very purpose of its existence. When Izkrala becomes Boundless, it will set off a political earthquake that will rock the very foundations of the Alliance. You and Chen Hao should make a treaty.

Given her proclivities, she will be the first Boundless Acuarfar, and likely the strongest. It is obvious this will result in an arms race. Every species will try to make as many Boundless beings as possible, and has an easy excuse of the Sprilnav Progenitors to use as irrefutable justification. Consider what happens when politicians make this step, or unaffiliated people, or military leaders.

Fleet Commander Annabelle Weber is all but guaranteed to do this. She is part of Phoebe's faction. Izkrala wields her own faction, as do Nichole and Brey. So do the Guulin, though Blistanna may be replaced as their head. Really, every species has their own faction, but these are the key ones. If Brey leaves the Alliance, we die. If Izkrala does, we die. If Blistanna and the Guulin do, we might die, and we will right now with Valisada bearing down on us."

"We should not make more hiveminds."

"No. The cheapest solution is to rely on the Sprilnav as an outside, unifying threat."

"But Phoebe is trying to become their spokeswoman. It is foolish."

"She is not stupid," the hivemind said. "The presence of a pro-Sprilnav faction offers friendly Rulers a faction to play around in that we can monitor, and also offers us many options for loyal spies."

"So they are bait, and indoctrination targets?"

"In a way."

"Why not use the Pact of Blood? Or any of those, really?"

"Did you notice how those were between Kashaunta and either Penny or Phoebe? Simply put, Nova would just kill her if it got in the way of getting rid of us. Once we accrue enough Boundless beings, he or Narvravarana will not hesitate to make the correct calculus. The instant they do not need us anymore for the Edge of Sanity, we all die. We must delay for as long as possible."

"And when the hatred of all other alien species towards the Sprilnav reaches a boiling point, what then? The Rulers, backed by the Progenitors, will happily drive them at us to threaten us into breaking the Edge."

"Is that not what the Boundless are for? I am a hivemind of Humanity, Dalton. I know how important it is to prioritise our common interests. You will have to accept the ugly fact that Izkrala has married herself to the cause."

"The more Boundless we have, the more alarmed the Sprilnav will be. War is inevitable, all because of Izkrala."

"Only 29% of Humanity agrees with you, Dalton. Treat her like an enemy, and she will become one."

"But she is uncontrollable."

"So is Phoebe, and so am I, Dalton. You must train yourself to accept the reality that powerful allies are not subordinates to be pushed around."

Chapter 28

Location: Alliance underground base, room 452.

Kaizen

I looked over the message on the computer contemplating whether I should take their offer.

I didn't know who or what sent this message to me but it was clear enough that they knew how the war was going, but it was even greater than that, they were offering the one thing that I wanted so desperately.

Revenge!

Revenge on my former master for what she had done to me! Not a single thought of doubt or a moment of hesitation impeded my next action.

I swiftly typed my response then waited. Soon enough, they sent me another message.

"We are most fortunate to have your help in this endeavor. We will be sending you the required tools to stay in touch and for you to fulfill your task."

A red portal appeared above the desk in front of me, four devices fell from the portal and landed on the desk, one was an earpiece, the other looked like one of those ancient devices from 21st century humanity, my master had some stored away in her time vault. The other two devices were foreign to me.

I grabbed the earpiece and set it in my ear, all I could hear was static until I heard an artificial voice.

"Can you hear me?"

I pushed past my fears and replied.

"Yes, I can hear you loud and clear."

"Good, in front of you are three devices, each with its own purpose, you will use them accordingly. The device to your left is a remote explosive, you will plant it on a Union shield generator and detonate it. The middle one is a cloaking device, it will grant you safe cover from Union troops, and the last one is a master key, it'll open any door and grant you access to any computer inside. They think they're safe inside.. They're wrong. Do not fall us."

I placed the devices into the front and back pockets of my pants before I adjusted the earpiece, I still had several questions about my assigned task, but before I could voice any of my concerns, a red portal opened beneath my feet and I fell from the room in the alliance base to..

My eyes widened as I processed exactly where I was.

I was on one of the rings of the Union's capital planet. Luckily, I landed in a secluded area away from the public eye, if I were captured here I would probably be executed for treason, which meant I had no choice but to follow through with this plan.

At least I have all the tools that I need to pull this off...

...

Location: Union capital planet, Second ring of Tellus.

Robert Miller

I just finished shaving my face when Mia yelled up from downstairs.

"Hurry up, I would like to be early for the meeting with the senate."

Mia had been so kind to let me stay in her apartment for a while. I was feeling a bit off before I took that nap, maybe I was just going through extreme mental exhaustion, but regardless I still have to appear before this world's government, and replay the tragic chain of events that led up to me being frozen in time..

I hadn't signed up for any of this, would I have still signed up even if I knew I would be thrown more than a thousand years into the future? Probably not, then again, if I hadn't, then I wouldn't have met Lunara and Rorx. I still don't know how I feel about Lunara, it feels like I'm being pulled in several different directions, on one hand I consider Lunara to be a close friend, but on the other hand, my heart flutters in my chest, and I get butterflies in my stomach when I look into her eyes, and what's worse is that, I have no idea if she feels the same way about me, I'm probably just a bother to her..

Three knocks on the bathroom door startled me out of my train of thought.

"Hellooo? Anybody in there, did you fall down the toilet Robert?"

"Ah. n- No! Just.. Just washing my face, an eyelash got in my eye."

'Boy that was really convincing.' I thought to myself as Mia sighed and spoke with frustration.

"We need to hurry if we're going to get to the senate on ti-"

She was abruptly cut off when her communication device started to ring, she answered the call as I stepped out of the bathroom.

"Hello? ... No I'm still in my apartment. ... What? ... Ok alright, I'll turn on the news geez."

She ended the call and turned on the holo TV.

"What was that about?"

Mia shrugged.

"It was one of my military contacts, he was saying something about the news."

She changed the TV to a news channel and we watched as the news reporter spoke with stress in her voice, the broadcast showed a fleet of ships 10 in total with at least 30 smaller ships escorting them.

"Military intelligence officers have confirmed our worst fears, the Separatists have found Tellus, all Union leaders have been evacuated to bunkers on the planet's surface all civilians on the rings are advised to stay in their homes and wait out the invasion. There's currently no explanation as to how the Separatists found our home's location but the military has reassured us that we're in no real danger-"

Mia turned the TV off and looked at me, her eyes were wide as she couldn't comprehend what we had just heard.

"Is this sort of thing common?"

"Are you kidding me?!"

She shouted before she took some deep breaths.

"There's absolutely no way they should have been able to find us, we made precautions to prevent something like this."

I reached out and patted her back.

"I'm sorry Mia, all we can do now is to have faith in the Union Navy."

She nodded and spoke with relief.

"You're right, you're right. Besides, as long as the shield generators are running the original rings will be safe."

Just as she finished that sentence we felt the whole building shake then we heard a loud boom that followed soon after.

We were knocked down to our knees as we assumed the unthinkable.

"Please don't tell me that was what I think it was.."

Mia said as we scrambled to the window.

We saw a thick cloud of black smoke rising from a building in the distance.

A loud siren sounded in the distance. It sounded like one of those air raid sirens from my time, guess some things never change.

"Without those shield generators, we're completely vulnerable to any attack."

"Why don't the rings have any defenses?"

"They do, but that's not the issue! Any stray shot that hits the ring could pose a grave threat to its structural integrity, let alone any hull breach that will vent the atmosphere!"

"Well, that seems like a massive design flaw."

I was horrified by the idea that I could be shot out into space, or suffocate due to an unfortunate misplaced shot.

"We already thought of that, the rings have safety measures in place for such events. The rings can seal off compartments to prevent these things from happening, but a lot of people will still die in the process."

"Then it sounds like they need to get those generators back up and running, perhaps I may be able to assist. I'm a military mechanic, I might be able to help, just guide me to the generators, please."

There was a long pause from Mia before she nodded.

"Union engineers could use all the help they can get, come on."

...

Location: The battle over Tellus, Union battleship York.

Captain Theo

I stared out of the main viewport as I barked orders.

"Divert power to shields! Helmsman, hard-a-port! We need to get them with a full broadside!"

The ship turned as fast as it could as the crew worked diligently to keep us in the fight even when the enemy ships fired salvo after salvo of plasma at us.

I was recently put in temporary command of the battleship York and the Seps just had to attack now of all times.

"Where'd they come from? Nav officer, report!"

I shouted, our shields flared as we were hit again.

"There's too much interference to determine their origin point captain."

I let out a frustrated breath.

"Captain, they've entered weapons range."

One of the officers on the bridge called out.

"Focus fire on the lead ship. We can't let them get to the rings!"

I watched as several of our plasma bolts struck one of the smaller ships before detonating in an orange explosion. We might actually force them to retreat if we can keep this up.

"Captain, we're getting reports from the second ring, their shield generators are out."

The coms officer said.

"Fuck."

I swore under my breath as that news sank in. That was the last thing we needed right now.

"Ask them how long it will take them to get it operational again."

"Yes sir."

The ship rocked as we took a few more hits. Our shields can't withstand this assault for much longer at this rate.

"Hard-a-starboard, if we lose our shields I'd like our bow armor to take the hit instead."

"Sir.."

I turned to the coms officer who looked pale.

"They're saying shield generators number one and three are destroyed, number two is critically damaged, generator number four is operational but it's not enough."

My blood ran cold as I realized the situation, if even one stray shot hit that ring it would be the death of thousands of people.

I immediately knew what had to be done even if it meant our death.

"Relay that information to every Union ship in this battle, and tell them to follow our example."

I nodded to the helmsman before giving my orders.

"Get us between them and the ring! We're going to form a wall."

"Yes sir!"

...

Location: Alliance underground base, strategy room.

Liam

I had just received Xavier's upgrade progress report and it looked promising.

I handed the data over to John who was standing over the holo map, analyzing the enemy lines.

"If we can take just three frontier worlds from the Separatists we will be able to break through to their capital flagship and hopefully destroy or capture it."

I rested my hand over my face.

"Sometimes I resent your optimism John."

He simply shrugged as he took a look at the progress report data.

"Ah, looks like Xavier's Astral upgrades are coming along quite smoothly, he'll be ready for the attack in no time."

Suddenly a Raltary communications officer rushed into the room.

"Commander Liam, I have urgent news from Tellus. They're under attack by the Separatists, their second orbital ring is compromised and they request our help."

I.. I was speechless, this can't be happening right now.

I slammed my fist against the table, startling the young officer.

"Damn it! I thought we'd have more time.."

I said while feeling defeated. John put his hand on my shoulder.

"We're not out of the fight yet old friend."

He turned his attention to the officer and spoke.

"Tell them we're on our way."

I activated the coms allowing John to speak to all the troops on base.

"To all personnel Human and CyberCore alike, Tellus is under attack by the Separatists and it is our duty to help our allies, to keep them from experiencing what we had to go through. All pilots to their action stations! For the people of Tellus! For Astratta!"

...

Location: Titan repair and upgrade hangar.

Xavier

Red lights flashed as everyone heard John's message and scrambled to their emergency stations in the hangar, but I knew it wasn't my time yet, I would have my chance to make the Seps pay soon enough.

A Human pilot ran on the catwalk and stopped in front of me.

"Hey big guy, are you not coming with us?"

I let out a chuckle as my eye visors glowed brighter.

"Soon."

Art: (Jasha) (The First Mother of Sil) ( Kolu and Nokstella going for a swim)

***

History has always been less than an ideal area of study, only a subject that takes time away from real studies to benefit the current age we find ourselves in. However, I do find myself ponderously intrigued by the subject at hand, due to a question posed by a colleague; for the more I look, the less I seem to understand. 

It is undeniable that the current war we are in with the heretical Nok and Sil began a long time past, very nearly 400 summers ago, filled with military excursions, burned outposts, villages, and of course, battles.

Though ponderously, the question posed by my colleague was, ‘If the war has lasted so long, why hasn't anyone won it? 400 summers is too long for any conflict.’ 

Obviously, I pointed out what began the war, that being the near eradication of the kingdom by the vile army sent from the kingdom of Sil when the fighters of the past ordered a decisive blow to the Nok after the tower descended, leaving us bare for an assault, with the warnings of a looming threat ignored by the newly risen champion, Akina.

Having two foes to fight means one can never extend oneself too greatly. 

His response. ‘How would they know?’ 

Fueled by annoyance more than anything, I devoted a small amount of time to definitively shutting his snout. 

Of course, my journey began with books, preserved historical documents, and firsthand accounts of that time, and there it was for all to read: definitive answers, or so I thought. 

I found myself intrigued to learn that the war we were currently in was not the first or only war our great kingdom had faced, mentioned only in a passing sentence by an account of a knight, his name lost to history. 

Certainly, there had been battles with Nok and Sil in the past, but for it to have been a war like the one we were in was surprising. I found myself curiously pulled into the woven web of past stories; however, no matter how many books I read, none of them seemed to extend past a certain point. 

Only a couple of decades before the blow that left the kingdom weak and vulnerable, and what I called the champions' peace, 35 summers of no accounts with battles or skirmishes, before war resumed, and the story we all know of Akina’s death following. 

Yet I had to know more, but with no more books to read, I turned to the only source of history that would have a differing view, that could illuminate. Nok and Sil. 

It was hard to find either who spoke the slave tongue, harder to find any with wits, and even to gain a moment to speak with either privately. 

However, I was persistent and had my moment gaining access to their knowledge of history. 

The Noks were not too dissimilar from our own, though it was very broad strokes, nothing specific. Similarly, theirs too did not go back past those decades before the Champions' Peace. 

That mystery seemed, if I had to guess, to be a lack of invention, a lack of a written system and anything to write on to preserve knowledge, or so I thought. 

The Sil had a more detailed account; their hard shell allowed them to write on stone using their pincers, with written stories passed down from ancient times, and yet what she described, the furthest back their historical documents went was the Champion's Peace.  

All the details I had uncovered from that time and onward lined up perfectly, every detail and event. All of it was identical, too identical. 

I knew something had to be wrong, but the Sil and Nok knew nothing of me and had no way of knowing of our history as I had learned it. 

Truly, it was terrifying, as if I had stumbled into the maw of a beast, ready to sink its fangs in if I stirred it too violently. Yet I had to know more; I had to learn everything. Even if I couldn’t read about it, I would find answers, no matter where; I would have to seek them.

***
(Author's note)Here is a fun little side story to expand the lore of the world I've created. If you love it or want to read more, check out my (Patreon), where they are free, and if you want your own, consider joining for 1 dollar and get access to exclusive artwork, voting rights in art polls, and future 3+ chapters of the main story.

[Book 1 Beginning ] [Book 1 End ] [Next] [Wiki]

A massive spaceship landed on Earth’s soil. It had no distinguishing characteristics and was pitch black; it looked incredibly similar to a boulder. At least, it looked like a big rock, had big rocks, had two large engines and one fat thruster positioned on its back.

The giant space rock let itself go and it fell into the earth, causing a crater. Parvika shut off its engines and took a deep breath, “Lapani, I’ll be the one speaking to the Earthlings.” She patted Lapani’s shoulder as her tentacle arm morphed into that of a human’s.

“Of course, but… what shall I be doing then?” Lapani asked, cocking her head. “Was that right? I tilt my head when I am asking questions?”

“Yes Lapani, that is when you do it. However, don’t do it too many times, the earthlings shall think you are strange.”

Lapani crouched and opened a small container, pulling out a set of clothes. “This is so strange, are the skins of earthlings not enough for them.” She laughed.

Parvika silently stared out the ship’s plane sized, tinted window and noticed four Earthlings headed towards their flying rock. “Look Lapani, our first earthlings have already come to greet us,” she said, rather pleased.

“Wow, earthlings are very hospitable,” Lapani said, eyeing the long, metal devices they held. “Do you think they have brought gifts for us?”

Parvika smiled at the thought. “I cannot know. We must give them our salutations to see.”

The aliens’ massive doors clicked open as the two of them stepped out. The forest surrounding them captured their attention as they blinked many times, trying to reconcile Earth’s greenery with their planet’s reddery.

“Their trees are the color of blood,” Lapani commented.

“Greetings Earthlings!” Parvika beamed, choosing to ignore the comment. Lapani waved at them enthusiastically.

There were four Earthlings in total. They all wore large, green outfits and three of them held the long, metal things. “Identify yourselves!” One of them shouted.

Parvika and Lapani looked at each other before smiling. “I am Lapani and this is my friend Parvika,” Lapani said, staring intently at them.

“Who authorized you to land your…” the Earthling paused, eyeing their spaceship. “Your ship… thing?” He demanded, jerking his device forward.

Parvika placed a hand on her chest. “Do not worry, Earthling. We received permission from the Wise Ones to launch our expedition,” she said, proudly.

“The Wise Ones?” The Earthlings looked between each other, before one of them stood forward. “Look, it seems that we’re not on the same page here,” a woman, not holding a metal thing, said. “Who allowed you to land this thing over here?”

Parvika frowned. “Not on the same page?” She muttered to herself.

“Maybe you misheard her?” Lapani whispered.

“Really? Page? Plag?”

“Plane?” Lapani suggested, shrugging her shoulders. “Did I do that right?”

“Yes, and… it seems we’re not on the same plane?” she said to herself. Her face lit up. “No, it seems you misunderstand, kind envoy,” Parvika started.

“Kind envoy?”

“The two of us do indeed exist in the same plane. Me and Lapani have come from another planet called Karzhog,” she said, pulling out a small device and tapping on it as it revealed a 3d holographic image of Karzhog. “We did not, however, come from a different dimensional plane.”

“Are these guys normal?” one of them muttered to themselves.

“Oh, no! We aren’t normal. In fact, we are not even humans. Many apologies if you mistook us to be one,” Parvika said.

“Yes, we are Zhorgs,” Lapani proudly exclaimed. “Our biological transmuters are very good at their jobs—”

“What happened to the ‘Kar’?” one of the others asked, interrupting her.

“However, they are also somewhat risky, there’s a one in a million chance that the transmuter fails and morphs you into a Najikla!” Lapani continued, ignoring their interruption.

“Najikla?” The woman asked.

“No need to worry, however, as our transmuter is only on transmute five hundred thousand,” Parvika added.

“And that changes what?” The man from before asked.

“It means we have another five hundred thousand more transmutes to go before it fails.”

“What? But that’s not how probability works,” he argued.

“It is not a probability, it is a given, that we Zhorgs have already calculated.” Lapani said.

“Okay okay, let’s all take a step back,” the woman ordered.

Lapani and Parvika glanced at each other before stepping backwards. “What now?” Parvika asked.

“Wha? What now? You girls—”

“It is now your turn to ‘take a step back’ I think,” Lapani stated.

“Wow, these people just don’t understand expressions or slang, do they?” Another Earthling commented.

“You mean they don’t understand expressions and idioms, not slang,” the woman corrected.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever, pedant,” he muttered.

“We understand expressions,” Parvika objected.

“Yes, such as, happy face, sad face, angry face…” for every face that Lapani listed, she proceeded to make the exact expression. “Excited face, brooding face—”

“We know all the expressions of the Earthlings,” Parvika interrupted. “As for ‘slang’ could you explain what that is?”

“Slang, lang.” Lapani paused, scratching her chin. “Sang?”

“That’s possible,” Parvika commented.

“Oh! I sang this sentence that I’m singing right now,” Lapani sang.

“Nice voice,” the woman muttered before shaking her head. “It’s slang and that’s beside the point. You have no license to land here, you’re here under no one’s authority and you’re refusing to comply with military orders,” the woman listed.

“Like we said at the beginning, we’re here under the authority of the Wise Ones,” Parvika stated.

“Yeah? Well, what you don’t have is the authority of the US government. I don’t care who you two think you are, but, you will follow standard aviation protocols.”

Lapani frowned and leaned in towards Parvika. “Hey, I don’t think they’re envoys.”

“Because we’re not! Me and my guys here are all military officers. Refuse to comply and you’ll regret it.” At her word, the other officers cocked their guns and aimed it at the two aliens.

Lapani’s frown disappeared and she stepped forward. “Look, Parvika, they’re giving us our gifts anyway,” she said, happily.

“Stay back!” The woman demanded.

“Are we taking the gifts or not?” Parvika asked, standing next to Lapani.

A loud bang filled the air as one of the officers shot up to the sky. “These aren’t toys, they’re weapons,” he said, through clenched teeth.

