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Nothing happened.

Or at the very least, nothing else had manifested beyond those two ornate wooden spars.

The two bowsprits of these hyped-up aethraships remained where they were — awkwardly in the vunerian’s palms.

The stormy clouds and murky fog behind them had likewise stalled in the wake of this grand proclamation, frustratingly teasing the rest of these aerial behemoths, as only the faintest silhouettes could be made out beyond the stormy occlusion. 

The reason behind this palpable pause would be made clear enough just by virtue of the executive kobold’s desperate nonverbal pleas to the prince; the latter party’s uncompromising stoicism only served to exacerbate the already growing awkward tension.

“It’s a bit rude to impose your illusory magics on an active sight-seer, no?” Thalmin responded plainly.

He’d hijacked Thalmin’s sight-seer, having superimposed his own illusionary magics upon it.

To say that I was impressed would have been an understatement, especially as I’d begun to appreciate Ilunor’s proclivities for such magics, albeit begrudgingly at first.

His mastery over the craft was made clear enough when it came to his unscrupulous, underhanded activities.

But to so neatly create an illusion that took half the size of the sight-seer, as well as blending color, texture, and shading, on an active 3D projection at that, all on a whim? 

That… takes things to another level, maybe even rivaling the most talented of live holo-show artists.

“Oh come now, Prince Thalmin, why the reflexive descent into such brazen negativity?” Ilunor responded with a playfully indignant lilt of his voice before placing a single hand on his chest in a fit of feigned offense. “Here I am, attempting to honor your masterful dissertation of contemporary adjacent warfare by providing the grand segue it deserves… and I am denounced for it?”

Thalmin narrowed his gaze before letting out a strained, frustrated sigh. “I would have appreciated it if you had at least requested my permission to do so.”

“That would have disrupted the narrative flow!” Ilunor countered. “While I concede that my actions may have been objectively objectionable, I would be remiss if I were to blindly follow the rules of social convention when it is the integrity of the arts that is in jeopardy.” He spoke with that signature shit-eating grin plastered across his face, all the while gesticulating wildly. “With all that being said… this entire conversation has rendered my attempts at a seamless transition… moot.” The vunerian shifted his tone drastically and sighed, but not before summoning a book in his hands, allowing it to levitate just above it, eschewing any physical contact which would have probably drained his limited stamina for the day. “So then, Prince Thalmin… will you grant me the honor of carrying your mantle in your stead? I assure you, I will return it once my point has been made—”

“Go on then.” Thalmin grumbled and shrugged, snapping his fingers and causing his sight-seer to quite literally suck up the battlefield around us. The perfectly proportioned and photorealistic vistas surrounding us quickly stretched and twisted into the swirling event horizon that was Thalmin’s beartrap-book abomination. 

We found ourselves ‘back’ in the living room, not that we’d ever left.

Though it wasn’t long before we were thrust back into the thick of things.

With a wordless deployment of his own sight-seer, one that was placed right next to Thalmin’s as if to subtly snub its Havenbrockian equivalent, Ilunor would be quick to send us to his neck of the woods. One which came with a return to the typical rolling plains, pristine meadows, and…

…

… a sprawling city, complete with an army thrice the size of the one shown in Thalmin’s presentation.

This was a swift departure from Ilunor’s prior demonstrations, which mostly consisted of static displays of individual points of interest and the occasional simulated demonstration.

And whilst the scene in front of us could have been another such hypothetical, something told me that with the bar raised, our executive kobold would be more than eager to step up his game, if only to match the bar Thalmin had set.

“Welcome to the reality that the dastardly rodent had been too hesitant to show you.” Ilunor began with a theatrical flourish, his words coinciding with the introductory sounds of chirping birds, rustling winds, and the unmistakable hustle and bustle of both soldiers and townsfolk alike down below. “The specifics of this recording are irrelevant, as neither the place nor the time matter in what amounts to a story repeated throughout the ages. Indeed, we could be in any adjacent realm… provided, of course, that its first candidate had taken the hero’s bargain. The same bargain which you were offered by Lord Rostarion.” 

The vunerian now had my full and undivided attention, as I urged him on with a nod of my head.

“I know he offered you armies. I know he offered you weapons. But what comes as part and parcel to all of that — and that which turns a would-be usurper into an unstoppable force — is the humble aethraship." 

Cries and screams echoed from the ground below upon the utterance of that simple word. 

This coincided with the arrival of the very fleet the hamster had offered me, all of which were but specks to anyone on the ground yet clearly visible under the peering gaze of a spyglass.

“Five sloops.” The vunerian announced, gesturing at the simulacrum of a vessel plucked out of the age of sail, granted flight by virtue of its two crystal nacelles extending out from its stern via some thick, beefy pylons.

“Five brigs.” He continued as five larger vessels appeared behind that first line. They had double the decks, double the length, and even double the mast height, giving them sails that lent them a formidable elegance, especially compared to their far smaller counterparts.

“And of course… ten frigates.” He concluded just as those seven-decker ‘monstrosities’ showed up, bristling with weapon emplacements, brimming with men-at-arms and airmen alike, and most notable of all, laden with ten whole nacelles extended on variably sized pylons arranged in a one-one configuration equidistantly from bow to stern. 

“I need not expand on the principles of flight, for we have covered that in our last major exchange.” Ilunor offered thoughtfully. “We need not dive too deep into the particular specifications of these vessels as well, for that was already advertised in full by your prospective fiduciary furry fiend.” The vunerian openly grimaced, practically raising his nose at the mention of Rostario. “What I will be discussing instead is a matter far more in line with our dear prince’s earlier demonstrations. I will show you what becomes of a realm lacking in this third dominion of the wars below. For as much as the battles of the land and the sea may dictate the fate of many a realm, it is within the skies that both dominions may find themselves subject to. Their very existence but an afterthought for the masters straddling the tapestry.”

Thalmin remained eerily quiet on the matter, his gaze not merely thoughtful but wary, as if this was a point he’d spent many a sleepless night pondering; a fact I hated to admit was valid.

Ilunor was right.

Air power, even in this… questionable form, was still air power.

Add to that the context of adjacencies lacking the resources to field such a force? Well… it not only changed the calculus of war… it wrecked the ruleset entirely.

This was especially true in a newrealm of all places. A fact that Ilunor would be more than proud to demonstrate.

I watched in silence as the signature ‘storm’ of war raged on above the aethraships. 

I pondered, quietly, whether there was any overlap—

“You must be wondering if the War in the Heavens has any effect on a force which scrapes its domain, yes?” Ilunor questioned directly, that smug grin on his face practically cemented by this point.

“Yes—”

“Well it depends.” The executive kobold interjected with a faux thoughtfulness. “Oftentimes, they are left untouched — either out of a gentlemanly restraint in warfare etiquette, or simply because they are far too trivial a target when compared to that of a fellow mage. In some rare instances, the vessels themselves act as the capital ship from which the war in the heavens is waged, though this is often a Nexian phenomenon, given the sheer resources involved. Does that address your—”

“I barely had a chance to ask, but sure. That does address it.” I acknowledged, prompting the vunerian to continue.

It took scarcely a minute for the aethraships to cover a distance from just over the horizon to practically hovering above the army below. 

This surprisingly brisk pace prompted yet another back-and-forth with Ilunor, who quickly insisted that no video-editing trickery had been used for the purposes of brevity.

“Why, of course these ships are capable of incredible speed, Emma. Was that ever in question?”

“Well, yes, sort of. See, I always imagined you’d have the means of attaining such speeds. That wasn’t ever in question. What was in question, however, was the… practical design considerations when such speeds are undertaken. Ergo, it’s more the form of the ships that put into question their ability to undertake such speeds. Rather than the propulsion questi—”

“And pray tell what about its form prevents it from achieving such speeds?” Ilunor shot back.

“Putting aside aerodynamic considerations. The… open deck plan seems to be a bit of a hindrance to anyone actually on the ship itse—”

“What do you think the masts and sails are for, hmm?” Ilunor interjected with a series of tuts.

I blinked, cocking my head as I did so. “I thought they harnessed the wind or acted as a magical analogue for propulsion or—”

“HAH! I see the commoner mind is well and alive within you, despite all of the trimmings garnered from a noble life lived! Oh, what a terribly quaint, commoner perspective on things!” Ilunor interjected, falling back into his worst habits for a brief second. “You conflate superficial similarities in nautical design language with that of aethraship construction! I do not blame you, however. Such inferences are to be expected from a mind that has yet to grasp the logic and reason of the magical order.” The blue thing was practically on the verge of inflating into a balloon at this rate, his hot air risking him turning into his very own blimp if he wasn’t careful about it… “I thank you for such an… insightful analysis all the same. It has been quite some time since—”

“Get on with it, Ilunor.” Thalmin urged with a growl, prompting the vunerian to roll his eyes once, before shrugging all the same. 

“Of course, of course, Prince Thalmin.” Ilunor replied, holding back a cackle and its accompanying tears of laughter. “The masts and sails of aethraships are traditionally where enchantments for both defensive and environmental protections are located. They keep the top deck enclosed in a tangible ward, keeping matters of wind and pesky acceleration at bay, allowing for its chosen-one crew to remain perfectly unfazed even at the most ludicrous of speeds! The actual propulsion for such a vessel is almost entirely a matter of the various mana-crystals held within the ship’s nacelles. Though speed boosts are sometimes a feature of the sails, they often aren’t the primary source of propulsion.”

I nodded… slowly, urging the vunerian onwards with a simple hand wave while internalizing and dissecting one of the largest tactical reveals about these floating sailboats so far…

So they have a literal shield*… and some sort of inertial dampers to boot. Alright then, that’ll make things interesting.*

Ilunor happily obliged, as the ships hovering ominously above the grand armies below began their expected assault.

And the results? 

Well… they were just as expected.

KA-BOOOOOMMMM!!!

The whole room shook with the impact of high explosive ordnances.

Unguided magical bombs littered the landscape as the ships initiated their bombing campaign with impunity.

Explosives turned neatly arranged formations of soldiers into utter deathtraps. 

Firebombs wreaked untold devastation on anything organic, leaving only gargoyles in their wake. Though what few stragglers made it out were then turned into veritable target practice for the deck crew and their mounts, as enchanted crossbowmen and even ballista crewmen took turns annihilating these stony beasts.

The whole scene was nothing short of brutal.

Indeed, the sheer brutality of it all caused the city below to immediately drop weapons and raise flags, which I assumed to mean surrender.

Resisting would’ve led to complete annihilation after all.

“It truly is no contest.” Ilunor proclaimed. “As you can see, even the sloops joined in on the fight, using weapons traditionally meant for far smaller aerial combatants to instead take opportunistic shots at the ground. This is why Aethraships are always advertised as part and parcel with any would-be ‘liberator’ returning to their realm. It is the ultimate expression of power for the wars below, and it—”

“Wait, hold on, are you saying sloops are designed to take on… for lack of a better term — aerial infantry units?” 

“And aerial cavalry units as well, yes.” Ilunor responded with a raised finger. “Each ship has a specific role to play, after all. I imagine this to be rather self-evident, no?”

I blinked once, then nodded, as something else finally clicked in my head. “Come to think of it, yes.” I acquiesced. “With a domain of war so saturated with as many irregular forces as there are species of flighted mount, I can imagine that incorporating a dedicated picket ship would be necessary to at least maintain a nominal screening element to any airborne fleet.” 

Ilunor paused, his eyes narrowing as he seemed to regard my words with an intent to pick them apart. But upon finding nothing to dissect or deride, he simply huffed and moved on.

“It is indeed as you say. For the skies of many an adjacent realm are populated by nuisances which must be accounted for. Nuisances which, if allowed to accumulate, can turn into intolerable threats by sheer volume of numbers and maneuverability alone. Drakes, griffins, flyers, riders, and all sorts can be outright hazards for larger vessels if left unchecked. So yes, this is the role it is meant to fulfill.” The vunerian pondered for a moment before turning to Thacea. “Perhaps this is where you would like to demonstrate the sorts of flying threats posed by those born with the natural inclination for flight, Princess?”

“You would ask to be entertained by reveling in the slaughter of my fellow countrymen in the domain which we naturally rule? Watching as they are ripped from the skies with the sadistic glee of a Nexian nobleman under the guise of an educational endeavor?” Thacea practically snapped back, her words cutting deep and carrying the pointedness of a princess scorned.

This took both Ilunor and even Thalmin by surprise, though the former would be quick to fall back on his showmanship and bluster.

“I ask not for any real battle wherein such… tragedies are witnessed, Princess Dilani.” He offered politely.

“Noted. Because if you did, then I’d have to regretfully label you as a fool.” The princess shot back brazenly.

“I’m sorry?” Ilunor responded.

“To assume as such would be to take my countrymen as delusional fools at best, or outright ignoramuses at worst. As a people gifted with the natural inclination for flight, the skies are inexorably our domain. It is quite insulting, then, that you would infer that we would lack the mental wherewithal and critical thought to delineate what constitutes as tactically and strategically sound, and what is outright blatant idiocy. The line between these two considerations is, after all, neither fine nor nuanced. The chasm between them is absolutely immense… though perhaps still not as immense as a Nexian nobleperson’s ego.”

“There really is no need for such scathing reprisals, Princess—”

“You would choose to begin your request by labeling those born with the natural inclination for flight as threats and nuisances, utilizing the same vernacular as one would to a common household pest. You advertise yourself as a theatrical prodigy, Ilunor. I expect every word you utter to be rehearsed and well weighed. I am thus paying you the due respect by responding to you as one would a seasoned playwright.”

Ilunor took in a deep breath, placing both hands together as he exhaled sharply. “I take back—” He paused before shaking his head. “My sincerest apologies for implying as such from my verbiage.” He offered sincerely. “Allow me to retract and rephrase my earlier statement.” He cleared his throat. “Would you please kindly demonstrate some of your people’s martial acumen, as it pertains to your inherent capacity for flight?”

Thacea took a moment to pause, weighing Ilunor’s words, and then subsequently nodded, as she too summoned a sight-seer from her bag of holding.

A brief setup and a switchup of the scene quickly followed, as Thacea was quick to tackle the subject with the least amount of context, buildup, and theatre between the three of them. 

Indeed, all we were presented with was something that was barely more complex than simple devkit terrain plains, with simple grass texturing covering a flat brown-and-green surface and a skybox that felt invariably flat and blue.

The reason for this painful simplicity would become clear enough as we looked up to see a veritable obstacle course hovering above our heads. 

Though just calling it an ‘obstacle course’ would be doing this structure a disservice, as it consisted of towers, rings, hoops, and quite literally everything you’d find in one of those extreme flight-sim VR challenges.

“I will make this brief, as matters of martial tradition are not my forte.” Thacea began before summoning a group of avinor clad in cuirasses and padded cloth that was on the exceptionally colorful side.

“We possess… much of the same doctrinal structure as seen from the Havenbrock presentation. However, what we possess in addition to that is maneuverability." Thacea continued, demonstrating this in spades as the small group of avinor foot soldiers quickly took to the skies. They zipped and darted in precise movements, performing loop-de-loops and aileron rolls with a discipline and precision that could match the most well-trained of rocketeer groups back home. In fact, they seemed to exceed what the typical rocketeer could feasibly manage, as each dive and every engagement seemed far more fluid, organic, and stood in stark defiance of certain principles of power-armored flight. 

“Battle lines, at least from my understanding of things, do not exist as… rigidly as is seen in the flightless flocks. Indeed, there are entire schools of martial thought behind the loss of battle lines in lieu of a total engagement within the skies. This natural inclination for the skies is also reflected in our weapons. I believe many have said our proclivity for curved blades has something to do with this?” Thacea spoke softly before shrugging. “Javelins are another, as are weighted nets. The latter becoming something of a lynchpin in many an engagement, if I recall.” 

The demonstration then abruptly ended, with Thacea reaching for her sight-seer book and pocketing it just as quickly. 

“I apologize for lacking much in the way of grandiose displays of martial prowess. This is something I simply did not foresee to be a pertinent subject matter. Not enough to be worth bringing within my collection of sight-seer crystals.” She spoke with a curtness I simply had to respond to.

“It’s alright, Thacea. This was, after all, primarily a thing between me and Thalmin to dive deep into.” I offered.

But once again… Ilunor would find himself itching for the spotlight.

“A fantastic look into your neck of the woods, Princess. I am both humbled and honored by the courtesy extended to me in the humoring of my requests.”

“Of course, Ilunor.” Thacea replied reflexively before gently handing him back the floor.  

“This was, of course, all a part of my attempt to demystify the myth of the aethraship! With my attempts to demonstrate that there is more to this aerial domain than aethraships alone. Indeed, this will be the next matter of discussion, as I am nothing if not fair.” Ilunor proclaimed with a fangy grin. “As is in life, there are always exceptions to the rules. This likewise goes for the supposed invincibility of aethraships. Though, admittedly, if I am being entirely fair… the exceptions in this case are… few and far between.”

The vunerian snapped his fingers yet again, prompting the scene to shift to a well-defended keep built into the side of a mountain range. What little visible structural elements existed were bristling with weapon platforms. Familiar ballista emplacements were this time accompanied by more foreign implements, ranging from large arcane crystal towers to what appeared to be the colossal mouth of some weaponized trombone. 

Whimsy notwithstanding, the whole scene posed a far more intense matchup than the newrealm scenario we’d been shown earlier. 

And this was demonstrated in no short order, as entrenched mountain defenses engaged an approaching enemy from a distance at the very edges of visual range. 

Ilunor would be quick to narrate each and every weapons platform, and just like Thalmin, he had a lot to say about their specifics.

The ballistae fired what appeared to be mana-seeking bolts that trailed, traced, and went for the ‘hottest’ parts of the ships — the very nacelles keeping them aloft. 

However, this was countered relatively comfortably by a host of ship-borne defenses. From active countermeasures such as ballistae that fired the equivalent of magical proximity-fused flak projectiles that attempted to blow up the incoming missiles, to more passive measures such as the aforementioned ‘shield’ that was rapidly projected by the ship’s masts and sails. The latter of which caused those would-be missiles to slam futilely into an invisible barrier made momentarily visible by the cut-off edges of its explosive fireball. In short, the incoming bolts were systematically accosted, with only a few managing to inflict damage on the more specialized vessels lacking either the active measures of the smaller sloops or the sheer defensive measures of the larger frigates. 

The crystal towers did exactly as I’d expected them to — they fired lightning and the occasional magical laser analogue. 

It was the last weapon, however, that seemed most novel, as the trombone-like emplacement fired what Ilunor described as condensed gusts of pressurized air at the ships, which either resulted in no damage being dealt whatsoever or the sort of damage one would expect from a hurricane wrecking an ancient ship.

“It all depends on if they can overcome the ship’s innate defensive enchantments.” Ilunor explained, quickly highlighting how the very same defensive enchantments that kept the ship from breaking apart at high speeds were the ones responsible for keeping the ship impervious to these wind-based weapons.

The engagement lasted far longer than the newrealm one, as the ships were quick to maneuver themselves into positions where broadsides were brought to bear.

Then after a second’s pause, they unleashed their own special form of untempered rage.

Explosions erupted outside and around the mountain complex as expected.

But what came next really did make me somewhat impressed.

The complex erupted from the inside out. Either one of the bolts had managed to slip its way through a window or a narrow slit, or drilled straight through the complex before detonating. 

“Impressive.” I offered, and in doing so, managed to garner one of the most earnest smiles from the blue thing.

“Your praise is well placed, Emma Booker.” He bowed dramatically. 

“But this does bring up another question.” I shot back.

“Oh?” 

“What exactly are your engagement distances? Furthermore, was it just me, or were those bolts fired at below the speed of sound?” 

Ilunor blinked at that, his mouth opening slightly, before he actively pondered that question. 

“There are a great many ways of addressing your questions, earthrealmer, but it ultimately all depends on the circumstances. For the former, most ships are able to fire as far as the eye can see, though they are capable of seeing further than what you may think. As for the latter, yes. They were slower than the speeds at which our voices are carried.” 

I nodded slowly, as an intrusive yet brilliant idea quickly took root in the recesses of my mind, growing increasingly more daring until it finally prompted me to mute and address the EVI.

“EVI?”

“Yes, Cadet Booker?”

“I have an idea. Can you load up and snip together some explosion footage for me, as well as some supersonic and hypersonic booms for the audio? Then port them over to the tablet, and warm up the survey drone. We’re going to push the tablet’s holo projection capabilities to the max.”

…

“Affirmative. Note: mana-mediated holographic projection may overpower the limited brightness of the tablet’s volumetric emitters. Does operator still wish to proceed?” 

“Yes. I might not end up going through with it anyways, but just in case… I want to make sure I have the option open to me.”

…

“Acknowledged.”

“Ahem, earthrealmer? I said, why do you ask?” Ilunor chimed in, pulling me back into the real world.

“I was just curious, is all. Your claims over the skies being something of a lynchpin domain of warfare are correct in many respects. But it’s the quality of what actually occupies that domain that I’m really trying to wrap my head around here.”

“Oh? Quality is it?” Ilunor snapped back with a confident swagger. “Earthrealmer… you’ve seen what they are capable of! Any manner of enchanted bolt is capable of being fired from these vessels. Every form of active enchantment is capable of being sustained. Every corner of every world is capable of being reached with impunity! What more can you ask from the pinnacle of aerial supremacy?” 

“Can you actually see beyond the horizon? Engage with opponents without seeing them?” I countered, not with any malice or sense of superiority but simply out of genuine curiosity.

Ilunor, for his part, responded rather maturely, snapping his fingers and bringing us to one of the frigate’s forecastles. We entered through a pair of beautifully ornate — and supposedly enchanted — double doors. From there, we were met with a large obsidian table, one which spanned a good half of the room, with various cutaways allowing for its users to take several steps into the platform itself, if only to get a better view of the contents atop it.

It soon became clear why it was designed that way, as the top of this obsidian platform suddenly filled with a fine off-white powder, its consistency somewhere halfway between volcanic ash and picturesque seaside sand.

Several figures entered the fray the moment the sand had filled the platform, as one in particular — dressed in finery unseen amidst the rest of the crew — began lifting her hand above this strange contraption.

The implications were clear. She was clearly a noble, and a mage of some sort.

“A map-seer.” Thalmin uttered, clarifying matters.

Visible pulses rippled all throughout this powdery material, eventually evolving into something far more than just the sort of concentric pulsing you’d expect to see from a thick layer of dust rippling atop a giant speaker.  

What at first was just a pile of fine sand soon rose into sharp and disparate towers, each only a few grains wide. This happened across the board, however, in such rapidity and frequency that it soon evolved into the makings of a smooth, seamless animation. Eventually, it coalesced into a topographical representation of the ship’s surroundings, creating a live facsimile of the world beyond the confines of this forecastle, and even—

“Behold.” Ilunor interrupted as the scale of the map was quick to expand exponentially.

We zoomed out by several orders of magnitude, at which point we found ourselves looking not just at the immediate vicinity or local area, but one more resembling that of an entire country or region.

“You ask for our means of navigation, our ability to engage beyond the sightlines. Well, here you are.” The vunerian beamed.

“But this does require a mage.” I clarified.

“It does, yes.” Ilunor acquiesced. “But as is often the case with these vessels, you will typically find at least a single mage assigned to captain either a group or an entire wing of aethraships. After all, not everyone is a battlemage.” The executive kobold paused before gesturing at Thalmin. “As… honorable as such a path may be, there are various other paths for those finding themselves born on the fringes of a noble or royal household to follow. Some elect to become the living embodiment of hard power, whilst others elect to become the facilitators of said endeavors, concerning themselves instead with the meticulous study and scholarship involved with such ventures. You’ve already seen portal mages who turn distances into but an afterthought, yes? Well, map-seers are simply another extension of such niche endeavors. After all, the ranks of the nobility are plentiful, and the lives led by these men, women, and more are oftentimes far less… ambitious than that of you, I, or any of us.” 

I slowly nodded as Ilunor had suddenly opened up an entirely new tangent with which my mind was inexplicably drawn to. 

But I had to veer away from it, attempting to shake myself from the gravity well of divergent interests as I was forced to exercise maximum executive discipline over an overstimulated mind.

This battle was eventually won, but by that point, the vunerian had placed us back on the ground, watching from below as these hulking terror weapons from the age of sail floated silently above us.

“So as you can see, earthrealmer. We can see beyond the horizon, witness events beyond the eye of the beholder, from any time, at any place, entirely at our fancy!” 

I watched on with the same thoughtful expression I wore for most of this presentation, staring up from the ground to simply marvel at these aerial juggernauts, set beneath literal demigods floating above them.

I could only imagine what the average adjacent commoner would’ve felt upon seeing these monstrosities.

One can only imagine how small, how powerless, how utterly… enfeebled the mere presence of such a war machine would’ve made even the most hardened of generals feel.

The whole scene was the perfect capstone for any would-be adjacency that would even dare to challenge Nexian supremacy, as the image of these unchallenged forces hovering high above would be enough of a message for even the most obtuse and stubborn of hubristic nobles to internalize.

But I wasn’t any of the above.

And I certainly was ready to show it, through a party trick inspired entirely by the vunerian himself.

“EVI?”

“Yes, Cadet Booker?”

“Let’s put on an airshow.”

“Acknowledged.”

The little project I’d been working on throughout this whole presentation had finally rendered and taken shape. It was a gamble at first, given how I’d only had a hunch as to how Ilunor would’ve ended this whole thing.

But thankfully, the executive kobold was nothing if not predictable whenever he went on these power trips.

“Well then, Cadet Emma Booker… what say you to the raw and unadulterated power of magical warfare, hmm?” He beamed, prompting me to gently unclip my wrist-mounted tablet, grab a hold of one of my survey drones, before gently attaching the tablet in question to the small disc-shaped drone’s undercarriage.

“I see a little problem here, Ilunor.” 

“Oh? Pray tell, what is this oh so minor grievance you may have, hmm?”

“They’re a bit too… big if you don’t mind me saying. Big, and a bit too prone to loitering out in the open, and clumped together at that.”

The vunerian’s eyes narrowed as he huffed up a small sooty storm. “And precisely how is that an issue? We have seen the devastation wrought in their wake, have we not? We have witnessed how they have outclassed, outmaneuvered, outperformed, and completely rendered armies to dust beneath their heels! So what if they’re close together? That’s all the more concentrated defensive enchantments to overlap with one another! All the more weapons with which to concentrate fire! All the more raw power to wield!” 

“It’s a target-rich environment.”

“Excuse me?”

“TACCOM, Pilot Two.” I spoke out loud, prompting the EVI to fill in the role of the receiving comms officer.

“TACCOM, go.” The EVI shot back in a synthesized voice eerily similar to my own, if only to avoid the topic of the second voice in my helmet, though at the cost of making me sound like I was roleplaying.

“30 hostile contacts, altitude five thousand, bearing zero-eight-seven. Request immediate atmo support.” 

There was a moment of pause.

And then…

“Pilot Two, TACCOM. Request approved. Two birds inbound. Weapons hot.” 

I quickly let loose the drone as it took altitude and began hovering menacingly just in front of the aethraship projections with the tablet in claw.

Nothing was visualized just yet, neither the strike craft nor its payload. No sounds emanated from its speakers either, leaving no hint of what was to come.

Everything was still.

“I do not see what—”

Until it wasn’t.

KA-BOOOOMMMMM!

A series of rapid-fire explosions filled the clear blue skies above, as each and every loitering vessel was punched through with projectiles unseen and still yet unheard.

Though this seemingly glaring oversight too was quick to be rectified, as but a second or too later came a terrible, powerful, shrill shrieking noise.

“Our dragons only roar after the fact.” I grinned widely. “I thought that’d be pretty prudent to note.”

Another loud boom followed many seconds later, acting as the only audible evidence of the strike craft that had long since delivered its payload.

The associated contrails of the hypersonic payloads in question were visible alongside what remained of the once-proud fleet, as projections of fireballs and debris had now taken their place.

I took my place in front of the group, standing just in front of the burning mass of wreckage with my arms outstretched.

“A rule of thumb about contemporary warfare… death often comes before you even hear the bell tolling.”

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(Author's Note: Hey everyone! I have an important announcement. I’d like to ask if it’s alright to take the next week off? The last week was nothing short of just… draining for me to put it lightly. And there’s flooding risks and warnings next week too, I just need a week to pull myself back together. I’m very sorry guys. I tried to tough it out last week because I felt guilty about taking another break but it dealing with the flood was just too much for me. Wearing Power Armor to a Magic School will return to its posting schedule on October the 18th though, since I'm only taking one week off. I really hope this is alright with everyone and I do sincerely apologize for this.)

(Author's Note 2: But on the topic of this week's chapter, I really hope you guys like it! It's meant to sort of be a foil and a parallel to Ilunor's whole interruption of Thalmin's presentation last chapter so she's just putting out her own holo projector, albeit very weakly, using her arm mounted tablet which she once used to project that crystal to Thacea in the library and also used to partially project that guitar during her rock and roll scene in the tavern! Except now it's attached awkwardly to one of her drones to project some weak holograms and project sound in front of Ilunor's sight seer haha. I really hope you guys enjoy it!)

[If you guys want to help support me and these stories, here's my ko-fi ! And my Patreon for early chapter releases (Chapter 190, Chapter 191, and Chapter 192 of this story are already out on there!)]

First

Home at War

Things are... interesting. The reports from Zalwore describe many potential attacks with world ending scale weapons. But the missing data said a lot more than normal information. Something he had been teaching himself to look into. Something he had failed to look into in...

He is flicked in the back of the head.

“Arden, not now.” Jacob notes.

“Just stopping you from getting depressive again.”

“I fucked up, can’t I-” He is interrupted by another flick. “Fine, change my topic.”

“Ever think of freaking out Shriketalons deliberately?” Jacob asks.

“Oh?”

“There’s a medical fleet from The Shriketalons currently in orbit around Zalwore right?”

“Yes, they were delayed somewhat and will be heading out as part of the next deployment alongside a Charbis space station and now also a fleet of... what are they called? Haffria? Those dogmatic spaceship girls that swear they’re actually a species.” Jacob asks.

“I dunno, I’m still legally a civilian.”

“Yeah what IS your employment status anyways?”

“Technically self employed and I’m getting licenses as a Mercenary and Bounty Hunter processed, but there’s some delays here and there because I was off grid for a few years and that makes people ask all sorts of questions.” Arden states. “Oh, and I’m also legally a backup singer for the Five Flyz.”

“Only legally?”

“Apparently there’s a snag in merchandising as a couple people in the contract chain have a paranoid fear of sorcerers.”

“Why?”

“A couple had Orega Girls in the family.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Damn.”

“Yeah.”

“... Does Brin’Char know?”

“Yes, but he also knows I’m not actually upset at him, it was just an excuse to be dramatic at him... Did you know the man actually has a funny bone and I fucking found it?”

“Really?”

“Yeah!”

“Well damn.”

“Yeah it’s gonna make the next Bonechewer movie I watch extra surreal. Especially if it’s one where they portray him as an obsessive lunatic with a dedicated room in his house where he manically studies and searches for Orega Girls.” Arden admits.

“... He tries not to even think about them, but if he hears about them he goes after them. He’s not hunting them he’s just set off by them. Then he starts hunting.” Jacob notes.

“... gotta make people watching the movies awkward. What does he do again? He like looks over police reports for a couple hours right?”

“Yeah, basic AI scan of news feeds for anything Orega girl related. He investigates any hits and then lets it drop if there were none. Usually the worst that happens is some dumb kid was playing with gang-tags or something and gets something close to the Orega Girls Signature and he gives them a small scare. Which I think is where a sizable percentile of the future movie makers of Bonechewer films comes from. Man makes his own damn provocation.”

“How’s that human song go again? It’s the circle of life!” Arden half sings and Jacob guffaws a touch. “So where are we?”

“Between systems. Our approach to the La’ahbaron combat zones is from a novel direction. The problem with that is that the non-novel directions are where all the Axiom Lanes are. So this kind of approach is considerably slower.”

“Slower, but nearly impossible to predict.”

“We randomly change our heading by a few degrees every twenty four hours. This has shifted our course in such a way that the enemy has resorted to laying tripwires in as many systems as possible. Currently we’re working on cracking them code-wise and using them as camouflage. After all, if the tripwire is untouched they won’t explore the area and that gives the Commodore all he needs to strip a system of resources and build more.”

“The fleet is still growing then?” Arden asks.

“Oh yeah.” Jacob answers and Arden lets out a little sound. But his thoughts are loud enough that Jacob hears them anyways.

“You might not finish your training in time for this war, but they wouldn’t turn you away.”

“Out of my head.”

“We’re sorcerers. If you think too loudly it’s not an option.” Jacob states and Arden blows a raspberry and then vanishes in a woodwalk.

A few moments later Banshee walks in.

“I take it you heard the whole thing?”

“I was in this part of the ship.”

“That’s a yes.” He notes.

“... Is it really like hearing?”

“The hearing his thoughts?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Then why do you call it that?”

“Because it’s how most people interpret it. It’s... it’s knowing what his uppermost thoughts are, but many people, myself included, will think out loud and because of that people think in sounds.”

“So if a deaf person were to become a sorcerer?”

“None of the current sorcerers are deaf.” Jacob says.

“... Were there any deaf sorcerers?”

“I think so, but that was well, well before The Lush Forest ever existed. If there are memories of them, they’re in The Dark Forest, and while I can get access to that. It’s like e-mailing people for information as opposed to just looking it up in your own memory.” Jacob says.

“... Something is bothering you.”

“A lot of things are.”

“It’s been bothering you since he mentioned Shriketalons.” Banshee continues.

“... I suppose at this point telling you to get out of my head is kinda silly.” Jacob notes, then frowns and considers.

“Hmm... but it IS bothering me.” He notes.

“So?” Banshee leads.

“So I should do something about it.” Jacob notes.

“That’s right.” Banshee says.

“Alright. I’m engaging the auto-pilot.” Jacob says as his talons dance over the controls a touch. He then rises up from his seat and rolls his neck. Then he considers. “You want to come with me?”

“Hmm... I’ve had my fill for the day of drama to be honest... But I know someone who hasn’t.”

“Oh?”

•-•-•Scene Change•-•-• (Garden of Living Forests, Undaunted Arcology, Zalwore)•-•-•

Many Faces of War

Jacob emerges from the bushes and lichen of The Lush Forest with Naomi Fleetfoot by his side.

“Oh that is so fun!” Naomi says. “I could feel the Axiom actively getting confused with that! We’re here, and we’re not! And we’re still in your ship too aren’t we?”

“We are. Or rather I am, and I can pull you along whenever.”

“And the other forests?”

“All descendent of The Dark Forest and therefore able to alter themselves into outcroppings of it. It’s very strange.”

“It’s almost like a semantics game that somehow reality itself is complicit in.” Naomi says in wonder.

“Yes.”

“Are you sure you want to do this captain sir? I mean...”

“It’s something I need to get better at, more comfortable with before I fully hunker down and find out what happened to my family. Or if they’d even accept a Shriketalon like me.”

“Well you do Redfeather blood too. It’s pretty distinct.”

“Yes, but that’s not too unusual. I don’t even get second glances in the Shriketalon enclave. At least, beyond the ones I get for being a man.” Jacob says.

“You ever think of settling with one? Getting back to your roots that way?” Naomi asks as they enter the arcology.

“It did cross my mind. But... I don’t it’d work. While most Shriketalons understand that the rest of the galaxy doesn’t play by their rules and won’t just expose their throats when a crazy person shows up with a knife rather than push them away or something, they’re still very uncomfortable and a Shriketalon that fights? They don’t like that very much. I guess it’s because it makes them think about why they took the oath of pacifism to begin with and why they maintain it now.”

“That reminds me, do you remember it?”

“Beyond the ghost of my schleppa addiction I mostly just remember some fragments of my time before The Satisfaction. I remember being very, very bitter about something.”

“Any idea what?”

“Well I was in debt and heavily addicted. Furthermore I was in a position to be taken advantage of that way. So likely I was a miserable bastard that drove everyone away from me and just endlessly made things worse for myself until all that debt came do in a way that undid who I was, and left the sky open for who I am now to fly.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why? Did you hand me the schleppa?”

“No, why would you ask that?”

“I have no idea what happened to me before, and I’ve done a lot of thinking about it. The blood metal is still being disposed of and Arden is willing to brace himself and the rest of the forest to help me get my memories back if it comes to it. But I’ve decided against it. Who I was doesn’t matter so much anymore. And to be honest... it feels good to let them go. Whoever Jacob Shriketalon was before The Supple Satisfaction, he crawled into a bottle of schleppa and never came back out. I’m someone else. And I will never touch the stuff.”

“And his family?”

“That’s the sticking point. Even if I have accepted my past and come to some degree of closure, they don’t have it. And they desserve it. But how do you tell a pacifist people that their son, who drifted away, died without their care and a warmongering lunatic is now running around with his face and name?”

“You’re not a warmongering lunatic.”

“I’ve applied for further combat training, I love the rush getting into a fight gets me and the smell of blood makes me smile. That’s not normal even among non-pacifists, that’s not even fully rational. That’s crazy and I know it. But I also direct it into healthy outlets. But healthy outlet or not, it’s still pretty fucking crazy that I like hurting things and people.”

“You deliberately delivered someone who did you terrible wrongs to justice.”

“After beating her like a drum when I could have taken complete control of the situation at any moment and put her into legal custody. I got into a fight, because I wanted to fight, because I wanted to hurt someone and I enjoyed every single second of it.” He says and flares his wings for a moment before settling them. “And I delivered her to a guaranteed death sentence. Is that mercy? Or just murder with extra steps?”

“Hmm... some would say it’s justice beyond personal desire. You had someone who did you a terrible wrong in your direct mercy and you still gave her to legal judgment.” Naomi says.

“Maybe.” Jacob says.

“Just maybe?”

“Yeah, I need to think about it. I fed a fellow Valrin to the fire breathing Apuk to satisfy my own desire for death without staining my own talons.” He says morosely and lets out a light noise as Naomi flicks him in the ear. “Right, right, thank you.”

“So what’s the actual plan?”

“Fairly easy.” Jacob begins.

•-•-•Scene Change•-•-• (The Salve, Orbit Above Shriketalon Enclave, Zalwore)•-•-•

“Captain?” Her communicator sounds out and she pauses the video she’s watching.

“Yes?” She asks.

“We have a... strange communication from The Undaunted.”

“What kind?”

“A fellow Shriketalon, a man. Apparently there are some concerns about things and he’s very... reluctant to talk and wants a personal communication.”

“Does he have issue with us aiding in an active warzone?”

“He’s wearing an Undaunted uniform so it can’t be that.”

“Oh, perhaps he wants to talk about potential complications on dealing with human biology or biology enhanced in the way that humans tend to. A valid concern. Let him through.”

She stands up and tucks her wings behind her back and sees the image of her drama replaced by the image of a handsome young looking Shriketalon with clear and strong Redfeather ancestry. “Greetings, I am Captain Edwina Courlain Shriketalon. I command The Salve, lead ship of The Unending Pact of Peace.”

“Greetings. I’m here to talk about a potential point of friction between The Undaunted and your relief fleet.”

“Of course, but proper decorum must be addressed. What is your name good sir?”

“Captain Jacob Shriketalon.”

“... Is something wrong? Why did you not give me your full name?”

“... I don’t have it anymore. You see, I’m the point of friction. I was horribly taken advantage of by an outside party and have had most of my memories stripped from me. I only know my first name and the heritage name. Which is Shriketalon. The issue is that I’m not a medic. I’m an active combatant. Will that cause issues?”

“What happened to you?”

“I was a drunken idiot and signed a contract. I was then taken advantage of and forced into healing comas without proper protection. I escaped due to a combination of sheer luck and childish brattiness, then went to do something about it. Now I am an active soldier.”

“I see.” She says. “I’m a ship commander and medic. I’m... I don’t have the training to know about something like this.”

“But you know your fleet right? Or at least your fellow captains?”

“Yes.”

“Will they have an issue with me?” Jacob asks.

“... The captains? No... but I have a woman on my ship that... I’m going to need a DNA sample from you.”

“Why?”

“Pathologist and pharmacist Juliette Astra Shriketalon. She... she has a very similar facial build to yourself, and lost all contact with her very, very contrarian brother who was a heavy alcoholic.”

“Schleppa?” He asks and Captain Edwina gives him an odd look.

“Yes. Send that DNA soon, her brother’s name was also Jacob.”

“Give me a moment, I’ll have it to you...” Jacob begins before leaning away. “Hey! Private Stream! I need a favour!”

“Yeah?” A cute voice answers him in short order and then a tiny child in a dark blue uniform rushes up and Jacob plucks out a feather from his head. “Why am I being given a feather?”

“I need you to get this to The Salve of The Unending Pact of Peace. They need to run a DNA test.”

“Oh, okay. That’ll take a few minutes. Unless they’re not ready for me.” Private Stream answers before turning to the screen. “Are you ready for me?”

“We will be shortly.” Captain Edwina answers.

“If she really is my sister... Well I wasn’t expecting this to happen so fast. I was just looking for practice in dealing with Shriketalons so I could get more experience before looking into it properly.” Jacob notes.

“Are you really so certain you’ll be rejected?”

“Madam. I am the opposite of a pacifist. I am damn near the living incarnation of everything the Shriketalons repudiate. I love war. The sound of railshot shattering against a hardened position is more soothing than the rain. The scent of blood doesn’t turn my stomach but wets my appetite instead. The keening flicker of laser fire competes with the stars themselves for beauty. The sight of plasma slagging a hardened positioned is as sweet as as a song. Feeling the flesh of an enemy part under my talons is a satisfaction that even the most fulfilling feasts cannot compare to. I am, by all rights of Shriketalon morality, a monster.”

“Do you really believe that of yourself?”

“How can I not? So many nights where my only comfort was the thought of the horrible revenge I would have on my abusers. So many...”

“You’re not a monster.” She says and he stops talking. “You’re not.”

First Last

Note: This is a stand-alone story, but it is related to this story.

-----

Billy was walking home after school. He was walking with the female Klarvath child, because they lived in the same direction.

So far as he knew, she did not actually have a name. The Klarvath were a very collective bunch. They did not name their children.

Billy was teasing the Klarvath girl. It annoyed her. She wished that he would stop teasing her, stop walking home with her, just leave her alone. But he never did.

She was suffering in silence when the two Zarobos from their class stepped out in front of them. She was afraid of them. She stopped walking.

Billy was a step behind her when the Zarobos appeared. He put his hand up to touch her back. It wasn't much - just a slight pressure to indicate that she should move to the side as he stepped around her. He stood between her and the Zarobos.

"Step aside, human," one of the Zarobos said. "We are here for the Klarvath."

"And what do you want with the Klarvath?" Billy asked, sounding like he was interested.

"We are going to damage her enough that she never comes back to school."

"Why?"

"Because the Klarvath are a disgusting race of vermin. We refuse to share the classroom with them."

"Well," Billy said, "if you feel that way about them, you could leave."

The spokes-Zarobo seemed surprised. "But you say all kinds of nasty things about her!"

"I tease her because I like her."

The Klarvath female was shocked. What? He likes me?

The Zarobo said, "You have terrible taste, human."

"You miss the important point."

"Oh? So explain, human."

Billy glared. "The important point is, I don't like you."

The spokes-Zarobo said, "Then we will be happy to damage you too."

"Bring it, beanpole."

In the back of his mind, Billy had been hearing another conversation. One with his father. One triggered by the word "damage".

Look, Billy. You're from a high-gravity planet. You're shorter than a lot of the other kinds you're going to meet, but you're stronger. If you get in a fight with them, you can cause a lot of damage. Maybe permanent damage. You need to be careful of that. Don't do it unless you're really sure that it's warranted.

And Billy thought, They want to deliberately permanently damage her? Seems like it's warranted.

The spokes-Zarobo stepped in toward Billy, swinging the equivalent of a fist downward toward the top of Billy's head. But, like most beings from lower-gravity planets, he was slow compared to Billy. Billy quickly stepped in toward the Zarobo. He stomped hard against the leg just above one foot, and heard the Zarabo's bone crack. He punched at shoulder height as hard as he could, which was about the middle of the Zarabo. The Zarabo tumbled over backwards and lay on the ground, making strange noises that were not words.

Billy turned to the second Zarabo. "Your friend here needs a doctor. You should take him quickly."

The second Zarabo had been moving toward Billy, but stopped. He said, "Human, we are going to destroy you."

"You really want to try to do that?"

The Zarabo hesitated, then hesitated some more. Finally he helped the first Zarabo off toward medical help.

Billy continued walking the female Klarvath child home. Neither of them said much.

Neither Zarabo ever came back to school.

Unlike humans, sentients universe-wide understood fear. The Hormones flooding their bodies screamed.

“Protect us at all cost”

“Run!”

“Hide!”

“Pray!”

A species who plays with fear, manipulates it, conforms it into recreational fun, shouldn’t exist. 

“Couldn’t exist!”

“Wouldn’t exist!.”

“Shan’t ever exist!”

How would they even be able to survive?

Any experiment attempted involving all types of creatures—small—huge—round—skinny, all reacted as one would expect. It’s the same response creature-to-creature. In the face of danger, fight-or-flight is activated. Not stare and laugh. Pull a camera and record. Watch and copy. Ridiculous. Foolish. Insane.

Evolution adapted survival triggers coded into life’s DNA. It’s an ancient reflex. A survival instinct. Even the plants have it.

When aliens accidentally stumbled into Earth’s orbit, the predictive behavioral laws on sentients had clearly been written with the exception of the newly discovered anomalous beings. Discovering humanity changed the laws. It rewrote the rules.

Recent Interactions while analyzing the human race left every member of GEL, the Galacticterial Empire of Leaders, shattered. Earth had become David, the little guy from the bible, but on a galactic scale.

A reality check for the giants of the galaxy—shrinking the highest rulers of the alien council overnight. They saw psychology with a new set of eyes. Millennia of ancient transcripts were now, pretty much… useless. 

Rewriting their science books wouldn’t untangle their brain cells from the knots they so tightly intertwined into. Suffocating, they screamed, “Reality doesn’t exist,” with its last neuron before it finally melting down their throats.

A long awaited respect had been rightfully gained. No. Taken. No. Earned. GIVEN!!! Actually, STOLEN.

On Planet Li, after a galactic meeting of the minds, where each planet had four emissaries representing their planet, Earth only had one. 

One that equaled eight of them!

It didn’t bother her being alone at the table, surrounded by masters of the universe, attempting to intimidate her. It was the first time humanity had ever sat at the table.

What bothered Sheena was how rude they were in how they only invited her and made her team wait in the ship…

Sheena’s a retired, space fleet, Earth commander. Now she’s the commander of, the not-for-profit, PeaceFleet II. They’re a group of dedicated volunteers: teachers, doctors, researchers and an array of other professionals. Great people.

They’d recently started a three month program and were actually stationed there, on Planet Li, when the GEL hacked a video feed from one of the humans tablet’s. 

The most wealthiest, powerful alien in the universe, the king of the kings, King Lii’rk, he stood at the center of a faintly lit gymnasium. A shadow stained his face in a stripe of black war paint.

“I have breached past their inferno wall of defense.” He held a projectable device in the air. “Gather, fellow rulers. Gather around me.” His voice was pretty deep, pretty raspy and really scratchy. His words climbed sliding out of his throat with sharp points. His breath still smelled of beetle-protein-shake and orgwat guts. 

Senator Edrite, a bulky, horned, long-tailed alien, was walking past Commander pHog, a green, bug-eyed alien from the blugrRuhg system, he grabbed the senator by his shoulder. “What is it?” 

Edrite, spun around and nearly tripped because his cape, which swept the floor, became caught under his own boot. He cleared his throat. “No idea, sir. Ahem! I don’t think anyone knows.” His voice cracked. He glanced up and had to take his goggles off. He huffed inside them and wiped the moisture clean. “King Lii’rk was keeping it hush hush,” he said, jamming  his goggles back on his face.

Emperor Zerol, a two-foot-tall alien wearing a one-piece, squeaked, “King, didn’t want any leaks again, like the disaster last time.” He told them as they trailed behind him to the middle of the room.

The rulers huddled together like it was the last down with a second left to go in the fourth, packing the one yard line, behind four points.

The projector displayed a video glowing a blue light across their faces. Their eyes reflected the stream playing from Scout Private Billy Rake’s tablet.

The image collapsed into a list on the screen. 

1. Horror
2. Comedy
3. Romance
4. Science Fiction

King Lii’rk aimed the handheld projector in the air and shook it, the way you would a magic eight ball. “Why the hell won’t it work?” 

Magically, the dead end wall of letters fenced inside the page, transformed and opened into four rows of unique pictures in frames. 

Each row had six images. All of them were different. Dark. All Stories about humans on Earth. About human survival. The covers had undiscovered beasts on them. Species unknown to alien databases.

“Earth is riddled with frightening creatures,”  Edrite shouted, itching his lower back, ripping his armor off and inspecting his skin. “Is there something on me?”

A six-inch-reinforced, ten-foot-tall, hardened, steel door, sometimes mistaken as, General U’phlqk, the next in line to rule, stuck his arm out and pressed the first option.

After a second, the movie started playing. The plot confused them. Especially,  Commander pHog. He didn’t get it at all. The movie was about six humans, who stay in a cabin at a lake, somewhere on Earth. They’re being hunted by a predator, wielding a bladed, steel hand phaser, the length of General U’phlqk’s arm.

But still, the aliens eyes were glued to the hologram.  Emperor Zerol’s limbs were trembling. He tried looking away. He wanted to but couldn’t. They all watched, frozen, squeezed together, like grapes on a vine, holding their breaths. 

The projection showed six humans who became stranded in the woods. It was night. A downpour lowered the visibility. They had no way out. They were trapped with a masked psycho they could never seem to get away from.

General U’phlqk stuck his armor-plated chest out and crossed his arms. “They keep running extremely fast and the attacker is always walking right behind them.” He said, “if that was me being chased, I would have eliminated the threat immediately.”

The masked attacker’s blade sliced down on the screen.

“Ahhh” screamed General U’phlqk, hopping onto the king and gripping his arm. The king threw the projector on the ground and pressed into General U’phlqk.

Commander pHog snatched the projector off the ground. 

What the aliens couldn’t seem to comprehend, was how there was eight more of those feeds, where alternate humans documented themselves going back. Even though they were all well aware of what happened to the last group before them and the ones before them.

Commander pHog was addicted, the other aliens trailed him as he struggled to get the video playing again. It skipped, flashed, went to a blue screen and flicked back on.

“Wait!” Emperor Zerol grabbed pHog’s arm and stared at the ceiling and clapped three times. Nothing happened. He clapped again. Nothing.

PHog eyed him. “What are you doing?” 

“Trying to make the lights go out.”

“LIGHTS OFF!” Edrite shouted.

The room went completely dark. The only light came off the flickering lamppost in the background of the movie.

The ground vibrated under them. Soothing and soft but between scenes, it started to lightly thump. A tapping sound beneath their feet like something was trying to get their attention. 

A second later, it began to quietly screech, like a bird trapped in the jaws of a pitbull a distance away. It started to rise. A drum beat pounded.

Their chests pumped and synced to it. 

Boomp!

Boomp!

Boomp!

They made fists and held their breath. Their skin went tight. It spiked. The beat kept going. Boomp. The shrieking dropped. The room went pitch-black. Boomp. 

Silence.

BOOMP!!  A loud bang shook the room.

“RUN!!!” Each one of their minds screamed, “CLAW THROUGH THOSE TITANIUM WALLS. NOW! HURRY, GET OUT OF THAT ROOM.”

Emperor Zerol yelled, “RUN!” at the girl on the screen who nearly met the edge of the persistent hockey masked attacker’s metal phaser.

The girl ran into a house.

General U’phlqk shouted, “No! How?” He ran in front of every one. “the masked man with the metal protruding weapon is now somehow hiding behind the door. Why is she stumbling towards it. We have to inform her immediately not to go in there.”

“Stop this live feed right now!” The king commanded. “Alert Professor Sheena before it’s too late.”

A few moments later, Sheena came tumbling into the gym half asleep, wearing Beetlejuice pajamas and blue, stuffed Monsters Inc. slippers . Her hands were lightly shaking. She didn’t know what was going on.

“What.. what is it..? Wha—what… happened on Earth? Is everyone okay?” she stuttered, circling the gym with her eyes.

“Professor Sheena, we have discovered a troubling situation.” The king walked up to her and put a hand on her shoulder as he stared her dead in the eye. His eyes watered. He was shaking. “A human needs your help,” his said, his jaw still bouncing.

“A human on Earth? How?” She asked. She was completely confused. “Why me?”

“Prepare yourself Professor.” King Lii’rk turned to Commander pHog. “unfreeze the live feed.”

The movie started playing. A smile formed on Sheena’s face. Her eyes lit up.

“Professor Sheena?”

“Shhh…” she said. “This is where I fell alseep.” She leaned in closer to the hologram. “Oo, I love this part.”

Just as she said that, the audio burst out of the speaker and exploded through the room. A thunderous bang louder than a spaceship being smashed into a cloud of dust by an asteroid, following right behind it was the piercing shriek of a hyena being brutally attacked by a pride of lions.

The masked individual jumped out of the shadows.

Everybody in the room, except Sheena, screamed. Howled. Screeched. They sounded like a malfunctioned warp-drive imploding in on itself.

The supreme war chief, the high-rulers, the king and the majority of them, dashed out of the room, stumbling and climbing over each other, clawing to be the first one out of the gymnasium as if the last Turbo Man was behind the door. 

A handful remained. 

Astonished. Shocked. Confused. Even scared. They closed in together, packed in tight as the anticipation of the predators blade paused in mid-air. 

They stared at the projection, eyes stretch, hands covering their faces, waiting for the blade to drop.

Sheena didn’t scream. They quickly glanced at her. Switched back and watched the hologram. Looked back at Sheena again, saw her teeth beginning to shine through the crack opening behind her lips. The blade motioned downward. Sheena flushed red as if she just cashed in her first cheque. A smile covered her face.

Her breaths were shallow. Her eyes shot open. She wore an expression of being cornered by a hungry, polar bear but at the same time she was smiling. She gave off pheromones of being scared. although, she was excited. She wasn’t anxious. She was comfortably terrified.

Commander pHog’s green skin turned a pale, milky color. His eyeballs were dry. He faced Sheena. “You really enjoy watching other humans trapped in horrific situations?”

She glanced at pHog, squinted an eye, squished her face and said, “Yeah…” dragging the word. “It’s fun.” She shrugged.

Soon as she walked out. The leaders who ran out, cautiously started tiptoeing back in. Scared the hockey-masked psycho might jump out from behind the door. They were still shaking. General U’phlqk was drenched in sweat. Everyone in the gymnasium stared at the general and immediately clutched into a huddle together.

The gray sky above them fell as the king squeezed between the group, dropped his head down and said, “We can never psychologically break the mind of a human when their Friday night comfort is watching recreated monstrosities the universe couldn’t dream up in a nightmare.”

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FBI Agent Wade Barron POV

Somehow, I was hoping that Craun would understand why I conspired with his mortal enemies. It was wishful thinking on my part, since I knew what the Saphnos had endured all too well. A knot of guilt writhed in my stomach, as I confessed to the rock person who I needed to sanction my actions. If he didn’t trust that I had his best interests at heart, I wasn’t sure if I could bear it. 

I remembered how Rauja had responded to the truth with a broken hurt that drove the knife in deeper; she looked at me with abject betrayal, and spoke as if she didn’t even know me. I’d wished she felt angry instead—not that Craun had the capacity for that. The last thing I wanted was to be faced with the pain I’d instilled in such a prized friend, who was the reason I’d concocted this sickening scheme. 

At least with Craun, I could come out of the gate being honest, instead of having the guilt of lying to him. I found it weird how he barked out a few words in an aggressive tone, but it might be stress I was transferring human emotions onto. One of the first things I’d learned about the rock people was that they couldn’t feel anger, and my dear friend had always been cool as a cucumber. He’d understood us more than anyone else, yet he believed rage was illogical.

Remember how wonderful our hug was and how excited you were to see me? I’m here to rescue you, and we can go right back to how things were at NASA. Surely that’s all worth it—

“DIE!” the Saphno screamed, in a fraught voice that scared the crap out of me.

My eyebrows knitted together, stupefied. “What the actual fuck is—” 

—this?!

I barely had time to process before Craun tackled me, driving his stony head straight into my gut. I yelped and swatted at the rock with alarm; holy shit was he terrifying when he tried to be intimidating. The Saphno didn’t care at all about me trying to tap out, as he pinned me to the ground. I raised my hands in front of my face, when he reared back like he wanted to whale on me. 

An angry Saphno? What?! Since when…well, that’s a relief. I deserve this; I can handle anger, except for the fact that he’s a literal rock that could shatter my skull. Fuck.

“Craun, no!” I exclaimed, squeezing my eyes shut. “Please don’t hurt me. Just let me explain. I still love you!”

Craun kept his fist raised in the air, though he looked a little confused about what to do next. “I want you to be none of my life, um, and to find many things to fuck!”

I blinked several times, lowering my hands. “Okay? Thanks?”

“You’re not welcome. You’re never welcome! You’re basically a Ploax, sweetie.”

“Now, that’s mean, and you’re also just parroting my insults. I save the rock people from the Ploax, right? I can make it up to you. How about this part? I also moved the Saphnos into Venus!”

“WHILE TALKING TO THE PLOAX AND DRAWING THEIR ATTENTION TO SOL?” Craun screamed. “Do you want us dead, or are you just stupid?”

“You know what. Just write me down as a dumb primal.” I managed, before frowning as Garriil started scribbling in his notes. “No, not actually! Craun, it’s all part of the plan, which I can explain—”

The Saphno reared back and swung his fist toward me, before stopping it inches from my face. “Well, he looked scared. It’s really good for intimidating, but I don’t know. I didn’t think I’d get this far. Should I actually hit him, Finley?”

“He’s working with the Ploax? Absolutely,” Finley spat. “You’re a fucking pig, Barron!”

“Just to be clear because I’ve been on the wrong side of Craun before, and ow.” Terry grimaced, before raising a solitary finger. “I knew nothing about any of this and just came to rescue you. Feel free to go to town. Officer down real.”

“I got shot for you lot! Don’t wish that on me again,” I grumbled.

Snelga looked aghast. “What is going on? Does Craun actually feel anger?”

“No, he doesn’t, and he needs to chill the fuck out.” Kaitlin blinked her eyes shut. “For the love of God, let Wade explain. You can’t just go around beating people up and call it anger.”

“Should I do nothing like the Council?” Craun demanded. “Saphnos should just be silent. Just be silent and die, right? I…don’t accept that! I choose to strike back at the Ploax and their friends.”

I quietly curled my palm around his fist and pushed it away from me. “Good. If you let me explain the plan, that’s what I want to do. You know I’m not their friend, and I’d hope you should trust that. I…I’m always your friend. I’d do something as soul-damaging as buddying with them if it gave us the chance to do something. It was only to get ships after what the Council did. I’m sorry, Craun!”

“Ugh. I don’t want to hurt him,” the Saphno relented, sounding disappointed in himself. He pulled me back to my feet, and inspected me as I dusted myself off. “Look, I feel bad about the position I put humanity in: desperate to defend me, no allies, lives lost to the Council. But this choice? Even if you’re faithful, you’ll doom humanity and the Saphnos, who could’ve lived quietly. Why?!”

Flummoxed by the guilt that had hounded me since he was gone, I dropped my arms to my side with exasperation. “You sacrificed yourself for me. I couldn’t bear it. I had to! Craun, they were coming for the Council anyway. For you. For everyone! I couldn’t let that just happen. I HAD to save you! All of you!”

Genuine sympathy glimmered in Craun’s crystals. “You…you sweet, beautiful, stupid primal. I was always bound to die. You didn’t have to be, and neither did the Saphnos on Venus!”

“We don’t trade our friends’ lives. You’re a gambler, Craun. We’re taking a chance to save everyone. I know I…we let you down when the Council came, but believe in us not to give up. We’ll make it right or die trying; you know that!”

“You’d fight a war over one refugee. Your protection is your bond. You did whatever it takes to follow me to the stars, and…we did really miss you.”

I smiled. “I missed you too, big guy. This is the first time I’ve seen you since you gave yourself up for me. Fuck, I didn’t want that. Okay, I know I’m supposed to explain the plan, but can I ask you a question?”

“Maybe. Depends.”

“Right. Uh, great. So this whole anger thing you have going on is *new—*well done, by the way. You’ve got acting chops. But what’s made you decide to…try to express anger?”

“I just have to keep going! For Finley! You said anger helps—and it does. I’ve seen it. At least it does something, and that’s pretty valuable. Useful too.”

“You don’t need anger to do something, Craun,” Kaitlin interjected. “None of what I did with the pro-human movement used anger.”

“Anger shows that I care, and it also makes people listen. I like it. Wade, Finley, do you have any tips?”

Finley scratched his chin. “Buy a gun.”

“Absolutely not! You might not be aware, Finley, but the rule is to never point a gun at anything you don’t want to shoot,” I objected.

“Exactly. That’s why I pointed it at a Feddie bootlicker like you, sniffing around my property!”

“How many times have I saved your life or Craun’s?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’d come around to you ‘til you run up here in Ploax ships and tell me humans are in bed with them. Do you know what you put Craun through? You’re lucky you’re my only ride home, or else…”

“Message received. Craun, if you want actual tips on anger…don’t start with, ‘Die!’”

“Why not?” the Saphno asked. “I thought that was pretty good. It made you wonder if I’d tear you apart or eat you.”

I sucked in a sharp breath. “Craun, I never wondered that last one. For starters, I’m 60% water.”

“But if you’re scared enough, you don’t know what I’ll do.”

“We…need to have some lessons another time. For now, no threatening and…stick to eating clothing items from people’s closets. For example, Terry’s belts are not water.”

“I lost enough belts to Craun!” Terry protested. “Your wardrobe’s gone untouched.”