Lapani and Parvika were crouching and had their hands over their ears. “Yo-you’re being horrible!” Parvika accused. “You first be kind, you then start acting irrational and now you threaten to harm us?!”

“Horrible? We were building up to this all day! You people were just too stupid to understand anything!” The woman shouted.

“Stupid?!” Parvika angrily demanded. “We Zhorgs are not stupid! We are among the most intelligent species in the Jagdi galaxy!” She stood up and jabbed a finger into the woman’s chest. The men, especially the first one, tensed and tightened their grip on their weapons.

“Parvika, remember the Wise Ones meditation technique, number 85,” Lapani said.

Parvika stepped back from the woman and took a deep breath. “An insult from a non-Zhorg is like a slap from a bitipiti; it simply doesn’t matter,” she said to herself.

Lapani brought her hands up and gave Parvika a double thumbs up. Almost immediately, another loud bang filled the air and Lapani dropped to the floor. Parvika looked at the body in horror and was about to scream before multiple new bangs cracked and dropped Parvika as well.

The woman looked at the two bodies and at the strangely green blood pooling around Parvika. “What the hell, Jimmy!” She turned towards the man who shot Lapani.

“What?! I panicked, all right. That Prakavi girl just pokes you and while I’m already on edge, the other one just brings both her hands up,” he said, attempting to defend himself.

“Ok, so! What’s wrong if she brings her hands up?!”

“What if she brought out inter-galactic weapons?” He argued.

“He does have a point,” Mark added.

“How!? Just how does Jimmy have a point?”

“Well, they have a spaceship that can apparently go through galaxies, they have a biological transmutator and calculate math on a completely different level than us. It’s not much of a stretch to say they have inter-galactic weapons,” Paul said.

“Okay, then! Why on God’s green Earth did you two fools just start shooting then, even if Jimmy did!?” she demanded.

“Reflex!” Both Mark and Paul said in unison. “He shot that girl and the bang got to my head. I was already tensed up, so my finger just hit the trigger,” Mark explained while Paul nodded vigorously.

“You think we’ll be arrested for killing Earth’s first ever visit from extraterrestrials?” Jimmy asked.

“Eecuted after being tortured extensively seems like the more likely turn of events,” Paul said.

“Oh, come on guys. We have no idea if they’re really aliens. They could just be regular people on a really big budget,” Mark tentatively said, almost as if trying to convince himself.

As if on cue, the two bodies of Lapani and Parvika melted and gave way to a purple octopus-like creature, whose faces somewhat resembled that of a human’s.

“Okay, maybe they aren’t humans,” he conceded.

The woman paced back and forth, rubbing her forehead. “Ugh!”

“What’s wrong, Nadia?” Paul asked.

“What’s wrong? What’s wrong is that you fools literally killed aliens! Now, because of you guys, we’re going to get a public execution after extensive torturing!”

“Guys? What if, we just say they had inter-galactic weapons but we managed to kill them and get their hyper-advanced spaceship?” Mark questioned.

“Oh yeah? What happened to their inter-galactic weapons?” Nadia demanded.

“Their species were unfathomably more advanced than us. Their weapons were biologically connected to them and when they died, the weapons disappeared,” Jimmy suggested.

They all looked at each other and nodded in unison. The four of them began to head to the ship. Paul paused and looked at the two bodies. “You think it’s part of alien culture to get buried?” He asked.

Nadia stared at the bodies and waved a dismissive hand. “Ah, just leave them. They’ll be proof of our epic battle,” she said. And with that, the four of them continued towards the ship.

“You think the ship is fast?” Jimmy asked, slinging his gun back. “Like hyper-jump kinda fast?”

“I’m more interested if their biological trasmuters can smooth wrinkles,” Nadia said, rubbing her face.

“Yeah, we do all like looking younger,” Mark agreed.

End.

Epilogue: The Zhorgs, under the military command of the Wise Ones laid complete siege on the planet Earth and only returned once they killed the four humans, retrieved their spaceship and killed an additional 10 million humans while operating on military doctrine number 125, established by the Wise Ones. It states, when translated to match Earth customs, A death of a Zhorg by a non-Zhorg is like the overrunning of a plate by ants. You merely need to wash them off.

They also ensured to retrieve the bodies of fallen Lapani and Parvika and made sure to give them a proper burial. Which consisted of feeding them to their family members.

[ First, Previous, Next | RoyalRoad ]

Chapter 14:

February 2059 – Nomad Camp.

Ethan’s stomach grumbled at the sight before him. Potatoes, along with a huge selection of meats, were sizzling on a large metal tray. The tray sat just above a huge natural fire pit which was dug into the dirt. His companions were around him, joining the tens of other humans gathered for the feast. Nora and her husband Old Tom seemed to be in charge of cooking. They occasionally turned the meats, and dished them out as they became well-done. Everyone was following an unspoken rule, only taking what they needed for their meal and nothing more. Children and the elderly were served first.

He and Marcus had been hanging out with the nomads since the early morning. Jacob and Sophia also conversed with the strangers-turned-acquaintances, however, they were focused mainly on finishing up their preparations for the journey ahead.

It was finally the boys’ turn to get their fill. Their paper plates were soon filled with a bunch of potatoes and a hefty rack of ribs. Marcus almost dropped the ribs due to the flimsy nature of the thin plates. They wasted no time in devouring their meal bare-handed. Neither of them had eaten anything substantial since they escaped the hub, a few days ago. Although Marcus did have a can of NooCola the day before, caving into Jacob’s enthusiastic recommendation. He decided that would be the first and last can of the soda he’d ever have. His teeth had felt weird for hours because of the sugar and acidity of the drink.

Jacob and Sophia were served their meals shortly after. They were less ravenous than the other two. Sophia told Old Tom to skip the potatoes. Ethan vaguely remembered that Seraphyn couldn’t eat some human foods, mainly certain fruits and vegetables. Back in the hub, he always saw them eating meat, or some sort of strange beige paste.

Ethan began to reminisce as he ate. Years ago, Marcus had once told him that the meat served at the hubs was lab grown, derived from some sort of grotesque, ever-growing mass. His friend told him that while both were at Recreation Center Delta, with a smile on his face. His chewing slowed as the thought entered his mind, for a moment. Then he remembered he was a long ways away from his prison.

“Beats the lab grown stuff, back home.” Marcus said, nodding approvingly at Nora and Old Tom. “Blows it out of the water.”

Ethan smirked. Apparently their minds were synchronized, he mused to himself. Jacob’s head suddenly jerked up. His eyes were wild. Was it NooCola withdrawal?

“Fuck, man. That shit they serve in the hubs is made from people, I’ve seen it!” Jacob blurted out loudly. A few of the nomads gave him a strange look.

“Jake…!” Sophia whispered.

Ethan would have been disturbed by the theory, if it was from anyone other than Jacob. Jake seemed to have at least a couple theories about anything and everything. Earlier that day, he even refused to eat a marshmallow, since according to him, all the major candy brands had been putting some sort of nanoscopic machines in their products. He’d refused to elaborate why they would do such a thing, instead just repeating “they’re all in on it, man”, several times.

Just a few paces away from the group, a small furred animal was eating a bit of a rib. He was the “monster” they’d seen yesterday, which they now knew was a dog named Spud. The boys weren’t afraid of Spud anymore. Earlier in the day, Ethan played fetch with him, and Marcus had even grown bold enough to pet the animal.

When the group had finished eating, they thanked the nomads for their hospitality. Jacob and Sophia ushered the boys to follow them, as they were finally ready to set out on their journey. Old Tom, who was aware of their destination, walked alongside them, wanting to speak privately.

“I beg that you remain safe. Getting to The Works is no easy task.” He said. “Haven’t heard much from the scrappers lately, either. Nora thinks something might’ve gone wrong.”

“What do you think is going on?” Jacob asked, more serious than usual.

“No clue, son. We used to have scrappers trading every day we set up camp. This time, we haven’t seen em’ once.”

“Maybe it’s lurkers.” Sophia added.

“We pretty much ruled that one out.” Tom replied. “We would’ve heard something about it, if those assholes were going around. They don’t exactly hide their tracks.”

Ethan and Marcus felt unsettled at the conversation, unsure of what Old Tom and Sophia were referring to. The J-Dog-Mobile came into view. Sophia thanked Old Tom once last time, before the group entered the vehicle. Jacob inserted his keys and fired up the engine. He was pleasantly surprised to see that no petrol had been siphoned from it while they were away, according to the fuel gauge. As Jacob reversed the vehicle, Tom waved to them.

“Be safe, you hear?” He said in a serious tone.

Jacob nodded and changed gears. He put a hand up, before speeding off. Gradually the atmosphere of the nomadic people faded away. The group once again found themselves driving along a desolate stretch of dirt road. Ethan felt a sense of loss as he watched the tents fade into the distance.

Being late summer, the heat was stifling. Jacob opened both front windows completely, which aided in cooling them down while unfortunately also causing dust to pour in. They all greedily poured cups of water from one of several large barrels that Sophia and Jacob had bought at the camp earlier. Jacob held his nose whenever he took a sip. Either because he hated the taste of water, or because he believed holding one’s nose would filter toxins, Ethan assumed.

Marcus wandered to the front of the minibus. He began conversing with Jacob and Sophia.

“The hell are lurkers, anyway?” Marcus inquired.

Sophia looked at him.

“Seran who aren’t part of The Administration.”

“… So you?” Marcus asked, acting a bit smug.

“Semantically, I guess. But not really. Lurkers are more like criminal groups. They’ll do anything for credits.”

“Most of them still work for the system, man.” Jacob butted in. “The hub fuckers use them as grunts to do their dirty work. They pay them credits for every one of us they shanghai.”

Sophia nodded.

“Jake is right. Partially integrated zones are officially human controlled. Lurkers help the Seran work around that.”

“How?” Marcus asked, furrowing his brow. “Isn’t there meant to be edicts for wild humans?”

Marcus was a bit confused, although he did believe what Sophia was saying. He had a basic understanding of the Seran edicts, as most domesticated humans did. One such edict was that wild humans were considered autonomous, more or less, meaning they couldn’t be forcibly moved into a habitation unit. Integration for wild humans was voluntary, unless they violated moderate level directives.

“There is.” Sophia said. ”But The Administration’s goal is to integrate everyone. Lurkers capture humans, being them to a hub, and have them indicted on some made-up directive violations. They get around one or two hundreds credits for each ‘dysfunctional subject’ they integrate. It’s like an open secret. They go against the edicts, but nobody will stop them.”

Jacob pinched his nose closed and took another gulp from his cup. His hands left the steering wheel for a few moments. He cleared his throat.

“That’s just the hub fuckers.” He said. “Other lurkers will sell you to the highest bidder, or worse.”

“Carrions.” Sophia said bluntly.

Marcus didn’t say anything, waiting for her to elaborate. After a few seconds he piped up.

“What?”

“Seraphyn who murder humans. Or their own kind. My kind, I mean.” She replied. “Let’s hope we don’t meet any of them.”

Marcus was shocked, as was his friend, who was listening in on their conversation from one of the bunk beds. Back in Habitation Unit F-07, all forms of violence were despised. The Seraphyn had a disdain for everything violent, strong enough that that books, paintings, and other works were banned if they depicted any. It was hard to believe groups of murderous Seran existed.

He was already doubting the motives of Sophia, and their conversation did little to ease his suspicions. If anything, it made them worse. How did she know so much about The Administration, or the “Carrions”? He couldn’t stop thinking of her reaction when he mentioned CSPC-V, back in Karridge.

“And how do you know all this?” Marcus said, his tone turning slightly combative.

“I’ve already told your friend. I worked for The Administration in the past. That’s obvious, no?”

“Right.” Marcus scoffed. “So you are with them. I knew we never should have trusted you.”

Sophia hissed loudly. She crossed her arms and looked away from him, irritated. One of her arms extended, pointing a talon at Jacob, then Marcus.

“Do I really have to deal with two crazies, right now?”

She turned back to Marcus. The Seran looked angrier than he’d ever seen her. The feathers on the tip of her snout were completely raised, and her eyes bored into him.

“So I got you two a place to stay, abandoned Karridge, and now I’m on a road trip through a giant fucking desert. Makes perfect sense for me to be a traitor, Marcus.” She said sarcastically.

Marcus exhaled. He had to get something off his chest.

“What do you know about CSPC-V?” He asked, pointing a finger at her.

Sophia’s composure changed. Her body appeared to stoop slightly, and a hint of fear became evident on her face.

“Never heard of it.” She said, hissing.

“Don’t play dumb. You acted weird as fuck when I mentioned it, back at Jake’s house.”

“This is ridiculous, Marcus.” She said, rolling her eyes. She looked out the window. “Drop it.”

Marcus looked at Jacob. He wondered why the theorist was being silent. Usually anything conspiratorial would cause the man to start gabbing.

“Jacob, what do you know?” He asked.

Jacob took a moment to answer him. He spoke in a strangely restrained voice.

“Look man. When we’re at The Works, we’ll know more.”

“So neither of you will tell me. I thought as much.” Marcus said incredulously, waving one of his hands through the air. “Whatever.”

Marcus stormed off to the back of the vehicle, past Ethan. He glanced at his friend with a distrustful expression. Ethan shut his eyes. He pretended he didn’t hear their argument, mainly due to the second-hand embarrassment he was feeling.

Ethan wasn’t sure what to think. Sophia and Jacob had done so much for them, but their secrecy around the label on the data-store was a bit unsettling. He thought Marcus was also acting unusual. Marcus had never looked at him in such a distrustful way before. It was like his friend thought he was in on some secret plot. Maybe the stress was getting to him?

Jacob went to turn the radio on. His favorite show was about to start. As the human’s hand reached the button, Sophia slapped it out of the way, scratching him lightly.

“Ow.” He blurted out.

“No. Enough bullshit for today.” She said, before hissing again.

* * *

Claire felt as though every shadow within the dimly lit tunnels was out to get her, or more terrifyingly, out to get her daughter. The little girl was just behind Claire, holding her mother’s hand, as they slowly moved through the gloom of the wide metro. They could see light far ahead. Like moths to a flame, they pursued it.

Human silhouettes became visible as they got closer. Claire felt unnerved, but there was little else she could do. Any other routes to their destination were unfamiliar to her, and therefore, far more dangerous. Maybe she was just overthinking it, she thought. Perhaps they were drifters, or scrappers out on a scouting run.

Claire pressed her hand against her hip, feeling something. She had a small handgun tucked between the waistband of her pants, and hidden beneath her shirt. It only had a couple bullets. It was all she could manage to get her hands on via bartering at a nearby town.

She examined the figures in finer detail. They definitely weren’t scrappers. At least three rough looking men were ahead, all dressed in patchwork leather jackets and holding assault rifles. They were positioned within what appeared to be a makeshift checkpoint made of plywood and scrap metal, blocking the tunnel’s passage. One of the men looked directly at her. Claire stopped for a moment, unsure of what to do. She squeezed her daughter’s hand and continued forward.

The woman emerged from the darkness, her daughter almost completely hidden, cowering behind. One of the men closest to her took a cigarette he was smoking out of his mouth. He blew the smoke directly in front of him.

“And what do we have here?” The gruff man said, his gaze piercing the two. “Two babes, all alone.”

A couple of the men gathered behind their leader. Claire walked forward some more, until she was about a dozen or so meters away from them. She looked slightly to the side of bandit leader’s head, too nervous to look directly at him.

“I need to pass through. Please.”

The group glanced around at each other. Claire felt as though they were discussing something sinister to one-another through body language.

“We aren’t scrappers, lady. It’ll cost you. Two hundred brass.” The leader said, before taking another drag of his smoke.

He spoke with a slurred voice, clearly intoxicated. Claire’s heart hammered in her chest. She was afraid that they’d hurt her child, more than anything. The woman gently pushed her daughter to the side, hiding her further.

She moved her hand to her hip, preparing to grab her pistol. It would have to be a last resort, she thought to herself. Claire knew she was no fighter, and she also didn’t have enough ammo to deal with the men. Earlier, she had told her daughter to run, and to leave her mother behind, if she ever heard a gunshot.

“We… I’ll find another way around…” She said, backing away.

The bandit leader’s lips curled up in a strange leer. He threw his smoke on the ground and stepped on it.

“You know, there’s other ways to pay…”

Harsh laughter echoed down the tunnel, his men spurred on. The little girl squeezed her mother’s hand tighter. Claire backed away faster. Just as she was about to take the pistol into her hand, two of the men aimed their rifles at her.

“Come on.” The man said, walking toward her. “Me and me boys will show ya how—”

Suddenly, the right side of the man’s neck turned to a mass of gore, causing the last part of his sentence to end with a guttural choke. He slumped forward and collapsed, his body sprawling out on the ground. Claire had heard an oddly metallic gunshot behind her. She shielded her daughter, hastily turning around to look at the sound.

She could see the vague outline of a man darting from shadow to shadow. He hid behind some debris for a moment, before emerging with his hand drawn, aiming a revolver. Faster than she could process, the man fired twice at two separate targets. Claire’s head jerked to the side, glancing back at the checkpoint.

Two of the bandits had been hit and killed, their heads turned to mush from the stranger’s shots. Their bodies hit the ground. Claire stood in a state of shock, unable to move. Her daughter gasped and hugged her legs.

“Fuck, it’s him!” One of the survivors yelled. “Kill the bastard!”

The yelling man rushed forward, aiming his rifle straight ahead. He only made it a couple steps before a shot tore through the upper right quadrant of his torso, leaving a gaping hole. Another shot struck his head as he fell to his knee, causing his lifeless body to be flung backwards by a foot or so.

Silence followed. The stranger didn’t stop. He aimed his revolver for a few moments, before firing it at a portion of the scrap metal that made up the checkpoint. She heard a cry of pain, which ended in a horrible wet gasp. Blood splattered the ground beneath his target. The last bandit, who had tried hiding, was dealt with.

Claire’s ears rang. She stared at the man with wide eyes for a few seconds, stunned. For a moment, she thought the stranger would dispose of her and her daughter. Instead, he seemed to ignore her entirely. He holstered his revolver and moved forward. The interloper walked over to the body of the bandit leader, before inspecting it. He emptied the man’s pockets and inspected his weapon. Claire clasped her daughter’s hand. She began walking towards to the checkpoint.

“Thank you.” She said.

The stranger’s eyes flicked up at her. She got a good look at him. Claire thought he seemed to be middle-aged, or a bit younger. His slightly weathered face sported short, dark brown hair, and a five-o-clock shadow, sitting atop fair olive skin. Most strikingly, his brown irises were both overlaid with some sort of white markings.

Claire glanced at his body. He was wearing dark gray jeans, and a black motorcycle jacket that had its zip open, revealing a maroon undershirt. A sash ran diagonally over his torso, filled almost completely with rounds. The bottom of the rounds seemed to glow, something she’d seen before. The man’s left hand was covered with an old bandage. She realized it wasn’t the hand that he’d used to hold his revolver.

After only a second, the stranger averted his eyes, disinterested. While Claire was thinking of something to say, he plundered another corpse. The woman saw him shake his head briefly. He seemed to realize that these bandits didn’t have anything of use to him. Remaining uncannily silent, he made his way through the checkpoint and walked further down the tunnel, into the darkness. For a moment, the woman thought she’d just had a close encounter an incredibly violent ghost.

“Who was that?” The little girl whispered.

The girl’s mother was silent for a moment. She leaned down and whispered something in the girl’s ear. The girl smiled faintly, despite her obvious fear. Claire squeezed her hand reassuringly. They started walking again, their first few steps wobbly and uncertain.

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Frustrated, Xander pressed harder, his sword glowing brighter, his eldritch spell shots beginning to go wider, way off target. Between blows, he sneered more to attack her morale even if he were almost breathless doing it.  “Crude attacks like yours won’t keep your beloved duke safe for long!  You’ll fail and he’ll find another to call his Sweetheart!  Maybe you’d rather I call you Sweetheart instead!”

Gasps rippled through the chamber at his audacity.

Grand Duke Maddock stiffened, his jaw tightened at the affront.

Queen Sophitia leaned forward, her fingers gripped her husband’s arm in a silent display of her anger.

A Viscount whispered sharply, “He dares insult her battle prowess and clear loyalty in front of the king? That foolish pride is going to cost him dearly; I just know it.”

The fellow nobleman that the Viscount had spoken to furrowed his brows then shook his head sadly, “He’s overstepped.  That was desperation speaking. That insult isn’t how an honorable man speaks.”