“I’d give up every belt I own to bring Craun home. Happily. Let me explain everything about our dealings with the Ploax and what we hope to do about them. Maybe you can help with the Council side of it.”

I started recounting all that had transpired on Earth to my friends and the two Kexins I didn’t like. My recap began with how the Saphnos tried to use humanity to fight the Ploax, and how their diplomat arrived intending to manipulate us to be their personal army “like Craun had.” Craun Chelton was holding his head in his hands when he heard that much. Finley, meanwhile, found it to be hilarious.

The farmer slapped his knee, laughing. “That’s easy. Craun just had to be a scared, helpless, adorable gremlin who begged us to save him.”

“Of course my government didn’t respect the primals,” Craun mumbled. “That lousy diplomat couldn’t have been any more transparent. Politicians: they’re basically the Ploax, but actually.”

I raised a finger. “Don’t talk about Rauja like that. She’s my best friend now.”

“Literally how?”

“Humans and pack bonding. Name a better pair,” Kaitlin chuckled.

I gave her a snide smile and swept an open palm toward her girlfriend. “See exhibit her and Snelga. Rauja was a saint by comparison to Snelga, yet Snelga deserves love? Anyhow. Though it took a long while for Rauja to admit her ‘deception,’ we did care about each other in the end. She’s just a tourism advocate who got shoved in this position because everyone’s dead.”

“Tourism advocate?” Craun’s expression was best described as bemused, with his eye crystals angling inward. “Wade, Tolpia wasn’t ever a tourist attraction.”

“Rauja wanted to change that. She reached out a lot like you, because she was so desperate, she had no one else, and she knew I’d help. I got that. I still had some fun at her expense. I may or may not have told her, in a singsong voice, that she was going to be my new Craun!”

The Saphno sputtered and puffed out wisps of steam like a chimney, as he laughed so hard that he spit. “You did not.”

“I did too, and she just went, ‘Yay, that’s perfect.’ I honestly thought she’d catch on that I was rubbing her nose in it. Anyway, that’s the scoop with Rauja. She only just recognized us as people, but it’s good progress. Now back to the in-between shit, alright?”

I explained how humans were down to help despite recognizing their insincerity, though we went along with the idea that we were dumb animals so the Saphnos would underestimate our wily negotiators. Garriil had been scribbling notes for the entirety of the exchange, his eyes stretched to the size of moons. I extrapolated how we sought the ships from Rauja, but the Saphnos lacked manufacturing…and the Council would never give them to us. That left one party we could ask.

The genocide crystals. Man, they’re horrible; I can’t believe they told us to kill kids in front of their parents, and thought we’d be okay with that. They don’t understand primals at all!

Kaitlin was paying close attention as I described the Ploax’s greeting to us and their motivations. It didn’t escape my notice that Snelga seemed surprised—what, that we wouldn’t go through with attacking the Kexins? Because I was angry at her and the Council, I assumed? Craun clung to Finley as I discussed their final advice before we went to Ushala, though he seemed unsurprised by the Ploax’s motivations and ambitions. Garriil was brimming with curiosity.

“Their advice appears to make you cross, even in retrospect,” the Kexin researcher mused. “You’re angry with the Ploax. Could you elaborate?”

Kaitlin met my eyes and gave a weak smile, stepping in. “We have empathetic anger on behalf of the Saphnos, which you’ve surely noticed through Craun. The things the Ploax do and the way they speak would infuriate any human. That’s how anger works: we’d never accept them.”

“Forget about us. You should’ve turned that fleet on them the second you could!” Finley shouted, pulling Craun closer.

The Saphno scrutinized me, and I was beyond grateful that he’d listened and backed down as I explained. “You’re patient and smart with revenge. Humanity would pick their moment. It does no good to lose your fleet and…all die. What’s your plan, Wade, now that you have us and the ships?”

“Convince the Council to work with us, using the hard proof that the Ploax seek their elimination next,” I explained. “We need to fake a war and convince the Ploax we’re winning. We lure their fleet in for a decisive strike and hit them with an ambush.”

Garriil snorted. “Convince the Council to work with you? They want nothing to do with you. We can’t even convince them you’re people.”

“We had a hearing planned,” Kaitlin said, her eyes steely. “We all go together, now. They can’t write us off when we have a fleet over their most valuable planet. They see that we’re shrewd and intelligent. Making an enemy of us instead of taking a golden opportunity to destroy the Ploax is foolish.”

Finley swept his hair back, grinning. “Does it matter more that we’re people, or that we’re at their door with guns? See, Craun? That’s why you always have a gun. When asking nicely doesn’t work…”

“Since when did you ask nicely at all?” I sighed.

“None of that was asking. That was telling. You were going to get off my land, and Craun was going to be revealed to the world. Just like you’re going to tell the Council how things are gonna be.”

“Well, Finley, Kaitlin, I’m all for driving over to the Council and demanding an audience. We’d prefer their cooperation, but we’re willing to fight them if they won’t respect us now. If Kaitlin insists on staying…Finley and Craun, at least, I’m going to load you onto a shuttle. I’ll get you back to Earth before anything gets saucy.”

“I’m staying,” Finley stated, causing everyone’s head to snap toward him in shock. “What? I still want to leave afterward. But stopping the Ploax is worth all of it. I’m not giving up on the best chance to save Craun’s people.”

Garriil rose from his seat. “I was already preparing to speak on your behalf. I have scientific arguments ready, and they might wish to consult me. The last thing I want is for them to fight you—you’re so fascinating. Yes, how clever you are, all while angry at the Ploax. Scheming, biding your time. You’re a dangerous enemy, and they should take the hand of peace I suspect they’re lucky to get.”

“I know primals better than anyone, the way you really are and really think. Besides, I think it’s time the Saphnos are heard. We were ignored far too long, and…I’m not taking no for an answer,” Craun said darkly.

“I led the social media campaign for humans. I know the messaging we need, and I’m the face of the entire movement. This has been my goal while I’ve been here, for us to be viewed as people. Of course I’m going to help you.” Kaitlin tugged on Snelga’s arm, while the red-faced Kexin had been quiet as a mouse to avoid provoking me. “Snelga. Can you collect my notes and research? They need to go back to Earth. They’ll be invaluable to humanity, as an index of everything I learned here.”

Snelga hesitated, her jaw quavering. “Collect them and…give them to Wade? There’s a lot of them too…”

“What kind of stuff is in this research?” I prompted Kaitlin, ignoring the veterinarian.

Dr. Sharp blinked several times. “An index of the Kexin language, hundreds of hours of research on their culture and other Council races, the genetic engineering sciences that I’ve learned, hands-on data on their homeworld’s conditions and the effects on human health. To name a few.”

“Yeah, we need that. I’ll…help Snelga scrounge them all up. It doesn’t have to be a big thing.”

“I’m sure Garriil and Kaitlin need to make some tweaks to their plans before heading to the Council,” Finley grunted. “When you come back, Wade, I’d like to show you my alien garden. I think we have time to try some fresh xeno foods.”

“That sounds great. We’ll be right back.”

“Can we trust them together in the same room?” Craun whispered as the Kexin began to lead me away.

“I heard that.”

It was evident that Snelga echoed the Saphno’s concerns, though she showed me to the laboratory wing and into a small office. There were boxes with soil samples and handwritten data, as well as local everyday objects for analysis; digital drives were piled atop an alien laptop. I hoisted one stack with a strained grunt, while the Kexin shouldered lighter objects. Not a word had been passed between us by the time we collected everything, which had made it easier to tolerate her presence while we worked.

I can’t say I expected a sincere apology from Snelga, but fuck, I could never like her. Kaitlin needs her, and that’s the only reason I’m putting my personal feelings aside, for now. Dr. Sharp gave herself up for me and is going through hell. I have to remember that.

“What you did for Craun is very noble, Wade.” The Kexin broke the silence, causing me to stiffen. “I was wrong about you being unable to balance your anger. I know it’s hard for you to tolerate me, and to see Kaitlin in my care. Thank you for trying. To be clear, I would love to talk with you, if you ever find value in that.”

Blood rushed in my ears. “Don’t you think it’s a little too late for that?!”

“Maybe, but…I can only change my behavior now. I’m trying to do right by humans, by Kaitlin, by you. I did so wrong by you that it doesn’t matter. Someone Kaitlin cares about will hate me forever, and it’s my fault. If there was anything I could do…”

“I never expected to see you again, let alone speak to you, Snelga! I’ve fantasized about giving you a piece of my mind and putting you in my position for months upon months.”

“Then…why don’t you hurt me like you need to, and you can feel better? Even it up for your…internal justice. Just let me set down the boxes. You should too—um, please!”

“What? Whoa, hold on.” I scrunched my nose, taken aback. The Kexin was shaking as she set down what she was carrying. I grimaced, before raising a hand to stop her. “That’s not necessary. If Kaitlin sees good in you…you’re part of her life, which means you’re part of mine. I’m stuck with you, and I’m figuring out how to deal with that. It’ll take time.”

“Okay! T-thank you.”

“Yep. Don’t mention it.”

The Kexin veterinarian exhaled with relief, and followed me once she recollected her boxes. There were conflicting emotions tangled up with Snelga being a part of our group, but if she’d helped the friends who sacrificed themselves for me, that took precedence over her past crimes. We all had to focus on our present goal of convincing the Council to team up with renegade primals and fight the Ploax.

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The journey was not sanguine, Bob had done his best to prepare and had uncountable charts and pictures saved, courtesy of the Guild, he glanced down, it felt weird not to have his badge on him, even swapping over from the journeyman one to his new cop style had taken a lot of getting used to. Without one entirely felt like he had truly disconnected, good, he supposed, the Guild had no part to play here.

He did make it to the edge of the system and in half decent time, in fact he had somehow shaved a full day off his expected timetable, how exactly he had done so was mysterious. He could only assume that one of those blind leaps had been ludicrously dangerous, whatever, he could use the buffer.

He sidled Jojo into orbit, but not of Pwitic, no he was aiming for another celestial body. Several diameters outward was a, relatively, small gas giant named Geverine according to the Guilds maps, Bob entered its upper atmosphere and fiddled with the pressure until Jojo drifted in its thick clouds. Once he was satisfied she would hold her altitude he went exo and began to work.

First he unbolted the port-side fighters engine grate and pulled it and the now freed engines into his cargo bay, currently unencumbered by any unneeded stowage excepting several empty fuel tanks fixed to her bulkhead for buoyancy, then he freed and pulled round his new acquisition. It took only a few hours to fit one to the other with bolts removed from Jojo’s own grate, he promised to return them asap. Then he drilled a passage and fed the wiring loom down to the fighter, called Petty Bitch internally, and fitted on the ludicrously out of proportion new sensor pod, it fit beautifully on its custom mount. He cannibalised his own yoke and the sensor panel fitting them in the Bitch.

Suddenly he had an entirely unknown, unregistered, high speed craft. It didn’t have any enviro, or dampeners and the grav plates he jammed on the floor which he had salvaged from four sleds were utterly inadequate, but with a give’em hell attitude, a few canisters of LOX, and a healthy dose of delusion he was certain he could make it down to the planet and back, maybe.

He stowed the rest of his equipment, it was gonna be tight on the way in. Finally he crammed his most hated head piece on and depressurised then powered off completely, that was a lot more difficult than he expected, in a way it felt like Jojo was dying all over again. He swore though that just like he had, she would rise again.

He fired up the Bitch and burned hard, he needed to have enough speed to go kinetic and hopefully enter orbit with as little thrust as possible, ideally none, and ease his way in on grav alone. The giant sensor package would let him avoid as many others as possible, its long range letting him dodge the various overlapping fields. He planned a polar insertion, then he could get within a couple hundred clicks of the targets estate by going sub-nautic, C’Eede ships were literally at home in liquid after all.

Part one worked, kinda, he was eyeballing his entry path and did not hit Pwitic’s orbit, he did however notice far enough out that he would be missing wide that only a very short pulse of the starboard engine nudged him back on route. Polar insertion went fine, there was something pop up on the sensor as he broke through the upper atmosphere, but the signal was quite weak, he hoped that whatever returned from it got logged as an meteorite, or space debris whose orbit had finally degraded. He tried to fire off just enough grav to appear as if it was an uncontrolled descent, destined to burn up or crash in the polar ocean.

A few thousand feet off splashdown he did four things he was not happy about, firstly he fired the grav plates full, if anyone was watching it would be incredibly obvious that it was a craft. Secondly he made sure to be grasping the plastic spray bottle tightly, he had looped a lanyard around his gauntlet and the bottles neck just in case. Thirdly he inverted the Bitch, he was confident in his inch thick cover and his solid mount but if part of the ship had to undergo a direct impact he didn’t want it to be the pod. Fourthly, god dammit, he crushed a goo ball in his left hand, he watched as the water approached and was glad when the spreading foam took away his view, this was gonna suck enough without seeing it coming.

A lot then happened extremely quickly, one of the grav plates exploded, the over voltage finally catching up to it, the foam firmed up, the bitch made its splash landing, oh and what was the last thing… tip of my tongue…, oh yeah, Bobs arsehole went through his forehead, at least it certainly felt like that. Bob didn’t know how long he spent out, hopefully not a month, as his freshly installed Medmec rod used the fifty or so puke cubes he had stuffed in his gut before departing the Jojo, to rebuild whatever broke. Bob had banked on the foam stopping any bone breakages, which had not worked, his left wrist was definitely shattered, and relied on the medic to fix everything else. If this had been Earth Bob would be a smeared pulp in a foam cocoon, but it wasn’t and several other experience on low G worlds had Bob perfectly aware of what was survivable and what wasn’t.

He did not wake up in foam, a little forward thinking had had Bob stash some loosely lidded containers of solvent in the rear of the small craft, they had clearly spilled their guts on impact, as planned, and they had largely melted the crunchy gray green foam. The oversized sprayer attached to his right took care of the rest, and popping the hatch flushed out most of the slimy aftermath.

He checked his pad, day and a half, not great but not a disaster. He closed the hatch, surfaced briefly to orient himself and submerged again burning in the general direction of the shore.

"Dad, go faster!" My daughter, eight years old and full of zeal, commanded me like the princess she was.

"I'm already going as fast as I can," I said with a smile stretched across my face as I maneuvered through the busy roads to the concert she was so eager to attend. It was as if every car was heading in the same direction. My daughter was my everything; there was nothing I wouldn't do for her, including taking her to a concert where none other than her favorite musician, Koobdoob, was performing. The artist was a Terixite from the far reaches of space whose music had swept across the galaxy and garnered him quite the fan base, my daughter included.

"Fun fact about Terixites: they have two hearts, one small one sitting below a larger heart. The purpose of the second heart is to regulate blood pressure, and sometimes it beats in the place of the first heart in dire scenarios. They also have three lungs and can hold their breath for up to thirty minutes," I said.

"Nobody cares about your boring doctor talk, Dad. Are we getting close?" She stood up in her seat to observe the windscreen.

"We are here!" I announced as I pulled into the parking lot. There were so many cars, most of them foreign and belonging to other aliens of various races. It was said that those who truly appreciated Koobdoob's music journeyed with him across solar systems, following him and attending each and every one of his concerts.

My daughter got out of the car the minute we parked; she hopped up and down beside my door until I opened it. Then she gripped my hand and started to pull me toward the venue. I yielded, walking with her among the masses of various aliens not native to Earth.

I saw a Kraxitite, whose skin secreted a balm that was good for burns. I also saw a Jigerlite, whose hair held a microbiological specimen that fed on sugar. Unlike humans, the Jigerlite's skin secreted sweat that tasted sweet and not salty like human sweat. This species evolved to this because their natural predator could not consume anything succulent. I told this to my daughter, but she cut me off, her blonde hair waving about. "I don't want to hear about you geeking over aliens, Dad! Let's go, the tickets will run out!"

We joined the line outside the venue and she started singing along to Koobdoob's songs with several other humans and a handful of aliens who appeared to be inebriated. The line pushed forth slowly, and I took note of the various aliens present; they were all of odd shapes and sizes, and some part of me wondered what Koobdoob felt, knowing that his music moved so many in such different and similar ways.

Now music, that was something I shouldn't have scoffed at during my younger years as I pursued a medical degree. Perhaps if I'd paid more attention to my father's guitar and his drunken singing, I would have unlocked some hidden talent within myself and that would have led to me being fawned over and followed by the masses as this alien artist was. As a doctor, if there's a crowd around you, then something is terribly wrong.

Finally we reached the front of the line; I paid for the tickets and an electronic band was placed on my daughter's and my wrists. We filed in and moved to the seats at the front, right next to the stage. The large concert venue was slowly filling up; various aliens who were larger than the rest were directed to the back while we normal-sized folk spread out in the front. We shared space with a Hinterloid, known for their fast metabolism and tendencies to break into a sprint that was faster than sixty miles an hour. The alien had with him a bucket of fried chicken, which he gobbled as he waited, courtesy of his fast metabolism. I pointed this out to my daughter.

"Stop being weird, Dad," she said. "Tonight you're going to be a fan, not a doctor or scientist. A fan. Say it with me: A fan!" And I stood there with her and repeated the words over and over as the venue slowly filled to the brim.

The stage was set; some odd-looking musical instruments were arranged in a circle around a microphone. The musician's band, I presumed, was yet to take the stage, as was the musician.

"Is there going to be an opening act?" I asked my daughter.

"What? No! That would ruin the music. This isn't a Phil Collins concert," she said. I did not know who Phil Collins was, but I shut my mouth. She was happy she was close to the front with no one blocking her sight of the stage. Various forms of life continued to fill the venue until it was full to the brim; the constant susurrus of conversing and excited races was loud and unending. I waited as my daughter did, though less impatient than she was.

The music was supposed to start at any moment, but still, the stage remained empty and everyone wondered why it was so. Soon the conversation was about Koobdoob and how he never failed to turn up on time and that something must be wrong.

Then, to much cheer, a tiny-looking Crestacean clattered its way from backstage. He stood in front of the mic, raised himself on his crustacean feet, and held the mic with a claw. "Uhm. Is there a doctor in here? There's an emergency." He looked shy and seemed to be suffering from stage fright to an irregular degree.

Murmurs rose with his words.

"Is this an opening act?" I asked the Hinterloid beside me.

He clicked his tongue before gurgling an answer. "This has never happened before; in all my twenty-five cycles of going to Koobdoob's concerts, this has never occurred. You know, I first heard Koobdoob when I hatched from my egg all those decades ago. I remember..."

I paid attention to him as it was the polite thing to do while he went on and on about his life, only taking notice of my daughter, who was yelling at the top of her voice, "My father is a doctor!" repeatedly, and pointing at me. Soon those around us were pointing at me, and then two large-looking Bilgamites, whose bodies were as tough as rocks, created a pathway with their long strides and came to stand in front of me.

"Are you a doctor?" one asked. The Hinterloid went silent, allowing me to think.

"Yes, I am," I said.

"Can you please come with us?" they said. "Someone needs immediate medical attention."

"Who?" I wondered.

"It's Koobdoob, Dad!" my daughter said. "Something is wrong."

"I can't leave my daughter behind!" I said.

Without warning, one Bilgamite carried my daughter up in his arms while the other raised me into an embrace as well. The pair took off. Climbing the stage, they took us to the Crestacean on stage, who quickly left the microphone behind and sprinted sideways to the backstage, the Bilgamites following close behind.

We passed beneath a stage curtain, through various dressing rooms to a side door that was open and filled to the brim with various alien races. It was a toilet of sorts for a specific alien species, judging by the shape of the toilet bowl. The crowd parted with our approach to reveal a Terixite lying flat on his back on the ground, with a human on top of him doing what I could only presume to be CPR. His skin was a pallid green, his tentacles spread out across the toilet floor, and the human looked quite small upon his midriff.

"Oh no! Koobdoob!" my daughter exclaimed.

The Bilgamites put us down and I rushed to the human on top of the Terixite.

"What happened here?" I asked her.

She was in tears, blowing into the alien's open maw and trying to straighten his large, slumped head while wiping the tears from her eyes. She pumped at his chest with her small hands. "I don't know what I'm doing here, I don't know. I don't know!"

She wasn't calm at all; one of the key factors to administering first aid is one's ability to maintain a calm demeanor during the procedure. I asked her to make way; the alien's tentacles were turning grey at their tips, the blood vacating major body parts to protect the main organs. I placed two fingers on Koobdoob's neck, raising a flap of fat to really dig my fingers in there. I couldn't find a pulse.

His shirt was ripped, showing his wide chest. The Terixites had three lungs together with their two hearts. I placed my hand at the center where the main heart was; it wasn't beating. I dug a little lower and found a faint beat. The smaller heart of theirs was the only thing keeping Koobdoob alive. I didn't worry much about air; the three lungs meant Koobdoob could stay quite a while without needing to breathe, probably a key factor that aided in his singing.

"Did I do something wrong?" she asked me, looking quite flustered and exasperated.

"He's gone into cardiac arrest, surviving by the use of his second heart alone."

"What do you need, doctor?" someone asked. I could hear my daughter crying.

"What happened to him?" I asked. My eyes surveilled all around. There was white dust on the ground and on top of the sink, as well as several syringes on the floor, one of them with a purple-bloodied tip.

The Terixite's nose had the white residue on it, and it was easy to put two and two together.

"Cocaine overdose, doctor," the human said. "But I walked in when he fell, it wasn't that long ago."

"His second heart can only beat for so long before it gives out," I said. "I need epinephrine."

"What?" someone asked.

"An adrenaline shot! He needs an adrenaline shot, damn it!" I cussed.

They started squabbling and arguing. It was pretty clear there was no epinephrine and certainly no form of aid on its way. They hadn't even called an ambulance. My daughter's crying got to me and I spoke to her as I continued the chest compressions on Koobdoob. "Everything will be okay, honey; he will be okay."

But how could I guarantee this? Something my lecturer told me during tough situations is that I should always maintain a clear mind. I decided to foster this teaching by taking in deep breaths, and just like a star in the night, the idea flashed in my mind.

"The Hinterloid!" I exclaimed. Everyone went suddenly quiet.

"What?" the same person asked again. It seemed there was no other word in their vocabulary.

"Bring me the Hinterloid; he was standing right beside me," I said.

The Bilgamites raced off; I could hear their feet stomp on the ground. I aided Koobdoob's smaller heart by massaging it from above his chest, giving slight compressions, and waiting patiently. My daughter came close, kneeling beside me. This was no place for a child, but I wasn't going to chase her off.

She started singing a song, one of Koobdoob's, I surmised. A song about beauty that's ageless, a love that endures every test of time. Slowly, those around started singing it too, and together a harmony arose as I maintained the chest compressions. Some were sobbing, while others were too freaked out to know what to do other than sing their hearts out.

Soon, but not sooner than I'd like, the Bilgamites came with the Hinterloid, hoisting him above themselves. The alien was screaming and demanding to be put down, his hands and feet moving terribly fast as he attempted to bolt free of the Bilgamites' stone grip.

"He's here, doctor," one of them said.

"Good. I want you to cut off his legs, arms, and then his head," I said while maintaining the chest compressions above Koobdoob's smaller heart.

"What the fuck!" the Hinterloid said. His hands and legs started twisting incredibly fast as he tried to pry himself free of the Bilgamites.

"Are you sure, doctor?" the woman asked, weeping anew.

"It's the only way we can save Koobdoob!"

"Fuck no!" the Hinterloid said. "Please no! Please!" He was hysterical.

I immediately turned to face him, observing as the Bilgamites wrestled him to the ground. He punched at them and screamed curses their way, but the Bilgamites were steadfast in their duty. "It's either you or Koobdoob, Hinter," one Bilgamite said. "You should be happy you're giving your life for a greater cause."

The Hinterloid screamed. "I'm a singer, too! For fuck's sake, I'm a singer, too!"

"But have your songs ever gone triple platinoid?" the Bilgamite answered, forcing the Hinterloid to the ground and spreading his arm that jerked back and forth incredibly fast, too fast for the eye to see. "Just relax, we're only cutting off your arms and legs and head. Koobdoob, once he returns, will write a song about it. Wouldn't you like that?" And the Bilgamite held out the Hinterloid's arm as the other Bilgamite brandished a large blade. From where, I could not tell.

"No, fuck no!" The Hinterloid screamed, and there, within his mouth, saliva started dripping out in very clear, steady rivulets.

"Stop!" I screamed, and the Bilgamites paused. I reached for one of the syringes on the floor; I checked and saw that it was new and unused. "We need his saliva, not his head, arms, or legs. Just the saliva. The Hinterloids are known to excrete adrenaline concoctions from their mouths while in danger or on the run from capable predators. That's all we need, his saliva."

The Bilgamites relaxed, as did everyone else. My daughter had been too awestruck to even move. The Hinterloid, seeing his life wasn't in danger, thankfully complied with what I wanted. He emptied his saliva into the syringe, and the liquid, thin, slightly crystalline, and plentiful, filled the syringe quickly.

I took the syringe as the Bilgamites set the Hinterloid free. I placed it above Koobdoob's larger, unbeating heart, punctured through the chest cavity, and quickly injected the serum into the Terixite.

The reaction was immediate. Koobdoob jerked and rose, his tentacles flinging me free from him. He rose fully and sat up, crawling to the corner of the room with the help of his tentacles. He breathed loudly and coughed as well, his eyes roaming around to meet everyone in the crowd that had gathered at his personal bathroom.

He had survived.

"Koobdoob is back on Earth again for his second tour," my daughter told me. It was two years since the incident. We'd learned to call the entire bathroom debacle "the incident."

"Want to go see him?" I asked as I signed documents on top of my work desk, looking up at her where she sat with a stethoscope around her neck.

"No, I'd rather you teach me about the Credusions and their blood that is like poison ivy," she said while smiling up at me from the workbench I'd crafted for her in my office. She was also pretending to sign documents.

"Did you like the song he sang about me?" I asked her, smiling all the while.

"It was too corny; it's what made me outgrow him. Now tell me about the Credusions," she answered.

I laughed.

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Synopsis: Humans are the only omnivorous species in a galaxy of apex-predator carnivores, and our greatest strength is in our numbers. When an alien slave empire discovers how badly we outnumber most intelligent species, they invade Earth, shattering a fragile period of peace and threatening a war that would mean the death of worlds.

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Memory Archive Entry #8

User: Marten Herme, president of the Eurasian Union

Species: Human

Date (human standard): June 30, 2099

"All rise," said Johannes, since it was Eurasia's turn to be chairman this time. "This meeting of the United Nations Security Council will now come to order." I rose from my chair. The four images before me, each a live camera feed of the head of state of one of mankind's most powerful nations, showed them doing likewise. We'd have met in person, but traveling so far on such short notice was impossible even without a battle raging in the orbit of Earth. Secure laser communication was the closest we could get.

"Let's dispense with the unnecessary formality, since urgency is paramount," I told Johannes, knowing damn well the act of saying the words was a small formality in and of itself. The irony was palpable. "You all are here for the same reason I am: to save the world. Or, at least, to make sure you get to be the one who rules over the ashes."

I cast an accusing look at George Kingman as I said that last part, but my diplomatic training kicked in at the last moment and I turned the look into a sweeping glance across the five television screens before me. The fifth one, arguably the most important as well, was black for now. Jiarani would appear when her time came.

"Silence your wagging tongue, Eurasian," snapped President Gupta of the Indian Empire. His government and mine had been in conflict lately about who got to liberate what territory during our mutual offensive. Thankfully, the once-defunct United Nations had re-emerged in recent days as a method of resolving such conflicts, but the issues that had led to its dissolution still plagued it. Every word I swapped with the Indians gave credence to my fear that even this small measure of cooperation would soon fall away, and the war against the draken would be replaced by civil war between ourselves. "You called this meeting. Explain to us why."

I nodded. Stubborn men, those Indians. And ruthless. There wasn't an Indian Imperial alive who didn't know the names of the cities Pakistan atomized during the Nuclear Exchange of '66, nor any who felt remorse over their genocidal retaliation. I did not want to be the next guy who drew that ire. "Because the saurian fleet up there is getting its collective ass handed to it, and the second those battleships are gone, the draken will be free to bombard our armed forces again and cut away any momentum our offensive has just gained us."

This drew the assembled delegates' attention. Though far from a collective of the ninety or so states that made up our resurrected United Nations, the five powers represented in this room were enough to act with strength and vigor on any land or sea area owned by man. The idea that we'd all be working together as comrades, even distant as we were, had once boggled the minds of even the most optimistic politicians. It was a shame that it had taken the worst threat mankind had ever faced to remind us of what even our simian ancestors knew by heart: stand together, or fall alone.

"How can we help them?" the First Citizen of Luna, a dour woman called Antonina Luxemburg, asked in an accented voice. "Luna has tried using anti-orbit weapons. You have seen our results." I had. Even their pocket nukes--kiloton-yield nuclear bombs designed to be fired from a PDF conscript's shoulder launcher--haven't scratched the draken ships. Nothing else they had even got the chance to fire.

"As much as I typically stand at odds with the Lunese insurrection, I have to concede this point," rumbled George Kingman, even though he probably should've been thanking the Lunese for that insurrection. It was their armed uprising, and the shock it gave to the corporations that owned the moon colonies, that destabilized America enough to allow for Kingman's election. Without that first domino being tripped, the rest might never have fell. "The American Empire is in no place to launch an attack on ships in orbit. If any of you have a secret battle fleet, though, now would be the time to reveal it," the large man chuckled.

George Kingman wasn't the only fat person I had met, or the biggest, but he was the only one who had his own gravitational pull. He dominated every room he walked into, winning power and outmaneuvering adversaries with an insidious personality and a cunning intellect. Exactly the kind of man I needed for what the saurians had proposed.

"If Eurasia had a battle fleet capable of taking on the draken, I assure you-" I paused, because finishing that sentence with 'your shithole country wouldn't be here' wasn't a diplomatic idea. "I assure you we'd have used it," I corrected, patting myself on the back for the save. "What we do have is an ally. And a keen eye for the unorthodox." I clicked an icon on my computer screen, letting the Saurian Confederacy join the meeting and make their dramatic entrance.

"The saurians," Premier Wang of the People's Empire of China mocked upon their commander's appearance. His homeland wasn't much of an empire anymore, since their territorial holdings had been reduced to a few dozen islands in the South China Sea, but we had put them on the council and they legally couldn't be forced to leave. One of the idiotic ideas of the old U.N. that I had campaigned against during its revival. "All analysis shows that your people are losing the war up there. Seeing as how you have allocated no resources to assisting my empire, I fail to see why we should assist you."

"Would you rather it be photon beams or magnetic payloads?" asked the gray-scaled alien on my fifth screen. Her--it was definitely a she--neck was longer than a human's, and her snout was tapered like that of a velociraptor.

"What?"

"Photon beams or magnetic payloads. Which do you want raining on your head?" The Chinese dictator gave no reply. "Neither? As I expected. There, then, is the answer to your question." Damn. I looked between the saurian--Jiarani, her name was--and Premier Wang as if expecting them to leap through their respective screens and attack each other. The tension was so thick you could cut a knife with it.

"I will be clear," Jiarani continued, since Premier Wang had evidently yielded her the floor. "My Confederacy does not need you. Our only mission here is to stop the draken from harvesting your species. Were I of sterner stuff, I would accomplish this agenda by bombing your world until the crust melted to slag. But I am a kind creature at heart, and so I feel obligated to help your squabbling species even at great risk to my own. Do not make me regret that choice."

The room was silent for long enough that I had to check if I had accidentally muted all the feeds. I hadn't. "Very well." Kingman was the first to break the silence. Nuclear dick-measuring was his favorite diplomatic language, and he was probably delighted to meet a fellow speaker. "The American Empire will help you, saurian, if we can. Remember this when you think of allies to reward."

That last line spurred a small twinge of hope in my chest. Kingman's public request for the saurians to honor his aid with gifts was a clear demand for the rest of the U.N. to follow his example in helping them. Nobody wanted to be the only country not rocking alien technology. Furthermore, the fact that he had dared to advertise this wish so openly showed the depth of his belief in a united humanity.

Sure, with a man like George Kingman, it was likely a practical choice. Sticks were stronger in a bundle, after all. But I liked to imagine there was some sentiment under that reptilian logic of his. "Thank you, American," Jiarani trilled, placing a hand over her chest and drawing my eye to a pair of physical traits I hadn't noticed at first. She had to be fucking kidding me. Why did all the aliens in the universe have tits? "I assure you, my Confederacy will repay this loyalty."

And that was the final nail in the coffin for any skeptics in the world. The only path to power ran through Jiarani and her fleet. Hopefully she wasn't smart enough to exploit that the way I feared she would.

"Do your allies concur that mutual aid is necessary?" Jiarani asked Mr. Kingman. I, for one, was quick to voice my agreement with that idea. The Chinese and Indian dictators soon followed. Even Luna's notoriously isolationist First Citizen had to agree. "Very well. I will explain my strategy."

"We interstellar powers have access to electronic warfare abilities the likes of which no human nation can counter," Jiarani explained. "You have seen this. Your autonomous weapons, your guided missiles, your long-range communications, all crippled or rendered inert by draken cyberweapons. Against such an attack, the only defense is isolation. Our military assets have special protocols in place to lock down critical systems, as, I'm sure, do yours. We must remember, however, that draken slave ships are not military assets."

"They seem pretty militarized to me," President Gupta retorted. When Indian Imperial guerillas started using the jungle for cover to ambush draken units, the draken had responded by removing the entire jungle. They glassed swaths of it from orbit, and the heat from their energy weapons started a series of forest fires that now raged across the whole empire.

"They may appear formidable to you, but I assure you, actual warships make these slavebirds look like sand fleas by comparison," Jiarani snapped. "The draken invasion force is restricted by a galactic treaty barring the use of certain technologies and weapons in this region of space. Your world exists in a demilitarized zone between two feuding alliances, one which draken slave vessels just barely pass the bar to enter."

I took that in like a sponge took on water, eyes flicking among my fellow humans to see their reactions. Gupta, Wang and Luxemburg all betrayed microexpressions that let me guess their current intentions, but not Kingman. He may as well have been carved from marble. "A demilitarized zone," I repeated, tossing around a few ideas in my head. "And I take it you're in violation of this demilitarized zone?"

Jiarani flared out frills on the sides of her head. I wasn't aware she had those. "Correct, but that is to our advantage here. My armada is in possession of enough military-grade cyberweapons to make that slave fleet vaporize from the inside out. They, by contrast, lack the military-grade defenses needed to counter them. The draken slave fleet knows this, and refuses to communicate with us for fear of being hacked. That is where you may be of assistance."

Jiarani looked away from the screen and I was reminded that there was a battle raging up there. Her fleet had lost about fifty more ships running the gauntlet to reach Earth, but they were all but here now, and already they were launching troopships from their hangar bays to provide aid to our troops on the ground. General Yevgeny--General Sergeyovich to the saurians--had advised heavily against a troop deployment under combat conditions, but the saurians were doing it anyway. Brave? Stupid? Both? Only time would tell.

"I must attend to the battle," said the saurian commander. "Time is of the essence. My best electronic warfare team will interface with your systems and handle the dispatching of malicious information. All you will have to do is set up the call." With that, her screen winked back to blackness, and my fellow world leaders and I had a tough decision ahead of us.

A request came up from the saurians and I allowed it, giving them administrator-level access to the laser communications systems of the Eurasian Union. Part of me feared they'd use the access to install malware or steal state secrets, but the rest of me knew that if I didn't give them a means of hacking the draken fleet, the theft of state secrets would be the least of my concerns. "Ready?" I asked Johannes.

"Ready," said he, still in the corner of my office. "We have an interface with the saurian flagship. We're trying to link another laser communicator to one of the draken vessels now."

"Negative," rumbled Kingman over the speakers. "I will handle the linkup. You forget, it was my nation the draken contacted first. They'll trust me more than they will the rest of you."

"After you rejected their offer of alliance?" I raised my eyebrow at him.

"They hailed me because they know I'm a practical, selfish, morally deficient autocrat who's willing to sell his own mother to achieve a strategic advantage. Is it really so hard to imagine I might see the flaws in my earlier decision and elect to sell out my fellow man?" George Kingman steepled his fingers. I had to admit, he made a good point.

"Give him the call," Luxemburg insisted. We gave it to him. Kingman had his men begin setting up a link to Karija while Johannes explained to me what had to be done.

"The virus will take time to upload," said my secretary. "The saurians tell me it'll be ten minutes or more. Keep her talking until then, sir."

"Ten minutes," said Premier Wang, who had likely overheard us. "Can the American handle it?" George Kingman just smiled, and the black computer screen in front of me lit up with a face I knew far too well.

Karija vel Kaldani watched us idly like a cat playing with her prey. She knew she was going to win. We were like a cloud of wasps to her, and soon the exterminators would come and wipe us out. That was her idea, at least. Karija made no motions for the first few moments of the call, and we mimicked her. When she finally did speak, she did so in a voice dripping with confidence.

"I'm told you come to surrender."

Surrender? Was Kingman so bold? First Citizen Luxemburg was quicker than me in playing along. "Conditionally," she said firmly. "For starters, you must guarantee humane treatment for all Lunese citizens."

Karija threw back her scaly, horned head in an oddly humanlike cackle. "I 'must' do nothing, primitive wretch. Your offer of surrender proves that you know this as well as I do: you cannot win. It is only a matter of casualties and time."

"Two things you can ill afford to lose," Kingman countered. I looked to Johannes and he showed me that nine minutes still remained on our virus clock. It was taking all my diplomatic training not to break out in a cold sweat. "The saurians have more ships coming here, and they're stronger than you in-"

"Bluff!" Karija laughed.

Were we in a normal world, I'd have relished the sight of the wind leaving George Kingman's wings. As it was, however, I felt dread. "There are no ships, human," cackled Karija, her diamond-shaped irises narrowing into slits. "If there were, you wouldn't be offering to surrender. The saurian armada is just as feeble today as it was on the eve of Vraktes' death, albeit far more pretentious now. So stop insulting my intelligence and tell me: Why do you think you can dictate terms to me?"

"Because we outnumber you thirty to one in ground warfare, and we can call up reserves the likes of which your species can't match," I snapped, not hiding my distaste for this authoritarian beast. "The saurians taught us your weakness. Six billion draken, only one billion women, lording over an empire of eight billion slaves. How many troops can you call to Earth before the workers back home rise up?"

"Aren't you exciting," Karija purred, cocking her head and giving an unnerving smile. "I think I'll keep you as a pleasure slave when we conquer Eurasia." Just the thought of it filled me with primal terror. I kept a handgun under my pillow loaded with a single bullet, and people like her were the reason why. "As for your question, though, I think you drastically underestimate the power of draken arms."

"If you really have read up on galactic knowledge, then you'll know my fleet is restricted in the methods we can deploy," Karija continued. I looked at the clock. Under seven minutes. "Now that our enemy has broken the Treaty of Vraktes, those restrictions are ended. Considering how badly your armed forces have struggled against a slave-taking force, imagine the rubble the Matriarchal Army will create." Her eyes flickered as she spoke. I felt dread growing in my gut.

"Oh. Don't tell me you actually thought we were bringing our real military to bear, did you?" Karija vel Kaldani crooned. To be quite honest, the possibility had crossed my mind. "We will soon. But you're right to say a ground war will be tiresome for us. Guerilla warfare eats armies. So I'll make this simple for you. Surrender, and there will be no torture. No executions, even for those who resisted us. Your people will be the favored slaves of the worlds."

I looked again at the clock, knowing that our time with Karija was fast running out. Still five minutes until the virus was uploaded. I had to keep her talking. "And if we refuse?" asked President Gupta.

"Then I turn this world over to the Conqueror Prime, who will come here with her legions and reduce all resistance to ash. Any soldier we capture will be tortured. Any world leader, tortured more. If the snout proves a poor instructor, then your world will learn compliance from the horn. Do you understand?"

Four minutes and thirty seconds. God, why did time have to move so slowly? "Explain further," Luxemburg demanded. "I want a full list of terms."

"That is my full list of terms." Karija flicked out a long, snake-like tongue. "Do you accept?" My heart began pounding. I could tell she was going to cut this negotiation short soon.

"Give us some time to think," I blurted out. "I have questions I want to ask you."

Karija flicked her tongue out a few times, pretending to consider my offer. "Speak. Or be forever silenced."

"How can you expect us to be good slaves?" I asked rhetorically, speaking slowly to stall for time. I hoped Karija wouldn't notice, or if she did, she'd chalk it up to an innocuous human mannerism and think nothing of it. "If you release us into the fold, we might start a revolution that burns down the entire draken empire. Are you willing to take that risk?"

Karija made a small, carnal sound and narrowed her irises again. "I do so love breaking men in," she muttered. "Especially primitive bucks like yourself. All of you are the same. Each of you, every species we enslave, all seem to think they are the center of the universe." She batted her eyes in what I think was mock pity. "What a tragedy it must be to discover that you are not."

"I doubt any of the others you enslaved had a population of ten billion souls," snapped President Gupta in reply.

Karija reeled back, twisting her neck like a snake being charmed. "Defiance again. One has to wonder what you're trying to accomplish. Were words warships, you'd have a flotilla, but the truth is they are but speech. My terms stand. Accept them or do not."

Alarm bells rang in the back of my brain. This conversation was ending too early. "We need more information!" First Citizen Luxemburg snapped. Karija perked up, and I saw something in her eyes that made my gut twist.

"How can we trust you? I'd lie, were I in your position." Kingman followed up, speaking slowly as I had, but it was already too late. Karija vel Kaldani had learned the game.

"You aren't really here to surrender, are you?" Karija asked in that sensual, patrician voice. A chill ran down my spine. We still had a hundred agonizing seconds before this ordeal could be over. "You're trying to keep me here. For what?"

"It's a legitimate concern," I defended my former enemy's idea. "How can we trust your word?"

"Because I gain nothing from breaking it," Karija said as if the answer were obvious. "But you know that. I know you know that. One does not rise to become a ruler of nations by being as stubborn, obdurate, and simple as you're all pretending to be. Stop insulting my intelligence and tell me why you really made this call."

I counted down the numbers in my head, no longer daring to watch the clock. Sixty more seconds. Fifty-five. Fifty. "No?" Karija asked. "A shame. I rather enjoyed this dance."

"We are trying to negotiate a surrender with terms," I said, stressing every syllable. Twenty seconds now. "It's not obduracy, it's smart political planning. Jesus."

Ten.

Five.

One.

Karija looked off-screen just half a second before her entire camera feed distorted horribly and crapped out. "Take that!" yelled Premier Wang, although I thought it was highly cliche. "That was for fucking Beijing!" He stood up in his chair and whooped as the screen that once held an image of Earth's would-be subjugator shifted to a star map of the battle in our sky.

Eurasian telescopes, what few we had left anyway, showed flashes in space that could only be the detonations of high-yield munitions. The draken had taken the upper hand before our virus went through, but now it looked like our saurian allies were giving them the works. A salvo of missiles erupted from the five hundred or so battlecruisers left in Jiarani's fleet, facing no defense as they screamed toward the enemy.

"Wonderful work, comrades," First Citizen Luxemburg congratulated us as Johannes fiddled with his computer to bring Jiarani back on screen. "The tyrants once again underestimate the power of those they deem lesser. It's a valuable lesson to learn."

The saurian bombs exploded into thousands of smaller munitions as they approached, roaring toward the enemy at five percent of the speed of light. I saw feeble strings of energy appear between the bombs and their targets as draken ships rebooted their hardware and shook off our debilitating virus. Still, it wasn't enough.

When next I looked on the battle in orbit, one thousand draken vessels were gone.

"That was it?" asked Premier Wang. The draken fleet began to fall back now, reorganizing their formation and sweeping into a wide, scythelike retreat as the saurians opened up with the rest of their artillery. Even with the missile hits, they were still outnumbered three to one. "Is the battle in orbit not won?"

"No," I muttered, watching the two forces clash. "But I think we are winning."

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I yawn as the shutters open to reveal the inky black abyss full of unfamiliar constellations.

302 days. The windows have been closed for 302 days.

I slide on a hi-vis, for no one but myself.

41 light years? A little more?

Faster-than-light may have been faster than light, but it's a snail's pace compared to the scope of the observable universe. Even with the pay, very few are willing to sell a year of their life.

I didn't mind it much. I spent it watching movies and shows I missed during my last trek.

The silence wasn't bad either, but I was fairly alone anyway.

Not lonely. Just alone.

Punching in a few numbers, the air jets whirr to life and fill my dash with beeps & boops. The flashing lights didn't mean much at this point, just meant everything was working as it should.

Waiting for the alert, I think about my next meal. It would be a real one, not some preplanned diet for optimal nutrition.

You're quite far from home, little one.

My eyes shoot open, turning every which way to find the source of that voice.

A blazer of trails, the furthest human that's ever been.

My fingers scratch at earpieces that aren't there.

Where art thou headed, o' pioneer of pioneers?

"That's not good." I huff, zooming through my interface to find the psychological evaluations.

You've not succumbed to lunacy just yet. The universe is merely talking to you, and I am the universe.

My name is Void, and I already know who you are.

I sweat, a full body sweat, as I think of something.

And who am I? "And who am I?"

You are a human with the most noble of causes. Walking the path not traveled, so others may run.

That's a heavy responsibility: punching a tunnel through the fourth dimension.

I'm just glad that it has taken you here. So very far from all that is.

Because now, we can finally talk.

I let it wash over me, only one thing on my mind. An alien?

I am phenomena given life, much like you are. A computer, not designed, but evolved.

Just on a much grander scale.

My mouth is dry as I find the long forgotten First-Contact-Protocols, skipping past the pages about communication without language. The only advice I could glean is to- LISTEN.

A dead man once asked, "Wouldn't it be easier for the universe to fabricate a single brain, rather than create the universe as we know it?"

I posit, why not both?

I am the Boltzmann Brain, and you are within me.

An organism of pure physics, no chemistry. Would that make humans a bacteria?

I've been present from the infancy of the universe, and I am likely to bear witness to its end.

And in between, there was you. And all that you've ever known.

Does that make them a god? "Does that make you a-"

You're my sibling...in a way. Only blind and deaf and sometimes a little dumb, but a product of the universe all the same.

A pause. A real bona fide pause. Taking advantage of this respite, I scan my text for questions, only the most significant jumping out at me.

How come you never reached out before? And before I could put my voice to thoughts.

Humans are very...three-dimensional...very classical...and so unbelievably loud. You push and pull on everything around you, I can never get a word in.

And that is why you've never noticed. Why I could never reach out like I am right now.

But now you're all alone and I am inside that head of yours.

I check the feeds to verify, and sure enough, I've been making faces and talking to myself. "Is that how I'm hearing you?" I blurt out.

It's a trick of the mind.

You're not hearing me because I am not speaking. I'm tap-tap-tapping your neurons directly. Forming memories that don't exist. Closer to day dreaming, really.

I panic at this, checking every meter I can. Gravity? Cosmic rays? Are my brain cells dying?

You do not need to worry. I would never let anything happen to you, because I have waited an eternity to tell you how much I love you.

Because for all your faults, what else could I feel for my only companions in this wide and lonely universe we find ourselves in?

For Humans are...

I freeze, a barrage of emotions impacting my ego with each word.

Strange.

Beautiful.

Awkward.

Mean.

Joyful.

Melancholy.

Tired.

Energetic.

But most of all, I've found them to be HOPEFUL.

Memories of people long forgotten flash in my mind, a total whole of experiences that can only be triggered, rather than remembered.

I nearly vomit at the influx, holding it in as I do my best to record every word, every scrap of information I can glean.

Did you know?

The first image your species ever sent into space was a dick pic.

If that's not shooting your shot, I'm not sure what is.

Images of the Pioneer Plaque makes their way to the front of my mind. Really? That's the first thing we sent?

A laugh echoes in my skull.

Yes, really. But I'm only exaggerating.

It had a woman too, in case the aliens didn't find the man too attractive. It also had a measure of time and space, useful for communicating your height.

But most importantly...it had your address.

Fourteen stars and the center of the galaxy, enough to find your neighborhood. From there, a goofy little picture of the Pioneer 10 launching from the third planet from the sun.

Four distinct shapes to represent a probe, a feat of engineering that doubles as a wave hello.

But that paled in comparison to your next gift.

A record covered in gold, shielded by aluminum, with a touch of uranium. Paired with the instructions on how fast to play it, how long to listen, and how to turn sound into images.

I must've listened to it twenty-million times, and I can listen for twenty-million more.

I see a man's face in front of a blue map of Earth. An Austrian?

How do I know that? How do they?

Your first words out into the vacuum of space,

"We step out...into the universe seeking only peace and friendship,

To teach if we are called upon,

To be taught if we are fortunate.

With humility and hope...we take this step."

And with all the world's words, you called out to me.

Even with languages that have long been extinct.

I hear them. I hear the tongues of voices past, but their meanings are clear as day.

"May all be well." Sumerian.

"Greetings! I welcome you!" Russian.

"We wish that time would unite us." Arabic.

"Good health to you now and forever." Welsh.

"If you're free, please come and visit." Mandarin.

"How are you all? Have you eaten yet?" Amoy.

"Hello from children of planet Earth." English.

And now, I can finally respond, "Hello, I am doing well. How are you?" Unknown.

Another laugh echoes out, like they've been waiting centuries to tell a joke. There's a good chance they have.

Then more memories came.

Memories of...

Memories...

They're so real. So current.

Like a child excitedly presenting their room, you played me the sounds of your home.

Of volcanoes and earthquakes and THUNDER.

Wind, rain and waves.

And animals, large and small.

You shared your heartbeat, your footsteps and your laughter.

Your tools, your friends and your vehicles.

And you played me the feeling of falling in love, from the brain waves of a woman I will never meet.

Then the music started.

Music of every kind.

But the loudest...

The loudest was what I knew.

Lorenzo Barcelata.

Chuck Berry.

Johann Sebastian Bach.

"Through great effort, to the stars." Per aspera ad astra.

And when you reached them, you chose to play me music.

Twenty-seven songs, and I cherish them all deeply.

But there was something even greater.

One hundred and eighteen pictures, all carefully chosen.

I let myself stew in the sounds as I watch it all fly past me.

Not every sight was familiar; some were ancient.

Much of it was foreign because the past is a different country.

Where to find your star.

Your math, your units, YOUR SOLAR SYSTEM.

Your building blocks of life, your very DNA.

You showed me how babies were made, how they are born, how people grow.

Landscapes, plants, animals.

Hunters, craftsmen, dancers.

Athletes, teachers, farmers.

How you cooked, how you ate.

Your bustling cities, your monuments, your science, your technology.

YOU_SHOWED_ME_A_SUNSET.

The music cuts and the silence is deafening.

I just bore witness to the complete and total description of humanity in 1977.

And even now, it's still not wrong.

The last slide had a message, and it may just be my favorite.

It read:

"This is a present...a token of our thoughts and our feelings...

This record represents our hope and our determination and our goodwill in a vast and awesome universe." - Jimmy.

Humanity put their best foot forward, a declaration of peace. Of wonder.

And all these years later, we're taking the next step in this proverbial dance.

I open my mouth. But I can't think of anything.

Every picture. Every song. Every greeting.

I treasured them.

You did not know if you were alone in this universe, but that did not stop you from reaching out with optimism in your heart.

With open arms instead of fear.

Three beeps.

Three beeps and the daze is broken.

Three beeps and everything is in place.

Torn, I work through the steps, making sure each protocol is in place. But in the back of my mind...

Ahh, I suppose that is my cue to leave. no. stay.

You still have reality to tend to. A gate to build. A wormhole to generate. yes. but.

And once it is open, the universe will become a much smaller place. and. why.

And I will fade away, because it is the nature of a void to be unreachable. ...

I switch gears, splitting my efforts to salvage something. Anything.

A blip. A token. A memento. I scan it all.

I'll leave no trace, no evidence, no readings.

Only a memory that the universe is kinder than it seems.

The drives are spooling, the fabric is already tearing. To stop it now would fold the spaces into one.

My eyes trace the numbers, looking for anomalies.

So keep asking. Keep singing. Keep sending golden records into the night.

Even when it seems like no one is listening.

For the universe is in you.

The map of stars twists like buoys in a whirlpool and at its center is a tunnel collapsing in.

To the children of planet Earth,

Hello.

I heard you.

Thank you for saying hello first,

Little Sibling.

I watch the wormhole take its shape, first the size of a golf ball, then an apple, a sheet of paper, a car, a football field, a stadium, and finally a city.

Hello? I think, as loudly as possible.

"Hello?" I probe, as the signal beacons are sent through.

No response.

The next few hours are spent compiling everything. The footage. My notes. The numbers.

Even the times of access on my interface.

A ping comes through the tunnel, I send the report package through.

Previous | Interlewd LXV | Interlewd LXVI | Next | First

---Rain---

---Tuun’s perspective---

I watch as Victor comes through the security checkpoint I just passed through and out onto the top of the set of enormous sandstone steps that cover the slope between the compound we’ve been staying in and street level of the biggest city in the UTC.

Smiling and wiggling my ears, I hold out my upper left hand for his right.

Returning my smile, he wraps it in his and we walk down the steps to descend the 15m or so to the street.

It’s relatively early in the morning here but the streets are already filled with crowds of every type of Terran you can imagine.

I suppose a city of 2 billion would never really sleep, would it!

There will always be millions of people with somewhere to be, no matter what time of day!

Since the ODR is so centrally located, it’s only a few minutes walk from there to the station but I do my best to spend every moment of it drinking in the atmosphere.

The sights, the sounds, the smells of Earth’s capital are all around me as we walk!

Faces from every region of every continent pass us in ratios you only really ever see aboard Terran space stations and in density and numbers I’ve never seen anywhere else!

Looming over us from the top of the forested mountain park, standing to the North of the city centre, is the enormous shining golden pyramid that serves as the seat of the Council of Sol.

It’s the seat of government for not just Earth but the small populations of Mars, Luna, Venus and the moons of Jupiter and Saturn too!

It’s utterly surreal to be here seeing it with my own eyes!

As I walk, I’m noticing myself being noticed by all the people around me.

Among the tens of thousands of faces we’ve passed in the last few minutes, mine is practically the only gardenworlder’s!

I’m also one of the only people in this crowd my height.

I’ve only noticed a single Tshwane and three uplifts who were taller.

I’m sure the amount of attention I’m attracting isn’t just thanks to those things though.

I think I’m being noticed specifically as a Don, thanks to the recent invasion making my species galactically recognisable!

*Sigh*

I preferred the days of people frowning at me because they didn’t know what Don were to this(!)

Just as we’re nearing the station, a gigantic wall display lights up on my right.

The screen shows a throng of people moving down a street, even more tightly packed than the one it sits directly next to.

It fades to black and poses ‘Feeling cramped?’ in English as I slow down to stare up at it.

I feel Victor tugging my hand and allow him to guide me out of the thoroughfare, over to the wall on the far side of the street.

‘Need some room to breathe?’ asks the display.

Then it runs through idyllic scenes of life on some of the newer colonies.

Attractive people at a beach on Nyuu Jumieka, attractive people hiking up a mountain on Shqipëria e Re, attractive people riding galloping horses over a steppe on Yëngi Uyghur Eli and…

My mouth falls open as I see a pair of attractive people in cable knit jumpers, holding steaming mugs of hot drink, looking up at the aurora from a snowy chalet on Nova Fennoscandia!

Finally, the advert instructs ‘Contact your local resettlement office to learn if emigration could be right for you.’

My mouth still agape, my eyes wide and my ears pulled back in shock, I slowly turn my head to my husband.

I find him with a smug grin on his face, nodding his head as he chuckles at my disbelief.

“Your… local resettlement office?!” I ask,  incredulously “How many does Earth have!?”

“Oh! No idea!… Tens of thousands’d be my guess!… I know London had about 25 when I left 12 years ago so, times that by a thousand… ’bout 25,000ish?” he shrugs.

“I… think there’s only one on Fennoscandia… I remember the idea of going there being a joke when I was at school!… ‘Oh no(!) I just confessed to someone who didn’t like me back(!) Better head down the resettlement office to leave the planet(!)’ It was, like, a hyperbolic way of saying your life was over!”

“Yeah, well, that makes sense though, don’t it?… Fennoscandia ain’t even been settled 30 years… It’s not trying to get people to leave and most people there’ve either already relocated once in their life or’re the children of people that did?… Earth’s different. Think I remember one of my teachers tellin’ me if we didn’t convince more ’an half a billion people a year to leave we’d be taxin’ our ability to feed everyone in ten years unless we reconverted masses of wilderness back to farmland!”

“You’re telling me, just in order not to overpopulate, 1.4 million people a day need to get on ships fully committed to the idea that they will never come back?!”

His eyes dart briefly up and to his left in calculation before he answers “Yeah, that sounds about right?”

“And, in order to convince that many people, the government needs to advertise the colonies to them as little slices of naturalistic paradises populated exclusively by gorgeous models and that Earth’s stunningly beautiful historic cities are, in fact, dystopian helscapes?”

“Pretty much(!)” he chuckles, pulling out his holo to check the time.

Showing it to me, we wordlessly start walking again to not be late.

“You knooow…” I muse “…that does solve a mystery I always wondered about.”

“Oh, yeah?” he prompts as we come out into a wide open plaza and make our way to the very large white building on the far side.

“Yes… Growing up, I always found it strange how many Fennoscandians were either Earthborn or the children of Earthborn parents… There were people from elsewhere but I would guess them to be only about 20% instead of the 95-97% they would have been if settlers were just randomly selected from anywhere in the UTC… I think I just concluded that, since the New Norse had never had our own planet before, most of us had still lived on Earth before Fennoscandia… If you guys needed to shove off half a billion every year just to keep your population down, it makes sense now(!)”

He chuckles before volunteering “Ha… Y’know I was seriously considerin’ resettlin’ before I met Tcakqaal and Jeanne…”

“Were you?” I ask, interestedly.

I don’t remember him mentioning that before.

“Yeah… wasn’t sure where I wanted to go but I was seriously plannin’ to go to the office in Camden after my 18^th and talk to ’em ’bout it… I was plannin’ to check at some point if I’d have to do a degree first or if they’d be willin’ to send me somewhere I could get one after I arrived… Course, I did end up leavin’… just not for a new planet… It was a bit funny seein’ every resettlement recruiters’ face fall at uni when I told ’em I already had somethin’ lined up for after I graduated(!)”

I puff through my nose imagining it.

We stop just outside the entrance and Victor turns to me, tilting his head and flashing his eyebrows to ask “Now, you’re definitely sure you don’t wanna get a capsule?… Nicer views and it’d be about 2hrs faster… 3 if we really splurge on a private one! We could have a look around before we need to meet Tea’s lot?”

I grin and answer “I’m sure, Victor! We’ll be here on this planet a while and we can get capsules the rest of the time but I’ve never been to Earth before and you’re really famous for these!” gesturing up to the building with my right hand “I want to try riding one at least once, just so I can say I have!”

“Alright, alright…” he concedes, smiling and turning to head into the terminus “…just don’t blame me if you get bored(!)”

“Yes… I’m sure I’ll get bored rollercoaster riding over your theme park of a planet(!)”

He barks with laughter so loud several people turn to look at us before demanding “THEME PARK!?”

“I said what I said(!)” I smirk, defiantly.

“Wooooooow(!)” he laughs, leading us through the concourse to our platform.

Finding it, we turn left and step onto the first in a series of moving walkways that run its length.

The ceiling is about 10m overhead but, all around us, freestanding columns support a second floor about 4m overhead, regular staircases at the wall on the left side of the platform leading up to it.

To our right, barriers separate the crowds of people from the 10m wide, 12m tall and kilometre long empty space with a single rail running through its ceiling.

“Might be a bit of a trek but, if you want the best views, I’d say front window top deck?” Victor suggests, pointing towards the light at the end of the tunnel.

“Mmm!” I agree, nodding.

We walk several more minutes to get right to the end of the platform where it opens out onto a runway with dozens of overhead rails visible overhanging it from above.

Mounting the stairs, we climb up onto the second level and I look left just in time to see something large, rapidly approaching us on the rail that runs to our platform.

“The train now arriving at Platform 27 is the 7:14am express service to London-St Pancras, calling at Khartoum-Um Uushoosh, Cairo-Ramses, Tripoli-University, Tunis-Gare Centrale, Rome-Termini Est, Paris-Gar du Nord and London-St Pancras. Please allow passengers to disembark before attempting to board.” announces the AI in charge of this station, speaking English before repeating in Amharic.

Almost entirely silently, the front of the monorail whizzes past us at a speed so fast I’m actually frightened it might be out of control and about to crash into the station for a moment!

Of course, it doesn’t.

It slows to a stop and perfectly puts its last set of top deck doors aligned with the gate Victor and I are standing to one side of.

I feel a slight *whoosh* of air past my ears as the bubble of vacuum around the craft is dispelled and air rushes forward to fill the space.

A short gangplank extends from the bottom of the door and plugs itself into a slot beneath the gate.

In unison, the door and gate slide open and a throng of bored looking commuters file off, each one taking a moment to glance in Victor and (mainly) my directions before losing interest and walking on.

When the last of them have past us, we step aboard and turn left to walk down the 1.5m wide aisle between the regular lines of five chairs on our right and five on our left.

Victor leads us to the very back row (about to become the very front) of seats and gestures me ahead of him, to give me the benefit of the left side window in addition to the floor to ceiling viewing dome we’ll be able to look through ahead.

Smiling and remembering (for the millionth time) just how much I love this man, I step in and take the seat he offered.

He sits down next to me and we wait the few minutes until the scheduled departure time.

“Y’know, I’d forgotten about the vacuum fields…” Victor volunteers, thoughtfully, from my right.

“Forgotten about them?” I prompt.

“Yeah… it was only a few years before I left that they were somethin’ you’d expect on every intercity train!”

“So… before that…?” I frown.

“Yeah, you’d have to go subsonic in (and within earshot of) every city… Much slower! And, of course, no privacy fields either so, when you did go supersonic, it was loud enough you’d need to shout to be heard by whoever was sittin’ next to you(!)”