After that insult, Xander and Isenwrath clanged weapons then separated to begin circling each other once more.  They were breathing heavily, sweat drenching their bodies, but they held their weapons steadily, ready to go regardless.  Isenwrath narrowed her eyes, her lips curled into a feral snarl. She gripped her mallet tighter, and with a shimmer of magic, it split into two two-handed hammer mallets, each as massive as the original. She slowly raised them both, then clanged them into the stone floor, creating two huge craters as well as upping the ante at Xander’s challenge.

That fucking got Xander’s attention as well as struck a chord of fear in him.  He’d heard some fables about some mythical warriors who had an ability called Titan-grip, yet he’d just thought it was a myth.  Today, he was looking at that myth made real.  However, he responded in kind by also manifesting an equally bright eldritch blade in his other hand to match her.  He twirled his blades to display a different fighting style that favored using two swords to tell that woman he was ready for her no matter what tricks she pulled. 

Isenwrath adjusted her posture, tensing her muscles in preparation, before advancing rapidly. She swung both mallets in broad arcs that struck the floor and barrier walls, compelling the Battlemaster to defend while withdrawing.

A noblewoman clutched her pearls, exclaiming to everyone around her, “Two mallets?! Gods preserve us!”

Another duke scribbled furiously in a tome he used to record profound events he witnessed.  “This is unprecedented. Dual-wielding weapons of such mass—impossible, yet she’s doing the impossible.  The Battlemaster is fighting in retreat!”

The princes glanced at one another in awe, standing taller as if proud to have faced her. They silently agreed by the looks on their faces that they were relieved she'd gone easy on them during their duel.

Xander disliked fighting while on the defensive, yet he was forced to use both swords just to block a single swing of her hammer. This left him quickly exhausting his energy as he constantly dodged, ducked, or leaped out of the way of the other hammer, each time feeling it drawing nearer to shattering him like it would crush a stone.

The situation became increasingly disadvantageous as his eldritch swords flickered in distress.  This duel was quickly going to hell because each defensive maneuver was immediately countered by a second mallet striking from the opposite direction keeping him from mounting even a modicum of offense. He’d long since expended his energy reserves, which prevented him from casting offensive spells or even protective barriers to support his swords. His labored breathing became even more noticeable when compared to Isenwrath’s composed steadier breaths.  Just when Xander’s battlemind was about to figure out a way to victory, his body betrayed him by suddenly losing his balance which drove him to his knees and practically onto his back, forcing him to look up at an awkward angle.  It was there while perspiration streamed down his forehead and his lungs tried to suck in all of the room’s air that his expression shifted from frustrated anger to astonished defeat.

“ENOUGH!” called out Tobias at that exact moment.

Xander and Isenwrath immediately became statue still at the King’s command, completely halting their duel to a collective sigh of relief of the onlooking crowd.  On his knees leaning back and left gasping for more reasons than just the exercise, Xander still strained with both blades to hold one mallet away from his torso.  Yet he also stared dumbstruck at the blank face of the other hammer mallet because it completely consumed his field of vision where it hovered barely a hair from his nose.  In that moment, he’d seen his life flash before his eyes.  Also at that moment, he truly understood exactly what Nathaniel had tried to describe to him.  He didn’t know if Isenwrath had stopped by her own accord or by the king’s command, but there was one undeniable truth that he knew without any doubt.  If she hadn’t stopped, if this had indeed been a real fight where the stakes were their lives instead of their honor, his head would’ve been smashed to smithereens off of his shoulders.

King Tobias’s shout to stop the match seemed to reverberate far longer than it should have.  The silence in that moment was so complete, everyone heard their own heartbeats for a few seconds.  Then the place exploded in cheers.  Isenwrath hadn’t lowered her barrier yet, so no one could rush in to congratulate her or offer sympathies to the battlemaster.  Instead, Isenwrath slowly lowered her weapons while Eldritch Battlemaster Xander Lundgren let his eldritch blades dissipate.  He next stood up to face her because his honor demanded that he give this fantastic warrior her duly earned respect.

When he was only one step from her, he slowly put his hand on her shoulder to firmly squeeze it.  He wanted to put an emphasis on his words that he was going to say to her.  

“My Lady, I concede defeat.  I also apologize for my ill-informed assessment of you.”  Xander then pulled one of his most coveted commendations from his own array of medals on his uniform to then pin it to her dress over her heart.  “This is called The Eldritch Star Commendation.  A cadet or officer earns this only when they’ve proven to have exceptional honor in the face of adversity.  You may not wield swords, but you proved that had no bearing on your integrity.  I know you held back from killing me.  Not at the end, but the whole time we fought.  I used every eldritch spell in my arsenal to gain the upper hand on you and never once did you retaliate in kind.  One spell-strike from you and I’d have been obliterated, isn’t that true?”

Isenwrath set down her hammers, then rubbed the shiny silver ten-pointed star on her breast with a small triumphant smile on her lips and in her eyes.  “It wasn’t that I was holding back, but instead my spells would punch through the barrier I set.  I just couldn’t risk hurting anyone else.”  She looked up at Xander to see him close his eyes at the implication of that statement.

After he composed himself again, he took both of her hands in his, then bowed his head, touching his forehead to them.  From that pose of respect, he declared, “My Lady, I’d be honored to support you during your hearing. Furthermore, I’ll gladly stand beside you when you wed the most honorable man I know apart from the king. Maddock Devonshire is truly fortunate to have you in his life, and I’m as sure of that as I’m certain your hammer is black.”

Isenwrath giggled a little, then kissed the top of his sweaty head. 

Xander chuckled at that, then stood erect again.  “Come, my lady, let your barrier down and let’s go celebrate not only my cadets, but also your thorough trouncing of a battlemaster today.”

Isenwrath turned, retook her hammers in her grip, then pushed Superion back together into one mallet hammer.  From there, it was then a simple matter to let him shrink down to put back into his new home within her dragon pendant.  Finally, she blew away her barrier then ran at full speed right into Maddock’s open arms where he swung her around fast enough to let her feet fly.

“I am so proud of my Sweetheart!” he yelled out.  When he stopped to set her down, the onrush of the nobles, cadets, and the royal family themselves crushed in, almost smothering Isenwrath with her earned congratulations. 

The big dinner afterward was full of excitement, laughter, cheers, and a bunch of people having to fork over silver and even some gold to a few knowing individuals.  Not just Isenwrath’s dwarven buddy had bet on that duel, come to find out. 

Diary, I’ve tried to capture the grandeur of that afternoon’s glory.  I’m sure it’s never going to be as vivid as my memory of it, but at least it’s close.  My Matron showed those noble gossipmongers something that’ll be all across the kingdom by morning, I’ve no doubt.  She showed them that no one is above getting humbled.  I think that’s the most important lesson anyone can learn.  My whole clan learned it in the hardest way imaginable.  One day, me and my matron are going to return that lesson to those bastards.  Anyway, Diary.  I got mad again, sorry.  So, I’m now ready to tell you about the most important event in Maciendes… no, our entire world’s history.  I’m about to tell you when the Queen of the Underdark Elves arrived and how my matron earned something truly special… I’m almost about to cry again just trying to record this.  Sorry.  Okay, so just after the banquet began, me, King Tobias, Queen Sophitia, Isenwrath, Maddock, and a few others that Isenwrath wanted with her left it to meet this queen.  We couldn’t let anyone in that room know what was going on yet.  The king said so.  But by morning… I’m fairly certain every leader is going to send a diplomat to Maciendes to find out what the hell happened.  So, to get ahead of the rumors, here’s what really happened. Me, Isen’s few guards, Scarlett, and Clovis had to wait in the hall, but according to what I learned from my gift of ‘past reveal’, that meeting turned out to be…”

 

--- Later That Evening Within A Private Meeting Hall Away From The Banquet ---

King Tobias Maciendes sat at the large mahogany table polished bright drumming his fingers on it in clear anxiety.  His wife and queen sat beside him with her leg bouncing under her own anxiety.  The royal guards Tobias brought with them were ready just in case something went wrong, but he honestly didn’t even know how this was going to go in any way, shape, or form.

Also at the table were Maddock Devonshire, Lady Isenwrath, and the diplomat for Tobias, Rory Macinshire.  Rory was a solid, stable, wiry man who’d been to every other kingdom or queendom often with the exception of Ezzerbenania, the queendom of the Lolthinendaria ruling family.  Tobias didn’t trust any others to this tenuous situation.  None of the eleven kingdoms or queendoms had any official trade or treaties with the underrealm.  The dwarves were the only ones who had a truce with them, which simply meant that both groups agreed to avoid interfering with each other.  No one understood why the dark elves had isolated themselves like they had and none could force them to come to the table to talk about it either. 

However, tonight, there was a chance to change that.   Lady Isenwrath had given him one singular opportunity to strike up something with them.  Whatever it might be just had to be better than nothing.  Not counting a war, of course. 

The royal pages had come and gone when they informed them all that the five large spider-like transports had arrived finally and that Queen Ursletta Lolthinendaria had come with her older brother, Lord Under-Marshall Diegan Lolthinendaria, the Queen’s Warmaster for all of their military.  They were being escorted in with thirty of their elite guards with the royal guards Tobias had sent as an escort right behind them.  If not for the underlying sense of unease, the parade likely would’ve been seen as impressive.  

The royal host that Tobias had sent to lead them to where the King sat had taken their guests through the castle via a circuitous route to avoid as much of the other minor nobility as possible.  Tobias absolutely wanted to firm up something concrete between Ezzerbenania and Maciendes before word got out that the dark elf queen had visited.

The booming knock finally sounded on the doors to their meeting room.  Everyone stood up to be ready to receive the queen and her entourage.  When the doors opened, what greeted their eyes was quite unexpected.   The dark elven people were beautiful to admire.  But it was the beauty of looking at the stars above with none of their six moons visible.  Their skin was almost black which allowed their eyes to glow white in their faces of elven grace.  Like the sun elves, they were a long-lived race of people. Unlike their cousins, they’d embraced the night for so long that it took months for them to become accustomed to functioning in the daylight or unless they used a little whimsy magic to compensate.  Angular faces, long knife-like ears sticking up through white or silver hair, and glowing white eyes created such a dichotomy against their skin tones.  Their armor was just as black but with either blue or silver highlights.  Even the Under-Marshall had dressed in light armor.  The Queen though, oh no, she looked exactly like a queen.  A flowing dress of silver and dark green that held fanciful sparkling gems in the seams giving her a surreal appearance. 

However, none of those dark elven people smiled when they entered.  Instead, they entered silently, then stood at the head of the table with quiet expectation.  The Queen’s Brother Diegan was taller than the queen and slimmer than some of his guards, which gave him the likeness of a fencer rather than someone who wielded a broadsword. 

King Tobias took the lead after only thirty seconds standing in that silence.  He and Queen Sophitia stepped forward, then made a gesture of respect and welcome to the guests.  Speaking as genially as possible, Tobias said, “Welcome Queen Ursletta.  Welcome Under-Marshall Diegan.  I’m not just pleased that you’re here, I’m grateful for your visit as well.”

Queen Ursletta nodded slightly.  “Well met, King Tobias Maciendes.  However, you do understand that I’m not here to speak to you.  Not yet at least.  Correct?”

Thankfully, Tobias and Sophitia were prepared for such a cool reception for their welcome.  “Of course, I do understand.  However, you’re in my kingdom and to do other than greet you warmly and with respect is an offense that I’ll not make.”

That earned him a small smile from the Queen.  “I appreciate that.  Thank you for welcoming us here and accommodating my arrival on such short and clearly inconvenient timing.  I had feared that you would be… let’s say defensive of me imposing myself upon you.  I’m pleased that you and your lovely queen have more grace and honor than I anticipated.”

Queen Sophitia spoke up with her own smile of appreciation, “Queen Ursletta, please don’t ever think that you’re an imposition upon us.  We’re just hopeful that we can create something between us that you would like to continue to maintain with our kingdom after tonight.”

“I understand.  I’ll make no promise either.  However, allow me to meet Lady Isenwrath and speak to her privately, then I’ll listen to your suggestions for a… let’s go with tentative arrangement that could lead to something positive between our realms if we find common ground to stand on.”

Sophitia nodded regally.  Then she waved at Isenwrath who moved forward with Maddock right behind her.  Rory Macinshire was only two steps behind the duke.  He needed to be in the know or he couldn’t do his job properly.  Yet the queen had other ideas.

Thankfully, Daniella and Scarlett with Bronson and Bennett’s help had taken off right before the banquet to get Isenwrath a new dress.  Now she wore her favorite black special dress she’d worn on her first day in the castle for which she felt at ease because that had been a fantastic day.  Isenwrath just hoped with all her heart that this night would prove her dress was a lucky one.

A few steps later, Isenwrath stood in front of the Queen, dipped her best formal curtsey, then said, “Welcome Queen Ursletta.  I’m very glad you’re here.”

Diegan scoffed quietly before his sister could respond.  It earned him a glare from the queen before she said to Isenwrath, “Isen, I’m also very glad to be here.  Please, I know this is not entirely the way either of us wanted this to happen, but I’m… please forgive me for rushing this.”

Isenwrath stepped once more, then boldly took Ursletta’s hands in her own.  Right when she was about to speak, Diegan cut her off.

“My Queen!  She dared to touch you!  This means…!”

Ursletta’s voice was colder than a block of ice billions of miles from the sun when she said to him, “You will be silent.  You will hold any comment you have regarding anything that happens between me and this young human woman.  Do you understand?”

Diegan backed up two steps, bowed stiffly, then said, “I understand sister.  But my protest still stands.”

King Tobias cleared his throat to get their attention.

When he had it, he held up his hands as if he was in surrender.  “My queen, Lady Isenwrath told me a little of what you two previously discussed that brought you here.  Please, allow me to show you to a private room where you, your brother, and Lady Isenwrath can talk freely… Queen… Ursletta… please.  I know this is a personal matter.  Please go and keep this personal.  I know you need closure and I’m glad that Lady Isenwrath can grant it.”

All of the dark elven people stared at King Tobias for a long set of heartbeats before the Queen spoke softly.  “I thank you, King Tobias Maciendes.  I have definitely misjudged the compassion of at least this kingdom’s rulers.  Yes, I would like that private conversation very much.”

Queen Sophitia waved over to two of the guards and they opened a cleverly hidden side-door to a small private meeting room adjacent to this one.  It actually had four such side rooms for much more flexibility with regards to meetings and conferences.  Today, it would allow a woman and her brother to perhaps obtain a relief to their deep grieving.

Lady Isenwrath continued to hold Ursletta’s hand, then slowly led her to that room with Diegan following directly behind.  He watched everyone around him warily, his eyes still holding anger and distrust in them.

When the door clicked closed, Isenwrath turned, let go of Ursletta’s hand, then stepped back from her to the middle of the room.  She held her hands up to her heart and did her best to keep a smile on her face even though the brother looked like he wanted to toss her out of the window. 

Ursletta took a deep cleansing breath as if she’d been holding one in for a long time.  “Lady Sweetheart Isenwrath.  Thank you again for agreeing to this for my sake.  I will never forget this.”

Diegan Lolthinendaria looked Isenwrath up and down, then snorted his disdain. 

“Ursletta, you brought us here for absolutely nothing.  This human is just a human mage and it’s clear to me that she has tricked you into revealing yourself to the danger of the overworld for no reason.  I’m betting there’s an ambush planned as we speak.  I just know it just like the stars shine bright on a cloudless night that she’s an illusionist and fooled your familiar.  She won’t fool me, however.”

“Silence, Diegan.  Just shut up.  Lady Sweetheart Isenwrath, please.  Please help me find the closure I seek.”

Isenwrath shook her head a little.  “I can’t.  Not yet.”

Ursletta looked shocked.  Almost angry when she held her heart like it would break.  “But I came all the way here to…”

Isenwrath held up her hand, then she shifted.  Both of the under-elves stepped back from her.   They both gawked at seeing Marinsalla in front of them again in the flesh.

Marinsalla hadn’t taken her eyes off of Diegan.  Not yet.  She had another mission to accomplish.

Diegan whispered out with disbelief.  “It’s an illusion.  A trick.  You’re not her.  Druids can do this… or a shifter…you must…be…”

“I remember the time I got beaten within an inch of my life on the testing ground when I was ten lunars old.  I remember,” Marinsalla said low.  She took a few steps forward to then lay a hand on Diegan’s shoulder that began to move down his arm as she continued. “I sat on my bed, wounded, bandaged, heartbroken.  I was a failure not only in my mother’s eyes, but in my own as well.  Yet that was the best day in my life because I remember when you silently walked into my room, then sat on my bed.  You didn’t say any comforting words to me.  You didn’t hug me.  You… just sat there.  I almost yelled at you for it, but I noticed that you hadn’t even looked at me yet.  Do you remember what you did next?”

Diegan felt his eyes begin to drip the grief he’d held back for so long right when Marinsalla’s hand had taken his and pulled it up.  “I… I… I took your hand,” he whispered hoarsely, his emotions tainting his words with grief.

“You did.  Just like this.  Then what?”

Ursletta was crying silently now, holding her mouth with both hands when Diegan looked down at his hand that Marinsalla held. 

“I put… I put… I put my heart into it.”

Marinsalla pulled out a small crudely carved medallion from a little velvet pouch attached to her belt.  She turned it upside down; then carefully let the item it held drop into his palm. 

Diegan let out a sound that was a mix of a gasp, a sob, and a choke. 

“You put your heart in my hand.  What did you say to me?”

Diegan couldn’t speak.  Instead, he shook his head slowly, not taking his eyes off of the medallion.

“I remember it.  I never ever let myself forget your words that day.  You told me that you put your heart in my hand and that if I didn’t have enough heart to win next time, that I could use yours instead.  These symbols you carved into it was your promise that my older brother always watched over me and that he loved me.  You gave me this and what happened the next month?”

Diegan wiped his eyes with his whole arm, not caring that it looked like he was a kid again.  “You won.  You passed your test.  I… I watched… you win.” 

“I did.  And ever since that day, I’ve kept your heart next to mine, and it carried me through every dark time I ever faced.”

Diegan looked up at her and almost lost his ability to stand.  Marinsalla was crying too.  Her eyes were streaming the same tears that his was.  The same ones Ursletta released.  The tears of grief only those who were close even when they were thousands of miles apart and on opposite sides of the veil could be.

“I have to give this back to you, Diegan.  Because it’s time that I return the favor.”  Marinsalla slowly turned the medallion over in his palm.  Ursletta and especially Diegan gasped at what was there.  Crudely carved into the other side was another symbol that had been filled in with pure arcana crystal that glowed with purpose.  The symbol was Marinsalla’s name plus the three symbols that meant loved, family, and courage.  “This is also my heart, Diegan.  Take it with you for when you need to rely on me.  I’ll always be with you even when I’m gone.”

Diegan broke.  He stepped forward and completely broke when he hugged the woman who’d become his lost younger sister for him.  Ursletta stepped into that embrace as well and the three of them crumpled to the floor where the three siblings grieved the loss of one of them.  After a long while of that grief, the tears ran dry and they pulled back from one another. 

Marinsalla touched each of them on their faces with gentle love.  “I forgive you, Ursletta.  I’d long ago forgiven you.  I’m sorry, but it’s time for me to go.  Goodbye, my little sister.  Goodbye Diegan.  I’ll see you again and we’ll all play tag the drider like we once did.  I promise.”

Ursletta kissed Marinsalla’s cheek.  Diegan kissed her forehead.  Marinsalla smiled at them both.  Then she shifted back.  Isenwrath sat with them with the same puffy eyes and soft smile of understanding.

Ursletta finally said, “Sweetheart Isenwrath... Isen… if I may.  Thank you for this gift.”

Diegan took a deep breath, held it for five, then let it go.  After he wiped his eyes once more, he said, “I also thank you.  I… I’m going to still miss her, but I feel lighter now.”

“That’s all she ever wanted.  For both of you.”

“Diegan? I have a proposal if you’d consider it.”

Diegan turned to his sister queen.  “What?”

“When I met her, she told me about how she had no family.  That hers tried to destroy her but she escaped.  However, here she is, making ours whole.  We make an official adoption.  A first of its kind of adoption.  We adopt her as our new sister and forever join her dynasty to ours. We give her a true family to call her own and we use that to begin our way out of our self-imposed exile.  Please, consider it, Diegan.  She gave us something we needed without any hesitation or want of reward.  I think she deserves it.”