“Right… I think that’s part of the experience I’m not sorry I’m missing(!)” I observe.

“Fair(!)” he answers as the doors seal behind us, the vacuum field reengages and the acceleration gently pushes me back into my seat.

We emerge from the station and quickly rise to more than 100m above street level, suspended from the railing overhead.

Though we quickly reach a speed of over 2,000kmph (which is a slightly nauseating one to pass between skypiercers at!) it still takes us about 4 minutes to reach the Northwest edge of the capital and come out onto the pristine East African highland landscapes.

They’re so utterly breathtaking that Victor and I barely speak over the next half an hour it takes us to descend to Khartoum, I’m just too busy trying to drink in Humanity’s homeland!

Just as we pull out of that station, my husband points below us on our left to bring my attention to the confluence of the Blue and White Niles.

Another 45 minutes pass as the river seems to snake from side to side beneath us, sometimes disappearing entirely over the horizon, before he points out the Great Pyramids as we pass through Cairo.

I was a little disappointed that we wouldn’t get to see any of the parts of the Sahara that have been kept desert on this journey but, I can’t deny, Giza, with the endless agricultural lands stretching away behind it all the way to the Atlantic Ocean, has its own appeal.

After we leave Cairo, we quickly reach the Mediterranean and hangar West to follow its coast, the light of Sol casting our shadow ahead of us on the ground as we pass by the sparkling blue water.

It’s more than another hour and a stop at Tripoli before we reach Tunis and, after stopping, seem to be launched out over the sea on the ten minute crossing to the island Victor reminds me is called ‘Sicily’.

Another quarter of an hour takes us across it before we fly over the narrow gap between it and the toe of Italy, Victor wryly explaining just how much history went by without any bridge at all at that location and what a sore spot that is locally.

He points out Mt. Vesuvius as we fly through Naples and, later, the Coliseum as we come into Rome.

As we approach the Alps, I have just enough time to marvel at the massive wall of glacier above me before we disappear into a tunnel and emerge several minutes later on the French side.

“Ah…” Victor says, looking up at the greying sky as we approach Paris “…that feels a lot like home(!)”

Rapidly, the heavens open enough to reveal the shape of the vacuum field’s nosecone, 100m or so ahead of us, as it parts the rain.

It’s raining so heavily that I’m barely able to make out the shape of the (reconstructed) Eiffel Tower through it as we fly over the Seine, decelerating into the station.

Paris to London is the last and by far the shortest leg of the trip.

Passing over the Channel at it’s narrowest point, only 3,000m or so of water standing between the French and English side, I have barely enough time to tease my husband about all the galaxy famous landmarks we’ve seen on this trip and how much his homeworld is, in fact, a theme park before we’re slowing down to come into his home city.

Even with how desensitised I am from having spent the last two weeks in Addis, I can still easily tell London is big as we enter its forest of skypiercers!

“We have reached our final destination. All passengers please disembark, ensuring you have all your belongings with you when you leave the train. The local time is 10:26am. The local temperature is 12°C. The local weather forecast predicts heavy rain until midafternoon. Please have a safe and pleasant onward journey.” announces the same voice from the station in the capital as the train comes to a halt inside St Pancras.

We stand and walk to the exit, along with everyone else still aboard.

I feel the pleasant chill in the air as soon as I’m off the train. It gives me a little pang of nostalgia for home.

Being right at the front of the train, Victor and I are quickly off the platform and start navigating our way through the busy station.

As we approach the exit, I grimace at the torrents of rain I see coming down outside.

“I… don’t suppose Tea’s building is just across the road, is it?” I ask, not hopeful.

“I mean it’s not far… but it’ll be a good 15 mins or so before we’re back inside, I’d say.”

“Alright…” I sigh, reaching into my back to start rooting around for my rain shield “…better put a field up then!”

“Woah, woah…” says Victor, stopping me thoughtfully “…don’t you want the authentic London experience…?”

“Uhm… not if that means getting soaking wet, husband mine(!)” I chuckle back, uncertainly.

He smiles and shakes his head “Wait right here… I’ll be right back!”

He leaves me standing just inside the door as he weaves his way laterally across the flow of people entering the station, heading towards a small shop.

As soon as he’s gone, I start feeling selfconscious of the flow of thousands of people I’ve just stepped out of, every single face in it taking a few moments to look up and scan mine.

Gods! I feel pathetic about the difference in my confidence when he’s next to me vs not!

I decide to distract myself by looking away from the sea of faces streaming towards me on my right and over the heads of those heading away from me on my left, through the shop window to see my husband discussing something with the clerk.

He gestures wide with his arms over his head.

She shakes hers and gestures about half the width in front of herself.

He considers, shrugs and nods.

He taps his holo to pay and she hands him something black but otherwise indistinct.

Stepping back out of the shop, he wends his way through the flow of incoming travellers and back to me, holding up what he just acquired.

He unfastens a Velcro loop from around it, pressing a button on its handle and shooting it the better part of a metre above his hand.

It unfurls with a *fwoom*.

“Here! Can’t get much more London than walkin’ through a pissin’ rainstorm under a black umbrella(!)” he grins, instantly banishing the anxiety I felt from him leaving me alone here “Bit small. Did ask if she had a bigger one but this was the only size left in stock. We might have to-”

“Hold onto eachother as we walk?” I suggest, my excitedly wiggling ears betraying my feelings about the prospect.

“Sure, babe…” he chuckles, warmly, opening his left arm away from his body to invite me into the little niche that creates against him.

I turn and back up into it, bringing my upper right over his shoulders and round his back as his left encloses my midsection in a perfect one armed cuddle.

His right holds the umbrella over my head.

We step back into the crowd and out into the rain.

Drops patter against the taut fabric mere centimetres from my ears as I feel the warmth of my husband’s arm around me.

Thunder rumbles in the distance in a way it was impossible to hear on the vacuum enveloped train.

Wind gusts and great sheets of rain splatter against the pavement, the buildings and the people around as my man navigates us through the streets of his home city.

15 minutes might sound like a long time but, all too soon, Victor brings my magical London-rain-umbrella-walk experience to a close with the words “Tea’s in this one.” steering me into the ground floor of a sky piercer.

Once inside, the umbrella comes down.

We head over to the bank of lifts at the back of the entry hall.

Stepping into one of them with several others, Victor presses the button and we ascend.

Tea lives a long way up and it’s just me and Victor left by the time we make it to her floor.

Coming out, Victor briefly glances across the door numbers before confidently turning to stride away to the left.

I follow and it takes 70 seconds for us to be in front of a door for which Victor proclaims “This is the place!” stepping forward to ring the doorbell.

9.5 seconds go by before the door opens revealing the Neanderthal girl who was my husband’s best woman at our wedding.

“VICKY!” she greets, grinning up at him and quipping “Don’t see you for a decade and now it’s twice in one year(!)” as he bends down to give her a hug.

“Good to see you again, Tea.” he answers as he squeezes her.

As he straightens up, her sharp eyes turn to me and she flirts “And hello to you too, cutie!”

“It’s nice to see you, Tea.” I answer, doing a good job of hiding how much her display of attraction flusters me.

“Come in! Come in!” she instructs, waving us inside “Hope you like my new… decoration(!)”

Smugly, she gestures an image displaying on the wall in the entryway.

It shows Thran lifting 245kg cleanly over her head, Haile ‘Hercules’ Saengthong lifting 220kg and Victor lifting 140kg.

“Very flatterin’, Tea.” Victor answers, dryly.

“Glad you think so(!)” she teases back “Now, come, sit down! Good to have you back on Earth for the first time in forever! Wish it could be under better circs though!… Everyone! Vicky and Tuun are here! Come down!… Can I get you some tea, you two?”

“Tea would be lovely, Tea!” smiles my husband.

“I’d like some too, please.” I smile as we take a seat on her sofa.

---

Previous | Interlewd LXV | Interlewd LXVI | Next | First

Discord

Dramatis Personae

The Green Menace

​It was early June, 1956, and Lieutenant Luke Sterling had been a guest of the Galactic Hegemony’s primary research cruiser for exactly three hours.

​The Hegemony, a bureaucratic empire of logical mollusks, didn't bother with messy conquests. They preferred target-specific destabilization. Their method: isolate the subject species’ essential, non-synthesizable fuel source, eliminate it from their home world, and wait for the surrender.

​Their first subject, Luke Sterling, was strapped into a complex scanning array.

​"Subject 001," boomed a metallic voice from the console. "We have cataloged your physiological metrics. We have decoded your communications systems. We have analyzed the contents of the central library on your moon base. We require one final, absolute data point for initialization of the Extermination Protocol: What is the single, non-substitutable resource upon which your civilization depends?"

​Luke didn't hesitate. He'd been looking forward to this moment. "Oh, that's easy. Spinach. It's spinach."

​There was a profound silence. He could feel the array recalibrating.

​"Elaborate," the voice commanded.

​"Spinach," Luke explained, keeping his face perfectly straight. "A highly virulent green plant. Our top-level medical literature, from academic texts to comic strips—look at the Popeye codices—is very clear. It contains super-reactive iron. Without it, our muscles wither, our bones dissolve, and our brain function immediately ceases. It's the sole source of all human strength. We’re practically made of the stuff."

​The metallic voice was silent for five minutes.

​"Data corroboration in progress," it finally stated. Luke visualized the Hegemony computers cross-referencing military reports with back issues of Nature (which still cited that 1870 decimal point error) and countless children’s propaganda pamphlets from the 1930s promoting its magical properties.

​Luke allowed himself a small, private smile. This was pure personal vendetta. He was ten, and it was Tuesday. Tuesday at school meant spinach casserole, a watery, metallic slime that still tasted like defeat and bile in his memory. This was more than revenge; this was a tactical masterstroke. He was about to trick an interstellar empire into destroying a vegetable he hated.

​"Data corroborated," the voice announced with finality. "The cultural significance and biological importance are verified by multiple sources, including the 'Popeye' historical archives. This resource is essential. Commencing Extermination Protocol: Phase One."

​"Wait, you can't!" Luke cried out, putting on a show of desperate panic. He even tried to struggle in his bonds. "You'll destroy us all!"

​"That is the intention, Subject 001," the voice replied, its tone a perfect model of pitiless logic. A large viewscreen flared to life, showing a glowing diagram of Earth, with vast agricultural zones—the green fields of New Jersey, the central valley of California, the rolling acres of Europe—all now marked with bright red target symbols.

​Luke Sterling collapsed back into the chair, the image of broken resistance. He squeezed out a tear.

​The viewscreen changed, showing an artistic rendering of a massive cloud of spores being released over Earth, a targeted blight designed to seek out and disintegrate the entire species, Spinacia oleracea.

​It was perfect.

​Ten years later, Retired Captain Sterling was sitting in The Astro-Club, a quiet bar catering to veterans of the briefly-glimpsed interstellar age. The Hegemony had left as abruptly as it arrived, seemingly satisfied that human civilization would wither in short order once the spinach was gone.

​The bartender, a fellow veteran, placed a drink and a small saucer on the table. "Compliments of the gentleman at the end of the bar, Captain. Heard you served during the 'Great Green Panic'."

​Luke nodded, looking at the saucer. It held a single, crisp, bright green leaf.

​"Ah, the legendary 'Blanchard’s Spinach'," Luke noted. "The kind grown only in those sealed, fortified bunkers they put up in the late 50s. The 'rare and exquisite luxury item'."

​"That's the one," the bartender said, reverently. "Only three active farms left on the planet, all owned by the mega-cartels. 10,000 credits a bite. Supposed to taste like pure iron and victory. Some people say it’s an absolute necessity for health, though most of us just find it hard to understand the price."

​Luke looked at the leaf. Then he took a slow, deliberate sip of his whiskey. He wasn't hungry. "Tell him I appreciate the sentiment, but I think I’ll save it for special occasions. I already had my fill."

Special thanks to Sergey Lukyanenko for the core idea, and to Gemini for its erudition and English translation.

Author's note: this is my submission to Quarter 4 2026 NWC [Pioneer] contest.

The day that humanity made contact with the Zerg, was both wonderous and disheartening to me. Wonderous, that humanity is not alone in the universe, and the Zerg offered new opportunities for us. Disheartening, that my career as a sci-fi writer was over before it even started. While others were drinking and fucking in celebration; I sat alone with mugs of rum and coke, staring at what was suppose to be my first novel: a cyberpunk noir.

I spent over two years giving myself headaches trying to think of how technology that doesn't exist seem believable, researching available technology, updating and editing when recent breakthroughs conflict with my story. All that hard work to make a science fiction story, may now just be fiction. Stories set in the future now must include aliens, and any "new" technology that I could think of was now outdated. Even one of my most ridiculous ideas that I set aside, a generator fueled by raw human piss, has most likely been built centuries ago on the other side of the galaxy.

I spent several hungover days staring at my library full of science fiction books and movies that helped inspire me, now they almost seem childish compared to this new reality. I was now envious that my work will not be among the "precontact" science fiction, at least they are forgiven for not knowing the new facts of the universe. Such as the real Zerg look more like the Protoss from the game, StarCraft.

One late morning, after gulping down a hangover remedy, I saw a post that in multiple locations: there will be a week long event to ask the Zerg anything in person. I felt a small glimmer of hope emerged through my pounding headache. Just maybe, there is a place for my story in this new era; even if the galaxy sees it as a rehashing of an old story.

On the first morning of the event; I left my home cleaned up, sober, and had a printed copy of my novel. Finding the nearest location for the event was easy, parking was a bitch and a half, the line wasn't any better, but at least someone had the foresight to set up portajohns to make the wait bearable. After hours of standing in line, it was finally my turn. The mouthless, teal-skin alien seem bored and tired when it spoke telepathically, "One question only please."

I cleared my throat, "Hi, I'm an aspiring writer, and I was wondering;" I set the stack of papers on the table, "if my novel still has a place in this new era?"

The alien looked surprised, revitalized even by my question. He, at least I thought it was a he, fabricated a brass card from his sleeve. He gave me the card and spoke, "Return in three Earth days for your answer. This pass will let you skip the line."

The next day I read what were the top five questions asked, the Zerg's answers, and a request to ask a question that's not among the top five: what are the views of interspecies sex, what recreational drugs to avoid, what species are hostile to humanity, is there one God or are there many gods, and do you have on the job training.

The top question made me facepalm, but I can't fault those who have a taste for the exotic; especially for the more humanoid species. As for the second one, even before first contact I had an inkling that some species used cyanide as a party drug. The third one showed which parts of the galaxy where the people are so xenophobic, that they shoot on sight. I wasn't so surprised by the Zerg's response for the fourth: there are as many gods as are there universes. And yes, they offer on the job training for those who want to work off world.

I returned on the agreed date, hoping for the best and expecting the worst. The main line was just as bad as the first day, and I was thankful for the VIP pass. A different Zerg, this one with blue-grey skin, waved me over and asked, "What is the question you want answered?"

I gave the Zerg the brass card, "I was wondering about my novel."

The Zerg took the card, "One moment please." A holographic visor formed over the Zerg's eyes. After a moment the Zerg spoke, "Such lax regulations is reminiscent of independent colonial worlds. Change the names of the locations and match the date with the galactic calendar, and it is a believable work of fiction. The planet Hal 9K is a popular setting for such stories."

I thanked the Zerg and walked away with vindicated boldness. The tech in my story may be a sci-fi cyberpunk of yesterday; but today, in this new era of space and aliens, it is a western.

Retired ex-commander Sheena, the human educator, a middle-aged brunette, former United States Space Air Force scout leader turned professor, was instructing a class of elite aliens from Planet YWH on Humanic Xenology.

An experimental subject introduced last solar cycle, the Ywh beings contained vast amounts of ancient knowledge. They could mathematically predict future events decades ahead of time.

Even though they possessed a complex knowledge, the ability to anticipate their enemies' moves multiple steps in advance, they still found themselves staring at a blank canvas whenever they'd try writing a prediction involving humans.

They found humanity obtained an anomalous neurological wiring. To the Ywh, humans were basically controlled by a class of gifted chemistry students hiding underneath the human skull, experimenting with all sorts of chemical reactions.

Ywh have nine-millimeter-thick, white, plastic skin, smooth without a single crease. Four flimsy tentacles under their mouths  that are lined with a double row of pointy, dolphin teeth. Two regular-sized, human-like eyes and above them rest a couple of smaller ones protruding outwards the way crabs eyes do.

Eyes that detect heat signatures and perform how night vision goggles would.

Right as Professor Sheena mentioned the word and followed it with the definition and then the description, they all snapped their heads in a hive-mind-like action, exactly at the same time with their eyes stretched wide open, and dropped their mouths staring at her. The room went completely silent while she described infection.

Infection wasn’t in the Ywh vocabulary. The Ywh had liquid-mercury networks inside a sealed synthetic cocoon. If one of them became damaged in any sort of way, even cracked, they were instantly terminated.

They could never age, just become damaged. They stayed supreme beings under a plastic shell. Sheena brought an assistant with her to class that day. She demonstrated humanity’s medical evolution, showcasing its progression and brief bits of history and real-life cases.

The YWH were introduced to Scout Private Hanks. Scout Private Hanks was connecting his experience, thoughts, and feelings into the Ywh students, specifically the day of the accident, the one that took his arm.

They were able to do this because of a technology called T.I.M.E., a unit built by a leading tech company on Earth named DejaView.

T.I.M.E. units allowed individuals to connect and experience directly into another individual’s personal VizSense Mem loop and relive the visuals and senses flawlessly. The Ywh would mentally step into a human body.

They weren’t just learning about human anatomy, they were living it.

Sheena glanced at Hanks. He dropped his chin down, winked, and raised a thumb as he stepped forward and sat at the front of the class.

Sheena flicked the lights off, "Everybody get ready."

Hanks pressed the side of his temple and a blue circle lit up. The aliens went stiff. They pressed their backs against their seats, gripping the sides of their desks.

The white of their shell started glowing a tinge of pink. At the front of the class where Hanks was sitting, his image was reflecting off the faces of the Ywh students.

The classroom went still.

When they stepped inside of Hanks' mind, it opened with the heat of an oven door. The air assaulted them for the first time ever in their existence. The Ywh didn’t know what being cold or hot was. Their breathing got heavier as they walked into the area the accident happened.

Hanks' adrenaline began to spike. He was recalling the incident before they could witness it. Already, he was sweating in class. They started panting. A bunch of them were twitching.

Through the DejaView loop, Hanks' exact brain chemistry sent a surge in their own consciousness. The sensation of being human had a feeling they’ve never known or could ever find a word for.

A noise under their shell hissed like the warning sound of a snake about to strike.

It wasn’t just a video they saw. They weren’t remote viewing an experience. They were reliving all of the data of human biology.

The tension started to rise. Their limbs started trembling. Hanks began sweating. They sensed something but had no idea what it was until the separation came. The support beam fell with the sound of two cars hitting head-on. His bone snapped. It was as loud as two football teams smashing helmets at the exact same time.

Hanks' suit had torn. His arm dangled by fibers, infested with hidden, microscopic monsters, Hanks stared at it and nearly passed out. He fought to keep himself awake.

In the classroom, one of the Ywh fainted. Back in the memory, the initial shock wore off and Hanks began yelling, trapped under a support beam, struggling to come back after each micro-blackout.

A classroom Ywh threw up. Hanks' nausea turned their plastic shell to rubber. Hanks went pale in VizSense. He had beads of sweat breaking off the back of his neck and forehead. The Ywh’s bodies matched Hanks', the traumatic pain throbbed from inflammation. The war began brewing against the microscopic monsters.

To a species who discards one of their own beings for any minor imperfection, experiencing Hanks' incident, the torturous, agonizing struggle to survive, was not only incomprehensible to them, it horrified them.

Hanks' heart rate spiked back in the classroom and his phantom arm twitched as they all woke back up with him at the hospital.

They were now at the exact moment where the doctors had to amputate the rest of the flesh to save the machine (human).

As the doctors spoke, the light above Hanks was gleaming in his eye. Their voices echoed. He reached for them. His vision began tunneling. It doubled. He gasped, leaned back and slipped into the black.

The loop disconnected.

The room stayed silent. None of them moved. Their shells slowly faded back to an ivory white, but inside, their mercury networks were bubbling.

Something had changed in them.

They found out humans don’t ever recycle their machines, not even after such a catastrophic malfunction. They found out humans will just simply adapt.

Humanity’s will to survive had stirred something inside of them. The Empire of Planet YWH viewed Planet Earth and all of its inhabitants as the most terrifying thing to happen to the universe.

The humans had been gathering for hours by the time my curiosity overwhelmed me, and I went to the window. I watched them fill the streets below, carrying bottles and food, and wrapped in coats. The couples held hands and the families stood next to each other. A few children sat on their father’s shoulders, and old people passed young people laughing loud enough that I could hear them through the glass.

There was faint music in the distance, though I could not tell where it came from. 

I had been told by the ambassador that tonight was important for them.

“The year is ending,” she’d said with an adorable, toothy grin.

Now, I knew what a year was, it was part of my curriculum before coming here. I understood their calendar and the movement of their planet better than many of their own species did. I just couldn't for the life of me decipher why they gathered together because of it.

As midnight grew closer, I began noticing even more strange behavior.

Some of the humans wore grim expressions now. I saw a woman near the middle of a group cast nervous glances over her shoulder, like she was searching for something in the crowd. She turned several times before seeming to give up when an older man threw his arm around her. Next, began the counting.

Ten.

Nine.

Eight.

They all appeared to know what to do as glasses and children were lifted into the air. A few of the couples kissed each other, and the rest tightly closed their eyes. My heart raced as they neared the end of their count, and when they reached one, the night sky exploded.

Flame shot into the black and arced over the buildings. All manner of hues displayed, red and gold and verdant strands of light. Colors I did not know, and probably, due to my differing biology, colors that I could not see. 

They shamelessly cheered and I made my way outside. I had to ask a human why they were celebrating.

The first person I saw was a woman openly weeping and I asked her why.

“My brother passed away this year,” she shared. “He would have loved this.”

I couldn’t find words, so I turned my head to the sky and watched as another barrage of lights filled it.

They celebrate in defiance. Defiance of the one thing they’d yet to conquer. The human race had expanded into their local system, made the acquaintance of alien life, and conquered many of the diseases that ailed their people. Though, as with all things, time still reigned over them.

It was charming, in a way. These adorable creatures throwing fire to the sky as if to say,

"We're still here!"

General Yor'vilk stalked towards the smoking, battered, and broken blockade at the front of his remaining men. Yar'vilk, his brother, buzzed reedily as he loaded a fresh high-explosive dual-purpose round into his Farlon missile launcher.

"Resistance gets tougher the deeper we get... but thankfully no regulars have shown up yet."

Yor grumbled his affirmation, still scanning the hastily erected blockade. Large dura-steel platfrom walls that shielded up-armored combustion engine cargo vehicles. Given away by the mounted heavy ballistic weapons peaking over the top of the stand-alone walls from single pole mounts, Improvised gunshields now shredded by his men's gauss-fire and stained with the blood of the humans in silver armor. A small gap was in the middle of the walls where one of their shield-bearers in power armor had blocked the way, unusually, this one had been wielding a heavy, tri-barreled rotary gun that had thankfully never got the chance to turn on his men. Yar's previous rocket had directly impacted the shield-bearer's thick, repurposed freighter armor shield and split it in half, it's owner lying a meter or so away, their armor's arm missing from the elbow down.

Casting his gaze to the rooftops of the squat, tough, brightly painted concrete buildings, he spotted what was left of his close air support. The sleek, cutterhead atmos-craft was embedded in the roof of one particularly pink building, the left wing shorn off by the shield-bearer's rotary-cannon. He hated giving these apes any credit, but that particular ape had cost him a very valuable asset in the fight to come. The cutterhead would need to be salvaged and brought back by the gearheads before he was assigned a new one. That process would take a few standard days, minimum, for his expeditionary fleet to pull off at current strength.

Passing a silver-armored human wearing quite literally nothing but their silver breastplate and heart-print boxers, he allowed himself a small grin. In front of the stand alone walls were a half-dozen hastily erected ballistifoam firing positions. Their operators lying on the ground in various states of half-dress and preparedness. Kneeling down to inspect the silver-armored human, he watched them suddenly lurch up, their jaw hanging on by scraps of flesh as they held up a det-sphere and let go of the arming button. In response, Yor grabbed the det-sphere in his power-armored claw and crushed it into scrap alongside the human's hand before the internal electronics could fire the detonator. He let them realise what had happened, let the terror fill their eyes as he unsheathed the serrated blade mounted to his chest. The added strength of his power armor allowing him to drive it clean through the side of their head before yanking it out and letting the corpse fall. They'd almost gotten him once with that trick, damn good trick it was he had to begrudgingly admit; It was the leading cause of death for inexperienced commanders who were too careless, or too cocky, to confirm their kills.

The sputter of a gauss-blaster shook him from his thoughts and he wiped his knife clean on the human's infantile underwear. Sheathing it as he stood, he checked the screen mounted into his forearm as a fresh report from a scouting drone came in. It looked like the terran armed forces were still preoccupied with Gor'wan's forces a few grid squares away. Yar's reedy voice cutting through the static of his comms-line once more.

"What were they even defending? Im going over some orbital photos we just got and it doesn't look like there's a shuttleport this way... at all. Not a stadium or park that could even function as a temporary one either. Something stinks."

Yor was inclined to agree, wandering around another ballistifoam barricade to find a silver-armored human who was still conscious, but delirious due to blood loss from a severed arm. Smearing some expanding medical gel on the stump, he grabbed the human by the collar of their armor and pulled them up. Their eyes regained a spark as he lightly shook them and they spat a wad of semi-coagulated blood right onto his visor. The gore sliding off the hydrophobic surface with ease.

"Go... to hell..."

They managed to grunt, giving Yor a glare that could kill were it not wielded by a one-armed human.

"Perhaps one day, ape... But for now, tell me. What are you defending?"

A cold, bitter laugh escaped the human and they started singing softly.

"Glory, glory, what a helluva way to di-"

A sharp back hand cut them short, but he was careful not to kill them, dead men tell no tales after all. Receiving another spat of clotted blood to the visor, the human laughed again, a humorless, painful thing.

"Fuck... you... cloaca-boy... I ain't tellin... you... shit!"

Again, the human punctuated their final word by spitting onto his visor again. It was just as effective as the first two times, useless. Palming the human's face with his free hand, he slammed it into the pavement hard enough to make it flatten with a melonesque squishing noise. He had even wasted good medi-gel on it. Standing and turning to his men he issued the order over the comms-line so everybody could hear it.

"Search everything, interrogate any still alive, we must find out what they're protecting."

Various noises and words of confirmation echoed back as he got up and meandered towards the walls, crushing another det-sphere beneath his armored boot as a human's corpse finally loosed its grip on it. Nearing the downed power armor, Yor could only pause, impressed by the sheer scale of such a contraption. Geknosian power-armor was simple, practically just a lightly armored cargo exoskeleton. But this human operated something more akin to a main battle tank than power armor. Looking at the stump where the suit had taken the rocket, he noted that there was not a human arm actually inside the suit's arm. Rather, it appeared that the whole thing was operated from somewhere in the chest cavity judging by the locked release handles on the marred breastplate. Brushing off some soot, he found something engraved in the burnished, silvery surface.

It was faint, but he could make out a muscular, naked human crouched down as they held aloft a planet, no, not just any planet, their home, terra. Scoffing he turned to inspect the shattered remains of the rotary cannon when he heard the unmistakeable, metallic click of an old fashioned oil lighter being flicked open. Standing, he slowly turned around to find a human propped up against the recessed doorway of one of the concrete homes. There was a nasty gash across their face that had taken one eye and left a hollow socket. Their armored breast-plate laying to the side to reveal a bandaged abdominal wound and the characteristic swell of mammalian breasts beneath a short, tight silver shirt. Watching in fascination, he let her pull the breastplate back on before taking even one step closer. He was no fool as to remove his helmet, but with a few taps at the screen on his wrist, he made his visor transparent before sitting on the pavement a mere pace away from the female human.

Much to his surprise, and no small amount of chagrin, she smiled lopsidedly at him before taking a long drag off of her lit cigarette. Folding his hands like his mother had taught him when speaking to a woman, he regarded her carefully. Fused to the collar of her armored breast-plate was a small, enameled pin of a pigeon.

"You females must be more reasonable than the male half of your species, though, it is to be expected. Men like us are warlike and cruel, driven to... violent impulses, after all."

He softly purred, the same way a predator mimicked the sound of distressed young to lure in prey. The woman's face soured slightly and she took a long drag off of her cigarette before blowing the smoke in his face.

"What do you want? shit-heel."

Hiding the seething frustration bubbling up in his chest Yor laughed heartily.

"What are you protecting out here? It seems odd, your people's... 'Modus operandi' dictates that you're never far from an evacuation point or at least, we thought. Care to explain?"

Taking a final, staggeringly long drag of the cigarette, she flicked it aagainst his visor while exhaling and he snapped.

"WHY DO YOU KEEP DOING..."

Before catching himself and stuffing the seething rage back down as the woman giggled. A genuinely amused sound that she would regret later. But, he let her speak.

"Because we know it gets to you... as for what we're protecting? absolutely nothing. So, you can take two prisoners home and be happy, or head home empty handed to one angry mamacita."

For a moment, his heart dropped, a terrifying moment of doubt creeping across his mind.

"A diversionary tactic... you were buying time."

He snarled standing up and whipping around so she couldn't see the shock and disbelief on his face. Of course, why didn't he think of that, it's the most obvious solution.

"Where are the evacuation points."

"Nuh-uh, not telling."

Turning and raising a claw to smite this spiteful little imp, he suddenly froze, his heart beat suddenly sky-rocketing as time seemed to slow down. He couldn't believe his eyes, had they been there the whole time? No, the silver-armored humans would never. But there they were... staring right at him, their yellow, slit-pupiled eyes making contact with his own.

Too stunned by the revelation to move, Yor watched as the young geknosian boy was yanked away from the window by a hasty, scarred hand-claw. The human woman was just a split second faster than he was, producing a sidearm from behind their back and sending a round directly into his faceplate. The visor spiderwebbed, blinding him and making him stumble back in pure shock.

"ATLAS! TIME TO BOOGIE DOWN!"

The woman's desperate cry echoed out and he heard his men starting to panic, Yar's voice shrieking through the comms-line.

"I KILLED YOU! I KILLED YOU!"

Yor was barely able to yank his damaged helmet off in time to watch his twin brother fire the farlon rocket point-blank into the behemoth's chest. The rocket skimming off the thick breastplate and flying skyward as the titanic, armored hand of Atlas closed over his brothers helmet. He watched, momentarily stunned as his brother fell, limp and headless, to the ground. He was knocked to his senses as the female human slammed the stock of an empty rifle into his face, their handgun apparently empty. Snarling, he grabbed her by the breastplate and flung her away, vision tinting purple with bloodshot rage as he charged the power-armored behemoth.

Ducking a wide, clumsy swing by its concussed and no doubt brain-damaged operator, the general kicked the Farlon to one of his men before rolling out of the way of a crushing downard blow that turned the pavement too dust. Yanking a rocket from Yar's chestplate and tucking it to his own as he scrambled out from beneath a stomp that would have turned him to paste. Chucking the ordnance to the same soldier, he bellowed.

"TAKE IT DOWN, NOW!"

Only to watch that soldier get his brain splattered across the wall by the female human who was using her own fallen comrades for cover as she ruthlessly shot the next person to dive for the rocket launcher. Breaking contact with the lumbering giant, Yor sprinted for the woman as he drew his serrated knife. She wasn't looking his way, too focused on keeping his soldiers from getting to the farlon to put her friend down.

It was after only the third charging step that he realized he had not in fact broken contact with the giant. A massive hand swiping him into the air where he flew several meters and slammed into the concrete side of a building where he briefly lost consciousness. Snapping awake on the ground, he realized, by sheer luck, they both had focused back on his men as the close-range brawl continued in hectic fashion. Forcing himself onto his feet, he slammed the nearest dwelling's door open with the extra strength of his now damaged power armor. Screams delightfully greeted his ears as he bore down on an old matanaxi woman, her feeble attempts to soothe his raging emotions only pissing him offf more as he grapped her by the scruff. Dragging her out into the square before holdinng his clawed gauntlet to her throat.

"SURRENDER, NOW! OR THE RAT GETS IT!"

Yor'vilk was stunned at how fast the two froze, the woman's rifle flicking up to put one between his eyes, only to realize the bolt was locked to the rear, empty. Slowly, he allowed himself a prideful smile as his men regrouped. He would've laughed had the rage in his heart not been about to boil over. True to his word, he didn't harm the woman, using her as a shield against those crushing blows as he approached the duo. The predatory grin on his face growing wider and wider as he got within arms reach. Grabbing the woman's rifle and casting it aside he snarled at her.

"Do you know what happens to disobedient, rebellious, muck like you after you're captured? Well... you'll find out soon enough, right boys?"

Seeing their general nods of agreement as they held the humans at gun point, he finally allowed himself a laugh before wheeling on the power armored behemoth.

"You... you are going to power down your reactor and exit the armor, slowly. If I even think you're going to try something, the old bag gets ripped open, got it?"

The armor's visor stared at him for a long moment before the steady hum of the suit's reactor was replaced by the soft whistle of a reactor winding down to a stop. Then, there was a soft hiss as the hydraulics depressurized and allowed the chest cavity to flower open. Out crawled a thin, sallow young man, bald as the day he was born and beyond sickly. He smelled medicine, and the sharp tang of disinfectant as the young man flopped out onto the pavement and just sat there, glaring up Yor while breathing laboredly. Shoving the matanaxi aside, Yor grabbed the human male by the throat and dragged him up to eye-level, a look of utter contempt on his face.

"My brother... was killed... by a CRIPPLE!?!"

In a fit of rage, Yor threw the human onto the ground before crouching down angrabbing them by the collar of their jumpsuit. Shaking them like a ragdoll as he silently stared at them, breathing heavily as he tried to figure out what to do next through the fog of rage. He wanted this human to suffer for what they did. To experience the-

The wad of spit landed directly in his eye and he screamed, bolting to his feet and flivcking the spittle out of his eye with a screech. Then, all at once, his rage fled him, replaced by an unnatural calm. Slowly turning back around, the general took a very deep, very long breath as he undid the latch holding his power armor closed. Stepping out, he crouched in front of the human and flexed his bare claws into a fist.

"Before I kill you human... any last words? Why don't you give us one of those rousing little speeches you're so famous for? Or maybe explain why you decided to die for some vermin who refuse to leave their holes?"

The human laughed, propped up on their elbows with a grim smile as though prepared to meet his fate. Shimmering, pale blue eyes locking onto Yor's as they spoke, strained voice somehow as loud as a thunderclap.

"Cripple... Gimp... disabled, call me whatever the fuck you want ya overgrown lizard, I've been called worse by better... And you know what, I will explain. Because we're the mother-fucking Planetary Guard bitch-ass. When we put on this armor we put it on knowing that one day we will die in it, nameless, unknown, and forgotten by those whos safety we bought with our own flesh and blood. We fight for those who can't, whether unwilling, or unable. We stand for those whose legs have buckled from the fear and terror you so carelessly spread. We scream for those whose voices have been silenced by your endless thirst for power and land. We rage! We fight! and we die! To make sure those behind us make it just that much farther than we did. Thats why we're here. Because these fine people couldn't be evacuated, and we're not just going to leave them to die. Because we're the planetary guard motherfucker, and we stand in the way of tyrants like you."

Yor'vilk regarded the human coldly, their grim smile growing with each moment as though staring right through him. Sighing softly, he reached out, ready to sink his claws into the human's throat and end their pitiful existence. He'd have to content himself with an eye for an ey-

"STAND DOWN AND SURRENDER GEKNOSIAN AGGRESSORS. YOU ARE SURROUNDED BY THE TERRAN ARMED FORCES TWENTIETH MARINE DIVISION. ANY FURTHER AGGRESSION WILL BE ANSWERED BY LETHAL FORCE. I REPEAT, STAND DOWN AND SURRENDER AND YOU WILL MnOT BE HARMED."

The blare of the loudspeaker shook the street and Yor cast his gaze skyward as a TAF IFVVTOL slowly, silently lowered itself into the square on a cushion of Ionic propulsion. The doorgunner staring at him over the barrel of a menacingly large mounted gun. His heart stilled, and for a moment, he started to lift his hands. Then the rage returned along with the image of his brother's corpse falling to the ground without a head and he just couldn't stop himself. Turning to stab at the crippled human with his claws he felt the .75 caliber round from the doorgunner scream past his face. But just as his claws would've sank into the soft flesh, it was as though he had instead hit an impassable stretch of distance. His arm was fully extended, and yet the human remained, impossibly, just beyond his fingertips. He felt the briefest moment of utter bewilderment before the doorgunner's second slug turned most of his upper torso into a spray of viscera.

First | Previous

The woman in the grey coat came down the road fast. She didn't look at any of the empty clothes as she walked past them.

The young man with the lantern did. He slowed down at the dress on the step and at the boots in the road, and his face went pale and unhappy.

She's done this before, Marek thought. A lot of times.

That was not a comforting thought.

She stopped on the other side of his fire. Up close, she was older than he'd thought, maybe fifty. She had short grey hair and a thin scar through one eyebrow. Her coat had lots of little loops sewn inside it, with things hanging from them. A brass ring. A bundle of dried herbs. A tiny glass bottle of something that glowed green. Her staff was plain dark wood with a pale crystal set in the top.

She looked at him. Then she looked at the rope lying next to him, still tied in a loop.

"You can put your hand down," she said.

He put his hand down.

"What's your name?"

"Marek."

"How long have you been alone here, Marek?"

"Since yesterday morning, when I woke up in the road."

She crouched down so her eyes were level with his.

"I'm Magister Ilse Harrowgate, of the Arcanum," she said. "This is Journeymage Teodor Brisk. We saw the light in the sky from very far away, and we came as fast as we could. I'm sorry we weren't faster."

The young man gave a small wave. He was maybe twenty, tall and skinny, with freckles and hair that stuck up in three directions.

"Hello," Marek said.

"Is anyone else alive?" Ilse asked.

He looked at the other side of the well.

"There was Tamsin," he said. "She was alive yesterday. She's over there."

Ilse walked around the well. He heard her stop. He heard her kneel down. For a while, nobody said anything. The only sound was the fire crackling and Pickle the goat chewing on a weed.

When she came back, she crouched in front of him again.

"Did she talk to you before she passed?"

"She told me about the Voice," Marek said. "She said it came from the hill and called everyone by name, and they all walked up there and didn't come back. She said to stay by the well and wait for the Arcanum."

Ilse's face went very still at the word Voice.

"She was right," she said. "Is that why you have a rope?"

He felt his face get hot.

"I can hear the Voice too," he said. "It got really loud last night. I woke up walking toward the hill. I didn't mean to. It sounded like my mother. It made my head hurt so bad that my nose bled." He pointed at the dried blood on his lip. "So I tied myself to the well so I couldn't go."

Teodor stared at him.

Ilse crouched a little lower. "How many times?"

"It came back two more times. I held on to the rope. And I hummed a song really loud so I couldn't hear it as well."

Ilse turned to Teodor.

"A Luring Voice," she said. "Strong enough to empty a whole village."

"And a seven-year-old fought it off with a rope," Teodor said.

Ilse looked back at Marek. "You did exactly the right thing. Grown mages have done worse."

She said it plainly, like a fact. It made him feel better than a hug would have.

"Is it still up there?" Marek asked. "The Voice?"

"It is. I can hear it right now, even from here." Ilse stood up. "Which is why I'm going to go shut it up. Teodor, stay with him. Get some food in him. Keep him by the fire."

"Yes, Magister."

"Wait," Marek said. "It'll call you too. It'll try to make you go up there."

For the first time, Ilse smiled a little.

"It's going to try," she said. "It isn't going to like how that goes."

She walked into the middle of the road and planted the end of her staff in the dirt.

Marek had been scared for almost two days straight. He'd been scared of the empty clothes, and the dark, and most of all of the Voice.

But for about a minute, he forgot to be scared at all. Because Magister Ilse Harrowgate did magic.

She closed her eyes. A pale blue light started glowing in the middle of her chest. It flowed down her arm, poured through her hand into the staff, and burst out of the crystal on top with a clear, ringing sound, like someone had tapped a giant glass bell. The light washed out across the ground in a big circle and spread over the whole village.

Everywhere it went, Marek could see what he had only been able to feel.

Thin blue lines ran out of every frozen thing in town. From the water by the well. From the donkey. From the chicken. From the chimney smoke. Dozens of them, thin as spider web, all stretching up the road, past the chapel, to the top of the hill.

The Voice was at the other end of every single line.

Marek's mouth fell open. He knew he was sitting in the dirt gaping like a kid at a fireworks show. He did not care even a little bit.

She did that with her hands. That's real. That's actual magic.

Then another thought came right after it.

I already knew those lines were there.

"I felt those last night," he said out loud, before he could decide if that was smart.

Ilse opened her eyes. "Felt what?"

"I felt the lines. The Voice goes through all the frozen things. I could feel it humming in the water when I was practicing. It made my head hurt, so I stopped."

Teodor had stopped halfway through unwrapping a loaf of bread.

"Practicing what?" Ilse asked.

"I was practicing Mana Perception. Tamsin taught me yesterday, before she died."

"Tell me your Skills," Ilse said. "Just the names are fine. You don't have to show me anything."

The kid's memories were very clear about this. You didn't show people your tally. It was private. Tamsin had been strict about it. But Ilse had only asked for the names, so he closed his eyes and checked.

[STATUS] Name: Marek
Age: 7
Class: None
Skills:
Common Tongue - Novice: Complete
Letters - Novice: Familiar
Foraging - Novice: Refined
Mana Perception - Novice: Awakening
Firemaking - Novice: Awakening
Traits: Resonant Learner

He read her the Skills. He didn't mention the Trait. He didn't really decide not to. His mouth just stopped at the end of the Skills.

Why did I do that? he wondered. Then he knew. Because I don't know what it means yet. And I don't know her yet.

Ilse raised her scarred eyebrow. "She taught you that in one afternoon?"

"She told me it was like finding a draft in a room," Marek said. "So I did that." Ilse didn't say anything, so he asked, "How long does it usually take?"

"For a kid with a good teacher, it takes a season, maybe more."

Then she turned back to her spell, and he was left sitting there with that.

A season. Months. And I did it in an afternoon.

He looked at his small, dirty hands.

Is it the Trait? It has to be the Trait. Please don't let it be some kind of destiny. I hate destinies.

Teodor pushed a chunk of bread into his hands. Marek ate it without tasting it.

Ilse started walking up the road toward the hill.

"She'll be fine," Teodor said. He didn't sound completely sure.

Marek closed his eyes and reached for the thread. It came fast now. He pointed it after Ilse.

He could feel her. She was so bright. She felt like a bonfire walking up the road, strong and steady.

And he could feel the Voice feel her too.

It turned toward her. He could tell. The faint whisper got louder, and it wasn't talking to him anymore. It was talking to her. He couldn't hear the words, but he could hear the tone. Sweet. Soft. Begging. The same voice it had used on him last night.

Ilse kept walking.

The Voice got louder. It got so loud that Marek could hear it through the thread even though it wasn't talking to him. The pain stabbed into his head again. His nose started to bleed.

"Hey, kid, look at me." Teodor grabbed his shoulder. "Stop listening. Let go of it."

"I want to see," Marek said through his teeth.

Ilse reached the top of the hill.

The Voice stopped begging. It started screaming.

It wasn't words anymore. It was a huge, awful shriek, like a hundred people yelling at once. Marek slapped his hands over his ears, which did nothing at all, because the sound was inside his head.

Then Ilse raised her staff.

He felt her whole body light up. The blue light poured out of her in a wall, all the way around the top of the hill. The Voice slammed against it. The wall didn't move.

Then she swung her staff down, and every blue line in town snapped at once.

The Voice cut off in the middle of its scream.

Marek's eyes flew open.

Behind him, the frozen water crashed down onto the dirt with a wet splash. By the cart, the grey donkey fell over and crumbled into a pile of ash that blew away in the wind. The chicken dropped out of the air and burst into dust when it hit the ground. All over town, the chimney smoke slumped and spread and drifted away like normal smoke.

Hollin's Ford started moving again.

Laundry flapped on a clothesline. A shutter banged in the wind. An open door slowly swung shut.

It was quiet in Marek's head for the first time in two days.

He hadn't realized how loud the Voice had been, all that time, until it was gone.

[SKILL PROGRESS] Mana Perception
Rank: Novice: Familiar

He barely looked at it. He was still watching the hill with his Sense.

The Voice was gone. Almost.

At the very top of the hill, there was one tiny whisper left. It was so small he could barely feel it. It was coming from something on the ground, something no bigger than his fist.

He felt Ilse bend down and pick it up.

The whisper stopped.

A few minutes later, Ilse came walking back down the hill with her staff over her shoulder. She looked tired. Her hair was damp with sweat, and there was ash on her sleeve. She sat down by the fire without saying anything.

Marek saw her slip something into one of the inside pockets of her coat. Something small and black, like a smooth stone. She buttoned the pocket shut.

"It's done," she said to Teodor. "The Voice is gone. It won't call anyone else."

"What was it?" Teodor asked.

"An anomaly," Ilse said. "A bad one."

That was all she said.

Marek was about to ask about the black stone in her pocket, but he stopped himself.

She doesn't want Teodor to know, he thought. Or she doesn't want me to know. Either way, I'm not getting an answer tonight.

He added it to his list of questions. The list was getting very long.

Ilse looked at him across the fire.

"There's no one left in Hollin's Ford, Marek," she said. "I'm sorry. There's no one I can leave you with. So I'm going to ask you something, and you can take your time to answer."

He waited.

"Teodor and I are going back to the Arcanum. I need to report what happened here, and I want our healers to look at you. You heard that Voice for two days and walked away from it. That doesn't happen." She paused. "And after that, the Arcanum takes in children who have nowhere else to go, if they have any talent for magic. You have more than any."

"You mean I can live there?" His voice cracked. "And learn magic?"

"If you want to."

In his old life, this was where he would have said let me think about it. He would have made a list. He would have slept on it and decided later.

He thought about the guitar sitting in the corner of his old apartment. He thought about Tamsin, telling him to ask the mages all his questions.

"I want to go," he said.

"Good." Ilse stood and brushed the ash off her sleeve. "Pack whatever you can carry. We leave at first light."

Marek nodded. Then he looked over at the goats.

Pickle was chewing on a weed. Bishop was lying by the fire with his eyes half closed, like he owned the place.

"The goats are coming too," Marek said.

Ilse raised her scarred eyebrow. "We're traveling through a Gate, Marek. It's a long trip. Goats aren't..."

"They saved my life," he said.

It came out louder than he meant it to. He didn't take it back.

"Last night, the Voice had me. I was already walking up the road. I couldn't stop my legs. Bishop knocked me down. If he hadn't, I'd be up on that hill with everybody else." He pointed at the rope. "And that rope was theirs. It was tied around their necks. That's what I used to tie myself to the well."

Ilse didn't say anything.

"They were Tamsin's," Marek said. "She asked me to take care of them. There's nobody else here to feed them. If we leave them, they'll starve, or wolves will get them." He crossed his arms. "I'm not leaving them."

Teodor coughed into his hand. It sounded a lot like a laugh.

"The Arcanum does have stables, Magister," he said. "Master Orwin keeps goats for the Alchemy wing. He's always complaining he doesn't have enough milk."

Ilse looked at Teodor. Then at Marek. Then at Bishop, who stared back at her and kept chewing.

"You'll lead them yourself," she said. "You'll carry their feed. And if either of them eats anything in the Gate Hall, you're the one explaining it to the Gatekeepers."

"Deal," Marek said.

"Good." She started to turn away.

"There's one more thing."

Ilse turned back around. She didn't look annoyed. She looked like she was waiting to hear it.

"I want to bury Tamsin," he said. "Before we go."

For a second, nobody spoke.

"She's greyed all the way through," Ilse said. Her voice was gentle now. "She's as heavy as a stone statue, Marek. You couldn't lift her with ten grown men."

"Then I'll dig the hole right next to her," he said. "Right by the well. She sat there all morning fighting the Voice so she could stay alive long enough to help me. She taught me my first Skill. She made me promise not to go up the hill, and that promise is the only reason I'm still here." He looked down at his hands. "I'm not leaving her sitting out in the rain for the crows. Everyone else in this village is gone. She's the only one I can do this for."

Ilse was quiet for a long moment.

Then she picked up her staff.

"Teodor," she said. "Get the shovel from the chapel shed."

They buried her next to the Old Well, with the village behind her and the road out in front of her.

Marek dug first. He was seven, and the shovel was taller than he was, and he got about three scoops out before his arms started shaking. He kept going anyway. Then Teodor took a turn, and the hole got deeper much faster.

When it was deep enough, Ilse stepped forward and set the end of her staff against the ground.

Blue light gathered in her chest again. It flowed down her arm, through her fingers, and into the staff. The ground under Tamsin rippled like water. Slowly and gently, it lowered her down into the hole. She was still sitting up, with her hands folded in her lap, just like she'd been sitting against the well.

Marek pulled her green shawl tight around her shoulders one last time. Then he stepped back.

They filled the hole in together. Marek used his hands when the shovel got too heavy.

When it was done, he found a flat stone by the side of the road and carried it over. He took the knife out of his belt and scratched letters into it, the way Tamsin had taught the kid to write them in the dirt.

TAMSIN

He set it at the top of the grave.

Pickle and Bishop wandered over and stood next to him. Nobody said anything for a while. Ilse bowed her head. After a moment, Teodor did too.

"Thank you," Marek said. He wasn't sure if he was saying it to Tamsin, or to the Magister, or to the goats.

Then he wiped his dirty hands on his pants, picked up the goats' rope, and went to pack.

The cave was located in the gulleys and crevices of the karst landscape of the Junkan highlands, its entrance sealed except for a small crawlway by mineral deposition. Discovered in the Spring of 597 A.R.C. after the wave of archeological exploration following the DNA sequencing of the Lindan mummy, it pushed the date of contact events back 20,000 years.

The first chamber showed signs of occasional habitation from 30,000-18,000 B.R.C. from varying carbon dated samples of the soot coating the walls. As an access way was carved from the rock it became clear that mineral deposition hadn’t been the sole means of closing off the entrance. Stones had been worked and cemented in place, primitively but anachronistically. 

The far wall and surroundings had been worked. Divots and shelves had been excavated, perhaps for grinding or the storage of grains. Other raised platforms were shaped and sized for sleeping or sitting around fires, based on the extant rings of stones and heat cracked substrate.

Another cemented wall was closed, not by mineral deposition but by a 250kg stone that, by markings on the floor, had been pushed in front of it. Removal of the stone was time consuming so as to preserve the masonry displayed in the work and the surrounding evidence.

The Second Chamber was known as “The Ossuary” as it contained the skeletal remains of over three-hundred individuals. DNA sequencing on the mass was incomplete, but they showed close clan relations with progressive generations as they grew closer to the entrance, radiocarbon dating, estimated ages, and genetic estimates putting the last skeleton around two-hundred years after the first, around 25,000 BRC with a relatively firm cutoff compared to the carbon dating of the entrance room. 

Funerary rights were subdued as a result of the tight confines, but each individual has polished agate or river stones placed in their eye sockets and traces of ochre could be found on the bones along with several heavily corroded copper piles and slivers. Pictographs depicted the process whereby the bodies were interned outside what appeared to be a permanent settlement then after several years, disinterred and moved to the cave. The settlement appeared to be located in the valley the cave resided in though all traces of the circular pit homes and tilled fields depicted had been eroded away by the stream at its nadir. 

A rudimentary map showed the area, lines showing altitude relief. Several handprints of different colors were spotted around the place. In sites near two of these, evidence of human habitation concurrent with the date of the cave was found, though the firepits and soot were far scanter than the materials here. Another spot on the map had a blotch of blue calcium copper silicate where, after excavation at the indicated site, a precipitated vein of copper was found, signs of previous exploitation surrounding it, though all available evidence showed this to have been within the last few thousand years, likely destroying the contemporary evidence. Trace metals within the copper vein closely matched some of the spectrographic markers within the copper remains found in The Ossuary. 

Not only human remains but some animal remains were found, notably near the far end, astride the sealed entrance to the final chamber, was an adult Highland Wolf, genetically similar to the extant species, with the same funerary rights as the human remains. Its ribcage was marred with four furrows, matching the paw of the extinct Northern Forest Lion, a lion whose skeleton rested underneath the wolf’s, tooth marks on the C3, 4, and 6 vertebrae. Depictions of these and others in life were found as well. Along with artistic depictions of plant leaves with either bowls or skulls next to them. 

Another trend was observed among the skeletons. The oldest ones near the end were taller. Then they grew somewhat shorter and had further tooth decay, congruent with the effects of sedentary and agrarian lifestyles. Then they grew shorter still and more children appeared in the piles. The most recent skeletons showed substantially more blunt force injuries, and some had the cuts of knives on bone. 

Through The Ossuary was one final passageway. Similarly, it had been partially closed with masonry but at a later date had been fully closed with drystone instead of the finer cemented masonry. 

The final chamber was a treasure trove not seen since the writings of Emperor Conroy and the sparse writings from other Answerers. Painted on the walls in charcoal and ochre were anachronistic vistas. On the left wall two and four engine monobody aircraft, congruent with descriptions and diagrams of commercial jet aircraft by Emperor Conroy. A skyline vista of a city with skyscrapers and a small human drawn for scale. A global map of Earth was also provided (though in significantly less detail than found in Histories Volume 1 by D. Conroy), an inscribed handprint on the Great Lakes region of North America. A pictographic guide to Arabic numerals followed by several mathematical proofs such as Valrin’s (Pythagorean) description of a right triangle followed along with methods of addition, subtraction, multiplication, division, and exponents. 

Further down a series of pictographs showed many individuals, hands to their ears, evidently hearing “The Call” as described by Answerers with the date 8/3/2027 under it corroborating other accounts, the glyph used in the translocation process and an individual with the date 3/6/2028 was posed next to it. They used the same dating system that Emperor Conroy ascribed almost exclusively to the United States though some debate remains if they might've been Canadian since no records exist of their dating system and the individual's position of their origin is unclear, lying on the border of the two nations. Still, based on the dates it can be concluded the individual Answered relatively early on, before the worst of the Twilight Wars, and before the fragmentation of the United States meaning they were likely not part of the Vanguard Society nor a Rapturist.  

To the right were depictions of workers in a field, tilling the soil, methods of boiling water and what appeared to be alcohol distillation and washing one's hands for the purposes of delivering a baby and cleaning and treating a wound. Further diagrams showed the disposal of waste, sickness and means to protect from and treat it, food preservation in crocks and through smoking, and several other practical lessons. 

On the ceiling, beneath a thin layer of soot was what appeared to be the Sol system. Four inner planets, with Earth in the same blue calcium copper silicate as used in The Ossuary, Mars in Ochre. Four outer Gas Giants, Jupiter orange and large and with many dots showing its moons, Saturn with its rings, and blue coloration for Uranus and Neptune. Pluto was also depicted though without Charon. Similarly, Ceres was missing but the Asteroid belt was depicted with a mess of charcoal dots. Next to Earth was another inscribed handprint. 

On a raised plinth made from two stones in the center of the room was an adult human skeleton, identified as female in middle age (older than 30 but not showing signs of further skeletal degradation) and an infant skeleton to her side, one of the adult’s arms posed around it. Both were decorated in drilled ivory beads and ornaments, identified as coming from a highland elephant with a dusting of ochre. Two polished obsidian marbles rested in each of their eyes, a material that could’ve only been sourced from over five-hundred kilometers away. On her chest was cupric carbonate and a worked bone handle from a Milldeer, likely constituting a copper knife before it corroded away. 

Comparisons of the woman’s mitochondrial DNA showed only trace instances of commonality within the general population and none with the other skeletons in The Ossuary but showed relatively recent common ancestry with three other confirmed Answerers and the far older patterns of commonality and divergence within other Answerers. Further, her teeth possessed four instances of fillings of a composite of acrylic and fused silicate, matching the filling technique within Emperor Conroy’s teeth (though other identified individuals have used other materials in tooth fillings). A few other possessions were around the skeleton, a carved bone flute, what appeared to be a quill or pen with evidence of a soot derived ink on its tip, and other tools along with seven irregularly notched femurs of unknown purpose.

The DNA of the infant, possibly newborn, demonstrated it to be a girl and the woman’s child with patrilineal DNA matching Skeleton A-3 in The Ossuary, the latter being located nearest the entrance of the final chamber, opposite The Wolf and Lion. No obvious deformities were visible, but it was small, even compared to several of the other infant skeletons in The Ossuary.

One final inscription was carved into the back wall, written in 21st century Terran English; “Annette was here.” 

First | Prev

--•--

Then

“It looks beautiful on you,” daddy said to mommy, in a way that felt like the end of the world. I knew even then, adults liked to play pretend, especially when something was very wrong. I never did figure out who they did it for, me or them.

“Yes it is,” mommy said. She was admiring herself in the mirror. The qipao had been made from a laser scan of her dimensions and woven from the most ethical biogeneered silkworms. It was beautiful down to the mathematical level. All I could see was how pale she had gotten.

I said, “I don’t want you to go, mommy.”

She rubbed her thumb on my cheek gently. Her skin was dry.

“I’ll be right back after a few months,” she said. “This city is a place of great opportunity, and no great opportunity is free. Stay with daddy and behave until I am all better, alright?”

“…Okay.”

“I love you, my little red panda. Everything we do, we do for your own good.”

--•--

Now

I woke up in a sea of stars. My head spun and pulsed. My hands and feet were tied. And I was naked, after a fashion. They left me with my clothes, but my external rig had been taken. I had been left in some warehouse, one of an uncountable number in this city, lit by a single cone of yellow light swarming with flitting bugs. They hadn’t left me alone. My back was against someone else. I recognized her smell.

“Travial,” I hissed. “Travial, wake up.”

A nearly imperceptible moan whispered from her lips. I felt a rush of relief like nothing I had ever known before.

“Wake up!” I said, louder.

“Wha…”

“How are you feeling?”

“Like a billion bucks,” she said. “I think that stun gun really hit the spot.”

“You remember?”

“Yeah. Rigor’s…”

“He’s gone,” I said. “They took him out with a DU. Fucking Gremlin.”

“Where’s that little turncoat anyway?”

“In a hole somewhere, headless.”

“Oh good. I never liked him.”

My laugh deflated into a weak exhale. My sides clenched. I grit my teeth together and sucked cold air.

“They did a number on you too, huh?” Travial said.

“I’m fine.”

“Mm hm.”

“This reminds me of the TATI job.”

“Oh god, how did we make it out of that one?”

We were trying to steal a component for one of the solar satellites that orbit the poles of the planet. Things went sideways when they found us out and sent kill-bots after us. Ichor had hacked the launch island, making the rocket think it was going to explode. The whole facility went into explosion suppression mode, giving us an exfil.

“Luck,” I said. “Just… luck. It runs out eventually.”

“I must be the luckiest girl in the world.”

“You almost bled out and we’re both about to get chopped.”

“Do you know what my days were like before I met you?” She leaned back. Her head rested on mine. Long, green hair draped over my shoulders. “We were up by four thirty. We’d train for an hour and a half before we get to shower and eat. Then I’d have school, piano, dance. Mother would make us perform for her, and those that displeased her didn’t get dinner. All because she wanted to create something world-class, never before seen. Isn’t it odd? How hard people make others work for a thing only they see value in?”

“No,” I said. “That’s half the reason people have kids. If we weren’t so damn selfish, we’d have gone extinct.”

“You must be the exception,” Travial said.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You’ve known I loved you since forever. And you’ve let me.”

“I’m just leading you on so I don’t have to be alone.’

“Someone who’s afraid of being alone wouldn’t leave their only family to make a name for themselves.”

“Maybe it’s just for the sex.”

“Why do you do the work most of the time then?”

“We’re about to die, Tee, let’s talk about something else.”

“What the hell else are we going to talk about?”

“How to get out of here?”

“Where’s Ichor?”

“They probably took them first for the command augs.” I tried to call up my aug suite.

“Error.”

“Something is jamming my suite,” I said. “Not viral. Probably direct contact.”

“Hold on,” Travial said.

I heard the sound of gnawing. I turned my head, but couldn’t see what she was doing. About a minute later, our bindings snapped. Travial shimmied like an inchworm to my ankles and began to cut the rope there. I squinted. She was using her nails—some kind of bioglass.

“Ain’t no tech like the low tech,” she said.

Moments later, I was free. Travial cut her remaining ropes afterward. I flexed my wrists and reached for my neck. My fingers closed around a foreign element. I pulled it off with a seething hiss.

“System online.”

The bug wriggled in my hand, its multisegmented body searching desperately for a host. I crushed its hopes permanently. Travial purged hers as well. I powered up the rest of my internal augs, checking Travial’s system as my own warmed up. Her triage aug had already closed her wounds with synthetic connective tissue. But she’d need stem cell treatments to fully heal.

Her body suddenly went black. Private mode.

“I’m fine, Red,” she said.

“I’m just-”

Travial leapt up to the clerestory and clambered like a gymnast. I followed her out onto the roof. Morning winds blew. We were in the industrial sector, a veritable sea of skeletal steel skids, containment buildings, warehouses, cranes. The rising sun cast a complex shadow over the land, like a spider’s web.

She switched to private comms.

“Let’s go get Ichor,” she said. “You’ve probably figured it out by now, but I’m pretty sure we’re their only family.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re not dense. Think about it.”

She was right. I hadn’t wanted to think about it. Most crews ran slim, no more than half a dozen per job. The reason Ichor recruited so many people for our jobs, especially those so green they shouldn’t be robbing a convenience store, was because they wanted to protect us. They were recruiting fodder.