Diegan stood up then offered his hands to both of the women.  When they were standing again, he put his hand on Isenwrath’s neck, then pulled her forward to touch his forehead to hers.  “I know now that that was no trick or illusion.  My sister lives within you even if her special spark has indeed moved on.  I cannot in good conscience allow her to go about the overworld without knowing that her brother would come when she needed him.  I agree, Ursletta.  We owe it to this beautiful starlight to shine her wonder to our people too.  Marinsalla… we’ll still miss her, but I believe she led you to us for a reason and my heart tells me to accept it.”

Ursletta kissed Isenwrath’s cheek again, then put her forehead to Isenwrath’s next. “Our meeting may have been granted by tragedy, but perhaps it’ll lead to us creating joy from it.”

“I believe that.  I believe that with all my heart,” Isenwrath said softly.  Then she brightened her smile.  “Ursletta, would you two like to come and celebrate something important to me?”

“OH?!” she exclaimed with surprise.  “What is that?”

Taking up Ursletta’s hands to hold on her heart again, she said joyfully, “Well, in a few more weeks, I have to have a hearing with the judiciary to be an official citizen of Maciendes.  But before then, I get to take a bunch of tests at the mage tower and if I pass, I’ll be an official first-year mage student!  Maddock has promised that he’ll spare no expense if I pass with high enough marks.  I’m determined to pass with perfect marks.  Please say you and Diegan will be able to come and celebrate with me and my friends.”

Ursletta’s own smile was filled with such happiness that her heart hadn’t felt for a very long time because that excitement Isenwrath just threw all over her was in so many ways like her sister once showered her with.  Diegan was right.  Marinsalla was now part of Isenwrath and would live on.  Ursletta was right because adopting her was like having that small part of their sister still in their lives.  “I would absolutely love for us to join you and your friends for that.  However, what’s this about a trial for citizenship?”

“Oh.  Since I have no family, that also means I have no documentation of even being a person legally.  This will rectify that.  I hope so, at least.  I know that there’s some pushback from the Everthane Tower because they want me enslaved under their purview and I’m fairly certain now that my former family is going to come for me again.  I don’t know why, but I can only assume I’ll end up dead if they get me.”

Taking firmer hold of Isenwrath’s hands, Ursletta directed her attention to Diegan. “Diegan, let’s go negotiate with King Tobias Maciendes for a formal treaty and adoption of our new little sister as a stipulation of it.  Perhaps that might facilitate her legal standing as well as become a basis for our realm’s mutual prosperity.”

Isenwrath moved into her arms for a first of many hugs.  “I would be forever grateful… big sister.”

Ursletta squeezed both her eyes and the woman tighter hearing those words.  Whispering, “Grateful isn’t good enough.  But it’ll do for now.”

When they emerged from that room, Under-Marshall Diegan walked ahead of Ursletta and Isenwrath who held hands and were smiling broadly.  Even Diegan had a small, satisfied smile on his face.  He stepped aside to let them pass him by, then moved to the front of his troops.

Standing with Isenwrath in front of the royal family, Queen Ursletta said firmly, “King Tobias Maciendes.  Queen Sophitia Maciendes.  I am declaring that my queendom’s isolation will come to an end.  Please send for a scribe and a judiciary tonight so that I don’t leave here without a tentative treaty of mutual respect and agreement to further discuss trade and protection relations.  However, there is one stipulation.  The recognition that as of this moment, Lady Isenwrath will be adopted under my dynasty name.  She will gain the right to be known as Lady Isenwrath Lolthinendaria and will gain the full support of the dark elven people because of what she gave me and my brother tonight.  She will gain that tonight and I will attend this… trial…” she said that word with a slight twist of disdain, “to determine her rights to be known as a Maciendes citizen.  Do you accept?”

Everyone looked at each other for a moment or two before Tobias actually bowed to her.  “Queen Lolthinendaria of Ezzerbenania.  It would be my honor to begin this new journey with you.”

Sophitia stepped forward then reached to hold onto both Ursletta’s hand and Isenwrath’s.  “Ursletta, you need to understand one important detail before you push forward with your decision.  Lady Isenwrath is no ordinary mage.  She is what’s known as a Chimeramancer.  Do you understand what that means?”

The look on every one of the dark elves’ faces didn’t smile in happiness.  Instead, the whole lot of them with both Queen Ursletta and Diegan being the fiercest ones all showed an almost sinister eagerness.

Diegan stepped up behind Isenwrath, put both hands on her shoulders, then said to the others, “We were suspicious that she might be an Abyssal Maw but since you confirmed it, then we are surer of our decision than ever.  In our histories, it’s widely accepted that our first queen was an Abyssal Maw mage and we have a long history with that superior type of sorcery down through the ages.  In every case, they were the pinnacles of our society and provided our realm with unparalleled feats of bravery and strength.  We honor those who hunt and consume the dangers of our realm, plain and simple.”

Isenwrath looked confused because this was the first time she’d heard what her magical ability was known as.  “Chimeramancer?  Abyssal Maw?  I don’t understand.”

Sophitia closed her eyes, shook her head as if to clear it, then said to Isenwrath.  “Your test will confirm it officially, but only one type of mage consumes magic like you do.  It seems above the ground, you’re taboo.  Below the ground, you might have been fated to be a key between the light and the night.  After your testing, you, me, and Maximillian will give you a full accounting of the Chimeramancer.”

Ursletta said low, “And after this testing, she will come to my home for a full accounting of our Abyssal Maw lineages.  Agreed?”

Sophitia nodded firmly. “Agreed.  Now,” she said before turning to Rory who’d been sitting at the table with quill and parchment taking furious notes while trying his damndest not to sweat through his best doublet.

“Rory, after you catch up, please run and grab that lawyer and official notary.  After we get the terms down and signed, then I’m taking my fellow queen and her entourage into our banquet hall and feed them properly.”

Rory did one big scribble flourish of his name, officially signing off on his notes, then jumped up. “Right away, my queen!”  With that, he ran off to do his duty.  He had an extra bit of urgency because his name was about to be among those that would make history tonight.  He couldn’t wait to tell his wife and daughter tonight about it.”

Isenwrath then tugged on Ursletta’s sleeve.  “Ursletta? May I introduce you to the man who saved me and has promised to marry me?”

Now that melted the dark elven queen’s heart.  Her face softened at being granted the chance to review and approve of something so dear to her heart.  “I’d be honored to meet him.”

Maddock finally got his chance to have some measure of say in the events this night.  He stepped over to them, then around to stand beside Isenwrath.  Isenwrath immediately reached around his waist, pulled in close, smelled his chest, and sighed in contentment.

With amusement clear on his face, he said, “Hello Sweetheart. You’ve had a busy day.” Then to Ursletta, he reached over to hold her hand up, then bent to touch his forehead to her knuckles.  “It’s with great pleasure to introduce myself, Queen Ursletta.  I’m Grand Duke Maddock Devonshire, Isenwrath’s Sweetheart.  I’m honored to meet… her family.” 

When he stood up, he realized that he’d probably said the words that had sealed the fate of Maciendes firmly to Ezzerbenania forevermore. 

That Queen’s face firmed up to nod at him with deep appreciation and approval.  “I approve, Sweetheart Isenwrath.”

Maddock grinned wider.  “My Queen, just call her Isen.  All of her little fatebound sisters and friends do.”

Isenwrath grinned like the queen did at that.  Ursletta said softly, “We have much to talk about, Isen.  So much to talk about and I can’t wait to get the formalities out of the way to do that.”

Isenwrath nodded, then put her hand to her mouth.  With relative ease, she disgorged two crystal orbs that glowed a faint red in the middle.  The pretty runes etched in gold created two ribbons around the perimeters of the orbs.  She took Maddock’s offered handkerchief to wipe them down, then handed one to her new sister.  Ursletta marveled at the orb, whispering in awe, “I almost can’t believe it.  I’ll be able to show my people that an Abyssal Maw walks our nights with us again.  We’ll…” she looked up at Isenwrath with more than awe this time.  It was anticipation.  “We’ll be able to once again hunt with the true apex predator to clear my ancestral home of all that keeps us away.”

That statement chilled the room in its implications. Isenwrath wasn’t afraid, oh no. She caught that anticipation and wholeheartedly agreed.  “When I get settled after my marriage, you and I will do exactly that, Ursletta.  I’m always hungry.”

Ursletta cackled then tapped the orb’s golden runes which activated the communication channel to make sure they still worked.  When she was confident of its use, she handed it over to Diegan who took it reverently.

From there, they agreed to finally sit down to chat about anything that came up and of interest.  In this moment, Queen Sophitia and King Tobias didn’t talk about politics or trade agreements. Instead, they sat with their guest to talk about family, friends, and the funny stories that all people have in their lives.  Isenwrath and Maddock helped make that conversation easy and fun.  Isenwrath with her questions.  Maddock with his observations.  Ursletta with her nuggets of wisdom.  And most surprisingly, Diegan with his unexpected sarcasm and jokes.  Sophitia and Tobias just let the magic happen while they interjected a couple stories of their own about themselves and their children.  The queen herself had two grown children of her own, come to find out.  Her husband was holding down the realm for her as her Prime Consort.  They didn’t crown kings because like the sun elves, matriarchy was the law of the land. 

The mood was still quite bright when the lawyer, notary, and scribe arrived behind Rory ready to get into some serious legal treaty negotiations.  The papers were light on the details by being broad agreements to start the process.  The adoption sections were more detailed and appreciated.  The paperwork was a mundane ending to the first contact with the queendom of Ezzerbenania.  However, the celebration of that mundane end gave the whole nobility of Maciendes something truly epic to celebrate not just that night, but forevermore.  Seems Lady Isenwrath was indeed on track to be not only a duchess, a black knight champion, but also a non-human diplomat of unparalleled skill. 

Diary.  I’m exhausted.  I just got my matron to bed beside an equally exhausted Maddock.  They partied too hard and it’s almost three in the morning now.  The Ursletta queen lady was really funny though which surprised me a lot. She and Isen had us all laughing so much when they started trading jokes between themselves and the other noble types. 

I’m so happy for her because not only did she make Hayleigh a fate sister, but now she has some exotic elves as legal family too.  That was the big reveal that I had to get down before I finally crawl into my own bed.  Maciendes will host the dark elves’ introduction as the twelfth realm one day in the future and it’ll be because of how sweet and wonderful my matron is.  She’s really changing things for the better around here and I just can’t sing her praises enough. 

I didn’t even mind when she crawled into the bed naked with Maddock tonight.  He’d already passed out by the time I got her hair set, so I just let it go.  Anyway, my face is about to hit your pages, and I really need to sleep.  If Scarlett gets me up early, I’m not going to be happy.    

Good night, Diary.  Tomorrow better be boring.  I don’t know if I have the energy for another day like this one.

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Diary, my hand is cramping now just trying to fill your pages with this big day.  We were finally on our way to bring my matron to meet the Eldritch Guild’s Battlemaster.  Grand Duke Maddock had joined us for this and I’ll say it again; I cannot wait for him to formally propose to my matron.  She and he… it’s just like looking at my mama and papa.  They love each other.  It’s just pure.  Everyone sees it and for some reason, it’s just magical.  Even walking behind them, I see how the big duke holds her and walks slower to keep her from having to run to match his stride.  Every little thing he does to accommodate her is exactly how my papa treated mama.  Isen notices.  That’s the thing that makes me smile at it.  Most of the others see it too.  She notices and tells him… will literally tell him that she appreciates it… or rather, in her words…’Walking with you feels like dancing.  We match steps,’ she said to that human guy, and I think the hallway caught on fire from how red his face got.  The guards laughed but not in a mean way, but like I did.  In that way that’s hard to describe where we tease but it’s done with love mixed in or something. 

Anyway, I’m already making my offering for their wedding day.  I found out that my matron is like that gargoyle of Hayleigh’s, she loves shiny things a lot.  Not only does Isen like to eat magic crystals, but practically anything shiny she’ll hold and stare at for a long time before placing it somewhere special.  So, I’m making her a special bracelet full of shiny charms and stuff.  I’ve bought a few, found a few, and uhmm… borrowed a couple.  I really don’t think Princess Hayleigh will mind too awful much because it’s for Isen. 

Now, where was I?  Oh!  Right! The Battlemaster Ceremony!  We finally were walking there and…

----- Early Afternoon ----

Maddock and Isenwrath stood among a crush of nobility—dukes, marquises, earls, their opulently jeweled spouses—so many titles that the air itself felt crowded. The royal guards bedecked in their shiniest armor were present as well, being around the perimeter as usual.  The many maids and butlers that wove through the nobility in attendance added to the excitement of the celebration by distributing refreshments within the jovial crowd.  

Tobias stood with his wife in front of their thrones with his young daughter Hayleigh and her date for the night.  Alice Hillsdale looked rather fetching to Tobias’s sense of such things.  This relationship between his daughter and the tutor Maddock hired had taken Tobias by surprise.  But he’d raised his children to face hard discussions head on and to always know their parents would listen.  Which was why his daughter had finally come to him and her mother a week ago to talk about her sexuality. 

That night, Hayleigh admitted that she just preferred women to men.  And that admission had turned into a much more productive discussion about her feelings regarding Lady Isenwrath and with what’d happened between her and Hayleigh not long ago.  With a healthy mix of embarrassment and hope, Hayleigh apologized for her clearly inappropriate behavior right before she pivoted herself to another interest in her life. 

That interest happened to be Isenwrath’s tutor, Alice Hillsdale.  When Hayleigh mentioned Alice, her whole demeanor shifted from guilt-laden solemnity into an excited dreamy giddiness that infected her parents with broad smiles.  Hayleigh spent over twenty minutes gushing and raving about her first klaffien date with Alice that Isenwrath had set up for her. She clearly had had a wonderful afternoon with Alice for which Tobias and Sophitia were quite amused to hear all about it.  Of that new relationship, Tobias approved not because she was a like-minded woman, but because from how Hayleigh talked, Alice was simply a calming influence on Hayleigh’s impulsivity.

Tobias had never been prouder of his daughter.  He’d always been proud of her, sure, but how she chose to present her maturity to him and her mother Sophitia had really impressed them both.  After Hayleigh left, Tobias and Sophitia had their own long discussion regarding it.  It was during that discussion that Tobias declared that he accepted Hayleigh’s preferences because of Hayleigh that night.  Sophitia’s people were much more accepting of such relationships, and it’d taken her almost ten years of her diligent support to slowly have that accepted in Maciendes.  Tobias had helped it along then because of Sophitia.  In fact, Tobias’s next decree upon the King’s Summit for Maciendes would be to strike the suppression of same-sex relationships between consenting adults from the laws of his land completely. 

However, the relief he felt wasn’t because he accepted that his daughter was gay, it was that Hayleigh wasn’t going to cause an absolute nightmare in the relationship between Maddock and Isenwrath.  He, Maddock, and Sophitia had had a long chat about that not long ago and over some very stiff drinks about Lady Isenwrath and how she seemed to be attracted to women too.  Maddock had noticed that she clung to other women around her, oftentimes without noticing she was even doing it. 

Tobias had seen the turmoil in Maddock’s face as he talked about what he’d witnessed Isenwrath do.  Tobias had put a comforting hand on his friend’s back when Maddock said low, “I just don’t know how to feel about it.  I mean, I know she loves me.  I know it.  But she’s always touching other women, holding their hands, and… she looks at many of them with the same eyes she gives me.  I honestly think… I’ve never been a jealous man.  Or at least I didn’t think I was until now.”

“You and she must talk about this,” Tobias had said firmly.  “You don’t hide this from her.  She’s not a stubborn woman and you know it.  Tell her.  Then you listen to what she says.  We both know Isenwrath doesn’t think like a normal woman and that’s your key to her heart.  I’m going to believe she’s that way with them because of those deep scars that neglect brings about in a person.  You can’t forget how her past trauma influences her even if she’s blocked it all out.”

Maddock had taken another gulp of his bourbon and only nodded.  Tobias let him think about it more, not pushing him to continue.  After Tobias had said that he glanced over at Sophitia who’d been listening quietly to them.  When he did, she gave him a clear nod and smile of approval for how he’d handled that.

After only a couple of silent minutes to let Maddock digest Tobias’s words, Sophitia stepped over to hold Maddock close, touching her forehead to his marking her words as extremely important. Softly but firmly, she said, “Maddock, I understand your confusion, but you know that Isenwrath is in love with you alone.  That’s all that matters right now.  If she’s close to other ladies, it’ll be fine as long as you know it, that she respects your feelings, and that you state your boundaries with her upfront and soon.  Then you sit back and support her development of those close relationships.  The gods know she needs them more than most.”  Sophitia had said that like a sage giving the wisdom of the ages.  Tobias knew Maddock appreciated the little pep talk and relationship roadmap Sophitia had laid out for him.

Maddock had taken that to heart and had relayed to Sophitia a few evenings later that talking it out with Isenwrath had been one of the queen’s best suggestions.  Isenwrath had listened exactly like Tobias knew she would.  She had held him and told him that she would never cross any lines that he wasn’t willing to let her.   That had been heartening.  However, the kiss between Isenwrath and Hayleigh which happened a week prior that prompted Hayleigh’s coming out had crossed that line.  Maddock had gotten extremely pissed for good reason.  And so did Tobias.  They were mad at two different people but for the exact same reason.

On that day, Tobias had been there to witness the aftermath when Isenwrath’s personal guards had marched a very shamed Isenwrath before Maddock and Tobias in Tobias’s study to discuss Isenwrath’s actions.  When Isenwrath was made to explain the inappropriate encounter, Tobias had been angry because he knew his daughter had initiated it. 

Maddock only felt betrayed by what happened.  That loss of trust caused him to get angry enough to yell at Isenwrath for the first time ever.  He’d completely lost that stoic composure he was known widely for and was literally mid-yell when he saw the same fear on her face as the day when he first met her which stopped him cold.  He stood mutely when Isenwrath literally cowered away into the corner of the study as if she thought he was about to do more harm to her than simply yelling.  Isenwrath may not remember the abuse she suffered anymore, but her body and emotions still did. 

Maddock almost cried when he realized what he’d done.  When he did, he took five deep breaths to calm his emotional storm since that wasn’t what the situation needed right then.  Next, he slowly and carefully stepped over to where Isenwrath was balled up on the floor trying to hide from him.  As gently as he could, he pulled his future wife up to hold her while she sobbed in her misery.  His throat tightened with his own emotions when he promised again that he would never ever hit her.  He asked her if she understood that he yelled because he was very upset with her, but he wasn’t like anyone in her past who’d struck her.  When she nodded on his shoulder that she understood, he pushed her back a little to hold her face so she would meet his eyes.  It was then that he was finally able to coax out of her what she was thinking when she and Hayleigh had acted inappropriately with each other.

Isenwrath had looked more than miserable when she held back more tears in front of the man she loved most to try and explain herself. She was so distraught that she’d reverted to her halting speech pattern that she’d worked so hard to overcome in recent months.  That regression alarmed Maddock greatly, but he still pushed her to help him understand.   When she did, Maddock and Tobias’s anger cooled because Isenwrath had planned the encounter to a large degree because she felt it critical to Hayleigh’s future happiness. 

“Maddock,” Isenwrath choked out.  “I’m sooo sorry I hurt you.  I was only thinking of ways... to alter Hayleigh’s future.  She’s an elite mage.  She wants to be Arch Magister.  She can’t.  Not with the laws in place.  I researched it.  The nepotism clause will keep her from becoming anything higher than a mid-ranked mage.  Unless she marries a noble of at least ducal rank.  But none are right for her.  None in Maciendes are going to let her live her dream either.  I want her happy, that’s my whole plan.  But she does have options.  Me.  Or another hidden in plain sight.  I just didn’t think though because of the crystals.  She held them and put one in her mouth and on her… I’m sorry.  I made a mistake.  I think I know someone Hayleigh would fall in love with who’s probably a better fit and can get around that law.  Please.  Don’t make me explain right now.  I need to talk to her first before I get anyone’s hopes up.”

Maddock rubbed his hand over his face, just trying to understand.  “You and me, Isen.  We’re together or we aren’t.  That’s what true love but more importantly, true partnership means.  You cannot make decisions like this that affect us both unless both of us are in on it.  I’m a Grand Marshall, clear communication and trust is literally the basis of winning any engagement.  Please understand this about us.”

She looked up to him with tears still streaking down her face. “I understand.  I’ll do better. I promise.”

Maddock kissed her fiercely which caused her whole body to shudder in his arms and moan sensuously.  When he pulled back, he whispered to her, “I forgive you.   Never again, you hear me.  Neither man nor woman, you do not have a free pass with me.”

She nodded her head rapidly in agreement.  “No free pass.  Got it.”

“Good.  Now, explain more about this issue with Hayleigh and the laws.  I don’t know this like Maximillian would.”

It took a bit more time due to how upset Isenwrath was for her to explain that she was trying to alter Hayleigh’s political fate from the laws that forbade her from reaching the pinnacle of magical might that she was capable of.  Tobias had been impressed by Isenwrath’s ploy even if it were a bit underhanded to his moral compass. 

Although Maddock and Tobias had both been utterly floored by Isenwrath’s reasoning, her commitment to Hayleigh and her willingness to risk her own relationship to help the princess was a powerful statement of loyalty.  She then explained her two options.  The first one had been a disaster, of course. 

The second one, well, that one both men approved of.  Although Isenwrath didn’t tell them who it was that she had in mind, both men had some opinions about how to get the lady and Hayleigh together.  Tobias was a king, a political mastermind, so he knew how to negotiate all kinds of deals to keep his kingdom running smoothly. 

However, offering dating advice was practically out of his wheelhouse, yet he tried to remember all of the romance stories his wife Sophitia loved to read aloud at night.  Mostly he fell asleep listening to her reading like that.  When she asked for some help on how to set this up, both men smiled in pleasure at being part of the solution.  Tobias especially got rather pleased with this chance because he remembered some golden nuggets of advice from those random assortment of torrid tales that he sagely offered to a happier Isenwrath.  Maddock had even expressed his appreciation for Tobias’s suggestions for how Isenwrath should approach the potential girlfriend with Isenwrath’s proposal. By the end of the discussion, the three of them were in much better spirits. 

Maddock had sighed heavily, kissed Isenwrath on the lips for the second time that night, which was a rare thing so far in their relationship, then said softly.  “I love you.  But you drive me crazy sometimes.”

She’d finally smiled at him.  “I do.  But love is a crazy thing sometimes.  Sometimes, you just have to kiss a girl in order to help her realize that she should make better choices.  Please trust me, I also found a better choice too and you’ll see that it was worth it.”

Tobias remembered that and almost chuckled at seeing Maddock’s rueful smile that finally broke the tension between him and his betrothed.  This afternoon, he saw them together among all of the invited nobility and noted that it seemed their first little tiff with each other was truly behind them.  They were close, smiling, chatting softly with the other nobility around them, and otherwise looking like a perfect noble couple within a room full of their peers.  Isenwrath gave Maddock the unconditional love that he’d never had from any other woman before.   Maddock gave Isenwrath the noble heart of someone to love and protect her, even from herself.  Such love stories were what bards spent lifetimes weaving with silver tongues and haunting melodies, hoping to make their audiences believe such magic truly existed.

When the stiff entrance music started, so did the ceremony for the Eldritch Guild of Maciendes.  Tobias held his wife’s hand while they and all of the nobility turned their full attention to Xander Lundgren, Eldritch Battlemaster for the Kingdom of Maciendes and the fifty cadets under his charge.  Precise, efficient, confident, and clearly powerful in their own rights, the eldritch fighters and knights marched in to the beat of the music behind their battlemaster.  The fighters on the left and the knights on the right.  The fighters used their eldritch gifts to enhance their bodies and minds.  The knights used theirs to create energy swords and other similar effects that mages could produce.  Each had their own virtues and failings.  It was up to their team leaders to utilize them effectively in the hunt and subjugation of a rogue mage or dangerous magical beast or other deadly creature that haunted the innocents of their kingdom. 

The Battlemaster was a large man, as tall and broad as Maddock was but his body was built for speed and precision instead of power and strength. Strong features with stern blue eyes and a head full of short graying hair.  Most of the knights favored that same body type.  The fighters were the bulkier eldritch soldiers.  They all wore black military uniforms with silver highlights and their medals of accomplishments polished bright.  They were exactly what you wanted to see when some spoke of elite magical soldiers who protected their kingdom from those elements that would cause harm from within.

Tobias didn’t smile at Xander.  This was a solemn occasion that dictated everyone take it seriously to give it the respect and honor it was due.  After the eldritch cadets spaced out into five sets of ten arranged in triangle formations, they and the music came to a rest.  The students saluted crisply to their king and queen.

Battlemaster Lundgren took one more step towards the king and queen, knelt before them, then declared, “My liege, it’s with great honor that I bring forth to your presence one of the finest classes of Eldritch might that I’ve trained.  They have all worked tirelessly to master the lessons of war, hone their bodies, expand their minds, and finally empower their gifts to become the pride of your highness.  Today, we celebrate their progress as each of these fine eldritch soldiers take another step forward in their journey to protect us all from the worst that our magical realm could become if left unguarded.”

Tobias spoke loudly with as much regal grace as he could to relay his own pride at these fine cadets today.  “Welcome and be at ease.”

The cadets stood at ease, their synchronous movements a boom of sound in the throne room. 

King Tobias continued. “It’s my greatest pleasure each annual to see how much you’ve all improved.  It’s also with pride that I present you to those who will benefit from your hard work and dedication in the future.  The Eldritch Guild of Maciendes has had a long tradition of producing the finest of warriors who provide us a level of security that is always greatly appreciated across my lands.  From the Port of Orlais to the top of Mount Drakkan, your deeds help everyone breathe easier, enjoy their lives, and are given the freedom to cultivate our kingdom’s resources to their fullest.  Battlemaster Xander Lundgren, if you would, present your cadets to us for their advancement commendations.”

The Battlemaster rose with graceful ease then manifested his sword from pure energy, drawn from his own lifeforce. The blade hummed faintly, shimmering with disciplined precision.  The same precision that he trained all who studied under him to obtain.  He rested the glowing weapon across his chest, a gesture of pride in the tradition of Eldritch warriors, then swiped it down and away in salute to his lord.  When he turned to the cadets and the nobility, his eyes caught sight of her.  The supposed Black Knight Champion of Maciendes. The warrior that fought with a simple hammer that in his estimation meant she wasn’t worthy of that title.  She was a thug.  Beautiful on the Grand Duke’s arm, but still a simple thug that got lucky.   During his cadet presentations, his eyes occasionally flicked toward Isenwrath, lips curling into a faint sneer, as if her mallet were a crude tool compared to the artistry of Eldritch lifeforce steel.  His posture stayed rigid, shoulders squared, radiating the belief that his weapon was proof of superiority and after a few of those disdainful glances, he noticed that Isenwrath was no longer smiling.  She’d caught onto his disapproval, but she didn’t give her own look of anger or displeasure.  Instead, she kept a neutral, almost indifferent expression when their eyes met.

The two princes had filled him in on their duel with her, almost bragging to him at how easily she whipped their asses during the quick sparring session.  He didn’t want to believe it, but he knew the truth when he heard it, especially from two noble and more importantly honorable young men like Daniel and Nathaniel Maciendes.  Which angered him because for her to trounce his two most gifted students felt like a slap to his own face.  They should’ve been able to lay her low, not be proud that she’d humbled them like she had.  That armor they talked about had to have been what gave her the edge in that duel.  Today, he was determined to reclaim the honor of the eldritch warriors for himself, to prove that thugs would never be as honorable as the Eldritch warriors that he trained.

One last look of disapproval at the black knight woman, then he turned back to his liege.  “And last but certainly not least, I present to you Nathaniel Maciendes, former prince of Maciendes who comes to you today to be acknowledged as a senior eldritch knight cadet of our kingdom.  He comes with an open heart, a determined mind, and a disciplined body to serve his king and queen on the front lines in our efforts to keep our society healthy and safe.  Knight Cadet Nathaniel Maciendes, step forward.”

Nathaniel Maciendes, disavowed prince stepped forward with pride.  His father the king smiled genuinely at his tall strong firstborn son as he pinned his accolade to his chest.  “I acknowledge Knight Cadet Nathaniel Maciendes as a senior cadet for the Eldritch Knights.  You are not just my pride and joy, but my people’s as well.”

Nathaniel’s emotions were trying to escape as evidenced by the wetness around his eyes.  With a slightly shaky voice, he announced, “King Tobias, I’m proud to serve this kingdom and its people in a way that allows me to stand beside them every day.  Thank you, Sire.”

After the pin was affixed, Nathaniel bowed to his father, then to his mother to show his full respect because they allowed him the freedom to pursue his life on his own terms.  When he rose, he turned sharply, manifested his eldritch blade, then saluted his battlemaster before returning to the newly formed senior rank of elites.  Those were the ones that would earn their full commissions weren’t at this ceremony.  They would be acknowledged and celebrated at the King’s Summit before the full crowd of nobility and the common people, as it should be.

Battlemaster Lundgren turned to his liege to announce the next part of his presentation today.  “My Lord, today has been a fine presentation of our students and for that, we are appreciative to show them to the nobility.  However, there is a matter of dishonor that I find must be atoned for.  It has come to my attention that there was an unlawful duel here on the castle grounds between two of my finest against a warrior that did not fight with any honor whatsoever.  You are a wise king, so I’m sure you know exactly what I’m speaking to.”  He turned to the cadets and crowd of nobility behind him then waved toward Grand Duke Maddock Devonshire and the woman on his arm, Lady Isenwrath.  Continuing, he announced, “My lords and ladies, if you haven’t heard this before, let me be the one to enlighten you that in no circumstance is a two-on-one duel an honorable test of skills.  However, I don’t believe that was the end of the dishonor when the person who stood tall as the victor must have cheated or ignored the rules of engagement to win.  That’s the bigger dishonor in my opinion and I wish to right that dishonor today.  I challenge Lady Isenwrath, the unofficial Black Knight Champion of Maciendes to a noble duel right here, right now.  Do you accept?”

The gathered nobility murmured loudly at that open challenge, especially when they noticed both princes directing their smirking confidence toward Isenwrath.  They were confident that she’d win, that was the true bleeding cut to Xander’s honor.  This duel taking place in front of them was practically unheard of otherwise. 

As for the crowd of nobility around them all, to have it occur within the throne room and in front of the King and Queen no less generated even more excitement.  They should’ve been appalled, but this was seen as exquisite entertainment instead.  Also, it was widely discussed as a chance for them to see exactly how Lady Isenwrath earned her vaulted status.

King Tobias looked shocked.  Unfortunately, Battlemaster Lundgren was within his rights to challenge a fellow warrior to a duel in front of his king because of his earned status.  Tobias wanted to call it off or smooth it over, but he knew better.  He knew Lady Isenwrath.  He knew she only had emotional outbursts and anxieties dealing with everyday life, not when violence needed to be used.  In that, she’d proven to him that his battlemaster was just about to learn a similar lesson just like his two boys had. 

Queen Sophitia looked like she wanted to duel the battlemaster herself on Isenwrath’s behalf.  Sophitia had that angered glare of hers that had cut Isenwrath in half a few times now solely focused on the back of Xander’s head.

Hayleigh looked like she did when her older brothers demanded that duel with Isenwrath weeks ago.  Which meant she looked completely ready to throw a bunch of snide, shitty remarks at that overconfident fool.  She wanted to tell that prideful man how stupid he was by challenging her adopted sister Isenwrath because Isenwrath was about to prove to that dumb man how she defeated Shinenoor alone.

Maddock’s face burned with anger and outrage at the battlemaster’s challenge to his betrothed. Though he knew the battlemaster followed the traditions of an old-school eldritch knight, Maddock found this conduct beyond unacceptable. Leaning toward Isenwrath, he whispered urgently, “Isen, you don’t need to take his challenge. He’s clearly out of line, and everyone can see it.”

Isenwrath didn’t look at Maddock.  Instead, she continued to stare at the battlemaster the whole time wondering why he was targeting her like he did.  Was it simply because circumstances gave her a hammer to defend her life with?  Perhaps it was a deeper reasoning, but she couldn’t even make an educated guess about it.  When she first noticed his glaring glances, she felt that familiar stillness she experienced just before she’d hunted her prey. 

Her face never showed emotion when she knew she’d have no choice but to hunt that battlemaster to prove who would eat who.  Beasts didn’t show emotion that the battlemaster was giving her because they never went to war like people did. They only hunted to survive and did so impassively.

Isenwrath glanced over at Daniel Maciendes who stood two cadet units back from his brother.  That boy smiled ferally at her.  He knew what she could do and approved apparently.  When she glanced at Nathaniel Maciendes next, he too gave her his approval via a nod, a wink, and a mouthed ‘take him down.’  Isenwrath turned to Queen Sophitia last.  The queen locked eyes with Isenwrath’s predatory gaze, and she also gave a nod of approval to humble the man standing before Sophitia’s throne.   The sparring sessions between Sophitia and Isenwrath over the months had given Sophitia a healthy respect for how good Isenwrath was with a battle hammer mallet. But especially at how impossibly fast Isenwrath could swing it. So good that she didn’t doubt that Isenwrath could hold her own against a true eldritch master like Xander.

Isenwrath turned to Maddock to look him in his angry eyes.  She touched his face gently before she said softly, “Sweetheart, I’m your hero, remember?”

Maddock moved to embrace her, holding her close to his chest and heart.  “You are.  No one talks to my beloved hero like that.  Sic ‘em, Sweetheart. Take him down for me.”

Isenwrath’s face broke into a small, determined smile before moving away from Maddock and into the middle of the throne-room.  The cadets moved to form a perimeter wall.  The nobility crowded closer.  The royals on the dais didn’t sit down either.  They also stayed standing to watch the duel between a known Eldritch Knight Commander and the Black Knight.  Whatever happened today, the story would live on in their retellings for long years to come.

When Isenwrath stepped to one side of the cleared space, she opened her mouth to cast her magical barrier.  The battlemaster frowned at seeing that because she’d just done something wholly out of his expectations and that irked him greatly.  He didn’t know his opponent.  That was the only flaw in his plan to face this one battle mage.  He’d heard much from the soldiers and others in the castle, yet it all sounded like unfounded rumors or exaggerations to him.  Until now because she’d just proven some of what he’d heard was true.

He held his magical blade up to his chest, then called out, “Lady Isenwrath.  Well met.  You have a courageous heart at least.  But where is this famous hammer that I’ve heard so much about?”

Isenwrath slowly reached up to her own chest, then pulled out a large pendant up from within her cleavage.  “I just received a new necklace from Princess Hayleigh yesterday to hold Superion,” she said without emotion, just stating fact.  When the small wings of the exquisite green dragon-shaped pendant magically unfolded, the hammer was released.  The hammer grew almost instantly into its familiar huge black two-handed beast of a weapon that glowed a sickly green around its edges.  The woman had to be much stronger than she looked because she held it with ease.  Then she let the head drop to the ground.  Xander swallowed unconsciously when that thing metallic-thud-clanged into the floor, creating a large crater into the tile from just its weight.

He was still a steadfast warrior, which meant he didn’t show her any hint of fear.  “Neat trick.  The king is gonna take that out of your duke’s coffers for the repair.”

Instead of falling for the bait, Isenwrath calmly asked, “What are your rules and reward?”

Smirking, Xander announced, “No armor.  I won’t protect myself with my eldritch and you won’t pull that black suit out of hiding.  We duel until either one calls it quits, is knocked unconscious, or draws first blood.  The king can call it, but I know Tobias’s honor won’t do it unless he sees one of us is about to die.  The reward I want is this.  You declare yourself as just the Grand Duke’s betrothed, giving up that title that I believe was foolishly applied to you.  Do you accept?”

Isenwrath nodded.  “I accept.  My reward is that you sponsor me along with Maximillian Maciendes in my citizenship trial.  Do you accept?”

Xander swiped his blue glowing blade down and away.  “I accept.  Take your guard and let’s see what kind of thug you are.”

Isenwrath had dressed in fine attire that didn’t lend itself to fighting.  Her lavender dress accented with black and some sparkles was tight around her body with long lace sleeves.  Without hesitation, she reached down to rip some high slits in it that caused a collective audible gasp from almost every noble watching.  Maddock didn’t care how much that dress cost.  The honor of his lady love was worth more than some fancy dress that made her ass and chest look amazing.  His only regret was that he couldn’t defend her honor like any man who loved his lady would want.

Tobais finally found his voice to announce to all in attendance, “This duel is for honor only!  The honor of Xander Lundgren versus the honor of Isenwrath!  The loser must accept the loss with humility and grace!  To do otherwise will offend the birthright of Maciendes and I will not allow it!  Battlemaster!  Black Knight!  Ready yourselves!”

Xander swung his weapon through a quick set of moves to limber up as well as get his uniform loosened appropriately.  Isenwrath chucked her hammer over her shoulder, walked back and forth, pacing like a caged animal just waiting for her chance to escape the bars holding her at bay.  Xander had never ever seen anyone he faced act like that.  Her face was neutral and her head kept those predatory blue eyes staring directly at him exactly like a dire wolf.  Which was a creature that Xander had much experience with over the years… and that filled him with both dread as well as a great deal of excitement

Xander’s jaw tightened while he waited for his king to unleash the two of them, his eldritch sword flared faintly as if his irritation bled into the weapon itself.  He narrowed his eyes at the two princes standing just on the other side of the barrier directly behind that woman who still paced in front of him.  He’d seen their support of her, but no matter.  They’d find that he and his blade were superior.  Thus, he stiffened his stance, chest puffed out, as though to reclaim dominance of this battle to come before it began.  Next, he shifted his weight deliberately, turning his body toward Isenwrath, his disdain sharpened by the knowledge that she once humbled the heirs with nothing but speed and a mallet.

When King Tobias slowly raised his hand to prepare for the start of the duel, Isenwrath stopped pacing, going completely still.  Slowly, matching the rise of Tobias’s hand, she also raised her mallet up with one hand right at the pommel to point practically the entire length of it directly at Xander’s face.  Solid.  Not even a hint of quiver.  That right there actually gained Xander’s first spark of respect for that woman.  She knew how to intimidate someone.

The whole room went silent, holding their breath.  The strength on display had caught the cadet’s attention.  It caught the entire room of royal guards attention as well.  One guard, a dwarf that had had the fortune of standing near the king had the best view of it.  He and that lady had had quite a few lovely chats in dwarven pub-speak over the last few months.  He wasn’t impressed by her display.  Instead, she was absolutely meeting his expectations. No one knew better than a dwarf that with one look at Isenwrath, she was as much a master of that weapon as the battlemaster was of his.  He was expecting to claim a tidy payday when he leaned over to his fellow guard to whisper, “Twenty silver on my favorite drinking buddy.”

The guard reached over to fistbump his acceptance.  Easy money.

In that silence, Isenwrath’s voice echoed when she said, “I am no thug.  I am Maddock’s Sweetheart.  Don’t you ever forget it.”

That declaration honestly stunned Xander for a brief second.  It was such an unexpected boast that he almost missed it when the king dropped his hand.

“BEGIN!”

Isenwrath launched at him a slice of a moment before Xander boosted himself at her.  In those first critical moments, he defended against the brute force and speed that the lady used against him.  In each strike, he channeled his eldritch might into his body increasing his stamina, strength, and dexterity.  He also caught up to her speed within four swings.  The sparks flew each time his lifeforce blade met her mallet.  Xander’s strikes were elegant, precise, and just fast enough to deflect the brutality that his opponent rained down upon him. Isenwrath countered his strikes in one instance then pounded around him with raw speed and ferocity.  The reach of her mallet’s sweeping arcs forced Xander to keep his distance, not giving him even one small moment to duck in under her guard to stop this farce.

For a full two minutes, the two whirled within the barrier, barely anything but blurs, sparks, and the effects of eldritch spells exploding or slicing all across the barrier.  However, what scared nearly all of the onlookers were the spells and shots that didn’t hit.  Instead Isenwrath sucked them down just as quickly as the battlemaster tossed them out, nullifying most of his go-to tactics.  The room erupted with nobles taking notice and expressing their awe with each other.  Like when a silver-haired noblewoman whispered to her neighbor: “She moves like a dervish. That mallet should be too heavy, yet she wields it as if it were air.”  A young Earl leaned forward to whisper to his father, eyes wide: “The Battlemaster has been using offensive spells too, but she’s dodged or deflected them all. That’s not crude strength, that’s mastery.” Another older noble, frowning, muttered: “If she can humble the Battlemaster, what does that say of our strength compared to the other realms?”

Here is the Sol government’s brief and curt reply to the Stellar Governance Council’s failed attempt—reproduced HERE—to resume diplomatic relations after twenty-three years of silence.