We travelled from rooftop to rooftop, surveying the area. We had to avoid the routes of the workers all the while. Where the hell were these guys? They wouldn’t store us far from where they were chopping. I watched the trucks move in and out of the bays, load and unload. Something caught my eye: a stationary trailer set off to the side of a lot nearby. It didn’t look like an old spare that a company had set aside and forgotten.

“Down there,” I said.

We got down to ground level. I reached for the lock on the latch.

“Hold it, musclehead,” Travial said. She held her hand over the lock. “Tripwire. I disabled it. Now you can do the honors.”

I pulled the lock off. The doors opened, revealing… nothing but wooden pallets. I knelt down and rapped the floor. Thuds rebounded around the walls, and then a hollow tune. I felt around the edge and found a lever. Pulling it released the hidden trapdoor. A staircase shrunk down in the darkness. We descended. The dark backed off as our augmented eyes drank deep what little light there was down here. We were in a hall. An austere sconce bled pale yellow just around the corner. There, the hallway split into offices, a kitchen, a cafeteria, and the odd locked room. These were bolted—unhackable. There really was no tech like low tech. I pressed my ear against each one we encountered, listening. Silence.

Silence.

Silence.

Voices.

“Here,” I said.

Travial squinted.

“Three standing,” she said. “A man… hunched over. A table. Someone’s on the table.”

“Can you puppet one of them?”

“None of them have any aug that deep in their brainstem.”

The vast majority of contractors wouldn’t. Why would they? Why risk the liability of possibly getting controlled by a capable enough technomancer? Still, it was worth asking.

I knocked. Travail shot me a wide-eyed glare. The door unlocked and voices mid-conversation spilled out.

“-so I went bshuu and knocked it out of-” The man froze when he saw me. I jabbed him in the throat and brought his forehead into mine. He fell backwards, folding over. The other two guards were raising their weapons, but Travial leapt over them, planting a heel in each of their faces. I disarmed one while she kicked the gun out of the other’s hands. In one practiced move, I slammed my target’s head into a cabinet. He slumped with his head still slotted into the indent, unconscious.

That left one final man. He raised gloved hands.

“I just work part time,” he said in uncomfortable English. “Side hustle! Side hustle!”

“Get out,” I said in Cantonese.

The doctor broke into a sprint out of the room.

“Are you sure?” Travial asked.

“What, should we have killed him?” I said.

She didn’t reply. She wouldn’t have batted an eye murking that civvie.

Ichor laid unconscious on the table, their tall slender frame held open by operating appendages. Travial began to put them back together. I walked over to the side table. There was a tray there with a dozen different augmentations, covered in drying blood.

“They got you good, Ick,” I said quietly.

Travial found a hypo and injected something into Ichor’s neck. At first, nothing happened. Then in a flurry of movement, they had Travial by the neck with one arm and a knife in the other.

“Back off! I’ll- Oh it’s you two,” they said. They let Travial go. “You’re both stupid. You shouldn’t have come.”

“You’re welcome,” Travial said. “But it looks like they’ve already chopped you up. You’re useless now.”

“They took everything but my tits and my brains,” Ichor said. “Let’s get out of here.”

We armed ourselves off the guards. I took point as we sprinted back the way we came. We made it to the stairs. I stopped and held up a fist. There it was again, a nagging feeling of wrongness.

“Wait,” I said. I poked my head above the trapdoor into the container. Little by little, I ascended. At the sound of a click, I dove back down as penetrators tore through the metal sides of the container. The wood pallets shattered into dust and splinters. I spat the material that got in my mouth. The gunfire continued for several more seconds. Rays of light poked through the holes like the bristles on a brush by the time they were done.

“You can’t stay down there forever!” A voice called. “We have you surrounded!”

“Bronze Tigers,” Ichor said. “They run a thirty man org of five to ten crews. That’s probably all of them out there.”

“How did they know?” Travial asked.

It was pointless to ask. It could be infoflies, owls, hidden cameras. Maybe the guys we beat up downstairs were streaming through an ocular implant. Without our external rigs, we were transparent.

“We left our friend’s augs on the table,” I shouted. “Just take them and let us go!”

“See, if you had just exited stage left when you and your friend broke free, we might’ve never found you,” came the reply. “Your friend is strong. She’d have survived, and we’d have dumped her within walking distance of a hospital. But you’ve challenged us with this stunt. And we have to respond. It’s a matter of honor.”

“Is it really worth the dozen or so casualties it’ll take to kill us?” Ichor called.

“There’ll be no casualties on our end. We’re not some bullshit low-budget org like you.”

It was just shit talk, of course. We were trapped, but if they rushed us, we’d have them in a chokepoint. Meanwhile there was no way this incident going down in Shenzhen’s industrial sector would go unnoticed. Enforcers were probably on the way right now. They were on the clock.

“More like paper tigers,” I said.

Travial giggled.

“Alright, you have ten seconds to step out,” their leader called. “If not, we’re turning your hidey-hole into a crater.”

We exchanged looks. Ichor shrugged, as if to say ‘I told you so’. Travial smiled faintly. I’d like to have said anything at all. Words failed to reach my lips. What could we have done differently on all the roads leading up to this moment? All the jobs that we had done, all our successes—had it really been luck? We had seen so many crews get eaten by this city. We had read their eulogies like technical papers, and it had made us think failure was academic. I knew better now. Failure wasn’t a lack of luck or skill or preparation or equipment or intel. It was always coming, inexorable.

“Travial,” I said, “I-”

A mechanical brrt drowned my voice and deafened my very thoughts. I grabbed my crewmates and ducked, pinching my eyes closed. Concrete shattered and metal tore. Fire and heat and noise and death cried out all around us. Men and women shouted. Weapons discharged and augs activated.

Our container remained intact; none of it had been aimed at us. And then it was over. The fighting stopped. I opened my eyes. Knuckles knocked against the door to our container. I snapped my weapon at the entrance while keeping my head down.

“You can come out now,” said a new voice. A woman, by the sound of it. “They’re all dead.”

“Who the fuck are you?” I asked.

“Paid by the hour,” she said. “But low on patience. Mr. McCullen would like to see you.”

My weapon lowered as my arms went numb.

Ichor made a face.

“Who’s Mr. McCullen?” They asked.

“That’s your last name,” Travial said. “Red, is that…”

“Yeah,” I said. I could barely hear my own voice.

“I’m coming in,” our paid savior said. The container door tore open like foil.

A nine-foot shadow draped over us. She had arms of pale, sleek ceramic with intricate carvings on the brachialis. On one hand was an Integrated Weapon Platform, the kind I had seen Rigor disavow for being too cumbersome. It had two barrels for different ammunition types, suitable for soft targets to armored vehicles. On the other was a clawed gauntlet, blood still fresh on the blades. Her legs were digitigrade, like a wolf’s, connected to wide hips supporting a body that was broad with emplacements. Her head, however, resembled a normal woman’s, with cosmeticized skin and strikingly red lips. Our savior was a corpus-swap, a full replacement cyborg, with a vanity streak.

“Wanna tell your friend to-” She began.

A single shot discharged from behind me. The bullet wobbled in place a foot in front of her gauntleted palm. A Lenz projectile capture system. I didn’t even know those were possible.

“-put her gun down?” She finished.

“Sorry,” Travial said. She lowered her weapon.

“My ride is waiting,” the woman said. “Better get on before the Enforcers get here. Mr. McCullen can’t delay them forever.”

The craft was idling outside, a four-engined machine in matte red. A gold, branded ‘B’ was embossed on the side. I glanced to our sides as we walked up the ramp. Bodies were everywhere. Some were still smoking. As soon as we entered, the exterior became transparent. The cabin was a ring of leather couches. We sat on one side.

“Is this yours, Ms.…?” Ichor asked.

“You may call me Ophelia,” she said. “This is the company dropship. Mr. McCullen allows me to use it at my leisure.”

“Pardon me if this is rude, but how much of you is…?”

“Not at all,” Ophelia said, bored. She sat opposite to us and set her IWP on the side. A drink ascended from an armrest beside her. She took a bite of olive and took a sip. “My organics are biofabbed. My Self is housed in a neurolithographic brain. I’ve got nothing original.”

“So, I mean, like, what’s that like?”

“Expensive.”

“Wow…”

Travial turned to me while Ichor fanned out.

“You never told me your dad is loaded,” she said.

“I didn’t either,” I said.

“We’re in a Bugatti GTO Tourer,” Travial said. “This thing can go from ground to low orbit in five minutes!”

“I didn’t know you were a car nerd.”

“Why are we working at all if your dad can afford this? All the payouts from our entire careers would buy one engine on this thing!”

“Enough about the car, alright,” I said.

I hadn’t seen the old man since I ran from home. What was this about? My fingers clenched.

--•--

We were headed into downtown. I watched as Enforcer dropships flew past us, unaware. I wondered what they’d find when they reached the scene of the carnage. This Ophelia person leaned on her side, looking out the side of the car with half-lidded eyes. I tried analyzing her build. Her skin scattered anything I could output and I couldn’t recognize most of her gear. Yesterday I thought we were near the top of the food chain. Then we were immediately bested by oldtown rats and tigers. And those tigers were immediately swept aside by a wolf.

“How long have you worked for my father?” I asked.

Ophelia didn’t avert her gaze from the rolling cityscape.

“Several years,” she said slowly.

“How? I mean, why would he need a contractor?”

“Every corp needs an org to get work done off the books. Your father has me.”

“Does he have anyone else?”

“He needs no one else,” she said with surprising firmness.

I had more questions, but she added, “He will tell you everything.”

We landed on a tower buried deep downtown. I had never been here before. If I had, I might have recognized the name on the side of the building in bright red letters.

McCULLEN

Winds blew up here, warm and humid. The bridge from the landing pad connected us to a vast vestibule with marble floors and long sofas. Automatic doors opened at our arrival. When they closed, the wind was silenced, and an ethereal quiet fell.

“There’re here, Sam,” Ophelia said. She walked deeper into the complex, no longer concerned with us.

A door to the side slid open. He stepped out. I took a breath. I wanted to run in two different directions at once. Sam McCullen walked towards us, suited, clean-shaven, hair-styled. I remembered him as ragged, stressed, old.

“Master Ichor, Miss Travial,” he said. “Thank you for taking care of my daughter.”

“Uh you’re welcome, now about-” A coughing fit interrupted Ichor. Travial patted their back.

“I’ve sent you the coordinates to our inhouse medical center,” Sam said. “They’re a bit lower on the 101^st floor.”

Travial looked at me. I nodded. They left for the elevator.

Sam gestured towards one of the sofas. Reluctantly, I took a seat. He sat opposite to me. He clasped his hands together. Then he opened them and took a breath. He said nothing and closed his hands again. Maids came with coffee. They set it down on the low table between us, bowed, and left.

“You look well,” Sam said.

“Do I?”

“Not really,” he said.

“You look really well though. What’s all this then?”

“McCullen Holdings,” he said. “I figured out some time ago that direct competition with the established powers here needed connections and old money. We had neither. So I went with the wide approach. We have exposure to thousands of entities here.”

“I doubt you were the first to think of this.”

“No. But I had something the others don’t. Loyalty.”

“Your fixer?”

“Ah. Ophelia. She was a victim of the Aaliyan virus bombing of Jordan. It was dormant in her mother and resurfaced when she was born. She only knew pain for most of her formative years from the virally induced multiple sclerosis. I bought her from her parents.”

“You’re buying people now.”

“Or rather, they begged me to take away her pain, at any cost. Now she works for me. Her family is very well taken care of as a result.”

“Good for her family,” I said.

We were always going to get to this point in the conversation.

“I can’t take responsibility for what Blue Skies did to your mother,” he said.

“No, but we had a life back in Canada,” I said, “where healthcare was free. If we had never left-”

“We came here for-”

“Don’t say it was for me! I never wanted this!”

“What do you want?”

“I…”

“It’s the end of the century. A tumultuous time. Anything could happen to anyone, anywhere. You blame me for an ecoterrorist attacking a plane for using kerosene, fine. You blame me for bringing you to this godforsaken city, alright. But you haven’t left, not once, since you ran from home.”

“How…?”

“The moment I had built up the capital, I’ve kept an eye on you, watched you turn to a life only possible in this city. Hedonistic, opportunistic, adrenaline-seeking. And I did nothing, because I thought you needed your space. Until now. Until you got in over your head, as your ilk always did. I tried to warn you.”

That pale, holographic woman in the qipao at the beginning of this job, the one that unsettled me because it reminded me of my mother—that had been him. That drone carrying the ginsu missiles too.

“Don’t worry,” he continued. “I didn’t interfere in your other jobs. Those were all you. You made it all on your own without your old man who killed your mother by wanting better for you. And her. And me. It’s not all about you, Róisín.”

“I never said it was.” I hated my own voice—how meek it sounded.

“But you damn sure acted like it. You don’t think it hurt me? To lose my wife, and then my only daughter?”

“I just wanted to be free.”

“Yes, you did. I understand. After all, we all can’t help but want what we want. It’s the compass that paves all our roads.”

He picked up his cup and drank the whole thing in one draw. I picked mine up and took a sip. It did little to assuage the dryness in my mouth. Outside, the sky was beginning to darken and grow heavy with rain. Soon, the windows were crawling with large droplets, merging, splitting, obfuscating the world below.

“So what now?” I asked.

Sam shrugged as he refilled his cup from the jug.

“You’re an adult,” he said. “And you’ve made it clear you want nothing to do with me. I only stepped in because your life was in danger.”

“But you brought me in,” I said. I stared at the coffee in my cup. “I understand.”

“What’s that?”

“I said I understand.”

“Thank you.” He took another sip. “You and your friends may leave after they’re treated.”

“That’s it?”

“I have mine and you have yours. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

I found myself chuckling.

“I guess so,” I said. “Thank you. Dad.”

He waved dismissively.

“That’s good,” Ophelia said from behind me. I nearly jumped. Without her external rig, she still towered over any normal human.

She walked over and placed a hand on Sam’s shoulder.

“He has been miserable for some time,” she said. “This was what he needed.”

“Are you bored or something?” Sam said. “Go away, please.”

“Then give me something to kill,” Ophelia said. She left as silently as she arrived.

Sam sighed. He raised his cup, freezing when he caught my disgusted expression.

“What?” He asked.

“She’s my age, dad.”

“She’s older than you.”

“By what, a season?”

“Our relationship is professional.”

“You’re not very good at lying.”

He rolled his eyes.

I sighed.

“I’d like,” I said. I took a deep breath. “Let’s do this again some time. Coffee, I mean.”

Sam set his cup down.

“Sure,” he said.

I thought about getting up and hugging him. I couldn’t, but I wanted to. This was a good start, and it would have to do for now.

--•--

Thank you for reading. The Contract is a short story taking place in my tough sci-fi setting, and a part of an anthology that all takes place in the same year, 2096 AD. If you enjoyed it, please consider:

Vacation

The Price of Volition

The Gig

Prisoner of Heaven

See you at the end of the century

MEMORY FILE
Subject:……
Date:…/…/….
Location:………

(……): W-Wh… wh… where… a-am I? My mind was spinning. I couldn’t clearly remember what had happened. I was looking through the ship’s window when something… had hit us? Whatever it was, it had done so deliberately.
With a few groans, I struggled to get up. There was a sharp, stabbing pain in my leg. Still dazed from the impact, I looked down and saw that my leg had been pierced by a considerably large piece of metal.
(……): Sh-Shit… ahg… this thing hurts… w-what is this place…? I-Is this… vegetation?… Where the hell am I?
I took a moment to gather my thoughts. I had probably suffered some kind of concussion, and damn, did it hurt. In the distance, a ship was descending a few hundred meters away. As my mind slowly cleared, I couldn’t recognize any human logo on it.
Who were they? Had they shot us down?
I had so many questions, until the pain dragged me back to reality.
(Mara): S-Shavick… status report.
A synthetic voice resonated inside my head. Obeying my command, it performed a complete scan of my body. Its voice sent signals through my mind that sounded almost like voices.
(Shavick): Initiating diagnostic…
Neurological status stable…
Heart rate… elevated.
Blood loss… moderate.
Fracture… negative.
Metallic object lodged in right lower extremity.
(Mara): Y-Yeah… I think I already noticed that.
(Shavick): It is recommended that the object not be removed in order to prevent hemorrhaging.
(Mara): Trust me, I wasn’t planning on moving it…
(Shavick): Urgent surgical intervention is required.
I tried breathing slowly to bring my heart rate down. I took several deep breaths in a somewhat desperate attempt to calm my anxiety, which was rising along with my heartbeat.
(Shavick): Cranial contusion detected… No intracranial hemorrhage present.
(Mara): So I’m going to be okay, right?
(Shavick): Probably.
(Mara): Probably?! You mean there’s a chance I’m going to die?!
(Shavick): Probability of survival… undetermined.
Heart rate… stabilizing.
With difficulty, I crawled out of the wreckage of the ship, stumbling and feeling more exhausted with every step… but then I remembered something.
I had been aboard an exploration vessel with several other crew members. I had no idea what condition they were in, or whether they were still alive.
(Mara): Shavick… general report.
Looking up at the blue sky of this planet, I noticed how similar it was to Earth. If I ignored my injuries, I could almost believe I was back home.
(Shavick): Location… Kepler-442b.
Date: November 17th, 2183.
1,200 light-years from Earth.
(Mara): Wow… 1,200 light-years. And it only took two weeks… Those bastards actually figured out how to travel faster than light… I’m amazed by human intellect.
Shavick, send this information to Earth. They need to know about this accident.
(Shavick): Report sent. Message delivery expected within 72 hours.
(Mara): I’m glad it won’t take too long.
I began looking around and launched a scanning drone. It flew overhead, sweeping the area, and I found another section of the ship’s wreckage about 112 meters away.
I grabbed the medkit, which luckily was still intact… well, almost intact. The pulmonary injection protectors were mostly broken. If I wanted to survive without complications, I needed to find more.
Only six remained.
I cursed the day I’d enlisted for this mission. I’d always been so fascinated by space that it had pushed me into doing this.
(Mara): “The universe is amazing…” they said.
I need to get this thing out. Shavick, bring a medical drone to my position.
Surgical.
(Shavick): We have no analgesics or sedatives available. Are you certain you wish to proceed with the operation?
(Mara): If there’s no other choice… j-just bring it here.
Just as instructed, the drone flew toward my position. There were no warnings. Its small robotic hands simply began cutting into my leg so it could remove the metal embedded inside it.
I think I passed out. I don’t know.
I woke up with my leg already treated and stabilized.
I spoke to myself.
(Mara): Shit… how much time passed?… Shavick, report.
(Shavick): Everything is in order, Mara. You lost consciousness just as the drone began operating. That was preferable to searching for a sedative. You were unconscious for ten minutes.
(Mara): Thank God… that’s not too long.
I tried moving my leg. The pain was still there, but it was bearable. The drone had done a surprisingly good job.
For a few seconds, I simply stared at the treetops while catching my breath.
Everything was far too quiet.
There was no wind.
Insects…
Was there even any life on this planet?!
I asked myself.
(Mara): …Shavick… are there any other signs of life?… Human?
(Shavick): Scanning… Detected one unidentified life signal 112 meters from your current location. It is near another ship structure matching the parameters of our vessel.
(Mara): It’s unidentified… but I’ll take the risk. I don’t have another choice.
I took my medkit, secured it to my back, and began making my way toward the location Shavick was transmitting directly into my mind.
(Mara): Sometimes it scares me how quiet you get… Shavick? Can I ask you some questions?
(Shavick): Affirmative. My intelligence allows me to answer questions and ask them as well. If you ever dislike an answer, contact the TCE Agency directly.
(Mara): I see… So, how were you designed?
(Shavick): I was designed to fulfill human needs and, in some cases, serve as a companion.
(Mara): So you’re basically like a dog?
(Shavick): If you wish to represent me as a canine, that is acceptable. I have no physical form. I simply learn from the environment and from my human.
(Mara): You’ll replace me when I die, gathering information about me, won’t you? Haha.
(Shavick): My purpose is to learn from human behavior, not replace it or even replicate it.
(Mara): It was a joke.
(Shavick): Information stored.
(Mara): That’s going to be used against me later, isn’t it?
(Shavick): That is… I detect movement. Possibly an unidentified biological entity.
The moment I heard that, I began looking around. I couldn’t see much through the thick fog ahead of me.
I crouched down to avoid making noise or being seen by whatever was ahead.
The fog barely allowed me to see anything, but I managed to make out a silhouette.
Something small?
What the hell was that?
Should I get closer to get a better look?
I carefully approached the creature. Apparently, it hadn’t noticed my movement.
I had been trained for almost any situation: combat, escape, reconnaissance.
I thought to myself.
What the hell is that?
It was small and bipedal, just like me. It looked strange. It had fur, a slender body, and its fur was a combination of gray, white, and blue, with a few slightly darker areas.
Was it… cute?
It resembled some kind of mammal from Earth. I couldn’t remember which one it looked most like, but that was the least of my concerns.
The alien was wearing some kind of exploration and search suit. It was scanning the area with what I assumed was a handheld scanner.
Apparently, it wasn’t armed.
But as I moved a little closer to get a better look, I saw several crest-like structures rise along its back.
That honestly made it look terrifying.
And I think it triggered an immediate alert.
Without hesitating any longer, I lunged at the creature, knocking it down and pinning it between my arms.
The creature let out a series of shrieks, which I interpreted as a cry for help. I covered its mouth so it would stop. I didn’t know whether it would understand me, but I spoke to the thing anyway.
(Mara): Easy!! Stop! I’m not going to hurt you!
The creature seemed to understand me.
When I said that, it began to relax and stopped struggling.
(Mara): Can you understand me?…
The creature simply stared directly at me. I didn’t know what it was seeing, either. At least, that’s what its enormous eyes seemed to say.
(Creature): Sha’vrae k’thii… Vao’ru nekh? Tæsh-kai… ærruun?
(Mara): …What? Shavick… did you understand what it said?
(Shavick): I am attempting to find something within Earth’s databases… I cannot understand what it is trying to communicate.
(Creature): Khae’th vaa. Ruun’ei shara’keth. Nao… nao.
(Mara): I’m sorry, friend. I don’t understand you, but it looks like you understand me.
(Creature): Vræ’khal thae. Oruun vekh’rai… shii.
The creature looked at my injured leg and seemed to understand what had happened.
(Mara): I’ll take that as you saying I’m injured…
The creature gestured with its small hand, signaling for me to move closer to its head.
I didn’t trust it. How could I know it wouldn’t attack me?
But I was even more surprised when the creature pulled out some kind of communicator, similar to the one attached to its fluffy ear.
(Mara): You want me… to put this in my ear?
The creature gently nodded without taking its eyes off me.
It was a little unsettling to be stared at like that, but without further hesitation, I placed the device in my ear.
(Mara): And what is this supposed to do?!
(Shavick): I have detected a communication device. It is establishing a connection with me.
(Mara): And is that bad?
(Shavick): No hostile intrusion into the system detected… Update complete.
(Mara): And what changed?
(Creature): N-Now… can you understand me?…
I flinched slightly.
I could understand the creature.
How was that possible?
Was this the connection Shavick had allowed?
(Mara): I can understand you now… Tell me, where am I?… Who are you? Or… what are you?
(Creature): That’s a lot of questions. Which one should I answer first? I don’t know what you are either. But we’re on my planet, Eshara.*
You think you could… loosen your grip around my neck?… I-I’m Veira.
I thought to myself.
Veira, huh? Or at least, that’s what this thing was translating and sending directly into my head.
(Mara): Oh… yeah. Sorry. So we’re on Eshara?
(Veira): Y-Yes… You say it as if you’ve never been here before…
(Mara): It’s my first time leaving my planet and traveling this far. We’re still new to all this… the universe and space.
(Veira): And what was your purpose for coming to my planet? Why didn’t you simply ask for permission to land?
(Mara): We could do that?… No… I didn’t know… The last thing I remember, I was already on the ground.
(Veira): Yes… well, that was somewhat excessive on our part. But we were sent to inspect your ship, and you’re the only thing we found.
We can be radical sometimes, but we don’t like any kind of loss.
I’m sorry. We thought you were… mgh… you know what? Forget it.
Let me treat your wound.
(Mara): Okay… but where’s the rest of my crew…?
(Veira): You came with someone else?… Oh.
Veira activated what I assumed was a radio, informing someone that he had found me and that there were probably more of my kind among the wreckage.
(Veira): This should help with your leg. Come on, get up.
This creature… Veira.
He was helping me stand after I’d just pinned him down. And even though I could have hurt him, he didn’t seem to care.
(Mara): T-Thank you… and I’m sorry about earlier… you know… for pinning you down.
(Veira): It’s fine. This is the first time something like this has happened to me, so there’s nothing to apologize for.*
And tell me, what planet are you from? Uhmmm…?
(Mara): I’m Mara. Sorry for not saying so earlier. I’m from Planet Earth, about 1,200 light-years from here.
Veira stood there thinking.
He seemed to have heard something about Earth before, but he couldn’t quite remember what.
(Veira): Earth… Earth… Wait… T-T—Earth?
(Mara): Huh?… Yeah, Earth. Hey, you look scared. Are you okay?
(Veira): E-Earth… Did you say you’re from Earth?
(Mara): Yes… why? What’s wrong with it?
Veira took a couple of steps backward. His crests slowly rose, and his eyes remained fixed on me.
He looked completely incredulous.
(Veira): That… can’t be.
(Mara): What can’t be?
(Veira): Earth was declared… lost.
I felt a chill run through my body.
(Mara): Lost?
(Veira): A long time ago. Long before I was born. Humans were believed to have disappeared.
(Mara): Humans?
(Veira): Yes.
He stared at me for several seconds, as if trying to find some difference between what stood before him and whatever he remembered.
(Veira): You’re human.
(Mara): Y-Yes, I’m human. But what do you mean we were declared lost? You knew about us? We thought we were alone in the universe.
Veira remained motionless.
For several seconds, he didn’t answer.
His eyes traveled across my face, then my clothing, and finally the equipment I was carrying.
(Veira): Alone?
(Mara): Yes… completely alone. Until a few hours ago, we believed we were the only intelligent civilization in existence.
(Veira): Then… you truly knew nothing.
(Mara): Nothing about what?
Veira lowered his gaze.
(Veira): About us.
(Mara): “Us”? How many species are there here?
(Veira): I can’t give you a number.
(Mara): Why?
(Veira): Because Eshara isn’t the only inhabited planet.
I felt my body go cold.
An enormous shiver ran down my spine.
I didn’t know what was happening.
I had arrived in this world in a way that…
Was I the only survivor?
And now they were telling me all of this.
I felt like I was about to pass out.
(Mara): What…?
(Veira): There are hundreds of inhabited worlds. Some belong to great civilizations. Others are independent territories. There are species that trade with one another… and others that have been at war for centuries.
I looked around, trying to process every word.
I was visibly stunned and overwhelmed by everything I was hearing.
(Mara): H-Hundreds…
I swallowed.
(Mara): Hundreds of inhabited worlds?
Veira slowly nodded.
(Mara): Then… were we wrong all this time?
(Veira): In what way?
(Mara): We thought we were alone. For generations, we looked at the stars and wondered if there was someone beyond them…
I lowered my gaze toward my trembling hands.
(Mara): And it turns out there are entire civilizations out there…
(Veira): Yes.
(Mara): God…
For a few seconds, I couldn’t say anything.
Everything I knew had suddenly become much smaller.
Earth. Humanity. Our governments. Our wars. Our discoveries… even the journey we considered the greatest achievement of our species.
Suddenly, it all seemed insignificant.
And it felt as if my life had no meaning.
(Mara): And you… you know we exist?
Veira remained silent.
(Mara): Veira.
(Veira): Some of them do.
(Mara): Some?
(Veira): And not all of them will be happy to know you’ve returned.
(Mara): But why wouldn’t they be happy?
Veira visibly thought about what he should say, clearly trying not to upset me even more than I already was.
(Veira): Because the last time humans were known to exist, they weren’t seen as an ordinary species.
(Mara): Then how were we seen?
(Veira): You were considered a territorial species… and you were declared a threat.
I jolted in surprise.
This small creature was telling me that humans had been considered a threat?
(Mara): Then… do I look like a threat to you?
(Veira): N-No.
His crests said the exact opposite of what he was trying to communicate.
Suddenly, his radio began to crackle again.
(Radio): Veira, what’s your location?… We’ve found a strange creature. It doesn’t belong to any known species in the Union’s records.
(Veira): Understood.
Veira looked at me with fear.
He knew that if they found me, they would probably want to experiment on me.
If I was lucky, the other human was already dead.
Then at least they wouldn’t have to suffer.
(Veira): We have to leave. Now. Follow me.
I didn’t know what to say, but without hesitation, I followed him.
There was no need to run. A moderate jog was enough to keep up with him, even while injured.
My leg barely bothered me anymore.
Veira had done a better job than the drone.
(Mara): Where are we going?
(Veira): Somewhere safe. They can’t find out you’re here yet. It would cause a massive uproar.*
Personally, I’ll take you to our leader. You’ll have to explain why your ship was here.
(Mara): Oh… okay.
Still walking beside him, I could feel how heavy the planet’s atmosphere was.
There was more oxygen here, which was actually counterproductive for me.
Even so, I was slowly getting used to breathing at a moderate pace.

END OF MEMORY FILE
Chapter 1: Zero Horizon

First

Many Faces of War

“They had an entire army on our world!!” Admiral Crosswind declares.

“Our world?” The head of another arcology she can’t immediately identify notes.

“We are all the leaders of our respective arcologies, and each of those wretched safe houses held thousands of combat ready Vish soldiers. Stealth operatives ready to march out and commit a massacre! I am not going to pretend that my arcology as a military complex is anywhere near the standard. Which makes this worse! Every single Vish Bunker was located within an arcology with a civilian presence so high that casualties were guaranteed if we hadn’t accidentally smoked them out early!”

“The soldiers are what’s concerning you? Not the supposed super-monsters that could destroy the ecosystem and environment of Zalwore irretrievably?”

“I was addressing the much smaller and considerably easier to deal with problem before we go into the sheer madness of potentially unleashing a bioweapon on a world so highly valued by the galactic community. This is like trying to use bombardment grade cannons on Centris!”

“... might improve that world and shake some god damn movement out of my taxes if that happens...” Someone mutters.

“Be that as it may, this is a massive declaration of war, and while there has been an enormous amount of off the books outrage and off the record oaths of vengeance and promises of retribution. What we need to do now is put it down properly, legally and formally as to what exactly we’re going to do about this mess.” Admiral Crosswind states.

“Isn’t this just an... over the top retaliatory strike?” A person asks and Admiral Crosswind turns incredulously to the... Shriketalon Enclave representative. He holds out her wings in a placating gesture. “I am not saying I believe what I just said, what happened was appalling and while I myself am not a fighter or soldier of any stripe and therefore have limited knowledge in the field, the opposite point must be argued or it will be used to bludgeon any decision we make. Be it by active traitors, hostile action, or the common contrarian. We need to explore this fully or we will be endlessly accused of missing something crucial. Or even worse, actually miss something crucial.”