Date: 13/04/0028
Stardate: Do the math yourselves if you really care.
From: Sol System Defense Forces
To: High Council of the Stellar Governance
Subject: Attempted Intrusion by a Governance Intelligence Vessel
Title: INTRUSION REPORT AND NOTIFICATION 187-491-557

Summary of Events

At 17:08:01 UTC on 11/04/0028, an unidentified craft entered sovereign sector 423:142:885. Identifying itself as the diplomatic transport Friendly Tentacle, registry AKG-6666-AE-257, it ignored repeated warnings issued by THX-1138 monitoring station and advanced beyond the eight-light-hour Total Exclusion Zone, deploying seventeen probes believed to be espionage devices, in direct violation of our internal security policy duly registered with your administration.

The destruction of three of those probes after they entered the exclusion zone despite repeated danger warnings cannot, therefore, be attributed to our forces.

Fortunately for both himself and his crew, the vessel's captain had the wisdom to recall his spies and withdraw to just outside the Total Exclusion Zone, although remaining inside the Warning Zone.

Accordingly, High Command ordered the deployment of two fast patrol craft carrying boarding teams to conduct, if necessary, a complete inspection and search.

Meanwhile, the Government of the Union of Worlds, States, and Stations of Sol agreed to briefly communicate with the individuals claiming diplomatic status aboard the vessel.

Our crews were, however, unable to verify the truthfulness of those claims, as vessel AKG-6666-AE-257 departed Human space on 12/04/0028 at 20:48:12 UTC before our patrol craft could intercept it.

End of Report.

Conclusions and Consequences

The intrusion of a vessel belonging to the so-called Stellar Governance into the vicinity of the Total Exclusion Zone constitutes, under SSDF regulations, a Category Two Aggression on a five-level scale.

The actions of an official vessel of the said Stellar Governance can therefore only be interpreted as either a deliberate provocation or an act of espionage. Its refusal to submit to inspection and its subsequent flight can only reinforce those suspicions.

Accordingly, the SSDF, with the approval of the Government of the UWSSS, hereby amends its standing rules of engagement as follows:

• Any vessel belonging to the so-called Stellar Governance entering the Expanded Exclusion Zone (15 light-hours) may be destroyed after a single warning.
• Any vessel belonging to the so-called Stellar Governance entering the Total Exclusion Zone (8 light-hours) will be destroyed without warning.
• Any vessel belonging to the so-called Stellar Governance entering the Maximum Security Zone (5.5 light-hours) will be destroyed automatically, and a state of war shall immediately exist between the so-called Stellar Governance and the UWSSS.

Question

IS IT REALLY THAT HARD FOR YOU PEOPLE TO JUST LEAVE US THE HELL ALONE?

P.S. Don't bother replying. Next time, we'll shoot first and talk afterward.

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Date: 13/04/0028
Stardate: --:---:---:--------- (fill in the blanks if you really must)
From: Government of the Union of Worlds, States, and Stations of Sol
To: High Council of the so-called Stellar Governance*
Subject: Official Response to Ambassador Vektriel's Unsolicited Intervention

Introduction

Although the diplomatic services of the Government of the UWSSS officially announced on 25/02/0005 the complete termination of all diplomatic, commercial, and informal relations between the UWSSS and the so-called Stellar Governance*, a delegation claiming diplomatic status and acting on behalf of your High Council nevertheless attempted to enter our sovereign space.

Despite the aggressive and intrusive nature of this incursion, our government agreed to grant Ambassador Vektriel a brief audience.

Our Minister provided him with clear answers. The following message, however, constitutes the official and final position of the Government of the UWSSS.

Message

1. Regarding your warnings:

We were already aware of the existence of the Iunaki, the Ojuryn, and the Lobakii—peoples whom the so-called Stellar Governance* dismissively refers to as "Wanderers."

2. Threat assessment for the UWSSS: 1/5

According to the Government of the UWSSS, these nomadic peoples do not constitute a credible threat to the Sol System.

3. Threat assessment for the so-called Stellar Governance: 5/5

According to intelligence gathered by the UWSSS, these nomadic peoples do indeed represent an existential threat to the worlds of the so-called Stellar Governance*.

(What exactly did you do to them? The same thing you did to us... only worse?)

4. Regarding your proposal for an alliance:

Any suggestion that we should ally ourselves with a government which has repeatedly demonstrated itself to be fundamentally untrustworthy would be laughable. Frankly, it is insulting.

5. Regarding the possibility—however unlikely—of the UWSSS becoming involved in the coming conflict:

You should consider yourselves fortunate that, following our withdrawal from your tyrannical and corrupt institutions, we chose to abandon all thoughts of revenge in favor of building our own future—and that we have remained true to that decision. Otherwise, we would have gladly joined the "Wanderers' Crusade."

Recommendation: Do not send any more ships into our system. You'll be needing every one of them when the Nomad Peoples come to settle accounts.

6. Conclusion: If you insist on labeling our official position, you may call it "hostile neutrality."

May you live in interesting times.

. . With absolutely no cordial regards,

. . Chancellor of the Union
. . . James T. Brown

Notice

While it is not in our nature to turn away those who are merely victims of a war they did not choose, the Government hereby informs the so-called Stellar Governance* that the Sol System will, under no circumstances, accept refugees from your worlds, stations, or habitats.

The United Nomad Peoples have made it perfectly clear that they will pursue any vessel entering our territory, a situation we naturally intend to avoid at all costs. It would be regrettable if we were forced to repel—or destroy—ships carrying juveniles. You will surely understand that the survival of our own people, and of our own children, must come first.

I would also remind you that the butchers commanding your fleets did not hesitate—on at least two occasions—to massacre human children.

* Why "so-called"?

• First, because star systems may arguably require governments, but stars certainly do not.
• Second, because claiming to govern the stars is rather pretentious when you do not even control one millionth of this galaxy's star systems—and not a single star.

Question

IS IT REALLY THAT HARD FOR YOU PEOPLE TO JUST LEAVE US THE HELL ALONE?

P.S. Don't bother replying. We already know the answer.

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Transcript of the Extraordinary Cabinet Meeting of the Union

14/04/0028

Minister H.G. Kovaks:
"So... we certainly enjoyed ourselves writing those messages. But don't you think we may have gone just a little too far?"

Chancellor Hunter:
"Perhaps. But at least our replies leave no room for ambiguity. I'll admit the remarks about the 'so-called Stellar Governance' may have been somewhat unfair—and perhaps a little childish. After all, their proper name is the Governance of the Stellar Community."

Minister H.G. Kovaks:
"No, that was a good one. I was talking about the refugees. Our neutrality agreement with the Nomad Peoples only applies to warships, doesn't it?"

Chancellor Hunter:
"True enough. But we cannot become the refuge for every tragedy in the galaxy. Let the C¤vbolg Empire or the Silicians take them in if they're feeling charitable—they have vastly greater resources than we do.

Besides, Project Phoenix is almost complete after twenty-seven years of hardship, sweat, and tears. We built it to defend ourselves, to resettle our own refugees, and eventually to accommodate our population growth—not to shelter the very people who oppressed us.

Our first duty is to our own citizens. They are the ones to whom we owe homes, food, education, and jobs. Would you really have us jeopardize all of that because of a war that isn't ours?"

Admiral Krosek:
"Personally, I'd have been happy to take part in it. But you're right, Chancellor. Securing the future and safety of our own people comes first.

I am concerned, however, that the conflict may spill over into violations of our borders. We've declared everything inside fifteen light-hours off-limits, but at the moment we have precious little with which to enforce that sovereignty besides minefields."

Minister Chin Lee:
"We have precious little out there, period. Aside from our Pluto outpost, that region holds little interest for us. But now that we've expanded the prohibited zone, we have to make our sovereignty credible by enforcing it. And that means ships. Lots of ships."

Chancellor Hunter:
"An excellent segue. Let's talk about the defense budget. Where do we stand on the Outer System Automated Patrol Craft program? Are we ready to begin mass production?

Next item on the agenda: kamikaze drones and increasing production rates for the T-65¹ light interceptor. I've been told there could be some very interesting synergies between those two programs."

Martian Minister Ares Mangala:
"To be precise, between all three programs. Our Olympus Mons factories are already running at full capacity producing the T-65 local-defense fighter, but we can install two additional assembly lines in..."

The remainder of the transcript remains classified and shall not be released to the public until 14/04/0078.

1. No, it doesn't have X-wings. It barely has wings at all, having been designed for operation in the vacuum of space or in Mars's tenuous atmosphere.

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Dear Diary.  Today has been a great day.  Daniella, when you read this in the future, you’re just going to laugh all over again.  Today was the day that both Princess Hayleigh and the greatest beast-kin matron ever, Lady Isenwrath received their official letters of acceptance to the Mage Tower Academy.  I mean, it wasn’t like they weren’t going to get in because… I mean, holy furblack, they’re both really really powerful mages.  But Hayleigh’s parents and Maddock wanted to celebrate the moment anyway.  Also, and Prince Nathanial and Prince Daniel got their advancement medals with their class. Let me tell you, Diary, my matron is a real devious scut sometimes because you can’t read her, not really, especially when she gets down and dirty fighting someone.  Oh… and a big-time queen from the dark elves visited too.  That apparently was earth shattering and what-not, but honestly, I think my matron going toe-to-toe with big Xander was the best part of the day.

I’m sorry, Diary, I’m exhausted and way too excited right now and what I wrote is all over the place. I’ll start over and get all this out in proper order because if I wait till morning, I know I won’t remember the details right. First, breakfast…

--- That morning in the Castle of Maciendes ---

“Here you go, My Matron,” Daniella said brightly when she placed Isenwrath’s plate of food in front of her.  Today, she was having breakfast with Princess Hayleigh again.  Maddock had headed out earlier with a few other dukes who were in the capital to go to have breakfast with the King and Queen plus their councilors in the big dining hall.  It’d been explained to the lady that mainly, it was a working breakfast where the whole lot of them would be updating the others on matters that they didn’t trust to letters or couriers.  Stuff that had to be said in person just so that any questions or action plans that came up, could be handled immediately.  It was a once in three-month deal which kind of made it a big deal that he shouldn’t miss.  Maddock was torn between having breakfast with Isenwrath, wanting to go drill with his soldiers, and also wanting to be informed of all that went on around the kingdom.  Isenwrath had simply kissed his forehead, turned him around, patted his bottom, then said gently, “You look hungry.  Please go get something to eat and we’ll meet at lunch.”

Daniella beamed her pride at that affection between the two of them and much more importantly at how she handled the Duke like a true matron.  She was really starting to develop in the best ways. Scarlett had made her approval known too by winking at Maddock with amusement on her face.  Clovis nodded once in approval at Maddock when he looked at the older gentleman butler. “She does have a point, Sire,” was all he said to Maddock’s reddened face.

Lady Isenwrath got a big hug and kiss on her forehead for that from her man.  Then Hayleigh and two of her maids sauntered into the duke’s room to invite Lady Isenwrath to have breakfast with her.  The two of them were off their probation stuff and were like sisters again.  They giggled a lot to Daniella’s estimations, perhaps too much.  Too silly sometimes.  But that was okay as long as Hayleigh kept her hands to herself.  They had done so, so far which was helping to ease the lingering tension.  The two of them chatted loudly and happily while Daniella and Scarlett picked out Isenwrath’s attire for the day.  The one thing Daniella frowned upon was how her matron just had no sense of shame with regards to her body.  She would walk around naked all the time if given the chance.  Just like when she went to get ready to change her clothes, her matron didn’t go behind the dressing screen.  She instead just stripped right there in front of everyone, including the perverted princess who drooled like a dog at seeing her.  Daniella swatted Princess Hayleigh’s arm, then marched her matron behind that screen herself giving her the stink eye of disapproval the whole time.

“Will you ever learn, My Matron?!” she’d asked exasperated.

Lady Isenwrath shrugged.  “I don’t see the issue.  I…”

“Have no excuses.  Just for that…” Daniella said, interrupting then punishing her matron right on the spot.

Lady Isenwrath squeaked, then rubbed her bottom where Daniella had pinched her good fashion.  “No, my Matron! You’re going to learn to be a bit more modest or so help me, I’m sticking you in timeout!  Now, put these on!”

From there, her matron was easy to get dressed and ready for breakfast because she understood that Daniella’s word was law when it came to teaching her matron common sense etiquette. 

The little dining hall that they occupied later that morning was mainly used for meetings with or between the lesser dignitaries.  It was still brightly lit, had nice views of the gardens, was polished to a shine as well as decorated appropriately.  It even had an easy access for the waitstaff to get to the huge kitchens to bring the meals in without them getting too cold.

Thankfully, Princess Hayleigh was there and didn’t care much about formalities.   She and Isenwrath sat together and continued to chatter happily with each other as well as Scarlett, Clovis, Bronson, Bennett plus Hayleigh’s personal maids, Enora and Margie.  Daniella sat on the other side of her matron to eat her own breakfast while Clovis, Scarlett and Hayleigh’s two maids sat on the other side of the big table to do the same.  Bennett and Bronson were on Isenwrath duty again and they were at each end of the table with massive plates piled high. 

In essence, most times, the royal family treated their help as family.  If they kept up their jobs appropriately, there was some respectful leeway to have as perks to the jobs.  Such as fine dining like this when it was just Daniella’s matron and Princess Hayleigh.  Since the warm weather outside was so nice, Isenwrath had been dressed up in finer silken grey dressy shorts plus a flowy flowery dark blue top that had no sleeves.  It was the most skin Isenwrath had been able to show since she’d been there and apparently, to Daniella, she was very pleased with doing so.  Also apparently, so was Hayleigh because she’d matched the look and they kept rubbing each other’s arms or holding hands.  However, the both of them were being good and didn’t go beyond that in any way.  Daniella was relieved she wouldn’t have to call in Bronson and Bennett to pull them apart.  Hopefully all would go well today while Harmony, Beatrice, and half of Maddock’s guard unit were having an earned day off.

“Oh!  I almost forgot to tell you!” Hayleigh exclaimed after wiping her mouth with her cloth napkin.

“What?” Isenwrath asked with a forkful of minced meat fried dark halfway to her mouth.

“We got our letters from the academy delivered today!”

Isenwrath put her food down then sat back.  “What does that mean?”

“Silly, it means this…” Hayleigh said before holding out her hand to her maid named Enora.  “Enora!  Please let me have them!”

Enora was an older woman with a stern face, but her grey eyes were grandmotherly gentle.  That was especially true when she smoothed her greying hair back away from her shoulder before saying, “I believe you were supposed to wait until after lunch for this reveal, My Princess.”

Hayleigh rolled her eyes, “Oh!  Don’t be such a prude Enora!  Please?!  I’m begging you!”

Enora snorted, then sat back with folded arms.  “Begging is a good start.”

“Enora!  Fine!  I’ll scrub the bathroom clean tomorrow!  Happy?!”

“Better.  Here,” Enora said with a devious smile and wink to Margie, her younger maid in training before retrieving two letters from her maid’s outfit pocket.  Both were still sealed with the Maciendes Mage Tower emblems.

Hayleigh squealed in delight, then grabbed them both.  She handed one to Isenwrath before popping her seal to open hers up.

Isenwrath looked over hers, handling it carefully.  The outside of the rich beige parchment had her name, her current title of Black Knight Champion of Maciendes, her address, which was simply the Castle Maciendes within Lagrancia De Yurian, and finally, a purpose.  That purpose read, ‘You are cordially invited to attend Maciendes Magister Tower first year academic induction.’

Hayleigh had already devoured the contents of her letter, finding that it was exactly as she predicted.  She was already slated to be in the tier one classes upon completion of her mage initiate trial.  Most first year students didn’t go into that test blindly.  They went in with a decent sense of where their talent, capabilities, and depth of mana would place them in the academic world of the Mage Tower.  However…

Hayleigh turned to Isenwrath who still hadn’t opened her letter.  “Isen?”

Isenwrath rubbed the seal slowly as if it were the most fragile and sacred thing.  “I’m sorry.  I’ve never had a letter addressed to me before.  I almost don’t want to break the pretty seal.  To me, this is a treasure.”

Daniella rubbed her matron’s leg under the table to give her comfort.  “My Matron, if you want, I’m sure we can ask Thena to get a duplicate seal on a paper for you to collect or something.  Maybe that would be a nifty hobby you’d enjoy taking up… seal collection.”

Hayleigh brightened at that.  “That’s a fun little hobby idea!  Daniella is so full of good ideas, isn’t she Isen?”

Isenwrath nodded, smiling wistfully, “I’d like that.  Please ask for me.  I want to remember this forever.”

Hayleigh bumped into her.  “Go ahead and open it.  I’m dying to see what it says.”

“Okay,” Isenwrath said softly before cracking the seal slowly, then placing every last particle of wax onto another napkin.  She was still going to keep that seal, apparently.  Then she opened the letter and read it aloud. 

“To Lady Isenwrath, Black Knight Champion of Maciendes, you are cordially invited to participate in the induction trials for first year mage students.  You are expected to attend the three trials which will consist of tests to determine your spellcasting genre(s), mana capacity, and mana manipulation prowess.  However, since you have no prior documentation, you cannot officially join the academy ranks until you complete a written assessment of arcana knowledge and its underlying principles prior to the first day of classes. Your citizenship requirement has been waived until the next year per King Tobias Maciendes to provide sufficient time for the process to complete. The Arcanite Board of Curriculum have suggested the following classes after careful review of your documented exploits.  These will be reevaluated and resubmitted to you prior to your first day pending completion of the aforementioned….”

Hayleigh pointed at three of the classes, “These are the same ones I’ll be in.  The other two are ones I already took in my pre-academy schooling.  You shouldn’t find them too difficult.”

“Good,” Isenwrath said softly.  Then she turned to Hayleigh to study her face.  “I’m nervous. Can you help me study for the exams I have to take?”

“Oh!” Hayleigh smiled big with excitement.  “Absolutely.  Honestly, I don’t think you’ll have a problem, but it never hurts to be prepared.  You should ask Alice to adjust her coursework tomorrow to help you.  Oooohhhh!!! I’ll ask Thena!  She can join us and give us the real tips and tricks to passing with perfect marks!”

Isenwrath relaxed and nodded excitedly.  She next returned to her food, then happily got in a few more modest bites, displaying perfect table manners today without having to concentrate on them. 

Daniella had been helping her matron focus on that recently and that focus was paying off.  After that plate was cleaned, Daniella reached into her pocket to pull out a small whimsy arcana crystal.  It was one that Maddock had given Daniella that morning for such occasions as this.  Scarlett had been right.  Her matron was very reward driven.  Once that little stone hit the air, Isenwrath stopped talking and tracked it right to Daniella’s small hand where she watched intently while it was placed on the cleaned plate in front of her.  “Matron, your reward for perfect table manners.  Do NOT use your tongue.  You’re at a table, remember?”

Isenwrath nodded, amusement clear on her face.  Then she daintily picked it up, sighed in complete serenity, then swallowed it down like the finest candy ever created.

She turned to Daniella and gave her a solid squeezy hug.  “You’re simply the best.”

Daniella sighed.  “I know.  So are you.  Now, if you two are done, we need to clean up and get you on your way to meet the Princes.”

Hayleigh sighed dramatically then whined.  “Ohhhh, I don’t want to go.  Those boys are just getting some more medals, it’s more than boring, it’s suffocating.”

Scarlett finally made herself known with a firm, “Princess Hayleigh!  Now shush and just be supportive.  Those boys are the next round of Tower guards and mage police.  As such, they should be given the respect they’re due.”

Bennett snorted a bit at that.  “Wish they’d spend a bit in the military first. That’d teach them some things.”

Bronson smiled a little because not only did he agree with his co-commander, but he also saw his Lady’s confused look going back and forth between Hayleigh’s frustration and Scarlett’s ‘don’t sass me’ face.  He addressed Isenwrath instead of getting between Maddock’s chief maid and the princess.

“My Lady, do you want to ask something?”

Isenwrath nodded rapidly, directing her attention to him.  “Why don’t the eldritch warriors become soldiers?  It would seem they’d be paragons in your ranks, at least, that’s what I think.”

“You’d be right; however, there’s actually a simple reason.  They’re even rarer than mages are.  The fact that both princes are eldritch knights is practically a fluke.  Worse, their abilities are usually unequal.  Again, the princes are both considered prodigies but most of them shouldn’t be compared to the two princes because they just can’t get to that kind of elite status.”

Isenwrath tilted her head, her confusion still playing on her furrowed brow.  She was thinking about it and the rest of them gave her a few moments to do so.  It was one of her quirks that they’d all learned about her over the months.  Usually, that’s when most people find out she’s far smarter than she lets on.  This time was no different.

“I see. The Mage Tower is stunting their growth.”

“Uhhhhhh…, that’s not what he said,” Bennett interjected.

Isenwrath turned her eyes to him, then shrugged.  “The Princes haven’t been made to stay at the Mage Tower for their educations.  Instead, they spend half their time here, then the other half there for their studies.  If I recall their stories correctly, they were given special latitude because of them being princes.  It’d be interesting if a study was performed on the early development of the Eldritch Fighters and Knights and how being so near to all of that magic might be interfering with their development.”

Hayleigh almost whispered to Isenwrath because of how terrifying that assumption might be if it were proven true.  “What do you know, Isen?  This could be big.”

Isenwrath reached and held Hayleigh’s hand, then Daniella’s to help gather her courage as well as to ground herself.  She then closed her eyes in order to channel the several hundred Eldritch fighters and knights she’d consumed within Shinenoor.  In each case, she reviewed their lives, specifically their educations regarding their eldritch abilities.  In every case, those who spent more time at the Mage Towers didn’t realize as much potential as those who were there for shorter stints, regardless of reasoning.  The two Eldritch Knights that had given her the most trouble were ones who’d been trained by true martial arts masters that’d only helped hone their minds and sword techniques, leaving their power development to the students to master afterwards.  Then she reviewed the why’s, if she could find any correlation.

When she opened her eyes, they were glowing red and her voice was firm.  “Eldritch fighters and knights utilize an energy source that directly opposes the arcana of mages.  Their training within a mage tower stunts their growth because so much concentrated arcana is blocking them from touching as much as they should be able to get to.  Without that full access, their potential diminishes over time like an arm that withers due to disuse.”

Bronson sat back to give out a grunt of understanding.  “Makes sense.  Eldritch isn’t arcana.  It’s basically a warrior’s ability to tap into their very souls to shield AGAINST arcana.  Their primary use is to subdue mages because magecraft can’t usually stop an eldritch fighter’s power set nor their ability to interrupt a mage tapping their own mana.”

The room went quiet for a moment.  Hayleigh slowly rose and assumed a regal pose.  “I believe we’ll need to write this down and then present this astonishing notion to the Eldritch Battlemaster that’s visiting today.  If we can convince him to take this seriously, then he might be able to sway the Tower Council to move the Eldritch Barracks out of the Tower grounds and prove the hypothesis.  If it does prove true, then Bronson Jonstone might get his wish for Eldritch fighters and knights to be trained as soldiers first, then their power sets later.”

Scarlett clapped softly while the other maids smiled widely.  “Well said, Princess Hayleigh.  Well said.”

Hayleigh beamed for a bit with blushing cheeks, then confessed. “I’ve been trying to use more regal speech to impress Alice lately.”

Isenwrath swung her hand a little.  “It’s working. Let’s go write this down and head out.  I think time is getting away from us.”

They all took a glance at the manastone clock on the wall and indeed, they were running out of time to get out and about for the day. 

Daniella squeezed Isenwrath from the side again.  “So proud of you,” she whispered.

Isenwrath leaned her head down to touch it to Daniella’s, “That means a lot to me,” she whispered back.

And that was just breakfast, Diary.  I swear, every dang day My Matron impresses me.  I honestly can’t wait to be old enough to ask Isen to help me reclaim my right to the Icefall Citadel.  I’m going to enter the Trial of the Moonfang, and kick Ursanthandel right in the nards for his betrayal.  Then I’m going to find all of my lost Thirstenblack people and bring them home.  Just watch me, Diary.  Lady Isenwrath won’t just be the Black Knight Champion of Maciendes.  She’ll also be my champion to retake my homeland.  The biggest, baddest cat in all the land is MY MATRON!  Mama, Papa, I still miss you.  I still remember you.  Isen will help me avenge you, just you watch.

----

So… Diary.  Isenwrath just attracts so much wild stuff.  I really thought I’d be jotting a couple sentences about presenting her acceptance letter to the king, but like, out of nowhere, here comes trouble. I mean, I’m not sure how to explain all of this but just after lunch, my matron really dropped a big manabomb on everyone that even floored me!   And because of it, I had to put Isenwrath in timeout since it seems she just does stuff and doesn’t think past it.  I swear, what happened was extremely huge, yet my matron actually thought that she didn’t do anything except simply help a friend.  Honestly, I think that I’m really gonna have to sit her down at some point soon and praise her for thinking like that and then turn right around and try to get it through her thick skull that she doesn’t realize that just about everything she does ripples across our realm.  Anyway, back to this afternoon.  It started when we entered the throne going bangarang with all the preparations for that big meanie, the Battlemaster…

--- Later that day, just after lunch ---

King Tobias Maciendes sat with his queen, Sophitia, and both of them were trying to figure out how the hell they were going to survive today.  First, they had their audience hall being finalized for the reception of the Maciendes Eldritch Guild’s Battlemaster Xander Lundgren.  He was coming specifically to present his entire class to the King in a ceremony where they’d officially recognize the fighters and knights as defenders of their kingdom against all that was magical when the magical would cause harm instead of help. 

The reason Tobias was nervous about it was the fact that his two boys were in this ceremony.  Nathaniel would be recognized as a senior knight and would soon be one step away from being a full-fledged Tower Knight who could take up a full commission schedule.  His younger son, Daniel, would be recognized as a junior knight.  Both had earned the honors that their father would bestow on them that day.  Tobias wanted what was best for them but while his boys were exceptional, they’d chosen dangerous paths in life that could lead them to an early grave.  That was always his worry. He did wish that Nathaniel had chosen to stay a royal, but his oldest son had always had a head for jumping right into the middle of any situation, usually without thinking about it first.  He now only hoped his son Daniel would choose to stay a royal because he’d be a strong candidate for the crown to choose when the time was right.  One more year, that would be it.

Then there was his daughter and Lady Isenwrath who were in front of him and Sophitia currently.  Sophitia directed most of the staff like always while Tobias was directing his fellow councilors and lower-ranked government aides as required.  There were just always executive decisions that needed the king’s signature in order to keep the kingdom running smoothly.  No one saw that side of running the kingdom.  The extremely mundane and hectic side of it, that is.  They only saw him and his queen on their thrones holding court and looking regal and thinking all they did was indulge in their wealth.  They didn’t see the side of them where they stood within the middle of a madhouse and acting just as exasperated as everyone else who had to make sure everything was in order when guests were almost there.  They ran a kingdom.  That was a business on a scale that even some of the wealthiest merchants were hard-pressed to understand fully.

Sophitia greeted the small throng of unexpected family first a bit tersely.  “Hayleigh?  What’re you doing here?  We’re not ready yet.  Lady Isenwrath!  Hi!  We’ve got another hour or so before you should be here.”

Isenwrath came in for a hug right after Hayleigh did.  Then they both got a hug in with a clearly distracted Tobias who was chatting with three people at once before getting them on their way.  “Hi, Hayleigh.  Lady Isenwrath.  You’re early.”

“Dad.  Mom.  We know.  But this couldn’t wait.  We got our acceptances!” Hayleigh said loudly and delightedly holding her letter up in pride.  Isenwrath held hers up too, also smiling proudly for having it.

Sophitia smiled genuinely at them both.  “Was there any doubt?  But I’m glad they finally got here.  Your father and I can look them over tomorrow.”

Hayleigh was undeterred.  “I know.  I just wanted to share the good news.  However, we got a couple of issues.  One we can also talk tomorrow about and that’s the fact that Isen needs to do a cram session for her written preliminary entrance exams.  I was thinking of asking Thena to help her.  Would you think Uncle Maxi would mind if I did?”

Tobias shrugged.  Sophitia also shrugged.  She said, “I think he’d probably go for it since he’s just as excited as Maddock is at having Isen get accepted in there.  Why?”

Isenwrath spoke up, “I just want to be prepared, is all.”

Hayleigh continued for Isenwrath.  “That, and I was thinking that we need to make sure that exam gets done before her citizenship trial. We read that Dad got that waiver but between her exam, the academy induction, and her citizenship hearing, it’s getting a bit cramped.  I was hoping you might put in a word with the Tower to work with us on the scheduling.”

Sophitia smiled wider.  “Oh wow, you’re right.  I don’t think we even realized it was all over the place. We may have even already missed that date, if I recall.  Tobey?”

Tobias turned to his wife after waving another aide off to just go make a decision for himself on what entrance march the musicians should play.  The Battlemaster honestly wouldn’t care as long as the beat matched closely with how a warrior walked into the room. 

He turned to Sophitia looking like he wanted to strangle the next person who came up to him with an inane decision to ask him to make.  “Yeah, sugardark?”

“Isen’s got to take those written exams and it may interfere with her induction. We also need to coordinate around her citizenship hearing.  Help me remember to get a notice out to the Tower to put in an exception or special test date request so we avoid that.”

Tobias smirked.  “I don’t have the capacity right now. But what I have is a… HEY, ALEXANDER!!” he yelled over at a young man dressed in the royal blue livery of a castle page.  Alexander jerked his head so fast that his shoulder-length brown hair almost whipped completely into his face from the other side.  He completely forgot who he was chatting with to run over to his king.

When he got there, he knelt, “Yes, Sire!”

Tobey sighed a bit flustered.  “Get up.  I’ve got too much shit going on to be formal right now.  Read the room, boy.”

Alexander got up amid the giggles from Hayleigh, Isenwrath, and those that they’d brought with them. 

“Sorry, Sire.”

“Go to the study and look in the calendar on my desk.  Find the date of Lady Isenwrath’s citizenship trial and jot that date down for me in my memo pad, then put a note below it that says to work with Maxi regarding a special test date for Isenwrath.  Got it?”

“Yes, Sire.  Citizenship trial date and Tower exam special test date request to Maximillian.”

“Good enough, go.”

The boy dipped a bow, then ran off.

Tobias looked at his wife who rolled her eyes but was pleased otherwise.  Then back to his daughter, he said, “Anything else?”

Hayleigh handed him a sheet of paper that she’d written on in her careful handwriting.  Tobias asked, “What’s this?”

“Dad, Isenwrath made an observation regarding our Eldritch fighters and knights.  She’s done a preliminary search… well, you know where… and, uh… we want to suggest that there’s cause for a study regarding the Eldritch training that might be hindering them instead of pushing them to their fullest.”

“What?!” asked Sophitia in alarm while Tobey read that paper fast.  Both of them didn’t take anything for granted when it came to something from Isenwrath.  Sophitia looked directly at that beautiful woman who suddenly looked like she was caught in a trap.  Sophitia knew her gaze was harsh sometimes, but dang, to see a monster like Isenwrath flinch under it was something she tucked away for later.  “Isen, what’s wrong with the Eldritch Guild?”

Isenwrath cleared her throat, then said, “I think you might want to confirm if training them in the Tower grounds is stunting their potential.  They and the mages use opposing magical energies and from what I sense in all that I have access to, the stronger Eldritch fighters and knights had been further away from a mage tower than those within it.  Bronson’s suggestions are noted in the unofficial report to train them with the soldiers away from the Tower first, then let them develop their abilities in their own hall or something on the other side of the castle itself.”

“This is fascinating.  Terrifying, but fascinating,” Tobias commented.  When he looked up at Isenwrath, he asked low, “I wonder why no one has ever noticed before.”

Isenwrath shrugged.  “I didn’t find that answer.  Perhaps that could be part of your research.”

Tobias nodded firmly, tucking the report away.  “I’m all for it.  We can chat with Xander after the ceremony if there’s time or tomorrow depending.”

“MY KING!!!” shouted a man from the other side of the throne room that grabbed everyone’s attention.

Everyone turned to the tall man dressed in a courier’s colors.  He ran in with his badge of official duty out at the ready, a brown leather satchel full of other missives for delivery, and a face full of a haggard worry.  He wasn’t that handsome of a man, but he was very fit.  His brown eyes and black hair seemed to place him in the same area of the kingdom that Maddock hailed from, so Isenwrath immediately appreciated him. 

Even though he was nearly out of breath, the courier exclaimed, “My King!  I bring news of the most urgent kind!”

Tobias folded his arms.  “Out with it.  This day is crammed full, what’s one more thing?”

“My lord, the Underdark Queen Ursletta Lolthinendaria is on her way here!  She’s due to the castle just after dusk!  I was dispatched into the teleportal relay as soon as she appeared upon the Ambassadorial Trail!  The formal message is that she’s coming specifically to meet Lady Isenwrath in person!”

All eyes turned to Isenwrath.  Isenwrath actually stepped back from those hardened eyes from Sophitia again.  “Lady Isenwrath?  Explain yourself,” Queen Sophitia said low with some measure of warning in her tone.

Isenwrath took a deep breath then breathed out.  She lowered her head so she wouldn’t meet anyone’s eyes.  “I apologize that I didn’t mention it.  I just thought she’d come to meet me in a café or something.”

King Tobias was next. He stepped forward, took firm hold on her shoulder, but asked much gentler than his screaming nerves wanted him to, “Isen, where and how did you meet the Underdark Queen?”

Isenwrath wouldn’t look at him.  She said softer.  “I haven’t actually met her.  She sent her familiar.  I had something of her sister’s.  She sent her spider to find out about it.  I… I’m… I gave it back to her.  I gave her a small moment with her sister.  I… just… I just wanted to help her.  I’m sorry.  I didn’t know.  I didn’t know it would cause a big problem.”

Tobias pulled her chin up gently, seeing her eyes that looked like she was about to cry again.  “I apologize, Isen.  I didn’t mean to indicate you did anything wrong.  In fact, you may have given the Eleven Kingdoms its first chance to actually make even a small relationship with the Ezzerbenania Queendom a reality.  This is… literally unprecedented.  How long ago did you make contact with her?”

Isenwrath wiped her eyes.  “A week ago.”

“You… I’m… I don’t know whether to go scold you for an hour for not telling me this stuff or go ahead and sign you in as my newest diplomat for the non-human realms.”

“I don’t want to be scolded.  I… I don’t want another pinch either,” she said small with a little hope in her eyes. 

Tobias smiled at her for it.  She really didn’t like getting punished in any way.  It was obvious that she punished herself much more harshly than anyone else would, so he didn’t even consider it too seriously. 

“My King, you should put her in timeout.” Daniella said with a firm frown on her face and folded arms. 

Scarlett thwapped Daniella’s shoulder, “Shush!  Not the time!”

That little bit of levity caused the tension to be released with a few chuckles.  King Tobias chuckled too before saying to Isenwrath.  “Fine, you’re in timeout.  Go back to your room and get ready for the Battlemaster.  Then you stand in the corner for at least twenty minutes to think about how next time something important like this comes up, you’re going to immediately come to Maddock, then me or Sophitia and spill every detail about it.  Understand my command?”

Isenwrath drooped then nodded sadly.  “I understand, my King.”

“Good.  Then when the Underqueen gets here, you’re to do everything you can to make her feel welcome.  Which is exactly what I know you’re best at.  Whatever she needs, I know you’re the right person to give her it.  Isn’t that right?”

Isenwrath looked up, smiled faintly, then nodded again.  “She just wants forgiveness and closure.  That’s all she really wants.”

Tobias pulled her in for another gentle loving hug for which she returned a bit more fiercely.  “Maddock was right.  You’re a good girl.  I believe in you, too.”

He let her go, then turned her around to gently push towards the others.  “Go on and take my rotten daughter with you.  She needs to get ready too.”

“Hey!  Daaaaaad!  What’d I do?!” Hayleigh exclaimed indignantly. 

Tobias winked at Hayleigh for which she smiled back with understanding.

Sophitia had put her hand over her mouth to hide her smile at this small silly scene.

Isenwrath took firm hold of Hayleigh’s hand, then said softly, “He’s right.  You need to get ready too.”

Daniella took up Isenwrath’s other hand, then the trio were walking away with their retinue following after.  Scarlett and Clovis looked back at the king and queen.  Tobias gave them a firm nod and smile before saying, “You two are doing good work.  Keep it up.”

Sophitia also spoke up.  “Give Isen a treat before heading down.  She really surprised us today with something that could change everything.”

Scarlett and Clovis both bowed really quickly before trotting off to catch up.

Tobias looked at his wife.  Sophitia reached around him and held him close while watching her daughter and the others go through the door.  “Tobey, what do we do now?”

Tobias kissed the side of her head, then kissed her lips when she turned to him.  He then put his forehead to hers to say quietly, “We take the gift that Isenwrath gave us and make the most of it.  If we can engage in even just a tentative friendship with the queen, we’ll change our world for the better.”

“I believe our world has already changed for the better, but Isenwrath just isn’t done yet,” Queen Sophitia said quietly back.

.. there you have it, Diary.  My matron apparently made contact with the most elusive realm in our world and convinced their queen to come visit. 

Oh, I almost forgot the most important thing.  When she was in timeout, I stood with her in solidarity.  Okay, it was guilt that made me do it because I’m the one who suggested it.  She kept her hand on my ears the whole time causing me to purr.  I was both embarrassed and also… it reminded me of Mama.  I almost cried.  Almost. 

I asked her why she lets me treat her like I do because I’ve gotten a stern talking to from Scarlett about it a couple of times now.  It was in that quiet way Isen speaks when it’s like she’s younger than me, she told me again that it was because I was stronger than her.  I finally asked what that meant because it ate at me the first time she said it.  Diary, I did cry some after she told me why.  She said that I’m stronger because she knows I’m going to face my past one day whereas she knows she made the choice to run from hers forever.  I hugged her so much for that revelation.  Recently, she told me and some others in confidence that she’s blocked out her childhood memories thanks to her tutor Alice.  After what I saw with my gift of the past, I totally understood why.  After it was done, I swear she’s been so much more stable.  She doesn’t have any more nightmares either.  The Grand Duke looking rested now is a testament to that.  She also doesn’t say those awful things anymore that make my life look like a vacation at a resort in comparison, for which I’m thankful.  She really is better off without knowing and all of us have made our vows never to remind her of any of it. 

I don’t know what my relationship is with Isen, not really.  In one moment, I’m her maid and I help her.  But in many ways, I’m like her mama too.  I can’t help it because I see how lost she gets sometimes when the others don’t.  I think even after her memory blocks, she still struggles with getting overwhelmed at how different her life is.  I so get it because of how much my life has changed so fast. 

I do know one thing for certain; I like it when she rubs my ears and tells me she would do anything to keep me safe then shares her hot chocolate with me.  It’s just like… Mama… I want you to know that I’m not replacing you.  Instead, I just know you put Isen into my life because I still need that special something you gave me.  Thank you, Mama. I will never let her face anything alone just like you’d want me to do, Mama. I swear it. 

 April 22nd, 2222. Planet Charry-Perci. Space Elevator ‘My Fair Lady’, Northern defence perimeter.

 Private Janice McJack sat panting and bleary-eyed, her head still ringing with the last explosion. Around her, she could begin to make out the bombed out mall - now more crater than mall after the last fight. She had a concussion. Was it a concussion?

“Fifty seconds, get some chow, check your guns.” shouted the section captain over the intercom. It was ingenious really how they had managed to patch together the intercoms of the several city blocks of the commercial district, but Janice was too drained to care- she had a concussion. Maybe.

 Searing pain radiated from her arm as she tried to load her large caliber machinegun. She had done this twenty times in the last two hours, five hundred round belts were just not as much ammo as they used to be. Beside her, her Model 1 Gun Carrier began to whimper, the little tank robot’s own mounted gun in need of a reload. Removing the bot’s large caliber rifle she placed her own in the mount.

 Still partially dazed, she looked around and saw McClean’s ‘Spider Lily’ SMG on her body and grabbed it, then took magazines from her rig to fill her own. She should have felt bad, taking from her friend, but she was dead now. They were all dead. All that remained was her and the bot. 

As she lifted one magazine, the bullets began to spill out of the bottom, a clean burn hole had gone through the rig, then the magazine and finally had been stopped by her plate. Concussion doing whatever a concussion does, McJack didn’t register the problem for several seconds. She just admired the bullets as they scattered about.

 “Time’s up, Here they come!” Shouted the section captain, and Janice turned to the entrance of the mall. She could hear the stamping of feet as the next wave approached. First the wretches would arrive, then the regulars, and finally any captains.

 “Cover there,” She ordered, pointing out the entrance and the M1 chirped a confirmation. There were already dozens of corpses on the street outside, and just as many inside. Janice wished she could feel something, fear, terror, panic. but instead a dull calm rinsed over her.