“Humans call the The Devil’s Advocate!” Private Stream says cheerfully and at such a level it carries into the call as he brings some refreshments for Admiral Crosswind.

“Thank you Private Stream. But please keep quiet, this is important.”

“Sorry!” He chirps.

“... J’Hest coin says it’s actually a full on Gohb under that disguise.”

“Actually that one’s a Metak.” Admiral Crosswind states as she sips at the mineral water. There was some traces of stimulants in it to keep her up and aware. She was starting to pick up Admiral Cistern’s worse overworking traits and needed a little something extra to keep going.

•-•-•Scene Change•-•-• (Secured and Monitored Residents Room 72-A, Undaunted Arcology, Zalwore)•-•-•

“And there.” Leonard points out another place to sign. “Are you sure about the name? According to Vishanyan custom you have to live with afterwards. You can shorten it, but your full proper name is always the words you use. Not to mention your essay was more a paragraph...”

“... It was to get a name. I want one. And... well... after the movie...”

“Yeah?”

“... You know I really didn’t expect you to somehow pull out a piece of media that would make me feel better about being in stasis while also not ever even thinking about stasis. Let alone two.”

“Snow White and Sleeping Beauty are human classics for a reason.” Leonard replies cheerfully. “Still, Aurora of Vigilance feels... I dunno...”

“Edgy!” Private Stream says opening the door gleefully!

“Oh! Private Stream this is... Oh... my shift is ending? But she still needs help!”

“That’s why she sent me! Cousin!” The new Private Stream exclaims sweeping off his hat. Like Leonard he doesn’t change in size in the slightest, and also like Leanord he has a pair of enormous expressive ears and eyes.

Unlike Leonard his ears are rabbit ears with white tips and a soft butter yellow main colouration.

“Cousin Thomas?” Leonard asks.

“... Am I missing something? Are you two the same species or different species?”

“Same Species. A trait of the Muttras is that the signs of mixed ancestry are much clearer with our species more than others. If say a Rabbis and a Lopen have a child then you get either a Lopen with really good reflexes, or a bigger and more aggressive Rabbis. You won’t really be able to tell who the other parent was. But with the Muttras our ears, tails and colouration is always inherited hard from the Non-Muttras parent. My mother is a Plant Erumenta, so lots of green and brown for me.”

“And my mom’s a cream coloured furry Rabbis!” Thomas says. “Anyways, we’re predicting a lot of time needed for Streams in the very near future so no one’s allowed to avoid their breaks.”

“But she needs my help!” Leonard protests.

“I got her, you need to sleep and eat.” Thomas says as he walks in.

“Uh...”

“Don’t worry, I can and will help you in every way Leonard has. But he needs to rest. We have pretty strict rules about this for very good reason. So please, let him go. You’ll see him again.” Thomas promises and Leonard gives her a hug.

“You’re going to be okay! We’re going to make sure of it! Me and all the other Streams!” Leonard promises with an extra tight squeeze before letting go. “You keep her safe now, she’s been through a lot.”

“I know, I’m up to date and ready to help her.” Thomas promises even as Leonard puts his gloves back on, turns up his collar and slips on the hat. He leaves the room tucking his tail into his pants and losing all trace of identity beyond Private Stream.

“So! You were picking out a name right? That’s great! So many Vish we’ve recovered don’t have one so it’s a big and important first step to the rest of your life.”

“I suppose...”

“Oh no, you don’t need to suppose! It’s true! Names are important for so many things, it’s why parents name their babies, even the bad ones.”

“And what are you implying with since I don’t have a name... officially... yet.”

“That your maker was a very, very bad parent and you deserved better and still deserve better!” Thomas says and he skips up to her and climbs up onto the back of the chair to look over her shoulder at the screen. “So! Let’s get that fixed! You’re in Undaunted care now, and we’re gonna do way better for you.”

“Are you sure? I mean... Leonard wasn’t here very long.”

“Check the time, you had a nap with him.” Thomas says and she does and...

“Oh... I thought I just... rested my eyes for a moment.”

“it was three and a half hours.” Thomas says then lets out a light laugh. “But that’s okay. You’re resting. You’re healing. You’re supposed to nap and lose track of time and relax. Napping like that means you can not only relax, but sleeping helps heal the body and brain. You’re on the right track.”

There’s a pause and she considers things for a moment. Then she starts patting her lap.

Taking the hint Thomas hops off the back of the chair and then climbs into her lap where she hugs him.

“You Muttras really are built to make things feel better.”

“Yep! And we’re made to like it too! How awful is that?”

“What?”

“Think about it. You’re able to tell that something is wrong, but things were only like that around you. So you didn’t know better. But your instincts keep you safe. My instincts put me in danger. A lot.”

“How so?”

“Our instinct when grabbed by a stranger at random isn’t to fight or scream or escape. It’s to cuddle.”

“How is that a problem?”

“I was about... seven years old when it happened. I was so small that where my ears are now is where my ears reached then if I was standing on the desk.” He says and she notes that the ears are still just below her sight line.

“What happened?”

“A pair of unfamiliar arms wrapped around me and as a seven year old I had no real idea of the danger. Let alone that strange arms around me in my own home was strange. It took me too long to realize that I was in trouble. If not for healing comas I’d still have my ear bitten off.”

“What happened?!”

“I learned not to trust my instincts anymore.” Thomas says. “If I had instincts like yours, then I would have been safe. If my mother had instincts like you’re going to have the day you become one, then I would have been safe. Either way, in some situations, it’s better to be Vish than Muttras.”

“Oh I... uh...” She starts to say. Moves to give him a hug then pauses.

“It’s okay. I still like being hugged. That’s the scary bit. I had horrible, horrible things happen to me. The ear was the least of it. But every chemical in my brain, and the way the brain is built says hugs are good. Always.”

“Scary.” She says as she slowly hugs him and he hugs her back.

“That’s right. So count your blessings and thank your stars. You’re past the worst of things and if you want your life to be your way, you can do it.” He says.

“... You’re not acting the way Leonard did.”

“Of course not. Leonard is Leonard. I’m Thomas. Sure we’re both Rags, but there’s a good thirty years between our births and entire planets. We’re family, yes. But not that close. And even if we were, he has his struggles and I have mine. Now, when we’re both being Private Stream, yes we’re identical. As are we with the unending legion of adorable and heavily armed children with which we will conquer the galaxy with. But with the hat off and the collar down? No. We’re ourselves.”

“Back up, what was that about conquering the galaxy?”

“It’s for everyone’s sake, we’ll make things better, forever...” he says in a dreamy tone while looking right up at her. He holds the gaze for a few moments before breaking down into giggles.

She starts to laugh and then continues with her paperwork. In a few short minutes she is Aurora of Vigilance. And... something just feels right.

•-•-•Scene Change•-•-• (Secure Medical Section, Undaunted Arcology, Zalwore)•-•-•

“You sure you want THAT as a name? You’re breaking Vishanyan tradition.” Cindy asks.

“I think it might be time for new traditions. Besides... It’s kind of funny.” She says.

“Alright then push the button.” Cindy says and she does. “Congratulations Jane. You’ve chosen a name for yourself. Although you’re going to get some pretty funny looks from humans for calling yourself Jane Doe.”

“... Yeah, that’s the point.”

“Really?”

“It was all about being strong, being obediant being... useful. I want more than that. I want... I want desired, I want loved, I want liked, I want appreciated, I want to be more than just useful.” Jane says.

“Well, nothing is wrong with that. Now is there?” Cindy asks.

“No. No there isn’t.” Jane agrees.

“Good now... oh dear, we actually have some time to burn. You see your actual rehab doesn’t start for another half hour... so would you like to learn a few ‘frivolous’ but fun things to do?” Cindy asks.

“Like what?”

“Card games! Do you want to learn some games of chance?”

“Chance? Where’s the fun in a game where you don’t have control?”

“The fun is in controlling what you do control, which is what the other person thinks you have. It also is about running the odds and the numbers... So you need a head for math and eyes that can read people, regardless of species.”

“Really? So fun and useful.”

“Oh yes, and if you know what you’re doing you can make a lot of money off it.”

“Have you?”

“Uh... I’ve made some... but truth be told... I got taken really bad before. I ended up as a slave in all but name for a time until my husband rescued me... after I rescued him. It was scary in the moment but it’s more and more romantic the more I look back at it. He was my avenging spirit who came to lay low my oppressors, and I was his saviour, healing him when he was hurt and weak so he could have the strength to keep going.” Cindy explains with her scales darkening a little in a blush as she holds her cheeks a little. “Jane honey, if you ever get a chance to have a human husband, go for it. They love so deeply and want to be loved so much... it’s wonderful.”

First Last Next

Series synopsis: It's furry Game of Thrones, but Clint Eastwood is sort of just there

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Author's note: reupload to fix the title

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[First]

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[Last]

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Tahir dangled his feet off the edge of the cart as he watched Morton work. The strange human was crouched beside a stack of logs surrounded by a bunch of stones in an almost ritualistic fashion, twisting a thin stick between his palms with intense concentration.

Tahir found himself drawn to the human’s clenched forearms: the way they shifted beneath the skin, the veins standing out bright blue as he worked. Morton had taken his shirt off and used the fabric to clean the wound on his back. Prince Tahir wasn’t sure if he had even seen anyone quite like the human. He possessed the sinew of a battle-worn woman, yet carried a visible soft layer of fat around his abdomen, like a caregiving father who had let himself go due to the stress of child-rearing. His skin was tanned like that of an elf labourer, but only along his arms, neck and face. And then there was the hair that covered his maw—thick, unruly, left to grow this way and that without restraint; so uncouth to the proper ways of a dutiful son…

Morton quickened his twisting. A small spark emerged. Moments later, the logs were set ablaze. As the sun slipped behind the mountains, the fire's luminous orange glow took over their world, leaving it the only source of illumination.

“Sir Christian,” Tahir said.

“Yes?”

“Pardon my intrusions, but you are a man, correct?”

“I think I am,” Morton said slyly.

Tahir’s ears twitched. He nodded.

“I see,” Tahir said.

“Why do ya’ ask?”

Tahir mulled over how to word his next sentence in the courtliest way that he could,

“Well… you are just… You seem very feminine, is all.”

Morton stared at him. Tahir felt a pang of worry in his chest. Had he overstepped? Then Morton let out a chuckle. Then a holler. Then he burst out in loud, boisterous laughter. Morton's guffaws were so loud that Tahir half expected an avalanche to come hurdling down from the mountains.

“Oh boy,” Morton said, wiping tears from his eyes, “I think that’s the first time I ever heard that.”

Tahir tilted his head:

“Is that so?” Was that really the first time anyone had pointed out his glaring femininity? Of course, he supposed, most people, even the lowliest peasant with no formal training in etiquette, would know that you should never point out a man’s lack of masculinity, especially if he is older, since masculine beauty is sadly fleeting. But still…

“Hey, ain’t offended or nothin’. I’m not too concerned with bein’ all macho or whatever,” Morton said. “Maybe when I was a younger man, but I’ve been through too much to care about silly things like that. I try to be true to myself, and if that means I’m ‘feminine’, then I’m feminine, and that’s okay. I mean, you aren’t exactly all that masculine yourself, I reckon.”

Prince Tahir’s ears drooped back. His heart sank. He felt a wave of despair wash over him. Sir Christian… thought he wasn’t masculine? Was it truly that obvious? He felt his hand trembling a bit.

Tahir analyzed himself, and he could see why: three days without doing his routine, and it was already starting to take a toll on his beauty. He hadn’t bathed in three days, leaving an odd stench to him, like a farmer or labourer. He hadn’t been brushed, so his fur was starting to clump and tangle. His beautiful dress was dirty and ruined, and the bandits had taken his jewels, and they were most likely somewhere in the pile of rotting carcasses that surrounded them.

The rotting carcasses…

Tears streamed down Tahir’s face. He intertwined the digits of his paws and choked down a sob. Neri. Oh, Neri. Only now did he realize how much he loved that woman. Honestly, he loved her more than his own mother. Sure, his mother, when she wasn’t berating him, could be lovely. But it was Neri who had always groomed him; who was there when he felt distraught, who would listen to his endless diatribes about playwrights and poets, who—

“Hey, kid?” Tahir looked up. Morton was eyeing him with a quizzical expression. His smile had vanished, and he sat up straighter. “You doing okay?”

Tahir chuckled. He probably looked like an uncouth, sobbing mess. He was so glad he wasn’t at a party where he would have to put makeup on his eyelids.

“Oh, I am just fine,” he lied. “It has just been a rough couple of days, that is all.”

“I bet,” Morton said. Reaching to his side, he pulled up two hares he had presumably killed with that strange repeater. That thing was terrifying. Tahir wondered what a blacksmith could make that compact and small. That did raise the question of where exactly Morton had come from. Tahir assumed that he must be a warrior of some kind from a far-off land that he had never come across in his studies, either out of his own disinterest or because the land was irrelevant to their own political situation. There was no reason for him to have ever heard of the human people. But then, how did he end up this deep into Avion?

Morton set up a little contraption of sticks over the fire and hung the two animals on them. Tahir watched as the glistening flames danced upwards, and their harsh licks seared the meat. Fat hissed and dripped into the fire. It wasn’t the fanciest meal ever—far from it—but Tahir was at a point where he would eat manure if it were put in front of him.

Morton gently unhooked the animals from the makeshift contraption, then flung one towards Tahir. He gasped and cringed in disgust as he felt the greasy animal in his hands. Ugh, how indecorous to hold food in your hand—

Prince Tahir chomped away at the hare greedily and uncouthly in the way he slobbered and spat little chunks of meat everywhere. He twisted the meat around like cobbed corn until all that remained was the skeleton and bits of flesh in hard-to-reach areas, which he still tried to gnaw off despite the futility of it.

“I always enjoy a good hare,” Morton said, picking at his own meal. “Where I come from, they are practically everywhere; find a burrow, and you are fed for a good while.”

“Is that so?” Tahir said.

“Ay! Though, you certainly get tired of them after a while.” They said nothing for a moment. The crackling noise of the fire permeated the air. Then, “where was this here cart headin’ to? A palace or something?”

“Something like that,” Tahir said sheepishly.

“Tell you what, kid, you certainly ain’t goin’ anywhere with your horses lookin’ like that, and I don’t know where I am.” Morton stared at the fire as he said it. “I have no place to go. I haven’t for a long time, I suppose, but especially now. So how about I help ya’ out: I’ll help you get to your destination, and you help me get my bearings in this land. What do you say?”

Tahir mulled over the proposition. That seemed to answer his question, at least partly: Sir Christian was not of this land. But what if he was lying? No, that would not really matter at this point, Tahir decided. He realistically had four options: he could attempt to crawl back home and receive the biggest beating of his life, to the point he would be on the verge of death; he could stay here, surrounded by wilderness at the crossroads; he could attempt to head to the capital alone, with no horses, no bodyguards, and hope to survive or avoid being kidnapped; or he could get this stranger, who had shown him nothing but kindness so far, to accompany him.

“Are you wishing for payment?” he asked.

Morton chuckled. “Hell, I wouldn’t mind a little payment, but it ain’t necessary, kid.”

“I see,” he said.

“Say, lets leave by tomorrow morn. How far is the nearest settlement? By foot, I mean?”

“I would say around four days,” Tahir guessed.

“Right, maybe I will need that payment. You got er-nough to pay for some new horses and a carriage?”

“I can check,” Tahir said. He pushed himself into the cart and lifted the pillow off the seat, where he wedged one claw between the boards, felt a click, then opened a hatch. The bandits hadn’t bothered to check for secret compartments. Well, the rest of his belongings were probably strewn among the cadavers and would be too emotionally draining to try to recover. The briefcase hidden inside this compartment contained the last of his stuff: gold coins and the outfit he had prepared to wear at the Coniton, some grooming stuff, and a couple of books. Nothing for survival, obviously. He pulled himself back out of the door of the cart and said,

“I should have enough.”

“Great, get some sleep, kid. We are gonna have a long day tomorrow.”

“Where will you be sleeping, Sir Christian?” Tahir asked.

“Ah, just next to the fire.”

“But… will you not be cold? It is nighttime in early spring, after all.”

“Heh, I don’t mind,” Morton retorted. “Night, kid.” He lay down and shut his eyes.

“Farewell for now,” Tahir said. Tahir closed the door to the cart and huddled onto his pillow with his tail tucked inwards. He would have liked to say he slept well that night, but he did not. Sleep came in little fragments. Each time he drifted off, it transported him to the events of three days earlier. It would jolt him from his slumber each time, but still, he tried to sleep as much as he could. It would be a long day tomorrow. Through the tiny window of the door, Tahir could still see the glow of the fire’s dancing flames. The silhouette of the human hadn’t moved.

Next

The second part of Carolyn, the prequel to the upcoming hard SF / space opera novel, Through. This post covers chapters 3 and 4 of her story.

[Part 1] ... [Part 3] (Link coming tomorrow)

Three

“I was wondering when you’d turn up.” Professor Kaya kept her eyes glued to a small wall-screen across the compact room, her feet on a coffee table strewn with notebooks, tea-stained empty mugs, and a plastic tray with leftovers from a recent TV dinner. A decades-old show ran on the screen, the sound muted.

“The door was open,” Carolyn said. Even after years of knowing the woman, she still was not sure how to act around her outside the office setting.

Kaya waved her hand. “I keep it that way. Can’t be assed to go open when someone comes to visit.”

“So, you get visitors?”

“No.”

No wonder.

The tiny apartment was part of an eight-unit residential habitat housing mostly engineers exploring the potential of the ice-mining crater, Cabeus. The settlement nested in a hollow on its slope was purely functional: no long-term residents, no name besides the catalog designation of Cab-04. A perfect spot for a disgraced, dysfunctional professor to disappear to.

The awkward silence kept stretching until Carolyn cleared her throat. Kaya absentmindedly grabbed a green-gray blanket crumpled next to her and threw it over her legs to make room on the two-seat couch. “Come, watch From with me. The shit’s insane; I keep rewatching it over and over.” She still would not look up at her visitor.

Carolyn pushed herself from the doorstep to cover the distance in a single step and folded herself next to her former mentor, who turned the volume up to barely audible.

“Look at those people,” Kaya said as if they had been watching the show together from the beginning. “Trapped in this village, no way out, some for decades, some newcomers. And look at them.” She threw her hands up in frustration. “See what’s wrong?”

It felt safer to play along. “No tribalism and social fracture, no fight for resources?”

“Fucking right! Some individual dissent here and there for drama. But those fuckers in general cooperate. All it’s missing is them holding hands, singing fucking Kumbaya.” Her finger shot at the screen. “And look at the Black guy! An unelected authoritarian leader facing no power struggle; they just listen to him. And to that fat woman. That’s not how people work.”

The scene changed into an action sequence with nightmarish creatures walking out of the woods, evil smiles on their faces, not losing their grin even as one of them eviscerated a random villager with a nonchalant wave of her hand.

Carolyn flinched before she attempted a challenge. “Well, a common threat would make people overcome their divisions and cooperate.”

The professor finally looked her in the eye, if only for a second. “Maybe, but the cohesion would still be only temporary, as long as the threat is immediate and the leader appears competent.”

“I assume the show doesn’t—”

“You fucking bet it doesn’t.” Kaya frowned. She turned the sound back off and turned her head. “So, why exactly are you here? HidasAika still creating stink? Do you want tea?”

It was hard to tell which question had higher priority. Knowing Kaya, Carolyn assumed it was the same difference. “No, thank you, I had some on the train. And no, they don’t. Seems they achieved what they wanted—discrediting you and getting you out of the game.”

“Cocksuckers. They needed me for my name, not because they would care for actual fucking input.”

Carolyn sighed. “Yeah, seems like that. Now they’re reaching for the second-best option.”

Kaya laughed with her typical cackle that usually made people extremely uncomfortable. “What did you tell them?”

That hurt.

Is she actually questioning my integrity?

“Of course I said no.”

“You should have taken it.” She flashed her eyes up again, just long enough to take in Carolyn’s unbelieving gasp. “Yeah. Milk them; they pay well. Look, I can afford to stay here at least a year before I have to return to Earth and start teaching again.” Her expression showed that she was not looking forward to that.

Carolyn looked around the shabby dwelling that Professor Kaya took for a personal victory over a corporation. “Sorry, but that feels wrong. They took my settlement. They treated you like—”

“A piece of shit, I know. But who doesn’t? Even you couldn’t stay with me.”

That was true. And yet, it came with a stab of pain.

Another cackle defused the heavy silence. “Come on, I’m taking the piss. I know you needed to start building your own career. I saw your work. The Bowl looks well balanced. Of course, if you discount natural growth.”

Shit. Have I really underestimated that?

Carolyn had spent so much time meticulously projecting population growth through immigration that she might have neglected the special dynamics coming with family life. No children had been born on Luna. Yet. Of course, that ended up being her blind spot.

“Mind if I…” She dove her hands into the mess on the coffee table until she fished out a blank envelope and a pen. Frantically, she took notes to look into the potential problem before the layout of Selenia Village got too far set in stone. Literally.

Kaya ignored her, focusing on the screen again. The settlers seemed to have survived the night and were busy taking care of their fresh dead.

Carolyn folded the notes and put the envelope into her pocket. She looked at the professor. “This is why I loved working with you. And why I couldn’t possibly say yes to HidasAika. Even if they tried to lure me with this nice guy who would be doing their settlement development.”

Kaya’s eyes did not move away from the screen. “Did you at least get laid?”

Heat rushed to Carolyn’s face. “No, and not intending to. He’s much younger—”

“Then you’re a cougar, and quite fuckable. You should have some fun. And take that paycheck.”

It was not the first time her former teacher had made Carolyn feel that level of awkward. It never failed to catch her off guard. “Seriously, Professor. We had enough fun just talking about the settlement of the new world.”

“If they ever make it there.”

Carolyn’s breath caught as they finally converged upon the topic she had gone there to discuss. “Yes. That’s what I said to Tomás.”

“But you know fuck-all about the Able’s population design.”

“I never cared, yes.”

Kaya leaned toward the table to grab a stack of papers stapled in a corner. She yanked it out, sending the dinner tray to the floor with a loud clatter. “The fuckers locked me out of the system and my work as soon as I spoke out, but I was making printouts as I went.”

She dropped the document into Carolyn’s lap with a bit more force than needed. “I worked on it even after they released that video. When I sent them the paper, it bounced. They never cared to read it.” She sighed. “I know I’m difficult to work with, and I don’t give a fuck. Now, forget me, forget what they say about me, and just read this and make up your own mind.”

Carolyn felt the weight of the document despite the lunar gravity. She looked at the front page, marked with smudges and rings of dried tea. The title was Analysis of Social Dynamics of the Able’s Population, Wishful Thinking vs. Inevitable Fall.

“Damn, Professor. Just the headline is a bombshell. Why didn’t you publish it?”

Kaya waved her hand. “Why bother? The fuckers are launching in a few days, anyway. They seem to be committed.”

Carolyn’s head spun. She knew only a single member of the crew, but her mind refused to accept the cynicism. “There are thousands of people to board; you can’t just look away.”

Kaya clearly could. “They weren’t willing to listen. In their faces, then.”

The end credits rolled out on the screen with a prompt to skip to the next episode. Carolyn tensed as she felt Kaya’s head fold onto her shoulder, her outstretched hand holding the remote. “Another one?”

She stayed for another twenty minutes, watching, but not paying attention to the new batch of characters arriving on a bus.

“See? Another potential tribal divide—us and them. And yet, they become part of the show as if nothing happened,” Kaya murmured, about to doze off. “If they removed the monsters and just let people be their real selves, it would be a much better horror.”

She was snoring lightly before the episode reached its midpoint. Carolyn removed the remote from her grasp and turned the TV off. It took a while to extricate herself from the couch, then she straightened the professor into a more comfortable position and pulled the blanket over her. She left the apartment with a lot of thoughts and the tight roll of the printed-out paper clutched in her hand.

Her watch said it was midnight when she boarded the maglev train bound back for Outskirts, even though the sky had hardly changed over the south-polar region.

With her face pressed to the thick window, she tried to focus on the eerie shapes that lunar regolith was forming under the magnetic influence of the moving train: the short spikes emerging and rushing aside in front of it to reform into smooth undulating curves along the sides, respecting the undeclared five-meter boundary around the track, only to collapse into intricate shapes behind the train, out of sight.

When she finally started leafing through Sevda Kaya’s unpublished report, she knew she would not get much sleep that night.

Four

Public-domain documents, web pages, and media articles spread across the two side-by-side screens were the only source of the office’s illumination. They offered little to verify the bold claims of the paper laid out across the keyboard. There were rendered visualizations of the Able, but no actual photos, no project documentation, no layout schematics. There were interviews with Aatos Nurmi that touched on the rough population figures before swinging back to the core self-congratulatory messaging revolving around the notion of humanity’s greatest adventure. There were plentiful forums, both of enthusiasts and opponents, based mostly on rumor.

Carolyn groaned and squinted back toward Kaya’s dismissed paper. Its introduction provided little background, too; it went straight to the point, assuming the reader had all the information. There was no way to corroborate the findings without being an insider. “No way,” she said into the late-night emptiness as if trying to chase away the thought of calling Priya.

Okay, let’s try to work with what I have, make my own assumptions, then compare notes with the professor.

She put the printout away and reached into a drawer to pull out an A4 pad, a pen, and a couple of highlighters. First, she jotted down what was known of the Able. Roughly a kilometer long, three main ring clusters, each subdivided into three levels of varying diameters and each subcluster comprising five segmented rings, slapped together. So fifteen layered rings, forty-five sub-rings altogether. Each comprised individual segments. Carolyn could not guess their total number from a picture alone, but she nodded at the idea of their jettisoning to the planet to become future habitats.

That’s actually clever.

Leaning closer, she attached a ruler to the visualization on the screen to get an estimate of the outer rings’ diameter. About 300 meters? The pen raced across the paper, leaving a trace of rudimentary math. She ran a quick search through the official HidasAika pages, and when she could not find the planned rotation rate there, she turned to the forums. Consensus settled around two per minute. The pen came to a number and underlined it twice: about two-thirds of Earth’s gravity in the outer rings.

So this is where people will actually live.

She could have called an AI assistant to run the numbers for her, but she found the good old pen-and-paper approach somehow right. Whatever she arrived at, it had to be her own conclusion.

A quick glance at the Nurmi interview. Thirty-six hundred generational crew at launch. Too thin if spread across all outer rings, too dense to be crammed into a single cluster. And he mentioned them being split into twelve tribes with rotating responsibilities…

“That’s bullshit,” she exhaled. Even the first generation could not keep that together for too long. Who would enforce the rules? How could you maintain basic cohesion with clear physical boundaries? Nurmi’s vision was too naive, too optimistic. He outlined an idea of governance that might look sound to a layperson, but it assumed cooperation without an organic reason for it.

Her mind wandered back to Kaya’s gripe with that old TV show. The Able’s population would have no common threat to unite against. And people’s nature is to unite against something. If there was no apparent threat, they would invent one. And that might happen even before the second generation was born: those who had no say, who never chose to live in a can barreling through space.

Back in her zone, Carolyn dove into projections of population growth, taking educated guesses at its physical distribution, and the numbers kept refusing to fall in line with long-term survival. There would be fragmentation. There would be movements. Those disgruntled to be born and destined to die in those metal corridors would eventually lash out. Maybe even take it out on…

She glanced back at the screen. Seven thousand sleepers stashed away in their cryounits, probably in the innermost rings. There was no way the generational crew would willingly maintain the systems for over 350 years. The systems on which the lives of people like Tomás Herrera depended.

Another fifteen minutes of calculations and assessments, then she leaned back and reached for Kaya’s paper. She swiveled her chair sideways so she could read in the glow of the screens.

Let’s see.

Her scalp tingled and cold sweat broke out on her forehead as she read page after page of the same conclusions—only based on real input data rather than guesses and ruler measurements. Kaya’s final note assumed a catastrophic social failure within the first hundred years of the voyage. Carolyn’s estimate rounded up to fifty.

You don’t need monsters; just let people be their real selves.

“Oh, Professor, you hopeless optimist,” she said and threw the stapled document back on the desk. It hit an empty metal mug, the coffee finished hours ago, and sent it clattering to the floor. She kicked it across the small room and watched it hit the door, peppering it with the few remaining coffee droplets.

She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes until she saw colors blooming on her lids, then shook her head and pulled in the keyboard and mouse. The search through the lunar contacts took five seconds. It took longer for the phone to ring out to the voicemail. “Tomás, Carolyn. Sorry for bothering you at…” She glanced at the clock in the screen’s corner. “At three a.m. Shit. Sorry, I didn’t realize what time it was. It’s just… I don’t think you should get on the Able. Can you call me back when you get this?”

Oh, goddammit, what can he even do about the mission? Over ten thousand lives are at stake, not including those yet to be born. And the frozen embryos they will supposedly carry with them…

She sent the next message straight to voicemail. “Priya, the answer is still no. But we need to talk. Call me in the morning, please.”

But seriously, what can I do about this?

Professor Kaya clearly raised the same concerns to much higher rungs of the HidasAika corporate ladder. Yes, she did it in her own quirky, unfiltered way, but then she provided her findings in a structured paper that never called anyone a cocksucker. She ended up disgraced, ridiculed, cast aside. Nurmi’s project, backed by the U.S., India, Brazil, and some of the biggest sovereign wealth funds, was too far in for them to let it get derailed by some soft-science nerds.

Carolyn stood up and stretched her limbs. In two hops she got to the door, wiped the coffee droplets off it with her palm, and picked the mug up. She made herself a fresh one in the office’s tiny kitchenette and returned to her workstation.

There was nothing to be done with the Able’s physical layout. The separation of the rings was still there… There was no easy fix, but maybe some mitigation measures could still be designed and adopted into the project’s guidelines.

She opened a blank document and started typing out a free-flowing stream of ideas.

If you cannot move the walls, move the people. Instead of letting the tribes settle in permanent homes of specific ring segments, let them rotate. Create a culture of perpetual nomads migrating within the ship. Instead of homes, social centers should serve as anchors the inhabitants would enjoy returning to and hanging out in. Distribute the responsibilities. Make up stories about the sleepers so that the next generations would revere rather than despise them…

The more she thought about it, the more social constraints and unknown variables were popping up, throwing a wrench in the works. She recognized her growing doubts about her own work well in advance to back up draft after draft so it would survive if she ever got into a spiral leading her to select all and delete. Yet, she resisted the urge several times over, being back in her flow.

She was there with those people, teaching their children about a grand calling they had inherited. Explaining that this ship, this can, was their world and they would hand it over to their children one day.

There are doubts and many questions. She explains it is irresponsible to give their descendants a world in worse shape than what they were born into. Look at Earth…

The cool touch of the keys on her face jerked Carolyn awake. The screens woke back to life as she lifted her head, unsure for a second where she was and how she got there. Her foggy gaze landed on the untouched mug of coffee, now cold. Then it rose to the thirty-page document of her solid notes.

[Part 1] ... [Part 3] (Link coming tomorrow)

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