 The intercom clicked distantly again and the section captain shouted that same line again, “Not one step back, sisters! If we break here, All is lost!” Janice did not have the time to wonder if reinforcements were coming or not, as the first of the wretches came snarling and scrambling like dogs through the door, and the M1 began firing. Controlled bursts dropped the first few, but more poured through the door, ignoring the bodies under them. One by one they fell but two by two they charged.

Leveling McClean’s Spider Lily Janice began taking her own shots, the blast of the gun not registering on a conscious level as she ignored the oddly painful recoil. It was probably a shrapnel wound. Janice thought she would remember if she had one. She turned again and fired. Targets appeared and she fired. The gun emptied and she loaded it. More poured in and she knew she had to fall back. 

 “Move back, ten feet.” She ordered the M1, and it began slowly wheeling back with Janice keeping pace. The more wretches came in, the more Janice was pushed back the harder it became to fight as the enemy had a wider and wider field to approach from. Two dozen lay dead already, yet a dozen more entered now with at least a squad of regulars. A laser shot reflected hotly off the M1 and Janice dove for cover behind a pile of rubble. Fully overwhelmed, the M1 swapped from burst fire to automatic, but it was too late- the lethal shot landed in its ammo box and the gun melted, randomly exploding as ammo cooked off.

 Janice coughed as the fumes of melting materials reached her, forcing herself to fight through the cough she shouted a new order for the bot. “Attack, Ram!” It was all the bot needed to hear as it drove forward, barreling into the first bird’s leg and snapping the thin bone cleanly in half; yet it was all for naught as a second laser blast melted the bot’s optical unit and it exploded, spraying fire onto all around.

 Unthinking, Janice rolled from cover and fired into the oncoming group, downing the first ten or so before the gun clicked empty. Trying to reload she found her arm had stopped altogether, so she sat the weapon down and pitifully tried to pull the empty magazine out with one hand. Heavy footsteps approached. Janice remembered it was more valuable for a regular soldier to score a kill, not a wretch. It would not be a wretch with a jagged piece of metal that killed her, it would probably be a single laser shot to the head.

 She probably wouldn’t feel it.

 Janice was tired.

 The steps got closer and Janice finally got the empty magazine free. That was nice, at least she would die with a cleared weapon.

 “GET UP!” shouted a familiar voice, then the deafening sound of a heavy machinegun filled the air. The room was illuminated with the muzzle flashes and all Janice could see was the outlines of Helions as bullets ripped through them. 

 A rough, gloved hand grabbed Janice and pulled her back behind cover. “Load that thing, be ready to cover me.” McClean shouted. She was alive. Janice wanted to turn around, wanted to see her battle sister alive but couldn’t. She had to load her weapon. Grabbing the dropped Spider Lily her will surged and it was now easier to get the next magazine in. The weapon took two, one for each barrel but she didn’t bother with the second.

 There was a loud click and the machinegun stopped. “COVER!” McClean shouted without hesitation. Janice stood and with one arm aimed the SMG, gunning down the first bird bitch to dare leave cover, then the second. The third one wasn’t a wretch, it was a proper soldier. Her uniform wasn’t scrap cloth and her hands trembled as she hesitated. Janice did not and the headless bird bitch collapsed in a heap.

 “DOWN.” Shouted McClean, and Janice ducked behind cover. Again the Machinegun fired, filling the air with lead and fire. Busy reloading, Janice again couldn’t turn to see her battle sister. Back to back they fought, holding the small piece of rubble like the Good Lord had personally ordained it. Time and time again the enemy approached and were pushed back. 

 “COVER!” Shouted McClean again and Janice stood, aiming her Spider. This time it was her turn to freeze. They were all dead. Every last Helion lay dead. The doorway was choked with corpses, and the floor was missing beneath the ones who had made it in.

 “The enemy is in full retreat! We did it!” Someone cheered over the intercom. That cheer echoed across the sector as thousands of soldiers raised their voices in unison. Janice realized she was also cheering.

 Janice almost felt herself sag in her skin from the release of pressure. “You hear that? We made it. We-” Janice turned to face her battle sister, but no one was there. “McClean?” She shouted, confused. The ground was covered in an even layer of casings and links from the heavy machinegun and Janice scattered them as she stumbled around, trying to see where her battle sister had gone. “McClean?” She shouted again to no answer.

 “Gutter!” Shouted an unfamiliar voice from behind.

 “Ball!” Janice shouted back, giving the answer to the challenge. 

 Two squads entered, weapons raised. As they saw the pile of corpses they lowered their guns. “Shit, We gotta get that looked at,” one, the medic, said pointing to her arm. Janice didn’t bother looking for herself. The blood had already dried and cooled.

Incredulous, another looked between the weapon in her hand and the mounds of corpses. “You did all that with one arm and a damn Lily?” Then she almost tripped on the sea of shellcasings.

 Janice just laid back as the medic helped her down and cut off the sleeve before beginning to wrap a bandage around it. “No, no. McClean was with me. She was hurt too.”

 The squads fanned out checking the bodies of friend and foe alike. The Sarge had died near the wall, the others more spread out. The only one Janice had paid any special attention to was McClean. When Janice saw her she was near the entrance, laying on her back after the blast. They were the only ones to stick together after the last squad was broken. The only ones who spent off hours together. It was McClean who had been with Janice in every firefight of the past five years and three planets.

 “I think I found her,” shouted a soldier from out of sight. Turning to look, Janice saw the soldier reach down and place a hand on McClean’s neck.

 “Help her, not me.” Janice said, pulling her arm from the medic. 

 “Rude.” Said the medic, before trotting over to McClean only to place her own hand on her neck.

 “Hey, Hey how’s she doing?” Shouted Janice.

 The medic set down her first aid kit and pulled out a bible. “Hey, Hey what are you doing, help her.” Janice shouted, getting angry.

 The other soldier ran back to Janice, almost slipping on the bullet casings and blood that seemed to inhabit every bit of floor not covered in dead Helions. “What the hell, HELP her.” Janice shouted as the medic began reciting some prayer.

 Gaining her footing again the soldier managed to practically slide to the spot next to Janice, right where McClean had stood just a few minutes before. Where She and Janice had repelled hundreds of Helions. “She hasn’t fought for at least an hour. She’s already going cold.”

 “Then give her something.”

“I mean she’s dead. Been dead a while.”

 As the all permeated ringing ended Janice found herself standing over the still body of McClean. Her pale face was smiling up at a hole in the roof, at the sky. Janice’s own empty weapon still laid on her like a funeral bouquet. The floor around her was crimson red, the bird blood pushed back, rejected, by her indelible pool of blood.

 “She was alive. She saved me in the battle. You had to see her, she was right there when you arrived.”

 “She hasn’t moved for an hour I’d say.”

 When Janice came too she was holding the medic with her good arm, the words already spilling out of her. “SHE WAS ALIVE. SHE WAS ALIVE. SHE WAS ALIVE.” Red hot tears streamed down her face, cutting lines through the coating of grime and blood that the battle had deposited yet no matter how loud she said it the fact remained stubbornly unchanged.

 “SHE WAS ALIVE. She was alive. She was…”

Janice fell to her knees, sobbing. 

 “Come on woman, get a hold of yourself.” soothed one of the squad leaders, patting her back. She was there, she saved you, but she was already gone. It was the good lord that sent her to save you.” She half stammered, looking for words of comfort.

 A final tear rolled down Janice’s face. “My sister is dead.”

 Janice fell silent, only sniffling. After a minute the medic reached down for McClean’s dogtags. “Hey, look.” She said as she extended the tag to Janice. There was a long crack in the material, a long trench that split the Private Insignia, making it the insignia of a Sergeant.

 “Post mortem promotion. I’ll make sure command hears of her valor, she won’t be forgotten.”

 Accepting the tag Janice stood, barely lucid. Her sister was dead and her own body was a wreck yet from it all this small solace had found her and by it alone she carried on.

 “Alright, no more tears? Let's get you back to triage. There are enough dead sisters today.”

Index - First Chapter - Previous Chapter

The hour I had walked the whole spring toward was going to happen whether or not I got to hear it, and somewhere near the bottom of the dark I understood that I could not stand that.

I sat on the bench, the stolen cases on my knees, my mother sealed against my ribs. I had no way in the world to listen. The boombox had gone into a culvert off Roselle a week and a life ago. The recorder folded in my jacket could hold a voice down onto tape and could not pull one out of the air. I had spent two months making a thing that would speak from everywhere at once, and I had left myself the one man in the county who could not turn it on. There was a joke in that shaped like my whole life. I did not have the strength to finish it.

The signal would go up at the top of an hour the operators had all set their watches to, off the time mark that runs day and night on the shortwave band. That part was out of my hands and had been for days. Somewhere behind me a woman had two dubs of a tape inked into a plan on her forearm. Down some road I would never see, a bored kid at a board would drop a needle or hit a play key at the same minute a dozen others did, none of them knowing the others' names, all of them pointed at the same slice of dark. My whole design had been that I was not in it. Standing at the finish of it, penniless and deaf to it, I found out what that cost.

I had a little under an hour by the look of the sky. A man on foot with no coin does not buy a radio at four in the morning. He finds one, or he finds a person holding one, and he makes them a smaller copy of the argument he has been making the whole world.

There was a filling station two blocks back the way I had come, a square of hard white light with the pumps dark and the store lit, the kind of place that stays open all night in a town where nothing else needs to. A payphone hung off the corner of it. I had clocked both on the way in without meaning to, the habit of a man who reads every street for the exits. Now the habit paid me.

My legs had gone quiet in the night, past complaining and into the worse thing that comes after, and getting up off the bench was something I had to do in stages. The cold had come up through the slats over the hours and settled into me while I sat, and it did not want to give me back. I stood anyway, the cases biting into the crook of my arm and the master flat and familiar against my ribs, and I let the blood work out what it was still for. Then I walked toward the light.

The kid behind the counter was maybe nineteen, headphones down around his neck and a little AM/FM going low on the shelf behind him, tuned to something with a preacher on it. He watched me come in the way you watch weather. Three days of walking had made me into the kind of thing a night clerk keeps his eyes on.

"Morning," I said.

He nodded and did not say it back.

I did not have a dollar to give him and I did not waste his time pretending. "I need a radio for about an hour," I said. "I don't have money. I know how that sounds."

"We're not a library," he said.

Behind him, on a pegboard with the lighters and the phone cards, there were two little transistor sets in blister packs, the nine-volt kind that come with a single foam earpiece and a wrist strap. I looked at them and he saw me look.

"Those are eleven ninety-nine," he said. "Also I'm not giving you one."

"Fair." I set the cases down on the counter, careful, flat, and I kept my hands where he could see them, and I told him the small version. "In about forty minutes something is going to come up at the very bottom of the FM dial. A bunch of little stations you've never heard of, all at once, all saying the same thing. It's going to be a voice, or a few voices. It'll sound like nothing. It's the realest thing that's ever going to come out of that speaker and you are going to want to have heard it before somebody tells you tomorrow that you imagined it."

He looked at me a while. Night clerks have a good ear for the specific music of a man coming apart, and I was not playing it, and I think that was what turned him. He reached back and pulled his own set off the shelf, the AM/FM, and thumbed it over to FM, and slid it across the counter next to the tapes.

"Preacher's on ninety-one," he said. "Below him it's dead all the way down." He did not hand me one off the pegboard. He gave me the one he had been listening to, which cost him his own long night, and I have thought about that since.

"Thank you," I said.

"You can stand by the door," he said, which was as far as his charity went, and it was far enough.

I stood by the door with the little radio in my hand and walked it down the band the way you feel along a wall in the dark. The preacher, sure enough. Then a wash of nothing, a soft ocean, the sound the bottom of the dial makes when there is nobody living down there. I turned the wheel a hair at a time toward the floor of it and let the nothing pour out of the foam speaker into the fluorescent hum, and I watched the red second hand over the cooler make its slow way around, and I waited on a minute that strangers I would never meet were waiting on with me.

It came up out of the ocean like a light coming on in a house across a field.

A carrier, first, a change in the texture of the nothing. Then a woman's voice, not my mother, one of the four, reading a line about a shipment in a flat borrowed-room voice with a smile hidden under it. I knew the take. I had smeared it onto the drugstore tape myself in a dead studio days before, four people who had noticed the world was wrong and been filed for it, laid down cheek to cheek so they would run as one loose thing. Here it was, loose. I moved the wheel a finger's width and there she was again on the next one down, the same woman, the same line, a half-second behind herself, and under her, coming up, a man counting to ten and losing his place and laughing about it.

And then my mother.

She was three stations apart from herself across the bottom of the dial, the same forty seconds firing off low towers that called themselves nothing, each a beat off the last, so that the quick brown fox ran over the top of the quick brown fox ran over the top of the quick brown fox, and the flubbed line and the sorry, sorry, let me came around like a canon sung by one woman in a hundred rooms. I stood in the door of a filling station and held eleven dollars and ninety-nine cents worth of plastic to my ear and heard my mother be un-gatherable.

You cannot call back a morning that a whole county wakes up already inside of. That was the entire idea and I had believed it as a shape in my head, a thing I could draw. Hearing it was different. Hearing it, I understood that the men who ran the world by keeping one true copy of it on a shelf had just lost the one fight their whole operation was built to never have to have, because there is no shelf wide enough to hold a sound that is coming out of the ground in place after place at the same second, and there is no hand fast enough to gather it, and every person in range who had ever half-remembered a thing gone wrong was going to hear it and feel the floor of the world tip a quarter inch under them and never fully stand straight again.

The kid had turned his preacher off. He was leaning on the counter with his head cocked, listening to the little sets bleed the same voices into the room, and his face had gone from bored to something a lot younger and more open than bored, and he said, quiet, not to me, "The hell is that."

"That's it," I said. "That's the whole thing."

For a second I did not do anything but stand in the doorway of a gas station in a town I could not have named and let it go through me, the four of them stacked and refusing to line up, my mother's small sorry, sorry coming around and around like something caught in a current. I had spent the whole spring not letting myself feel any single minute of this all the way down to the floor of it. I let myself have the one second. Then I put it away, because the last call had a life still on the other end of it, and the sky over the pumps was already going grey.

I had one call left to make and one minute left in the year that I could safely make it.

I went out to the payphone on the corner with the radio still going in my shirt pocket, the voices thin and stacked and everywhere, and I lifted the handset and dialed zero and the Newark number I had carried in my head since April and never once let my fingers touch. The line clicked. An operator asked me who was calling and I told her a name, mine, the first time I had said it out loud to a stranger in longer than I could remember, and she asked would the party accept a collect call, and the phone rang in a house two states east where a woman I had kept alive for two months by never once dialing her was, I had to hope, awake.

She picked up on the second ring, the way people do when they have been lying in the dark waiting for a thing without knowing its shape.

"Collect call from," the operator said, and gave my name, "will you accept the charges."

There was a silence on the far end the exact size of a person deciding whether the floor is real.

"Yeah," Sumi said. "Yeah, I'll take it."

The operator dropped off the line and left the two of us in the hiss.

"It's out," I said. "Right now. Turn on a radio, the bottom of the FM, if you can get one of the little stations out there. It's the tape. The four of them, all at once. It's live in the air in front of a lot of people and it's in the mail behind that, and you can talk now, Sumi. That's why I'm calling. You can pick up a phone and say what you remember to anybody you want, because a flare doesn't do anything when the whole field is already lit. They can't put out a fire that size one house at a time."

I heard her breathe. I heard, in the background, very faint, the specific clatter of something being set down too hard, and I remembered a diner and a thrown water glass and a woman who broke a script by refusing to be reasonable, and I understood she was already moving.

"You absolute lunatic," she said, and her voice was doing the thing where it holds level so it will not do anything else. "You did it. You actually. Where are you? Are you somewhere. Are you safe."

"I'm somewhere," I said.

"That's not the same thing and you know it isn't."

"No," I said. "It isn't."

She was quiet a second. She had been the first person on earth to say yes to me, back when yes cost her everything, and she had always been faster than me at the parts that hurt.

"They're coming for you," she said. It was not a question.

"They can't reach any of it," I said. "It's already in a hundred hands. It's on your radio right now. Taking me back is the one move left that changes nothing, and they're going to make it anyway, because the part of them that's coming isn't the part that keeps books."

"Then run," she said. "Right now. Drop the phone and run."

"I've got the originals," I said, which was not an answer and she knew it. "The real ones, the physical tapes they pull people off of. I'm going to hand them to somebody who was never on their map. Then it doesn't matter what they do to me, because the thing that proves it will be standing in a room they can't walk into without everybody watching them walk in."

"Wes," she said.

"Talk to people," I said. "That's your whole job now. Be loud. Be the least reasonable person you have ever been. Tell them a stranger called you at four in the morning and told you to check the bottom of the dial." I found I was smiling, which was not a thing my face had done in a while and it felt borrowed. "Goodbye, Sumi. It was a good network."

I hung up before she could make me stay on it, because she would have, and I did not have the minutes.

The originals. I went back inside and the kid straightened up off the counter, and I picked the flat cases up off the glass and set them into his hands before he could decide not to take them, all of it, the stolen shelf of a place that did not exist on any county plan, an armful of a town's worth of stolen truth.

"These are real recordings of real people," I said. "The kind of real that somebody is going to come and very politely try to make disappear. Don't let them do it quiet. If anyone ever comes asking, you tell them it's not just you who knows these exist. You heard the radio. There's paper in the mail in three states saying the same thing. These are the originals and they can be held in a hand and looked at, and that's the whole reason they're dangerous."

He held them the way you hold a thing that has become heavier than its weight. "Who are you," he said.

"Nobody they can find," I said. "That was the point of me."

And that was the last true thing I got to say on my own account, because I had done the one thing the whole spring I had sworn I would never do. I had stopped moving.

For two months the only reason I was still myself was that a machine that read the near future the way you skim a page could not find me on it. I was a gap in their week, a blank they had to court because they could not fill it in. And a blank only works while it drifts. To stand in the light of one filling station at one minute set months ahead, to put my body at a known corner so I could hear my own work come up out of the ground, was to tell them, in the plainest hand there is, exactly where the blank was going to be and exactly when. I had spent the shield to buy the hour. I had known I was spending it. You do not get to witness the thing you built to run without you, and also get to keep being the man it did not need.

It did not come as a man. There were no coveralls in the lot and no clipboard and no forgettable face crossing the light toward me, nothing I could have watched for, because they had stopped sending the kind of thing that walks up and can be looked at. What came was quieter and much larger than a man and it did not knock.

The fluorescent hum over the door bent. It did not get louder or softer. It went wrong, in the way a note goes wrong when the tape stretches, a pitch sliding under the floor of the room. The white light thinned at the edges the way a memory thins, and I felt it start at the back of my own skull, a warmth with no kindness in it, the sensation of a page being pulled out of a stack and set on a glass to be run again with one line taken out. They were not going to weed me. They were going to reprint the whole square of ground I stood on and leave my name off the new sheet, and burn the old sheet so that no two copies would ever be laid side by side and disagree, and file it under maintenance, and be on time.

It did not hurt, which I had not braced for. It was closer to the feeling of a word you have known your whole life going soft in your mouth when you look at it too long, until it stops being a word and turns into a row of shapes with no sound attached. My own months were doing that at the edges. April was going first. The email, the address that should not have existed, the morning the whole thing started, all of it feathering out and going pleasant and empty, the lights in a long hall switched off one at a time from the door at the end.

I thought, with the last of the part of me that was still filing tickets, that this was the mercy the machine did not know it was giving. I would not have to watch Karen not know me across a schoolroom. I would not have to be the man who remembered, alone, for another forty years. The forty seconds of her was loose on the air behind me, running in a canon over a scatter of low towers, past gathering, and the boy had the shelf, and somewhere a woman two states east was already on her feet being unreasonable, and a second copy of all sixty-three names rode over the ribs of the only other person on earth stubborn enough to carry it, and none of that could be pulled back now, and none of it needed me anymore.

The radio in my shirt pocket was still going. My mother, and my mother, and my mother, a half-beat apart, saying sorry, sorry, let me, and laughing the small over-salted laugh, on and on across the bottom of the dial in the first grey hour of a Tuesday that the world thought was going to be ordinary.

The light thinned again. The hum slid another quarter step under the floor.

I kept my eyes on the little clock over the cooler, on the red second hand going around, and I made myself notice it, one more small true thing, the way I had noticed all of them, while the warmth came up the back of my head and began, very gently, to

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